#when my grandmother dies they will never see me again i will make sure of that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taexual · 1 year ago

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sleepwalking ● 5 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, mutual pining, SLOW BURN

words: 6.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 5 ► oh, and, my love, did i mistake you for a sign from god? or are you really here to cast me off?

Your train reached Paris at almost exactly eight o’clock in the evening and the rain was pouring. The wedding reception had started at seven, but Jungkook didn’t mind being late, even though the longer he lingered with you on the streets, the more the rain ruined your outfits, and your hair, and your make-up—but not your mood.

“I prefer being late,” he said when the two of you caught a cab from Gare du Nord to the wedding venue in the 8th arrondissement. “Less small talk if you show up when everyone’s already said hello to everyone.”

“I see your point,” you said, sliding over the backseat as Jungkook climbed in after you. “But it’s still rude to be late. Especially to a wedding. Especially when you weren’t even going to come to said wedding at all.”

He gave the driver the address and turned to you, resuming the conversation, because he had a very important point to make, “my grandma used to say that as long as I’m not late to my own wedding, I’m fine.”

You snorted at this, but your expression wasn’t mocking. You remembered his grandmother with nothing but love. Thoughtfully, you replied, “she’s a wise woman.”

“She is, yeah,” he agreed. “She always wanted to go to Paris, by the way. Remind me to call her.”

“That’s nice,” you commented, turning to the window as the streets of Paris passed outside, all in a blur of streetlights, reflected in puddles of rain on the pavement. “I think I’ve always wanted to come here as well.”

This surprised him and he paused in the middle of reaching for his phone. He’d already forgotten what he was going to check on it as he looked back at you again. When he spoke, there were minor notes of offence in his voice.

“You did?” he asked. “You never told me.”

“Yeah,” you said, not meeting his eye—you were far too captivated by the rainy streets outside the car window. They were nothing magical on their own, you supposed, but there was something about them tonight in particular. “I don’t know. It’s not my dream destination, but it’s Paris. Can you say you’ve travelled if you’ve never been here?”

Jungkook thought about it. “Well… I mean—there are other cities, too. Isn’t Paris a bit overrated?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged, still glued to the window. “Probably. I’ve still wanted to see it for myself, though.”

He could tell, as he leaned forward until he was able to see the neon lights from the signs outside reflected in your eyes. The taxi ride should have taken about twenty minutes, but now Jungkook wondered if he’d manage to ask the driver to take a longer route without you finding out.

“In that case,” he said finally, “I’m glad I brought you here.”

You turned to give him a look, but were startled by his close proximity. You nearly bumped your cheek into his when you craned your neck.

Realising—from your widening eyes—that he’d entered far into your comfort zone, he scooted back in his seat. But your heart was already giving orders for explosions to go off in various parts of your body.

You cleared your throat and looked back out the window—not because of the view this time, but because it felt safer this way.

“We would have come here eventually anyway,” you said. “You’re performing at Cabaret Sauvage in less than a month.”

Disappointed by your purposefully emotionless voice and words that took all credit away from him, Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Sure. But,” he emphasized, “with me, you didn’t have to wait a month.”

“Okay,” you settled—partially. “Thank you for turning my whole schedule upside down.”

He smirked at the sarcasm. “Oh, anytime.”

In an attempt to conceal your own smile, you returned your attention to the billboards and bright window displays outside.

“So, if not Paris,” Jungkook started again after a minute, “what is your dream destination?”

He wasn’t expecting your reaction to his question to be so severe: you seemed to lean towards the window—away from him—clench your jaw, and focus even harder on the view outside – as if you were trying to transport yourself there, instead of staying here with him.

“Amsterdam, I think,” you replied eventually, in a voice so reluctant and quiet that he wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t literally right next to you.

“Really?” he asked. “I’m assuming it’s not because of weed?”

Smiling somewhat, you shook your head. And then did not elaborate more.

“Anne Frank?” he tried again.

“Maybe,” you said. “But also because of simple things. Not necessarily significant in history.”

Jungkook found himself having to push as if he was trying to find out what your deepest fear was, since you resisted fully opening up. But this was something that, honestly, seemed quite superficial to him, so he was rightfully perplexed.

Still, he asked, “such as?”

You sighed, not having expected—let alone, planned—this exchange to progress that much.

This felt like the start of a long conversation—capital C. Getting to know each other by participating in obligatory small talk that would soon lead to deep analyses of each other’s darker sides of the subconsciousness.

And the last time you and Jungkook had had a proper conversation about something that was not related to your jobs in the slightest, was months before you broke up.

