#we will love you and want you as one of our own only if you can let us in and let us help you when you need help...

[mashtatosworld]

calm in the chaos

summary: you give birth to your first baby

You should have known when Jiyong walked into the room with a beret perched on his head and a set of fine paintbrushes in the other, that today was not going to go as planned.

You had thought you were going to start painting the nursery.

You had been excited, even, having selected a range of pink shades together weeks ago. You’d imagined the two of you working side by side, getting messy with paint, making this space a home for your little girl.

But instead, you found yourself sitting on the nursery floor, your maternity dress rolled up over your stomach, as your husband carefully dragged a paintbrush across your swollen belly.

You sighed, watching him dip the brush into a soft pastel colour before sweeping it over your skin. "Ji, why are we doing this again?"

He didn’t even look up, his lips pursed in deep concentration. “She gives me inspiration.”

You arched a brow. "She?"

“Our baby,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I’m waiting for her to tell me how she wants the room painted."

You blinked. "You don’t know what colour you want the nursery to be?"

He had a vision board, a Pinterest board and even hired interior designers to help plan the nursery. But in the end, the two of you went to the store and picked out your favourite swatches of pregnancy safe paint - of which he was now painting on your stomach.

“I thought I did," he admitted, sticking a tiny flower to your belly, right where he had just painted. "But then I realised, I should wait for her input."

You stared at him, bewildered. "She’s going to decide?"

He nodded sagely. "Of course."

You sighed again, shaking your head. "And how exactly is she going to do that?"

At that exact moment, a small but firm kick pressed against your stomach, right where he had been painting.

Jiyong grinned, eyes wide with excitement. "Ahhh, see? She’s choosing!"

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Or maybe she’s just done with you poking her all the time.”

He ignored your teasing, his expression turning softer, more thoughtful. He ran a hand gently over your stomach, his wedding ring cold against your skin as it grazed the painted surface.

"I feel so connected to her already," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your belly. "I think she’s going to share my artistic vision but have your beauty." His eyes flicked up to you, filled with so much love it made your breath catch. "She’s so lucky."

Your heart melted, and you reached out to touch him, feeling closer than ever. "We’re the lucky ones, Ji."

He smiled, rubbing a hand over your belly again before picking up another flower petal and sticking it carefully to your skin.

After a few more strokes of paint and some deep, artistic pondering on Jiyong’s end, you finally asked, "So… now that she’s chosen the colour, can we start painting the nursery?"

Jiyong froze, slowly pursing his lips. His expression instantly shifted from serene to guilty.

You narrowed your eyes. "Jiyong."

He cleared his throat. "Well… we could… but, you know, it's a lot of labour, and - "

"Ji."

"And you're pregnant, and I just - ”

"Ji."

"I don’t want you moving around too much!" he finally blurted, eyes pleading. "It’s not safe!"

You stared at him, incredulous. "That’s why you’ve been delaying? Because you don’t want me painting?"

He nodded quickly. “I mean, you are involved! You’re growing our princess!”

You threw your hands in the air. "Jiyong, come on. I want to help. I’m not going to break!"

He hesitated, clearly torn between his need to protect you and his desire to make you happy. After a long pause, he finally sighed in defeat.

“Fine.”

"Thank you."

"But only sticking flowers to the wall," he warned. "No climbing ladders. No stretching. No actual painting. Just decorating."

You rolled your eyes but took what you could get. "Deal."

He'd been like that your whole pregnancy.

You weren’t allowed to carry anything. Not a grocery bag, not the laundry, not even your own shoes if he was feeling particularly protective. The man had damn near wrestled a glass out of your hand once, insisting it was too full and too heavy - until you nearly bit his head off.

After that, he reluctantly allowed you to lift a drink or your phone. But everything else?

Off limits.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

An hour later, the nursery was transformed.

The walls were coated in the perfect shade of soft pink, the door dotted with tiny, delicate flowers. Jiyong had even painted a subtle mural on one wall - gentle brushstrokes forming a dreamy, almost ethereal heart. It was beautiful.

You both stood in the centre of the room, looking around in awe.

It suddenly felt real.

This wasn’t just a room anymore. This was your baby’s room. The space where you would rock her to sleep, where she would wake up every morning, where she would play and grow.

Jiyong took your hand in his, his grip warm and steady. He gave you a small, almost disbelieving smile. “This is really happening, huh?”

You squeezed his fingers. “Yeah.”

Briefly, you were pulled back to when you first met him. At the time, you'd been too afraid to even look him in the eyes. And yet now you would touch your stomach and wonder if your baby would have those same, curious eyes...

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The three of you - already a family.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You should have known.

You should have known when Jiyong didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol all night - not even during Youngbae’s toast.

You should have known when he stayed practically glued to your side all night, his hand permanently resting on your belly like some kind of monitor.

And you should have known when he kept looking at you with that knowing little smirk every time you shifted uncomfortably.

But you?

You were in denial.

Sure, there had been some cramping earlier that day, but that was normal at nine months pregnant. It was not the start of labour.

No way. Not tonight, of all nights. Not when you were supposed to be enjoying Youngbae’s big concert, surrounded by your closest friends.

So, you pushed through.

You swayed lightly in the VIP section, singing along with Hyorin. And you breathed through the discomfort when Jiyong leaned in, murmuring sweet nothings against your temple.

And then the concert ended.

You were all backstage, congratulating Youngbae, when a sharp pain rippled through your stomach. Your hand immediately shot out, grabbing the nearest thing - which happened to be Jiyong’s forearm.

You squeezed, fingers digging in.

Jiyong didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he sighed, tilting his head with that same knowing smirk. "Right, jagi - your contractions are within five minutes. It’s time to go to meet our baby."

Silence.

Then -

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Every single person in the room turned to stare.

Youngbae, still towelling off his sweat, froze. Hyorin’s jaw dropped. Daesung, mid-sip of water, choked violently.

"Is this really happening?!"

"How could I have not noticed?"

"I'm going to be an uncle again?"

Jiyong rolled his eyes. "Yes, ok, she's in labour. Time to go. Let’s move."

"Yah!" Hyorin smacked your arm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You can't smack a pregnant person!" Daesung jumped in, standing in front of you like a personal bodyguard.

You tried to protest, but another contraction hit, and all that came out was a pained groan.

"What are we waiting for!" Youngbae ushered, grabbing his wife as Daesung threw on his jacket.

"This isn't an afterparty." You muttered, shuffling out of the room with Jiyong at your side as the others followed closely behind.

"We were there when you met, we'll be there for this too."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The car ride was complete chaos.

You were wedged in the back between Hyorin and Daesung, who were gripping your hands like they was the ones about to give birth.

Youngbae was in the passenger seat, throwing out directions that he believed was the fastest way to the hospital.

"Take a left here! Hyung! Hyung! You missed the turning," He instructed Jiyong, his maps up on his phone. "Go right here! No! Jiyong!"

Your husband ignored his frantic shouting as he continued straight ahead. "I know the way." He'd been studying every route to the hospital since you entered your third trimester.

Daesung, squished in the back, was losing his mind. “Drive faster! Why are we not driving faster?! This is an emergency! Run the light!”

Jiyong stayed silent.

Completely calm. Not panicked. Not frantic. Not hovering.

He just gripped the wheel, eyes steady, jaw set. Cool. Collected.

Which only made it worse because nobody expected this.

“Why is he so quiet?!” Daesung hissed from the back.

"Maybe he's in shock!" Hyorin whispered back. "Youngbae fainted when I had our son."

"Hey... I was tired and simply closed my eyes," Youngbae muttered in return. He then looked to his bandmate with wide eyes. "You're not going to faint right? Tell me and I'll grab the wheel."

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

"That makes it weirder, Jiyong!” Daesung exclaimed.

You let out a strangled groan as another contraction hit, gripping Hyorin’s fingers like a vice.

Jiyong found your eyes in the mirror. His voice was calm when he spoke.

"Breathe, jagi," he murmured. "We’re almost there."

Everyone else was in full-blown meltdown mode, and yet he was here, anchored, pulling you back down to earth.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By the time you got to the hospital, Jiyong immediately sprang into action.

The moment the car stopped, he was out, grabbing the hospital bag from the trunk - which he had secretly packed without your knowledge.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group spilled out of the car like a panicked clown parade.

"Move, move, move!” Youngbae yelled like it was a military drill.

Jiyong opened the door for you, helping you out carefully, and wrapped an arm around your waist as he guided you inside. The others trailed behind, all talking at once -

"We’re here for the birth!”

"She’s having the baby right now!”

"We need a wheelchair!"

"I can still walk Daesung.” You declined even when he nearly tripped you up, trailing closely behind at your heels.

Jiyong ignored all of them. He was only focused on you.

Hyorin was on the phone with your mother, giving her updates in hushed tones. Youngbae was already calling Jiyong’s mom. Daesung, pulled out his own phone, not one to be left out.

"I'm calling Seunghyun," He muttered.

Another contraction hit. You clenched your jaw, voice shaking. "Ji... I’m scared."

And just like that, his entire demeanour softened.

He turned to you, his hands framing your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I know, baby," he whispered. "But you’re going to be okay. I’m right here."

And somehow, that was enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment you were wheeled into the delivery room, the chaos of your friends faded.

It was just you and Jiyong now.

He never let go of your hand.

Not once.

Through every contraction, every moment of pain, he was there. Whispering reassurances. Kissing your knuckles. Smoothing your hair.

"You’re doing so well, jagi."

"Just a little more, my baby."

"I’m right here."

And when your daughter finally entered the world - when her tiny cries filled the room - Jiyong let out the softest, most broken breath.

The doctor placed her in your arms, and Jiyong just stared.

He looked at you, his eyes wet, his lips trembling. "She's here," he whispered. "You did it."

You nodded weakly, exhausted beyond words.

And Jiyong - your calm in the chaos - just broke.

Tears streamed down his face as he cupped your daughter’s tiny head, his hands shaking. "She's perfect," he whispered.

You smiled sleepily, watching the love in his eyes as he gazed at your little girl - the masterpiece he had been waiting for.

The one he'd been waiting for his whole life.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

a throwback to the birth of baby diva! i thought i should post this before Angel arrives - which is not long now!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife

[noheadcanons-juststories]

Vampire!141 x fledgling!reader, who was found abandoned and starved. meeting 141

“Who called you?” you demand to know.

“Amos,” the man with the chops answers.

Boss called them?

“Are you from the Night Council?” you dread.

“Not at all. Amos is an old friend of ours, back from service,” he explains. His voice was soft yet weathered, like an easy thunderstorm on the countryside. “He informed us that one of his employees was possibly attacked. Asked us to come help.”

So these men were not from the Night Council as you feared. But you were still weary to open the door.

“I didn't ask for help,” you retort with a raggedy cough. “Whoever you are, just… just tell him that I won't be coming in anymore.”

“Listen, lass,” a new man spoke up, very much Scottish with a very nice mohawk, “Amos called us in fer a favor. But once he explained the situation, we let him keep it. He's worried, and ye need someone to take care o’ ye. So we're here to help you.”

“Please…” you beg. “I don't wanna be treated like some charity case. So unless you're gonna kill me, just leave me alone.” You were tired, in pain. You could barely stand anymore.

The tall man in the skull-plated mask approaches your window, looking you dead in the eyes. “You really wanna die, fledgling?” a rougher voice asks. “‘Cause I can arrange that.”

“Simon,” Chops quietly reprimands.

“No, Cap, we need to get this outta the way,” ‘Simon’ persists. “‘Cause m'not gonna come all the way here for a fledgie too weak to live.”

“Bit harsh, dontcha’ think, Lt.?” Scot frowns.

Simon ignores him. “The reason we're here is because our friend is worried about his employee,” he tells you. “He's fuckin’ cares about you. Now, we can be civil, and you let us in. Or we can cut to the end, and I put you out of your misery, quick and painless. So what's it gonna be?”

As he speaks, you slowly slide down to the floor. Pulling your blankets tighter around you. Truthfully, neither option sounds appealing. You don't know these men. Childhood lessons on stranger danger and accepting help from strange men never prepared you for the undead. But on the other hand, did you really want to go out a pathetic, dehydrated corpse? There's only two outcomes with two different paths leading to either. Die or find a clan. The Night Council does not guarantee anything except your immediate end. Meanwhile, Amos got a clan on speed dial for you.

John sits down by your window. “Listen, love…” he speaks softly. “We're here because Amos refused to call the Night Council on ya. And I don't blame him. They're diligent, but they're still pretty ruthless. Especially towards those abandoned. He called us because he knew we were the better choice.”

 You lean against the wall. “You could've refused…” you whisper.

“Could’ve,” John shrugs. “But didn't want to.”

“Why not?”

There were a few reasons…

“‘Cause I’d hate for a fledgling to die without bein’ given a chance,” he responds.

…One of them being that he was once in the same boat as you when he was first turned, albeit through uglier circumstances…

“Regardless of how you got here, you need someone to show you the ropes.”

…He was looking to sire another vampire after Kyle, despite his own reservations about immortality. Amos just happened to call while he was brewing in his thoughts, surprised that the old faun still had his number…

“And it'd be a shame to lose a sweet soul like you.”

…And Amos had only good things to say about you, practically gushing as if you were his own kid. Kind yet firm with a bit of confidence, you were.

You let out a sigh, frowning as you reconsider your options. Your expression worsens when you remember that you only have two. “What's your name?” you ask the vampire.

“John Price.”

“What do you do, Mr. Price?”

“I hunt vampires.”

You giggle after letting the thought simmer for a bit. “You hunt vamps?”

“Only the bad ones,” he smiles.

“Do I… I don't fit that criteria, do I?” you question.

John shakes his head. “No. Not at all.”

“...Mr. Price?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I'm scared,” you admit.

“I know,” is all he says. “That's why we're here.”

Kyle joins John's side beneath your window. Then Johnny, who doesn't want to be left out, and lastly, Simon, who doesn't want to be left behind at all. The men sit underneath the glow of the Half Moon. Small chirps in the grass and distant hooting in the trees bring a peaceful ambiance to the evening. Coupled with the bipolar winds of Spring gently weaving through the grassy fields.

“Whaddya wanna do, lass?” Johnny asks you.

“I don't know,” you say, trying not to cry for the umpteenth time.

“Well then,” Simon speaks up again, “whaddya not wanna do?”

“...Not hurt anyone… and not die.

John nods once. “Alright… that's a good place to start… Think you can unlock the door for us?”

It's silent for a bit, but you don't go to the door. Instead, you unlock the window and crack it open just a tad. The four men look back to see you stick your hand out, pale and spindly, which Kyle takes into both of his.

“We're right here for you, fledgie,” he comforts you, gently squeezing. “And we're not leaving you behind.”

And for that moment, you believe him.

Role Call!: @boy-pussyyy

[mads-hemmo]

imagine you sent in a bedroom for one of schlatts bedroom videos and schlatt is quite literally cheesing because you’re his girlfriend and he knows exactly what your room looks like

Masterlist

You have watched your boyfriend react to his viewer’s room tour multiple times now. When he announced that he was going to be reacting to rooms again, you decided to submit a tour of your own. You even messaged his mods to make sure your room made it in.

You watch Schlatt’s stream from your couch, anxiously awaiting for your room to come onto the stream. “Okay this one is from (Y/N),” Schlatt says. You can see him do a slight double take when he reads your name off. He lets it go as he presses play.

“Hello Jschlatt. Let me show you my room,” your pre-recorded voice says. The chat is going crazy saying, “woman” as the video plays. You’re not showing your face, but Schlatt obviously knows it’s you by your voice.

“Calm down chat. Yes, it's a woman. Let’s see their room,” Schlatt says to the chat.

You turn to your bookshelf full of books. “Here are all my books because I’m a nerd and very intelligent.”

“Don’t look up any of those books, chat. You may be scarred.”

You laugh at the screen. Schlatt knows your taste in literature is romance with some smut sprinkled in. “Here are my rammies, youtooz, and gamer supps.” You show your small Schlatt shrine which makes you look like a parasocial weirdo, but Schlatt is just smiling the entire time. “This is my gaming setup.”

“Wow, it's very pink. Are we sure this isn’t some vtuber?” Schlatt comments.

