#this scene will make it into a gif set someday

[goldenpinof]

okay, thank you

[mermervi]

a little party

✎ It's 1927 and the lights are glittering. You're a budding jazz chanteuse, everyone's sweetheart, and Leon, who's got you in his sights, is out to score what's in his mind.

cw: blood, death, oral (female receiving), uhmm idek what to add cuz my mind is not minding after this (this shii hit hard and it's like 9k) , intricate time-skipping from scene to scene, mayhaps?, not proofread ouchie, MDNI

The rain poured down from the sky like a mighty torrent of rage. That night, the cold that prickled through Leon’s soaked Hart Schaffner jacket, far from dispiriting him, only kept him going. Years of privation, every step he had taken to secure his very existence, had taught him the vernacular of the streets, but on that night, the streets were poised to betray him. 

This story of treachery wasn’t as bitter as life; Leon couldn’t refute that. 

He had witnessed a sequence of crime that perhaps a boy who had come to a city like New York from his rural village, a boy who couldn’t even calculate his steps precisely, should never have seen in those scenes in his ever-lasting life. It was true that these blue pairs of peepers had seen many people perish, but these were the deaths that came in their due time, like his mother’s death before she turned sixty, the Grim Reaper’s visit to his grandfather on a night like that night when the rains were drizzling over the sky. 

Only his father’s martial death could have rivaled the images he had seen that night. That may be it, he thought. After all, he had never had the chance to see his father choke on his own tainted and alcohol-laden blood in his frail, final moments. 

Back to that night, the man Leon saw in the car had a very different kind of dread. His eyes were huge sockets, and a bloody streak was running down his throat on his skin, visible through the placket of his dress shirt. 

That was the kind of sight that makes one’s heart sing. Otherwise, it must have been an appalling sight that made men and women wince and cower. Leon should have felt the former for himself. 

How could he have known the little trick that fate would be about to play? 

On that September night, on a corner, he saw a wounded man trapped inside a maroon Cadillac. On the man’s face, there was a sliver of hope mixed with absolute despair, just the kind of “too proud to ask for help but in need of salvation.” 

A faint spark flared inside Leon. 

He could recall his departed father’s words, that such men like those in those costly cars were indeed evils for no good deed. 

His past had to be repudiated. 

His father was perhaps cursing him that night—no, the old man was absolutely putting the whammy on young Leon. What a hell of a father. It was always the hardest thing for a boy like Leon to placate that lousy man. Even after his death it was all the more impossible to appease him. A ruffian of a man, Leon thought. 

He thought too much on that rainy Friday night. 

Out of pure, undiluted impulse, he acted without a plan at all to save the man; he only thought of taking one more step in that ill-lit road. When he set his eyes on that street, he walked with a foolish spunk, heedless of the gun barrel of the mobster shrouded in shadows. He neither thought about the future nor retreated. “If you bail someone out, someday you will be bailed out too,” he thought with childlike simplicity. 

He was cold and unsure. Somehow or other, he had slid out of the dusk and appeared behind the black-clad mafioso, who was pointing his revolver at the driver’s window and was about to blast the man inside with the hollow point of a bullet. 

The plot was grim. A gruesome story. For hours Leon washed his hands with scalding soapy water to rinse off the scum of the filthy man’s blood, or that’s how he remembers the aftermath of the chain of events. 

He had grabbed the man by the cord and bashed his head against the drywall, searing sounds that he could still recall in the innermost recesses of his ear, the gold inlaid revolver in his hand clattering to the pavement, airy-fairy. The wrangling of the man, his fedora plunged into the muddy rainwater pit on the tiled road. Leon would always remember the first murder, the one that lodged deep in the very core of his psyche. 

Beyond recall, Leon thrashed the man’s skull from wall to wall until he was sure he was in a stupor, and when the man finally slumped—coup de grace. Leon wailed out the air he had been consciously holding all those long, long minutes. Mouth hanging open, dulled eyes, and the pile of a corpse littering the floor at his feet. The lack of sleep from hours of working in the packing department of the Berwick shoe factory, some man’s brains imploding in the wall... Everything had drained the daylight out of Leon on that cursed night. 

When he met the gaze of the terror-struck man in the car, he met something much newer. 

He met himself. 

Or rather, his new “self.”. 

An absolute criminal.

He wasn’t shaking, nor did he feel like he might be sick. What was most pathetic was that he appeared to resemble his dead father in the wretched auspices reflected in the window of that maroon Cadillac. 

After that night, life kept rolling along. Days, weeks, and months. Ironically, Leon was no longer just another schmo slugging it out in the textile mills. Nobody batted an eye at the kid’s line of work with all that greenbacks stuffed in his pockets. The word on the street? He’s just a flash in the pan, a real fly-by-night type. But here’s the thing: an American, with blonde hair and baby blues, is always the cat’s meow, especially if he’s sporting a sharp suit with a label on it. Anything that doesn’t fit the mold? Forget it. No exceptions to the rule. And isn’t that the ultimate American dream? Gents with pockets full of dough, running the show. 

How your story comes along with this creepy-crawly backstory, with so many powerful men signing off on it, is pure happenstance. A story straight from the pen of God, really, to put it in a nutshell. 

It all starts on a Saturday night in March of 1927. 

Tin Pan Alley is kicking up its heels tonight, the joint hopping with the wildest kind of racket. The place is packed with middle-class folks from all corners of the city—newly minted millionaires who’ve made their pile and are now living it up. These cats have been rolling in dough so long they’ve got the smarts to throw it around like it’s sugar-coated. The air’s thick. Lap of luxury, and the whole scene is a real shindig, full of high-living gents and dames who’ve learned to spend big, laugh loud, and flash those fat pockets like it’s nobody’s business. 

“Get a wiggle on, gals! C’mon now.” 

From backstage, the sound of booming voices cuts through the air, unmistakably Ada Wong herself—barking orders and giving the girls an earful as she whips them into shape for the show. She’s a stunner with grit, the kind of woman you can’t help but notice. No one else is ever going to take her seat; this joint is hers, and everyone knows it. Ada doesn’t just run the joint—she owns it. She’s got her pretty fingers on the pulse of the city’s most daring and avant-garde talent, working with the best, the boldest, and the brightest minds the world has to offer. If she’s not at the top of the heap, she’s surely standing on it. 

What’s a woman like that to do with a gal like you? Well, there’s a rather simple answer to that. 

Pretty young things always find their way to the top. And that’s before we even get to ones with voices that could melt hearts, like yours. 

Ada’s the Queen of the downtown club scene, and you’re her darling young, white-hot vessel of treasure trove. Pretty girls always get their moment, but pretty girls with a lilting voice garner more than their share of attention. All in all, Wong knows what she’s doing, and you’re her ace in the hole. 

Yet there are some rules. Ada’s rules. Simple ones, really. “Slip into your Jeanne Lanvin, dazzle ‘em with that red lipstick, and keep your chin up—don’t fidget, don’t even think about mussing up that perfect coif.” 

And on the stage, do keep that smile for the crowd until you get the microphone—because after all, the crowd is here to see your legs, not to hear your troubles. They pay in bills; you deliver the thrills. 

Hot minutes before the show, you stare at your reflection in the mirror like you’ve never seen your face before. The same old script in the mind, the same fake smile stretched on your lips—too tight over a thousand unspoken thoughts. The eyes in the glass, observing you with a kind of critical hunger, just waiting for a slip. They can’t perceive the enmity in your head—the one that never takes a break, no matter how many gin rickeys you slug down. The booze? It doesn’t wash away the ache. The pills? Only another temporary fix to soothe the ache that burns brighter when the spotlight fades. 

Why are you miserable when the dough’s rolling in and the world’s at your feet? Why turn your back on the luxury that others would kill for? But hell, you don’t need an answer. 

You’re an oddity, a riddle wrapped in velvet and lace, sipped from a silver cup. The men and women, they all like you. The faces in the crowd—each of them gazing up at you with athirst eyes—are only loyal to you when the lights are on and the music’s blaring. Afterward, though, you’re just another pretty girl in a smoky room, holding your breath until they let you vanish again. 

Post-performance, Chris Redfield is the name that shields you from scrutiny (he quite literally interposes his humongous body between you and the admirers); he’ll pluck you out of the melee, hustle you into a quiet space, and shelter you from anything. 

Then you’ll sit in the corner, maybe sip a seltzer, and go over your numbers, rehearsing the songs they want to hear and shimmy your tush that they’re going to throw dollars at. All in those godforsaken high heels! It’s a devil’s game, this life of glitter and stage lights. But the lights burn so bright, you almost forget the shadows hounding you from behind. 

All this suffering, your illusions, the never-ending fervent hopes of that girl who had to run in those heels were perfectly channeled, and you were born. For years you have breathed in and out for a single purpose, in an intricate cycle called life, a circle of a powdery pink existence that is anything but powdery pink. 

It’s all diamonds. Dirty, big diamonds. 

“Miss, are you all set?” Chris’ voice slips into the air, stripped of any graspable pathos like a bad rumor. Those mother-of-pearl drop earrings—they’re starting to feel like anchors around your neck. 

“Sure thing, Chris,” you enunciate animatedly before getting up from your vanity chair. “Let’s take a stroll, huh? Like we own the place.” 

He does laugh, though rather silly. He’s a straight shooter, the kind who lives by the book. 

After a lackluster walk, you arrive upstage. The joint is packed to the rafters, the air thick with the perfume of incense, lavender, and a dash of orange, like a high-society boudoir on a Saturday night. Piers, who performed a little verse before you, is preparing to leave the stage to thunderous ovations. Naturally, he can’t scram from the joint until he’s put in the grunt work he’s got to handle. 

“Ladies and gents, hold onto your hats—here’s the name you’ve all been dying to hear!” Piers’ voice crackles through the microphone, sending a whitecap through the crowd like a match setting fire to velvet. He does wonders with the microphone, alright. 

One, two, three—out with it. You exhale that pent-up storm, and just like that, the stage belongs to you. 

Time’s up. You take that breath, the one you’ve been holding like a secret you can’t quite tell, and you step into the spotlight. 

You’re in. And the stage is yours—a damn showstopper of a stage, mind you. 

Your heels hit the floor with that familiar rhythm, each step measured, a saint’s grace—if a saint knew how to twirl in silk and steal the show. The crowd’s already on their feet, clapping, whooping, and hollering. The smile on your face is blindingly luminescent, even more dazzling than diamonds. God, you’re fake, but hands up, darling. You’re the queen of this palace. 

The air’s electric as you wave, your people calling your name like it’s the sweetest song they’ve ever heard. Your chest swells, a perfect mix of pride and thrill, the crowd hanging on your every move like moths to the flame. 

But then—just as the frenzy peaks—a set of eyes catches yours from somewhere in the haze. 

Something in that gaze. Something different. A new note in the symphony, sharp and clear. 

With all due respect, you know the dandies—the regulars who’ve been greasing their palms to get front-row seats for years. Those high-browed, underdressed gargoyles—each one plastered in a grotesque mask of makeup that’d make a saint blanch. And then there are the ones who are really in love with your voice, the ones who drop their dimes and bills just to hear you sing, all the way down to the final breath of your last note. Their eyes glisten like they’re listening not just to you, but to the very last song on earth. 

But then there’s him—the stranger in the crowd. He doesn’t quite fit into either of those camps. He stands apart like a shadow, as though he’s absorbed something from the city itself—electric, muted, with a trace of gunmetal dust in his eyes, something that caught the reflected light of a thousand lost souls. 

He’s not looking at the fellow beside him, not paying the slightest attention to the clamor or the chatter. No, his gaze is all for you. Wait a minute—what’s this? Is that Ada, standing just there by his side, or has your vision gone all soft in the haze of the lights? 

It’s Ada, alright. And she’s got you in her sights, sending you a thousand little daggers with those eyes of hers, as if daring you to keep singing, daring you to hit every note just so. 

Now, it’s not your style to stand around like some dopey schoolgirl, ogling every flapper and every fancy boy who drifts through the scene. No, you’re only a little giddy to see fresh faces, fresh crowds, and—well, a fresh crop of admirers, too. No harm, no foul. End of story, no need to dig any deeper. (Of course, that’s all just a tall tale.) 

But what about Leon? How’s he taking in this blurred picture of yours, with all its strange little twists and turns? 

“What a hot mess up there on that stage.” He mutters tacitly, his very first thoughts about you. 

He’s grinning like a Cheshire cat, finding the whole thing a delightful mess. And he knows—oh, he knows—that he’s right in the crosshairs of Ada’s death stare. Poor guy. He’s probably already picturing her giving him a good talking-to, the sort that’d have a lesser man crawling for cover. 

For now, though, your voice knells over the microphone, a golden oldie, ritzy and true, and the crowd falls into a hush like a room full of smitten children. The spell is cast again, and they’re all yours. 

Ada, meanwhile, gives you a nod—half maternal, half triumphant—as if you’re her very own creation, fretting and fuming along in a delicate harmony with the night. And Leon, well, let’s just say he’s still trying to keep his own amusement under wraps, but the grin’s playing all over his face. 

No doubt about it, you’re the star of the night—who else could it possibly be? The eponymous name everyone’s been whispering in esteem, the one Leon has heard mentioned more than once, all wrapped up in the honeyed sort of praise. 

Up on stage, Leon has you in his illusory blues, as everyone else contemplates you until your encore is at an end. There are certain things that should only be spectated; their splendor should be kept locked away in the heart and in a secret corner of the brain after peeping through the veils of the eyes. That’s you, for him. You’re that kind of beauty—too grand for the world to touch, too perfect to be anything but an ephemeral glimpse. 

“Oh, that chick’s the real deal, alright,” Leon breathes in awe. Turning now to Ada, when your performance comes to a sublime end, he has you up front in the applause, as does your crowd. He’s a part of your crowd now. 

To which Ada retorts with a cognizant luster, “What did I tell you?” she says, the glow of the cinch lighting up her face like the glow of a cigarette’s ember in the dark. “The best ones are always under my namesake.” 

Leon can’t argue with that—not when he’s seen you, not when you’ve got him bewitched, already half-dreaming that you might be some celestial being sent here just to voodoo the cosmos with your tongue. A star fallen from Arcadia, caught in a moment of earthly grace. In such a way that he should render himself a more open target for you. The thought flickers through his mind like a dangerous little inferno: maybe he should make you his. Keep you close, lock you up like the most precious thing he owns, the way he’s always hoarded only the finest nonpareils. Time’s done a number on him, sure—he’s spent enough hours in the smoke-permeated parlors of the city’s high society to become exactly the sort of libertine playboy who rounds up beautiful things. In this modern age, after all, it’s the ones who possess the rarest jewels who leave their names etched into history. 

And legacy—that’s all Leon really wants. To leave a mark. To be remembered. 

Ada gets the wind of that desire in Leon’s eyes the second he lays his zealous eyes on you. She tugs him by the arm and pushes him to a corner that’s secluded from the public eye so that his ear can reach her red-tinctured lips. “Don’t,” she warns, “don’t cross that line in your mind.” 

“Don’t get all worked up, Ada.” Leon’s voice slips out smooth and phlegmatic, like a man who’s seen it all and is hardly moved by it anymore. There’s something visceral about it, something that pulls him into the dark corners of the backstage when a woman like her—striking and full of fire—yanks him close. He has always adored women, sure, but there’s something about the ones who know how to take charge, the ones who’ve got the power to bend him to their will, that makes him stay just a little bit longer. 

Tonight, though, Ada isn’t the one who has his attention. You are. He plays the part of the good boy to Ada, with soft words and wistful smiles, but underneath, there’s a quiet conspiracy to take what she holds dear, her prized girl, namely you. 

This tendency is nothing new for Leon—it’s a trick he’s picked up over time, a survival mechanism he learned in the kind of world where charm and guile are the only things that keep him afloat. 

Ada doesn’t miss it. Her eyes narrow, and her brow furrows, the kind of expression that makes a man’s skin crawl. There’s no mistaking the mistrust there, like ice forming in the atmosphere between them. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she says, her voice abiding, almost too calm. “One wrong move, and Wesker’s on your tail.” 

Her words hang heavy in the air, a warning clothed in concern. Beneath her sangfroid, Leon feels a flicker of something deeper, something that he’s too foolish to fully understand—Ada Wong is afraid. In this world, in this neon-lit, soulless place, she fears losing someone she can rely on. Someone she trusts. 

Leon gets it, or at least, he feels the weight of it—but it’s nothing he’ll lose sleep over. He’s too simple, too self-absorbed, too headstrong. A fool, really. 

And that foolishness, that same reckless drive, leads him straight to your door. And standing in the way is Chris, his massive frame blocking the entrance like a standpat mountain. 

Leon’s voice takes on a resigned note. “Fine, fine. I’ll figure it out.” He knows he’ll have to talk his way through. He always does—always puts his life and tears on the line. 

“Come on, pal,” he says with a remiss grin, like he’s telling an old joke. “What’s one little party going to hurt? 

His words sound tired, worn from repetition, but his eyes are sharp, looking for any crack, any weakness in Chris’ solid stance. Leon knows this game well, but Chris? He’s not someone you talk past easily. 

“No entry, I said.” Chris’ voice is edgier and booming. Leon didn’t expect a harsh backlash from such a dim-witted man, even though he’s been grilling him for nearly half an hour. The pedestal, however, is clear: Leon wants to be heard, and he wants to draw your attention. He knows you’re in your room, and he doesn’t compromise since he always wants more. Even if he tickles a chance that he might end up getting beaten up, the risk, you are, is worth it. 

Leon shrugs, ever the picture of nonchalance, though his voice is silky with calculated charm. “It’s just an autograph, my good man. A trifle, really. You wouldn’t deny an admirer of the arts a simple token, would you? It’s hardly the end of the world…” Leon flaunts his mendacious excuses. 

For then, Chris inhales a long, drawn-out gulp of bile. Why is he going through this excruciating ordeal? This loquacious blonde has been clamoring to see you for minutes. Leon’s been at it for minutes now, talking a mile a minute—promising everything, offering bribes, flattering him to no end. And yet, there’s no movement. 

“When I say no, it means no. Get movin’ or I won’t be liable for what happens, young fella.” Chris’ last words are too caustic and are perhaps adequate proof enough to conclude the last point. Only a cheeky mite like Leon doesn’t understand how to leave high and dry. 

“A grave indignity, old sport. I only—” His words are broken off by the crack of the door parting open. The countenance he beholds is the one Leon covets. At the sound of the click of your heels, Chris turns in a dazed sort of way to acknowledge your presence. 

“Ma’am, this fellow here—” 

You interrupt him with a wave of your hand in the breeze. You don’t necessarily need to hear the whole story; you’ve already overheard the whole thing when you were changing your dress. 

“Chris, I and my... admirer will take it from here,” you assure your friend, and you do recognize your newest fan’s face, “You should go home now.” 

That’s how you seal a deal. 

The jazzy, twinkling blue mirrors in Leon’s sockets—reflecting fragments of light like stars caught in a lover’s gaze—seem to applaud you silently. “Look at this dame,” they whisper, “What a thing she’s done, dispatching that thug.” 

Chris’ stupefied gaze flies between you and Leon. Yet the look you give him signals that all is well enough, the quiet reassurance of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing. Chris bears silent and moves a meter away, and then over a dividing wall. 

“You saved me, my dear.” Leon dashes in without wasting a second of his precious time. However much he can wow you, that’s as good as it gets. 

“Oh, don’t even mention it,” you reply, your voice airy but welded. “And please, do excuse Chris. Mr...?” You quirk your eyebrows and proffer his name, hand raised for a handshake. Leon’s only too happy to comply. 

“Leon. Leon Scott Kennedy.” 

You can’t quite place it, but there’s something vaguely familiar about the name, like a snippet of conversation overheard in a café or a name dropped casually pending a gossip fest. It lingers on the edge of your memory, refusing to settle in the space where it belongs. 

Leon can see the ululation echoing in your eyes, plain and simple: “What is it, doll?” He asks, beryls alight with oceanic larks. “Do you know me? Oh, don’t tell me you’ve heard of me. Everyone knows my name around here, you see.” 

How he can’t stop raving about himself leaves a tangy aftertaste on your tongue for the first impressions. Naturally on your face too. 

You smile, just a little too gaily. “I believe so,” you counter. “But I was more curious about what’s brought a man of such... renown to this particular corner of the world. After all, I’ve never heard of you before tonight, Mr. Kennedy.” 

Your words are relentless, and besides, there’s no harm in reminding this conceited man of his place in your presence. 

“Is that so?” Leon cross-examines. Now it’s time to watch his face shrivel up—figuratively speaking, since his face is too pretty to take a nosedive. 

“That so, gentleman?” You sort of ascribe to his intonation the same acerbic tonality and maybe a pinch of belittlement. It’s more genuine. Now why would you do it like that? Now that you’ve piqued his interest all the more, his already inherent infatuation with you attains a deeper level. Now you’ve got him hooked even tighter. The one that’s not an easy prey is always more desirable, and simple-minded people like Leon, men of a breed under the names of kind gents, take this as a rule of thumb. 

“Honey... That’s called cheating, see? Be straight with me. My name’s the talk of the town.” Leon’s counting on you to accept this absurd truth, his truth. The smile of implied expectation on his lips is a foreshadowing of its force majeure. He’s delivering the punchline of a joke no one’s laughing at yet. 

“Sir... I’m at a loss for words, truly. You’ve come all the way here to face Chris just for my autograph?” You do what you know, and your cockiness builds layer by layer. Watching the ferment on his face, the frowny set of his eyebrows, gives you a special sense of self-assurance. 

“Autograph. Ha!” Leon lets out a crow of laughter, like he’s just remembered something from way back. It’s big, brash, and loud. Passing dancer girls bustle around backstage, giggling at his fit of exuberance. It’s that you are making a toy out of him, and somehow, he can’t extricate himself from the predicament. 

“I forgot, of course,” he says, shifting into a more controlled drawl; he’s trying to smooth out the bumpy ride. He pulls a pen and a small notebook from his coat pocket with an exaggerated flourish. “But you can’t exactly blame me, doll. Your beauty’s done something to my head—messed with my mind, ya know?” 

Oh, he’s smooth, like the tingles left by the fingers tangent to your palm. 

“It seems to be your problem,” you riposte. Pen in hand, you carve your signature on the blank expanse of crisp white paper, and Leon follows the touch of the ink on the sheet of paper, heedless of your jeering remarks. 

“My problems never quite seem to end,” he expounds, not in a protesting way, but with a light touch of amusement tapping on his lips. You only respond with a whispery whicker of a laugh. You do laugh like God, Leon notices, if God is even real. 

That’s when Leon understands why people can be drawn to a simple voice as much as they can. You owe your fame to this elfin-singing voice, the batting of those cartoon eyes. As for your beauty, it must be a double blessing from God. 

Leon delights in deciphering you like a crossword puzzle, worships your littlest moves, the way the flutter of your lashes floats and the way you tuck his pen back into the pocket on his chest, your fingers brushing the fine wool. 

“There you go. I’ve solved the great mystery of where your pen belongs.” You intone with a quip, setting up a bittersweet closure for the end of your conversation. No sooner do you withdraw your hand than Leon neatly guides your wrist and then places your knuckles in the vicinity of his lips, dusting them with brief, aestival kisses. 

“Oh, so chivalry isn’t pushing up daisies after all,” you admire, a playful lilt that could make even the most cynical gangster crack a smile. When your cadenza echoes in his ears, he takes a step or two back and assents with a single nod. A small vignette of a valedictory farewell. 

“It never croaked, doll,” Leon’s exuding poise again. “And as long as I’m around, it never will.” 

Seeing the beatific smile on your face like the marquee outside the Cotton Club, in his defense, is worth being so gooey—it makes him feel just the right kind of foolish. 

“I wish you the grandest of nights,” he wishes you a generous adieu, tipping his hat in a farewell that’s both classy and just a speck visionary. Then, with a hindmost glance, he’s gone, leaving behind the faintest fume of his cologne—woodsy, something big-ticket, and just dangerous enough to match the man himself. 

This parting, though it may feel final, is no more than the ebb and flow of time. 

The morning’s bouquet arrives with violets, their soft, violet faces peeking from beneath a flourish of ribbon, accompanied by a silver card, its edges smooth and gleaming, bearing a name that was spoken only yesterday, inked in a hand that could never be mistaken for anything but deliberate, graceful. 

