#this is the post I was making earlier but better

[aleskie]

YOU DON'T NEED TO LIFT A FINGER | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When a guy just cannot get the hint, Jack makes sure to put him in his place. He's got your back. Always.

Warnings: none!! pure fluff and jack gets protective!! Full discloure, this is for realsies Fem!Reader!! Author's Note: This was supposed to come out a dayyyyys ago but Tumblr was NOT letting me post my drafts 😭😭 my poor therapist spent an hour watching me crash out about it najsjsshjjk

You were beautiful.

Of course you were.

In Jack’s eyes, you were the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth.

Which is why he understands why you get hit on. He really does. Hell, once upon a time, he was hitting on you. And he still hits on you, even now, years into the relationship, because you’re worth it. Because you light up rooms without even trying. Because he’s always been a sucker for the way you roll your eyes and smile at his cheesy attempts to be smooth with you.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny, and you’re so effortlessly charming—of course people would want you for themselves. He gets it. He really does. And honestly, there’s a part of him that loves it. He loves that people notice those qualities about you, that they see in you what he sees every day. It feels like validation, like the universe itself is confirming that he’s the luckiest guy alive. He basks in the knowledge that no matter how many people give you those hungry looks and shitty pick-up lines, he’s the one you're coming home with, his hand resting possessively on your hip as he gives all those people a smirk, his claim laid without him even lifting a finger.

What he doesn’t love is when people don’t take the damn hint.

And you give a lot of hints.

Take this guy right here—Dave, or Doug, or whatever his name is—He’d somehow wiggled his way into the booth you guys shared with your friends for a night out and, while he seemed harmless at first, he was now solely focused on you. And your legs that were highlighted by the body shimmer Jack helped put on you earlier tonight (his fingers still slightly shimmering to prove it—a badge of honor, in his opinion).

You’d been giving him that polite, fake smile since he joined in—the one Jack knows so well and that always makes him chuckle, the one you use when you’re being patient but are clearly not enjoying yourself—and you’ve barely paid him any attention, save for a few fake laughs and an “Oh, that sounds cool” every so often as Darren, or Dino, continues to brag about himself, not even trying to ask about you (a grave mistake, Jack thinks, since you were the most interesting person he knew).

Jack wonders if this guy even realizes you’ve been leaning against Jack this entire time, your head on his shoulder and his hand resting on your upper thigh, or if he’s chosen to ignore that in favor of trying (and failing) to shoot his shot. Better yet, does he even recognize Jack is here, drink untouched and jaw tightening as he watches Danny (or was it Dylan) lean in just a little too close?

Jack glances at you. You’re still handling it with grace, of course you are. You always do. But he knows you. He sees the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you lean further against him to put some distance between you and Dexter, the way your fingers tighten around your glass, and he knows you’d rather not have to deal with this.

He shifts slightly and stands, leaning forward to smile at the intruder, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Diego, right?” he says. His tone is casual, even pleasant, but there’s steel underneath it.

“It’s Dave, actua—”

Jack extends a hand, cutting through the guy’s attempt at small talk. “Right, yeah. Sorry to interrupt, but I think my girlfriend and I are gonna go dance now.”

He puts an emphasis on girlfriend, just to make sure this guy gets the point.

Jack gives you a soft look, the kind that makes your breath hitch just a little, and you immediately stand up, reaching for him. His arm wraps around you instinctively, his touch steady and familiar. You can already feel the tension in his body lessening now that he has you close, now that he’s leading you away from whatever-his-name-is and back into the safe, easy rhythm of you and him.

But before you can leave, the guy speaks again.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize she was yours. You know how women are. With that dress and those legs, she was totally leading me on.”

Jack freezes.

For a second, the world seems to pause, almost like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of this guy’s mouth, like he didn’t want to believe anyone could be that stupid.

Slowly, he straightens, turning back toward the guy—Dave or Doug or whatever his name was—with a look so calm it’s almost serene. Too calm. And that’s how you know Jack is angry.

Not the playful kind of angry, where he pretends to pout when you steal the last fry or kiss him everywhere but his lips. Not the frustrated kind, like when he can’t find his keys for the third time that week or when he’s had a particularly bad game.

No, this is something deeper. Colder. Controlled.

His fingers graze your arm lightly, a small, grounding touch meant just for you. It’s subtle, but you know what it means. I’ve got this. You don’t need to lift a finger.

Jack tilts his head ever so slightly. “You wanna say that again?” His voice is so even it borders on soft, a quiet thing wrapped in steel.

Dave—or Dino or Darryl—seems to think Jack is inviting him to elaborate, which is perhaps the worst decision he’s made all night.

“I’m just saying, y’know,” Dave shrugs, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, like he thinks Jack might actually agree with him if he just explains it better. “When women dress like that, you can’t blame a guy for—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to shut up before I do something we both regret.”

Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his words alone is enough to send a ripple of silence through the space between them.

Dave blinks, the beginning stages of intimidation creeping onto his face. He glances at you, as if expecting backup, but you’re already leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as you watch Jack dismantle him.

There’s a small smirk on your lips. Because this? This was a sight you didn’t get to see in public too often.

Many times, people assumed your lovely boyfriend—so easygoing, so effortlessly charming—would lack the sharpness to cut someone down when needed, would stick to uhmms and ahhhs and crassnes.

They mistook his laid-back nature for passivity, his warmth for softness. But you knew better. Your Jack could be quite a wonder with words when he wanted to be. He didn’t need to be loud to command attention. He didn’t need to throw a punch to land a hit.

So you hang back and let him handle this one, finding comfort in the thought of his arms around you later, his breath warm against your ear as you danced the rest of the night away.

“Listen, buddy,” Jack continues, stepping closer. His tone is light, almost conversational, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “You don’t talk to anyone like that. You definitely don’t get to talk to her like that. You hear me?”

“God, c’mon, man! No need to get all—”

“I already told you to shut up.” Jack’s scowl deepens. His words are slow, deliberate. “The fact that she was polite enough to give you the slightest bit of attention doesn’t mean she was hitting on you. Whatever you thought was going on tonight? Not an invitation.”

Dave—Dino? Derek?—opens his mouth, probably to dig himself into an even deeper hole, but stops when Jack leans in slightly, just enough to make his presence feel heavier. Like a storm cloud about to break.

“She’s kind,” Jack says, voice quieter now, deadlier. “So she tolerated you. But she doesn’t owe you a fucking thing.”

The last of Dave’s bravado starts to crumble. His shoulders inch inward, his gaze flickering around the booth, searching for an exit, for reinforcements—for anything that might save him from this moment.

Jack watches him for a second longer, then exhales sharply, like he’s already bored. “You think being desperate and cocky gets you the girl,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need any of that to keep her by my side.” His fingers brush against yours, finding their place like they always do. “And we don’t need to waste any more time entertaining douchebags like you.”

Jack steps back, his hand sliding fully into yours as he finally tears his gaze from Daniel? Don?—who cares?—and looks at you instead. The shift is immediate, his features easing, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something familiar. Something yours.

“Let’s go, babe,” he says simply, his voice lighter now, more like himself.

And just like that, the moment is over.

As you stand, letting Jack guide you away from the booth, you hear Dave mutter something under his breath—something weak and defensive that doesn’t deserve acknowledgment. It’s the kind of parting shot people throw out when they know they’ve lost. Neither of you glance back.

The music swells around you, the bass thrumming beneath your feet, but Jack doesn’t lead you straight to the dance floor. Instead, he pulls you toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd, where the lights are dimmer, the world a little smaller.

He exhales, then wordlessly nestles his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp. He sighs at the touch, his arms slipping around your waist as he lets himself melt into you for just a moment. You press a soft kiss to his hair, breathing him in, grounding both of you in something steady, something real.

After a beat, he tilts his head up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. “Did I go overboard?”

You roll your eyes fondly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You were absolutely perfect,” you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His grin widens, boyish and bright, and just like that, the weight of the night lifts. He tugs you closer, his arm tightening around your waist as he starts to sway you to the music. You laugh as he spins you unexpectedly, sneaking in kisses between the DJ’s transitions, his lips catching your temple, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder.

The man who bothered you is forgotten. The tension, the sharp edges of the night—gone.

All that’s left is this. You and him and the music. The warmth of his hands on you, the sound of your laughter melting together, the rest of the world fading into nothing.

[astrcmoni]

just woke up and y’all already pissing me off. i understand that everyone is still upset from the grammys last night, rightfully so, but do not make her personal sadness your comfort.

you can crash out, you can feel some type of way but don’t make it about yourself because you as an individual are not affected by this situation neither positively or negatively. none of us are.

yall do shit like that along with spreading around the images of her crying and then wonder why she doesn’t like to post shit anymore. cause yall do bullshit like that. who the fuck wants to see themselves on the internet crying after not winning a single award for their most rawest and passionate project yet, it’s already being televised live, and after the internet dragged you for your new cut and fit. nobody wants to see that.

this goes for everyone too and i really don’t care if she’s going to see it or not it’s still odd. that’s like saying ‘oh someone just shot billie’s grandpa or someone just burned her house down….make something to where we comfort her through that’…. (just an example cause this ain’t the first time i seen this bs😒)

are you going to heal her grandpa or build her a new house in real life? no, you won’t cause you can’t. like i stated earlier its perfectly okay to be upset on her behalf but this will never hit hard for you like it does her and her brother. they put their entire being, time, efforts, money and so much more into this album. as a community we need to step back, go back to your regularly scheduled program. cause these awards are not definitive to her as an artist nor as a person.

let their loss be what it is and give them the room to handle it and deal with it gracefully.

once again this goes towards everything i’ve been seeing since last night, these are just some examples, no one in specific. but if you feel like this applies to you and the shoe fits, you better wear it.

[malevoreenthusiast]

Parasocial Predator

Hey all! Had this idea earlier and quickly wrote this out. The celebrity I used is Alec Benjamin (a pop artist you should definitely check out), but they’re really interchangeable with any other celebrity. As always, send any requests you may have and let me know how I can improve! Enjoy.

The first thing I need to get out of the way is that in no way is this a parasocial relationship. Alec knows who I am: he’s liked my comments on his posts, I met him at a meet and greet once, and he’s seen me drive through his neighborhood a couple of times when I make sure he stays safe. One time, Alec even responded to one of my comments on Instagram with, “I love you, thanks for the support!” which validates that, in fact, this is a very real relationship that Alec and I have forged over the past several years. He knows who I am—his number one fan—and I know he loves me. Unfortunately, as a celebrity, he can’t show that, so that brings us to today. My plan, which will go off without a hitch, is to meet Alec in his tour bus in order to charm him and finally get together with him.

I’ve followed him on tour, eventually picking out his tour buses on the road and the one in which he stayed after several weeks. It was early afternoon, and he was supposed to perform tonight at a sold out show. He was such a rockstar. That’ll be the second thing I do: congratulate him for being so great. First though, I wanted to ask which of his songs I’ve inspired because I can think of at least ten. He really is such a charmer. A huge portion of the fanbase doesn’t deserve to listen to him and how great he is, which is really unfortunate because Alec is too nice to tell them otherwise. Still, I’ve got a plan to sweep him off his feet and have us be together forever.

I waited quietly in the back of the bus. Alec and his team had stopped at a rest stop somewhere off a highway to go to the bathroom and get snacks and stretch their legs before finishing the journey. This absence from the bus meant that I could easily sneak on when nobody was looking. Honestly, I think Alec knew I would be coming because he left his sweatshirt for me on the seat of the bus. I put it on and took a deep whiff, smelling him so purely that I sighed in deep, deep pleasure. I got lost in his scent so much that I didn’t even notice Alec get back on the bus before anyone else.

“Who are you?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice. I knew he was cheeky, but playing this hard to get so early? Come on, sweetie, you can do better than that!

“Alec!” I bellowed and raced towards him in a hug. “It’s good to see you, gosh, you look so much better in person up-close,” I brushed his hair back and held him close to me. He gave me a wide-eyed look, probably in shock because he didn’t expect to meet me so soon. I get it, though, and I wasn’t going to hold it against him. I would be at a loss for words too if I had suddenly met the love of my life on the tour bus.

I positioned myself at the entrance to the bus so nobody could get in and come between us. Alec’s eyes shifted out the curtained windows, most likely making sure that nobody would see us in this illicit relationship. All of Alec’s trashy fans would probably get too jealous, so it only makes sense that he would make sure that no one else was around who could witness this. The next thing he did was somewhat confusing, but he brought out his phone and dialed a number. I could see he was shaking a little, and my fierce protectiveness for Alec kicked in. I strode up quickly to my beloved and snatched the phone out of his hand. He was calling his security (probably to make sure no one attacked us while we were in here), and he was scared as a lamb! 

“Oh, Alec,” I hugged him tight, smelling him more closely now, “it’s okay, let me take care of you. Here, I have just the thing.”

Now, before I tell you what I was about to do, let me explain myself. Alec is an amazing singer/songwriter, and the world doesn’t appreciate him as well as I do. Alec is also on the smaller side, so many dangerous things could hurt him and impact his ability to do what he most loves after me: music. To this end, I thought: “what better way to protect my love than keep him close to me at all times?” So, on that thought, I kissed him softly on the mouth and stretched my jaw over and around his head. He instantly started wildly thrashing, probably because my baby was excited to be in my stomach. I gulped heavily, bunching his shoulders up and sending them down my gullet. I could feel him yell with what I assumed was pleasure and excitement at being in his new boyfriend’s belly. My saliva soaked through his clothes, as admittedly, I had been wanting to do this for several years now, ever since I first saw him in concert. Now that my dreams had come true and he wanted to be in a relationship with me, I could finally do this! I swallowed again, sending Alec’s small torso down into my mouth. He really wasn’t that big (which is why he needed someone larger than him—me—to protect him), but he fit perfectly in my gut. I could already feel his head and shoulders spill into my stomach chamber, which felt really nice. Alec was wriggling already from the inside of my gut, unable to keep his excitement in, most likely. I choked down more of him quickly, as the position he was in was probably making some blood rush towards his head, and I was not going to facilitate any misfortune upon my sweet angel of a boyfriend. Slurping up his legs like noodles, I took off Alec’s shoes and gulped the rest of the singer into my stomach. It ballooned out heavily, but my six pack was something I was more than okay with parting with if it meant I got to be next to Alec at all times of the day. Alec’s sweatshirt clung on to my chest, but my belly was now far too big to be contained by the piece of clothing. Still, I wore it happily, knowing it was a gift from Alec.

“What are you doing?” Alec shouted from inside. “Let me go! Please!” 

I rubbed my belly and wore a pained expression. My sweet angel didn’t realize that this was for the best for him right now. Even though Alec was squirming around, making the heft of my gut sway and wobble slightly, I couldn’t help but notice how wonderfully he looked attached to my middle. Though, all of his movements were kicking up a lot of gas.

BBBUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPP “---Sweetheart, please,” I chided. “Calm down in there. Let’s get you back home, okay?”

Some of you may believe that moving in together this soon is a little crazy, and to that I’d simply tell you that you don’t understand the bond Alec and I share. We’re (quite literally) inseparable. I got back into my car that I used to follow him on the road, and, somewhat uncomfortably, I maneuvered around my seat until my belly wasn't pressing up against the steering wheel. This would probably have to be how I drove from now on, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Love is full of sacrifices, you know. I spoke to Alec softly on the way home, asking him about his life so far, childhood memories, and all of the mundane, beautiful things about living. He seemed reluctant to answer, but I chalked that up to him being tired from a long day. Now that he was in my warm, comforting belly though, he would be able to rest peacefully and sleep as much as he wanted. 

Along the drive home, I bought some McDonalds, which wasn’t the healthiest for my baby, but on the road, you make do. I swallowed a few of the burgers whole, wrapper and all so Alec could have some dinner in his own tummy while I had mine already in there. Thinking about it now, it would be a little uncomfortable for Alec to be with me while I digested my other food (that’s what happened with my old roommate. He didn’t want Alec living with us, so he had to go), but again, love requires sacrifices. My belly was really noisy with the sounds of gurgling and churning, but I knew Alec wouldn’t digest. Still, that didn’t mean my belly didn’t want to assimilate him into my body. He was simply too important to digest, though. An idle hand rubbed my boyfriend-filled belly for the rest of the night-ride home with pure love and affection.

Getting back to my apartment, I undressed and flopped onto bed with Alec. The movement jostled my stomach heavily, waking him back up. I think he was having a bad dream about being captive and kidnapped, which frightened me tremendously, but that is precisely why Alec is safer in my stomach than the real world. People are crazy out there, and it could’ve easily happened to Alec. I rubbed my belly soothingly and told him time and time again that this was where he belonged, that I would treat him right, and no harm would come to him. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep, kissing my own belly and looking forward to Alec and I’s new life together.

[contamination-zone]

What do you think will happen if Fresh needs a host desperately or else he will die and the only one near by is CB?

Would he take them as a host or will he just die?

maybe I wasn't clean in that last ask? [this one] but yeah, the only reason Fresh Didn't eat CB when they first met was that CB has a lot of connections to the void, as in, soaked in it. Actively food poisoning, Fresh couldn't eat him if it tried. It would only kill him faster.

Some yipping about the hows and whys of Fresh and CB's friendship + more general thoughts on how Fresh would be friends with anyone at all. which I think...? I can add to this post? feels congruent. to me.

There are a few criteria I go through if I'm seriously figuring out how to write Fresh being friends with someone. If I can't figure something out for all of these, I have to make excuses and stuff and it really just gets out of hand/starts feeling contrived.

1.) why fresh wouldn't just eat them: - explained by the aforementioned stuff earlier.

2.) what does fresh Gain from a relationship: -Cb is a Little Guy, [popular trope to have big monster and little dude, so Fresh thought it would be good to drag him along [after a bit of convincing by CB]]

3.) why didn't fresh freak out and kill them / distance himself / whatever, once he figured out he found he liked them [I talk further at the end too***]: -CB operates on cartoon logic [part void part just how his au works to me], so there would be... a lot of comedic near-misses as Fresh tried to kill him but failed. [I do have an emotional moment where stuff winds down and Fresh has the opportunity to stick a bone thought cb's back, ala. pacifrisk reference, but is unable to go through with it as well. because. its cute :-)]

so!! yep. Fresh is stuck with that little freak </3

***usually in canon I see this as... characters like pacifrisk, who were very, determined? very willful about being friends. Fresh could not push them away, no matter how hard he tried.

A normal sans like characters I don't think have the will-power to do something like that... to make friends with a murderer. Like how sans reacted to the anomaly, he didn't try to befriend you after a bit, he just tried to get you to give up. Papyrus could make friends with Fresh, believing him able to get better, I just think Sans would be too cynical the vast majority of the time. [I think... that is a bit mean to say, because he felt bad for the anomaly at one point. but in the genocide route, even when he tries to appeal to you [if you really were his friend], its all in service of making you give up. He doesn't really think you could be friends at that point, he's grasping at straws, nearly given up.]

Characters who either gain a Lot by Keeping fresh around them [how nightmare falls into this for me] or characters who care very deeply about and would keep pushing no matter how desperately Fresh tries to distance himself. [color :-)]

[note! I am very nervous about my analysis, so I will not take critique on this. I will block you. sorry!!! fragile state in my life✌️]

[lsunstreakerl]

definitely going to be posting more on this particular avenue because I think it's horrid and interesting, but until then- 1.5k words, max POV: discipline

HELLO still darkbull! mature themes and content and all that.

Max is fuming as he gets out of the car, fingers angrily yanking at the straps of his helmet. They keep skating over the latches, fucking missing, and Max is-

Max is so pissed off. He waves off GP, and he knows that it's rude, but he doesn't want to snap at him, doesn't want to take his anger out on the team again- even if they maybe deserve it.

He finally gets his helmet off, chucking it into the corner of his drivers room as he tugs at the strap of his racesuit across his neck.

Everything is hot and sticky, and the car won't fucking drive. Max feels like his entire body is slick with sweat as he peels his suit off, and he can't bring himself to feel bad yet, but he'd snapped over the radio earlier, pissy and annoyed.

It's his right, as a driver, but he hasn't been that bad for a few years. The team wasn't expecting it.

He wants to shower, and he wants the car to work, and he wants the team to listen when he tells them there's a fucking problem-

Two of those problems he can't solve. The first he can handle when they get back to the hotel, but he still has media and debriefs, and he'll probably fall asleep after the debrief and forget to shower, and then he'll feel worse when he wakes up.

There's no winning. Not in his choices, certainly not in this race, and probably not the fucking championship either. He's mathematically in it still, but-

It's not happening.

Max clenches his jaw so hard he hears something pop when his door slides open. He's still pissed off, standing in his drivers room, and he doesn't even have pants on yet, just his boxers and one sock, so if it's someone here to tell him to behave better he's going to lose it.

"What."

It comes out snappish, which is exactly how Max is feeling anyways. He drags a hand through his hair, bracelets clinking together on his wrist.

Christian steps in. He's holding Max's water bottle and a damp towel, and if it's a cold towel Max might actually start forgiving the team here and now.

"You left your water outside."

He passes the towel to Max, and it's ice cold- feels so good against his overheated skin that Max just holds it to his face for a moment.

He lets out a low groan, trying to get rid of the anger. It's still there, simmering in his gut, but already- he needs to apologize to the pit crew, probably. In a week or two.

Christian huffs a laugh, holding the water bottle towards Max.

"Thought you might like that. Jake put some electrolytes in your water since you didn't drink enough during the race, so make sure you finish it please. I took you off the presser."

Max lowers the towel finally, looking at Christian in surprise. He thought for sure he'd have to do the press conference.

He finally grabs the bottle, taking a few long sips as he starts running the towel across his arms, trying to get rid of the sweat.

Christian has a point that Max probably should have drank more in the race, but he just didn't think about it. At a circuit as hot as this one he should know better.

He feels marginally better once he's wiped down, or at least less like he's going to fly off the handle if someone breaths at him wrong.

The towel gets dropped onto the bench, and Christian passes him a bundle of clothes, not looking up from his phone.

Max eyes the clothes, a soft shirt, sweatpants, fresh socks, and boxers. It's not teamkit, which means he might not have to do the debrief either- might be able to go straight back to the hotel.

He still waits until he's dressed again to ask Christian about it, pulling his necklace out from under his shirt collar as he speaks.

"Are we debriefing?"

Christian finally looks up from his phone, eyes briefly skating down Max, cataloging that he's changed completely.

"No. Straight back to the hotel for you."

There's the tiniest bit of edge to his voice, and already Max is starting to feel bad, guilt creeping in on the edges of his emotions.

"Christian-"

Christian cuts him off with a sigh, tucking his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms.

"You can apologize to the team tomorrow, Max."

Max shifts on his feet.

"What about apologizing to you?"

Christian's shoulders slump slightly, and he uncrosses his arms, spreading them.

"Come on then."

Max takes a few steps forward and wraps Christian into a hug. He doesn't quite envelop Max anymore like he had when he was younger, but it's still one of the safest places Max can think of, tucked between Christian's arms.

"You were shitty to the team."

Max is well aware.

"I will apologize. I really am sorry."

Christian brings one hand up to spread across the back of Max's neck, palm pushing the chain of his necklace into his skin. His fingers curl around the side of his neck, the tips of them pressing slightly into the front of his throat.

Max breaths out a soft sigh as Christian squeezes lightly.

"For what?"

Max hates this game- the one where he fucks up and has to admit it more than once. It's for 'team cohesion' or something. He still thinks it's humiliating.

