#they could talk it out of this but fit becoming more bitter with each day is not gonna help

[sattystars]

q!tubbo's abandonment fear making him push away hideduo and try to break them up turning into the morning crew split was predicted, but right now that it's actually happening im completely in disbelief, like how did we get here.....

[teamred]

after midnight

✩‌ logan howlett/wolverine x mutant!reader | smut | 1.8k

SUMMARY | logan hates that you never listen to him and you can't stand how he still treats you like a kid. but tonight's your chance to change each other's minds.

WARNINGS | smut, breastplay, oral s*x (male receiving), piv s*x, power dynamics

RATING | explicit

NOTES | this is more dialogue and tension than smut, but i hope y'all still enjoy!

The X-Mansion at night is eerily quiet, a peaceful respite compared to the bustling energy during the day with the swarm of students walking around. Despite the stillness, some nights, like tonight, make sleep hard to come by. 

You carefully tread down the stairs, through the halls, and towards the communal kitchen to grab a drink. 

With the flick of your hand, you open the fridge, its bright light illuminating you amidst the darkness, and glance at what’s available.

Times like these, you wish there was something stronger than soda available, but you settle on a bottle of ginger ale and levitate it towards your hand. You will the fridge to close behind you as you make your way to a high stool by the kitchen island.  

“Shouldn't be walkin’ around in that outfit, bub.” 

Startled, you whip your body around, clutching the bottle to your chest and holding your hand out, an instinctive fighting stance. You relax at the sight of him leaning against the doorframe. 

“Jesus Christ, Logan…” you exhale, shaking your head.

He turns on the low lights above the kitchen counters. His hair is tousled from sleep, and his usual scowl is plastered on his face.

Your eyes sweep over his sleep wear—a simple fitted white tee and grey sweats. Then you glance down at yourself—black booty shorts and a loose crop top. Sure, what you wear to bed is a little risqué, but it’s comfortable. 

“What are you—my dad?” you shoot back, sipping your drink and leaning against the counter.

Logan rolls his eyes, crossing the room to grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge.

“You should put on a robe or somethin’,” he grumbles. “The kids could see you.” 

He reaches to untwist the cap, but you beat him to it, using your powers to unscrew it with a swish of your fingers. The cap clatters onto the island, a bit louder than you intended. 

“You know, kids aren’t exactly wandering around the mansion at 3AM,” you mutter.

He downs half the bottle in one go and you can’t help it, but you’re enticed by how his Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp. Your eyes sweep over him again, noticing how the shirt stretches perfectly over his body and the outline of his length underneath his sweats.

Logan may be an asshole, but at least he’s an attractive asshole.

When he finishes, he tilts the bottle towards you with a sneer. 

“Yeah? Look who's talking.”

In a flash, you swipe his drink into your hand and shove him against the edge of the counter. He stumbles, almost falling to the floor, and snarls a curse.  

Your nostrils flare as you close the distance between you, fists clenched. “When are you gonna take me seriously, Logan? I’m about to become a professor soon.”

He stands up straight, towering over you and matching your intensity.

He grits out, “When you finally start listenin’ to me.”

You scoff, the bitterness rising in your chest. “Oh, so that's what this is all about.” 

You shake your head, finding it all too familiar. Coincidentally, this was why you couldn’t sleep tonight. 

Logan jabs a finger towards you. “You never listen to a goddamn thing I say during training, always throwin’ yourself into the danger and I’m the one always pullin’ you out.” 

“It's just the Danger Room!” you whisper-shout back, not wanting to wake others. “And you do the same shit all the time, Mr. Hypocrite.”

“Because I can handle the risk."

“And what? I can't?” 

“Don't get cocky with me."

You step closer, merely inches away from his face, and raise a brow, meeting his glare with a defiant smirk. 

“What are you gonna do, Logan? Bend me over your knee and teach me a lesson?”

The words are meant to taunt, to push his buttons, but they come out with an edge you didn’t expect. 

Something daring.

Something that challenges Logan. 

His gaze darkens, and the room fills with a charged silence. His breathing turns heavy, his eyes fixed on you like he’s ready to pounce. 

“I just might.” 

The tension snaps. 

You’re unsure who moves first, but it doesn’t matter because you’re on each other, the kiss raw, messy, and all-consuming.

It’s a clash of hunger and fury. Lips crashing, teeth nearly clashing. His hands seize your bare thighs hard. Likewise, your nails dig into his muscled arms and shoulders. His groan turns into a guttural growl at the bite of your touch. 

Effortlessly, he hoists you up, and you wrap your legs around him before he sets you down onto the cold tiled countertop. His hand snakes its way up your shirt, calloused fingers finding your nipples, rolling and pinching them ruthlessly.

One gasp escapes you, then another as he thrusts his thigh between your legs; the friction is delicious against your aching core. 

“Tell me you'll listen to me,” he rasps the demand, his mouth now sucking and biting down your neck. 

Initially, you shake your head, but he twists your nipple hard, dragging a sharp moan from your throat.

“Yes,” you moan. 

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Logan,” you seethe, detesting how weak you are under his touch, but you can’t control yourself. 

He chuckles irritatingly, brushing your neck upwards with the tip of his nose, until he presses his mouth against your ear. “You gonna do as I say?”

You nod. A desperate whine escapes your lips as he presses his thigh harder into you. Your body’s inflamed, craving more than just this from him. 

“Then get on your knees,” he commands. “Show me what you got.”

As if under possession, you jump off the counter and fall to your knees as Logan switches spots with you. He drops his sweatpants towards his ankles and holds his cock in front of you, stroking it. 

You almost salivate at the sight. Not that you’ve ever imagined fucking Logan, but it’s unsurprising how long and thick it is. 

You start off with chaste kisses and darts of your tongue. A touch here and there to torment him. Minutes pass, and when he's had enough, he's about to say something until you suddenly take him in as much as you can.

You channel all your desire and frustration onto him in the form of crude pleasure to prove yourself.

Your tongue swirls. Licks up the precum leaking from his slit. Mouth sucks on his tip so hard, Logan's gripping your head roughly, groaning a plea for you to slow down. You disobey and relax your throat, allowing him to hit the back of your throat.

He practically has to rip you away to avoid an early end to all of this. His mouth is back on yours again with his drenched cock pressed up against your thigh.

Logan leads you to be on the counter once again. Impatiently, or perhaps it's laziness, his fingers deftly drag the fabric of your shorts and underwear towards one side to prepare for his entry.  

And he doesn't even ease into it, knowing how wet you are from just a whiff of the air.

He's not gentle, and you don't want him to be. You yearn for each deep thrust, letting his fullness fill you to the brim.

“Is this what you wanted?" he growls. "Me fucking some sense into you?” 

“If that’s what it takes to prove to you I’m not a fucking kid anymore, then—fuck—yes…” 

He answers every moan you make with a deeper plunge. However, the moans rise to cries. Logan puts a hand over your mouth, drowning them out.

In turn, the suppression of it only accelerates your climax and somehow draws out your powers. Utensils shake, along with the cupboards. 

“Sweetheart,” he warns with a low chuckle, still keeping a steady pace, “you’re gonna wake everybody up.”

“Don’t care,” you say, words muffled behind his hand. “Just keep fucking me. Don’t stop, don’t stop—” 

Everything shakes in unison with your body’s trembling. You whimper Logan’s name, eyes fluttering, until you come undone around his length. 

The kitchen slows its shaking as you come down from your high, and he pulls out, jolting his thick release onto your inner thigh with a sharp moan. 

Both of you are still, listening for any sign of footsteps or voices of anyone that is coming to investigate the noises. But the mansion is still quiet as a mouse, save for your rigorous panting and the hum of the fridge. 

Logan draws his pants back up and reaches for the paper towels. He holds them out in your direction, and, without ever touching it, you rip one off, wipe away the mess, and toss it into the garbage. 

Jumping off the counter, you adjust your clothes, but not much is needed since nothing ever came off. 

“So,” he says after catching his breath, reaching for his Dr. Pepper behind you. His body presses slightly against you, the warmth of his body radiating onto yours. “You gonna listen to me from now on?” 

“That depends.” You drag your ginger ale towards you with a tilt of your head. In sync, you chug your drinks. “Are you gonna treat me like an adult from now on?” 

“I’ll try, kid,” he says, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You shove him playfully at the label and he chuckles. “Sorry, it’s outta habit.” 

“But seriously,” he continues, his expression hardening into his usual tough one. “You know that I only say those things to look out for you.” 

That catches you off-guard. You search his eyes, revelling in the sincerity of his words. 

“I know, Logan,” you smile and nod. Leaning in, you kiss him tenderly on his cheek and begin to walk away. “Try to get some sleep.” 

When you’re about to leave, he calls out your name softly, causing you to turn around. 

“If you ever have another sleepless night, come find me.” He closes the distance and pins you down with an intense stare and a smug arch of his eyebrow. “I still have to properly teach you a lesson over my knee, y’know.” 

“Is that so?” you challenge. “Even after everything that happened tonight?” 

“Tonight was just a preview,” he whispers. He lifts his hand to palm your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin. “I need to keep you in check so you won’t forget.”

You're drawn to him, wanting to close the gap with a kiss.

But you decide against it, not wanting to let him win this round.

“I’ll think about it."

Turning on your heel, you saunter away. His eyes track every move, every sway of your hips in those tight shorts, drinking in the sight of you until you disappear from view. 

Despite your tentativeness, Logan’s determined he’ll have another taste of you soon enough. 

[adverbally]

Think of the Tender Things

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Keep breathing, please.’” | wc: 773 | rated: T | cw: hospital, premature baby | tags: adoption, new parent anxiety, hopeful ending | title from “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds

———

The NICU has its own window, far enough from the regular nursery to seem intentional. It makes sense to Eddie, theoretically speaking— keep the preemies and the sick babies away from the healthy ones so the comparison isn’t so startling. It just doesn’t work that well if they have to walk past the full-term nursery anyway.

They pause to observe the fat, happy newborns who will be going home in the next day or two. They’re all chubby cheeks and chunky limbs, round little tummies swaddled tightly with matching caps on their heads, just like the parenting books advertise.

Steve’s hand squeezes his, and Eddie knows he’s feeling the same thing: that’s how it should’ve been, and all of the guilt and fear and bitterness that goes along with that line of thinking.

They keep walking down the hall until they reach the door indicating the special care nursery. The glass there is smaller, since fewer babies fit in a room when they’re surrounded with incubators and ventilators and monitors galore.

The second bassinet from the right has a card with a stork that says “Baby Boy Munson” and wow, that’s going to take some time to get used to. Eddie gets closer, almost pressing his nose against the glass, to get a better look.

“He’s so small,” Steve says beside him. “I figured he would be, but…”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. It says right there on the little card: three pounds, thirteen ounces. Sixteen inches long. Not the smallest baby there but noticeably smaller than the ones they just walked past. “A lot of hair, too.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet after that. There’s not much they can comment on before they have to acknowledge the fact that they’ve just become adoptive parents a full two months ahead of schedule.

Their son (holy shit) seems even smaller with the tubes and wires obscuring him. Eddie identifies an oxygen cannula, a feeding tube, chest leads, an IV, and a blood pressure cuff, plus a few other lines he doesn’t know the purpose of. When you factor in a diaper that seems to dwarf half of his tiny body, there’s barely any skin visible. And from what Eddie understands, they’re lucky that more serious care isn’t necessary.

“Thirty-two weeks. That’s not… it could be worse,” Steve said after they got the call from the adoption agency that morning. The whole drive to the hospital, he rambled about lung maturity and the suck/swallow reflex and birth weight, going into one of Eddie’s ears and out the other as he tried to focus on the road.

Steve was the one who read all the books. Even the parts about premature births and what could go wrong throughout the pregnancy. “I’d just rather know and be prepared,” he explained. “Just to cover our bases.”

Eddie had skipped those chapters. It felt like bad luck, like tempting fate or something, as if avoiding it would prevent anything from happening. In retrospect, he wishes he had more of a clue about what’s going on, what their future will look like.

Any future seems far away when the present is so uncertain. Eddie watches his son squirm, with his too-long limbs and his too-big head, and he watches his chest rise and fall with each breath. His tiny lungs are working and he’s moving and none of his machines are beeping, and that has to be enough for now.

Just keep breathing, please, he thinks desperately. Keep growing and getting stronger and we’ll worry about the rest later.

When Steve breaks the silence, his voice is small. “Do you think we can hold him? Or, or touch him, at least?”

Eddie doesn’t want to. He knows it’s just his anxiety talking, but he’s terrified that he’ll pull some essential line or do something wrong. He was supposed to have another two months to prepare for this. How do people prepare for this?

“Ed, are you okay?” Steve’s voice startles him back into awareness.

“Yeah, just…” He pauses to think about how to say it without alarming Steve. He settles on, “I’m scared.”

Steve throws his arms around Eddie’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m scared, too,” he confesses in a whisper. “I think we’re gonna keep being scared for the next eighteen years, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Eddie tucks his nose just under Steve’s ear and breathes him in, sweet shampoo and hints of spicy cologne in the collar of his jacket. They stay like that for long moments before Eddie sighs and pulls away with a decisive nod. “Okay. Let’s go meet our son.”

[speaknow-sw]

𝓘𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓐𝒇𝒇𝓪𝓲𝓻

HEADCANONS FORM! Summary : in which you move in your new house in front of a very hot, very dad and very married man. But Anakin Skywalker is a gentle and caring neighbor. Gardenias appear in your garden and you befriended his wife. Soon enough you fit in this neighborhood though a little crush linger…

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ: mdni, dad! Anakin Skywalker, older married man, reader is 25 and Anakin’s 33, mentions of vaginal fingering, pining, cheating ?

AN : GUYS FIRST WORK !!! Okay actually very stressed to post this but I’m sure you’ll be indulgent. Please ? It’s just a part 1 tho idk when I’ll post part 2. Again I’m not fluent in English but please feel free to correct any error. The real stuff happens in part 2 cuz it’s just a plot installation. Hope y’all like my silly little idea.

You and Anakin met when you moved across the street. As a gentleman, he welcomed you and helped with all your boxes. One look and you both knew you were spiraling down an unforgivable path. 

« Excuse me Miss. Do you need help ? » Anakin asked gently. 

« Oh yes, thank you so much » you replied, blushing.

« Just moved in ? It’s a nice neighborhood. The name’s Anakin Skywalker. I live just across the street. » he pointed the white house with blue shutters in front of yours. 

« Well, yes I’m moving in. I hope we’ll become good neighbors. » you smiled  brightly. 

« Don’t doubt it. You seem a lot nicer than old Palps who lived here before you, » he laughed placing a boxes on your counter. « He died of cardiac arrest in his daughter’s house. But around here we say he died strangled in his bitterness. » he joked.

« Seems like a lovely man. » you chuckled.

