#okay but seriously the whole taking name for themselves is such a big deal for clone troopers

[formulaforza]

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him. 

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open. 

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside. 

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart. 

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs. 

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools. 

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says. 

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom. 

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house. 

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby. 

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable. 

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch. 

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger. 

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good. 

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house. 

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt. 

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too. 

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And  I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a— 

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence. 

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones. 

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection. 

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug. 

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake. 

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces. 

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat. 

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though. 

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks. 

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh. 

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi. 

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming.  He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place. 

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes. 

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover. 

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of. 

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter. 

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening. 

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him. 

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects. 

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her. 

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house. 

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted. 

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker. 

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs. 

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called.  He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to. 

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up. 

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid. 

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest. 

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it. 

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one. 

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric. 

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter. 

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to. 

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered. 

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze. 

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks. 

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid. 

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly. 

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though. 

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside. 

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child. 

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes. 

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing. 

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead. 

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired. 

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door.  She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt. 

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long. 

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights. 

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of. 

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always. 

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath. 

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside. 

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without. 

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep. 

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it. 

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share. 

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly. 

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day. 

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies. 

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions. 

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day. 

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special. 

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off. 

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said. 

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour. 

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter. 

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it. 

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase. 

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course. 

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf. 

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside. 

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night. 

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings. 

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings. 

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?” 

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants. 

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy. 

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.” 

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes. 

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless. 

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out. 

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks. 

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party. 

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space. 

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is. 

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor. 

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them. 

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase. 

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks. 

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top. 

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor. 

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw. 

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd. 

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner. 

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions. 

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease. 

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter. 

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be. 

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one. 

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor. 

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her. 

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep. 

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains. 

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties. 

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries. 

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off. 

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa. 

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three. 

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows. 

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features. 

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human. 

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them. 

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers. 

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth. 

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug,  and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs. 

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris. 

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction. 

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of. 

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower. 

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them. 

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend. 

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings. 

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that. 

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world. 

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink. 

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah. 

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says. 

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat. 

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal. 

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand. 

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat. 

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear. 

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back. 

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s. 

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one. 

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action. 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn. 

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good. 

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over. 

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy. 

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them. 

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of. 

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech. 

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected. 

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that. 

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive. 

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend. 

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so. 

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green. 

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body. 

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer. 

“Hmm?” She hums. 

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question. 

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie. 

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her. 

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you.  Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

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The Lady Whistledown Papers : 1x2 - Shock and Delight (Part 1)

Hi! Welcome back to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

You know, I've never really paid attention to the episode names until I started going this... Time to shock and delight you. Okay, maybe not shock you. But hopefully delight you! As this episode gives a bit of comedy in the best way!

Condition

Okay, before I get into it, I need to mention that it feels weird seeing actual servants in the Featherington household. I'm used to just seeing Varley and Rae -- and I know them losing money is a plot point later on but I'm kind of curious to watch for when it changes.

In general, though, the first season feels like it was best at trying to be closer to historical accuracy? Look - I love Season 3, and it is by far my favorite, but it is historical fantasy more than anything else.

Anyway, we kick off this episode with the Featherington girls gossiping a bit about Marina's 'condition'. How did they find out? Servants? I don't think Marina actually confided in any of them. And with their lack of knowledge on clear display in this scene (among others) I don't think they worked it out for themselves.

I kind of love the little bit of comedy we get in this scene. Everything from Portia's over-reaction to the situation, Varley's quick little -- 'they know' comment, Lord Featherington (does this dude have a first name, gah, I should google it)'s chill calm down hysterical wife comment, to the Prudence's 'eeww' look during the whole scene.

And then Penelope's startled little 'oh no!' look when Portia claims if they don't knock it off, pregnancy could be catching. Makes me laugh every time. Girl does not want to be pregnant and have babies this very second.

But I mean, in all seriousness, it's really sad how poorly women were educated. They know nothing about sex or babies or anything and while it's use as a source for comedy on the show (there are truly some amazing moments because of this) it does show just how much these women are sheltered.

Two key points for Penelope here, though... A) Gossip queen is gossiping. She wants to know! And I mean, she wants to know because she truly is a curious person and who knows she's not getting the full information that's out there. I love that she wants to know things, and yes, she does like the gossip, but she loves knowledge, too, and I love that about her. B) I want to state right here --- they'll show later in this episode how gossip is key for communication. Penelope knows NOW that Marina is pregnant but chooses to keep that information safe and sacred. Because she has no want or need to really harm Marina in anyway. Another person as Lady Whistledown may not have been so careful with the information.

Accomplishments

I LOVE this little scene. It is great for both Eloise and Penelope -- as it shows off a lot of their characters and character dynamics in a very short scene.

Eloise is going on and on about Daphne and Simon, and how it shouldn't really be a big deal that someone finds someone else attractive. Who cares - there are accomplishments to achieve. We learn a LOT about Eloise - what she values in life, her frustrations with being a woman, and how women can't get anywhere on their own and are forced to be attached to men. It's really her struggle through the whole series -- and why I love her character so much.

(And, as an aside, why I struggle to reconcile the possibility that Eloise is going to have some kind of traditional love match -- let this girl be single and free! Or... something.)

But here's the thing about Eloise -- she goes on and on and on, and I think a lot of the time Penelope is right there with her. But I think for different reasons. Eloise comes from a very stable and loving household. She wants to go see the world and learn about it and achieve things for herself -- but she does so from a desire of extreme independence.

Penelope wants that independence, too, but maybe in a different way, for a different reason. As I mentioned above, Penelope is a very curious person, too, and wants to learn and know things. But she also comes from a very verbally abusive household, that doesn't seem to love her unconditionally. She's also treated like an ugly duckling by the ton in a way that Eloise is not. She yes, she wants to be the same strong, independent woman, too, but she has desires in the way that Eloise doesn't.

She longs for romance and love and acceptance and feels lonely and in all those ways she diverges from Eloise. Their friendship is fantastic, and I love it, but they've come together feeling like outsiders, and ultimately, their goals in life are different, even if they think similarly and enjoy and want similar things in life. It's an interesting contrast that will be the source of friction for the series.

Here's the other thing about Eloise -- (and I say this with all the love for Eloise, because she's one of my favorite characters) -- she loves to talk, but she's terrible at listening. She's (rightfully) indignant about a lot of things, but she pays little attention to what's going on around her.

(I mean. I'll say this right here -- I'm genuinely confused how (other than the plot needed her to be) she didn't pick up that Penelope had feelings for Colin. It is so blatantly obvious all the time. But I mean, one can chalk it up to Eloise being in her own little world and us being more privy to Penelope's inner thoughts. Still...)

Penelope is kind of lost in her own thoughts -- thinking about babies and Marina and confusion over how a thing like it happened. Penelope fills Eloise in on the situation (only lies and claims it a maid). I love the bit of comedy we get in Eloise discussing this -- the little digs at Portia for being old, and then Eloise's utter fear that the 'maid' is unmarried. WHAT IF IT HAPPENED TO THEM!! No doubt, this would be the utter worst for Eloise. She does have accomplishments to acquire.

It's interesting the Penelope is the harder read in this scene. She's worried for Marina. She's worried for herself. She doesn't necessarily seem to enjoy the scandal of it. So, now the two of them need to figure this all out. Pen will eventually go talk to Marina. Eloise as something Pen doesn't have... a family to ask... (for what good that will do.)

Babies

We are back in the Bridgerton drawing room where Colin (and Benedict) are doing what brothers do best and are teasing their sister -- Daphne, for getting so much attention at the ball. No, look, one of the things I adore about this show is that they don't shy away from actual sibling dynamics. The playfulness and antagonistic nature they all have with each other is delightful and real and as someone who has three brothers of her own, this author appreciates it.

I cannot stress this enough -- CLAUDIA. JESSIE. IS. A. GODDAMN. COMEDIC. MASTERMIND. (Another reason she and Nicola work so well together as Eloise and Pen.) Her delivery of -- 'how does a lady come to be with child' and 'I thought one needed to be married. Apparently that's not even a requirement' just gets me every time. I love her bluntness.

Colin has some great background moments, at first snickering at the question and then in shock that Eloise keeps pushing the subject. Again, great sibling dynamics in this scene.

I love that Eloise goes directly to her brothers -- which, again, I love this sibling bit. I have to wonder how many times Eloise did go to her older siblings -- and specifically her older brothers -- to find something out. And I have to wonder if most of the time, her brothers are happy to indulge. Here... it's a bit awkward.

Benedict doesn't even want to acknowledge the conversation. Colin is going to do what he always does -- and makes a joke out of it with the visiting a farm suggestion. (I LOVE Benedict smacking him upside the head -- it's such a brother thing to do then they're being a smartass.)

And I mean - okay, there's the obligatory mature vs immature comment I feel like I should make about Colin here. I do think Season 1 Colin is young, and is immature. He's also the youngest boy out of the initial three, who is prone to making light of situations, especially when his older brothers are often so serious.

But... maturity (or lack of) aside, this is honest to god such a sibling thing. It really doesn't matter how old they all get, Colin will probably continue to make jokes because he can.

I also want to mention, even though Eloise and Benedict are probably closer as siblings, I think Colin is more inclined to help Eloise when he can. He's got a good natured and helpful heart, even if he does it in the most sibling way possible.

THE TAKE OUR STICKS OUT INNUENDO! Honest to god, this moment makes me cackle every time. Colin Bridgerton! Indeed!

I love that Benedict is giggling. I love that Eloise is just so confused. I love that Colin is now intentionally getting under his mother's skin. It's such a funny, little family moment of ridiculousness.

I don't think this show gets enough credit for its moments of comedy, because they have some great comedians on the show.

I hope you enjoyed that bit of levity from Colin - because it's 8 minutes into the episode and that's the last we'll see of him in any kind of meaningful way for the rest of the hour. :P

An Extra

Alright, well, we'll have to go wade in the dramatic side of the pool for a moment with some unhinged Anthony.

The reason I'm even bothering is that we get a mention of Colin and Pen when Anthony is raving about how little it means that Daphne is being 'courted' by Simon. He's trying to claim that without a proposal, what Daphne and Simon are doing in public isn't much of anything. -- Look at Colin dancing around with the Featherington girl. That doesn't mean anything -- it couldn't possibly mean anything, they're just friends. Kinda. Whatever. Daphne - you dancing with Simon is nothing like that!

Lol - Anthony is some day going to have to think over every interaction he's noticed between Colin and Penelope and reevaluate things.

But the point here, it's a nice little Easter Egg. It's nice way of nodding that Daphne and Simon are a little like Colin and Pen, and that Colin and Pen are a little like Daphne and Simon and, yes, we will get to that love story but right now we're in the middle of being dramatic so that'll have to wait a few years.

Anyway... it's a cute little shout out, and a nice stopping place for now... :)

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

I miss my guys from 179 Crescent Street and I know it's gonna be some time until I get the next chapters, so I hope you have some time for little headcanon snippets...

I was wondering how the guys are dealing with being jealous...

Are they jealous at all? And if they are, how are they going to react?

OH BOY! Thank you so much for this ask! You know I love talking about my boys! I used your edits for most of the dividers <3 (Except the Mikey one, because I needed that purple-redish bckg that I love so much...)

Let's get into it! I'm going to tag @deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae and @fvckinghenrycavill for the hell of it, because I just need you to hear my incessant rambling about these boys ❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: We're gonna be offhandedly mentioning sex a couple of times. Big whoop.

It's been said a million times at this point, but I'll just repeat it; Mike is super laid back about almost everything.

This guy wouldn't know jealousy if it hit him square in the nuts with a baseball bat. That means he doesn't do well with a partner who is prone to jealousy.

He 100% will not understand why you're a little miffed about what just happened because "but, babe, I was just licking her cheek? How is that weird?" They're just friends, you had better believe it, because he really isn't lying.

But doesn't he see that irgendwie, irgendwo, irgendwann there's always a ton of girls who are flirting with him? Huh? What? No? No one is flirting with him? He legit doesn't see it, because he's with you.

There's one little exception to this: Charles. Seriously, Charles Brandon can kindly fuck all the way off, and if he so much as looks at you wrong...

Contrary to popular belief, August Walker isn't a jealous guy. He isn't subtle in any way, so if you're going to be his girl, you know what he wants out of that relationship: Commitment, loyalty, trust. And a very intense sex life. He's not going to settle for vanilla...

Are there any guys checking his girl out? Of course! She's beautiful. But she wears the ring he gave her, her arms are wrapped around his waist, and she's going to end up in his bed tonight, screaming his name. He's not worried about anyone else.

There is one little exception to this and his name is Charles Brandon... Then again, he's not too worried. Brandon wouldn't risk taking a couple of punches to his prettyboy face for his friends' girls.

Anjelica, however... She's small but vicious, and you had better not spend too much time looking at her man. She might just gouge your eyes out.

'But I can look, right?' Yeah, you can look. The other way. Buh-bye.

Walter Marshall needs a hug, some good head, a whole lot of coffee, and probably therapy. And he's not even a cop yet!

He likes to keep you close, that's for sure. You always know when there's guys around who he doesn't trust, because the fingers of the hand that seems to be permanently on your hip dig into you so hard it definitely hurts a little.

It's okay though, he won't do anything rash or stupid as long as they keep their hands to themselves.

He'll save all of that anger for the rink, when he knows you're watching him play. Yeah, there's some unnecessary checks and punches, but if it gets you all hot and bothered...

Geralt isn't jealous at all! As long as his girl is near him all the time so he can keep an eye on her...

No, Geralt definitely likes to say he's not jealous, just suspicious, which is largely true. The first few months away from Sol were an adjustment, though, because he couldn't scowl at all those losers who went after his Swedish goddess.

Sol ironically likes to rev him up a little on those rare occasions they go out. She likes the way he claims her when they're finally alone again. The good thing is that Geralt hears and sees everything. He always knows when it's her playing around, or the guy getting a little too into it.

Now, Charles, that's an entirely different story. Geralt will and has throw hands if Mr. Brandon ever decides to try and get a little too friendly with his girl.

Napoleon Solo, jealous? Yes.

He has no trouble at all taking the things he wants for himself, and our Leon doesn't like it when other people touch his stuff.

However; he's a collector. Unfortunately, you aren't a collection if you're just by yourself, so watch out: You're the one who's going to end up jealous and hurt if you expect commitment and monogamy from this guy.

Now, if he were in that sort of relationship with you, he'd mostly be curious to see how you react. He's not going to blame the guys for trying; God knows he would have. But you... If you play along, you're definitely in for a long talk that might just end badly...

Much like Leon, Charles is very prone to want more, and more, and more. He'll happily go after whatever (and whoever) he wants, even if she's already taken - or he himself is. Honestly, everyone's continuously surprised he doesn't live with a permanently broken nose...

He likes to rile his friends up by flirting with their girlfriends, but he has no intention of seeing that through. Well, he's not planning on it, at least. This man has about as much control over his dick as I do over my brain. None. At all.

Now, if he did try to commit to one girl, trying to make a move on her would be a surefire way to get whacked in the teeth with a hockey stick. But if he so much as gets the idea that you're the one interested in anyone else? Let's just say he's very eye-for-an-eye when it comes to that...

Sy doesn't need to be jealous. I could just stop here, but allow me to explain:

Prince of pussy eating perfection. Don of dinner down there.

Do I need to keep going? Sy is the literal Headmaster! (@deandoesthingstome please appreciate this terrible pun)

He knows you'll come back for him - they all do, which is precisely why you had better not be the jealous type. Sy has no problems with commitment when he finds a girl he thinks is worth it, but the others ladies didn't get the memo: They just keep flocking to him.

He doesn't respond to any of it, of course, because you're his woman. His one and only. And you trust him completely.

That being said; it does get fucking annoying that these girls don't seem to understand the concept 'off the market'. Not that you don't understand why they do it... In fact, it's something you're very actively reminded of every time you see his face in between your legs...

Our lovely Sherlock is far too rational to be jealous, of course! Right?

We know he doesn't have a ton of experience (alright, he has no experience at all), and he absolutely would get a little anxious if he were to think Elena was into someone else.

Now, is he going to be smart and talk about these feelings? Probably not! She'll have to pull it out of him, and he won't take kindly to her laughing about it, but she can't help it because it's just so silly of him to think she'd want to be with anyone else!

Now, Elena likes that little bit of protectiveness, but she knows better than to go looking for trouble. Luckily, she's pretty, and guys do flirt with her, but Sherlock hardly ever notices; he's too busy looking at her, to be honest.

If he does notice, he just gets a bit sad, and a little clingy. Until the flirting crosses a line. It takes a lot to get Sherlock to lose his temper, but lewd and inappropriate behavior or comments towards his girlfriend will definitely set him off... Just ask Charles.

[amevello-blue]

Hello! I shouldn't be awake cause it's 12:24 AM BUT very quick question: do you have any advice or questions you ask yourself that help with character building, storyline, or worldbuilding? Cause I'm making a TMNT iteration and the struggle bus is crashing into a brick wall repeatedly 😔

Oh gosh. OU-- OKAY HERE WE GO

CHARACTER BUILDING

If you're going for your own version of TMNT, you can basically do anything you want with the characters. They can have whatever personality you like! They can be whoever you want them to be, however you want them to be! When you've got a group of four main characters, though, you want to make sure they're distinct enough from one another where they don't overlap.

Something I usually do to figure this out is like, what's their worst fear, what would they feel a perfect life would be like, what are their short-term goals and long-term goals, etc. and move on to smaller stuff like quirks. How do they stand for a long period of time? Do they eat polite or messily?

Another thing about character building is thinking about where you want your character to be at the end of it. What is the Final Form of your character? Now smack them back down the mountain because they gotta climb that shit themselves. Think of it like this; if you want a character to have character development during the story, you've gotta think about how you want them to be by the end.

I'll use Rise Leo in the movie as an example here because it's obvious. By the end of the movie he's selfless; he's sacrificed himself to save his family and has made peace with dying alone because of it. At least the world is saved. At least his brothers are alive. We go back a little, and we have Leo realizing that his selfishness, his need to be right and making reckless decisions without relying on the people around him and trying to do everything on his own, has all put the people he loves in danger. We go back even further and find Leo overconfident and sloppy because he believes it's not a big deal. He's not taking things seriously, he's more interested in being the center spotlight, he wants to be the best.