He lets the weight of Christians hand settle him, heavy where it's resting. It's grounding.

"For snapping over the radio."

Christian hums.

"And?"

Max's lips twist into a frown.

"Not talking to GP about it."

That's the crux of the issue here- when Max has a problem, he's supposed to go to Gianpiero about it. Preferably before it gets to the point where he's snapping down the radio, and he hadn't done that today- had tried to drive through it instead, letting the frustration build up.

To then go and brush GP off when he was getting out of the car- Max has fucked up here.

Christian squeezes his neck again before letting go, stepping away.

"That's right. Take some time at the hotel to cool down, and we're having a team dinner later. You can apologize to GP tonight, everyone else tomorrow."

Max nods, feeling chastised.

Christian sighs again before reaching forward, tugging lightly at Max's necklace so he looks up at him.

"It's okay, Max."

Max gives a thin smile and nods. He knows it will be okay, but he hates when the team is upset with him.

Max snags his water as Christian turns and leaves, and he falls into step behind him, taking a few more sips. It tastes a bit off, but Christian had mentioned Jake put electrolytes in it- it's probably that.

------

Johnathan is laughing about something with Daniel across the table from Max, but he can't quite follow the thread of the conversation. Hasn't really be able to follow it since they got to the private room at the restaurant, but especially not now.

Max looks back down at his plate. He's not sure how long he's been loosely holding a fork in his right hand, or even what he'd had- it looks like a half eaten portion of pasta, but he can't quite remember what kind.

He leans slightly to his right, shoulder lightly bumping GP's.

"GP? Do you know what I ordered?"

"Aw, Max."

GP half turns, resting his arm across Max's shoulders and tugging him close.

"Can't remember?"

Max frowns. He should be able to, he knows that, but-

He always gets so twisted in knots when he's upset the team, and it seeps into his brain, practically turns him into a different person. He hates when it happens. It makes him feel stupid.

"Don't tease, GP."

His voice comes out a bit whinier than he means for it to, and GP gives him a quick squeeze and a smile.

"Sorry Max. You know it's only out of fun."

Max feels a hand settle across the top of his left thigh, broad and hot, and he turns his head to meet Carlos's warm gaze.

"You got the salmon fettuccine."

Oh. That sounds right. Max leans slightly into Carlos's side, resting his head onto his shoulder.

"Thank you."

Carlos drops a kiss into Max's hair, dragging his hand up the inside of his thigh and brushing over his hip before it's gone, and Max can't help the soft noise he makes. He wants the feeling back.

Carlos is chuckling low at him, lips brushing against his hairline.

"We're still at the restaurant, remember?"

Max fights to wrestle back control of his thoughts, but it's hard- like trying to catch smoke in his hands.

Restaurant. Team dinner.

He looks down at his plate- he can't quite remember what he was eating.

Max turns to look at GP on his right. GP will know- GP always knows.

"GP? Do you know what I ordered?"

GP smiles fondly at him.

"Oh Max. Can't remember?"

[thegildedbee]

{S1/S2} & {S3/S4} Fics: [Questions] .......................................................................

[well, instead of a few thoughts about the "whys" for the Parentlock fic recs that were the point of starting this post, and then a list of and comments about the recs, this turned into a longer meta -- which, we don't really do meta any more, do we, except in passing? fwiw, then, a throwback post, I guess?]

........................................................................................................... I've been thinking some about differences in Sherlockian fic treatments, when comparing the S1/S2 period to the S3/S4 period - in general, this means 2014 as a dividing line, although that's not a hard-and-fast cut-off point: for example, there were fics that were conceptualized or well-along-the-wip-road prior to S3 that carried on from within the earlier canon-space even if they were completed a year or so later; and there were fic authors who were publishing circa 2015 who had shrugged off S3 when it was being aired, and couldn't have cared less about post-S3 [often disputatious] meta discussions/ speculations.* So, by my figuring, 2014-2015 is a transitional phase, with my guess being that it would be late in 2015 when fics written by authors engaging with S3 canon began merging into a critical mass, creating a second, S1/2/3-transformed foundational reference point for many fics going forward -- and, the later in time one ventures, the reference point for most fics.

It's not that I've been wondering/pondering about the differences because I think pre- or post-S3 fics are better or worse -- to say the least :-) I feel positively about fic from both time periods! It's partly curiosity about the writing of fic in the two different creative contexts: in the "before time" or the "after time" of BBCS' post-Reichenbach canon decisions. And it's also partly curiosity about the differences in length that now exist for the two periods: about 4 years for pre-S3 fic -- which will always remain so, along with the amount of fic it contains [minus deletions and disappearances of specific fic] -- and going on 11 years now (and always stretching further, with increasing content) for post-S3 fic.

I think that one impulse prompting my curiosity is the fact that, realistically, at this point in time [the start of 2025] new canon is unlikely to appear. When BBCS was still in motion as an evolving source for its own canon (in actuality and in potentia), fics were brought to life within a contingent canonical landscape (whether authors were adapting to it or subverting it or anticipating it or transforming it or appropriating it or moving at tangents to it). Of course, the canonical landscape was rendered static when BBCS pulled over to the side of the motorway and killed the engine.

What I'm not saying is that fic is in stasis -- it can't ever be, for lots of reasons! One reason is that, as time passes, the world changes, and we change, and what we see when we look at traditional canon changes . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A second reason is that new people come along to write fic and to comment on fic, and to meta about fic, and their contributions augment and reshape the cumulative corpus . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A third reason is that, through our encounters with other imaginative realms, old and new (novels and films and series and other enthusiasms) and then with each other, there's a continuous glamouring that shimmers the atmosphere . . . and so (say it again :-) the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) Even so, I've been a bit wistful these days about experiencing Sherlockian canon-in-the-making . . . which is maybe what's prompted me (?) to return to the ur-source, which, because it's been so long since I've visited there, can conjure up that kind of magic :-) And so I've been doing some weekly mini-wanderings through ACD canon, and reading between the lines in a kind of what's-old-is-new-again-familiar-unfamiliarity that's been rewarding :-) But more on point for this post (ha! if you've read this far you've been wondering, is there a point? . . . ) is a sense I have that re-visiting S1/S2 fic is another way of accessing a bit of a present-day sense of canon-in-the-making, because it is far enough in the past now, and because of the post-S3's-interpolated-foundation-for-fic has itself extended outward so far, that pre-S3 fic can be visited in a what's-old-is-new-again kind of way (S1/S2 has familiar beats to it, but when visiting I somehow feel whisperings of a mrs. hudson-like smile of "but we see things somewhat differently here, dear" :-)

Okay, enough with all the preliminaries! All that being said: So, what's an example? Here's one I've come back to many times: One major shift is in fics where Sherlock is a parent, or is interacting with a child of John's, because pre-S3 means pre-Mary [at least the "Mary the (former?) assassin" of BBC Sherlock] and pre-"Rosie." [It is the case that some pre-S3 authors have a "Mary," but it's a version that's drawn from ACD canon, and, as such, is usually a much more understated presence; re kids from ACD canon, that's a null consideration.]

There are an overwhelming number of post-S3 fics where Sherlock-with-a-child means Sherlock&John-and-Mary's-Rosie under various scenarios. And while there are lots of different Rosie personalities, Rosie plots, and Sherlockian encounters with Rosie, a majority (or very nearly all?) post-S3 Parentlock fics share in this background rationale (more or less, to be sure) even as they play out from there in a gazillion different inventive ways. Pre-S3 Parentlock fics don't have that raison d'etre, of course, and the child characters and plottings that feature in the S1/S2 period have a generally wilder set of imaginings, and their S1/S2 fic Sherlocks have a balance of characteristics that have some subtle differences that I've always found intriguing, and keep coming back to (this can hold for Johns as well, although the emphasis is more pronounced with Sherlocks). Being pulled back into pre-S3 fic and re-visiting it through categories like Parentlock has been another way that I've re-experienced a kind of anticipatory canon-in-the-making . . . ambience? aesthetic? aura? which I've found to be intriguing. I'm not sure that looking backwards has much appeal for others -- maybe (?) In any case, I guess I thought I'd try and puzzle it out for myself by writing it down and not just having it float about in wisps in my mind palace :-)

Well, hey now, as this is an epic amount of wandering about, I think it's time to come to a rather inelegant galumphing of an endpoint! Writing up the fic recs will have to maybe happen somewhere down the road...

(For anyone who has wandered along this far as well: if you have any thoughts you'd like to share about S1/S2 and S3/S4 fic partitioning, or [the futility of?] attempts to re-surface a canon-in-the-making-vibe -- feel free to add them in! If so, borrowing these would allow this post a much more inspiriting way to finish :-)

........................................................................................

*(. . . and of course there were a significant number of authors who left the fandom after S3 -- but that's a fic trend reflection for another day :-)

.......................................................................................

@calaisreno  @totallysilvergirl  @friday411  @peanitbear  @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels  @a-victorian-girl  @keirgreeneyes  @starrla89  @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely  @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @jobooksncoffee  @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat  @bluebellofbakerstreet  @dragonnan  @safedistancefrombeingsmart  @jolieblack

@msladysmith  @ninasnakie  @riversong912  @dapetty .............................................................................................

[nightwingsgypsyrep]

So I definitely feel like I will be adding to this post quite a bit, and this first addition is coming after @jjohnnyutah’s fantastic reply, which kinda summarised the history a bit more.

As I said earlier, I was really umming and aahing about making this post, because I’m still new to a lot of the comics, so this was really inspired by what I have been able to get my hands on (literally… I started out borrowing my friend’s comics last year) whilst I’m slowly making my way through what’s available online. As it is, you can probably see that I was able to read more of the modern stuff than the older stuff so far. I didn’t really want to make a post until I had read more but hey I’m adhd as hell and intended to just make a small one in reply to the tags and it spiralled from there. I did try to find some info of what I missed online but apparently that left out a lot! So this post is gonna have constant updates of me doing a DC and retconning stuff as I learn more.

So, anyway, jjohnnyutah’s reply addressed a couple of things. Firstly was Mary’s origin as a dental hygienist, rather than being from the circus herself originally. Can’t lie, I actually love this for her. Is it super unusual from a how-gypsies-work perspective? Sure. But like I say, a lot of my cousins are Diddakois, and I kinda love the idea of Mary coming into the fold, when just as often, the gypsy partner ends up leaving it. Of course, there’s nothing to say for sure that Mary did not have Romani ancestry (like I say, in the N52 modern stuff, she was friends with other Romani characters, so she wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the Romani sphere) - I, myself, am a gypsy with a degree, so it’s not exactly like getting a different job cancels your Gypsy Card. Although I do really love the idea of Mary being a gypsy and working as a dentist for the simple reason that, although attitudes to education have greatly improved in recent years, my family would have lost their shit if I got my degree twenty years ago, as it would have been seen as ruining my prospects. So from a feminist perspective, I really love the idea of Mary having at least some Romani heritage too.

The other is Dick not knowing much about his heritage and wanting to learn more, and let me tell you, I feel that. Even growing up surrounded by it, my dad’s side of the family never told me anything. I didn’t even get confirmation of how many siblings my grandmother had until she died. My mum’s side was much more forthcoming. Like I say, I’ve had a lot less opportunity to read the (let’s face it) better older stuff so seeing what I have of it, it seemed more of a given that Dick knew something. The reason for this presumption was mostly of how much Romani he’s seen to know even early on?? As I’ve said on previous posts, in the modern day, Romani is a lot less complete for actual use, so how much he knows is impressive. But yeah, this has just made me so much more excited to continue reading. But at the same time, fully expect another post from me six months from now when I’m more caught up calling myself an idiot. Ta x

Ok so I’ve been umming and ahhing about making this post for a while. I’ve always kinda planned on it, but seeing these tags on a previous post of mine (no hate to this user) made me want to post something now. It’s also gone 3am. So it’s not really going to be very clean and tidy, and will probably be a bit rambling, but I can always post a ‘tidy’ version another time.

So! Tackling Dick Grayson’s Romani/GRTSB heritage (warning: it’s a long one)

So, as usual, a few disclaimers: 1) I am not American. 2) I myself fall under the GRTSB umbrella - for clarity, I am from the fairground/circus so a Showman, but my family were simply ‘gypsies’ before getting involved in that in the Victorian period, so I use gypsy/traveller/Showman for myself. I also speak Romani and grew up in the culture and on the grounds. I’m not just talking out of my arse, I promise. 3) I do not pretend to have read every comic. However, this post will be based in things which DC have published (yeah I know it gets retconned every two minutes but hey, I’m working with it), even if some of it is more speculative/Headcanony, it will all be canon-compliant/what makes sense based on my own experiences. 4) That being said, everyone who does in some way fall under the GRTSB acronym will have different experiences and opinions, and all are equally valid and should be respected. 5) I use the term ‘gypsy’ a lot. Where I am from, it is not a slur, but is used almost a catch-all phrase for GRTSB people, by us. We also see Dick use it so I’m going to. I personally don’t mind if people use it (so long as they don’t use it as an insult) but not everyone will feel that way, so it’s always better to ask individuals. 6) this post is intended as a fun exploration of a character whom I relate to based on our shared heritage (when it’s really rare to find characters like that). I’m not trying to dictate to you how you should interpret Dick’s character. You’re welcome to different opinions and interpretations - this is just one of mine! :)

So, first, what is GRTSB? Well, it’s an acronym which covers all aspects of the gypsy/traveller umbrella. It is used in British legislation. It stands for Gypsy Romani Traveller Showman (aka fairground and circus) Boater. Under British legislation, only the first three (Gypsies, Romani, and Travellers) are considered an ethnic identity, whilst Showmen and Boaters are considered a cultural identity.

This is absolutely FULL of problems and has been hotly debated for years, with different people identifying in different ways. People who share the same/very similar ethnic heritage (i.e. siblings, or cousins) can have completely different points of view on what they identify as. As such, don’t take it as gospel - it’s more of a guideline than anything. Especially since a) these groups often intermarry, meaning that someone can be multiple at once; b) if a Showman stops travelling with the fair and settles, they don’t become a non-traveller, because it’s in your blood, not just a job; c) people can trace their heritage back past a particular group - e.g. my own family (circus and fairgrounds aka Showmen) can be traced back to at least the 1600s, before fairs were really a thing - at the time, they simply identified as gypsies. They didn’t stop being gypsies just because they changed their job/founded a circus/fairground. As such, many in my family identify primarily as a gypsy or traveller, and a Showman secondarily, whilst others do the opposite, or identify as just a Showman or just a traveller/gypsy. Like I say, this classification is not perfect, and is hotly debated, especially at the present time.

So, now, onto the subject of Dick Grayson. I included the tags above mostly because of the ‘tell me you don’t know a character without telling me you don’t know a character’, because, firstly, rude. secondly, the poster makes reference to the Golden Age. And yeah, obviously DC aren’t going to make reference to Dick being a gypsy in the Golden Age - do you really expect writers in the 40s to care enough about the nuances of a character’s ethnic heritage, especially a gypsy, at a time when it was still common even in countries like England (where legal segregation wasn’t a thing) to have signs on pubs like ‘no blacks, no Irish, no dogs, no gypsies’ - btw we still get those occasionally? However, if we look at the comics which have been published in the eighty five years since Dick’s debut, we see a lot of references to Dick having Romani/GRTSB heritage. Again, I’m not well read, but in Grayson’s run, at least, we do see Dick speaking Romani and self-identifying as a gypsy (Nightwing #91 btw). So I’m sorry but it is definitely canon that Dick has at least some Romani heritage (since Romani, by culture, is not taught to non-travellers on purpose, and is thus only passed down from parent to child. Hell, even some of my cousins who are half gypsy - Diddakois - don’t know the language!), and the fact that he speaks it and IDs as a gypsy does suggest that this is something important to him and his character. I know that being a gypsy is certainly a big thing to me (with how the world treats us, you have to be proud of it and have it be important to you to make it worth it).

So now we come onto the second part of my rant: wtf is going on with Haly’s Circus.

So, an important bit of context is, what makes a gypsy a gypsy? And the answer to that, in my opinion, is a mix between culture and blood. You can’t be a gypsy (unless in circumstances like adoption) unless you have both. What I mean by that is, if you’ve got one gypsy great great great grandparent, but weren’t bought up with the culture and morals, you have gypsy heritage but are not a gypsy. However, if you are a gypsy and you decide to settle down in a house, work in an office, and never speak Romani again, you are still a gypsy. Similarly, if you suddenly decide to take on the gypsy lifestyle (maybe work on the fairgrounds or in the circus, or go travelling like the New Age lot), you are not a gypsy, because it’s not in your blood - hence why it’s an ethnicity, not a cultural thing really. As such, it is common for there to be a us vs them mentality even with those working on the ground - you have the gypsy/traveller/Showman who tends to own/run things, and then you have hired non-GRTSB staff (traditionally called chaps, but this has fell out of fashion in recent years).

Now, I make this distinction because Haly’s Circus is really odd in that regard.

Most gypsy (or Showmen - like I say, it can be both at the same time) ran circuses and fairs tend to be family affairs. For example, it might be John Doe’s Circus on the tin, but the Smith family (which Mr Doe’s sister married into) will often work with and alongside the Does in the running and operating of the events. Largely, this is on an ownership level, with various relations then owning the surrounding supporting elements (e.g. sideshows, fairground rides and joints, food kiosks). Other family members might then help ‘mind’ the stuff, or you can hire non-GRTSB staff to help.

Now to draw on my own family history: historically, in the Victorian period, etc, it was common for the gypsy family who owned the circus to also perform in it. For example, in my grandfather’s circus, my grandmother was a lion tamer and equestrian performer in parades. They did also hire non-traveller performers, but there wasn’t such a distinct line. However, by the 30s approximately, this had changed to be a more managerial role, with it being more common to have purely hired performers in the main event. The exception here was for sideshows and fairground rides - it is still common today for these to be ran/worked by GRTSB people (e.g. my grandmother did the dookering - fortune telling - and my grandfather did the boxing; today, we still run and operate the rides and kiosks).

However, we know that Haly’s circus was not like that. We honestly don’t know if Haly was a gypsy or not. Also, usually, gypsies have such big families and are surrounded by them, but we know that the Graysons died with no living family (no William Cobb does not count here) and had no relation to anyone at Haly’s. I suppose if you want a canon answer, you could point to how Haly’s was used by the Court of Owls, but it could just be Like That. This is unusual but not unheard of, but still worth pointing out I think. Alternatively, it could originate from one of the non-GRTSB started circuses which were popular around the turn of the 20th century. Since being a gypsy is really tied to your family name and, ethnically, means you have to be born into it - you can’t just start a fair and claim to be one-, even 120 years later, these families are still met with scepticism - they could marry into a 100% gypsy family in 1901, and have all of their descendants do the same, and still the older generation would look at their surname and scoff and say they’re not a real traveller because that one great grandfather 100 years ago was not a born-and-bred traveller. But honestly, I think 100 years is enough to integrate. So, to summarise, Haly’s circus is quite unusual in that it does not appear to be operated by only gypsies/Showmen, even if it still common for circuses not to be performed in by just gypsies.

Now, to answer, how Romani is Dick Grayson?

Like I say, canon does explicitly tell us that he has Romani heritage, placing him firmly within that second category of the GRTSB acronym (and he also identifies with the more general Gypsy identity). However, it’s frankly unlikely that the writers really went in depth with the whole GRTSB thing, so I think we can tentatively suggest that he might have also identified (keyword here being ‘might’ - this is more canon-compliant HC here y’all) as a Showman (called a Carney in the US) because the whole deal with being a Showman is the circus/fairground aspect (but, like I say, it is still a ‘gypsy’ identity as you must be born a Showman, you can’t just sign up, because it is based on a mutual gypsy heritage which predates fairgrounds/circuses, which means it still fits into what we know of Dick in canon. As such, Dick being a Showman is hardly canon, but it is 100% compliant with what we know of Dick in canon). As I’ve said, they are not mutually exclusive. He could ID as both or either, or just prefer the all-encompassing ‘gypsy’.

Now, we also know that Dick is not 100% gypsy (but tbh who is nowadays? I have two non-gypsy great-great grandfathers). Although Dick’s family history is limited, we know that his great grandfather William Cobb was likely not a gypsy (he could be ethnically, it’s not ruled out, he might have just settled, but let’s go for safety’s sake here and just say he’s not). Similarly, his partner was from a wealthy non-gypsy family, meaning that ethnically, their baby (John Grayson’s father) was likely not a gypsy (though could potentially have been a Diddakoi aka a half-gypsy, if we believe William Cobb to be a settled gypsy). However, since this baby still grew up amongst the circus, it is not impossible that he ended up marrying a gypsy, which would make John Grayson half gypsy - aka a Diddakoi. In fact, I would argue that it is even likely, owing to the fact that Dick speaks Romani, and the fact that Romani is only taught to other members of the family, meaning that somewhere in the Grayson family, a Romani speaker had to be introduced. Mary Grayson (formerly Lloyd), on the other hand, probably was Romani/GRTSB herself. I say this, based mostly on her closeness with the OG Richard aka Raptor from Seeley’s run, who was Romani, and the fact that it is really common in gypsy circles to mostly mix with other gypsies, meaning that it would make sense for the pair to meet based on the fact that they were both gypsies/Romani. Therefore, I would argue that even if Dick is not wholly Romani/gypsy ethnically (but, like I say, who is nowadays?), I think there is enough both blood and culturally to make a pretty good case for him IDing as such, and foregoing the need to make any distinction. (Also, especially nowadays when Diddakois are increasingly more common, it’s not even that prejudiced to be a Diddakoi. A lot of my cousins are and you don’t even think to mention it). Aka. He’s a gypsy. Nuff said.

Then, I suppose, the final thing I’ll address is the ‘whitewashing’ issue, or, what I really think is a non-issue.

Sure, a lot of ethnically Romani people are dark skinned. There is a reason why the term gypsy exists. Now, as my grandad will tell you, gypsies originated from Northern India about 2000 years ago, before moving into Europe. However, a lot can happen in 2000 years. There are a lot of people in the UK, at least, who identify as purely Romani who have very pale skin. My family has a real split: my dad’s side of the family is quite dark, and are often mistaken for being South Asian in the summer due to how dark they get when they tan. Meanwhile, he refers to my mother’s side of the family as being ‘poxy and pasty’. My mother is a full-blooded traveller btw, same as my dad (barring their singular non-gypsy great grandad they each had). You just can’t paint everybody with the same brush. Take me for example: I am pale af and take after my mum’s side of the family, but I’ve still got the stereotypical dark curly hair and blue eyes of gypsies (which my boy also shares). Genetics are weird. So whilst I am a big fan of dark skinned Romani Dick Grayson, it’s also still ok and accurate for him to be paler. This does not make him any less Romani. (Like I say, this is all based on my experiences in the UK).

SOOO… TLDR:

Dick definitely has Romani heritage. This has been canon for decades and cannot be taken away from him.

He canonically self-IDs as a ‘gypsy’ (as well as the Romani heritage), and may also be interpreted as being a Showman (even if this is more of a European term) if you want to see him that way, especially since a lot of Showman families (mine included) can trace their families back past the origin of the fairground to when they simply identified as gypsies or Romani (hence why Dick might ID as a gypsy with Romani heritage. Honestly, this is mostly in the realm of canon-compliant Headcanon now)

The GRTSB classification system is a mess y’all and everyone has a different opinion. Just roll with it and don’t get into the debates is my professional opinion.