So, it wasn’t that Jungkook was being invasive with his questions right now. It’s that he was personal. And he’d stopped caring about being personal with you long before your relationship ended.

“Like riding bikes in Canal District,” you answered finally—he was glad to hear it, although he did not like the way you sighed as you spoke. As if this conversation was a hassle. Fortunately for his overthinking, you continued, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since my uncle went on a business trip to Amsterdam when I was seven. He’d brought me so many postcards, I could easily imagine myself having been there with him.”

Jungkook stayed quiet. He remembered your uncle—your mother’s brother. He was a surprisingly caring man, even if he looked like he ran the mob.

And Jungkook remembered the postcards, too—you had them pinned to the bulletin board above your desk in your dorm room back in university. He wondered, briefly, why you’d never mentioned the story behind the postcards before. He’d always assumed you just liked the pretty views on them.

Sitting next to you in the taxi, he counted something under his breath.

“We’re going to have,” he started, then calculated again just in case, “three days off in Amsterdam.”

“I know,” you said, sitting up straight in your seat as the taxi took a turn past Palais Garnier. “Believe it or not, I didn’t plan it like that.”

“Let’s say I believe you,” he teased. “Should we go bike riding in Amsterdam?”

You turned away from the window to look at him, surprise evident in your lifted eyebrows. “Us, two?”

He nodded. “Us, two.”

“On your day off?”

“On my day off.”

Not hiding your skepticism, you licked your lips and told him, “Jungkook, you spend your free days getting wasted with your friends.”

Although that was a fair statement – he had to admit that much – he still tried to defend himself, “that—that’s not something I have to do every single time.”

“It’s not?” you asked. “Then why do you do it?”

“Because I usually have nothing better to do,” he replied. His honesty was amplified by his body language: eyes cast low, hands intertwined on his lap.

He hoped you wouldn’t misunderstand—he wasn’t trying to imply that he preferred his friends to you. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Truly, if you would have called, he would have abandoned everyone else in a heartbeat. But he was more comfortable keeping that to himself.

“And riding bikes sounds better than getting drunk?” you asked instead, the question laced with persistent disbelief.

“Riding bikes in Amsterdam,” he corrected, choosing to avoid the mention of you doing it together, “sounds better.”

“Okay,” you said, still not convinced. “You talk now, but let’s see if you change your mind when we’re back on the road.”

“I won’t,” he insisted with newfound confidence. Despite his assuring tone, his gaze still scanned the mat on the floor of the taxi. “I promise I’ll take you bike-riding in Amsterdam.”

Even more surprised now, you waited until he lifted his eyes to meet yours before you repeated, “you promise?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug—but the nonchalance was pretend. His hands were tightly pressed into each other on his lap, because otherwise he would have been reaching for you. “Cross my heart. I’ll take you bike-riding if it kills me.”

The exaggeration finally got you to laugh. “Why would it kill you?”

Your laugh had broken the spell. He felt himself relax as though something heavy had been lifted off of him, and with you laughing next to him, he was as light as the air around you. Nothing could crush him.

“You never know with bikes,” he replied, smiling, too. “I’m just saying, I’ll make it happen for you.”

After a detour down the Champs-Elysées under the tiny compact umbrella that you’d packed (it was still so beautiful with all the lights around—even more so in the rain), you finally arrived at the wedding, which was already in full swing.

It took the newlyweds a good fifteen minutes to notice you and Jungkook, but you wouldn’t have blamed them if they didn’t approach you at all.

As soon as they did, however, you immediately tried to apologise for being late—both, tonight and in general, considering that the two of you were only added to the guest list for the wedding a few days ago. But Kihyun and Chloé cut you off, both joking that they were just glad you made it here, because they had thought you’d gotten lost in Paris.

“I sort of wish,” Jungkook replied, casting a meaningful glance your way—you pretended not to see it. “But no time to get lost when we have an important wedding to get to.”

Your friends smiled at this, accepted your congratulations, and, instead of returning to the rest of their guests, actually stayed to catch up with you—as if this wasn’t their wedding. As if you were back in university, eating ice cream on the quad benches with all of your mutual friends, and fighting off the campus pigeons.

You had to admit, seeing Kihyun and Chloé again was very nice. You’d always considered them Jungkook’s friends more than your own—all three of them had graduated from the same major, even though you had quickly become Chloé’s class-skipping partner—but they were the one pair of his friends that you’d always approved of and, eventually, befriended, too.

Seeing them newly married, however—while you could still remember that one almost tragic double-date that you’d tried to go on, where Jungkook and Kihyun nearly broke their necks, racing on Vespas—now that felt overwhelming.