The good thing about TMNT is that you can kind of pick and choose personality traits and character arcs from other canon iterations, or you can mesh them together. If you get stuck, look at the other "versions" of that character and decide which traits you want them to have, or which traits you don't.

STORY

Story isn't something I can exactly give a whole lot of help on, because it's your story. HOWEVER, I can explain the snowflake method, which I feel is a good way to figure out what you wanna do.

The snowflake method is a way of outlining a story. First you write a one-sentence synopsis of what your story is about. I'll use Mystic Forest for an example; "Four teenage mutant ninja turtles live in the forest and fight to protect two worlds from the Shredder".

Then you make it into three sentences. "Four TMNT live in a forest and discover that their world is connected to another; the Yokai Realm. A man named Oroku Saki, moonlighting as the Shredder, wants to make a deal with an ancient Yokai to open the worlds to each other once more. The turtles learn how to master magical yokai weapons in order to defeat him."

Then you can take each of those sentences and expand upon them. Break everything down further, in threes. Explain more and more each time.

Basically, figure out your concept, you can go more easily from there.

WORLDBUILDING

Ah the bane of my existence and yet my most beloved. You can get caught up in worldbuilding SO easily. Make sure you're working on the stuff that really matters to the story. So, if your turtles are living in the city, maybe write a paragraph or two about what the city is like. Is it grungy and rainy with lots of shadows and the distant glow of lights, or is it bright and bustling with neon everywhere with a seedy underbelly?

Is the vibe of the story fantasy, sci-fi, a mix, something else?

If the turtles have powers, how do they work? What are their weaknesses? What are their strengths? What does it cost to use the powers? What stops them from using them all the time?

What are the locations your characters will go to during the story? What are those places like? Are they buildings or the outdoors?

There's a lot of worldbuilding resources out there, you can really go ham on stuff just looking up "worldbuilding questions" and get a ton of prompts to think about. When building up a specific location I like to think about the five senses; what's it look like, what's it smell like, what's it sound like, what's the taste in the air, what's the feeling of the buildings or the plants or the barren wasteland? etc.

Figuring out how the turtles came to be is usually something most people do, but it's not something that's a requirement. Also, some people do stuff in a different order; they'll worldbuild first, then figure out story, then figure out characters. I end up doing that a lot of the time. Sometimes it's story, then characters, then worldbuilding. Just depends on what you feel most comfortable with.

If you find yourself hitting a wall, maybe stop and ask yourself why you're smashing into a wall and not going around it. Maybe something isn't clicking right. Back up. Look at what's around it. Character not quite feeling like you wanted them to? Look over what role you've given them, check the other characters, see if they have the relationships you want them to have. Back up even further. Are they in the correct place in the story?

And uh, when in down, throw spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks. :) thinking outside the box and being purposefully ridiculous can something help stretch that imagination muscle.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Horizon: Forbidden West Prologue

So a few notes from various bits of prologue. I'm not in the eponymous Forbidden West yet, mostly because one of the things I'm finding is that the low-level anxiety of jumping puzzle hits a little different with the fibro. I get tense, and lemme tell you, I feel it these days. So this is going to be a long, long game. But here are the notes from the Horizon: Forbidden West prologue ... more or less spoiler-free.

Ah, stealth kills, I have missed you. And I've very, very nearly hit the first achievement for those already. Not to mention the "knocking components off" achievement. Not there yet, but ... getting there.

In checking whether I'd actually reached any achivements yet, I note that various friends have got a lot farther than me in this game. Fucking fibro.

See ... this whole deal where it guides you on what actions you need to take to climb or grapple or whatever could be seen as annoying? But I honest-to-gods need a reminder if I'm taking it this slow. So it is annoying but it's also really helpful, so thanks for that.

Some of the new designs on these beasties are lit. Still hate being forced into armed confrontation with these things. Just let me hide and shoot them from the next post code over, damnit!

What's this thing? Can I scavenge it? ...Oh. I was supposed to kill Big Beastie with this. Sorry; I prefer precision. kthxbai.

...Well, if that isn't commentary on tech 'geniuses' and their bullshit, and on corporate greed. Also, it's actually a real shame that so many of the effective antagonists of both games have been dead for so very, very long, because they are all so very, very punchable and apparently they haven't worked out hard light hologram technology so I can't literally punch that smirking shithead in the face.

Aloy, you were raised agnostic and found proof of atheism. Varl has not. Chill the fuck out. You're equipped to see things as they are; your people view everything through a religious filter. So long as they're not exiling people or some shit, why do you care if they worship an AI construct?

Aaaaaaaaaaand we're back to Meridian. Cool. Wait, what the fuck now?

So ... why didn't we double-check the Spire before we went heading off on wild goose chases?

SYLENS YOU DICKWAFFLE. (Sorry, Lance Reddick; you gave really, really good dickwaffle.)

Not sure what to make of this "workbench" mechanic. It'll probably be better when I can fast travel to places.

Please, please tell me I can dump some of the vendor trash while I'm in what passes for civilisation in Horizon-world. Please? I have been so good.

Somebody want to please explain to me why those neckbeard arseholes think Aloy's ugly? Okay, sometimes they do not get her best angle in cutscenes, but mostly she's, like ... a realistically beautiful woman. Ah, right - it's the realistically part they object to. They want doe-eyed skinny waifu. Well, they can get stuffed, because I'm already struggling with how she manages to get the less dreadlocked bits of her hair moving like a shampoo commercial when she has no shampoo. Plus, those neckbeards are not exactly looking at the cover of GQ themselves, y'know?

I'm kind of interested in how they've set up this prologue. Both HZD and HFW start us with where Aloy has been and what she's done, but I guess you can't really turn "killed an invasion of war machines" into an easy prologue the way you can "finding a focus and training for Big Event". Plus, the whole thing makes me wonder exactly how many friendly faces from home we're going to have as companions. I mean, I know two - hell, even if I hadn't seen both in trailers, one I've already had as a companion, and when you get that many Oseram scattered around the place, you know who's going to show up in Horizon-world eventually.

No, seriously, let me offload vendor trash I HAVE BEEN SO GOOD.

So I stopped in and around Meridian before having to tell everybody, "Hey, I'm going to the place named in the title of this game because that guy you told me to look for is a dickwaffle but he could conceivably be a helpful dickwaffle if I help him with the problem he willingly dove into head-first by ... well, being a dickwaffle". I am at least supposed to be finding a workbench and hopefully someone I can throw vendor trash at, but I more or less stopped there because I do have some shit to do today. Not much shit right away - I mean, I do have D&D later this evening and we're still running a little earlier than usual because of Daylight Savings being weird this year, but that's still way later - but some shit. Specifically I need to go out for ground cardamom. Look, I need it to make apple pie spice, and all of my cardamom is in pods. Kind of wish that the recipes for apple pie spice I have looked up specified what colour cardamom needs grinding. I guess I'll just hope I get it right. I need this because I'm baking apple bread. I got buttermilk and everything! Also I want to make more apple turnovers and the homemade filling with only cinnamon ... well, it needs something. Maybe apple pie spice instead of just cinnamon is that something. Anyway, also means I need apples. So that means a shopping trip. So I guess I'd best prep for that.

And then home and more video games. Not sure if I'm going to do my shopping / crafting in HFW or if I'm going to go back to the Shadow-Cursed Lands in BG3 so that I can earn a whole lot of easy approval with Astarion and Lae'zel by making big lumpy bag of poison explode. I'll think about it as I do errands, I guess.

[cienie-isengardu]

"Sir .. ." Jangotat looked to either side swiftly, saw that they were alone and lowered his voice. "Please don't laugh at me ..." The Nautolan shook his head gravely. "Never." "I'm thinking of taking a name." General Fisto's teeth gleamed. "I've heard that some do. What name are you thinking? Be careful," he warned. "Names can be powerful." The trooper nodded. "So ... a friend suggested: Jangotat. Brother of Jango." He narrowed his eyes as if expecting rebuke. "Would that be ... a good thing?" Kit Fisto did him the respect of genuinely pondering the question. Then, after almost a minute, he answered, "Jango was a man of great strengths. A worthy foe. I would be proud to have his namesake at my side." He slapped the trooper's shoulder. "Jangotat." "Would you inform General Kenobi? I've already told my brothers. The Nautolan's eyebrow arched. "And what did they say?" Jangotat laughed. "They wished they'd thought of it first."

The Cestus Deception

[strangelysamantha]

shark bite ☆

rafe cameron x fem!reader.

warnings: blood, injury, mentions of sharks, being bit by a shark, and swearing.

words: 1,018.

summary: what was once a fun day on the beach filled with surfing, quickly became a bloody and painful nightmare.

request? no.

a/n: hi hi hi this is my worst nightmare! haha, in all seriousness i could actually never go through all of that. like and comment if you enjoyed this story, and please send in some requests, ill be running out of ideas soon (after i finish my drafts/ half written stories)!! more stories out tonight. <3

my masterlist

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“one more wave! please, and then we can leave!” you begged rafe, who was already done with surfing. “okay, fine!” he laughs, standing in the sand, “but i’m staying here.” you run into the water. you look up at him, sending a smile out to him, and waving. you lift yourself on the surfboard, preparing for the next wave. you sit down deciding you weren’t far out enough, so you start paddling deeper into the ocean. your legs dangle into the warm water, the sun blinding you slightly.

you close your eyes, content with your life at this moment. when you open your eyes, a wave hits you, harder than the earlier ones. the wave causes you to fly off your board, submerging entirely under the water. you thrash under the water, trying to swim to shore. a sharp pain pulses from your foot, to your calf. the pain prickles your skin, making it harder to make it to the surface.

rafe looks up, seeing your lonely board unattended to. his eyes scout the ocean, looking for you. he begins to panic when he can’t find you, he instead finds an area where the water is a darker red. he rushes into the water, swimming to the red-stained water. he screams your name, his heart racing. he glances over and sees your arm extend out the water, and he frantically swims towards you. relief washes over him when he realizes you were too far from the bloody spot, meaning you couldn’t have gotten hurt.

he grabs you, helping you to the shore, he sets you down, immediately attending to your face. you cough up water, gasping slightly. “fuck!” you scream out, the air hitting your open wound. he jumps forward, grabbing your arm. “WHAT?!” he questions you, and you quickly shake your head. “rafe! please!” you reach to your left leg, tears falling from your eyes. his eyes glance down to your leg, startled and upset he hadn’t noticed it before.

“holy shit! you got bit!” he stumbles back, anxiety taking over. “rafe i need to go to the hospital.” you whine, the pain in your leg only getting worse. he nods, “okay, okay. holy shit.” he leaps to his feet, immediately reaching down to lift you. his arm wraps around your waist, the other grabbing your hand that was tightened around his neck. you limp forward, your body depending on him for support.

he carefully carries you to his car, setting you up in the backseat. he rushes to the front seat, grabbing his phone. he dials the hospital, explaining to them what was happening. the ambulance was on it’s way. your foot hurt so bad, all you wanted was to be able to take the pain away. “rafe,” you whisper slightly, your tone causing his heart to drop. “yes?” he couldn’t look at your leg, it was making him nauseous. “it hurts so bad.” you reach for his arm, grasping it tightly. “i know, i know.” he frowns at you, “help is on the way, just stay awake. please stay awake.”

you groan but nod your head slightly. he whispers to you, but you aren’t fully listening. the sounds of sirens finally fill your ears, making you smile softly. “okay, you’re okay.” he was rubbing your thigh, glancing around to see where the ambulance was.

the ambulance pulled up to rafe’s car, the doctors immediately going by your side. they carry you to the bed, swiftly positioning you into the back. rafe shuts his car door before locking it, immediately joining you in the back of the ambulance. the sight of you made his heartache, he decided to look out the window, averting his eye contact.

the nurses murmur to themselves while they quickly clean the bite mark. you arrive at the hospital and they rush you inside. rafe stayed in the waiting room. he stayed still and silent for the most part, but as time went by, and the longer it took, he began to pace and become anxious. the image of your mutilated leg still clouded his mind.

after what felt like forever to rafe, he was finally called back to your room. “rafe.” you called out to him, confused by how awkward he looked when he stood in your doorway. he frowned, “hey, baby.” you gesture for him to come closer and he silently obeys.

“rafe, i’m surprised you are still here.” you glance away from him, your eyes going to the annoying and repetitive beeping monitor. when you look back at him he looks shocked. “of course i’m still here. i wouldn’t leave you.” you nod, smiling softly. the doctor walked inside, his head engulfed into a large packet of paper.

“you are a champ.” the doctor stared at you, smirking. the confused look on your face makes him laugh. “you survived a shark attack. that’s a big deal.” you nod, “what’s the damage?” he stares at you, thinking about your question. “you’ll survive. you called us just in time. luckily, the shark only nipped your calf, somehow it avoided the bone.” rafe smiles at the doctor's words.

“while you are okay, you need to take it easy. you need to recover.” the doctor's earlier playful manner quickly turned serious. you reassured him, “i will.” the doctor informed you and rafe about your future limitations, and then left you two. you were free to go home.

“my shark survivor.” rafe stated, while he helped you put your shoes on. “ew rafe!” you playfully punch his shoulder, “don’t ever call me that.” he shakes his head, grinning. “it has a nice ring to it.” you scoff, “says who?” you asked him. “me, i declare that.” you roll your eyes, “okay, fine. can we go home now?” he nods. you suddenly break into a fit of laughter, the whole situation finally hitting you. “i almost died.” rafe frowns at your words, “yes, that is true. but you are okay! that’s why we call you the shark survivor.” you sigh in defeat, “fine, it does sound kinda cool.” rafe smirks, “exactly, because i came up with it.”

[gojology]

Strawberry Flavored Pocky.

pairing : teen! gojo x gender neutral reader warnings : the big three: unedited, most likely badly written, and some cursing. also there’s like.. graphic imagery that gojo and reader exchange to eachother. it’s just banter though! wordcount : 2273 a/n : for that one anon that wanted teen gojo. my stroke of genius always occurs when im eating strawberry flavored pocky i swear.. anyways yeah this is unfiltered writing n it’s probably like not the best tbh and maybe i didn’t nail teen gojo’s personality but u know what this was so fun to write