Being Romani/a gypsy/a traveller/a Showman is something you are born into. You can’t just become one, or stop being one. So, if we presume that William Cobb had no Romani heritage/was not a settled-down Gypsy, even after he joined Haly’s he did not become one. It really is in your blood, and is tied to family.

Haly’s circus is unusual because it’s mostly not a family affair (though points for the Graysons sticking with it and inheriting their roles - that is realistic!). It’s unclear how many of the members of the circus are Romani.

Dick also has non-traveller heritage due to the William Cobb thing. His grandfather, at least, was probably not ethnically Romani (though he might have been half if we want to view William Cobb as having Romani heritage/being a settled gypsy). However, since Dick canonically has Romani heritage, IDs as a gypsy, and speaks Romani (a language which is closely guarded amongst gypsies), it had to come in somewhere. Honestly, I think we can comfortably view him as being at least 3/4 ethnically Romani/a Gypsy, but also since modern Dick Grayson was not born during prohibition, this really isn’t a problem as it’s really common for Diddakois (half gypsies) to be treated as full gypsies nowadays.

As much as I love darker skinned Dick Grayson, it’s not a requirement. A lot of the GRTSB community (especially in Western Europe/Britain/Ireland) are on the pale side. This does not take away from their identity.

So that’s my rant. It’s like 3.30am so it’s probably a complete mess but hopefully it gets down the basics, at least insofar as it relates to my experiences and understanding as a gypsy from the fairground/a circus family. People will probably have different experiences (especially since I’m in the UK). Although I have based all of this on canon, and as such it should all be canon-compliant to my knowledge (I’ve still not read all the comics!), it is also equally based on my experiences, so you may interpret it completely differently. The beauty of Dick’s character is that he has been built up over 85 years, and as such, we have to do our best to interpret what was laid down in the Golden Age by writers with no idea of what Dick’s character would grow to be. As such, canon really is a bit of a sandbox, and this is my own go at it!

If anyone has any questions/wants clarification/notices any obvious contradictions with canon since I’ve not read them all yet, please feel free to point it out! This is not intended to be a lecture/call out post/dictatorship on how you view canon, just a small exploration of my interpretation of a character whom I relate to as a Romani speaking gypsy from the fairground/circus myself.

[chimivx]

gimme gimme gimme 4 -> mingi x fem!reader -> nice for what

wc: 9.9k warnings: 18+, sexual content and alcohol consumption in every part, infidelity themes... if i missed anything please let me know! posted: 2/2/25 12:30 pm est.

masterlist ~ <- previous part - next part ->

Standing in the middle of the dance floor, sweaty, drunk bodies bumping into you, you peer up from your phone and attempt to accept the fact that Aurora walked away from you. That she left you alone. That what you had done, or been caught doing, had upset her, had hurt her.

A conversation shared between you and Yunho, nothing more, not even a singular touch, a mere brush to a shoulder. You spoke words, you heard some you weren’t expecting to hear, he shared things with you that you should take directly to your boyfriend because it meant that maybe somehow, someway, their relationship was fixable.

He was over in the corner, where Aurora escaped to. They were all over there. You couldn’t see them over the crowd, the people dancing, but they were there. And you wished nothing more than to be able to walk out of here without any of them spotting you. Not one ounce of your being longed to push through the sea of bodies to join the group, but you knew you had to.

Mingi was over there, and you really should be the first one to tell him you spoke with Yunho. After what’s happened within the last few days you weren’t sure your relationship could withstand another hit before one wasn’t even fully patched up. You’d fix it. You would take the time to fix it, you had to talk to him, had to work it out, let him know that everything was good, that you two were okay, that everything would be alright, that you would make it through this, that it was you and him, Tori and Mingi.

Tears brimmed your eyes, but you blinked them away, tipping your chin up so they wouldn’t roll down your cheeks like one already had.

You took a peek at your phone screen and the message on it. Turning around, searching for Jongseob, he was still at the table with his friends. Continuing in a circle, twirling perfectly under the dim lights, you spotted the back of Yunho’s head still sitting at the bar. Locking your phone, you shoved it back into your purse and sighed. 

Whoever this was, you were going to catch them, for no reason other than to get rid of the feeling within you. The need to know. Whoever it was, they knew you, because your curiosity overwhelmed you.

Lurking back toward the corner, stepping around people too wrapped up in their own drama to pay attention to you, your arm grazed over Mingi’s where he stood at the end of the bar, his large frame leaning against it. The boys stood around him, Wooyoung, Yeosang, who gave you a wave, Seonghwa, Soul, Jongho, they all had a drink in their hands, even the twenty year old. Across from them, tucked away in the booth mere inches from where the boys stood, the girls squished together, and your stomach sunk. 

On the end, facing Jongho with her attention turned to Keni and Jeongyeon, Yuna sat with her legs crossed, her fingers tracing lines in the glass she acquired from the bar earlier, still half full. You’ve finished a whole other one by now. She smiled with Keni, nudging her arm as they spoke, doing her absolute best to make sure that the two newest within the group felt welcomed, felt like they belonged. Keni’s been around since the start of junior year, but her and Yeosang’s relationship was fresh, much like Yuna and Jongho’s, and Jongyeon and Ryujin, who had an Aurora under her arm at the other end of the rounded booth.

Appearing in the dim light, some of it flashing over you, Ryujin glanced your way, her brows in a straight line, her hand grasping Aurora’s arm tight. From beside you, Mingi watched, looking down at you, you could feel his eyes. He wanted you to look back at him, but there were more serious matters at hand. 

You needed to talk to Aurora before she told any of them.

You also had to come up with a better argument as to why you sat down next to him and talked to him.

Closure didn’t cut it, at least not with Aurora.

Truthfully, you didn’t even want the closure. You wanted things to go back to the way they were, Yunho should be over here, not at the bar by himself wallowing in miserableness while the rest of you laughed the night away without him.

“Here!” Jeongyeon shouted over the music, flinging her arm in front of Ryujin and Aurora, a phone in her hand. Both girls glanced at it. “It’s Isla,” she said, and they gasped at once.

Pulling her arm off of Aurora, Ryujin snatched her cell phone and opened the messages, typing back to her best friend. Yours smiled at the phone for a second, then fled to the safety of her apparent boyfriend's arms, using Seonghwa’s chest for leverage as she almost veered sideways on her way to Wooyoung’s outstretched hand that beckoned her closer.

The spot beside Ryujin was free, calling your name.

Peeking to your left, Mingi smiled at you, perking a questioning brow as the softness slowly bled into a sly smirk. Taking a breath, you gave him the smallest smile, then hurried into Ryujin’s side, bumping into her, making her bump into her girlfriend. 

Leaning towards her, trying to catch a glimpse at the screen, the messages they were sending that had everything to do with Vernon, or how she was doing, or what their travel was like, you bit down on your lip, and asked, “How’d you do it?”

Ryujin sent a message. “Do what?”

“Adjust,” you gestured to her phone.

She shot you a look, her round face incredibly confused beneath her piecey bangs. “To Vernon?”

“No,” you breathed through a laugh, then thought about it. “Maybe.” There’d been more to it than boyfriends, girlfriends, anything of that sort. “To all of it,” you said, meeting her gaze, “Her leaving, the way she left…”

“You think she’s adjusted?” Jeongyeon leaned toward you over her girlfriend's lap. Ryujin tipped her chin back, shook her head and laughed.

You wanted to smile, but it wouldn’t manifest. “So, it never ends?”

Ryujin scoffed, looking over at you. “It’s not that it never ends, it gets easier, you just gotta… Focus on what you do have.”

“And that happened with Isla?” you asked with a raise of your brows. “You focused on what you do have and you magically got over everything that happened to us?” Jeongyeon focused on her girlfriend, sliding an arm around her back to hold her while Ryujin studied you.

“What goes on Tor? Asking for a friend?” She attempted to read you, but you knew with Ryujin that it was hard for her to do that with any of you that weren’t Isla.

Rolling your eyes, you muttered, “Totally.”

She shook her head once. “I didn’t get over it, it sucks. I miss her every damn day, but she’s happy. She’s safe. Am I supposed to make her feel bad for doing what’s best for her just because I get sad that she’s not here?”

Her words struck you across the face. Keeping the feeling within you, not letting it leak outward, you frowned. “No, I just… I don’t know.”

“She’s sick,” Ryujin said in a way to back up what she said, not to insinuate that you didn’t know. Everyone knew. “I have to put that first. And, I can still talk to her whenever I want. I know she’s okay, she’s with Vernon, she’s with DK. Our time at Nasara with Isla is over, my time at Nasara is over, it’s time to move on.”

Your lips parted, and she waited patiently for you to speak. It took you a few seconds, but you managed to whisper, “What if I don’t wanna move on?”

She answered fast, like she somehow knew what you were going to say, her head jerking around with a sureness to it. “Personally, I don’t wanna stay stuck in a place that made me miserable. It’s cliche, but that chapter is closed. I have Jeongyeon, I have a job, I have you, I have them,” she gestured to the group in front of her, the girls beside her, “I gotta hold onto you guys, I can’t make it to the next step without you. So, yeah, I miss Isla, I miss last year, and the year before that, but if I want to feel better, I have to keep going. Gotta protect what I do have in front of me.” She held your heavy gaze, both of your eyes wide, full of genuinity. “If I stay stuck I risk losing it all. I’m willing to make sacrifices for the people I love.”

Gulping, attempting to swallow away your tears that threatened to spill over once again, you tore your eyes from her and glanced over to Mingi. Smiley Mingi resting against the bar, laughing with his friends, teasing one another, sipping their beers. He caught onto your gaze mid laugh, his grin faltering as he drank in your energy. Eyebrows nestling over his shining eyes, two fingers lifted off of the bottle he held and waved you over to him, your body listening without a second thought.

Melting into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, you laid your head on his chest. His heartbeat in your ear, something steady, something absolute, something real. Taking a step away from the boys with you in tow, he rested his cheek over your hair, his hands slow dancing over your back, smoothing over your arms, tickling then soothing your skin. 

But, I still care, Tori.

His words had made your head dizzy. The longer they stayed there, the worse they felt. You could easily get rid of them by looking up at your boyfriend and telling him, but you couldn’t explain yourself. Not yet. Pressed to his chest you looked over to your friends and sighed. Aurora watched you, her own head pressed to Wooyoung's shoulder, one of his fingers twirling around in her hair while he talked to Jongho. It didn’t kill you, her stare, but you couldn’t figure it out.

I still care.

[ITZ]: did u figure me out 

[you]: no, asshole.

[ITZ]: oh

[you]: how the fuck would i be able to figure you out

[ITZ]: thought it was obvious

[ITZ]: guess i have to try harder now

You slapped your phone down onto your bare thigh startling Yuna who lounged beside you, her legs tangled with your own. Head laid back on the stitched pillows, she groaned and tapped you with a pedicured foot, running her hand over her forehead.

Yeosang and Ryujin may or may not have forced you all into a rally last night soon after you rejoined the group.

Everyone’s here now! Go, go, go! You have to do it, we just graduated, we’re not coming back! Do it!

Yuna’s been a mess since the first round of shots.

“Cheers is a good time, we’ll go back,” Seonghwa’s voice carried into the living room from the kitchen, three of them puttering around in there, eating no doubt. Peering over the back of the sofa you spotted Soul rocking back and forth on his feet behind Seonghwa who faced Hongjoong, the former president in clothes you’d rarely see him in, a plain black t-shirt and shorts. 

Hongjoong had his body turned to Seonghwa, the two with a foot of space between them, their hands going in and out of the bag they snacked from at the same time. “There’s one on the beach called Wave,” he popped his brows, gaze locked on the boy that appeared a foot taller in front of him, “Have you gone there yet?”

Soul gasped, his hands slapping onto the counter. Both boys turned to him, smiles appearing on their faces. “I’ve been there! They won’t card you.”

Hongjoong tilted his head and gave Seonghwa a look. “Course they won’t,” he breathed, the two sharing a laugh. 

Soul beamed. “Me, Seob, Intak, Jiung.” Your nervous system jolted as you looked at him. “We’ve been there so many times, it’s a blacklight bar, it’s so dark, but it gets so hot, it’s kinda small, but so cool.”

Seonghwa gave him a soft smile. “So cool,” he repeated, and Soul nodded.

Then, he looked at you.

“Let’s go tonight,” you said as soon as he met your eyes. 

Yuna groaned from the pillows. “I can’t do another night out, Tor, not in a row.”

You painted your face bored, glaring down at her, one she didn’t see with her eyes screwed shut. “Come on, we should be going out! We’re here, let’s do it.”

Seonghwa hummed, his shoulders shrugging. “We have like two weeks left.”

You shifted your glare over to him and he seemed to match it. “I wanna go,” you said, peeking at Soul who now leaned over the counter on his elbows, watching you. “Soul wants to go.”

“Soul wants to go where?” Aurora asked, bouncing off of the last step of the stairs, sleep all over her face. Wooyoung, her shadow with the hood of his sweatshirt over his tousled waves, didn’t deter from the path written for him by her. 

But he did look at you. 

And it hurt.

“Wave, a bar on the beach,” Seonghwa spoke for the boy, following the couple with his eyes as they wandered through the kitchen, gave mediocre hello’s to Hongjoong and met Souls side.

Yuna tapped you with her foot, pulling your attention from the kitchen. She’d seen Wooyoung’s face. “What was that for?” she asked, brows pulled over her wide eyes. Appeasing her with a subtle shake of your head for now, you turned back to the kitchen. Aurora, at Souls side, nearly pressing herself against him, listened to him with a smile.

“Not just a bar…” He went on and on, and the world moved around him. Seonghwa and Hongjoong ate their snacks, Wooyoung slid an open water bottle in front of Aurora, Yuna watched Soul half impressed. It was the most half of you have probably heard him speak, ever. He spilled stories, moments in time that appeared to make him happy, stories of Jongseob and their friends, the four of them sneaking out of his parents beach house to get plastered under the neon lights half clothed because the air grew so warm. “Tori wants to go tonight,” he ended with a smile flashed in Wooyoung and Aurora’s direction, the two of them posted up on either side of him.

She looked at you, nothing on her face yet.

“San and Hongjoong did just get here, we could give them a night out,” she offered.

Yuna groaned, obnoxious and long. “I can’t do it again!” Her body jolted as she shook herself around, jostling yours with her. “Somebody agree with me, please!” 

You laughed, putting your hands over her ankles to calm her. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

“Maybe one night here won’t kill us,” Aurora said definitively, and all of the energy seemed to be sucked from the room. “We can do Wave another night.” Paralyzed in place, you whipped your head in her direction, instant steam pouring from your ears. As if she could see it, she mirrored your piercing glare. Wooyoung leaned into her, a whisper falling from his lips for only her to hear.

“Amen,” Yuna sighed, going still, relaxing back onto the sofa, her arms going limp off the edge of the cushions.

“Sure, okay,” you scoffed, and no one reacted. They all went about what they were doing before, snacking, sipping water, mumbling to each other, sharing small smiles. “Fuck me, let’s all just do what Aurora says.”

Yuna lifted her head, her lips parting, but no words came out. In the kitchen, Seonghwa paused, his eyes on you. In fact, everyone's eyes were on you, even Hongjoong, the tiniest smirk pulling at his lips.

Her eyes burned. If looks could kill you’d be a goner.

Regret filled your gut, your insides actively spinning in a circle, tangling together, squeezing and pulling.

She opened her mouth, her words like a knife cutting through the air that had grown thick in the worst way. “You can do whatever you want, Tori. You wanna go to Wave? Go to Wave. Free will, clearly you have plenty of it.”

Wooyoung moved behind her, an arm sliding around her front. “Okay,” he whispered, “No, no.” No one else moved, they either stared at you or Aurora, waiting for more. Without another word from her, she let Wooyoung walk her away, she let him hold her metaphorical earrings, ones he put back in by ushering her out of the room.

“What happened?” Yuna asked you within a whisper, sitting up on her elbows. You spared her half a glance before focusing on Soul.

“Oh, you guys have fun,” Hongjoong snickered with a shake of his head.

Souls gaze danced about the room before he said, “So, no Wave?” Seonghwa hit him across the shoulder and the boy cracked a laugh. “Right,” he breathed, then made it a point to look at you and shrug his gangly shoulders. 

The front door swung open and the room fell back to normal in an instant, Yuna sprawled on the couch, the boys in the kitchen chattering away. Leaving the door open behind them, their arms full of cardboard cases and trembling glass bottles, Mingi and Jongho strut through the living room and straight back into the kitchen, Jongho stopping by the couch first to greet his girlfriend, leaning over her to press a kiss to her forehead where she laid, boxes in hand and all. Mingi went to the kitchen.

“We found all they had,” he said to Seonghwa, cocking his head to the side. “They said they’ll have more next week.” Jongho met him at the counter, sliding his box next to Mingi’s.

“That’s fine,” Seonghwa shrugged, taking in what liquor they’ve bought, the beers that still rattled. “They take my card?” Mingi smiled, slid his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, and slapped the black card onto the marble. “Thanks,” Seonghwa nodded, placing it between his fingers.

While Mingi turned around to find you, Jongho unloaded the bottles one by one, the three in the kitchen falling into a discussion about what they found and where. Listening to him, Seonghwa handed the credit card to Hongjoong who reached for it, but as his tiny fingers grazed the edge of it, the eldest pulled it away and smirked, not even giving his former president a glance. Nodding along with Jongho, Seonghwa placed the card between his teeth and laughed as Hongjoong huffed and snatched it away, pulling out a thin wallet from his pocket to slide the card into.

Mingi, happy as clam, peered out into the living room and smiled at you. Hitting you with a wink, one that would normally make you giggle, he hurried over to your side and squatted down behind the couch, half of him still towering over it. Taking a second to read your face, the tension in your brows, he pouted.

“Something happen?”

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked softly, tilting his head ever so slightly. Narrowing your eyes at the question, at his need to question, he backtracked. “I mean, let’s talk about it.”

“Go help Jongho,” you whispered, gesturing to the boy unloading the bottles with your chin.

“Right,” Mingi mumbled, blinking fervently, “Okay, I’ll be back.”

Yuna screwed up her face and wiggled her feet. “How long have you guys been having problems?” Turning to her quickly, peeling your eyes from Mingi’s toned middle, you laughed to yourself. “I didn’t feel it till now. Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” you said, looking back into the kitchen at Soul now organizing beers in the fridge. He turned with focused brows to grab more, but looked at you first. He hesitated, smiled, then went on his way, grabbing onto bottles that Mingi set out for him. “You know his other friends are staying down the street? Jongseob has a house.”

Yuna blinked. “That sleazy blonde one?”

“He’s not… Okay, yeah.” Thoughts of last night haunted your brain. Sleazy wasn’t too far off.

“Did not know that,” Yuna muttered, dragging a finger over her eyebrows to soothe the ache you know was pounding them. “How do you know that?”

You eyed Seonghwa and Hongjoong, how they drew closer and closer together while the other three moved around the kitchen. “He was in Cheers last night, I talked to him.”

“The lowerclassmen are hilarious,” Yuna said. “Some of our girls are down here too. I don't wanna know what happens in that house.”

You shot her a smirk. “You know what’s happening in that house, we were them. Ror isn’t the only one who’s slept with more than one of them.” Laughing aloud, catching Jongho’s attention, the boy spinning around with a smile on his face, Yuna kicked you and the mention of her and San’s freshman year once upon a time.

“You should’ve seen Jongho’s face the last time that got brought up,” she sighed, both hands sliding over her face. “He gets so jealous, it’s so hot.”

Your eyes fell over Mingi. He’s never gotten jealous, only protective. Confronting Jongseob he would put him in his place, then leave it all be. He wouldn’t attach himself to you, get more clingy, or whine about you talking to him. Confident in himself, as he should be, Mingi never felt the need to prove himself if another guy came onto you, or flirted with you. He’d assert his dominance to the guy, then move on almost as if it had never happened, never acknowledging it again until there were repeat offences.

It’s not that you wanted Mingi to be jealous, you didn’t want that type of toxicity in your relationship regardless of how harmless it’d be, but something about your man doting on you a little extra to show how much he loved you wouldn’t hurt. 

Wooyoung and Aurora made their way back into the room, Aurora dragging him along by the hand behind her. The dynamic fascinated you as much as it frustrated you, how Wooyoung could go along with everything she wanted, everything she said, at the snap of her fingers. He listened to her, he knew what she needed before she knew she needed it. Always one step ahead though it appeared like she ran the show. He simply let her think that. He didn’t have to prove he knew something before her, he didn’t gloat when he tended to her, he didn’t show off for her sake.

That was what you and Mingi had, you think, at some point. You remember it, but instead of one step ahead the two of you walked in time, side by side. 

Now it felt as though every other day one of you was tiptoeing while the other ran marathons, sometimes not even in the same direction.

Taking a deep breath, standing to retreat to your bedroom, you unlocked your phone and opened your messages. No bars were happening tonight, you knew that much, no matter how much you’d fight it. Trailing up the stairs slowly, you typed out a message and hit send. Little to no remorse settling within you.

[you]: come over tonight.

Wobbling into a sophomores shoulder in the platform sandals Yuna wore to the bar last night, you ignored the kid's mumble of frustration and then his apology when he realized who he was speaking to. Or, trying to speak to. Glued to your phone, your nose nearly pressed to the screen, you grunted with frustration, mimicking the sophomore you bumped into.

No answer.

The phone number didn’t answer you. The person didn’t answer. The guy left you on delivered. He was smart too, he didn’t have his read receipts on. He didn’t have his location on. He was simply a number on a screen. For all you know you could be texting one of your professors, or worse, Seonghwa’s uncle.

Venturing into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge that had been ravaged for the last hour since the party started up, you reach for a can of fruity bubbles and crack it open, closing the fridge with your foot. Turning, you looked out into the living room over several heads to find more heads. Voices filled the space, some familiar and some unknown, the brothers and sisters of the fraternity and sorority bringing extra’s along since they could actually get into this party. 

Everyone in bathing suits or summer clothes, they radiated sunshine energy, a much different feeling than whatever got conjured up in the houses at Nasara. Dancing to the music, singing along, gossiping with friends, flirting with someone across the room, stealing spots on sofas to make out, it comforted you. This felt normal. It would be normal. It should be normal.

Your eyes wanted to find him. You wanted to lock gazes with him across the room and know.

You typed out a message after a gulp of your drink and sent it, whipping your head back up to scan the open space flooded with bodies.

[you]: are you here?

You waited. Meeting eyes with ample people you barely recognized, ones that recognized you, you didn’t stop scouring. If Jongseob was here, he’d be easy to spot, you’d just have to look for two boys sucking up to him and he’d be in between them. If Yunho was here, he’d also be easy to spot, you’d just have to look for a boy as tall as your boyfriend most likely standing alone.

Behind you, San and Wooyoung stepped into the kitchen, the two leaping off the stairs to the second floor bar where more hoards of people lingered. Peeking over your shoulder, you met San’s eyes, his pure, lust fueled, dark chocolate eyes. Wooyoung had an arm slung over his shoulder, his entire side pressing against the wider, stockier boy, speaking to him in whispers with his gaze fixed on San’s face. He didn’t care that he wasn’t looking at him, as long as he was grasping whatever Wooyoung said to him. 