Leon. 

Each new day brings its own small ceremonial gestures—an exchange of flowers, bellflowers to accompany the violets, perhaps a box of bonbons in the afternoon—each offering bestowed as if to signify the passing of something eternal. You, by virtue of your place, greet them with the appropriate pleasantries. It’s a small thing, perhaps, but it stirs something within you. The feeling lingers. It is like the first breath of spring, though all around you is the stillness of winter. 

The exchange of blooms soon shifts from the morning to the evening, as the days drag on. And one night, when you return home well after the sun has set, weary from a day’s toil, you barely step inside before stumbling over a scattering of furniture, bags, and the daily clutter that seems to overtake your living room. The place is chaos, but your eyes catch the glint of something—an envelope, dark as the night, slipping from beneath the glow of the lamp. 

In the midst of such chaos, the gray Luna card peeks out in the darkness like a square, mini-moon. Leon Scott Kennedy, you see that signature. 

“Is he playing some cruel jest?” You grumble ringingly. Indignation and dismay pump a tumult of emotion into your bloodstream. 

How on earth did this man find my home? 

It’s one thing to trace the address, to acquire it from some list or chance encounter, but to walk right in—to gain such intimate knowledge—who is this Leon Scott Kennedy? 

You don’t know the answer yet, but you will have to. 

In the days that follow, the gifts come still, but their novelty has long worn thin. The flowers, yes, they remain—fragile reminders of something, but the jewelry and the fine clothes? A cheap masquerade, a vulgar form of generosity. They carry no weight, no warmth. You collect them all and send them on their way, delivered into the hands of some worthy cause, as if the giving itself were the only part worth remembering. 

The night presses on, and once again, you sit in the stillness of the dressing room, the buzz of anticipation humming just outside the door. The minutes slip by like forgotten memories, yet the weight of them, that heavy burden, never quite leaves you. Your chin rests in your palm as you study your reflection in the vanity mirror. Makeup perfected, hair arranged with methodical precision—everything is in its place, or so it seems. 

Everything is okay, except for one problem. A burden of distress that has been piling up inside you, which you can’t tell anyone about, and it’s directly stabbing you in the heart. 

Should you even be on that stage tonight? The question lingers in your mind like a ghost, but you can’t answer it. Your thoughts are in a terrible disarray, as though your mind has split itself apart at the seams. Paranoia gnaws at the edges of your sanity, clawing at the fragile thread that holds it all together. How could you possibly perform in this state, to feed the insatiable hunger of the crowd outside? 

But, of course, Ada would have no qualms about writing you out of here in the blink of an eye, and while the money tempts you, the thought of unemployment claws at your gut like a feral thing. Still, this job—the stage, the spotlight, the rhythm of it all—this is what you are in love with. It’s never easy, losing what you love while you’re still so deeply entwined in it, but sometimes that is the price you pay. 

And so it’s settled. You will go. You will step out there, and you will do what you’ve always done. The show must go on, after all. 

It’s only then that matters assume a different ontogeny. Two torpid taps at the door, clouds of heavy thoughts bite the dust. It’s absurd to ask who it could be. Has to be Chris. Take a deep breath and repeat the rituals you know, the ones that are now ingrained in your repertoire. 

Then, there’s a second round of knocks. A fourth, more insistent, more immediate, as though time is a cat on a hot tin roof. It’s not Chris. It can’t be. 

“Salutations, my dear.” 

To see the face that flashes you a foul grin when you open the door here again is the very last alternative scene you’d hoped for. On the spur of the moment, you even attempt to slam the door in his face, but he’s reflexively putting his foot on the threshold, rather faster than you anticipated. 

“Tch! Not so fast, honey,” comes that jaunty cadence again, infected with that same devil-may-care rhythm. 

The man at the door is none other than Leon himself—an unexpected and unwelcome visitor. He stands there, his presence somehow both imposing and unwarranted. 

“I can’t believe you,” you break into hysterical platitudes. The very notion of him—of this—is enough to rift the delicate shell of control you had carefully built around yourself. 

Leon can’t fathom the reason for the knitted brow and is forced to compromise the arrogant mien on his face. The sang in the cerulean blues adequately sums it up. 

“What exactly can’t you believe, ma’am?” 

The dazed stress in his question reveals that he doesn’t even realize the folly of his mistake. What kind of a joke is this? What audacity and idiocy? 

“I don’t buy it, sir.” 

The froth in your breath at odds with the urbane gentleness of your words. Ignoring this, Leon pushes the door open in a single dash, and you’re propelled through the door. He closes it in a blink of an eye. 

“Is your charade going to end or...” 

Before Leon can ask his rhetorical question, his eyes flick to the ultraviolet petals in the vases on your vanity table. So you kept everything, his floral tribute for you. Oh, it’s heartwarming, but... he still can’t cross the backhanded pinprick in your stance. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave my room, or I’ll have to fetch Chris here.” 

“You don’t say?” Leon is the same, overzealous. He’s irksome to the extreme. 

“Last time, I thought everything was splendid, darling,” he drags out, “I distinctly recall you favoring me with those dreamy little looks. Correct me if I’m mistaken.” 

Such gall. He has absolutely no idea how much of a headache and hell he’s been giving you. It’s better to remind him, but how you do it is up to your discretion. 

“Listen here, mister, had I taken your insolence to the authorities, you’d likely not be setting foot anywhere near here. You’d be—” a deliberate pause for emphasis, “breathing stale air behind iron bars.” 

“You’ll have to forgive me; I’ve been mixing grain and grapes, but what the devil are you talking about?” 

His smile falters then, only slightly. There’s no awning of shock, no mortification, no shame etched across his face. Instead, his expression remains a humdrum enigma; a challenge lurks behind his steady gaze. What sort of man faces such accusations without so much as a flicker of discomposure? 

You can’t take it anymore. 

“How dare you intrude upon my home?” The words cut sharp, like the honed edge of a razor. 

“I’ve never been in your house, doll.” He’s ready to mount a defense in mere seconds. In fact, he hadn’t been in your house, not directly. Indirect is more like it. 

“Leon... please,” you hold up your hand and project callousness as if you’re repulsing his words, sweeping away the ugly bugs, “your card was even in the room with your very name written on it.” 

This is the first time he ever heard his name from your cherry lips, ruby and ripe. A different gamut of sensations, it’s limerence. 

But back to the elephant in the room. 

Soon enough, Leon’s epiphany is added to the flow of events, and if he can take his eyes away from you, he will have a couple of revelations. Taking his eyes away from you, on the other hand, is a hell of an ordeal—a Sisyphean task. 

It really does scorch him on a physical plane. 

“Don’t get yourself in a twist, sweetheart,” Leon is honing his flirting chops. Smoothing your ruffled feathers is a sport he’s personally cultivated. 

The stunned confusion written in a chiffon calligraphy on your face only fuels his merriment, albeit the sheer umbrage gemmating on your face. 

“I must remind you, Mr. Kennedy, that you are brazenly invading my privacy.” The words spill out like pearls on a string, polished but sharp-edged. It never hurts to try again, even if it means shoving your own ineradicable truths and forcing your own phrases into that numbskull. 

“Sure, sure, sweetheart. Privacy. Trespassing. Let’s call the whole thing off.” His grin unfurls, shameless. 

Leon takes a tentative grip on your wrist and guides you toward the chair by the window. As you sink into the chair, borderline slumping over, a thought strikes you like the crack of a conductor’s baton: tonight’s gig. 

The stage, the lights, the hushed murmurs of the audience—it all comes flooding back with startling clarity. 

“I can’t deal with this,” you mutter, rising to your feet as a fresh wave of trepidation tightens your chest. “I’ve got a show—” 

“Oh, the big show,” Leon infringes on your words with a chuckle, waving his hand theatrically. “Let me guess. You’ll have the whole world eating out of your hand tonight, and I’m just the poor sap standing in your spotlight.” 

His hand finds your shoulder, potent and unyielding. He eases you back into the chair with a maddeningly adroit air. 

How rude. 

“All right, what’s the racket now?” you demand. Your eyes tote the lake of fire. 

“Don’t look at me like that, sugar,” Leon’s voice grates on your brain in just the veritable way; it’s tip-top dulcet. 

“I had a most discreet little chinwag with Ada Wong,” he prattles on. He pays no mind to the labored breaths that break the rhythm of his words, then, with an audacity that leaves you momentarily aghast, drops to his knees before you. 

“Oh, and darling Ada didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow as long as I promised to square her away for the greenbacks slipping through the fingers of your adorable fans.” 

He stylishly fuses the bevy of words with his… fancy lines as he speaks. His gliding hands on your legs awaken a surprisingly ruddy pallor. He seizes your ankle and sews it up, positioning your heel on top of his knee, cradling your right leg. The subsequent is tremendous. 

He slants the marrow of his blues on you, his chin tipped up, calculating how you’ll react. Ambivalent eyes are only on you. 

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop, but if you want me to keep going, I won’t stop till you’re sick of me. It’s all for you, doll.” His voice lacks the sanctimonious hue you have come to memorize. It leaves a more mellow rumble in your ears. 

Leon, taking into account the fact that he has received no verbal confirmation yet no verbal rebuff, folds the hem of your dress until the silk fabric curves around your hips, the satin is a girdle around your waist, traversing the garter. 

“Give me a fair chance and I’ll make you forget all the pratfalls I’ve done.” His wintry breath strokes across your skin, soaking into your blood, his lips on your legs, camellia pink, lush. 

Up and up. 

High enough to boggle your mind, but not high enough to bore you. Up your calves, past your knees, and up your thighs beyond your calves. It’s not enough, and the peerless panorama you can behold before you soak out your veiled eyelids, beset by strands of blonde hair tangled in the white lace of your French knickers. The abject cold of March versus the waves of citrus fire pouring from the fireplace sizzle your skin like in the saying; March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. 

Leon is inexorable with you and the portent of antsy impatience on your face as he lingers between your legs and welds his tongue between your pulpy slit. 

For Leon, it’s all he can do not to get drunk on the tang of the nectar he’s been craving for weeks. He clamps his hands around your thighs and worships you, your lovely cunt, perhaps with the devout hunger of a believer after fasting all day long. 

Let your hips propel themselves against his nose, riding on the tip of his tongue. That garrulous mouth is at last put to some use, occupied, but his nose? The work his nose does is better experienced than spoken. 

An ephemeral passion infuses you with the lyrics of his tongue; your French-manicured nails are nothing more than paws on his scalp, and your fingers are nothing more than joints yanking at his tresses. 

What about your legs? 

They are a complete sphinx; you can’t even feel them. 

The words of adulation choke at the base of your throat, and your mind blanks out when you feel his pillowy lips pressing against your raw ribbon of sore nerves. A myriad of gasps tumbles down your rosy red lips; your body trembles as bolts of ecstasy rush through your synapses, white-hot to the touch with bliss. 

Lovely sounds emanating from the crevices of your lips grow louder, and Leon switches his weight to the outsole of his shoes, only ever paying attention to your glistening pussy. To quiet you down, he plants a brief, benign nip on your clit. 

Deep within you, that flash of rural thunderbolt strikes you anew, but you get the picture. Now your subdued moans beguile his ears; he licks and kisses and sucks on your plump clit; he’s near suffocation, but he carries on the rave, finger-fucking where his lips are each retreat to catch his breath. 

Right when you’re nearing the decadence, as ecstatic as he is, he flings his head back and refuses to let you sip that cocktail of hedonistic fumes. 

“Leon!” You yelp his name unabashedly in that frantic microsecond. Those twisted tufts of pleasure in your belly are torn to shreds, and yes, in the end, you are incapable of cumming. All this because of your douchebag new lover with his tinsel eyes who is all eyes and no eyes. 

“Sorry, love.” His voice is raspy, his eyes cryptic as he entreats for absolution. Emits all the sounds that got stuck in his throat after lovemaking. 

Tongue still laced with that sherbet of jawbreaker liqueur, the only thing he’s lost is the blissed-out zeal of ecstasy on your beautiful face. His plans are separate anyway; that creampie episode should be in his bed, and you’ll be stretched out on his cock, which is now straining in a Brooks Brothers suit. He’ll leave you hanging, wanting more of him. 

Regardless, he can at least catch a glimpse of macules of mascara on your eyelashes and two mini teardrops splashing down on your lash cords. The saliva trickling out of your mouth and drooling over the brim of your lips tears at his very root, but the eyes are special. They will always tell the absolute truth. 

“I only want to be yours.” The rhapsodic promises spring out of his lips like a bolt from the blue. 

That’s the whole secret, and so he graves his head between your thighs like a lovesick animal, incapable of subduing himself. You foolishly dwell in this rollercoaster of amore. 

It would certainly not be a lie to conclude that things came to a healthier denouement after that night. The scant nights when you are absent from your apartment complex come on the heels of the days you stayed at his place and baked biscuits together in his kitchen. Those afternoons clogged with whispering of sins in the darkness. 

The city, blues, and jazz lovers, and the circle of all those people for whom Leon has who knows what kind of background, your name is the only topic of conversation, next to Leon’s. Your resplendent name, always written alone in big prints, is now next to a man. 

You are no longer alone, by all means. But then sometimes... some nights when Leon doesn’t drop by the house until the morning, your suspicions curdle into a black furor. Not a word of what the hell he was doing was ever exchanged between you; that’s what is slowly killing you. 

This uncertainty lingers for weeks and then for months. He somehow coaxes you into selling your apartment. It’s a seemingly ghastly toll—being bound to him, but his clarion rhymes always alleviate you. Strange. 

“My little angel, I just want you near me. Why do we need your apartment when I have my space and we have more than enough. Besides, a little party hurt no one, not you and me when we’re together.” 

Your protections are short-lived, because the kisses he lanced to your lips were usually loud enough to lull you into silence. 

He, Leon Kennedy, is hardly to be got to grips with. A charmer who never misses a trick. The best of everything belongs only to him and to you because you are his. You love dancing, but he doesn’t; he has to be a grumpy cat. Every time you stick a match to light your stogie, he winds up next to you, and he’s the one who lit your kindle. He hates the smell, hates it wholeheartedly, says that his hair reeks and so on, but he sleeps with his head in your lap, watching the smoke flitting through the air from your lips. In fond veneration, as a little infant would behold his mother's face for the foremost time since the hour of his birth. 

The addressee of every petty dispute, the hardest, was to love a man who never lagged behind, who always wanted more. 

“You want more,” a dejected sulk crosses your lips. “Why?” 

Leon takes two sips from his glass full of Lafite, and he peers over the rim of the glass, half-listening. 

“What does that mean now?” 

“The night we met... something... struck me.” 

“Oh.” He sets his pint down on the table and is all at ease. 

“I’m only talking about the time you confronted a bloke like Chris without hesitation just to flaunt yourself in front of me, darling.” 

“Oh, that one. I’ll give Chris props; he was a hell of a boss. You should consider bumping up his paycheck.” 

You shake your head in resentful disbelief and refuse to say anything more beyond his passing remarks. Any time you point out something about his behavioral pattern, he gets testy and does his best to bury the hatchet. And then comes a killer migraine. 

“I certainly will. Ah, perhaps your patron should be a good patron like me and not withhold some money.” 

It’s these words that are rattling around in your unconscious. A voice in your head taps on your skull that it would not be a bad idea to hold back, but your lips will not meet. 

“Simply inhuman, to be working from nine at night to six in the morning. He should make you a multimillionaire by now.” 

Leon blinks his eyes closed and unfocused, his intense metallic gaze boring into you from beneath his lashes. 

“You know I prefer not to talk about it.” There is a devotional twang in his timbre. 

“Leon. I am merely—” 

Your lecture, however, is bisected in half by the storming in of a blond man dressed in a black leather trench coat following behind one of the girls working in housekeeping. Lackluster and sketchy. 

Leon staggers from his seat to his feet as the ignoble visitor takes his first step inside. 

You’re as still in your seat, legs crossed. 

“Please forgive me, young lady.” Your guest's voice is veiled with pejorative politeness. He draws closer, as if Leon is not in the room, and whispers short, detached, and insensate kisses on your knuckles. 

“But your lover Leon himself was slacking off. For some weeks now,” he adds, then turns a short pivot to make sure his last words have reached the ears they are meant to reach. 

“I told you, pal, Ada and I have submitted our notice of dismissal, Mr. Wesker.” Leon’s teeth clench together. Oh, you know that look better than anyone or anything. 

The humble ignominy of failing to uphold you in front of a man like Albert Wesker is hideous for Leon. 

“Pah! I’d be a fool to lose my best recruits, Mr. Kennedy.” 

This man must be the boss, apparently. What chutzpah. 

“I’m not coming. I told you, Italy isn’t my business.” 

“Italy?” Now you’re diving into the spiel. Confused, what’s coming out of these two men’s mouths is beyond their ears. 

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose, this tangled headache, the revelation of everything he had swept under the carpet, wasn’t part of his plans for tonight. 

“Your girlfriend is very prying, Leon, but curiosity kills the cat.” This Albert bastard is blatantly blackmailing you and Leon with verbal cattle prods. 

“I must ask you to leave my house. Please, kind sir.” 

You’d be a fool to put up with this nonsense any longer. You stand up and tactfully point to the door to the man who might be the very incarnation of effrontery. His eyes darting to Leon, you, and the door, flux and reflux. 

“Sure thing. I’m not here to offend the little lady. See, I’ll find my own way out.” Wesker bids you his wee farewell and, one last time, delivers those paralyzing spells of paranoia to Leon. “You know the deal, boy. You know better than anyone what happens when you slip up.” 

Leon is more familiar with such words. Grim-rimmed eyes are no longer cavalier blues. 

“You still got an hour.” 

After the admonition, the man leaves the room, leaving only misdoubt in his wake. At least for you. Your lover... He’s in a very different state of mind. 

“Don’t tell anyone about this. Not a word. No one.” 

“I... What?” 

Your brain, which is still recovering from the shell shock, can’t even wrap up what you’re repeating.

“You humor me, will you. Get your head together, sweetheart.” 

It’s absurd that Leon still adores you like some baby when he's slamming the lid of the safe full of dollars, euros, and gold ingots. Only you don’t raise a peep; you simply gawk and watch the chaos around you. 

He’s been pacing the room for half an hour, tucking a flak jacket under his shirt and a leather gun holster into a Louis Vuitton utility belt around his waist. What the hell is this? Off marching off to war? 

When he’s done, he stalks you with quick strides, and you find yourself stepping backwards for no reason. Leon doesn’t have time for these flip-flops. He’s got one overriding objective in mind. To save you by any means necessary, but he’ll never tell you from what. Yet you ask him over and over again, ranting and raving. 

A tantrum and delirium. 

“You can’t leave me. No.” Your voice is harsh enough, but the stinging tears in your eyes are perfidious. 

Inasmuch as he can’t bear to look at them, he can’t heed their force. 

“I’ll be back. I guarantee it, love. This is just a little party; it had never hurt a soul.” 

He smothers your forehead in bittersweet caresses and spares your quivering lips along the pucker of your flesh. It’s all for naught. Nothing can be solved with these evanescent kisses. 

“Why are you running away from me? Why are you afraid of that man?” Your questions are clipped but unyielding. A single answer is more than enough, and you demand it, fight for it. 

That’s how pathetic Leon is. Can’t he face it? 

To be so weak that, for all that you’ve been through... It’s all teardrops on the fire between the two of you. 

You can’t quite read his eyes anymore; they’re not what they used to be, and he’s not the man he used to be. 

“Please, Leon.” 

It’s the most humbling feeling of near-death to close his deaf ears to your invocation. He can’t name it, name the thing inside him, but acridness suffuses his whole body. 

He’s back to that rainy Friday night. Flashes and strikes with lightning bolts, like a short vignette of that night when the pump of the nightmare was looping through his brain. 

“Leon!” 

For once, he doesn’t look back. He knows very well that if he does, he will never be able to leave the house, not even one foot outside. 

You are left stupefied on the stairs now, as he simply slides the door shut and drifts away into the evening of a drizzly Tuesday night. 

A second or two elapses, and you run to the door with a renewed willpower. No, he’s not leaving. You run, breaking the heel of your stilettos, barring you’re gravely late for everything. Every single thing. 

It’s Leon’s Auburn, and you watch as he revs up the accelerator down the path through your garden, past the streetlights, and into a void of alveolate twilight. 

The saga fades away as though it had never been indited for you with a special brush of pen. All that remains is the heavy diamond necklace on your neck, a souvenir from him; the chasm, he vamooses. 

You promptly called the police, despite repeated strident warnings from Leon. Instead of promising you that they would find him, they inquired about Leon’s possibly alleged behavior and conduct, which you highly resented. How could they frame an absolute angel like him? “He’s not a bad man. He was threatened and scared. I know him better than any of you constables.” You defended him, short-winded, because he needed to be remembered as the good man he always was. 

The Bluecoat was not as accommodating as you anticipated. 

So you did the only thing you could do. You waited for him. Every night, awake and alone in your empty and stone-cold bed, but the aria of this room was the nights when you kissed and fellated him a night or two before and then rode till you could not anymore.

But he never came. 

Two nights after Leon’s departure, on a Thursday morning to be precise, your eyes were as swollen and bloodshot as ever. Your slumber was ruptured by the rush of a newspaper headline brought to your room by one of the girls who worked at home. Breaking news, or as the Big Apple would say, hot topic. 

The name that crowded the headlines was none other than the name of the man you had in mind.

Broiling, hollow tears welled up in your eyes as you read the one headline stating that he had died in a car accident due to the soggy roads. The next words and the rest of the scoop didn’t matter to you at all; you knew it was all a lie. A big fat lie. 

A million interview requisitions came in, but who would waste time with that? 

Leon Kennedy did not die in a car accident. No one would believe you if you told them that. The truth is, your lover was already playing a dice game with stakes of death. 

He never needed to tell you; you already knew. Revolvers and gunpowder, the smell that assailed your nose right after his perfume on your skin, your clothes. 

It was an idiotic fairy tale in which you played a blinder. You were his nymph, and he was your guardian angel. You were jumping off the stage and hopping to evade the eyes that swept over your body like hungry maggots, and he was the first man to bail you out of that jam, to buy you diamonds and pearls, and to love you above the rest of the hordes of those pantywaists. You loved your cigarettes; he hated the aroma and the haze of smoke. 

You loved dancing and baking biscuits at home with him, and he loved hustling from party to party. Every single night when his landline rang, he left for his frivolous job that netted him a hefty sum of money—he was very fond of putting his life on the line. An even crazier adrenaline fiend than his love for you. 

You always detested yourself for it took you those torturous days after the breakup to finally decipher Leon. Always the latecomer to really know and love someone like him. His story couldn’t be passed on to anyone, anyone but you.

The story of a boy who came from an obscure hamlet and prowled the City That Never Sleeps to see things he hadn’t yet seen. A boy who always wanted to hang in the lights yearned for the freedom, just like you once were. And then you. Without him, robbed of the best party of your life.

[thevampiremarie]

THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani)

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

PART II: PAUL

He pressed play on the filmbook viewer again. Before Paul’s eyes, the swamps of Ecaz came back to life, the projected mist swirling through his room so thick he could barely see his hand through it. The boy could almost taste the sweet moss and rich earth on his tongue if he breathed in.

What would it be like, to wander those marshes and see the fogwood bend to his thoughts? To watch weavers knot krimskell rope with their practiced, scarred hands?

Paul swallowed thickly. He’d never be allowed to go off-world until he was older. He passed his hand through the fog again and pretended he could feel beads of water gathering on his palm.

Father had started him that day on his lessons with Hawat. He remembered the weight of the Duke’s hand on his shoulder as his father brought Paul to the study chamber where the old Mentat waited. Before he could turn and ask his father to stay, he was gone. Not even the Duke had time enough now for his heir.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Paul felt ashamed of himself. Father had enough on his plate. What sort of son did he make, gathering resentment? A poor one.

The filmbook switched to the glittering gems that miners could find on Hagal. He sagged back into his chair and watched the images flicker on his wall.

Mother liked to smooth his hair back with a single palm and say in that still-water calm tone of hers that he would be greater than his father someday. Paul brought his knees up to his chin. The lonely dunes of Arrakis replaced the scenes of shining jewels trundling from the depths of Hagal mines.

No one could be greater than Father.