When he finished helping you he invited you over at his house where you met his lovely…wife, Padmé. As you talked with them a pair of toddlers ran down the stairs. Anakin presented them as Luke and Leia his kids. Adorable, you thought. 

After that first day you crossed Anakin path a numerous time. Every morning you would leave for work around the same time giving each other a light « Hello » and a meaningful gaz, like electricity sparkling between you.

After some months like this, you strangely begun to see gardenias appearing in the back of your garden. 

Sundays barbecue were a common gathering for your neighborhood. Mr. Kenobi, the barbecue king for the five previous years hosting every one of them. Him and his wife Satine were the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Like a good neighbor you attented every barbecues and gained a little group of friends consisting of Padmé, Satine and Breha Organa, the mayor wife’s. 

You couldn’t help but stare at Anakin back as he was talking with the other dads. His broad shoulders draped in an olive t-shirt and his nice butt constricted in a cream pant. Ovulation cravings were getting out of hands. God…this man sense of fashion could kill you on the spot with how effortlessly handsome he was. A married man, older than you, with kids…but so sweet and manly… Only when you turned to help Breha you missed Anakin gazing at you from afar. 

Soon enough, Satine ran out of sodas for the kids. The Skywalker twins, Elledi and Fiari Organa, Cal Kenobi and many more kids were running in the gardens like crazy little gremlins. Tired of hearing their little voices complaining about having a glass of Fanta you took the matter in your hands and said you could go to the store. Suddenly a voice echoed.

« I got packs of Fanta in the closet at home. » proposed softly Anakin. 

« Wonderful, my dear why won’t you accompany Anakin in his house to retrieve the sodas instead of taking the car ? » said a cheerful Satine. 

« Oh…hm…yes, yes I can do that… » you stuttered a bit shy. 

« You’re coming ? » Anakin called, his keys tingling gently in his right hand.

Your gaze fixated on his veiny hands and his long fingers. Your mind went wild with how good his fingers would be buried inside your clenching pussy. Maybe they could even reach that little area deep into you where you see stars. Your arousal grew and soon you felt your cunt being wetter than ten minutes ago. Fantasizing about him as you walked behind him silently, you didn’t saw he stopped in front of you and crashed against his back. 

« Hey, hey, hey, I gotcha. » you heard before feeling strong arms wrapping against your stumbling form. You blinked at him shocked by the whole situation directly from a bad Christmas rom-com. 

« You okay, kid ? » asked Anakin his beautiful face ruined by a frown. 

« Uh…yeah, m’great thanks to you… » you muttered as you felt heat crawling on your cheeks. 

« Alright, here, the sodas are in this closet. » he pointed an open door under his stairs. You nodded looking right in his eyes as your breath hitched. Your gaze lowered at your joined chest as your breasts were pressed against his muscular pecs with how tight he was holding you. You felt his breath on your forehead and raised your head to look at him not without checking his lips. His hold on you tightened slightly and you flushed. 

You darted your eyes around the house unable to held the eye contact and as you wandered through the furniture of the closet your eyes widened.

On the shelf beside a toolbox was placed a white gardenia similar at the ones which appeared on your gardens…

To be continued….

[madebysoupy]

100 years later I finally drew all of my AU Links

Say hello to my lads! They're going to be in a comic I've been scripting and planning for about a year now I think? I'm calling it Link and the Links, latl for short!

More info under the cut :]

(this is the old post, consider checking out the new version!)

(please don't tag as LU/Linked Universe!!)

The Plot

The Links find themselves in a mysterious forest that seems somewhat familiar to all of them yet none of them know where they are. Now they have to work together to find their way home. On the way they'll discover a thing or two about each other and grow closer!

The Cast

I could talk about these guys for hours, but to keep it digestible I'll make it short

A bit of info before I get into it - all of them are taken from different points in time after the end of their adventure(s)!

Birdie (Skyward Sword)

18

Roughly 6 hours after defeating Demise

The start of it all. Unbeknownst to himself and the others, the space they find themselves in was created out of his desire to meet the heroes after him. He feels terribly guilty about the curse and very much blames himself for the possible suffering of future heroes. His main goal is to check up on everyone and help where he can!

Grasshopper (Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask)

10

4 days after leaving Termina

Somewhat disoriented after his journey still, he tags along simply because he thinks Birdie is an idiot who would get lost without him. He doesn't talk a whole lot but he likes listening to other people's stories

Seagull (Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass)

13

6 months after leaving the domain for the ocean King

He's a real genuine pirate, yarr!! Or so he'd like you to believe. He talks a great deal about his strength and bravery, but really is just afraid and terribly homesick most of the time. He wants to fit in with Tetra's and her crew's toughness so much he might go a little overboard on the act in a way that may or may not end up biting him in the butt.

Choo (Spirit Tracks)

14

6 months after peace returned to new Hyrule

He wouldn't call himself a hero, in fact he'd say it's a miracle he made it out alive. Self-esteem and confidence really aren't his strong suits, he often finds himself dragged along and unable to say no. He is very friendly however, and if you just give him a little space he might even open up to you.

Wolfie (Twilight Princess)

21

4 years after defeating Ganondorf

Left Ordon after intrusive thoughts convinced him he was a danger to his village, now works at Telma's bar as a waiter in exchange for a room. He's responsible well liked, though he's not too fond of himself. He has some complicated feelings about the whole turning into a wolf thing

Apple (A Link to the Past, Oracle of Ages/Seasons and Link's Awakening)

20

Just a few seconds after Koholint disappeared

From one dream right into the next (sorta?) he's understandably disoriented at first. He pushes that aside pretty much immediately though, much more interested in getting to know everyone. He's a kind and soft spoken, weirdly wise sort of guy and near instantly becomes the heart of the team

Wallflower (A Link Between Worlds)

19

4 years after wishing upon the triforce with Zelda

Bitter doesn't even begin to describe this uh.. Pleasant fella. After being bossed around for the better part of his life he doesn't take orders from anybody and is this close to quitting his job as a blacksmith. He hates being stuck here, he hates these strange people, really there's not much he doesn't hate. But that can't be all there is to him...

Puzzle (The Legend of Zelda and Adventure of Link)

18

1,5 years after waking Zelda II

Confused, disoriented, but still happy to help and ready for adventure. Though some of the others don't really like him around he's still just as friendly to everyone. Since he struggles to communicate he tends to stay quiet. He appears to be simple minded on first glance, but he'll prove to be a valuable member of the team.

Sprout (Minish Cap)

23

13 years after defeating Vaati

After his grandfather died he retreated into his house and dedicated himself to improving his blacksmithing skills to live up to his grandfather's name, he was quickly forgotten by his community and faded into obscurity. Now he may be the best blacksmith in Hyrule, so good that even the royal guard hires him, but among the general castletown population he's nothing more than a forest cryptid. He only leaves the house when he has to, carefully avoiding people. Not because they disgust him, he just has a major case of social anxiety!

Squire (Breath of the Wild)

14

3 years pre calamity

This absolute rascal couldn't be happier about his current circumstances. These unknown woods are his playground and all of these weirdos are his friends now! Though everyone's pretty sure he's a knight trainee, he insists that he's just a stable hand for the guard. His chaotic and carefree nature surprisingly doesn't get in the way of things as he's eager to help out wherever he can, seeing the whole journey as an impromptu camping trip.

Some funfacts :]

Most of them are neurodivergent in some way!

Birdie and Seagull have ADHD, Grasshopper and Choo are autistic, Squire gets the combo platter AuDHD and Wolfie has OCD

Additionally, Birdie has auditory processing disorder and dyscalculia, and Squire has dyslexia

A few of them also have speech disorders

Choo stutters and Puzzle has cluttering speech disorder

Apple has a weak voice, so after a while his voice gets tired and gets hoarse

Choo enjoys drawings and cartography, two skills that will be very important!

One of Seagull's hobbies is photography! He takes his pictobox everywhere

Wolfie also does entertainment at the bar from time to time! He sings or does card tricks

Sprout knows HSL (hylian sign language) because his grandfather was deaf

Seagull's piratey way of talking is 100% for show and painfully inconsistent

Wolfie speaks in a thick southern (in universe ordonian) accent but he's trying hard to mask it since he moved to castletown

Wallflower absolutely hates Puzzle

Squire's special interest is horses

Birdie is a bit of a doormat so he has the ideas but Wolfie is the one to actually get them through

A number of them are blood related (has nothing to do with the colours of their names in this post, I had to reuse some because there weren't enough orz)

That's all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! :]

If any of you have any questions about my Links or AU you'd like answered, my inbox is open!

Have a lovely day everyone!

[firstdeerwife]

C.10

Whispers Of Desire

The days passed, and although the memory of the kiss they had shared lingered, Alastor and _____ seemed to have reached a tacit agreement not to mention it.

Their encounters became more frequent, charged with a complicity that had been absent before.

They both knew that something had changed, but neither of them dared to cross that line again... yet.

On the other hand, things between Charles and _____ had gone from bad to worse.

The arguments that were once sporadic had now become a daily routine, growing fiercer and more bitter each time.

_____ felt her life was falling apart, trapped in a commitment she never wanted, with a man she could no longer love.

One afternoon, after yet another argument that ended in tense silence, _____ was in the kitchen, her mind replaying the hurtful words they had exchanged.

But something inside her broke.

She was tired—tired of fighting, tired of pretending.

And that night, as Charles walked into the room, _____ decided she could no longer go on like this.

"Charles, we need to talk,"

_____ said with a firm voice, though she was filled with uncertainty inside.

He looked at her with disdain, as if he already knew what she was going to say.

"This again, _____? What is it now?"

_____ pressed her lips together, gathering the courage she needed.

"I'm leaving you. Our marriage is over. I won't marry you."

The words echoed in the room, leaving Charles momentarily stunned.

But the shock quickly turned to anger.

"Are you crazy? What are you talking about? You can't just leave me, _____. This isn't over until I say it is!"

"Yes, I can,"

She responded, her tone defiant.

"I can't keep living this lie. You don't love me, Charles. You only care about having someone to play the role of the perfect wife, and I won't be that woman."

The argument escalated quickly, both of them hurling increasingly sharp and cruel remarks.

The words they had once held back now flew like daggers, tearing apart what little was left of their relationship.

"You're ungrateful! After everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me,"

Charles shouted, his face red with fury.

"And what have you done, Charles? Controlled me? Manipulated me? You're nothing but a selfish man who only thinks of himself,"

_____ retorted, her voice trembling with anger.

But then, _____ said something that made Charles completely lose his temper.

"I never loved you, Charles. I've always been a prisoner in this relationship, and you... you're nothing more than a jailer."

In a fit of blind rage, Charles raised his hand and struck her across the cheek with such force that the sound echoed in the room.

_____ staggered back, bringing a hand to her cheek where she felt the sting of the blow.

A deadly silence fell between them.

Charles, horrified by what he had just done, took a step towards her, his voice breaking.

"_____, I... I didn't mean... I'm so sorry."

But Charles' words fell on deaf ears.

_____, with tears of anger and pain in her eyes, looked at him as if she were seeing a stranger.

Without a second thought, she turned and walked out of the house, ignoring Charles' shouts for her to come back.

The rain had begun to fall heavily, drenching her within seconds, but _____ didn't stop.

She walked aimlessly, her mind clouded by anger and pain as the raindrops mixed with her tears.

She didn't know how much time had passed or how far she had walked, but suddenly, a familiar figure appeared in front of her.

Alastor.

He looked at her with concern as he saw her soaked and visibly upset.

"_____, what happened?"

Alastor asked, approaching her cautiously.

_____, unable to speak, simply looked at him with pleading eyes.

Alastor didn't need more.

He took her in his arms, covering her with his coat as he guided her to his home, shielding her from the storm that raged around them.

When they arrived, he helped her inside, and _____ noticed that the house was empty.

Charles wasn't there, and the thought of facing him again filled her with dread.

Alastor led her to a chair and began to dry her off with a towel, all in silence.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Alastor asked softly, handing her another towel to dry her hair.

_____ took a deep breath, her voice barely a whisper.

"Charles hit me... after I told him I wouldn't marry him."

Alastor's expression hardened, and his hands momentarily tensed before he relaxed, forcing himself to stay calm for _____'s sake.

He knelt in front of her, gently cupping her face in his hands.

"_____, you don't deserve this. You don't deserve anything he's done to you,"

Alastor said, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and restrained fury.

"I won't let him hurt you again."

Unable to hold back any longer, _____ leaned into him, seeking the comfort she knew only Alastor could give her.

He held her close, his warm breath on her skin, as he felt the pain and anger mix inside him.

"Don't cry for him, _____,"

Alastor whispered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

"He's not worth it... and I promise he'll regret every tear he's made you shed."

And then, without more words, Alastor kissed her. This time there was no doubt, no hesitation.

They both gave in to the kiss with the passion they had suppressed for so long.

_____ felt all her fear and pain begin to dissipate under the warmth of Alastor's embrace, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel what she truly desired.

When the kiss ended, _____ looked at him with eyes full of gratitude and deep sadness.

"I don't know what to do now, Alastor."

He held her tighter, whispering softly in her ear.

"We'll be alright, _____. We'll get through this together. And I promise you, Charles won't hurt you again."

As the rain continued to pound against the windows, _____ allowed herself to rest in Alastor's arms, knowing that while the road ahead would be difficult, she would no longer walk it alone.

End of the first act

|𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎|

[gurugirl]

The Trapper | part II preview

Series Summary: Set in the 1850s, a long distance romance (of sorts) between a traveler who hunts for a living and an innkeeper's daughter.

Part II Summary: Harry & Y/n still need to talk and a little back massage turns naughty. The following day Y/n learns something about Harry that changes everything. Read the first preview here. Part 2 will be posted to Patreon on Nov. 16

1.3k word preview

Harry had lost his head. When they stepped into the shelter of the inn and out of the rain his lips were burning and his heart was bursting. He had been only thinking of holding her and kissing her again and that’s just what they did. He should have thought better than to do that, knowing her father or even her brother could catch them.

And now, standing before the man who raised the woman he was just caught locking lips with Harry felt he might have just ruined everything. Certainly, her father would not allow his daughter to be with such a careless and crude man.

The moment her father was sure Y/n was out of earshot he stepped forward to the hunter and squinted, “What business do you have with her? She’s too vulnerable to play around with like this, Harry.”

Harry stood up straight and tried to ignore the way his heart was still pounding wildly in his chest. Y/n’s father had always been intimidating to him. Not only because he was her father and Harry wanted to make a good impression on the man, but because he was tall and stoic. His large build didn’t mean he was a mean man, but Harry was certain her father could easily harm anyone who deserved a good beating.