A smirk grew on his lips, his perfect pink lips that sat perched on his smooth, cream colored skin. Snaking a hand up to hold beneath Wooyoung’s jaw, he turned to him and mumbled, “Find me in ten.” Wooyoung hurried off without sparing you a single glance, but he knew you were there. As soon as San released him he was off, disappearing into the crowd. 

Searching through the fridge, San emerged with a can in his hand, one he cracked open as he swaggered up to you, dressed exactly how you’d envision him to dress for tonight. Short, black trunks cut off halfway at his thigh and a matching button down hanging open, exposing his broad, toned chest and torso, one you guarantee has been felt up already by curious hands.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he said to you with a wink, throwing an arm around you, pulling you in for the tightest hug. Your arms wrapped around him, the boy a solid mass of muscle. Pulling away from you he took one hand to your cheek and squeezed it. “How are you?” he asked with a soft smile, dipping his chin down.

“I’m alright,” you said, and he hummed immediately in disapproval. 

“Mm, no you’re not,” he said. San and Wooyoung were parallels in the way they could read energy, both of them incredibly emotionally intelligent, both of them using it in their own way, San mostly for his own advantage. Lifting his eyes above your shoulder, to someone a few inches taller than himself, his smile grew. “What’s wrong with her, Mingi?”

Your boyfriend draped a hand over one of your shoulders, his fingers squeezing you ever so slightly. Giving him a quick look, his obvious unease forcing you to look back at San who watched you, Mingi said, “She wanted to go out tonight, but the party’s here.”

San’s eyes sparkled, his smirk one you’ve seen before, but never been on the receiving end of. “She needs an orgasm.”

“San!” you shouted, laughter erupting out of you as you stretched out your arms to give him a gentle push.

Smile growing, dimpling his cheeks, he said, “Go make her cum Mingi,” then he winked at you, “Or go rub one out for me and come back.”

“Bro,” Mingi spat.

“San!” you shouted again, bouncing your knees, reaching back to place your hand over Mingi’s. Trying to tangle your fingers with his, he pulled away, tucking his hand in his pocket.

“I’m kidding,” he said, looking between you and your boyfriend, “I’m busy anyway, I won’t be able to fit you in tonight.” Tapping you on the nose with his finger, he circled around you and threw a hand behind Mingi’s head, pulling him down easily, planting a sloppy kiss to his cheek just beside his lips. Pushing him away, jumping backward as much as he could’ve, but not with much persistence, Mingi wiped at his cheek and missed how San snickered as he walked off, head held high, chest puffed.

Spinning to face Mingi, you smiled up at him and said, “He was kidding by the way.”

“Did you tell him or something?”

Your stomach dropped. “No! I didn’t… I didn’t tell anyone.”

Mingi, a frown pulling at his lips, bobbed his head. “Right.”

Reaching out to grab onto his bicep, he glanced down at it. “Don’t let it bother you.”

“That doesn’t bother me,” he spat, flashing a glare your way, “That happens sometimes. I would understand, I would’ve done something else. You lied to me.”

Pressing your lips together tight, you took a breath and shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

He stared at you in disbelief, as if reliving the night. “You think I have sex with you just to get off?”

“No,” you said, rushed, “You don’t, we don’t-”

“You know what it means to me,” he said. “How important it is to me, I don’t care how pussy I sound right now, Tori, that’s me giving myself to you. That’s me loving you. That’s time when I can really show you just how much you mean to me, where I can tell you and show you how much I love you. I never did hook up culture, you know that… I can imagine it feels alot like that night, right?” 

Everything that came out of him, the absolute truth. Mingi didn’t spend his high school years like most, he found himself in relationships, long term, much like the one you shared with him now. He didn’t kiss and tell, he didn’t flaunt around about how many girls he’s slept with, that number wasn’t even high, when he shared it with you in the start of your time together you were shocked. He knew you were something special, something to hold onto, because from the beginning you’d both be diving head first into bed. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t feel anything, he wouldn’t have, like he said, given himself to you if he didn’t see you sticking around in his life long term.

“I love you, Mingi, I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Rolling his eyes, he pushed by you with a huff. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

A shorter than Mingi, scrawnier than Mingi looking sophomore or junior pushed him back toward you, but paid no mind to him, like your tower of a boyfriend didn’t exist. Edging the counter, posting himself directly in front of you, he wore a smile, one showing off his pristine, shining white teeth. They were fake. They weren’t his. They couldn’t have been.

“Hey, you’re Tori, aren’t you?” he laughed, keeping something to himself. Raising your brow at him, you shared a look with Mingi, but he didn’t reciprocate, he was focused on this boy. “Vice President of ITZ?”

“Yes,” you said, tone flatter than it’d be if you were talking to Jongseob in front of Mingi. “Can I help you?”

The boy checked you out, his eyes glazing over your body, your bikini peeking out of the lacey cover up you had slipped on over top of it. Mingi watched him do so, and you wanted ever so badly for him to grab you, to hold you, to get jealous.

“Seob told me all about you,” the boy said, blinking his crystal blue eyes toward you. “Guess he wasn’t lying.”

Cheeks flushing before they turned pink, you sighed heavily and tossed your hair over your shoulder. “He- He, what?”

“Get out of here,” Mingi grumbled. The boy jumped, your boyfriend's deep voice startling him.

Looking up at him, he tried to laugh. “Who are you?”

Mingi looked at you. You looked at Mingi. Rage brimmed his expression, the sheer mention of Jongseob’s name threatening to send him reeling. That and the fact that this kid didn’t know who he was speaking to. A very important member of ATZ. His eyes bore into yours, for too long, before you realized he wanted you to answer his question.

“M-my boyfriend,” you said, stuttering as you did. Mingi rolled his eyes. A wave of shame flooded your senses. You wanted to run. “His name is Mingi,” you tried to recover, “On the board of ATZ, you a member?” The boy eyed him, then shook his head toward you. “Then why are you here?”

He winked at you. “Jongseob brought me.”

He was here.

“Well, you can leave me alone now,” you said to him, glancing up at Mingi who stood around to hear the end. “And don’t tell him where I am.”

You were the first to turn around, the first to walk away. Leaving Mingi behind who walked away the second you left, you hurried through the crowd, drink in hand, gulping it down as you elbowed past groups and teetered over people on the floor. Jongseob had been running his mouth, to people you didn’t even know. Either that or his friends were telling their friends, which meant that other people besides you, Jongseob, Jiung and Intak knew what happened last night at Cheers. Other people knew what he said to you.

Other people knew what you didn’t choose to stop.

Your cheeks burned, your stomach lurched, the urge to vomit so strong out of pure panic, embarrassment, you couldn’t place it. Every wrong feeling one could feel, you held it in your chest, your shaking hands, your tipsy feet. Hands landing on the back door, you scrambled for the handle and tugged it open, the panels of glass becoming one to allow you outside onto the deck where people and couples lined the railings or sat on the cushions, joints or cigarettes passed around as you flew by, your platform sandals thumping on the stairs that led down to the sand.

A mile further and you’d be on the beach, but down here, on the sand behind the dunes, there lived a fire pit, one lit and burning just as hot as you were internally. Few people sat around it in beach chairs low in the sand, a couple lost in their own whispers, cuddled into one another, a pair of friends sharing a vape, and a loner with a beer in his hands.

Circling the bonfire, he looked up at you and you froze.

“Tori?”

“Yunho,” you breathed.

Something of a laugh tumbled out of him. “We can’t keep meeting like this,” he muttered sarcastically. He trained his gaze on the fire in front of him, sipping his beer occasionally. “You look upset. Again.”

“Again?” you asked within a scoff.

He hit you with a side eye. “You weren’t supposed to talk to me last night, were you?”

“It’s not like that,” you said.

Yunho faced the fire, sitting backward in his chair, his long, bare legs extending in front of him. “Sure it isn’t. I’ve seen her make that face before, it was like she caught her boyfriend with Yeji all over again.” 

His words made you shiver. “Don’t talk about that.”

He smiled, but he didn’t look at you. “Noted,” he said quietly, gesturing to the chair beside him with his beer. “Take a seat, you look like you need to unload.”

“Not with you,” you spat involuntarily. That got him to look up at you, the surprise on his face worsening the feeling within you. “Yunho,” you sighed, pressing the hand that wasn’t gripping your can to your face.

“Nah, I get it,” he nodded. “Your allegiance lies elsewhere, you can’t be seen with me. You’ve already been caught once, the council will behead you if they catch you again.” 

As horrific as it sounded, he made you laugh, the sarcasm dripping in his knowing tone forcing it out of you against your will. He was good for that, talking himself out of things, covering everything up with humor, self-deprecating so you’d forget about your own bullshit even if just for a second. His thing with Aurora truly came as no surprise to you.

“She won’t let me talk to her about it,” you said, taking your hand from your face, revealing to him your fading smile. He swallowed his own and nodded, listening. “I tried, but…”

“She wouldn’t have it,” he finished for you. 

Releasing a breath, you whispered, “Yeah.”

“What did you tell her?” he asked.

“That I… That I needed Yunho closure,” you said, voice smaller than ever.

He blinked, looked up at you and asked, “And what did she say to that?”

“What do you need Yunho closure for, none of us have Yunho closure.”

Quiet, processing what you’ve said, the corners of his lips began to perk up. Turning to the fire, he sipped his beer and tilted his head seemingly happily. 

“What?” you questioned, taking a step toward him.

Yunho shook his head. “Nothing.”

“No, tell me. What did that just make you think of?”

He glanced toward you with a smile, then faced forward. “That everything is open ended right now.”

Twisting your brow, you took another step toward him. “Explain.”

“Everything is open ended,” he shrugged, turning completely in his chair to look up at you, his eyes appearing wider than usual, more bright, glistening against the flames to his right and the moon above him. “Closure, she didn’t like how it sounded. When you told her that’s what you were getting, it upset her. The Aurora I know would’ve yelled at you when she caught you, especially if she’d been drinking. Did she yell at you? No. I didn’t even hear her yell after you walked away either.”

“Yunho, Wooyoung’s been really good with her,” you said just above a whisper. He snapped his jaw shut. “You know him. He’s rubbed off on her. The Aurora we know, or used to know, she’s different. After last year, the bullshit? It changed her.”

He thought to himself, his genius brain making marks you couldn’t see, solving equations only he’d put together. “But, still, if she-”

“She was angry, Yunho,” you said, and he met your gaze. “Just a different kind of angry.”

Nibbling his bottom lip, a breeze blew his dusty colored hair over his forehead. “I know her, Torilynn,” he whispered. “And it’s open ended.”

Groaning, your phone vibrated at the same time making you jump. Fumbling to open it, you mumbled, “Yunho, she’s… Damn.” You hurried for a notification from Instagram. A few drinks deep and you’ve forgotten that you silenced his incoming messages. You swiped into the thread with still no reply to your last message.

“What happened?” Yunho asked, pulling you from your screen. His eyes flickered between the cell phone in your hand and your eyes.

“I”m being ignored,” you said. 

“By who, everyone’s here,” he smiled, narrowing his eyes.

Through a sigh, you whispered, “I don’t…” but stopped yourself, shooting him a look.

Raising a brow, Yunho sipped his beer. His smile settled into a smirk. “You don’t know?” Your blood ran cold, as it seemed to do now in his presence. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

“...No.”

His eyes ate you alive, curious, yet knowing all at the same time. “Okay,” he said after a beat of silence, slowly turning back in his chair before your question pulled him back in.

It came out of you in a whisper. “Are you the one texting me?”

He sat forward, elbows on his bare knees, delighted as he looked up at you. “What are you talking about?”

“The messages,” you still spoke no louder than a whisper. “The unknown number, they’ve been here in Haos the whole time, they know about me, they know who I am, is it you?” He laughed. “And don’t bullshit me, because you repeated something they said verbatim, Yo.”

His eyes bugged out of his head, his laughter growing louder. “I did? How!”

Throwing your hands out to the side, some of your drink spilled from the can. “I dunno, you tell me! How are you texting me from an unknown number when I have your number!”

“I’m not texting you, Tori!” He slapped both his hands to his chest, beer bottle in grip. “I wouldn’t know how to do that, I… I wouldn’t wanna do that, no offense.” A weight felt like it’d been lifted from your shoulders. “It’s not me, I swear to you.”

Taking a deep breath, you turned yourself around and soaked in the sights. The sand stretching on forever, the stars and the moon in the sky, the house pulsing with life, the fire warming your exposed skin. Sipping your drink that was half warm, you cringed and shrugged your shoulders.

“Well, good to know,” you said, and he laughed.

“How long has this been happening?” he asked.

“Since we got here,” you muttered. “Our first night here, we literally just walked in the house and he told me he knew I was here.”

Yunho raised a brow. “He? You know this person is a guy?”

You looked at him for two seconds, then stared at the fire. “Yeah…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to this person… To him.”

“Maybe I have,” you whispered, sipping your drink.

Yunho fell back in his seat and laughed. “Tori! Does anybody know about this?”

Thinking to yourself, already knowing the answer, you hit him with a glare before mumbling, “No.”

Dragging a hand through his hair, his veiny, slender, pretty fingers dancing through the overgrown strands, he sighed, blinking up at you. The roundness of his eyes, the curve of his nose, things you haven’t taken the time to notice before, they were endearing. Tongue poking between your lips, you pressed your can to them and sipped your drink, the two of you maintaining eye contact that made your stomach twist.

“Tori,” he said, clearing his throat. Ripping his gaze from you, he focused down on the sand. “Don’t keep this from them. Rory, and Mingi. They’re your best friends, go tell them. They can help you figure it out.”

Clenching your jaw, you nearly crushed the can in your hand as your grip tightened around it. Yunho’s eyes flickered to it before they were on yours again. “But, if I do, then they’ll see what I said to him.”

“What did you say to him?” Yunho asked in a way that made it seem as though you should be incriminated. 

Shrugging, you finished off your drink. “Just, stuff.” 

“Jesus, Tor,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You have any ideas on who you think it could be?”

“Possibly,” you said, crinkling the can, tossing it into the fire. Yunho watched it, the metal shriveling up within the flames. 

“And will it end well if it’s who you think it is?” he asked, eyes lit up by flames.

Folding your arms over your chest, you smiled to yourself. “No. No it won’t.”

Commotion stirred on the deck above you, voices got louder, some people shouted. Tipping your chins up, both you and Yunho, you're greeted by a head peering over the edge to look at you at the same time. Warm blonde hair, honey skin and a sleazy smile.

“There she is,” Jongseob sang. Intak appeared beside him, a laugh falling from him when he spotted you. Jongseob elbowed him away as his eyes shifted over to Yunho. “Hangin’ with him again?” Sipping his beer, Yunho nearly choked on it.

“Keep my name out of your mouth,” he spat, pointing up at the twenty year old. 

“Why, ‘cause it’s too busy in everyone else’s?” Jongseob snickered, and Yunho looked away with a groan. “Come take shots with me, Tori,” he said with a slight pout on his lips. “These losers won’t leave me alone. Save me.” Various ‘hey’s’, and ‘asshole’, sounded off from the boys around him, people he called friends. Jongseob swatted a hand backward toward them, disappearing from the ledge.

Meeting Yunho’s glance, you gulped as he whispered, “I sure hope to god it isn’t him.”

All around the living room table people collected, Seonghwa and Hongjoong sliding out shot glasses to anyone who approached and sat down with them, the two turning it into a game when newcomers joined them on the floor. How many shots can you endure before you’re spinning? Stepping around the sofa, Jongseob on your heels, his friends behind him, you fan out, you take in the scene. Intak and Jiung cheer the next round on, Hongjoong peering up at them behind his chunky black frames perched on the end of his nose.

This was how you knew him, how most knew him. Dressed to impress, ironed clothes, accessories impeccable, chestnut hair slicked back off his forehead, glowy skin, the former president was nothing short of stunning. 

Groans, echoes of boo’s rung out into the air after a shot was thrown back and two sophomores tapped out, leaving the table. At the end farthest from you, three participants beamed amongst themselves, only two seeming to participate in the game. San and Aurora, your best friend sitting on one of his thighs, they slid their glasses toward Seonghwa after they pressed their cheeks together and giggled, Wooyoung on the other side of Aurora watching her with a smile. Her other hand that wasn’t latched onto San or the shot glass held onto Wooyoung’s.

Stepping forward, you bent over to whisper to Seonghwa, “Have you seen Mingi?”

Pouring out shots, sliding them back down over the wood, he peered over at you, his own eyes glazed over. “Last I saw him he was upstairs with Yeosang.” His drunken gaze traveled backward over you toward Jongseob and his friends. “Did they come with you?” You bobbed your head. “Why’d you bring them back in here, I just kicked them out.” 

Hongjoong smacked his hand on the table multiple times, his wicked smile growing wider as Aurora and San swallowed their liquor, gasping as they slapped the glasses back onto the wood. Laughing aloud, tongues slipping out of their open mouths to prove they finished it, they leaned into one another, tongues pressing together for all of three seconds before they sent the glasses back to Hongjoong.

“Kicked them out, why?” you asked, brows twisting over your eyes that flashed from your best friend to Seonghwa. 

Hands grabbed onto your shoulders for leverage. Leaning over you towards the table, Jongseob and his friends laughed behind you, even more so as Intak said, “Not the only thing she likes on them pretty lips, right Aurora?”

She was oblivious, slow blinking, limp moving, her hands holding onto San. Both boys nearly broke their necks with how fast they reacted to him, faces wiped of all feeling. Wooyoung leapt to his feet. The boys behind you all took a step back. 

“Who the fuck brought you back in here?” he spat. Aurora turned at the sound of his voice, his tone loud, angry, an Wooyoung you all knew well just about three years ago. The look on her face, one you hated. San pulled her into his chest.

“The president’s right hand,” Intak said, smug as ever. Stepping closer, the air in the room depleting with every inch of space he stole, Wooyoung settled his face into the grimace he’d shot you that morning, giving it to you again.

“They didn’t tell me they were kicked out,” you breathed, holding your hands up.

Wooyoung clenched his jaw. “He’s been harassing her since he got here, he’s shitfaced.”

“So is your girl,” Intak bellowed, wobbling on his feet, tossing up a hand to prove his point. It’s a shame his smirk and the way his eyes crinkled was sexy. “You gonna let San take her for a ride?”

“You motherfucker.”

Lunging for him, you and the boys darting apart for the two to fall through, Wooyoung grabbed him by the shoulders and they vanished in the midst of people. Shouts sounded, from Wooyoung, Intak, shouts from others either cheering them on or too drunk to process what the actual fuck was happening. He hadn’t put his hands on anyone in ages, the look on his face one you haven’t seen since he was younger than the boy he tackled, grit teeth, wild eyes, red in the face…

Seonghwa leapt to his feet soon after Wooyoung grabbed onto him, a massive, “Hey!” sounding from his chest, triggering your own fight or flight, your body jolting.

Jongeob and Jiung disappeared the same as their president, in a hurry, the commotion condensing around them, more people rushing over to watch, to catch a glimpse of what the hell was happening.

“Oh shit,” San muttered, grabbing onto Aurora as he stood up. Her arms flailed before they found his shoulders. Eyebrows low, he rounded the table and placed her in front of you, taking your arms to wrap them around her back. “I’ll be right back,” he said to you, then he vanished with the rest.

Aurora sunk into you, her arms snaking around your back, her hands grabbing onto her elbows. Keeping your arms where they lived over her back, you searched the crowd but couldn’t see anything over the cluster of heads, the mess of people yelling, jumping. Hongjoong had to scramble to his feet to keep others in line, ones that couldn’t even get into the center of it all, trying to start their own shit outside the circle. It amazed you to watch him work in real time, the way people obeyed him in seconds, his own fraternity members still recognizing him as someone with the most power though now he was one step below. Neither wanted to have to do their jobs this month, Seonghwa and Hongjoong, nor did you or Aurora, yet here they were.

Over someone who hasn’t been a member in almost a year.

On your chest, Aurora stirred. She caught her own balance, tipping her chin upward to look at you. Blinking, you looked down at her. Smelling like a bottle of vodka, her hooded eyes and weak smile made you sigh. Intak was right, she was shitfaced. To the point where you knew she wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. Squeezing you, her lips formed a pout.

“I miss you,” she whispered, her eyes attempting to read you, but there wasn’t a single coherent thought in her head. 

Swallowing away the lump that lodged in your throat, you frowned and nodded. “I miss you.” 

A couple of shouts sounded off from the crowd and her eyes shot open wide. Taking her hands to your shoulders to push away from you, you held her closer, putting a hand behind her head, pulling her back down against your chest.

“Where did…”

You shook your head. “No, don’t worry about it.”

She huffed, her hands scooping beneath your arms to hold behind your back. Her grip was weak. “He’s fighting him, isn’t he.” Blinking, eyes following the crowd that condensed again, Soul and Jongho now in the mix, you couldn’t put any words together. “Sometimes I wish… he could be like Mingi.”

“What?” you gasped, glancing down at her. “Why!?”

“Mingi… fights clean,” she mumbled. “You know what you get with him, he is who he is.” 

She wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, I guess so, but Wooyoung-”

“It’s never…” she paused, and you checked to see if she’d knocked out, but she watched the backs of the people in the circle. “It’s never one thing with him. It’s always gotta be something else, more feelings, talk about this, you feel this way because…” 

Opening your mouth, words didn’t come out. It took a minute for you to be able to say anything. Here you were for so long thinking their dynamic, their relationship, their bond was all sunshine and daisies and rainbows. “He cares about your relationship.”

Aurora whined, turning to bury her face on your shoulder. “I know,” she muttered. “My dad said the same fuckin’ thing, that he’s a good guy, that he cares.”

Rubbing a hand between her shoulder blades to soothe her somehow, you shrugged. “Listen to him, Ror. You’ve got it good.”

“So do you,” she said quietly. “You’re like, with your soulmate.” She lifted her head, glassy eyes blinking up at you. “I wish mine didn’t suck.”

Your stomach flipped. You shook her accidentally as your hands flew to grab onto her cheeks, cupping her face, her entire body weight resting on top of you. “What do you mean by that?” 

A smile played on her lips, the corners of her eyes tipping upward. “Did he say anything about me?” she asked within a whisper. “Yunho… Did he-” 

She didn’t get to finish her sentence when you really fucking needed her to. San hurried back to you, people dispersing the scene reluctantly. His arm grabbed onto her waist and pulled her off of you, scooping her into his arms. With a laugh she moved pliantly, arms thrown around his wide shoulders as she wrapped herself around his front, legs slinging around his waist. Behind you Wooyoung passed by, hands wiping at his face, brushing his arms, adjusting his clothes. He paid no mind to a single soul, not even you. His eyes were forward, narrowed and dark.

“Where are you going?” you called after her and her drunken smile bouncing over San’s shoulder. 

She grinned wider, a giggly mess as San pressed his lips to her neck, following Wooyoung to the stairs. Looking at you, behind you, all at once her smile faded and she pointed at you like she suddenly remembered something, shouting, “Don’t let him leave!” They were gone in seconds.

Laying a hand over your chest, your heart pounding between your lungs, the other found your hip, resting there. Spinning on your heels, wandering back toward the table that Seonghwa and Hongjoong have found themselves at again, you stood beside where they sat, their sudden calm energy while they whispered doing wonders to calm yours. People wandered off, some clearly wired, others muttering how disappointed they were it ended so fast. Looking down at Seonghwa, he met your eyes and smiled as if to tell you that everything would be okay, his attention turning back to Hongjoong in a flash, like he was worried he was going to miss something.