     The sound of the tear of the wrapper containing the Pocky you had just bought was music to your ears, crinkling with every touch. Your fingers are itching to grab for the deliciously coated sticks, but you’re stopped by someone none other than Gojo Satoru himself.       “What’d you get?” he inquired, seemingly unbothered by the face you were making, he hadn’t even greeted you with a simple, “Hello.” he sat down on the bench seat right next to you, uninvited.       In his hand were many bags of various sweet treats, you could only make out some familiar ones- ramune flavored gummies, a bag of chips, vibrantly colored candy. Your lips quirk downwards, exhaling, turning to face the setting sun.       “Just some Pocky.” you flatly respond, beginning to pick the biscuit up. Contrary to Gojo’s wide choice of snacks, you only really had one favorite- Pocky. Specifically, Strawberry flavored Pocky. The sweet, yet somewhat tart aftertaste treat dominated your mind almost day and night. It wasn’t everyday that Yaga would be lenient enough to take the four of you to the local convenience store. You were waiting for Shoko and Geto to finish shopping to finally head home for a night of yummy snacking.       Gojo sighs, lazily dropping the treats right next to his side, they sat idly, limply resting on his thigh as he crossed his right leg over his left knee. His hands warmly nestled into his snowy white hair, his elbows jutting into your personal bubble.        “Not one to chat, are you? What’s the problem? You scared?” his tone is teasing, and you jerk your head to face his. Your head is tilted, like your confused, but in reality you’re just astounded how obnoxious he was.       “Why in the world would I be scared of you? You wouldn’t lay a finger on me. Yaga-Senpai would rip your limbs off one by one and fling you into the horizon! And he’s not even that far away, I could report you to him if you even get on my nerves in the slightest.” you shot back, huffing and taking your first bite on the biscuit. You instantly melt.       He flashes you a toothy smile, and you stiffen, did he ever take anything seriously? “Oh my, so riled up. Only scaredy-cats would talk about how not scared they were. Look, you’re even shaking-” he gestures to your just slightly shaking, tightened grip on your Pocky. “-I win, Y/N! Boo hoo, case closed, gimme your Pocky~”        “No, fuck you and your fat ass trying to take my Pocky, I’m not shaking from fear anyways.” you sternly retort, warmth rushing to your cheeks for whatever reason. “I’m shaking because I’m resisting the urge to duct tape your mouth shut and gouge your eyeballs out.”       He chuckles warmly as if your gruesome detailing was humorous, he probably didn’t know you meant it. He too, ripped open one of his snacks. “Calm down, Y/N. I was joking, I could buy Pocky’s whole stock and probably also buy my position up as CEO if I wanted to. I wouldn’t leech off of you, sugar.” readjusting his crooked, circular shades, he looked down at your now slack grip on the wrapper.      Unanswering, you’re grumbling instead. Under your breath, you’re curious as to how Gojo hasn’t realized how obnoxious he was, and how much longer could he survive without his head exploding from how big it was from his inflated ego?      Gojo grinned. He was all too aware of those things, but who really cared?      “Not unless you let your guard down!-” unable to finish the rest of his sentence, he yanked up the wrapper from your hands, using the extent of his long arm to dangle it high above your head. Your reflexes are far too slow to react, causing you to glare at him in a mixture of shock, hatred, and disbelief.      “Give-” you jump, arm reaching towards your snack, but he backs off, snickering and still dangling it above your head. “It-” now you’ve leapt up on the bench, grabbing at the wrapper to no avail. “Back!-” whimpering and flailing your arms out, every time you came close to retrieving your rightfully owned pack of Pocky, he’d simply throw it to his other hand so carelessly it pissed you off. All the while giggling, juggling it like a clown.      A breath of laughter escapes his lips as he looks at you, prancing around like a circus act on the bench, yelling curses and many death-wishes to his clan. Your eyebrows are knitted together, and he can’t just help but realize how adorable you were when concentrated in getting something- so stubborn.    “Okay, okay!” and as if Gojo had flipped a switch, you simmer down, looking at him with an impatient side-eye. “You want it, doggie?”     “Refer to me as doggie, and I’ll send a pack of strays to ravage you.”       Gojo exhaled out of his nose. “You’re a funny one, doggie.” did he just dismiss the conversation you two were having literally 2 seconds prior? “I’ll ask this again, do you want to get your treats back?” his eyes are glinting with amusement and child-like glee. You were almost sure that he had started calling your beloved Pocky as treats because of just how well it suited the nickname Doggie. It looked like you would be getting no where unless you paid no mind to him calling you such a.. Derogatory name.       Grumbling and studying the concrete you were currently trampling on, you exasperatedly sigh.       “Yes. I do want my Pocky back.” you grunt, averting your gaze to anywhere but Gojo’s shoes.       He perks up in approval, drawing out a long, “Hmmm?” as if he hadn’t expected you to give up so easily. “What are the magic words, Y/N?”       This was so humiliating.       “Please?” you politely say through gritted teeth. If it weren’t for the general public bustling about, you would’ve lunged for his unruly hair and tear it out of his scalp.       “Hah! You think I’m gonna do that sorta bullshit?” he crosses his arms, Pocky tucked safely under his arm. You wince, thinking about how the biscuits may potentially be snapped in half. Did you really want your snack still? It probably smelled like Gojo’s armpit sweat, death, and all the bad things in the world combined. “You’re gonna have to earn it, Y/N, in a game.”       Now convinced that Gojo was the manifestation of all the bad karma that you had avoided, you stare at him with wide eyes and fear, the irritation long gone. Games, no, scratch that, literally anything with Gojo only resulted in a small, or maybe large piece of your sanity torn away from you, lost to the infinite dark abyss. Maybe that’s why Geto seemed to slowly go insane everyday.       “On second thought, I’ll just go-”      He cuts you off, alarm now displayed on full view, his face contorting back to neutral. “Wait, no! It won’t be hard. Pinkie promise.” extending a pinkie towards you, you gently slap it away. The mood change was so instant, you were still shocked, that, and he was almost a legal adult and still believed in pinkie promises.      Still hesitant, you quirk an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’d rather spend another two dollars than play whatever game your planning, unless you tell me about it.”      “That’s a given, besides, it won’t take too long, Y/N. I think you’ll like it.” he replies cheerfully, leaning and whisper-yelling into your ear, fruitfully jolting you up. Seriously, did he have any idea what personal space was?      After just a few seconds of thinking, you roll your eyes in defeat. “Okay, what’s this game?”      His incredibly long fingers inserted themselves inside the crinkling wrapper, pulling out a slender stick. You’re almost sure your salivating, and subconsciously swallow the lump at the back of your throat. “Okay, rules of this game are... Hm, we both place our mouths at both ends of the stick. You get the pretzel part because that part sucks.” mischief flickers in his eyes briefly. “Whoever can get down the Pocky longest without being afraid of kissing and pulling back, loses and doesn’t get the Pocky. Whoever stays in their place wins. I’ll throw in some money, deal or no deal?”       “This doesn’t sound.. Fun.” you were still skeptical, but curiosity was blossoming rapidly inside of you. Could you really resist such an intriguing request? The guy was rich, and he did say he’d throw in some money. Gojo probably hated the thought of you, too. You could probably get up and close, get him to cower away from the thought of locking lips with you, and you’d be on your merry way.       “Um, actually, never mind. Let’s do this.” you chirp, the weariness had depleted completely. Besides, Gojo would pester you into doing it anyways, this would effectively save time. The expression on his face was indecipherable, silently wishing to yourself to see his eyes. You wonder if they’re wide open, in shock of your acceptance.       He gently placed the biscuit between your lips, his thumb brushing against it. Your breath hitches, now he’s up close. The shades adorning his handsome features, concealing those vivid blue eyes of his made your heart pace quicken in just seconds, maybe it was because he could see you- and you couldn’t. Your gaze shifts to the tufts of white hair hanging above his forehead. His bangs look lusciously soft, so soft you wonder what it’d be like to ruffle his unruly hair, what did it smell like? What conditioner did he use?     Your cheeks darken, but you hope he doesn’t notice it. This was what people thought of when they saw pretty people up close, it wasn’t like you had a thing for him, he was just attractive, that’s all.      “You look real stupid holding that stick between your teeth and looking at me.” he comments, charmingly smirking as you give him another death glare, unable to speak in fear of dropping the Pocky stick. You could count each individual hair strand he had on top of his head with the amount of time he was taking.      Chomp.     You take the first bite, and you can’t help but realize how much your heart is fluttering about in your chest. Eyelashes fluttering, nerves getting jittery, the exchange was strangely intimate. No kidding, of course it was- if the two of you were adamant and continued to chomp on the stick, it would only end in a kiss. There was no way around it.      He takes a bite too, his lips look curved in a dopey smile, but there’s not a single word traded between the two of you, just tiny, slight nibbles. It would be eons until someone finished, and you were growing impatient by the minute. Quicken the pace. Quicken the fucking pace.     So you did the unthinkable, you quickened the pace.     Taking a large bite, he pauses for a minute- as if to think, before taking an even larger bite. Now, 2/3′s of the original stick is gone. One more large bite, and a kiss would follow suit. Now, you’re sweating bullets, eyes bouncing from him, back down to the microscopic sized Pocky. His lips are so, so close. Soft, plush pink, so glossy you’re inclined to ask what brand of lip gloss he uses. You can hear his breathing grow heavier, why wasn’t he giving up?      The two of you don’t take a single bite, plainly avoiding the objective, the world around you had evaporated into thin air. It’s you, and Gojo Satoru.      You nibbled a little bit more, and then you make up your mind. You’re going to kiss-       Growing chatter grew closer to closer, and you realize Shoko’s monotone and Geto’s lively voice, alongside a very disgruntled Yaga.       “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. I actually liked the movie- Uh...?” the steady rhythm stopped against the concrete. Immediately, you straighten and clear your throat, spitting out the Pocky stick into the nearby grass. Gojo follows suit, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and twirling around. “Oh hey, Geto!-”       “Are we interrupting something? Something.. Important?” Shoko quizzes, struggling to stifle her giggling. A sheepish smile was displayed widely on your face for the world to see, hands behind your back like you were hiding something. Gojo, on the other hand, is facing the other direction, whistling and staring at the now setting sky.       You stutter, cheeks growing even darker. Yaga looks as disgruntled as ever, facepalming and murmuring to himself. Geto looks ecstatic.        “MY MAN!” he beams. “WERE YOU GOING TO-”       “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Shoko shushes him in response, turning her head back to the two of you. You looked like you had just seen a ghost. “We thought you hated Gojo, we’re just...” her head is cocked slightly, an understanding expression on her features. “Just surprised, is all.”       Spluttering, you try to explain yourself- but no sound comes out. Your mouth is opening and closing, struggling to find the words.       “I do hate him... I just... He.. Pocky.. He uh...”       “Sheeeeeeeesh! Poor Y/N over here is going through some shock right now!” Gojo muses aloud, he places an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in under his arm. There’s a small, coy grin on his lips. As if he didn’t try kissing you 1 minute ago. “Just ignore them, anyways, what are we having for dinner tonight? I heard there’s a really good KBBQ place down the street that just opened..”      As much as you hate Gojo, his ability to escape anything did come in handy.    Well, maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you were leading on.     You’d go as far as to say.. Maybe you enjoyed some parts of him.      

[a-dragons-journal]

i dont "kin for fun" but through tiktok i found out about the whole kin for fun vs actual otherkin... situation ig? im having a really hard time taking it seriously... maybe im just burnt out and bitter from dealing with the worlds current events, and maybe its because on tiktok the only people i saw mad about it were white people, but you're the most reasonable person ive seen talking about it (a lot of other posts have this odd tone that 12 year olds on tiktok saying kin is the worlds greatest opression and it weirds me out) so ig my question is just... why exactly does this matter? why does it matter enough to post about and care about and not just ignore? /gen

Hey! I don’t blame you for being a bit weirded out by it, we’re a weird subculture and we’re well aware of it! xD I appreciate you taking the time to actually look into it past your first knee-jerk reaction, especially considering burnout and the state of things.

I’m not totally sure if you’re asking why otherkinity matters or why the “kin for fun” being wrong matters, so I’ll answer both - they’re pretty well tied together anyway.

The short version:

Otherkinity is an identity. It’s who we are, we can’t choose to pick it up or put it down, and it comes with struggles - though no, ‘kin are not systematically oppressed (though we are pretty badly bullied and, at this point, pushed out of our own words and spaces).

What people calling roleplay/relating to/projecting onto characters “kinning for fun” does is steal our words, make them meaningless, and in doing so, make it difficult or impossible for us to find each other. If someone says “I kin [x],” I no longer know whether they mean “I am [x] on an intrinsic level” or “haha I relate to this character a lot”. I no longer know whether they actually share my experiences or if they’re going to turn on me and call me “crazy” as soon as they realize I’m not exaggerating or joking or roleplaying. It’s done massive harm to the community as a whole because it’s become difficult to tell whether someone is actually ‘kin or if they’ve misunderstood the whole thing - and because antikin rhetoric, which I’m seeing more and more in KFF spaces, hurts far more when it’s coming from inside what you thought was a community space than when it’s coming from self-labeled “antikin.”

There are other words for roleplaying and relating to and projecting onto characters. Hell, there are words for strongly identifying with-but-not-as characters/things, though usually KFF people don’t even seem serious enough for those to fit in my experience. I’m really not sure why these people are so determined to steal and misuse our words, words that were specifically created to mean something else, when they already have their own and are just refusing to use them. (Or, hell, if you don’t feel like those fit, make your own. We did. It’s your turn to put in the work. (General you, not you-the-anon, of course.))

An analogy, if that still doesn’t quite land for you:

Consider, for a moment, the transgender community. I am aware this is a dangerous thing to say, but bear with me. Obvious CW for hypothetical transphobia up ahead is obvious.

Consider if you were part of the trans community (I don’t know if you are or not), having finally found a word to explain why you feel the way you do about yourself, why your experiences don’t seem to match up with those of everyone else around you. Having found a community, a home, full of other people like you, people you never would have met if not for words like “transgender” and “gender dysphoria/euphoria” that were created specifically to describe your experiences.

Now consider if people suddenly stumbled across your community for the first time who were not trans themselves. They see community jokes and lighthearted posts out of context, because Tumblr and Twitter aren’t exactly conducive to making sure people find the Transgender 101 information posts first. They don’t bother to do further research, assuming they understand: ah, these people like to crossdress! They like to pretend they’re a different gender! This seems like a fun hobby, I want in!

They begin to post things like this. They post photos of them crossdressing and caption them “hi, I’m [name], and I trans men!” and things of the like. Suddenly the concept of “transing for fun” seems to be everywhere - and it’s not at all what being trans actually is, but these people either don’t know or don’t care. When actual trans people try to politely correct them, they’re accused of “gatekeeping” - and to be clear, this is not “nonbinary people aren’t real,” it’s “transgender means you identify as a gender other than the one you were assigned at birth, and you’re self-identifying as the gender you were assigned at birth 100% and telling us this is just a fun hobby for you, therefore you’re not trans, you’re crossdressing or doing drag or being GNC. That’s fine, but it’s not being trans - you have other words to describe that, use those.”

(Yes, I am aware these things have a history with the trans community - please just ignore that for the sake of the analogy and bear with me on the slightly simplified version of this. “Kinning for fun” does not have that same history with the otherkin community.)

...And then the response to those attempted corrections, in some corners, turns into “wait, you ACTUALLY think you’re another gender? idk that sounds pretty unhealthy, maybe you should see a psychologist or something :\” and “you’re taking this too seriously.”

I imagine, in this hypothetical scenario, you’d also be pretty fuckin peeved.

(Obviously, in this hypothetical scenario, systematic transphobia would be an issue as well, which isn’t the case for otherkin - again, you’re gonna have to bear with me on the simplification for sake of analogy there.)

(EDIT: this is not an anti-MOGAI/exclusionist argument, this is “you’re literally telling me you don’t fit the definition,” explanation on that here)

The long version, which is probably still worth reading if you have the time and energy:

Otherkinity is... pretty core to who I am, who we as a group of individuals are. We live with being otherkin on a daily basis. Many of us spent a long time feeling different and disconnected and not understanding why until we found the otherkin community. Even people like me, who don’t share that experience and still had social connection - I’ve still had to live with weird differences that I had to learn to mask when necessary; instincts that don’t line up with human society well, feeling body parts that weren’t there and that no one else ever seemed to have, things that other kids grew out of because it was just make-believe for them and I... didn’t, because it was never make-believe for me to begin with. Oh, sure, I played make-believe too - I played warrior cats and house and all those things with the other kids, but there were things that weren’t play-pretend for me too. I didn’t have an explanation for it for a long time - it was just how I was, I was weird, and fortunately for me personally I was okay with that (many of those with species dysphoria or more trouble connecting with humans have more problems from that than I did).

And then I found the word “otherkin.” And suddenly everything fell into place, and I had an explanation for the things I’d been experiencing, and there were other people like me. Something I’d assumed didn’t exist. I found others who shared my unique experiences, who were talking about how to cope with the instinct to growl or snap jaws at people instead of expressing annoyance in a human way instead of just saying “that’s weird, don’t do that”, who were talking about dealing with phantom wings and tails, who understood me. I wasn’t weird, I wasn’t broken, I was exactly what one would expect from a dragon living in human skin. I found an explanation for myself. I found a home.

That is why otherkinity matters - it is who we are, it’s not something we can walk away from (certainly not most of us, anyway), and it’s something many of us need the support of the community to help deal with on a daily basis. Being a nonhuman in human society isn’t always easy, but it’s not something we can just magically stop being - it’s core to who we are, we (generally) didn’t choose to be this way, and we (generally) can’t choose to stop. Which is fine - the vast majority of us can cope with it just fine, with a little advice and help and space to be our authentic selves in. We found each other, we built this community from the ground up to make a space and words to make finding each other easier - or possible at all.

Thus we come to the second half of our story.

It was only a couple of years ago that the “kin for fun” trend started getting big. It had existed before that, of course, but it only started going mainstream two, maybe three years ago, from what I can tell. Suddenly people were treating “kin” like it meant relating to, projecting onto, roleplaying as, or just really really liking a character or thing - not being that thing, which is what it actually means. Not long after that, it became hard to tell whether someone saying “I kin this” meant they were that thing, that they were actually part of our community - or that they really really liked that thing and either didn’t know or couldn’t be bothered to learn that that wasn’t the case for us.

Not long after that, it became relatively commonplace to hear phrases like “otherkin are ruining kinning!!” and “you’re taking this too seriously” and “idk, if it’s that serious for you that sounds unhealthy. maybe you should get some help :\” (all directly quoted, or as exactly quoted as I can remember, from things KFF people have said to me or people I know).

It is a special kind of hell, I think, to be told “you’re taking this too seriously, that’s unhealthy” by people who are taking words created to describe your experiences, not theirs, and misusing them to mean something that you do for fun on a weekend instead of something that’s intrinsic to your being.

Perhaps more importantly, like I’ve said, it’s making it almost impossible to know whether someone who says “I kin [x]” is actually ‘kin or if they’re misusing our words to mean something else entirely. The entire point of words is to communicate ideas, and once you start misusing words to mean something totally different than what they actually mean, that communication falls apart and suddenly we might as well not have those words at all. Especially when the community is small enough and obscure enough that we’re starting to be outnumbered by the misinformation. We’re being run out of our own words, words we created to describe our experiences specifically - because we’re a small community that the wider internet can easily drown out by sheer numbers of people who either don’t know any better or don’t care to learn.

That’s the harm it does - the harm it is doing, right now. That’s why it’s important enough to post about. That’s why it matters - because we’re fighting desperately to hang onto our own words so that others like us can actually find us. Because we’re seeing young nonhumans go “this isn’t a kin, I actually am this” and screaming “No, I’m so sorry that this is what the misinformation has done to you, that’s exactly what otherkin means, you have a place here, please don’t let these non-’kin misusing our words drive you away from the very community you’re looking for and that you belong in.” Because we can’t even communicate effectively about our own experiences anymore except in semi-closed spaces like Discord servers and forums (and the number of Discord servers overrun with KFF people is absurd).

......This got very long. Hopefully it at least explained why it matters so much to me and others a bit better ^^; Thanks for hearing me out, and thank you again for looking into this beyond your initial knee-jerk reaction - I really do appreciate it.

(For further reading, if that text wall didn’t blow you out of the water completely, I recommend my “kin for fun” tag, which has more posts like this in both short and long form.)

[harrygroves]

part four

part three

of course i did a part four of the willing victim Steve/ lifeguard Billy fic.

*

Max is getting ice cream with Lucas the next time she runs into Steve. They get to the front of the line, order, and Steve hands their respective cones to them with a smile.

“Oh, you got your name tag back.” She mentions casually, licking at her strawberry ice cream.

Steve looks down at his chest, like he’s confirming it’s there. “What?” He asks when he looks back at her.

“Your name tag.” She repeats, louder and more aggressive like she’s annoyed.

“I got it...back?” He prompts with a small shake of his head. Steve didn’t say anything to any of the kids, and Billy didn’t really seem like the type of brother to bond over a tub of ice cream and hair rollers while talking about all the mean shit he did that particular day.

“Yeah, it was in a box under Billy’s bed.” She says with a small shrug, like it’s no big deal.

Says it so calm and flippant that Steve doesn’t really understand at first.

Then he processes what she said.

It was in a box.

That’s weird.

Steve is caught up in his thoughts, heart deciding on it’s own to double in speed at this little revelation because it feels innately personal. Max and Lucas have the audacity to turn away and leave.

“Robin! Take the register!” Steve yells as they move through the crowd.

“Jesus, Steve, I’m right here!” Robin snaps back at him, no more than two feet away. She doesn’t ask where he’s going, just slides over to the register before realizing he’s not replacing her at the ice cream stand, then shouts after him to get your ass back here!

He ignores her and springs around the corner of the counter, chasing Max and Lucas who’re already heading out the door.

“Hey!” He yells after them.

He yells again when he exits the shop. They glance back and stop in their tracks, but they both appear confused and slightly concerned.

“Max!” He shouts, stopping in front of her. “Wait, explain.”

“Ex...plain?” She says.

Steve’s breathing is haggard, but it’s not the short jog, it’s this feeling that’s shooting through his body, a lightbulb goes off in his head that this is important. “Yeah, you said it was in a box under Billy’s bed?”

“Yeah, with like, a bunch of other weird shit. He never cleans his room.” She says with a disgusted face, a roll of her eyes.

“What else was in the box?” He asks.

“Uh…” She trails off, eyes defocusing like she’s trying to remember.