“You’re right on time, by the way,” Chloé said to you while the two boys discussed Rated Riot’s upcoming tour dates, seemingly attempting to make plans to meet up again, after the pair would return from their honeymoon. “I was just about to toss the bouquet.”

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Come on,” she grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from Jungkook.

You glanced back at him for help, but he only grinned at you, like he’d done so many times before, when you’d go to parties together and he’d force you out of your comfort zone, because he knew you’d thank him for this later.

You weren’t sure if you’d be grateful for it this particular time, though, as you found yourself in a crowd of bridesmaids and very drunk guests within fifteen minutes of arriving at this wedding.

You looked around and, with a sudden start, you recalled the reason why you were here in the first place.

Bending your neck to take in the people around you, you tried to guess which person in this wedding, could have been the hypothetical ex that you still didn’t think really existed.

There was no one who could have been it.

You’ve met most of the people here before and none of them looked particularly eager to talk to Jungkook or to avoid him. Everyone was indifferent—except you, as you kept looking back at him to find him already watching you every time—and that was the final confirmation.

There really was no ex.

You had no idea why he’d brought you here.

Distracted by your thoughts, you chose to just stand in the middle of the crowd. As you tried to avoid having your feet stepped on, you brought a hand through your hair. You liked crowds at concerts. You didn’t like crowds of very determined wedding guests.

Never having caught a drumstick or a single guitar pick at any of the concerts you’d gone to in your whole life, you felt rather stupid standing there. And the significance of catching the bride’s bouquet was lost on you, too—you’d never believed in the prediction that whoever caught it would be next to walk down the aisle: your mum had told you she’d caught it three separate times, and she had barely been married once.

You heard Chloé count down backwards from three and you extended your hands above your head; more as a protective instinct than anything else—to avoid getting smacked on the head.

By some harrowing chance, almost as soon as Chloé’s countdown finished, you felt the stems of flowers against your palm and clutched at them, reflexively. You heard claps and excited cheers around you before you registered that you’d caught the bouquet.

Lowering the classic, white rose combination, tied with a neat, pale bow, you swallowed and looked around, unable to conceal your overwhelming discomfort as you listened to earnest applause around you.

This felt embarrassing more than anything else. Irrationally so, of course, but embarrassing, nonetheless: like walking into an empty restaurant and interrupting the conversation of the staff. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on you, and there were drunken shrieks of elation somewhere in the room.

You realised as you held the flowers awkwardly—like it was a bomb meant to be defused—that this was why you preferred to work backstage.

“I’m so glad it was you!” you heard Chloé exclaim. You turned to see her clapping her hands as she made her way towards you.

A few women you’d never met hugged you as if you were going to your own wedding as soon as this one was over.

You were frozen with an uncomfortable, twitching smile on your face and only sobered up somewhat when Chloé reached you. She was laughing as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders—in her defence, she tried to fight her amusement, but you looked completely anguished, nearly grief-stricken. It was ridiculously unfitting, and, at the same time, so completely in character for you.

“I’m not entirely sure how this works,” you told her. “Are you certain I’m not supposed to toss it, too? Sort of like a relay race? I saw one of your younger cousins who looked very excited to catch the bouquet, but she had an obvious height disadvantage.”

Chloé clutched you to herself tighter in a comforting manner.

“No, love,” she said brightly. “My cousins are twelve and thirteen, they both can wait for their turn. And I’ll see you at your wedding. Hopefully sooner rather than later? It’s been too long since we’ve last chatted.”

“It has been,” you agreed, “but if we’re only meeting at weddings, then I’m afraid this might be the last time we see each other.”

Laughing again, she rubbed a soothing hand on your back and assured you, “the bouquet can mean whatever you want it to mean. I’m just glad you’re here tonight. And I’m sure Jungkook is, too.”

With another soft smile, she nudged you in his direction and walked away to join her husband. Before you could begin pondering what she’d meant by that, your eyes caught sight of Jungkook, who was still watching you—in a relentless way. Like he hadn’t looked away from you once since you left his side.

You felt almost awkward as you approached him—all of your steps leaden under his watchful eye—but as soon as you were close enough, he grinned and said, “you look like you survived an alien abduction.”

And everything was okay again. For the time being, at least.

About an hour later, you and Jungkook had settled by a cocktail table at the back of the room.

The bride’s bouquet rested between you as you sipped champagne and took everything in: all the couples dancing around you, the kids kicking the balloons, Kihyun and Chloé being unable to stop smiling at each other as he twirled her around to the gentle melody of the wedding band playing Biffy Clyro’s “Many of Horror”.