He’d watched the Duke turn down the dimly-lit hallway before the Mentat retainer rapped the table with his wizened knuckles to call his attention.

Thufir Hawat was pleased as always to see him, if a bit gruff in his mannerisms.

He’d set Paul to a variety of tasks that were difficult, at best. Thinking that felt like admitting defeat.

How was he supposed to be the heir to House Atreides when he couldn’t even memorize the endless formulas and calculations Hawat laid out in front of him?

Mother always told Paul he was good at remembering and liked to play games with him over breakfast. What had changed in their dining room that day?

She had endless patience and endless persistence. Thufir had comparatively less of the former and about the same amount of the latter.

He bit back the urge to throw the cup next to him filled with day-old tea at the wall.

Day in, day out. Filmbooks, lessons, meals with Mother.

Even if Paul wanted to leave the compound to explore the same pastures and beaches he’d wandered a hundred times over as a little boy, the chafing security team his father insisted upon would have followed him around.

He wasn’t a little boy anymore. Paul was too old to play around in the sand like a baby.

Last week, he’d pestered Duncan to start his combat training. “I know you think you’re old enough,” the swordmaster had said. “But you’ll have to wait a little longer, Paul.”

It wasn’t fair.

Paul unfolded his lanky frame from the chair to carelessly pick through the steel toy figurines of an Atreides legion on his side-table, now arranged in a battle against a battalion of porcelain Imperial Sardaukar.

The Sardaukar, crouched behind their defense of a stack of filmbooks, were losing.

He could imagine how glorious the battle would be!  Paul Atreides with Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck by his side, victorious, a field of felled enemies before him-

With a random twitch of his hand, he accidentally swept the Atreides soldiers onto the floor.

Paul despised his occasional clumsiness.

The boy bit back a sigh as he bent to collect the fallen figures.

He studied one of the toy soldiers, the battle lance in its hand and the shield on its wrist. Perhaps he ought to steal a shield from the training room. The weapons were kept separately, locked up where only the swordmasters could get them, but the swordmasters kept the shields in locked cabinets. If Paul could show Duncan he knew how to use a shield-

A conspiratorial smile came to his face. With a shield, Duncan would have no good reason not to begin his combat training. The Ginaz swordsman might even cheer him on for his ingenuity.

With that pllan in mind, the young boy turned off the filmbook viewer and slipped out of his chamber, careful not to make a sound as he padded along the gray stone hallways towards the closest training room. The cupboard that housed the shields was only loosely padlocked; shields were hardly the most dangerous things in this wing of the manor.

There was no key to be had nearby. Not that Paul expected one - it wouldn’t be nearly as impressive if he’d simply unlocked the cupboard with little fanfare.

Mother liked to repeat odd little sayings to him with an expression on her face that told Paul he really ought to understand them more than he did. He figured it was some sort of weird Bene Gesserit thing. Sometimes the sayings stuck; other times, they didn’t. “My mind controls my reality.”

He’d come to resent that one. It’s not like if he thought hard enough, Father would see him more often, Duncan would start his combat training, and Thufir’s games would come easier.

The padlock was standard, with knobs and buttons that had to be arranged in precisely the correct pattern and order for it to open. Each time it closed, the pattern and order would change.

Paul had opened these dozens of times if he thought about it.

In his hands, the lock came apart quickly. The remnants were put to the side softly so no servant walking past could hear him rummaging in the cabinet.

Some of the wrist units were dusty, old things probably made in the year he was born. The new shield units were… there!

He reached out and grabbed one that looked like it might fit.

Paul was far too intent on measuring his prize to his wrist to hear the barely-there sounds Duncan made as he snuck up on the boy.

“Paul.”

The swordmaster’s voice, low and rumbly, scared him. Paul tried to hide his instinctive twitch, but from the self-satisfied look on Duncan’s face, he hadn’t succeeded.

Oh no. The shield. The Atreides retainer had already seen it in his hand. He tightened his grip on it and tried to square his shoulders to look Duncan straight in the eye. Much to his dismay, Paul had to tilt his gaze up.

His voice sounded tinny and high in response. “I got it, didn’t I?”

“I’m impressed. You did.” The older man made no move to take the shield from the boy’s death grip. Duncan looked at him sternly for one long moment. A fond chuckle followed, and he reached out to ruffle Paul’s hair. Paul hated it when he did that but could never duck out of the way fast enough. “And you thought stealing this would be a good idea… why?”

He set his jaw and tried for some of Father’s severity and larger-than-life presence. “I know how to use the shield. I’ve got one. You needn’t worry about my safety now, and you have to teach me how to fight.”

One of the man’s scarred eyebrows raised. “Do I?”

“You do!” Why wasn’t Duncan taking him seriously? “I order it.”

“Young master, when you can look me in the eyes without looking up, and your voice drops lower; I’ll consider following your orders. In the meantime, I only follow the orders of your father, the Duke.” The good-natured tone in his gruff voice did little to mitigate the sting of his words.

Paul slammed the shield down on the empty weapons table in frustration. “It’s not fair. I’m not a little boy anymore. And- and if you don’t teach me to fight now, when will I learn? How long do I have to wait?” No, it wasn’t enough for the swordmaster to chastise him like he was a baby. Of course, Duncan had to just stand there and not say anything back to him at all. The lack of response made the boy feel infinitely worse.

“For my father, the Duke, to decide I’m ready? He doesn’t- he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even see me every day.” Paul’s words hung heavy in the air between them, and he knew instantly that he’d made a mistake.

He’d gone too far to back down now.

The warrior broached the distance between them in two long strides.

His large, scarred hand clasped Paul’s jaw in a tight grip, forcing the boy to look up at Duncan’s face instead of staring, shamefaced, at his bare feet.

“You’re a good kid, Paul, so I’ll say this once, and we’ll be done with it. Duke Leto Atreides, your father, is the best man I have ever known. Everything he does, he does for the prosperity of House Atreides. For your prosperity.” Unbidden, tears began to form in the boy’s eyes. He did his best to will them to stop.

“You don’t know anything about what your father, my lord, has done. What he’s sacrificed.”

Even in Duncan’s grasp, Paul kept his jaw tight and shoulders back. His pride wouldn’t allow him to do anything else.

“The Duke may be too busy fending off the Harkonnens to chastise you properly, but I’m not. I’ve allowed you to be a little shit right now in my training room. Do not expect me to permit this behavior going forward.” His tutor let go of him suddenly, and the boy staggered back. “You will sit your studies. You will behave. You will learn how to fight when we deem you ready to learn. Above all, you will not disrespect your father like that again.”

Resentment bloomed in Paul’s chest, hot and heady. He tamped down on it with the control Mother taught him. “I understand.” The bitterness was replaced by painful embarrassment. How immature must he have seemed to the great Duncan Idaho, lashing out like the baby he professed not to be?

Father… Shame coated his throat. His father was out there somewhere in the Imperium, risking his life fighting Harkonnens, and Paul was here in his mother’s wing, throwing tantrums.

The swordmaster’s bearing softened slightly at the sight of Paul’s embarrassment and shame, scrawled plainly across his charge’s face. “I get it. I understand what you’re feeling.” Duncan clapped him on the back. “You’re the heir. One day I’ll serve you. Better you get that outburst out of your system now than let your father see any of it.”

The floor suddenly became very interesting.

He tucked his chin to avoid the older man’s regard.

“I don’t reward bad behavior. You know that. I am, however… impressed that you managed to get into one of the cabinets without the code.” Paul caught a glimpse of the shield in Duncan’s hand as he lifted his head.

He caught the shield band in one hand before he had even realized the man had tossed it at him.

“Get used to wearing that all the time, as we do. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out. We won’t be starting live edges. I will see you in this training room every day for practice on your sayaw forms. If you behave, we’ll spar with bokkens.” Elation ran through him. Paul had thought himself well and truly in trouble for a moment there.

Forms training every day was a far better outcome than nothing. He would make Duncan proud. And Father would be proud if Duncan gave him good reports on Paul’s progress.

The Ginaz swordmaster strode from the room. Before he exited, he stopped in the doorway. “Paul…” The boy could see no traces left of sternness left on his rugged, tanned face. “You’ll be alright, kid.”

Paul watched him go.

He thought of the filmbooks. Ecaz. Hagan. Arrakis. All the places he could go one day. Paul looked at the shield in his hand. He would do his best in the classroom with Thufir. He’d show Duncan that he deserved to fight with live edges. Resolution formed in the depths of his mind. Paul would surpass them all.

-

Mother had found him later that week in the same training room. Duncan left much earlier, while Paul elected to stay behind. Pattern after pattern, he whirled on the training mat, weaving around imaginary opponents. The sayaw forms were the foundation upon which the Atreides Eskrima rested.

His skinny limbs ached, and he could feel sweat trickling down his back under his loose tunic, but Paul kept going. Duncan had called the forms a type of dance. While he hated the dance lessons his mother kept him in, the rhythm of the sayaw forms was far more appealing.

A fight had the same beats as a live pulse, he’d found.

The new training regimen gave Paul something to do, a goal to work for. But when he wasn’t training with Duncan or struggling through Thufir’s mind games, the emptiness would creep back in.

Paul would watch filmbook after filmbook on the countless planets of the Imperium. Even anything with information of what lay beyond the Imperium. Anything but the hollowness of the Atreides manor.

Even the promise of live-edge dueling shortly did little to stave off the immense pressure Paul faced when he was alone with himself or the lingering fear that he would never live up to that pressure.

He attempted to take Duncan’s words about his father to heart. The bitterness that welled up inside Paul remained. The Duke deserved a better son, he thought. But he would have to make do with me.

When Mother came to him that afternoon, he could feel the tiniest bit of terror emanating from her serene countenance. Her face was calm as always - yet the slight razor-edge of her fear sent a chill down Paul’s spine. “Paul.”

“Mother,” the boy said, pulling out of his lowered stance to stand up straight, wiping his brow with the edge of his tunic.

She pressed her lips together. “Come. There is someone you must meet.” Without another word, his mother turned away from him sharply.

Curiosity and dread warred for dominance in Paul’s thoughts. His mother, Lady Jessica, was Bene Gesserit and fearless. What could frighten her?

Dutifully, he followed after her. Just as Duncan had taught him that week, he took extra care to make his steps as silent as possible.

The lady stopped abruptly in front of her presence-chamber. Paul could see his mother’s reluctance to enter, though she conquered that reluctance after a moment and pushed the door open. A slip of a girl sat on the bench by the far wall. Her face was blank and hollow under the light of the glowglobe. He thought she looked awfully skinny, even more so than him.

“Paul, this is Chryse. She will be joining our household as my new handmaiden, though she is still in training.”

The boy looked over Chryse once more. His mother rarely took on new handmaidens and always ones that came to her fully trained. Perhaps that knowledge should have put him on guard, but Paul somehow knew he had nothing to fear. The girl’s dark almond-shaped eyes, too large for her face, met his gaze.

He straightened up under her scrutiny. Paul wanted her to… be impressed. “Hello.” The boy tried for the deep resonance of his father’s voice but only sounded gravelly. He winced.

“Hello.” Someone else might have been daunted by the expression on Chryse’s face - like a frozen-over lake on Lankiveil. Lankiveil’s eternal winter was inconceivable to Paul. He’d only seen snow in the filmbooks.

Even around him, his mother’s own look never defrosted. The boy was used to it.

Lady Jessica stepped forward as if to come between them. “She will be joining you for some of your lessons. I’ve already spoken to Duncan. I hope you will come to regard her as a… companion.”

A new sparring partner! Well, that made the girl’s presence chafe less. Paul disliked his mother’s implication that he required a companion. He was doing just fine without one. Then an unexpected wave of giddiness swept away his dislike. Sparring with Duncan was unfairly one-sided. Paul enjoyed the thought that he could have an opponent against whom he might win. Maybe when she wasn’t attending to his mother or in lessons with him, Chryse would watch filmbooks with him. Paul could show her everything he knew. The girl might command his Sardaukar figurines while he fought her with his Atreides legions. He wasn’t entirely sure how girls acted typically, but his mother’s new handmaiden seemed like she’d be willing to play with him.

Thoughtlessly, he darted over to her and grabbed her hand. Paul dragged her with him as he skipped towards the door. Mother made an odd choked sound in her throat at the sight of the two of them, but he ignored her.

The girl stopped suddenly just before the doorway. He turned towards her and his mother. Why the delay? “Well, come on! You haven’t explored our wing much, have you?”

Chryse looked to his mother for a moment as if silently asking for permission. When she received a nod, the girl turned to look at him once more. “No, I haven’t.” Her voice quavered. To Paul, she sounded like she didn’t speak often. Weird.

“Let’s go!” His mother let them leave her chamber without any words in protest.

The younger girl’s hand was cold in his, but as her palm warmed, she began to match his tight grip.

 When Paul looked back to see if she was paying attention to him, he saw the slightest smile on her face directed at him.

Man tumblr was tweaking when I tried to post this the first time. I had three chapters of this story completed before I dropped it and I'm now writing the 4th. Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @redskull199987 @itsemy01 @blahzaiblahsheep @herebereblogs

[pinkyyoshi]

𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮♡︎ (PROLOGUE)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

18+! ANGST

Syn: Reader grew up as a hopeless romantic, always seeing the brighter side of things and always getting her heart broken. She finds herself falling in love with a man who happens to already be taken and ends up in a fucked up situation.

CW: Self-harm, manipulation, arguing, ANGST ANGST ANGST, profanity, cheating, mommy-issues, drug-use, SA(NOT BY GHOST!)

A/N: hey guys! This is my very first fan fiction and also very first official post on here so I want to apologize for any repetetiveness, grammar, or wordiness in the story, I’ll improve the more I right and I hope I’m being descriptive enough for you guys lol. (Criticism is appreciated!😛)

—————————

You were always such a hopeful girl with big dreams. Head in the clouds, not worried about a thing. You remember always laying down in bed with your mother who would always read you to sleep at night. Going to the library on the weekends and picking out books (always from the romance section). Mom would just smile and chuckle to herself. You never knew that these memories could ever be buried and spat on. Is it your fault for being so naive?

“Mommy?” You called out, peeking around your corner. There sat your mom on the table with a wine glass in her hand. She smiles at you, holding her arm out, calling you towards her.

“What is it sweety?” she says through rosy cheeks.

“When is daddy gonna come back?”

Splash Splash

The sounds of the waves would do. The days couldn’t get any shorter. Work couldn’t get any more tiring. You couldn’t be more alone.

Running sand through the 3 week old nails of your right hand, can of beer in your left. You thought you couldn’t get any more pathetic but here you were sat on the beach not far from the city.

Should I even be here right now?

You should’ve been home some time ago but he called, would he even show up? Sometimes you think mom might have been right…she didn’t need to yell though.

Just as you were about to get up, spinning on your heel, there he was. The reveal was kind of surprising, you think as you cough from all the smoke blown into your face. You can see the smile in his eyes. What the hell?

“S’rry abou’ that. Need a ride?”

You can only chuckle from the fact that he is literally 50 minutes late. You wanted to be mad but you were honestly more embarrassed for letting yourself even wait that long. But nonetheless, you nod your head and the two of you head over to your place and he just might’ve made up for making you wait that night. You counted. He stayed over til the morning this time, he even stayed for coffee! That’s definitely a first. Maybe He truly does care.

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

“You’re so beautiful” He would say, running his rough fingers over your head, caressing you softly. It was like a scene out of a book. Just like the one you read last month about the– well who cares. Simon was leaving soon.

As he was walking out the door, he caressed your cheek, before placing a delicate kiss if you were a set of china.

“I love you so much, my pretty pretty girl. I promise if you just wait for me-” You can’t help but tune him out after. Those are the only words you wanted to hear. You don’t wanna hear about how he has to get back home to his girl or that work was waiting for him.

Your strong little heart could only bear the small things he does for you, anything after that would be too much, knowing what you and also knowing that you couldn’t have him.

The door shuts and reality hits harder than a boulder when you sink back into your messy room. Someday.

(CRITICISM APPRECIATED!!!)

THANK YOU 4 READING

[absurdthirst]

Cracking the Case {Tim Rockford x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Flirting, mentions of crime scene photos, misuse of handcuffs, bondage, rough sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie

Comments: Staying late with your boss, Detective Tim Rockford, turns into some sexy times at his desk, making him crack the case while he's buried inside you.

A/N: Did we write a fic about a damn Merge Mansion commercial? Yes we did. Do we have any regrets? Not a damn one! ����🤡🤡 Based off how sexy that damn stupid game commercial is and this NSFW GIF.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Tim Rockford MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

He’s been at his desk all day, gun holster still on his shoulders and you bite your lip, eying the cups lined up on his desk. “Tim.” You say and he barely tears his eyes away from the photos he’s been studying on his desk. “Tim.” You repeat, knowing he will be there all night if left to his own devices. 

“Yes?” He asks, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the photo of the fatal wound to look into your concerned eyes. 

“You need to eat.” You huff, knowing you could use something too but your boss has spent three days studying the evidence, sleeping in the office and maybe managing to drag himself back to his apartment for a quick shower. “I’ll get you something.” You stand up, making your way out of the police department to head down to the 24 hour diner you frequent when his case keeps you both tethered to work.

Tossing his pen down, Tim rocks back in his chair and sighs, closing his eyes as he presses the pads of his fingers to them. Staring at the crime scene photos for so long that he feels like they are blurring together. He’s missing something, he can feel it. It’s right in front of him but he just seem can’t find it. It’s times like these that he longs for the days where a bottle of bourbon is in the bottom cabinet of his desk drawer and a pack of Marlboro Reds sit right next to his hand. He’s given that up, trying to be the ‘new image’ of the police force but it’s damn hard when you’re trying to solve a case like this. The chair creaks as he rocks back, finally aware of the growling in his stomach that you’ve insisted on taking care of for him. He’d be lost without you.

You return with the food, a burger and fries for Tim, knowing he will be annoyed if you get him something healthier and you just want him to eat something and not just chain smoke until the light bulb goes off. He’s got his face in his hands and you set the take out bag down. “Betty says hello.” You tease, knowing he is aware of the older waitress having a crush on the ‘hunky police detective’. “She even threw in a slice of apple pie for you.”

Tim snorts and shakes his head, reaching for the bag. “Someday soon I’m gonna have to go back in there and flirt with her a bit.” He tells you, knowing that the woman is probably ten years too old for him, but he shoots you a grin. “Keep the pie slices rollin’.” The mouthwatering scent of the hot burger makes him groan as he opens the styrofoam contain and he looks at you. “You not get anything for yourself? Or you plannin’ on going home?” He wouldn’t blame you if you did leave, it’s far past the hours that you were expected to answer the phones, the Desk Sergeant already taking over for the night. You aren’t a police officer, but as the department’s secretary, you were a damn vital part of keeping this place running.

He takes a bite of the burger and you hold up your own bag, “figured I’d get something to eat before I head home. Keep you company before you retreat into your mind again.” You tease and sit down on the other side of his desk, gathering up the photos and keeping them in order so he can concentrate on his food. “I know you want to solve this case but punishing yourself by not eating and sleeping won’t get you any closer to solving this.” You warn him, having watched him and the others try to be superhuman and it always leads to mistakes. “You should go home, eat, shower, get laid. Will help you take your mind off of the case and you’ll come in with a fresh perspective.”

Tim scoffs as he picks up a fry and bites into it. “Gotta go out to get laid unless I call up some of the working girls.” He jokes. “And the captain would have my ass if I got busted by vice like Johnson did a few months ago.” Tim was a bachelor, probably always would be one after his fiancée jilted him a few months before the wedding years ago. Claiming that he worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with her. It was probably true, so he hadn’t really tried after that, figuring it just wasn’t in the cards for him.

“You could easily go out and get laid. You’re a handsome guy. Smart, funny. Just flash the handcuffs and say you know how to use them.” You home and bite into your own sandwich, watching him chew with satisfaction that he’s eating. “Too bad you’re always in this damn office. You’d be popular at the bar down the street from me. Lot of girls like a cop with handcuffs.”

His brow arches up at your comment, wondering briefly if you were one of those girls before he tries to push the thought away. You are off limits. Plenty of detectives had tried it with you only to be shot down and he enjoys the rapport you have, not willing to risk it. “Lots of girls, huh?” He asks, taking another bite of his burger. “Too bad I’m chained to my desk.”

You chuckle, “some women would like that.” You joke and continue eating. The silence is comforting, both of you enjoying a hard earned meal after a long day of trying to solve this case. You watch him as he eats, mustache getting a little wild after concentrating on this case and his hair all over the place yet he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. His dark eyes meet yours and you smile, setting your sandwich down. “You know…I’m one of those girls…who like a man with handcuffs.”

Tim’s brow shoots up and for a moment he’s speechless. Clearing his throat for a moment and nearly choking on his own spit. “I- you are?” His cock twitches in his pants as he imagines putting his cuffs on you. Bending you over and pressing you up against this desk as you moan softly.

You bite your lip, enjoying the clueless look on his face like you haven’t been subtly flirting with him for God knows how long. The lines on his forehead become more pronounced and you decide to take the risk. You can’t keep imagining him between your thighs every night while you rub your clit. This is either going to be the best or worst decision of your life. You push your sandwich aside and stand up, walking around the desk until you’re beside him, and you look into those dark eyes, wide with shock, while you slowly pull your skirt up and over your hips to expose your panties. “Yes. I am.” You say softly, voice taking on a seductive lilt.

“Shit.” The way his eyes shift between your exposed panties and your face would be comical if he wasn’t trying to make sure you aren’t teasing him. His mouth runs dry and Tim quickly stands, abandoning his meal to press close to you. “Are you- fuck, are you sure?” He demands, needing to hear you say the words.

You chuckle nervously, reaching up tentatively to wrap your arms around his neck so you can press closer to him. “Yes baby. I am sure. I want you to fuck me. Always have. Since the day I started working here.” You confess, keeping your eyes on his.

Tim hisses, unable to believe this is happening and he lunges forward to press his lips to yours. Blindly striking out behind you at his desk to clear a space for you to sit while he frantically slides his tongue into your mouth. Needy and desperate for you, it’s been so long since he’s touched a woman and he’s often thought of you with his hand around his cock in the shower.

You moan into his mouth, pulling him even closer as his hands slide down to squeeze your ass. You can feel the pent up need inside of him, similar to your own, and you whimper into his mouth while his tongue slides against yours. “Fuck Tim.” You pant, tilting your head when he kisses down your neck and presses you up against his desk so you can feel his hardening cock.

“Yeah?” He groans against your flesh and sucks at your pulse. His hands sliding down your thighs, squeezing them and then he presses two fingers against your clothed clit. “You want me to use my cuffs on you?” He asks as he rubs the damp fabric. “Or just turn you around and fuck you?”

“Oh God. Cuffs. Please use the cuffs.” You beg, having imagined it too many times. “Please baby. I- I just need you to touch me.” You reach down to squeeze him through his dress pants, wanting to make him moan.

His hands reluctantly pull away, fumbling behind his back to pull his cuffs out of the small pouch he has on his belt. Grabbing your wrist to slap the cold steel around it as he pushes your arm behind your back. “Jesus Christ baby, you drive me insane.” He groans, eager to give you what you want.

You gasp at the cold metal encircling your wrists and you love the way he bends you over his desk once you are cuffed up. “Tim.” You whine when he grinds against you, making your cunt clench around nothing. “Please baby. I need you to fuck me.” You beg, aching for him after so long of wondering what it would be like.

Chuckling, Tim kisses you again, “I’m going to baby, I promise.” His fingers find the edge of your panties and he starts to strip them down your thighs. Dropping them at your feet on top of your heels. “Step out of them and turn around. Spread your legs.” He orders roughly.

You struggle but manage to kick the panties off of your shoes, letting them land wherever, and you spin around, spreading your legs for the handsome detective. “Fuck me. Please.” You aren’t above begging, wanting your dreams to come true.

There’s so much he would do to you if he wasn’t in his office. Surrounded by the case details and photos, sure that someone could walk in. That makes it even thrilling, even though the lights are off outside and most everyone else has gone home. He reaches out and slaps your ass as he unbuckles his belt with one hand. “Fuck, your gagging for it, aren’t you? Bet you're soaking wet, eager for my cock.”

