#this post just dug up a lot of emotions

[prettypleasewithplanktonontop]

@mutsukiss's tags

^This.

I was an adult by the time I accepted that it was in fact abuse. Ngl, it was one of the most liberating moments of my life. While things are still not good, I know it isn't my fault at the very least

[hotpinkstars]

LOST POSSESSIONS - aventurine, boothill, x reader

- in which you lost your wedding band during a conflict with something/someone.

- novas comeback post guys I'm gonna be more fluent with writing I promise. hope you enjoy this though I was gonna add Sunday but my computer is literally at 1 percent sooooooo....

- a lot of crying, minor swearing, besides that all comfort... wc 912

When Aventurine walked into your shared home to the sight of you sobbing on the couch, he thought of the worst. Are you hurt? Did something happen while he was at work? He went up to you to seek for answers.

“What happened? What's wrong?” He internally panicked, not wanting to allow you to see his current emotions. He kept calm as you sat up, tear stained face poking a hole through his battered heart.

“You’re gonna be so pissed!” You sob, somehow starting to cry even harder. You dove back into the warm cushions of the couch when you felt the part near your shins dip, and a hand running through your hair and massaging the back of your scalp.

“You can tell me anything. I won’t be upset, I promise,” he gave you a sympathetic look before proceeding. “But if you’re not comfortable with it, I won’t push you.”

You hesitantly show him your bare hands, and he takes them in his. You roll over to face him and look at him with a pained expression, and that's when he seemed to realize. 

“Where's your wedding ring?” He said, his words quick. He looked at you slightly wide-eyed before you began bawling again. He began to swipe the tears out of your eyes, his thumb coming into contact with your lower lashes as he quietly attempts to hush you and calm you down.

“Was it stolen? Did you lose it?” 

You bring a hand up to your face before sniffling. “It got stolen. The diamond was too appealing to some bastard on the streets on Golden Hour, and it was swiped right off of my hand!” 

You curl back into yourself before Aventurine comes down to kiss your face. “I’m not mad at you, babe. I’m beyond pissed off with the person who did that. Nobody seems to have even a drop of human decency these days, do they?” 

You slightly shrugged before hugging him close. He returned the hug, and held you there until you quietly whispered a question into his ear. “What are we going to do about the ring?”

He slightly chuckled before bringing his head on top of yours. “I might as well get you a new one. The old one was rather… out of date, if I must say so myself. I could get you a bigger, brighter diamond.”You attempted to protest, attempting to say everything he knew you wanted to say- even something made out of paper would be good enough for me. But he thought you were worth the shiniest, biggest, rarest stone in the world. Worth much much more than that. And this incident wasn’t much of a setback for him, and really didn’t make his wallet cry very hard at all.

Boothill doesn’t play when his significant other is not doing very well. He’s immediately at your side, stroking your hair and trying to do or say anything he can to make you feel better. 

But in this instance, it didn’t really work. He realized after a few moments that he just had to be patient, and wait for you to come to him,

“You’re going to be so mad at me if I told you,” you hiccuped, before continuing to talk. “Please don’t yell at me.”

“Why would I ever yell at ya’?” He said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Whatever's got your pretty face all stained with tears can’t be that bad. I hate gettin’ mad at ya’, and ya’ know that.”

You nodded, but dug your face deeper into the pillows. Boothill simply put his metal hand on your back, and rubbed up and down. While the sensation felt cold, it seemed to work to help calm you down because you felt more at ease, and he could tell that too. 

“I lost my wedding ring. I don’t know where it went, but one moment it was there and then the next it wasn’t on my hand anymore,” you cut out, trying to hold back more tears. You could see his face change from scared to relaxed.

“Hey, don’t stress it. That’s just a lil’ setback, nothin’ to worry about. We’ll either find it or I’ll buy ya’ a new one,” he says as he picks up your now bare hand, a flash of sadness showing through his eyes. “What’ll make ya’ feel better? Cuddles? If we went out to try n’ find it?”

You shrugged, and he nodded. You buried yourself even deeper into the blankets, giving him the hint that you just wanted to stay inside for now. You felt too bad and your face was rose red from crying, your eyes puffy and your voice raspy. He climbed into the bed with you, wrapping his strong, metallic arm around your covered torso. 

“I’ll do a thorough investigation tomorrow. People don’t usually lie to Galaxy Rangers, but I doubt those adorable cutie pies would know somethin’ like that,” he immediately cringed, realizing how the sentence came out. His stupid synesthesia beacon. 

But he heard you laugh, and the cringe feeling dissipated into a warmth in his metal chest. His whole goal is to keep you happy, healthy, and safe. If he were to fail at one of those things, he’d fail at his own purpose. For now, his only thing is to cheer you up, and make sure you know that he would never be mad at you for a mistake that's not even your fault.

[wooziorgans]

moon song || ljh

warnings: post breakup au. ex idol!reader. reader has an implied suicide attempt(s) in the past. reader is implied to do something akin to relapsing at the end of the fic. ed talk. lots of pressure that comes w being an idol. clubs. drinking. seungcheol hates y/n for leaving. leaving the idol industry behind. seeing your ex after four years. hurt w very little comfort. right person, wrong time.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: vent piece mostly. abt my frustration of still being sick, abt my frustration of not seeming to get better, abt how it never seems to stop. abt all of my wasted potential as a person. all of it, none of it, everything and nothing at all. i am so tired.

please read with caution. this is just a lot of emotions all in one place.

The loud bass that hits your head as soon as you enter the club makes your head pound immediately. It’s been four long years since you’ve even been in this part of Seoul, let alone been in a club with this group of ex-colleagues.

Ex-colleagues is certainly one way to put it. They were all so much more, and you know that this is just an excuse for all of them to get drunk. You wonder briefly if Jihoon’s here. He never used to drink, but then again, he didn’t do a lot of things until you were in the picture. You wonder how much has changed now that you’re not.

The memory of him burns like a hot iron branding your back, and you head to the nearest table of refreshments to grab a drink. If he’s here, you’ll need all the alcohol you can get your hands on. Maybe that makes you no better than anyone else; no better than the scene you so desperately needed to leave four years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You’re no longer apart of it. What you do now won’t cost you your career. If the night ends with you passed out in an alley way simply because you saw your ex at an album release party for an album he produced, so be it. He never comes to these things anyways.

At least, he didn’t when you knew him. You haven’t known Jihoon for a long time. It’s been four years after all; a lot can change in a week, let alone four years.

Like your decision to leave the K-pop industry. You had mulled over it for weeks, before you brought it up to anyone, and you didn’t go to Jihoon first. He was the last person you told. At least, officially, that you were leaving.

All those years of work as a trainee, just for it to be nothing. All of the tears, the angry screams into your pillow, the poverty your company forced you into in the first few years of your career because it was boarding on bankruptcy. All of this wasted potential. Maybe you could’ve been someone great.

You were, for a few years. Your group took off, and the first few years of success made all of the hard work feel like it was worth something. But as the saying goes, too much of a good thing won’t be good for long.

The pressure started to build, and it built until it boiled over and you were found on the verge of doing something terrible in your bathroom by your boyfriend and your manager after a week of unusual silence. Jihoon never was a crier, but god did he sob as he held you in the back of the ambulance. He had never begged for anything the way he begged for you to talk to him.

Please, god, please talk to me Y/N. Please, baby. I can’t— I can’t lose you.

It’s funny, really, how things work out. You dug yourself so deep into this hole of despair from the pressure of being an idol, that the only way out of it was to completely separate yourself from that life and start over.

After terminating your contract, you broke up with Jihoon. Or, you didn’t break up with him, only told him that you needed to take a break while you sorted yourself out. After being on a break for four years, is it still just a break? Or are you broken up at that point?

Both you and Jihoon know the answer to that.

Three years of no social media, no articles about you, none of your old friends reaching out to check in on you because they held a contractual obligation to be nice to you in the hallways. Three and a half years out of the spotlight. Three and a half years of peace, of healing, of sorting your life out and learning how to breathe again.

It’s been four years without Jihoon, and you didn’t really think much about the consequences that potentially sharing a space with him would have. But now they’re suffocating. All you can think about is the potential possibility of him being here, which, he wouldn’t be, right? He hates these kinds of gatherings. He used to skip his own release parties to watch shitty romance movies with you on the couch in his studio.

Does he have someone new to watch romance movies with? Or has he given up romance altogether? You know from the first few months, updates provided by Soonyoung, that he didn’t take the distance very well. You know that he missed you, and he worried about you constantly. You know you’re spiralling, and you know all those years of therapy will be for nothing if you don’t pull yourself out of it.

You don’t have to do that, because Seungkwan does it for you. “Y/N? You came!” He seems elated that you’re here, off his rocker, probably drunk.

“Of course I came! It’s your first album as BSS, Seungkwan.” You smile, and it’s not forced at all. You have completely forgotten how easy it is to fall into banter with Seungkwan. It’s almost like you never left in the first place.

Except something in his eyes seems off. That’s your first red flag to turn around and get the fuck out of this club, but you don’t. “My god. It’s been so long. How are you doing?” With anyone else, the small talk would’ve taken you out back and killed you. It’s different with Seungkwan.

Different how? He was one of the only people who consistently checked in on you when you first left. As you settled into your new life, the texts became less frequent; now, four years later they’re hardly anything to notice, but he’ll still send you a text on every holiday, and he’s wished you happy birthday every year since you met him.

“I’m doing a lot better. I’m… I’m good.” You laugh softly. Seungkwan smiles at you.

“That’s good. I’ve missed having you around— of course I don’t expect you to come back into this scene, but it would be nice to see you sometime.” Seungkwan squeezes your shoulder softly and smiles wider.

“Yeah, of course. I know I’ve been gone, but I’ll make it less hard to get a hold of me. I’ve missed all of you, truth be told.” You smile back. “I’ve just… been doing a lot of healing and I think it’s about time I finally start reconnecting with people. Is everyone here?” You ask.

“Oh, yeah. We’re all here! I kind of spilled that I invited you so everyone decided to come just in case you showed up.” The depth of all doesn’t really seem to cross Seungkwan’s mind; he’s certainly not thinking about Jihoon right now, or Seungcheol for that matter. You’re pretty sure Seungcheol would punch you if he caught sight of you. Maybe Jihoon would too. You have no idea how Jihoon even feels about you.

“Even, uh, Jihoon?” The smile falls from Seungkwan’s face.

“Oh. Yeah. He’s here too.” Seungkwan swallows when he sees your face shift. “You… he-he wants to talk to you. It’s not my place to really say, but he’s not mad. I think he just wants closure.”

So maybe Jihoon wouldn’t punch you. That’s a bit of a relief.

“Oh my god! Y/N! You came!” It’s Seokmin, very clearly drunk. You didn’t keep in contact with him, though he did send you a few paragraphs over text as he wished you all the best, telling you to reach out if you ever needed anything. You didn’t take him up on the offer.

“I did!” You smile, tilting your head as you look up at Seokmin.

“Can I have a hug?” He’s already opening his arms and you slide right into them. His hug is firm and warm. You’ve missed Seokmin a lot more than you cared to admit. Seungkwan grumbles about how he should’ve asked for a hug and you laugh, pulling him into one.

You catch up with Seokmin briefly before he’s being pulled away by someone you don’t know. You stick with Seungkwan, talking about your life, the album, avoiding the subject of Jihoon.

And then you turn your head at the bright sound of laughter, and you see him. You see him, and he’s not the same mess he was when you left him with no promise of when you’d see each other next. He’s not the scared man in his early twenties who had no idea if you were going to die on him. He’s not the man who stayed with you in the hospital for days on end.

He’s not the producer you knew who’d slide his headphones over your ears as he pulled you into his lap. He’s not the warm hand that held yours because you forgot your gloves again. He’s not the hushed giggles at four in the morning, or the hurried kisses, or the soft whimpers and praises as you tangled yourselves in his bedsheets.

Jihoon isn’t yours anymore.

You had hoped he wouldn’t be such a sore subject for you anymore, but seeing him in all of his glory four years later… god does it fucking hurt. You’ve done a lot of healing in the last four years, but in that time you never really had the time to process the loss of Jihoon.

Soonyoung spots you, and that’s when you know you’re doomed, because if Soonyoung is distracted, Jihoon always notices the thing that catches him off guard. You try to pull your eyes away from Jihoon, but you can’t. You swear he’s gotten more beautiful in the last four years.

He’s gotten bigger, physically— far more muscular. You can see the curve of his pecks through his shirt, one that isn’t even tight against his body. Jihoon’s always been a big fitness buff, but it appears he’s put more effort into himself. His biceps strain against the fitted sleeves of his long sleeve black shirt.

Jihoon’s face looks different too. He still has the same round cheeks you used to always pinch and prod at. His jawline is still soft, but it’s more defined. His eyes are bright, and the bags under them are still there. You wonder briefly if he’s ever gotten rid of them; if the skin under his eyes has ever matched the rest of his milky complexion.

His hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it. Dark and flowy, it’s reflective and healthy, half tied up with what would be his undercut hanging freely. A few pieces frame his face. It looks soft and healthy. Jihoon looks soft and healthy.

He’s smiling as he scans the crowd to find what Soonyoung is distracted by, and then he spots you. The smile is wiped off of Jihoon’s face faster than your brain can even register it. Seungkwan stiffens beside you, hand finding your shoulder to steady you as you stumble briefly, but the pull between you and Jihoon is too much.

Both of you start moving towards each other, pushing your way through the crowd. “Y/N.” His voice comes out in a breath, chest heaving and then he’s there, right in front of you, after four years.

You don’t know what to say, can’t process the fact that he’s in front of you, as beautiful as ever. “Jihoon,” you echo, “hi.” You can’t help the small smile that threatens to pull at your lips. The tension on Jihoon’s face eases, but he doesn’t smile back.

“Hi. How are you doing?” Jihoon asks, and if it was anyone else, it would’ve been a sad attempt at small talk. It’s Jihoon, so you know he’s asking how you’re doing now, if you’re better. A part of him is asking if you still feel like killing yourself. The answer to the last part is no.

“I’m… better. A lot better.” You laugh awkwardly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t doing okay.” Now, Jihoon actually does smile at you, and though it’s small, it’s still there.

“You look a lot better. Healthier. I’m glad.” Jihoon takes a sip of his drink as he looks down at you. He’s right; you’re much healthier now. There’s solid meat on your bones, your thighs touch and your ribs don’t show anymore. Your face has filled out, cheeks full and round. Your eyes don’t look as though they’re sunken into your skull, they’re brighter now; they seem to shine with life in a way they never have before.

Jihoon takes you in properly, and god, you’ve gotten so much more beautiful since the last time he saw you. It hurts. It hurts a lot to see how good you look now, without him. He knows it’s a lot more complicated than that, but it still hurts nonetheless.

You look healthy, like an actual person and not a skeleton, and you were never that way when you were an idol. You were never like that when you were with Jihoon.

“Oh, um, thank you. Should we… should we sit? We have a lot to talk about.” You laugh again to hide your nerves. Jihoon can still read you, and he knows you’re brimming with nerves. He knows you’re a little scared, probably more than a little, and he is too.

You’ve never breached the subject, hardly even talked about your breakup. Jihoon doesn’t like to think about it. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t like to think about how much worse you were doing, even if it destroyed him. The breakup was harder on you, tenfold, and you went through it alone.

“I- uh. Yeah, yeah, we can go sit. It’s probably about time we talk.” Jihoon laughs nervously, closing his eyes for a second. He wordlessly starts walking towards the vacant booths of the club. You follow close behind.

Jihoon sits down, and you take a seat across from him. It’s silent for a few moments. Both of you are staring at your cups, not drinking, just swirling your liquids of choice.

Jihoon speaks first, but he can’t look at you. “Why’d you have to leave me?” He asks, and his voice breaks softly as he says it. You certainly weren’t expecting that as the first question he asked, but you don’t really know what else he would’ve asked.

“I… I had to leave everything that had to do with being an idol behind. You… you included.” It’s a shitty answer, but you can’t think in Jihoon’s presence.

“I understand that, but I would’ve been there for you. I would’ve helped you get help. You didn’t have to do it by yourself, Y/N. I loved you; I would’ve done anything to make sure you were safe.” Jihoon’s bites at his lip, eyes sparkling in the low lights of the club. He looks like he’s about to cry, and god does it break your heart.

He loved you, past tense. It’s jarring. It stings, but what else did you expect? For him to still want you? That’s unrealistic and completely unfair to expect from him.

It hits you then that you might still be in love with him. That makes this next part so much harder.

“I know. I know, but it made sense to me at the time. I can’t- I can’t rationalize anything that I did at that time in my life. None of it makes sense, but I made a lot of choices that I regret and I can’t go back on them now. It’s too late for that and I’m- I’m so sorry for everything I put you through, Jihoon. All of it; everything, god, I’m so sorry.” You spill, and the soft burn in the back of your throat makes it hard to speak as you try not to cry. “You didn’t deserve to deal with any of it.” You whisper softly.

“Y/N,” Jihoon whispers back, “I forgave you a long time ago. I just want closure.” Closure. Jihoon wants closure, meaning he wants to move on. The tears in his eyes shine brightly, though they don’t fall, but he’s crying nonetheless, and that makes you feel worse.

“I don’t deserve that though. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for just leaving you. Seungcheol still hasn’t forgiven me; why the hell would you?” You swallow hard, and that seems to break the dam as the first few tears slip down your cheeks.