“I still believe,” rang through the venue as the song went on, “it’s you and me ‘till the end of time.”

You nodded along to the rhythm, tapping your fingers against the table. You’d stopped resisting after your first glass of champagne and allowed the familiar melody to take you back to the days when you and Jungkook passionately screamed the lyrics of this song at each other in your dorm room.

The two of you dancing with each other was a far more violent affair than Kihyun and Chloé’s smooth swaying: your twirling involved a lot more kicking, stepping on toes, and tears of laughter as you eventually admitted your absolute incompetence when it came to dancing. Jungkook, on the other hand, seemed very skilled at it—but then, when compared to you, probably even a well-trained rabbit could have danced better.

You smiled fondly at the memory, happy that the bubbles you drank and the long trip you’d taken today made you feel just dizzy enough to look back at the old days without wishing you were there now.

You were glad to be where you were.

Jungkook, meanwhile, was on his third glass. He kept glancing at the bouquet on the table with immense discomfort as he painfully remembered Sid’s words on their first night in Prague: “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

What if Sid was right, then what would he do? Would he get up on stage and perform a fucking love song for you and your new husband? An angsty, yearning love song with a powerful guitar riff—like the ones you liked and the ones he kept writing; the lyrics dripping with all the sentiments that would mean nothing to him, while you married someone else.

I still believe it’s you and me ‘till the end of time

He couldn’t do it. He’d never do it. He’d rather—

“Jungkook,” you said suddenly, your voice catching him off-guard.

“Hmm?” he looked at you, an almost alarmed expression on his face. The descent from deep inside of his mind and back to reality was a painful one.

“I have a question,” you said.

He finished his drink and put the empty flute down on the table. “Alright.”

“There’s no ex,” you said, deciding it was finally time to clear this up, “is there?”

After almost two hours at the wedding—where he hadn’t mentioned his ex once—both of you already knew the answer to this question. But he still graced you with a formal response, because he knew he owed you an explanation.

“No,” he said. “There’s not.”

You nodded, your expression the same as before.

He was relieved. He’d expected a drink in his face.

“So, tell me then,” you continued. “Why did you need me to come with you to this wedding?”

For the first second after you asked this, he thought he could have just admitted it. There was no condition in the bet about revealing the truth to you, after all. And it’s only a bet—it’s nothing significant.

But you were standing in front of him in your dress, the leather jacket that he’d gotten you hanging on your shoulders. You were looking at him with tired, tipsy eyes. And you were smiling—but still trying very hard not to—as you sipped your champagne.

There was a sense of future in the air.

Your future, together.

And the realisation that the bet was significant, despite his efforts to convince himself otherwise, had finally kicked in—he was afraid he wouldn’t just get a drink thrown in his face if he told you. He was afraid he’d lose this future.

“I, uh… I just didn’t want to be here by myself,” he ended up saying. This was, technically, not a lie, either. “I always go to these things alone.”

“Why go at all?” you asked then. “You were pretty definitive when you RSVP’d “no” months ago. I was the one who emailed them both of our responses.”

“Well,” he said, looking around at the waiters, passing out drinks, as he tried to buy time. “I don’t know. I feel different now that I’m in Europe. So close to Paris. I guess I changed my mind.”

As you’ve learned in the past few days, that was his excuse for everything.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “Humour me about something else, would you?”

Happy that the waiter was finally close enough for him to reach, Jungkook grabbed another champagne flute from his tray and then looked at you again. “What is it?”

“Why would Sid tell me you were dating someone,” you began, “and then warn me not to let you go to this wedding?”

What a perfectly logical question. Truly, he couldn’t see how the question could have been more perfect.

It was so perfect, in fact, that you could engrave it on Sid’s tombstone after Jungkook killed him.

“You know what? I actually have no idea,” he said and then threw his head back to down the champagne in one big gulp.

He kept the liquid in his mouth for a second—prolonging the time he didn’t have to speak to you, all while you watched him suspiciously—and then swallowed, finally.

“Really,” he added in response to your questioning look. “He’s an enigma.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to describe him.”

He nodded, eager to cement the point he was making. Additionally, he suggested, “maybe he was just jealous.”

You squinted your eyes at him, trying to find the causal relationship between Sid lying to you and Sid being jealous.

You tried to guess, “jealous of—of not going to Paris with you?”

“Of me going with you,” he said.

You picked up your champagne glass again—you weren’t drunk enough to have this conversation. “What?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

Your scoff was almost reflexive, and you were very glad that you hadn’t taken a sip before he had said this. You’ve heard plenty of unexpected things in the span of these past few days; all kinds of manipulations and weak cop-outs – but this one was, by far, the most ridiculous one.