God, hearing him speak like that, husky and deep, has you dripping. “Ye-yes Detective. I- I want your cock. Please. I need you.” You pant, not above begging at this point. You feel his cock push against your ass cheek and you gasp, unable to believe how big he feels. “Fuck, Tim.” You whine, grinding back against him, fingers flexing behind your back.

He decides that he’s not going to spit in his hand, wanting it to sting a bit as he stretches you out. Needing a good fuck to smooth his rough edges and maybe help him focus on the case. Taking his cock in hand, he nudges along your slit, feeling how wet you are. “Dirty fucking girl, you’re soaked.” He groans. “Let’s see how well you take my cock.” He nestles the head against your entrance and snaps his hips forward, pinning you to the desk as he drives his cock deep.

You collapse forward, head coming down to rest near the take out bag and your mouth falls open into a moan as he pushes deep inside of you. He’s thick, stretching you out, and your nails dig into your palms, unable to believe how good he feels already. “Oh fuck.” You choke, eyes squeezed shut as his hands grip your hips.

Once he’s buried to the hilt, it’s like a switch has been flipped. Clenching his jaw, Tim draws his hips back to start a frantic, devastating pace. Nearly immediately breathless from how hard he is pounding into you, groaning and grunting as he feels your soaked walls clench around him.

“Shit! Shit!” You cry out, breath knocked out of you from his harsh pace, making you moan his name, and you can’t do anything but let him fuck you, use your body for his own pleasure. “Baby. Oh fuck, Tim. Yes. Yes!” You moan.

“Quiet.” He hisses, not slowing down. “Can-can’t let everyone hear how- how much of a dirty girl you are.” He groans, closing his eyes and enjoying the squelch of your cunt as he drills into you. Slippery and hot, perfect for him. “Fuck, baby. It’s- it’s like heaven.” He groans, opening his eyes and his gaze falls on the strewn photos on his desk.

You don’t know he’s eying the photos on his desk as he pounds into you. You love how his hands come to grip your handcuffed wrists, using you as leverage to push harder and deeper. “So good.” You whimper, “so fucking good, sir.” You are used to addressing him as sir or detective and that slips into your dirty little fantasies.

“Shit.” Tim’s eyes widen and his pace stutters for a moment and the pieces click together. “That’s it.” He groans, gripping your hips tighter and pushing into you faster as he realizes he’s just solved the case. “Fuck that’s it!”

You don’t realize he’s just solved the case, you think he’s close to cumming and you’re a little disappointed that you aren’t going to cum but it’s still been nice to have him inside of you. “I’m on birth control. You can cum inside of me.” You sigh, closing your eyes and waiting for the warmth of his seed to fill you up.

Tim growls, flattening himself against your back and slides his hand around your hip to find your clit. “Fucking hell,” he moans into your ear. “Gonna- fuck, gonna fill you up. So fucking perfect.” He pants. “Helped me solve the case, fucking solved it buried in your cunt.” He presses two fingers to your clit and rubs frantically, wanting you to cum on his cock.

Your eyes open in shock and you grin, glad he’s solved the case. “Gl-glad I could help.” You chuckle breathlessly before you moan when his fingers rub your clit. Hard and fast as he pushes deep inside of you. “Oh fuck.” You pant, loving the way he kisses along your neck. “Shit. Tim. I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You whine, walls fluttering around his cock and he pushes towards your orgasm. You cry out a few thrusts later, clamping down on his length and soaking him as your mouth opens in a silent scream.

He feels it. The hot, wet gush of your cunt right before you tighten so much that he moans. The grip on his cock almost makes him unable to move as he grinds deep. He’s right behind you, poised on the edge and burying his cock deep, moaning your name as he fills you with hot spurts of his seed. Painting your walls as he chants your name breathlessly.

You pant, relaxing on his desk as your body buzzes with the aftermath of your orgasm. You feel giddy and you smile against the surface of his desk as he leans over you, catching his breath. “I was not expecting that to happen today.” You chuckle, knees wobbly and you’re grateful you’re on his desk.

Tim huffs in agreement, pulling out of you gently so he can watch your cunt flutter and try to push out his cum. “Didn’t expect to solve the case while fucking you.” He jokes, caressing your hip before he grabs the photos that had caught his eye.

“Glad I could help. You wanna finish your dinner and then you can call it in?” You suggest, looking over your shoulder at him. He nods and you watch him eye the photo that has helped him solve the case. “Could you uncuff me first, babe?” You joke, wiggling your fingers.

“Right. Shit.” Tim hisses, immediately dropping the photos and pulling up his pants that have dropped to mid thigh so he can pull his keys out. “Sorry.” He huffs, quickly unlocking the cuffs and taking them off of you, gently massaging your wrists for a second before he lets go of you and steps to the side.

You groan softly as you stand up straight, grabbing the napkins from the diner to clean yourself up before his cum drips onto the floor. Once you’re cleaned up as much as possible, you shove the napkins into the empty take out bag and find your panties to put them on, adjusting your skirt. “Glad you solved the case.” You kiss his cheek and shift to step away from his desk.

Tim stares at the pictures in amazement, unable to believe that he had missed this. It’s so obvious now. He shoves a hand through his hair and mumbles, “thanks,” as he thinks about the way to present this to the DA. You shuffle off to the side and it jars him out of his thinking. “Hey-“ he clears his throat. “You wanna get a drink?” He asks, suddenly awkward even if he had just railed you over his desk. “I mean, like a date?”

You offer him a soft smile, stepping closer so you can kiss his cheek. “Yeah. I’d like that.” You say and step back. “Go solve the case and be the best detective on the force and then we can go get that drink.” You promise, reaching down to squeeze his hand.

Tim smiles at you, nodding quickly. “Give me ten minutes and then we’ll talk about what we can do in the interrogation room over a drink.” He winks and quickly buttons up his pants so he can grab the phone to call the DA and get an arrest warrant issued. He managed to solve the case after all, all thanks to you. Maybe he needed to fuck you during every case from now on, just to make sure justice is served.

[iwillrememberyoumarathon]

❥❥ iwry marathon: week three ❥❥ we're coming into the home stretch of the marathon. thank you to everyone who is running along with us this year!! if you need to catch up, check out these links

fics

Day 16: Vengeance by belladamon29 Summary: Buffy Summers knew the moment that she found she was pregnant she could not tell Angel, the man who broke her heart in a million pieces. With a new man in her life, Buffy was slowly moving on but everything was not what it was cracked up to be. There were dark forces working together for vengeance and danger was lurking around every corner. What happens when Buffy goes missing? Will Angel and their friends make it in time to save Buffy and their son? (Rated E. 12,338 words)

Day 17: A Different Kind of Death by @mamabewear Summary: Buffy is still the only thing that Angelus thinks about. (Rated T. 2,111 words)

Day 18: Change of Plans by fatalfae (@fatalfaeri) Summary: Instead of spending a quiet evening alone, Buffy and Angel end up on babysitting duty. (Rated T. 3,769 words)

Day 19: Scenes From a Possible Future by a2zmom Summary: A few days in the life. This story takes place 12 years after NFA and is a follow-up to Days of Future Past, although you can comprehend this without reading that (But it would be delightful if you did). (Rated E. 8,638 words)

Day 20: Let's Do Some Living After We Die by @buffy-targaryen Summary: After the events of Double or Nothing, Angel thinks about why he should continue this journey. There's only one person he can call. (Rated G. 2,480 words)

Day 21: Impatience by NicHawkins Summary: Sometimes a bit of impatience can be a good thing! (A/U) (Rated M. 3,647 words)

Day 22: say you'll always wonder by claddaghrings (@bangelism) Summary: "Somedays, she forgets they aren’t just kids. She feels all grown up now, and even though he’s 250-something, he’s all grown up too. Angel, her Angel, the one who used to sit on her windowsill at night, the one who she’d hide in her closet, who slept on this bedroom floor where she’s sitting now, napped in her bed with her; he’s a dad." Moments in time. Set during BTVS S6 & Angel S3. (Rated T. 9,034 words)

art

❥ bangel + locations, part three: the bronze — gifset by @ptieuca

❥ 'I Can't Remember' Cocoa Puffs scene — illustration by @casenpoint (also posted on Instagram)

❥ bangel + locations, part four: sunnydale high school — gifset by @ptieuca

❥ 'Together' — wallpaper + gif by @lalaithquetzallicaresi

previous weeks: ❥❥ iwry marathon: week one ❥❥

❥❥ iwry marathon: week two ❥❥

[lurkingshan]

A Time Called You: A Great Reminder to Go Watch Someday or One Day 

This past weekend Netflix dropped a new kdrama called A Time Called You in its entirety, and I became particularly interested in watching it as soon as I realized what it was: the Korean remake of Someday or One Day I knew had been in the works for awhile. If you’re not familiar, Someday or One Day (SOOD) is a beloved 2019 Taiwanese drama that is widely considered to be among the best dramas the country has ever produced (there is also a 2022 film version of the story, but that’s less relevant to this post). Now, I love Korean dramas, and I know that countries remaking each other’s best shit is very common in the Asian media landscape, but I couldn’t help but feel protective of the original work and a bit resentful of the choice to adapt something that was so original and unique and specific and put that generic kdrama sheen on it. Taiwan has a small film industry, and this is one of its jewels. We didn’t need Korea’s take on it.

And having watched the adaptation in full now, I am feeling pretty justified in that initial feeling. Let me just say upfront: A Time Called You (ATCY) is a perfectly good drama with a solid cast and competent storytelling. Had I seen it absent the knowledge of what it was adapting, I probably would have liked it a lot. But I have already seen and loved Someday or One Day, so I feel compelled to break down why it is the better version of this tale, both for my fellow SOOD devotees who are wondering how this adaptation stacks up and for folks who have only seen the kdrama in the hopes that you’ll decide to watch the original. As usual, I did the most, so reader be advised that this is long (tagging @troubled-mind as promised and @smittenskitten because I saw you were looking for a comparison of the two dramas). TL; DR: if you liked ATCY, or have seen neither version and are wondering which to watch: go find Someday or One Day, because it’s an overall superior and more satisfying execution of the same story.

The Vibe

Let’s start here because it’s the most obvious and immediately striking thing as someone who has seen both versions. SOOD has a bit of a rough and unpolished feel, which makes it feel more grounded in reality (important when you are getting into fantasy elements like time travel but you still want the characters to feel like real people). We open our story in 1998 in a record shop with a young girl playing Last Dance by Wu Bai and China Blue, a 1996 mando pop rock ballad, and thus setting the tone—this will be a somewhat raw and bittersweet story about grief and hurt and longing that will invite us to wallow in our feelings. And that melancholic vibe stays throughout the drama, even in the explicitly happy scenes, because you are always aware that the joy you are seeing has already been lost. 

By contrast, ATCY feels… emotionally flat. Don’t get me wrong, it is a very faithful adaptation. The early episodes are practically a shot for shot remake of the original drama. But it’s too polished, too shiny. The filmmaking is bog standard kdrama fare; everything is soft focus and warmly lit and too beautiful and consequently nothing feels real. It feels right in line with the standard aesthetics of recent mainstream Korean dramas, and that choice undermines the emotional weight and grit of this story.

A great example of this can be seen in the way the two dramas handle the iconic scene where our female lead runs in the rain, looking back over her shoulder to smile in delight at the male lead before continuing on her way. This is a moment of realization for him about his feelings for her—one he will later immortalize in a painting that becomes part of the mystery of the past she is trying to unravel. In Someday or One Day, this scene takes place on a regular street, in the utterly mundane surroundings of their everyday lives as they walk home, and she runs down the middle of the road as puddles gather in the uneven pavement; in A Time Called Love, they are in a picturesque park for this scene, surrounded by green and encased within a grove of giant trees, and she runs right down the middle of a tree lane that looks like it came straight out of a fairytale. One story is very much about a love grounded in a reality we can recognize; the other is pure fantasy romance.

The Music 

I already mentioned the song that anchors the Taiwanese drama above. Last Dance is hugely important to the story, both thematically and as a plot device, and in its ability to set the mood and tone of the drama. 

The Korean remake similarly uses a real 1996 ballad as its main song and time travel mechanism: With My Tears by Seo Ji Won. And, uh, the vibe is a bit different. 

Discerning listeners might recognize this as one of the many classic love ballads performed by our favorite doctors by day, rock stars by night over on Hospital Playlist. It’s a perfectly fine song. But it sets quite a different tone for our story, doesn’t it? It also is meant to be a song that a teenage boy is hankering to listen to on cassette, and listen, I wasn’t living in Korea in 1996. I have no idea how culturally accurate that may be. I’m sure there were in fact baby Lee Ik Juns running around trying to get their hands on this cheesy love song. But the edgier sound of Last Dance definitely sounds more in line with something the teenage male lead would listen to and what the music is meant to convey. And frankly, since we hear this song about 30 times in the drama, it matters that Last Dance is just an objectively better song. 

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, because beyond the classic song each version chose to use as its centerpiece, there is also a stark difference in the quality and tone of each drama’s OSTs. Here is a compilation of the Someday or One Day tracks, including the utterly gorgeous main theme by Shi Shi. The music is hugely important in the Taiwanese drama and is used to set the mood as well as emphasize its themes, and the tracks feel specific to this story.

And here is a compilation of A Time Called You OSTs.

If you’re familiar with kdrama OSTs, you will recognize most of the artists on here, as well as some new covers of old songs. And again, the vibes are quite different. Whereas SOOD was very intentional and specific in its music choices, ATCY just sounds like every other kdrama. There is nothing on this tracklist that stands out or evokes the kind of feeling that the SOOD tracks do.

The Main Couple

The name and timeline situation in this show makes this section unnecessarily difficult, so let me just make a little reference sheet here: 

Someday or One Day

Alice Ke plays Yu Xuan (2019) and Yun Ru (1998)

Greg Hsu plays Quan Sheng (2019) and Zi Wei (1998)

A Time Called You

Jeon Yeo Been plays Jun Hee (2023) and Min Yu (1998)

Ahn Hyo Seop plays Yeun Jun (2023) and Si Heon (1998)

All of the actors here are seasoned and very good at their jobs, so I am not casting shade on any of them—they are executing their performances based on writing and directorial choices. But I cannot deny that the Taiwanese version of these characters are more compelling all around. In SOOD, the main characters have a real spark; despite the melancholic undertone of the story, there are moments of genuine joy and when they connect with each other, you feel why this bond is strong enough for them to find each other through time and despite all the trauma they endure. In ATCY, however, the characterizations are muted.

This is most evident in the difference between Quan Sheng/Zi Wei and Yeon Jun/Si Heon. Greg Hsu plays Zi Wei as magnetic, playful, mischievous, utterly lovable, and very intense about his feelings for his lady. He has a real joie de vivre about him that clearly brightens up Yu Xuan’s life considerably, and his devotion to her is not just shown, but deeply felt. Experiencing their memories, you understand immediately why Yu Xuan can’t move on from his death; he was the joyful, relaxed counterpoint to her more ambitious and serious personality. Si Heon, though? He is a nice dude and a generous partner and he is very good looking. But he doesn’t have the playfulness or the intensity that his Taiwanese counterpart does. His personality is just more moderate all around. One great example of this: upon discovering that he has traveled forward into the body of the person that would become Yu Xuan/Jun Hee’s boyfriend, Zi Wei (in Quan Sheng’s body now, are you still with me?) actively decides to find her, love her, and try to solve this time loop quagmire they are in; Si Heon (in Yeon Jun’s body) waits for a moment of fate to give him a sign, and only makes the decision to pursue Jun Hee after running into her by coincidence.

Similarly, Jun Hee is not quite as spunky and sassy as Yu Xuan and Min Yu is not as dark and awkward as Yun Ru; when Jun Hee travels to the past and takes up residence in Min Yu’s body, the differences between the two characters she is playing are not as evident. In SOOD, I could tell at a glance who is in Yun Ru’s body; in ATCY I need more context to be sure. Where Yun Ru had more of an edge, Min Yu simply reads very shy. It’s not as compelling. One scene that really stands out as an example of this: when Yun Ru is pretending to be Yu Xuan in 1998 and looks in the mirror to practice smiling, it looks downright creepy and sinister; when Min Yu is masquerading as Jun Hee and looks at herself in the mirror, she just looks awed and happy, if a bit awkward. It’s subtle, but it changes the way you feel about the characters. 

The difference in Jun Hee and Yeon Jun’s characterization also affects the couple chemistry, which is just not nearly as strong in ATCY. The characters are more muted and thus the expected sparks are more like smoldering embers. The relationship feels cozy and warm and nurturing, but it doesn’t feel vital. It doesn’t feel like the kind of relationship you would fight through time or break the rules of the universe to return to. I recall gasping or crying or laughing out loud throughout SOOD because I was constantly taken aback by Greg Hsu’s arresting presence and the chemistry he and Alice Ke generated was just emotionally riveting. When Yu Xuan told Zi Wei (as Quan Sheng) that they were officially together, that man literally jumped for joy and shouted out his love for her; Si Heon (as Yeon Jun) reacts to the same moment with a quiet smile and a hug. When Zi Wei saw Yu Xuan in Yun Ru’s body again in the finale, he knew instantly that it was her and the smile overtook his face as he reached for her; Si Heon initially called Min Ju’s name before getting closer and taking several beats to realize it was Jun Hee (ruining this iconic moment is perhaps this remake’s greatest sin against romance, my god). 

Everything between the couple in SOOD was just more, both in happiness and in despair. I liked Jun Hee and Si Heon, and Ahn Hyo Seop and Jeon Yeo Been are very competent actors whose performances I have loved in other dramas, but they didn’t achieve that level of chemistry here, the writing and directing choices worked against them, and I didn’t feel that same desperation for them to figure this out that I did with Yu Xuan and Zi Wei. 

The Story 

The Korean version is a very faithful adaptation overall (I haven’t mentioned Jun Jie and In Gyuk because his character and story is more consistent across the two shows), but does make some small tweaks to the story, some of which seem to be out of necessity due to a shorter run time (one episode and a couple hours total less than the Taiwanese original) and some just… because? The shorter amount of story time does lead to them having to cut corners on some aspects of the mythology and time travel lore, making it all a bit less clear for folks who don’t already understand what’s going on, and they put in a few nods to typical kdrama tropes like amusement park dates and hand of fate stuff that we really didn’t need—they are already trapped in a time loop together, we get it!

ATCY also messed with the timelines and ages for reasons I don’t really understand and that don’t really track. In SOOD, Zi Wei traveled forward from 2002 to Quan Sheng’s body in 2010, met Yu Xuan, and then died in 2018. In ATCY, Si Heon traveled forward from 2002 only to 2007 and did not die until 2022—but the relationship dynamics are all the same. It made sense for a young couple who had been together about 7 years and who were in their mid-20s to be having the kind of relationship problems they did—fighting about prioritizing careers and time abroad and whether it was time to get married. But a couple who has been together nearly 15 years? Who are in their mid-30s? They would have already been married probably and had a couple kids to boot. The choice to change the timeline like this had me scratching my head and accomplished nothing for the story. 

But neither of those things are the change to the story that is weighing on me most. That occurs in a very small and brief backstory for the real Yeon Jun, where the drama introduces an original character who has no counterpart in SOOD: Tae Ha. 

In SOOD, the real Quan Sheng is a closeted gay teenager who meets a tragic end: he confesses to his crush, gets brutally rejected, then gets bullied when the crush tells others about his sexuality, and ultimately decides to walk into the sea in an attempt to end his life, a choice that leaves his body in a coma until Zi Wei’s consciousness takes it over. In ATCY, this backstory changes and Rowoon is brought in for a brief but impactful cameo as Tae Ha, Yeon Jun’s cram school friend. We see that the two have mutual feelings for each other but are both struggling to confess. One day as they are driving together, they finally explicitly acknowledge their feelings, holding hands and smiling at one another—and then immediately get hit by a Truck of Doom (easily one of the most tired kdrama tropes), Tae Ha dying on impact and Yeon Jun ending up in a coma with Si Heon’s consciousness eventually taking over his body like in the original story. 

Now on first glance, you might be inclined to give the show some credit for including a new gay character and giving the original Yeon Jun a happier experience with his crush. Explicit gay representation? In a mainstream kdrama? Still very rare and a big deal if done right. But if you think for a moment longer you’ll realize we can’t give the show credit for this, because this is a textbook execution of the Bury Your Gays trope and the narrative punishment that befalls gay characters who act on their attraction. Essentially, what the Korean remake did here was reveal these two characters are gay, killed them both immediately after they decided to pursue a relationship with each other, and then had the het male lead character take over the body of this gay man and use it to enter into a relationship with a woman. Some aspects of this plot were present in the original tale, but this choice to add an additional gay character only to kill him and tie it to their moment of acknowledging their mutual attraction? Made it significantly worse. It was badly done and I will not applaud the drama for representation when they did it in such a cruel way. 

The Ending

SOOD ends on a hopeful but somewhat ambiguous note, with Yu Xuan in 2020 finding a way to go back and save Yun Ru (and Jun Jie by extension) and then breaking the time loop, sacrificing her relationship with Zi Wei in the process even as it breaks her heart (because the only way for them to meet and fall in love in 2010 was to stay in the loop). She sacrifices their romance, and all their memories together, because it’s the right thing to do—she inadvertently destroyed Yun Ru’s life with her time traveling, and she couldn’t live with that knowing there was a way to fix it. We are left with a broken time loop, original teen Zi Wei meeting child Yu Xuan again in 1998, and the hope that they will find a way to make their fates align again and be together without time travel complications. It’s just the right bittersweet touch to end the story on; their previous relationship was lost and their sacrifice was real, but there is hope for another version of a happy life together, someday.

By contrast, ATCY goes for a more explicit happy ending: Jun Hee makes the same choice to go back and save Min Ju, and to break the time loop and sacrifice her relationship with Si Heon, but in ATCY we then jump forward to 2011 to a happy epilogue to see Si Heon and Jun Hee meet as adults. And look, I love a happy ending! But what I said above about the sacrifice Yu Xuan and Zi Wei made in SOOD really resonating because of its bittersweet ending? That’s absent here, because ATCY decided they needed to put a bow on it and reassure us they would get back together. ATCY was just never willing to let us stay in the grief or commit to the darker and sadder aspects of this story, and as a result, the whole thing loses some of its impact.

[roomsofangel]

. . BY YOUR SIDE / DESTROY YOU

# CHAPTER TWO !

synopsis in which you were always the type to push down and never confront your past and the feelings that came with it — all of the pain and regret. but now you’re back at where it all started, having no choice but to face it and feel everything all at once

warnings y/n has a panic attack but its not detailed, only showing an implication that she is but the scene ends before it goes further

wc 1.4k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ^_^

you stretched out your body as someone would an old childhood shirt, bones cracking and falling into a more comfortable place with a quiet satisfied groan before rolled your shoulders back, looking around at the warehouse that was an agreed upon meeting destination. the nostalgia weighed heavy, you could swear you saw droplets of memories splattered around the scene outside and you cringed.

as if your mind was being read, you felt a warm calloused hand on your shoulder, “yeah. me too.” you glanced to see seonghwa who had a similar gaze that mirrored yours, lips pressed together in an attempt to give you a thin lipped but reassuring smile before he patted your back and continued on with his bass that was in his hand, resting in its own case.

part of you wanted to change your mind, but music was your passion. even when things fell apart back then, you still craved music and the arts of being on stage again someday kept you going. however ever since him, you struggled making a name for yourself after. for your own band after he left.

sometimes you could still taste the smoke if you focused hard enough but hongjoong snaps you into reality with a few calls of your name, you follow shortly after with an unsettling feeling in your stomach. just ignore it. you didn’t eat today so that could be it. just ignore it.

“you okay?” mingi noticed your discomfort, his voice a bit lower to keep the conversation between the two of you as he put his drumsticks in his back pocket and you nodded in response. “yeah, just nostalgic.” and he hummed, laughing a bit as a response as the two of you started to walk again to catch up with seonghwa and hongjoong. “yeah.. i feel that.”

you returned the small laugh, looking ahead and watching how hongjoong and seonghwa talked and looked at each other with stars in their eyes even after all these years, even after the three years all of you separated. at times, it feels as if none of you parted ways for that long. you could feel the lump in your throat, but you swallowed it down harshly and kept going. “so, we set up here and then what?” mingi’s voice prompted when the two of you made it to the others

“explore a little, we haven’t been on this side of town in.. what? three years?” hongjoong’s features scrunched up when he attempted to recall, seonghwa mumbled a confirmation while he was kneeled over tying his shoe and making sure everything was settled. “a lot has changed, and trapnest wont be here until another hour so we have time.” hongjoong continued

sooner rather than later, you found yourself walking the same streets that you swore you would never even think about again, much less be back where the air is suffocating and your clothes now felt tight. a lot has changed, only the dread stayed the same. it was a bittersweet atmosphere.