“Seungcheol has his own issues. We never told him the full story, and maybe that’s why he’s still… iffy about the whole thing. But I forgive you. I just, I want to stop hiding from you. I don’t want to be worried about running into you somewhere and not knowing what to say. I still care about you, so much, and, god does it fucking kill me to still worry about you when you’ve never made an effort to reach out to me.” Jihoon’s always been blunt, so you should’ve expected this, but it makes you feel worse; guilty. “I would’ve answered your calls, in a heartbeat. You know I would’ve.” Jihoon blinks, and the first few tears fall down his face.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to call you after so long. I spent six months in and out of the hospital, and after that I had to get back on my feet. By the time I even had time to think about calling you, it’d been a year, and to me that was too late.” You close your eyes and exhale deeply, fingers twitching.

Jihoon used to hold your hands when you were upset to stop them from twitching so much. He used to pull your head close to his chest and wipe your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He makes no effort to do so now. Jihoon can’t even look at you properly.

He’s focused on picking at the calluses on his palms. Some things never change.

“You- six months? Y/N, fuck, I had no idea. I knew it was bad but, shit, really?” Jihoon’s voice breaks fully, and all you can do is nod. “How many more times? How many times did you—?” He can’t finish his sentence. His throat closes up.

“Four.” Jihoon has nothing to say in reply. He can’t, not with the deep hurt that settles in his chest, so you elaborate. “I really just wanted to die. The media was on my ass for the first year and it was just bad. I spent the next year after that in a rehabilitation program to fix my relationship with food and it helped a lot. I found a good therapist and I’m still seeing her. It’s helped a lot. I’m- I’m clean.” You pick up your cup, hand shaking, and take a large drink to calm your nerves.

“I’m really glad that you’re healthy now. Really, god, that’s such a relief.” Jihoon’s tears are steady now. He wipes at them with his sleeve. You mutter a soft thank you.

Outside of the booth, the noise has been blocked out by your conversation, but you hear something peculiar. It’s Seungcheol, his voice is loud and booming. He’s angry.

“What the fuck are they doing here?! Seriously, why did you even invite them?” Both you and Jihoon look up at the same time to see Joshua and Mingyu trying to deescalate the situation. Seungkwan is yelling back, face red as he tries to block Seungcheol’s view of the booth you and Jihoon are sat in.

“No, I’ve fucking had it with all of you. Defending them for just fucking leaving Jihoon without a word. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you bring them here?” Seungcheol is drunk and looking for a confrontation with you, and that’s enough of a threat to have you and Jihoon standing as he tries to usher you out of the club without Seungcheol seeing.

“Fuck, you should probably go.” Jihoon pulls you close to him, shielding you from Seungcheol’s view. You nod, walking fast beside him as you push your way through the crowd.

“Yah! You, get the fuck back here!” Neither of you listen as you push your way out of the door. You make the mistake of looking behind you to see Joshua and Mingyu physically holding Seungcheol back. Wonwoo is there now too, standing in front of him to prevent him from walking.

The outside air is cold and bitter. You shiver as you pull out your phone to order a ride. You and Jihoon are completely silent. He’s standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat radiating off onto you.

“I’ll wait with you. How long?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Two minutes.” You only have two minutes left with Jihoon. It’s so finite, the time you’re spending with him. If only you had more time.

You’re not afforded that luxury as you shiver beside him. “Can I- is it okay if I—?” You nod, unsure of what he’s asking. It’s a yes either way. Jihoon pulls you into his arms in a tight, warm hug. His hands don’t find their way into your hair, or rub your back. He just holds you. It’s all he can do.

Both of you ignore the mutual swell of warmth in your chests. You’re still in love with him, you know that, and that’s why the car seems to show up in no time. Your phone chimes as the car pulls up in front of the club as you reluctantly start to separate yourselves.

There’s so much you didn’t get to talk about. You tell him so. “We, fuck, I had so much more to say. I had so much more to explain. You, god, you were the right person, Jihoon. Everything else was just so wrong.” You thought the weight would’ve been lifted off your chest, but it only hurts more. You close your eyes as you turn away.

“Y/N, fuck, don’t do this to me right now.” Jihoon whispers, eyes filling with tears once again.

“I’m sorry Jihoon. I love you. I’ll see you around.” You open the door to the car.

“I, yeah. Take care of yourself.” Jihoon can’t look at you, no way in hell can he look at you as you close the door and drive off. He stands still in the cold, watching as the car disappears from his sight. He leans against the wall, head falling back as the tears start pouring freely.

As he pushes the door to the club open, it hits him hard, fills his whole body as a bone deep love for you settles. And it hurts, god does it hurt. Seungcheol’s calmed down, but the snide remark that slips past his lip doesn’t even register in Jihoon’s brain. All Jihoon recognizes is his tone, and that’s enough.

“I’ll punch you right in your fucking mouth, Seungcheol, I swear to god. Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon hardly ever makes threats, but when he does it has everyone going quiet. Seungcheol, Joshua and Mingyu stop in their tracks. There’s been enough drama for one night.

Jihoon grabs a new drink and chugs it, before he goes to grab his coat. He needs to get out of here before the sob building in his throat bursts.

You manage to keep your tears at bay until you enter your apartment. You find yourself in the bathroom, against the cold tile and the porcelain of the bathtub. You don’t do anything, just sit there and breathe as the tears flow freely.

It wasn’t supposed to end like that. You were supposed to have more time to reconcile with Jihoon. You and bathrooms have seen a lot of hurt. Most of your bad decisions are made in bathrooms. You don’t do anything, you just sit there for a few minutes as you cry.

Nothing happens the next night. Or the night after. A week after the release party, Jihoon still plagues your mind and that’s when you crack. Your old manager turned friend answers the phone.

“Hi. You okay?” Yena asks softly, voice ridden with sleep.

“Drive me to the hospital? I think I need stitches.” You laugh nervously. The adrenaline has worn off and all you feel is regret.

“Y/N.” She sighs, but it’s not disappointment. She’s seen a lot of things with you, and supported you through all of them. You’re the reason she quit being a manager and went back to university. You made her realize the idol life isn’t as glamorous as it seems, and you’ve formed a very solid friendship over the past five years. “You know they’re gonna keep you for a few days, right?”

“Yeah. I know. It was impulsive. Like, I’m fine now. I just couldn’t stop thinking.” You sigh.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be on the way. Cold water and pressure until I get there, yeah?” You laugh softly.

“Already on it.” The call disconnects soon after, and you look up at the mirror. Briefly, you imagine Jihoon standing behind you in a much different situation than the one you’re in now.

His thick arms are wrapped around your waist, head leaning against yours. He’s smiling in your vision. You smile softly in your reflection, though it’s strained. The blood on your hands pulls you out of it.

a/n: i wrote this when i was going through it. i’m fine now but i seriously can’t do angst like i used to so i might write a part two or something where they end up back together.

[lord-montgomery]

i feel like i've talked about this before.. but i can't help but think that if simon was able to subconsciously remember enough of his time with the gang to name his band the mortal instruments, wouldn't it be plausible for him to recall other stuff? i feel like there's some distinction between an emotional imprint and like an intellectualized memory.. and that's how the mortal instruments was dug up despite asmodeus' claim over simon's memories. and if we draw emotional imprinting to its natural conclusion.. idk i just. i can see simon post-edom writing lyrics to process everything he went to the previous fall. i think they'd come out of him and he'd be like huh.. where did that come from. and his bandmates would be like fuck dude you got a gf you keepin from us?? because the ones he shows them are so filled with feelings that are so obviously real and intense. feelings that to their knowledge, simon has never felt. and they couldn't attribute them to clary because of course clary never existed for them. and simon shrugs and says he must have been inspired. you live in new york, you pass people and their stories all the fucking time. love and heartbreak and friendship and that panging feeling of where do i belong.. it's everywhere.

i'd like to think that after the shadowhunter academy, when simon's memories have all been returned to him, he goes back to his room at his mom's place to sort through things, and he comes across pages and pages of these lyrics dissecting the emotional roller coaster of the very real events that occurred in fall 2007, the very real love he found, and the very real, if dormant, heartache that came with losing clary and isabelle both.

of course he'd still have a lot to process once the memories start returning, and once they come back in full, but i can imagine there having been this pang inside him that needed that time to recover emotionally from all that he'd endured, that sought out music and poetry, which speak from the soul more than the ego, to do whatever processing it could. and i think it would have prepared simon to be better suited to handle everything once it does come crashing down around him. and i think maybe finding those lyrics in a way feels like bringing together those aspects of his memory, because the brain doesn't always remember how things felt but his notebook certainly does.

[rynfiles]

want u around !

✎ᝰ — post breakups with the blue lock boys

★ — oliver aiku, rensuke kunigami, sae itoshi x gn!reader

★ — genre + warnings: angst + literally all the boys fucked up, ooc for sae (sort of)

The morning rises and Oliver awakens from his slumber, mainly because of his dark-furred border collie, Ella. But also from the recent, recurring, dream, one that brought him peace but also drifted him from reality. You both were dressed comfortably, lounging on the rooftop of his apartment, and enjoying the starry night. You both talk of the future, his soccer career, family, personal thoughts, and just about anything to avoid silence and to say what you truly want to say, that you love him. You were nervous; nervous laughter instead of joyful, clammy hands, playing with the ends of your hair, anxiousness rising, you were a frazzled mess. Oliver took notice and asked if you were okay, instead of responding “normally”, you exploded your heart onto him and told him you love him. Your emotions flooded your brain and mouth, and instead of stopping after the confession, you spewed out how your heart beats for Oliver, how your body yearns for him, your heart tugs at even the thought of him, just everything you’ve held in for the night.

Now his body yearns for you, his head hurts and his heart aches at you being the missing piece from his life. He wishes he didn’t screw up, he wishes your feelings of anger and hatred, he replaced with love and nurture, he just wishes that he had done right. He wishes for you to still be around.

The large double doors open, indicating that the Blue Lock players are released from the facility for a small break. It’s been a gruesome year, some suffered more than others, but it wasn’t the worst the boys have handled. Especially for Kunigami, his world shattered on multiple occasions and his heart was ripped from his chest as well. Not only did he lose a spot in the Blue Lock project but also lost one of the most important people in his life, the love of his life.

As the young male continues to exit, and says his goodbyes to his friends and teammates, he looks around for his parents, and you as well. Now he’s very aware of the certain circumstances between you and him, but that doesn’t stop him from having at least a sliver of hope. He’s praying and begging that you would be next to his parents and hug him tightly, he’s hoping that you’re there to greet him with your warm smile, he’s hoping for some kind of inkling of your presence. Hope is what is keeping his head held high but as he gets closer to the parking lot and finds his parent’s car, anxiety starts to replace that hope. It heightens once his parents spot him and exit the car, but you don’t.

Kunigami's brain starts thinking that maybe you were too busy to come with, maybe you forgot the date, or maybe you actually don’t care anymore. No, it couldn’t be that there’s no way you no longer have care for him, you said you love him. The breakup couldn’t have been that bad that you completely erased him, there’s just no way. Kunigami opens his phone and opens your messages, he sends a text but it doesn’t send. He panics and calls you but it goes straight to voicemail, he tries again yet the same result. He tries to call and text, yet the same message is repeated over and over again.

Kunigami soon becomes frustrated and realizes that you really have erased him from your life.

As he enters his home, Sae sighs heavily from the escape of the paparazzi. Usually, he just ignores him but he has dug too deep into his sorrows and tries every way to avoid them, not even having enough energy to throw a snarky comment at them.

Since that conversation, Sae’s emotions have been running rampant and they’ve been affecting his livelihood, as well as his playing skills. Thankfully, he can play it off and have no one notice but that doesn’t stop his mind from wandering to the last few words that were said and how you walked away teary-eyed. Soon enough, his mind becomes hazy and he misses a shot or incorrectly executes a play, but instantly saves it. Some of his teammates have noticed but don’t dwell on it since they know how Sae can be.

He drags himself to his room, half expecting you to be there and half expecting an empty bed. He plops himself on his bed and immediately starts cursing himself, getting angry at his sloppy plays, getting angry for even wanting to care, angry at allowing himself to become who he became, and just angry at himself. He’s frustrated at how he let fame and recognition change him to hurt his lover, the love of his life, the one thing that brought light to his mundane, cyclical life.

He promised himself to not mess this one thing up, this one thing of perfection, the one thing that he genuinely enjoyed. Yet, he did exactly that. But what did he expect? He’s Sae Itoshi, the man who’d rather put soccer over everything and who would rather tend to himself than to his loved ones. He tried, truly, but even that wasn’t enough to stop you from leaving. Nothing of him could stop him from leaving you and he may as well sit in that truth.

★ I had a completely different idea for these boys but why not write some angst ;p

★ hope you guys enjoy my first post here <3. lemme know which one is your fav !

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: matthew 5:10

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗋𝗒𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[fiapartridge]

don't wanna break up again ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ | jack hughes

“it's breaking my heart to keep breaking yours again.”

☼ pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

☼ summary: the memory-erasing process leads you to rethink what you could've done differently in your relationship...

☼ fia’s note 💌: omg i've had this sitting in my drafts for so long but i've been debating whether to post because i didn't know if i wanted to continue this series, but i lowkey love it. also, you kind of need to understand the movie to get what's happening, but here's like a little tip: y/n's conscious during this, like yes, it's a memory, but at the same time she's reliving it as if it's real and she's there. also, i've been soooo busy with college but i'm trying to find time to write!!

eternal sunshine hq ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

prev part: bye ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

*₊ ° .　. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You didn’t break up that night. He had made his way to your doorstep with flowers in his hands: white tulips, to be specific. He had bags under his red eyes, his nose was stuffy and gross, and his lips trembled uncontrollably. You had never seen him quite like that. Sure, you had seen him sad after a tough game, or the time his childhood dog died, but you had never seen him like this over you.

It gave you hope—false hope.

“I brought flowers,” he announced, holding them out to you as if he had dug them from the ground with his bare hands, like a child. You laughed. You were always laughing with him.

By now, the flowers were shriveled and wilted in a small Ziploc bag at the bottom of the white box you had brought to Lacuna. But then, just as you had remembered, you accepted the blooming white bouquet graciously. It was like you were blinded to everything he had previously said about you. It all went in one ear and out the other.

And for a while, you were happy that way. You were happy pretending to be happy. And some part of you blames that on being too lazy to restart; to break up with another person and restart again because the process was draining. It was impossibly hard. With Jack, all you had to do was settle. You were happy with him sometimes, most times—and that was enough for you.

“Have you been crying?” you laughed, pulling his neck towards you.

“Baby,” he replied, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“I know, the big macho hockey player doesn’t want to show emotion, but I think it’s a good thing, you know?” you said, pulling his face out of your neck. “It shows that you care.”

“I do care. I care a lot about you.”

I care a lot about you.

I        care     a lot       about you.

I care       a lot      about       you.

care a lot       about    you.

care     about     you.

about    you

    you

you

     you

you 

     you

you

His words echoed in your mind, as if you were really there, experiencing the moment in real time. As if you were reliving it again. Maybe it’s because you were. You were fully present. This wasn’t a past you. You were in your head; in your memories. You were truly reliving it again.

“Stay the night?” you offered, cracking the door open. 

“Is that what you want?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

It was like that for a couple of more months. You fight, you storm out, he comes crawling back. Everyday felt recycled. You felt it for a while, and you wondered if he felt it, too. You had suspected he had, he was just too tired to change anything.

You fell asleep crying again. He heard. He could hear your sniffles and he felt your movement on the other side of the bed. He put on headphones.

And in the morning, you were fine. You were making pancakes in your underwear and an oversized shirt—one of Jack’s. He rubbed his tired eyes as he walked out of your bedroom in nothing but shorts. 

“Dr. Mitchell called. She said we can come in at 3:15 today if you’re free,” you spoke, tossing a pancake over in the pan. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, taking in the aroma of the food mixed in with the smell of your shampoo.

“I’m there,” he smiled, kissing your cheek.

He wasn’t. He was never there. You two had decided to go to couples therapy after your third argument. You were unhappy, he was too, but you wanted to work it out. You knew it was just a rough patch in your relationship. It didn’t mean anything. 

But couples therapy just became you sitting in a chair, venting to Dr. Mitchell about how you were feeling in the relationship. And after a while, she stopped asking if Jack was coming. 

“Where have you been?” you asked one night as Jack came back to his apartment, drunk and confused.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, squinting his eyes and grabbing a beer from the fridge. Great, more alcohol for the already-drunk guy. You wanted to scream.

“I was waiting for you. You said we would go out tonight,” you said softly. You sat on his sofa, your highest black heels and shortest shimmery black dress adorning your body as mascara ran down your pink cheeks. 

He shook his head, walking into the living room. “I never said that.” His words were slurred. You wanted to slap him in the face. He did say that. He said it that morning. You had gotten dressed. You were excited. You waited.

“But you did, Jack,” you whispered. You paused, gathering your thoughts before continuing. “I thought you wanted to get married.”

“And I thought you didn’t. Huh?”

You furrowed your brows as you stood up from the sofa, meeting him in the middle of the living room. “Why are you doing this?”

He laughed. For some reason, he laughed. “You’re fucking doing it again.”

“Doing what again?” you exclaimed.

“You’re making me the fucking villain again!”

You shook your head, your eyes stinging. “I never said that.”

“Yeah? You might as fucking well.”

“Where is this coming from, Jack? What,” you stammered. “What are we doing? What the fuck are we doing?”