“Sir, I apologize about what you just saw. I have always really taken a liking to your daughter. More than any other woman I’ve ever met. She’s special to me. Smart and beautiful. I intended to speak to you soon about my feelings for her but this happened and I didn’t mean…” he took a breath to calm himself. He felt lightheaded under the scrutiny of her father. “I hoped to get your permission to court her.”

The tall man pulled out a chair and motioned for Harry to sit before he walked away into the office.

Harry sat down and he kept his leg jumping to let out the nerves he was feeling. If he thought he was nervous telling Y/n how he felt about her, it had nothing on telling her father.

When the man emerged from the office he had two short glasses in his hands and a bottle of whisky tucked under his arm. He placed the glasses down and uncorked the whisky before pouring about a jigger’s worth in each.

He sat down and lifted his glass upward toward Harry, his expression sturdy, unemotive.

Harry lifted his glass and nodded as they each shot the whisky down in one gulp. Hot and bitter down the throat.

“She’s had men come by. I’ve been asked about her time and time again. One man seemed a good fit but I didn’t like that he was too old for her and thankfully, as hard as it was to come to terms with, she didn’t like the fellow much. His money made things appear optimistic but in the end, I want her happy. She’s the light of my life. My son will take over this place when I’m too old to walk but I always intended on her finding love and being happy outside of here. I’ve come to learn money doesn’t much make for a happy life. It sure can help but it’s not the key.”

Harry nodded as he listened to the man. Another jigger full of whisky was poured as her father continued, “I’ve always liked you. Hated to see how badly she took it every time you left, but I understood the reasons for your absence. You have somehow become special to her over the years. She’s never had a suitor that appealed much to her and I’ve reason to believe it’s because of you, though she’d never admit to it. At least not until now.”

Harry sipped his second glass, not interested in allowing the buzz of alcohol to get him too far beyond rational conversation, especially when the topic was so important.

“How long will you be in town?”

Harry placed his glass down gently and swallowed, “As long as I need to be. I wanted this time to be different. Didn’t want to just up and leave like I have in the past. I came here with a successful haul this time. A real carriage, lots of fur and leather that I can sell, an additional horse. I know I’m not a rich man by any means but I can provide. I hoped she’d want to leave with me when the time was right. But I have no plans to leave until I have permission to bring her with me.”

Her father clenched his jaw and then sighed, looking down into his glass, “Figured. Tell me what your plans are when you do leave here with her. If she agrees to that. Where’s home? Do you have land? Do you expect her to go with you on your adventures or will you have her stay put somewhere while you’re away?”

All good questions that Harry was prepared to answer. He nodded as he shot back the last of his whisky and answered, “I have a plot with a small cabin I built not far from my mother. About 100 miles West of here. And, in all honesty, I always imagined us together when I leave to hunt. I’ve got space in the carriage bed, not much but it’s something and can fit two. And maybe a child one day. I believe there would be stints when she might not be able to travel with me but in those times she would be near my mother.”

The man nodded and the edge of his mouth stretched upward in an almost smile, “You’d come back here with her every year? I’d miss her too much to never see her again.”

Harry blinked his eyes and quickly nodded, “Yes. Of course. I’m sure she’d insist on that as well.”

One more glass was poured before her father corked the bottle. Both men lifted their glasses and smiled at one another in silent agreement before drinking down the burning liquid. When her father stood he held out his hand to Harry.

Standing from his chair, Harry grasped the man’s hand in his and they shook before both going to their separate quarters.

The storm was heavy and the wind and rain and thunder were loud and wild. Sage Lake needed rain in a bad way, as much as it stalled the goings-on of normal life if it flooded, the land needed the water.

Harry laid back in his bed and smiled widely. Her father liked him. He had his blessing and that meant everything to him. He couldn’t believe the way his heart felt. Full of love and happiness at the prospect of having Y/n with him for good. She was a smart girl with a big heart and he knew she’d like going with him on his trips. She’d enjoy traveling with him and seeing new places outside of Sage Lake. He imagined them having a child or two and watching Y/n teach them to read and do math.

She was far smarter than Harry was. He could barely put words together when reading road signs, much less the pages of a book or news article. He figured if she had the patience, perhaps she could even teach him to read for pleasure because as it was he only read things for necessity and even then some of the letters strung together didn’t always make sense to him.

He just hoped that when he told her everything he needed to she’d still want him.

He was pulled from his little daydream when he heard a knock at his door. He sat up quickly and rushed to open it knowing it was Y/n before he even saw her.

A/N: This is a patreon exclusive series. Read the first preview here. If you're interested in signing up I have Patreon set so that you pay on the day you sign up and then a month later on the same day (not first of the month).

general tag list: @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lllukulele @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @kelly-fushiguro345 @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads

[thequietkid-moonie]

Ok but: Estúpido Cupido (written by Celly Campello, don't mistake it for her album although it has really great songs as well) with Loid

Fake dating a unpredictable and carefree reader

[ HEADCANONS ] [ Loid Forger ]

[ Spy x Family ]

› Song that inspired this [ Estúpido Cupido - Celly Campello ]

× In this fic you take Yor's place

I really liked the song, I really loved the rhythm, I almost start dancing 🤭 I read the lyrics before hearing the song and it fits really well the rhythm!!

Well my dear, I hope you like this as much as I did ❤️ (i hope I don't disappoint you with the idea I had)

One day you were just walking down the streets as usual when you end up bumping into a handsome gentleman, he was so kind and polite and you couldn't stop yourself and end up talking to him more than you thought, even getting the opportunity to meet his little daughter, who looks at you curiosily but doesn't leave her father's side

In one moment of the conversation the man asked you if you could be so kind to do him a favor and impersonate his spouse, embarrassed but determinanted explaining that the last wish of his deceased wife was to give the best education to her beloved daughter on Eden Academy but he won't be able to do it if he was all alone, maybe was because of how endearing was his determinantion or maybe it was just pity, but for whatever reason you accepted helping him with this (also, it could help you cover up your terrible love life)

That way you two started living together, playing the role of a beautiful and happy marriage couple, however non of you would guess what it will become your life together. As well, both of you had to get used to each other in little time, at least enough until the interview with the directors of the school came

For you it was funny all the preparation Loid wanted to have for the interview, making a lot of efforts for this to work and you couldn't help but laugh at his plan, he was thinking that you probably weren't taking this seriously and that he will have to carry it from the most part himself but you truly surprised him when in the interview you remember most of the things he had told you and even tried to help Anya when she forgot, he even can see how irritated you were by one of the men that were being specially pushy with you but you tried to keep the facade

After the interview, once in house the atmosphere was very tense but you break the silence finally expressing how disgusting and irritating that bitter man was and started saying that you were sure that Anya would be able to enter on that school even if you have to force it, it was obvious that you were just trying to cheer them up, what started to work, specially with Anya, and Loid can't help but smile at your attitude

From that day his life become a pretty messy caos full of surprises, Loid was used to adapt to all the situation and act conform to them but your carefree and sometimes cheerful attitude was something that always manage to surprised him, it was something that stressed him at first not knowing how to handle it but as the time pass he just started to learn to follow your lead and even trust you more (and yet you always manage to surprise him sometimes)

He get used to you doing what you want or saying what is on your mind without worring much but that doesn't stop him from worring and getting taken aback, like that time when you spent some time looking at him pretty wary, he was troubled thinking if he had done something suspicious or make you doubt him until you finally tell him what was in your mind, out of the blue without any kind of warning you just tell him that he was too perfect like if it was something bad, you were even wondering how the hell he was single before meeting him, he was dumbfounded but before he could say anything you clarified that you weren't complaining with a smile before going away without giving him the chance to say something

Loid is constantly wondering what you will do next, he doesn't really know what to expect when you had suprised him with all kind of things, with compliments out of the blue (ones that related to his person and not like the spy, ones that he isn't used to), with being more perceptive that he thought before or even just taking things like normal and don't make a big deal out of them (even when he had thought on a million of excuses to explain himself), there are some times when you ask him if you two shouldn't being doing things that couples normally do like dates and other times you just become affectionate out of the blue (like taking his hand so casually)

Coming home to see you and Anya becomes almost like a playful what to guess what he would find, some days he find you doing chores or even making dinner, other days he had came home to see you and Anya playing to be spies around the house, others days you are just passing a more calm time with Anya on the couch, and yet not matter what he find he is never disappointed

After a while Loid start to feel expectant of what little adventures he will have with you and Anya, he start to feel excited even over the days the three of you just have time to relax and yet Loid doesn't allow himself to admit it, he always repeat to himself that is for the mission and that he has to be ready to whatever you will do, he can't let himself get surprised by you, but as much as he tries to prepare himself and be ready so you don't surprise him you always manage to find ways to do it, you can easily flustered him or make him feel so comfortable and relaxed that he just forget for a moment about the mission

Loid tried to deny it and tell himself that this is all for the mission but deep down he is always happy to see you, his heart beat faster with amusment every time you surprised him, and he will never accept it out loud but almost every time he smiles at you and Anya his smiles is sincere and full of love

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 7

Rain's fate hangs in the balance.

I'm away on a conference next week, so I had to fit in an update before I left! Hope you won't be too mad at where I left things... jk I've been planning the chapter split here for weeks!

Rating: M Content: violence, imprisonment, injury, imminent threat of death Words: 5041

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hello tag alert-ees! @revengeghoulette @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick

Read below, or on AO3!

Aether, Mountain and Swiss were settling down for their fourth night camping outside of town. As the days passed and no opportunities for rescuing Rain had presented themselves, the plans they discussed had become more and more desperate, and less and less likely to succeed. As well as Swiss bringing Rain food and herbs, they had all kept an ear to the ground while skirting through the streets for news regarding his fate, of any weaknesses in the humans’ plan that they could exploit.

One of the first things they had heard was talk of a stolen horse. From the stables out east of the village, one of the finest mares had gone missing, it's tethering chain melted clean through. They had heard no more on that front; it seemed like Dew had made a clean escape. All three ghouls had struggled not to feel bitter about this, Mountain especially.

There was also talk of hunting parties being sent after the remaining ghouls. Aether had shivered when recounting this rumour, none of them wanting to think about what their fate would have been if they had ignored Dew's advice. They didn't know the fate of their farm, nor did they really want to, but not one of them assumed it could still be standing. It was abundantly clear that they were not going to explain their way out of this situation by saying it was just a mistake, not with the village this riled up and baying for blood.

Quickly, the ghouls had come to realise that they would have to wait until Rain was brought out of his cell to make their escape. The walls of the jail were an impenetrable fortress, and the only entrance was crawling all over with guards. From Swiss’s nightly visits to Rain and the gossip picked up by Aether and Mountain, they had ascertained that the humans were absolutely terrified of him and what he was capable of. As such, it was almost guaranteed that the only time he would be let out of the jail would be when he was being brought to the gallows.

They would have a limited time in which to carry out a rescue, so their mission had to be meticulously planned. They had discussed all manner of approaches, both violent and non-violent, but each option ended up either too dangerous to themselves or too unlikely to succeed. The main issue was their mix of elemental magic: as ghouls traditionally lived in single element clans, there was no reason for them to be protected against each other’s abilities, and if anything it benefitted them to have defensive abilities.

Mountain had suggested causing a large earthquake. He argued that in the chaos, they could simply grab Rain and make a run for it. Aether had quickly shot that idea down, pointing out that it was just as likely to harm them as it was the townsfolk. Only a strong earth ghoul such as Mountain would walk out of that scenario unscathed. Any mistake or misjudgement would not only ruin their chances of escaping safely with Rain, but could also result in any or all of them being returned to the pit. They all secretly wondered though if that would be better than the alternative; their very existence being snuffed out at the hands of malicious humans.

Aether’s plan for Rain was less destructive, but equally unlikely to be successful. He had considered ripping the senses from the assembled crowd, blinding them and leaving him free to take Rain and run. The only issue, Mountain pointed out, was that it would have to be a solo mission. If Aether truly planned to plunge the entire population of the village into darkness then the power of it would be inescapable, even for Swiss with his small amount of quintessence magic and certainly for Mountain. The concentration required for such a large effect would leave little room for Aether to maintain an awareness of his surroundings, rendering him vulnerable and alone.

Swiss had tried his best to envision the outcome of each strategy they devised, but saw no future in any of them. Whether that was because they were all doomed to fail, or were just too unpredictable even for him, he wasn’t sure. The only time he saw even a flicker of life seemed to be when they planned to assemble in town, and no further. Aether had looked at him like he’d grown a second head when he suggested this. Swiss took it as a sign that things were so unpredictable right now, that by attempting to plan anything, their interference was sufficient to muddy the future beyond comprehension.

In quiet moments alone, Swiss wished he could have a strong ability like his packmates, instead of simply being the sounding board for Aether and Mountain’s hare-brained schemes. For now though, he would settle for simply being the go-between to Rain in the jail, the face the young ghoul got to see each day as he smiled down at his with words of encouragement and false optimism.

Visiting Rain every night, Swiss had watched him slowly recover his strength. Maybe his visions were really trying to tell him that they were all worrying for nothing, and Rain would be capable of freeing himself? He mentioned this to Mountain and Aether in an attempt to cheer them up. Both ghouls had been sceptical at first, but the cautious hope they clung to was all they had right now.

Mountain reflected on this turn their lives had taken. It was sad that things had come to this; he thought they had built a good life here. After so long alone, the relative comfort and ease of living with a pack had grown on him. With news of Rain’s continuing recovery, Mountain hoped they could have a chance at rebuilding everything, albeit far, far away from here. They certainly couldn’t stay here, but maybe they could stay together. If only we knew where Dewdrop was… Mountain though that if things turned out well, he might even consider forgiving him.

He was on first watch again tonight, keeping an eye out for any signs that they had been followed back to their camp. So far, his wards were working well: the closest anything had got was a lone rabbit, which they had eaten. He watched Swiss flop down onto his bedroll, the continued exhaustion in him so clear Mountain could feel it leeching into the soil around him.

Mountain shuffled closer, as if pulled by an invisible string. He’d felt an unavoidable need to be near the multi ghoul lately, even before all the events of the last few days. Mountain wasn’t stupid; he knew what it meant, but he’d spent so many years denying himself from even entertaining the thought of finding a mate that this new development felt especially strange and alien.

He observed Swiss’ face as he settled in to sleep, trying to be subtle but probably failing. It really was a nice face, Mountain thought. From the small crease between his eyebrows to the generous dusting of stubble on his chin, Mountain felt like he had only recently started to see Swiss the way he deserved to be seen. Others before him had clearly noticed what he only observed now, that was certain. Every giggling girl who hung off his every word, and indeed off his arm, in the tavern saw it. Hell, he thought even his packmates saw it; the way he’d seen Dew staring at him for a fraction of a second too long, how Rain would blush when Swiss complimented him. Mountain wondered if Swiss felt the recent tug between them too. He hoped so.

As he stared at the wrinkles of concern etched into Swiss’s face finally begin to smooth out with sleep, he saw his expression suddenly contort with pain.