You continue to show your room which shows blurred pictures. “These are of my boyfriend and I, but we are very private. He does not like people to see his face. He’s very insecure.”

Schlatt subtly rolls his eyes and smiles at his screen. “She is smart. Protecting her privacy. I’m sure her boyfriend is very hot and not insecure,” Schlatt comments. Chat is going crazy sending question marks and gay emotes.

“This is where all the magic happens,” you joke as you show your bed.

Schlatt lets out a small laugh at your comment. The truth is most of the ��magic” happens on his bed not yours. He also has small heart eyes when he sees the Rammie you sleep with when you aren’t together. “I know it’s small and boring, but that’s my room. You have made my day by watching this. Thank you Schlatt! I’m a huge fan,” you say, ending the video.

“What a weirdo. Mods, who let that one get by?” Schlatt asks with a stupid grin still plastered on his face. Some of chat seems to get the hint about who’s bedroom it is, but others are completely oblivious.

Schlatt keeps going, showing a disgusting hellhole with street signs. A little while after, Schlatt ends the stream. As soon as the stream ends, you see that you are getting a FaceTime call from him.

“That damn girl was obsessed with you,” you comment with a laugh. “Maybe I should be jealous.”

“Yeah she’s a weirdo. Can’t believe my mods let her through,” he laughs with you.

“She may have sent some messages encouraging them to let her room through so she could see how flustered her boyfriend gets.”

Schlatt rolls his eyes at you. “Thank you for blurring everything.”

“I may like messing with you, but I’m not evil. I still want our relationship to be for us, not your fans.”

He smiles at you. “I love you,” he says with a wide grin on his face. “Also the cats miss you. They think you should come over and stay the night.”

“Only the cats miss me?” You ask with an eyebrow raise.

“Maybe I miss you too.”

“Hmm if that’s the case, I guess I can come by.” Once you hang up the phone, you drive to his apartment so you don’t have to spend the night cuddling your Rammie.

A/N: such a cute idea!! I need him to stream again! I am almost through all of my reqs, so send more if you want to! Hoping to keep writing while I’m on break!

[halfway-happyyy]

Achilles' Heel - part I {Frank Castle}

"you are my achilles' heel, the weakness only i can feel" - leith ross

summary: in which of all the lost souls in new york city, an enterprising young woman has the misfortune of patching up The Punisher.

warnings include: mentions of violence, blood, etc. two people who could fill a cargo container five times over with their emotional baggage.

pairing: Frank Castle x female reader (she/her pronouns)

AN: i’m not entirely sure how this idea came to me, but here we are. i don’t claim to know much about sex workers (except that they deserve as much respect and love as anyone else), and like our main girl here, i certainly don’t claim to know much about medical intricacies, so go easy on me. happy reading friends 💖

As the opening notes to Billie Holliday’s P.S. I Love You rose above the muted static of her record player, her eyes fell shut in unconcealed ecstasy. A flash of lightning lit the otherwise caliginous night sky outside her living room window, and it occurred to her then, in the comfort of her own presence, that this was the first Saturday night she’d had off in months. There was a 2009 vintage red on the rack next to her player that she knew would pair excellently with her record, and just as she’d been about to reach for it, her phone rang, shattering her shallow illusion of peace. It briefly crossed her mind to let it ring, but when she saw that it was her friend, she quickly changed her mind. 

“Elena, this had better be good.” 

White noise reverberated on the other end before her friend elicited a hacking, wet cough. “Callie, I need a favour.” 

On account of her friend’s rare use of her real name, she knew immediately that whatever she was about to be asked, was serious. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I was supposed to do a job tonight- some boutique hotel up in hell’s kitchen, and I can barely get out of bed, let alone anything else.” A clap of thunder sounded closely outside, startling her, and the thought of going back out into the torrential downpour of the evening made her stomach churn with dread, but she let Elena continue. “It would mean the world to me if you took the call, Cal. The money’s good- 5 k upfront and he only needs about an hour of your time.” Elena sniffled and added, “It goes without saying but I will happily take the next call you don’t want to do.” 

It was apparent that whatever bug had brought her friend down had to have been a nasty one in order for her to turn down five thousand dollars for an evening.

“You sound like shit, E. Of course I’ll do it.”

She could still hear her friend chanting thankyouthankyouthankyou into the phone when she hung up. She cast a last, longing glance at the bottle in her rack and then begrudgingly went to her bedroom to change. 

Standing poised and slightly drenched in front of the hotel room door an hour later, she reluctantly knocked the way Elena’s text message had instructed and waited. Though the feeling was a rare one - she’d been playing the long game for a while now - apprehension swelled in the pit of her belly, and out of habit, she bent slightly to run a hand over the jagged outline of the knife in her boot; just feeling it was enough to put her nerves at ease for the time being. When her client still hadn’t answered the door, she became concerned that she’d had the wrong room, and just as she was about to double-check her messages, the door swung open. She hesitated a moment before entering, and when her eyes eventually adjusted to the dimly lit room, she noticed a man perched on the edge of the neatly made bed, staring off into the distance as if in a daze, and holding a hand to his side. An undetectable bite of something hung so heavily in the air that she could almost taste the slightly salty brine of it on her tongue. 

The man cleared his throat and rasped, “You Elena?” 

She took a tense breath and shook her head. “Elena was indisposed this evening. I’m Jane.”

She watched the man hang his head and elicit a string of rough curse words.

As the rain dried on her skin, annoyance swirled in her belly. “Excuse me, is there a problem?” 

A bark of laughter erupted from him, humorless and cold. “Yeah, there’s a fuckin’ problem. There was a reason I asked for her specifically.” 

Elena had briefly mentioned something about her client requesting a girl with a medical background, but they had both chalked that up to a kink he probably had. They decided that this was just going to be one of those times where she would have to fake it to make it. 

“Listen, pal, if it’s a nurse thing you’re after, I’m your gal. I’ve got a little paper hat and a stethoscope-

He cleared his throat and glanced up at her, and it was then that she noticed the complete state of disrepair the man was in, and the rest of the words fizzled in her throat. Her stomach plummeted when she realized the source of the metallic tang in the room was blood. His face seemed to have taken the worst of the damage; multiple shallow cuts oozed crimson, and a violet bruise bloomed under an umber eye that would surely take the form of a full-blown shiner in the morning. Her gaze traveled lower, to where his hand held his side, and bile rose in her throat as she noticed blood seeping out from between his fingers.

His voice was hoarse when he murmured, “Yeah kid. It’s a nurse thing I’m after alright.” 

Kid? Who on earth did this man think he was?

Her mouth had become void of moisture at some point, so when she tried to say that perhaps they had better call an ambulance, his face turned up in a scowl. “Beg your pardon?” 

She gestured toward the phone on the desk beside the television. “I don’t see why we can’t call for help…” 

He shook his head adamantly. “Nah. No hospitals, no cops, none'a that shit. You’re here now, and if you’re able, I could really use the help.” 

She could feel the ice-cold blooms of panic taking root in her, and as she glanced back towards the door, the urge to cut and run became all-encompassing. She wrung her hands together, at a complete loss for what to do.

“Look man, if you die on me- if you die here tonight, I’m screwed. Beyond screwed. And this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not exactly qualified to assist you with whatever this,” she gestured vaguely towards him. “Is.” 

His laughter was genuine this time, but it vanished quickly and was replaced with a grimace of sheer pain. “I ain’t dying, kid. Not tonight anyway. And even if I did, I know a couple of okay lawyers that could get you out of a bind no problem,” His gaze found hers again, and the unexpected earnestness in it nearly floored her. “Please.” 

She found herself nodding before she could fully talk herself out of it. “Oh christ, okay. What do you need?” 

He inhaled deeply and gestured with the jut of his chin to a medical kit that lay open on the desk beside the phone. “There’s a needle and some thread in there-

“No,” She shook her head. “No no no. I can’t.” 

He screwed his eyes shut and hissed out another expletive. “No pressure here, but there’s a high chance I’ll bleed out if you don’t and I’d do it myself, but I can’t quite reach it.” 

Despite the chaotic haze of the moment, it all began to make sense. Three years ago, and after a particularly bad year, Elena had quit her job as a charge nurse at Mount Sinai. His earlier statement about asking for her friend specifically chimed like a bell through her muddled mind.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you it was as easy as sewing drapes?” 

Disbelief clouded her features as she shook her head. “No, it would not.” 

She wandered over to the kit and peered in, noticing two spools of black and navy thread. She pulled them both out and asked if he’d had a preference over one, which made him snicker. 

“Black suits me just fine, kid.” 

She got to work threading the needle, and when that was finished, she approached him reluctantly.

“You always carry a medical kit with you?” 

The man tried to manage a shrug. “I’ve found it comes in handy from time to time.” 

She took a steadying breath. “Alright, I’m ready if you are.” 

He reached down to retrieve a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a hearty swig. When he set the bottle back down, he dropped his hand with a wince and proceeded to gingerly pull the t-shirt from his battered body. If she’d thought his face was bad, it was nothing compared to the carnage that littered his chest and abdomen. “Jesus,” She gasped. 

“Yeah well, you should see the other guy.” He managed between gritted teeth. 

He bore the faintly heady scent of gunsmoke and blood, and as she leaned closer to inspect the wound she murmured, “Judging by how this looks, I think the other guy may be dead.” 

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “I think you may be right.”

She quickly passed a square of gauze over the wound, ignoring the pained grunt that fell from the man’s mouth and sighed. “Do I get to know your name for this?” 

“You wanna know my real name? Or should I take a page outta your book and give you a fake one?” 

It was her turn to choke out a breathless laugh. “You sure talk a lot of shit for someone at the mercy of a complete stranger.” 

He hissed as the needle pierced his skin and managed a grunted, “Yeah well, this ain’t my first rodeo.” 

She was entirely unsurprised.

“It’s uh… It’s Frank.” he eventually croaked.

She was quiet as she tried her best to focus on the gruesome task at hand, but the insufficient lighting combined with the calamitous thunder outside made it all a bit harder than it needed to be. “Yeah well Frank, first aid 101 says that you don’t pull the protrusion from the wound until you seek proper medical help.” 

“Fuck,” He seethed when she pricked a particularly sensitive spot. “We got a smartass on our hands, I see. You gonna tell me your real name now?” 

She ignored that completely. “Hey, answer me this: there was no one else in your life that you could have called besides an escort agency to come fix you up?” She found the mere notion of it all inexplicably sad. 

Despite the pain he was in, a smirk ghosted his features. “I only got two people that I would trust my life with, and both of ‘em are uh… what’s the word you used earlier? Indisposed?”

He flinched and swore again.

“They’re indisposed at the moment. Plus, you offer much more of a view to look at than they do.” 

Jesus, the nerve on this guy. 

She gave her head a shake and huffed out an exasperated breath. “Well, I’m sure you’ll regret getting a hold of Elena when this thing heals. I’ve likely maimed you for the rest of your days.” 

“Pfft, have you seen the rest of me, kid? Add it to the pile.”

While she took stock of the rest of him, her gaze drifted to the gold wedding band on a chain around his neck. “Your wife know where you are?” 

Frank stiffened against her, eyes drifting to the ceiling above her head. “Nope.” 

“Lucky lady,” She murmured, as she finished the last stitch and tied off the end of the thread.

She watched Frank’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he uttered, “My wife’s dead.” 

Her eyes fell shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

He offered her a shrug, his face a blank page. “You didn’t know.” 

The room became quiet while she busied herself packing gauze over the wound and placing tape over it to keep it there. She hastily surveyed the rest of the damage that she could see and asked if there were any other problem areas she should know about.

Frank shook his head. “None that require any more of your fancy suture work.” He pulled the blood-stained t-shirt back over his head, shielding the carnage of his toned chest from her, and she ignored the surprising prick of disappointment as a result.

“Can’t imagine you get too many calls like this.” 

She let out a low whistle. “This one was definitely a first.” 

Frank tilted his head to the side, studying her. “I bet you see a lot of shit though, doing what you do.” 

Doing what you do. 

Selling your company, your time, your body for money. 

She stood from the bed then, and turned towards the direction of the washroom, desperately wanting to rid her hands of the sickeningly sticky feeling of his blood on them.

“Not as much shit as you see, doing what you do.” 

She took her time at the sink, methodically scrubbing away the gore under scalding water until it ran clear, and when she entered the room again, Frank had propped himself up against the headboard of the bed and was watching her.

“I meant no disrespect, kid. You gotta do what you gotta do.” 

She rolled her eyes and murmured an acerbic, “How progressive of you.” 

It was hard to miss the mischievous glitter in his eyes when he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Tell me something. You ever have to use that knife in your boot?” 

She couldn’t imagine how he’d known, and she tried in vain to keep her voice neutral when she shrugged and said, “Not yet, but you never know.” 

A smirk lifted his lips skyward as he echoed her words. “You never know.” 

She cleared her throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “The guy who did this to you… Is he really dead?” 

A shadow passed over Frank’s face; if she hadn’t been watching him already, she would have missed it entirely.

“Would you believe me if I told you he was better off that way?” 

For some inexplicable reason, she could believe it, but she didn’t need to confirm it because the knowing look on his face told her as much. 

She clocked the watch on the underside of her wrist. Twenty past midnight. Shit.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, Frank?”

He winced, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Yeah kid, you can tell me your name. And none of that Jane Doe horseshit.” 

She scoffed. “Why? What’s the point?” 

Frank’s gravelly just humor me, was so quiet she almost missed it.

She kicked at a stray pebble on the carpet and sighed in defeat. “It’s Calliope. But I go by Callie.” 

A smile grew on his face that caused a wave of butterflies to take flight in her belly, despite everything.

“Your folks Greek mythology buffs or Springsteen fans?” 

Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Both, actually.” 

He nodded in satisfaction. “I got one more question for ya.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Seems you’re full of those tonight.”

“Why didn’t you just pass yourself off as Elena from the get-go?” 

She cast around for a suitable answer and eventually landed on, “You seem like the kind of guy who values honesty above most things.” 

The tension in the room seemed to reach a fever pitch as Frank’s gaze bore into hers, his expression unreadable. When the silence became too heavy, she broke it by inquiring about her payout.

Frank gestured to the desk beside the television. “It’s in the first drawer there.” 

She followed his instructions and pulled the sizable bundle of cash from it, turning back to him with her head cocked. “Well, I’d say it’s been a pleasure Frank, but I’d be lying.” 

He smiled wryly at her. “Stay safe out there, kid.” 

She hesitated a moment before turning towards the door. Her hand was on the handle when he called her name, and she slowly turned back to him. 

“What happens if I need your help again?” 

She let her mind wander a moment before shrugging. “Just shine your bat signal toward the sky, and I’ll get the hint. See ya around, Frank.”

Once outside in the hallway, she stumbled back against the wall and allowed herself a couple of heaving lungfuls of fresh air. She was moments away from stepping into the elevator when Frank’s wrecked voice caught her attention, and she turned to see him limping toward her, a small piece of paper in his grasp. 

“There’s just no keeping you down, is there?” she couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

He shoved the paper toward her, his face serious. “This is my number. You ever get into trouble, you ever find yourself in a situation, you give me a call.” 

Her eyes widened in mild amusement. “Right, I’ll call you so that you can get yourself into the same situation as tonight. Seems smart.” 

He shook his head. “Look kid, I don’t care if you slam dunk it into the nearest trash can on your way out, just take it.” 

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She grabbed the piece of paper and backed into it, giving him a small wave. “Bye, Frank.” 

He mirrored her wave. “Take care of yourself, Callie.” 

~

did i originally post this earlier and then come up with a title i liked more? we'll never know. stay tuned for part 2💙

[paint-the-world-you-need-to-see]

I appreciate OP drawing attention to this news story, but I want to scratch at the implication that Israel has done nothing wrong ever. I also take serious issue with the claim that the global Pro-Palestine demonstrations of the past year were... not in solidarity with Palestinians..?? when all the protests were demanding a ceasefire?? to try to stop the 50,000-100,000+ Gazans who were killed?? by Israeli military actions??

YES, Gazans protesting to get rid of Hamas is an amazing thing, and it needs to happen, AND it doesn't absolve Israel (or the U.S.) of its genocidal war. The entirety of Gaza was razed, its people blown up and starved of food and medicine, and thousands upon thousands of children killed. October 7th was an atrocity committed by the militaristic governing power of Gaza, and every death since then has been Israel's choice.

