#no one has to read this I just like talking

[dreamsteddie]

There is an AITA out there that I can't find but it's been haunting me for weeks with visions of semi-angsty Steddie that I need to release onto the world. (If anyone happens to know what I'm talking about hit me up and I'll link it)

Edit: @jazzathebunny found the original AITA from Reddit linked Here for anyone who wants to read it. I'm definitely not doing exactly the same premise but this was my jumping off point 😊

Part Two! ------

Modern AU, Eddie and the guys are a moderately successful local band in the Chicago area playing gigs on the weekends and doing small tours whenever they all have the time. Gareth and Jeff are both in college while Eddie and Freak are both working part-time at a game store. Eddie managed to lock down that assistant manager position that lets him work 30 hours a week with weekends off for gigs. All in all, it's a pretty sweet deal and they can't complain.

Eddie had sworn off dating after a small handful of disastrous relationship attempts in their first year in the city. He dismisses any advances from people who attend their shows and tries not to think about how much he wants to make a genuine connection with someone and have something real. He's been burned one too many times to try and make something with someone he met in a bar or at work.

He knows the guys talk about it behind his back sometimes, he catches Jeff and Gareth fervently whispering to each other and stopping when they catch him entering the room one time too many to not suspect they're talking about him and he can't think of anything else going on in his life that they would feel the need to whisper about.

The fervent conversations take a slight uptick one day and about a week and a half after they do, Gareth hits him up and tells him he wants to set Eddie up with a guy from one of his classes. At first, Eddie is skeptical and cites all the reasons why he doesn't want to try with anyone right now but eventually, Jeff jumps in to plea the case and Freak jumps in on top of that and under the combined weight of his best friends he agrees to meet up with this Steve guy.

The guys set up the whole thing and before Eddie knows it it's Saturday night and he's wearing his best black jeans and a gray button-down, untucked, to go on an honest to God blind date like his life is some low-budget romcom.

Steve is not at all what Eddie thought he would be. Not the kind of guy he thought his friends would pick out for him given they know he usually goes for other alternatives like himself. Steve, who is shyly waving him over and getting out of his seat to great him, is the very epitome of prep. Well-fitted polo, light blue chinos, and what Eddie assumes this guy thinks are casual loafers. He's handsome to be sure, a 12/10 at least with perfect hair and defined biceps but Eddie is fairly sure he's being punked.

But, Eddie doesn't want to be rude so he goes to meet Steve at the table, confirming just in case that he's actually here to meet with a guy named Eddie. Steve gives him a bit of a confused look, saying that Gareth showed him a couple pictures of Eddie before he agreed to meet and figured he'd done the same for Eddie off Steve's Instagram. Gareth had, in fact, not done anything of the sort but they both dismiss it and get on with their date.

In all honesty, Eddie is expecting it to be a complete wash, but it turns out that even if Steve is not at all what Eddie would have previously said what his type, Steve is damn near perfect. He's funny, kind, a little bitchy, and even though he proves himself to be every bit the sports nerd he looks like he doesn't turn his nose up at Eddie's own much more classically nerdy interests. By the end of the date, Eddie has a new type and that type is Steve Harrington. He's quick to lock down a second date for the next weekend which Steve happily agrees to. They exchange numbers and Steve gives Eddie a chaste kiss on the cheek that has him floating all the way home.

Steve texted him that next morning letting him now he had a great time and is really looking forward to their next date and Eddie thinks this might be the start of something big for him. When he gets to practice he's clearly still floating on cloud nine and in his own little world designing their marriage invitations and matching tombstones so he doesn't notice the sly grins on his bandmates' faces.

"So...how'd it go last night? Everything you dreamed it would be?" Gareth asks, a strange glint in his eyes that Eddie doesn't clock.

Eddie goes on and on about how nice Steve was and how he might be The One, thanking Gareth profusely. Freak looks pleased for him, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder in congratulations but when Eddie finally tunes back into the real world he's greeted by Gareth's livid expression and Jeff's overly concerned one.

He asks the guys what the fuck is up and it turns out that Gareth and Jeff set this whole thing up as a prank of sorts. Eddie was never supposed to hit it off with Steve who Gareth selected specifically because he's a "totally brain-dead prep" and as far away as someone could get from Eddie's previous relationships. He was supposed to be someone Eddie could go on a date with and not form a connection with without getting completely burned at the end like all his previous relationships in the hopes of getting him out of his slump.

Jeff was in on it as well. He wanted to get Eddie back out there, so when Gareth presented the plan he sat in on a couple of Gareth's general credit business class sessions to help pick the guy out.

After Jeff and Gareth finish explaining he does a complete 180 and just...leaves. In any other situation, he would be raging and verbally tearing his friends a new asshole but instead, he completely disengages and walks out the garage door, ignoring his friends' shouts to come back.

He goes back home, socked and hurt and so very confused about how the hell he found himself in this position when his phone lights up.

New Message: Steve H.

Fuck.

-------

Part two coming soon??? Maybe???? We'll see.

[mayakern]

I honestly don’t know how to write this; I have spent all week attempting to figure out what to say.

Last Monday I was informed by our factory that our merchandiser and direct point of contact with the factory passed away unexpectedly two weeks ago. She was someone who I have spent a great deal of time speaking to ever since we switched factories two years ago. She helped us realize designs for new products, sent us samples of garments extremely quickly and kept track of all our orders. She went to bat for us if something went wrong with our print shop or if I was unhappy with how a garment pattern was interpreted by their team. As their first American client and a brand that focuses on size inclusion, something that is not typical of their other clients, she handled a lot of crazy requests from us without blinking and she was dedicated to ensuring that both us and our customers were happy. We talked nearly every day, and though it was work related she was one of the kindest people I have had the pleasure interacting with daily.

She was beyond dedicated to her work and to working with us. Turkey has an 11-hour time difference from me in California, which means when she was emailing me at 2pm in the afternoon it was 1am there. You can sure bet that I extended her the same courtesy and tried my best to answer her emails at night too, even when I would rather just be sleeping.

It was also clear just how much she loved her job, and now much she loved you guys. She had been silently watching our social media since we first started working with them. She got just as excited as we did on launch days and would often email me unprompted about how she was glad people were leaving such positive comments and reviews. She read your feedback when no one ever asked her to do that or even expected it of her. She did it because she really, really cared.

Even though she was miles away and we never met in person, she was like a coworker to me and the loss of her is like losing someone on our team.

The Maya Kern team, as a whole, has been dealing with a lot lately. I personally just moved (which took far longer than we expected) and Maya and Devin are gearing up to move back to Minneapolis pretty soon. With the loss of our merchandizer, it has taken the wind out of my sails a little bit. I was trying to push through, even though I am exhausted, and carry out the photo shoot for our new products this weekend, but it has become clear that my body just can’t handle it. My arthritis has finally told me to stop moving, so unfortunately, we are going to have to reschedule the shoot for later on.

We are doing everything we can to make sure our next product drop on the 21st still happens. But as of right now, due to this sudden loss, the garments haven’t even shipped from the factory yet and I am not optimistic that they will clear customs and get checked into the fulfillment center in time for the launch. This means the drop is likely going to be pushed back to December 5th and instead of a full photo shoot, we will probably have to settle for taking quick photos of everyone at home, and likely with our phones. 

We work really hard to deliver not just garments we believe in, but also pictures of said garments on bodies that our customers can relate to, and unfortunately I just do not think that is possible this time. As always, we really appreciate your patience and understanding during what has been a very difficult time for us.

Ash

Chief Operations Officer

[rafesapologist]

if you would've been the one ─ rafe cameron

summary: rafe gets engaged and you find out.

warnings: angst, swearing, not proof-read

author's note: if you guys didn't know, i love writing angst so enjoy!!

The Pelican Yacht Club hums with the familiar buzz of a humid summer day. You stand behind the bar, the scent of saltwater mixing with the tang of citrus as you slice limes for the afternoon rush. The air is thick, almost suffocating, but you’ve gotten used to it. It’s a typical day—until it isn’t.

You glance up when the door swings open, letting in a flash of sunlight that makes you squint. It's Sofia. She isn’t scheduled today. The sight of her here, so out of place in this moment, makes your stomach twist. You force yourself to look away, feigning interest in the drink menu as she walks past. You can’t help but feel a twinge of resentment as she greets the staff with her bright smile, as if she’s the sunshine that everyone’s been waiting for.

Part of you hates her for that smile, hates the way she effortlessly lights up the room. But it’s not really her you’re mad at—it’s what she represents. Rafe Cameron’s new girlfriend. The girl who has no idea about the summers you spent next door, about the nights you sat on the dock with him, talking about everything and nothing. The girl who has no clue about the history between you and Rafe before she ever came into the picture.

You find yourself inching closer, pretending to fix a shelf of liquor bottles while you strain to overhear her conversation with your boss. Sofia’s voice is low but excited, the kind of tone people use when they have news that’s too good to keep quiet.

You catch bits and pieces of the conversation—something about a new start, a fresh chapter. Your heart pounds as you try to piece it together. Then you hear it, clear as day.

“I’m engaged,” Sofia says, a soft, dreamy smile spreading across her face. “Rafe proposed last night.”

You freeze. The glass in your hand slips slightly, a cold splash of water running down your wrist, but you barely feel it. You’re too stunned, too caught in the moment. Engaged. She’s not just his girlfriend anymore—she’s his fiancée. And she’s leaving. You hear her tell your boss she’s quitting, planning to move in with Rafe, start their new life together.

Your heart sinks, the words echoing in your head like a tolling bell. Engaged. Moving in with him. The world blurs around the edges, your fingers gripping the counter as you try to steady yourself. You force a smile when your boss catches your eye, but it feels thin, barely there.

Your heart thuds violently against your chest, every beat echoing like a cruel joke pounding in your ears. It feels as if your very emotions are ripping at your heartstrings, tearing them apart one by one. The realization claws at you, raw and unyielding. Engaged. You can’t even say the word in your head without feeling your throat tighten, a wave of nausea creeping up as if the world itself has betrayed you.

Your lips curl, the bitterness flooding your mouth as if you’d just bitten into a sour lemon. It’s a twisted smile, one that burns with hatred and betrayal. She had no idea—how could she? How could she possibly know the history, the gravity of everything she just shattered with those simple, giddy words? Bitter tears prick at your eyes, the kind that sting and make you blink rapidly, as if you could will them away.

Without thinking, your fingers fumble at the ties of your apron, ripping it off with a sudden, violent tug. The fabric falls to the floor with a muted thud, but it feels like a thunderous crash in your ears. You don’t care who’s watching; you don’t care what they’ll say. The room seems to tilt around you, your vision narrowing as your breaths come in shallow, rapid gasps.

You place your trembling hands on the counter, feeling the cool surface beneath your fingertips as you try to steady yourself. It doesn’t help. You bow your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a ragged breath, trying to rein in the flood of emotions threatening to drown you. The noise of the yacht club fades to a dull hum, everything around you blurring as you fight to keep it together.

Suddenly, nothing around you matters anymore. The clinking glasses, the murmur of the club members, the dull chatter of your coworkers—all of it fades to a distant, meaningless buzz. Your job, your manners, your reputation—all the things you’ve been clinging to for a sense of normalcy—seem laughably small in the face of what you’re feeling. The rage and heartbreak surging inside you demand an escape, a release you can’t find standing behind this bar pretending everything is fine.

Without a second thought, you shove the door open, storming out of the yacht club. No one notices. No one even calls your name. The warm, sticky air hits you like a slap in the face as you step outside, but it does nothing to calm the storm brewing within you. You stumble forward, gasping for air, your chest heaving as if you’re drowning. You bend over, hands clutching your knees as you choke on your sobs, each tear hot and unforgiving as it spills down your cheeks.

You force yourself to look up at the sky, its bright blue taunting you. The sun burns harshly, casting long shadows over the marina, but you only feel the darkness wrapping around you. A bitter laugh escapes your lips, followed by a curse you fling at the heavens. You want to scream, to demand an answer from whatever cruel force is out there pulling the strings of your life. What about her? you think desperately, the words echoing in your mind like a broken record. What about her made her deserve a ring, Rafe’s ring?

Your hands clench into fists as you straighten up, trying to find your balance, but the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath you. The memories of Rafe slam into you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and inescapable. The late nights by the dock, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching, the soft, fleeting kisses that felt like promises he’d never actually made. They all flash before your eyes like a haunting nightmare you can’t wake up from.

It hits you then, like a punch to the gut—the realization that everything you shared, everything you held onto, meant nothing now. He’s chosen her. He’s given her everything you once dreamed he’d offer you. And in that moment, the weight of it all is too much to bear, your knees nearly buckling as you clutch your chest.

A rush of adrenaline surges through your veins, and before you can even think, your feet are moving. You take off, sprinting away from the yacht club, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Where you’re going? You have no idea. You just need to move, to run until the pain isn’t the only thing you feel. The wind pushes against you, almost as if it’s trying to slow you down, but you ignore it. You let it whip through your hair, the strands tangling into a mess of disheveled curls as you race forward.

Your feet pound against the pavement, carrying you closer into town, toward Figure 8—the gilded paradise of the wealthy, where your story with Rafe first began. The roads twist beneath you, familiar yet foreign now, each corner a sharp, painful reminder of the past. You pass the spot where he kissed you for the first time under the flickering streetlight. The bench where you once sat for hours, talking about dreams that were never meant to be. The old corner store where he’d steal glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. It all burns a hole straight through your chest, the memories hitting you harder than the humid wind in your face.

You don’t stop. You can’t. The images flash by in a blur, each one slicing deeper into your already bleeding heart. It’s like you’re running through a living nightmare, haunted by ghosts of the life you thought you might have had. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the tears streaming freely now, hot and unrelenting. Mascara streaks down your cheeks, black rivers tracing the contours of your face—a perfect, messy representation of where you were mentally.

You push yourself harder, faster, until your legs scream in protest and your lungs burn with every gulp of air. The world around you blurs, the people, the cars, the houses—none of it matters. You keep running, driven by the pain that won’t let you rest. Your chest heaves, a raw ache settling in as the adrenaline begins to fade, replaced by the crushing weight of exhaustion. You stumble to a halt, bent over, hands on your knees once more as you gasp for air.

You’re breathless, hair a wild halo of loose curls sticking to your tear-streaked face. Your vision swims, a cocktail of sweat and tears blinding you as you look up at the sky, feeling nothing but the hollow ache in your chest. Here you are, in the place where you once made all your memories with him. But it feels like a stranger now—empty, cold, and unwelcoming.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, hands braced on your knees, gulping down air as if you’ve just surfaced from drowning. You can’t even process where you are—all you can feel is the tight, agonizing pressure in your chest, like your heart is being squeezed by an invisible fist. You’re vaguely aware that people are walking by, probably staring at you, but it’s like they’re part of a distant dream. Their gazes feel like nothing more than a blur on the edges of your vision.

But you don’t care. You’ve been stripped raw, exposed in a way that makes everything else fade into insignificance. You push yourself upright, your fingers digging into your waist as you take in deep, ragged breaths, trying to slow the pounding of your heart. The mascara streaks have dried, the salty residue of your tears leaving your cheeks tight and sticky. You close your eyes for a moment, just a moment, trying to pull yourself together.