“Swiss?” Mountain hissed in alarm. He got only a low whine in response.

“What’s wrong Snapdragon?” He looked frantically at the now wide awake quintessence ghoul next to Swiss, “Aether! Something’s wrong.”

“Talk to us Spark, what’s going on, what can you see?”

Swiss stared dead ahead, rocking side to side and occasionally flinching as the vision continued.

“It’s got to be Rain,” fretted Aether, “something’s going to happen to him.”

Mountain grasped both of Swiss’s hands, rubbing calming circles on the backs of them with his warm, calloused thumbs. He cooed quietly at the stricken ghoul, trying to calm him as he was rocked by the second-hand pain.

“Tonight,” Swiss finally rasped out, “soldiers, half a dozen of them, they’re going to break into Rain’s cell.”

Mountain and Aether exchanged horrified looks.

“They want revenge. For the girl killed in the flood.” With a final shudder, Swiss looked up at his packmates. “They want to be the ones to kill him, as painfully as possible.”

He took a deep, shaky breath and shuffled closer to his packmates as the vision played out.

“He’ll be hurt, but they won’t succeed.” Around him, Aether and Mountain’s shoulders lowered in relief, but the tension remained. Swiss tried to smile, “Our Rainy’s gonna shock them good, the second they lay a hand on him.”

~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, Rain was sat on the cold and damp floor of his cell nibbling on the rind of some cheese from his nightly rations Swiss had brought earlier. The rest was safely stowed away on his person. Rain didn’t think he could be too careful with keeping his supplies hidden: he didn’t want to risk anyone discovering that his pack were sneaking into the town each night, putting them in danger. He was especially carefully with rationing out the herbs and elixirs from Aether, wanting to remain as strong as possible at all times in case things went south before Swiss could warn him.

Rain could feel his strength returning. The shock of his power bursting forth after a series of tumultuous emotions, followed by his capture and beating at the hands of the villagers, was gradually subsiding with rest and food. Now, he was able to feel the gentle thrum of his magic under his skin, connecting to it in a way he never had before.

Rain wasn’t quite sure what had happened in the field that morning. Never would he have imagined himself being capable of such deadly feats. He couldn’t explain why his powers had exploded out of him so suddenly, like a geyser, or why he had awoken to a strange buzzing feeling all over his body. It tickled like the anticipation of a thunderstorm, making the fine hairs on his arms stand up straight. Intrigued by the new sensation, he had prodded at it with his mind, feeling the pent-up energy twitching to be released. He had let it, and seen the blue sparks ripple across his skin.

In the days since, Rain had been practicing; he had never seen or heard of any sort of ability like this before, not from anyone in his clan or family. Was it an innate skill he had always been destined to have? Or something unlocked by being in grave danger? Either way, Rain wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hopefully it could go some way to help him protect himself, if he needed to.

In his initially fuzzy mental state, he had waved off all recollections of the destruction he caused as another symptom of his attack. Rain convinced himself that while the flood of memories of his earlier life were very real, and his subsequent unglamouring was likely terrifying to the farmers who had witnessed it, the carnage and death that followed must have just been another hallucination designed to torment him. That must be why he was in the jail – they had seen a monster cowering before them, confused and scared. As he came back to his senses however, it became painfully clear that all of his memories of the day were true, and were the real reason for his incarceration.

Rain had thought Dew was a hallucination too, for a while. If it hadn’t been for the very real food he’d brought him, and Swiss confirming his visit, he would probably still think so. Of all the ghouls in his pack, Dew was the one he would have least expected to risk coming looking for him, especially after how he had antagonised him that morning. A small voice in the back of his mind desperately wanted to blame Dew for what had happened out in the field, for setting him on edge before his day even began. However, Rain knew there was really no one to blame but himself; he was appalled at what he had done even if it was an accident. He could see why the village was out for blood, he would likely be doing the same if it were one of his packmates killed, but couldn’t they see it was an accident?

Probably not, he thought. They didn’t give him a chance to explain himself before knocking him out cold, and no one had stuck around for longer than it took to throw some crusts of dry bread and water his way since. Rain knew it really was just that, an accident, but that nagging voice in the back of his head insisted that he truly was as useless as Dew had insinuated, and if he hadn’t gotten so lost in his own head then none of this would have happened.

Rain sighed to himself, and looked around his cold, dark prison. It was hopeless, the others planning how to break him out. There was no escaping here, unless they could find a way to break through stone. Rain felt the twinge of guilt bubbling in his stomach again, knowing his packmates were risking their lives every night instead of running away while they had the chance.

Rain was shaken from his self-pitying slump by a commotion outside his cell. He could hear raised voices getting closer, angry shouting echoing down the corridor outside. He quickly finished his cheese, washing it down with the last of the water he had pulled from the earth into his metal bowl, and pulled his feet underneath him in a crouch.

There was the jangling of a key in the lock, and the door burst open, slamming against the stone wall. Half a dozen or so men barrelled through it, screaming foul threats of revenge.

“This is for Marina, you monster!” one howled, launching himself at Rain on the floor. Rain tried to talk, but after several days of silence his voice caught in his throat.

“Cat got your tongue?” another one sneered, as the first tried to pin Rain to the wall by his throat. As his back hit the stone with an agonising crack, Rain desperately tugged on the thread of his new magic. The man dropped him with a shout as he flew backwards, whole body spasming.

“The fuck?”

“Get him!”

More of the men descended on Rain, but soon leapt away in pain and shock when they touched him.

“He’s cursed!”  

The men still standing switched to kicking, the thick leather of their boots protecting them from further shocks. Rain curled into a ball to protect his head, and silently begged them to leave him alone. He hurt all over, from the brutal kicks as well as their loud shouts ringing in his ears.

All the noise soon attracted another guard, one who was seemingly tasked with keeping Rain alive for the next few days until his very public execution. He began yelling for the men to disperse and herding them out of the cell. Rain uncurled, his vision blurring but wanting to take a look at his saviour. As he did so, one of the men leaving aimed a final sharp kick into his stomach, and the world went black.

~~~~~~~

Back at the Abbey, Dewdrop, Copia and the ghoulettes spent the afternoon going over their plan. Cirrus was right: it definitely wasn’t Dew’s style. Even if it was all fake, the thought of confessing his supposed love for the ghoul who had, until the events of the last few days, irritated him immensely made him squirm.

“This plan is perfect.” Mist had gushed to him; he suspected she was a little biased. “It avoids anything crazy or dangerous, and it saves the whole village from being exterminated!”

Dew huffed at her,

“I still don’t see why they’re worth saving – they want to kill my friend over an accident!”

Mist smiled serenely at him. It was the first time Dew had ever referred to anyone as a friend. Dew realised it at the same time, and blushed. He wasn’t sure Rain would say the same thing about him, given how he’d treated him in the past.

“It’s not for their sake, trust me,” she added a conspiratorial smirk, “I’d love to watch them burn at your hands, I’m sure you’d do a fantastically thorough job!”

Dew nodded, chin up as if to confirm that yes: if he were allowed to burn the village down, there wouldn’t be a single chair left for him to sit on to survey his work.

“But that would attract rather too much attention, don’t you think? This way we can avoid suspicion for all of ghoul-kind, as well as your pack.”

Dew had to begrudgingly agree with her: if they wanted a chance at a quiet life after this, no matter where, then they had to keep a low profile.

Later that evening as Dew was packing his bag ready to head back to the village, transcribed copies of the law in hand, he found Mountain and Aether’s anthology of plants nestled in the bottom. He weighed the heavy manuscript in his hands; it really was a precious compendium, the culmination of his packmates’ work since before he’d even met them. Dew still felt a pang of guilt at how he had arrived back on the Abbey’s doorstep, demanding help with no mention of any sort of repayment for it. He was surprised Copia had offered his assistance so willingly without discussion of payment – such a debt was why he had brought the book, after all.

That was how things were usually done here, the Abbey may not trade in gold or precious goods, but they exchanges their services for something far more valuable: knowledge. The ghouls and clergy within the imposing walls would offer aid freely to those who agreed to stay and serve as Dew had done previously, albeit only for a brief period. For those who could or would not spare the time, they had an alternative. Taking inspiration from the fabled library of ancient Alexandria, they would request any literature of value be handed over. If the weary traveller would agree to stick around just a little bit longer, while a copy was made, the original would be returned to them, otherwise the tome would find a new home amidst the expansive Abbey library. Dew knew how it worked, he had even helped with a few transcriptions himself, and so he dithered, book in hand, until he was startled by a knock at the door.

“Come in?” Dew called to the door.

Copia opened the door, his robes billowing as he entered. Dew started at him in surprise; he’d never seen him or anyone else of the Clergy’s status in the ghoul wing before.

“Good evening, Dewdrop.” He smiled graciously, “I see you are preparing for your journey tomorrow, I have offered up prayers for a smooth conclusion for you and your pack. Saving your packmate like this is very noble.”

“Thank you Papa,” Dew bowed his head, “that is more than I could’ve asked for.” The book, still in his hands, felt heavy with purpose. Before he could change his mind, he thrust in in Copia’s direction.

“Payment.” He said simply, as Copia looked at him in confusion, instinctually taking the book shoved under his nose. “For your help.”

“Nonsense, my dear ghoul,” Copia’s face softened, “you were one of us, even if only for a brief time, so you will always have a place here.”

Dew shuffled his feet awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such a sincere sentiment. Luckily he didn’t have to: curiosity getting the better of him, Copia had begun absently flicking through the book. Dew watched with some amusement at how easily the man could be distracted by the mere promise of new knowledge.

“This book is... This is incredible, Dewdrop. Where did you get it?”

Dew beamed with pride on his packmates’ behalf.

“Two of my pack have been working on it for years, an earth and a quintessence ghoul.”

“Fantastic…” Copia mused, before finally looking back up at Dew. “If you are serious, I would be delighted to hold onto this for safekeeping until you can next return to us? I know the earth ghouls here would be honoured to transcribe its contents.”

Dew shrugged slightly,

“It’ll be safer here than with me.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Copia murmured, once again leafing through the detailed illustrations, “should you and your pack come and stay, you have my word that we would return it immediately. It would be wonderful to meet the ghouls who wrote it too, sharing in their knowledge and power would be the real gift here.”

Dew made a non-committal noise. He had no idea if his pack would even want to talk to him again after running away, let alone be convinced to traipse all the way back here. Copia reached out with his spare, leather-clad hand to grasp one of Dew’s.

“Think about it, but for now I’ll let you finish packing, and get some sleep. Good luck, Dewdrop. Safe travels.”

~~~~~~~

The day was finally here. The day when they would either get Rain back, or lose him forever. None of the ghouls had slept well. Rain had been looking worse and worse over the last few days: the mirth Swiss had seen was gone from his eyes, now replaced with a dull horror. They’d all soon learned of the attack on Rain, how the band of thugs had broken in with the intention of carrying out their own justice. Less talked about was how Rain had responded. The rumours of his shocking defensive skill were quieter, only talked about by scared guards tasked with keeping him weak but alive.

Clearly they were not trying very hard with the second part. Every time Swiss had visited he looked skinnier; they had obviously given up on trying to feed him. Whether this was due to fear or malice was anyone’s guess. He was now barely responding when Swiss tried to speak to him, instead staring straight ahead at the wall, frozen in fear. The black eye from his original capture had faded to an ugly yellow, but in its place were more bruises, shining angry and purple. Swiss had to assume he was eating the food he brought each night as it had always disappeared by the next day, although he never saw Rain make any move to do so with his own eyes.

Mountain, Aether and Swiss's camp was packed and stowed closer to town, ready for a speedy getaway. Swiss's visions of the day hadn't changed, despite all that had happened with Rain, leaving everyone on-edge and uneasy. He still saw no success in any of their plans, only different variations on their own demise. Leaving Rain to his own devices and simply hovering in the crowd was still the only option that produced even a spark of optimism for the future. So, the ghouls were planning for every eventuality, desperately hoping that when the time was right they would see their opportunity for a rescue. Each of them was prepared to sacrifice everything, should the need arise. It was an unspoken agreement that going full scorched-earth on the village, revealing their cover and undoubtedly cursing themselves back to the pit separated but alive, was a better option than the cold abyss of death. If it came to it, that could be their only choice: a human with murderous intent could easily kill them, but getting caught in an accident? Maybe the pit wouldn’t be as bad as they had heard.

The three ghouls headed into town, their faces disguised by large hoods. Closer to the village gates they found crowds to blend into, locals and visitors alike all pouring in to witness the execution of a supposed demon. As they had hoped, all of the village gates were unguarded: it seemed the entire populous was distracted by the planned spectacle. They filed down the main street towards the central square, mercifully still undetected. The plaza bordered the front entrance to the town hall and the walled inner courtyard with the cells where Rain had been kept. A wooden gallows had been erected specially for the occasion, and a large crowd was gathering in front of it. Swiss paused, before gesturing to a spot close to the gallows and in line with the main gate.

The space around them began to fill with spectators for the macabre show, as the sun crept higher in the sky. When it was almost at its noontide peak a commotion broke out by the entrance to the jail, and a ripple soon spread through the assembled crowd. Something was happening. Mountain, Swiss and Aether shared a nervous glance, and then they spotted him: Rain. It was the first time Mountain and Aether had seen him since he left the farm that sunny morning a week ago. They both shot horrified looks at Swiss, as though to confirm that what they were seeing was real. Swiss nodded grimly.

Rain looked awful. Swiss had watched his steep decline over the last few days from meters away and behind iron bars, but nothing could have prepared him for how completely drained and haggard their young packmate looked while being forced to stagger past the leering crowds. In the midday sunshine it was suddenly all the more apparent how much he was hurting: the bruises that had partially blended into his skin in the dim light of the jail cell now stood out like angry ink splashes up and down his body. Each step he took was laboured, like the very act of contracting his muscles to move his legs was putting him through agony. Some of his wounds looked like they were trying their best to heal, but were layered below more recent injuries.

The guards dragging him toward the gallows were wearing thick, leather gloves and heavy tunics that covered their entire bodies. Swiss was grimly pleased that Rain had been exercising his new talent, although it was clearly not fool proof, and the fact he had needed to defend himself in the first place made him shudder. He almost lost his balance as he was forced up the few wooden steps to the platform of the gallows, stumbling hard. Rain was shaking like a leaf as the town officials filed onto their own podium and prepared to address the crowd.

This was the ghouls’ chance. Until this moment there had been too many eyes roaming around, too many people who could stop them. Now, all eyes were fixed on either the shivering water ghoul, or the town Judge reading his crimes aloud. Mountain and Aether looked to Swiss, silently asking if they should continue waiting or move forward with plan B. Swiss gave a small nod, and they readied themselves to attack.