“oh! check it out, sakura boutique is still going strong,” seonghwa’s head motioned ahead, your gaze followed to see the light pink and beige clothing boutique where you used to spend some of your time with the owner. you wiped your damp palms on your hands, “crazy, do you think keomi still works there?” mingi asked before pausing to light the cigarette he had between his teeth, covering enough to block the wind with his hand until he lit up and continued walking.

“beats me, its been three years.” seonghwa shrugged, shoving his hands in his jacket’s pockets. you wondered if keomi still did too, but the last time you two talked she was eager on following after your footsteps and had a ticket to leave with you. the guilt was overwhelming, maybe its best to convince yourself she moved a long time ago and there was a new bubbly employee taking her spot.

exhaling the nicotine, mingi chuckled, “we should stop by there sometime.” he voiced his thoughts out loud as you all continued walking, seonghwa muttering a somewhat agreement while hongjoong only nodded to acknowledge the suggestion but not voice if he would be down for the visit or not. sharing a stolen glance with hongjoong, he lifted his finger to his head and swirled his finger to mimic a ‘this guy is crazy’ expression which made you snort, rushing to brush your hand over your mouth in an attempt to cover it up

“what’s so funny back there?” seonghwa teased, glancing towards you and hongjoong who smiled and tilted his head towards mingi who was focused more on looking around at the familiar shops and some if the new ones you assumed came long after all of you left.

the four of you looked around a bit more, deciding to wander around the shopping center you all used to hang out in a little too much that it seemed as if you lived there. and you weren’t sure how you got here, why your feet began to wander further and further away from your group until you walked into the bittersweet record-shop. you cringed at the scent that filled your nose rather then relished in as before, forcing a smile when an employee greeted you.

your manicured nails grazed some of the records, nearly scoffing at seeing a trapnest vinyl propped up with more of their works, noticing how blackstones were scattered around nearby. even now, you were living in someone’s shadow.

“there you are,” seonghwa chuckled, you only smiled in response, setting the vinyl down and giving him a bit more attention. “here i am,” you voiced back with a soft sigh. “can you believe they still have blackstone albums here?” you questioned with a slight smile and head shake, and seonghwa looked where you head motioned towards with your head and smiled

you noticed his eyes graze over and scan the more bigger shrine for trapnest, “used to be us.” he chuckled, his tone playful, “but it’s nice to see people see listen to us even after..” his voice trailed off and you knew exactly what he was referring to. no one liked to talk about it out loud, or even mention it fully unless it was like this and you only nodded.

“where’s mingi and joong?” you asked to steer the conversation into another direction, the two of you starting to walk down more of the aisles and looking around at more of the albums and vinyls. “food court, came to get you.” he replied, fixing his hair back up into the small ponytail he had it in and you nodded, “yeah i could use some food before going back.” you laughed, patting his shoulder and he playfully nudged you to the side causing the two of you to laugh a bit more before your attention faltered and wandered towards a specific part of the store

the lump in your throat was more prominent than ever, heart racing and stomach dropping. “what are you looking at?” seonghwa asked, before he followed your gaze and his face dropped as well as yours had. “y/n, come on,” he tried to drag you away so you didnt hurt yourself more by staring but you shook your arm out of his grasp

you swallowed harshly, unsure of whether it was okay to move yet or if you needed to hold onto something, “did you know?” you managed to croak out and seonghwa shook his head. “none of us did.” he reassured, voice barely audible and you couldn’t rip your eyes off that poster.

it was a band of five, four guys and a girl who you assumed to be the vocalist but your eyes weren’t on her, they couldn’t seem to hold on anyone except one member with a familiar lock necklace that you still had the key to even now, mockingly staring at you.

mouth dry, you blinked away tears and pulled seonghwa along out of the record shop in a haste, and seonghwa didnt hesitate to follow and the two of you walked and walked with no sign of stopping until you got to the food court where you saw concern gazes immediately from hongjoong and mingi when they noticed

“what happened?!” hongjoong asked, bringing you into his arms immediately and you could feel your knees giving up. no no, you cant do this here. why here? why now?

seonghwa looked at mingi and hongjoong, swallowing before speaking, “san is in trapnest.”

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taglist (open) @yoichiislovie

[reasonsmandy]

It's just me, you and the sea.

Warren Rojas x Fem!Reader

✧.* requested by anon — Hey there love! I got this idea: The reader is a director, especially music videoclips, she is Billy and Graham's sister (or not, your choice). When she's working, she is very professional, very confident too, but outside of work, she's a little more insecure, shy, and quiet, and Warren just loses his mind for her. He loves to make her nervous, especially because when he tries to flirt with her on sets, she just doesn't play along, you know. BUT, she thinks he's only messing with her. I also got this "vision" in mind of them talking at a party while she writes (because of course she kind of wants to be a movie director one day too). You can use it if you like😊 You can choose how it ends (hopefully a happy ending...? 😂)

✧.* summary — Your work has always been something that made you proud and happy and when you joined to serve the most famous band of the moment it was no different. The difference was the look he made you have over everything in just one rainy afternoon.

✧.* warnings — none.

✧.* word count — 3.3k

✧.* 🥁 — warren's masterlist

✧.* mandy's notes — I promised I'd come back and here I am, how are you? So, I know you suggested a party but I wanted to change the scene a bit, I hope you like it. Good reading 🫶🏾

The red lights adorned you along with the heat, you would hang the still-soaked revealed images on the strings while you thought about the next projects to come and how you would do them. The bedroom door opens catching your attention, you turn to see the figure of a brunette woman with her own series of images to reveal, you greet her with a smile and she takes a stand by your side.

Despite being an implicit rule in those environments where the art of photography should be admired, and that's what she did by looking at your photos hanging there.

“They are really beautiful.” You can hear the sincerity in her voice and it brings you comfort that pushes away your shyness.

“Thanks…” You release the last clip, and look at all the pictures with pride. “I'm more into filming but…for the first time with photos it wasn't bad, was it?”

“Not bad at all, they are amazing.” She points out. “You said you work with filming?” She asks the question expecting you to craft a conversation with her.

“Yeah, yes I've been working with filming for a while now. I started with some short films but now I'm making video clips. But I want something bigger, maybe to be a movie director someday.” You explain and she looks genuinely interested, you deduce this is a gift from her just from the minutes you spend together.

“Oh that sounds amazing.” She says now putting her pictures next to yours. “My husband is in a band, you know?”

“Really? Is it him in this picture?”

Camila nods, you tap your forehead turning to her.

“I'm sorry for being rude, my name is Y/N and yours?”

“I'm Camila.” She says, opening a majestic smile. “You should stop by the house sometime, I'd love to see your work. I'm sure my husband's band would love to have you record something for them.”

…

Warren was the last to sit down at the table, which automatically made him take everyone's subject in half. He bites the chicken wing while watching each of his friends trying to understand, effortlessly he lets himself be carried away in the observation.

“Cami, you can’t make compromises for us like that.” Billy says through a sigh, leaning his body back against the chair. “And it's even more complicated now that Daisy has to agree to everything before we do anything as a band.”

Camila tries not to show how the comment had upset her.

“Look, I know it can be tricky, but I understand that. Her work is really cool, it suits you. And who better to know that than me?” She jokes, eliciting a genuine smile from Eddie and Karen.

“I think it's worth a try” Karen says.

“It won't hurt anyone if we give it a chance." Eddie shrugs, with a smile. “And I trust your gut.”

“Sorry if I'm too high, but what the fuck are we talking about?” Warren interrupts, capturing everyone's attention.

Camila explains to him how he met you and her idea to make a music video for the band with her ideas and her direction, he instantly gets excited with the thought and volunteers to help Camila with whatever she needed and to help Billy convince Daisy too.

It wasn't difficult to get Jones to agree with the idea, the label also thought it was wonderful and soon the idea of the clip being released along with the tour dates was their great marketing strategy. The chosen song was 'Let Me Down Easy' by everyone's vote and the final touch was to look for you again to adjust the creative ideas and the budget of the project.

You knock three times on the door of Billy and Camila's house and wait for someone to answer you. The things in your bag were hanging while you felt the cool breeze against your body. The door is opened and your gaze lifts to see Rojas' curls and his eyes that smile at you, you straighten your body looking professional waiting for him to say something.

“You must be Y/N” His warm voice says, opening the door for you to enter. “Make yourself at home, if you want a beer or a cigarette we have everything outside.” He approaches you, as if to tell you a secret. “We don't keep any of that around Jules.”

You laugh at how excited he was, following him out of the house where everyone was gathered. Everyone's eyes on you make you a little uncomfortable but the drummer's hand on your shoulder brings you minimal comfort.

“The little star has arrived.” Warren makes sure to announce you, You frown at the nickname but smile small at the same time.

“It's so good to see you.” Camila comes to hug you tight. “Guys, this is Y/N… Y/N, This is Graham, Karen, Daisy, Billy and of course Warren that you met already. I'll let you guys talk about the clip and stay with Jules inside, if you need me just call.”

She approaches Billy and kisses him before walking through the doors of the house.

“So, do you have requirements for this project?” You say opening your notepad, ready to write whatever they were going to suggest.

They look at each other, you can see out of the corner of their eyes that they're waiting for someone to say something.

“Would you rather it be a clip of you performing with a story told through the music?” You drop another question, seeing that no one has said anything.

“Us playing is a pretty cool idea.” Billy seemed inclined to this suggestion but at the same time as his agreement was said Daisy's expression is one of denial.

“You know this is a song full of history, it would be perfect for us to show a story to our audience in it. After all, to see us playing they go to the show. We should do something new.”

“I kinda agree.” Eddie says, leaning his body back. “We can innovate with some storytelling.”

Billy frowned, you could see he didn't like to be crossed.

“Maybe we can mix the two ideas?” Graham suggests, you write it down.

“Don't worry Cariño, you'll get used to it eventually.”

You turn to him smiling a little embarrassed by the nickname, you close your notebook, leaning in to observe the band better.

“Well, I think we could mix the two ideas but... If my opinion as a professional is relevant, Daisy has a point.” You looked more at Warren while he spoke, for some reason he gave you confidence. “Nobody watches a clip with just the band playing, not the whole clip at least, you know?”

“So what do you suggest?” Billy says grumpy.

“I think we can use you as characters, telling the story of the song, so the audience gets to know the band members and focus on the lyrics through that story.”

“You're awesome.” Warren whispers in your ear, you open a small smile.

“You want us to act?” Graham asks.

“If it's not difficult for you, we can leave it enigmatic too. Obviously there will be no lines, what do you think of us doing a script?”

“Mi Alma, Maybe I'm being a little dumb but why script it if we don't have lines?” Warren asks.

“It would be a script for us to align what we are going to do, who will be the role, what story we will tell. This kind of thing.”

“Got It, keep going hermosa.”

“I like you!" Daisy utters, giving you a captivating smile. “I think we can start working on that, everyone agrees?”

Everyone agrees, even Billy, which is surprising.

“I can start working then, amazing, call me in two days.” You pack your things in your bag, looking at them one more time as a second check. “Any other requirements?”

Nobody answers you, so you take your work there for granted. Getting up to leave.

“Wait, I'll walk you to the door.” Warren is quick to follow you.

Upon entering the house again, her body warms up more because it is abandoned by the breeze outside, Camila, who was in the living room playing with Julia, is quick to get up with the toddler in her arms to say goodbye.

“How was it? Everything worked out?” She asks, Julia playing with her hair.

“Yeah, I'm full of ideas.” You answer excitedly, unconsciously sticking your purse to your body.

“She is a genius, Cami.” Warren says.

“You haven’t even seen my ideas yet.” You laugh, watching him with a smirk on your face.

“Tell me then.” You are taken aback by his answer, you didn't expect his interest to be so lasting. “I really want to know.”

You don't know how to respond, you look at Camila as a question, a request for help perhaps. She opens a smirk, you regret your choice instantly.

“There's a quiet beach nearby, I think you might like it.” Camila suggests, you arch your eyebrows. The corner of your eye going to Warren. “Maybe Warren is free to…”

“I am, I'm totally free.” He responds so fast that you can't help but laugh a little. “Are you up for it, tesoro?”

Camila nods, as if asking you to trust her.

“Okay, take me there.”

…

Warren's van stops a little away from the sand, on a cloudy day you knew the beach would be empty or at least with few people. You open the passenger seat window on the way in, aiming to feel the breeze on your face as a way to let go of the anxiety of the moment. Warren drove there, watching your movements in detail, just amazed by you.

The engine cuts off and then he turns to you, waiting for what you were going to do next. You after a while turn from the window to observe the curly haired man.

“So, tell me more about yourself, nena.” He says, you lean closer to him but not too much.

“Well, it's been a while since I moved here.I'm passionate about filming and directing, I've been producing my own thing but.” You give up talking, ashamed, few were the people who saw that potential in you.

“Really?” His eyes sparkle with excitement, you feel your heart race. “Damn it mami, is there anything you don’t do?”

“Lots of things actually Rojas, what's up with the nicknames, uh?” Your body leaning back against the bench was what he admired.

“They suit you.” He shrugs, adjusting his curls. “Now come on, let's go for a swim.”

He expected you to deny the suggestion, but you just open the van door and run across the sand. He flashes a gigantic smile and is quick to chase after you.

The closer you got to the sand, the more adrenaline was the essential boost to give you the courage to enter the icy waters. But that didn't seem to bother you at the time, you take your shirt off and leave it on the nearest rock before letting the water wet your skin.

“Come on, did you give up?” You yell at him, and he hurries to meet you there.

“Never, princesa.”

After a while in the water, you return to the sand, walking together to the most comfortable rocks to sit together. He helps you up, and you sit watching the clouds darken as the wind picks up, you hug your body trying to avoid the cold but the idea is without purpose and conclusion.

“That was so fun.” He says a little breathless.

“Yeah it was.” You agree, smiling at him. “But it's getting so cold…” Her voice came out shaky from the weather.

“Let's go to the van.” He helps you get up and guides you to the vehicle, and as the weather is waiting for you to leave, the rain starts to fall.

When you get into the van the adrenaline is still in you, Warren closes the windows so he can make the environment warmer for you, while the silence was comfort for both of you. He turns to you.

“I can drop you home now if you want.” he says, wishing your response was the opposite.

“I actually don't.” You say, taking your notebook off your bag. “I had so many ideas for your clip.”

“Meaning?” He asks, feeling happy to witness your explosion of creativity.

“Meaning I'll stay in your car until I finish my script.” You say poking the tip of his nose with the pencil. “I'm sorry… I don't want to take up your whole night.”

“Are you kidding me?” He speaks excitedly, turning completely towards you to see you better. “I'm so ready for this!”

“You want to participate?” Surprised, you question, unable to contain your smile.

“Of course I want, tell me, what do you need?” He says, ready to start the van engine.

“I mean, I could eat” You shrug, very happy to have more time with him.

“So that's it cariño, We're getting food and then spending the rest of the necessary time in this van working together!”

He drives for as long as he can on the road near the waterfront, a request from you, that you keep your creativity. The rain was still falling, making a steady pattern against the window, which strangely helped you to concentrate which he quickly notes, finding it adorable. After getting your food he brings you back to the same beach, you can't stop thinking about how much gas he was wasting, which made you laugh.

“You know, now I can say with absolute certainty that you are amazing.” Warren says after a long silence, the water droplets are now falling unevenly. You turn to him, closing the notebook.

“Again Rojas, you haven't seen anything yet.” You sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. “I don't know if I'm doing a good job anyway.”

“Can I see what you have ready?” He asks gently, reaching out to take his notebook.

Every second he read it was more torturous for you, so you focus on the water for a bit hoping his calmness will help your heart to do the same.

“This is amazing, really, you are a volcano of creativity.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “No need to exaggerate, but that was the funniest compliment I've ever received.”

“I'm not exaggerating, I'm great with it. They will love it, trust me.” He strokes her hair, kissing the top of her head. “I've known them forever, and I know this is going to turn out spectacular.

“I don't know why I'm being insecure about this job…” You whisper, still lying on his shoulder.

“I don't want to screw this up or let Cami down

...”

You don't finish the sentence, you leave what you were thinking in the air

“Look mi cielo, the sun is rising... How about we walk along the shore together? While we think about the end of this script?”

You break into a huge smile “Did you by any chance come out of a romantic comedy?”

“That's where you go wrong, I'm a mix of all kinds of movies.” He takes turns when he notices that the rain was now just more water in the distant sea. He opens the door going to the beach again, you notice that this time he leaves his shoes in the van, his vest still wet was there too.

You shake your head at the person he is, how he made everything seem simple and light, you see him waiting for you on the sand and open the door without hesitation. Going towards him little by little, for Rojas it was like watching a work in motion, beauty and calm was what you meant to him every minute more together with you.

He brings his hands to your waist, and you automatically tuck yours around his neck, closely watching his every expression.He smiles, pulling you close in a hug, you feel welcomed like you haven't felt in a long time, he pulls away to guide you along the shore as promised.

“Hermosa…” He calls you, and you notice only now that you got so used to all the nicknames he gave you. “I would like to know more about that project of yours that you mentioned earlier.”

Your body freezes, you turn to him looking for any hint of irony or joke, there is none. He just smiled, happy and curious about everything that his person was involved in.

“I don't have a lot ready, but I wanted something more thought out before starting any recordings.” You talk by walking with your feet dragging instead of lifting them when you step. “But basically it's the story of an incomplete romance, which never worked out in the past, but due to a certain event they meet again.But there's a reason why this romance didn't work out, and I want to show that as my story goes on, making my audience figure it out at the climax and ultimately resolve the conflict. Of course it's not just about the romance, there are supporting characters and other characters I want to elaborate on, but this is what I have ready.”

“I would watch this for sure.” You knew that Golden retriever impersonation wasn't lying to you. “I would love to see everything you're doing, like, see the things you have ready and maybe inspire you to put a beautiful drummer character in it.”

“Do you want to be my muse Rojas?” You speak with a smirk on your face, he licks his lips and then smiles at you, the tension between you two growing.

“Maybe I want to cariño.” He whisper, getting closer to you, the light was still weak because the sun was rising slowly, your clothes were still relatively cold due to the adventure they had in diving the waters earlier, when his hands slowly go to your waist over the shorts you were wearing, your body shivers visibly.

Warren notices, and pulls away a little afraid he's crossed a line with you. You take his hands as he pulls away, placing them back on your waist. Slowly you lift your hands from his neck to the nape of his neck, stroking the wet curls tenderly.

“I want you to be, but not only that…” You say shyly, your gaze momentarily going to waves. “Whatever this is here, this connection, I want us to continue. Like, seeing each other even after the clip is done.”

“You can be sure this will happen.” He reassures you, kissing your forehead.

You pull back after the cuddle to look him in the eyes, and stare at the drummer's lips. You take a deep breath and pull him close to you, kissing his lips gently and slowly. Feeling the fireworks in his stomach explode with each touch, he pulls you closer to feel his body more, caressing your waist as he feels your fingers play with his locks. You've never had such an incredible work experience.

He wraps his arms around your waist tighter and lifts you up, you start laughing as you ask him over and over again what he was doing, he guides you once again to the waters where you watch together as the sun takes over the sun and gradually warms your skin, you play and have fun for a time that you don't see go by and you didn't want to.

“Won’t the others be worried about your disappearance?” You ask, hugging him like the waters hugged you. The crystal clear water showed you how beautiful your bodies were together.

“I don't care, I want to stay with you a little longer." He confesses, making you roll your eyes with a smile. He kisses you one more time, not caring about anything around her. “Don't worry about anything else, it's just me, you and the sea.”

...

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[misstalwyn]

making a massive sonic movie 3 spoiler post to get all my insane thoughts out in a place with 1) no character limit and 2) functional tags + tools lol

don't look unless youve seen it! or if you're ready to lose a measurable amount of respect for me!!

if you had told tiny little 12 year old me that someday people would not only NOT flame Amy simply for existing in this cast, but that she would have people screaming and clapping for her in public?? she wouldve called you a cruel liar! but youre not! and its finally her time!!!

I'M SO HAPPY IT WAS HER I'M NOT EVEN MAD MY SILVER PREDICTION WAS WRONG LOL (tho i did think silver wouldve been waaaaaay too much too soon and i'm glad they agreed thank god)

i had her with me ofc bc she came with the set and its like they knew they had to complete it and now i want to CRY

i dont even know if i can expand on the fact that SHE saved SONIC???? will that flip the script?? is metal her rival rather than his at first??? and why on earth did they show half of that scene in the TRAILERS????

anyways, i'm so glad they let Shadow be SILLY! even SXSG shied away from the stuff they had him do here! that boy was towing Maria around the labs and having movie marathons and making snow angels and its like every little piece of domestic fanart I've seen of them came to life and it was perfect

its still sooo fucking funny to me that they really went all-in on "50 years ago is now the 70's" bc that aesthetic worked like a charm and i can't imagine anything else now. it is kinda jarring that theyre not on the ARK and Maria isn't sick but ofc the narrative still works without those facts. people are gonna be a bit upset about that one, but out of allll the plot holes this movie has (they NEVER explain how tf Gerald is still alive btw), that's one that's pretty easy to step over

there was one part with Gerald yelling "KIDS!" and both of them turn around and it just GOT me right thru the heart like yes!! he was a kid, too!! in between all the tests and labwork, he was learning how to live and they took it all away from him right when he was starting to figure it out :(((((

their first meeting here might be so good it deserves to be canon, i'm just saying. i think that'll make me cry on the rewatch for sure

i wonder if he's just gonna chill in that random field in oklahoma like when he landed the first time lol. he deserves some peace and quiet now especially since they went with the angle that he FELT all 50 years passing?? just lived the worst moment of his life over and over and over??? holy fuck

it did kinda fuck me up in the beginning bc they kinda-sorta imply that the accident was SHADOW'S fault, then they make you wait till then end for the full flashback, where not-commander-tower actually tried to save them but the solider fired anyway

they might have fucked around and accidentally made the most tragic/angry version of Shadow bc he not only got to stew on his anger for decades, but they literally gave him a Superman origin and Gerald was just the scientist assigned to figure out wtf he was actually lol. so you just KNOW they have a "press in case of BLACK ARMS INVASION" button ready to go for another movie so he can have another identity crisis when he finds out he's literally a herald of destruction!!!!!!!!

oh yeah this movie was supposed to be about sonic actually huh

i think i agree with the general reaction that his character is really great here! the first 20 minutes are basically every trailer we've seen in sequence, so his jokes & one-liners feel top-heavy and then they even out, esp as the later acts kick in and there's no more time for games lol. those trailers are doing him a bit of a disservice now bc compared to the eggmen, sonic is hardly that obnoxious in the full film, but the marketing doesnt care ofc

The Scene that mirrors Shadow's last moment with Maria is SO GOOD, i'm kinda shocked they didn't have him turn right there (but i'm glad that it was Sonic that made him turn, and that he got to throw some of his rage right back at him in process)

Kinda goddamn wild that for a moment it seemed like Shadow had fully killed a human, onscreen, in front of god and everybody. I actually wondered if he could still come back from that, for a minute.

it seems to be a common opinion that they went a bit too far with the jim carrey-isms, and i agree. i generally felt like it was an ok balance for awhile, then they cut into LIVE & LEARN with gerald spanking ivo and i actually sighed and cringed. you dont cut into live & learn for anything, but especially that!!!!

god, i need that orchestral remix like yesterday, its already bad enough we have to wait till christmas for SXSG soundtrack! GIVE IT UP ALREADY

best jim carrey scene was the doomed yaoi speech, oh my god

RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU HEARD "I AM THE EGGMAN" ON HIS PHONE AND SCREAMED, TOO

losing it at how they literally assigned shadow to hangout with stone and he was just like "ok" and they watched tv together lol

Stone was fucking awesome when he actually had scenes to himself holy fuck Lee get that bag!!