Then you hear it. A voice—his voice.

"Y/N?"

The sound of your name hits you like a bolt of lightning, jolting you back to reality. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the familiarity of it wraps around you like a cold, clammy hand. You know that voice better than your own, and yet, hearing it now feels like a punch to the gut. It’s haunting, the way it slices through the air, so soft and unsure, as if he’s almost afraid it might actually be you standing there, looking as broken as you feel.

Slowly, you turn around, your eyes widening as you meet his gaze. Rafe Cameron stands just a few feet away, his expression a mixture of shock, concern, and something else you can’t quite place. For a second, it feels like the world stops spinning, the sounds of the town fading into the background until it’s just the two of you, standing there like the past has come back to drag you under.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his brow furrowing as he takes in your disheveled appearance—the wild curls, the streaks of makeup, the look of utter devastation in your eyes. You can see the questions forming on his lips, the confusion in his eyes. But you’re too stunned to speak, the words trapped in your throat. All you can do is stare back at him, feeling the sharp sting of fresh tears welling up again.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Rafe’s voice is laced with genuine concern, the sincerity in his tone unmistakable. His eyes scan your face, searching for answers, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like the Rafe you used to know—the one who held you close on quiet nights, the one who made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But the sound of his words makes you feel sick to your stomach. The irony of his compassion now, when it feels like he’s the one who drove the knife into your heart, twists inside you like a dagger. You let out a bitter, humorless laugh, the sound cutting through the air like shattered glass. It’s as if he’s playing a cruel joke, and you’re the punchline.

“What do you care?” you snap, your voice raw and venomous. You can feel your top lip quiver in disgust as you shake your head, unable to look at him without the pain flaring up like a fresh wound. His expression falters, the shock evident in his eyes. It’s like he’s been slapped, his confusion deepening as he takes in the sheer hurt radiating off you.

“You don’t get to act concerned,” you spit out, each word drenched in the bitterness that’s been festering inside you. “Not after everything. Not after this.” The last word comes out almost as a whisper, your voice breaking under the weight of it.

Rafe’s expression shifts, a deep crease forming between his brows as he stares at you with wide, bewildered eyes. It’s almost laughable—the look of shock, the utter confusion twisting his features as if he genuinely has no idea why you’re standing here, mascara-streaked and heartbroken. He takes a small step closer, his voice soft and pleading.

“What did I do?” he asks, sounding clueless, like a child who doesn’t understand why they’re being scolded. His tone is so sincere, so filled with concern, that for a split second, you almost believe him. But then the truth crashes over you again, sharp and unforgiving, and it sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through your veins.

You scoff, a bitter sound that feels like acid on your tongue. His naivety, his complete obliviousness to the damage he’s caused, only fuels the fire inside you. You look up at him, your eyes blazing with the kind of betrayal that words can’t fully capture.

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with venom as you take a step closer, your gaze piercing right through him. “You tell me. Maybe an engagement, perhaps?”

You spit the words out, practically throwing them at him, your voice cracking under the weight of your own disbelief. You watch as realization dawns on his face, his eyes widening slightly, the color draining from his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. It’s like he’s been struck dumb, caught off guard by the sheer force of your anger and the pain radiating off you in waves.

The silence between you is deafening, charged with the weight of everything left unsaid. You can see it in his eyes—the moment he pieces it together. And it’s almost satisfying, watching the horror settle in, watching him realize that the life he’s built, the future he’s promised someone else, has shattered you in ways he never anticipated.

“You didn’t think I’d find out, did you?” you whisper, your voice hoarse as the tears well up again. “You didn’t think it would matter.” The words hang in the air, heavy and accusatory, and for once, Rafe Cameron has no response. He just stands there, staring at you like you’re a mirror reflecting all the mistakes he’s made.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The words fall from his lips like an empty promise, and you can’t help but scoff, the bitter laugh bubbling up uncontrollably. You know it means nothing. It can never mean anything. No apology, no amount of regret can ever take back what’s been done, what he’s taken from you. Your chest tightens as the anger swells up, hotter and sharper with each passing second.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” you spit, your voice rising in pitch with every word. You can feel your fists balling at your sides, your body shaking with the weight of everything you’ve tried to swallow down, tried to bury. “You’re sorry?”

You throw your arms up in the air, an exaggerated motion of frustration, a physical manifestation of everything inside you that’s about to break free. “You think some bullshit apology is going to make up for what you’ve put me through?” you shout, your voice rising to a scream. The words burst out of you in a raw, jagged rush, like you’re finally tearing through the wall of calm you’d built just to keep from falling apart. “You think saying ‘sorry’ is going to make me forget everything? Forget you? Forget the way you made me feel like I was the only one in the world and then turned around and chose her instead?”

Your breath is ragged, your chest heaving as your emotions spill out of you uncontrollably. You’re not even sure where the words are coming from now, but they come in a torrent, desperate and aching. "How am I supposed to wonder for the rest of my life," you continue, your voice shaking, "why you chose her instead? What was it about her that made you pick her over me, Rafe? What the hell did I do wrong?"

You step closer, not caring anymore about the distance between you. Your face feels hot, your pulse pounding in your ears, but you can't stop yourself. "You think I won’t wonder, every goddamn day, why I wasn’t enough?" you add bitterly, the weight of your words crashing down on you.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you, I… I did it because she’s stuck by my side through all of this stuff I’ve been going through.”

The words hit you like a slap, but you don’t let him see the sting. Instead, your head snaps over to him, your eyes narrowed so dangerously that if looks could kill, he’d drop right there, dead. Every ounce of frustration, anger, and betrayal gathers in the pit of your stomach, and your mouth twists into a bitter frown. It feels like your entire body is ready to explode.

“And what? I wouldn’t have?” you snap, voice raw with fury. “You didn’t give me the fucking chance to, Rafe!” Your heart is pounding now, each beat a furious reminder of everything you’ve been through—of the way he’s shattered you, piece by piece. “You gave up! The second things got a little hard between us, you gave up. We could’ve worked through it if you actually tried!”

The words fly out of you, harsh and cruel in nature, but they don’t feel like enough. You shove him, your hands landing firmly against his chest in a fit of frustration. “I love you, Rafe!” you scream, the sound of your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “I fucking love you, and it has destroyed me watching you give your all to someone else. You have ruined me!”

And that’s when it breaks. The dam cracks, the tears flood, and you’re not just crying—you’re sobbing, your body wracked with the weight of it all. Your chest aches with the sobs, your body collapsing under the strain as you stand there, shaking uncontrollably in the middle of the street. All the rage, all the hurt, all the unanswered questions spill out of you like a river that’s finally burst its banks.

Rafe stands frozen for a moment, as if unable to process the sight of you, broken and vulnerable in a way he’s never seen before. His face goes pale, his eyes wide with guilt and horror, realizing that he’s the one who’s caused all of this—he’s the one who’s done this to you. And the weight of that realization hits him harder than anything else could.

Without another word, he pulls you into his chest. The gesture is sudden, almost desperate, as if he needs to hold you as much as you need to be held. His arms wrap around you tightly, firmly, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. You can feel his body against yours, the warmth of his chest as you crumble in his arms, your sobs echoing between you both.

For a moment, you stand there in his arms, the two of you swaying slightly as if the ground beneath you is unsteady. His grip on you is firm but gentle, like he’s trying to hold together the pieces of you he’s broken, letting you cry out your frustrations, your sadness, your heartbreak. The tears flow freely, soaking into his shirt, and he just holds you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. He doesn’t say anything, because he knows there’s nothing he can say to make this better. So he lets you cry, lets you release everything you’ve been carrying.

For just a second, you almost let yourself lean into him. His hold feels like comfort—like a memory of what it used to be, back when you felt safe and wanted. But then the reality slams into you like a tidal wave. He’s not yours anymore. He belongs to someone else now, someone who wears his ring, someone who gets to wake up next to him every morning. The realization crashes down on you, a flood of emotions so overwhelming that you choke on your own sobs, the pain squeezing your chest until it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I can’t stand to see you like this, Y/N,” Rafe says softly, his voice trembling as he looks down at you. His eyes are filled with a deep sadness, like he’s finally seeing the full extent of the damage he’s caused. He pulls back just enough to see your face, his hands cupping your cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. The way he’s looking at you—it’s almost unbearable, like he’s mourning something he’s only just realized he lost. “This isn’t your fault,” he continues, his voice cracking slightly. “You’re right, it’s my fault. It’s my fault for not trying harder.”

His words are raw, filled with a regret you’ve never heard from him before, and it makes your heart ache even more. You want to scream at him, to push him away and tell him that it’s too late—that his apologies don’t change anything. But you’re too exhausted, too broken to fight anymore. You just stare at him, tears still streaming down your face, your lips trembling as you try to find the words to respond.

“But it doesn’t mean that I don’t… love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. The confession hangs between you like a fragile, broken thing. You can see the truth in his eyes, the love that’s still there, buried beneath layers of mistakes and regret. It’s there, as real as the pain in your chest, and it cuts you deeper than anything else he could have said.

The words sink into you, bittersweet and hollow. It’s what you’ve wanted to hear for so long, and yet it feels like a cruel joke now, a confession that comes far too late. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you try to steady yourself. His love—it doesn’t change what’s happened, it doesn’t erase the hurt.

“You don’t mean that,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you shake your head, refusing to let his words sink in. It’s almost like you’re trying to shake them off, as if denying them will somehow lessen the pain. You close your eyes tightly, squeezing out the last of your tears because looking at him—seeing the raw, honest look in his eyes—will only make it hurt more. It’s too much. The truth you’ve waited so long to hear is finally being spoken, but it’s laced with the bitter sting of timing that’s all wrong.

Rafe’s grip on you tightens, his hands trembling slightly as he holds your face, desperate to make you believe him. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he searches your expression, as if he’s looking for a way back to you, a way to undo everything that’s happened. “No, I do mean that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. He pauses, the words hanging between you, heavy and filled with a regret so palpable it feels like a punch to your gut.

“I’ve known it since the day I met you,” he continues, his eyes boring into yours as if he’s trying to imprint this moment into his memory, to make you feel the weight of his confession. “But I made a mistake. Letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life, and I know that now. I’ve known it every single day since. And that—” his voice cracks, and he looks away for a brief moment, as if he can’t bear to see the pain on your face—“that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a fresh wave of agony crashing through you. You want to scream at him, to tell him that it’s too late, that he’s made his choice, and there’s no going back now. But the words get caught in your throat, choking you, leaving you gasping for breath. Because as much as you want to deny it, as much as you want to hate him, there’s still a part of you—deep down—that wants to believe him. That wants to believe you’ve always been the one, that he’s just as haunted by the loss as you are.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s made his choice. He’s with someone else now, someone who gets to have the version of him you once dreamed of, someone who’s standing by his side while you’re left picking up the pieces of what could have been. And that reality cuts through you like a knife, leaving you reeling.

“I wish that mattered,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible, each word a struggle as you force yourself to look him in the eyes. The storm of emotions churning within you feels like it might tear you apart from the inside, but you need him to hear this, to understand the depth of the pain he’s caused. “But it doesn’t change anything, Rafe. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re engaged to someone else, and I’m just… supposed to accept that.” Your voice breaks on the last word, the sound coming out fractured and hollow.

Rafe’s expression drops, and for the first time, you see something close to genuine despair flicker across his face. His blue eyes, which once held a spark of recklessness and life, now look empty, consumed by a dark realization. It’s as if he’s seeing the full weight of his choices for the first time, the horrifying dread of what he’s done sinking in like a stone dropped into still water. You can see the exact moment it hits him—the gravity of the mistake he’s made.

When he proposed to Sofia, he thought he was finally getting his life together. After years of chaos and self-destruction, he believed he was taking a step towards stability, towards becoming the man he always felt he needed to be. He convinced himself that this was the right path, that Sofia was the safe choice—the one who could ground him, the one who would stand by him through thick and thin. But now, standing in front of you, seeing the devastation in your eyes and hearing the brokenness in your voice, he realizes the truth he’s been running from all along.

He’s made a grave mistake—one he can’t undo.

The realization tears through him like a knife, and his knees nearly buckle under the weight of it. He looks at you with a mix of horror and regret, his face pale, his eyes glassy as if he’s about to crumble right then and there. He reaches out a hand, hesitating, his fingers trembling as if he’s afraid to touch you, afraid that this might be the last time he ever gets the chance.

“Y/N…” he breathes out your name, his voice breaking on the syllable. He looks utterly lost, like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss. “I—” His words falter, and he closes his eyes, a shaky exhale escaping his lips. When he opens them again, they’re filled with a sorrow so deep it takes your breath away. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was finally getting my life together. But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.”

You shake your head, feeling your heart shatter into a million pieces. His confession feels like a dagger twisting in your chest, confirming what you’d feared all along—that he never truly let you go, that you weren’t just imagining the way he used to look at you, the connection that lingered despite the time and distance.

“But you chose her,” you whisper, your voice laced with a bitter sadness. “You chose her over me, Rafe. And now you’re standing here, telling me this as if it changes anything. But it doesn’t. It’s too late.”

The words hang between you like a death sentence, and you can see it in his eyes—the crushing realization that he’s lost you for good, that this is the consequence of his choices. The haunting realization that he’ll have to live with this regret, this aching emptiness, for the rest of his life.

[frudoo]

I’ve only had your baker! simon for one day and I already know that I would cause mass destruction if something happened to him 😁 no but seriously such a cute and fun read I loved it thank you so much for sharing!

He is my BABY and I am obsessed <3

Part 2 of this!

Warnings: Simon is healing 🤍 Fem!Reader.

Simon’s heart skips a beat. It’s a scam, it’s got to be. No way such a pretty woman would dare talk to him, business move or not. Although, the more he looks through your profile and sees the amount of posts you’re tagged in, it’s easy to conclude that you are, in fact, real. Regardless, he’s still wary as he finally begins typing out a response.

— No charge? Sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?

Maybe a little harsh, but hey—can never be too careful nowadays. If there’s one thing the military instilled in him, it’s to trust nobody. Simon flops down onto his couch, fingers anxiously tapping along his knee as he watches you type, the ellipses disappearing and reappearing again. He wonders if you’re just as nervous as he is, but if that were the case, surely you wouldn’t have contacted him first.

— No catch, I promise! No offense, it’s just that your pictures are a little grainy and I don’t believe they act as a great showcase for your talent. Really, I just want to show you how pretty your treats can look on camera!

Simon sucks his teeth stubbornly. He knows his pictures aren’t the best, but fucking hell, must everybody point it out? He’s about to type a scathing response and block you, but another message pops up beneath your previous one.

— Please, just a chance. We’re in the same area, so I can just come to you, wherever you want me.

A heavy sigh escapes the big man. His therapist has been telling him he’s too uptight, suggesting that he should balance out his peace by stepping out of his comfort zone once in a while. Besides, when’s the last time a sweet girl has given him the light of day? He’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. Simon pinches the crooked bridge of his nose, trying to talk some sense into himself. It’s not like it’s a date, simply just two businesses helping each other out. If it doesn’t work, he never has to see you again.