A hand grabbed you and spun you around, the sight sending a gasp through you. Intak, his pretty face, messed up. One hand held onto his jaw, the other clasped onto his forehead, he was leaning against Jiung who had a few scuffs himself. Soul stood behind him, his hands on his back to hold him steady, his focus on Jiung, the two whispering over their friends head.

Jongseob had been the one to grab you, to put his hands on you. “Your dudes are fucking nuts,” he snapped. 

You didn’t know where to look, searching Jongseob for any sign of him having been touched by one of your friends, you muttered, “I’m sorry.” 

I’m sorry?

“We’re out of here,” he said, his voice growing tiny. “If you really want me like you let on, you come find me.” He glanced behind you and smirked. “Bye Tori.”

What the fuck?

“The fuck did he mean by that?” Yunho’s voice came from behind the sofa. Chills shooting down your spine, you spun around and slumped your shoulders. He took a second to look down at Seonghwa and Hongjoong sitting around the table. They were watching. Following his stare, you met eyes with them both and groaned. With one look at Yunho you spoke to him through it, and he followed you.

Darting through the maze that has become the house, he stayed but three steps behind you. Leading him around corners, groups of people, through a doorway into another smaller sitting room on the first floor, one with bookshelves kissing the ceiling, you crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him with a huff.

“I hate you and your smart brain,” you said.

Yunho tilted his head. “Huh?”

“Open ended?” you scoffed. “You don’t speak a word to her in months yet you still know how she feels?”

His lips parted, his body frozen. “What?”

“Oh, now you know nothing?”

He stepped toward you in the small space, only the two of you occupying the carpet. “She still has feelings for me? How the fuck did you learn this in a half hour?”

“Because, I may talk a lot of shit, but when she’s drunk-”

“She tells you everything,” you both said at once. Yunho tipped his chin backward, his own arms crossing over his t-shirt. 

“Don’t go trying to break them up, Wooyoung almost just murdered Intak in the living room.”

A smirk graced his lips for all of a few seconds. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides,” he sighed, looking over at you, “You said he’s good for her. He’s good with her.”

Hesitating, knowing all you knew now, that Aurora had her own relationship issues, you whispered, “He is.”

“I want her happy,” he said, his genuine smile growing as he shrugged. The air falls quiet around the two of you, the commotion of the party still very much alive outside the library. He took a deep breath. “I’m gonna go.” Starting for the doorway, you watched him step out and turn a corner, but then your heart skipped a beat.

“Wait!” you shouted after him, hurrying out of the room, platform sandals clunking against the hardwood floor. “Yunho!”

He turned, confusion laced with worry in his brow. “What?”

Reaching his side, you grabbed onto his arm, hands wrapping around his bicep, the two of you wobbling together. “She said, don’t let him leave.”

“Me? Him as in me?” he asked, eyes going wide.

You sighed, a sarcastic laugh paired with it. “Who else, Yo?”

He took a breath and glanced about the party, his face not knowing what to do, what to feel. Shaking his head, his lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he froze. “Tori,” he whispered, and you shook his arm.

“What?”

Squishing his lips together, he gave you the tiniest shake of his head, his eyes locked elsewhere. Whipping yourself around, frantically searching through the sea of people, you found him. He wasn’t that hard to miss, especially from where he stood halfway down the stairs. He stared at you, he stared at Yunho, the way he held onto him, and you guarantee just by the look on his face that he saw the way you spoke to one another. Like you’ve done this already before this moment.

Gulping, voice tiny, you dropped your hands and whispered, “Mingi.”

read it on ao3 | talk to me | my masterlist

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[sunshinesickies]

Feveruary Day 3— Caught in the Rain— Arcane Caitlyn x Vi

Yes, I know getting sick from being in the rain is somewhat of a myth but I’m pretty sure us sickfic writers don’t care 🤷‍♀️

Post-War, Violyn established relationship, mostly fluff because they deserve it

Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive if you squint

“You almost ready, Cupcake?” Vi calls out gently to Caitlyn, dawning her signature red jacket while her girlfriend puts the finishing touches on her ‘casual’ makeup look for the evening. Violet smiles to herself as she recalls the conversation they’d had earlier where the two of them agreed that neither half of their shared date night required anything too fancy, yet Caitlyn has still been in the bathroom for the last 45 minutes doing heck knows what.

“Just a second!” Caitlyn’s accented voice travels through the rooms, and true to her word, she emerges only seconds later, looking so gorgeously stunning that Vi may or may not have forgotten how to breathe for a hot second. Vi can’t believe she finally gets to call her, hers. Although she loves when Cait does something a little extra, she thinks she looks perfect all the time.

It’s been about 6 months since the war with Noxus and the tragic losses that came with it, and the two of them have worked hard to adjust themselves into a new way of life, and a life with each other. Even though it’s been tough at times, Vi will never get over how much she loves being in Caitlyn’s life, and how lucky she feels to have her. Her blessings throughout life have been few and far in between, so Vi makes sure to savor every last ounce she has now, and she makes it her daily mission to make sure Cait knows she’s her top one.

“Violet, are you speechless?” Caitlyn muses with a half smirk-half smile as she approaches her girlfriend, wrapping her arms around the shorter girl’s waist. Violet can feel her face blushing, one hand nervously rubbing the back of her neck. “W-what? Speechless…noooo…” she rolls her eyes playfully and Caitlyn chuckles.

“Well, if you have nothing to say, our night awaits.” Caitlyn’s hand finds Vi and she starts leading her towards the door before Vi can answer. A knowing smile spreads on Caitlyn’s lips when she feels Vi tug her hand gently, signaling for her to stop. “Cait…” She turns around to face Vi. “…you really do look beautiful tonight.” Vi hums softly, pulling her girlfriend close and pressing a warm loving kiss to the lips that now feel like home.

“And you, my darling Violet, charming as ever, are looking very hot tonight.” The end of her sentence comes out almost in a purr as they pull away. “Oh?” Vi quirks an eyebrow, smirking. “You better show me why later.”

She tugs on Caitlyn’s hand this time, and they finally make their way out the door, into the hall, then out into the quiet streets of the Kiramman’s neighborhood, strolling together in the golden rays of the last sunlight of the day peaking around the buildings.

The two of them had been planning this date night for weeks now. A joint date night, where they each choose a part of it, Caitlyn wanting to show Vi her favorite restaurant in Piltover, and Vi wanting to show Caitlyn around the Lanes—now that it’s becoming a less rough place to be.

Piltover’s Finest walk hand in hand as they make their way towards the first part of their evening, Caitlyn leading Vi through the city streets, conversation flowing with ease. They walk longer than Vi expected and by the time Caitlyn finally pulls Vi to a gentle halt, they’re no longer in extremely high end part of Piltover.

The street they’re standing on appears to be a working class one, with dozens of stores for shopping, restaurants with outdoor seating areas, and little kids running through the crowd of people chatting happily away, their families close on their heels. Vi couldn’t help but smile at the scene before her. The energy was chaotic, but infectious in a good way, making her want to run around like the kids and press her nose against shop windows. Caitlyn watches her take it all in, a soft smile on her own face as she finally gets to show Vi a place that means so much to her.

“Cait, where are we? Gotta be honest this isn’t what I expected when you said you were taking me out to dinner.” Vi chuckled for instead of answering, Caitlyn just smiled wider, gripping her hand tighter as she began to pull Vi through the crowded street. Even with her street skills, Vi struggled to keep up with her girlfriend as they jogged, dodging kids and dogs left and right until Caitlyn skidded to a stop.

They both pause a moment, slightly out of breath and Vi gaped at the storefront before her. “Pizza?” She inquires, looking up at the bright neon sign that pointed down to a small, bustling joint, a strong smell of yeast and various cooked toppings wafting out from the propped open door. “Best in the city.” Caitlyn pulls her inside.

They ended up each getting a few slices to go, Caitlyn insisting they needed to walk around so Vi could see the street lit up at night. “I’ve gotta say Kiramman, this is the best pizza I’ve ever had—not that I’ve had a lot, but still.” Vi spoke through a mouthful of hot cheese as she started wolfing down on her second slice. Caitlyn laughed and handed her a few more napkins.

“My dad brought me here once when I was really young. Only the one time. It was because I begged to join him on a last minute business meeting. It ended up being way too boring and ran much longer than expected. By the time we were on the way home, it was getting dark, and I was a wreck. I gave him every reason to just pick me up and continue marching home, but instead he bought me this pizza and we walked around a while. It was one of the first times I saw so many families together, so many fun looking shops, it was my first time in this part of the city, my parents didn’t often let me leave the few surrounding neighborhoods in our area.” She explained and Vi listened to every word.

“I never told my parents this, but often, when I could, I would sneak here after school, buy a slice and just sit in the window and watch people go by. Even convinced Jayce to accompany me a few times at night so I could see everything lit up like this again. I spent most of my days alone, no siblings, private tutors for school, so I cherished these moments when I could tuck myself into the crowds, be a part of so much light.” She finished and Vi was gazing at her now, the reflection of thousands of twinkling lights reflecting in her soft blue eyes.

“I see what you mean. There’s so much life here, you can feel it. Everyone’s in their own world, but somehow we all fit perfectly into the chaos, creating this atmosphere together.” Vi replies as they keep walking, strolling at a leisurely pace now. “Exactly.” Caitlyn nods, finishing her food and taking Vi’s hand back in her’s.

They walk in a comfortable silence for a bit, letting the energy of everyone around them fill their sense. “We should bring him here next time.” Vi leans over to speak in Caitlyn’s ear to make sure she hears her over the noise. “Huh?” Her brows twist in slight confusion. “Your dad. I bet he’d like to come with us next time.” Vi clarifies.

“On our date?” Caitlyn jokes and Vi bumps their hips together, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean.” She laughs as they reach the end of the street where the crowd starts to thin and the various bright lights fade to just street lamps. “Ready for round two?” Vi questions and Caitlyn agrees. “We can’t have dinner without dessert.” Vi winks up at Cait as she begins to pull her towards the river, the barrier between Zaun and Piltover.

Once they reach Zaun, still hand in hand, it’s Caitlyn’s turn to follow Vi as she leads her through an intricate dance of twists and turns. They don’t see many others along the way, as Vi had planned out. Luckily for her, some things are still the same and her backwards ways of getting through the streets still simultaneously efficient and much safer than traveling through the main streets.

Even though both cities have been hard at work to make Zaun a more peaceful place, Vi’s not taking any chances since Caitlyn’s with her. She knows without a doubt the Piltie can handle herself if necessary, but she’d rather not them get anywhere close to that point, plus if she’s being honest, Vi likes running around through the Lanes like this. It reminds her of being a kid when she would work her way through the maze of streets, mapping out every route in her head, creating new ones and secret ones each day.

Not much later, Vi leads Caitlyn to a more central street, not as busy as the one in Piltover, and no where near as nice, but it’s special in its own right, and to Vi, it’s absolutely perfect. She’s actually really relieved to see this street stayed the same. So many got destroyed and so many businesses shut down over the years, but as fate would have it, the one place she wanted to bring Cait was still running, as gloriously tacky as ever.

“This isn’t going to be like when we first met right?” Caitlyn asks as she eyes the many strange looking establishments the line the dim street. “If you mean Jericho’s, no don’t worry. Dessert will be perfectly normal and non-fish related.” Vi chortles, amused by how hard Caitlyn is trying to be polite. It’s clear as day to Vi that she still isn’t used to environments like this.

Vi pulls her closer into her side. “Ease up Kiramman, it’s time to embrace the Lanes.” Her voice holds no ridicule, the softness of her tone easing the slight unease in Caitlyn’s shoulders. She relaxes under Vi’s comforting touch and smiles, a slight blush rising in her pale cheeks. They walk until it appears the shops have been left behind them, but Vi keeps going a little further until they reach a small staircase jutting out into the street, the uneven steps leading down to a surprisingly brightly colored door.

Vi leads Caitlyn confidently inside, holding the door for her as she unveils her part of date. “It’s…a candy shop.” Caitlyn takes in the warm tones from the lamps, a stark contrast to the darkness of the street, and she her senses are immediately overwhelmed by a sweet sugary scent that makes her mouth water. Vi smiles at her girlfriend’s surprise.

“Best in all the Lanes.” She mimics Caitlyn’s earlier statement, hands spread out in front of her as if she owned the place. “Get whatever you want, Cupcake. Though if you need help deciding I’ve got some favorites I can steer ya towards.” Vi smiles wide as Caitlyn starts slowly strolling through the large room, taking in all the colors. Candies of all kinds, some she recognizes and some she doesn’t covers ever surface in the place, all circling back around towards the entrance where a small case of larger, finer desserts are displayed by the register.

“Whenever Vander was able to scrape up enough for a special treat, he’d bring us all here. Claggor, Mylo, Powder, Ekko, all of us.” Vi starts explaining her own reason for the chosen spot as she follows Caitlyn around. “When we got older, he let Mylo and Claggor take us when he had to work, but sometimes he’d close up a little early to join. Some of my best, only, good memories are here.”

“It’s wonderful, Violet. I didn’t know there was such a place here. Well to be fair, I really don’t know much about the Lanes anyways.” Caitlyn stops to pick up a small bag of her favorite chocolates and Vi smiles at her choice, reaching to grab another bag of something Caitlyn doesn’t recognize.

“Well good thing you’ve got me to show you where all the best sweets are.” Vi leans in close, wrapping her arms around Caitlyn as she lowers her voice. “Though I can think of something much sweeter, Cupcake.” Her warm breath tickles Caitlyn’s neck and she laughs, pushing Vi away playfully.

After a little more perusing, they pay for their chosen treats and sit down in a little corner of the shop that has sprinkling of tables and chairs, similar to a cafe, though there’s nothing to be served, its simply a spot for people to enjoy their sweets.

They stay here for a long while, talking and munching on chocolate, watching as customers wade in and out, until the owner comes over and alerts them its almost closing time. Wrapping up the rest of their candy, Piltover’s Finest thank the owner and make their way back up the stairs and out to the street where they’re taken by surprise by the heavy rain that’s now falling from dark puffy clouds. They can see others running into stores to get out of the storm.

“Shit.” Vi murmurs as they linger under the awning of the store. “We don’t happen to have any emergency umbrellas do we?” She jokes, knowing the answer even before Caitlyn shakes her head. “Well, we can’t wait it out here. It shouldn’t last too long. I don’t know what normal weather is for you guys up in Piltover, but down here, sudden storms like this are common.” Caitlyn watches as Vi shrugs off her red jacket.

“Here, love.” She motions for Caitlyn to take it and put it over her head to shield her as best as they can from the rain. Caitlyn frowns. “What about you? You’ll get soaked then.” She tries handing it back but Vi only smiles and shakes her head. “Like I said, it’s common. I’m used to it. Spent many hours in the rain by choice as a kid, I’ll be fine. Rather not have you catch a cold or something.” She reassures and steps out into the downpour.

Caitlyn chuckles with a shrug. “If you say so, darling.” She follows, the thick leather jacket actually doing a pretty good job of keeping her dry. She looks at Vi as they start hurrying through the streets, her bright red hair is already glued to her face which is practically dripping with as much water as any one of the clouds. Vi hears her girlfriend murmur something about her being ‘too stubborn for her own good’ as they make their way back home.

By the time they reach their bedroom, Vi is absolutely soaked through to the bone and Caitlyn hums softly, watching Vi shivering as she stands, a puddle of water quickly gathering by her feet. “Hot shower and bed?” Caitlyn tosses Vi’s jacket aside and quickly finds a soft towel to shove into Vi’s hands. “Only if you join me.” Vi smirks through chattering teeth and Caitlyn raises an eyebrow before turning around, knowing Vi is watching and following as she makes her way towards the adjoining bathroom.

After a long hot shower, it was evident they were both tired from the day and decided to just go to bed, so no sooner was Caitlyn helping Vi into some sweatpants and a t shirt was she wrapping her in her arms and pulling the blankets tightly around them as they sink into their cushy bed. The shower had helped and she was no longer uncontrollably shivering, but Vi still help cold, like the chill of the rain had settled its way into every cell in her body.

“Are you warm enough, darling?” Caitlyn murmurs sweetly as Vi tucks her face further into Cait’s neck, throws her leg over her waist, and tries to get as close to her girlfriend as possible. “Not really, I don’t know how I’m still this fucking cold.” Vi complains against her skin. Caitlyn kisses her pink hair with a small chuckle.

Caitlyn get up for just a second, much to Vi’s dismay, but returns with two more blankets to wrap her up in, so Vi doesn’t grumble too much about her momentary absence. “Here, Violet.” Caitlyn tucks them both in again and they cling lovingly to each other, Caitlyn reveling in the comforting feeling of her girlfriend’s body against hers, and Vi doing her best to retain as much heat from Caitlyn as possible.

“Tonight was really fun.” Vi whispers after a while, unable to fall asleep. Caitlyn, often taking much longer than Vi to fall asleep, is still awake too. “It was, love. Thank you for letting me share more of myself to you, and thank you for doing the same.” She murmurs and Vi smiles at the sound of Cait’s sleepy sounding voice. “Anytime, Cupcake. Let’s do it more often, because you know I’m still thinking about that pizza…” Vi presses a kiss to Caitlyn’s collar bone, and the last thing she hears before falling asleep is Vi chuckling at her own musings.

Although she had fallen asleep cold, it was only a few hours later that Vi’s body takes a turn, becoming a radiator of heat. Turns out the rain got one of them sick after all. Still asleep, deep in a fevered slumber, Vi subconsciously curls away from Caitlyn, the shift in position and movement of the blankets causing the latter to stir awake.

At first she just attempts to go back to sleep, used to Vi moving around a lot in her sleep, but Caitlyn soon notices an uncomfortable heat lingering under the blankets. She rolls over to find Vi, curled into herself, clutching the blankets tightly to her chest, a restless furrow etched into her brows. Even in the dark, Caitlyn can see a thin sheen of sweat coating the Zaunite’s face and a deep pink flush strewn across her cheeks.

She frowns, her own brows knitting together as worry bubbles in her chest. She sits up slightly, reaching to place the back of her hand gently to Vi’s forehead, she gasps slightly at the amount of heat she feels. “Oh darling.” She sighs, cupping her cool hand to Vi’s cheek, momentarily unsure of what to do. Should she let Vi sleep? Or wake her get some medicine in her?

The decision is made for her when Vi stirs and lets out a sleepy groan. The soothingly cool sensation of Caitlyn’s hand against her face pulling her from her slumber. “huh…wha?” Vi slurs feverishly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment or two before growing too heavy and closing again.

“Violet? Vi honey, you’re sick, love.” Caitlyn murmurs gently to help orient her, her thumb softly stroking Vi’s cheek, her hand having never left its position. “oh, well, go back to ‘sleep, ‘m okay.” Is all Vi mumbles with a heavy sigh.

“So stubborn.” Caitlyn whispers so softly that Vi doesn’t seem to hear. “No way, darling. I’m going to take care of you, okay? You gave me your jacket and now look at you.” Caitlyn fusses, a bit of guilt rising in her even though Vi had made her decision and one of them was going to get soaked either way. “Better me than you.” Vi murmurs back and Caitlyn can’t believe her ridiculous girlfriend.

With a sympathetic hum, Caitlyn makes her way out of bed, hearing Vi let out a single groan, but doesn’t hear any more protests as the sick girl is too out of it to really notice her absence.

“Open your mouth.” Vi hears the words distantly, but she does and Caitlyn gently places the thermometer under her tongue. “Close and hold for a moment.” She instructs softly, one hand holding the thermometer steady, the other returning to Vi’s cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against her hot skin.

Vi’s silver eyes flutter open and she gazes hazily up at her girlfriend as they both wait for the small beep. “When I said you looked hot earlier, this is not what I meant.” Caitlyn frowns deeply at the high number shown on the tool.

Vi groans softly as she moves to sit up, Caitlyn immediately helping to ease her up against the plush pillows. She brushes Vi’s sweaty hair away from her face so she can see her more clearly. Vi offers Cait a small smile, trying to ease the worry she can see in her ocean eyes. “Don’ worry, cupcake, I always run hot, ‘member?” She reassures and Caitlyn’s face softens a little, though her worry stays.

“I know, Violet. I just hate that you feel so miserable…here drink some water, it’ll help.” She remembers that she’d grabbed a fresh cup of cool water and holds it gently to Vi’s plump lips. She drinks more than half, surprising both of them at how thirsty she is. But Caitlyn doesn’t set the cup down, instead, offering Vi a couple small fever-reducing pills which she begrudgingly takes with another gulp of water.

“Let’s get you back to bed, hmm? You look exhausted, love.” Caitlyn hums and Vi nods, the two of them finding their way back to laying cozily under the blankets, though Caitlyn made sure to toss a couple of the extra ones off. She doesn’t want Vi overheating any more than she already is. Vi clings to Caitlyn, burying her face in her chest with a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan.

“Cait?” She whispers a moment later, her voice uncharacteristically small as she feels her girlfriend’s gentle touch, soothing hands running along her back. “Yes, darling?” Caitlyn murmurs in return. “I-I don’t feel good.” Vi grumbles with a whine.

“I know, Vi. Just try and rest. I’ll be here.” She promises, one hand remaining on her back, the other moving to run through her damp hair. She holds her a touch closer and Vi hums contentedly. “mmkay.” She presses a featherlight kiss to the closest bit of bare skin she can reach on her girlfriend, and moments later her fevered mind is drifting off to sleep, knowing she’ll probably wake up feeling even crappier, but that she’ll be okay, because she has Caitlyn.

“Sleep well, my darling Violet.” Caitlyn whispers with a kiss to her forehead before promptly following her to sleep, making a promise to herself that from now on, anytime they leave the house, especially if they’re going to Zaun, Caitlyn will make sure to have an umbrella tucked away somewhere in her pockets or bags, just in case.

[class1akids]

do you think bakugo��s character growth was regressed both in the final war and the epilogue?

I personally do, yes. To me, the Bakugou we saw during all of Act 2, the PLF War and after emerging was this amazing, driven team player, who could bring along others, inspire them...

So I honestly was expecting a moment in the Final war where Bakugo takes charge of a desparate situation leading / inspiring others and putting together everything he learnt about interacting with people, to rallying them, to putting his faith into Deku for a breakthrough.

But this narrative was cast aside, as even in the Floating UA, Bakugou acted mostly alone and he "inspired" others to work together to save him by dying. His teammates who sacrificed themselves for him got left behind. And then his "resurrection" was a mostly solo moment of self-exploding sweat, and got a solo kill-shot on AFO which Hori then tried to frame as a team moment (but only a lip service way).

Even Bakugou joining the "Everyone is there" for Izuku comes a solo moment, where he is singled out for praise. I never would have guessed that Bakugou's combo moves would be limited in the entire final war to the handhold with Deku and the (offscreened) jump platform with Todoroki.

I think it would have worked much better to give the solo fight highlight to Bakugou earlier in the story and have him in the final war interact with others more, pay off his relationships with others better and make his power-up not be just due to another quirk awakening, but due to the relationships he built, the people he inspired and made stronger, the spirits he could lift, etc. To me, that would have been a more attractive narrative.

I find "regression" in the epilogue in the sense that to me, Bakugou was always willing to work on his own weaknesses to achieve his goals. So his slide from 4 -> 15 doesn't make sense due to his attitude. His attitude has steadily improved in the manga, so sliding him back into anime!Bakugou to deny him No 1 spot doesn't make so much sense.