“What else?!” He yells at her. He doesn’t mean to do it, it just happens because of the roaring in his ears and the heat on his face. Whatwhatwhat???

“Okay! Okay!” She yells back, eyebrows drawing together, but she’s not mad, it’s more like wide-eyed concern. “Uh...there was like, I don't know, random shit. A party invite -- ”

“What did it say?” He interrupted.

“God, I don't remember, but I think it was, like...a Halloween party? And...um, there was one of those drawings from Will’s house, your name tag...a sock…”

“What?” Steve blurts out incredulously.

“Yeah, it was like a gold and green sock.” She tells him.

It’s his sock. It has to be. It went missing from his gym locker -- he kept thinking it had fallen out and the janitor had thrown it away. As for the other stuff...it sounds like a curated collection of items to remind Billy of...

“Oh!” She says, startling him out of his thoughts. “And your yearbook picture!” She says with a snap of her fingers.

“What?” Steve asks hollowly, but he’s no longer fired up. No. Now, it’s a molten heat pooling in his cheeks, tugging in his stomach, making the back of his knees quiver.

Oh.

Oh.

Max starts babbling while Steve is having his mini panic attack. “Yeah, like, I really don't know what his problem is. I don't keep shit that reminds me of people I ha--”

She stops, mid-word and her eyes suddenly get really wide, mouth hanging open. Lucas’ mouth falls open in perfect mimicry.

“Holy shit.” She says. The ice cream is trailing down her hand. She doesn’t appear to notice.

“Max.” Steve starts.

“Oh my god.” She says thickly, a little aghast, volume rising. The ice cream is now dripping onto the floor.

“Max, look.” He tries again.

“I...Steve. I think--”

“Stop!” He puts both his hands up and she stops talking. “I know, I get it, okay? Look, I need you two to...keep this quiet, okay? Seriously, no telling the others. Just leave it alone, alright? I’ll give you free ice cream for the rest of the summer.”

They look at each other. Lucas tilts his head at her, she nods shortly in return and looks back to Steve after their silent discussion.

“A year.” Max negotiates.

Steve scoffs. “God, okay, a year. Just keep it zipped. Promise?”

They both nod and walk off, moving close together, heads bowed in deep conversation.

Holy fucking shit.

*

On Steve’s next day off, he goes to the pool. It’s blistering hot and the humidity hangs around through the afternoon, into the evening. The sky darkens a bit too quickly for this time of the year, thick gray clouds rolling in, the promise of a summer storm approaching.

He waits until the pool closes.

Pulls into the parking lot close to the end of the day, parks next to the Camaro and waits. Sweat drips slow down his back, gathers at his hairline. He’s in khaki shorts and a thin, white shirt but his body can’t keep cool.

He slides out of his car when the last round of children and teens trail out and he waits, barely breathing, ears perked, jaw tense as he listens to the shuffle of Billy moving chairs back in place, the plastic sounds of gathering up floating devices and shoving them into the shed.

He watches the tall lights around the perimeter of the pool turn off.

That’s when he makes his move.

Steve, limbs feeling sluggish and numb but his mind in overdrive, heart in his throat, pushes open the pool gate.

“We’re closed.” He hears Billy grumble before he sees him. He’s over by the employee entrance, facing away from Steve but he turns his body halfway, glancing over his shoulder to see who has interrupted his shutdown routine.

Steve freezes, unsure. Confused. Billy’s eyes lock him in place, and he can’t move. Steve feels like an animal suddenly caught in a trap, like one of those metal rabbit cages, the gate to the pool slamming shut behind him only amplifying the tension. A sound threatens to spill out of him, but it dies in his throat. The heat in the air has seeped into his lungs, filling them to burst.

“Harrington?” Billy chokes out with a lilt in his voice, one of surprise and anger at the same time. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

That seems to be Billy’s whole deal. He’s as equally happy as he is annoyed when Steve is around, and Steve’s been thinking about all those moments -- ones filled with jabs and shoves but also with glints of light in his eyes and suggestive tongue wagging; he leans in, takes up space, like he’s trying to make sure he’s the only thing Steve’s focused on.

And, well. Steve’s finally paying attention.

“Drowning.”

He’s positive that he said it aloud, but the thunder in his chest, the electric fizzle crackling in the air making the tips of his fingers feel fuzzy; it’s overstimulation, and he can’t be sure that he said it, only that he hears it come out of his mouth somewhere very far away.

Steve can’t even be sure if Billy heard him.

He walks forward and pitches himself into the deep end of the pool.

*

Steve hadn’t actually remembered to take a deep breath before doing this. He’d been too preoccupied with the way Billy was looking at him. Every thought in his head was solely focused on the curve of Billy’s back, the bulge of his calves, the angle of his long neck and the bob of his adam’s apple, the way his eyes bored into Steve when he realized who it was.

So now his dumbass is underwater and he doesn’t have any intention of coming up and it’s for two reasons: one, he wants Billy to jump in after him and two, he feels like an absolute moron for doing this and if he dies it’ll be a blessing. It’s a win-win.

He’s underwater for maybe a full fifteen seconds before getting a little worried that Billy isn’t coming to save him but then the water breaks next to him as Billy jumps in.

Steve watches as Billy swims down to him, staring at him through the water with a strange mix of bafflement and rage. Steve stares back, eyes stinging, letting bubbles of air fall out of his mouth and float between them. Billy grabs his arm roughly. The water is cold but the place where Billy holds him is warm, and he’s pulling Steve up to the surface.

They explode out of the water, Billy keeping his death grip on Steve’s arm.

“What the hell is your problem, Harrington?” He yells instantly, water splashing around them, rolling down his face.

Billy’s holding him close, their legs brush in the water below. Steve stares into his eyes, watches Billy’s face change between curious and irate, pensive and scared.

He hasn’t said anything -- he realizes this, and they both tread water while the low rumble of thunder builds around them.

Billy opens his mouth and starts to say Steve’s last name again but Steve pushes himself closer and slots his lips over Billy’s.

It’s unhinging.

They both taste of chlorine, Steve craning forward, the determined, wet weight of his mouth keeping him afloat as Billy’s hand relinquishes Steve’s arm. Steve doesn’t care though, solely preoccupied with the heated, damp feeling of Billy’s mouth balanced against his perfectly. Steve lets out a long, deep groan, the sound of it coming up from his chest, rumbling through him in a hum against Billy’s mouth.

Billy jerks his head back all of the sudden. Steve’s eyes slowly flick open, but Billy doesn’t explode the way Steve expects. He stares at Steve’s mouth, eyes heavy and lidded, mouth open. They continue to keep themselves afloat, bodies cutting through the water as they bob up and down.

The thunder grows louder.

Steve takes a deep breath and plunges himself below the water’s surface.

He stares at Billy’s torso, the swayed movement of his swim trunks for a moment before Billy lowers himself to match Steve head-on. For the first time ever, Billy doesn’t look angry, doesn’t look like he’s playing a game where only he knows the rules and the outcome. He looks...soft. His features aren’t tense, no pent-up emotion boxing his shoulders.

In this hastily-created private world they look at one another without apprehension for perhaps the first time in either of their lives. A crack of muddled lighting flashes above them, barely registering through the clouds and the water.

Billy swims forward and pushes his mouth against Steve’s.

It’s hard to properly kiss underwater. The space between them diminishes quickly. They don't grapple for one another, both too nervous but there’s hesitant slide of hands over bare planes of skin, the timid tangle of legs, eyes pinched shut.

They pull back at the same time and swim upwards, gasp in lungfuls of air simultaneously.

Steve doesn’t -- he can’t let Billy get away for too long, knows the moment will be broken so he moves back in, crowds close and kisses him, hands coming up to touch Billy’s shoulders. The soft pads of his fingers sink into his flesh, skid over the edge of his collarbone. Steve feels the tentative press of Billy’s fingers along his sides where his shirt has floated up. He opens his mouth, lets his tongue flash out and run against Billy’s bottom lip. Billy actually opens his mouth, let’s Steve teasingly dip his tongue in for the briefest moment and Billy makes this soft, strained noise against Steve’s mouth before jerking back again.

Apprehensive eye contact is exchanged before Billy starts swimming towards the edge of the pool, moving in skilled, even strokes.

Steve scrambles after him and hoists himself up onto the cement, and they both lay back against the warmed cement, staring at the sky. Steve lets his feet stay submerged in the water.

Time passes as the clouds roll and tumble past them, indistinguishable shape-shifting with sudden bursts of white lightning. Steve keeps trying to think of something to say but he’s coming up blank.

What the fuck is he doing?

Billy finally breaks the silence. “Like I said. The pool’s closed.” He says, sitting up. His face is angled away from Steve.

Steve sits up too, retracting his feet from the water, moving to stand in tandem with Billy, trying to decipher his tone, his body language, but he’s getting nothing. Billy is stoic, each movement purposeful as he starts walking away from Steve towards the employee building. Steve feels the moment pass, and finally -- the sky breaks. Soft rain starts coming down around them, dripping into the pool, cement exploding in dark circles.

Say something, Steve thinks angrily.

Billy stops walking, but he doesn’t look back. “Go home, Steve.” He says firmly before he starts walking again. A thread of lightning flashes, turning everything white and blue.

Say something! Steve’s mind screams.

Steve opens his mouth, but a loud crack of thunder steals his voice.

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers Meeting the MC’s Family

I mean, if they have any family at all, what could they even tell them anyway? “Sorry Mom, still in Hell so I won’t make Thanksgiving but I’m doing great though!” This is another long one folks, but I lowkey kind of love it a whole lot. Sooo fun to write. One of my favorite posts so far.

Lucifer

Thinks it's a little weird that they’re so adamant to introduce their family to a literal demon but also kinda gets it. Family is the most important thing to him too.

Is very focused on making a good first impression, from image to attitude. Their approval isn’t going to do jack to stop him from being with the MC but he’d still take pride in being able to charm them for a night. Besides, if the MC cares then so does he.

Has more experience with the human world than the others so he’d know a lot of the do’s and don'ts already. They won’t need to worry about him making some kind of slip up.

Would love the irony if the MC’s family is religious at all. Christian/Jewish especially. May or may not play along with their little rituals but is going to make a lot of thinly veiled, passive-aggressive comments towards his "old man."

Would be most comfortable in a setting where there’s a lot of intellectual discussion or debate. He loves to steer a conversation down towards politics or other controversial things to get a rise out of people. The MC may need to reign him in if that’s a big no-go zone.

Isn’t really going to get along with any younger siblings the MC might have. Either he’s too stiff or too scary. If they’re looking for a playmate, look somewhere else.

Also not going to be particularly fond of any pets they have one way or another. Though he may take a shine to pitbulls or rottweilers because they remind him of Cerberus.

Mammon

You sure about this, MC? Him? Really? Are you really sure? He’s going to think they're crazy but he’s not going to refuse.

Will be so freaking excited if they’re from a well-to-do or, dare say, rich family. So much stuff to steal admire. Yeah, yeah no stealing from the MC’s family, he gets it... He’ll really try his best but it might be good to keep an eye on him.

Surprisingly though, he’s not going to be disgusted if they’re from a poor family either because the dude gets it. Money is hard to come by and things can be tough. He might even… pay... for some stuff while he’s there... You know, if he can. Don’t make a big deal out of it… He's got an image to keep.

He’ll try his best to not come off like a total scumbag and it may actually work. He’s rough around the edges but there’s plenty of chances for his better side to shine through as long as he stays on good behavior. 

They will have to be sure that he doesn’t get to talking too much because his dumbass will let it slip that he’s a demon. 

Mammon may not love kids but kids love him and any younger siblings are going to do the same. Even if he calls them little gremlins, he’ll let himself get roped into whatever game they’re playing and make it a lot of fun in the process.

Bring on the pets! He’s more of a dog person but he’ll play with a cat too. He may not be as animal-obsessed as Satan but he loves a good furry companion every once in a while.

Leviathan 

NOOOOO and you can’t make him!!! A social event involving strangers where he has to make a good impression?? Fuck no, that sounds like actual hell and he doesn’t want anything to do with it!

… But he also can’t just let the MC go back to the human world alone because what if they meet someone better than him and get reminded that they’re with a good-for-nothing otaku…? Okay he's going. But he’s going to pout about it.

His first impression is going to make him come off like a nervous wreck no matter what. There’s really no polishing this bundle of anxiety. The best he can hope for is to ride this thing out until it's done.

Will be pretty quiet and cling to the MC like a life-raft the entire night. Refuses to be left alone with their family in any capacity, he could not handle the awkward silence. If they’re going to the bathroom, then he’s going too damnit.

If they have a pretty nerdy family then he might be a bit more comfortable. Especially if any of their siblings/parents game or are into anime. Steering conversation more towards his comfort zones will help him out a lot...

If they have little siblings who play a lot of video games then he is going to be the coolest person in the world. Period. He knows all the best strategies to practically any game out there, demonic or human. He may even loosen up a little bit and start smiling if he gets to wow an audience with his gaming prowess!

Like Lucifer he’s not going to be all that impressed with pets either way. He’ll think fish are pretty neat and probably even reptiles too but don’t expect him to get too cuddly with a dog or anything.

Satan

Doesn’t hate the idea but agrees that his name is going to have to change if they’re really serious about it. “Hey everybody this is my boyfriend, Satan!” is only going to be appealing to very niche circles...

Like Lucifer, he's going to be mindful of how he comes across. He'd rather the MC's family likes him than didn't, even if it's irrelevant, so expect him to be very polite and sociable. Damn near the perfect gentleman.

… Until something/someone sets off his temper. He may not go full Wrath on the situation but it's probably best to get him out of the room real quick so he can cool down.

Would love if the MC comes from an super educated family but it’s not a must. He's the kind of guy who will ask a lot of questions about any person's profession/skills and how things work regardless of background. He's curious that way.

Either way, he is going to show off his smarts and make sure that their family knows where his intellect is at. He wants them to know that the MC picked someone with a good head on their shoulders, after all.

Best keep him away from small children and bratty teens. He isn't exactly opposed to kids, but it takes one little shit to set him off and NO ONE looks good yelling at someone else's kid. Deserved or not.

Will there be cats? Do you have a cat? Please say you have a cat! He's okay with dogs too but if the MC has a cat this man will be ecstatic. The cat will love him and he will love it right back. Honestly, he's already adopted it. It's his now. Who's MC?

Asmodeus

Baby, you can take him anywhere and he’ll be the life of the party! A little family gathering doesn’t matter to him.

Is going to make sure that the moment he walks through the door the MC's family is in awe of what a catch they've got for themselves. He wants them to be proud of their little MC! To him, that translates to looking good and being fun!

Hope this is a house used to physical affection because he will not (and probably cannot) turn it off. Everyone gets hugs. Everyone.

Extra affectionate the whole night. He'll hold the MC's hand or arm or waist or really any part he can get away with. Kisses on the head and cheek aplenty. He may also lowkey butter up their parents with loads of compliments no matter what situation they're in.

If he's told to cool it on the touching though, he may get offended.

Is going to be better with teenage siblings than little, little ones. The man lives to give dating advice, fashion tips, or makeovers, you name it. Though he has to be careful to mention just human products and not some of the stuff he has back home.

Animal fur on his clothes? After he dressed himself so carefully?? No thanks. You can have your cute puppy or your little kitty. He'll take pictures, but he's probably not going pet much.

Beelzebub

Is honestly kind of honored by the suggestion. The MC is already a part of his family so it only seems natural to make him part of theirs. Though he has some reservations, mostly around his appetite...

He doesn't go up to the human world very much because it's really hard for him to stay fed. He's well-known enough in the Devildom that restaurants know what to expect when he walks in. Not so much up there.

Arrange the meeting around a state fair, festival, or carnival where the food is plentiful and he's golden. Hopefully their family won't be too disturbed by how bottomless his stomach is…

Beel is a sweetheart through and through but his lack of knowledge about how the human world, or humans in general, work might come back to bite him. He may need a little 101 about human manners before going.

Truthfully, their family is in for a real treat! This giant may look intimidating, but he's as gentle as they come. The kind of guy who will carry their grandmother’s bags with a smile on his face just for the sake of being helpful. 10/10 Sweetie, mother will approve.

Ooooh little kids are going to love Beel. He'll let their siblings hang off of him like a jungle gym. Will also play games with them if they want him to. Doesn't matter to him, their family is his family too and he wants to see them all happy.

Man wants dogs. Preferably big ones that he can rough-house with but little dogs he can cuddle work too. Do remind him that he can't just rip a whole-ass branch off a tree to play fetch like you could with Cerberus.

Belphegor

Really? You want that? Lol, okay but no promises. This is pretty much the equivalent of sticking two unlabeled chemicals together in a beaker and leaning in to see what happens. Who knows, but now you're stuck in the middle of it.

He's not going to try especially hard to make a good impression or change himself in any way. If their family is into people who are kind of chill and sarcastic then he'll get along swimmingly. If they were expecting more of a Satan type, yeah. No. He's not holding open any doors.

Won't be taking the whole thing all that seriously to be honest, like, what are a bunch of humans going to do if they don’t like him? Tell MC? They're certainly not going to be able to make him leave. He's humoring them at best, even if he's nice, so why bother fussing about it?

Might be a disrespectful little troll at times like pretending to fall asleep or making casual jokes like "Oh no, ma'am. I'm not all that comfortable with that cross over there because I'm a demon. …. Got ya, didn’t I? That'd be silly." *shit-eating grin*

Would appreciate a quiet, slightly introverted family the most. He's going to start getting annoyed if people in the house are too loud and may speed the whole thing along as a result.

Kids are things he'd rather avoid than have to interact with, but if pressed he will humor the little ones too. Don't expect him to do a whole lot of moving, though. If they're happy to just show him things that he can semi-pay attention to, that works for him.

MC has a pet? Is it fluffy? Is it lazy? Bring'em here. Like Beel, he likes big dogs but would rather just bury his face in fluff than try to wrestle it. He may actually fall asleep with them if they lay still enough for it.

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

Bad Decisions (Just You)

Seungcheol x Female Reader

Word Count: 5436

Contents: reader is a bratty sub but cheol is fucking whipped, oral (male receiving) while sleeping, manhandling, slight body praise, choking, pet name (babygirl), sir kink, dom svt, hair pulling, face fucking, drooling, fingering, marking, living room sex, wall, sex, bed sex (all unprotected), multiple creampies, very slight breeding kink 

Note: So as if this is some pop song I’ve given it two titles cuz I couldn’t decide. Anyways okay this is so late and I am so sorry for that but a very happy belated birthday to @bootyful-seventeen !!!! You are so much fun to talk to and I know I can go to you with that weird shit and you’ll roll with it. You write fun stuff and I really love that you don’t take it too seriously, the lighthearted stories are wonderful and your soft dad!svt stuff makes my heart melt. You are genuinely such enjoyable company and I hope you know that I really love our friendship and I’m really happy to know you. 