“Maybe he has a crush on you,” you countered, clearly considering this statement to be an accusation more than a compliment.

He snickered at this. “Fair enough. Maybe he does.”

Swallowing, you put your near-empty glass down on the table and gave him a long look.

“So, he just did that to spread chaos?” you asked. “No other reason?”

Jungkook shrugged again. “Nothing else I can come up with.”

“I don’t believe you,” you said calmly and watched him freeze, startled by the bluntness of your words. First, you finished your champagne, then your sentence, “but I’m willing to drop it if this is nothing more than Sid’s game. Tell him to never speak to me again, and let’s leave this at that.”

Jungkook was relieved, and, at the same time, scared to feel relieved. He felt it necessary to say, “I’m sorry Sid did that.”

“Don’t apologise for him.”

“I’m not. The apology is from me,” he said. “I should have made sure he wouldn’t bother you, let alone lie to you—”

“I don’t care why Sid lied to me,” you cut him off. “I care why you did. Why you went along with it.”

He knew he should have seen your question coming, but he chose to pretend he could talk around this topic instead—and that’s why your words knocked all breath out of him.

It was simple: he’d played along with Sid’s lie, because he thought it’d help him convince you to come to Paris with him faster; he’d lied to you to win the bet.

But he hadn’t lied to you when he said he didn’t want to come to this wedding alone. He wanted to come here with you. The bet seemed more like an excuse now—a distraction from his anxiety that he equipped as a pretence to ask you out.

He was painfully aware of this now: he’d always wanted to ask you out again; just one more time. One last first date of your lives.

He realised this, and there was no way he could pretend otherwise, not when his mouth dried up every time he looked at you.

And yet, that seemed even more difficult to admit to you.

Inhaling, he said, “I thought Sid’s lie would get you to come with me.”

That did not feel much like an explanation.

“You could have said that Sid lied and just told me that you changed your mind about going to the wedding,” you said, waving your empty flute around. “You’re allowed to go where you want to. You’re an adult.”

“Well—”

“To a certain extent,” you added, “because, of course, you have your reputation to consider. Yours and the band’s, too, actually.”

“So, you would have just let me leave the tour?” he questioned, doubtful and, honestly, disappointed. Asking for your permission to do something felt childish, but it also felt like you cared. And he really needed you to care.

You remembered his threat about bringing his friends with him if you wouldn’t go, and asked, “would you have gone to Paris alone?”

He looked down. Then, he told you the full truth, “I wouldn’t have come here at all, if you hadn’t agreed to come with me.”

“But I said no,” you said, still trying to make sense of this. “I didn’t want to go. You kept pushing.”

“I really wanted us to go together. That’s why—you know.” He swallowed. “That’s why Sid’s lie seemed so convenient.”

“Why did it matter that we went together?” you asked one more time. “The real reason.”

He didn’t reply right away, because he was too tipsy for this. It was only champagne, he could have easily recited the alphabet backwards if he was asked to. But it was getting difficult to keep up with what he was telling you.

He didn’t want to lie, not anymore, so he tried to only tell you the truth and keep quiet about the things he didn’t want you to know about: like the bet. And, of course, the fact that he had, apparently, been in love with you for ages. This particular realisation had surprised him on the train earlier, and he was the one with the feelings. He couldn’t even imagine how much it would probably shock you if he told you.

You waited, at first; assuming that he needed a moment to gather the courage to explain. But a minute later, your patience ran out.

So, you tried to answer for him—offering an option that wouldn’t be satisfactory enough, but it would be comfortable for you to believe, “just because they’re our friends?”

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, but it sounded like he was just agreeing, because he could tell that this was what you wanted him to say. “We’d known Kihyun and Chloé for so long. So it’s for, um—for old times’ sake, I guess.”

You needed a minute to arrange everything in order in your mind. Everything Jungkook had said seemed convincing enough if you closed your eyes, but it still felt like a half-truth at best.

You knew there had to be a different reason why Sid didn’t want Jungkook to go to Paris—or, perhaps, why he didn’t want you to come with Jungkook.

Not to mention, Jungkook could have convinced you to come to the wedding much faster if he’d told you the truth instead of going along with the story about his “ex”. Of course, that’s assuming that he really did only want to come here to witness your friends get married like he’d said.

But you wanted to believe that what he’d told you tonight was true, because this way, you wouldn’t have to ask any more questions or overthink. And, truthfully, a part of you was afraid to ruin this—whatever this pleasant hum that had gathered around the two of you on the train to Paris was—by interrogating Jungkook further.