After much discussion, they had decided that smaller, more targeted versions of their original plans would be most likely to succeed, or at least not backfire completely. Mountain would sow the seeds of distraction by causing a small earthquake. It would not be the ground-splitting calamity that he alone would have created, rending the earth in two in a roar of total destruction, but it would divert the attention of the crowds enough for Aether and Swiss to pounce.

With three packmates also needing to escape alongside him, Aether too had scaled back his earlier plans. Instead of blinding everyone present, leaving them to flounder in an endless sea of black nothingness, he would instead go straight for the guards; lunging forward to incapacitate only those with the ability to hurt or hinder Swiss, who would be following close behind him in order to grab Rain.

Water ghoul in hand, the four of them would then flee the chaotic scene, out the unguarded main gate and back to the relative safety of the trees. There, they would collect their meagre belongings and continue their escape into the wilderness. They would travel for as long as it would take for the landscape and language around them to become foreign; far enough that no word of the events of the last week could follow them. That was, of course, if everything went to plan. They all knew it was a long shot, and the slightest mistake could result in their doom.

“…for your crimes, I hereby sentence you to death!” the Judge’s voice commanded, echoing across the stone square. The silence of the crowd hung thick in the air, the onlookers listening with rapt attention. Aether looked towards Mountain as the ground beneath their feet began to vibrate rhythmically. Mountain looked back in confusion, his eyebrows pulling together as if to say that’s not me.

Just as they were about to start their plan properly, the thudding through the ground became louder and more distinct, morphing into the sound of horseshoes striking the ground. A wave of mutterings spread through the assembled masses as they parted for the reckless horseman. The ghouls decided as one to ignore it, and utilise the distraction for their own gain. Mountain was just beginning to pull at the bounds of the earth, causing it to grate against itself and shake the very foundations of the buildings around them when a familiar voice rang out across the square.

“Wait!”

Three sets of ghoulish eyes whipped around to stare at the new arrival. Aether’s breath was forced out of his chest in a huff of relief,

“Dewdrop.”

[shebeafancyflapjack]

"What are you doing here, Dutch?"

"Same as you, I suppose." (RDR2)

"You're just like me, John. You can't change who you are." (RDR1)

Okay I'm currently hyperfixated on these boys and I gotta talk about how fascinating this relationship is.

Because while Dutch and Arthur's relationship is heartbreaking, there's something even more crushing about Dutch and John over the course of both games.

To start we're told by both Arthur and Bill that John is the "favorite", that he's "Dutch's pet", "the golden boy", even Micah brings it up in chapter six. Part of Arthur's bitterness over John's return is how cool Dutch seemed to be about it, how he was welcomed back with open arms. However nearly all the interactions we see (or rather Arthur sees) between Dutch and John are very tense and grow more heated over the game until they're outright screaming at each other - and of course things get as bad as they can be in rdr1. But how I imagine things used to be, pre-Blackwater or pre-John's gap year, was Dutch did dote on John and John worshipped him in return. John seems to have been found the youngest that we know of, twelve years old, so he was as much of a child as can be, which allowed Dutch to mold him into a younger version of himself, whereas Arthur was clearly more Hosea's son. Dutch taught John to sound smart without really saying anything, while Arthur learned from Hosea to be smarter than he appeared. To compare the two, I think Arthur was Dutch's joy (the mirror of his best friend, his first son) but John was his pride (his own reflection). It's very typical narcissist parent behavior to latch onto the youngest or one that most resembles you most as they're the most obvious extension of yourself. And for as long as John obeyed and adored Dutch, that fuelled his own ego - fitting then how Dutch's mental decline runs in parallel to John drifting away and learning to be his own person, a father in his own right, and seeing who Dutch is without rose tinted glasses. And the stronger John gets, the more Dutch feels threatened, like when he accuses John of "wanting to be the General". Dutch is a loving granddad to Jack and caring to Abigail, encouraging John to be a good father, but not if it means they become more important than the gang (ie Him). I also think a lot of the insults Dutch hurls at John later on are things he could be partly saying about himself, how he doesn't have the grit, how he's always been weak or blind. The more Dutch fails, the more he targets John as a punching bag for his own failures, to the point of wanting to leave him to rot as he admits in one hidden BH scene.

Side note, this also feeds into his resentment of Arthur, firstly of also no longer being a yes man, but Dutch also notes how much Arthur sounds like Hosea - except Dutch was ignoring Hosea right from the start of the game, even if he did help keep Dutch grounded to some sense of reality, Arthur is a reminder of Dutch's recent loss and also insulted at the idea of Arthur replacing Hosea - that's not Arthur's job, in his mind, it's just to be his big scary grunt. Once he's becoming weaker, he doesn't see the purpose in having Arthur around if he's just going to question and possibly (if he believes Micah) betray him. And he writes Arthur off as dead anyway once he starts getting sick, he already lost Hosea, he's not putting himself through that again so it's easy to just leave him for dead. But despite all that, Arthur still loves Dutch enough to ride back and try one last time to convince his "father" that Micah is out to get him, he even spends his last breaths begging him to see sense - not for his own sake, but the man who raised him.

But with John it's a different, more raw tragedy that Dutch's self-loathing and insanity grow in their time apart, despite both clearly having had Arthur's shadow hanging over them, eventually pushing them to the exact same destination on the exact same day with the exact same purpose - to kill Micah. John has been haunted by guilt that Arthur had to sacrifice himself for him, while Dutch has been haunted by (imo) the guilt of leaving Arthur to die as well as allowing Micah to manipulate him. But both men are also not killing "for Arthur's sake" here, more their own, as they both know Arthur didn't agree with revenge. But they do it to try to ease their own consciences. For John it works, for Dutch it just sends him off into isolation and his eventual fate.

And the saddest thing is, John thanks him. Even after everything Dutch did to him and Abigail, he makes an attempt to reach out. There was a brief glimpse from John of the boy who loved his adoptive father, but Dutch's ice cold stare and silence remind them they can never go back to what was. And John let's him go. But this moment seems to change something in John's perspective, as earlier he had always said he believed Dutch had been hiding who he was the whole time, but by the time of RDR1 he's saying similar things as Sadie that Dutch was a good man who "went insane". He now wants to believe that there was a part of Dutch that cared, long ago, but it's now gone.

The Dutch that John eventually has to hunt down is different than the one he last saw on Mount Hagen, the one who admitted that he didn't have much to say anymore, the man who still cared enough to spare John and leave him the Blackwater money. Dutch is now a complete bloodthirsty monster who kills for sport, who openly calls Abigail a whore and Jack a whore's son - the same boy he once doted on, found a puppy with, that he rode into hell for. His disgust for John, his boy, working for the government, being the "rat" he feared him to be, is enough to get him to not hold back on shooting him anymore, but I also can't help but think most of his words are egging John on to get him. "You'll have to kill me, John!" he yells. But when it comes to just the two of them, both on a mountain yet again, they both put away their guns. It's the closest thing we get in the first game to a hint of their past relationship, of father and son, rather than adversaries. John's name, his "golden boy's" name, is the last thing to leave Dutch's lips before he falls. The speech the same one he said with Arthur at his side. As insane as he was, he spent those last moments thinking of his sons, and possibly Hosea too, before he fell, how he wasn't able to fight his own cowardly nature to do right by them, you can't change my mind.

And while John would never talk about it openly, its just awful to think how this man had to watch the father he loved and who doted on him back, to slowly become a monster, to hating each other, trying to kill each other, then to see a glimpse of what was but being unable to save him. It also adds context to his own behavior to Jack, how he tries to be a doting father but doesn't discourage him too much from having his own interests, as much as they confuse him.

And then, the final nail in this angst coffin, walking out to face his own death knowing Dutch was right, that they did just find another monster to come for.

[fleabagdiaz]

casual (is it casual now?)

eddie/tommy angst | 1.1k words | read on ao3

summary: literally just the bucktommy kiss if it had been eddie instead, because lou said it was almost eddie and the show said eddie catholic guilt real and I said oh bet?

Eddie slides Tommy a beer across the table and cracks one open for himself. Despite still feeling the burn of the whiskey from the karaoke bar in his stomach, he takes a swig. “Man, I have to remember to invite Buck next week. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him, but he’s a big trivia buff.”

Tommy hums good-naturedly. “Maybe that way we’d actually break our ten-point record.” He grabs the beer and taps his fingers against the side without taking a drink. “Hey, what’s the deal with you two, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Eddie cocks his head slightly, not entirely understanding the question. “Me and Buck?”

“You talk about each other all the time, and your kid is obsessed with him. His name must have come up a dozen times the other day.”

Eddie shrugs. What is there to say about Buck? He’s Buck. He’s worked his way into every aspect of Eddie’s life, and somehow, unexpectedly, became Eddie’s favorite person in the world, after Chris. Not that he would ever tell him. His head’s big enough as it is.

“We’re like family, I guess. The whole 118 is more than a house. We’re all family.”

“Hah. I noticed.” Tommy’s voice is colored with something like bitterness. Not harsh, though. More… sad. Wistful, maybe. “Wasn’t like that when I was there.”

“Really? How so?” Without meaning to, Eddie inches closer.

Tommy lets out a puff of air and shakes his head slightly. “The whole… culture was different. Very macho. Regressive. Not that different from serving, honestly.”

That Eddie can understand. His team was close, but it was a completely different world than the 118. The jokes were sharper, aimed to hurt as often as not. The conversations shallower. Sometimes it almost felt like they didn’t want to get too close in case someone didn’t make it out. Maybe they had the right idea; he had almost died trying to get them all home. Not that he learns from his mistakes, since he knows from experience he’d stop at nothing to fight for any of his new family. It scares him if he lets it. How much he cares about all of them.

“I get it,” Eddie says, taking another swig of his beer. “You’d fit right in there now, though. The way you threw in with us in that storm.” He whistles. “Pretty fuckin’ cool.”

A small smile appears on Tommy’s face that Eddie finds difficult to read. Could be the whiskey. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“You wouldn’t get sick of me, seeing me every day?” Tommy asks. He sets down his beer, still untouched, next to Eddie on the table, and Eddie suddenly becomes aware that he’s well within touching distance. He’d barely even have to reach out his hand.

“’Course not. Anyone would be an improvement over Buck.” Why did he say that? He doesn’t think that. But it makes Tommy laugh again. Which makes Eddie smile, even as his stomach turns from the casual cruelty of the joke.

“You’re pretty cool yourself, you know.” The calm intensity of Tommy’s eye contact is setting off alarm bells in the back of Eddie’s mind. He tries to ignore them, because something about it feels nice, like the gaze itself is casting a warm glow over him.

“Oh, am I?” Eddie replies, raising an eyebrow.

“In my book, at least. Whatever that counts for.” Impossibly, Tommy has gotten even closer, so that there’s almost no space between them at all. The alarm bells get louder, more intense, and Eddie can feel his heartbeat throughout his body.

“Definitely counts for something.” Eddie’s words come out quiet. He kind of can’t breathe.

But he doesn’t back away. He doesn’t break eye contact. Even when Tommy closes the distance completely, when his hand is under Eddie’s chin pulling it ever so slightly upwards so that their mouths meet.

Eddie’s swept away in it. The warmth, the strength of his hand, the hint of vanilla vodka still on his lips. It all makes him dizzy, twists up his head so he forgets, well, everything. Just for a moment. And he leans into the kiss until their bodies are pressed flush against each other and his hand finds its way into Tommy’s hair and—

“Shit.” Eddie pulls away abruptly, breathless. The man — the man — in front of him stares back. Kindly, questioning. And they’re the only two people in the room, but Eddie has never been more sure he’s being watched. Panic starts to migrate from the tips of his fingers wrapped in Tommy’s T-shirt and hair, all the way up into Eddie’s chest and settles there. He takes one step back, then another. The look on Tommy’s face as he does is unbearable, so he turns away, balling his hands into fists that will leave purple crescents in his palms. “I’m not… I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“It’s actually getting pretty serious. We’re moving in together soon.” Eddie winces at the lie. He hasn’t even asked her yet.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” A gentle hand on his shoulder tells him that Tommy’s stepped closer. Instinctively, Eddie shrugs it off. And instantly feels sick.

Don’t be a fucking coward. Look him in the face, at least.

He turns to face Tommy, who looks — hurt. Worse, he looks like he’s trying not to look hurt. Eddie swallows, trying to keep down the panic as it crawls up his throat.

“Nah man, it’s on me. I shouldn’t have… I should’ve told you sooner.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his eyes. His skin itches like it’s covered with grime. His fingers twitch like they’re searching for rosary beads. “I think you should probably go. It’s getting late.”

Tommy nods, then opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something. Closes it again.

Eddie walks him to the door, trying to come up with any words that would make this less awful, but when he tries to think there’s only a dark static filling his head with noise.

With one foot outside, Tommy hesitates, lingering in the doorframe.

“Listen, Eddie. I really am sorry for the misunderstanding. But I hope you know that you can call me if you ever need to talk. I’ve been where—” He cuts himself off. Holds eye contact with Eddie for a moment. Sighs. “I’m still here for you, if you need anything.”

Eddie nods lamely. A part of him needs to delete Tommy’s number. A part of him wants to pull him back inside. He’s not even sure what for. “Thanks, Tommy.”

The door clicks shut with Tommy behind it and Eddie slides down the wood paneling to the floor, dropping his head between his knees as a heavy sob escapes his mouth.

[cmilesfm]

if you go down to hammond, you'll never come back.