I think about Hamas and other "terrorist orgs" as essentially gangs. Gangs and Police are two sides of the same coin: they come about usually out of desperation to protect "their own." In the case of gangs, it's often due to poverty, systemic oppression such as racism or resource theft that limits a community's opportunities. Some gangs provide a veneer of safety such as the Narcos in Mexico who have given groceries to the communities they dominate. Police protect white people and white property. All business legal or illegal use violence to regulate., and legality or illegality is the only thing that determines whether something is considered violent.

There are places all over the world where everyday people are ruled and mistreated by militaristic powers/"gangs". Those people don't just "get rid of" their gangs because those gangs probably originally came up out of desperation (and also now have lots and lots of weapons). Hamas exists because Israel has been taking land, houses, and lives from Palestinians since 1948. Netanyahu propped up Hamas up because he was threatened by the alternative: electoral communist, socialist, secular, democratic Palestinian parties. It's much easier to wage war on a people and steal their land if they're all "terrorists."

Doesn't mean Gazans want them. Honestly, I'm not Gazan so I'm not gonna speak for them (but I will quote a lot of them down below).

But if kids (remember the population of Gaza is very young because people are constantly being arrested, disappeared or killed) grow up under military (Israeli) rule with soldiers that are trained to arrest, humiliate, assault, beat, steal from, and murder them... AND their only permitted form of government is a gang, then yeah that might be why Hamas still exists.

Just don't frame this as Palestinians being oppressed ONLY by Hamas. Hamas fucked this up, but Israel blew it sky high. We can Yes, AND it folks.

“We are oppressed by the occupation army (Israel) and we are oppressed by Hamas,” Abu Zaid

"Participants at Wednesday’s events told CNN they blamed both Israel and Hamas for the devastation to the enclave."

"“Our message is to the Israeli army to stop the bloodshed and the war that has drained our energy and caused us to lose all our loved ones and friends,” said Mahmoud Haj Ahmad, a surgeon at Kamal Adwan Hospital who attended the Beit Lahia protest. “Our final message is to Hamas: Enough is enough. You have ruled long enough; give others a chance, and let others come.”

Mohammed Attalah, said, “Our message to the free world is that we are living in oppressive conditions and forced displacement.”

“Our demand is that Hamas does not represent the Palestinian people. This chaos that they have created is enough.”

Many Palestinians who don’t support Hamas often refrain from criticizing it publicly, fearing social ostracization, as the militant group is seen by some as the only party actively resisting Israel’s occupation of Palestinian land. Others hide their support for the group, wary of being targeted by Israel.

there’s only one free palestine movement worth mentioning. it’s the only one with the real potential to actually free palestine from the actual demon holding it captive. today, unlike all the pathetic, attention seeking at most, worldwide demonstrations, the people of gaza found the bravery to actually protest publicly and unmasked, in an attempt to free gaza, their gaza. it was one of those moments that will go down in the history books, that you just know you’re watching history being made. unlike all of the so called “pro palestine” demonstrations worldwide, when the people of gaza risked their lives today to have a voice, they mentioned that who they need to be freed from was actually hamas. their brave protest on the streets of gaza, was very loud and very clear and very much against hamas. not israel, not the IDF, not the west, not the US, not anyone, just Hamas. hamas for ruining their lives, abusing them, tormenting them, constantly risking their lives and holding it captive.

reports say that the protest was possible due to the israeli military presence. hamas’ people didn’t go to terrorize and shut it (and freedom of speech) down, its own people into submission since they were afraid to be spotted by the IDF and eliminated.

yet for some reason so very few have discussed it here. haven’t seen one person that identifies from the “pro palestine” movement mention it. why? because it clashes against that narrative of the palestinian people being those miserable z class people who need their patronizing western saviors to speak for them and save them. i can only imagine how discouraging it can be when you’ve been protesting for so long and BAM they find a voice and direct the blame to literally their own people, their so called ”government”, than simply the jews again.

[sports-on-sundays]

Hello hello, I am back with another request! It's with Oscar again but friends to lovers. Hear me out, the most cliche thing ever. Oscar loves her, she loves him but both too dense to realise it. They are out and about and another dude corners her and tries to make out with her, Oscar saves the day (make him protective and violent pls, make him punch the guy (side note: I would pay money to see Oscar actually punch someone, don't ask me why idk🙈)). So then he comforts her, takes her home and she asks him to stay. I will leave the rest of the convo to you🤗. Let there be a first kiss and cuddle I beg I am the biggest sucker for those bcs Oscar seems like the best guy to have your firsts with.

Holy hell that's a long ass request haha. Thank you for reading all that🤣 have fun with it and feel free to change things up a little bit if you want to!

be / OP81

Summary: Oscar x female!best childhood friend!Australian!reader - You and Oscar are finally forced to realize your feelings for each other.

Warnings: panicking, someone forcing himself onto another person, blood, crying, i did change up the request a little bit 🤏, feeling sick

Requested: Yes! And don't worry about the long request, I really liked it, and thanks so much for requesting! Long requests are better sometimes anyway.

Author's Note: Guys I'm starting to think I seriously need my very own Oscar Piastri....

"It wasn't even that funny-"

"It wasn't even that funny!"

Both you and Oscar look up to who it was mockingly imitating Oscar's friendly teasing, and your eyes set themselves upon Lando Norris, smirking obnoxiously.

"What's your problem?" you demand, crossing your arms, most of the laughter from Oscar's joke that he made fives minutes ago (yes, you were still laughing your head off at it) gone.

"What do you mean? I'm just kidding. It's just funny how your boyfriend can make the most dumb joke, and send you both into a ten minute laughing fit-"

"Boyfriend?" you and Oscar seem to ask incredulously in sink.

The smile falls off of Lando's face this time, and is replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. "Waaaait... So you're trying to tell me you guys aren't dating?"

Oscar blinks a few times in confusion. "Y/n and I are just friends. We always have been."

"Yeah," you add quickly, nodding. "I don't know why everyone thinks differently."

Lando's eyebrows raise in amusement. "Maybe because you guys act like you're mad in love...? Like, all the time? Or maybe the fact that you come to every single one of our races? Or maybe it's the way you look at each other with heart eyes, like the other one is the only one in the room? I mean, I don't know. It could be the way you're always giggling and talking and yapping to each other... But, oh, what do I and everybody else know?"

"Good question," Oscar deadpans. "What do you know?"

Lando shrugs, rollings his eyes, and struts away. As soon as he's gone, Oscar turns back to you with a little shrug and says, "Sorry about that. I guess nobody gets that two people can love each other as friends without feeling romantic feelings..."

You nod, shrugging. It makes sense to you, simply because that's how it's always been with you and Oscar, forever. The two of you practically slept in the same crib (not literally!). You always just assumed he's like a brother or something, and it doesn't pay to consider anything else. So you haven't. Too risky, and besides- that's not worth it to waste your time thinking about. You like things just the way they are, no need to change them.

"-Y/n?"

"Hm?!" you look up, snapping out of your pondering.

Oscar smiles at you, his brown eyes soft, like they always are when he looks at you. You smile back, eyes equally as warm as he says, "Did you hear me?" in amusement.

You chuckle, "No, sorry."

He nods, giving your shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I've got to go now get ready for the race. First of the season. Wish me luck!"

"Luck isn't needed," you say with a little grin. "You've got enough skill alone to win it."

He grins. "I guess. But luck never hurts, does it?"

"Not at all." You stand up with him and give him a quick half-hug, saying gentler, "Drive safe, and bring it home. I'll be cheering you on."

"Like always?"

"Like always."

"Hey, Y/n?"

You look up from your phone, shutting it off. You're sitting alone, long after the 2025 season opening race, the Australian Grand Prix, has ended. You haven't seen Oscar since the race ended, and have just been sitting around, not wanting to go home until you have a chance to talk with him. And there he is, standing there, back in his regular clothes: a black sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers, looking thoroughly sleepy.

You immediately stand up, smiling, saying simply, "It was a great drive."

"Well, I-"

"Hush. You scored points after what happened, and that's enough, for goodness' sake."

He smiles softly, and though his eyes say a lot more, he just nods and says simply, "Yeah, yeah, you're right. As always."

You nod promptly and say teasingly, "I know!"

He just rolls his eyes and says, already in a better mood just by talking to you, "Mum wanted you over tonight for dinner."

You grin, "She did, did she?"

"You know she always does, whenever I'm around, want me to bring you over. She adores you."

"She's the sweetest," you chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't mind one of your mum's home cooked meals."

Oscar nods, grabbing his coat, and saying, "I agree; that would hit the spot right now. C'mon."

You two make it to the car and get in, before you start heading to Oscar's mother's home. The car ride is mostly silent, but neither of you really mind. It's a comfortable, good kind of silence.

Towards the end of it, though, you ask simply, "So, that's the end of the first race week of the season. How're you feeling?"

Oscar shrugs, thinking for a few moments, before saying, "Hmm... I guess I'd have to say tired, but very hopeful."

You smile. "Good. You just need your beauty rest, huh?"

He glances at you with a cute little smile. "Right."

Dinner is nice. Warm, and reminds you of home, and your childhood, and everything good. And it's perfect for a rainy day like today.

Once he's finished eating, though, Oscar stands up, stretching, from the table, and says, "Well, I should be off to bed..."

"Oh, Oscar, you will give poor Y/n a ride home won't you?" Oscar's mother asks.

He looks over at you with a little smile and nods, saying, "Oh, right, of course."

You walk to the door together, but before Oscar opens the front door to leave, you gently grab his arm and say simply, "Osc."

He looks up from unlocking the door, meeting your eyes. "Hm?" he asks gently.

"You don't need to drive me home. I could get a cab or take the bus or whatever. It's all good. You've had a crazy week, as it is, much crazier than mine-"

"I mean, I was thinking maybe it'd be fine if I didn't drive you home, too, but you don't have to get a cab. I'm sure if I asked, my mum would be fine with you just staying the night or something."

You blink in surprise, but smile at the suggestion. "Oh. Well, I'd hate to bud in-"

He smiles. "You're family, Y/n. Don't worry." He takes your hand, tugging you back towards the dining room, calling, "Mum! Would it be fine if Y/n just stayed the night? We've both had a long day!"

"Oh, of course, honey! Tell her she can make herself just all nice and comfy and at home! Y/n's such a sweetheart, anyways. She's always welcome!"

Oscar smiles, looking at you. "You heard that, right?"

You smile back up at him with a little laugh. "Yeah, I heard that."

He nods, saying, "C'mon, let's go to my room."

The two of you head there, both of you knowing the way to Oscar's childhood bedroom from all the years you used to spend in there together. When you walk in, seeing all the dressers in the same place they always were, and all Oscar's old decorations from his karting days, memories seem to flood back, just like that, and both you and Oscar feel it. You crawl onto his bed, just like you always used to do, flopping down against his pillows, making yourself at home.

Oscar smiles and crawls in next to you. Just like he always used to do, too. "Last time we were both here was..."

"...right after you joined McLaren, right?" you smile at the memory.

"I guess so." He smiles down at you.

"I remember distinctly, one time, you had been gone so, so long, and I asked your mum if I could surprise you when you got home..."

Oscar starts laughing, clearly remembering it to. "Ohhh yeah. I threw open the bedroom door and flopped on my bed, even though you were on it. By the time I saw you and yelped, it was too late."

"Yeah, and I wrapped my arms around you and started tickling you," you say giggling.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "I remember. By the end of it, I was gasping and near tears. God, Y/n, you know I was tired."

"I know. But I made you laugh and smile, didn't I? And I made you feel better, didn't I?"

"I mean, I was just happy to see you," he says, his gaze comfortably resting on yours.

"I was happy to see you. Do you know how much I missed you those months?"

"You miss me if you don't see me for a week, Y/n, still."

"Why do you think I come to every race that I can?"

"Because I pay for you to?"

You roll your eyes at that, crossing your arms, "I mean, yeah, but that's not the sentiment I was going for!"

He laughs, giving your shoulder a little playful tap. "I know, I know."

You sigh deeply, the sweet silence settling between the two of your for a little while, before murmuring, "And I hope you remember after that tickle attack, when your face was red and you were nearly crying from laughing, I gave you the biggest hug of all time..."

Oscar's face warms at that as he leans a bit closer to you. "Yeah... Yeah, I remember. You wanna know why that moment was special to me?"

"Why?"

"Because that was the moment I realized that there are some people in my life that never truly will leave me. Even if I leave them. And you're one of the best of them. That was when I learned what family is."

You nod slowly, thinking about that for a few moments, before saying, "That's... so sweet. I like it."

Oscar smiles. "Me, too. I like it too. I'm so lucky to have a best friend like you."

"And I so lucky to have a best friend like you."

Oscar smiles at that, nodding, satisfied, before letting out a big yawn, reminding you if a sleepy cat, before folding his hands up into fists and rubbing his watery eyes.

And, as if it's contagious, you let your own yawn, a few moments later.

Oscar smiles, this time more sleepily at you, before slipping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you a little closer to himself. You flop your head to lean against his shoulder, and murmur, "Time for us both to get the much-needed rest our bodies are begging us for?"

"Mmm-hm. Yeah. Whatever you said," Oscar murmurs as he drifts off, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mostly relaxed face.

And you both drift off, surrounded by that perfect warmth and tranquility that feels just like home.

A little under a week later, you're sleeping against Oscar in a very similar position, feeling like you're just as at home in China than you are in Australia, simply because of the person you're resting against, when you're awakened by the painful claims, "I ship it, the mechanics ship it, the other teams' drivers ship it, the fans ship it. My God, even my mum ships it! Literally everyone can see you're mad in love except you and her!"

You stretch, your eyes fluttering open, and murmur before you're even sure it's Lando's unwanted yapping torturing your ears, "Landooo shut uppp..."

Oscar gives your shoulder a squeeze, groaning to Lando in his perfectly alert awake state (contrary to yours), "Look at that, Lando, you made her wake up!"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you'd hate for her to stop sleeping against y-"

"Lando, stop, it's not like that."

"How come every time a girl and a guy are friends, everyone ships them? I think that's society's problem," you comment as you rub your tired eyes.

Lando snorts, saying, "It's not every time. You guys are just obvious. And oblivious. You just need to admit it to each other."

"There's nothing to admit to each other, Lando," Oscar comments as he watches you slowly lean off of him, slipping his arm off your shoulders.

"Yeah, we're, like, brother and sister."

"Well, I wouldn't say that-" Oscar begins quickly.

"I mean, yeah, like-"

"We're more like just really close friends," Oscar finishes confidently.

"Yes, that's true, I agree," you say quickly, looking up at him. "We're family, but not brother and sister."

"Ah, so you're family, but it's not like siblings. What else could you be other than mad in love but just too dense to realize it?" Lando asks.

You just glare, crossing your arms, and Oscar comments, "I don't know, but it's not like that."

"Maybe it's just not like that simply because you both refuse to admit what you really want."

"Lando, I don't need you of all people being my psychologist. Could you just leave it?" you comment, feeling Oscar's eyes watching you.

Lando sighs (overdramatically), shrugs, and says, "Suit yourself. I'm just saying, you guys have got to get together soon, or else you'll drive yourselves and everyone else insane. We can all tell you guys just need to kiss already." And with that, he once again struts away.

As soon as he's gone, you whine, leaning your head into Oscar's shoulder, "I hate Lando!"

"Don't say that. He's just kidding," Oscar says gently.

You sigh. "I know... it's just..."

"Hm?" Oscar prompts gently.

"I don't want people thinking something that's not true."

"Who cares what they think? We both know how we feel about each other, and that's all that matters." But do we? Oscar's brain echoes.

"Yeah, you're right," you murmur, nodding, comforted by his words, not even picking up the way he stares forward, eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought.

You've heard what you think you want to hear, and that's all that matters to you.

The moment you see Oscar after his podium, after he stood on the first step, winning such a solid race as that, you run into his arms, causing him to laugh as he hugs you back, saying, "Hey, Y/n."

"I'm so proud of you!" you say excitedly. "Amazing drive- amazing!"

"Thank you, Y/n. It means a lot. I'm so happy you were here to cheer me on."

You grin up at him. "Me, too, Oscar. Me too."