Not to mention, you’d outgrown Sid’s silly games and simply wanted peace.

Even though you didn’t speak, Jungkook seemed to read the thoughts in your mind as he chewed on his bottom lip and said again, “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, registering the discomfort on his face. “What for?”

“For the lying and the—well, everything,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I realise this was a very backwards way to convince you to come here with me.”

“It was. And thank you for owning up to it,” you said. “But next time you try to do something weird, do try to leave me out of it, would you?”

He grinned at this—he couldn’t help it. “Define weird.”

You were smiling, even though you rolled your eyes in response.

“Lying,” you said then. His smile faltered. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but don’t lie to me.”

Solemn now, he nodded. He realised that this gesture alone wasn’t convincing enough and redeemed it by clearing his throat and saying very decidedly, “I promise I’ll make sure Sid doesn’t bother you again.”

“Good,” you said. “Please do.”

“Thank you for coming here with me,” he added. “Despite everything.”

You were about to retort with a dry “you’re welcome”, but decided to take a different route and make him work a little bit. It only seemed fair.

“I don’t think a simple ‘thank you’ will suffice,” you said slyly. He cocked an eyebrow, not having expected to hear the playfulness in your voice. “This was a huge favour, after all. I could have been sleeping on the tour bus right now.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun,” he countered. “I saw the look in your eyes on the cab ride to the wedding.”

“Well, I had to adjust,” you defended. “Can’t exactly sulk the entire time, I’m not a toddler. Unlike some people.”

You turned away as you said this, smirking, while he scoffed, indignant. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

He was instinctively opening his mouth to respond, but only managed to squeeze out an incomprehensible syllable that turned into an impressed tsk.

“Okay,” he decided then, tongue in cheek. “So, how can I repay this massive favour?”

“I’m not sure you ever will, to be honest,” you played. “But you could start by gifting the newlyweds a song.”

Jungkook glanced back at the platform in the corner of the room that was set up as a stage for the band. The musicians were taking a break and having drinks by the bar right now, so it was empty.

He looked back at you. “I don’t sing at weddings.”

“You used to,” you pointed out.

“Once. They made me wear a suit with a bowtie. A tight, neon yellow bowtie,” he reiterated. “It nearly made me suffocate. I would have died looking like I ran away from a low-budget circus. I’m not doing that again.”

Trying to keep your laughter in—you hadn’t actually been working with Rated Riot yet when they performed at this wedding, but Yoongi kept pictures, and he pulled them out every year on Jungkook’s birthday—you reached over the table to touch him.

“I’ll make this easier for you,” you said as you gently undid the first few buttons of his black dress shirt.

His breath got caught in his throat the second he felt your fingertips brush against the bare skin between his collarbones. It lasted for less than a second, but he was certain your touch had left a mark.

“There,” you said, pulling away. You seemed to have no clue of the revolution you’d started in his chest, which was a wonder. He was convinced his face had passed all the colours of the rainbow in the span of a minute. You continued, “nothing’s blocking your airways now. I’ll even do you one better—you don’t look like a clown tonight. You actually look good.”

Funnily enough, he had fewer problems breathing before you leaned closer to touch him. And before you told him he looked good.

Weakly, he asked, “I assume you have a song in mind, then?”

You nodded. “Chloé once told me she loved this one when she was younger. “As Long as You Love Me” by—”

“No.”

You were grinning as you finished, “—Backstreet Boys.”

He was shaking his head with enough vehemence for you to feel a soft wind on your face.

There wasn’t anything wrong with the song of choice—other than the fact that Jungkook doubted very much that Chloé had ever mentioned it to you; he suspected you were just setting him up—but he held a personal grudge against it ever since he impulsively performed the song at your birthday party six years ago.

You had already been so drunk at that point, you could only remember glimpses of it all. Fortunately, someone had filmed Jungkook as he was using your floor lamp as a microphone stand when he performed Nick’s part at the beginning of the song. Later on, he’d gotten so immersed that he’d pulled up a chair to perform the dance routine, too.

You still had the video saved somewhere on your cloud storage.

“Your debt will be fully repaid if you include the choreography,” you added now, knowing it wouldn’t convince him. You just needed to say it to see the tips of his ears turn red at the memory.

His lips were pursed as he watched the mischievous glint in your eye. He’d missed it, he realised, even if your teasing was at his expense.

“You don’t think I’ll do it,” he observed. You shrugged—an obvious challenge—and he looked back at the platform again.