[ josh o'connor, cis-male, he / him ]  — whoa! MILES COATES just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 6 YEARS, working as a TENNIS ATHLETE. that can’t be easy, especially at only 32 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit DISTRACTED and BITTER, but i know them to be UNINHIBITED and RESOURCEFUL. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to BROOKLYN!

in my opinion, you're on the wrong track.

pinterest. playlist. google doc.

basics

full name: miles coates. age: thirty-two. occupation: professional tennis player (struggling) with rare moonlighting as a coach for adolescents, he's not fond of broadcasting his situation at all. borough: brooklyn. sexuality: bisexual. gender: cis male. pronouns: he/him. birthplace: new canaan, connecticut. zodiac: gemini. positive traits: persuasive. eager. competitive. negative traits: stubborn. shameful. directionless.

biography

miles lives in a cramped apartment in brooklyn he affords by scrounging around for tournament money. it's mostly old furniture, old trophies absent-mindedly left in random places and hordes of beaten rackets, unopened wilson ball canisters and ruined sneakers. he barely fits his bed, which is another feeling beyond embarrassing, so he ops for the couch instead. a tiny place.

he grew up in the suburbs of connecticut to a regular, middle-class family. his home life was consistent, with a brother and sister, mother and father. to this day, they're still together and remain a rooting anchor for miles despite his worst qualities.

he moved out pretty young given his new found career, his second semester into college.

after graduating, he followed where ever tennis took him, but only recently did he settle down in new york. a little over an hour away from new canaan.

his career has always streamlined a climate of, "just enough." just enough to float around circuits with buzz that might propel you into a better tournament which might finally get your stats high enough to qualify for an actual pro tour.

miles has always been an edgy, loose at the seams kind of guy. aimless in a way that left his family worried, but unable to reel in. if he were more self aware, he might attribute this attitude to his lackluster tennis career and personal life.

the last time he had legitimate success was in his mid twenties. he had breached the ranks with numbers that put him in hopeful, local tennis talk, with an agent and coach who prodded his ear with, " hey, maybe with a few more seasons like this, the US open could happen? " it never did.

now, besides lingering in matches with guys far younger than him, he offers coaching to bleary eyed kids who don't know if they actually want to pursue tennis beyond their parent's pushing. too much of his time is spent loitering in empty tennis club courts with lazy kids with equally lazy forehands, the sound of the ball bouncing into the racket only to land out.

he's embarrassed by what he does to make ends meet. he's too prideful to admit his run is over and he knows he wouldn't be able to bear the looks promising 20 year olds would give him if they knew he resorted to what is essentially a high school tennis coach.

ultimately, he's always been an introverted sort of guy and intertwined any charisma he has into tennis. so for his game to recede and his disposition to look more and more pathetic, he's become dissatisfied. not only with himself, but his life as well, making him unmoored and rather malignant.

inspirations

big little lies: the general atmosphere of seeing the interior lives of characters, simple details and minor disasters. their private relationships, the language of each character's romantic relationships. trust for trust's sake. the blue hues. moments of introspection in the car rider line. when needing to fall back on somebody suddenly occurs and you realize you need to learn how to clean up after yourself.

the bear, richie jerimovich: when you're at a point in your life when you know there's nothing else to do other than hit the wall, or at least that's how it feels. a tiny apartment to be alone in. a cigarette habit. stubbornly understanding that, yes, you do need the support of others. asking a relative to help you out despite your less than responsible history. the character who feels stuck in a lack of purpose. being the relative who awkwardly relates to the younger table of the family and not on account of some kind of "hip," younger taste.

potential connections

coaching clientele. drifting friendships that always go to catch up over a quick bite, but never seem to remediate their time spent apart. childhood friends. ex-agents. past tennis opponents. ex's and they hate each other, hate. a persistent, familiar friendship he's had since his boston college days. a disgruntled, older mentor (not strictly tennis). current or previous neighbors. his siblings. the inane deck of people you meet during your time in new york. ex-flings. annoying acquaintances. someone who genuinely ruins his day. people he knows from the gym he frequents. the missed connection of someone who could've been the good steady in his life. his physician who knows him well enough to give him life advice while recommending him a physical therapist due to tennis. (off the top of my head, i'm interested to see other potential plot ideas!)

associations

a pile of crumpled, used tennis shoes. a fridge with lazy health foods because he can't be bothered to stay on regimen. the too small feeling he gets when visiting his parents and subsequently the nausea when he stays at his childhood home. the atlantic coast. the oily paper wrapping from his morning breakfast. when his uber drops his request at the worst moment possible. the vague BPM of house music at some club he should really forget about. compulsively checking tournament calendars. forgetting to hold his racket loose. windbreakers. the way he should make sense at a country club, but he visibly looks odd in the setting. an incredibly threadbare and worn wallet he refuses to ditch.

misc

at 27, he had to move back home with his parents. he has since internalized this and it always circles in his thoughts when he's self-loathing.

there's a nearby balkan food joint that he frequents that believes he's a legitimate figure in tennis. he doesn't have the heart to let them know he hasn't qualified for anything serious in years and they have a picture of him on the wall that they took themselves. he's pictured awkwardly giving a thumbs up by the counter.

there was a point in his college career that he debated taking leave to focus on tennis, but his parents were the one's to keep him in school. he graduated from BU with a degree in economics he's never had to use.

admin notes

hello all, it's sash! i just wanna leave this off on an excited note. i cannot wait to plot with everyone until my heart shrivels up!

[mygloviesme]

cool about it, eleven years later. || myg

no. 2 of 3: she called me a fucking liar

predebut/debut!yoongi x female idol

summary: eleven years later, kanako lives in nyc with her childhood best friend keiko. bts have become a household name that floods her every day life, and she's learned to ignore it. after years of moving on from those months she spent with the seven boys, she finds herself in a good place. what happens after one fateful night she finally runs into faces she's tried so hard to run away from?

(definitely inspired by boygenius)

word count: 4.6k

genre: ANGST, fluff, melodrama

chapter warnings: mentions of mental health, drinking, smoking

inspo song: worldstar money by joji

JULY 9TH, 2023, 10:48PM

The woman next to Yoongi loops her arm around his, holding him close. A knife puncturing my stomach only twists further. Further and further. 

“Who’s this?” She asks genuinely, kindly. Oh, I loathe her. I hate myself for it but I hate her more. The feelings I’m having are childish and jealous, completely unreasonable. But she’s so perfect. Her body fits into his like they were made for each other. I don’t recognize myself right now. It feels like high school with the way I’m obsessing over her every move. 

All I want to do right now is run into the club and down more drinks than I can fathom. Self destructive is the right word. I was never one for spite, but right now I wish I had a man on my own arm. 

“This is…Kanako.” He speaks, gulping. 

Her eyes widen and she breaks apart from him, taking my hands. “Oh my goodness! I didn’t even recognize you! I’m Aimee, remember? I was a trainee at Bighit for a little while.” 

The memories flood my brain as I recount who exactly she was. I do remember her. After the news broke out, she was the one who told me I could still take back what I said about Haneul. She was on his side. 

This is who he’s with? I feel a burning in my stomach, a validating one. I have a reason to dislike her. It gives me reason to hate her. And God, do I hate her right now. 

I look at Yoongi as Aimee holds my hands in hers, utter incredulity painting my face like a mural. I’m not sure if he remembers, but I do. Those words all those years ago were repeated over and over again so I could hate myself even more. She was amongst the people that made me afraid to go outside ever again. 

Haneul doesn’t have that power over me anymore, and neither does she. At least for being on his side. But I’m definitely giving her power by wanting to rip her away from Yoongi. This is getting embarrassing. 

“Yes. I do. You were friends with Haneul, weren’t you?” I smile with bitterness. I’m old enough to make statements now. I’m old enough to create boundaries. I don’t have to lie about liking someone. Fuck being the bigger person. I’ve been big, I’ve been small. I’ve done it all. 

Her beaming smile fades and she lets go of me, “N-No. Well, yes. But I know better now, I’m so sorry for what I said. I haven’t spoken to him in over a decade.” She says. Yeah, right.

Yoongi only stands with his hands in his pockets, not saying a word. I don’t want to be talking to Aimee, but I’m not entirely sure I want to be talking to him either. I don’t know if I have the strength to, considering how it went with Jungkook. There’s too many thoughts circling my mind at this very moment, all of them being about Yoongi. I don’t even know if I would consider him an ex, someone I knew, the one that got away. Because that would be me, I got away. 

I know I should’ve moved on long ago. I know I did in certain ways. But still after all these years I never understood why I could never give myself to someone else.The feelings for Yoongi had never dissipated, I just forgot what it’s like for him to be standing in front of me. Looking like that. 

This hurts so fucking bad. 

“Hey, Koko.” I hear Keiko say from behind Yoongi. She holds her bag as well as mine. Her body is asking if I’m ready to go. She knows. “It’s alright Aimee. Have a good night.” I say and nod to Yoongi who makes strong eye-contact with me. 

I turn to Namjoon, “How long are you going to be in New York for?” 

“Just two more days.” He says, “We can meet up again if you’d like.”

I walk to Keiko, grabbing my bag. “I’ll call you.” I tell him. He nods slowly and I wave a quick good-bye before me and Keiko head off into the Uber she called over. 

As I walk away I’m fighting the urge to look back. I didn’t then, but I want to now. A part of me wants to tell Yoongi that I want to see him again. But the other part wants me to ignore all those precious memories we have together and lock them in a box, throwing away the key. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. I grip my purse tighter, biting my lip. 

Before we get into the Uber, I reluctantly choose to look back. I hold the car door with one hand, turning to Yoongi. He was already looking at me. Those almond eyes. I keep that short moment in my back-pocket, saving it for tonight. 

He looked back, and so did I. 

JULY 9TH, 2023, 12:34AM

Me and Keiko sit on my bed, face masks on and a tub of ice cream between us with one spoon staked in the frozen dessert. It’s rocky-road, my favorite but her least favorite. She knew how much I needed it though, so she succumbed to the chunky-goodness. 

“So how was it?”

“What?”

She rolls her eyes, “You know what I’m talking about.”

I take a deep breath, exhaling for a moment. “Awful. Jungkook was so upset, and I mean for the right reasons. But it just took me by surprise. He was so…sure with himself. Namjoon is sort of the same. Level-headed. But Yoongi…”

“He has long hair now.”

I shove her playfully, “Shut up!”

She takes the spoon, dipping it into ice cream before pulling it to her mouth. “Sorry. You were saying?”

I lean my hands back, “I felt like it was the first time all over again.”

“Like no time had passed?”

I pull a face, “It’s so stupid.” 

She raises her eyebrows, giving her head a small tilt. “Just a little.” 

I scoff, “Kay, sorry if I thought this was a safe space.” 

“It is! It is. It's just funny to hear that is all. But I get it, trust me. Although it’s been eleven years.”

“Don’t rub it in! I know. But besides that, seeing him was so unreal. Unlike the others, he just seemed…the same. I don’t know. Should I see Namjoon tomorrow?” I ask, grabbing the spoon from her hand to have a bite. 

“Well, what I’m hearing is you asking if you should see Yoongi tomorrow.” She purses her lips. 

I nod sheepishly. “Maybe I am.”

“Kanako, can I be serious with you? For just a moment.” She stops and places her hands on my shoulders. I hold the spoon in my hand nervously, looking at her serious expression. “Sure.” I’m not. Keiko’s brutal honesty is never something to be ignored. 

“As much as I love to encourage your bad decisions, I have to draw a line. Because I love you, and because I think you know this too…don’t try to stir things back up with him.”

I pout, “That wasn’t exactly my intention-”

“I know. But at your core, you’re a romantic. A lifelong monogamist, as much as you don’t like to admit it. You haven’t been in a real relationship in eleven years, and that makes me worry for you. And your vagina.” 

“You know I’ve been trying to open up more!”

“Yes babe, but after eleven years? You couldn’t have been waiting for him, were you?”

She keeps emphasizing eleven years which doesn’t make me feel good. I know it’s sort of something that’s been left unsaid, my lack of relationships. But I’ve played it off as not needing a man, being too focused on my work. I’m just a workaholic, it’s fine. Even though that isn’t necessarily true. I love my free time. I love having free time. I knew one day I’d gain the strength to start something up with someone else, I was just waiting. Yeah, waiting. 

“No! I mean not really. I just haven’t…felt that spark with anyone else.”

“Spark. Right.” She squints suspiciously. 

“It’s true!” I gasp. It isn’t. 

I settle down and play with the hem of my sweater, “Don’t act like I haven’t moved on.”

She cooes, “Oh, Koko. I know you have. I just think seeing him was hard for you. It brought up stuff, didn’t it?”

That’s definitely a word for it. Stuff. If stuff means feelings, yes. Feelings I can’t quite figure out. It’s not like I want to seduce him out of his relationship, but a part of me is so hungry to know him again. To know what he’s been up to, if he still likes his coffee the same, if his love for me hasn’t faltered. It hurts me so much to think that mine hasn’t. Haneul was never my first love, Yoongi was. What I felt for Yoongi was deeper, something I didn’t and couldn’t understand at eighteen.

What I had with Hanuel was a need to be seen, validated. There wasn’t any depth besides the trauma I got out of it. That’s a black hole I’ve gotten out of. With stories to tell and scars to hide, but It’s gone. Thank God. 

“Yeah…it did.”

She pulls me in for an embrace, kissing my forehead. “Do what you want, I love you. He’s just…obviously with someone new. I don’t want you to get hurt. But you should see Namjoon. And maybe try to fix things with Jungkook. That’ll make you feel better.”

I nod into her shirt, “Yeah, it will.”

She pulls herself back from the embrace, seemingly confused. “It kind of surprises me that your feelings are so strong for him…and yet you guys never had sex.”

“Trust me, that took me months to get over.”

JULY 10TH, 2023, 6:00PM

I move the hair in front of my face and adjust my soft pink top before I enter the rather expensive restaurant Namjoon had invited me to. This is definitely not a place we would’ve come to back then. Even I have never been here before. 

There’s a few moments before I’m met with a hostess, “Kanako?” She asks and I nod, gripping the handle of my purse tighter. My hands are growing clammier, embarrassingly enough. Namjoon asked if he could invite some of the other members that were here as well, and I accepted warily. I knew I’d easily get overwhelmed by seeing most of them again, but I didn’t know when I’d have another chance to. Seeing as they’re all busy and for the first time in eleven years I’m taking a leap of faith. 

I don’t know when I’d have this courage again. Especially if it means Yoongi might be there. 

She leads me to a seated area covered by a black curtain. Her hand delicately brushes it open for me, revealing the four familiar men. For some reason I expected something more dramatic, more tragic. I have pessimism on the brain, but can you blame me? It’s my easiest coping mechanism. My most self-destructive one. A common theme lately. 

She gives me leeway to enter and I respond to her with a quick thanks before entering the small room. The men all stand quickly but seem to be caught, saying nothing. Their eyes dart to each other for a quick minute before Jimin smiles, “You look great.” Unexpected, but I’ll take it.

They all look great too, all so mature and aged. I could take notes. But I think they’d be pricey notes.

It feels like I’m standing in front of strangers in a sense, eleven years taking off memories from me little by little. But I still remember a lot. Even with Jimin’s cadence in his voice, it’s so different. It’s softer. More gentle, like I’m a new friend. New friend. 

“Please, sit.” Namjoon insists and I do so, sitting next to him which seems like the safest bet. I place my purse down beside me and shuffle in my seat, “Thanks for…inviting me. It’s great seeing you all again.” I say, trying so hard not to cringe with my words. Just like last night, it feels like anything I say doesn’t amount to how big this situation is. 

We used to be all so close. I knew them. They called me their sister at some point. 

“You too. Sorry Taehyung couldn’t make it. He’s busy and all that.” Namjoon chuckles, planting his elbows on the table. Jungkook sits right in front of me, not speaking a word. His eyes stay looking down at the table, sometimes to Jimin. 

I don’t know whether to look at them or not, it all feels like the wrong move. What if they don’t like who I am now? The way I dress, speak, move. I want them to recognize me. I’m almost thirty, why do I care so much about what they think of me?

“We went ahead and ordered meat and other side stuff. You like fish cakes right? And beer? If not, I could get you something else.” Namjoon asks. 