Truly, the day had been a veritable orgy of dumb decisions.

You shouldn’t have gotten so worked up when you woke up, cuddling with your boyfriend and feeling something hard pressing into your lower stomach. You shouldn’t have looked at the clock to see that Seungcheol’s alarm would go off in approximately six minutes. You shouldn’t have shimmed below the covers and found a cozy spot between his legs.

You definitely shouldn’t have pulled down his sweats and started sucking him off to wake him up.

And yet you did, despite truly, honestly, definitely knowing better you couldn’t help yourself and you did it anyway because life really is too short to deny yourself the pleasure that is your boyfriend’s cock, even if you didn’t think through the timing at all.

And so you felt a hand in your hair as you moved your lips, taking his cock into your mouth. And you heard his low, gravely, early morning groans, the first sound out of his mouth that sent arousal careening through your body and had you pressing your thighs together. You sunk into the bliss, letting your hand slip between your legs to tease yourself, mind clouded with the enticing idea of morning sex, knowing it would set your day up just right.

Until Seungcheol’s alarm started blaring in your ears and he let out a much more annoyed groan. His hand pulled off the blankets easily and you gave him the sweetest look you could, still whining as he pulled you back off of his cock and rolled out of bed.

“Aw, come on we ca-”

“No,” he warned. “You know I don’t have time.” He eyed you, regarding you suspiciously as he pulled his sweats back up. “Now I have to shower and get ready and deal with this,” he motioned to the now very obvious boner in his sweats, “before I leave.”

“You had that before I started,” you whined. “And you know I could help y-” Your words fell off as he leaned closer to you suddenly, grabbing your jaw firmly with a slow burning intensity in his gaze.

“If I let you help me, I’ll be late. So now thanks to you, I won’t be able to get the thought of fucking your mouth out of my head. You’ve already managed to ruin me for the whole day.” You tried to bite back the grin tugging at your lips but you couldn’t and Seungcheol’s grip tightened. “Don’t get smug, babygirl.”

You didn’t wipe the look from your face, watching him as he let go of you and headed for the bathroom. “What are you gonna do about it?” You giggled. Seungcheol threw you a look over his shoulder as he left the room.

Unsurprisingly, the bad decisions did not end there.

You had things to do, it wasn’t like your day was empty but you did have some free time, and most of what you needed to do was from home today. And on any other day that wouldn’t mean much more than that you would start dinner since it was easier for you to get something ready.

Today, however, it meant you were going to tease him.

Once he was on his way you got yourself out of bed, taking you time washing up and picking pretty lingerie. You grabbed a pair of leggings and searched through his closet to find one of his shirts and felt only the slightest bit unhinged at how you couldn’t stop smiling and chuckling to yourself over your plan to mess with him all day.

And mess with him you did. The morning started off with innocent selfies when you had spare moments. The first few he reacted to sweetly but as you sent further back and then mirror selfies he got frustrated. It was far too easy to wind him up and so much fun teasing him about what was hidden under his big, comfy shirt.

The more frustrated his messages became the more it egged you on. The more it made you wanna act like a brat. In between his warnings not to distract him while he was working (and your instances that he didn’t have to open the pictures in the middle of his work day) you could sense his desperation. You knew that with every minute that passed he wanted you more and more and that feeling was just far too fun and far too powerful.

That’s what you told yourself as you had slipped your leggings off that afternoon and started teasing yourself over your panties, why you pulled your shirt up and caught it between your teeth, letting out muffled little moans and whines as your fingers worked and your hips rolled and bucked and followed the sensations.

As you started recording the video you were much more ready to say you were just messing with him further and not that all of your shenanigans had backfired only slightly and had you far too needy when he wouldn’t be home for another hour or so. You had to hope that when he got home he’d be too needy and wouldn’t try to punish you by taking away sex.

Then again, any time he’d tried that he gave in after a day or two. He really couldn’t resist you.

“When are you coming home?” you whined through the fabric between your teeth. “Please, I need you so badly.” Admittedly, you were hyping it up a little more for the camera just to get to him but the thought of how he would be when he got home was all the incentive you needed. 

“Please, please fuck-” You ended the video. You knew very well you were going to be in trouble for sending him a video and then not letting him see you cum, but today was a day for bad decisions and you were rolling with it now. A long moan left your lips and your back arched as you came, legs trembling and core squeezing around your measly fingers, reminding you of what you really wanted inside of you.

You felt a little dazed as you sent the video, though not nearly as fucked out as you wanted to feel. Either way you let yourself flop back on the bed, comfy and considering a nap while you waited for Seungcheol to come home. You could go start dinner though, not that you felt you would be eating when he walked in the door. Your sleepy mind thought about what you might make and if you needed to prepare anything ahead of time until your phone buzzed.

[You’re in so much trouble, babygirl]

You snickered as you read the message.

[Well you’re not here, looks like I can do what I want]

[Not for long]

[You’re such a little brat today, babygirl]

[Better hurry up and get home before I wear myself out] You couldn’t keep in your chuckles as you put down your phone, heading to the bathroom to freshen up just a bit. You could figure out food later but at the moment what you really wanted was to think about your boyfriend getting home. You took as much time as you could washing up, picking out his favourite perfume for you and fixing your lingerie and hair. You took the opportunity to turn on a sex playlist, hoping that you hadn’t added anything that would wreck the mood too much. You were preoccupied enough that you missed the soft click of the front door.

“You wanted to test me today.”

You spun around and gazed down the hall to where Seungcheol had just come through the door and was taking off his shoes. His gaze was dark and intense and it filled you with arousal as much as it did glee. As soon as they were off he was making his way towards you as you stepped out into the hallway. You bit down on your lip, trying not to smile too widely as he grabbed you by the waist and pushed you back until you hit the wall with a gasp that was quickly swallowed by his lips.

He kissed you with all the pent up passion and tension from a day of teasing, hand coming up to your throat as he pressed you into the wall with his body. You easily let his tongue past your lips, whining unabashedly against him as his free hand grabbed at your hip and he pressed one of his thighs between your legs.

Your hands couldn’t help themselves, pulling him closer by his hair at first, but it wasn’t long before they wandered. They seemed to have a mind of their own as they moved down his shoulders and you felt up his arms, feeling him smile into the messy kisses and urging your hips to move, grinding on his thigh subtly. Your hands moved further, slipping down his back before grabbing at his ass and drawing a light groan from him before he pulled away from the kiss, lips moving to your ear as the hand around your throat tightened.

“Do you know how much grief you caused me today?” He growled. “Do you know how much trouble you’re in babygirl?”

“Not enough,” you hummed, solely to get his hand just a little tighter and have him push you down on his thigh a little more roughly. He pressed his hips into you, rutting against you and you felt even more heat pooling between your legs, your mouth watering at the feeling of his hard length pressing into you from the movement.

“Do you feel that, babygirl?” His voice was rough and you could hear his own desperation just under the surface. “Do you feel what you do to me? Do you know how hard it was to get through the day with you acting up like that? Spending me pictures of your pretty body? Sending video?”

“H-H-” you tried to speak but the way he pressed his thigh up between your legs and rolled his hips against you drew a desperate moan from your lips instead, your hands grabbing at him and trying to pull him closer. Your legs trembled slightly as you ground your core down against his thigh, feeling the dull sparks igniting inside you and wanting more.

“You’re such a brat today,” he growled, easily adding to the arousal pooling between your legs and drawing a whimper from your lips. Your mind was quickly closing on in your goal, fueled by your need and wanting almost nothing more than for him to fuck, you brain searching for any words that would have that happening faster.

“Y-You-” You forced your words out despite your whines and hazy mind. “You sh-should punish me, sir.”

A gasp left your lungs as he pulled his thigh out from between your legs. His hand moved from your throat to your shoulder and he pushed you down roughly to your knees, his hand tangling into your hair easily. You gazed up at him with a pout and he smirked down at you as his other hand undid his belt.

“I know what you want, babygirl,” he murmured, unzipping his pants. “I know that you want me to fuck you against every piece of furniture in this apartment.”

“Please,” you whined, whimpering louder when he tugged roughly on your hair.

“You’ve been a brat. Getting off without me is one thing, but using it to taunt me while I can’t do anything? And now you think you deserve to get off again? To get just what you want?” He chuckled, shaking his head before giving you an intense gaze. “Open your mouth, babygirl.”

You kept your eyes on him, letting out a whine but doing as he said as he pushed his boxers down. You itched to look at his cock, hard in his hand as he pumped it slowly and groaned. You squirmed, letting your tongue hang out as you gave him a sweet look. Seungcheol brought his cock to your lips and you leaned forwards, earning another chuckle from his lips.

“Pretending to be eager now? Do you think that’s going to make it up to me, babygirl?”

“No, sir,” you mumbled as sweetly as you could. “I j-” you gasped again as he tugged at your hair roughly. Before any more words could make it out of your mouth he thrust his cock between your lips, letting out a groan.

“You’re too mouthy today, babygirl,” he groaned. “Let me use that pretty mouth for something more productive.”

Seungcheol held your head still as he started to fuck into your mouth. Groans fell off his lips as and his gaze grew darker and darker as his hips moved steadily into your mouth. Your hands dug into the skin of your thighs, breathing through your nose and trying not to touch yourself the way you desperately wanted to.

“God, your mouth feels so good,” he groaned. “Maybe I’ll just fuck your mouth all night, babygirl. You’ve been so bratty maybe I won’t even fuck you. I shouldn’t, you don’t deserve it.”

You let out a desperate moan around his cock. He was only saying that to get to you, he wanted it as badly as you did. But now, with his cock in your mouth and your thighs pressing together and getting no relief the only thought on your mind was to get more. You did your best to relax your throat, trying to lean forwards and take more of his cock.

Seungcheol cursed under his breath, his grip in your hair tightening as his cock breached your throat. You gagged around his length, drool dripping out from the covers of your mouth before he pulled his cock back to let you breathe.

“If you want me to fuck you properly,” his voice was growing rougher as his hips picked up their pace, fucking into your mouth faster. “Then you shouldn’t make your mouth any more enticing, babygirl.”

You moaned around him in response, keeping your gaze on him as best you could as his cock thrust into your throat again, a deeper growl leaving his lips at the feeling as you moaned around him and felt more drool coming from your mouth, getting more and more messy by the second as he started to chase his high.

“Fuck, you feel so good, babygirl,” he growled. “Your pretty mouth f-feels so good.” His hips started to snap into your mouth more quickly and you kept your jaw and throat as relaxed as you could, moaning around his cock and trying to grind or roll your hips on nothing, needing some relief desperately.

Seungcheol, let out a rough growl as he pushed into your throat and came, holding your head down on his cock as he released. His cum ran down your throat and pooled into your mouth. You gasped to catch your breath when he slowly pulled his cock away and tilted your head back, looking down at you hazily.

“God you look pretty like that, babygirl,” he groaned.

Your voice was breathy and had a desperation you could no longer hide. “I’d look better bent over the couch, right sir?”

He bit down on his lip to hold in the near growl that came from his chest but there was nothing hesitant about the way he pulled you to your feet roughly by your hair. Was your mind not already on the goal of being fucked you would be downright giddy at the way he handled you so roughly. His hands grabbed at you as you made it to your feet and he pushed you to the couch, bending you over it easily.

You bit down on your lip, gasping as he pulled at your panties, tearing them off and spreading your legs. One of his hands tangled into your now messy hair while the other dragged through your folds. You pressed your hips back into his hand and heard him chuckling, though his voice was much breathier.

“You’re just so enticing, babygirl,” he groaned, easily pushing two fingers into you as he leaned over you back. “God, even when I want to punish you I just can’t help myself. I shouldn’t be fucking you when you’ve been so bratty, but I really can’t resist your pretty pussy.” You let out small moans as you ground your hips back and he curled and thrust his fingers at a steady pace. “The way you get so desperate for me, the way you’re moaning for me,” he pressed his lips to your back, between your shoulder blades. “I know you know what you do to me.”

You lost yourself in the feeling, shamelessly rolling and grinding your hips back as much as he’d allow. His fingers moved more and more quickly, feverishly, into your cunt. His lips found the back of your neck and sucked marks into your skin, drawing shivers down your spine and moans from your lips at the feeling.

Your toes curled as he pressed a third finger inside easily. Your head fell forward as you pressed your hips back even more and moaned out for him, fingers grabbing at the fabric of the couch to steady yourself as the intense feeling in your core built stronger and stronger.

“God you’re so cute when you’re needy. You got yourself all worked today too, didn’t you babygirl?” You moaned, nodding your head and feeling your legs tremble as you clenched around his fingers at his words. Your hips kept moving, getting so close to your high as the coil in your core curled tightly.

Curses feel off your lips as Seungcheol nipped at your ear. “I really shouldn’t give you what you want,” his voice was rough as he pressed his hips against you, his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“Please,” you weren’t even sure what you were begging for as your mind spun. Did you want to cum right now or did you want his cock first? Both ideas sounded heavenly to your very clouded, very aroused, extremely needy brain. “Please, sir, please.”

You bit down on your lip to hold in your whine as he pulled his fingers from your core. A hand found your hair and you let out a gasp as he pulled you up roughly, bringing his wet fingers to your lips.

“Open up, babygirl.”

You let your lips fall open easily, eyes fluttering closed as you tasted yourself on his fingers, suck them clean messily. Your tongue ran over his digits as he let go of your hair, dropping his hand between your legs and nearly making your knees buckle as he suddenly started rubbing fast, rough circles into your clit.

You cursed around his fingers, legs shaking as you leaned your thighs against the back of the couch, trying to stay on your feet as the pleasure coursed through you. The coil in your core curled tighter and your moans climbed higher in your voice. Seungcheol’s lips sucked roughly at the side of your neck as he rutted against your ass and low growls rumbled from his chest.

He waited until you were right on your edge to pull his hand away. A whine welled up in your throat but it didn’t make it out as his hand found the middle of your back and pushed you forward, bending you over the couch again. He pulled your thighs a little wider and you felt your eyes roll back and flutter closed as you sunk his cock into your cunt.

“H-H-” No words made it off your lips as he grabbed your hips roughly and thrust into you. Moans fell off instead, one after another as every movement of his hips sent pleasure coursing through you, your legs trembling as you teetered on your edge. His thrusts were edging on rough and quick but deep enough that they made you dizzy, his low groans and growls only adding to the arousal curling tightly in your body.

“G-God you feel so f-fucking good, babygirl,” Seungcheol’s fingers dug even more deeply into your hips. The uneven roughness in his voice only serving to turn you on that much more. “God I r-really can’t resist you. Your pretty, tight pussy. F-Fuck the way you moan for me.”

Your voice was a mix of curses and moans and whines of “please, sir, don’t stop, sir.” Your hands scrambled for purchase in the fabric of the couch, on the edges of pillows as his cock sunk into your heat over and over and you started to clench around him. The sound of his hips hitting your ass mixed with the moans and groans falling from both of you as your toes tried to curl.

“Please, s-sir, I- fuck- I’m-” The words could barely make it off your tongue.

“Cum for me babygirl, cum on my cock.”

You cried out, body shaking as you came hard. Pleasure washed over your body in tidal waves, reaching to the tips of your fingers and toes as you moaned for him. What little strength your arms had gave out and you fully fell into the couch below. 

Seungcheol’s hips kept moving, fucking you through your orgasm and into sensitivity. Your legs didn’t stop trembling and your moans died to whimpers as his hips kept moving. Your face pressed into the cushion below and your arms were shaky as he let out breathy groans and growls and a few curses at the feeling. Pleasure started to build inside you again, much more easily but he didn’t bring you to your edge again, pulling out quickly.

His hand grabbed your hair and pulled you to your feet and he spun you to face him. His hands found your hips and you gazed up at him, desperate and nearly drooling as he smirked at you, sweat on his brow making his hair stick to his forehead as his chest heaved and he pulled you across the room.

You gasped as he pushed you into the wall, the hot skin of your back hitting the cool drywall as his lips found yours feverishly. The way he kissed you nearly made your legs give out all on it’s own and your hands scrambled to wrap around his neck until he tugged at his shirt, pulling it off of you and ridding you of your bra as well. He made quick work of his own shirt before grabbing both your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the wall above your head. Your legs trembled as he lifted one and wrapped it around his waist as he ground his cock through your folds.

“Are you too tired, babygirl?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

“No, sir,” you whined breathlessly, giving him a sweet look and struggling to keep your eyes open as he pushed into you again, the new angle drawing a high pitched moan from your lips. He ground his hips into you, smirking as your head fell back to the wall and you tried to ground your hips down for more.

“Still needy?” He cooed.

“Please,” you let the words fall off your lips, any sense of shame long gone. “Please keep fucking me. Please I need your cock, I need your cum, I-” your words turned to moans as he thrust up into you roughly before settling on quick, shallow, movements making you tremble easily from the first thrust.

He moved his lips to your ear, voice rough and verging on a growl. “You need my cum, babygirl? Do you want me to cum deep inside you?”

“Please,” your voice was breathy and high as you curled your fingers in towards your palms and squeezed your leg around Seungcheol’s hip. You pulled weakly at his wrists but he easily held them still, hips snapping into you as low groans fell off his lips until his met yours in messy, desperate kisses.

Your legs trembled, the wall and Seungcheol’s body weight holding you up as a coil started to curl tightly in your sensitive core again. You could barely focus on the kisses, leaving messy moans against his lips as his thrusts grew a little rougher and uneven.

Seungcheol let out a moan against your lips as he released deep inside you. He ground his cock slowly into your cunt and you let out a broken whimper at the feeling of his cum filling you even more, flexing and curling your fingers out as your hips followed his movements greedily, still wanting more.

Seungcheol pulled you leg away from his hip and let go of your hands and you braced yourself against the wall. He let your leg down but was quick to push your thighs apart, dropping down and shooting you a warning look to keep your legs apart for him. You bit down on your lip as he drew his fingers up your inner thigh.