“I’m going to need a mic stand and a chair,” he said. Your eyes visibly brightened—he hadn’t seen you this excited in years. Keeping eye contact with you as he walked backwards to the platform, he pointed a finger in your direction. “This is for you.”

You cheered—caught in the moment and in the champagne you’d had tonight—while he climbed on the platform and turned the music that had been playing from the loudspeakers off. It took everyone at this wedding by surprise. They all turned to look.

The musicians seemed largely unfazed, until he picked up the guitar that they’d left leaning against the wall by the platform. They were already about to approach, but Jungkook extended a hand with so much self-assurance that they froze right away.

He said something else—you were too far to hear—and that seemed to relax them. They returned to their drinks and Jungkook, finally, climbed onto the platform.

Admittedly, until the moment he did, you really didn’t think he would actually do it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke, his voice muffled as he tapped the microphone to make sure it was working. You looked back to see the surprised looks on Kihyun and Chloé’s faces. “It’s a very special night tonight, as we know. And I have a very special gift for my friends. Congratulations on the beginning of the rest of your lives together, guys.”

The newlyweds both cheered and Jungkook chuckled lightly. The microphone caught the sound and you felt your heart respond to it in eagerness as it pounded against your ribs.

The second he played the first chords on the guitar, the room seemed to come to life. Some people recognised the melody and rushed to the designated dancing space in front of the platform, their hands in the air—and it felt, for just a moment, like a Rated Riot concert. Others still looked confused, but very entertained by the unexpected turn of events.

“Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine,” he began to sing and it immediately turned into a battle of which one of you two could last longer without cringing, “I'm leaving my life in your hands.”

You lost the battle as soon as Jungkook began the chorus and put the guitar down so he could perform the choreography with the chair—as much as he could, anyway, because the chairs at the venue didn’t fold. Your nose was scrunched, and you couldn’t help shaking your head, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

He watched you nearly the whole time—only looking away to nod encouragingly at Kihyun and Chloé, both of whom were dancing in the middle of the room—and his voice was louder, much clearer without the instrument accompanying it.

You’d watched him tear his shirt off on stage at Rated Riot shows, and you’d never had to cover your face. But your hands were on your mouth the moment he dramatically dropped to his knees for that last “as long as you love me” in the song.

His head fell in a theatrical manner as soon as he finished the song, and the room erupted in applause. He thought he could discern your laughter amidst the noise, and he was smiling when he looked up.

It took him a minute to return to you after the performance—people asked for more as he walked past, others were patting him on the back, and some guests, who turned out to have been in attendance at the previous party, gaily informed him that he did “much better than last time”.

His breathing was still heavy when he reached you, exhilarated.

Beaming even before he heard your response, he leaned against your table and lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

“That might be the best performance that I’d ever seen,” you said. “I’m sure it’ll haunt my dreams. Thank you for that.”

There was enough genuine awe in your voice to make him laugh.

“So, you don’t regret coming here with me, then?” he asked. His eyes were glittering when he looked at you—with excitement, adrenaline, and hope.

“No,” you said. Your soft smile had rendered him completely incapable of looking away from you. “I’m actually glad I came. And not just because I got to see you sing Backstreet Boys in front of everyone.”

Heated suddenly, he said, “that stays between us.”

Even though you’d been looking forward to telling everyone on tour about this, you decided he deserved your agreement.

“Fine,” you said. “But it’s a shame the rest of the world wasn’t able to enjoy this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his chin. “That was for your eyes only.”

“What about the rest of the guests?” you asked. There was a certain delight in your words that he noticed and quietly basked in.

“What guests?” he replied with a grin. “I said this was for you.”

You were shaking your head, but there was humour in your eyes and on your lips, and his own smile felt like it might cause his cheeks to tear.

There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for you at that moment. He was flushed, and his head was spinning. The entirety of his chest, it seemed to him, had begun to float.

He was happy.

You were still here with him, teasing and laughing. He’d seen his old friends get married, he’d seen them dance. He was about to join his band on tour, about to perform all across Europe.

Everything was going to be perfect. He just had to get this bet over with—quietly—and then figure out a way to expand the cavity of his chest, so it could contain his heart and the thousands of obnoxious, never-ceasing fluttering wings around it.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “the summoning”

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lostgirl677 · 2 months ago

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Hidden treasure

One-shot

Masterlist

AU imagine where the outbreak never happened.

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Established relationship

FLUFF

Summary: Y/N found something for Daryl in a thrift store. A real priceless treasure.

A/N: I still struggle to write Daryl accurately. Don't hesitate to leave some feedback.