Yeah, that sounds good. If everything goes up in flames, he can simply block you and move on with his life, continuing to post shitty pictures of his desserts. His thumbs twitch before tapping the screen once again.

— You’ve beat it out of me. When are you available?

Your response comes faster than he can blink.

— Saturday?

Two days. That gives him plenty of time to prepare (and maybe get Price to order an extensive background check on you). Simon can do that, no problem.

— I can be ready for you by about half 11.

Ready for you? Fucks’ sake, what is this? She’s not a bloody prostitute.

— That sounds good! Just send me your address day of. I’m looking forward to it!! :)

Simon smiles. Simon smiles, and he doesn’t even realize it. If he did, he would fix it immediately—but he doesn’t. Instead there’s a pep in his step when he stands from the couch, grabbing his journal and scribbling down his thoughts and ideas for what he’ll make on Saturday. His therapist will be proud.

Simon allows himself to be proud as well.

[lexcys]

★observing rafe cameron x reader

summary: you were trying everything to hide the fact that you couldn’t stop staring at rafe, unbeknownst to you - he was secretly hoping you were

a/n: this is a surfer!rafe x shy!reader btw!! also this is like pretty much my first ever fanfic so I have no idea what the fuck I am doing so sorry if this is literal ass 😭 no mention of a fem!reader besides the fact that the womans bathroom gets entered

you felt the heat of the sun on your skin as you stepped out of the twinkie. the soft crash of the distant waves barely audible over the hum of the pogues voices

stepping onto the beach, a surge of excitement hits you. the day you and the pogues have been counting down to all week has finally arrived

you take one final glance into your bag, double-checking for anything you might have forgotten—sunscreen, snacks, a book, and a few other trinkets, satisfied you make your way over to your usual spot ready to take off your tshirt and shorts which hid your swim wear underneath, until you spotted someone out of the corner of your eye

rafe cameron

somehow the kooks had managed to pick the exact same date, place and time to visit the beach as you and your friends

while the others were hastly running towards the water stripping on the way down, paying no attention to the kooks, kie stayed back waiting for you

she was already in her bikini while your clothes weren’t even close to leaving your body and landing on the ground

''you coming?'' she asked, hand on her forehead shielding her from the burning sun

''umm'', taking a quick glance around you searched the beach in a, hopefully, unsuspicious way trying to locate rafe again

glancing down you turned your gaze elsewhere, you hoped the sudden heat entering your body was from the sun and not from the sight of rafe taking his shirt off

''I’ll join you guys later, I’m a little dizzy right now'', you spoke swiftly looking up at her, hoping to not get caught in the little white lie

all though kie nodded, the flicker of confusion in her eyes and a quick look behind you told you all you needed to know

you had never verbally stated your attraction to the him but you were pretty sure almost anybody could’ve guessed with the way you tensed up or seemed quieter and clumsier whenever he was in close proximity

taking off your top and shorts you shot a look over to the pogues who were already splashing and practically drowning each other. you giggled while settling down onto your beach towel before applying sunscreen and laying down on your stomach with a book in hand

even though your book was very interesting, the sight in front of you was much more enticing

rafe was currently riding a pretty common wave, yet you found yourself unable to stop staring

you adjusted your book hoping to hide the fact that you were practically ogling at the cameron boy

he was far enough out that you couldn’t make out the details but you still caught the way his hair stuck to his face, the way his body twisted with the rythm of the wave and the way he… kept turning his head towards you?

it seemed like he was looking for you, looking to see if you were watching him

cheeks burning, you try to push your delusions aside trying to find the passage you were reading earlier

you take another peek at him and by the the time you do, he was already out of the water, walking towards his friends with the biggest fucking grin, beaming with pride and confidence, already seeming to rave about the wave he just rode

hearing jj’s laugh you swiftly adjust and pretend to be reading your book that was definitely more interesting than staring at rafe’s wet body and stupid grin

while jj kept whining about how john b, supposedly, almost drowned him they both settled down on your left, luckily on the side where the kooks were lounging

fortunately he also kept talking which meant you were able to peep right past his face and steal short glances towards rafe

it was almost impossible for you to keep your eyes off of him. it didn’t matter where you would see him, you were always stealing glances or simply staring at him from a distance. others could call this stalking but you liked to call it observing, you liked watching him, but not in a creepy way, more so you were admiring him, he was pretty

you liked his side profile, the way his bangs framed his face, the way his eyes looked in the sun, the way his shirts hung onto his fit body - you noticed the way he was very articulate with his hands, which were always adorned with the same two rings, the way the corner of his lips turned downwards whenever he tried not to smile

noticing him facing you, eyeing your group, the staring quickly stopped

at this point the distance between the two groups was too small for your liking because of course the kooks had to settle down as closely as possible to the pogues - it was somehow impossible for them to keep their distance

given the short distance, whenever you actually were brave enough to look again it seemed like he was meeting your gaze, trying to maintain eye contact

heart beating way too fast and cheeks burning, you turn away from jj trying to initiate a conversation with sarah, who was sitting on your right

after a while of, luckily, managing to keep your head from spinning towards him, to meet his gaze - aside from the occasional looks to jj or john b whenever they were contributing to the conversation - you were desperate to get up, to empty your bladder

you dreaded getting up, fully aware that the beach bar was situated just behind the kooks, it meant walking past rafe and the mere thought of that unnerved you - every step would make you acutely aware of your surroundings, mind racing, until the very thought of moving felt like it might turn your legs into jelly

examining the scene quickly you notice half of the kooks gone, including rafe, they must’ve left when you weren’t looking - you feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders while also immediately feeling a certain misery overtaking you

this unrequited crush was spiraling out of control

strutting over to the bar you take notice of ruby with another girl sitting at one of the tables and kacey talking to the bartender seeming to be cracking jokes instead of ordering

walking past them you try to keep your gaze relatively low to avoid any sort of interaction. turning into the small hallway of the bar you exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding

the calmness doesn’t last long because as you round the corner to reach the toilets you spot him, standing in front of the mens bathroom, phone in hand and looking quite bored

before you get the chance to look away he lifts his head and notices you, he smiles - you smile back, a very awkward smile

relatively quickly you turn your head away and enter the women’s bathroom. your head becoming a blur, suddenly already washing your hands ready to leave the bathroom

he must’ve left already, right?

''topper are you fucking coming, man?!'', you catch rafe through the door

your plan of immediately leaving and paying him no mind, began to falter two seconds after stepping out of the bathroom

''hey, y/n'', you hear from behind you, shit

you freeze up for a second, caught off guard, before composing yourself and turning around

immediately drawn to him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hair had dried in quite a messy way, his slightly squinted eyes and the slight smirk splayed across his face

''how are you?'' he questions before you had the chance to greet him back

''I’m doing fine'', you manage to exclaim, nearly tripping over your words before adding the usual ''and you?''

you dig in your mind trying to recall the last time you’d exchanged words beyond the usual "hi" or "hey''

''ditto'',

apparently not completely satisified with your answer, he regards you for a moment, the stare causing a warmth to creep up your neck as you shifted uneasily

''why did your friends leave you all alone over there?'', rafe inquired with a raised brow - a hint of curiosity in his tone, ''they seemed to be enjoying themeselves''

letting out a soft exhale you answer him, attempting to maintain eye contact but faltering almost immediately, ''I wasn’t feeling so good'' was all you manage to muster before adding the word, ''dizzy'' in a rather whispered voice, as you lied through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t see through it

if he did, he didn’t let on ''are you feeling better now?’'

you nod quickly, meeting his gaze

looking up at him with those almost innocent eyes, he can’t help but offer, ''are you sure? I can get you a glass of water'', an unrecognisable sweetness laced his voice, softening his usual edge

taken aback by his unexpected offer you hesitate before denying his offer by simply shaking your head

he let out a quiet snort, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched you struggle to give a simple answer

''what book were you reading?'', he asked, his smirk widening as he leaned further back into the wall, clearly amused at the way the conversation was turning into a playful interrogation, as if he found some strange satisfaction in making you squirm just a little bit

you froze, your mind going blank, searching for the title before realising you genuinely couldn’t remember, maybe because you weren’t actually reading the book

like a savior, topper emerged from the bathroom, a flicker of confusion passing across his face as he scanned the scene before moving past you both, muttering a quiet "let’s go," clearly directed at rafe

for a split second, it looked like frustration crossed rafe’s face, fleeting before you could overthink it, flashing you a smile he pushed himself off the wall and made his way past you

but before he completely disappeared out of view, he turned back with a smirk and called over his shoulder,

''hope you enjoyed the show earlier''

oh

[afterglowsainz]

body paint | alex albon

pairing: norris!reader x alex albon

summary: after alex breaks up with his girlfriend, you’re right there to help him forget about her

fc: kensington tillo

warnings: one suggestive comment, some self-deprecation? (very light stuff), harsh lando (in all brotherly fashion)

a/n: i feel like i’ve read all the alex fics on this app i need more of him :(

—

liked by f1wags and others

f1gossip williams driver alex albon has officially broken up with his girlfriend of five years

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username say sike right now

username NOOOOOO

username why on earth am i mourning a relationship that isn’t mine

username so love is officially dead okay cool to know

username f1gossip you can’t just drop this bomb on me and LEAVE

username i refuse to accept this information

username they were the standard 😭

username the day i died actually

liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc and others

ynnorris we had fun 🪩💋🍸

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username my daily inspo just posted!

username so pretty 🎀

username the cool sibling fr

ynnorris landonorris ‼️

landonorris mean

kendalljenner always have fun when you’re around 😚 (liked by ynnorris)

username i’m so glad y/n decided to attend the grand prix’s out of nowhere

username honestlyyyy why were we robbed of her existence for this long

liked by francolapinto, ynnorris and others

alex_albon had fun at the night race and getting good points for the team🌛

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username MY GOAT

username this man is so beautiful my god

francolapinto 👊🏽

username how is he still carrying that tractor into the points is beyond me

username incredible

ynnorris congrats alex!

alex_albon thank you☺️

username okay 👀 i don’t hate that

ynnorris’s instagram stories

[caption 1: 💋] [caption 2: for some reason i always end up here]

alex_albon’s instagram stories

[caption 1: recharging 🔋] [caption 2: 🌊]

liked by francisca.cgomes, pietra.pilao and others

ynnorris la isla bonita

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username first alex’s story now THIS?

username talk about soft/hard launching

username nah i recognize my boy alex in that pic

username the real question is how did he bag THE y/n norris?

username that’s crazyyyy

username okay but can we talk about how absolutely gorgeous she is? 😍

alexandrasaintmleux truly mesmerized

ynnorris me when i look at you

username absolute baddie

liked by f1wags and others

f1gossip a fan met alex albon and lando norris’s sister, y/n norris, today at the airport while they were traveling together

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username all the confirmation i needed

username damn it really only took him six months to find someone else

username lando’s sister, nonetheless

username he said i’m fucking FREE

username no you don’t understand this is my superbowl

username how the hell did those two got together 😭

username most out of pocket couple but they work somehow?

username this is the day i was reborn

ynnorris’s instagram stories

[caption 1: chill weekend🧖🏼‍♀️🧼] [caption 2: 💌]

like by ynnorris, oscarpiastri and others

alex_albon good few days 😎

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username OMGOMGOMGOMG

username unhinged

carmenmmundt can alex fight?

alex_albon 🤺🤺🤺

ynnorris no need carmen i chose you!

georgerussell63 😡

username the way y/n had only attended like three grand prix’s before alex bagged her 😭

username he really didn’t waste any time

username all he had was a broken heart and faith in the universe

username my roman empire

pietra.pilao cuties 🥰

landonorris don’t encourage this 😡

pietra.pilao leave them alone 🙄

username my girlfriend (and alex’s)

ynnorris so much for taking things slow

alex_albon 😊

[lavnderwonu]

So High School | Kim Mingyu

pairing: fiancé!mingyu x pregnant!fem!reader

rating: fluff, mature

genre: non-idol au, slice of life, established relationship

summary: you and your fiancé haven't discussed the idea of you having children, but with your wedding approaching, the idea of starting a family with him has been on your mind.

warnings: please read ALL! contains smut! not much but a little! (!!!) some time skips, reader gets pregnant, planned pregnancy, reader's mom loves mingyu, reader deals with morning sickness (for my fellow emetophobics this may be triggering!), minwon coworkers mentioned, smut warnings: creampie, unprotected sex, multiple rounds mentioned, backshots, fingering.

word count: 3k

AHEM! go listen to so high school by taylor swift (perhaps while you read!)

author's note!: i listened to taylor waaaay too much while i was writing this, as you can probably tell by the title 🫣 what can i say! guilty. my first time writing slice of life au! i had fun lowkey. AGHHH i just love writing cute mingyu esp when it involves future dad mingyu. the song lyrics are meant to be spacers for the time-skips btw! shoutout to @jenoslutie for also supporting my vision with this 💋 muah xo

click here to join my taglist!

I feel so high school every time I look at you, I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you...

Mingyu was your dream man in many ways than one. The perfect boy to bring home to your parents, cooked delicious meals for you, and overall made you feel safe. 

You two had been engaged for months now, and wedding planning was well underway, the date set for early into the new year. As if it wasn’t stressful enough, your mom had already started questioning whether the two of you had wanted children, or planned to in the future. The answer was always the same,

“Mom, I don’t know… we haven’t talked about it into a lot of detail… maybe later on…” or “C’mon, we’re still young, Mom!” 

Mingyu didn’t know any of this, and you’d probably never tell him, not wanting him to feel pressured by your badgering mother. You both knew you wanted children eventually, but you never talked that far into the future.

But… you also thought… maybe you would want to have children, if it was with Mingyu. 

Mingyu would be the father to play dress up and makeovers with your daughter, have tea parties with her, or play with faux tools with your son and pretend to fix things, and play with plastic dinosaurs.

You couldn't picture anybody that would be more perfect to do it with than him.

Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? It's just a game, but really I'm bettin' on all three for us two...

Mingyu stands at the kitchen counter, cooking dinner like he usually does, and he usually insists since he gets home a little earlier from work than you do most days. 

You come from the kitchen after changing out of your work clothes to see him chopping garlic as a pot is boiling on the stove. 

“What are you making?”

“Agio e olio,” Mingyu responds, looking up to smile at you briefly. “I know it’s your favorite, and you said you were craving it.”

You smile, coming over to kiss him on the cheek quickly. “Thank you, you make it so good anyway.” You chuckle as he playfully rolls his eyes. 

He tosses the garlic in a pan on the stove, stirring it a little, then adds the pasta to the boiling water.

You decide now is the time to break your silence, and tell him what’s been on your mind lately.

“Gyu,” You speak up. “… I think we should talk about something.” 

“What?” Mingyu’s gaze turns to meet yours, a concerned look on his face, and you immediately want to kiss him and make it go away.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking…” You pause, racking your brain on how to word what you’re about to tell him, also given that you didn’t want to scare him. “What do you think about us… having a baby?” 