He celebrated with his team after the race, you staying in your hotel, since Oscar promised you he'd like to bring you home with him to Monaco, and have a more low key celebration, without as many people. Besides, you'd like it that way better anyway. And this way, you can get some extra sleep and try to avoid some of the jet lag from the long flight to Monaco.

Now you stand in Oscar's bathroom back in Monaco, gazing at yourself in the mirror in your white crop top and silver skirt, knowing that when you step out of the bathroom, all you need is for Oscar to tell you it looks nice, and then all your worries will vanish.

And once you do, of course, he stands up from the living couch and says, "You look really pretty. Ready to go?"

You smile softly, sighing in relief, and nod. "Yes. I'm ready to go celebrate with the winner of the 2025 Chinese Grand Prix." You laugh a bit, and add as you head out to the car, "Oscar, you know I'm so incredibly proud of you."

He grins. "I know, I know." You know he loves your lavishing, even if he wouldn't admit it. He's never gotten enough of it; you're one of the people that appreciate him the most, you think, at least. You appreciate him a whole lot, anyways.

Soon you get to your destination, and the night starts off really fun, you and Oscar just sticking with each other, laughing, singing, drinking, and dancing. But after too long, the air becomes stale, the noise becomes too loud, and the drinks turn bitter. You're tired, and Oscar's off somewhere, swept away with his other friends. You sigh deeply, leaning against the wall, running a hand through your hair.

It's then that you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it makes you flinch. It's unfamiliar.

It's not Oscar's hand.

You look up to see a man around your age with tangled overgrown curly brown hair and dark, cold eyes. He's wearing a gold chain around his neck and a football jersey. It's then that he shows you his unflattering smirk and says in a thick French accent, "I'm Jordan."

You just kind of nod, showing a fake smile and crossing your arms, not really in the mood for any antics with any strange guys.

His eyebrows raise as he says, "Do you have a name, or am I going to have to give you one?"

Your lip immediately curls up as you look at him from the corner of your eye, still not tilting your face directly towards him. "You're not smooth. My name is Y/n."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl. A sassy girl, too, at that. I like that."

You bite your lip, rolling your eyes in utter annoyance at this guy 'Jordan.' "Good for you..." you murmur, trying to send him the message that you really don't want to talk with him.

Jordan just hums and steps closer to you. You glance up at him for the first time, really, feeling a bit sick from how close he is to you. You murmur awkwardly, "Could you please step away?"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm enjoying your reaction too much."

"Please, stop."

He roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. You swallow deeply.

"I really like your skirt..." he purrs, leaning in closer to you, completely ignoring your protests. His hand slips onto your thigh and grips it tightly.

"Stop... I don't care-"

"You don't, don't you? Well, what a shame... I reckon there's not much you can do about that..."

"St-"

He lips meet yours in a nasty, rough kiss. Your head pounds and spins as your knees begin to shake, panic of what's happening sinking in, your thoughts raging with anxious thoughts at the same time as your head being completely empty. You push at his chest, but he pushes his whole body up against yours, pinning you to the wall, further into a shadow.

You gasp, the panic sinking in deeper, and hardly register what happens next.

Oscar's familiar voice in all the chaos says in one of the angriest, coldest tones you've ever heard from his mouth, "Get your fucking nasty hands away from her."

Jordan tears his lips away from your mouth as Oscar grabs him, Jordan turning his head to look behind him, but before he has a chance to react, you watch as a fist comes flying across and hits him square across the face. He stumbles back and as blood begins gushing from his nose. For a moment, his eyes meet yours in shock, as if he expects you to help a dog like him, but it's then that you watch Oscar grab him by the collar and murmur in the darkest of tones to him, "I told you to get your nasty hands away from her, and you didn't. That's my girl, and no one dares to touch her like that. You better not think you can go on like this, and I hope this can be a reminder for you not to." And with that, Oscar throws another punch, hitting the guy in his eye. You slowly slip down the wall, still watching in shock as Oscar finishes him off by handing one more punch to him on his bloody jaw, before letting go of his collar, letting him fall to the floor, finishing with a yell, "The pain you're feeling right now is nothing compared to the pain you deserve!"

You watch as Jordan scampers up and, just like that, without even considering a fight, stumbles off, out of sight.

And then, everything hushed, Oscar turns, and his eyes meet yours. His hair is a little sweaty and messed up, falling over his forehead. For a moment, you see that remaining burning anger, but as soon as he takes you in, that vanishes, and is replace by the familiar warmth he seems to always look at you with.

And the moment your eyes lock, the tears start coming, and you break down.

Oscar is immediately by your side, pulling you into his arms, sitting on the floor next to you and holding you in his lap, gently stroking your hair. After a while, you hiccup, slowly leaning away, your body still shaking, and murmur, mopping up your eyes with your hands, "Os- Oscar... That was scary. I'm scared."

He gently takes your hand. "You don't have to be. I'm here. Are you ready to go home?"

You nod slowly, and Oscar helps you up, leading you out back to his car, his arm around your back protectively the entire time.

Once back in the car, as the events of what just happened replay through your head, you hiccup, more tears threatening to flow. Oscar gently takes your hand, murmuring in the dark of the parked car, "Tell me what I can do for you, and I'll do it. I hope you know I'll do anything for you to feel better."

You sigh shakily and just lean into him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you for a few minutes, before you lean away again and murmur, "Let's just get home..."

Oscar nods. "Good idea." He turns the car on and begins driving, and as soon as he does holds his hand that he's not using to drive out to you. You put your hand in his, letting the warmth from it fill you and comfort you.

As he drives, you suddenly say in the empty silence, "'That's my girl.' That's what you said."

Oscar just nods a little. "I know. I did mean to say that, you know."

You swallow, thinking for a few moments, before murmuring the simple question, "Why?"

"Because you've always been mine and I've always been yours, haven't I?"

You swallow. "I don't know what that means."

"Forget what it means. You're the most important girl- the most important person- to me. You're my girl, and I'm not going to let anyone be messing with you."

That feels right to you, and good to you, to hear that. And you're glad, in a way, that he's so confidently figured that out. It frees you to say back, "Well, yeah, then... I guess that makes you my boy, then..."

Oscar smiles very softly, giving your hand a little squeeze as you arrive at his home. Once you're both inside, before you have a chance to start worrying, Oscar says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder, "I want you to be comfortable. What do you need? I could get you something to eat, run a bath for you, get a change of clothes, all three, whatever else you need-"

"Oh, uh, don't worry about it-"

"Hush," Oscar suddenly interrupts, shaking his head. He moves to stand right in front of you, before gazing down into your eyes, and saying in all sincerity, "Look, I want you to be honest. I want to take care of you if that's what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

You swallow, nodding a bit, before murmuring, "A bath and a change of clothes might be nice... I'm not hungry, though."

Oscar nods, putting his hand on your back, leading you to his room. He opens his closet and says, "You can wear whatever you can find. I'm going to go run that bath for you; I'll call you when it's ready. I'll get a towel for you in the bathroom, too."

You nod, find one of his bigger McLaren T-shirts and a pair of black sweatpants, and head to the bathroom just as Oscar is calling for you.

Oscar smiles at you gently when you walk in and say simply, "Anything else you need?"

You shake your head 'no,' saying, "Thank you."

He nods. "Of course. I'll just be in the living room, you can come there when you're done. Call me if you need anything. And take your time, too."

You smile weakly, nodding. "Alright. Thanks, Osc."

He nods, leaving you to have your bath. You peel off your clothes and sink into the water, feeling its warmth surround you like an embrace. You let out a long sigh of relief as the water touches your sore, tense muscles, soothing them. After the night you've had, it feels good to just be. To just experience something genuinely good and calming, knowing Oscar is just in the next room.

Oscar. The way he stood up for you, was so protective of you, and beyond that, has been taking such good care of you... You know Oscar a good man... He was always a really sweet boy, and he's grown up to be a really very upright and sweet man. It was crazy- crazy- to see him go off on that stranger, and beat him up the way he did.

But somehow, it felt right. It was just proving he's good. That he cares so much about and for you, he won't let anyone hurt you without knowing the consequences of it from him.

How much does he really care about me?

The question almost feels good to ask, because you have a feeling the answer is one you like.

And then the way he so confidently called you his girl.

'That's my girl.'

Just looking back on it, for some reason, it makes your heart skip a beat. It's that chest-tightening nervous affectionate feeling you get often when Oscar does or says little things. Although this time, it's not little, and every new thing he does seems to make your stomach flutter a little more. It's a familiar feeling that you're sure you've gotten hundreds of times before with Oscar, but for some reason, you're only realising it now. Why, you have no idea, and what the strange feelings could mean, you have even less of an idea.

Soon, you finish your bath, and after drying yourself put on Oscar soft, comfortable clothes, no matter how over sized they are on you. Besides, you don't care in the slightest about that as soon as you inhale his familiar, comforting scent when you put them on. You go to the living room and see Oscar laying on the couch on his phone, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants, just relaxing. As soon as you walk in, though, he looks up.

"Osc...? Do you have a brush I could use for my hair?"

He nods, hopping up from the couch, and says, "Yeah, I do. Wait here, I'll be right back. Just get yourself comfy."

He leaves, and you shrug, taking his advice, and curl up on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He takes longer than you expect him to, but soon enough, he walks back in and sits next to you, saying, "Why don't you just relax, and I can brush it for you?"

"Seriously? You don't have to," you say immediately, secretly wanting badly for him to brush your hair for you. You love the feeling of other people playing with your hair- and if it's Oscar, even better.

He smiles at you. "I know, but I want to." And with that, to both of your delight apparently, begins gently brushing through your hair. When he's done, he slowly start running his fingers through it, starting from the bottom and going up to the top. You sigh, leaning back into him, and Oscar just simply loves it. After a while he says, softly amused, "You just seem to melt when my hands are in your hair."

You shrug, smiling a little, and say, "What can I say? It feels really good."

He chuckles that low comforting chuckle that feels just like home. "I can tell." After a few more minutes he says, "I found a hair tie I think you must've left here at one point. Do want me to braid your hair or something?"

You smile, glancing back at him, and say, "You can do that? I don't know if I can trust you."

He just smiles back at you. "You should. I'm good at it. Remember, I grew up with three sisters."

You shrug again before saying, "Well, alright..."

He chuckles softly again, before he gently begins braiding your hair, his fingers gently weaving through your locks, slowly, until he finally finishes and ties it on the end. Once he's finished, you turn around to face him.

He smiles at you.

You smile back, taking his hands in both of yours.

"You're beautiful," he suddenly says, looking right into your eyes. "I don't think I've told you that enough. Because I think it all the time, whenever I look at you."

For some reason, your friend saying that makes you blush. There are a few moments of silence, before you look down at your joined hands and murmur, "Crazy that the hands that beat up that guy are the same hands that just gently braided my hair."

Oscar shrugs, smiling a little. "They have different uses in different moments. And I don't regret what I did for a moment, not any of it. I would do the exact same thing if I had to do it all again. In fact, just thinking about it makes me really angry. But what matters most is that you're okay."

You sigh slowly, nodding, your head a bit dizzy at the thought of it all. "I'm just so thankful for you, throughout it all. You, like, saved the day..." you chuckle wryly.

He shrugs, nodding a bit. "I guess." A little laugh.

More silence.

You stare down once more at your joined hands. "But Oscar..." you begin hesitantly.

"Yes?" he prompts gently.

"...I'm sorry."

"Y/n... for what? You did nothing wrong-!" Oscar begins somewhat incredulously.

"It's just... You were celebrating your win..."

"Oh, Y/n..." Oscar begins, his tone softening. "Come on, now. Look up at me, will you?"

You sigh, doing so.

"It's not your fault, what happened," Oscar says. "It's that idiot's fault, and we both know that. What happened happened, and there was no preventing it. And if you're worried about me, don't be. I had a perfectly good time celebrating in China with my team. This was more that I wanted to do something with you, for you. But look at this right now. Here we are, sitting together, anyway. Isn't that what matters the most anyway; isn't that the point? So why don't we just make the most of this moment, right now, hm?"

You sigh again, nodding slowly, before saying, you heart almost feeling like it's being squeezed, "Okay."

"Hey," Oscar murmurs, his hand touching the bottom of your chin. "You're looking down again. Talk to me." He gently raises your chin.

You swallow, and suddenly, words that you hardly knew you even thought start coming from your mouth, and only now as you hear them in your voice do they even begin to make sense: "I guess it's just that... You're so caring and gentle with me, and protective. And we like each other so much and get along so well and we've known each other for years and... I guess sometimes I wonder about us... You know, our relationship, like, what even is it? I mean, I think we'd both readily admit we most definitely love each other, but I guess... well, I don't know..."

Oscar nods slowly, before whispering, as if it's some long kept secret, "You guess you just wonder in what way we love each other?"

You swallow, nodding. "Well, yes, exactly. Because... well, I don't know."

"Can I tell you how I feel about you?"

You study his face for a few moments- his handsome face- and nod.

"I feel about you the most deep feeling I've ever known, deeper than I ever thought I could experience. The love I have for you is beyond anything I could describe in a physical sense- it's beyond a romantic love or and family love or the strongest kind of named love I could think of. All I know is that when I look at you, I see fulfillment, and happiness. I see everything I've ever needed, plus everything I've ever wanted. I see a priceless jewel- the sort of thing that anyone would honor and protect with their life. I see beauty herself, on the inside and out. I see my best friend, my favorite person, the one I would spend any and every moment with, if I could. I see comfort, I see love. I look at you and know the great lengths I would go for you. I know it's all so cliche, but it is a love beyond words. It is. I just..." he trails off, before leaning in and whispering, "Are you crying?"

You sniff, looking away, your heart pounding. "No..."

He smiles gently, his hand leaving yours to reach up and wipe a tear away off your cheek with his thumb, "Don't cry."

"That's just so... sweet... and... everything I exactly feel, too, put into words..."

"Y/n..." he hums gently with a little chuckle. "I don't want you to cry, though."

"Don't worry," you say with a little hiccupy laugh. "They're good tears."

He smiles a bit, grabbing your hand again and giving it a squeeze. "Okay."

You swallow, before daring to ask, "What would the difference be, if you were my boyfriend instead of my best friend?"

Oscar eyes seem to light slightly at the question, and he says simply, "Nothing at all, except for one thing: we would be able to express that deep love for each other in different ways."

You nod slowly, swallowing.

Oscar leans in closer to you. "How does that sound to you?"

"I... I think it could be just what I need."

Oscar smiles softly. "I mean, I feel like... it would be nice to not just have to use my words to tell you how much I love you. You know, to be able to kiss you, or something, instead."

You find yourself smile a little at the words, nodding as pinkness gets to your cheeks. "Yeah... that doesn't sound so bad."

Oscar smiles, just gazing into your eyes. "Yeah?"

"It's just that... with tonight, with what happened..."

"Oh, I wasn't meaning we had to do anything tonight- just to think about. You know...?"

You nod slowly, before muttering, "But maybe... Just maybe tonight is the night to do it." You pause, before continuing, "You know, with all that happened, maybe if we just decided... tonight, let's just take a little step... it would help me to leave that. You know, it wasn't my fault... and I have someone who really does love me."

Oscar smiles. "And I really do."

You smile back, looking back up into his sweet brown eyes.

He slips his hand out of yours and gently brings it to your cheek, muttering, "Well, is it okay if I kiss you? Just a little kiss?"

You smile wider, feeling your stomach flutter at the sincere question. Nodding, you reply, "Yes, I reckon that is okay."

Oscar nods, his thumb stroking your cheek a bit as he leans in, his other hand gently touching your waist. His hand on your cheek shifts to cup the side of your neck, and he whispers, his warm breath on your ear, "You still okay?"

You nod.

And with that, he leans in, and, pulling you closer to himself, kisses you in the most perfect way. His adoration and love for you flows through the kiss, while still keeping it short and gentle. When he leans away, he whispers, "How was that?" with a little adorable smile.

You just sigh shakily and murmur, "I think you should do it again."

And he does without a second more of hesitation. His lips meet yours as he pulls your body closer to himself, lost in the kiss, lost in his emotions. When he pulls away again, he's pulled you onto his lap, but neither of you seem to care, both too swept up in each other's gazing eyes.