He looked tired. His face was printed into a frown. It’s been like that for a while now. You missed seeing him smile. “I don’t know,” he answered, sitting down on the sofa as you followed. “I don’t fucking know,” he muttered.

“This is hard,” you whispered, laying your head onto his shoulder. He held your hand as if it was the last time, and you squeezed it as if you were never going to see him again. Because this time, it really was the last.

“I know.”

“I’m not happy anymore.”

He nodded slightly. “I know.”

You bit your lip. You wanted to prolong your time here. You wanted to stay with him for as long as you could, but you knew that wasn’t right to either of you. It was time to let go.

“I don’t see a life with you anymore.”

A tear hit your fingers, and at that moment, you realized it was over. Jack was crying. He wasn’t arguing because there was nothing left to save. There was no you left in his life. It was over.

“Can we say goodbye this time? You didn’t do it last time,” he murmured. 

He was right. You broke up with him and left. You didn’t say goodbye. You wished you had.

You held onto his neck, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Goodbye, Jack.”

The walls were fading. The paintings were gone, the table was chipping, the ceiling had a large hole, showing the stars twinkling in the pitch black sky.

You were forgetting what his apartment looked like. The pictures of his family were morphed into people you had no clue as to who they were, the jersey on the chair in the corner of the room was blurry. You couldn’t see the number or the last name on the back. It was all fading away.

Quickly, as if he could see you forgetting, he said, “Goodbye, Y/N.”

And that was it. The memory was gone.

[pedrospatch]

Lonely Too Long l (To Hell and Back Drabble)

Series Masterlist

Summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only, minors DNI. Flashback of implied SA, but no descriptions. Soft Joel, Joel sings to reader. *If you happen to be reading the series, I recommend reading this one because it starts setting up Joel and reader’s relationship. This is also the last flashback she’s going to have since it’s a heavier one than the last two.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Dust to Dust is one of my favorite songs by The Civil Wars. I know the song did not come out until like 2013, but we’re just going to pretend. Also, I know that the gif is video game Joel, but god I love him just as much and it fits this scene so we are gonna roll with it. I know this might not be everyone’s cup of tea but I wanted to write it so I did. 🤌🏼 I am still organizing the taglist for this series, it will be start with the next chapter. This was mostly for me but hopefully some people out there enjoy it too. 🤍

You couldn’t scream.

You’re trying to cry out, but you can’t.

Chest tight, your lungs won’t expand.

You couldn’t breathe. 

One hand around your neck, the other is fumbling with the zipper of your jeans.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he grinned, his fingers roughly scraping against the skin of your lower stomach.

In the corner, your cellmate is curled into a little ball in the floor, hands covering her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.

She’s probably praying she won’t be next.

She’s seventeen so even in the midst of your own chaos, you can’t help but pray she isn’t next too.

You thrashed around underneath him. It’s futile, but all you can think about is getting him off you.

Grin fading, he let out a heavy, irritated sigh. His hand left the waistband of your jeans. He reached behind him and pulled out his gun, bringing it up to into your view—it caused you to cease any and all movements. “Listen to me,” he said, pressing the barrel of the pistol against your temple. “It’s simple, really. Keep squirming and I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do you understand, dollface?”

When he received no response, he dug the barrel deeper into your skin, his finger on the trigger.

“Do you understand?” He repeated, his tone low.

Nearly paralyzed, all you could do was nod. 

“Good.” He roughly flipped you over.

The sound of his belt buckle clanking rang loudly in your ears. As he yanked your jeans down to the middle of your thighs, you closed your eyes.

Both your mind and your body went numb.

A light, late night rainstorm came out of nowhere, sweeping over the town. The soft, pitter pattering sound of raindrops on the window above your bed had almost lulled you into slumber.

Almost.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

The words blended into a steady but silent chant.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re fucking safe.

Slapping the palm of your hand to your forehead, you exhaled a long, heavy sigh and stared up into the the darkness of the bedroom.

You couldn’t be certain as to what time it was, but it had to be well into the middle of the night. You’d been tossing and turning for a couple of hours but somehow it felt like a hell of a lot longer than that.

You were fucking exhausted. You nearly ached for some sleep, but every damn time that you closed your eyes, vivid images of the past came creeping in and chased it further and further away.

Your brain just couldn’t seem to wrap itself around the fact that this place wasn’t dangerous.

That you didn’t have to sleep with one eye open.

That nobody was going to hurt you.

That you were safe in a soft bed in a real house.

You weren’t lying on a dirty cot in a human cage.

Sighing again, you thought about Joel who was in his bedroom down the hallway, sleeping.

It brought you comfort knowing he was close. But for some reason you couldn’t quite explain, part of you couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t close enough.

You. The same woman who vowed never to trust another human being ever again—you wanted him fucking closer. Actually, it wasn’t a want so much as it was a need.

You needed him to be closer.

Sitting up, you tossed the sheets back and swung your legs over the edge of the mattress, your bare feet meeting the cold, hardwood floors. You stood and quietly padded out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards Joel’s.

“You know where to find me if you need anythin’,” he’d assured you before he had gone off to bed.

You stopped in front of his door and lifted a curled first, knocking lightly. About a minute or two went by, and just when you started to realize that you’d made a mistake and whirled around to make a run for it back to your own room where you could hop back into bed and pretend that the thought of this hadn’t ever even crossed your mind, he opened up his bedroom door.

“Thought I heard a knock,” Joel mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with one of his hands. He wore nothing but his sweatpants, his hair looking about ten times more disheveled than usual. “Everythin’ alright?”

You swallowed dryly, trying your hardest not to let your eyes wander away from his face—it proved to be almost too difficult to keep from staring. Joel’s shoulders were broad, his chest was wide, and his stomach was soft; his sweatpants hung on the low side on his hips and revealed the trail of dark curls that started at his lower belly and descended until it disappeared underneath the elastic waistband.

You caught yourself before they could go lower.

“Somethin’ the matter, darlin’?” he asked, stifling a yawn. Thankfully he hasn’t seemed to notice you gawking at him. He rubbed at his eyes once again and then observed you, trying to figure out what it was that had brought you to his room at this hour. “You need somethin’? Are you cold? Did you need an extra blanket?”

You lightly shook your head in response. No.

He tried again. “Are you still hungry?” he asked as he gestured towards the stairs. “I can make you another sandwich if you want—”

He was cut off by another shake of your head that told him that wasn’t it.

“You just can’t sleep,” Joel realized after a minute. He frowned—he could see how tired you were and for as much as he didn’t want to think about it, he had a feeling that he knew what it was that was on your mind and keeping you awake. “What can I do to help, sweetness?”

You blinked, standing there almost dumbfounded.

Clearly, you hadn’t thought this through.

You would knock on Joel’s door and then what?

You would talk to him about what’s on your mind?

Letting out a tiny frustrated huff that was directed at yourself, you waved a dismissive hand in the air.

Forget it. There’s nothing you can do.

As you turned around to leave, Joel reached out to take your arm. He curled his fingers lightly around your elbow. “Well now, hold on a minute. You’re at my door for a reason,” he said. He watched as your eyes flickered to his hand around your arm, but he couldn’t be sure if his touch had bothered you. He dropped it, not wanting to risk pushing you too far or crossing a line, not when he had made progress with you, progress he didn’t want to lose. “You not bein’ able to sleep—it have anythin’ to do with you still not feelin’ safe?”

You hesitated.

“It’s alright, darlin’. You can be honest with me.”

The sheepish expression on your face said it all.

No, I can’t sleep because I don’t feel safe.

“Would it help if you slept with me?”

You raised your eyebrows at him, eyes widening at his proposal. At least, the way he’d said it.

Excuse me?

Realizing how it had sounded, Joel flushed. “What I mean is, would it help if you slept in my bed?” He winced. That hadn’t sounded all that much better. “You sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor,” he sputtered out quickly. “That’s what I meant. That way I’m right next to you and you ain’t alone.”

Gnawing nervously on your bottom lip, you took a minute to think it over.

If you wanted him closer, this was your chance.

But why? Why did you want him to be closer? Why did you need to have him at your side?

You’d been on your own for an entire fucking year.

And it had been by choice.

You didn’t want to be around other people, sure as hell didn’t need to be around other people.

And then Joel Miller makes his appearance and all of a sudden, you’re at his door in the middle of the damn night because you feel the need to have him at your side?

Finally, you nodded your head. Okay.

“Come in.” He stepped aside, allowing you in. Not wanting you to feel trapped in his room, he left the door open. “And you’re free to go on back to your own room whenever you feel like it.”

Joel picked up his discarded tee shirt from earlier, a small labored grunt escaping him as he brought himself back into an upright position, the bones in his lower back crackling with protest. Turning over his shirt right side out, he tugged it on as you took a look around his bedroom, a larger space dimly lit by the small lamp on his nightstand.

That’s when you saw it.

Perched on a stand, it was nestled in the corner.

A guitar.

Curiously, you walked over and knelt in front of it.

You reached out and softly ran your fingers across the strings, smiling to yourself at the sound it had made.

“Found that while out on patrol with Tommy a few weeks ago,” Joel stated as he came up behind you slowly. “Gibson. Little worse for wear, but in damn good condition all things considerin’. Woulda been a crime to leave it out there,” he chuckled. “I know Ellie’s been wantin’ to learn, it’s the main reason it came back home with me. I haven’t shown her yet since I still gotta clean and polish her up.” He took a brief pause. “You know how to play?”

You ran your fingers across the strings once more, and a loud, terrible noise that wasn’t even close to music caused him to wince. You then looked up at him over your shoulder with an amused grin.

Does it sound like I know how to play?

Joel couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll take that as a no, then.” He leaned over and picked up the guitar. He walked over and took a seat on the side of his bed, patting the seat beside him. “C’mere, sweetness.”

Getting up to your feet, you wrapped Joel’s flannel closer around your body as you padded over to his bed, perching yourself next to him.

Head down and focused, he began to strum a few notes. You couldn’t help but to be mesmerized by how his large hands moved on the instrument, the way his long, thick fingers—

Swallowing dryly, you cut the thought short.

Curiously, you put a hand on his shoulder.

Joel paused the tune. “What is it, darlin’?”

With your opposite hand, you touched your throat and then pointed at him. Can you sing?

He gave a half hearted shrug. “I do like to sing,” he admitted almost bashfully. “Always been fond of it ever since I was a kid.” He chuckled. “Before goin’ into construction, I wanted to be a musician. But I knew it would never pay the bills.”

You squeezed Joel’s shoulder and gestured to the guitar, then to his throat again. Will you sing me a song?

Joel felt the back of his neck burn and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Normally, I would probably say no,” he admitted. “But, seein’ as you saved my life and all, I’d be a real asshole if I said no to you.”

Lifting your chin, you shot him a smug look. That is very true. So go on then, Johnny Cash. Play me a song.

“Alright. Any requests?”

You nudged him lightly. Very funny.

“Okay, um. Gimme a minute to think of a song.”

Withdrawing your hand from his shoulder, you sat back against his pillows and pulled your legs up to your chest, hugging your knees.

Nervously, Joel inhaled and exhaled a deep breath and began strumming the guitar. Chills shot down your spinal cord as a hauntingly beautiful melody filled his bedroom. He turned and angled his body towards to you as he began to sing.

“You’ve held your head up,

you’ve fought the fight

you bear the scars, you’ve done your time

listen to me, you’ve been lonely too long…”

Your mouth fell open slightly.

“Let me in the walls you’ve built around

we can light a match and burn them down…”

The rich baritone of his voice caused goosebumps to eruprt all over your flesh. Furiously, you rubbed at your bare legs, but it was useless.

With every note Joel sang to you, more appeared.

With every note Joel sang to you, the harder you found it to breathe steady.

With every note Joel sang to you, the more beats your heart seemed to be skipping.

“Let me hold your hand

and dance ‘round and ‘round the flames

in front of us, dust to dust…”

Joel glanced up, his dark brown eyes holding your gaze as he sang the final verse of the song.

“You’re like a mirror, reflectin’ me

takes one to know one, so take it from me

you’ve been lonely

you’ve been lonely too long.”

Even if you could speak to him, you would’ve been left speechless—all that you could do was stare at him in complete awe.

Joel set the guitar down. “I’m alright,” he said with a sheepish little laugh. “My voice ain’t nowhere as nice as yours.”

You stiffened slightly.

What are you talking about?

“Don’t look at me like that. I know it was you who I heard singin’ back at that cabin when I was comin’ back around.” He gave you a crooked grin. “Earlier I was just playin’ dumb, but I know it was you. You have a gorgeous voice, and I’d love to hear it again someday.”

Hugging your legs closer to yourself, you dropped your head down onto your knees, embarrassed.

What was the matter with you?

Here was a man who had taken you in, offered you a warm bed under his own roof—gave you clothes and fed you, even offered to give up his own damn bed and sleep on the cold hard floor beside you to make you feel safe enough to sleep.

And you still couldn’t say a fucking word to him.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Forcing your head up, your gaze met his.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” Joel assured you. “It’s just like I told you downstairs. We’re gonna take it one step at a time.” Lifting one of his hands, he reached out holding it out to you, his palm face upwards. “And I swear, once you find your voice, I’m gonna do all that I can do to make sure you never lose it again.”

Biting your lower lip, you placed your hand in his.

Joel have it a gentle squeeze. “Atta girl.”

Much sooner than you would have liked, he let go of your hand and stood up.

“We should get some sleep. You’re gonna need all the rest you can get before you meet my kid. Ellie. She’ll be here first thing and I should warn you she can be, uh, she can be a lot to process.” He let out an amused snort and reached for a pillow, tossing it onto the floor. “You can have all the blankets, I’ll just take this throw here—”

As Joel reached past you for a green flannel throw blanket, you grabbed his arm to stop him. His face was just inches from yours.

Close.

But again somehow still not close enough.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, softly.

Warm and laced with mint from the toothpaste he had used to brush his teeth before bed, his breath tickled the tip of of your nose, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Your eyes looked right into his as you scooter over to the other side of his bed—it was firm, cold. Like no one had ever occupied that space before. But it was foolish to think that a man like Joel Miller had never had another woman share his bed before.

You patted the spot beside you.

Sleep up here.

“You sure about this, darlin’?”

You patted the empty spot again. Yes I’m sure.

Joel squinted at you. “You ain’t gonna strangle me in my sleep, are you now?”

His half serious joke was met with a glare.

Keep it up with wise cracks and I just might.

He held his hands up in defense. “Just checkin.”

As you crawled underneath his dark green sheets, Joel slid into bed beside you, making sure to leave a good three foot gap between the both of you; he murmured a quiet goodnight and switched off the lamp on his nightstand before rolling over onto his stomach—not even two minutes later and his soft snores filled the room.

You turned onto your side, facing him. Through a beam of moonlight steaming in through a crack in the curtains, you could just make out the outlines of his facial features. He’d fallen asleep facing you.

Closing your eyes, your body sank further into the mattress, heavy with exhaustion.

Taut, tense muscles finally relaxed.

Tight jaw finally unclenched.

You’re safe.

You slowly started drifting off to sleep.

With Joel beside you, no nightmares came to visit.

[twilightkitkat]

Ok two things

1) I genuinely can't remember if I've asked this before but I would LOVE your take of the lingering after effects of the rant in the Honda Odyssey. Mainly because I'm going to talk about it again because it means a lot to me (Hugh Jackman my beloved you beautiful beautiful actor)

2) If you can make a tag specifically for the asks It would make navigation 10 times easier because I don't have an easy way of checking what I have and haven't asked (also sometimes I just want to read through everything you've said in response to stuff)

I've said a few things about the Odyssey before but I don't think I've ever answered an ask specifically about it. I have a short fanfic about this topic, actually. (Also good idea, I hadn't thought of adding a tag. I decided to tag my posts with #asks if you want to filter through them.)

The thing about Wade is that he tries to sweep his feelings under the rug. All the time. No matter how hurt he is. He tries to bottle up his feelings because he thinks they're stupid and that they make him vulnerable but they get to be too much and eventually, he bursts. So he holds all of his resentment and pain and fear inside of him, acting composed and unaffected, until he finally reaches a breaking point. And when he breaks, he breaks hard.

The issue with this is that because he's so good at acting fine, other people think he's fine. Or, well, as "fine" as Wade normally was. Everyone knew Wade had a few screws loose and that he was prone to impulsive behavior, but that was just common knowledge by now. He's insane but that's just how he is. But Wade is exceptionally good at masking genuine hurt as insanity and recklessness, so when his true emotions spill over it shocks those around him. He doesn't give any visible indication he feels upset until he suddenly snaps.

The Honda Odyssey is the same. Things are going shockingly smooth between Logan and Wade at first. They focus on doing missions for the TVA and through mercenary organizations together and manage to scrap together something resembling a routine. Wade distracts himself with the thrill of his new life so he doesn't have enough time to ponder or dissect his own emotions. Nothing good ever comes of that, anyway.

But Logan's words stick with Wade. Of course they do, how could they not? He took apart everything he shared with him and used it against him. He dug into every fucking pressure point, rubbing all his insecurities raw. And so naturally, they boil over.

It doesn't have to be a big event. They can just be washing the dishes and Logan makes a joke, or watching a show together. But suddenly it's all rushing back to Wade and the emotions are overwhelming in their intensity and he's breaking down and snapping at Logan, who's confused about what's wrong.

And Wade... doesn't know what to say. Because how can he explain that he's still hung up on a stupid speech Logan gave ages ago? It's embarrassing and childish, especially when he knows it's all true.