You look up at his undeniable surprised expression; after all you did come out of nowhere with that statement.

“I mean, I know we haven’t really discussed it much, and we’re getting married in a few months… but I have been thinking about it a lot, and I want to, we’re at that age-“ You break out into a nervous ramble before he cuts you off.

“I’ve thought about it too. I thought it should be something that we should…you know… talk about.” Mingyu says.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you, or I guess, on us.” You continue. “I know we’re not married officially yet, and our wedding isn’t until a few more months, but I don’t know, I think I want to.” 

Mingyu turns to you, smiling ear to ear in the adorable happy puppy way he typically does when he’s over the top excited about something. “I know, me too.”

“Does this mean… we’re trying?” You can’t even hide your smile, your cheeks hurt as you attempt to be the least bit nonchalant.

“Yeah… fuck… c’mere.” Mingyu pulls you closer to him, kissing you fervently.

You pull back, releasing his grip from your waist.

“Hey, after dinner,” You smirk, giggling at his eagerness. “You’re gonna burn your garlic.”

“Mingyu… I can’t, fuck-“ You whine, your face nearly buried into the pillow underneath you.

“Yeah you can baby…” Mingyu grunts, his hand slides up your back to push you down even more. “Taking it all like a good girl…”

You nearly collapse as you can barely hold yourself up anymore, and you’re being pushed forward almost to the headboard from the force of him behind you.

“I’m gonna come, ‘gyu.” You cry, your hand trailing down to rub tight circles on your clit, making your thighs tremble as you push yourself closer to the edge. 

“Go on baby…” Mingyu groans, feeling you get tighter around him. “Cum all over my cock like a good girl.”

You cry his name again as he pushes you over the edge, white-knuckling the sheets as he keeps thrusting inside you, almost even harder.

“Fuck…”  He groans as he slows down, stilling before he comes inside you.

He pulls out, watching himself drip out of you briefly as he curses under his breath, before he pushes it back inside you with two fingers, making you whine.

“Sorry, baby…” Mingyu sweetly apologizes.

You flip over on your back, pulling him down to kiss him.

“I wanna go again…” You say against his lips, pushing his sweaty long hair back.

“Really?” He asks sweetly, leaning down to kiss your neck a few times. “Wasn’t too much?”

“Never…”

Truth, dare, spin bottles, You know how to ball, I know Aristotle Brand new, full-throttle, Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto...

The next few weeks were just the usual. Going into work during the day, shopping for the wedding with your sister, … Mingyu practically never leaving you alone, but that you wouldn’t complain about.

“What kind of flowers are you guys doing?” Your sister asks you. The two of you made plans to get coffee, and you guys typically talked about whatever. She always voiced her opinion on your life whether it was boyfriends, career moves, and now: your wedding.

“White lilies; one of my favorites. Mingyu said I could just pick what I wanted, he’s happy with whatever I choose.” You say.

“That’s sweet,” She smiles, stirring her matcha latte. “Even though, he probably doesn’t care.” She chuckles.

“You’re probably right, I think he has other things on his mind other than flowers.” You laugh, only you know what you mean by that. 

You never told her the both of you had been trying to have a baby.

“I’ve always liked him, though, you know that.” She smiles. “If there’s anybody you marry and spend forever with, i'm glad it’s him. He’s just right for you.”

You smile, glancing down as your gaze flickers on your sparkling engagement ring under the coffee shop lights.

You’re definitely glad it’s him.

“Do you mind if we go into the grocery store down the street? I need to just run in and get a few things.” She asks you.

You nod. “Yeah, that’s fine. I could probably use a few things too.” 

“How do you know if a watermelon is a really good one?” She asks you, as the fruit by the entrance catches her eye.

“You’re asking me?” You laugh. “I have no idea, I have heard though if they’re a dark green, it’s too watery.”

“You were always good at picking them, I know Mom used to always say that.” She replies. “Maybe I won’t get one, are they even in season?”

“Probably not, it’s November. Anyway, what did you need here?” You say, grabbing a hand basket for yourself.

“Just usual stuff, yogurt… eggs, oat milk, some strawberries… whatever else I find that I think i need.” She says, placing strawberries and avocados in her cart. Already straying from the list. 

You follow her, bagging up some apples, cucumbers, and brussel sprouts into your basket. 

You’re both wandering down the ice cream aisle, as you’re grabbing whatever pint of peanut butter ice cream you can find, when your sister speaks up.

“Oh! Let’s go to the hygiene section, I need to get some tampons. That time of the month soon.”

You pause, ice cream in hand, suddenly racking your brain trying to remember when the last time your period was. A few weeks ago? Last month? Were you supposed to get it? Were you late?

“Y/n…? What’s wrong? Everything okay?” She asks, seemingly able to read your inner monologue going on in your head. 

“Y-yeah…” You reply, placing the ice cream in your basket, all while your heart is still racing. Was it joy? Nervousness? “It’s just… I can’t remember the last time I had my period…”

I'm watching American Pie with you on a Saturday night Your friends are around, so be quiet, I'm trying to stifle my sighs 'Cause I feel so high school, Every time I look at you...

“I feel bad doing this without him,” You say, staring down at the two blinking pregnancy tests on the counter. “Mingyu should be here…”

“He’ll be home from work soon won’t he? You’ll tell him then. C’mon, he’ll understand, practically sister code for me to be the first one to know.” She replies, checking the time on her phone. 

It’s true, you both always did tell each other everything before you told anybody else. 

“It’s almost time.”

“I can’t look.” You anxiously turn away. “It’s killing me.”

“How did this happen?” She asks. “I mean… not to be nosey….”

“Well we talked about it, and we’ve been kinda… sorta, trying to get pregnant.” 

“What?! How come you didn’t tell me you were?” She exclaims, playfully shoving you.

“We decided to about a little over a month ago. We talked about it, we decided it was something we both wanted,” You start, just as her phone timer goes off, you quickly turn around from the counter. “Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t look.”

“I’ll do it first,” She says, shoving her way in front of you. “Oh my god… y/n…” You can hear the excitement and smile in her voice.

You turn around, facing the two tests.

You see it, “pregnant”, displayed clearly on both.

“Oh my god, I don’t,” You almost stutter, lost for words. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

“Good news?” She asks.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You smile, suddenly becoming teary, feeling a bunch of emotions at once. Excitement. Nervousness.  “I just- fuck… I wish Mingyu was here. I didn’t want to find out like this.”

“Relax, you’ll tell him later,” She laughs. “Especially ‘cause I know you won’t be able to keep this from him long.”

“No, you’re absolutely right. There’s no way I’m holding it in.”

And in a blink of a crinkling eye I'm sinking, our fingers entwined Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me...

You spend the evening trying to decide elaborate ways that you’ll tell him. 

Putting a test in a gift bag as a present? Corny.

Hiding it somewhere and letting him find it? Too lame.

You decided to literally just come right out and tell him, especially because you didn’t want to figure out some cliche way of getting it out.

Mingyu comes home from work, greeting you as he walks in the door, adorably kissing your forehead as he wraps his arms around you, perfectly engulfing you.

“How was your day, honey?” He sweetly asks you, genuinely curious as he’s awaiting your answer. 

“It was good actually, I had coffee with my sister, then we went to the grocery store, doesn’t sound like much but we had fun.” You lean up and kiss his lips, smiling.

“But it’s better now that you’re here.” 

Mingyu smiles, kissing you again.

“I’m going to get changed really quick, okay?” Mingyu says.

You jokingly pout. “Aw, but you look so nice in your slacks and button up shirt… at least let me savor it.” You reach up, undoing a few buttons on his shirt.

“Enjoying this?” Mingyu chuckles.

“Yes, very.” You smile.

“Well I was gonna ask you, if you wanted to, Wonwoo and Seungcheol asked if we wanted to go out and get dinner with them, and hang out maybe get some drinks.” He continues, before he starts walking off to your shared bedroom to change, as you follow him. “Wonwoo asked me before I left the office.” 

“I don’t know… maybe?” You reply, hesitating a bit.

Meanwhile your mind works a mile a minute trying to think of how to break this news of yours to him.

“It wouldn���t be until a little later, if that’s better. No rush.” Mingyu says, nonchalantly unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off. What a distraction. 

He slips on a white t-shirt , and gray sweatpants; his usual after work attire. Suddenly you wonder if whatever you have to tell him is really that important anyway, and you immediately consider just saying “forget it” and fucking him right here in the early hours of the evening. What’d be the big deal? You were already pregnant, anyways.

No! You quickly shake that thought from your mind, refocusing.

“Gyu,” You start, getting his full attention. “There’s something… I have to tell you something.”

“What?” 

“I’m not even really sure how to tell you, um hang on,” You continue, leaving the room quickly to retrieve one of the pregnancy tests you’d left in the bathroom. 

You come back, very obviously holding something behind your back.

“I guess I should say I kind of have a surprise to tell you.”

“What? What?” Mingyu asks, eager already by the way you’re already smirking, unable to contain yourself.

“It’s, um, this…” You start, pulling the test from behind your back. “I didn’t know how to tell you, I was gonna plan something but I couldn’t wait.” You laugh, smiling ear to ear.

Mingyu takes it from you, seemingly uncaring, or forgetting, that you literally peed on the thing. His mouth drops opened, in awe.

“Oh my god…” He speaks, beaming. “When did you find out?” 

“Today, actually.” You say. “I wound up taking a test, and… yeah.” 

You sigh. “I feel so weird about it, I know I was expecting it but I feel so excited and nervous at the same time.”

You glance up at Mingyu, and you see him still examining the test in his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu nods, his eyes meeting yours and you see he’s now smiling. “I’m just… happy, surprised..”

“I mean, cmon, what were we really expecting…” You joke, blushing.

“You know what I mean, it’s still crazy to me.” Mingyu comes closer to you, kissing you. 

“Yeah, it sure is…” You smile up at him. 

“It’s okay, honey,” Mingyu reassures you, speaking softly. “Just get it out…”

Mingyu kneels behind you on the cold tile floor, holding your hair back as you’re hanging your head over the toilet as your stomach empties its contents.

“There you go…” 

You wonder how he can even stand to be in the bathroom with you, if the roles were reversed, you’d be outside the door nearly gagging.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks, helping you sit up, as he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. 

You slowly nod as you flush, still feeling a touch of nausea. “Yeah, can you just- just stay here for a little bit.” 

Mingyu sits on the tile floor as he leans against the bathtub, and he guides you back to sit in front of him.

You lean back into him, and he leans down and kisses your shoulder. You catch a glance at his watch on his wrist even in the dim light of the very early morning.

“Oh my god, Gyu, is it really 5am?” You groggily ask, feeling sorry. “You have to work in the morning, don’t you?”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.” Mingyu reassures you. “I can always go in a little later, I wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

“…I think I’m good now,” You say, starting to stand up slowly, as Mingyu helps you all the way. “…You know, I have heard that the more nauseas you are, it probably means you’re having a girl. And if you have none at all, it’s probably a boy.”

Mingyu chuckles, “Where do you come up with this? Is that even a thing?” 

“The internet… you know, social media. Everything’s on there.” You protest.

“You’re delirious,” Mingyu playfully rolls his eyes. “Cmon, let’s go back to bed.”

“Gyu, we have to leave in like an hour,” You say, as you’re getting ready in the bathroom, finishing up your final touches on your hair. “I don’t want to be late for dinner at my parents house.”

Mingyu stands in the doorway now, “This okay?” He shows off a navy blue polo shirt and black jeans. 

“Yeah, honey, you look nice.” You smile. “Besides, you could wear anything around her, she adores you anyways.” 

It was true. Your mother would always be calling Mingyu to help around the house when your Father was away on a business trip. She needed help fixing something? She’d call Mingyu. She needs help building a side table? You bet she’s calling Mingyu. His height was also a bonus, being able to reach things stored higher up.

Mingyu smiles at you adoringly, as his eyes trail down your body.

“What?” You ask when you notice him.

“You’re starting to show a little,” He smiles. “You look cute.”

You giggle, placing your hands on your stomach. “Yeah I know, she wants to be seen now, she’s done hiding.” 

“Well, are my girls ready to go?” Mingyu smiles, kissing you. 

“Yeah,” You giggle, smiling as you kiss him again. “Let’s go.” 

It's true, swear, scouts honor You knew what you wanted and boy, you got her.

tags: @jenoslutie @wonuwrites @aaniag @cosmojinyoung

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[endursent]

- My Partner Turned Into A Cat And I Don't Know How To Fix It

【 content; established relationship , fluff , humour , angst if you squint(?) , gn!reader 】

【 characters; aventurine , blade , dr. ratio , jiaoqiu , jing yuan , moze , sunday 】

【 premise; " Your partner has been struck with a curse of some sort which has turned him into a cat, you have no idea how to fix it nor how long it might take. Yet you also cannot help but be rather amused by the situation despite the uncertainty…" 】

【 note; might make more parts, who knows. also two one-shots/fics between gss chapters? in this writing economy? 】

【 word count; 3.303 | read on ao3 】

Aventurine;

You thought he’d be more agitated than this—usually Aventurine doesn’t stay still for long periods of time, always out and about, as if resting for too long or standing still raises the hairs on his neck as something rapidly approaches from behind him, unseen to anyone else.

  And yet now… he sleeps curled on the sofa in his apartment, you continue to scratch your head over the situation and how to fix it—you tried to ask Dr. Ratio, who you’ve only met once by chance with Aventurine, but he seemed knowledgeable, and you’ve seen some of his theses cited in arguments online…

  But all he replied with to your very concerned and urgent text message from Aventurine’s phone was; “lol”

  So you’re officially on your own, it’s bad enough that Ratio has rejected your plea for help and now knows about this, if it gets out to Aventurine’s coworkers…

  You sigh and plop yourself down on the sofa next to his curled form, yellow-orange fur swaying at your movements as he doesn’t even look up. For a moment, you’re a bit concerned… hopefully he’s still breathing.

  Reaching a hand out, one finger pointed straighter than others, Aventurine suddenly looks up—and closes his jaw around your finger. It’s a gentle hold, not exactly a bite despite the way it looks and the prick of his teeth. You blink at him, he slow blinks at you. “You’re so sleepy,” you note. Aventurine just licks your finger, letting go of it—though it was barely a hold.

  After having gotten what seemed to be a long-awaited proper rest over the span of two days, Aventurine seems to spring to life, not in the way he’s zooming all over the oversized apartment or knocking things over, he just seems very excited to see you when you come home from work—your partner might have turned into a cat for real, but your superior will NOT believe you—he sits on your thighs whether you’re on the couch, by the dinner table, kneeling to fix something under a shelf, anything. 

  He’s usually quite independent, so this somewhat clingy behaviour is surprising, but you don’t entirely mind, his fur is very soft.

  Aventurine didn’t even make a single sound when you bathed him after accidentally spilling some bolognese sauce on his back—he was wandering around your feet and nearly tripped you when you turned around. 

  Perhaps this temporary (hopefully) form has made him more confident in seeking the closeness to you he craves, the need for connection that he’s too reluctant to engage in most times despite being together for so long. 