"I didn't realize for how long I needed to do that..." he whispers gently.

You smile a little. "I didn't realize how long I needed that from you."

He smiles back. "We'll call that both of our first kisses, okay?"

You nod. "Does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?"

"I like the sound of that."

You smile and throw your arms around him in an embrace. He pulls you closer to him, leaning back so that you can lay your head on him, and rubs your back, whispering, "I love you so much, Y/n. So, so much. To the moon and the stars and all the way back."

You smile up at him. "I don't know about the moon and the stars for me Oscar, but I'll tell you this: I love you enough to want to spend my life with you. I love you enough to want to grow old with you."

At those words, Oscar's arms tighten around you, and he chuckles, "See how sappy we suddenly get as soon as we decide to just give it up and kiss? My God."

You grin into his chest. "Yeahhh... But I don't mind it."

"Oh, trust me, I don't either." He shifts, moving you with him, making you both comfortable, so that you're laying together, cuddling.

"I really like this."

He hums. "Me too."

"You know we'll never hear the end of it from Lando if he finds out."

You feel the vibration of his laugh in his chest. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's just relax. I just want to be. Be with you."

"I think that sounds like exactly what I was made for. To be with you."

He smiles, and you shut your eyes, content to listen to his heartbeat and just be.

Just be with him.

[fantasydreamland]

The Man I Once Knew

aemond targaryen x fem wife reader

Summary: Your happy marriage with Aemond turns cold when the war begins. The power continues to warp his mind until he is no longer the man you once knew. When he demands you fly your dragon into battle you finally reach your breaking point.

Notes: 18+ only!!! Slight suggestive smut, ANGST, fluff kinda, physical abuse, definite spoilers, some script from the ep.

based on the scene where aemond is trying to get heleana to fly dreamfyre into battle.

Word count: 1.7k

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You were Rhaenerya’s oldest child, betrothed to Aemond in an attempt to make peace with the family when King Viserys was still alive. When the war began and Aegon usurped the throne you remained loyal to your husband. He treated you well, much better than you had expected. You’re not even sure when you fell for him, all you knew is you were soon madly in love with each other. It was an easy choice to remain by his side.

But this war had turned Aemond cold, colder than he was before. He was always known as the cold quiet prince but with you he showed nothing but warmth. As of late, he had hardly shown you that same warmth. His mind twisting and warping from his new found power. It became even worse after Aegon’s injury. The prince regent was now drunk on the power of the iron throne he has so desperately wanted and was now so close to getting.

Now he returns to your shared chambers long past when you were asleep and was typically gone by the time you woke. You had only been intimate a couple times since the war started, before that it was hard to keep your hands off one another for even one day. Even then, these rare times were now fast and rough, he was no longer tender and gentle with you as he had been. He no longer took his time ravishing you, he would quickly pound into you until he found his own pleasure and rolled off of you to sleep. You were not sure how things went so wrong, but you could hardly bear it anymore. Your pillows were tear stained as you contemplated your life.

**********

You were sitting and talking with Alicent, explaining all of your thoughts and fears about Aemond and what is to come. She had become like a second mother to you, always showing you kindness even with her issues with your own mother. She pitied the position you were in now, she herself had been wanting an escape from this dreadful place and this dreadful war.

“What would you think about leaving this place?” She softly asks.

“Where would I go?” You respond sadly.

Just then there’s a knock at the door.

“The prince regent, your grace.” The guard announces before Aemond strides into the room.

“(Y/n), here you are.” He says before throwing a glance to Alicent. “Mother.”

“I was just going to bed.” You say casually.

“The crown has need of your service.” He says flatly.

“Now?” Alicent asks.

“The Pretender has raised new riders against us and we must answer in kind.” He explains. “I need you to fly with your dragon into battle.”

“Aemond.” Alicent chimes in.

“I do not wish to fight.” You say in a gentle voice.

“Our wishes must take second place now to what is necessary to preserve the throne.” He eyes you sternly.

“I won’t burn anyone.” You stand up defiantly.

There’s a short pause as Aemond stares you down and in that moment you could not even recognize the man you once knew.

“It isn’t a question.” He says as he grabs your arm.

“Aemond.” Alicent says again.

“They have defiled our birth right! Made commoners into dragon riders!” He begins shouting and yanking harshly on your wrist as he tries to pull you out of the room.

You struggle to pull away from his strong grip while Alicent continues calling his name as she tries to help you from his grasp. He ignores your pleas and sounds of pain as the anger blinds him.

“It is a sin and must be punished!” He continues yelling his demands.

“May I remind you that is still your wife?”

“We are in peril today more than yesterday!”

“Was it peril that moved you to burn the town of Sharp Point?” Alicent counters. “Peril or basest fury at your own humiliation?”

Aemond finally lets go of his tight grasp on you, causing you to stumble back in tears. Alicent’s words only reminding you of the monster he has become. Burning down a town full of innocent folk out of anger towards the enemy.

“You wish to rule the seven kingdoms but you rain ruin and death upon its smallfolk when you’ve been insulted… because it makes you feel strong, and now you seek to corrupt your wife. Of all of us, the gentlest and most deserving of your protection.” Alicent smacks him on the arm.

“And who will protect her if cannot protect herself?” Aemond snaps m.

“And who will she be if her mind is broken?” Alicent snaps back.

“Tis no longer our rule that is threatened, our very lives. Would you not have us prevail?” Aemond tries to make you both see reason.

“Not like this.” Alicent responds.

Aemond looks to you still holding onto your sore arm and staring at him in tears before his gaze returns to Alicent.

“NOT like this!” She pushes.

Aemond pauses another moment before turning and storming out of the room without another word.

**********

The severity of his actions begin to sink in. Aemond cursed himself for putting his hands on you. The fear you had in your eyes as you looked into his. You had never looked at him that way, you had only ever looked at him with love and kindness. But he saw the fear and resentment that everyone else had always showed him, you were the only person who didn’t look at him like he was a monster. He couldn’t bear the thought that you now saw him that way too. Perhaps he had truly become one.

**********

Aemond found you standing alone overlooking the dull lights of the city in the night sky. You hadn’t bothered going to bed as you planned, you knew you would not sleep anyway so instead you went to take the night air.

“Wife…” He says softly as he approaches from behind you but you don’t acknowledge him. “I know you wish no harm to anyone. But in a time like this… when the good of the realm depends on us….” He continues gently, almost reaching out to touch your arm before hesitating and pulling his hand away.

“My mother is not a dragon rider. She cannot understand that you and I have a truer call to head.” He continues.

You continue staring blankly over the city, your silence was like a dagger in Aemond’s chest.

“Come with me…. to Harrenhal…” He pleads, his quiet voice cracking as tears lined his eye. “We will lay waste to Daemon and his army. Let our enemy see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

You lightly shake your head in disappointment. You were waiting to hear his apology for his outburst earlier but he only continued pushing the issue.

“And if I refuse? Will you burn me as you did Aegon?” You say softly, Aemond’s breath hitches at your words.

You finally turn around to meet his silver lined eye filled with a tornado of emotion. Anger, sadness, regret, desperation, fear. He had told you the full story of what happened at the battle at Rook’s Rest, but he explained it like he had no other choice. You were never sure if you truly believed him.

“I just don’t know who you are anymore Aemond…” Your own eyes begin to water as you try to hold yourself up strong. “You are not the man I once knew. I used to pray to the gods that you would be king some day, and now… I have never been more terrified of that happening.”

“What are you saying?…” Aemond softly mumbles.

“I am saying… I can no longer remain by your side as you destroy the world before you. I plan to leave King’s Landing on the morrow. Where I will go, I do not know. But I fear if I remain here my fate is already sealed, and I’m not ready to die due to your ignorance.” You say boldly through your fear and sadness, holding his eye contact.

Alicent had plans for you both to escape the city, find somewhere quiet to live out the rest of your days peacefully. The last thing you had wanted was to leave your husband, but it was no longer love keeping you here, it was only fear. But fear was also your motivation to leave.

Aemond’s entire being felt aflame as he comprehends your words. He was already losing this war and everything he had worked so hard for. But the idea of losing you was unbearable. You were everything to him, his wife, his love, his life… his future queen, and now he was about to lose you for good. His heart shattered and his stomach twisted at the thought of never seeing your beautiful face again, or hearing your laugh, or seeing your smile that he realized he had not seen in a long time, knowing that was likely his fault too. You hear a slight sniffle before he takes a slow shaky breath as his eye continues to bore into yours, his mind processing.

“I could have you killed.” He whispers almost inaudibly, though you both know there is no real threat behind it, only hurt.

Even if you abandoned him he would still love you. Even if you joined the enemy he would still love you. Even if you utterly despised him… he would still love you. He knew this was his own fault he pushed you away, the only thing that ever truly mattered to him.

“It wouldn’t change anything.” You whisper back.

You brush past him as you silently walk back inside the castle. Aemond wished to grab you in that moment, hold you so tight you could never leave him. But instead he watches in pure devastation at your departing figure as you walk away from the man you once knew. A tear falls down his face while his entire world officially crumbles to pieces around him.

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[yuechihua]

a midnight guest.

summary: jamil has to contend with an unexpected guest and his own growing feelings when ramshackle dorm's pipes burst and kalim invites you to stay at scarabia.

notes: 4.7k words, author's notes, fluff

Jamil has long known of Kalim’s unfortunate habit of picking up strays, his inability to resist a pitiful look or downturned mouth, so he shouldn’t have been so surprised when Kalim shows up at the dorm with you and Grim in tow. 

“I’m giving them a place to stay!” Kalim announces, gesturing at you and Grim like he’s presenting Jamil with two kittens he’s found off the side of the road. His smile is bright, even as the sun slips down the horizon, painting the entrance of their dorm in darkening oranges and reds.

A cool breeze stirs through the evening, and Jamil keeps his face perfectly neutral as his eyes bore into you and Grim. Grim shuffles like an impatient child, but you’re more tranquil, clutching a duffel bag to your chest.

When you notice Jamil’s eyes on you, you smile at him, apologetic.

��Sorry,” you murmur. There’s a trace of embarrassment in your voice. “I know this is unexpected. But the pipes at Ramshackle burst, and no one else has room for me. I was going to ask Crowley, but—”

“But I found them!” Kalim interrupts. “And we have so much room, and the idea of our friends out in the cold is sad, and the more the merrier, right?”

Kalim picking up strays is a kind gesture, sure, but with his scattered attention, the responsibilities and care inevitably end up falling on Jamil. Promising things he can’t keep, making plans that just end up creating more work and stress for other people, thinking kindness is a convenient excuse for every irresponsible action: it’s all so painfully Kalim it makes Jamil want to shake him until some loose screw in his head clicks into place.

You’re not to blame for this situation, not really. Jamil doesn’t even hold any particular distaste for you; his shit list is a mile long, but you’ve generally managed to keep yourself off it. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s enthused at having to put up another guest for the night. It’s a security risk, even though he doubts you could do anything with both a lack of magic and malice.

Additionally, you’ve always been more of Kalim’s friend than his. Everything he has belongs to Kalim, but nothing of Kalim belongs to him, as much as Kalim insists they share everything, like true friends do. It’s a naive thought, ugly in the pure way Kalim says it. Jamil has no desire to compete for things that can’t be his. 

Besides, friendship means nothing in their world. Someone is always waiting with a knife behind their back or poison in their hand. You could mean well, but who’s to say you don’t have ulterior motives of your own?

“Come in,” he says. His voice is smooth, cordial. The perfect attendant, the diligent servant. “We do have quite a few spare rooms. I can make one up for you.”

“Oh, and they should join us for dinner, too! Jamil is the best cook,” Kalim says, turning towards you with puppy-dog enthusiasm. “You’ll love anything he makes!”

“I don’t want to impose,” you begin.

“Free grub? Count me in!” Grim says. “Whatcha got on the menu?”

“Ooo! I don’t know! But I just know it’s going to be good. Do you have anything you want? I’m sure we can get it for you!”

Jamil lets a sigh escape him. You’re the only one who seems to notice, watching him with a tilted head, as if observing him, but he has no time to puzzle out your intentions. Dinner was just supposed to be Kalim and him, and now he has to figure out a way to feed two additional people. There’s no reason for you to pay attention to him, regardless.

The rest of the evening passes only with the minimal amount of trouble that Kalim’s presence usually brings: careless promises of future parties, a mess of dishes he has to clean, and overwhelming generosity that needs to be checked. Somehow, Jamil manages to whip together a few more dishes to feed both you and Grim, the latter whose stomach seems to be endless. Kalim’s chatter flows just as eternally, and Jamil can only pray for dinner to be over quickly.

When it’s over, he guides you and Grim to your room, leading you down winding hallways and luxuries strewn carelessly at every corner, priceless vases and artwork that’s worth more money than he can make in a lifetime. It’s a constant reminder of Kalim’s wealth, his endless presence saturing into every corner of the dorm.

“This is your room,” he says. It’s a spare guest room, one of many, in fact, that Kalim has. It’s sumptuous as all of them are, with silk drapes, embroidered bed sheets, and heavy wooden furniture crafted by skilled artisans. 

“This is one swanky place!” Grim crows. “Do ya think we can take some of it home?”

Jamil smiles, a touch coldly. “Only if you can afford it. A pillow alone is worth more than your entire dorm.”

“Okay, jeez,” Grim murmurs. 

“Thank you for this, Jamil,” you say. You linger at the doorway, even as Grim runs in and starts jumping on the bed in delight, the mattress soft and springy enough to launch him several feet in the air.

“Say nothing of it. Kalim invites friends over all the time.”

“It just seems like a lot of work,” you venture. “And it was last minute. I feel bad.”

“Don’t. It’s no more work than I’m used to.”

“All right.” You look like you want to say more, but mercifully, you only dip your head at him. “Good night, Jamil.”

“Good night, prefect.” If there was one thing to say about you, then it was that you understood when to keep your mouth shut and read the mood, a skill both Kalim and Grim sorely lacked.

It’s late at night when Jamil finally has time for himself, and he settles on the edge of his bed, letting his hair loose, running through the list of everything he has to do in the morning. It’s exhausting that his day never really seems to end. There’s always something to prepare for, another task to consider, someone else to watch over.

Not even his time belongs to him. His life will always be spent at another’s whims. 

His head throbs. He stands, running a hand through his hair. Maybe he’ll grab some water to help him sleep.

The halls are silent at this time of night, a change from the usual noise and rush of students. It’s peaceful, the shadows pooling at his feet, the moonlight gilding everything in silver. In its solitude, it almost makes Jamil feel like the dorm is his, as foolish of a thought as it is.

There’s shuffling coming from the kitchen. He freezes just beyond the door, hand gripping the pen in his pocket. An intruder? Or another student? Regardless, he rounds the corner, pen in his hand, a spell on the tip of his tongue—before you whirl around, lit by the buttery yellow light of the fridge, clutching a plate of grapes and a glass of water with one hand.

“Jamil,” you say in a gasp, startling just enough that the water ripples in your cup. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.”

“I could say the same of you,” he says, relaxing his grip on his pen.

“I was still feeling hungry. I didn’t want to bother anyone, so…”

“What about Grim?”

“He’s asleep. Here, let me get you some water.”

“I don’t need–” But you’re already reaching for another ceramic cup, and it’s more trouble to refuse this small kindness than it is to accept it. He leans against the island in the middle of the kitchen, marble counter digging into his hip, watching you fill the glass at the sink.

“Here.” You offer it to him. “Want some grapes, too?”

He looks at the pile of grapes in your dish, shining in rich, luscious purples and greens, like miniature jewels, dew clinging to the skin. “I’ll take one.”

The water is cool, and the grapes burst with fresh, sweet juice on his tongue. The two of you snack in the quiet. It’s surprising how relaxed he feels, how easy it is to be by your side. There’s no malice from you, nor a crushing weight of expectation. You’re like the clear, refreshing water in a stream.

The grapes are almost gone when you speak, rolling one between your fingers like a marble. “I’ve always wanted to talk to you more.”

“Me?” he says.

“Is there another Jamil Viper in the room?” you tease. “Yes, you.”

“Why? There’s no benefit to getting to know me. I’m not like Kalim.”

There’s a mischievous edge to your smile as you glance at him. “So what? I just want to get to know you.”

“... I’m not an interesting person.”