And he knows it is. Wade's turned it over in his head when he couldn't sleep, rolled the syllables over his own tongue, and replayed Logan's expressions as he spat the words out. Logan meant it. And he was right, Wade is pathetic. He's fucked up and isn't cut out to be anyone's hero and he's so unlovable that he couldn't keep the only girl who loved him despite his disfigured avocado face.

He knows and yet it still hurt for Logan to say it. For his hero, someone he looked up to and admired, to look and see him in all his glory only to spit in his face. To hear it confirmed by someone whose opinion mattered to him.

It sticks with him. It festers and grows and gnaws at him. He watches Logan for any signs of disappointment or contempt, is especially careful to bring up his past relationships, and remains on edge. He doesn't let himself fully relax or get comfortable. He keeps an eye on the door, waiting for Logan to walk out.

But he's fine. He's managing. Until suddenly it boils over and he isn't and he has to look Logan in the face and explain why he flinched when Logan yelled at him over something stupid.

[actual-changeling]

It was actually rather hard to decide how to begin this meta post because there are essentially going to be two main parts: why Crowley does not actually avoid/run from his problems and why "going off" is not a bad thing regardless.

Then I wrote the first part and realised this is now 2.5k words long, so uhhhh I will grant part 2 its own post.

With that, welcome back to Alex's today-not-unhinged meta corner!

I am going to approach this topic from a psychological angle, which a lot of people have already done, but without explicitly mentioning it or going into depth. All my information comes from personal experience, research, my therapist, and my psychiatrist, just so you know I am not making shit up. I actually dug up some resources my therapist gave me a while ago.

Generally, there are four different fear/survival responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Most people have probably heard about fight and flight, since those two are usually the only ones that are mentioned/taught, so I will stick to explaining the other two.

"Fawning" refers to actively being submissive and subdued, both physically and emotionally. The goal is to appear non-threatening and to calm whoever is causing the fear response in the first place. It shows up as being overly agreeable, not having thoughts/opinions of your own and ignoring them if you do, your body language changing (e.g., making yourself smaller, taking up less space), and generally attempting to 'keep the peace' or reinstate it.

"Freezing" is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin—you freeze. It means slipping into a dissociative state, which disconnects you from your body, your emotions/mind, and/or the outside world. Usually, people stop being able to talk well or at all, they do not move, and if they do, it is on autopilot; you do not fight or flee, you simply exist until what is causing the fear response is over.

While dissociating, your brain is unable to form full memories—and depending on how heavily you are dissociating, it does not form any memories at all. 

Freezing as a response happens when fight, flight, and fawn aren't possible anymore, e.g., a child who has no internal mechanisms to deal with large amounts of fear because it's a child, so the only way to escape the pain and aggressor is by fleeing into your mind and shutting down.

Why am I telling you all this? Because most people tend to have one or two survival responses that dominate/they usually fall back on, and the same goes for Aziraphale and Crowley.

When faced with an outside problem and a lot of stress, Aziraphale's first instinct is to fawn, to placate the person, to diffuse the situation, to make sure everyone is agreeing, or, at the very least, submitting to authority figures or aggressors. It is what heaven teaches them—stick to the rules, don't ask questions, do what you are told. If fawning involves lying, he will do so, here the need for safety is stronger than his desire to be truthful and stick to his morals.

Unfortunately, the fact that this is his primary fear response is also the reason behind his extreme cognitive dissonance. How can you stick to the rules when you do not know what the rules ARE? So he is stuck trying to figure out what is "good" and what is "bad" so he can be a good angel and avoid doing anything that might be seen as bad or disobedient.

His secondary response to stress or fear is to fight—once it's clear that fawning won't work, he can and will switch over to being more direct and aggressive/less submissive. We see that happening when he gets discorporated in season 1 and needs to get back to earth, at the airbase, or when the bookshop gets attacked.

If I were to ask you what you think Crowley's primary fear response is, how would you respond?

Well, if you said "flight"—you're wrong, and I will explain why.

Flight is his secondary fear response, it is what he falls back on in absolute emergencies when everything is doomed and there's nothing he can do anymore.

Before that, though, he fights.

Even as an angel, he was already questioning the system, he was ready to go and tell God she was doing a terrible job, that her ideas were bad, that he wants to keep his stars and the universe— six thousand years are nothing! If you actively oppose existing rules and defy people's authority over you, fighting is the only option you have unless you plan on giving up or the response becomes too much to deal with.

Fear itself happens when you or someone/something you love is being threatened (whether that threat is real or simply perceived as such doesn't matter), plus there are a large number of more irrational fears.

Crowley's creations were threatened -> He goes against the rules, he wants to fight for them.

On the walls of Eden, he questions God and talks to an angel, his hereditary enemy, once again defying the rules, questioning them.

Job and his children were threatened -> He goes against orders to try and save them.

There is good reason to believe he went against God by saving some of the children from the flood.

He showed Jesus the kingdoms of the world—do we really think that was based on orders? No, it was once again Crowley not playing by the rules.

Wessex? He proposes the Arrangement, which is one gigantic "fuck you" in his fight against celestial rules. Everything after that goes back to Crowley knowing that their jobs suck and that they can cheat, fight the system by working together. In 1827, it gets him pulled to hell and punished, and yet he does not stop; he keeps fighting.

Crowley is the one who immediately tries to stop the apocalypse. Aziraphale needs to be talked into it, needs to be convinced with selfish reasons and personal pleasure.

The reason why both heaven and hell absolutely loathe him is not because he is a runner; it's because he constantly and consistently defies them. He fights.

In season two, he immediately tries to deal with the Gabriel problem while Aziraphale is standing behind him and saying "I don't know" to all of his questions. Taking him somewhere so they can figure shit out in peace is not 'running'—it's smart. Sure, it's far from ideal, but we see what keeping him in the bookshop brought them, don't we? The hiding miracle is what tipped heaven and hell off in the first place.

Aziraphale goes to Edinburgh based on a hunch, but once again—did that help? Did his journalist roleplay trip actually provide vital information that solved a single puzzle piece of that mess? No. Finding out that Gabriel was at that pub with some mystery person was a nice fact to know, but that's it.

During the ball, Crowley is scared, vigilant, prowling around the shop, checking windows, telling Aziraphale to "stop this charade" so they can figure out what to do. Aziraphale, in that moment, was already convinced that sticking to the rules would save them—a heavenly embassy on a technicality, surely the group of fallen angels who got booted due to not following heaven's rules will respect that.

Crowley goes to heaven, which is once again him actively looking for a solution, while Aziraphale also falls back on fighting because fawning is not going to do shit.

There are three times during which Crowley suggests fleeing—which is his secondary fear response—but those are exceptions. Let's have a look at them.

The first one is at the bandstand, the evening before the Apocalypse, and since Aziraphale is lying to him, the situation seems hopeless to him. Yet he is still having his 'agents' look for him, is still fighting.

Do you know why he even suggests running? He is about to leave when Aziraphale calls him back with "there isn't anywhere to go," and now allow me to insert the following passage from the scriptbook.

Crowley looks back. He looks at Aziraphale. Above them, a beautiful starry sky. And Crowley softens.

"Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together."

The sentence in the show is slightly different, but they have one thing in common: If.

IF the world ends, we can still leave and be together. IF.

Crowley is NOT saying "let's leave", he is presenting Aziraphale with a contingency plan in case stopping the Apocalypse does not work. He is NOT running, he isn't even SUGGESTING to run.

It's a "if the world ends, we can be together. We don't need to be with hell or heaven; we can be in the stars," because remember what the end of the world would mean? Eternal torture for Crowley while Aziraphale bores himself to death in heaven.

The next time he suggests it again—when he stops Aziraphale on the street—several things have happened.

First, he did not leave. If he truly wanted to flee, he would have by now, but he didn't. He sits in a cinema waiting for the end: "Out of time. Out of hope," as Neil puts it. Then Hastur and Ligur show up on screen and tell him, 'You're dead meat, Crowley. You're bloody history. […] We're coming to collect you'.

We all know that means "eternal torture in hell," but if you're not convinced for some reason, have another snippet from the script book that did not make it into the show.

Dagon is speaking from the Bentley's radio while he drives towards the bookshop, saying that something has gone wrong and they're sure he has a 'perfectly reasonable explanation' for it. Once he gets out of the car, however, Dagon still keeps going and says the following:.

"Your explanation, and the circumstances that will accompany it, will provide a source of entertainment for all the damned of hell, Crowley. Because no matter what agonies the damned are suffering, Crowley, you will have it worse."

Crowley already knows that. He has been punished by them before, heard, seen, lived torture, there is no doubt as to what will happen should they catch him. So he does what any person with a single fucking brain cell would do—he tries to get his loved one and FLEE.

Flight is the best response in this situation, and if you need me to explain why, then honestly, I cannot help you anymore. I won't go into detail about Aziraphale's response, but, tl;dr, it was shitty and incredibly hurtful, go figure.

Now, let's get to situation number 3, which is his speech during the final fifteen. We do not have an official script for that, but someone did make transcriptions for all episodes; you can find them here. Additionally, I will copy some of what I already said in a different meta post.

Crowley, stuck in his trauma-induced hypervigilance and paranoia, suggests putting as much distance between them and the problem as possible. I think it is interesting that in ep1 he wants to get Gabriel away from them, while at the end of the season, he is ready to get them away from the problem.

So far, I have never seen anyone mention that change! And it’s important! The entire season, it is hammered into our heads how much they love being on earth. It is THEIR bookshop and THEIR car and THEIR life.

Crowley wants to protect that home, and Gabriel is a threat to it, a threat to both of them, their life, the bookshop—everything. He does not want to leave, he wants his peace and angel in one place.

Yet by allowing Gabriel to stay, Aziraphale destroyed the sense of comfort and safety Crowley had slowly developed over the last few decades. Heaven nipping down every now and then to check in with Aziraphale is very different from him sheltering the Supreme Archangel who is running from ‘something terrible’ without even asking if he’s alright with that.

Aziraphale calls it their bookshop, but he fundamentally still sees it as his space to govern and Crowley as a guest; he even calls it a 'heavenly embassy'.

After another horrible week and having his previously safe space violated by several different times and beings, Crowley is back to where he was before—without a home. That fragile existence broke apart, so he is standing in the heap of shards and telling Aziraphale 'I don’t feel safe here anymore, let’s leave’.

He lost his safe space, but he still has his safe person, his best and only friend, the person he loves. I doubt he cares where exactly they go as long as they’re together and it’s safe.

Returning to heaven—it is the one place Crowley cannot follow him to. It’s literally the worst option, he can’t go back, he won’t go back. So he invokes the bookshop again, if you don’t want to stay for me, stay for the bookshop, your books, your corner of existence that I thought we had carved out for ourselves.

There is a common error that people make regarding the timeline, which is assuming that during this conversation they are already aware of the impending apocalypse—but they aren't. Aziraphale himself has no clue, and while Crowley saw the conversation and trial, he does NOT know when it will happen. For all he knows, it could be tomorrow, could be in a thousand years, and, even if he had been given a date, I doubt they laid out all the details and how to stop it.

Considering that his original plan was "get drunk at the Ritz and then have us time," I don't think he knew literally anything about how or when to stop it. So no, Crowley does NOT suggest running away from earth and leaving it to die.

All he wants is some bloody peace and quiet where no demons, angels, or power-hungry floating heads can interrupt them. A space that is safe and theirs. There are also zero mentions of where he wants them to go; he is not talking about the stars or the universe. He wants to get away from where they currently are because heaven and hell show up uninvited whenever they please.

If your boss and ex-boss constantly kicked down your front door and stated their wish to torture you, would you stay there or would you move? Yeah.

This post got very long, but it was long overdue.

I am tired of seeing people call Crowley a callous coward who always runs away from his problems when he is the literal opposite. You take three sentences said under exceptional circumstances and apply them to Crowley as a whole, when it is nothing but his last ditch effort to keep himself and Aziraphale safe.

One last thing: If you come onto my post and start aggressively arguing about this, I will block you. Genuine discussions and questions are always welcome, being a dick is not, and I also simply cannot handle some of the rhetoric people in this fandom perpetuate because it's very triggering.

Make your own post, don't do it on mine.

[wormheamer]

Tbh i have no fucking clue who pansear is or why you are getting pdffile allegations can you please explain the lore thats going on here.(im genuinely confused)

rain world fan artist who got involved in some pretty heavy drama a while back.

to the best of my knowledge and energy:

a minor (azrielfiend) alleged they were groomed by one of pansear's friends (0303emily). pansear at the time believed it was more just serious irresponsibility regarding nsfw subjects than actual grooming, based on their own experiences with the latter. and they said some things that were interpreted as pushing to keep it quiet.

the moderation team of the server this happened in wound up (against pansear's wishes iirc) kicking azriel without doing much about emily. azrielfiend was angered enough by that to make a ... fairly unsubstantiated callout post about the whole thing.

a lot of bad shit happened. azriel and his friends, all underage, went trawling through nsfw sites and servers in order to find dirt on people. pan came around on it being grooming, but a lot of people (including azriel) never forgave them for that initial response. a lot of harassment occurred, and a lot of accusations were thrown around — some of them outright false.

pansear ... kinda fell apart, for a while.

watching it happen instilled anxieties in me that have never really died down.

but eventually they started posting art again. things seemed to calm down, to heal. until like two weeks ago, when azriel saw pansear complain about getting banned from the roblox phighting server, got mad, and posted a series of four screenshots he'd kept waiting for a good opportunity.

these screenshots appeared to show pansear encouraging self-harm in return for drawing nsfw art, and continuing contact with 0303emily, despite their very public falling-out.

pansear had already been kind of drifting away from rain world over the continued harassment, and this was enough for them to delete all of their social media accounts. people took that as an admission of guilt, and so didn't scrutinize the pictures very closely.

all the old accusations against pan that hadn't caught on got dug up and re-examined. some time ago she drew what, frankly, from the descriptions i've heard and the censored images i've been exposed to, seems like fairly tame furry nsfw art, shared in private, leaked maliciously, and used to claim she was a zoophile.

but the screenshots are ... i'm pretty much 100% convinced that they're fake, at this point. there are too many weird coincidences, and i've been told by a trusted source that it couldn't be 0303emily in there anyway. that's not her account.

old wounds have been torn open over nothing.

it may sound stupid for me to be so deeply invested in this but i was an emotional wreck after the screenshots released. i thought they were real too. i'm still kinda fucked up over it now. this shit has and continues to hurt so many more people than just pansear, and it's not even real.

the accusations against me are because i pointed that out.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

I have been crying on and off about that Tommy MCD fic idea since you posted about it. The way you write emotional devastation is soooo good. It always punches me in the gut.

Thank you thank you here’s some more of it… using this as my fuck it Friday post, thanks for the tag @eddiebabygirldiaz, tagging @colonoscopys @homerforsure @chronicowboy @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @daffi-990 @butchdiaz @ anyone else who has stuff they want to share!

Going to put a lot of this under a cut because one its long two it’s a major character death au and there’s a bit about past contemplation of suicide. But it’s kind of happy generally I swear! This is Buck and Eddie getting together sort of!

For more of this au I’ve been tagging it ‘the seconds ticking killed us all a million years before the fall’ (lyrics from standing outside a broken phone booth with money in my hand)

I’ve hated and thought this scene was pretty good in turns over the last few hours so whatever here you go!

Eddie thinks the creaking on the front porch might be a raccoon, at first. It’s light, comes and goes for several minutes. He should probably go shoo it away, but it’s two am and he’s sore all over and can’t be damned. He’s settling further into the couch and his various ice packs when the raccoon knocks. Hesitant, hesitant, loud, loud, louder. Eddie stands up with only a slight groan, ice packs flopping all over the place, and goes to the door.

Buck stands on the other side of it.

If Eddie hadn’t been so exhausted yet in too much pain to fall asleep, he thinks he might have expected this. If he was a little more exhausted, a little more hurt, he might have admitted to hoping for it. As it is, all he can do for a moment is blink at the apparition before him. Buck is pale, wild eyed, looking somehow thinner than when they’d last seen each other not that many hours ago. His hands come up to hover near Eddie’s shoulders as Eddie is also reaching out, so he ends up with his fingers colliding into an awkward fist against Buck’s elbow.

“Eddie.” He sounds wrecked. “I’m- I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s alright,” Eddie says, soft, shaking his head. “I’m okay, Buck. I’m still okay. Like I promised.”

Buck makes a terrible little noise and steps backward, and again, off the porch. Eddie follows, hands out, trying to make sure he won’t trip. “Eddie,” he says again, “Eddie.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, keeping his voice low, calming, less likely to wake any neighbors. “Buck, it’s okay. Do you want to come inside?”

Buck looks up behind Eddie, where the door is wide open. Light spills through, shining in his eyes, in the unshed tears there. “I don’t want to… waste… any time I have.”

“What-”

Buck kisses him. The sound Eddie makes is more frightened than anything, even as his arms come up around Buck, to hold him close, to hold him up. It’s not- it’s wet, and Buck’s fingers almost hurt where they’re dug into the sides of Eddie’s head. Their faces are pressed too hard together, noses crushed into cheeks. Their lips are barely even aligned. Buck gasps a hitching breath into his mouth and Eddie pulls back. Not away, just enough to speak.

“Come inside,” he pleads. “Buck, come inside, just- please, come inside.”