REVENGE GUAC!!!!!!!!!!!!

putting my tinfoil hat on and claiming the novela scenes and guac bit as an acknowledgment of Shadow's loyalty to the latinas, as a latina myself this is within my power

as a whole, bits like the novela and team knuckles are soooo much stronger and natural than the mandatory dance scenes and branding shoutouts, god i hope that sticks in whatever comes next!!

i understand no one liked the wedding scene in 2 but i LOVED it and was kinda sad that special agent derek morgan was just a disguise here but the way they used him was great, so i guess i'm just glad they kept him around

director rockwell just kinda? came outta nowhere and then disappeared to nowhere?? oh well her character was just kinda filler huh. and here i had a crackpot theory that she was rouge in disguise lmao

am i stupid or have we NEVER gotten a super sonic vs super shadow before?? i cant remember every detail of things like sonic x, but of mainline stuff??? they mightve given us a first?!

MAKING THE POSE™️ SUPER WAS A+++ THO GOOD FUCKIN JOB

Keanu was sooooo good god i cannot wait until modders just splice his lines from here into the dlc and then it'll be perfect

i am realizing now that i love how they leaned more into Shadow's POV esp in Sonic becoming angrier and driven and just like him (almost like goddamn SCOURGE of all things), but it works very well and makes this feel more like a different kind of SA2 rather than SA2: the Movie, if that makes sense lol

i can't wait until they get halfway thru the next movie, walk into one of Stone's bustling new chain of coffee shops, and Shadow is just there chillin

soundtrack as a whole was SO strong! lot more familiar melodies and in total everything felt suited to the tone. the eggmen dance scene had a good song choice, even if i didnt like the scene itself lol

Maria had her own little theme and thinking about now is just gonna make me cry oh god

feels weird to realize now but i think they only called shadow the ultimate lifeform ONCE, in total. ig it wasn't really important but it's more apparent compared to SXSG where they say it every 2 seconds

What are the fucking odds that the same day a new Superman is revealed, Shadow is given a Superman origin?? COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT

am i done? will probably throw more up after my second watch lol look out

VAYA CON DIOS, SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG

SHE'S READY FOR 2027

[jeremiah-fisher]

you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「epilogue — jeremiah, reader insert」

JEREMIAH

. . .

SEPTEMBER

“Jere, come on. I’m gonna be late for school and it’s only the first day!” 

A sense of euphoria washes over me. All these years together, being friends and now something more, not a moment goes by when I’m bored with her, bored seeing her. In a lot of ways, her face or her voice or even the shape of her smile makes my head all loopy and I’m reminded of the fact that I’ll be in love with her all my life. 

My best friend, my girlfriend, and someday – my wife. 

Contentedly, I sit back against the sofa and smile at my phone screen. The FaceTime video call has been going on for the last almost hour. We even left it on when we both hopped in the shower twenty minutes ago. My hair’s still a little wet but I don’t care half as much as I should.

“Give me a minute more,” I ask – beg – in the sweetest voice I can muster. I’ve always been told I have a nice voice, by more than one member of the opposite gender. YN most of all. “I just wanna start my day right.”

YN rolls her eyes as she sets her phone up in the car. As she snaps on her seatbelt, she mumbles, “And seeing me will do that?”

“Uh huh.”

A grin spreads YN’s lips wide, and for the umpteenth time, I mourn the fact that I can’t just grab her by the chin and kiss her for hours and hours until our lips become one. Or something cheesy like that. 

The two of us have been apart since a few days ago. 

On our last day in Cousins, Laurel was in lieutenant mode and made all of us clean the house – from top to bottom. We weren’t allowed to go to the beach in case we dragged more sand in and we had to sit and eat every meal together, all leftovers except for breakfast. Those were the rules. 

The YLNs came over for dinner, too, and they brought the only fresh food we ate that night – carne guisada, which YN jokingly told me her mother slaved over. I had three servings because it was so good. Then I caught Conrad cleaning the glass pan out with his finger before it got placed in the dishwasher and the scene shouldn’t have been as funny as it was when I chuckled to myself about it before sneaking out of the house to go to YN’s for one last night.

Being back in Boston feels strange. More strange than all the other summers, probably because without really saying it, all of us knew, in one way or another, that that summer was the last. The last one we would all share together. Mom says the doctors have told her she has less than a year. 

I shake off the thought as I continue staring at YN as she drives forward.

“Don’t you have to get to school, too?”

Quickly, I scan the time hanging on the top of my phone. “Yeah, in like, fifteen.” 

“Then get a move on, Fishie. Don’t be late on your first day.”

I salute her and hop to my feet. YN laughs and continues driving. I place my phone on the kitchen counter then dig through the refrigerator for the lunch Mom packed for me last night. I told her she didn’t have to, especially since she and Dad spent the weekend helping Conrad move into his dorm room, but she was insistent, said she wanted things to be normal even though they weren’t, when they would never be again. 

“Guess what my mom packed me for lunch?”

“What?”

I lift the tupperware high above me and check. “Two slices of pizza from last night’s dinner and a pasta salad.”

“Fantastico!” 

Her terrible Italian accent makes me laugh as I grab my backpack and shove my lunch inside. Then I grab my phone again as I go to the door to put on my shoes. 

“Jere, I’m almost at school so I’m gonna go, okay?” 

I nod, then realize she can’t see me. I pick up the phone and smile at her. “Okay. Talk to you later?” 

“Yeah. I’ll text you.” YN seems to stop at a red light and gives me her full attention for a moment. “Tell Susannah I love her.” 

My heart burns. I take a breath. I need to joke my way out of this before I start crying on my way to the first day of school. “What about me?”

“Well, you already know it.”

“Know what?” 

YN, again, rolls her eyes good-naturedly but then she smiles, too. The smile I love most. “I love you, Jeremiah Fisher, and I always will. Now have a good first day of senior year.”

“The last school year I’m spending without you, by the way.”

YN smirks, and it’s fond, sweet in a way which promises something even sweeter. “We’ll see.”

After she clicks off, I text Mom to let her know I’m going to school. I know she won’t see it until noon, since she needs the sleep, but the less I make her worry, the more there is a chance to keep her with me just a little while longer.

. . . 

OCTOBER

True to my word, I fork over more than a hundred dollars on clothing and makeup for my Halloween costume to make it the best one I have ever worn. When YN first lays eyes on me, she is elated and jumps into my arms to kiss me so hard that we very nearly topple over. Everyone at the bus stop stares at us, but we don’t really care. We never have. 

After YN finds out the lengths I went to make her nerdy Star Wars dream come true, she gets a little quiet and tells me I didn’t have to. Except when I look at her own costume, I know she put in the effort, too. She even has a gun that looks more real than plastic. We don’t say it, but we know it, we know why we put in the effort and that’s enough. 

We end up going to a party my friend, Tag, is throwing at his house. His parents let him host and left him the house and their car then dipped to hang out with their own friends. Tag says he promised them no more than ten people maximum but when YN and I show up to a house full of teenagers and possible college students, we know that to be a lie. 

Almost everyone from school is here – from freshmen to seniors. We fill up the whole house. There is a massive stereo in the backyard and everyone is dancing to the mixes our school DJ, Andy, puts together. He has a dream of touring the world someday. He’s been chasing it since middle school. When we apply to colleges next month, I know he won’t be participating. 

We throw back a few drinks first. I introduce YN to everyone who doesn’t know her, and re-introduce her to others as my girlfriend. We get the typical ‘ooo’s’ and ‘I knew it’s’ and though it makes YN blush, the last thing she does is put space between us when I keep her close to my side. If anything, her hold on me is as tight as mine on hers, as if some part of us is terrified of letting the other go. 

Andy gets everyone dancing with an old-school mix and it’s fun being in the circle with everyone cheering and laughing. We take a lot of pictures, too, with a few going up on the ‘gram the moment we take them. YN hides her face in my neck for most of them but I don’t mind. Being camera shy is something that I find cute about her. The only time she isn’t is when I’m behind the camera.

YN has a tipsy smile on her face as she listens to one of the football guys tell a – in his words – hilarious story about the time he slept with three different college girls all within the same month.

I tickle my fingers on her side and teasingly ask, “Hey, wanna see my light saber?” As her brows rise cartoonishly, I laugh and pull her away to show her the addition to my Anakin Skywalker costume. I swing it around in the air while YN turns beet red. “Cool, huh?” 

“I-I thought–” 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Daisy,” I tease, then wink just to see her blush deepen. I love when she blushes, especially when it’s for me. 

Slowly, an expression I’ve never seen before passes over her features, crawls into the crevices of her skin, then lays there ready for me to contemplate it. Then, in an opposite fashion, YN grabs my hand and drags me away, through the crowds of high schoolers and possibly some college kids, until we’re on the first few steps of the basement. There’s a light flickering periodically below but no one is present. 

I look at her quizzically. “What’s up?”

Her eyes darken, and she peers back at me seemingly in a trance. On the step, YN takes a step closer, her familiar perfume clouding my senses. Her gaze flickers down to my lips, impatient and hungry. “I want you.” 

“W-Wait… right now?” She nods then tilts her head towards the small living room set-up on the basement floor. A flash of excitement burns through me. I grab her hand. “Okay, let’s go.” 

Despite the fact that neither of us bothered to lock the door before we tore into one another, YN doesn’t hold back her sounds at all. A few times, I have to clamp my hand down on her mouth out of fear. The way she is now, only a few months after the first time we did this, is different, in the sexiest way imaginable. If we weren’t at a party full of people talking and dancing just a floor above us, I wouldn’t make her hold back any noise at all. 

Back upstairs a short while later, YN stands by the basement door running her fingers through her hair to get the knots out. Even though we tried our hardest not to make any noise, I didn’t hold back on messing up her hair. To me, she looked hot as fuck this way, but I knew she was a little embarrassed by what people might think. 

Penny, from my algebra class, walks past us. She takes one look at YN and me and asks, “What happened to you?” 

YN doesn’t miss a beat. “My boyfriend brought his light saber.” 

I choke on a laugh, hiding it behind my hand as Penny hoots with laughter, nodding as she walks off, probably to gossip. I throw my arm around YN’s waist and hug her to myself, laying a kiss on her cheek. 

“Wanna ditch and go trick-or-treating?”

The first few houses are awesome. We get so much candy that it fills up three quarters of our bags. YN claims it’s enough and maybe we should turn back and go home, watch that new horror movie with my mom, but I convince her to hit one more house before we do. 

It’s a ginormous place, bigger than my house, and has a Lexus and Porsche in the driveway. The lawn decorations are out of this world, too, with a huge lit-up skeleton which beckons us closer with a robotic finger and about a thousand mini pumpkins. It’s, without a doubt, the best decorated place on the street. 

We walk up the doorway with giggles, avoiding the fog machine and the little kids running past us. When we get to the door, there is a man there. He has black hair, round eyes, and glasses from another millennia, except, he doesn’t look older than thirty-five. He has a bowl of candy in his arms – all full-size bars.

“Oh my God, jackpot!” YN squeals, grabbing my forearm and rushing us up to him. As soon as we get close enough, she cheers, “Hi! Happy Halloween!” 

The man stares her up and down, and it pisses me off. He’s staring, scrutinising, and being completely apparent about it. Mom always taught me that staring at people was wrong because it could make them uncomfortable. Seeing this guy do it and watching YN’s beautiful smile slowly fade away, I understand that. 

Finally, he comments, “Aren’t you two a little old to be trick-or-treating?” 

YN looks the man dead in the eye, undeterred despite the loss of her smile. “Aren’t you a little young to be so cranky?” Then she smacks on her sweetest smile, brighter than the one before, and nods to his bowl of candy. “I’ll take the Skittles, please.” Warily, he hands it to her, seemingly confused by her retaliation. “And for my boyfriend, a Mars bar.” He hands it to me just as uneasily. We’re about to leave when YN reaches out and grabs a Kit-Kat, too, right from the bowl. The man is shaken but YN is the complete opposite. She shoots him another smile. “For compensation.”

The adrenaline rush that seems to course through YN’s system passes into me and we race down the steps, running towards my car parked on the end of the road. As soon as we’re close enough, I push her up against the passenger door, dropping my bag of candy without a care as the urge to kiss her forever takes over. YN giggles, murmuring something about how “absolutely anything turns you on,” and I have half a mind to tell her it’s her, just her, which does so.

We drive home with the heater on blast, our teeth chattering from the intensity of October rolling into November. YN has her feet tucked under her, and periodically feeds me red, orange, and yellow Skittles. As we’re turning into my street, I bite down on the pad of her index finger and she curses me out as I bark out a genuine laugh. 

Mom throws open the door and smiles at us from the porch while we’re still lugging our candy bags and YN’s backpack out of the backseat. Though, as soon as the two most important women in my life catch sight of each other, I’m left to bring everything in myself as YN launches herself at my mother in a hug even bigger than the one she gave me. 

“Where’s Con?” 

The question spills out of me as soon as I’m inside. Mom brings her attention away from YN to give me a small smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and it instantly makes me regret asking. 

Conrad promised he would come down for the weekend. His midterm exams aren’t until November 4th, so Mom was really excited to see him for a bit before he locked himself in his dorm and studied away for hours and days. 

“He couldn’t make it,” Mom replies.

YN finds my eyes but I try in earnest not to reveal even a drop of the ire pumping in my veins. I pull out my phone and text my brother, asking him where he is. Of course, it goes unread, which isn’t surprising, but it ticks me off all the same. I think about calling him but Mom catches my attention with a suggestion. 

“Who’s joining me for Carrie?”

. . . 

NOVEMBER

“Yeah, Mom, I know. I know. I’ll get it done. Chill.” 

All week, Mom has been hounding my ass about college applications. The deadlines for the colleges we decided on are due between tomorrow and next week. There are approximately five I’m applying to. I thought three would be enough, but Mom and Dad took that to mean that I wasn’t nearly as interested in getting into a post-secondary institution as they hoped, so now I’m stuck with five options and the only one I truly care about is Fraiser Mont – the college YN has her heart set on. 

I’ve been researching it since September when YN mentioned it for the first time. They have a variety of different programs which are interesting enough, a hockey team, and the campus is less than an hour away from my house. I’d be a shoo-in if not for the fact that my GPA is less than stellar. So I’m stuck with two options: either go to a different school or convince the admissions department that I’m worth attending their school despite my lack of intelligence. 

Dad said he can speak to the admissions coordinator on my behalf, see if there’s any other monetary way of getting in, but I turned him down because YN would hate me if she knew I pulled strings to get in. Even though she herself was worried about if she would or not, I knew she would, in the end. I read her admissions essay – I suck at English but I knew that what I was reading was a work of art. And with her GPA, there’s no way they’d pass her up.

So, I have to get in. I just have to. I meant it when I told her this year would be the last one I would spend without her. Sometimes, I feel like I need her like water or air. Like I can’t live without her. We’ve gone all these years without each other during the school months, but I don’t want to imagine more time apart. I can’t bear it. Not anymore. Maybe my Mom dying from cancer, my father being scarce as possible at home, and my brother going days without replying to my texts has something to do with it, but I don’t want to think about that. 

I’m at my desk, staring out the window, hoping that I can finish this essay today and get it edited by Dad’s co-worker’s daughter who’s an English teacher, when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. 

Daisy: hey, jere-bear

Daisy: whatcha doin

I smile, picking up my phone, and for a little while, I forget the stress on my shoulders and clawing erratically at my heart. 

. . .

DECEMBER

The cold air is frigid on my skin as YN and I skate around and around downtown. We’ve been here for more than an hour now with the sun dipping away behind us. 

I love being on the ice. More than I have ever enjoyed being on the field. There is just something about it that makes me want to throw on my skates and spend as much time as possible skating around, the ice beneath my feet. 

I haven’t told Dad yet, but Mom and I went to Fraiser Mont last weekend to talk to the varsity hockey coach about letting me play for the school team next September. He said that because I was a late addition, I would have to come out to practices starting in July before the official try-outs in September. I told him I was willing to put in the work if there was any possibility that I could finally play hockey. 

“Hey,” YN asks, alerting me to her voice and the fact that I’m not alone in my bedroom with my thoughts, “what are you thinking about?”

I take her gloved hand in mine and bring her into me. I move some hair out of her eyes then fix her green hat before I answer. “I need to talk to my dad about hockey.”

“You haven’t told him yet?” 

“No.” I look away for a second. “He’s not gonna like it.” 

YN pinches my cheek. “He’ll just have to deal. You’re doing this for you. Not him.”

“Still… Fisher men play football. Not hockey.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t change tradition.” YN wraps her arms around me in a hug then brings us face-to-face. Her face that I’m obsessed with has the telltale signs of a smile about to blossom upon it. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one?” 

“I’m not a boring girlfriend, Fishie,” she teases, pecking the tip of my nose. “Especially not on your birthday.” With that, she untangles herself from me and skates towards the edge where our bag is. “Come on!” 

On the road, YN stays utterly mum about where we’re going. Her hands on the steering wheel are determined, though, so at least I know we’re on a time constraint. 

Being downtown, especially on a Saturday night, YN rolls her eyes and mumbles curses towards a number of other drivers from the comfort of my car. There’s just so many of them, and quite a few seem to be heading in the same direction as us. When we pass by McLaughry Road, I start making guesses about where we’re headed. 

“Are we going to the art gallery?” 

“Nope.” 

“The science centre?”

“Nah.” 

“The…” What else is there? “Wait… the concert hall?” 

YN giggles. “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” 

I lay back against my seat and grin. I know without even asking what this is about. Though, I find myself asking anyway. “Who’s concert?”

YN nods towards the glove box. I pull it open to see she’s placed a small box in there – the exact same box I used to give her Jonas Brothers’ concert tickets when we were thirteen. Excitedly, I throw it open to see two black and red tickets. I pick them up and scan the title. 

The Pentoglome Theatre Presents: Chase Atlantic - Live in Concert

“No way,” I start laughing, glancing at her in the driver’s seat in awe. “How’d you get these?”

“By using three different devices – all at the same time.” 

I lean across the middle console to kiss her cheek. I’d kiss her mouth if she wasn’t crossing a green light. A slow, easy grin spreads across her mouth, lifting her cheeks cheerfully. A part of me thinks we – and everyone else on the road – are lucky she’s in the driver’s seat and not me because I know we wouldn’t be crossing another streetlight right now if we were. 

The theatre is alight with a thunderous crowd, buttery popcorn, the scent of beer, and a buzz of excitement. YN tucks her hand into mine and lets me drag us through the hundreds of bodies until we find a spot we like. I wrap my arms around her from the back as the show starts, kissing her cheek relentlessly just to see her giggle. I’ll never tell her but her laugh alone is better than the performance we’re about to see. 

When the band comes out, we throw our arms up in the air and scream along with everyone else in the venue. The moment the first few chords of Into It start, the crowd goes wild. We all sing-along, word for word, with so much enthusiasm that the ground shakes beneath our feet. I don’t even notice when I lose myself to the music, not even when YN pulls out her phone to record me with bright eyes and red cheeks. 

Halfway through the show, as the band is performing Falling, I remember our summer, and how much I wanted to kiss her when we were driving home one night. Back then, I had to hold back. We both did. Because we were hiding, lying to ourselves that we didn’t love each other the way we did – the way we do, and always will. And even though I can’t change the past, I know I have every power imaginable to pick my present. 

I set my hand on YN’s waist and tug her into me. Although she’s a little startled, her eyes are full of that same fondness I adore. Her hands fall against my chest, and she says, “Hey.” 

“Hi,” I say back just before I dip my head down and bring her lips into a kiss I’ll never get tired of giving. And when she smiles into it, I know she shares the same feeling.

And you keep on falling, baby, figure it out. 

. . . 

JANUARY

“Jeremiah!” My Mom’s booming voice raises the hair on my arms as I’m laying in bed killing zombies. I sit up and run to my door, worried that she’s fallen sick or needs an ambulance. I checked on her an hour ago and she was fine, on the phone with a friend with her book half-finished next to a cup of oolong tea. Dad’s been pushing her to drink it, multiple cups a day, ever since he read an article about how it’s good for breast cancer patients. Mom smiles and drinks it for him, to appease him even though they’re hardly married anymore. “Jeremiah, come down here!” 

I take the steps two at a time, bounding down the staircase in a flurry of emotions and intrigue. At the bottom, I find my mother by the bannister holding up a giant, red and white envelope with Fraiser Mont’s emblem encrusted on the front. I tear my eyes away from it for a second to stare at her. Mom grins, and even though her eyes are more sunken in and her skin is losing its radiance, she still looks like Mom and she’s so happy that I know, even without looking, that whatever’s in there is a positive thing. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket and call YN, following Mom to the breakfast table where she and I take our seats. YN picks up the call and easily, her face falls into view. She’s wearing a face mask, one of those jelly ones she loves, and asks me what happened. 

Mom holds up the envelope to the camera. I grin as YN rips off her mask and cramps closer to the screen. Her big, brown eyes take up the whole thing, which makes Mom chuckle while my nerves start ringing. YN received her acceptance a few days ago and we celebrated over FaceTime. I wonder if we can go for round two now. 

Mom pushes the envelope towards me. My hands shake as I rip off the circular sticker. Inside, the contents provided are a single, folded letter printed on thick, white paper, a program brochure, and a small packet of stickers with the university’s name and mascot – an otter – on them. 

I start to open the letter then stop. I look at Mom then at my girlfriend. I’ve never felt more stressed than right at this moment. “If I don’t get in…” 

“You will,” Mom cuts in, patting my hand lovingly. Her touch is warm despite the fragility of her skin and the bones peeking out. It hurts to look at her sometimes, the way she is now. Her weight is nearly half of what it was in the summer. “You have to believe you will, Jere.” 

I swallow then nod. I snatch a glance at YN who smiles back at me like she believes it, too. With newfound courage, I flip the letter open and begin to read out loud. 

“Dear Mr. Jeremiah Fisher,” I breathe out, slow and forcing myself not to read ahead, lest the disappointment come too early, “on behalf of our esteemed institution, Fraiser Mont is delighted to–” YN lets out a squeal of delight before I finish reading whilst my mother throws her arms around me in a tight hug. I start shaking but with Mom holding me the way she is, I know I won’t be falling off this chair. I swallow twice before continuing. “– offer you admission to the Class of 2016. It is our pleasure to invite you to join our illustrious college which will set you firm on the path to future success. Congratulations!” 

Mom kisses the top of my head repeatedly. “Oh, my darling boy! I’m so proud of you! So proud!” 

I hug her back with equal enthusiasm while YN pretends she isn’t wiping her tears away on FaceTime. I grab my phone and grin at her. 

“Can’t get rid of me now, Daisy.” 

YN mirrors my grin, and just like all the other moments I've spent with her, I see my whole life ahead of me by her side. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[puellainalba]

Cineris Somnia: A strangely beautiful dream

“I hope that someday, you'll dream of me.”

Cineris Somia brings a feeling as if you are embarking on nostalgic memories, on distant dreams that go from something bright to something dark and gray.

As expected from a walking simulator, you walk a lot around the map, you are guided mainly by papers spread across them; they tell most of the story and even break the fourth wall in a way by talking to the player. Many of the things you will read will depend on your personal interpretation to understand what is happening.

The entire ambiance of the game gives me a strong feeling of nostalgia, it is at first glance calm, “innocent” — But it doesn't take long for the environment to gradually become heavier, dark. This is something I really like and the game does very well.

Prelude - The Green Butterfly Chapter: The Girl

“A young girl wakes up by the sea. All that's left is her sister's yellow bucket and the sandcastle they just built together. Her mother is nowhere to be found. Blinded by the blinding light of the sun, the young girl takes the first step on a strange and mysterious journey.”

The game starts with you controlling an unnamed girl, just called “The Girl” she wakes up alone on a beach, apparently she was there with her mother and sister and ended up dozing off. Her objective here is very simple: get to the beach lighthouse. Along the way, you'll find some papers with some writing on them, but nothing that makes much sense at first. When you reach the top, the chapter will end and you will wake up in the chapter selection room.

This story has a continuity after you finish all the others, but I prefer not to give details as it would be a spoiler!

The Blue Butterfly Chapter: Marie

“Marie is a happy, pure and active girl. She whimsically runs through the dark depths of the forest, wearing pajamas and a cape. But there is an important reason why she came to this forest.”