“I like people like you,” you say. “Here. Let me wash these.” Before he can protest, you’re already grabbing his cup and bringing all the dishes to the sink. Your words are strange, and he can’t make sense of them at all. Him? You want to know him? After everything he’s done to present himself as an ordinary student, why would you take an interest in him?

Maybe it’ll be to his benefit, though. You have ties to Crowley, and your own social connections could prove useful someday. There’s always the possibility that you’re attempting to use him in some regard, too. If that’s the case, then a relationship of mutual give and take isn’t the worst thing in the world, despite your lack of magic.

“Good night again, Jamil,” you say. It’s an odd feeling, not having to rush around, knowing things will fall apart if he doesn’t keep them together. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” he says. You leave. For a few seconds more, Jamil lingers in the empty kitchen, the memory of the sweet taste of grapes on his tongue.

In the morning, you act no differently than usual. It’s as if Jamil dreamt the entirety of last night’s encounter.

“I hope you slept well,” you greet him at breakfast.

“I hope the same for you,” Jamil responds. He’s attentive to your movements, studying you out of the corner of his eye. You act no differently than normal, chiding Grim for eating so fast he chokes, and bantering with Kalim. You’re casual, relaxed. 

The day passes much the same after that. He keeps track of Kalim, handles various chores throughout the day, and attends classes, perfecting his goal of keeping his grade at a middling, respectable level.

It bothers Jamil, just a little, how aware he is of you, seeing the flutter of your uniform in the corridors, hearing your laughter across the lunchroom. When you’re with your friends, Ace and Deuce, passing him in the halls, you smile at him.

“Hello, Jamil,” you greet.

“Hello,” he responds.

There’s no more to your conversation, simple and short as it is, even as he hears Ace in a fierce whisper, exclaiming, “Prefect, I didn’t think you knew Jamil!”

Jamil entertains the thought that you’re simply trying to cozy up to him in order to target Kalim, but he banishes it as soon as it arrives. You’re already friends with Kalim, so if you wanted to harm him, you’d have the chance to do so by now. So why the interest in him? What possible reason could you have to get closer to him?

That night, as he sits in bed, Jamil can’t bring himself to sleep. Instead, he heads out to the kitchen again. It’s for no reason other than a midnight snack, he reassures himself, even as his pace quickens when he hears the quiet noise of someone in the kitchen past the hour everyone should be asleep.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs, a pot of warm tea gently humming on the stove. There are two cups and a plate of crackers set next to you.

It’s hard to believe you’ve taken a genuine interest in him, but the suspicions temporarily relax as you offer him a cracker from the same stash you’re munching on. He takes it without a word, and you pour tea into the second cup, sliding it over to him.

“You look nice with your hair down,” you greet. “Can’t sleep?”

“I wanted to stretch my legs,” he says. “And you?”

“I’m just here because I want to be.”

“I see.” Jamil takes a sip from his tea. It’s fragrant and floral and altogether a gentle taste.

There’s no more conversation until the food is done and the tea is cooled, at which point you simply hop off the counter and say, “Good night, Jamil.”

“Good night, prefect,” he responds.

In the morning, over breakfast, as Grim squabbles over Kalim feeding him too many crackers, you say, over your own plate once he finally sits down, “Good morning, Jamil. Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning. It was fine.”

It’s a simple greeting, nothing more. But there’s a weight to your words, as if your day can’t start and your night can’t end until you see him.

After that, it becomes an unspoken agreement for the two of you to meet every night. In that quiet space of time, when everyone else is asleep and the halls belong to him, Jamil finds himself drawn to the kitchen. It’s rare that he arrives before you do, with your plate of simple snacks and quiet companionship.

The two of you talk about nothing in particular, but even a relaxed, meandering conversation still washes away the exhaustion of his day. The sound of your voice has come to be rather familiar and soothing.

“Grim keeps a stash of tuna cans under his bed for emergencies, but keeps eating through them whenever he gets hungry, which defeats the point of having a stash,” you’ll tell him. 

“Kalim doesn’t even think to keep food on him,” Jamil will reply dryly. “All he has to do is ask someone to fetch him something if he’s hungry.”

This is the only time of his day in which he has a moment for himself. Yet, he doesn’t mind sharing a piece of his time with you. You have common sense; you don’t irritate him unnecessarily; you’re clever and useful. That’s all it is, and no more than that.

“You look at the prefect a lot,” Kalim remarks once.

“I don’t,” Jamil replies. “Since they’re our guests, I’m just taking it upon myself to make sure their needs are met.”

Still, perhaps Jamil has gotten too used to your presence if even Kalim notices, though Kalim has always had his moments of unnerving emotional perception.

Several weeks or so later, you, Grim, Jamil and Kalim are passing time in the lounge. The four of you are supposed to be “studying” (read: you and Jamil are going over class notes, and Kalim and Grim are playing some nonsensical card game whose rules they keep making up). Occasionally, though, when he looks up, he’ll meet your gaze, and you’ll make a silly face at him. It’s cute, not that he would ever tell you that.

He’s just put his pen to paper when Kalim exclaims, in a voice louder than it needs to be, “Ramshackle is fixed?”

“Yeah, they just got it done. But dunno if I wanna go back tomorrow,” Grim says. “We’ve got a nice gig here.”

“You can stay for as long as you want,” Kalim says. “Oh, and feel free to visit as often as you want, too! It’s going to be lonely without you two!”

A blotch of ink is forming under his pen, staining his paper with a dark pool. Of course. How could he forget? Your time here is temporary. You were always going to leave, and it’ll be a relief to have two less people to worry about. 

He only feels so strange because he’s fallen into a habit of greeting you every morning, and seeing you every night. It’s simply difficult when his routine is shaken in unexpected ways, that’s all.

Jamil risks a glance at you, but your head is still bent over your paper. He can’t make out your expression, but your hands have stilled over your notebook. What are you thinking? He won’t be able to find out until tonight.

Grim and Kalim chatter in the background, returning to their game, but you and Jamil are both weighed down by unexpected silence. The blotch on his paper has grown, ink staining and spreading. There’s no way to fix it now.

The evening passes slower than usual. Jamil finds himself hurrying to the kitchen, the moon lighting his way as he flies with silent steps. However, several feet away, voices and warm light spill out from beneath the door.

Jamil’s pace slows, something sludgy and dark churning in his stomach. He doesn’t want to look, but he has to. You’re in the kitchen as usual, elbows propped against the counter, a plate of cookies resting beside you. And right next to you, his smile glowing like the sun, eyes crinkled in foolish complacency, is Kalim.

The two of you are engaged in some conversation about classes or extracurriculars. As Jamil stands in the pool of shadows, outside the reach of the light, all he can think about is how wide your smile is, an ease in your stance that only Kalim can bring out in people.

“Hi Jamil!” Kalim chirps, head perking up in his direction. “You can’t sleep, either? I was just going to grab something to eat, but then I saw the prefect was here!”

“No,” he says. “I wasn’t able to.”

“Come join us,” Kalim urges. “Do you want some of these cookies?”

“I’m not hungry.”

The thing about wanting, Jamil finds, is that it’s useless. Desires like his will only go unfulfilled, because, after all, he can never put himself first. Everything he does, everything he has, will only ever be given in service to Kalim. He’s doomed to forced mediocrity, to hide in the shadows to make Kalim shine brighter.

It’s a lesson he’s had to learn again, and again, and again. Nothing is his. He can only bite back his own useless anger, a snake choking on its own poison.

“I’m going to go on a walk,” he says.

“Okay! Come back when you’re done!” Kalim exclaims.

Jamil doesn’t meet your eyes as he strides away, keeping his steps even, measured, and fast. You’ll be gone by tomorrow, and he will still be here with Kalim, the shackles of an unchanging relationship and routine and future.

His body reacts before his mind can when he hears footsteps behind him, whirling around before your outstretched hand can touch him. It hovers in the air between the two of you, before you let it fall.

“Jamil,” you say. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just needed to clear my head.”

Your eyes are luminous, reflecting the silver of the moon. “Can I walk with you, then?”

“You left Kalim behind?”

“I was worried about you,” you say. “He’s all right. He was going to head to bed soon, anyway.”

He lets out a sigh, runs a hand through his hair. “All right.”

It’s a quiet walk. He’s learned to keep his footsteps silent, but you haven’t had to learn that same skill. It’s a strange comfort, the echo of your rhythmic steps, a constant reminder of your presence. He finds himself trying to match your particular pace.

“Grim and I are moving back to Ramshackle now that the pipes have been repaired,” you say. “They had to overhaul the entire thing.”

“It’ll be nice to go back home, I’m sure.”

“Yes, but I’ll miss Scarabia.”

“Like Kalim said, you’re welcome to visit.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

“If Kalim says it’s all right, I don’t see why not.”

You scuff at the ground with one of your shoes, as if you’re unsatisfied with that answer. “I’ll miss this too, you know.”

“Hm?”

“Getting you to myself every night,” you say. “I like Kalim, but I don’t really get to spend time with you alone like this.”

At some point while you’ve been talking, your steps have slowed to a crawl until you’re no longer moving. He’s stopped as well. You stare at him, unflinching, chin raised. What does he look like in your eyes?

“You say a lot of bold things, prefect.”

“You don’t get what you want if you’re not bold.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but what would the point be? Right now, you’re still here. You’re with him. Your words are assured, confident, in a way that makes him want to believe you. 

“It’s a nice night,” he begins. “Nice enough for a flight.”

If Jamil was a better person, he could say the suggestion in his words is born from affection, an innocent desire to be close to you. After all, Kalim is the one constantly offering people rides on his magic carpet, as if the sky is also a luxury he can own. But he doesn’t own it, and he doesn’t own your time, either.

“Should we go for a loop around the area, then?” you say.

It takes little effort to find a broom and repurpose it for his uses; flight magic is a parlor trick, but magic has always come easily to him. What Jamil has to be more careful with is flying with another person as he drags the enchanted broom out to a balcony. You hop on with ease, keeping a suitable distance behind him, hands wrapped around the handle in front of you. 

You seem used to the process. Have one of your freshman friends taken you out like this? Or Kalim? Were you comfortable enough to wrap your arms around their waist with the unthinking nature of affection?

“Should I get closer?” you ask. There’s new mischief in your voice, as if you can sense his thoughts. If nothing else, Jamil is tangibly aware of the warmth and weight of you behind him.

“Only if you don’t want to fall off,” he says curtly. There’s rustling, and then your arms are sliding around his waist, hugging him close. Jamil is silently thankful for the fact you can’t see his face.

“It’s always important to be careful of flight safety. Vargas told us that, you know!”

“Don’t let go, then.”

With no more warning, he sets off into the air, ascending with a practiced ease and speed. Up, and up, and up, until he can disappear into the clouds, reach up close to touch the frosty brightness of the stars, until everything below him shrinks and disappears into insignificance and nothing matters except for this.

The wind kisses his face, the cool night enveloping him. He’s free. He could go anywhere, do anything, and there will be nothing to stop him. This is his, all his.

“How far do you think you can go?” you shout, raising your voice against the rushing air. 

“As far as I want.”

“Are there any places you want to visit, then?”

“Everywhere,” Jamil says. The wind frees an honesty in him he wouldn’t be able to afford otherwise. Or maybe it’s just because it’s you. “I’ve always wanted to go all over the world at some point.”

“Well, we have one night to do it all,” you say, playfully. 

“You want to come with me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Your arms are still looped around his waist, the only spot of warmth against the cold night.

“It wouldn’t be too bad if you did.” 

In response to his words, you squeeze his waist once.

The two of you soar through the air for another hour, until you start shivering and Jamil brings his broom around, alighting on the same balcony you departed from. It’s over, but the thrill of his momentary freedom still hums in his blood.

Perhaps you’re feeling the same way, because neither of you make a move to head inside. Instead, you rest your arms atop the white stone balustrade, staring out at the sky.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he says. 

“Yeah. I can’t impose on you any longer. So, can you indulge me a little?”

“What is it?”

“Let’s spend a little more time together.”

“All right,” he concedes. You start making your way down the halls, a cheer lighting your steps. You’re heading to the kitchen again, and this time, it’s mercifully empty. No Kalim in sight, all the lights turned off. The only reminder of his presence is the empty plate left on the counter, which Jamil will have to wash later.

You drum your fingers on the marble island, some imaginary rhythm he can’t follow, before sliding down to sit against it, knees tucked up to your chin. You wave a hand at him, and he reluctantly sinks down until he’s cross legged, right next to you, on the cool tile floor. Shadows and appliances he uses everyday stretch out before him, but the darkness always makes everything a little unfamiliar.

“It feels like this is our secret clubhouse,” you say. “It’s nice.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I like spending time with you.”

“Why?” he asks. “I told you from the beginning. I’m not an interesting person. There’s not a lot I can do for you.”

Your smile is cheeky as you rest your head on your knees. “Let me tell you a secret, Jamil. Ramshackle was actually fixed a while ago. Grim and I could have left a lot sooner; he just let the proverbial cat out of the bag by accident today.”

“Prefect,” Jamil says, appraising you with renewed interest. “You’re slyer than you look.”

You wiggle your fingers. “You don’t get by without being a little underhanded, you know!”

Your conversation winds pleasantly through all manners of topics, from the mundane to the academic. The hours are ticking away, and he’ll have to get up in the morning to handle all his various responsibilities. But it’s hard to tear himself away from you, even when his limbs grow numb from sitting for so long. If Jamil leaves, he knows the moment will be over. Just for now, it’s the two of you, alone in your own world. 

You’re yawning when he finally broaches his question; he’s been waiting for just the right moment. “Prefect.”

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t you leave once Ramshackle was fixed?”

It’s hard to look away from you when you keep smiling at him like this, as if he’s being drawn like the tides by the moon: a helpless, and inevitable, phenomenon. “Because I want to say good morning and good night to you every day.”

“Oh.”

“Jamil?”

“Yes?”

“What about you?”

The thing about want is that Jamil is familiar with it; he knows acutely what it’s like to desire more than he should, to have it fester and rot from inside, as if it’ll destroy him if he doesn’t do something about it. Nothing is his, but maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to have just one thing, something he can’t let anyone else take from him, to selfishly cling to it.

 “I’m going to tell you good night, prefect. And when you wake, I’ll be the first one to greet you,” he says.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Even right now you’ll do it?”

“I’ll say it first if you want. Good night, prefect.”

 Good night, Jamil.” The sleepy excitement in just those few words alone is palatable.

You lean your head against his shoulder, and he shifts so it’s comfortable. Neither of you speak. From your even breathing, you might have fallen asleep already.

In a second, Jamil will move. He can wake you up just long enough for you to walk back to your room, or he’ll carry you if he has to. Then, he’ll slip into his own bed. If the two of you are caught together, it’ll cause too much commotion. 

But for now, Jamil will simply enjoy your presence, and tomorrow, he’ll be the first to tell you, “Good morning.”

[sturnmeovr]

Posting for awareness and informative purposes only!! I am not a bully or hater by any means!!

(the first two pictures are my post. The third and fourth pictures are a post that was posted today)

Firstly, I want to say I did not come here to be hateful, only to spread awareness. Writing is my #1 hobby just like many others on this app. My account isn't that big, I’m just under 1,000 followers and I am thankful for every single one of them. I work hard on my writing. I'm 24 years old with a full-time job and I’m a mother to a 3-year-old dog😂🫶🏻 I stay up late most nights to write, edit, interact, etc. just like so many others on here. I love writing just as much as I love the triplets and it doesn't feel good when I log into my account to see other writers messaging me about someone stealing my work. Regardless if this is just an introduction post, this is my work copied and rephrased.

@bernardsbendystraws always preaches about how we should ask to use others work for inspiration. This increases the chances of your work getting reblogged, shared, and interacted with by other big accounts. When I say I'm not a hater, I mean that shit. I love talking to people on here. I brainstorm with anyone who private messages me. I help others with their writing. I don't care how many followers you have or how cute your account is, I interact with anything I like.

Had this person asked to use my work as inspo beforehand, I would've reblogged, liked, commented on every single post and followed immediately. I get so much warmth when someone shows an interest in my writing, so I understand 100%. But what we're not gonna do is copy and paste my work, flip a few words, and claim it as yours. Not only did you do that, you refused to take it down, claiming you asked another writer for permission and "only got a few words" from my post. You only said you'd rewrite it after I asked repeatedly asked you take it down. Then claimed you worded your message wrong. I'm not mad, I'm just saying - from my perspective, this is really shady.