Blade;

You squint your eyes open in the darkness of the night, why is it so hard to breathe suddenly? It woke you up, as if there was something hot and heavy on your chest.

  And there is, when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see large flame-coloured eyes staring at you. Blade’s pitch black fur blends into the darkness of the night, but his eyes do not—if you didn’t know better you’d think there were two eyes floating in front of your face, but the body attached to them is very much standing on your chest.

  “... what?” you mumble sleepily, why is he staring at you like that? He doesn’t do this normally… you think. Maybe… does he?

  No response—you’re not sure what to expect, it’s not like he can talk in this form. 

  He does this every night, to a point you’ve started laying on your side so he at least has to stand on the bed. One night, you even reach out and grab him, pulling him into your arms so he’s unable to stand and stare like that. You come out with scratched arms, but it was worth the somewhat peaceful sleep when he finally settles. 

  It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, he’s always been in the corner of your eyes, sometimes waiting for you to finish what you’re doing, sometimes just standing there—not necessarily even looking at you or engaging with you in any way. He just likes to stand in the same room. 

  Except now he’s perched on shelves, under sofas or chairs, looming behind a corner so you almost step on him.

  Over time, he becomes a bit restless, but other than hiding away in warm, dark spots… but as you settle into bed, he’s always ready and hops onto your stomach as soon as your back hits the mattress. 

  The other Stellaron Hunters’ reactions range from curious concern to finding it hilarious. Firefly mentioned they have two cat members now, Blade wasn’t very happy about it… the day after she offhandedly mentioned that she could barely sleep and felt like someone was watching her the entire time. You decided not to mention his habit. 

  Blade doesn’t quite follow you at your heel the entire time… but he does always seem to be in the same general area, as he always has. It’s a bit of a relief, you thought you might get lonely without his constant presence. 

  He sometimes doesn’t run off when you pet him. Sometimes. 

Dr. Ratio;

Ratio is appalled by this development, he hates it. He doesn’t have opposable thumbs, he can’t communicate properly, and you won’t stop pinching his ears. You’re lucky he doesn’t bite you. 

  He, in his infinite wisdom, developed a way for him to communicate with you. He may be a cat now, but his work doesn’t have space to halt for even a day! And so it’s up to you to continue it under his guidance, because he will not be seen like this by his assistants. 

  His way is quite funny, for complex explanations or lengthy dialogue, he will slap his paws on a holo-keyboard to type it out, but otherwise he presses buttons laid out on one of his workbenches for general commands. “Write”, “Open drawer”, “Fetch tool” (he then vaguely gestures which one), and even “Eat” and “Nap”.

  You asked him if he wanted to add a voice-over to the buttons so you wouldn’t just have to listen to a buzzer made to catch your attention, but he just stared at you blankly.

  You pinch and rub his ears, despite protests.

  To ensure subtlety, he demands you carry him in your bag in and out of the lab and past the reception… and you can’t in good faith deny that it’s adorable to see his head poke out of your bag and squint around to make sure the coast is clear once you’re outside. 

  Ratio had never imagined to hear as absurd of a suggestion as when you asked him if you should ask any of his Intelligentsia Guild colleagues about this, surely they can put their brains together and come up with a solution? 

  Absolutely not, he says, by knocking an empty coffee paper cup over. 

  You caught him staring longingly at his own bathtub and asked if he wanted to take a dip, you can wash him. The idea sounded good… until he stuck his purple paw into the soapy water and felt the spine-shattering feeling of his fur sticking together and immediately wriggled so aggressively out of your grip—startling you of course—that you both went tumbling into the water.

  He sat on his bed, towel under his body and over his back with a traumatised expression on his face for about forty eight minutes straight. Not even an offering of some nice cheese from the fridge brought him out of it. 

Jiaoqiu;

Different from the rest of the cast, Jiaoqiu has found himself in the form of an extremely furry fox, matched exactly to the colour of his hair. He’s so soft that you can’t help but run your fingers through it, messing up the direction of the coat and requiring Jiaoqiu to stand up and shake himself a few times to right it out. It comes to a point he will nip at your fingers if your hand comes too close.

  One afternoon, you’re wondering where he went off to—he has a chronic tendency to wander off, even in regular foxian form—you go into the pantry to see his tail swaying excitedly, half of his body disappearing into a woven bag of peanuts. Startled for a moment that he might not be able to digest that—you’ve never had to take care of an actual fox before—you hurry towards him and pull him out, holding Jiaoqiu up.

  He screams in such a disturbingly human way you almost drop him. Whether the scream was of surprise or protest is hard to tell.

  You stand in front of him, sat on the divan in your home and try to look stern… but the smile and closed eyes he makes even in this form is so eerily similar to how he normally would with his usual expression that it almost freaks you out. You shouldn’t be surprised, he’s basically just a furry version of himself… but it’s too close! 

  And he got away with it too, damn him. 

  Despite the pale pink fur, the tip of his tail and ears, his legs and paws are all dark, and you can’t help but hold them, stroke through the fur through the change of colour and Jiaoqiu—though normally not liking his tail or ears to be touched, in this form he seems to accept it… he can’t lie to you with turning his snout up, you see his tail sway when your hand comes close, despite how he would nip at them before—you’ve cracked the code, smooth the fur back down after ruffling it, and it’s acceptable.

  Don’t think for a second that you’re safe to indulge in any unhealthy habits or dumb decisions even though his “warning smile” is absent, he will bite your pants and pull so hard they might rip. You were about to be roped into some nonsense by Feixiao, seeing the perfect opportunity to borrow you for some “racing”, when Jiaoqiu comes running at breakneck speed, bites your pants, and effectively drags you away.

  Feixiao just watches with a grin. Good luck next time.

  He sulks a bit about not being able to do his job for such an extended period of time, he has a good sense of responsibility and doesn't like to sway from his sworn duties too much.

  Also, he can tell by the smell alone that the food you make for yourself in the absence of his skilled work is severely lacking in critical ingredients, and is also plated wrong. But that’s more of a subjective nitpick—maybe he’s just getting restless.

  He decides to hide one of your shoes and watch in amusement as you search high and low through the house the next morning. Sitting on the carpet with a foxy smile. 

Jing Yuan;

Jing Yuan is delighted. He plops himself down on you no matter what you’re doing, if there is no surface to curl up, he will lie down by your feet, or anywhere he can be touching you with at least a part of his body. 

  Raking your hand through his thick fur, you pull your hand back and it’s covered in white hairs, he sheds more than Mimi.

  You vehemently vetoed his decision to rename Mimi to Wave-Treading Snow Lion when it began growing and showing signs of not being a grimalkin like he suspected it was.

  Speaking of Mimi, you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight and see the two of them splayed out by the massive windows, artificial sunlight bathing them in warmth as Mimi lies on the floor belly up… and Jing Yuan lies on Mimi’s belly, his own facing up towards the sun. You don’t dare disturb them—mostly because you worry that Mimi will roll over and crush poor Jing Yuan under it. 

  So you set the documents on his desk slowly and sneak back out, the Cloud Knights always present in the room stand still and try not to do more than whisper between themselves.

  If you thought Jing Yuan was sleepy before, you were in for a surprise. As soon as his hands turned to paws, he was lounging around as lazily as he could get away with, which was infinite in this form—perhaps this was the taste of retirement he needed, and it might convince him to go through with it… you hope. For his sake. 

  Unfortunately, your partner is cursed with a perpetual disturbance of his naps, and a problem comes up in regards to an illegal trade of magically-charged artefacts—one of which having the potential to explode if handled wrong, which could hurt innocents during the exchange. He circles the Seat of Divine Foresight like he would normally in thought… except instead of his boots touching the ground in a rhythmic thump, it’s small paws padding on the floor.

  It’s cute—but then again, he’s always cute.

  Thankfully the problem is resolved due to the Cloud Knights having previously acquired knowledge of suspicious movements over the last weeks and are able to intercept the exchange.

  As a reward for his hard work, you make a big bowl of juicy fruits for him to dive into—though Mimi’s snout got in before him, and stole about half of it… you snooze you lose, dozing general. 

  Of course, he didn’t let you off that easy, cuddles were demanded with headbutts and loud meows of protest if you turned to do anything else, so you were stuck with two cats hogging your attention for the rest of the night, good thing you have two hands to scratch behind both of their ears at the same time.

Moze;

You thought for a moment he didn’t actually retain his senses, and had ran off somewhere, you dragged Feixiao with you to search the entirety of the Xianzhou Yaoqing… only to return home several hours later, exhausted and disappointed, to see Moze sitting on the kitchen counter with a fish in his mouth, tail swaying contently as he ate it off the bones.

  He would just randomly wander off and return at odd times, once you saw some blood on his paw and worried he had hurt himself, but no matter how you looked or poked and prodded, there was no wound. It must have been the capture of another fish or another… because, surely, Feixiao doesn’t have him doing work like this?

  You suppose it’s quite a good cover… no one would suspect a cat…?

  After locking him in your room for the workday to ensure he doesn’t go off somewhere, as you had asked an elder of the Alchemy Commission to come over and have a look at him, you came back with the old man to find the room empty.

  Given cat form, Moze has become the perfect escape artist—not that there’s much anyone can do to hold him down in his normal form. 

  Try as you might, it becomes somewhat of a game of you trying to keep him in one single place, and him disappearing like a leaf on the wind, only to show up later with a treat… usually for himself, but once he brought you a pouch of sesame balls. You hope he paid for it somehow, but you don’t hold your breath either.

  He sleeps exclusively by your feet, circles a few times and wriggles into a comfortable position against either leg that’s closer. You tried to get him to sleep closer to your torso or on your inviting arm, but he always stood up and returned to the spot by your legs after a few minutes. 

  One time, you were stroking his tail absentmindedly and accidentally pinched it only slightly—yet he still jumped into the air like you had just stepped on it with a loud yeowl, making you yourself jump as he suddenly sped off across the room and almost slammed himself into the door leading to the study.

  You decided not to play with his tail after that, he even left scratches on the floor with his hurried scuttling across the room. 

  You spotted Jiaoqiu trying to feed him some of the ‘concoction’ he was making, which Moze sniffed curiously at—but you’re fairly certain there are not many things in that broth that will settle well—or at all—in his kitty stomach, and thus you swoop in and feign extreme interest in Jiaoqiu’s dish. Of course, the foxian sees through you easily and smiles widely. “Ah, why don’t you try it then?”

  You got yourself into this position, and so, you resign yourself to burnt taste buds for the next few hours. It’s delicious as always, but your poor mouth… Moze rubs his furry head against your legs in comfort. 

Sunday;

He couldn’t believe it. Sunday stared at himself in the reflecting mirror of the Astral Express’ windows for about ten whole minutes after being brought back to it in the state he was in. His ears flatten to his head and he glares at anyone that tries to approach, he doesn’t want to interact with anyone like this!

  He flees to his room and stays under the bed for several hours before you manage to lure him out with some delicious smelling grilled fish. Sunday reluctantly pokes his head out to grab it—which is when you grab him. 

  He flails and meows, struggling and squirming as you pick him up and stand… only to coo at him and rub his cheeks with your thumbs, musing how cute he is.

  Cute?! This is a horror scenario! 

  Despite his displeased meowing and nibbling on your fingers when you try to pet him, Sunday eventually gives up when he learns that you just find his struggling adorable. Suddenly your staring when he gets annoyed with small things start to make sense. Like when he hit his head on the ridge of a table after bending under it to fetch a pen he dropped, and the brief surge of frustration and annoyance he felt—only for you to swoop in to rub his head and see if it hurt. 

  He sulks the entire time, he doesn’t like it one bit. 

  March asks him if she can put him in outfits like she does with Pom-Pom, and he strategically avoids her for several days. Not a chance. 

  Thankfully, despite you ‘tormenting’ him on the first day, Sunday does seek comfort in you… you’re warm, and somehow you know exactly where to scratch behind his ears and under his chin where he can’t quite reach well enough. 

  You almost pull him in and rub your face into his furry torso when Sunday kneads at your shirt when you lay down to sleep, but decide that watching him is much cuter. You get such cuteness aggression when he does the smallest things. He purrs when you massage his paws or draw your fingers all the way down his back—and get a fistful of hair while you’re at it—and eventually he starts to do it at the smallest gestures… Pom-Pom once brought up concerns to Himeko that they thought that the train might have a problem, some kind of motor malfunction.

  Turns out Sunday was napping in the warm engine room and purring so loudly that when Pom-Pom leaned close to his hiding spot, they thought it was the engine. 

  He doesn’t let anyone pet him properly except you, not because he doesn’t trust the rest of the Express members—trust is a strong word in any case—but because when he closes his eyes in comfort, he wants to open them again and see you stroking through his fur. Nothing personal, though March does take it a bit personally.

[felassan]

EuroGamer: 'BioWare knew the deepest secrets of Dragon Age lore 20 years ago, and locked it away in an uber-plot doc'

Original creator David Gaider on how "some of the big mysteries are being solved".

Rest of post under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

"As I write about the secrets hidden in Dragon Age's mysterious Fade, and as I uncover some of them playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard, one question keeps rising up in my mind. How much did BioWare know about future events when first developing the series more than 20 years ago? That's a long time, and back then BioWare didn't know there would be a second game, which is why Dragon Age: Origins has an elaborate and far-reaching epilogue. Why lay so much lore-track ahead of yourself if you don't think you'll ever get there? But look more closely at Origins and there are big clues suggesting BioWare did know about future Dragon Age events. There are obvious signs in the original game, such as establishing recurring themes like Old Gods and the Blight and Archdemons. But there's also Flemeth, Morrigan's witchy mother, who's intimately linked to events in the series now - more specifically: intimately linked to Solas. Does her existence mean Solas was known about back then too? There's only one person I can think of to answer this and it's David Gaider, the original creator of Dragon Age's world and lore. We've talked before, once in a podcast and once for a piece on the magic of fantasy maps, where we discussed the creation of Dragon Age's world. And much to my surprise, when I ask him what he and the BioWare team knew back then, he says they knew it all. "By the time we released Dragon Age: Origins, we were basically sure that it was one and done, but there was, back when we made the world, an overarching plan," he says. "The way I created the world was to seed plots in various parts of the world that could be part of a game, a single game, and then there was the overall uber-plot, which I didn't know for certain that we would ever get to but I had an understanding of how it all worked together. "A lot of that was in my head until we were starting Inquisition and the writers got a little bit impatient with my memory or lack thereof, so they pinned me down and dragged the uber-plot out of me. I'd talked about it, I'd hinted at it, but never really spelled out how it all connected, so they dragged it out of me, we put it into a master lore doc, the secret lore, which we had to hide from most of the team.""