This chapter is entirely set in a forest, green and blue tones are the highlight. There you meet Marie, a little girl who walks around with an empty white bird cage, she is after a blue bird and you need to help her look for it.

Although at first everything is very innocent and childish, at the end of the chapter a cruel secret is revealed.

The White Butterfly Chapter: Charlotte

“A young woman confined to a sanatorium, her body full of diseases. She is very quiet and has an air of maturity far superior to most children her age. She eagerly awaits promises made long ago with someone very special to be fulfilled.”

Charlotte spends her days alone in the sanatorium, wishing to visit a rose garden. The environment is dominated by a light white, making the corridors appear very similar to each other. At the end of the chapter, red is very present, contrasting against white.

According to the chapter, you help the girl with small things, such as delivering letters and finding some items. As you find the letters and read them, you will understand more and more about Charlotte's story and everything that is happening. Along with this, the environment changes little by little, in such a subtle way that it is difficult to notice at first — but when you look closely, it will be a little different than it was at the beginning.

This was one of my favorite chapters, even though it left me with a “bittersweet” feeling at the end.

The Black Butterfly Chapter: Ophelia

“Daughter of a prestigious family that owns vast lands and an extravagant mansion. She is tormented by intense self-loathing due to her belief that she is ugly and plain. Raised by cold and unloving parents, she spends her days in loneliness and despair, following the orders of her mother and father.”

This chapter is quite different from the others. Unlike the others where the environment is mostly bright and well lit and gradually becomes dark, this one has a dark setting from the beginning — with few scenes where the lighting is similar to the other chapters.

As soon as you find Ophelia, she starts chasing you to kill you just like she did everyone else there. You spend the entire chapter running from her as you explore the large mansion and discover the secrets that are kept there, including why Ophelia killed everyone who lived there.

Unlike the others, in this chapter you can die, and it is not possible to return to it if you have not saved.

The setting also tells a story — Just like in a dream, each representation there, however confusing it may be, has a hidden meaning for the story presented. As everything is up to your personal interpretation and none of the game's devs gave any explanation about the things presented, we ended up having more questions than answers.

I would also mainly like to highlight the game's stunning photography, many may consider the graphics “dated”, however, in my opinion, this is what makes everything even more beautiful. There are some visual bugs, but there was nothing that bothered me or made the game less charming, it's an indie game from a small team (apparently their first game) so things like that are normal.

The OST also contributes a lot to the environment, always fitting in well with the game's locations and scenes. The game's voice acting is also very good, considering it is an independent game.

Cineris Somnia is a beautiful experience, a game that I confess I expected not to like, however, it left me simply enchanted by its proposal. If you want to have a different experience and have the patience to calmly explore game maps, Cineris Somnia is definitely a game that I recommend playing.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 8: Separate Ways

Season One | Season Two | Season Three | Season Four

Raining Hellfire: Season Four

Word Count: 2550 words

Warnings: swearing, vecna's curse [canon-typical violence], mentions of death, brief mention of torture, lots of trauma in this one whew

[A/N: did someone order a heaping pile of angst??]

Separate Ways

The room was empty, chandelier pieces still scattered around your feet as you stand there.

Alone.

You didn’t know where everyone went, panic setting in as you whisper their names into the darkness. But no one was there.

Or, so you thought.

“Y/n”

Vecna’s voice vibrated through the walls and you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. Please, please, please.

“It’s time you know the truth”

You slowly open your eyes, anxiety expecting the red veined figure to be staring at you with ghostly eyes. But the room around you had changed instead.

You were still in the Creel House, now situated just in front of the door, staring back at the staircase. This time, you had a clearer view of the couple you had envisioned earlier.

A man, dark haired, was stood smiling down at a woman with a pretty prominent bump. She was pregnant. And something about her soft features reminded you of someone.

Frowning, you follow them as they walk up another step, laughing into conversation.

“Come now, Michael,” The woman smiled, her pretty features only enhanced by the glow of her pregnancy, “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“Never.” Michael raises his chin before resting a hand on her stomach, “But I’m worried that a fright could harm you.”

“I’m weeks away from my due date.” She bats him away with a flick of her wrist, instead looping her arm into his. “Besides, we didn’t travel all this way just to back out now, did we?”

“Jennifer.” Michael sighed, “Someday, you truly will be the death of me.”

His hands came up to cup her face and you slowly shake your head, wondering why Vecna chose to show you this. You had no idea who this couple was, nor did you think it would hurt you enough to allow him to take your soul.

“Michael and Jennifer” Vecna’s deep voice echoed out, darkening the joy of the scene in front of you, “They were drawn to the darkness, just like you”

“What…” You try and make sense of it all, eyes focused on the people but retaining no information.

“Their love for horror brought them here” He continues as you watch them ascend another stair, “But it cost them”

In that moment, Jennifer yells out in pain. The lights in the house start to flicker aggressively, casting haunting shadows onto the walls behind them as Michael reaches for her.

You step forward before realising you couldn’t help. This wasn’t real.

“Jen?!” Michael yells as she suddenly crouches to the floor, clutching her stomach.

“The baby.” She cries and the Creel House began to shake.

Flashing lights soon beamed from behind you, an ambulance arriving and carting Jennifer from the house, Michael holding her hand.

“I don’t understand.” You whisper, watching as the Creel House faded and formed into an old, vintage room you didn’t recognise, Jennifer holding her new born baby with teary eyes.

“Watch” Vecna orders and you swallow your fear, turning back to the couple once more.

They looked down at their baby, smiles etched into their faces before the door bursts open, a man stepping through with a few men in hospital clothing just behind him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you stared at the one in charge, older with striking white hair. El’s previous captor.

Brenner.

Behind him, a boy around the age of 18 stood with his hands clasped in front of him, dressed in white and seemingly awaiting orders. He had defined features, hair a perfectly cut blonde.

“My name is Dr. Martin Brenner.” He introduces himself to the shocked couple, extending a hand.

Michael stands from his chair, cautiously reaching out to shake the hand. “Doctor?”

“Is something wrong with our baby?” Jennifer panics, gently rocking the child in her arms.

“Quite the opposite.” Brenner steps forward, peering down at the baby. “In fact, I have reason to believe that your child is quite… extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary how?” Michael questioned, moving back to his wife.

“Don’t you find it strange that you went into labour weeks before you were meant to?” Brenner raised an eyebrow, “Or perhaps, the fact that your baby has yet to cry? I assume they were born into the world with… flickering lights?”

“What do you want from us?” Michael lowered his voice, a protective arm making its way around Jennifer’s shoulders.

“I am not a stranger to individuals such as your child.” He glances back at the boy stood patiently behind him, “I take them into my custody, allow them to grow under strict conditions in order to reach their full potential. It is rare to find someone who possesses any kind of ability, but we were alerted to your child’s presence once they showed immediate signs of a powerful being.”

“You want to take our baby?” Jennifer whispers out, clutching her child tightly.

“No.” Brenner shakes his head. “We need to take your baby.”

You stare at the scene as Michael stands from his chair, fist balled up in an angry flare.

“You will do no such thing.” He warns, glaring, “Now leave.”

Brenner simply sighs, nodding his head at the boy behind him. Finally, the boy unclasps his hands and moves forward, stretching his arm out in a manner you’ve seen El do multiple times.

“Then I suppose we must do this the hard way.” Brenner states, nodding his head once more and your blood runs cold.

Michael is suddenly flung against the wall, screams leaving his wife’s lips as the boy steps forward, crushing each of his bones.

You stumble back, a gasp escaping your lips as you watch Michael drop to the floor, covered in blood, mouth gaping open.

“Find her.” Brenner says and you whip your head around to see that Jennifer had suddenly vanished, the back door wide open.

“His death wasn’t the last” Vecna returned, changing the world you stood in once again until you found yourself staring at a familiar building, heart beating with erratic jumps.

A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched Jennifer hand the baby to an elderly woman, wiping away her tears and leaving a final kiss on her child’s head.

“She knew they would find her eventually” Vecna continued and in the corner of your eye, you see some kind of window, shining into a dark room that made your throat close up.

Tied to a chair, Jennifer’s head hung loosely, blood pouring from her head as the boy you had seen before stood in front of her with a murderous glint in his eye.

“Tortured and murdered” Vecna said simply, the words circling your mind over and over, “She never gave up the whereabouts of that child, forcing the men to wonder day in and day out if they would ever find it again”

Everything faded to pitch black, the darkness swallowing you whole as you breathed unsteady breaths.

“But they did”

It takes a moment for you to truly see what Vecna is showing you; a vision of the past. From a new perspective.

You can see the party, El clinging onto Mike’s back as she stares wide-eyed at Brenner.

“Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go!” Dustin shouted and they started pedalling their own bikes.

“Y/n! Come on!”

You whip your head to where you stood, one foot on the ground as you frowned towards the man you never realised you knew. Brenner’s eyes found yours, his face dropping.

He knew you.

The vision faded as quickly as it came before everything plunged into darkness. All you could hear were your heavy breaths, the pounding beat of your heart in your head. But Vecna wasn’t done with you yet.

Up ahead, a light shone down on a girl laying on her bedroom floor, convulsing.

You didn’t want to move, shaking hands covering your mouth.

The desk lamp flickered as black dust entered her mouth, her body slowly raising off the ground as her eyes submitted to the dark. You didn’t need a closer look to understand what was happening.

Because you had lived it.

“Your parents died protecting you”

“No.” You let out a choked sob, falling to the ground and landing in a red puddle, soaking your jeans straight through.

Vecna stepped out of the shadow, looking down at you with a tilted head.

“You always wanted to know where you came from, who you were” He leaned closer, forcing your head to raise and meet his eyes, “You’ve been causing deaths since the day you were born”

Tears rolled down, staining your cheeks. It couldn’t be true. None of it could be true.

“The power you possess is far from your control” Vecna reaches his right hand out to cup your chin, bringing you to your feet and keeping your eyes on him, “This place is older than time and yet you were the first to connect with it”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You cry, unable to tear your eyes away from his milky white stare.

“When I came here, I found a mass of ancient particles that held stronger power than I had ever seen” His hand reaches up to grip your throat, “And despite all my efforts to take control, it always chooses you”

The claws tightened, restricting your breathing and you begin to struggle, trying to push him away.

“What do you want from me?” You gasp out before he throws you back, your arms and legs suddenly covered in vines and pinning you against the spindles of the staircase banister.

“Time is ticking, Y/n” Vecna begins to creep closer to you, the gravel in his voice sending pained shivers down your spine, “And you’re the only thing stopping me from completing everything I’ve planned for you and your little friends”

“You won’t win.” You try, your voice breaking as the feared hand claws above your face, the energy draining from your body.

“You have suffered enough” He announces, leaning close to whisper in your ear, “I can take away your pain”

His hot breath bared onto your cheek, flushing the tears streaming down. He had caught you in his web, and you did all you could to rip out of those chains. But nothing worked.

It was like a headache burned behind your eyes, his force compressing your bones until you cried out in pain.

His sinister smile would be the last image you’d see.

Here we stand

Vecna growls as music echoes around you both, his hand almost touching the tip of your nose.

Worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two

You try to focus on the lyrics, but your mind keeps slipping away. You can feel yourself drifting, Vecna’s curse taking effect.

Sleepless nights

Losing ground I’m reaching for you, you, you

“This is what you’ve always wanted, Y/n” Vecna tilts his head again, narrowing his eyes, “I see those thoughts you’ve tried so hard to hide”

Feelin’ that it’s gone, could change your mind

“You are afraid that they no longer need you”

You start to give up, submitting yourself to Vecna’s curse as your eyes flutter shut. Any happy memories you had were disappearing, replaced by the reasons you should let him kill you.

“You are afraid of being alone”

If we can’t go on

“They will all be better off without you in their lives” Vecna threatens, a horrifying smile on his face, “You are their curse”

To survive the tide, love divides

“Y/N!”

Max’s voice splits into Vecna’s mind games, pulling you away from him.

You open your eyes to find a swarm of black dust hovering in the air, waiting. As another tear slips from your eye, a glimmer of hope flutters in your chest.

You needed to fight.

“Let me help you” Vecna orders harshly and your eyes drift back to his.

“No.”

A single word leaves your lips and your mind clears, eyes burning black as the particles scurry towards you, grasping onto Vecna before throwing him across the lake of blood.

In an instant, you see your way out; a window looking in to the Creel House, your body floating in the air as your veins start to turn black. Everyone is screaming at you. And the music bursts back into your head.

Someday, love will find you

Creating a wall of black dust between you and Vecna, you run.

Break those chains that bind you

Your legs took you faster than you thought possible, heart yearning to reach the portal and return to your friends. Return to Max.

“NO” Vecna’s voice booms and you feel the wall you built crash down, piercing pain into your chest.

Stumbling to the ground, you look back at where Vecna stood, hand balled into a fist and taking small control of the particles in front of him, restricting their movements.

One night will remind you

How we touched and went our separate ways

The song pulls back your focus and you scramble to your feet, staring back at Vecna as he suddenly points at you. The black dust slowly starts swarming before shooting towards you and your breath hitches.

Looking back at the portal, your nose was running black and you could feel the toll it had on you.

You weren’t powerful enough to stop that.

If he ever hurts you

“Y/n, please!”

True love won’t desert you

Max’s cries pull you closer to her, sprinting to the exit in attempt to outrun the chaos Vecna had created.

You know I still love you

A scream escapes your lips at the first attack, the particles tugging at your feet. You stumble before catching yourself. You were so close.

Though we touched and went our separate ways

Another attack pulls you away and you land on your back, wind being knocked from your lungs. In a panicked attempt at breath, you turn onto your front, staring at how Vecna was suddenly descending the crimson hill, heading towards you.

“Y/N!”

The screams distracted you for a mere second. When you look back, Vecna is staring down, directly above you. His claws reach down to you.

“NO!!”

You whip your head back to the portal, seeing how your body was faltering mid-air, arms dangling by your side. Vecna keeping you here only made you weaker, your power draining the life from you. But you needed one last push.

As Vecna’s pull raises you from the slippery puddles, you reach your arms out either side of the monster to the black dust hurtling towards you.

And, in a flash, you use it to push you backwards, throwing you towards the portal and away from Vecna’s roar of anger.

Everything turned black and you were falling. Deeper and deeper down. You didn’t breathe, you didn’t struggle.

You just…

...fell...

Until a sore gasp left your lips and you crashed to the ground, barely able to move.

Everyone was rushing around you all at once, Separate Ways still blaring into your mind. Max’s face appeared in front of you, her own ears bare.

“Y/n?” She cried, pulling you into a hug and sobbing into your shoulder.

Once you regained the feeling in your limbs, your arms wrap around and cling to her, all the other voices drowning out.

True love won’t desert you

Chapter 9: The Shire Is Burning ->

if any are unable to tag i will colour them in red, my only suggestion is to check ur visibility settings :)

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711 / @eddiesbirdie / @livasaurasrex / @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs / @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever / @astrolockley / @mothmanatemycat / @sheisjoeschateau / @champagnejoker / @umidktbh

[badchoicesworld]

omg hi i love your blog so much!! could you please write a story where the reader is trans and healing from surgery but his suit is making it uncomfortable and they’re on a mission together as spider-people and reader’s chest hurts and he has to explain to his boyfriend noir that he’s trans and shows him his scars? :) fluff and wholesomeness ensue etc etc

thank you!!

spider-noir finds out you’re transmasc on a mission !

omg tysm ur so sweet !! so very happy to do this for you, my friend !! hope you don’t mind i’ve done it in this format

im assuming you’re from a more progressive dimension in comparison to Noir, something more modern or even a little advance

that being said, if you ever find yourself recovering from surgery, let your body heal !! and don’t try to be spider-man at home plz

warnings: none, just noir being the most oblivious man alive and then being a golden retriever boyfriend

requests are: open !

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

so, let’s set the scene rq. you’ve finally managed to undergo the gender affirming surgery that you’ve been entitled to your entire life, all’s well and it’s incredibly accessible (one can only dream)

but, you’re also your dimensions one and only spider-man.

naturally, you rationalise that oh dear god what will the multiverse do without me ? you’ve gotta get back out there as soon as you can, even if it means popping open, like something busting at the seams.

tight spandex, whatever accessories you’ve got on, supporting your whole weight in one arm while you swing from place to place isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world now, is it ? so uncomfortable that it absolutely effects your performance, one would assume

but, since this is something that you’ve went through independently and without sharing with those you find dear, it was only a matter of time before Miguel sends you on your merry way to carry out some kind of mission with your dearest: spider-noir.

now lets be honest, Noir’s probably clueless when it comes to trans issues and top surgery. not in an arrogant way but I imagine his reality isn’t exactly caught up with the times yet.

that being said i don’t think he’s never heard of them, considering he’s been around more modern spider-people and has likely been exposed to some kind of media about it

still, when you two are out on your mission together and he notices how much you’ve been awkwardly and as discreetly as possible pulling at your suit, he’s probably gonna side eye you a bit until he recognises the discomfort in your face too.

i imagine Noir would rather not see his boyfriend in discomfort for long at all, so pulls you aside into whatever’s nearest- an alley, anything for a little privacy

gentle as ever, examining the suit that you’ve been tugging at all day long while gently patting you down to see if there’s anything that he can identify

probably firing an ungodly amount of questions like “what’s wrong?” in several variants

most likely makes some kind of reference about your tugging that you’ll never understand, slang from his era. is probably assuming that you’ve washed your suit wrong and is in fact suggesting that while he pats you down, but mumbles about it not being pilly so is at a loss

finds nothing, but hears the clear hiss of discomfort when he pats the sides of your torso that are still healing.

you’ve gotta face the music someday, right ? but this is your boyfriend, and Noir is nothing but accepting and open minded to new things

so, deny all you may at first and insist everything okay. your suits just a little uncomfortable today, you say ? yeah after that hiss, he’s not buying it.

Noir’s gonna coax the real answer out of you if you’re not already willing to share right off the bad, he wants to understand you.

Reminding you of his trust, calling you as many pet names that you’re comfortable with. “Come on, sweetheart. Honey, who am I gonna tell?” super persuasive, who can resist the man ?

only, and ONLY when you’re feeling secure and comfortable enough to share this part of yourself with him will things still make absolutely zero sense to Noir

absolutely clueless. if you say “i’m trans” as simply as that my guy is just stood there not knowing what kind of riddle this is, but he knows this much: he doesn’t know wtf that means. trans…ition ? i mean yeah technically

if you go the step further right off the bat and show him your scars, Noir’s colour blindness is straight up preventing him from noticing the subtle difference in your scar tissue and healthy skin.

he’s stood there with his eyes as narrow as a thread while those cogs turn away in his head. until you finally explain it, Noir has forgotten his own name

actually explain it to him, and Noir’s perception of you just does not budge. his thought process is just “boyfriend is still boyfriend, good” after you’ve explained to him all about being born in the wrong body and all that

admittedly does not understand that concept. poor baby can’t fathom the idea that you’re anything but what you’ve told him- you’re a boy, says you, therefore you are a boy !

cosmetic surgeries however were gaining traction during the 20’s and 30’s thanks to war, skin graphs and all that

naturally, gobsmacked after it clicks in his head that you’ve managed a mission after surgery considering his dimensions surgery is a lot less advance

will now not let you swing and insist he’ll take care of the mission. if there’s ever a point where a fist fight breaks out, Noir’s throwing insults like usual, references no one understand because it’s the 30’s and says something along the lines of “my boyfriends watching, you better make me look good” before absolutely thundercunting a car at them

will let you walk independently but is happy to carry you- this includes swinging

if you’re still uncomfortable in your suit it’s incredible how fast this gentleman is wrapping you up in his coat if you wanna tie the top half of your suit around your waist. Still not ideal, but it’s less friction.

when you two get back to whatever you both call home together, Noir is likely to be super delicate with the actual subject and is kinda treading on eggshells. figured that, you never talked about it before, would you be okay talking about it now ?

still has a little bit of a hard time understanding the importance of gender affirmations since you are simply a boy to him, why do you need to be reminded ?

would probably be really sheepish about asking if he could touch your scars, since he can’t see them all too well. With your permission and ideally when they’re less irritable and sore, he’ll like to trace his thumbs over the scars as gently as possible with his gloveless hands. May not understand the exact significance of them, but he appreciates all of you regardless

is probably amazed at the advancements in surgery

"honey? i may not understand, but i'm trying" he loves you so much

we learned from the first movie that Noir is an extremely open-minded person who’s willing to learn about new things (like the rubix cube) and he’s determined to understand. he wants to understand you, even if just a little bit more

won’t tell a soul about you being trans. honestly forgets a lot of the time, actually. not out of arrogance, it’s just as simple as you’ve said you’re a boy, so that’s how he sees you. that being said, it’s hard for him to identify when people are intentionally transphobic because it just doesn’t make sense to him. it’s obvious you’re a boy, idiot

but when it clicks, the guy can’t control his temper “NOW WAIT JUST A SECOND, YOU’RE ONE OF THOSE TRANSPHIBIANS!” close enough, Noir. we love you.

yeah anyway, is willing in that moment to go to jail for you

show him the trans flag, watch him crumble as he guesses the colours

overall, clueless but supportive nonetheless and loves you unconditionally.

when he does eventually learn for you and it finally sticks, he starts to make a conscious effort to start asking people their pronouns through an incredibly rigid and rehearsed dialogue tree you helped him come up with. uses his lil detective notepad to keep track of peoples preferred names and pronouns with little doodles of the people so he can differentiate

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

i hope this is okay, i'm not massively confident with my noir capabilities

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 1

Uta

Lmao so we're starting off with Uta this year because I noticed October 1st is her birthday, and what better way to celebrate than to give her the first Whumpday hororororororo TW: Mention of destruction, abandonment, guilt of unconscious criminal actions, and Uta considering herself a monster

For as long as she could remember Shanks and his crew had been there for her.

Until that fateful day, the music island had been destroyed.

With the pirates being the only survivors, they fled the scene with her before the Marines arrived. Uta slept in Shanks' arms, unaware of what they were discussing.

"What do we do?" Roux asked pushing the plate of food away from him. "If the Marines found out she was the one behind this..."

The members worriedly glanced at Uta who clung onto Shanks' arm. Heavy silence only fueled the anxiety clawing in their minds.

"She might have a higher bounty than the Devil of Ohara." Hongo set the stack of bounties he had been looking through on the table.

"It's not right for kids to have bounties," Yasopp said, his arms folded and staring at the ground.

"She would've gotten a bounty eventually," Limejuice reminded the group. "We're pirates, and marines don't discriminate who to make an outlaw."

"Well, we didn't expect it this soon."

"It'll be dangerous if she stays with us."

"We can't just drop her off and leave her behind."

The last statement ceased the others from conversing further. Shanks, who had been quietly looking at his daughter, at last spoke up, "Let's head to Dawn Island."

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

Luffy waved goodbye to the pirates, shouting he'll meet them again someday with his own crew, when a thought wormed it's way into his mind. He dropped his arms and scratched his head in search of his memory. Did he say bye to Uta? She didn't talk to him as the crew was packing up to leave, which was weird. Uta would've been right by Shanks, teasing him before Red Hair gave the strawhat to the boy. Maybe she was already on the ship sleeping, her devil fruit did take up a lot of her energy. Luffy shrugged it off and walked back to Makino's bar.

"Makino, can I have some juice?" Luffy requested as he climbed onto a stool in front of the bar.

"Of course, Luffy." She smiled and got out a glass.

Luffy happily waited, kicking his legs back and forth, when he heard a girlish yawn behind him. He spun around, eyes going wide. "Uta?! What are you doing here!?"

"Hmm?" Uta shot him a confused look as she rubbed her eyes. "Why wouldn't I come here? I'm hungry, I want breakfast."

"Luffy-" Makino tried to explain the situation but Luffy opened his mouth first.

"BUT SHANKS LEFT! I THOUGHT YOU WERE WITH THEM!"

"He wHAT?!" Uta snapped awake not processing what he just said.

"Shanks and his crew left earlier this morning, why aren't you with them?"

Uta's face contorted to one of horror and she dashed out of the bar, unable to hear Makino calling out to her. Her little legs carried her to the docks, she glanced around in devastation at the empty port.

They left her.

They actually left her.

She thought the conversation she overheard was a bad dream. They wouldn't abandon her, right? They loved her, she loved them. So why? Why did they leave her here?