“N-No, that’s all fine. Thank you…”

More silence. 

“I got spicy cucumber salad for you. I know how much you liked it then.” Jungkook says between the echoing quiet. Then. 

“Oh yeah, I still do. And I still like-”

“Pickled radish.” Yoongi whispers, fiddling with his hands. They remember. He remembers. 

I respond with a soft laugh, “Right.” 

He smiles too, looking up at me. One day I’ll stop feeling whatever this is I feel for Min Yoongi, but as long as he stays just like this, I don’t think that will happen any time soon. There’s a delicate fluttering in my stomach as we keep eye contact with each other, like it’s all that time ago. I would call myself delusional, crazy, everything that means that I’m looking too much into it. But if I could print this moment on paper, you’d believe me.

“So you guys are on a hiatus? How has that been?” I question genuinely. Jimin totters in his seat, making a ‘tsk’ sound with his mouth. It reminds me of Hoseok. I wish they were all here, but I’m glad I at least have this. 

“Taking a break has been great for most of us, but I’m still working on music and whatnot. So is Jungkook, but we definitely have more free time than we did a year ago. We wouldn’t have been able to go on a dinner like this if it were, say, 2021.” He says honestly. The boys nod in agreement. 

“Really?” I raise my brows in shock.

“Yeah, we were robots for like, six years straight. Non-stop working. What about you?” Jimin tilts his head.

“Yeah, Kanako. We’re- I am- very curious about what you’ve been doing. You went to college when you left, didn’t you?” Namjoon says it as if it isn’t a sore topic. It is for me, and with the way Yoongi shut down privately it seems like it was the same for them too. 

I play with the glass of water in front of me, “Yeah I did. I graduated with a degree in communications, so I work with my friend Keiko at the New York Times as an editor. She was doing an internship there and…managed to get us both in, I guess. I’m pretty lucky.” I admit.

Jimin’s mouth is agape, “Kanako, that's seriously impressive.”

I scoff, “Oh shush, nothing like being a global star. Mr. Nominated For A Grammy.” 

Namjoon shakes his head playfully, “There’s the Kanako I remember.” 

I smile to myself as I hear Namjoon’s comment, “But thanks Jimin.” I say.

Before he can reply a waiter comes in with multiple servings of all kinds of food. He places the raw meat besides the grill, following with the various side dishes all neatly surrounding the table. It’s so much food, something we definitely never did back then. 

Once everything is settled, Yoongi grabs the tongs, pointing them at me. 

“Make sure to eat a lot. It’s on us.”

JULY 10TH, 2023, 7:47PM

We’ve grown into a more comfortable banter as we all eat. Talking about celebrities they’ve met, encounters with fans in bathrooms, and something Namjoon wants to say to me. 

He chews on the kimchi that sits in his mouth, covering it with his hand. “I mean it’s not that big of a deal, but now that you’re here I just wanted to tell you because it sort of is a big thing.”

“Go ahead Joon.” I assure him. 

He swallows, “Well- uh. I’m bisexual. And I’m dating a guy. He’s cool.”

I widen my eyes. Definitely didn’t see that coming. I mean, kind of. He’s always been a very open-minded person, but I never heard him talk about any sort of crush. Besides that one time in a club, but I never assumed he was straight. Or anyone else, for that matter. I’m happy for him though. I know it must be hard for them to maintain relationships during all this chaos, but the dust has settled. And he seems happy, which is most important. 

“Oh sweet.” I reply nonchalantly, hoping to not scare him away. 

“That’s it? Sweet?” He chuckles, turning over the cooking bulgogi. 

“Scratch that, I’m glad you found someone. That makes me happy you could do that in the midst of, you know everything that’s been going on for you. Where’d you meet?” I reply. 

He sighs, “Mutual friends. It was hard to connect with other guys during the, you know, spotlight. I’m still not out obviously, but he’s really okay with it. We go to art galleries and dinners and such. It’s pretty serious.”

I grin as I sip my beer, “Is he as smart as you?”

“He tries to keep up.” Namjoon replies with a smirk. 

Jimin perks his head up, “What about you Kanako? Anyone in your life?”

I gulp. It takes everything in me to not look at Yoongi. I hope the small beat after he asked the question isn’t obvious. I look down to my fish cake, “Not really.”

“Has there ever been? It’s been eleven years, you know.” He says. Ugh.

“You sound just like Keiko.” I mumble.

Namjoon tilts his head, “Are you and Keiko…”

I shake my head quickly, “No. Nope.” I respond to him, turning to Jimin. “Uh- some guys here and there but nothing ever serious. I’m pretty focused on my work. What about you, Jiminie?” I attempt to curb the conversation from myself. Trying to not make it obvious I’m hiding a deep, dirty secret that’s sitting across from me. 

There’s an abrupt laughter that bounces off the table. I look around, confused. “What am I missing?” I say. 

Jungkook laughs, “Jimin is the opposite of a monogamist.”

Jimin’s face washes over with an obvious scarlet, “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

I giggle and lean back in my seat, “Ahhh, I see.” 

That was an unsurprising answer from him. And I’m sure with the fame there’s even more options for a guy like him. “Is it limited to just women?” I ask. 

Jimin gasps, “Why does everyone ask that!”

Namjoon laughs hard, holding his stomach in the process. “Kanako is asking the real questions.” He chokes out whilst wiping tears from his eyes. 

“But to answer your question, definitely not.” Jimin gives a cheeky look to me as he responds. It’s clear he’s growing more buzzed by the minute. I assume that night at the club sparked something in him. It’s fun, for now. 

This news is all so raw to me but it’s so fluid. The aging only made the conversations better, more comfortable. There’s less hesitation and more openness. There’s still a silence in Yoongi’s corner, reminding me of how he was when I first met him. Shy. But the topic of conversation I know is something he doesn’t want to contribute to. Not after the awkward encounter I had with his supposed beau. His young, annoying beau. 

“And you, Jungkook?” I ask. 

Jimin pats the young boy on the arm, “Still afraid of women. But I think he was just having a hard time moving on from-”

“Shut up.” Jungkook is quick to quiet the tipsy man down. There is an obvious glow to Jimin’s cheeks as time passes, and I don’t remember how many glasses of beer he’s had if that tells you anything. His mouth is like a loose cannon. Things don’t feel great. The table turns quiet again. Something else I’m missing. Jimin shrugs. 

“Let’s just say Yoongi isn’t the only one still hung up on you.” He mutters under his breath, taking a big gulp of his beer. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Jimin, really?” Namjoon looks at him in disbelief. Jungkook is also shocked, holding a hand up as if he’s stopped in his tracks. “I can’t believe you said that.” The young boy whispers. 

Jimin tries to reach for Jungkook, slurring a small ‘I’msorry’ before Jungkook slides out of his seat to walk out of the room. Jimin follows the young boy in hopes to apologize. All I feel is second-hand embarrassment, confusion, and heaps of awkwardness. Yoongi sets down his chopsticks in a disappointed manner, exhaling loudly. 

He looks at me for the second time today, “Don’t pay attention to him. He’s grown to be a messy drunk.” He says. 

I nod and hang my head politely, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. But it might be too late for that, because before I can think I’m jolting my head back up in question.

“What did he mean, not the only one?” I ask, looking at the two men. 

Namjoon bites his lip, “Not sure if that’s our place to say.”

But what does it mean? Is Yoongi still hung up on me? Is Jungkook? I didn’t think he ever felt that way towards me, he called me his sister for god's sake. Was it a cover-up? Did feelings develop over time? How did I not know? How did I not expect this? This gives everything a new meaning that I do not want. 

I don’t want any of this. “I’m so sorry.” I whisper as I pick at my rice.

“It’s to be expected.” Yoongi responds, seriously. 

His tone is indistinct which causes me to be a bit bewildered, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs apathetically, “Everything was…never concluded properly. You left things sort of a mess after you left.” 

I scoff and cross my arms, blatantly offended. “A mess?”

Namjoon attempts to break up the rising tension, “Guys let’s not-”

But Yoongi has intentions. Everything is coming to the surface, I know it. I hear the words flow from Yoongi’s mouth like he’s rehearsed them. Like he’s always known what he was going to say, eleven years later.

“We loved you, and you left. You can’t expect us to not have feelings about it.”

We loved you. The same knife digs into me as I hear him. 

“I’m not expecting anything. It’s just been-”

“Eleven years? Yeah, we know.” He laughs sarcastically. He always knows what I’m going to say next. In this moment I wish he knew nothing about me. 

There’s a bubbling frustration within me that grows to its peak, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I loved you all too, okay?” My words begin to adhere to him, unbeknownst to me. It’s coming out. “I spent days and nights thinking about you. I wanted to come back, I wanted to call. But it would make- it would’ve made moving on so much harder.”

“Why did you want to?”

“Want to what?”

Namjoon places a hand on my shoulder to cool me down but I’m an unstoppable forest fire, trees and wildlife burning down in front of their eyes. They’ve watched me crumble so many times it’s almost unbelievable it’s happening all over again. Some things really don’t ever change. 

“Move on, Kanako? Why!” Yoongi shouts. 

I sit up from my seat, planting my hands on the table angrily, “Because I loved you! I had just started to and I knew I had to stop if I was ever going to heal! Don’t you get that? I was in an abusive relationship at eighteen years old, I didn’t even know half of the things that happened to me really did happen! I coped the best way I could, so fuck you for blaming eighteen year old me!” I breathe heavily after I finish. The bowl of rice has toppled over all over my feet but I’m too angry to notice. This is what I needed to say after all these years. This is my honest truth. I’ve freed myself of the guilt I’ve held for all these years. 

Yoongi stays quiet, his gaze on mine as I stay above him. Namjoon looks at me too, aghast. I feel relieved but so big at the same time. Like a monster. 

“Kanako…” Yoongi whispers. “I know, I-I’m sorry. That was…” His voice trails off. 

I feel tears trickling down my face and wipe them quickly, slumping back down on the seat. Instead of running away, I stay. This time I will stay. 

JULY 10TH, 2023, 9:00PM

Yoongi ended up paying for dinner, even with how much of a slight disaster it turned out to be. We ended up continuing talking, rather casually, after our argument. It was the best I could do without leaving again. I wanted to stay there and fix things. But it was better to ignore it. 

Jungkook and Jimin stand outside, clearly done with a deep talk. Jungkook is smoking once again. I feel like I should say something about it, maybe even a joke. But I’m not sure if that’s my place anymore. Was it ever?

“Hey guys. Kanako. Sorry about that.” Jimin apologizes weakly. It’s obvious he’s sobered up a bit from the last time I saw him, but even under the street lights I can see he has a long way to go. 

“Don’t worry about it.” I promise him. Jungkook throws down his cigarette like he’s done it a million times before. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks over to me, eyeing the sky. His familiar unwillingness for eye-contact is more obvious than ever. 

“Hi Jungkook.” I say as he approaches me. 

He looks over to the boys behind me, hesitant to speak. “I understand now. I can’t imagine at that age having to go through what you did.” He confesses. He pulls me in for a random but pleasant hug. His body is much more solid than I remember, not as easy to hold, but his scent has stayed the same. How is that even possible? 

I accept the embrace and wrap my arms around him tightly, having to hold back tears. This feels so nice. I missed this. I wasted years longing for it again. There’s still an unanswered question of what exactly Jimin meant, but I let it slide. I let my mind clear completely to enjoy the present. 

“I missed you so much Jungkook.” I muffle into his chest. My eyes water. 

“Stay with me tonight. W-With us. Like old times.” He whispers as his head sits on top of mine. 

My body is lit like a furnace. It’s comforting this time, not intense. They can read my mind so easily. I want to, I have to. For one night before they leave, I will. 

“Okay.” 

click here to read more of this story!

a/n: I know nothing about grown up jobs or how they work!!! keep that in mind dear god!!!

[internetgremlin-writes]

The Twelve Drivers Of Christmas: Day One

“You are aware that this is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do at Christmas?”

“Laney, what the hell are you talking about?”  You snapped down the phone at your assistant. 

“In the movies!  You’re supposed to move to the quaint village in the country, not away from it and into the city!”  You rolled your eyes, your gate had just opened and you didn’t have time for this.

“This isn’t a movie, okay?  I need a break.  You need to go home, I’ll talk to you in the new year,”  You put the phone down, partly because you loved a dramatic exit and mainly because handing your passport and boarding pass over to the flight attendant wasn’t going well one-handed. 

Once you were finally settled in your business class seat, noise cancelling headphones fitted on your eyes, silk sleep mask on your eyes and the perfect playlist keeping you occupied, Laney’s words floated back to you.  You weren’t moving away, not yet anyway, this was just a city break.  Was it contraversial to take yourself on holiday alone at Christmas?  Maybe, but you didn’t really care.

Small town life wasn’t for you.  Hell, you’d tried.  You’d tried so, so hard to make it work, to fit in, to play your part.  You’d built up your parents small business, but lost favour when you’d become so successful you started expanding it into consultancy, dealing with much larger companies from multiple countries.  Up until a year ago you had the boyfriend, quarterback and star pupil of your high school, you the shining gem on his arm.  Not quite a cheerleader, but the beauty of the academic decathlon team and track athlete on the side.  You knew everyone in your town, it wasn’t your fault you disliked most of them.

Maybe you saw too much, too aware of how backwards life was.  You’d always been drawn to life in the fast lane.  Faster paced, more money, more people, more places, more things.  You’d been obsessed with New York since a family holiday you’d had when you were eight, but unlike every other kid who wanted to be a Broadway star or a mysteriously rich woman, you idolised the business people.  The men in perfectly tailored suits, women who carried a bespoke leather briefcase with an air of confidence your immature mind had never known, that’s what you wanted to be like.

You landed in New York a few short hours later.  You could have driven really, should have if you’d stopped to think about the environment for a second, but you’d been given another one of those - dare you say it - pitying looks from your mother at your indifference to the Christmas tree she’d picked out and the itch to leave finally overwhelmed you.  You’d booked tickets for a flight that evening and left without saying goodbye.

It was cold.  Much colder than you were used to.  You should have known better by now, but it always surprised you how you were a few states north and suddenly the pleasant chill in the air was bitter and cruel, sucking the breath from your lungs and freezing it in front of your face.  Your ears and nose stung, your hands finding new homes for themselves deep in the lined pockets of your best coat.  Maybe it was a sign that you’d never minded the cold, you liked the way it made you feel alive.

You had no immediate plans, you’d booked to be there long enough you’d be spending both Christmas and the New Year in the penthouse hotel suite, but you hadn’t planned what you’d do once you’d actually arrived.  Dropping your bags off felt sensible, to say the least, so you checked yourself into your hotel, added a few more layers to your outfit and found yourself heading back out into the darkening sky.