"This uber-plot document was only viewable on a need-to-know basis, he says, and only around 20 people on the team had access to it - other senior writers mostly. And even though Gaider left the Dragon Age team after Inquisition, and then eight years ago BioWare altogether, meaning he didn't work on The Veilguard at all, he believes - by looking at the events in the new game - his uber-plot lore "has more or less held up". That's impressive. What's even more impressive, or exciting, is that back then he also envisaged a potential end state for the entire Dragon Age series - a point at which it would make no sense for the series to carry on. "I always had this dream of where it would all end, the very last plot," he says, "which I won't say because who knows, we could still end up there. But the idea that this uber-plot was this sort of biggest, finite... That the final thing you could do in this world that would break it was there as a 'maybe we would get to do that one day'... There was just the idea of certain big, world-shaking things that were seeded in that arc, some of which have already come to pass, like the return of Fen'Harel." You've read that correctly: the idea to have Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, reappear, was seeded all the way back then, way before Inquisition - the game in which he does actually reappear. But the concept for Solas, as a character who was Fen'Harel in disguise, was a newer idea. "That spawned from a conversation I had with Patrick [Weekes] and a number of other writers," Gaider says, "as an idea of 'what if you had a villain that spent an entire game where he's actually in the party and you get to know him?' Now, the god version and his larger role in the plot, yes that was known, but not that he would be presented as a character named Solas." Fen'Harel being known about means the other elven gods were known about, which means all of that stuff Solas reveals about his godly siblings - that they're not gods at all but evil elven mages he locked away behind the Veil - was known about back then too. "Oh yeah," Gaider says. "Everything that Solas tells you [at the end of Inquisition DLC, Trespasser]: it's all part of that original uber-lore - that was all in our mind." But why have so much lore if you're not certain you'll get to ever realise it? Well, to create a believable illusion. By creating an "excess" of lore, as Gaider describes it, Origins made Thedas feel like an old and believable place. A place with history, rather than a Western set that was all facade and no substance."

"BioWare also did something canny with the lore it did relay then, too: it shared it through the voices of characters living in the world, making it inherently fallible. In doing this, Dragon Age veiled its truths behind biases. The church-like organisation of the Chantry proclaims one truth, while the elves and dwarves proclaim another. Sidenote: you can experience this yourself through different racial origin stories in Dragon Age: Origins. This way, there's no one, objective, irrefutable, truth. "To get the truth, you kind of have to pick between the lines," Gaider says. So even though elven legends are coming true through the existence of Solas and The Veilguard's antagonist gods, it doesn't mean that's the one and only truth. There's truth in what the Chantry teaches and what the dwarves say, he tells me, which ignites my curiosity intensely. BioWare has also been tricksy in how it's rubbed out the lore the further back in time you go. "In general, the further the history goes back, we always would purposefully obfuscate it more and more," Gaider says - "make it more biased and more untrue no matter who was talking, just so that the absolute truth was rarely knowable. I like that idea from a world standpoint, that the player always has to wonder and bring their own beliefs to it." It leads into a founding principle of Dragon Age, which is doubt - because without it, you can't have faith, a particularly important concept in the series. It's where the whole idea of the Chantry's Maker comes from and with it, the legend about the fabled Golden City - now the Black City - at the heart of the Fade. This is the very centre of the lore web, and, I imagine, it's close to the series endpoint Gaider imagined long ago. All secrets end there. Did Gaider know what was in the Black City when he laid down Origins' lore? That's the question - and it startles me how casually he answers this. "Oh, yeah," he says. "What was in the Black City: that's the uber-plot. I knew exactly. "Was it as detailed in the first draft of the world?" he goes on. "No. I had an idea of the early history because that's where I started making the world. So the things that were true early-early: I knew exactly what the Black City was and the idea of what the elves believed, and what humans believed vis-a-vis the Chantry - that was all settled on really early. Then I expanded the world and the uber-plot bubbled out of that.""

"Gaider shows me the original cosmology design document for Dragon Age: Origins as if to prove this - or rather for the game that would become DAO. The world was known as Peldea back then. I can't share this with you because I see it via a shared screen on a video call, and because Gaider doesn't want me to, mostly because the ideas are so old they're almost unrecognisable from what's in the series now. But I can tell you it's a document that's just over a page in length, and that there's a circular diagram at the top showing the world in the middle and the spirit realm ringed around it. And on that document is reference to the Chantry's beliefs about a God located in a citadel that can be found there. Gaider says BioWare knew about Fen'Harel (the Dread Wolf) 20 years ago when it was developing Dragon Age: Origins, and that he'd one day reappear. The Fade wasn't known as the Fade back then, either, but as the Dreaming, because it's the place people go when they dream - an idea that lives on still. And if that sounds familiar to any fans of The Sandman among you, it should. "I'd say The Sandman series was probably fairly prominently in my head," says Gaider. "I liked that amorphous geography that was born from the psyche of collective humanity. I'd say yes, if I was to point at something specifically, that's probably where the very first inspiration of it took root." It's a lot to take in, but it reinforces the admiration I have for Dragon Age. Just as I have when hearing about the creation of my other favourite fantasy worlds, such as A Song of Ice and Fire, I begin to understand the magnitude - and the deliberateness - of the plotting that went on. I wonder if one day the Dragon Age series will end in the way Gaider first imagined, albeit slightly altered by the many other pairs of hands shepherding it along now. What a curious feeling it must be to know, so many years in advance, where things might go. Where that end is, I don't know, but I do know we'll take a significant step towards it in The Veilguard. After all, we're coming into contact with gods who were there at the recorded beginning of it all. "Yeah - we have access to people who can tell us the truth from first-hand experience," Gaider says, "although again, it depends on what the writers did with it. But if they continued the tradition of Dragon Age, you never know for sure if Solas is telling you everything, or what you're learning is the entire truth. "But yes, some of the big mysteries are being solved. I mean, will they one day definitively tell you about the Maker? Will we crack the big mysteries of the world and just make them answered finally? And does that ruin one of the central precepts that Dragon Age is founded upon? Maybe," he says. "Ultimately, that lore, when you make it big and you hint at it and hint at it and hint at it, it becomes a Chekhov's Gun of sorts. Eventually you got to pony up.""

[source]

[astergore]

yeah (transcript below)

transcript:

stan: these red lights take forever huh?

stan: pumpkin i'll let you in on a little secret.

stan: when there's no cars around, red lights are only a suggestion.

stan: the world's your oyster, kid.

mabel: duly noted, grunkle stan.

dipper: uh guys i

dipper: i don't think that's how it works.

dipper: great uncle ford help me out here

ford: actually i have to agree with them.

ford: there's simply not enough time in the world for Traffic Laws.

ford: Hit the gas Sweetie

[somecookie]

Bold of you to assume my problem is being unable to approach women. I actually can't approach anyone at all (in a romantic way). Rather than being afraid of women or men or a relationship, i just can't see myself going out and. Idk. Asking? Like how do y'all get into relationships, or even just hookups or anything?

I don't understand. I don't think I would like being initially approached by someone with a goal in mind that goes beyond "hey I wanted to talk to you", and so I don't do so either. If I see a handsome guy or a beautiful girl I don't think "I wanna date them" or "I wanna sleep with them", I think "damn they're beautiful" and move on. If I get talking with someone I find very physically attractive I treat them largely the same as I would any other conversation partner. I don't "flirt" either, I find it a weird way to hold a conversation. Dancing around a subject matter in such a way seems dishonest to me. Rather than throwing random compliments around trying to convince someone to like me I'd prefer getting into a conversation that's mutually enjoyable beyond simple pleasantries. The closest thing to flirting that I do is sort of tesse people softly, but that's just something my family has always done, it's just a very normal way to show affection on any level to me. It's also easily misunderstood as malicious, so I don't usually do it with people I don't know well.

So yeah. I don't go into conversations with any goal regarding the relationship I share with the person in question, because that seems weird and dishonest to me. It's also why I don't like or get dating apps. I feel like if I chat with someone on hinge, they expect the relationship to turn either sexual or romantic or both, which I don't like. It's not anyone else's fault, I'm sure I'm the weird one, but I personally feel like those things need to evolve naturally. This doesn't mean slowly. Hookups can absolutely happen from this - if I met someone i found attractive and they thought the same, the conversation should generally drift to topics surrounding the mutual attraction, from which a certain mood can evolve. But I don't think even that should start with that exact intent. Again, I wouldn't talk to someone just because I want to sleep with them, rather I'd sleep with them because of the conversation and/or connection we shared.

This is long, convoluted and utterly unreadable. Good thing nobody will read it 👍

[itsa-me-lily]

I have a brain worm that is very indulgent and self inserty

Please note I get my COD knowledge from here and AO3 and no I don’t want to change that lol

Please note note that upon thinking about it there’s a bit of influence from @bi-writes mail order bride

Anyway imagine that the military creates this program to boost moral for soldiers who don’t have families, by essentially hiring people to become their spouse! Does it have flaws and leaves a huge window for exploitation and abuse, it’s the military are we surprised? But we’re not gonna talk about that…

So there’s this program and Laswell and/or Price are like Simon we are worried about how fucking alone you are when you’re not deployed you’re enrolling in this so help us god. Either you’re picking someone or we’re picking for you. And I can’t decide if Simon just picks someone at random without looking at the files or he picks you because you seem like least needy and intrusive. The list of hobbies you have takes up nearly half a page, you have to be too busy to bother him.

Either way, you’re the one that’s picked to be the new Mrs. Riley, much to your surprise. (You were only doing this as moral support for your friend who didn’t want to sign up alone. You didn’t think you’d be picked.) Cut to the day you’re moving into the programs cookie cutter house and you’re glaring at Simon because how dare he imply your guinea pigs are anything less than perfect and angelic, and Simon is just wondering why he has to live with these fucking weird looking rats now

Edit;

I'm adding some more to this idea so I've made a list! I can be good at lists...Also should I add a continue reading cut to these?

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 3

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

The raindrops fell over the cobblestones, and, in particular, those falling from the gable were heavy against the small porch of the chapel where she waited. She breathed into her hands, seeking warmth as she tilted her head to the side. Now alone, she felt her curiosity begin to spark, like a cat finally let out of its carrier. 

The narrow side streets hinted at the town’s size and social standing, with only one main road that, incidentally, was the only paved one. She guessed that if the weather hadn’t been so dreary, she could have seen the end of it. Her more optimistic side blamed the weather, but the town struck her as dreadful. In the distance, her attention was drawn to the farmer who had been inside with them. 

He was talking to someone she assumed was his wife or another townsperson, with his horse beside him and a border collie patiently waiting against his leg. Eventually, both of them turned to look at her, and she stiffened under their scrutiny. 

‘Should I... wave at them? Don’t small towns know everyone? Should I start getting to know everyone?’ 

But as her mind filled with these thoughts, they turned back to talk to each other. She pressed her lips together, feeling time drag painfully. The coat over her head made her uneasy. Almost involuntarily, she took a few deep breaths, catching a faint scent in the air, and then another, more focused sniff. It felt like cheating somehow, though it wasn’t, as her nose itched from his scent, and her body seemed to process it more deeply. 

‘It’s deeper than Die...’ she thought melancholically. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t encountered many unmated alphas in her life, or at least hadn’t gotten close enough to catch their scent. ‘Well… isn’t he humanity’s strength? ...something like that. I guess it takes some strong genes to be called that.’ 

“All right.” Levi’s voice startled her, and she tensed, turning to see him. He was drenched from his search for horses but seemed to handle it with a calmness, like sheep who don’t mind the sky falling on them. His hand held the reins of two horses, and, if her mind hadn’t been elsewhere, she might have chuckled. 

The black horse was absurdly tall and elegant, while the other was a dirty white with grayish spots, shorter and with bulkier legs. 

“You can have the one I rented if you prefer,” Levi offered, handing her the reins. But she didn’t take them right away. 

“Um…” She hesitated. “Sorry. I’ve never ridden alone,” she explained. Then, feeling the need to clarify, she added, “I usually just take carts.” 

Levi quickly grasped the issue. After a brief consideration, he reached back and switched the reins. "Take mine," he said, extending the reins of the black mare instead. "She’s calm and obedient.”  Levi said, nodding toward the mare. “Scout-trained.”  

She looked at the tall, sleek horse in front of her, nerves clear on her face. He jerked his thumb at the other smaller, stocky white one. “This one, I don’t know.” 

Her hand tentatively moved forward to touch the mare’s nose. At her touch, the horse nudged forward, her dark eyes focused intently on her. The mare’s imposing size made her hesitate. “Can’t we just ride together?” 

Levi, double-checking the saddle, looked back and replied firmly, “No. Too much mud on the way. I don’t want to put extra weight on her.” 

When he finished adjusting the saddle, he held out his arm, gesturing for her to step closer. He gave her a once-over and instructed, “Take the cloak underneath. No point in wearing it now that it’s soaked.” 

‘Well… he does enjoy giving orders,’ she thought. 

Feeling self-conscious under his observant gaze, she removed his coat, then unfastened her cloak, which was heavy and sodden. Her cheeks flushed as she noticed the white dress beneath was now damp and clung uncomfortably. She quickly ran her hands over her arms, trying to cover up, but Levi moved smoothly, placing his coat back over her shoulders before tossing the soaked cloak over the mare’s back. 

She took her position beside the mare, gripping the saddle, though her uncertainty was plain. “But… with my dress and that saddle, it’ll be difficult to ride with my legs on the side.” 

“Ride with your legs apart.” 

She looked over her shoulder at him as he moved to help her up. Despite his short height, he hoisted her up smoothly onto the mare. She was perched high above him now, gripping the reins and feeling the unfamiliar weight of control. Levi stepped back and gave her a once-over, as though to make sure she was seated safely. 

“This isn’t very ladylike,” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of unease as the powerful animal shifted beneath her. 

Levi raised an eyebrow, still maintaining his stoic look but with a glint of dry humor breaking through. “Well,” he said, his voice calm and low, “I’m the husband now, and I don’t mind it.” 

But the silence that followed told him all he needed to know: she didn’t find it funny. 

“Just hold steady,” he advised, placing a hand on the mare’s neck in an almost fatherly pat. “She’s been through rougher trips than this.” 

The mare, as if responding to his touch, lowered her head, brushing her soft nose against his hair and disheveling it slightly, so that her dark fur mingled with his equally raven locks. 

With that, he took the reins and knotted them to the other horse and swung himself up with practiced ease, barely flinching at the wet leather. It struck her that he was completely in his element, as if he belonged here in this bleak weather and muddy roads, as if he barely noticed the discomfort. 

The rain pattered steadily, its soft murmur filling the quiet as Levi guided his horse through the thickening gloom of the forest. Her soaked white cloak hung limply from the horse’s saddle. The water on it was counterproductive to keep the warmth, so she took it off. The green trench coat pulled over her head helped more, but it was far from miraculous. Despite the rain, a thick fog was rising as they left the small countryside town and ventured deeper into the forest. Soon, the cobblestones ended, leaving the horses to trudge through thick mud. The road became nearly invisible just a few steps ahead, and she cast a nervous glance at the forest, which seemed to stretch on endlessly. 

“Captain… shouldn’t we wait? It’s getting dark, and it could be dangerous,” she murmured, eyeing the shifting shadows between the trees. 

Levi’s response was firm, almost cutting. “I told you to call me Levi, and don’t worry.” His tone was as sharp as his gaze ahead. She wasn’t convinced, her brows knitting together in silent protest. Y/N clung tightly to the saddle of the black mare Levi had called his own. His raven hair stuck to his forehead as the rain poured mercilessly on him without his trench coat. When she pressed again, “But—” he cut her off. 