Just as the question appeared in her mind, a brief memory from Elegia's destruction popped up and for now her questions stopped. She bawled her fist as rain fell onto the ground in front of her. Luffy ran up to the docks, Uta wiped away the rain before turning to the boy wearing her dad's strawhat.

"Did-" she paused to get a hold of her emotions. "Did he say if he was coming back?"

"No, he said they won't be returning," Luffy bluntly said but quickly scrambled to fix it. "But- uh- I'm sure they'll come back for you. I mean- we can get Makino to call them and have them pick you up-"

"Don't bother." Uta brushed past him. "He's not going to come back."

Just like her world shattered. Her family, that she could fall back on, disappeared. All that remained were gaps that needed to be filled with answers explaining why they would leave her, and she had a vague idea of what they were.

As the gaps filled with her thoughts of the music island's destruction, a seed planted itself in the back of her mind.

'Monster.'

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[oxpogues4lifexo]

Keeping up with the Camerons

TumblrTV

Keeping up with the Camerons

Episode 4 - Prince and Princess - Part 2

Episode transcript (/ means cut scene, bold italics means narrator, bold means host)

Word Count: 5K

Part 1 Here

They leave the back room, Bella taking his hand and tugging. “Hm?”

“I love you Ray..” She smiles, a kiss placed to the boys forehead.

He watches her eyes a moment, as they stared up at him, his lips pulling into a gentle smile. His hand finds the back of her head, pulling her in to place a kiss to her head in return. “I love you more Bee.” She hums as he turns away, “Not true.” Her words cause his head to swing round, brow raised as he smirks, “Oh we doing that are we?”

She giggles, blushing lightly as she plays with her fingers behind her back, “Maybe..”

He chuckles from his chest, walking over to her which causes her to step back with each of his footsteps. She could tell from a mile away, his plan.

She turns on her heel darting for one of the tables as he chases her round each one. Chairs being thrown to the floor as tables scratch along the wood; the room filled with giggles and deep laughter as they play around. Him very obviously faster than her but letting her stay ahead to keep the game going.

As she gets herself stuck in a corner, he cackles devilishly, ‘playing the part well’ in her words. She smirks, knowing there’s no way out as he jumps for her, lifting her by her legs to throw her over his shoulder; a shriek falling from her lips.

He laughs as she grips onto the material of his shorts, trying to pull her way down him but failing miserably as her strength didn’t even meet half of his. His flexed bicep curled around her thighs as he carries her back over to the bar, setting her down effortlessly beside the alcohol as he pecks her nose with his fingers, “Better luck next time princess.”

She growls breathily, crossing her arms as she pouts like a child. Her actions causing him to snort as he ruffles her hair. “Cmon ‘Kid’ we got a club to run!” He enjoys his words a little too much as he chuckles to himself, walking off to take the rest of the chairs down.

“I’m not a kid, asshole.” Bella spits, Rafe immediately taking her eye with a laugh and a raise in his brow.

“Woah woah hey, you’re too young to be using that language here, don’t you think ‘kid’?” He smirks, watching as her eyes darken and she huffs a breath. She rolls her eyes going over to the other side of the room to arrange the tables; turning back around to give Rafe a dark glare after he decided to laugh at her once more.

//

“So Rafe what’re you doing here today? Since I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier!”

“Well I’m just here to help out. Whenever Bella has a shift on her own I offer to help, it means I get to see her all day and it gives me something to do! It also means she’s in a better mood when we get back.” He chuckles to himself, a hand running through his bangs. “Normally the others wouldn’t come but somedays they do.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“If I’m telling the truth I prefer when it’s just me and Bells. We barely get time alone with Callum and shit so when we do we make the most of it you know. And being here is one of the only times we are by ourselves. It’s nice though I enjoy spending time with her. It reminds me of when we were younger!”

“What’d you get up to?”

“Nothing! Thats the thing. We used to just sit on the piers or the boat and just talk. And obviously back then Callum wasn’t so obsessed with her so we had way more time together. I miss it to be honest, it’s why we do everything we can to get extra time by ourselves!”

/

“Care to give your opinions on this mornings, I don’t know how to put it um.. tension-fest!”

“You really gotta call it that?”

/

“You mean with me and Rafe?”

“Yes that’s exactly what I mean miss Brooks. How’re you doing? How is HE doing?” He asked sincerely, genuine concern filling the air which she noticed quickly; evident by the way her shoulders drop and her face warms.

/

“Yes I do. Now Rafe we’d just like an explanation for what’s happening. Catch us up!”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to watch the rest of his group laughing and talking. He grunts, “Fine. Um.. I just, I don’t know. I’m just worried about Bella is all. Feel like I’m not putting in my full 100% for her at the moment and right now? I feel like she really needs me.”

/

“Umm.. I’m good thank you! I’m just worried about Rafe. I mean he seems really off recently and I feel bad because I realised today that it’s not about me at all. And my little outburst last night kinda didn’t help. I just want to know he’s happy but it’s difficult when he won’t talk to me.”

/

“I just wanna make sure she’s happy you know, but she don’t talk to me about Callum. Or anything for that matter.” His face was turned away from the camera, his eyes glued to his best friends figure as she bounced against the floorboards with the sweetest smile across her face. “I don’t really know anything about her no more.”

/

“We used to be way closer. Like we never had these stupid petty fights, we just talked to each other and everything was perfect. But I guess getting older makes things more difficult. And not everything lasts forever. We’re growing apart and I don’t ever want to believe it, but sometimes, it’s hard not to.”

/

“I just feel like the past few years have been different and I’m partly to blame. I know that for sure. The other half? Could be anyone on this island, I couldn’t tell you. But all I know is that the most I can do is be there for her.”

/

“I’m pretty sure it’s because of Ward. I’m growing up which means I need him more, and Rafes growing up which means he needs him less. But if you really asked us both. We’d tell you that’s not what we want. And I fear that Ward will forever fail to see that. So the most I can do is show Rafe that no matter what, I’m always here for him. Because if not? I don’t know.. I don’t want to know that’s for sure! But all I do know is that it won’t be good, for anyone.”

/

“On a lighter note, you two seemed really happy after your little moment in the back room.”

“Hm..” Bella hums, smiling as she twirls her fingers into each other. “Yeah.. we have our moments. And when we do we REALLY have our moments! I mean if you ask me he was playing the part pretty well don’t you think?” She snorts, looking back at him with a soft smile. “I really do love him Ryan. And I know he feels the same way, it’s why I just want him to be okay, you know?”

“I do know Bella.. and I know you enough to know that you’ll figure it out. I believe in you.”

“So do I!” The sandy blonde wraps his arm around Bella, “So. Do. I.” He nudges his head into hers, causing her to smile; her brows furrowing.

“Topper what do you-“

“I know what you’re on about Bells, I see it too. Both the feelings part and the emotions part. And I believe you can fix it. Because you’re Bella Brooks and none of us would trust anyone else with a situation like this.”

She lets go of him, smiling gently as she nods, “Thank you Top. I always know I have you to rely on.”

“What’re friends for huh?” She giggles, pulling him into a tight hug.

/

“Hey uh Ryan?” Rafe turns back to take his focus once more.

“Rafe.” He smiles in return.

“You uh.. between you and me.” Rafe steps closer, leaning over his shoulder to whisper into his ear, “You got that footage of her and Top last night? Asking for a friend..”

He stands back up, Ryan flashing him a wink as a small smirk tugs at his lip, “We might have. Come speak to us later okay? I’ll see what we can do.” Ryan pats Rafe’s shoulder.

“Yeah uh.. thanks! Mr um.. Ryan, sir!” He stutters with a soft smile, before quickly returning to his friends.

Ryan takes a moment to appreciate the little moment of genuineness that came from the boy. Having heard and witnessed things so different, that small kindness was enough to change his view on the Camerons son.

/

“Don’t even get me started Sir.” Topper rolls his eyes, slumping into the seat opposite as he realised how long he’s being kept for. “I mean, they both adore each other. Callum adores Bella and vice versa too. Or should I say did. To all of them. Did. You see, a few years ago something happened, don’t ask what because fuck knows. But when the said ‘something’ happened, Callum, Rafe, Ward, Sarah. Everybody me and Bella knew had changed. And not in a good way. Callum fell into the drug hole, Rafe resorted to violence; well more than usual. Ward became unbearable in every way possible and Sarah became distant with everyone. Neither me nor Bella know what happened but as far as we’re concerned, nothing will ever be the same as it was 3 years ago. Thats what’s wrong. Thats what’s always been wrong. Since the day there was ever something wrong between them all. That’s what their issue is with each other and neither of them will bring it up because they don’t know what they’re bringing up. Because NOTHING HAPPENED.”

Topper stops himself quickly after his outburst. Sitting back in his chair and coughing to clear the air. “Sorry um. I just mean that they’ll never fix this because nothing ever happened. Meaning there’s nothing to fix. It’s just the way life is from now on. And unfortunately we all have to just live with it.”

//

“I’m getting sick of the cameras now Bells.” Rafe huffs, his head held up by his hands whilst his eyes followed Bella behind the bar. She hums, wanting him to continue but too busy making him a drink to look. “Like yeah alright don’t care we have an episode to ourselves but it’s when there’s just the ones sat at home or there’s just a guy fucking following me around shoving a camera in my face it’s like I don’t give a shit enough to want to do this anymore.” He exaggerates his words as his eyes glance over to Ryan and his crew who sat on one of the empty tables furthest from them.

Bella frowns, turning to him as she places the glass in his hand, “I thought you were excited! You wanted to do this no?” Her expression contorted as she waited for him to finish his drink, thoroughly confused and slightly concerned for the boy.

He shrugs, putting his glass back down with a clink as it hit the tabletop. “Nah, it seemed interesting at first but it’s literally just like nothings changed except there’s more people and shit like I’d rather not, you know.” His eyes follow up to hers, swirling the remainder of his drink around in his cup as he watches her face.

“Have you not spoken to Ward about it? Maybe they could turn some cameras off or something?” She rests her hands to the edge of the bar, helping herself to stand up to his height whilst he was on the bar stool.

Rafe snorts, rolling his eyes as he looks back down at the brown liquid. “Like he’d do that shit for me Bells! It’s fine I don’t care just when they ask me shit in the middle of my day that I don’t care about it’s like just shut the fuck up.” His eyes droop, breathing out a heavy sigh as he rests his head back on his free hand.

“Rafe..”

“Hm?” She takes his glance, his focus now moved back to her as she watched him with pure worry.

“Are you okay? Relax..”

He watches her a moment, before properly taking in her words. He sits up, dropping his hand to the bar as he itches the back of his neck with the other, “Sorry.. haha..” He laughs awkwardly, trying to keep himself composed, not for the cameras but for Bella, “Just pissed off cos it feels like I can’t be myself. Like everything I do is being judged by everyone you know.”

Bella sighs, nodding along, “I know Rafe.. but the point of the show is that you be yourself! Since when did you, the Prince of Kildare island, care about what anyone said or thought anyways. Remember what you said to me the other night? They’re just cameras Rafe. It’s a stupid show.”

“Yeah yeah alright keep quoting me to me and I’ll fucking leave.” He points a finger at her causing her to snort.

“Haha bye bye then!” She pats her fingers to her palm as she waves him away. He hits her hand away, a smirk evident across his lips.

Bella pauses, smiling softly as she watches his smile grow. “You know.. you’re doing it now!”

“Huh? Doing what?”

“Being yourself on camera..”

Rafes brows raise, his smile softening as he nods, “Yeah cos you’re here! Its easier when you’re around, it’s when I’m at home with Cal or something and they’re just watching us. They don’t even ask for permission when they cut all this into the episodes you know that? They just pick and choose the best parts apparently!”

Her face drops almost instantly as she stands up, “What, you serious?? I thought they’d go through it with you after?”

“Nope! That’s why it’s such bullshit! I could say something so outrageous and they choose to put it in that everyone then hates me or wants me dead or some shit.” He speaks plainly, shrugging his shoulders along to his words.

“Rafe that won’t happen! I’m sure Ward gets a say atleast?” Her voice was louder now, serious.

He sighs, “Whatever. I don’t care-“

“Debatable..”

“Hey watch your mouth!” He spits playfully, slamming a hand to the wood beneath his arm as he points the other towards her.

She giggles, the sound putting a genuine smile to Rafe’s face as he roles his eyes.

The two kids share an intimate moment of silence before a vibration cuts it short. Bella’s eyes dart to Rafe’s pocket as he grabs out his phone.

“Is it my brother?” She asked worryingly, him quickly reaching out to hold onto her hand.

“No it’s Top. On the group.” His thumb caressed her skin as he read the messages, her peering over the bar to do the same. “It’s for you.”

As per usual the kids sent in screenshots of the messages. When I say the kids I mean purely Bella. After the day Rafe had we get all the blame and he wants nothing to do with us. Surprised? Not really.

Bella groans as she goes over to her phone, picking it up and rolling her eyes. Rafe laughing to himself quietly as he watches her over exaggeration to people who can’t even see her.

His eyes follow down to his phone as he awaits her response.

He chuckles, looking up at her with a raised brow, “Depends on what Bee?”

“Oh he knows.” She grins, bubbly and genuine. Another chime snatches their attention and the sight of the next sentence cause a squeal to leave her mouth. “Yay! Told you!”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head; enjoying the moment as her smile began to reappear - her inside smile.

Her face drops at the sound of another chime, Rafes eyes quickly darting down to his phone as he reads the new text. Bella’s attention shifts to Rafe who sat with his brows furrowed and his mouth agape. “Why.”

“Rafe..” She whimpers, stepping over.

“No why the fuck is he still here??” His sudden tone change causes Bella to flinch as her body began to warm; a tear shaken out of her as she sucks in a breath to keep herself contained.

She sighs as she brings her phone back up to her face, typing out a quick plain response.

“Whyre you defending him?” Rafe spits, snatching the phone, as he grimaces at her.

“I.. I just want it to be over.” Her voice was shaky and her lip wobbled. Her broken words causing Rafe to look up, his eye twitching.

“Rafe just leave it, it’s fine..”

“IT’S NOT- It’s not fine Bella..” He frowns, huffing a breath as he looks back down. A small whine falling from the brunettes lips as she watches his thumbs hit the letters with purpose.

“Stop.. you’ll make it worse..” She grabs the phone out his hand, cutting his message short before deleting it and quickly ending the conversation.

Rafe’s eyes don’t leave Bella’s as she sniffles, wiping her eyes with her knuckles. The panic and fear that sat evidently on her face only made Rafe feel worse. He furrows a brow, reaching out to her hand and shutting off the phone; her eyes scanning the messages over and over as her body refused to stop shaking.

“Bella.. hey. What’s going on? You don’t have to deal with him anymore. I can-“

“You can’t do anything Rafe.. I don’t want you to..”

“What?”

“He’s my brother.. people make mistakes.. I forgive him.”

“Bella you don’t have to do this.” He stands, reaching for her cheek but was held too late as she turned away.

“I do..”

“No you don’t! You can get rid of him. I can. Ward can! I don’t know. Bella-“

“Rafe you don’t understand!! Who’s going to look after him if I dont?”

He pushes his tongue to his cheek, scratching his brow as he walks round to her. Reaching for her arms. His hands travel down her skin to meet hers, “That’s not your job.” His voice softened, his thumbs running circles over her knuckles.

“But then whose is it?”

He watches her eyes as they find his. Awaiting a response but not receiving one because Rafe struggled to get anything to leave his mouth.

“Exactly..”

“Bella-“

“It’s fine Rafe. It’s always been this way, nothings changed. I’m okay..”

“It doesn’t have to be this way..”

“I don’t know any other way.” She pulls away, shrugging her shoulders; the first member of the club arriving with a friend, their conversation filling the room. Rafe watches her wipe away her tears, quickly dabbing her cheeks and straightening out her apron before plastering on a smile. She strolls over, taking their order and jotting it down on her notepad.

//

“That motherfucker is really getting on my fucking nerves. This stupid fucking rule is bullshit!!”

“Sorry Rafe what rule?”

“I..” His eyes widen, “No nothing no rule. What?” He laughs awkwardly.

“Rafe. What, rule?”

“Just some stupid rule Ward set a’ight? Don’t gotta know everything on this stupid show.”

/

“Topper do you know anything about this rule Ward has set for Rafe?”

“Uhm..” He hesitates, looking around for a distraction or a new conversation starter.

“Topper!”

“Yes! Yes sorry sir what?”

“The rule?”

“Uhm.. yeah uh. About that!” He coughs, his fingers raking his hair as he finally looks at Ryan, “It’s not just for Rafe. It’s for all of us. I uh.. actually sorry no I can’t say anything. Not this time.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not important?”

“But it is! Rafe’s upset and-“

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

//

As the club filled up, Bella and Rafe gained more orders. The more orders, the busier they were. Rafe kept a smile on his face, doing his part and treating the members respectfully. Bella did the same, using her kind words and soft heart to keep the members happy. Them both taking it in turns to serve and bartend.

//

“Bella does this thing. She like, she puts on a play, you know. It’s like one minute she’s my best friend Bella Brooks; the next, she’s my best friend who’s always an absolute sweetheart who would do anything for anyone. Every little problem she had disappears and all that’s on her mind is making others happy. I know she’s always like that but you know what I mean, it’s just.. different! I’ve learnt to do the same. I mean it wasn’t hard, I had a good teacher!” He laughs under his breath, catching a glimpse of Bella across the room as a smile tugs at his lip.

“I can act for the camera, I can act to be what people want me to be. When I’m helping her work, I’m a good guy with a big smile. When I’m with my friends, I give no shits. Infront of the cameras I try to be cool. Different. Not myself. The other versions are parts of me that I hide away from certain people. This one isn’t me. I fake it. Because I know the real me won’t be as likeable. But I also know that the only opinion that matters.. is my best friend’s. When I’m around her, I’m myself. I don’t put on a play. I don’t hold my breath and puff out my chest and hope the moment goes by quickly. No. When I’m around Bella it’s like, everything’s okay. Like there’s no expectations on me to be a certain someone. I don’t have to act cool or mysterious or whatever. Because she knows that’s not me and she doesn’t care. She’s who I aspire to be. But I’m not her, I’m not the sweet guy who has a heart to give to everyone. And I never will be. Because that’s just not who I am. So I act. And that’s the closest I’ll ever get to being a good person.”

//

“Ayyyy there’s the lovebirds we missed so dearly!!!” Toppers arms fling open, very clearly stating his presence as the three boys take their places on the barstools.

“You two a’ight now?” Kelce questioned, eyeing the both of them.

“Depends..” Bella shrugs, trying her hardest to hold back the grin that pulled her cheeks.

Rafe chuckles, watching Topper as he rolls his eyes. He sighs, shoving a hand into his pocket, “Maybe.. I might of stopped on the way to get a few things.” He slams a few packets of sweets (sorry I’m British) onto the bar, enjoying the way the girl’s eyes lighten up.

“Yay! Okay yes we’re fine.” She snatched them away from the boys, stashing them under the countertop.

“Fine? Is that what we’ve come to Bee?” He asked playfully offended. A hand held to his chest as his mouth fell open.

She giggles, her eyes rolling towards him as her hands find her hips, “You know I didn’t mean it like that dickhead!”

He jerks an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he steps closer. The brunette quickly flinching and immediately apologising.

Bella’s attention is stolen by a grunt. Her focus turned to the boy beside her, head on the bar against his arms. She takes a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut before swallowing and shaking her head as reassurance, “Cal? You okay?”

Her brother lifts his head, eyeing her with a sheepish look, his face puffy and eyes reddened and dry. “Are you high??” She reaches for his face but her hand was quickly swatted away.

“Fuck off..” The taller boy grumbled as he slumped against his elbows.

Rafe goes to jump for the boy, quickly held back by Kelce who grabbed him over the bar. “Leave it..”

“But Cal you promised-“

“I know what I promised a’ight. Sometimes things just happen Bella you gotta understand that by now.” He throws a hand up in the air as his eyes dart to hers, quickly moving away as he frowns.

“I do Cal trust m-“

“With dad gone ‘n all!” He interrupts unnecessarily. Causing the girl to pause her sentence and step back. Bumping her body into her friends as he grabs ahold of her hips.

“I said I do okay!!!” She cries, trying her best to hold back her tears as she stares him down. The sensitive subject making it hard for her to keep all composure.

Rafe moves her figure out the way gently, “Dude just leave her alone??” Topper and Kelce both give each other the look before joining the stare down between the two boys.

“You ain’t her brother why don’t YOU leave her alone?” Callum slams a hand to the bar, standing up in the process. His tough facade being stopped away as he winces, gripping a hand to his head before placing himself back to his seat.

Bella holds Rafe back, shaking her head ‘no’ to suggest for him to stop. She passes the boy a glass of water, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Nothing happened..” He takes a sip of the water loudly, his loss of all his senses making it heard to hear himself. “Just woke up like this..”

Bella frowns, looking between her other friends with a piercing glare as she squinted to try and force an answer from one of them, “You made him do it?” She asks calmly, not wanting to make assumptions with her lack of information but knowing they were with him the night previous.

“No Bells we told him not to!” Kelce reassures, Topper nodding along as his eyes never leave the Camerons son.

“Where’d he get it from??” She furrows her brows, her tone more serious now as she just wanted to understand the situation. Kelce and Callum’s gaze joined Toppers as Rafe’s didn’t leave Bella. “What-“

“Hey I’m not the one who promised!” Rafe defended himself, tossing his hands in the air guiltily as he almost pleaded for her trust.

Bella’s shoulders fall, a sigh leaving her throat as her eyes travel towards her brother. His figure lay limp against the bar as his eyes focus on a small dust speck. She goes over, a hand resting against the back of the boys head, “Are you okay..?”

All she got as a response was a small nod, enough of a response for her to smile. She reaches under the bar to grab out some antibiotics, opening his palm and placing them in gently, “Take them please..”

“Can we talk about-“ Topper begins.

“NO!!!” The others all shout in sync, wanting to stay off of the topics he’d bring up.

Bella stares at Callum, watching carefully as he swallows the pills down with some water.

“John B-“

“Topper!!! This ain’t about you bro.” Kelce nudges his arm, sighing as he’d had enough.

“You can all stop staring at me now..” Callum grumbles, finishing off his water as he looks up at Bella. Everyone quickly turning away to distract themselves with anything close. “Why’re you talking to me?”

The girl shrugged, “If you don’t ask then it never happened.”

He nods along, a smile pulling at his lip as he runs his finger along the rim of his glass.

“That pogue hasn’t got half the amount I do what’s her fucking deal?” They all groan, rolling their eyes towards the blonde boy.

Rafe snorts before speaking, “Better dick..”

The other three turn away, quickly trying to cover their snickers as they try their best to play it off. Topper raises a brow, his face instantly causing Rafe to burst out into laughter, leaning over the bar as he tries to steady himself.

Topper waits, watching them all as they don’t even bother to be sincere. He slumps onto his hand. “Top-“ Bella managed through a deep breath. Rafe’s eyes take hers, immediately both letting go once again; gathering the members’ attention as they collected stares.

“Top I.. uh..” She takes a deep breath, over exaggerating by a mile. Kelce snorts into his fist as Rafe smirks, scratching his nose to cover it. “You wanna talk about it?” She rushes out, pushing her lips together to stop anymore coming out.

“Not with you lot no.” Everyone looks over to him in offence, eyebrows jerked and faces tensed.

“Bit rude.” Kelce mumbles.

“Top it was funny.. we’re sorry.” Bella tries taking his hand, Topper hesitating before giving in.

“No we’re not..” Rafe snorts, earning himself a slap on the arm from the girl before she turns back to Topper.

Bella’s eyes quickly shoot up, the boys all frowning in confusion before looking over. Another member. She sighs, “We can talk in my break okay?” She smiles reassuringly as she runs her thumb along his hand before going round the bar.

She pauses midway to the men, turning back to the boys, “Don’t upset him, dickheads.” She waved a finger towards them before going off to take orders.

“Well that was just unnecessary!” Kelce throws his hands up with a furrow in his brow, Rafe snickering once again.

Whilst Bella and Rafe gain new orders, the other three enjoy their time alone. Talking about anything but the situations at hand: Topper and Sarah, John B and Sarah, Callum and Bella, and Rafe and Bella.

Ryan pulls Topper over for a chat.

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