Buck doesn’t let go of him, doesn’t give him an inch, but lets Eddie pull him into the house. Eddie’s not sure how he manages not to trip going blind and backwards, but they make it through the door, down the hall, to the living room. Eddie’s not even sure if he’d count what’s happening as kissing, but Buck’s mouth presses into his over and over as they go.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, between the moments of contact. “It’s okay,” he says as he kicks a shoe or something out of their path, “It’s okay,” as sits back down on the couch. Buck climbs on top of him immediately, and Eddie hopes the combined weight of them doesn’t pop the ice pack that ended up crushed under his thigh. It is kissing, now, the desperate kind of making out Eddie remembers with Shannon in the day or two on either side of his deployments. Eddie slides his hands to rest firm against Buck’s lower back to anchor him — or maybe both of them — and follows Buck’s lead as their lips slide together, as Buck gets his mouth open and chases his tongue, as they gasp raggedly for air without ever breaking apart. He’s not sure, but he thinks Buck is crying. Eddie isn’t, barely. Buck needs someone solid right now, someone who will let him take what he needs and be okay if this is it, if this is the only time they have this. Because Eddie’s not fooling himself. He laid there at the bottom of that pit under all that rubble and heard Buck’s scream, first wordless, and then Tommy, and then Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He knows that this might all be too much, too soon, too mixed up, and if Buck pulls away from this kiss and never comes in for another one that’s okay. He wishes, maybe, that it could have happened different. He wishes Buck had been smiling, and it had been gentler, on a bright afternoon, on a good day. But it’s okay.

It goes until Buck’s elbow catches a bruise and Eddie can’t stop a small, pained sound from getting out. Buck jerks back like he touched a hot stove, eyes open to near circles as he looks Eddie all over. Eddie knows it's sort of a rough picture, all purple and blue and a fresh line of stitches cutting a half moon around his temple from forehead to just under his mole. Buck’s fingers come up to trace it, not quite touching the skin. Just the shape, in the air.

“S-sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so- I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says again. He wipes a thumb under Buck’s eye, though it doesn’t do much to clear away the still falling tears. Buck leans into the touch, though, and then in further, head cradling against Eddie’s shoulder as he slides half off him onto the couch. Eddie slides his fingers into Buck’s hair, wraps his other arm around him as Buck coughs muffled little sobs into his t-shirt.

“S-sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Buck.” His hair feels a little limp, greasy. Eddie wonders if he went home at all, took a shower, ate. His own fridge is kind of dire — he was planning on going to the grocery store after work until a building collapsed on him — but he could probably scrounge up something. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Buck scoffs a single, wet laugh. “No,” he says, voice thin, scrubbing at his face as he sits more upright. “It’s not- you didn’t do it on purpose. That’s the job, right?”

The job that killed your husband. Why would you want to do this a second time? I care for you so much and I’m so sorry you reciprocate. “Yeah. Still.”

Buck inhales and exhales, shaky, and nods in thanks. He makes a face and pulls another ice pack out from under him. It’s all floppy now, probably too warm to be effective. “God. Let me…” He stands, gathering up all the ice packs he can see and heading towards the kitchen.

“You don’t have to-”

“I’ll be just a minute.”

Eddie sighs, leaning back into the couch and listening to the freezer door open and its contents get shuffled around. The soft hiss of it shutting, Buck’s footsteps, Buck in the doorway sheepishly holding an armful of frozen vegetables. Eddie arranges peas and carrots over the worst sore spots as Buck sits back down beside him.

“Did you take anything?”

“Yeah, just before you got here.” Extra strength ibuprofen, so he won’t be good to take anything else until morning. Wasn’t going to be a problem when he thought he was just going to sleep, though he wishes he’d taken a smaller dose now so he could spread them out, time it better to however long they’ll be talking here.

“Good.” Buck sighs, looking at him with furrowed brows. “Sorry I… I didn’t mean to be so dramatic, coming here.”

Eddie laughs, startled and genuine. “It’s, uh, been a dramatic day.”

Buck hums agreement, a tired and beautiful smile pulling at his lips. He flops his head sideways onto the couch. “I kind of had a… an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. Of what I was going to say. Because…” he searches Eddie's face. “I'm not- I'm not making it up, right? There's something here? You feel it too?”

Eddie can barely breathe. “Yeah, I- it's not just you. But- Buck, I understand why you wouldn't want to do this, why you wouldn't want to take the risk. I- I have feelings for you,” it feels like a childish way to say it even as the words leave his mouth, “But I… you're my friend. I think you're my best friend. And I am truly fine with that. You don’t have to… it’s okay.”

That smile. “That’s the thing. That’s what I’ve been thinking about. N-not just today. Though, I guess- you scaring the shit out of me made it more- more real.” He chews at his lip for a moment. “I… spend a lot of time wishing… that I had more of it, with Tommy. That we had longer together. Or at least that I- that I’d made sure every minute counted, you know? B-but I think maybe I did? I loved him so much and we- it was good, what we had. Just because it ended, that doesn’t mean the rest wasn’t worth it. I’d love him again, knowing what was coming. And, so…” he takes a deep breath. “So I’ve been thinking that… even if I… even if something bad could happen- I don’t want that to stop me from having something good, now.”

“Buck-”

“Hold on,” Buck says, a hand up, a wry smile. “I have a part two.”

“Okay.” Eddie’s turned towards him without really noticing, both of them sitting one leg folded up on the couch so their knees touch.

“I’m not… going to stop loving Tommy. And I’m, uh- kind of a fucking mess, as I just demonstrated. I don’t- know that I’m- going to be any less messy any time soon.” There’s a furrow in his brows that Eddie wants to smooth out. “I don’t know that starting something would be fair to you.”

“I-”

“You’re a very kind man, Eddie.” Buck says it very softly, and one of his hands comes to rest so gently on Eddie’s leg. “I think you’d let me fall apart here forever, but I want- I want you to really think if it’s worth it-”

“Buck.” Eddie’s voice is sharp enough that Buck blinks several times, quick. “Don’t- you’re worth it. Your pain isn’t- it’s not some kind of chore to me. I haven’t been just- hanging around, waiting until you’re a fun guy. I like you, Buck, right now, not- not some other perfectly okay version of you.”

Buck’s fingers twitch against Eddie’s thigh. “You’re a very kind man,” he repeats.

“I don’t even know if that’s true,” Eddie sighs, the material of the couch soft where he rests his cheek against it. “I just…” He thinks back to that first day Buck showed up at the station, and then to every day after that. “I think I always just wanted… to make your life easier.”

“Oh.” Buck shuts his eyes, whistles a breath through his nose. “You- you do. You do, Eddie.”

They’re quiet, at an impasse. The whole world is quiet, here at nearing 3 am with all the colors purple dark outside of this lamp lit room. Eddie can hear crickets and frogs if he listens hard enough. “Tommy was my friend. I’ve felt… guilty.”

Buck opens his eyes again. “For liking me?”

Eddie smiles a little at the phrasing — Sophia’s 8th grade voice saying like-like in his head — and nods. “It feels… disrespectful. He loved you so much, I don’t- I don’t know how he’d feel about it.”

Buck scratches a nail absently against the fabric of Eddie’s sweatpants. “We talked about it, a little.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The jobs we have, you know? It’s not like- it’s not like we never got hurt, never thought about what would happen if one of us…” Buck shrugs, and his smile aches this time. “I told him if I died he had to be sad forever, only love me the rest of his life.”

Eddie laughs. “Mm. Reasonable ask.”

Buck nods, smile getting bigger, almost a grin. “I didn’t mean it, but… You know, I think he would have. He was teasing when he promised, but… he was serious, too, I think.” He sighs. “He told me he was scared I wouldn’t let anyone love me. He said I-” Buck’s voice cracks badly enough he has to wait a few moments to continue. “I’m too easy to love. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t go without it.”

Eddie feels a little wide eyed. “That’s…”

“Isn’t that just annoyingly romantic?” Buck laughs, wiping his eyes. “Reasonable ask. Jesus.” He scrubs harder. “I think he… he wanted to make my life easier, too. You’re… you’re so alike, sometimes.” He winces. “No, that’s- I don’t mean- that’s not why I-”

“No, it’s… I know you’re not trying to replace him.” It’s not like he hasn’t had the thought, himself. He and Tommy got on so well in part because they were alike. Shared hobbies, both army, both carrying around a complicated relationship with their families and their sexuality. But they’re their own people. And- “I wouldn’t want to… try to be that, for you.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

There’s another quiet minute. Hesitantly, Eddie rests his hand palm up next to Buck’s. Buck slides their fingers together, and they fit as well as any hands do. “So… what do you want to do? What do you want to happen?”

Buck squeezes. “I… I’m not sure.”

Eddie nods. “Has there… am I the first person? After?”

Buck’s eyes get a little calculating, like he’s not sure he should say whatever comes next. “I hooked up with a girl, a few months in, uh, a little before I came to the 118. In a bar somewhere, I don’t even remember… And then I went home and, uh-” he winces, glances to the side. “I almost killed myself.”

“Buck-” Jesus, jesus-

“No, no-” Buck squeezes tighter, sits up a little straighter. “I didn’t. I didn’t and I wouldn’t. I- I’m safe, I promise, Eddie. It wasn’t- it wasn’t even actually an attempt, I just… thought about it.” He swallows. “It was close, I guess.”

Eddie’s clinging more than holding his hand. “Buck- if- I don’t want to-”

“No,” Buck shakes his head, firm. “I didn’t tell you because I- I thought if we-” his other hand wraps around the two of theirs. “I don’t want you to think if we move forward you’re putting me in danger. You’re not. I- I wasn’t doing well back then, it was hardly even about- it was a lot of things. I’m going to be okay, I swear.”

“If- If you’re ever not-” words feel like physical objects in Eddie’s throat, choking and uncomfortable. “Promise me you’ll tell someone, Buck. It- it doesn’t have to be me, just- promise me.”

“I promise,” Buck says, solemn, serious. His thumb rubs gently at the back of Eddie’s hand. “I’m sorry, I- I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“No,” Eddie disagrees immediately. “It’s… I asked. I want to know. I-” they complete another loop on this circle of a conversation. “I told you, your pain isn’t a chore. You don’t need to hide anything from me.”

“Right,” Buck sighs.

“Buck.”

“No, I-” Buck laughs a little at Eddie’s admonishing tone. “That was a right, I understand, not a yeah, right. I just-” he takes a hand away from the tangle they’ve got going and runs it through his hair. “God, I’m tired.”

Eddie nods. He’s exhausted, down in his bones. “Okay. I’ve got two things to say that don’t really go together, this time.”

“Okay,” Buck smiles at him, eyes crunched up and fond. “Hit me.”

“First, I think…” Eddie sits up straighter, too, takes a deep breath. “I like you, Buck. I- care for you. I- I-” Truth has to go both ways. Fuck it. “I’m in love with you. You should probably know that.”

Buck nods, eyes wet again. “Okay.”

“But I think if we… If you want to try being together, we should take it slow, and if you need to back out, that's okay. You’re my friend, and I swear to you that’s more important to me than anything else. So… So we have to just keep being honest with each other, even if it might hurt.”

“Alright,” Buck nods again, wiping his eyes. He manages a smile. “Was that the second thing, or…”

Eddie shakes his head, lips quirking up. “No. The second thing is, you wanna come sleep with me?”

Buck throws his head back laughing, almost losing balance where he sits. Eddie grabs his elbow to make sure he won’t fall over. “Eddie-”

“It’s late,” Eddie explains, not bothering to keep the adoration out of his voice now that he doesn’t really have to. “You shouldn’t drive home, my bed’s more comfortable than the couch.”

Buck laughs again, resting his elbow on the couch and his chin on his hand. He looks at Eddie, and Eddie thinks there’s plenty of adoration in that gaze, too. He shakes his head, though. “I think I’ll still take the couch tonight, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.”

Buck raises their still clasped hands and kisses Eddie’s knuckles, holding his smile pressed into the skin there for a few moments. “And in the morning we can start to… figure out the rest of it?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers. Smiles once, twice. “See you then. Looking forward to it.”

Buck ducks his head, though his smile is still visible. “Yeah. Me too. Go- get some sleep, Eddie. I’ll-” he laughs, looking around them. “I’ll put away your peas.”

“Oh,” Eddie lifts up a bag of mushy vegetables. “No, I can do it, don’t worry about it.”

“Eddie.” Buck stands, gently taking the bag, and hesitating only a moment before he bends down and carefully kisses his cheek. From only a few inches away, eyes soft and close and blue, he says “I want to make your life easier, too.”

Eddie swallows hard, rests his hand against Buck’s cheek for just a second, and nods, momentarily incapable of words. Buck is halfway to the kitchen when he manages to say “Goodnight, Buck.”

Buck turns in the doorway. Smiles. “Goodnight, Eddie. See you in the morning.”

[lonelym00n]

It's (sometimes) okay to trust a stranger

Sam Carpenter x Hicks!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Sixteen year old Sam just needs a friend. Despite the odds, she finds one in you.

A/N: this was supposed to be short but for some reason I couldn't stop myself from making it longer. hope u enjoy anyways!

Harshly slamming your front door shut, you stomped towards your car, hopped in, and quickly started the engine. Your chest was heaving up and down furiously and you could feel tears uselessly streaming down your cheeks. In one last fit of anger, you pounded your clenched fists into the steering wheel. Your temporary breakdown is interrupted at the sight of the front door swinging back open, your mom striding quickly towards you. You move faster than her, shifting the car into reverse and flying into the street without a care in the world. 

You hear your mom scream your name as you shift back into drive and absolutely floor it, cruising carelessly into the slowly darkening night. Hopefully she noticed you were going well above the speed limit, you knew it would piss her off even more if she did. 

Reaching one hand up towards your face, you angrily swipe the tears away before clicking the radio on. The volume is unnecessarily loud, just how you like it. 

As you aimlessly drive, you’re finally able to catch your breath and get a grip on your raging emotions. Deep down you know you had no right to be as mad as you are, but you were just so frustrated with your mother’s behavior lately. She expected you to be so perfect and happy and a ray of fucking sunshine all the time and trying to live up to her high standards had you so exhausted. It didn’t help that she constantly compared you to your younger brother, who she so clearly favored.

Tears welled up in your eyes for the second time and you let them fall. You felt hopeless and defeated. Worst of all, there was nothing you could do to make yourself feel better. You could only accept your fate and lay in the bed that was made for you. 

You pull into an empty parking lot, hug your knees tight to your chest, and force yourself to recall the fight between you and your mother. 

***

You sat in your room, humming along to the music you had idly playing in the background. After finishing all of your homework, you had decided to paint your nails. It was something that you found to be oddly relaxing and it had become a form of self-care for you. 

Before you could open up the bottle of nail polish, a knock sounded at your door. “Come in,” you called. 

The small form of your eleven year-old brother, Wes, peeked into your room. “Mommy says it’s time for dinner.” He grins toothily at you, “She got sushi!”

Though sushi was more of his favorite food than it was yours, you smiled brightly for the boy’s sake. “Mm yum” you hummed, “Race ya to the kitchen.”

He laughed as you took off, sprinting down the stairs and skidding to a halt just in front of the dining room. Before you could even begin to situate yourself at the table, your mom’s overly sweet voice broke your inner peace, “Y/N,” she scolded, “No running down the stairs. You or Wesley could easily get hurt.”

Wes apologized, a small frown on his chubby face. You, however, remained silent and clenched your jaw in irritation. Of course within seconds of her being home, she had already found a way to put a stop to your relaxed state.

She handed out the sushi and you all dug into your respective meals. She and Wes chatted about his day at school while you kept to yourself, deciding instead to scroll mindlessly through your phone. Seeing a particular funny post of Kirby’s, you couldn’t stop the light chuckle from sliding out of your mouth.

Your mother tutted and reached across the table to pluck your phone from your hands. “No phones at the table.”

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes, instead choosing to divert your attention to your nails, noting that they would need to be filed before you applied the polish. 

Your mom turned her attention away from Wes and onto you. “So,” she spoke, sounding extremely cheerful, “How’s school going for you, honey?” 

You sighed before responding, “Okay, I guess. Lots of assignments this week so that sucks, but I guess it’s fine since there aren’t any exams.”

She seemed pleased by your response and bit into another piece of sushi. Just as you were about to turn back to your own meal, she spoke again, “Who do you hang around with these days?” 

You groaned internally, knowing by her tone that nothing good could come out of this conversation. Leave it to Deputy Judy to try and police who you decided to hang out with. You scratched your neck before answering, “Mostly just Kirby these days. Other than her I keep to myself.” 

Her eyebrows raised at your answer before she shook her head. You did roll your eyes this time. “What mom? Go ahead, explain to me what the problem with Kirby is.” 

Needless to say, you were annoyed. She never approved of who you were friends with and wasn’t afraid to tell you exactly what she thought of them. “Well,” she spoke indignantly, “To start, the girl has broken about ten different driving laws. She’s constantly participating in underage drinking and has helped Jill Roberts sneak out of her house on several different occasions. She’s a terrible influence, sweetie, and from what I’ve heard, her parents are almost never home. That’s always a bad sign.”

You huffed and raked your hands through your hair in frustration. “Seriously? It’s Jill’s own choice to sneak out and that has nothing to do with Kirby. All you really have on her is that she’s a shit driver.”

Judy gasped and she raised a scolding finger up at you. “You watch your mouth around your brother, young lady. Bet you learned that awful language from her.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at your mom’s audacity. “Jesus mom, Kirby’s not the only teenager that swears, you’re so obnoxious sometimes.”