I also want to state I am NOT the originator of babydaddy!Chris, there in fact was another account who had a babydaddy!Chris Au (still there but not active that I know of) before I posted mine.

I DO NOT care who has a babydaddy!Chris Au - I have zero claims on him!! I DO care when someone blatantly copies my work and marks it as their own.

Taking inspiration from someone else's Au and copying them are two different things. For example, @leoslaboratory has a babydaddy!Chris Au that came out after mine that is completely different. She uses her own ideas from her own head, plans it out herself, and fucking kills it on top of all that! Even though our Au's are different, she still credited me even though she technically didn't have to. Highly respected of her btw. Everyone check out her Au because it is honestly amazing!! <3

When you follow someone for months and all the sudden come out with 'your' work (like pictured above) that is identical to theirs, that is called copying. When you look up to someone's work, put your own twist on it, and come up with your own layout - that's called taking inspiration.

I just want everyone to be more cautious and considerate of others. This might be just Tumblr, but some people work really hard on here as crazy as that sounds.

And to the person who this is about, I blurred out your name because I genuinely hate it when people get bullied on here, that's the last thing I want to happen. I don't want to be responsible for that. I just hope you learned from this mistake and will grow from it! Writing about the triplets is supposed to be fun and doing things like this take the fun out of it. And trust, brainstorming up your own ideas is a lot more thrilling than going to someone else's page to take their work!

That's all I have to say - look forward to some posts from me soon 🫶🏻

Tagging others for awareness purposes only - @sweetshuga @chrisbratt333 @mattscoquette @muwapsturniolo @starrii-sturns @strnilolover @sofisturns @shadowthesim237

[doctorruby]

Peace

Buck and Tommy get engaged. Maddie reflects.

°°°

Buck and Tommy get engaged on a Thursday. They take the long weekend off. Maddie's the first to know.

On Friday morning, she wakes up to a text of a single image from her brother. At first, she doesn’t know what she’s looking at. Blinking sleep out of her eyes and readjusting to the light of the day, it dawns on her that the picture of two rings set gently on the counter, resting on top of one another, is an indication that Tommy finally popped the question.

He told her two weeks beforehand. He came to her with shaky hands and timid smile and asked for her blessing with a stutter.

She hadn’t been sure about Tommy at first, a thought she kept to herself for years if she’s honest with herself. She brought it up one day to her own husband.

“I just- I don’t know if he’s the one for him, you know?”

Chimney bristled at the comment, “What do you mean? He’s Tommy! I think they’re awesome together.”

Maddie tried to explain herself but it was in vain. Chimney doted on Tommy’s proclaimed “awesomeness” and she let the conversation die while she settled into silent judgement.

It’s not that she didn’t like Tommy, or even think that he was bad for Buck, but something about him felt- wrong. Buck- no, Evan was sensitive. Sweet. Clingy. He needed adoration and praise and love and stability. He needed someone who could stomach being looked at like they were the center of the universe. Someone who had the appetite for love that he had to give.

When she looked at Tommy- she didn’t see that. She couldn’t explain it. And when her baby brother called her with a shaky voice and explained that Tommy had dumped him, she knew why.

He was a runner. And it broke her heart. She imagined that same voice, only smaller and higher pitched, the day she told Buck that she was leaving with Doug.

You’re leaving me.

He left me.

Her brother is always being ditched, abandoned, tossed aside. Always being shattered by the people who are supposed to love him, always being rejected by the people he’s desperate to leash himself to.

In a strange way, after this realization, she felt sorrow for Tommy that she didn’t before. Sorrow she felt for a past version of herself who waved goodbye to her kid brother from the passenger seat as a bad man drove her away. She felt anger for him, too. The same anger she felt when looking at Buck lay motionless in a hospital bed.

You should have stayed. You should have been there. You should have loved him better.

The same anger she felt when she watched Jee slip into the bathtub, down under the layer of water, tiny fists clenched and thrashing. The same anger she felt when she watched Los Angeles fade into the horizon, when she gripped the steering wheel in her fist and told herself that they were better off without her. Her husband, her daughter, her brother. Maybe the world.

Then, Tommy came back into Buck’s life. After a messy hookup, a long conversation, and a bakery’s worth of carbs, they were back together. Buck had talked her through everything. How Tommy apologized, how they cried and fought and forgave each other. She nodded along to everything, let him vent, gave support, and bit her tongue.

She still wasn’t sure about him, even then.

It wasn’t until he came to her, nerves laid bare for her to see, that it dawned on her.

“I-I know that you might have reservations about our relationship and about me,” he admitted sheepishly. It took her by surprise and when Tommy took note of her quick correction, he gave her a knowing look and assured her, “You don’t have to apologize or deny it. I get it. If someone I loved was abandoned the way I left Evan, I would hold a grudge until the day I die. If someone hurt Evan the way that I did, I would never forgive them. Which is why I hope that you believe me when I say that I will never stop trying to make that up to him, to remind him everyday how much I love him. We both know much he needs that. I want to spend the rest of my life loving him. And it would mean a lot to me, and I know it would mean a lot to Evan even if he won’t admit it, if you would give me your blessing,” he bit the inside of his cheek and she watched as he squirmed under her gaze.

She let the silence eat away at him for a few seconds before sucking in a breath.

“I’ve seen my brother be a lot of things. I’m sure you’ve seen the revolving door of careers he tried on in his twenties. The one thing I’ve never seen him be is at peace. And then he met you-” Tommy’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, “and I still didn’t see him at peace.”

She watched his face fall and opened his mouth to mutter an apology but she stopped him, “The first six months were a honeymoon period. And then when you broke up with him that first time, that was the worst I’ve ever seen him. He was a mess and everyday I woke up and wondered if he was ever going to be okay again. You were just another person who leaves him and throws him away when they get tired of him. And then you came back into his life, and he was even better than before. The best I’ve ever seen him, the happiest. And for a really long time, I could not understand why- why he would forgive you. And then I realized, it’s because you came back.”

Tommy dug his nails into his palms and listened.

“God knows that I have messed up with Evan more times than I can count, that I’ve made mistakes, that I’ve run away when I should have stayed. But I came back. And he forgave me because that’s what he does. I’m not perfect and I don’t expect you to be either, but as long as you keep coming back to him. That’s what matters to me. He deserves someone who knows that he’s worth coming back to.”

She wiped her face of the few droplets of tears and leaned forward to hug him. He clearly wasn’t expecting it, as he went stiff the minute she wrapped her arms around his large shoulders. He delicately placed his hands on her upper back, like he was afraid he’d hurt her.

They talked for a few more minutes before he made his exit. He hadn’t told her the when or how and she suspected that he hadn’t known himself.

When she received that message, and then a few seconds later a paragraph worth of exclamation marks, she felt at peace for her brother. She knew he was in good hands.

[fortuneeater]

And it’s not simply coupling We have invented so many ways of hiding from the horrors of this world And from the ways we inhabit them daily, hourly. The couple is one form of hiding among many. This is the tone and mode of (not) engaging with the social that disgusts us. We feel the pull to be in a couple because everyone else is And this is the same pull that convinces us that We have to pay rent because everyone else does Or work for money because everyone else does Of course, history can swerve abruptly Such that we don’t know what landlords, bosses, or husbands are anymore. We’re into this. We want this moment to cum. Certain modes of relating can crack us open. I didn’t know I wanted to go up to the roof till you asked me. I didn’t know I wanted to be fucked in public till you asked me. I didn’t know I wanted to set a million dollars alight till you asked me. What we have found within our interactions with lovers The practice of paying attention to what quickens our breath Of noticing what arouses us Naming it, cultivating it, pursuing it We think this practice is ultimately connected to what will allow us to stop going to work, to take what we need. We are learning how to unleash our desires to the point that they rupture with capital We want to use them as weathervanes that point only Towards communism. And we think an emotional reflexivity, intelligence, and tenderness—what am I feeling? how can I describe it? how do my feelings affect how I interact with those around me?— Will be necessary for trusting each other Building the type of bonds that can pull us out of this world. Bonds long enough to sustain the growing of carrots and the expropriation of armaments. We’ve received some inquiries about the role of sex in struggle against the couple. We would like to clarify our position: We want to be slapped in the face when we cum To be penetrated in several orifices simultaneously To be fucked also by the intoxicating prose of women By the colors of the sun setting on this city. We would like to spend years touching every other part of your body besides your genitals. To spend years becoming intimate with our own physical dexterity Readying ourselves for the love, the riots that arrive unannounced. Under our breath, you can hear us humming: without god without law without husband free beautiful and crazy

Suturing the Split: Coda on the Couple-Form, Clémence x. Clémentine / infinite venom association

The couple functions as both the problem and its solution. If not this one, she just needs another boyfriend, one that will treat her better. A woman may feel the nausea of ambivalence, of being caught between obsession with phallic power and revulsion from it. She does not know which is greater, the melancholia of the couple or the melancholia of denouncing it as a social form. Most opt for the sadness of the couple over the alienation of being cut loose from its grasp. Capital lends a shoulder at every turn, suggesting you watch a rom com with your girlfriends when heartbroken or providing endless ways to personalize your wedding dress. Similar to the framework of electoral politics that limits the scope of critique to the wrong people being in office, the couple-form attributes women’s problems to dating the wrong man rather than to the couple itself. As long as she stays invested in the idea of romantic love as salvation, as the guiding principle against isolation and towards fulfillment, she remains tied to the couple-form.

As another facet of the couple-as-solution, the discourses surrounding austerity measures and neoliberal restructuring frame the couple as a remedy for poverty. One reads tales of young people shifting between poverty and prison as a result of single parenting, especially absent fathers, as if the restitution of the couple could remedy the poverty and structural racism produced by capitalism. State bureaucrats tell women that the couple and the family that it anchors have replaced social assistance programs: you don’t need help with childcare or food stamps; you need a man! The surest way out of poverty is to get married! While many women might never have access to employment, those who do work for a wage face a gendered discrepancy in earnings, likely forcing them to rely on male wages to support their children. These economic mechanisms preserve the vehemence of the couple-form as a trap for women within capitalism, which masks unwaged labor as acts of love and care.

[...]

The logic of the couple penetrates queer relationships as well as straight ones. Homonormativity and gay assimilation have fashioned queer relationships in the shape of straight coupledom. Rather than a subversion of heterosexual social relations, assimilationist, liberal homosexuals have fought for the right to fit into the logic of the couple — to get married, to wear a wedding dress, to create familial nuclei able to protect property relations. Homosexuals perpetuate heterosexual norms and phallocracy through categorizations and role-play, which further codify desires and constitute sex within the logic of phallic centrality and authority. Same sex couples do not escape either the territoriality imposed on desire or the couple’s reinforcement and faithfulness to repressive social relations.

Dismantling the logic of the couple does not indicate distaste for love, but rather a critique of directing love towards a specific object. One must contextualize the couple-form within patriarchy, as so-called ‘love’ arrives to us through the apparatus of gender. Denouncing the couple does not mean shunning giddiness, love letters written in tiny cursive with quill pens, or the feeling of the sidewalk being a trampoline. Rather, critiquing the couple involves an analysis of the way that patriarchy has recuperated women’s desire for solidarity, for intimacy, for excitement, for negation, for the event into a consolidation of phallic power and the accumulation of capital.

Who would not arrive at this conclusion: patriarchy and capitalism thwart any possibility to love in a way that liberates oneself from the logic of the couple or from one’s own oppression. To liberate love necessarily involves the abolition of patriarchy and capitalism. One cannot opt in or out of these structural relations, and the struggle against them will be a collective, historical project.

In this pathetic, stillborn world, we do have feelings. Sometimes we look at someone and think we are in love with them. We must crush the illusion that romance is or will be an avenue for liberation.

Against the Couple Form, Clémence X Clementine and Associates from the Infinite Venom Girl Gang

[numinously-yours]

Choose a letter: A message from your future spouse

In this week's reading, I have letters from your future spouses <3 Each reading will also have a love song attached along with a specific line from that song that stuck out. Choose a group and happy reading!

Like your reading? Reblog and tag your group!

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Letter 1

Song: True by Spandau Ballet Lyric: "This is the sound of my soul"

Cards for your letter: ace of swords reversed, three of pentacles reversed, queen of cups reversed, and the two of cups

Text: Hi Darling, I’m sure that you’re wondering where I am & when I’ll finally show myself. Right now, I am working to make sure I will be the best version of myself when we finally come together. Past relationships haven’t worked out. I know I get to meet you eventually, but the journey’s been a bit exhausting. I bet you can relate. As I take this time to work on myself, I feel my soul being pulled closer and closer to yours. I know this is a test of our faith. The universe is asking us to following our souls’ purposes. Among all the signs, synchronicities, prayers, and intuition, if we always come back to the needs of our souls then we’ll always be on the path to each other. I don’t know when we’ll meet (I hope it’s soon!) but I know that when we do, this will all make sense. With love, Your future spouse

Letter 2

Song: You're the inspiration by Chicago Lyric: "You know our love was meant to be; the kind of love that lasts forever, and I want you here with me"

Cards: The World reversed, Justice reversed, The Lovers, ten of wands reversed, seven of pentacles reversed, The Fool

Text:

Dear X, The main purpose of my letter is to let you know that our relationship will be unlike anything either of us has experienced before. Where there used to be passive aggression, there will be healthy communication. Where there used to be blame, there will be accountability. Where there used to be burdens we carried alone, there will be an extra set of hands to distribute the weight. In my own life, I am finally gaining the closure I need for the experiences that have brought me down. I am feeling rejuvenated and optimistic. I know for a fact that all the bullshit was to show us we don’t deserve anything less than the feelings above. We will take this upcoming adventure together and I think you’ll be convinced, too. I can’t wait to show each other what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. Let’s find each other soon, okay?? I love you! X

Letter 3:

Song: I swear by All-4-one Lyric: "I'll build your dreams with these two hands"

Cards: Six of wands, page of cups reversed, four of pentacles reversed, The Hierophant, The Empress

Text:

Dear future spouse, This is the fourth draft I’ve written of this note to you. The first three were on paper but with all the scratching out I’ve been doing, I decided to skip the paper and find a keyboard with a backspace button. I want to get my words just right. Up until recently, what mattered most in my world was fancy gadgets and making enough money to buy them. But then something changed and all I can think of is wanting to create a life of substance, not a life of things. My viewpoint of the world has been opened, and with that, comes longing for connection and sharing the beauty of life with someone else. I am ready for that feeling people talk about when they speak on love. I am ready to show someone how important their mere existence is. Now more than ever, I truly believe we only get this one life to live, and it shouldn’t be wasted on the material. I hope that when we meet you will know it’s me. My yearning to connect with you is strong and I would be surprised if my energy hasn’t made it your way yet. If it hasn’t, that’s okay because I won’t stop trying. I finally know what is most important in this lifetime and I won’t forget it any time soon. Sincerely yours, Your future spouse

Letter 4:

Song: Meant to be by Bebe Rexha (Acoustic version) Lyric: "We got nothing but time. As long as you're right here next to me, everything's gonna be alright"

Cards: The Lovers, The World, Seven of Cups, The Chariot, Queen of Swords

Text:

Hey you! Our meeting is right around the corner, I can FEEL it. I’ve been working hard on manifesting the life I want and you are an integral piece of that. You emit an energy that I can’t get enough of. I can just tell how smart, true, and incredible you are. When we get together, there will be a sense of fulfillment that neither of us knew was missing. So many opportunities are on their way to us! I know you share the same value for relationships as I do. I want you to know that I will always work my hardest to make you aware of how special you are. It is my promise that I will be honest, open, and respectful to you. I am SO ready to make these manifestations come to fruition. See you soon! - Your future spouse

[neocrias]

Hello can you do 7dream headcanon: ways to win their hearts/ to approach them?pls

Thanks🤍🤍

Sorry for the delay, we are a bit of a procrastinator

Ways to win their hearts

Mark – Being a Good Person

With Mark, it’s all about being genuinely good. He’s known for being a leader and has been working in the industry from a young age, so he’s deeply touched by understanding and empathetic people who show genuine interest in him and his feelings. But there’s one thing that truly wins him over: being good with kids.