“I wouldn’t do anything dangerous,” he declared, his tone allowing no debate. “If I say it’s safe, it’s safe. Understood?” 

She murmured a reluctant hum, clearly displeased, but he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes piercing. “I didn’t hear you.” 

She swallowed, muttering low, “Understood.” The word fell with barely concealed disdain, and under her breath, she added with a hint of defiance, “…sir.” 

‘He said it wasn’t that far...’ but as they continued, it became clear that the headquarters weren’t close by. 

Each step the horse took forward felt like moving deeper into an enclosure, further away from family and friends. Eventually, the rocky forest path opened onto the scouts' rustic facility—a large training field of neatly trimmed grass and a main building looming in the darkness, with smaller buildings in the back. She squinted, barely able to make them out through the thick fog but guessed they might be the barracks, possibly separated by gender. 

She thought they would stop at the main doors, but Levi guided the horses further. The place overwhelmed her—she didn’t know where to look, and the quietness, at least from the outside, only made her more curious. 

“Where is everyone?” she asked. 

Levi looked around the quiet training grounds. “It’s late. Most of the soldiers are in the mess hall for dinner or getting ready for curfew,” he explained, his eyes sweeping the area with practiced vigilance. “Especially in this shitty weather.” 

He dismounted near a back entrance, which seemed to be a service area littered with discarded training materials. When the horses stopped, she moved to dismount, glancing down to gauge the distance to the ground. 

“Need help?” he asked, already striding over with firm steps, his boots far better equipped for the weather than hers. He positioned himself behind her and said, “Let go, I got you.” 

With his hands under her arms, he lifted her down with surprising ease. She turned quickly to face him, but he just said, “Stay here. I’ll put the horses away.” before she could protest. 

Though Levi’s presence didn’t exactly warm the atmosphere, his absence made the cold settle in even deeper. She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting around hectic —taking in the swaying trees under t the gusting wind, the flashes of lightning splitting the clouds. While the rain had momentarily stopped on the way back, it was obvious it wasn’t over. The forest sounds felt ominous in the dark, with only dim light illuminating the semi-open area at the back of the building. 

‘I feel like a doe... in the middle of a meadow.’ 

Ignoring Levi’s instruction, she opened the door and stepped inside. She glanced down both ends of the corridor, where yellowish candlelight cast a warm glow. The hum of distant voices filled the air, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘It stinks.’ 

It reeked of alphas—too many of them. Down the corridor to her left, she saw two young women, a brunette and a dark-haired one, passing by. The brunette noticed her standing in the hallway and looked back with a puzzled expression. 

‘Alright, maybe this time I should actually introduce myself.’ 

She raised a hand slightly, giving a tentative wave, but the brunette turned, calling out to someone— 

“I thought I told you to stay there.” Levi’s voice cut in from behind, firm with a trace of irritation as he locked the back door. Without further comment, he led her up a nearby staircase, his movements swift and purposeful. 

“But—” she started to object, glancing to the side, but he was already nudging her forward. His hand hovered at her back, as if nudging her without physically touching her, more a mental command than a physical push. 

As they ascended the stairs, Sasha, a brunette at the far end of the corridor, tugged on Jean and Connie’s arms. “See, she’s there!” she exclaimed. But when the three of them looked down the hall, no one was there—only a trail of muddy footprints. 

“...She was there,” Sasha insisted. 

Jean shot her a skeptical look. “Sasha, are you that hungry you’re seeing things... again?” 

Sasha frowned, clearly annoyed. “I saw her! I might be hungry, but I’m not imagining things.” 

“Well, she’s not there now, that’s for sure,” Connie said, stretching his arms behind his head. “Maybe a ghost?” 

“A suicidal one,” Jean added dryly. “Only higher-ups use the back door. And if Captain Levi sees that mud, he’d probably drag out a Ouija board just to kick that ghost’s ass for dirtying his floors.” 

Sasha and Connie started to walk away, but Jean paused, wrinkling his nose and sniffing the air with a puzzled expression. “...I do smell something strange, though.” 

Sasha and Connie shrugged, both of them betas, unable to pick up on any scent. But Mikasa, overhearing, joined them, her dark eyes narrowing. “Jasmine, berries, and coconut milk.” 

Jean shot her a smirk. “Well, I did switch to a new cologne…” 

But Mikasa ignored him, already walking ahead with a thoughtful expression, leaving Jean to trail off, his attempt at humor forgotten. 

As they moved through the winding corridors, she struggled to keep pace. Levi’s stride was steady and brisk, his attention fixed forward, but after a few glances back, he seemed to notice her struggle. With a subtle sigh, he slowed his pace focusing on her feet to match her pace.  

As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice the trail of mud they were leaving behind. Each footprint was a smear of damp earth and grime on the clean floor. His jaw tightened, and he clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘Focus on the important shit,’ he reminded himself. 

Reaching the door to his chambers, he patted his trousers absently, then checked the pockets of his uniform jacket. His brow creased in mild annoyance before he remembered: ‘The keys are in my coat.’ 

He moved closer to her, his face showing a rare hint of apology. “Sorry,” he murmured, reaching into the pockets of the coat she wore. She held still as he fished around, finally pulling out the key with a subtle nod. 

Before turning the key in the lock, he looked down at her shoes, now caked in mud. 

“Wait,” he muttered, holding a hand up. He gestured to her shoes with a short nod. “Shoes off,” he instructed, bending to remove his own boots first, leaving them by the doorway. She followed suit, slipping off her mud-caked shoes, which felt heavier with every step. 

She hesitated, glancing at the mud-covered shoes, but then leaned against the wall to remove her shoes. He did the same, tugging off his own boots and setting them neatly to the side. Once they were both ready, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, holding it for her to step inside. 

To be honest, she couldn’t say she was disappointed—her journey to his office had shown her this wasn’t the marriage she’d imagined. She’d heard the Scouts were… humble people. ‘A sweet way to call them low class,’ she thought wryly, fiddling with her loose ring, trying to keep it from slipping off her finger. Part of her almost wished the room would stay dark so she wouldn’t have to face reality, while another part hoped for a glimmer of candlelight to surprise her for the better. 

Levi shut the door behind him with a subtle sigh, closing his eyes briefly, as if gathering strength from somewhere unknown. ‘One task down,’ he reminded himself, as if safely getting her to the Scout headquarters unnoticed was his toughest mission yet. He shrugged off his uniform jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. 

She stood, frozen in place, as he walked past her, lighting a few candles he’d set up earlier. He busied himself lighting more, methodically checking off tasks from his mental to-do list. “Why don’t you take a shower? The water should be warm,” he suggested. 

‘And... here it is,’ she thought, her pupils darting around the room as though afraid to turn her head, scanning the place as the light started to fill it. She tried to hide her discomfort, not so much from a lack of hygiene as from a lack of warmth. Catching his eyes on her, she forced a thin smile. “Very... modest.” 

‘…Empty and rustic, but the last thing I want to find out is what he’s like when he’s mad.’ 

The room had only two doors: one, she guessed, led to a small bathroom, and the other to the bedroom. The main space was an office with a single shelf filled with books and not much else. ‘Doesn’t he have paintings or decorations?’ She found herself searching for anything that might make the space feel less austere and more homely, something to give her a glimpse of who he was. The office seemed to be the most furnished part of the quarters, with a set of sofas, a coffee table by the fireplace, and a desk. The large arched window was probably his only indulgence, a feature suggesting he spent most of his time here. 

“Shower?” Levi insisted, “Don’t take it personally, but I’d like to shower too.” 

That snapped her out of her trance. “Oh—sure,” in a small voice. “Um... where did you put my luggage?” 

Levi’s brow furrowed, and after a moment, he realized he hadn’t noticed her lack of belongings. “Was I supposed to have it?” he replied, answering her question with another—not a habit of his. 

“I sent it ahead, two days ago,” she explained, “They told me it would be best.” 

His eyes flicked to the window and the rain still pouring down outside. ‘Well… I think it’s pretty clear why that didn’t arrive yet.’ 

With a weary sigh, Levi leaned against his desk, one hand running over his damp hair. He looked worn out, both physically and emotionally. “This is a rural area,” he said, “and with this rain, it could take a few more days. A cart wouldn’t make it through the forest right now.” 

Levi stepped over to his bedroom, opened a few drawers, and, without moving from her spot, she couldn’t resist sneaking a look. She leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse over the door frame. 

She couldn’t see much, but curiosity stretched her mouth open as she craned her neck. A chest of drawers held neatly folded clothes, a couple of books stacked on top, and a wardrobe nearby had boxes on top that reached the ceiling (probably he used it as storage) with boots lined up beneath it. There was a standing mirror in one corner and she could only see the wood footboard of a small bed against the wall. 

“Here, you can—” Levi turned back toward her, catching her in the act of peeking. She straightened up quickly, feigning innocence. He raised an eyebrow at her obvious interest. “It’s not as if it’s off-limits. Walk in if you want.” 

‘Like a dog caught digging through the trash,’ he thought, mildly amused by her guilty expression. 

“Anyway, here.” He handed her some clothes. “The rest is in the bathroom.” 

She took them with a distracted nod, disappearing behind the bathroom door. 

“Ah...” He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding as he let himself collapse, boneless, into his desk chair. His hair was soaked, as was the rest of him, but he didn’t care. “A moment of silence.” 

Though she hadn’t said much, her silence was somehow louder than any words. Covering his eyes with his forearm, he felt drained—he’d been through expeditions to retake Wall Maria, yet this felt just as exhausting. But as always, Levi quickly pushed himself back up, pressing the bridge of his nose to calm the headache beginning to throb behind his eyes, and moved on. 

“I don’t have time to slack off,” he grunted to himself. He didn’t have much firewood left—it had been an unusually warm spring until today, and firewood was a luxury he was used to being frugal with, like nearly everything else in his life. 

'She should probably dry her hair before bed,' he thought, setting a kettle of water on in case she wanted tea. He considered making himself a cup but, as “going to bed” crossed his mind, the idea shifted to the liquor he had stashed in a cabinet. He poured himself a small glass, not intending to get drunk, but needing something that soothed him better than his usual caffeine. 

The fire began warming the room, and he placed his coat and jacket near it. He stepped outside briefly to bring in their shoes, cleaning them off and setting them to dry. The kettle’s whistle echoed in the quiet room, and he took it off the heat. That’s when a thought began to bother him. 

‘Should I check?’ He found himself near the bathroom door, ear pressed against it, straining to hear any sign of life. ‘What if she passed out in there?... or maybe she’s just constipated and can’t take a shit’ 

Knocking softly, he asked, “You okay in there?” 

“Yes, sorry.” 

Relieved but mildly exasperated, he shook his head. She’s using up all the water in the place, he thought, realizing she’d definitely not adapted to the military’s five-minute shower rule. 

Inside the bathroom, she was struggling to detangle her hair, but there was no conditioner, no hair mask, or anything remotely helpful. Her skin felt dry without any lotion, slightly raw from the harsh soap he had. Her hair smelled vaguely like cucumber, a tangled mess that only worsened under her frustrated attempts. 

“We are not going to cry, we are not going to cry,” she kept whispering to herself in front of the mirror. 

‘This was supposed to be my wedding night,’ 

For as long as she could remember, she had dreamed of her fiancé slowly, reverently helping her out of her wedding dress—a dress chosen just for him. She’d imagined him finally seeing her, her skin soft, her scent sweet enough to eat, a blend of lotion, perfume, everything. 

Instead, here she was, struggling with tangled hair and an uncooperative brush, her mascara still on because there was no makeup remover, wearing a baggy T-shirt and gray sweatpants, smelling like some generic soap, with her wedding dress stuffed in a dirty laundry basket. 

A million questions rushed through her mind. ‘What do I do?… Should I just lay there and let him do whatever he wants?’ ‘Is it going to hurt?’ ‘Would he force me to do something?’ 

“I could lock myself in here forever,” she reasoned, gripping the doorknob. ‘…Or could I?’ 

But eventually, she stepped out cautiously, slowly opening the door. He was sitting with his back to her, watching the fire from one of the couches. When he sensed her presence, he glanced over his shoulder. “Finally. For a moment, I thought you drowned in there.” 

Eyes downcast, she muttered, “Sorry.” 

Levi clicked his tongue. “It was a joke,” he grunted, feeling like nothing he said made the situation any less awkward. 

Levi noticed her standing there, looking unsure and uncomfortable, and with a small sigh, he gestured toward the couch. "Sit down," he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. "Dry up. It's cold in here." 

She hesitated but finally obeyed, slowly lowering herself onto the couch, her hands still clinging to her damp hair. Levi awkwardly stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next, before clearing his throat before speaking again. 

"Do you want something to eat? I can go see if there’s anything left from dinner," he asked awkwardly, already knowing she hadn’t eaten since the long journey. 

She didn’t reply immediately, only giving a soft hum as her response. Levi looked over his shoulder, brow furrowed.  

"That’s a no, then?" he muttered, then shifted his weight and walked to the desk. He leaned against it, sipping from his glass.  

"Fine," he muttered, “but I prefer when people actually answer me with words.” 

She didn’t respond. He glanced over at her, then added, “You sure? I can bring something. I don’t mind.” 

"No, thank you," she replied, her voice quiet but clear. 

Levi let out a small grunt of acknowledgment, not wanting to push her. He felt an odd tension in the air as he took another sip from his drink. “Alright then.” He paused before offering, "Tea, maybe?” 

"No, thank you." Her voice was quiet, distant. 

Levi exhaled a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his wet hair as he tried to focus on the fire.  

The tension lingered in the air, and after a moment, she spoke again, breaking the silence.  

"When do you think my things will arrive?" she asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice. 

Levi glanced at her, "Could take a while. The roads are bad, especially with this weather." He paused, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before continuing. "But if you need anything urgently, just tell me." 

She hesitated, her eyes darting away. Levi frowned slightly, sensing she was holding something back. He was starting to feel a little impatient. 

"Are you still on the rags?" he asked bluntly, unable to ignore the subtle discomfort in the way she fidgeted. "Need something for that?" 

Her eyes widened, a blush creeping across her face as she looked away, clearly embarrassed by the question. She seemed to shrink under his gaze, her shoulders stiffening.  

"I-I’m fine," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Levi raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by her answer. He didn’t know her well enough to be sure, but he was certain that something was off. He wasn’t about to let her go without offering help, though. 

"Look, if you need anything, just say it." He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice softening slightly, “I can be named humanity’s strongest and all that bullshit but I’m not a mind reader,” 

She didn’t meet his eyes, still hesitant, but Levi stood still, waiting for her to speak. ‘There’s no point dragging this out any longer,’ she decided. 

“No, uh—” she chose her words carefully, “I’m over it.” 

Levi still seemed confused, so she clarified, her face growing redder by the second. “I’m... ready for you… whenever you tell me.” 

Her words dropped into the room like the cannonballs once used to break titans’ necks. Levi’s first thought, admittedly, wasn’t his most noble: ‘So... she thinks people don’t fuck when women are bleeding or?’ 