It was early in the afternoon to be getting dark, but you thought nothing of it as you looked up at the continuous whiteout of sky that was greying with the day.  You bought a pretzel and went to Central Park.

The first flakes of snow were magical.  Maybe you hated Christmas, but you loved winter and those few snow days you’d manage to rack up each year were the memories you cherished the most.  You sat on a bench and watched as the park slowly began to white out, a powder dust settling around you.  You liked the way that snowfall brought with it a dampening of all sound.  Even in New York everything stilled, the rumble of traffic fading further away and the voices of people sharing the park with you distanced, until finally you were gifted the space you were craving. Allowed to be completely and totally alone. 

You were so lost in your mind that you didn’t notice the powdering of snow turning into a storm, a thick blanket replacing the sugarcoating.  You also didn’t realise you’d been wandering aimlessly around Central Park and now everything was rounded and washed by the snow you came to the realisation that you were completely and totally lost.

Trying not to panic too much at the thought of having survived less than three hours as an independent adult in New York before you had to face your inevitable death you pulled your big coat tighter against your body and began to retrace your steps, head down and eyes trained on the crisp outlines of your shoes that were rapidly filling in as the steady fall of snow showed no signs of letting up.

You were doing pretty well too, until you power-walked head-first into another body coming towards you.  You couldn’t help yourself from scoffing out loud, it felt like a cruel trick by the universe that these sickening cliches seemed to happen to you and not someone like Laney, who by now would have been besides herself with glee and convinced she’d just met her soulmate.  In your train of thoughts you’d completely forgotten about the person you’d hit.

“Well you could watch where you’re going you know?”

“What?”  You found yourself totally takenaback at the man in front of you.  He was scowling, brushing away the snow that was gathering on his expensive looking grey peacot as quickly as it was landing.

“You walked into me,”  You blinked in shock at the blunt response.

“Yeah I know, I’m sorry,”  His face instantly changed, the sulky look lifted and something almost smug replacing it.

“See?  Wasn’t so hard,”  That threw you.

“What the fuck?  I just apologised, no need to be such an asshole about it,”  The scowl was back.  He had a thick mop of dark hair that fell just before his eyes, full eyebrows and long lashes to match.  Dark brown eyes were narrowed in your direction.  He was taller than you, forcing him to tilt his head dwon and you noticed snow was collecting in his hair.  He shrugged, shoulders tense.

“Watch where you’re going next time,”  You rolled your eyes.

“Like you have any right to the trail path.  It’s not my fault I have no idea where I am,”  You grumbled, no longer interested in entertaining the moody stranger and went to push past him, your shoulder knocking against his elbow.  The few moments stationary were enough of a reminder that you’d experience the shift from chilly to bitterly cold.

A gloved hand caught your elbow, and before you could snap a warning to be left alone, you found yourself once again with the man in the expensive coat in front of you.

“Are you lost?”

“No,”

“You just said-”

“It doesn’t matter,”

“But I know-”

“I don’t care what you do or don’t know,”

“Just- wait!”  He caught you,  your attempt to pull away and storm off once again thwarted.  He was faster than he looked for a rich boy.  “That’s the wrong way,”

“You don’t even know where I’m going,”

“I assume you don’t want to be going deeper into the park right now,”

“Maybe I do,”  You challenged, disgusing tucking your hands into your armpits for warmth as an irritated fold of your arms.

“If you wanna freeze out here, sure,”  Something in you broke a little.  It really was cold.  Maybe something gave in your face, because he finally released his vice grip on your arm.

“My name is Lance,”

“Y/N,”  

“Okay, Y/N, can I at least get you back to the road?”  You thought of your warm hotel bed, and more accurately, the clawfoot bath you’d been looking forward to soaking in. 

“Fine,”  You fell into step beside him, pliantly following as he branched up a fork in the trail onto a pathway covered in virgin snow.  “How do I know you’re not leading me the wrong way so you can murder me?”  It was a half-formed thought, only really spoken because you were always one to think aloud and because there was something about getting under the stranger’s skin that gave you a sick little kick.  He turned to frown at you, eyebrows so tight they almost touched in the middle, but there was a small smirk playing at the corners of his full lips.

“Ha, I don’t think that would be good for my image,”  Of course, he had a stupid answer.

“Your image,”  you mocked  “What are you, some kind of celebrity?”  He shrugged, but the smile that broke out across his face gave him away.  His canine teeth were a little pointed.  It was almost cute.

“Kinda,”

“That’s not an answer,”  You pointed out as you followed half a pace behind him through another turn you’d missed before.  The trees were starting to thin out. 

“I’m an athlete,” 

“Professional?”  It wasn’t really a question, if he was an athlete and thought he was some kind of a celebrity he had to be a professional, or have the biggest head in the world.  He nodded.

“Shouldn’t you be on a beach on a private island somewhere then?”  He laughed.  You’d never heard anyone laugh like him before, making three clear “ha” sounds but somehow also sounding genuine.

“I’m from Canada.  Beaches aren’t really my thing,”  So that was why he looked so comfortable in what could only be described now as a blizzard. 

“Me neither,”  You agreed.  “Always preferred the city,”

“You live here?”  You shook your head.

“I wish, I’m just visiting,”

“You got a fancy penthouse somewhere then?  Whole family gathered around for Christmas in New York?”  There was no way you could hide the bitter undertone in your voice, even if you had tried to be making gentle conversation.  Lance scoffed, and kicked out at a pile of snow in front of him with the toe of a polished leather boot.

“Yeah right,”

“What?”  You’d missed something.  You knew it was rude to intrude but you couldn’t help yourself, his string of vague answers had somewhat piqued your curiosity and you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted to know more about him.

“My family - my dad - we, uh, we don’t see eye to eye all the time.  It’s hard when you work together all year, I needed a break,”  You hadn’t been expected to be hit smack in the chest with such honesty, and you definitely weren’t prepared for the way brown eyes were suddenly trained on you, wide and vulnerable and almost pleading.

“I- I’m on my own too,”  You managed, chest suddenly tight and the words of admission getting caught in your throat.  Part of you felt guilty that there was no drama you were escaping from, you were just bored.  Sick of people who loved you wholly and unconditionally and bored.  Lance seemed to understand your half-confession for what you wanted it to be; an agreement.

You realised you’d stopped walking.  You were stood on the sidewalk, beside a sludgy road full of drivers cursing the weather.  He was watching you as if he was waiting for something.

“Thanks, for getting me out of there,”  you smiled, genuine for the first time in a long time.  “And for the company,”  you added as an afterthought.  Something about the snow seemed to invite honesty hour.

“Hey,”  The singular word was enough for you to turn to face the Canadian once more.  There was a streetlight behind him, illuminating him in a soft orange glow.  You didn’t know how an hour could change someone entirely from a miserable, rude man to what you could only describe as an angel on earth.  

“Can I take you out for a drink tomorrow?”

“It’s Christmas tomorrow,”

“You’re not doing anything,”  He countered.  “Neither am I,” 

Honestly? Fuck it.  It was the only thought in your head.  You’d flown out to New York for change, for time to yourself, for anything to break up the monotony of your small town life.  It seemed silly to turn down the first chance you got for exactly that.

“Yeah, okay,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is it even an Iggy fic if it's not posted late?

Anyway, here is the first of the F1 Christmas minifics. Lance was surprisingly challenging to write for and that combined with an upsettingly busy week meant I put it off for a little bit too long.

I'm kinda pleased with this one, and there will be a spicier part two coming out after Christmas. Next up and putting us back on schedule is George, also coming out tonight!

Follow the hashtag 12DOC for all fics and updates as they come out!

[fractalkiss]

fic commentary/notes for monsoon

the document title for this fic was "monsoon - aka angry, horny, tilted lance". i would have liked it to be "angry, slutty, tilted lance" but i don't think he comes across as too angry in the output which is fine, and the original concept i had for this fic involved a lance that was slutty. but that would require 3k more words which i knew i couldn't do in time for ms strulovic's birthday. i was a day late on posting anyway but we move ;_;

influences/inspiration (boring version):

i will actually not get into how i came to the socionics research and the psychoanalysis that happened using wikisocion dot net and sociotype dot com because that will take too long and i will sound crazier. TLDR; here are quotes from the intertype relationships page that made me start thinking:

“Quasi-identical partners are able to find common topics for conversation, understand each other to sufficient depth, but they remain perceptive of mutual "otherness" [...] Quasi-identical partner, as a rule, does not hurt your weakest spots. You do not feel a threat from him, but neither do you feel equality.”

"Activation partners who become close and discuss their strivings and personal worldviews often are struck by how radically different they are, despite the relative ease and benefit of communication. As opposed to duals, who tend to strive for the same things but from differing, though compatible angles, activation partners' approaches to achieving their goals tend to be fundamentally incompatible, due largely to the difference in rationality and irrationality.*"

*rationality and irrationality here are dichotomies used to measure a person's approach to certain things ie. "judging / perceiving" if we're talking mbti , thinking / feeling, and intuitive / sensing etc. (Yes socionics takes some of the same topology from mbti but uses more dichotomies alongside it so i really do nottttt want to get into it here bc i'm gonna sound more insane)

ANYWAY, activation partners came out more as the result when i was obsessively matching sociotypes i thought fitted my read of fernando and lance (ty to cofi's mutual who helped back up that fernando also leans towards introversion lol). i was talking to @strulovic abt activation and she also pointed out this could apply to lance and esteban's friendship due to their very different upbringing, which is interesting. i got quasi-identical once, which i thought wasn't wrong either imo, so i pasted it in my doc for reference. strulovic wanted to read something bittersweet and she wanted to read fic of lance in this terrible season of 2023 so i knew i had to deliver...

more inspiration (not so boring):

"Living Legend” was originally written and recorded around 2013 and is an ode to one of Lana’s long-time friend and mentor, Jane Powers. Lana thanked Jane directly in a Facebook post on July 31, 2013, announcing the song.

i got the title "monsoon" from the song living legend. i thought it was fitting with lance being a strong wet weather driver.

lyrics from colossus - idles:

They laugh at me when I run I waste away for fun I am my father's son His shadow weighs a tonne

i think this is self-explanatory. not to be me and reveal my tastes and roots in kp*p rpf but i've always liked writing about the ones who are unpopular (by fan consensus) and are misread a lot. all my years of pop idol rpf folding into that first scene about lance and his not attending the fanzones.

lyrics from jennifer's body - hole:

And I know it, I can't see it But I know it enough to believe it

To better you, to better me My bitter half has bitten me It's better than you, it's better than me

lance and the 2023 season basically.

some quotes from articles:

(x) 2016 article of an interview w lance

(x) article of lance in the ferrari academy

(x) from an interview with fernando

i think it personally can be a little bit clumsy to directly reference too many things in fic from canon and i try not to but firstable, i don't read much fic so i haven't read anything that might have already done this for lance.

second of all, as strulovic said, lance and fernando having met in that ferrari kart race in montreal is just fascinating in perspective. as what she said: "that's how they met in the first place of course, but also Fernando saying his one regret was not being able to win a championship with them [Ferrari], Lance being their first 'experiment' with how far they could mold a young talent into a championship-winning driver; one of the reasons Lance interests me so much is the nurture vs nature element in his career." sorry im just grabbing her fic comment from my inbox but i couldn't have put it better fjdlkgjdfkl.

which is why i really wanted to give weight in that scene when lance talks about his old journaling habit from the academy -> sucks fernando off for the first time lol.

re: writing lance's interactions with the older drivers/former teammates/almost-teammates (bottas); i think it's just funny how his dad thinks it's better for him. something something clearly it's made him how he is, and i guess i tried to explore that in relation to how he sees fernando as well.

i orphaned object permanence, which was the first lance pov fic i wrote, bc i wasn't satisfied with what i'd written, like.. it's hard to explain but some of it felt fundamentally wrong to ME, although i still am grateful for the comments i got on it! i'm more at peace with what i wrote this time.

[multi-lefaiye]

SALVATORE INKTOBER 5-7. THE SONDER EFFECT

Leslie, as the youngest of Westley and Anna's children, had three older siblings: Jesse Burke (1934-1999), Beth Burke (later Armstrong) (born 1938), and Martin Burke (born 1944). Though she would lose contact with each of them as she grew older, each of them was successful in their own right. From a young age, Jesse was always intelligent, with a biting wit and excellent memory. More than that, however, he was charismatic. Jesse's greatest talent was always finding the right people at the right time so he could network with them. It was this very talent with networking that led to him being granted a prestigious internship at an investment firm fresh out of college, which paved the way for him becoming one of Wall Street's most cutthroat stockbrokers. Though Jesse quickly adjusted to his newfound life of luxury, he never forgot his modest beginnings. He was, however, quick to cut contact with much of his family, especially his mother Anna. As far as he was concerned, that hateful old crone could go fuck herself. Beth, meanwhile, was always very outspoken and headstrong. After her father's death, Beth was often expected to care for her siblings while her mother was at work. This wore on the girl heavily over the years, and she began resenting her family nearly as much as Anna did. As she got older, she and her mother butt heads more and more, culminating in an explosive argument in 1961 (when Beth was 23) that led to Beth storming out of the house, planning to never return. For the next five years or so, Beth lived on her own, forging a new life for herself. In this time, she became very active in activist circles, participating in various protests during the civil rights movement, as well as various anti-war and feminist protests. She wanted nothing more than to make a better world and fight back against the people in power. Though she was at times too stubborn to admit when she was wrong, her heart was in the right place. Finally, Martin lived much of his life in the shadow of a man he hardly knew. Though Martin never really got to know his cousin Scott, his father Westley regaled him near-constantly with stories of the war and Scott's heroism during it. Even from a young age, Martin always got the sense that Westley wished Scott was his son, rather than the children he had. And after Westley's death, Martin was determined to make his father proud, whatever it took. When Martin was 18, he enlisted in the US military, and when the US entered the Vietnam War in 1965, Martin was eager to go to the front lines, chasing stories of war heroes who protected innocents and always did the right thing. What he saw, however, was anything but, and when Martin was medically discharged only a few years later, he was left an angry, bitter man, deeply disillusioned with the country he thought he knew and wanting nothing more than for it all to burn to the ground.

posting this inktober a bit late, but i decided to combine the prompts from days 5-7! i figured it also makes sense thematically, since these prompts refer to salvatore's siblings.

i originally planned to share more info about each sibling, but this post is long enough as it is lmao! and also honestly.... i'd rather talk more about each sibling's fate later down the line. i'm trying to tell this story as linearly as i can, but it's definitely hard when i wanna share everything that happens with each character.

also, as an explanation for the grouping of these prompts: 'sonder effect' is basically my attempt to just make the word sonder work here. sonder referring to the uncomfortable realization that all the people around you are living rich, fulfilling lives that you may never know anything about.

since salvatore lost contact with his siblings early on... i think that's fitting.

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