For him, that’s the ultimate sign of a good person. Mark is family-centered, and if he sees the person he’s interested in playing with a child, being kind and gentle… he might just drop to his knees and propose on the spot. Of course, this would come after an already established connection between him and his S/O.

Renjun - Artistic and Intellectual

Our Renjun himself can be a very introspective, reflective and artistical person. For one like this, being in touch with those higher forms of human essence could be a sign that someone is... well, special.

For him, I think he'd just really appreciate having someone who can add to his unique perspectives, have their own strong and remarkable opinions about the interests they have in common. Bonus points if the person knows how to articulate their thoughts and defends their points of view fiercely (he would definitelyyy find that hot), or if they're artists themselves.

Jeno – Compliments

Jeno is a calm and composed guy who loves being praised and appreciated. Acknowledging his skills is the key to his heart. If you compliment him often or make it clear how amazing he is, he’ll melt—after all, he’s just a puppy at heart. Tell him, “Good boy,” and give him two pats on the head, and he’ll be wagging his tail in no time.

Something like: “Hey, can you grab that box for me? Careful, it’s heavy—wow, you’re really strong…” When he lifts it effortlessly, Jeno will pretend he’s unfazed, but inside, he’s screaming: Oh my god, she wants me SO bad. I’m irresistible.

Haechan – Challenge

This man thrives on challenges and dynamic interactions. He absolutely lives for the thrill of breaking you, teasing you until you snap, pushing you until you lash out at him, making you so frustrated you want to cry (I once heard he likes making his sister cry or something). BUT- when you fight back???

That’s it. There’s no one else. Just you.

He loves when someone doesn’t fall for his charm immediately, when they challenge him right back, when they don’t get flustered but instead match his energy. If you fire back with even more wit and mischief, Haechan will be absolutely hooked.

Jaemin - Common Interests and Shyness

Okay, we've come to this: Na Jaemin, the leo. Although Jaemin might do and say things that have us all asking ourselves "wth does he mean with that", I also believe that he's much more of an open person than we take him for. Jaemin would really appreciate a partner who shared same experiences and hobbies as his, as a leo, because that would get him a way of seeing himself in someone else - and believe me, he'd be head over heels. Plus, being understood and related just feels likes something he craves, especially because of all his eccentricity. Having someone to match his freak would be...welcome.

A plus is if the person is shy. Hear me out on this one: THE Na Jaemin, flirty and easygoing, trying to fluster his S/O who can only blush and giggle at his compliment showers. That would do wonders to his ego, and he would coo so badly with his kindergarden-teacher-voice.

Chenle - A listener

Our dear yapper Chenle. Yes, you got it right. He'd fall for someone who can keep up with his endless talking. Don't get me wrong, he doesn't really realize he's been talking nonstop for the last forty-minutes until he reaches an obnoxiously specific topic and asks the other person "wait, how did we get to this again?" - so it's not really personal.

However, this moment of epyphany in which he realizes he's been going on and on about different types of sauces for different types of meals for the last hour and the other person has just been nodding, observing and reacting properly will get him totally gone. Like wdym they've been ACTUALLY listening the whole time? He'd might just be in love!

(And yep, later in the relationship he might seriously refrain himself from talking too much, just because he wants the S/O to be talkative too. That'll make him realize that listening may end up being much fun to do - especially if you're listening to a loved one)

Jisung – Inexperience

Jisung was the maknae for way too long, and he’s tired of being seen as an innocent little boy - he wants to be seen as a man (sources? I made it up). That’s why I think he’d be incredibly obsessed with the idea of being the experienced, responsible one in a relationship��the one who leads the way and is trusted to make decisions. Not too much, though; he wouldn’t want someone completely dependent or childish.

He wants to teach things, everything he knows, everything he’s learned (from Chenle). He wants you to rely on him, to be sweet and gentle in a way that feels natural, and to let him take the lead in most situations.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Meatball

For @jilymicrofics March 2025

This could have done with a bit more editing, but I wanted to get this done for James's birthday!

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

“We always wanted three kids, right from the very beginning,” James tells the man, as he settles back and makes himself comfortable. 

Well, as comfortable as he can, anyway; he’s understandably nervous. Anyone would be, in his situation. 

“Harry, that’s our eldest, came along a little bit sooner than we planned,” he continues, as the man makes some notes on a clipboard. “We’d only been married four months when it happened, barely out of our teens. He’s fifteen now. Fifteen! I can hardly believe it.” He shakes his head, in fond disbelief.

The man, who is wearing a badge on a lanyard that identifies him as Ian Jenkins, hums in response, which James takes as his cue to continue. “It was tough, you know? We were so young, and having a baby was a big adjustment, so we decided to wait a while before we tried again. Lily, that’s my wife, she started taking those Mug… erm… those mug-nificent birth control pills. Said she preferred them to the methods that are popular in… uh… in our community.”

“I see,” says Ian Jenkins. “Now I just need you to—-”

James, now a little flustered after his near-breach of the statue of secrecy on top of his natural apprehension, ignores this and ploughs on with his tale instead. He’s always been a talker, especially when he’s nervous. “It was six years before Daisy came long. She’s the image of her mum, is our Daisy, red hair and green eyes. Gorgeous, her eyes are. Harry got Lily’s eyes too, but otherwise he’s basically my clone. Lucky boy, eh?” he grins.

Ian Jenkins doesn’t respond, merely brandishes his clipboard in James’s direction. “If you wouldn’t mind—

James pays it no attention. “We were a lot better prepared for it, second time round,” he explains. “I think that’s why we didn’t leave it so long next time; there’s only eighteen months between Daisy and Simon. Simon’s the odd one out in the Potter house—blond hair and blue eyes, like Lily’s mum. And her sister, actually, but we don’t like to dwell on that. I honestly thought we were done then—three beautiful kids, exactly what we wanted.” James looks Ian Jenkins in the eye, who seems rather startled.  Now, I know what you’re asking yourself!”

“Actually, I really don’t think that you—”

“What happened?” asks James, very dramatically and entirely rhetorically. “It was when Harry went off to school, you see. Boarding school, the same one Lily and I went to, up in Scotland. It hit us hard, our baby being that grown-up and independent and so far away from us. We thought—well, maybe just one more? Who knows, maybe it was just a moment of madness and we’d have changed our minds, but Lily fell pregnant almost straight away, so that was that. Four kids.”

“And that’s all very interesting, Mr Potter, but—

James chuckles. Honest-to-Merlin chuckles. “Or so we thought, anyway. Turns out, it was actually five! Twins! Can you believe it? That took a bit of getting used to, I can tell you!” He shakes his head at his own naivety. “We thought we knew what we were doing with babies by then, but twins are a whole different set of hoops… erm… yes, very different, anyway. Mia and Elspeth. Lily’s hair, my eyes, absolutely gorgeous but my goodness—they’re three now, but I feel like I’ve aged at least a decade since they were born. I love those girls with every fibre of my being, love all my kids like that, but hand on heart those two are trouble. The idea of them as teenagers is frankly terrifying. I expect they’re my punishment for my own adolescent misbehaviour.”

He grins at Ian Jenkins, who looks back blankly, and James decides that Ian Jenkins would definitely have been a Ravenclaw if he wasn’t a Muggle. “Mr Potter, I really must insist—”

“Anyway, Lily went back on those pills, and we thought that would be fine. And it was; right up until it wasn’t. No idea what went wrong this time. Lily tells me all sorts of things can interfere with them, and the next thing we know, number six is on the way.”

“Mr Potter—”

“Which is amazing, of course, we’re very happy about it. But we thought enough really is enough, and that’s why I’m here really; get it sorted before the littlest Potter arrives in a few months. We’re not getting any younger, are we, and this one really does need to be the last one.”

“Mr Potter—”

“We clearly need something a bit more foolproof, and Lily thought this Mu… uh, this medical procedure would be best. When she explained it to me, I thought she was having me on to begin with, but then she got a pamphlet for me and it’s hard to—”

“MR POTTER!” yells Ian Jenkins, finally at the end of his tether. “I really must insist that if you want to have your vasectomy today, you need to sign the consent form!”

“Yes.” James agrees, taking the clipboard at last. “I can’t say I’m not nervous about the old meatballs, but, yes, I do. On both counts.” He takes a deep breath and scribbles his signature at the bottom of the form and hands it back again. 

Ian Jenkins’s expression softens. “It’s normal to be nervous, Mr Potter. I promise it will be fine. A little tenderness, some bruising and swelling, but it will heal within a few days.”

James nods. “Even if it wasn’t, I reckon Lily’s done more than her bit for team Potter. It’s my turn to step up now.”

Ian Jenkins nods reassuringly. “If you could undress please and lie back, the anaesthetist will be in shortly.”

James does as he’s told. Yes, he’s scared, but he knows this is the right thing. 

He bloody loves his kids. But most of all he bloody loves his wife.

[cowboysorceror]

you obviously have a very clear and vivid vision of gotham and bludhaven, the way you describe them is very evocative, so i wanted to ask: do you have any strong feelings on gotham’s actual geographic location? in character and in story, it feels like a really big place… so does its location off the coast of new jersey make sense to you? what about the population size? i wonder about bludhaven less because in my mind, blud is just an alternate universe version of atlantic city haha, but i’d like to know your thoughts on it as well if you’re willing to share

when i read stories about gotham it’s hard to reconcile these things in my head so that’s why i was curious as to your opinion :)

LOVE this ask!!! And thank you so much!!! This is something I also think about a lot, and I'm glad that it shows lol. There's a lot about Gotham's geography that's confusing -- I tend to go off of Oracle's rough, color-coded map given in No Man's Land for the relative position of landmarks and districts -- and there's a lot of good and bad in making Gotham an island(s). On the one hand, Gotham as an island makes for a much tighter, contained story. It allows for a natural buffer around the events that take place there, and prevents questions about spill-over to other cities from Big disasters. It also provides clear boundaries and scope of Batman stories, and that geographical plot-armor is what allows Batman & Co to be like We're On Our Own Out Here.

On the OTHER hand -- as someone who lives on an island, and has lived on other islands as well -- there are serious limitations to living on islands. Resources, access points, space, etc. Islands, especially heavily populated, overdeveloped islands, are INCREDIBLY reliant on imports for literally everything. They do not have the ability to support themselves. It's a sustainability nightmare. Some stories (like No Man's Land) try to use these limitations to their advantage in creating environmental conflict, but I often feel that they either don't go far enough, or that they take it to illogical extremes. No Man's Land in particular is a great example of the latter. As a story, it makes almost no sense at all -- an earthquake, of that magnitude, off the coast of New Jersey? Right Underneath Gotham? And Gotham is the Only One Affected? Geologically (and oceanographically, where is the tsunami?) this is balderdash. The U.S. deciding to just cut off access to the island and treat it as unincorporated territory? Also doesn't make sense! No Man's Land treats Gotham Island like it's miles and miles out to sea, which it isn't and can't be.

There's also the issue of the location of Bristol. Sigh. If you follow most maps, Bristol -- and therefore Wayne Manor -- are on the mainland. Meaning that you have to cross a bridge to get into the city. A bridge is a chokepoint, under heavy surveillance, and terrible news for any kind of secret identity or subtlety. We are meant to believe there is a whole mess of tunnels that go Under The Gotham River, maintained well enough to drive through, which is it's own baffling prospect. The Atlantic continental shelf is much gentler than the Pacific, and makes this slightly more believable, but it's definitely a huge undertaking to have tunnels that go under the water table and then back up into the city. This is just haterism on my part though, maybe, and an overly complex way of thinking about Comic Book Logicks.

As for the size and population -- that I find less difficult to grapple with. Cities as dense as Gotham make incredible use of small amounts of space. If we're talking about New York boroughs, there are over one and a half million people just on the island of Manhattan, which is only about 22 square miles of land space! You can fit a wholeee lot of city into just 22 square miles. Gotham has got to be bigger than that, significantly so, and it also does us good to remember that Gotham is actually Several Islands, closely connected by bridges. If you look at the several alternative maps given for these islands, almost Every Square Inch is City. The space is utilized to its utmost extreme. And there are several big bridge thoroughfares in and out of the city, which helps a little when you're thinking about the sheer volume of goods that have to be traded into the city to support islands that are so densely populated. I think it's still a logical push, and it's a significant change to the geography of the real-world New Jersey coast, but I mostly allow myself to think about it like it makes sense. Most of the time.

And YES, agreed about Atlantic City! Atlantic is also my real-world model for Blüdhaven. All the reasons why Gotham is an island (plot armor, story containment) apply to why Blüd is mapped as an island, too! Blüdhaven's islandism is perhaps even more interesting to me though, because it is so baked into the history of the city -- a whaling outpost that became a pirate safe haven, which became a lawless port town, which became a bigger port town, which became a small and strange and isolated city. I already have some amount of words written about Blüdhaven's infrastructure and spatial relationships -- including my own fantasy origins for canon place names -- that may eventually end up in a Dick-centric fic.

ANYWAYS. A lot of words written to conclude that you're absolutely right that there are confounding factors to Gotham's geography, and that there is an element of suspension of disbelief required if you don't work to acknowledge the unique challenges and limitations that go hand-in-hand with the relative isolation of a city like Gotham. I mostly work to grapple with what I can make reasonable, and try not to roll my eyes too hard at the things that I cannot lol

Thank you again for this ask!!!

[chimckenns]

Angel is used to being the extrovert in the room. They’re always the one to initiate the conversation, to bring laughter, and to do all the talking.

Angel learned how to bring out the extrovert in themselves to survive, to make people like them. No one cares how they feel. They’re simply there to make others feel better. People always rely on them to feel the silence.

Eventually that became their identity.

That applied when they first met David too - they cracked all the jokes, initiated the conversation, and put on that bubbly mask.

It came naturally.

But along the way… it became tiring. For the first time, they felt like maybe, just maybe, they don’t have to try hard to be liked. Maybe David is different from everyone else. He’s not dating Angel just for what they could bring to the table.

Just maybe, they can show a bit of their real self to him.

David, being the perceptive man he is, catches on. He realises that Angel’s first instinct is to mask their own feelings behind lighthearted remarks. So he decided to try and gently coax Angel to say what they really felt.

“How was your day?”

“It was fine.”

“Hmm.”

“…what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well it’s the sound I make when my mate comes in the door after a long day, clearly exhausted, looking like they’re about to fall over, all while saying their day was fine. Fine means not fine at all, more often than not. Come here. Sit with me a minute. Let me hold you.”

…

“Hey. Was it a bad day, or just a long one? None of that “it was fine”, just talk to me.”

“…a bit of both.”

“Ok. We can deal with that. What do you need?”

That was the first time Angel really let go. They didn’t have the energy to make a joke and be the bubbly person. They were so tired. David knew. And somehow, he didn’t want more from them.

Somehow David always knew. And Angel realised it was okay to show themselves to him.

Although Angel is still hesitant when expressing their feelings sometimes, David is always there to help them through it. He accepts them.

Silence isn’t so uncomfortable anymore.

~~~

“What about you? I know how tough it can be to be part of this. But also on the outside of it, in a way. You live almost between two worlds. I can only imagine how hard that can be at times. Where are you at with all this? I know you’ve been saying you’re okay after the Summit, that it’s not bothering you, and if that’s the case, I’m glad, but I mean more of… all of this. How big all of this has gotten. How much of a mess this has all become. How are you doing?

Hey. You don’t have to apologize for that. I don’t want you to. I don’t ever want you to feel like you need to apologize for how you’re feeling. You’re allowed to feel tired. I do too. This shit is exhausting. And being honest about that doesn’t mean anything about you or us other than we’re people. With limits. Limits that keep getting pushed. [couch creak][kiss] I promise you this: I’m never gonna ask you not to feel something. I’m never going to ask you to be a superhero, to be unfazed by this shit, to be something or someone you’re not. All I can ever ask, all I will ever ask is that we be honest with each other. About our limits. About when we’re pushing those limits. You’re allowed to be tired. Just tell me when you are. So I can take on some of the weight too. It doesn’t matter if I’ve already got weight of my own. We’re a team. We’ve got each other. [kiss] I love you, Angel. [kiss]”