He let out a groan as you felt his cum starting to drip out of you. Your legs were shaky and weak but you did your best to hold yourself up as he brought his fingers to drag through your folds, gathering his cum before fucking it back into your sensitive core. Small whimpers slipped out and you struggled to stay on your feet as his fingers fucked you slowly, your core clenching around them, having a mind of its own.

Seungcheol chuckled as he pulled his hands away and stood in front of you. His clean hand came up around your neck, pressing down every slightly while he pressed his fingers to your lips and you took them into your mouth just the way he wanted. You gazed with heavily lidded eyes into his intense ones, subtly biting the inside of his lip as he watched you suck on his fingers.

“Do you need a little more, babygirl?” His voice was quieter but still had a roughness to it and made you needy cunt clench again as his cum dripped down your thighs. You nodded lazily, giving him a sweet expression and reaching for him to pull him closer to you.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, pressing into your body with his and kissing you roughly, squeezing your throat just a little more. You kissed him greedily, his own kisses following suit. You grabbed at him weakly and moaned against his lips as he ground his cock against you. Even though your body was tired, your legs felt like they might give out if you stood on them for much longer, you couldn’t help yourself. You were all wrapped up in him and you wanted every little bit he could give you.

Seungcheol’s hands grabbed your waist and you gasped as he pulled you away from the wall and properly into the bedroom. His movements were even more forceful as he pushed you down onto the bed and you couldn't help the lazy smile that tugged at you lips as you gazed up at him, squealing as he pulled your hips roughly to the edge of the bed and lifted your legs, throwing them over his shoulders.

He leaned over you, grinding his cock through your folds and drawing a moan from your lips as his cock rubbed over your clit. “You can’t get enough of me, can you babygirl?” He teased.

“No sir,” your voice came out breathy as you gazed up at him, wanting nothing more than for him to sink his cock back into your core. “Please.”

His hand found your throat again, pressing down lightly. “I give into you too easily,” he said, gazing at you heatedly. “You’re lucky you’re so addicting babygirl. So lucky I’ll never get enough of you.” Both of you let out moans as he pushed into you, your legs trembling from the feeling alone.

“You’re so lucky I need you so badly,” he groaned as he pulled back and thrust into you roughly. “And that having you like this is one of my favourite things, o-otherwise you’d be in so much trouble for being such a needy brat all day.” His voice wavered just a bit as he gave you strong, deep thrusts between pulling out slowly, each one making you cry out in pleasure and struggle to keep looking at you.

“Fuck, watching your tits bounce every time,” his grip on your hips got tighter and his thrusts faster, picking up a steady pace even tough they stayed just as rough. “Feeling your legs shaking in my hands. The way you c-clench around me.” You took in his rough, low voice as he spoke, building back up to his next orgasm.

Your own release built too, the coil in your core curling tighter and tighter with every movement. Your fingers sunk into the soft sheets and gripped them as your head spun and moans poured off your lips. Your mind could barely find the words and make up sentences anymore, so wrapped up in the pleasure he was giving you as his hips snapped into you.

“C-Cu- F-F-F- C-” The words were so hard to get out of your foggy brain but you heard Seungcheol’s breathy chuckle.

“Are you going to cum again, babygirl?”

You let out a whine, trying to find the words in your muddy, hormone addled brain. “Y-Y- Yo- c-c-c-”

Seungcheol leaned over you, his hips driving into you much faster and only his hands on your hips keeping you from being pushed up the bed with the force of his thrusts. “Do you want more of my cum, babygirl?”

“P-Pl-” you managed to nod between moans and struggling with words.

“I’ll give you j-just that, babygirl.” he growled. “You t-take my cum so well how could I resist f-filling you until you can’t take anymore. I know how b-badly you want it. G-God I could fuck you senseless like this every day, f-fucking you full of my cum until you’re carrying my child. Is that what you want, babygirl?”

You cried out, back arching off the bed as you came hard. Your eyes squeezed shut and stars burst behind your eyelids as your body shook. Pleasure crashed over you in a tidal wave, reaching every bit of your body as Seungcheol’s cock kept pounding into you.

Curses fell off his lips as your body kept shaking and whimpers started to fall off your lips. Your whole body felt sensitive and your sounds were high in your voice as your mouth hung open, gaze hazy and eyes barely open and he chased his high, fucking you hard until his hips started to stutter.

He released deep inside you with a loud, low, rough groans. You tried to catch your breath as you felt his cum filling you more and more in thick ropes, his grip on your hips holding you in place as he ground slightly into your heat.

As he started to catch his breath he pulled out of your slowly, wrapping a hand around his cock and watching as his cum started to leak out of your cunt. You felt him bring his cock back to your core and let out a whine, squirming under him as he pushed his cock back in slowly with a breathy groan.

“Fuck you just feel so good,” he said. “I can’t help myself.” He pulled back and let more cum drip out before pushing it back in slowly again. You squeezed your eyes shut, whimpering and pressing the side of your face into the bed and he pulled out, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek before letting your legs down.

Despite how tired he’d gotten he went to get a washcloth. You listened to his footstep leave and come back moments later, whimpering as he brought the warm cloth between your legs. He hushed you gently, rubbing your hip soothingly as he cleaned you up, taking another cloth to wipe the sweat off your brow and you smiled slightly at how refreshed it made you feel.

As he climbed into bed with you you looked at him blearily and he gave you a soft smile. He helped you move up the bed and pulled you to lay on his chest, rubbing your back gently and pressing kisses to your forehead.

“Do you need anything to eat?” He hummed.

You shook your head, nuzzling into his chest. 

“Anything to drink? Or do you want a bath?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “Just you. I just want you.”

“Perfect,” he said softly. “Because I just want you, too.”

[peppermintbee]

OMORI’s poor writing (Part 2)

Once again, if you are a big fan of OMORI, this review is not for you. Treasure this game, love it, recommend it, make fan art, buy the merch, do what you will with it. I am not here to take OMORI away from anyone. Based on the overwhelmingly positive reviews on Steam, I know that my opinion is in the minority.

However, just as the fans have the right to praise the game, I have the right to examine it, criticize it, and explain why it failed to provide a compelling experience. This is second part of my review where I will tackle OMORI’s problematic themes and disrespectful appropriation of mental health.

[ See Part 1: Plot Writing Lies ]

(Note: I use “OMORI” in all-caps for the game title, and “Omori” in title case for the character name.)

Spoilers and criticism below.

Part 2: OMORI’s message is mishandled and distasteful

OMORI provides a warning that it depicts scenes of depression, anxiety, and suicide. Because the game includes these scenes, I assumed these mental health issues are presented in a way that is meaningful and respectful.

However, that is not the case. 

Despite having depictions of such, this game is not really about depression, anxiety, or even suicide. It’s about committing a horrible crime, lying about it, and getting over the guilt.

1. Suicide as a game mechanic

Suicidal thoughts are intrusive, terrifying, and painful. As well as ending the victim's life, suicide wreaks havoc on the lives of those who once knew them. It is often a taboo topic, but discussing such matters is an important step to understanding and preventing it. Video games are a medium well suited to approaching such dark topics.

Unfortunately, OMORI does not handle the topic of suicide well at all.

First, suicide is written as a unavoidable game mechanic that seems to have been included for shallow reasons such as aesthetic and shock value. To leave Sunny’s headspace and wake up, you--as a player--must direct him to stab himself in the stomach. 

But why? It’s not like waking up involves some sort of major sacrifice. In fact, waking up is something that is more or less unavoidable. Reality should be something that snatches Sunny away from his headspace against his will, perhaps as an encroaching darkness that Sunny can run from, but never truly escape. But instead, facing reality is something you are forced to opt into in the most needlessly violent way possible.

Forcing you--as a player--to literally commit suicide just to wake up from a dream is a pointless, distasteful, and disrespectful action that sets a precedent for suicide not being taken seriously in this game. (And it isn’t.)

In the black space, Omori is pressured to kill a cat. In that scene, regardless of your choice, you are forced to kill yourself. However, the act of stabbing yourself has been seen so many times at that point that it has completely lost any impact. Who cares about suicide when it’s been reduced to just a means of travel?

Lastly, if you fail to defeat the final boss, Sunny commits suicide in the real world. However, this is not a cutscene, it is once again something that you--as a player--are forced to do to progress. Putting these actions in the hands of a player is not as meaningful as the writer seems to believe, because there are no other options to progress. Any weight in making that decision is lost to resignation; a frustrated sigh of “Well, okay, fine. I guess I have to click Z here.” You are then rewarded with a SLAPPING pop song and a psychedelic cutscene of Sunny falling to his death. It’s tasteless to its core and appropriates the deaths of every suicidal person as a quirky, shallow “bad end.”

(Seriously, this is how the writer decided to depict a child taking his own life.)

2. Sunny/Omori is a poor presentation of depression

Sunny/Omori does not smile. Even in past photographs before The Incident, he still is not smiling. The contrast between Sunny and his friends stands out like a sore thumb, so I assumed this was the writer’s attempt to show that Sunny is dealing with depression, where he can’t be happy even in happy situations.

Of course, if that were the case it would be inaccurate since depressed people do smile and do hide their true feelings. They are often dismissed with, “You can’t be depressed, I saw you smiling once.” However, I was willing to let Sunny’s chronic frown slide because sometimes you have to oversimplify an idea to get your point across.

Much to my surprise, there is NO evidence of Sunny having depression before The Incident and there is very little indication of him having depression throughout the game either. The evidence of this is that while looking at a family portrait, Sunny comments that he's never liked to smile. Since he's a a baby in this portrait, this goes to show that his not smiling is simply a preference -- a quirky character trait that makes him stand out so that you feel an emotion during the true ending when he finally smiles. 

Everything in the game seems to point to him being pretty happy and well adjusted up until he killed Mari. Then, even after he killed Mari, he pretty much looks and behaves the same way. Wouldn’t it be more jarring and tragic if you saw Sunny was happy in the past, but depressed now?

Which leads me to my next point...

3. Sunny and Basil are not depressed, they’re guilty (and for good reason)

In the book I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn’t), Brené Brown explains the difference between feeling guilt and shame.

Guilt means: “I did something bad.” Shame means: “I am something bad.”

Guilt, when attributed to bad behavior, is actually a healthy emotion. It means that you have a sense of right and wrong, that you empathize with those you’ve hurt, and it motivates you to make things right.

Shame is an unhealthy emotion. It arrests growth, destroys self-esteem, causes poor decision making, isolates you from your loved ones, and is directly correlated with anxiety and depression.

OMORI should be a game about overcoming shame. All the right set pieces are there. Sunny’s walled himself off, his sister (allegedly) committed suicide, and he seems to be struggling with lifelong depression. However, this all falls apart, when it’s revealed that he killed his sister and staged her death as a suicide to escape blame (with Basil’s help). He DID do something bad. It’s not shame, it’s literally guilt.

All at once, OMORI stops being a game about recovering from grief and depression and becomes a game that demands the player to sympathize with a killer and liar who is hiding from his crimes. Because he and Basil feel bad about what they did, Sunny and Basil are presented as greater victims than their actual victim.

4. OMORI asks you empathize with villains (with ZERO self awareness)

Games where you are playing a character with a guilty conscience has been told before, but where OMORI really fails is that Sunny is not truly held accountable for what he did to others. Instead, the game focuses on HIS pain: since killing his sister he’s been isolated, he’s having nightmares, and he’s suicidal. 

The plot of the game is focused on helping Sunny forgive himself for ruining other people’s lives. The writing barely acknowledges how his friends/family feel about what he did. When his victims’ pain IS addressed, it’s either used to further victimize Sunny (ie: isn’t it sad for him that he made his friends so sad?) or it’s used to reassure the player that Sunny’s victims have forgiven him (or will forgive him). 

In fact, the game holds Mari responsible for her own death, citing that her "perfectionism" must have been what pushed Sunny to attack her. OMORI presents Mari, through headspace, as someone who accepted death gracefully and wants Sunny to live a happy life. She is never given her own voice and nothing in the game suggests she is capable of feeling bitter over her death and postmortem desecration. She plays the role of the Madonna archetype--and the perfect victim--allowing the player to empathize entirely with Sunny while accepting that Mari brought everything on herself.

[Mari suggesting that Sunny acting out his aggression on her was her fault.]

The climax of this game is NOT Sunny telling the truth to his friends. The climax is Sunny defeating his guilt and forgiving himself. We know this because the story does not even show how his friends respond to his confession, because-- once again-- what’s most important thing is resolving Sunny’s pain, not the pain he has caused others. (Though the game does heavily imply that his friends will forgive him.)

[Pictured: the boys shedding their guilt is the true happy ending ]

Imagine, for a moment, if this game was about an abuser, who caused immense pain to someone and got away with it. Then, the whole game was about how they felt bad for the abuse they caused, and-- as a player-- you help them forgive THEMSELF for their past abuse. Then, in the last few seconds of the game, they either apologize to their victim or kill themself. The victim’s response is not shown because it is not important.

This is the plot of OMORI, except with a bunch of excuses thrown on top to make it more palatable. Sunny and Basil are just soooo cute and sad. Killing Mari was an accident. Stringing her body up like a piñata was a juvenile mistake. The boys feel SO BAD that they want to kill themselves. And because suicide is so tragic, you-- as an audience-- are manipulated into empathizing them.

5. In OMORI, suicide is used as a cheap ploy for sympathy

As I mentioned before, suicide is horrible and tragic. People struggling with suicidal ideation need help, support, and respect. That said, let’s make one thing clear: being suicidal does not automatically make someone a good person. There are plenty of examples of criminals who kill themselves to escape the penalty or guilt for something they did. It is so common in the news that I don’t think I have to list out examples.

In bad endings, Sunny and Basil’s suicides are 100% motivated by guilt for their very real crimes. Now, it should be stated, Sunny and Basil do not deserve to die. And because suicide is such an extreme, permanent end for those two boys, we-- as players-- are invested in preventing that tragic end at all costs.

However, the looming threat of suicide is used as leverage to force the audience to dismiss the severity of what Sunny and Basil did. As I’ve said before, the plot of the game is about soothing and alleviating Sunny’s guilt and stopping him from killing himself as opposed to making things right. 

The worst thing is, this tactic actually works. The threat of suicide is so strong, it has distracted many players from the truth that this story is about sympathizing with a boy who has killed his sister, with little regard for those his actions have affected (see point #4).

It’s terrible because suicide is such a serious topic worthy of discussion, but when used as little more than pity-bait, it twists your perception of what the characters did and silences those who try to criticize how this game handles such topics.

6. Mari's suicide being fake is a terrible twist

Lastly, by revealing Mari’s “suicide” as an accidental death, OMORI misses an opportunity to tell a much more powerful story. In the first half of this game, when Mari is thought to have committed suicide at the young age of 15, is a sobering moment. That tragedy is something very real.

If Mari had killed herself as opposed to being killed, Sunny isolating himself after his sister takes her own life is realistic. Mari’s death coming as a surprise is also realistic; how often have we heard people saying that they never knew someone was suffering? That they seemed like such a happy person?

Losing a loved one to suicide does not just cause horrible grief, but crippling shame as well. Those left behind will blame themselves, tormented by thoughts of how they could have saved them, how they would do anything to get them back. That shame can follow you forever, haunting you like a ghost, threatening you with the same fate. Overcoming that grief and shame is no simple task, and I truly thought OMORI was going to be about grappling with grief and letting go of survivor guilt.

Instead, Mari didn’t commit suicide, her life was cut short by her brother. Then, her body was staged as a suicide, forever changing how her family and friends perceived her. Her hanging body did not represent a devastating loss of life and horror of teen depression, but instead is a cheap twist that represents Sunny’s guilt for killing her and tampering with her corpse.

Conclusion:

As I’ve mentioned before OMORI has a lot of potential. The set pieces of a depressed kid who escapes to a dream world to cope with his unresolved trauma is one that had the makings to be very meaningful. However, it fumbles these issues, creating a sloppy plot that results in a problematic message. It’s baffling that this even happened, especially considering the length of time this was in development.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

shigadabi fluff pls? :D love your blog

Yes anon, it's Shigadabi time because my brain is toasted for doing stuff for college and these are always the best times to let the ideas flow.

And I sent this without writing anything. What a mess. So guess I'll have to go editing this. Let's ignore that guys. That was a midnight failure.

So here it goes:

They are actually really adorable once they finally admit they have a thing for the other. Which takes a bunch of time because maaaaan, they are stubborn.

Dabi is the type of person that would have a whole album on his phone for Tomura's pics he has taken while the boss is distracted. They are just random pics of Tomura doing normal stuff, but they bring a lot of comfort to Dabi.

When he's drunk he stares at this pics for hours just being in love. And yes, he's also horny becuase it's Dabi so come one.

But seriously, once Dabi admits his feelings, he is the type that just says stuff to Tomura's face and he has to deal with it. He compliments his eyes and tells him every little dirty through he's having and he puts his arm around Tomura's neck and—

Sometimes Tomura just does it back. The have zero shame with the other because they trust each other so so much. Other times Tomura gets overwhelmed because, thanks to his traumas, it's hard for him to process all of it. Dabi is always patient with him when that happens.

Because Dabi has those moments too, where he goes aggressive and wild be aus it cannot be happening. Probably someone is messing with is head, right? Tomura can't be real because— Dabi is in love, okay? And Tomura seems to be in love too. And that's just no happening. He is not allowed to be happy.

Since they both know romance can be a big deal for them, they prefer to be just themselves. And that means, they are constantly bantering and fighting like best friends but also longtime rivals.

They're both very competitive and it's easy to do stuff when they think about it like a game, or like a battle.

And they're so cute when they just get an scenario in their heads and they act it up. They like pretending they're living other lives, so yes, they're into roleplaying.

That means they lay at night staring at the ceiling in each other arms, discussing how they'd be if they were pirates, for example. Where would they kiss, where would they punch each other's faces.

They're the only persons that can call the other using their real names. They use those names as a code. If they call the other by that name, something is happening. It means "pay attention to me, I need you to listen".

When they're feeling down, they can always imaging the other in one of those imaginary worlds, calling them by their real names. They feel somehow better with that.

Dabi hates rollercoasters and boats equally, so every time they go to an amusement park with the League, Tomura stays with him playing other stuff. And then Dabi let's Tomura go by himself on every crazy ride and game, just watching how insane his lover is.

Lover. Dabi loves calling Tomura his lover, because he's a romantic piece of trash.

He also loves buying flowers for Tomura and taking him to hidden places with smart clothes to have fancy secret dances. Like they're royals running away from the castle to dance on their own.