“That’s it!” She stood up and stomped her foot on the ground. “You aren’t allowed to be friends with her anymore!” 

You jumped out of your seat and let out a hysterical laugh at her crazy behavior, “Seriously!? Do you not hear how ridiculous you sound?”

“You better quit while you’re ahead missy.”

You scoffed, the anger coursing through your brain making you feel very bold, “You know what mom? I’m not gonna quit while I’m ahead. I’m sick of you trying to decide who I can and can’t be friends with!” Your lip curled up in defiance and you decided to continue, “You always do this. You always try to put yourself in charge of who I hang out with! I’m done with it. It really pisses me off.”

She looked shocked at your outburst but you didn’t care. She refused to listen to you when you talked calmly so if you had to raise your voice to finally get your point across to her, you would do so gladly. “I don’t know where this behavior is coming from Y/N Hicks but I expect an apology right now.”

You laughed loudly at her words. “No! You know what mom, I’ll tell you where this behavior is coming from. I have no friends because of you! No one at school invites me anywhere because they only see me as the deputy’s nark daughter. And the people who do hang out with me? They all leave!” You threw your arms up in the air wildly, “They either leave because you bust their party or because you force me to push them away!” 

At this point your face is bright red as the words spew out of your mouth. You feel frustrated enough to explode. Little Wes sits in his chair, completely silent as he watches the two of you argue.

Your mom speaks up, tone quiet in that way that means you have most certainly crossed a line, “I’m keeping this phone.” She waves your phone in front of you and you want to double over and scream loud enough to shake the whole house. Clearly she hadn’t cared about a word you said.

“Good! I don’t need it anyways!” You trudge over to the entryway and throw your coat over your shoulders, hearing your keys jingle in your pocket at the erratic action. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” She yells from the dining room. 

“Anywhere but here!” With that, you fling yourself out of the house.

***

Your tears have diminished to sniffles at this point. Part of you feels broken and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do to fix it. 

Lost in the crooning sound of the radio and your racing thoughts, you don’t notice the figure creeping towards your car. 

The sudden tap at your window causes you to let out a terrified shriek. Your knee knocks into the horn as you twist towards the source of the tapping noise and you scream even louder at the powerful beep that rings out into the dead of night..  

Your chest rises raggedly as you hesitantly trail your eyes up the figure that looms outside your window. The panic that took over your body calms slightly as you realize that it’s just a girl. You do feel a bit nervous as you recognize the girl to be Samantha Carpenter because even though you were mad at your mom, it doesn’t escape your mind that she had incessantly warned you to stay away from the girl standing outside your car.

She doesn’t look like she’s going to harm you now, with the amused twinkle that sparkles in her brown eyes, so you roll down the window and chuckle awkwardly, “Um hi?”

A teasing smirk stretches across her face, “Hello there. Didn’t mean to scare you half to death.”

You try not to blush at the reference to your moment of panic. “No, don't worry about it, you didn’t.”

She gives you a look that says you’re full of shit but smiles despite the fact. “So,” she draws out lazily, “What brings you here at this time of night?” 

It’s then that you notice the hazy look that’s in her eyes and with what your mother had told you about the girl, you note that she’s probably under the influence of some kind of drug right now. “Uh,” you struggle for a cool sounding response before lamely gesturing around. “Same as you.” You resist the urge to facepalm as your retort comes out as more of a question than a straight response.

She huffs out a laugh and something inside of you flutters at the sound. She cocks an eyebrow at you, “Oh really? So you mean to tell me the deputy’s daughter is out here high off her ass from whatever drug she had managed to scrounge up for the night?”

Your eyes widen comically, but a grin makes its way across your face regardless. “Yup.”

Samantha seems to find your act kind of funny and you internally cheer and congratulate yourself, before mentally sighing at just how corny you are. 

The lanky girl walks around to the other side of your car and motions for you to unlock the door. Curiously, you do. She quickly steps inside, making a small noise of approval at the warmth she’s provided. It’s then that you notice that she hadn’t been wearing a jacket, her (very) muscular arms completely bare in the black tank top that stretches across her form. Dumbly, you fish out your favorite jacket from the backseat and wordlessly offer it to her. She looks at it with interest but leans up to put it on anyways. You think you imagined it, but for a split second you swear her tan cheeks darken slightly.

She clears her throat and the charged atmosphere that had filled the car moments ago disappears with the action. “Clearly I know who you are, Y/N Hicks, so tell me, why would Judy Hicks’ daughter allow a complete stranger into her car?”

You think for a moment but shrug, “Some company is actually just what I needed right now.” She nods in understanding and you continue, this time bearing the teasing smirk on your own face, “Plus, you’re not the only one with a trick up their sleeve. I know who you are too, Samantha.”

A cheshire grin spreads across her mouth. You think it suits her. “Oh yeah? Mommy told you about me then?” You nod and she barks out a laugh, “All bad things, I hope.”

You chuckle at the mirth that has appeared in her expression. “Most certainly all bad things. I swear that’s all Judy Hicks is capable of seeing.”

She seems to pick up on the heaviness of her tone and you wonder if the drug she has taken has given her some heightened sense of perception. “Things don’t seem to be all perfect in paradise.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Sam smiles but it looks more like a grimace, “Believe me, I do.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence. You wonder what exactly happened to Sam to lead her down this path, but you know better than to ask. Despite your mother’s constant warnings, you find that Sam is actually really refreshing to hang around. She sees the world for what it really is, cold and lonely. It’s a nice change of pace to what you’re used to being around.

The peaceful atmosphere is broken as she reaches into her pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She waits for a beat, anticipating you to chastise her, and looks pleasantly surprised when you don’t speak a word. Your eyes remain locked together as she places the stick into her mouth, rolls the window down, and leisurely lights the cigarette. 

After she takes a long drag, she looks at you curiously. “Y’know you’re nothing like what I thought you’d be.” You motion for her to continue and she does after a short moment, “I figured you’d be a cheery brat like your mom and that you wouldn’t even give someone like me the time of day.”

The last bit of her sentence causes a sad pang to vibrate through your chest. You frown and give her a soft look, “Someone like you? You seem really nice Sam.” She looks at you like you’ve grown three heads, clearly not believing you. “I’m serious,” you say gently, “you must be such a strong person to keep pushing through whatever it is you’re going through. I don’t know you that well, but I know enough to be able to tell that you’re a good person.”

Her eyes brim with tears and she doesn’t even flinch as they spill down her face. Her cigarette, now forgotten, falls from the hand that had been dangling out the window and onto the uneven pavement below. You pull her towards you into a tight hug. After a while of her sobbing softly into your shoulder, she pushes away slightly to meet your eyes. Your heart breaks at how small she sounds when she whispers a tiny thank you up at you. 

You brush the hair out of her eyes and lightly thread your fingers through it. She melts into the contact and you want to cry at how adorable she is. 

The two of you sit like that for what feels like hours, but is more than likely just a few minutes. 

She finally pulls away from you completely and settles back into your passenger seat. Her smirk reappears and you smile at the sight. “Drive. There’s someplace I want to show you.”

You’d known the girl for all of five seconds yet you could already tell that you’d likely do whatever she asked of you, your mother’s opinion be damned. If she had asked you to climb up the rooftop of an abandoned building, you’d likely say yes. And if she had asked you to stay with her up on that same rooftop for the rest of the night, you’d probably (definitely) agree. And if, when the sky began to display a mixture of pink and orange tones, she shyly asked if she could kiss you, you’d press your lips softly to hers in a heartbeat.

Bonus A/N: I've never written a flashback before so I really hope that part turned out okay :)

[jq37]

FH Junior Year Post-Season Thoughts

With another season of Fantasy High in the books and my recaps all finished, I wanted to do an overview of my thoughts on the season as a whole. Even though I feel generally positive about my experience with the season, there are a few things I think maybe could have been done differently narratively or mechanically. This isn't to criticize the way the season went down or to backseat DM/Play. More my combined ten years of college for textual analysis and storytelling bleeding through, haha. 

I first want to start with the things I thought worked really well.

Fantasy High has "High" right in its title but, in past seasons (and especially Sophomore Year), not as much time as you'd think was spent actually at school and even if it was spent at school, there wasn't much time spent in class or engaging with the realities of being a student. This season really dug into the academic consequences of skipping your classes all the time and the realities of needing to do a ton of extra stuff to try for a scholarship and I think that was a refreshing thing to highlight for a change. Being more scared at flunking out than the dragon that's trying to eat you feels very emotionally resonant. Real "High School Is Killing Me" vibes for anyone who's a fan of NPMD. 

Even though Fantasy High is a show that has some deep emotional beats and strong character arcs, it's first and foremost a comedy show. From the jump, everyone was generating bit after bit that had me cracking up as usual. "Little girly dog collar" is one of the funniest combinations of words I can think of. I think it was Siobhan who said that this was the goofy season and, having seen it, I'd have to agree with her. It never failed to make me laugh and it was always a highlight of my week.  The cast just has great table chemistry that I love to watch no matter what they're doing. 

Watching some of these high level combat encounters is as close as I'll get to understanding people watching sports. Even though combat is generally my least fave part of D&D, I think the cast really killed it this season with how cleverly they played and Brennan came up with some really great combat encounters. Special shout outs to Baron's Game and The Last Stand for their unique mechanics.  

This is going to be one that's on the other list as well because my feelings are mixed, but I genuinely do like the downtime mechanic and how it forces hard choices. I think it's an interesting way to connect a mechanic to the story and cultivate stressful atmosphere for the season.

I have problems with the execution but I love the Rat Grinders in concept. I think as early as season 1 I was hoping that we'd meet a party that was like the Bizarro Bad Kids and the idea of a party that's farming XP instead of going on crazy adventures is a strong concept. Likewise, I think a character that's jealous because of your "cool" (read: tragic) backstory is also a fun trait for an unhinged antagonist in this kind of setting.

This is me absolutely showing my bias but I adored the Abernant Sisters content this season. I dunno if Siobhan specifically asked Brennan to not put her on a bus with the other beloved NPCs or what but I'm so glad she stuck around and we got the development we did. It was almost entirely ancillary to the plot but there was this clear pattern of Aelwyn getting softer and sweeter towards Adaine over the course of the season, from the guarded, "Enjoy the nemesis ward," to, full I love you's and, "I'd take them to get you." It was way more focus than I expected considering that Aelwyn completed the bulk of her arc last season and a lot of the time, a redemption arc basically ends after the big gesture (in this case, Aelwyn taking a magic blast for Adaine in Sophomore Year). So the fact that we got to see all of these sweet moments of them reestablishing their relationship outside of do or die moments was such a pleasant surprise. Again, I fully admit I am extremely biased, but this was my top wishlist item and the season overdelivered so there's a baseline happy I'm always gonna be with Junior Year. 

OK, so moving on to things I things I think could have been tweaked.

Even though I liked the downtime system and the pressures it created, it also squeezed out the chance for more casual PC to NPC interactions that would usually be more common because they were semi-locked behind the relationship track and there wasn't an obvious benefit to roll for Relationships (as opposed to something like Academics which was crucial for not flunking out). Making the mechanical benefit more clear would have helped that (even if it meant Brennan didn't get his reveal--which he ended up just telling them anyway so might as well do it early). The other thing is that the consequence of a rage token was so bad that of course they spent all season avoiding getting one. Things might have gone differently if the consequences had been a bit more obscured, like in Neverafter. And it could have been a nice parallel to the Rat Grinders to take this unknown resource that makes things easier for you but is also having this negative effect. Then it could be like dang we did the same thing they did unknowingly. 

I mentioned this in my recap but I'll talk about it again. It is a little confusing to me that we did the Ankarna subplot right after we did the very similar Cassandra subplot. It took up so much time this season which I don't think is an issue in and of itself, it's just that we literally just went through some extremely similar beats last season. Why double up on this same storyline when there's so much new ground to cover? Or if we're going to raise a god, why not make it a different kind of god? One theory I had early on was that the Rat Grinders were trying to raise their own god to one-up the Bad Kids but instead of raising a chill, misunderstood Cass type, they accidentally raised a god who was erased for a good reason and got in over their heads. 

It's fun for there to be connections between seasons but sometimes it's like, OK that's a *lot* of coincidences. Like the god who your rivals is trying to raise *happens* to be the wife of your cleric's god and also *happens* to be the god of the fiend trapped in your friend's mom's chest and that fiend *happens* to be the relative on your bard's dad's side which is *also* the reason she is randomly cursed? That's a LOT of red string connecting plot points. As unhinged as Kipperlilly is about coveting Riz's backstory if I saw that go down I'd be like you have *got* to be kidding me.  

The mystery elements didn't feel like they clicked as well as they did in other seasons. I think that's partially because Porter's plan was so convoluted (seriously, I made another post about how haphazard his plan was) and had all these moving parts and we didn't get clear answers for a lot of mechanical things like how the rage crystals actually work and when they were implanted and stuff. You had stuff like Devil's Honey which I think is super cool as a thing that exists in the world but ended up being an element that just led the players down the wrong path and had a relatively small payoff (that Porter was using it to lie to Ankarna). I think it's plausible that a forgotten god would be willing to listen to anyone saying the right things without introducing this element. (As opposed to, for instance, Ambrosia which has a very clear connection to what's going on and is a solid clue that someone is flirting with aspirations of godhood.) 

The Porter reveal came so late in the season that even though it was a fun/challenging fight, there wasn't a lot of emotional weight behind killing him. It was basically just dunking on a teacher Fig has always hated who was also mean to Gorgug so screw him. Which, valid of course. But the Bad Kids were never going to react as strongly to Porter as they were to the Rat Grinders so putting Porter in the prime villain spot isn't necessarily what I would have done if I wanted the fight to be more than just a brawl--especially since we've done "School admin with student minions" already in S1. I don't mind the full circle callback but it would have been nice to pick something else for the sake of variety. We haven't had a child mastermind yet and I think Kipperlilly could have been a great candidate for that. My friend suggested that it would have been fun if Kipperlilly was trying to become a god instead of just being Porter's underling and I agree. "I'm not anyone's chosen one so I'll choose myself," is still within her established jealousy and Type A tendencies. If we want to keep Porter involved since that was Brennan's gift to Emily, maybe have it be that instead of Kipperlilly working for him, he's working for her. Like Artemis Fowl vibes! And the Rat Grinders can be varying levels of on board--from true believe to redeemable. I don't think Brennan planned for the Bad Kids to ever redeem her so might as well go full megalomaniacal mastermind with her and make her The Villain if she's not gonna be nuanced anyway. If My Little Pony can do it and send a literal child to Tartarus for pony treason (or whatever Cozy Glow did), Fantasy High can too. 

Continuing from the above, if we have the Porter fight in place of the Grix fight (a la Daybreak) and don't use Ankarna, that gives way more time for the Bad Kids to investigate the Rat Grinders throughout the season and it would mean that they would have their personalities developed a lot more. With the limited downtime, they Bad Kids didn't have a lot of time to spend on these kids who were just hating on them for no good reason (valid). But if you cleared their plate of the god hunt stuff, they'd have more time for this. And if they weren't all rage zombies to varying degrees, it would be easier to see them as characters. Besides Kipperlilly (and, funnily enough, Mary Ann) we don't really have a good read on what these kids are actually like. The little time we spent with them all season was kind of a wash if them breaking out of rage means their personalities got laundered too. Anyway, regardless of how their loyalties ended up shaking out, it would have been fun for them to be more than the minions that they were in canon. As funny as it is for them to just kinda be XP farming losers, they did have the potential to be more interesting in their own right if they weren't just Porter's minions. And again, we've done adults forcing or coercing children into being minions in Freshman and Sophomore Year already. Lemme see some self-created child maniacs! (Or, peer pressured child maniacs. That's cool too. The Lucy/Kipperlilly dynamic is way more interesting to me if it's like girl, I would take a bullet for you but I CANNOT walk this path with you any further in response to *I* will be a god and you can be *MY* champion.)

Anyway, those are my thoughts! Like I said, I have my points that I think could have been tightened, but overall an enjoyable season and I will be glued to my screen if they decide to close out with Senior Year! 

[dollfaced-erin]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 7

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6

Taglist : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy, @chibiduck

To anon who posted about reader being injured from battle, i'm sorry but you'll have to wait a little longer until i find out what the heck is going on with my tumblr.

Authour's note :

And i'm really sorry for being gone for quite a long time. I was feeling under the weather and i had a lot of things on my plate recently ! But now that i'm okay now, i'm bringing you a new chapter !! I MEAN, HAVE YALL SEEN THE NEW KAFKA COMPANION QUEST ?!?!? ITS SO GOOD AND I ONLY SAW SNIPPETS OF IT HELPPPPP (Obviously there will be a chapter dedicated to the companion mission hheheheheh)

"You are a star that fled home, aren't you...? An outworlder, some would say." a tender feminine voice voiced out.

A masculine hum resounded from behind the female. "Yes. That's right." he said, his coarse and calloused hands caressing her beautiful soft hair with a resin comb in his hands.

"Do you suppose I would've had a different name should I be born in your homeland ?" the innocent female voice asked back, the horned lady turned around to meet tender red eyes.

"I suppose that may be the case. But why change your name ? Dan Jia is a perfectly beautiful name." the male asked back, his hands stopping from running them through those beautiful locks.

"But I suppose...if you want another name, your name would be..."

"(Y/n)..." the tender voice whispered.

And everything warped from her eyes, as if someone had wiped away the drawing of a beautiful scenery before her. And in its place, was a storming day, where left and right was surrounded by lifeless bodies of knights and Mara-struck soldiers.