I understand that when Hori decided to take away all of Deku's dreams, it became necessary to take something from Bakugou too. I agree that it would have left a bad taste if Bakugou got everything he wanted, while Deku lost everything he worked for, but I think Hori did it really in a lazy way that was inconsistent with the maturing Bakugou we saw emerge.

Bakugou not getting No 1 because the ranking system is abolished, or because his arm recovery has limits or because his quirk causes often property damage are all better options than to just have him be his own gag!version who for whatever reason can't stop being rude to people.

I also didn't like particularly the narrative about not taking sidekicks. If he himself lost the motivation to be a challenger to the 14 people ranked above him, he comes across as an entitled hypocrite when he rejects sidekicks for not challenging him.

To me - apart from a few moments here and there - Act 3 Bakugou, or rather post-362 Bakugou felt like a person who left half of his arc (the half I loved more) behind. I feel still very nostalgic about Act 2 Bakugou who was a fascinating character to me and whom I loved dearly, but a lot of that got lost in the final war and the epilogue.

[gottencents]

Brown Eyes - Lisa Manoban

pairing. spiderwoman!lisa x girlfriend!reader

synopsis. after a long night of fighting crime, spider-woman Lisa always finds her way back to Y/n, the one person who makes her feel grounded.

The city skyline shimmered under the moonlight as you stood on your apartment balcony, sipping on a warm cup of tea. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier. It was a quiet night—or at least, it had been.

A sudden gust of wind and the soft thwip of webbing alerted you to the presence of none other than your favorite visitor. Before you could react, a familiar red-and-black figure swung gracefully onto your balcony railing, crouching like a cat about to pounce.

“Miss me?” Lisa, or rather, Spider-Woman, grinned beneath her mask, her voice laced with playful confidence.

You rolled your eyes, setting your cup down. “You literally saw me this morning.”

Lisa pulled off her mask, shaking out her slightly tousled hair. “Yeah, but the night makes everything more romantic,” she teased, hopping down onto the balcony floor. “And I wanted to see my favorite person before heading out again.”

You folded your arms, giving her an unimpressed look. “Uh-huh. And this visit has nothing to do with you wanting my leftover cookies?”

Lisa gasped dramatically. “Y/n, how could you accuse me of such betrayal?” She placed a hand over her chest as if deeply wounded, then smirked. “But since you mentioned cookies…”

Laughing, you took her hand and pulled her inside. “Come on, hero. I’ll get you some.”

As you went to the kitchen, Lisa followed closely, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind. “Mmm, you smell nice,” she murmured against your shoulder, swaying slightly with you.

You giggled. “Spider-women aren’t supposed to be this clingy, you know.”

“Says who?” Lisa lifted her head, her lips brushing against your ear. “Maybe I fight crime all day just so I can come home and be your problem instead.”

Your heart fluttered at her words, but you played it cool. “Oh, great. So I’m just your post-patrol cuddle buddy now?”

“Exactly,” Lisa hummed, spinning you around so she could look into your eyes. “And you love it.”

You pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm. I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world…”

Lisa gasped, feigning offense. “Not the worst? Y/n, I risk my life fighting bad guys, swinging from skyscrapers, dodging explosions—and this is the thanks I get?”

You bit your lip to hide your smile, then reached up to cup her face gently. “Thank you for always coming back to me.”

Lisa’s playful expression softened. She leaned into your touch, her brown eyes warm with something deeper. “I always will.”

The moment stretched between you, the city noise fading into the background. Then, Lisa’s gaze flickered to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught. “You better.”

Lisa grinned before closing the distance, her lips capturing yours in a slow, tender kiss. Her hands rested on your waist, holding you close, as if anchoring herself to you.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours. “Y’know,” she murmured, “I think I like being tangled up with you.”

You laughed softly, your fingers playing with the hem of her suit. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now, Spider-Woman.”

Lisa grinned, pulling you back in for another kiss. “Best webbing I’ve ever gotten caught in.”

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 10!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9 /// part 10

WERE ALMOST THERE LESSGO

Everyone say thank you to my friend Aster who has no interest in Call of Duty whatsoever, but let me talk to them about this fic for almost two fucking hours and use them as a rubber duck to fix some issues with the plot. Thank you, Aster! And sorry for ranting to you about Call of Duty fanfiction for TWO. FUCKING. HOURS. :,)

edit: why does the formatting always break after i post 😭

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

...

The plan was simple, in theory.

Before the war began, tunnels had been dug into the mountain; At the time, their numbers, both of men and supplies, were outgrowing the fort, even with it being as big as it was. It was supposed to eventually become a store room, winding passageways connecting to create an outline.

Then war came knocking. Their supplies dwindled, they lost men, and the tunnels became nothing more than a forgotten project. Once they sat as an odd reminder of how far the fort had fallen; to have gone from carving through stone for extra room for all of their supplies to barely able to avoid hypothermia at night was a haunting ghost of their fall from grace.

But, perhaps now they could offer their salvation.

The Captain’s men were to set a scene; They hid the evidence of the medical center the once formidable fort had become and made it look like it had been bustling with life. 

Initially, they tossed around the idea of moving the sick and injured out but abandoned the idea quickly. It involved too much risk, too many variables; Some wouldn’t have survived the trip.

Instead they prepped the unused warehouse and war room. They moved the worst off into the buildings and those who had a better chance at fighting into the walls. Snow would cover the amount of movement that had happened over the course of executing their plan. 

The healthy few would  silently tell the story of a panicked and hasty retreat that looked as if it had happened just minutes prior.

They laid false tracks, leading to the tunnels. Tunnels that could perhaps be mistaken for an evacuation route by those unfamiliar with the area or a group in the rush of a promised battle. Tunnels that could trap those who charged in blindly. Tunnels that had one entrance, one exit.

And they waited, placing their trust in the reluctant apostle of a forgotten god.

…

Ghost had returned to camp well into the night; the air didn’t feel as frigid after sleeping on a mountain. The trek was much easier the second time, having two advantages with setting out earlier and not losing his fucking mind in a dead man’s cabin.

The general hadn’t asked him any questions. Just said that it was a shame he didn’t catch anything and that dinner had already been served.

That first night, Ghost fell in and out of a fitful sleep, unable to rest. He kept his weapons placed strategically, waiting for the ambush. There was no way they did not know of his betrayal.

Yet, the ambush never came. They marched on. 

It took weeks for the entire camp to make the journey that had taken him a single day. The snowy weather only worsened in protest of spring looming closer.

When the general sent out the platoon, Ghost was filled with so much  dread that he couldn’t feel anxious. He knew how to stay calm in dire situations, but this wasn’t that. He wasn’t calm, it was like he had hit his limit of how much stress he was able to process and was left hollow.

The morning was far too calm for the bloodshed that was bound to occur on either side. Tragedy was imminent and the sun hadn’t even crested the horizon.

Staring at the closed gates of the fortress in formation with men he should have called brother, he had a sinking feeling that he was going to be reunited with his old friend before the next sunrise.

He thought he might have heard that friend telling him to breathe.

Ghost was not the one leading the charge, no, he wasn’t trusted enough for that, but he was on the front lines. He was one of the first to push through the gates, to search for the enemy, and perhaps might have even been the one to pointedly stare at the obvious trail leading to the tunnels.

He may or may not have been right behind the commanding officer that followed the trail with his weapon drawn. 

And when they realized that the tunnels were nothing more than a circuitous dead end, they filed out in reverse order. The passages were not wide enough for two armored soldiers to pass by each other, forcing them to slowly and awkwardly work their way out of the commander’s shortsightedness one by one. 

The commanding officer, Ghost, and whatever other poor fools that had been stuck on the front line were still at the back when the Captain called to fire. 

Archers that had been lying in wait, hiding atop the walls, picked off the soldiers that made their way out one by one. The Captain’s men were greatly outnumbered, but those numbers offered no help when the only soldiers that made their way out were turned into pincushions.

It did not take them long to realize that the exit was impassable, and they fell back, looking to their commanding officer for an order.

Their commanding officer, whose head had been cleaved in two by someone who was once on their side. Some were frozen in fear, some charged towards the defector, and some attempted to flee. 

Those with delusions of bravery were cut down quickly, same went for the ones that froze. As for the rest, the traitor found a perverse satisfaction from attacking the back of a fleeing man, just as they had done to their enemies. 

The only light was from the few that had carried in torches. As they dropped, the shadows grew twisted and distorted, corrupted by the betrayal. 

The soldiers that made it to the exit found that swordsmen had joined the archers in blocking the exit. They turned back once more and saw the carnage caused by a wraith covered in the blood of their allies. 

They had a choice, not to live or die, but of which blade to be struck down by.

The mountain reeked of copper.

The sounds of a slaughter quietened.

The swordsmen did not holster their weapons. The archers did not drop their arrows. The Captain did not give the order to stand down. Each and every one of them waited to see who would exit the tunnels.

The silence was cut through by the sound of squelching, the sound of piles of corpses being stepped on as one man exited.

The traitor emerged, black cloak turned red. 

The Captain’s men cheered. 

The traitor did not.

They relit the fires that had been snuffed. The bodies were removed and treated with an undeserved amount of care as they were lined up and piled. Despite just cheering their deaths, they gave the felled enemy the mercy of a proper funeral.

They knew that their own allies had not been given the same treatment, but refused to stoop to the enemy’s level. The Captain watched as the pyre was lit. Soon after, they dispersed, preparing the fort for regular, day-to-day life.

The Captain stayed and kneeled by the roaring flame, tending to it, making sure it continued to burn. 

The traitor approached, stood next to him. He took off his armor piece by piece and tossed it onto the fire. It was soaked in blood, the insignia that once denoted him as one of the mighty general’s soldiers was hidden beneath the carnage that he had wrought. 

They both watched the fire.

The traitor walked towards the gate. The Captain stopped him. Thanked him. Held out his hand to shake. It was stared at for a long time.

The traitor accepted and shook his hand. He found that the Captain held money in his palm, an award for his treachery. Blood money. It was still accepted.

The Captain wore a gaze too kind for the size of the pyre behind him. Told the traitor that should he need it, he would have a roof for himself at the fort. One that did not require pledging a blade nor a life to his army.

The Captain said that they all owed him their lives.

The traitor disagreed but said nothing. He walked down the path to his steed, covered in the blood of his old allies, money in hand.

…

Ghost came back to himself sitting in a freezing river.

Ice and snow dotted the muddy banks in clumps. 

His horse was hitched to a tree. 

Water lapped at his neck; he was kneeling and hunched over enough that only his head was not submerged. Blood trailed away from him, following the flow of the river. 

His sword had been dropped on the snowy bank, pulled slightly by the water but still secure where it sat. His halberd had been buried into the riverbed, the ax slammed into the mud with enough force to hold it in place against the current.

First he realized someone was humming. 

Then he realized someone was holding his head to their chest. 

And then that they were wiping his face and neck, cleaning what the water could not reach.

Ghost closed his eyes and let himself collapse fully into Soap’s arms.

His tune did not stutter. He just held the broken man closer, pressing his lips against his hair and rocking them back and forth.

Ghost clung onto the arm stretched across his chest like it was a lifeline. And it might as well have been. Soap might as well have been. 

He couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

A former gladiator, forced to the ground and shaking because he had to kill people.

He was cold, but not as cold as he should have been. Submerged in a frozen river, he should have already been dead, but Soap didn’t let him feel more than a watery chill.

His fingers weren’t numb, yet he couldn’t feel them. He was trying. He wanted to feel the current, to feel the flow of water, but they might as well have not been there, refusing to respond.

He would never return to camp nor meet the general’s ire ever again.

There was a bird on the ground. A little waxwing. Hopping around and pecking the dirt. It scratched at the rocky bank for a moment before taking flight, landing in the branches of a leafless tree.

The little waxwing ruffled its feathers and shook its head. It called out a few times before taking off again, flying somewhere Ghost couldn’t watch it anymore. He wished it had lingered just a little longer.

He would have thought he was hyperventilating if not for the fact that he watched  his slow, steady puffs of air freeze in the wind.

After spending too long drifting away, Ghost found it within himself to ask, “What happens now?”

Soap hummed, “Find somewhere safe for tonight, eat something warm, and rest.”

He said it so simply without even having to think about it. It was obvious to Soap.

“And then after that?” Ghost asked, not able to accept that it was that easy.

“One step at a time,” he said gently, running a wet hand through his hair.

Ghost shook his head, his anxiety growing, his breathing getting quicker. He knew what Soap was trying to say, but to him it sounded like there was no plan. Like the only thing he could do was focus on tonight because there was no tomorrow. 

“Hey,” Soap pulled him back, pressing his lips to his temple, “Heroes for hire, right?”

“I’m—,” Ghost stuttered a moment before he remembered confiding in him about an old friend. “—Surprised you remember that,” he finished in a mumble. It was said so softly, a mortal man wouldn’t have heard it over the rush of water.

The god smiled, “Of course. You said it, didn’t you?”

The words bounced around in his mind but failed to process them.

“It’s up to you to live out the dream, for both of you.” Hope came so easily to Soap and Ghost would have given anything to have a fraction of his love for the world.

Soap paused the rocking as something spooked a small flock of birds that were sitting in a nearby tree. Ghost could see out of the corner of his eye the way the god glared over at them, daring anyone or anything to intrude on… whatever was happening.

As soon as Soap was certain that there was no imminent threat, he returned to his rocking and rested his head against the top of Ghost’s.

Ghost, ever the contrarian, cynically asked, “The dream of running around, demanding money from people in need?”

It was the very thing that had him itching for a fight when getting the kid medical attention; Someone taking advantage of another’s desperation for a little bit more change in their pocket. 

Was that the life Ghost was meant to strive for?

Despite the (surely by now, very annoying) pessimism, Soap easily amended, “Running free, helping people in exchange for a warm meal.”

“You remind me of him,” Ghost said before he could think better of it.

Soap was silent, Ghost didn’t know how long for. His thoughts were split between regret for voicing the comparison and guilt at the reminder of his long lost friend. When he found it within himself to pull far enough away to see Soap’s face, he found that he was wearing a soft smile.

Soap asked gently, “What’s his name?” 

Ghost wasn’t used to so much gentleness directed towards him of all people and struggled with the question. Ghost wanted to answer, but he couldn’t.

Soap, in all of his kindness, waited. Let him sit there and flounder under a simple task with enough patience to ascend him to divinity if he weren’t already a god.

Ghost took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

He exhaled shakily.

“Roach. His name was Roach.”

Ghost felt years upon years of delayed grief hit him at once.

“He—” 

His voice broke. After all of that, his voice broke after six words. 

Fucking years of never-ending torment made bearable by one man’s presence and he didn’t have the decency to give out more than his name? Gods, the amount of fights he wanted to lose just so it would be over but kept going because of him and that was all Ghost had to offer? Six fucking words!?

“—Is very proud of you, I’m sure,” Soap finished his sentence for him, “And happy that you’ve come so far.”

I am.

“Both of you need to shut up,” Ghost grumbled, his lip curling at the nauseating words from both of them. 

He reopened his eyes slowly. The snow was still just as bright as before, the water was still moving, and the wind continued to shake empty tree branches.

He stood very slowly; He didn’t know how long he was kneeling for, but he did know that it was long enough for his legs to lock into place and one of his feet to fall asleep.

Soap stood with him, holding onto his arm to make sure he didn’t fall. He couldn’t be embarrassed, he certainly needed the help (not to mention he had done the same thing to Soap not too long ago). 

With his foot only half-assedly responding, he limped towards Taxes. Soap did not let go until Ghost grabbed onto her and started petting her mane. 

It took Ghost far too long to realize that his clothes were inexplicably dry. It should have been the first thing he noticed as soon as he stood, and yet…

He couldn’t afford to get lost in his own head again. 

Ghost removed his gloves to feel the coarse hair of Taxes’s winter coat beneath his hands and stared down at his feet, noting any and every detail about the snow and twigs beneath him.

Soap grabbed his weapons from the river for him and set them against the tree. Part of the ax and speartip were muddy, a line showing where they had been sunk into the riverbed. 

He watched, entranced, as the water on the blades frosted over and coated the metal in a sheen of white. He couldn’t tell how cold it was with the god shielding him from most of it, but if it froze that quickly…

It only served as yet another testament to how much Soap did for him with little to nothing in return. 

There was a tangle in Taxes’s mane.

He brushed through it slowly. Soap patted Ghost’s shoulder and let his hand linger there. Part of Ghost wondered if the god was as touch-starved as he was.

“Do you know where the nearest town is?” Soap asked. He was probably about to have to leave again.

Ghost nodded slowly. 

Ghost was going to a town. To find a hotel. So he could rent a room. And stay there. Because he wasn’t going back to camp again. Ever. He couldn’t. 

And again, it was Soap who pulled him back. 

Soap dropped his hand to grab Ghost’s, squeezing it with that complicated look of emotions that Ghost wasn’t willing to unpack. Nothing was said, but Ghost squeezed his hand back.

They stared for a while, Ghost still trying to process how to function under the crushing weight of freedom and Soap doing whatever it is that Soap does.

Soon, the god was stepping back but did not let go of his hand. The complex array of emotions was taken over by one he knew very well: An unwilling goodbye. 

It was the sad smile of someone not wanting to leave but already anticipating their next reunion; Seeing it on Soap and about him made him feel… odd. There was a pain in his chest, but one he wanted to seek out instead of avoid. Ghost still managed to find guilt in causing Soap any negative emotion.

Soap said in a voice that was only just loud enough to be heard and no louder, “Well, I’ll… try to see you there.” 

He admitted the “trying” part reluctantly, as if ashamed by his own limits. Ghost wanted to reassure him that it was okay, but words were never his strong suit.

You should kiss his hand.

Ghost pulled Soap’s hand closer and pressed a kiss to Soap’s knuckles like some stupid scene from a stupid fairytale. As he pulled away, he rubbed his thumb across where he just kissed and let go.

Soap’s eyes were wide and a blush was just visible against his tan skin. Ghost felt pride well up from somewhere deep inside him; He, Ghost, a mortal man, just made Death blush.

“Until we meet again,” Ghost said with a sarcastically pompous tone and a burgeoning smile as he got on his horse, hoping a message that he himself wasn’t clear on was clear to Soap.

The god was still gawking at him, frozen in surprise even as Ghost rode towards the faint path in the snow. It wasn’t until he checked behind him and saw that the god was gone that his brain turned back on and practically screamed at him that he’s an idiot.

Because, yes, the god was frozen in shock, but why the fuck did he assume Soap was frozen because he was happy about Ghost kissing his hand?

Ghost closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

This was the fucking bar fight thing all over again. He had assumed that Soap wanted or needed his help to get down and made a fool of himself back then, and the same had happened once more. 

Except worse. Because he just fucking kissed his hand. Unprompted.

Well… unprompted from Soap, at least.

Quit your whining. Soap’s a god, if he didn’t like it, he’d have done something about it.

Which was the same excuse he had given after the cabin.

I was correct then, and I’m correct now!

He buried his face in his hands. Gods, why didn’t Ghost just fucking ignore him like he always did? Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t acted on some stupid little voice inside his fucking head—

You’re gonna thank me when all of this is said and done.

Ghost couldn’t take it anymore and yelled in exasperation to an empty, snowy forest, “When all of what is said and done!?”

Predictably, the trees held no answer and he heard the faint echo of a familiar laugh from somewhere in his own head. Ghost resituated and mocked the voice, hoping his annoyance was clear.

The town was hours away, and he’d spend every minute of the ride stewing in the agony of knowing he was an easily manipulated, stupid idiot. He sighed, although it quickly turned into a frustrated groan.

“Fuck you,” Ghost grumbled.

Aww, you’re so nice to me!

Ghost could picture his stupid shit-eating grin without even being able to see him. He shook his head and reminded himself that he was angry at him and shouldn’t smile at his joke. Fucker.

…

The room he had been given was comfortably small, most of the area taken up by a large bed centered on one of the walls, with a floor that creaked every time he shifted his weight.

Most of the light streamed in from the windows that overlooked the tree line although a few dim lanterns were dotted about the room. A wood stove in the corner was working to fend off the frigid weather with a small table and chairs under one of the windows.

Ghost barely took the time to check the room before dropping his gear and outerwear unceremoniously to the floor. It was warmer than what he would have expected and the bed was calling his name even though it couldn’t have been past noon.

He still needed to give the god an offering, both as a part of his daily routine and as a thanks. Ghost couldn’t help but yearn for when it was warm enough for him to go searching for Soap’s temples.

He missed the thrill of exploration, the rewarding feeling upon properly reading the environmental clues, and comfort once near one of his old shrines. As soon as spring began to scare away the snow or he was far enough south for it to warm up, he’d have to find one again.

He stared at the ceiling above him in case it had any ideas for possible offerings hidden in the wood grain. Nope. But the bed was more comfortable than he expected.

The quilt overtop of it was rough, scratchy, and heavy in a way that he knew he would not struggle to stay warm that night — It reminded him of one his mother had made years and years ago. The unrefined stitching was charming; whoever made it cared more about functionality than looks and wanted something warm as opposed to pretty.

Uncomfortable, lumpy pillows sat against the headboard. The last time he had slept with an actual pillow was… probably back in Soap’s temple after the bookstore debacle. (He still had no idea where Soap had gotten it and the blanket from).

Sure, most people would probably call it pretty shitty, but he wasn’t on a cot, in a sleeping bag, or staring up at a canvas tent. To him, it was perfect.

While he was cold, he did not get under the covers. He knew that he was lying to himself that he would be able to stay awake if he did.

But he definitely wasn’t lying to himself about staying awake as long as he just laid on top of the blankets. The fact that he blinked and suddenly the sun was much closer to the horizon than it had been a moment ago meant nothing.

The cause of his vexation was sitting at the table. Soap was staring out the window with his chin propped up on his hand, Ghost could only see the back of his head. He was tapping his fingers against his arm.

Ghost reluctantly sat up and stretched, afterwards having to blink several times for the world to return to normal.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Soap commented without turning away from the window.

“Should’ve woken me, then,” Ghost grumbled. He was surprised by the rasp in his own voice, making a face of confusion, only then realizing how deeply he must have slept. He moved his legs over the side of the bed like he was going to stand, but as soon as he realized that standing meant leaving the bed, he changed his mind.

Soap chuckled quietly, now looking at him. “I’d rather kill myself than interrupt your sleep.”

“Fucking hell! Alright, gods…” Ghost responded as if he wouldn’t make a similarly grim joke. “How long have you been waiting?” he asked, fruitlessly trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Not long.” Soap answered fast enough that Ghost knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was lying. He rubbed his eyes harder, now wondering how long Soap had to wait on him.

When he finished, he found Soap staring at him. As soon as he saw that Ghost had noticed him, Soap looked away, shifting in his chair and messing with his hands.

It was Ghost’s turn to stare now as he tried to figure out what made him so antsy and… was he blushing? What— 

Oh yeah. 

That.

Fuck.

How does he even begin to apologize for kissing Soap’s hand?

Tell him you want to kiss him on the lips.

Ghost wanted to throw something out the window. That stupid little voice was the very reason he was in this fucking predicament to begin with!

Oh, boo hoo. Now kiss.

Ghost took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about earlier—”

“I’m sorry I made you—”

They started speaking at the same time, both apologizing but cutting each other off before the reason for the apology could be revealed. They paused and a slightly awkward laugh was shared as a tense air fell over them.

“You first,” Ghost said before Soap could, delaying the inevitable.