Tomura never gets tired of watching Dabi with a suit or a smoking. It makes his heart jump every time.

And Dabi has a thing for edgy Tomura on crop tops and combat boots and eyeliner and ponytails.

Dabi likes when Tomura bosses him around, he's not gonna lie. He loves watching Tomura being confident and taking what he wants when he wants it.

Tomura likes soft Dabi, when he asks if he can kiss him even when they were kissing five minutes ago. He likes the way Dabi dress nicely for him and takes him out to brag about him.

But Dabi is also in love with how cute Tomura is. He's in love with his gamer fits and his tantrums and his oversized hoodie. He's in love with his soft colored hair, with the way he's eyes shine like strawberries in the middle of the summer when he's happy, with the way he tries to hide his smile but it grows and grows and then it explodes in laughter.

And Tomura can't help how he feels when he sees Dabi being a rockstar. The way Dabi looks at him in public, the heat of his words and the edge of his smirk, the deadly poison that drips from his hips when he predates towards him and Tomura feels like he should be running, but he can't move. He doesn't want to move. He wants all of Dabi to himself, he wants to surrender and be at peace for once.

And they started into each other eyes under the moonlight, lying on the floor of an old room, and they know they have chosen well. They don't want someone to complete them, they want a partner in crime who is willing to die with them and kill for them and stay, stay when everyone else has run, stay when the cops surround them, stay side by side 'til the end.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Dead Man’s Cell Phone--Chapter 2

Summary: When Emma Swan starts getting phone calls and texts from an unfamiliar number, she decides to check it out–only to discover the number belongs to a Killian Jones, who was killed in a robbery gone wrong six months ago.  With some help from a medium, Merlin Emrys, Emma hopes to find out why a dead guy is contacting her–and why she feels such a strong pull to someone she has never met before.

Rating: K+

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones@kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior@in-spirational @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst@kmomof4  @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch@allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @cssns @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @eastwesthomeisbest @dreamingdreamsalways @xsajx @justren21 @laughterandbooks @cocohook38​ @therealstartraveller776​

Welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! A big thank you to @cssns​, the ladies on the Discord!  Thank you also to @eastwesthomeisbest​, my artist and my beta @veryverynotgood​!

Other Chapters: Prologue 1 3 4 Epilogue 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So after the phone calls, the text messages started coming," Emma said, settling into her best friend's plush sofa.

"Texts?" Mary Margaret asked curiously before taking a sip of her tea. "What kind of texts?"

It felt like Emma had known Mary Margaret forever. Both girls were placed in the system at young ages-Emma, because her parents abandoned her on the side of a road as an infant, and Mary Margaret, because her parents both died of illness. They ended up in the same group home, and quickly became the best of friends. They were closer than sisters until the day Mary Margaret was adopted by Cora Mills, and then eventually, Emma was fostered by Ruth Nolan.

Even after being placed with other families, Emma and Mary Margaret kept in touch-letters, phone calls, even the occasional visit. On one such visit, Emma's foster brother, David, was home from college, and as soon as he and Mary Margaret met, it was love at first sight.

They were so in love it was honestly a bit nauseating.

When they got married fresh out of college, Emma couldn't be happier. She'd always considered Mary Margaret her sister in all the ways that counted, and now they truly were.

There was no doubt about it - Mary Margaret Nolan was the person Emma was closest to in the entire world, and so it was only natural that when the weird stuff with the cell phone started happening, Emma decided to discuss it with her.

"Weird ones," Emma answered, taking a sip of her own hot cocoa with cinnamon. "Stuff like Help! or You're the only one who can save me!. And then some of them were even stranger. Just...random letters and symbols, almost like someone was randomly pressing buttons on a keyboard."

"So what did you do?" Mary Margaret asked, sitting on the other side of the sofa and turning toward Emma.

Emma shrugged. "I tried answering at first. You know, you hear about people who are abducted and, like, stuck in a basement for years and stuff like that. I kept thinking, what if someone really needed help and I just...ignored them?"

"And what happened when you answered?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Nothing," Emma answered before taking another sip. "No answer, just another cryptic text several hours later. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. Either someone needed help, or someone was messing with me. I decided I'd call the number, decide whether I needed to help them or tell them to go f-" She stopped, glancing over at Mary Margaret's toddler playing with blocks nearby. "Well, go do something not at all child-friendly to themselves."

"Let me guess, your call didn't get through."

"Nope," Emma confirmed, "but it was even weirder than that. I dialed the number just after receiving a text, but it went directly to voicemail."

"But that's not possible!" Mary Margaret exclaimed.

"Right?" Emma said. "So I tried to ignore the whole thing. Maybe the phone was just...I don't know..glitching or something, although I don't know how a technological glitch could make phone calls and text someone. Anyway, for some reason, I just can't let go. Even though I don't know him, somehow I feel a...connection...to this Killian Jones. I just-I don't know what to do about it."

Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, taking several sips of her steaming beverage, before turning back to Emma with a cautious look in her eyes. "There is...there is another possibility, if you have an open mind."

"Just how open are we talking?"

"Pretty open," Mary Margaret said. "What if-and just hear me out, I know this is crazy-what if Killian Jones is contacting you from beyond the grave."

"What, like a ghost?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but why not? One of the other teachers I work with was talking about this medium. His name is Merlin Emrys. Supposedly he can contact the dead and see ghosts and stuff like that."

"A medium? Seriously?" Emma asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Mary Margaret, you know those people are frauds. It's all about researching their marks ahead of time and then cold reading them. They're only in it to bleed as much cash out of vulnerable people as possible."

"I know it sounds crazy," Mary Margaret conceded, "but what if it's not? I've thought about going to him myself. If I could just talk to my parents one more time-make sure they're okay, make sure they've moved on, or whatever happens after someone dies. Well, it would provide a lot of comfort."

Emma's heart turned over, and she took her friend's hand. She knew how much Mary Margaret missed her parents. It was different for Emma. She'd never known her parents, only knew they'd tossed her out like garbage. She wasn't sure she even wanted to find them.

"I know you miss them," Emma said.

"I do," Mary Margaret said, "but that's not the point. The point is...what do you have to lose? Maybe this Merlin is just a quack like you said, but maybe not. Maybe he could be the key to unravelling the whole mystery."

Emma was silent for a moment. It was crazy; she knew it was. A medium wasn't going to give her the answers she needed if all her bail bonds tricks had failed her, but what the hell?

"Fine. I'll go see Merlin," Emma caved.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma's eyebrows rose as she took in the small, ranch-style house Mary Margaret had directed her to. She was skeptical before seeing the place, but now-now red flags were going up everywhere.

There was a huge, gaudy sign out front that read "Merlin, the great and powerful. Wizard of the unknown and medium of the great beyond." The sign-indeed the entire front of the house-was decorated with all kinds of astrological signs and symbols.

Was this guy even for real?

Emma seriously considered turning around and getting back in her car, but she'd promised Mary Margaret she'd at least check this Merlin out and give him a chance, and Emma was a woman of her word. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A moment later, an older man with longish, thinning gray hair and a rather unkempt gray beard opened the door. He was wearing long robes. Really playing the part, apparently.

"Merlin Emrys, I presume?" Emma asked as the man welcomed her inside with a sweep of his hand.

The man chuckled. "I'm afraid not. I'm merely his apprentice. Who might I tell Merlin is calling?"

Emma cocked an eyebrow. "You mean your all powerful boss didn't see me coming with his second sight or whatever?"

Emma stepped inside and the apprentice shut the door after her. "My master isn't clairvoyant. He merely has the ability to speak with the dead."

"Right," Emma said, not even trying to tamp down the skepticism in her voice. "I'm Emma Swan, and I'm here to-"

He stopped her with a raised hand. "Don't say too much. Merlin does not wish to be influenced by his clients. He wishes to sense the energy around you for himself."

Emma shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright," the apprentice said, moving toward large drapes at the far end of the room. "I'll be just a moment. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Emma looked around the room while she waited, and it took everything in her to keep from rolling her eyes. This guy was really playing up the whole "psychic" thing. It felt like she was in some sort of fortune teller carnival tent. All the signs and symbols. This guy even had a crystal ball. An actual crystal ball.

This trip was a massive waste of her time, but maybe it would at least prove to be entertaining.

"Emma Swan, welcome!"

Emma looked up at the handsome black man who made his way through the curtains. He was dressed in much the same way as his apprentice, only he wore a sorcerer's pointy hat on his head.

"Uh, thanks," Emma said, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Full disclosure. I'm more than a little bit of a skeptic, so if this is one of those 'it can only work if you truly believe' deals, we might have a problem."

"My gift can withstand the doubts of the skeptic," he chuckled before reaching out and taking her hand.

No sooner had his hand touched hers than he gasped, taking a step back, eyes going wide. "Would you-would you care to follow me back to my private sitting room, Miss Swan? It's far more comfortable back there."

Emma cocked a brow again, wondering what this odd man was on about. Still, she didn't sense any overt deception in him, and he didn't seem to be any threat to her, so she shrugged before following him through the curtains.

This backroom was far more ordinary than the room they'd just inhabited. Emma took a plush armchair, and Merlin sat on a sofa across from her.

Merlin pulled off his hat and sat it beside him. "I apologize for all the theatrics, Miss Swan," he said, reaching for a pot of tea and then raising an eyebrow in question. Emma declined the beverage with a small shake of her head, and Merlin proceeded to pour himself a cup. "I attempt to play up to what most clients expect from a psychic. Unfortunately, most poor souls who come to see me are out of luck. The loved one they wish to contact has passed on. For most, all I can do amounts to smoke and mirrors. I could tell the moment I shook your hand that you were different."

Emma inwardly scoffed. She knew enough about cons not to be fooled by a clever con man. Made sense he'd use a different tactic with a skeptic than he would with some poor, grief-stricken sap who was a true believer.

"No offense, but I still think you're full of crap," she said.

Merlin smiled. "It seems those with the most energy surrounding them always do."

"So, what?" Emma asked. "Are there ghosts all around me or something?"

"There are a few spirits here with us today," Merlin confirmed. "There's one who's quite insistent. It's a man; looks as though he died rather young. I don't sense he's family, but you were close. Maybe coworkers? Perhaps friends?"

Emma took a deep breath, a face coming to mind. Surely he couldn't mean-

"I'm getting a G in the name," Merlin said slowly. "Greg or Gray….no. Graham."

Emma's heart turned over. Graham. Sweet, slightly dorky Graham Humbert. They'd worked together on more than a few cases, and they'd become good friends.

In fact, they'd been teetering on the precipice of possibly becoming more than friends when he died suddenly.

"How did you know to mention Graham? How did you know that name would get the biggest rise out of me?" Emma demanded, voice hard.

"I don't choose the spirits who come to me," Merlin explained calmly, "I merely give them a voice. Graham is pleased to see you again. He's glad you're doing well."

The anger came then, spurred on by the pain the memory of Graham's death brought back. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"He died quite suddenly, didn't he?" Merlin asked, ignoring her question. "I'm feeling a tightness in my chest. Something with his heart?"

"Heart attack," Emma confirmed tightly. "He had a heart attack right in front of me and died in my arms."

"He's sorry, so very sorry you had to go through that," Merlin said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "He never wanted to be a source of pain for you."

Emma felt the tears at the back of her eyes and had to take a deep breath to keep them from falling. "Yeah, well, he didn't exactly have a say in the matter. Look, I don't know how you knew to bring up Graham, but I'm still not buying it."

"He apologizes he couldn't bring you a bear claw today," Merlin continued with a smile. "Oh, and he asks if you remember the day he thought he saw a wolf. He wants you to know he wasn't drunk. It really was there-in spirit at least."

Emma gasped, remembering the night she and Graham had gone to the Rabbit Hole for a drink after a long shift and Graham swore he spotted a big, gray wolf right there on the main street of town. Emma had made fun of him for that, telling him he'd clearly imbibed a bit too much that night. There's no way Merlin could have known about that incident. He couldn't have found it in any newspaper or online article about Graham's death.

Was it...was it possible this guy was the real deal?

"Okay, I admit, it's weird you'd bring that up," Emma said. "Let's say I believe you, can you ask Graham if he's okay? If he, like, moved on or whatever?"

"You just asked him," Merlin said. "He's here with us and can hear you. He wants to tell you that he is okay. He's more than okay; he's happy. He's moved on, and he's at peace, more than he could have ever thought possible."

Emma smiled, feeling comfort at the thought.

"There's someone else here with us as well," Merlin said. "Another male presence, but I don't believe you know this one. This one seems angry, desperate."

"Um...should we be scared?" Emma asked.

Merlin shook his head. "He doesn't mean us harm, only wants his story told. He's too indistinguishable to speak now, but I sense he'll be accompanying us on our journey today as well."

Wonderful. An angry, desperate ghost guide. Just fantastic.

"So, Emma," Merlin said, after a moment, "what brings you to me tonight?"

Emma pulled out her phone and laid out the entire story for Merlin. She told him about the calls, the texts, everything. Merlin took her phone in hand and gasped as soon as it touched his hand.

"There is a huge amount of energy here," he said. "There's no doubt a spirit has attached itself to you-or at least your phone."

Emma felt a chill. "My phone is haunted?"

"Not precisely," Merlin murmured, turning the device over in his hand. "Someone wishes to get your attention; wishes for you to help him, but there's something odd here, something I can't quite place."

"What do you mean?"

"The spirit is...indistinct," Merlin said, "hazy and just beyond my reach. I've never experienced anything like this."

Emma waited, her curiosity more than piqued at Merlin's odd reaction to her cell phone.

After a moment, Merlin's eyes widened. "Your friend Graham cleared up the mystery for me."

"What?" Emma asked. "What does Graham say is going on?"

"The reason I can't get a clear read on the spirit attached to your phone-this Killian Jones-is, well, because he's not dead."

Notes:

-So there you have it. For those of you who have wondered how this story could possibly have a happy ending since Killian is dead-this is how. He's not actually dead!

-Up next: With Merlin's help, Emma finds out how this is all possible-and she finds the not-dead Killian Jones.

                                                                            Next Chapter-->

[jiminrings]

hellooo can i request a drabble of uni!au art major tae and biochem major yn? also part one of the would you series is AMAZINGGG seriously i cant wait to read more!! <3

rich kid kim

pairing: taehyung x y/n

wordcount: 5k

glimpse: tae’s cold and probably needs a friend more than he needs a model, y/n feels this nEED to take care of him, a term of enderment then a dash of emotional constipation and a sprinkle of jealousy :D

notes: thank you for the request babes!! writing this made my heart melt and aND!!! thank you omg i’m glad you like would you :((

if you squint or if you’ve read insufferable, this is most probably taehyung and his y/n!!!

taehyung is personally more than willing to pay himself out of this project

oKAY LISTEN

he’s not the proudest knowing that he comes from a rich family and he’s the only kid and he’s never really struggled for much

everything was just given to him without any hesitations whatsoever

and yeah he admits that he can nEVER admit that his pampered and luxurious lifestyle since birth has shaped him to be this way and it’s hard to unlearn these types of things

things were too easy for him and thAt’s what made it hard

tae is the farthest thing from an outcast..,.,.,.,

.,.,. but that’s him in his usual rich boi bubble of elites wherever he goes because he’s surrounded by people like him

hoseok and jimin have got to be his closest friends but of course they pursued business degrees and everyone must’ve probably saw that coming

nobody, however, expected the kim taehyung to pursue a degree based rootly on passion and even major in it

yeah that’s right what are yOU looking at???

he’s an art student and yeah he’s taking this seriously ://

do yOU have a problem with that?? do you?? no what did you say?? step the fuck up ky-

spoiler alert: people do have a problem with that

taehyung could tell that his parents did a complete 180 when they learned through jimin’s noisy-ass mouth (not even through their own son) that he’s gonna be getting an art degree

his dad’s the one who’s most especially disappointed at him because well he’s the only child and uhhhh.,.,.,, so who’s gonna inherit the company now.,.,,,

tae normally feels selfish and this time, he felt like he was being rational rather than being selfish!! this is what he passionately wants!! pls god can i be selfish oNE more time

eventually his parents had no choice because as their son explained,, having an art degree won’t keep him away from the family business at all and he could even expand it!! he doesn’t need a degree!!! 

lmao he’s been putting the money he gets on the stock market ever since he was ten years old

and they had to accept it eventually because this is what HE wants and if this is the only thing that he wants... then might as well help him through it, right??

now this is another dilemma

taehyung’s applied at a regular university in which everyone’s blended together and no one really cares about who’s who

it’s not exclusive to people like him.

he submitted his requirements and his portfolios by himself!!

and he got accepted!!

he’s nOT SURE if it’s purely because of his skills and himself and not his parents’ money nor influence

whatever it is, he doesn’t want to know because if it ends up being the answer he doesn’t want?? lol he’d crawl into a hole and mope for a week and would be doomed to wear three-piece suits for the rest of his life 

so anyways

yeah..,, this is one of the handful of times that taehyung is completely willing to pay himself out 

this project was supposed to be easy enough as what the professor said but uH he’d like to passive-aggressively decline pls and thank you

their final project was to make a portrait

right?? easy!!

a portrait of sOMEONE IN CAMPUS,,, regardless if you know them or not

(( well of course you’d get to know them by the end because yea they’re required to show proof that they indeed met and the model did agree to be painted ))

and by the end of the project, it’s either they keep it to themselves or give it to the model!!

that should be easy, right??

...

....