She ran and ran and ran, gripping a crystal fan tight in her hold. (Y/n) didn't know where she was headed. Her heart was thumping, her head was pounding, but she never stopped running.

She just followed her heart, letting it bring her to wherever she was heading in this dream. It seems that she knew she was supposed to run somewhere, but where...?

No matter...keep running.

And in the distance, was a puff of smoke. It was puffing up in the sky, contaminating the air with its burnt smell, accompanied by the musty smell of rain.

The rain was hindering her sight, but she kept pushing on.

Snippets of pictures came to her mind. Everything was just...happening too fast. She barely remembered anything. It was...so blurry. But she could feel everything.

A body of a man lied lifeless on the ground, being held by another man tenderly in his arms, his back facing her.

Even her current self knew who that was, lying in the embrace of the Imbibator Lunae.

The dragon's fangs bared in her heart the moment she saw the limp body of the one she loved. The one she was about to tie herself to. The one she promised that no matter what, they would be together, for as long as his short life promised them.

The claws dug into her heart, as it teared at her inside out with fury and pain. She had never felt such powerful emotion running through her veins. She had never been this overwhelmed.

She remembered she saw herself swinging her fan. With fury running through her veins, she kept attacking, enemies were being frozen, then broken to the ground like broken glass and sharp icicles.

She couldn't remember much after that. And before long, she was holding the body of her fallen beloved in her arms. And as she still felt the pain in her lower back, it was nothing compared to the searing rage that was bubbling from her chest as it formed tears in her eyes.

"The elixir....it failed, sister." the Imbibator Lunae woefully whispered out. And despite the heavy rain that showered, his voice was as clear as day.

Memories resurfaced in her mind. Dan Jia was looking through the archives with the fallen, and stumbled across a scroll. A scroll of forbidden knowledge. That scroll had indeed gone missing a few days later, and she was heavily penalized for it.

And it all made sense to her.

They had taken it, now knowing its position when the young lady had accidentally pulled it.

"Please Dan Feng ! You must do it. We cant leave him to die ! Not like this ! Please, take my bone marrow !" a familiar female voice sobbed, holding the body close to herself.

"We cant leave him to die. Not when it was our fault to begin with !"

Right. They were both held accountable for what has transpired. This all happened because she showed her lover where it was, although he was forbidden from ever stepping into the archives.

She should've protected the scroll with her life should she known what were the two planning to do today.

The guilt of Dan Jia was so strong, even (Y/n) could feel it, herself crumbling to her knees and sobbing at the memory.

"I..." he whispered. He looked sorrowfully at the body of the man before them, growing lifeless as they spoke. Then he nodded.

"I understand. For you, I shall endure all punishments." Dan Feng replied, daring not to look at his sister who was weeping over the loss of her lover. For it was partially his fault for lending the man two hours to scour through the archives, to search for the remedy of death.

"Please...when I reincarnate, give me this jade pendant. It shall remind me of who I was and who to find..." she said, taking off a single jade pendant from her belt, and handing it to him.

Her memory began to blur even more, static filling her ears, and it was as if she was looking at an old screen...

Dan Feng took the pendant from her. And all she remembered then...was the teal eyes of her brother, the smell of the rain, the grey skies...

And the burning pain that ripped through her back without warning.

And the searing sensation that tore through her chest.

Her body fell, eyes beginning to blur even more.

Dan Feng stood above her, those teal eyes...colder than the ice she could ever dream of conjuring. And in his hand...was a chunk of white bone and a beating heart.

Though she had no power left, no energy left, no will left...

Those sweet words from her brother...wasn't meant for her. But for the lover that rest in between them.

(Y/n) screamed as loudly as she could, though nothing came from her lips.

"(Y/n) !"

(Y/n)'s eyes snapped open, her heart beating like crazy. Her forehead was sweating as her chest heaved up and down.

Warm and concerned honey colored eyes gazed into her own, worry swimming in them as the bearer leaned over her laying body, hands holding her down by her shoulders. Then one of the hands moved and cupped her cheek, taking in how cold she was at the moment.

"J-Jing Yuan..."

"Are you alright...?" the lion quickly interrupted, as he slowly pulled (Y/n)'s hand, letting her sit upright, trying to let her get more oxygen to calm down.

(Y/n)'s head was swimming with horror and realization. What she had just witnessed...was too vivid to be a dream. Too familiar to be a gore fantasia.

Those were her memories. Memories of her past. Before she called herself (Y/n).

"You were screaming in your sleep. I tried to wake you up, and you finally opened your eyes, (Y/n)..." Jing Yuan softly whispered, his hand holding her dainty own as another hand rubbed her back.

"(Y/n)..." the warm voice of her memories called out before the nightmare begun. That deep voice. The voice of the beloved swordsmith.

Her eyes filled themselves with uncontrollable tears, biting down her lip as she relived those horrible...horrible memories.

The man in the alley...and her beloved in her dreams...

Were the same person, had she not realized sooner.

Was that why she had a strong sense of longing...?

(Y/n) bent down, putting her face in her hands as she began to sob. Everything was beginning to feel too much for her. Everything was coming back too fast to her, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

Jing Yuan was a little surprised at her sudden breakdown. But who was he to complain...? Who was he to say anything when he didn't understand what was going on ? He could only rub her back soothingly as he put his lips close to her ear.

"(Y/n)...what happened...? What did you see...?" he spoke, as (Y/n) nodded, wiping away her tears.

"I saw...everything. Snippets of my past...my death..." (Y/n) said, looking up at Jing Yuan.

"It hurts...it hurts so much...how could...how could he pull out my heart ?"

Her back hurt, but her chest even more. It was as if what she had just seen in her dreams, had just relived that moment.

"(Y/n)...princess..." Jing Yuan softly said, as (Y/n) looked at him with those pained and traumatized (e/c) eyes. With only that description, he knew exactly what she saw.

He raised a hand, and caressed her silky (h/c) hair. He was conflicted, unknowing what to do in this situation, for what he had hoped to avoid for the most came back to her in times where she wasn't ready.

"I...I thought I was punished...?" (Y/n) asked, her hoarse voice scratching through her throat as she talked. Jing Yuan moved his hand to cup her cheek, wiping away those broken crystal tears that ran down (Y/n)'s face without her controlling them.

Jing Yuan didn't know how to explain this. But he thought that it was only right she knew bits and bits of herself. When the time was right, he was sure that he would tell her everything. But now...? The dragon girl before him was bawling her eyes out, having seeing horrific things, feeling them.

"Your punishment...was your unlimited sleep and losing your privilege as a former High Elder for losing the heart. You were gravelly injured when I found you. Even after we returned you to the shell...you never woke up. It was odd, really." Jing Yuan said, his voice soft as to comfort her.

"Honestly we didn't know when you would wake up, since it seems that your power was abruptly taken away from you. Your body couldn't handle it, and you fell into a deep sleep. Even when you hatched after years of resting here, you...were still this size. Though you no longer had the injuries you once sustained, and it seemed that the egg just...healed you." Jing Yuan replied.

"That's enough for now, princess. It's all in the past now. We can talk later in the morning. Can you sleep ?" Jing Yuan kindly asked with a smile.

(Y/n) shook her head, as she gripped the sheets that covered her lower body. She looked like a little child, really. With how she was pouting, trying to recollect herself that everything that happened was just in the past.

Jing Yuan couldn't help but chuckle as he saw (Y/n) like that. He lifted his hand, and pet her hair soothingly. "I know just the thing that might help you."

The general walked down the hallways of his large estate, tenderly holding (Y/n)'s hand. He was still a little tired, and the darkness of the hallway was more than enough to rouse his sleepiness. He was called the dozing general for nothing.

Turning around a corner, he brought her to a room. And as he opened it, it was a large and spacious bedroom. It was tidy, minus the disheveled sheets, the clothes strewn across the ground, and the number of scrolls that littered one small table in the corner of the room. A glaive was set high on the wall, his personal choice of weapon for years he passed through.

It was his personal bedroom.

"Come in, princess." Jing Yuan said, comfortingly, pulling her hand in. As he shut the doors behind him, (Y/n) was standing there, admiring the deco of his room.

"A-are you sure it's alright for me to be here...? Wouldn't anyone be...suspicious...?" (Y/n) timidly asked, her hands together as she looked at her long-time friend behind her.

She regretted, as a furious blush crept up her cheeks by the sight behind her.

She had never realized this before since she was in a state of shock and trauma, but she never really took in the appearance of her friend. He was wearing a loose silk robe with a simple red belt around his waist, tied loosely with a bow by his side. Though it was beautiful, fitting his muscular form perfectly, running over his toned muscles like water, the fact that it was just a loose robe with such little security, meant that his chest was wide open for her to see.

He stood there, with a knowing smirk on his face as (Y/n) was watching him stand there in all his half-naked glory. There wasn't anything for him to hide, rather there was much for him to show. That toned six pack he usually hid behind his attire was there right open for her precious innocent eyes to feast on.

"J-Jing Yuan ! Have some decency !" (Y/n) exclaimed, facing front immediately, a hand over her eyes to cover her from the quite revealing sight she was just exposed to.

Jing Yuan merely let out a hearty laugh, as he got closer to her petite form. His large hand went to her hair, admiring the silky strands that hung from his calloused fingers with a soft gaze in his golden eyes before he leaned in to her ear.

"Not to worry, princess. You shouldn't be ashamed to see something I wasn't meaning to hide~" he purred deeply into her ear, laughing again as he saw her face grow redder by the minute, up to the point where the tips of her ears had turned red.

"No no, I didn't mean to do that." he said, walking away from his flustered companion and walked to the corner of his room, where there were clear sliding doors.

Jing Yuan opened the door, revealing the view of a beautiful and spacious oriental garden, enclosed by the other walls of the estate. It was hard to see, but with the light provided by the moonlight, she could see all the plants and pathways that were manicured and shaped to form this traditional art. Small lion statues were placed around, along with little bridges that crossed over small streams.

"Mimi~!" Jing Yuan called out from his door. (Y/n) was on the floor, seated on the matted floorings of Jing Yuan's room, admiring the garden before her. That was before her (e/c) eyes were met with shining sapphire eyes with slits.

"A...lion...?" (Y/n) asked, eyes blown wide by the majestic creature that appeared before her. Jing Yuan laughed as the beast came to the wood platform, moving aside to let her in.

The lion, of Mimi as Jing Yuan called, pranced right in, as it was a norm for her to appear in her master's room. She looked curiously at the woman who sat close to her master's feet, slowly approaching the woman in a curious way.

"Hold your hand out to her like you would a kitten, (Y/n). Don't worry, Mimi never bites." Jing Yuan said, smiling warmly at the interaction between his companion and the beautiful dragon lady.

So (Y/n) did as she was told, holding her hand out to the majestic creature. Mimi tilted her head slightly as she approached the woman that had no fear towards her, her muzzled close to the small hand. It was so small, it was smaller than Mimi's face.

Mimi took one sniff with her black nose before she pounced on the dragon lady. (Y/n) yelped loudly as the lion leapt on her, her tail whipping in the air affectionately as she pushed (Y/n) to the ground, purring like a cat.

"It seems that she likes you !" Jing Yuan said heartily, sitting on the ground next to (Y/n) who was laughing and running her hands through Mimi's majestic snow mane. Mimi loved (Y/n) so, rubbing her large face against (Y/n)'s face, like a companion that had long last seen their master.

"I brought you here to play with her, if you couldn't sleep. So, spend the night here. I'm sure no one would mind, knowing who you are." Jing Yuan said, as he stroked Mimi's back.

"Are you sure ?" (Y/n) asked, looking at Jing Yuan from the floor, her beautiful strands of (h/c) hair, disheveled on the floor, shining silver beneath the moonlight like the most precious silks. He picked up a few strands from those beautiful locks gently in his hands, leaning down to kiss them.

"I'm sure. You have nothing to worry about. When your on these grounds, you shall be safe from all harm." Jing Yuan whispered, as (Y/n) began to get distracted when Mimi demanded more attention from her by resting her entire bodyweight on (Y/n).

"I promise you, my princess. So do not worry, and play and laugh to your hearts content. Sleep so soundly and sing so cheerfully, as if you have no other care in this world."

Jing Yuan smiled as he watched his princess laugh so melodiously as she played so carefreely with his feline. He had never seen her smile so freely, so enchantingly as she bathed beneath the pale moonlight.

He would do anything to protect that smile on (Y/n)'s face.

"You look troubled, Bladie. Are you sure seeing her once is enough...?" the voice of a beautiful woman rang through the deserted docks.

The man who was previously looking at the moon turned to look at his companion, who had unexpectedly awakened from her slumber as he stayed up.

"Being able to hug her once...was more than enough for me, Kafka." Blade quietly responded, surprisingly calm even after seeing someone so closely related to his past.

"Are you alright ? No feeling of the Mara stirring up in you ?" the woman asked, as she sat next to her companion who held something in his hands in his lap as he sat crossed legged on the ground.

"Surprisingly, no. Seeing her makes me calm. Honestly, I never thought I'd be able to see her, ever again. Not after how I saw her..." he responded quietly, trailing off as he refused to say it. Then, he unfolded his fingers from their tight grasp. And there, was a pair of beautiful glass earrings.

"If its stirring up again, what are the chances of it calming down once you see her ?" Kafka asked, taking a simple guess as she glanced at her partner in crime.

"She has always been...calm. Jia. In the native language of Xianzhou, it means home." Blade said, looking down at the earrings he once made for a beloved once. He turned up, looking at the moon, the same moon he knew she was sleeping peacefully under.

"And that's what she has always been. My home."

[whatswexceles]

I’m really tired.

This is I guess my big long official response to everything that's going on in the rainworld fandom

Since Tuesday I've been recording all my thoughts about this whole thing daily. This is something of a consolidation of all of that plus more. the original abridged version will be posted in a reblog.

I’d like to preface this with a few things

Firstly: This is a criticism of people’s ideas and philosophies. Not them as a person. I don’t despise anyone involved really either, I’m still friends with people on both “sides” of this dispute. I’ll try my best to avoid name dropping regardless

Secondly: if you DARE to harass anyone involved in this you are worse than everyone I’m talking about here

Third: I know there’s lots of misinformation floating around on this and I know I alone can’t clear it all out of my judgments. So if you spot anything I say that is blatantly wrong, I encourage you to tell me. Same goes for criticism, if you disagree with anything i say I wouldn’t mind being told RESPECTFULLY. If you just start attacking me I won’t really bother. I do want to have a conversation here

A few days ago, it came out that the single piece of evidence used to harass the biggest and most influential rain world artists off the internet was faked and spread with little thought or effort. And people have been scared that misinformation will be spread about them, or they’ll make a mistake and get harassed for it. Myself and my friends included.

My goal in this specific essay-post-ramble-thing is to give my thoughts and to write about how I believe to move forward In a way where that doesn't hurt people further, because I honestly don't hold a grudge against anyone who has spoken out against pansear or unwillingly spread misinformation in an attempt to help, or even people who wrote harmful stuff while angry or emotional.

There is, however, one individual who I will not spare sympathy for. I’ll get to them later.

Something I don't see being talked about that much is that misinformation about pansear and the shipping container have been spread since the initial post made calling out SC. The claim was thrown around that “SC is full of zoophiles and groomer defenders” which needless to say, is extremely false. Not only did nobody in the server know of the allegations until they went public (no hypothetical groomer defender would even know of a groomer to be defended), SC also had one of the strictest “no NSFW/suggestive material” rules of most servers I'm in. it was so strict that deez nuts jokes were off limits.

Was this a purposeful attempt to cause a harrasment campaign or just emotions clouding judgment? The answer doesn't really matter because this sentiment was doubled down on and hurt a lot of people, including myself

Why am I bringing this up? Because this misinformation had a similar, smaller effect to what we’re seeing now. People affiliated with SC were worried that they were going to be harassed for being affiliated with something everyone disliked. Today there are dozens of examples of people being worried about being harassed because someone might not like them and might spread misinformation. Let's hope this time we prevent this from going even further…

But, If it does. If the methods used to persecute pansear become the norm, then that hurts everyone, including the people spreading it. To quote myself from the past:

“…looking at how pansear was being nitpicked for problematic behavior, It just looks like the start of a cycle… …because if you foster a following that finds faults in normal behavior, what do you think will happen as soon as *you* make a mistake, or even a mistake you already made gets dug up. well then you’re gonna get nitpicked to oblivion. If You set the norm to be needless criticism that's what will be employed at your trial. People will try to erase your impact.”

A common sentiment I see being thrown around is that “although the main piece of evidence turned out to be faked, pansear is still deplorable because [X]” and while I personally think pansear has made their fair share of mistakes, a lot of things people put in that X factor is just… silly and can be chalked up to either coping mechanisms, panic attacks or just normal people mistakes. And every time I see that there's always a question in the back of my mind: “Is this an echo chamber?” And I'm inclined to say yes, but I also recognize I'm not exactly an authority when it comes to this, so I’ll leave it up to reader interpretation.

There's one specific person that I have a few choice words for, and that is the person who made the fake image that started this whole damned thing. And although we don’t know who you are, I know you are deprived enough to be reading this. I hope you don’t have a good ending, I hope you don’t have a bad ending either, I hope you’re FORGOTTEN, I hope nobody ever utters your name again. I hope you never leave the swamps of irrelevance. I hope you can see the people you’ve hurt thrive more than you ever will.