Lost in his thoughts and the awkwardness of the moment, he didn’t notice how she bit her lip, glancing up at him shyly. “Just—please, don’t be too rough on me.” 

Captain Levi always had a comeback, a retort, a dry response. But now, he only pressed his fingers against his glass, eyes locked with hers, lips parted as if to speak but words caught in the back of his throat. Across his life, he’d seen people look at him in many ways—admiration, anger, pity, fear—but hers was different. Her eyes, reflective and tinged red, stared up at him with something close to terror. A terror filled with pure resignation, pleading him.  

His jaw tightened, and he felt a knot form in his throat. ‘I’m going to make those bastards pay for this,’ He broke eye contact, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

It was painful, painful for him to think someone could look at him like that. To see him as someone who might treat her as an object, begging him that at least, if he was going to do that, not to be a brute about it. But the worst part, the thought that clenched his throat even more was: ‘Like my mother…’ 

The room felt silent except for the branches scratching against the window in the storm outside and the flickering firelight. He forced his voice to sound steady. “Just go to bed.” 

“Huh?” she asked, confused. “...Should I...wait for you there?” 

Levi shook his head. “I can’t do it. Just go to bed. You look like shit.” 

He wasn’t known for being the best communicator, and his words often got lost in translation.  She blinked, panic rising in her eyes. “I’m...not pretty enough? I tried to look my best—I didn’t mean to disappoint. Please, don’t call this off…” 

The thought of being sent back as a failure made her stomach turn. Her family, her younger sisters, her grandmother—they all depended on her. 

Levi raised his hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “Oi, oi, relax. I didn’t mean that—damn it! I meant you look tired.” 

“But—” she hesitated, moving a step toward him but keeping her distance. 

“Shit,” he muttered, his cheeks warming slightly. “It has nothing to do with that.” 

Her confusion was clear, so he forced himself to say it: “You’re...pretty, alright? That’s not the issue.” 

She still looked uncertain. “If you don’t…claim me…what will people say?” she asked. “People will look down on you as a soldier, as a man...as an alpha.” 

Levi chuckled, though he didn’t mean it. “Well, one good thing about who I am is that everyone’s too scared to say anything to my face,” he replied, almost gently. “I just can’t—not while you’re this scared.” 

The truth hung in the air, and she resumed fidgeting with her ring, frowning as she looked at the carpet and her voice grew quieter. “What if…I never want to?” 

Levi shrugged, too tired to pretend. “Then I guess we’ll wait until next spring when we’re both so damn drunk on hormones, you’ll be begging for it, and neither of us will remember it.” 

"Spring?" she echoed, her caution mixed with disbelief. "But that’s a long wait..." 

“Oh, well,” he said, with a dry humor, “we’ll just have to try not to kill each other in the meantime.” He gestured to the room. “Go to bed.” 

"Where will you sleep?" she asked, then added, almost disappointed, "Do you... have someone else?" 

Not that she was jealous, but she’d heard that “a good wife always knows.” 

This time, the question made Levi scoff, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Good one. No, I don’t. I don’t even use the bed—I sleep at my desk.” 

‘That can’t be healthy,’ she thought, grimacing. But, like a mouse just freed by a cat, she walked cautiously toward the bedroom, unsure if this escape was real. That can’t be healthy, she thought with a grimace of disapproval. But with hesitant steps, like a mouse released from a cat’s grip, she headed toward the room, still unsure how real this escape was. 

Levi finished his drink, then readied himself to take his own shower, thinking, ‘It’s going to be a long, tense wait until next spring.’ 

A wait filled with mounting anxiety. 

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[revelboo]

as the other metroplex writer on this website, I feel you. I understand your pain. I made the call early on to not do the idw 'they can only talk to the cityspeaker' because I knew I would immediately proceed to write myself into a corner lmao. (although I decided against giving him superfine control over his inner mechanisms, which is its own set of challenges)

Good luck, soldier! It's just us out here doing Primus' work

He’s a fun challenge to write, but I feel for the big guy so much

I Can Feel You Pt 4

IDW Metroplex x Reader

• By morning, the glyphs are gone leaving you disappointed and wondering if just maybe you’d imagined it all or dreamed it. If you’d been able to take a picture, you could have asked someone else to read it to you, because if Metroplex is reaching out? You want to answer him. Staring at the spot the writing had appeared doesn’t offer any answers. What was it Hound had said? Something about a city speaker? “Are you trying to talk to me?” You ask, but the Titan is quiet and still around you.

• Halfway between waking and recharge because of the energy he’d expended trying to focus, to communicate, he’s half alert as he tracks you. Drifting in and out, but aware of you all the same, his little anchor to reality. Sometimes in his dreams he’s closer to your size and when he reaches out a hand, you come to him, let him pull your warmth into his body and just hold you in his arms. But even there, you can’t hear him. There, holding you, but still isolated and it hurts. You’re speaking again and it pulls him into alertness. Focusing on you as you reach out a little hand to Hound as the mech kneels in front of you.

• “City speakers?” Hound repeats, idly toying with one of his alt mode’s tires. “They could speak to the Titans. Hear them. Don’t know if they ever were real, though. Might have been just a legend.” It’s not exactly what you want to hear and you wrap your arms about yourself. Remembering those glyphs showing up slowly one by one like it was taking the massive Autobot an effort. Like it cost him something to try and it has been for nothing. Whatever he was trying to say lost on you, because you couldn’t understand.

• “How hard is it to learn Cybertronian?” You slowly ask and his massive spark aches at the determination in your voice. Because you’re trying for him, trying to find a way to speak to him. Reaching out a hand to him just like he’s reaching out to you. And he wants so much to protect this feeling, to protect you. Throughout the day, he tracks you like he always does. Listening to you telling him you have an idea. Watches you request a human sized data pad from Bumblebee loaded with simple educational programs meant for sparklings.

• Back in the little home Metroplex fashioned, you stretch out on the floor with the data pad. Flicking at the screen, searching until you pause. Half drowsing, relaxed at the feel of your little heart beating against him, it’s the touch of your warm fingers that focuses him again. You’re tracing shapes against him, your bottom lip between your teeth. Hesitating, then drawing again. And again. The same shapes. You’re spelling out a simple word he realizes, a ‘hello’ and now he’s wide awake. “Can you even feel this? Or understand?” You murmur and he focuses, mimicking your crude glyphs with an effort. Replying and feeling warmth spread through him when you grin. Can you understand how much this means to him? How precious you are to him for trying? For caring? “Hi, Metroplex,” you whisper as he wishes that his arms could hold you.

Previous

[oediex]

You know what, yeah, that bell hooks quotation wasn't appropriate, it doesn't say what the person who added it think it says.

But I don't think it's fair to say that that man who everyone is pissing on somehow claimed we had to "hold his hand" or "coddle" him or whatever. Or even that women had to do it.

He never once even mentioned the word 'woman' in that post. I'm not excluding that that what he was implying - it's very possible! - but what he said was "the left", and let's be clear, this is his understanding of what the left is. I saw people saying that a "self-proclaimed leftist" should understand that his answer was still drenched in patriarchal thinking. But he never once proclaimed he was a leftist. Perhaps he thinks he is, but all he said was that he got "out" of the "alt-right". For all we know, that means he voted for the Democratic Party and we, who are on the left, all know that's not the fucking left.

The question that was posed was how do we keep young men from turning right wing, and he offered an explanation. An explanation! Not an excuse! Again something that a lot of people just assumed.

And yes, it was a flawed explanation, and yes he has some things to learn, and yes it was uncritical and terribly phrased.

But can we recognise that not everyone has the necessary critical thinking skills to completely dig their way out of the overarching ideology that fucking rules our lives? Critical thinking skills aren't something that we are born with. It's something that is learned, something that you have to train. It's a never-ending project. And from what I know of the educational system in the US? That's not where you get it.

Speaking of bell hooks, at least she understands this. In that book (The Will to Change) she writes that "most men never think about patriarchy - what it means, how it is created and sustained." She writes how the patriarchy sees men's violence and the one emotion they're allowed to have, anger, as "natural". Understanding the patriarchy is something that has to be learned, and you either figure it out yourself by reading, but most of us probably had someone in our lives who talked to us about it, taught us about it, and then we might have started reading more about it.

What if you don't have someone like that? What if all you hear is that the things feminists tell you is bad is what was imprinted on you as "natural" to you?

Here's bell hooks:

Yet no one talks about the role patriarchal notions of manhood play in teaching boys that it is their nature to kill, then teaching them that they can do nothing to change this nature—nothing, that is, that will leave their masculinity intact.

Here's what she says of her own brother:

As patriarchal thinking and action claimed him in adolescence, he learned to mask his loving feelings. He entered that space of alienation and antisocial behavior deemed “natural” for adolescent boys.

She clearly pinpoints the moment of these patriarchal ideas taking hold to be in adolescent, and the question that was posed was, what can we do to stop that from happening? I've seen people say that nothing can be done until we change the material conditions that make it so that men systematically have power over women. And yeah, undoubtedly that is a fight we need to have. But is that truly the only way we can keep (some) boys from falling into the grasp of the (alt-)right? Is there no hope in at least reaching them in the meantime?

I've seen a post saying, "omg of course he goes for misandry" and while misandry isn't real in that men are not systematically oppressed, that doesn't mean that there aren't some out there who express hatred or disgust of men. That's not what the left stands for, obviously, but it is not absent. Here are some comments from the notes on some of these reaction posts (and presumably these are all people who consider themselves leftists):

"you should be hunted for sport"

"makes me want to commit homocide"

"kys right now"

"'leftists constantly said i should die' yeah fucking right"

"we need to double male loneliness and I'm not even kidding"

"I HATE MEN AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. THEY HATE US MORE AND THEY HAVE ALL THE POWER TO DO ACTUAL HARM TO US. Misandry is NOT FUCKING REAL but I wish it was"

"we should kill people who don't get it"

Is that hatred of men (non-systematically)? Not all of it, but some of it definitely or possibly qualifies. And it sure does look like some people (who probably think themselves leftists) think this man (or men in general) are the "scum of the earth" and that they want him/them dead. How else do you interpret some of these phrases?

Now imagine that this is something that you encounter online, and with the help of the stranglehold of the patriarchy, whispers of right wing ideology, confirmation bias, and negativity bias? I can imagine you might end up concluding they "hate you for your immutable traits" (remember patriarchy teaches boys that violence and anger is natural to them) and that they "blame you for everything that's wrong in the world".

Is that the right conclusion? No. But as much as being able to use reason is part of being human, so is not being immune to ideology and propaganda. We wouldn't fucking be where we are right now if that wasn't the case.

How do we teach boys that anger and violence aren't "immutable traits"? How do we educate them about the power of the patriarchy? Well, where does it have to come from if not from the fucking left?

Does it have to be you? No. Does it have to be women? Also no. It's probably good if it's men, and especially men who themselves walked with the right at some point (if someone has already been pulled into the right, rather than catching them before).

It can be a woman though, if there's someone who wants to do it. I don't mind doing it if someone wants to talk about it. Will I be nice? No, I won't hold back and I will tell them if what they're saying is wrong. Will I coddle them? Fuck no. Will I keep trying if someone clearly isn't listening? No. Will I be compassionate? Yeah, I think I will.

Because compassion is really important when you're trying to keep people from falling into the far-right, or even if you're trying to get them out of it (which again, isn't what we were talking about in the first place).

Here's Pete Simi, professor of Sociology, talking about Life After Hate, an American non-profit that tries to help people leave the far-right:

The organization was started by former hate group members who have been doing a lot of outreach in terms of providing testimonials and trainings to schools and law enforcement and other community groups across the country. The focus of their message is the importance of using compassion to inform prevention and intervention efforts and aftercare for individuals who want to change their lives but may need various types of support. I think LAH is a very promising development and I hope it will continue to find the resources that it needs to expand the services it provides.

Being compassionate doesn't mean coddling. It doesn't mean holding their hands and it doesn't even mean being nice to them. It doesn't exclude holding people accountable for their views. It does require patience, though. And I understand that if someone is holding the belief that you are not allowed to exist, that isn't something you can do. And that's fine. It doesn't have to be you.

But somebody has to do it, and it has to be someone on the left.

Now none of that means that the suffering of men under patriarchy, and the fact that this has to be addressed loud and clear, are more important than the suffering that women, and especially women whose oppression intersects with other levels of oppression. I've seen some tags on reaction posts that stated "omg of course centring men in discussions of gender" - but the post was about men. That was the whole starting point!

Because men do suffer under the patriarchy. And it's pushing them to the right, towards misogyny and racism, unless they develop the necessary critical thinking skills to understand their own suffering. And you know who thinks so too? bell hooks.

Often men, to speak the pain, first turn to the women in their lives and are refused a hearing. In many ways women have bought into the patriarchal masculine mystique. Asked to witness a male expressing feelings, to listen to those feelings and respond, they may simply turn away.

Since men have yet to organize a feminist men’s movement that would proclaim the rights of men to emotional awareness and expression, we will not know how many men have indeed tried to express feelings, only to have the women in their lives tune out or be turned off.

It is a form of abuse that this culture continues to deny. Boys socialized to become patriarchs are being abused. As victims of child abuse via socialization in the direction of the patriarchal ideal, boys learn that they are unlovable.

The patriarchal model that tells men that they must be in control at all times is at odds with cultivating the capacity to be responsible, which requires knowing when to control and when to surrender and let go. Responsible men are capable of self-criticism. If more men were doing the work of self-critique, then they would not be wounded, hurt, or chagrined when critiqued by others, especially women with whom they are intimate. Engaging in self-critique empowers responsible males to admit mistakes. When they have wronged others, they are willing to acknowledge wrongdoing and make amends. When others have wronged them, they are able to forgive. The ability to be forgiving is part of letting go of perfectionism and accepting vulnerability. At the same time, constructive criticism works only when it is linked to a process of affirmation. Giving affirmation is an act of emotional care. Wounded men are not often able to say anything positive. They are the grump-and-groan guys; cloaked in cynicism, they stand at an emotional distance from themselves and others. Affirmation brings us closer together. It is the highest realization of compassion and empathy with others. One of the negative aspects of antimale feminist critiques of masculinity was the absence of any affirmation of that which is positive and potentially positive in male being. When individuals, including myself, wrote about the necessity of affirming men and identifying them as comrades in struggle, we were often labeled male-identified. The women who attacked us did not understand that it was possible to critique patriarchy without hating men. Indeed, recognizing all the ways that males have been victimized by patriarchy (even though they received rewards) was a way of including men in feminist movement, welcoming their presence and honoring their contribution.

“in order to create loving males we need to love males” means teach boys that they can be themselves without being less of a man. it means being encouraging and nurturing of their emotions so they don’t become cold and hateful. it means showing boys, early in their lives, that they have value outside of what our society deems proper masculinity. what it doesn’t mean is that it’s our job to handhold men who see women as walking sex toys through the concept of empathy, and maybe if we’re really really nice to them and don’t say things that hurt their feelings they’ll stop killing us for saying no