...... pls say right

oh my god tae should probably drop out now so he doesn’t get to do this

rich people don’t necessarily have to be educated, right???? maybe he’ll just settle into being a himbo 

he learned about the meaning of the word through urban dictionary that he tHEN only learned about like six months ago and now he gets so many things

taehyung’s not intimidated by the workload of it all -- in fact, he’s even excited about it because it helps him relax!!

what he’s intimidated about is the fact that he’s kim taehyung and there are only two possible options

either his model would be someone who knows him and would be taking every possible step to ensure that they climb the social ladder through him and they’re not even gonna be dISCREET about it

OR

his model wouldn’t completely care about who he is and in the process belittles him upfront and tbh his hart wouldn’t be able to take that and he’s probably wipe his tears away with dollar bills

there is almost no in-between, that one he’s sure of

so why are you like this?

why are you neither of the two and why are you sO kind and go against his expectations????

do you have an ulterior motive or something????

you who’s a biochem major and is actually another building away from his own

you who’s made the initiative that you become hIS model

you who actually oFFERED and almost begged to be a part of a project that would only be for tae’s benefit

... aha

that’s about -5 points from being a cool laid-back nonchalant gal

+10 for looking like someone who’s had a massively obsessive crush on him since day one and looking like you’d lay his life for him

no but lmao actually you just learned about taehyung in a magazine

you were bored at the dentist’s and scrolled through every possible outlet in your phone and it didn’t satiate you anymore!!! so how about reading a good ol’ magazine :D

then came taehyung

it was a whole issue dedicated to him and you were probably too dedicated into reading it that this time it was you telling the dentist to wait lol

that’s as far as you knew about him

and then you learned just some weeks ago that taehyung happens to study where you also study at and that was.,., inch resting

you never really saw him before around campus because it was too big and well maybe if you put in the effort, you’d actually find him

maybe you had a tiny lil admiration for kim taehyung just from one whole issue alone you read at the dentist’s or whatever

you’ve only known about this final project situation through changbin!!!

changbin, your neighbor at the apartment next to you, who’d crash over whenever his wifi feels the tiniest bit slow

yes you did spend a little more money to upgrade your internet situation (most times it’s the router who makes all the difference) because you were so tIRED of having things slow in the middle of researching for your projects in biochem)

no you will nOT have that <3

and of course changbin’s not having your that shitty wifi either so he pushed you to get that in the first place so he can use it too lmao

he’s told you just a couple of days ago about his final project and that maybe, just maybe, he’d make it into a move for this girl that he likes

nothing’s more romantic than pleading for someone to paint ur face right

and your grade and the decision to whether you’re gonna pass or flunk and graduate or retake are relying on you mostly

and in changbin’s case it’s also hIS heart on the line so yeah no pressure at all luv

“i kinda feel bad for rich kid kim, y’know?”

“what about taehyung???”

“eW do you have a crush on him??”

“addressing someone by their name equals to a crush??????”

your banters never stop because you’re as quick-witted as him and he both loves and hates it

he loves that omg someone can keep up with him and that way he gets challenged to always have the last say!!

he hates that oh god why is he friends with someone who reminds him of himself so much how is hE gonna deal with that??

sometimes he’ll purposely argue with you to fEEL something lmao

but there’s just something here that tells him you’re a little more interested now in this flow of conversation ever since rich kid kim was mentioned

“hm, nothing. i’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a model yet.”

he dodges you in the kitchen to look for peanut butter in your cupboard and oddly... you’re not berating him for decreasing your groceries....?

what does changbin mean by that? whAt model?? model as in taehyung doesn’t have the newest model of whatever car he wants? or maybe he has a model girlfriend and-

hold on wait wHAT

taehyung has a-

“m-model?”

he looks at you weirdly but you don’t even bat an eye when he gets ahold of your marshmallow spread so that he could make another one of his s’mores sandwiches

“uhhhh model as in he doesn’t have someone to paint for our project??”

is that what you wanted to hear or,.,

you and changbin share one (1) brain cell and it SHOWS

the two of you have to open your mouths, then close, then ponder, and then do that aGAIN until the both of you could finally grasp if you were in the same page

“oh cool!! i’ll be his model then!”

“yeah but did he ask”

“it’s gonna be easy!! i’ll just tag along with you to your building”

“yeah but did he aSK”

“we’re probably gonna hit it off instantly and then you’ll have to leech off from someone else for their wifi and food and every other necessity that you already have-”

“yeah but dID HE ASK????”

long-story short: no. taehyung most certainly did not ask you to be his model.

but here you are

saying that you came a long way is a bit of a stretch because taehyung mostly turns his head the other way around when you call out to him in public

progress is still progress :D

you’re eating lunch with him at the same table and this time you’re sat beside him!! when normally he’d just walk home to his apartment (lol that’s not allowed but you won’t be surprised to know that he has a free pass) and eat!!!

before that, taehyung would gLARE at you until you stop asking to sit with him in his table

yea he gets a bit lonely at time because jimin and hobi aren’t with him and hE’S the outcast but he won’t do anything about it,, just scroll through his phone while he eats and tune everyone out

you figured that maybe it’s changbin always linked with you in lunch because your schedules just matched up thAt perfectly like it does with tae’s

hee-hee so you might have elbowed him until he begrudgingly agreed to be tolerable, keep atleast four feet of distance from you, and not call tae rich kid kim

spoiler alert: taehyung doesn’t really care about whatever you do because doing those changes with changbin did nOT work at all

however

H O W E V E R

taehyung doesn’t know at all how you’ve wormed your way into his heart!!

what seem to be cold to you is his warmest he’s ever been in such a new environment and outside of his usual comfort bubbles!!!

it’s like you occasionally stealing the food from his plate when you have the same thing is the equivalent of h*lding h*nds with him

you putting your leg over his before he pushes it after five seconds mUST be the equivalent to marriage

wait he’s lying

taehyung does know how you’ve wormed your way to his heart

“hi! i’m y/n! :D”

ok u are a little bit sweaty and out of breath from doing all that fast-paced walking for the past ten minutes

your new shoes that you still need to break into further aren’t helping your situation in the slightest bit

honestly? this is all changbin’s fault <3

he unknowingly gave you the sign that you were looking for

if he says yeah five times with five minutes?? okay yeah you’re definitely looking for kim taehyung and offering yourself to become his model

you don’t wanna sound weird but you feel sorry for him and you wanna help him :((

he’s not helping you tho because he has long legs underneath those trousers and it looked like he wouldn’t budge at all not unless you jogged and stopped right in front of him

“hi! i’m y/n!! :D”

“...”

“.....”

tae’s a bit... perplexed

because who’s THIS entity and why are you standing in front of him

...

....

“bye y/n.”

:]

he wants to exit from this situation because oh my god??

why r u like this

he didn’t ASK for your name!!

and he doesn’t even know you and giving him your name honestly won’t do anything and he doesn’t get what’s your motive and-

“oh c’mon!! you didn’t even shake my hand :((”

he feels even more lost as he tries to wrap his head around that uh.....

you uh.... you wanted a handshake??

.....

tae doesn’t even hide his annoyance because it’s clear as day!!!

he’s blatantly tilting his head at you rudely with a blank stare omg take the hint pLEASE

realizing it now you mAY have came on too strong to taehyung that looks confused as ever

“hi, i’m y/n.”

changbin’s by one of the lockers taking pics of you beaming at taehyung and him scowling down to show you later how dumb you look and how you shouldn’t do this at all

okay LISTEN

his personality trait is to immediately assume the worst out of every scenario possible and that way when something slightly less worse happens? that’s a win babie ;D

he became ur friend in the first place because you heard him yelling since he’s at the door right next to yours and you could hEAR him throwing things around as he cusses his laptop

yeah he cusses his laptop what about it??

if you close your eyes hard enough, you could hear him throw his router against the wall (you later learned that he was so close to finishing his digitalization but then his laptop decided to die) before punching the air

(( the friendship started when you knocked vERY gently and offered him to borrow your laptop even if you aren’t done with all your homework ))

((( changbin thought at first that u were such an organized and too-friendly social butterfly who’s a kiss-ass to everyone but now he thinks ur the coolest person ever and he treasures you more than life itself )))

although, taehyung’s a lot more vicious and closed-off and critical than changbin

he narrows his gaze at you as you introduce yourself for the second time before merely clicking his tongue

“ok cool”

is that uhm

is that IT good sir

“you’re not,” you’re dancing around your words and being careful to not let a pout grace your lips at the sheer lack of enthusiasm, “gonna introduce yourself to me??”

you got a reaction alright

taehyung sCOFFS and that’s the loudest he’s ever been with you in the span of two minutes

“you followed me for ten minutes just to tell me your name. kinda seems like you already know mine if you do that, no?”

this is why you took up biochem instead of law

how do the lawyers not break down???

why does phoenix wright make it seem SO easy?? especially when he’s spoken to in a confrontal tone???

oh god taehyung broke you already

not to be rude but uh what do you wANT

can you get it over already??

“o-oh! uhm i was wondering if i could uHm,” you sound ridiculous now that you think about it and this is perhaps one of the only times you feel embarrassed, “volunteer to be your model for your project?”

hmm

was that a wrong answer,,,

sHOULD YOU HAVE SAID THAT??

“are you in my class?”

taehyung asks and he’s finally said a sentence to you!!! omg

you’re quite shocked so he had to click his tongue to get you to answer 

“no, actually!! i’m a biochem major and-...”

that’s all it takes before he hums and nods his head

and for some reason taehyung looks at you like you’re pREY

“are you a stalker?”

okay wait holy fuck wHAT

you know what

you took a sip from changbin’s coffee half an hour ago but why are you only choking on it nOW

you’re positively sputtering and now ur pressured bc tae thinks you’re a stalker!!! a damn stalker!!

“looked at you long enough. i don’t need a sketch artist and i could just-”

no no no pls no

this meeting is going downhill very quickly 

“oh my god taehyung i’m nOT a stalker okay!!!”

that shuts him up because your voice is so firm and okAY then how do u explain this stalker smh ://

throughout the whole time you’re talking about changbin being an art major and also your neighbor and everything in between, tae has such a neutral expression that you feel so intimidated

“-and that’s what!! i’m not taking advantage of you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking i guess? i swear!!”

he listened and well if he’s being honest,,, okay yea you did make sense and he does know changbin

“okay then. i’ll think about it.”

“are you gonna give me your number???”

it’s either you’re so forward or he’s just not used to being caught off-guard

WHICH FUCKING ONE

“what for?”

it’s been so long ever since someone asked taehyung for his number

usually in galas and any other socialite gatherings you could think of, everyone’s number would just be in your phone automatically and you won’t even rEMEMBER how it got there in the first place

better yet, it’s been so long since he went back to his usual routine lifestyle of being himself 

his last gala was two weeks ago and tae had to keep looking at his phone to study pdfs and whatever clear pictures he can get of his reviewers back at home because he had a test tomorrow morning

“so you could text me where we’re gonna meet so you could paint me, silly!!”

:D

okay wOAH there

“i didn’t even say that you’d be my model????”

“lol but you were thinking it huh”

that’s it

taehyung has nO choice but to paint you if he wants to finish this project and graduate and have something of a thicker paper to flaunt

it came as a shock to him that hE took your offer and he could only imagine its effect on you

not to brag but tae didn’t even have to sweat for a little because it’s yOU who came to him with this offer!! not him!!

tae lives in the classiest apartment here in uni and everyone probably knows that

much to his insistence that he doesn’t want anyone from uni going outside his apartment, he had to take an L and invite you over

he wouldn’t risk doing his work in any place else because he doesn’t want anyone thinking and getting the wrong idea!!

speaking of, he’s regretting it now because you seem to be too happy being in his space

you’re pointing around and being awed at every possible thing!!! 

what??? is this ur first time seeing a rattan hanging chair :// or a massive couch?? or a canvas painting of something so beautiful?? all of that in what’s supposed to be a student’s one apartment??? christ y/n get yourself together

“so what do you want me to do?? where do i sit oR do i stand instead?? i’m gonna need you to know that-...”

“nothing.” taehyung deadpans before he gets his camera so he could get digital shots as well if ever he needs an extra touch when it comes to his final product

the gears in your head are going bRRR and you’re gonna have to ask him to elaborate but taehyung already sets the pace

“nothing. just be your rEALLY annoying self and pretend i’m not here.”

normally you don’t take his words to heart but this one just hits a little close to home bc it’s early in the morning and taehyung already finds you intolerable

“by pretend, do you mean-...”

“up to you. are you more annoying around me or no?”

how did he read your MIND

tae got the thoughts in your head word per word and you’re so amazed at that because fUcK you originally thought that he’s good at bluffing his way up

click!

it’s you smiling at him

no you’re beaming at him

and you’re in front of his morning-lit curtains and you’re against the light

the portrait itself is already visually appealing and satisfying and man the shadows!!! the value!!!! they’re so raw and dreamy and this is exactly his style!!!

it was just a one-take wonder as soon as he took a picture of you!!! and he may have you to hold that position if he needs the push!! he just needs to translate it to canvas with his own language and emotions and then he’s dONE!!

you’re a pain in the ass

you laugh and you move too much

taehyung had you to to revisit that pose and hold it and you wouldn’t stop giggling bc you were too proud that you did THAT!

you also ask too many things that even hE doesn’t have the answers to

how is he supposed to know if red string lovers exist when you went into a spiel just because you saw a red tube of paint???? and why is he saying his opinions on such trivial things when he has his final project to take care of???

and how is he supposed to know why YOU’RE here hanging out with him instead of finishing your own final project

jk maybe it’s the L word but you’re gonna subdue that as much as possible since taehyung looks like he’d leave you by yourself with any chance that he gets

and you even call him terms of endearment!!! nicknames!! pet names!! names that you’d call someone who’s familiar to you and you probably l*ve!!!

angel

that’s what you call him :))

“why do you call me that?”

“because you look like one”

“and how would yOU know what angels look like??”

“because if they were to exist then you’d probably look like one!!”

“but-”

“ok that’s one minute no more questions taehyung <3″

tae just provides you with all the conviction you need to take care of him without even knowing

not in a maternal type of instinct type of way, but rather in a sPECIAL someone type of way

you find yourself caring for him mOre than you ever could for any regular friend you have!!

you just throw a whole loaf of bread to changbin and call it a day

but for tae??? you go above and beyond!!

“did it ever hit you that rich kid kim never really introduced himself to you?”

oh right....

changbin points out one day and you could see where he was getting at

for some reason he always knew what was in your mind at any given time and sometimes it’s to your disadvantage

you seem to be growing on taehyung though!!

he tolerates you better now!!

sometimes he’ll find you loveable even

he likes having someone around and you’re the perfect contender

if he decides to not talk too much, then you fill up the white noise!!

if he wants you to shut up?? then yOU shut up but of course not without babbling for a little

he’s opened up but with some reservations

some reservations that you don’t mind but it’s normal that you feel sometimes left out, y’know??

because it’s been a good month since you and taehyung properly interacted but he still resents you as much if you think about it

“hey angel!!”

“what is it-...”

taehyung looks up from his meal that he’s been poking at his fork because this has to be the fourth time you call out to him

so he turns to look at you and-

oh

uhm

there seems to be a misunderstanding

you weren’t calling HIM

you were calling out to some other guy that iSN’T him

that’s seungmin!!! omg you haven’t seen him in so long and he just happened to pass by your lunch table!!!

apparently he has something to talk to you about which is why you’re standing up and leaving tae all alone on the table

seungmin’s smile is adorable as always and he gets you in a pretty good mood!!

oh god

dear gOD

what is taehyung feeling in his chEST???

tae’s grip on his fork is starting to get pRETTY tight

and if he’s aware enough, his right eye’s twitching and he’s practically scoffing under his breath

why tf would you call him that

WHO is angel and why is it nOT him anymore????

what he’s feeling is just unexplainable and it tastes something like betrayal

“who’s he?”

he quizzes you as soon as you get back to your table and you don’t waver one bit because you know he’s been asking questions recently

“oh that’s just seungmin!! we were childhood friends then he just transferred here awhile-...”

there’s a bitter taste on his tongue and it shows up in his face and you’re not even paying attention to him!!

“really? thought i was him for a second.”

ok now that got you to stop eating

????

why is he acting weird

taehyung looks even more irked because you look sO oblivious right now

“do you call everyone angel?”

o-oh where is this going

“uhm-”

you’re not even finished and to be honest you’re quite lost and taehyung sCOFFS you to the next century

“‘course you do.”

taehyung angrily finishes his meal and you leave it at that because ok maybe he had a bad day?? and he’s just taking it out on you??

and well tae DOESN’T want you to leave it at that

he wants you to ASK him why he’s mad!!! he’s passive-aggressive and it’s getting unhealthy but he’d rather choke than have him spill whatever he’s feeling

the next few days, taehyung avoids you like his LIFE depended on it

you’re not really bothered by it because he has his days, but this one’s just getting out of control

“are you giving me a time-out or something??”

lmao what did u do now

you nudge him when you see him by changbin’s apartment to borrow an easel even though he’s already got it by his apartment

yeah he’s mad at you and he’s petty but maybe he wants to see you again

tae’s giving you silent treatment and you don’t even question him for it

you don’t bother!!

you’re letting him do whatever he wants as always and he dOESN’T like it anymore!!!

he feels like he’s gonna combust at any given time and you don’t give a shit and he feels like yOU should give a shit because you always do!!

you always hover and worry around him but wHY does he feel like you’re not doing it anymore??

why does he yEARN FOR YOU???

it’s quite an an early night for you

you love biochem but sometimes it kicks your ass and it makes you retch at the mention of all-nighters nowadays!! bc they used to be fun but now doing them because you nEED to?? no thx

you’re already in your pajamas and you’re all washed up!! what could changbin need from you at 9 in the evening??

there’s an urgent knocking on your door and you resist the need to groan because you were about to really knock yourself out!! you need to get back all the rest you’ve wasted over your own final project

is that-

“taehyung?”

the man in question is in his huge yellow hoodie that swallows him up every time and he looks positively spent

his hair’s shaggy and his eyes are glazed and there’s a pink tint to his cheeks :((

he’s holding a baby hydroflask in his hands and you’re pretty sure that’s alcohol in there lol

“don’t call me taehyung!!”

he immediately snaps and you’re lost as aLWAYS

did he really just walk all the way to your complex to snAp at you??

“i’m not taehyung,” he frowns deeply and that’s when you’re a bit more mesmerized, “i’m angel.”

is this what you think it is??

your no.1 deflection move is to laugH and you’re doing that rn

something about this whole situation tickles you funny and you’re not sure what to feel about it

“i like your bottle!! i should get one for myself!!”

he could see right through you though

he ignores your stOOpid statements and goes to hold your hands :((

“no, no. i’m your angel. i-i’m your taehyung, right??”

listen

taehyung is the most confusing being you know and he’s so emotionally constipated that he outperforms changbin but this one,,,

this just feels so different

he’s hugging you

he’s embracing you

he’s burrowing his face to your neck and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t ever imagine what this would feel like :(((

he positively 100% might be in love with you

and you positively 100% might be in love with him too

he’s fishing for your hand by your side to put in between your bodies as he shakes it and that’s because he doesn’t wanna let go of the hug 

:((((

you’re melting and this what heaven must feel like :((((

“h-hi. name’s kim taehyung and i’m yours.”