“I’m sorry I made you do— well— all of this,” Soap said, looking anywhere but at Ghost, gesturing around.

“All of what?” Ghost asked.

“This,” Soap said again. “The— The betrayal, the cabin, the ambush— all of it.” He finally looked back at Ghost, his voice filled with regret. “I’m glad you’re not there any more—” If he said it with any more anger, smoke would have been pouring from his lips. “—But I wish it hadn’t come with… everything else.”

Ghost sighed sadly, upset at the idea that Soap believed he owed an apology for pushing him to leave the general’s side. “Soap—”

“Nope! Your turn! What do you think you have to apologize for?” he interrupted quickly, his tone pulling a 180 with a hypocritical denial to hear any push back on whether he needed to apologize. 

The last part of his statement didn’t make any sense; It should have been obvious why he was apologizing. Ghost had just kissed his hand out of nowhere, of course he needed to apologize for that. 

Did Soap somehow forget? Was it that bad that he immediately repressed it to the point he didn’t even remember Ghost’s fuck up? Did he just want to pretend it never happened and brush it aside in the hopes it wouldn’t happen again?

Well, Soap would be right about that — Ghost sure as shit wasn’t going to make a mistake of that magnitude again. He owed that much to Soap, at least. He couldn’t let himself establish this pattern of constantly and consistently overstepping—

“Ghost?”

His head shot up. Soap was looking at him concerned. 

Right. They were talking.

He started his apology, “I’m sorry about earlier…” 

But Ghost always has been and always will be a coward. “With— um, not giving you an offering.” Gods, what is wrong with him? Stupidly, he stuck to his lie. “I, I tried to think of something— of an offering—”

Unless pretending he wasn’t upset about it was a test to see if he’d still apologize without Soap having to mention it, to see if he was actually sorry, and he just failed.

He was staring firmly at a knot in the floorboards as his hands mindlessly picked at his nails. He was never sure if it was a habit he formed to distract his hands or if it was because he wanted the pain of picking them too far.

Breathe.

“Ghost.” 

Soap had stood up, was standing in front of him. His eyes widened, not having heard the god’s approach. He grabbed Ghost’s hands and pulled them apart. When his thumb absently moved to keep picking at his nails, Soap clasped their hands together to prevent the action. 

Soap, perfectly fine with turning Ghost’s world on its head with just a few words, said so softly, “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. You do not owe me. You have done more for me than I could ever put into words.” Soap brought his hands together and kissed his knuckles.

If Ghost wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now. And he wasn’t even wearing his mask.

I FUCKING TOLD YOU, YOU STUPID LITTLE BITCH.

Ghost snorted. 

Which was not the right response to Soap’s heartfelt words, but damn if dead people don’t have awful timing. Knowing just how bad of a response it was made him chuckle more, shaking his head.

“I— I’m sorry—” He was still giggling.

“What?” Soap thankfully sounded more confused than offended.

“Roach, he—” Still giggling. He could feel the dead bastard’s smug grin in his sudden silence.

“What…? Wait, did he say something?” Soap asked, catching on. “He did, didn’t he? What did he say?” Soap had a growing smile, almost laughing along with Ghost even though he had yet to find out what was so funny.

“…Nothing,” Ghost said unconvincingly. Gods, how does he explain what he said without recounting every time the asshole demanded that he flirt with Soap.

“He was making fun of me, wasn’t he?”

“No, no—”

“No? Then what was it?”

“He’s mean to me,” Ghost tattled, trying to stop laughing.

Am not. Pussy.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

“You don’t want to know,” Ghost said honestly, shaking his head. Without thinking beyond just wanting to hide, he dropped his head and closed his eyes in embarrassment, the crown of his head resting against Soap’s sternum. 

Which solved his problem of wanting to hide, but created a new problem in not knowing what to do with his hands as Soap let go. 

Gods, so much was fucking happening and he was still barely awake.

Shakingly, hesitantly, his hands fell to Soap’s sides. He was still too caught up in his own issues for the forefront of his mind to pay much attention to the action, leaving his subconscious to decide that it was the right move.

His hands were clenched in a loose fist, as if his subconscious thought that it would fix any worry of the motion being mistaken for wandering, grabbing hands. 

Part of him, the stupid part, wanted to pull the god closer and, at first, he couldn’t figure out why. But Roach’s influence must be rubbing off on him because he realized he wanted a hug. 

How fucking embarrassing.

What was even more embarrassing was how much his blush worsened when Soap brought his own hands up, one brushing through his hair and one resting on his shoulder, occasionally rubbing half-circles with his thumb.

Recompense.

That was the only thing Ghost could think of in that moment. What could he do in return.

He just said you don’t need to give him anything, dumbass.

Yeah, thanks, dumbass, but he wanted to give him something. Ghost from a year ago would have scoffed at that idea and probably make fun of him too, but a year ago the only thing he had to look forward to was dying on the battlefield.

“Simon,” he said quietly without thinking about it a moment more.

“Hmm?” Soap asked quietly, neither of his hands pausing.

“My name— It’s Simon.” He lifted his head from where it was resting but did not look up. He would lose his nerve if he tried looking up at the god, so he decided that the third button from the bottom on Soap’s shirt would be just fine as a replacement.

It wasn’t the kind of offering the god needed, it didn’t have much of any meaning aside from another way to address him, but it meant something to Ghost, at least. The gods didn’t care about his weird personal plight with his real name given to him by his Mother versus the moniker bestowed upon him by those placing bets on when he’d die, but maybe it could mean something to Soap too.

“Thank you, Simon,” said Soap, still running his fingers through his hair.

And the way he said it, maybe it did mean as much to Soap as it did to Ghost. It was just his name, but it had tears welling up in his eyes. He did not know how long it had been since someone called him by his actual name.

(He did. It was the last thing Roach had said, his last words wasted on trying to save Ghost, calling out for him to move before acting for him.)

He still couldn’t look up at him, but he did manage to pull up enough to now be staring at the fifth button on his shirt. No one knowing him as anything other than Ghost was a self imposed punishment; He could have, at any given time, told people his name, but he didn’t.

And he wouldn’t. Not after how nice Soap said it. No, he would like to keep that to himself and Soap.

“I think my name was John.”

Ghost heard the way he said it. It was the same way Ghost had confessed his: quick and impulsive, saying it before your fears could talk you out of it. 

He finally pulled his eyes up, making eye contact for a split second before he settled for staring at some point on his cheek. Ghost was still sitting on the bed while Soap stood, the exaggerated height difference only making the moment of vulnerability that much more intimidating.

“John?” Ghost asked to confirm.

Soap inhaled shakily, like finally hearing someone else call him by his name confirmed hazy memories. “All of it’s fuzzy, but… I— I think it was.”

Ghost knew he would never understand the full weight of that confession but he knew that he felt happy that Soap trusted him enough for it, that Ghost may have been able to help him find solace with a question he might never be able to answer.

He would never know the origin of Death and it wasn’t a question he felt too pressed to find an answer for, not when he was sitting in front of it, fucking holding him. Knowing the name he had before becoming Death was more than enough for Ghost.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Johnny,” Simon said, squeezing his hand.

“Is it?” Johnny asked, a question loaded with more than what was directly said.

While Simon did not know what all the god wanted to ask, he knew what his answer was regardless. “Yes, I think it is.” 

The hand that had been on his shoulder moved under his chin and slowly tilted his head up. 

It wasn’t the first time the god had done it, but his breath still hitched; the god did it the same way every time, always careful, always with a touch light enough to be a suggestion and nothing more, never forcing. And like every other time, he obliged.

Simon still dodged the eye contact like it would cause him physical pain if their eyes met, but he took in every other detail of Johnny’s face; The lingering blush, the expression that Simon couldn’t describe as anything other than awe even though that couldn’t be what it was, and (after a courage-gathering inhale) the eyes that were not looking at his own, but staring at his lips.

It took Ghost an embarrassing amount of time to realize, ‘Oh, he wants to kiss me.’

And as soon as he did, a million and one fears ran through his head, all about messing it up or misinterpreting it, but the closer Soap got, the more muffled they became. 

And, well, thinking had never done him any good, so he made an impulsive decision and crossed the last half of an inch between them.

Ghost hesitantly brought his hand to rest on Soap’s cheek, reassured when Soap did something similar and held the back of his neck. Soap held his hand there like it was protection, covering a weak spot during a moment of vulnerability. 

Vulnerable was really the only word he could use to describe it. Normally, where the word would bring fears of helplessness and going unprotected, he only felt comfort. Intimacy, his brain provided.

There was nothing he could do to try to describe it, partially because it broke his brain, but what else is new.

When they separated, Soap’s chest was moving like he was breathing heavy, like he had run out of air. Ghost smiled; He knew it was no physical limitation causing his perceived breathlessness. 

But they didn’t stay separated long. No, now that kissing was on the table, it was going to be taken fully advantage of.

Soap was the one to close the distance the second time, now holding Ghost’s face in both hands, one still on the back of his neck and the other positioned so his thumb could rub his cheek, just under his eye.

Ghost was completely out of his element but he trusted Soap. Johnny stepped closer, resting his knee on the bed next to one of Simon’s own. He almost laughed at himself; Earlier, he had scoffed at the fact that he wanted a hug, and now…

When the contact started to become too much and he remembered that he was supposed to be breathing, he tapped Soap’s wrist and pulled back. Soap thankfully understood, moving one hand back to his shoulder and the other ghosting the back of his neck. It was still contact, but much less all-encompassing; Something easier to digest without taking it away completely.

They sat in silence for a moment, processing and basking in the sudden development. Ghost felt like he was a kid sneaking into a closet to steal kisses from his sweetheart. The comparison made him blush more, and only then did he realize how red his cheeks must have been.

Simon wondered when the hell they had grown so close, wondered when the god managed to fully gain his trust without his notice.

It was anxiety-inducing and exhilarating all at once. And with Soap’s presence alone calming the anxious part of him, he was left with a delighted, fuzzy feeling that made the world feel a little more welcoming, a little bit brighter.

Ghost’s smile grew as he quietly teased, “And here I thought the kiss of Death was supposed to be a bad thing.”

Soap did something between a sigh and a scoff, like he wasn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or a taunt. It seemed he took it as both, rolling his eyes even though the fond smile never left him.

“Oh, gods…” Ghost groaned in reluctant realization, his head falling against Johnny’s chest.

“What?” Johnny asked, his hands hovering, his worry palpable.

Simon pulled him closer as he groaned, “Roach is going to be so fucking smug.”

Damn fucking right I am, you stupid, lovable, delusionally oblivious bastard.

Soap huffed, clearly not having expected that development. “What do you mean he’s gonna be smug?”

Go on, tell him.

Ghost was now officially trying to hide against Soap, even though it was Soap he would want to hide from after this admission. He groaned like he was in grievous physical pain and (very) reluctantly admitted, “…Roach has been trying to tell me that you want to kiss me or that I should kiss you for weeks now.”

The words were so mumbled, Ghost hoped that Soap didn’t understand them. But of course he did. Simon heard Soap’s laugh as much as he felt it, and damn that pushy, dead freak, he wanted to burrow through the floorboards.

“Is… Is that why you kissed my hand in the forest?” Johnny asked, a grin audible in his voice.

He groaned again, just needing to make his annoyance known, and nodded against his chest. 

Soap’s arms landed on his back and held him, comforting him even as the traitor chuckled at Simon’s misery. “Well, he wasn’t wrong — And I’m very glad you chose to listen to him.”

Ghost held his breath for several seconds, though he had no idea what he was trying to achieve. When he breathed in again, he turned his head to the side, still resting against Soap but watching the sunset through the window.

I believe a thanks is in order.

“Thank you, Roach,” Ghost reluctantly mumbled, forgetting that Soap would hear it too. He needed another nap.

The god echoed his words, “Yes, thank you, Roach.”

Simon shook his head, “Don’t thank him too, his ego was already bad enough.”

“Well, I think he deserves it,” Johnny said, leaving Simon outnumbered. 

Ghost finally pulled his head up and stared at Soap. “That’s because you don’t have to listen to him—”

Soap quietened his petulant argument by kissing his forehead, stopping Ghost in his tracks and leaving him to blink blankly as his blush slowly grew worse as if they hadn’t kissed on the lips just a moment ago.

Haha, loser.

Simon looked away and resisted the urge to feel the spot the god kissed, who only chuckled at his reaction.

…

Although the sun had settled behind the mountains, he still braved the nighttime winds that rolled through the town. It had only been a few hours since he left Taxes in the hands of the local stable, but he couldn’t not check on her. So, to the stables he trekked.

The locals were wandering the street just fine, unfazed by the weather. Ghost, however, was not as acclimated.

It wasn’t long after Soap and Roach bullied him that the god had to leave, still bound by the limitations of his power. Ghost distantly wondered if he could give Johnny food offerings again and claim they were for dates… But the idea was left behind when it made him confront the idea that he might be dating a fucking god.

Flowers would still have to do… 

…Which are also something given on dates. Fuck.

He hugged the buildings, the store fronts and porches offered some protection from the wind that billowed down the street. There were more people out and about now, but even the nighttime rush was still quite quaint.

The hitching posts in front of the tavern were almost all taken. Fortunately, the building didn’t look too rowdy from where he glanced through the windows from the other side of the street; Soap would absolutely kill him if he got into another barfight.

When he finished trudging through all of the snow and got to the stable, he found that predictably, Taxes was fine, but that didn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief. When he went to pet her, she was reluctant for only a second or two before she remembered that she liked to be petted and demanded that Ghost continue and never stop.

He loved his stupid horse.

“We actually made it out, huh?” he mumbled, still not believing it himself.

Ghost’s small smile only grew when he realized that she didn’t even know that her life was about to change for the better; She’d never have to march into battle or deal with the general’s men ever again.

Tomorrow was going to be stressful, trying to figure out a plan of action and leave to avoid having to spend what little money he was given on another night in the town. But, now that he thought about it…

It was stupid beyond belief and proof that his survival instincts had been thoroughly fucked, but part of him considered taking the Captain up on his offer.

Out of one frying pan, into a second frying pan, out of that frying pan, and back into yet another fucking frying pan. Brilliant.

But he wasn’t indebted to the Captain, there was no reason for him to stay longer than necessary, and, well… 

Fucking hell, he wanted to trust what Captain Price had said about helping him, alright? Yes, it’s fucking stupid, but fuck he just wanted it to be true.

Maybe… Maybe he could “take a sabbatical” or some shit, follow through on the idea of finding a temple of Johnny’s, maybe shake the bastard by the collar and demand to know what the hell happens if you date a god, and then see if the Captain’s offer still stands.

It felt like it should have been suicidal to return to a military after finally breaking his chains, but— but he wanted to have hope, dammit.

Taxes let out an ear piercing whinny and stomped around, at which point Ghost realized she was probably pissed that he hadn’t brought her a treat. No doubt the stable hands had already given her something, but he’d like to keep the horse in his good graces.

Glancing around, there wasn’t anything left out in the stable for him to pilfer for her, meaning he’d have to go all the way back to his hotel room, get an apple or oatcake or something from his bag, and then come all the way back to give it to her.

“The lengths I go to for you…” Ghost mumbled in mock annoyance.

Softy.

“Shut up,” he demanded without any bite, rolling his eyes. He could still hear Roach’s chuckles echoing faintly from his own mind. He patted her nose in lieu of a goodbye and when he stepped away, she moved around in her stall, stomping some more. 

He shook his head and took a courage gathering inhale, dreading the frosty wind; He hoped Taxes appreciated that he was facing a snowstorm just to get her a snack. 

Making sure his cloak was pulled tight, he stepped into the snow, and made it three steps before hands grabbed him and his world went dark.

[exhaustedpirate]

I just saw your tag on the Orville Peck post and when I tell you I've had this in mind for like three weeks:

Buck goes out to a club during some kind of Heroes & Villains night or something, wears a domino mask, and people keep double-taking when they see him. He asks "What the hell is going on?" and Josh says "Oh, they think you're Orville Peck. I heard that otter debating with his friend earlier." And Buck asks "Who's Orville Peck?" and Josh's jaw drops and he saves Orville on Buck's Apple Music/Spotify so he can listen later. Buck goes home, starts listening while he gets ready for bed, ends up laying on his bed in a puddle of tears staring at his ceiling while Let Me Drown plays from his phone by his head, and he feels like his heart's cracked open and he rolls over and finally texts Tommy, even though it's almost 2 AM and they broke up three months ago.

And Tommy calls him, because it's 1:57 AM on a Saturday and his ex just texted him "I think you're my last" and he thinks the worst, and instead it's a tipsy, sad Buck that answers with "Who else is it supposed to be?" and Tommy says "Someone deserving" and Buck asks "Don't I get to decide that?" and Tommy gets quiet and asks if he's at home and Buck says yes, and Tommy shows up at his door twenty-three minutes later and when Buck answers the door, Tommy hears Rhinestone Cowboy playing for some reason and sees Buck's face and realizes he's made a huge mistake and broken his soulmate's heart.

Will I ever write this? I don't know, man, but I had to get this out somewhere.

and once again i think (out loud this time), orville peck makes everything better!!

i love all of this, the music choices, rhinestone cowboy is a fucking banger and i really do need this so pls, my friend, for me??? *pout to rival buck's (impossible but i'll try)*

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s6 episode 10 thoughts

hmm… scully seems to be black and white in the image for this episode. maybe she has had this power to turn greyscale the whole time and she has simply never chosen to wield it until now. how fascinating of her!

ah, i see that the one after this is likely a two-parter, based on titles alone. so i had better focus now before things get crazy.

the description here emphasizes that scully will be the one pursuing this photographer!! i hope that bodes well for our girl!! i need lots of scully time!! or else terrible things happen to me!!

post-episode thoughts: we need to release the cut of this episode where mulder and scully team up to destroy this ritter fellow. i know mulder had to physically restrain himself from choking that dude out. frankly, he usually has FAR less self-control, so this was a big step for him.

but first and foremost, this was a scully episode. and there is so much i want to say. about living!! and dying!! and loving!! and what scully wants for herself!!! and i am sad, but i am pondering!!! and i want her to be happy!!! and in the process of editing my notes, i got myself so worked up over the whole thing that i simply cannot articulate anything!!!! which is such a shame, because if i had words, i would use them!!! at length!!

we open in new york city, where a woman gets help pushing a shopping cart out of an elevator to deliver some mail. mail time!!! wait. who is behind her?

get away from her. she is working. STOP FOLLOWING HER. I’M SERIOUS. now the elevator is taking too long to come get her…. and the creepy guy gets in. GET OUT OF THERE. YOU’RE MAKING ME ANGRY.

why can creepy man see everyone in black and white? until he steps out of the elevator, and all of the color returns.

oh shoot. he gets out and then the elevator starts breaking. so he takes the STAIRS. and it falls!!!! 

he’s taking a picture of the collapsed elevator?? with the bodies in it??? 

now who does that help….?

why is he documenting it… is he working for OSHA or something…..? 

shortened intro, you will not sneak your tricks past me.

someone else is doing a background check here at the FBI!! are scully and mulder free?? well, they’re stuck on the same floor, so probably not. mulder is on the phone and fiddling with his pen.

no; they, too, are sadly stuck performing background checks. this is so sad!!! she can save lives!!!! and they use her for this!!!

she asks if mulder is ready to quit and he says “no. that would make way too many people way too happy” <- LMAO well, that is entirely understandable

ohhh, she gets a strange call and is on the move. she was asked to go to kersh’s office!! this cannot be good!! he hates her!! and she was the only one called!

OOO, WE SEE HER FILE. she’s 5 foot 2!!! i didn’t know that!!! but i figured she was somewhere in that area. and she lives in annapolis, maryland. like learning that mulder lives in alexandria, i do not know enough about geography to know what that means.

seems she was brought on in 1990 as an instructor of forensic pathology, and she was recruited right from the university of maryland. i did know this. but not the years during which it happened. 

ARGH, i wish this screen wasn’t so dark so i could SEE. it says something about physics. BA in physics?? ARGH! this is so frustrating. mulder had described her thesis as her “graduate thesis”, so maybe she did physics undergrad, physics grad school, then med school, then FBI. 

well. it’s not focusing other than that, so i can’t make any conclusions unless kersh announces what he sees inside. because he is the one reading her file.

some agent named ritter is here from new york. who are you, man? he found an old crime scene photo of a woman who passed away from an overdose. but the clock in the photo is 45 minutes earlier than her listed time of death. scully points out that a clock can be wrong. why is this ritter man, like, quizzing her?

hmm!!! from the newspaper, the other photograph of the body shows a totally different time, an hour and a half later!!! that is very weird. from the same photographer, too. i’m guessing he wasn’t just hanging there for 2 hours and spacing out his picture taking.

alfred fellig is the photographer. ritter thinks that maybe he poisoned the woman and photographed her for personal pleasure, then came back later to do his job for the police and photographed her AGAIN. and while scully says that is “quite a theory”, there are 3 other photos of fellig's that show very different times according to different negatives.

she says there’s no consistent MO, and he says there is no consistent anything. and he wants her help. kersh asks him to leave. what is afoot here….

“i would say he has a promising career ahead of him. so did you… at one time” <- OH MY GOD??? 

(furious scully face)

“AGENT MULDER and i will begin immediately” <- OH!!! she stood right up for him!!! what a good friend!!

but kersh says he is a lost cause. and that he hopes she isn't as well.

so now she has to go to new york city with this RANDOM GUY. oh, i’m pissed off FOR HER!! kersh must be trying to separate them….

fellig is getting off a bus and watching some guy have what appears to be a heart attack. heart attack (or coughing fit? chest pain?) guy is in black and white!! 

he goes somewhere and gets some mail, patting his head with a cloth while fellig watches out the window. and he grabs his arm!! and falls!!!! AND FELLIG COMES CLOSER TO WATCH????

he pulls out his camera and takes a bunch of pictures of the dying guy, who he sees in black and white. very weird.

mulder is looking through a bunch of photos on his computer. ohhh, it looks like he found the pictures from fellig. “mulder. what are you doing?” “being nosy. eating my heart out. they’re sending you on an x file” <- OHHH, HE LOOKS SO SAD AND LEFT OUT :(

“it’s not an x file” “that’s not what i’m reading”

“i’m thinking murder by telekinesis. i’m thinking maybe a shamanistic death touch. i’m thinking about the muslim superstition that to photograph someone is to steal their soul” <- OHHH, LET HIM ON THE CASE :( 

fascinating look into how he starts gathering leads based on the little information he knows about the case and his wealth of memorized strange facts....

he thinks they’re splitting them up!!!! and he’s so sad!!! oh!! she tries to tell him it’s a one-time thing, but he isn’t buying it.

she bites her lip, closes his tabs as agent ritter walks in, and introduces them. he very visibly wants to beat the guy with a hammer. and makes a point of calling him by his first name.

jump to new york city. ritter and scully are asking some cops about fellig. he has yearly renewals for his job a very long time, and he’s been doing it since 1964!!! he doesn’t seem to have aged. 

OH! this ritter guy seems fine enough, but he called her "dana", and that made me flinch. he doesn’t seem to think it’s that weird fellig hasn’t aged at all.

meanwhile, some other dude is being chased and calling for help. whoever is chasing him pulls out a knife and kills him!!! and fellig is there to take pictures of the scene!!

but the murderer finds fellig and starts stabbing him…… he steals fellig’s camera as the blood pours everywhere. but fellig gets up!!! and pulls the knife out of his own back!!! ack!!!! 

the blood from his body is red and didn’t cause any gassing, so i don’t think he’s one of the shape-shifting aliens, but maybe he’s some sort of vampire or vampire-like creature?? maybe he sucks energies from the photos of dying people he takes??

ritter and scully find the knife with fellig’s prints on them.