With the trash out of the way, how do we even move forward? my hope is that we can do it with forgiveness. Not all apologies need to be accepted but we should at least extend our sympathy to each other, it’ll be easier for all of us if we do. We should think about what we all did correctly and what we didn’t, and how to do better next time. We should think about how we all got taken advantage of with this misinformation and how to prove evidence next time. Does it even matter if pansear was deplorable or not when we’ll all likely never see them again? Can we all work on setting our grudges to the side? If we don't like someone we can just not interact with them.

Us as a community have a responsibility to think through all this and figure out our priorities moving forward. We all have a responsibility to coexist with each other. We all have a responsibility to treat everyone with the benefit of the doubt.

I think I speak for everyone in this whole situation when I say that we are ALL tired of this

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Part 20

Request: Yes or No

Taglist: @nathan-no @hyubg @ash455  @gills-lounge

~~~

"Jesus," A sharp exhale left him at the sight of the purple and green bruises scattered throughout Topper's face. He looked exhausted and pissed. (Y/N)'s nose crinkled at his swollen eye and he dug his teeth into his lip as the guilt began gnawing at him. It should've been him. "Shit, Top... I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Topper sucked in a breath, forearm flexing as he lifted the dumbbell and curled it toward his body. "I was tryin' to do the right thing. I didn't want the party to get ruined by a Pogue again. Now everyone's gonna think I'm weak."

"Nobody thinks you're weak, Top. They think John B's a psycho." If the angry social media posts made after the party held any truth to them, John B wouldn't be able to step on Figure Eight without risking getting jumped. (Y/N)'s thumb rubbed against the sore skin of his index finger. His knuckles tingled but the light pain reminded him things could've been worse had Topper not stepped in. The dirty blonde finally set his dumbbell aside and stood up from the bench, his brows fixed into a deep furrow.

"I'm pressing charges. Mom says it counts as simple battery and he could face jail time for what he did." Topper told him, and the lack of smugness or pride on his face felt unnatural. Kelce or Rafe would've been celebrating at the prospect of putting a Pogue in jail, never mind John Booker Routledge. But Topper had spent the whole night in a hospital ensuring the beating hadn't done serious, life-threatening damage. Even Dr. Thornton, a woman who rarely wore her emotions on her sleeve, had looked terrified for her son.

"I..." (Y/N) swallowed. He and John B weren't friends but the Pogues still cared about him. They liked him, accepted him, and treated him with kindness even after all the hell his fellow Kooks put them through. They'd been through hell and back as a team, as a family. But even as an 'Honorary Pogue', Kiara and JJ had stood silently aside when John B lunged for him. "I-I can testify. I probably would've been in your spot if you hadn't stepped in, Top."

Topper stared at him with a flurry of emotions swirling in his blue eyes. The furrow in his brow softened and his lips pulled up into a wide, thankful smile. He stepped forward and swung his sweaty arms around the teenager, tugging him into a sweet yet slightly wet embrace. "Thank you, man. It means a lot."

"Anytime." (Y/N) leaned back and watched Topper turn around to fetch his water bottle, teeth catching the inside of his cheek when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He fished it out and tapped on the screen to open the newest message.

Sarah C. Where are you? I need to talk to you

"I'm gonna run upstairs and take a quick shower. Just wait here, alright?" Topper tossed a lopsided smile his way and (Y/N) nodded, forcing a smile for him and watching him disappear up the stairs. Releasing a deep sigh, (Y/N) looked back down at his phone and muted the contact, tapping out of the chat right before a new message could pop up. 

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

The courthouse felt imposing. It loomed over them in all its ancient glory and made (Y/N)'s stomach twist. He'd gone inside once for an elementary school field trip, but the only memories retained from that day were of Kelce's group of friends bristling at the nearby kids from the Cut as if they were ferals protecting their territory. He remembered Sarah Cameron, back when her cheeks still had some kid chub and she constantly kept her hair in braids. The only time they'd interacted back then had been brief eye contact when her friends whispered in her ear about his parents. 

He wondered how different things would've been if he hadn't befriended her that night on the rooftop. How easier life would've turned out.

"Guys!" His attention dropped toward the street where Sarah ditched her bike to run toward them. She skidded to a quick stop, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and face. She quickly brushed it out of her way and shot them a wide, perfectly curated smile that promptly fell when she fully took in Topper's face. "Holy shit, Top."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I look like shit." Topper chuckled dryly, tone laced with subtle annoyance. For someone who looked at Sarah as if she were Aphrodite herself for half of his life, Topper looked rather irritated with her mere presence. His shoulders deflated slightly and he jerked his head toward the courthouse and his waiting mother. "We're kinda busy, Sarah."

"W-Wait, you're actually pressing charges? And you're testifying, (Y/N)?" Her brown eyes widened, frantically jumping between the two.

Topper scoffed quietly and glanced back toward his mother when she called out to them to hurry up. "Yes, I'm pressin' charges. John B deserves to face justice for what he did. I'm not lettin' him off just 'cause he's your little boyfriend."

"I-I know, I just..." Sarah's breathing came out in short puffs and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "(Y/N), I need to talk to you. Top, please, just... wait here." 

Without waiting for a response from either boy, Sarah grasped (Y/N)'s arm and pulled him down the sidewalk until they were a good distance away and Topper's stare no longer burned into their backs. Sarah released him and tucked her hair behind her ears as she turned to face him, the look on her face already telling him everything he needed to know. She fiddled with her fingers and sighed softly before finally tilting her head up to look at him. 

"Singh kidnapped Big John. They're in South America trying to find El Dorado and John B needs to go help him. He can't lose his dad again, (Y/N). He just got him back. I-I need you to convince Topper to drop the charges so John B can go find his dad. Who knows, maybe they'll decide to live away from Kildare and never come back." Sarah spoke softly, gently, in a tone he often heard her use on her father and sister to convince them of something. She delicately took his hands into hers and intertwined their fingers together, fingertips gently rubbing against his skin. "John B and I are done. For good. But he's still my friend and I have to help him." 

"You're defending someone who beat someone while he was unconscious, Sarah. If nobody had stepped in, Topper would still be lying in a hospital bed. Why- Why are you trying to help someone who doesn't give a shit about you? If you were in his spot, he'd be halfway to South America right now shit-talking you to JJ and Kie. He likes you because you're a Cameron willing to solve all his problems." Anger bubbled in his chest and he ripped his hands from hers. Sarah blinked, eyes nearly flooding with tears, and she reached out, chasing after his touch. 

"Remember how good things were on the island? Remember how you worked together? We're Pogues. We fight sometimes but at the end of the day, we're family! And- And I know I ask a lot of you, (Y/N), but I really need this one favor. Do it for me, please. Not for John B or anyone else. For me. For Sarah." Her lips trembled, fingers lightly squeezing his arms as she gazed at him desperately. "I care about him but I don't love him, not anymore. I-I love you."

I love you. Words that rang like a church bell in his ears. Words that he barely heard directed toward him. His breath caught in his throat and then he released it in a scoff. "I don't believe you." He murmured. Sarah let out a shaky breath, brows twitching into a furrow as teardrops slipped down from her lashes. 

"What? (Y/N)-"

"You don't even know what love is, Sarah. You- John B's a dickhead, we all can see that. But even he doesn't deserve to be dragged along while you try to make up your mind. Everything was good between us and then you go off and kiss John B. You come back 'married' and when that falls apart, you come running back to me. You cuddle up with John B on the island and the second we get home you can't leave me alone. Now, you're doing everything to help him and his dad. Can't you see how fucked up this is? How confusing it is?"

"I know, I know. I-I made the wrong choice. I picked the wrong guy-"

"Did you pick the wrong guy or did we chase the wrong girl?" The tears tumbled down her cheeks freely and her hands dropped to her sides, head tilting downward in guilt. Or shame. He couldn't quite tell. "You've got a whole life ahead of you to meet more guys. You don't need to settle for anyone right now. You don't have to waste my time or John B's time trying to decide when you might not even be talking to either of us in five years. And you don't need to fix everyone's problems. Some people need to handle their own shit or they'll never learn." 

"I don't want to lose you. Not now... not ever." Sarah whispered, her voice shaky and barely audible. 

He swallowed. "I know. I want to- I want to stay friends. Just friends. My place is always available for you, Sarah, but I... I don't want to be strung along anymore. You should stay single for a while. Figure yourself out and figure out what you actually want." (Y/N) felt a weight lift off his shoulders and he let them slump, finally feeling in control of his life. Sarah remained silent, arms curling around herself, and he turned around, heading back to Topper and his irritated mother. 

Topper perked up at the sight of him, seemingly noting the lack of Sarah's presence, and tilted his head. "We good?"

"Uhm... I need you to do me a favor. A quick favor, Top. John B's dad needs his son right now. He's in some trouble somewhere else and only John B can help him. I need you to tell Shoupe to let him walk free and if John B comes back after helping his dad, you can press charges and have him arrested on the spot." Topper's jaw clenched and (Y/N) stepped forward to take him by the shoulders. "I know it's fucked, trust me, I know. But... I won't be able to sleep at night without knowing if I could've helped someone get their father back. It's shitty and unfair that he'll be walking free but I promise you, I will testify if he decides to come back. I will tell you the moment he comes back and you can call Shoupe to take him to the station, alright?"

Topper quietly stared at him, hardened blue eyes studying his face. "Sarah got to you, didn't she? I'm telling you, man, if you keep going back to those fuckin' Pogues-"

"If they need my help to get Big John, I will help them but it'll be the last thing I do for and with them. They're- They're good people with good intentions but I'm not going to let them ruin my life. I don't need a criminal record or need to go through another life-or-death situation. I'm fine living without a treasure hunt or going on some adventure. Those things are... They're just not for me." 

"You promise?"

"I promise."

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

"South fucking America? What, is this Big John guy Indiana Jones or something? And El Dorado? Like the movie with the hot chick?" (Y/N) snorted quietly, eyes locked on the action movie playing on his television. Liv scoffed quietly and shoved her hand into the bowl of popcorn, nearly spilling some over onto the bed while she grabbed a handful and stuffed her mouth. 

"I hate to break it to you, Liv, but that movie was inspired by El Dorado. The legend of a city of gold has been around for ages." 

"And you're telling me some billionaire from Barbados is trying to track down a legend? He could be dining at five-star restaurants and taking trips to Bora Bora or Fiji or- fuck, I don't know, Dubai. And he's chasing a legend about gold? When he could be picking up the phone and getting a diamond hand-delivered to him? Money can buy you happiness but it certainly doesn't buy you a couple of braincells." Liv said between mouthfuls. (Y/N) sighed through his nose and reached around Liv to pick up his coke can from the nightstand, only pausing when his phone screen lit up with a new message. He took a swing from the coke and sat up, lifting his phone toward his face and squinting through the darkness. 

JJ (Y/N) come 2 chatoe rn

Pope Chateau*

JJ its an emrgency

Pope It's not but we need you

Licking the soda and hint of butter off his lips, (Y/N) cleared his throat and turned to look at Liv. "I'm going to head out. I'll be back soon." He told her and shoved his phone into his back pocket. Liv blinked owlishly at him, mouth agape as she watched him put his sneakers on and grab his car keys.

"What? But we just started the marathon!" 

"I know, I know. I'll make it up to you by suffering through one of your little Hallmark movies." He flashed her a grin and spun on his heel, hearing the sound of her huffing and puffing growing distant when he descended the stairs. Stepping out into the cool night air, (Y/N) took in a deep breath and reminded himself: just one more adventure and nothing more. 

The drive to the Chateau had been a quick one with barely any traffic on the road. The sight of the raggedy, worn-down mobile home made him grimace, the thought of its owner leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He could see the Pogues gathered around near the old tree, the lights intertwined around the branches illuminating the ground below. (Y/N) shut off the engine of his car and climbed out, closing the door behind him and drawing their attention. JJ grinned widely at the sight of him and swung his arm around his shoulder when he grew near.

"There's my little prince! I knew we could count on you."

"Don't celebrate just yet." (Y/N) met John B's gaze, and the sight of the bruise on his cheek nearly made his lips quirk. "The Thornton's aren't doing anything for now. They're not gonna let it go that easy."

"Still," JJ insisted and squeezed his shoulder. "It means a lot to us, man. Right, John B?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot." The brunette forced out through gritted teeth. Some satisfaction bubbled in his stomach at his forced words and he gave the others a quick glance. They all seemed equally happy, even a little excited. JJ bit his bottom lip and lightly shook his shoulders, finally spilling the beans.

"We're flying down to Orinoco thanks to Miss Cameron over here who convinced Ward to let her borrow the plane. We're going on a search and rescue mission to South America first thing tomorrow morning, ain't that right? We're flying first class, baby." JJ laughed, earning playful eye rolls from Kiara and Pope. John B cracked a small smile and lifted a beer to his lips. (Y/N)'s eyes gravitated toward Sarah and she offered a thankful yet sad smile. 

"I, uhm... I have something else I want to share." She piped up and cleared her throat. "Since we've gotten back from the island, I've done some things that have hurt some of you. And- I don't- Poguelandia, guys. It's all I've been able to think about. We were all together on that island and it was a good thing, and I don't want to ruin a good thing. And I... I just want to know, are we all still in? Are we still all together? Because I am." 

Kiara smiled softly. "Yeah. Always." She replied and stepped toward the blonde to embrace her warmly. Cleo and Pope smiled widely at her and moved in as well, each giving her a tight, reassuring hug while sharing chuckles and murmurs. JJ kept his arm snugly around (Y/N)'s shoulders and pulled him along, wrapping his other arm around Pope's waist. They looked toward John B expectantly and after a moment of rubbing his sneaker into the grass, he moved forward to join them. He wrapped one arm around Sarah's shoulder and the other around (Y/N)'s. 

"We're really doing this, huh?" Pope laughed.

"I think we should let loose tonight," JJ smirked widely. "What do ya'll think? We crack a couple beers, smoke a joint?"

"Definitely." Kiara giggled and her warm gaze lingered on the rowdy blonde for a minute too long. JJ whooped and slapped his hands against Pope and (Y/N)'s backs before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the joint. Pope shook his head at his antics and headed inside with Cleo and (Y/N) trailing behind.

And Christ, John B needed to do a deep clean of his house. (Y/N) stepped over a crinkled, stained covered shirt and lightly kicked aside an empty box of Cheerios. Cleo rummaged through the pantry and tossed snacks onto the table, some bags half-full and others barely touched, while Pope searched the living room for any board games he could find. JJ sauntered into the room with the others, already reeking of weed. He fiddled with the radio until a song he liked came on and plopped down on the couch to watch Pope spill some dominos on the table and brush aside the available snacks. 

"(Y/N)," Sarah called out softly and nodded toward one of the rooms, specifically the one John B had gone into. He took the beer offered by JJ and drank some, letting it settle into his system before he followed her into the bedroom and watched the door close. (Y/N) leaned back against the wall, taking in the equally messy bedroom floor and poster-covered walls. The itch to start cleaning crawled up his back. 

"So," John B began, awkwardly and forcibly. "What do you want, Sarah?"

"To get rid of any bad blood between the two of you. I... I fucked up. I hurt you both and neither of you deserved it. I'm sorry, really, I am. I'm not asking for you to be best friends but... it'd be good for all of us if you two were at least on decent terms. We're a family. Families fight and argue but at the end of the day, they come back together. If we're going to be a team-"

"I'm okay with.. apologizing. But, uh, JJ didn't give me much of a choice back there." (Y/N) inhaled and their questioning eyes jumped to him. "I'm helping out this time 'cause I don't want Singh to hurt anybody. After this, after we get back from South America... I'm not joining ya'll on any more adventures or treasure hunts or anything like that. The Pogues are great. It's fun but it's not a forever sort of thing for me."

"Fuckin' knew you'd ditch us eventually." John B murmured bitterly and shook his head.

"Pope lost his scholarship, Kiara's relationship with her parents is going down the drain, none of you have actual jobs or went to school regularly. I want to go to school, I want a diploma, I want to have a life that doesn't revolve around other people. I... I had a plan, even before meeting Sarah. I told the others about it but I don't know if they remember or think I changed my mind. I'm leaving the Outer Banks. The second I can get my hands on a high school diploma and enroll in college, I'm getting out of here. The plan was always to become roommates with Liv somewhere else."

"You- You can't just up and leave us," Sarah said quietly. 

"The Pogue life is fun. It's great. But I've had enough shit on my plate these past few years. I'm tired, Sarah. It's not stupid or wrong to want a normal, regular life where I'm not constantly fleeing from someone or risking my well-being. If you want to be treasure hunters or constantly go on new adventures then great. I hope that life's fun for you. It wouldn't be for me. So, I'm sorry for hooking up with Sarah, John B. It was shitty of me. I'm not sorry for punching you. You've had it coming for a while."

"Yeah, okay, fair." John B sighed and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry for... everything, I guess. I hope you get what you want. The Pogues will be here if you ever need anything from us." With that, he exited the room and closed the door behind him, leaving the two alone with their thoughts. (Y/N) set aside the beer bottle and slipped his arms around Sarah's shoulders, tugging her carefully into his chest. She buried her face into his shoulder and they stood still like that, listening to the muffled sound of the radio and laughter in the next room. 

"I'm glad you're in my life." She revealed softly and tilted her head upward to look at him. He smiled and brushed the hair out of her face, pushing strands behind her ears and combing through the hair that stuck up from her hectic day. Sarah leaned up and pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss before taking his hand and smiling. "We should enjoy ourselves tonight as Pogues."