“what’s this?” “a whole lotta blood” “yeah, i got that” <- LMAOOOOO, do not separate her from her bonded pair or she will be mad. scully clearly does not think there is a second victim because there is no second body.

ritter says it is “january 4th”. so does this take place BEFORE rain king, somehow? or did we jump ahead a year? you know what? i’m gonna try not to think about it. 

that seems like a weird detail to include for it to just prove the timeline wrong.

(i'm still annoyed about this 24 hours later btw)

they’re interviewing fellig. scully watches from the corner. he says he saw someone stealing a kid’s shoes and tried to run him off. he claims he touched the knife after the murderer left. 

OHHH, she picks up on the fact that he is in pain and is closing in on him like a shark smelling blood. yeahhhh, noir detective. ritter seems fascinated by this but like, come on, we all are. he’s not special.

fellig confesses to being cut. and she helps take off his shirt to see the gashes. ritter says to get his blood drawn and take pictures.

“hey, i’m confused. i thought we were trying to bust this guy, not look for reasons to let him go” “i thought we were looking for the truth” <-YEAH, YOU TELL HIM 🔥 

he gets pissed and leaves

AWWWWW, MULDER CALLS HER AND SAYS IN A STUPID VOICE THAT THEY USED TO SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER AT THE FBI :,) AWWWW, LOOK AT HER TIRED SMILE!!!

WAIT, WHY DOES HE KNOW ABOUT THE STABBING, LMAO????? “i told you, i’m nosy” <- WHAT DOES HE KNOW??

they found another murderer’s prints on the knife and fellig’s blood all over the place… yeah. so fellig probably isn’t killing these people outright.

DID HE HACK INTO THE NYPD DATABASE SOMEHOW?? LMAOOOOO???

NO, HE GOT THE FILES FROM KERSH SOMEHOW, AND HE SEES THAT FELLIG HAS A HEALING FACTOR. LMAOOOO, oh he is gonna get in TROUBLE!!

but he says kersh has (mostly) nice things to say about her. which is kind of him to add.

he whines his way into doing a background check on the murderer, saying it’s what he does now. and you can tell she wants to say no, but also knows that saying no to him won’t do a damn thing, lmao.

why does he have access to kersh’s files….?

scully is joining ritter in a car at 1 am. seems he’s doing a stakeout on fellig. ritter tells her to have a LOVELY evening in a way that seems like he really hates her. man. i thought he was kinda chill at the start of this episode. except for the way he was quizzing her. and ignoring fellig not aging. maybe he was a jerk all along and i simply tried to be kind.

time for scully to flip through some more murder photos. OH NO!! she hears the camera clicking in the distance… and ritter just walked away!!! IS HE GONNA BE DEAD???

she knocks on fellig’s door and says “explain this” LMAO, get those answers!! how did he take a photo of a murder an hour before the police arrived?! 

she says he needs to explain himself or he will not know a moment’s peace. and trust that she means it.

fellig says to take a ride with her, which has me scared. and then he drives her around for an hour!!! he says he is looking for the shot. 

he finds a woman on the street corner, saying she’s about to die, could be a minute, could be an hour. scully grabs her gun, thinking he’s going to do something nefarious. he says the way they die is always a surprise- he just always knows when. 

“you want me to believe that?”, she asks

but then a man comes toward the woman on the side of the road, and they start fighting. scully gets out of the car! and she grabs the dude!!! he is under arrest!!! i fear she may only fulfill the prophecy somehow… 

she takes a gun off of him, and when he claims it isn’t his and calls her “red”, she slaps him on the face, omfg…. just a little slap…. but it was enough

BUT NO!!! when scully goes to ask the lady on the side of the road if she’s okay, the mystery woman gets hit by a truck!!!

OMG????? and fellig comes in to get the shot…

ritter is mad as HELL with scully when she rolls up with this random dude under arrest. she is also very mad at him!!! she does not need his permission to do her job!!! but he says he has something to show her. 

the murderer who killed that kid over the shoes claims that fellig did it. and scully accuses RITTER of making the STORY UP, OHHHH!!!

“fellig is a murderer. whether or not he did this specific one, i don‘t care-“ WELL, YOU SHOULD???

omfg… is this some sort of moral test for scully? is kersh torturing her like this is the good place? he says he knows the judge and he’ll get the warrant

OHHHH!!! “you know, kersh warned me about you.” “uh, he did?” “yeah, you and your partner. god knows his reputation precedes him, so i guess i should have seen this coming. you muck up my case, and kersh will hear about it. are we clear, dana?” “scully.”

WHEW!!!! THE WAY SHE SAID HER NAME ALL CLEAR AND QUIET GAVE ME GOOSEBUMPS

you tell that pathetic rat.

“and we’re done with this conversation” YES MA’AM 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

wow. still playing this on loop in my brain, 24 hours later. the implications... the defining of herself... the resistance... yeah.

phone call time!! it’s mulder!!! she admits that it is an x file, which prompts him to sound worried. “what happened?”

mulder says that fellig is 149! under the name henry strand, someone applied for a press license way back in the day, and henry’s prints match fellig’s!! and before henry, there is an L.H. rice who was born in 1849 and has the same fingerprints!!

how did he track the fingerprints down… get mulder out of this office and into a research lab, maybe!

“i’m not good at math, but i figure that’s a whole lot of candles on the cake”

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! he doesn’t think he’s good at math!!!

man, i haven’t gotten to do a lore reveal text format like that in a while. that felt nice.

scully finds fellig's age hard to believe, but mulder says she should find him before he vanishes again. she turns up at his apartment and looks so scary, LMAO. 

but she warns him that he will be arrested in 2 hours and charged with murder. which makes her seem to be the the good guy here, and not as scary as her angry face would suggest.

fellig says he just takes the pictures, but she hits him with “what you showed me was a contemptible lack of compassion for another human being. you showed me that you profit off of people’s deaths” <- OHHHH, GET HIM!! that strong moral code kicks in again!

“now, why shouldn’t you go to prison?” <- oooo, she’s playing hardball. but he says they’re lucky!!! and he doesn’t take them, “he” does. girl, who the hell is "he"?

fellig must be jealous that these other people can die… 

scully follows him into his darkroom. i feel such fondness for her as she moves the curtain. 

he points to someone in the photograph and says “he’s the one who takes them” BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! 

it’s a glimpse of death itself. he’s trying to photograph death!!!

“mr. fellig, i know you know more about photography than i do, but this is just a lens flare” “you’re right, i do know more about photography than you” <- LMAO, okay, that did make me laugh.

she asks him why take a picture of death, and he says he wants to look into his face so he can die. nothing will kill him. he's tried it all.

hey man, i’m unfortunately really distracted by the terrible feelings of tenderness that scully has sparked in me right at this very moment. yeah, idk. i don’t really want to focus on this guy right now. it’s very sad, genuinely, but look at her face. 

he says he doesn’t want to be here, and he got left behind. 

“you know, i don’t believe you” “yes you do. that’s why you’re here” <- OHHHH, he called her out…. the cracks in her disbeliever facade keep growing… is it that she doesn’t believe him, or that her greater commitment to needing to know the truth and therefore do the morally correct thing in handling this murder case brought her here?? can they be separated???

she flips through his photos, touching one of a young flapper. she asks how he knows when they’ll die, and he says he knows.

scully has to step outside. and she calls mulder, asking if louis brady (name on the flapper photo) was also one of fellig's names. he says no, but there is a big gap before 1939, so it could be.

but somehow, fellig disappeared!!! just kidding, he’s back. he wanted to get his film. i thought he vanished for a few seconds there.

mulder is in the FBI archives at 9:30 am. ahhh, i wish i could go there. and he finds fellig’s photo!! it shows him wanted under the name louis brady for double murder!!!

mulder calls ritter when he learns of this news, because he cannot get ahold of her. he tells him about how fellig killed two patients and walked away!!! he tells him to find agent scully NOW. and ritter, of course, is shocked that this murder happened like 80 years ago, but whatever. you better go check on her, ritter.

meanwhile, scully is still with fellig. she asks “how can you have too much life? there’s too much to learn, to experience” and this hits hard because she, of course, was very recently dying.

(moaning in pain as i think about scully wanting to experience and learn everything there is this world has to offer.......)

he says you start to wonder what everyone else gets to know

OH, SHE ASKS ABOUT LOVE??? he wanted to look up his wife 40 years ago. and he couldn’t remember her name. 

(scully, you damn romantic...)

“love lasts 75 years, if you’re lucky. and you don’t want to be around when it’s gone” <- oh stop… you’re going to make her cry…

but, is he actually going to try and kill her…..?

WAIT! she turned black and white… and tells her to count her blessings.

IS HE GOING TO KILL HER BECAUSE HE WANTS TO HELP HER???

(author's note: no)

she wants to know how to prove his thing- that he can live forever, and that he can sense when people are going to die before they do. fellig says someone took his place. he had yellow fever. and he’s getting his camera around…

he saw death back when he was sick. and he saw him dancing around the room, taking people. but death didn’t take him. 

a nurse sat with him, and when death came, he looked away. she looked at him instead. and the fever broke, and she was the one that died. 

he tells her she’s very lucky. she gets in his face and insists she is NOT going to die. she tells him to turn it off. he took her phone!!!

he says death is coming and he needs to make her peace…. 

but it’s ritter!!!! he fires his gun at fellig!!!

SHE COLLAPSES???? WHY IS SHE BLEEDING??????? there is blood coming from her throat???? did ritter miss and shoot her instead???

fellig tries to take a photo of her with his other camera, and asks if she sees "him". he says don’t look, close your eyes. and he holds her hand in his. AND HE LOOKS INTO DEATH INSTEAD. and he gasps softly…. oh my god…. he finally dies.

scully is in bed in the hospital a week later. mulder is waiting, telling ritter he’s a lucky man. which is better than i expected.

OH, he grabs her hand. and he sits on her bed. and he smiles, saying her doctor says she is making an amazing recovery. but she seems so sad, and in so much pain

he says “death only looks for you once you seek its opposite” <- OHHHH my god…

and we fade to black.

so i rewatched the scene where scully gets hurt because at first i couldn't tell what was happening, and this DUMBASS ritter shot fellig, and the bullet went STRAIGHT THROUGH HIM and INTO SCULLY???? like. what the HELL WAS HE THINKING????

holy fuck, if i were mulder i would have done a lot more than tell him he was a lucky guy. look at her enduring ritter's presence while she’s in her hospital bed and he was such an awful person the whole time they worked together. i would have told him to fuck off and let me recover from the bullet YOU put in me in peace.

and mulder grabbing her hand. and the flowers in her room. and his smile at her news. but she’s so sad. people don’t live forever. 

she wants to live, and she wants to have a life, and holy HELL need to lay down.

oh my god… this episode was super dark. and usually i don’t really like the dark ones. but it has scully, so i liked it better. because we got to contemplate her worldview. 

and she wants to LIVE. she wants a LIFE. she wants LOVE. the way she got in fellig’s face and REFUSED to let him take her picture… the way she tried to understand how he could be jealous of death, because she always wants to understand and to learn and empathize… the way she helped fellig, and fellig helped her by telling her to look away from death, so he could look instead… oh my god.

we need to do something about this ritter guy. hopefully, he will simply be fired. you can’t go around shooting your own agents. OH! and the way he didn’t care about justice at all- how he got the warrant because he knew the judge, and he told scully that if she got in his way he’d go to kersh… and how she told him her name is SCULLY and this conversation is OVER…

oh!!!

and mulder helping over the phone; mulder using her sleuthing skills to find out that fellig WAS a murderer and she WAS in danger, and he called ritter immediately and said you had BEST find her. and i can only imagine how he went to bed that night thinking of all the ways he wanted to kill ritter. how he sat by his phone for her. bouncing his basketball until the hospital sent him word of her recovery. 

now, i’m still puzzled as to why he has access to kersh’s files. perhaps this is some sort of clue. but to what? i cannot say.

i just love scully SO MUCH. she saw that the woman on the side of the road was going to die, and she stepped right in and did everything she could, even if it was ultimately doomed. she couldn’t sit back. and she wants a life. she’s in love and she wants a life and she wants a house and a dog. and to save people. and to do work that is satisfying. and all of these things she has been denied.

(screams into my hands)

she’s been slowly starting to believe- maybe not in the traditional sense, but in the sense that she recognizes something she cannot understand is afoot, and she finds herself curious about how and why. i found it very interesting that fellig called her out for this and gibson did as well. and we know that gibson can read minds, so we know it to be true. i don’t think “believes” in the same use of the word that mulder does, but she is finding it harder to compartmentalize, maybe. and can you blame her? i mean, she is miss "there HAS to be a scientific explanation for this". belief not in the supernatural sense, but in the sense that there is so much more to learn and understand and experience. be it love and life or the guy who lives forever and can somehow sense death. maybe the spiritual and the scientific aren't that separate.

god. this really was a scully episode, and i am so grateful. i deserved this. even though it wasn’t one where she laughs and enjoys the gift of being alive, we still got to dive into her thoughts and emotional state. AND we got bonus angsty mulder- angst about them being separated, and angst about nearly losing her. is this not the ultimate kind of mulder angst? 

i shall go to bed a bit sad this evening, but content. 

as i edit my notes to make them readable the day after watching this, there is still so much on my mind. in the sense that i want to write a thinkpiece on what this means for scully's character. maybe this will be a turning point, when she once again confronts her own mortality. how easily death can come. maybe she'll tell him how she feels because she realizes that now is all she has. maybe she'll confront kersh and tell him to get them off of their nonsense assignment so she can go back to saving people. maybe she'll think about all of the times she felt so certain that she was going to die in the past and once again try and make a meaning for why she didn't.

i am also thinking about how sad mulder was when kersh separated them and then how horrible he must have felt when he heard that she was SHOT in his absence. and there was nothing that he could do for a week while he could only wait to hear if she was okay. and then he drove up there as soon as he could. and he KNEW that it was ritter's fault she was lying in that bed fighting for her life, but he somehow managed to say only how lucky he was instead of slamming his head through the drywall. and how he held her hand, smiling, so happy to see her, taking his spot on her bed, thinking of how he loves her and how many times her has nearly lost her. and her thinking the same thing. and neither of them saying anything. just touching.

the feelings i am experiencing are large and difficult to put into words, which is frustrating because, like AUGH! (gestures wildly) do you get what i mean?! do you SEE what i am saying?!?! (grabs your shoulders and shakes them vigorously)

please share your thoughts with me, especially if you are a scully girl like myself. to me, this felt sort of like scully's version of paper hearts, in a way. at least, i see some parallels. even if i cannot elaborate at this time because my brain is flopping.

[peachhcs]

Hannah surprises James today at the beanpot. She said she couldn’t make it but she could and wanted to surprise him.

you read my mindddd😌 the blurb immediately came to me when i saw the beanpot posts HAHA

au masterlist

the td garden was packed with boston college and northeastern fans for the highly anticipated annual beanpot. fans lined the arena and across the wall as the players poured onto the ice to start warmups. the students were on their feet yelling down to the eagles and booing northeastern. the boys ate it up through as they skated the around the glass encouraging the fans to keep it going.

there was one fan in the crowd tucked away that none of the players would recognize her unless she made herself more apparent. hannah and james talked earlier in the week where the gymnast mentioned that she probably didn’t think she could convince her coach to give her off for a day. james was slightly disappointed, but he did understand because negotiating with college coaches wasn’t easy.

however, what james didn’t know was that hannah already had her ticket booked for the game when they talked. the girl was starting to turn into samy because she just loved the idea of getting to surprise her boyfriend and just showing up after convincing him she wouldn’t be there.

she spotted his number 10 down on the ice doing his usual warmups with the guys. a proud smile sat on her lips knowing how much he was looking forward to this game and how much it meant to him to finally be able to play in it. tonight hannah sported some old boston college merch samy lended and she painted a small #10 on her cheeks and then the eagle on the other.

the younger duke sister wasn’t exactly sure how she wanted to make herself apparent or known that she was in attendance. she didn’t know if telling james before the game would distract him, or if just waiting until after would be better? or if him spotting her in the middle of the game would be even worse?

hannah didn’t really have time to contemplate her answers much longer because someone did end up spotting her. as ryan flew past her section, his eyes were on the fans and that’s when he spotted her familiar face in the sea of crimson. the brunette stopped in his tracks and skated back, a wide, confused smile on his lips.

“duker!” he yelled making the girl flush when the other boston college students glanced in her direction.

ryan looked excited to see her. he spun on his skate to find james to tell him who was here. hannah’s blush rose when some of the other fans noticed and recognized who she was.

“haggy! you’re never gonna guess who’s here!” ryan yelled when he got closer to his teammate who was on the other end of the rink.

“who?” james wondered.

“your girl is here,” ryan grinned widely and james’ shocked expression mirrored his own seconds ago.

“hannah’s here?”

“yeah!” ryan pulled james’ arm back towards hannah’s section. he pointed up to the girl who shyly waved down at them.

james’ mouth dropped open in complete shock and then a warm, fuzzy feeling bursted throughout his chest as the happiness slowly overtook the surprise.

she was here.

“go say hi, i’ll cover for you,” ryan pushed the boy towards the door where hannah was already making her way to the floor.

james lifted up his helmet briefly when hannah stood before him, “you’re here,” he mumbled.

“i’m here. surprise,” the gymnast grinned.

“i can’t believe you’re here. i-i thought..how did you?..” the words died in his throat along with every coherent thought in his brain.

“i may have sort of lied when we talked last week. i already had the flight booked. figured i’d try out this whole surprise thing,” hannah giggled and james didn’t even care that the entire boston college student body was watching him.

he pulled her into his arms, that warm feeling spreading throughout his entire body at the feeling of her wrapped around him. james wouldn’t admit this out loud, but he missed having her in his arms like this.

“i missed you so much. i can’t believe you’re here,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“i missed you too, hags. it’s good to see you,” hannah smiled and james also couldn’t stop himself from kissing her.

he heard a few whistles probably from the students watching them still, but he couldn’t less. he hadn’t seen hannah since winter break and even that wasn’t enough time because of world juniors taking up a majority of that break.

hannah slowly directed their lips away knowing people were watching and they could save it for after the game when an entire arena couldn’t see them. “you should get back, but i’ll see you after. score some goals for me,” she smiled.

“oh, you know i will,” the boy beamed, kissing her one last time before skating back on before one of the coaches yelled at him.

hannah blushed before making her way back to her seat. a few of the fans glanced her way, but she mostly ignored the murmurs.

that was probably the most public they’ve ever been with their relationship and neither of them hated it. actually, it sent this strong feeling through james’ chest that everyone just watched him kiss his girlfriend in a sold out arena because now everyone knew she was his.

the eagles dominated the ice in an overwhelming 8-2 victory. the fans were loud and electric as they celebrated the first win of the tournament. hannah kept to herself outside of the locker rooms. she watched the replays of all of the game winning goals knowing james was going to be ridding a really good high tonight.

the boy was eager to see her again, so he basically rushed through his shower. he knew he didn’t have a lot of time until he needed to get back on the bus, but he hoped hannah was up for crashing at his dorm for the night.

he rushed out of the locker room in search of her. hannah looked up as soon as james started running towards her, now back in his suit with damp hair from his shower. she giggled when he wrapped her into his arms and spun her around.

“congrats on the win,” she smiled.

“i told you i’d score some goals,” james smiled as well.

“you were amazing out there. i’m proud of you,” the girl gushed.

he took this more quieter opportunity to kiss her without the anxiety of everyone watching. their lips moved in slow sync with each others, savoring it more than before. if james could kiss her all night he would because he would never get over the feeling of her lips on his.

“i’m so glad you came. i was really hoping you would,” the hockey player said when they finally pulled away.

“i’d never miss this. this is your moment,” hannah cupped his face where he leaned into her touch.

“i gotta get back on the bus soon, but what are the chances you’ll come crash at my dorm?” the boy grinned.

“100%, just tell me when,” hannah agreed.

“perfect, i will. god, i’m so glad you’re here. i’ll see you super soon,” james kissed her one last time before meeting his team.

hannah smiled to herself, that same warm, fuzzy feeling bubbling in her own stomach as she headed back to her hotel to await james’ text that she could head to his dorm.

[thequeenofthewinter]

I swear I am normal...sometimes. Earlier I saw this post by @emmg and GLASSES, and I just...I am a degenerate. I am going to jail. I am not even going to try to defend myself. This is the second smut work I have written in two days (and I didn't even really truly finish this one but I was just possessed to write something.) Don't look at me.

“Leave them.” 

“I beg your pardon, Rook, but what—”

Emmrich had been sitting at his desk all afternoon, pouring over a new tome in his collection, half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose and totally unaware of the world around him. As far as she could gather it was special edition on metaphysical properties of the Fade. How she had wished it were her instead.

Without answering him, she shoves the papers, quills, and ink to the side before sitting unceremoniously on the edge of his desk, thighs spread wide enough so that he can see a small sliver of skin. Just enough to temp, just enough to tease, just enough to see—

“Rook,” he swallows, “are you not wearing…”

Her lips lift into a teasing smile as she places a hand gently on his shoulder. “I have been thinking of you in those damned glasses all afternoon.”

No reply.

“You know,” her fingers trace their way up his collar until a hand cups his chin, “there are much better places where your nose could be buried.”

“And what would you suggest, darling?”

She spreads her legs wider, bearing herself entirely to him before running a finger over her slit. “Right here, of course. It only stands to reason, does it not? I have been tortured thinking about what it would be like to have you between my thighs, tongue deep inside of me for hours. The image is terribly arousing.”

"I--" Emmrich forces himself to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat.

“I know you are a gentleman and a scholar, so…if you need any proof, you can seek it out yourself.”

Maker, the implication of her words. He feels himself stir at the thought as he leans forward, eyes not leaving hers until he is halfway under her skirts. 

Deep breaths, Emmrich, he reminds himself, yet somehow that is worse. The scent of her skin, the arousal he can already smell wafting off of her, causes him to twitch again.

There is no flower more tempting, no bouquet more exquisite. Rook has already given him permission, so what could one taste hurt?

His hand reaches out, fingers curling into the softness of her thighs as he spreads her further.

A moment later she feels it—the warmth of his tongue along with the sharp edge of his glasses. “Emmrich!”

Already wet, and he has barely even touched her. His tongue dives in further as he presses the flat against her, running it until he finds her entrance.

Rook’s hips lift, rutting against him desperately as she moans. The combination of pleasure coupled with the bite of glass almost sends her over the edge.

“More.” Her hands fist in his hair, twisting into the strands as she brings him closer.

And who is he to deny her?

He dives in with fervor, tongue teasing at her before dipping inside. Hot, wet, and sweet, he thrusts inside her, tongue fucking her as she squeezes her thighs lightly around him.

What he ever did to deserve her he will never know. All that he can think about are the delightfully obscene noises she makes, and how hard his cock has become. 

For a moment, he pulls back to adjust himself only to notice the smear of her slick across the lenses of his glasses, Rook’s face a vague blur looking back at him. 

Just when she thinks he is going to wipe the surface clean, he lifts them to his mouth, the tip of his tongue licking herself off of them.

Fuck.