I came back from the thrift store. There, I found a treasure worthy of all the haggling and near fights in the world. All because it was a gift for Daryl. Yeah, I almost threw punches to get that treasure. But if it was for him, I’d snatch it from the Devil’s hands if needed. I knew that the package wrapped in brown paper was the perfect gift.

When I arrived, Daryl was in the garage, working on his bike as usual. Watching him was always a delight: the way his arms flexed, his hands covered in grease, the occasional swear word escaping his lips. I could watch him all day. He suddenly turned his head towards me, catching me staring like a creep. ”Like what ya seein’, darlin’?”, he asked, his southern accent more pronounced with the day's fatigue. I couldn’t help but grin. “Hell yes.” I chuckled as I got closer to him. He snorted and smiled. His smile lit up the room. It was good to see him ditching his signature frown for once. He wiped his greasy hands on an old rag and stood up, towering over me like a mountain of muscles and sweat."Good thing ya ma girl. Else I'd be scared of this sexy stranger drooling and undressin' me with her eyes in my garage" he said, smirking as he snaked his arm around my waist. “Good thing indeed. It would be creepy otherwise.” Then, he pulled me closer and I could smell his scent: pine, leather, sweat and smoke. “How was yer day? Thrift store, right?” he asked me. “Yeah. And I have something for you”, I replied. He raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “For me? Ya didn’t have to, honey”, he blushed a bit. I smiled again and said “Believe me, I had to. It’s in my car. I’ll be right back”. He reluctantly let me untangle myself from his embrace and I ran to my car with a bounce in my step.

I came back quickly, holding the package. “Here. I hope you’ll like it”. He took it in his hand, looking at me, a bit unsure. “Go on. It won’t bite you” I encouraged him softly. He finally complied. As he unwrapped the package, I bit my lip in anticipation. Inside, he found a vintage leather jacket. “Well, ain’t that somethin’,” he murmured while his hand caressed the worn leather. Suddenly, his eyes widened and became shiny as if he could cry. It was a rare occurrence for a man like him. And I knew exactly why he was about to cry. His hand ran over the embroidered name William Dixon. He looked at me, shaking slightly. “H-how? Where?” he asked with a quiver in his voice, unable to find the right words. “I remember you told me that your grandfather died on D-Day in Normandy, and your grandmother was pregnant at that moment. And she had to sell some stuff to make ends meet. And somehow, it ended up in this thrift store. I found it hidden under a pile of old clothes in the stall. So, when I saw the name, I knew I had to get it for you. I think it wanted to return to its family" He looked like he was about to cry. I could see the tears welling up, and it took everything in him to hold them.

He was still looking at the jacket with reverence due to a relic. Which it was - a precious relic of his family. I gently took his hand to guide him back inside the house, in front of a mirror. “Try it. It looks like it’s your size”. I said softly. He slowly nodded, and I helped him put it on. Indeed, it fitted him like a glove. He looked dashing in it. “Daryl, you’re really handsome in this jacket. I’m sure your grandfather would be happy that his jacket is now yours. He would be proud of you”, I told him softly as I gently put my hand on his arm. He lowered his gaze to look at me in the mirror’s reflection and grunted softly. Even if he didn’t say anything back, I knew he was touched by my words. He just didn’t trust himself with words right now. When he tried to arrange the jacket on his body, something fell from the inside pocket—an old picture. I went to pick it up and showed it to Daryl. It was a slightly damaged black-and-white picture of a beautiful pregnant young woman. She was smiling, a hand on her swollen belly. “Grandma,” he whispered, his voice shattered a bit. “She was beautiful”, I whispered. He simply nodded, his hand running over the picture. “How about we buy a frame and place it somewhere nice?” I asked softly. His blue eyes twinkled, still wet from unshed tears and he said “Yeah. Sounds good.” Then he turned to face me. “I don’t know how to thank ya, Y/N”. I simply smiled. “You don’t have to. I just brought back home something that’s rightfully yours. I love you, Daryl. That’s all that counts for me.” He finally let his tears fall and said in a strangled voice “I love ya too, Y/N”. He then embraced me in his strong arms, his grandmother’s picture still clutched in his hands. I wiped his tears with my thumbs and arranged his hair gently.

Later, I decided to place his grandma’s picture on the small desk in our room. And we hammered a coat hook next to it for the jacket. “Lookin’ good”, he simply told me while placing a kiss on my forehead. “Yeah. Now, your grandma and your grandpa are no longer apart”. He simply smiled. And his smile was worth a thousand words.

#daryl dixon x you #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd imagine #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon imagine #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus imagine #norman reedus #norman reedus x you

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lurkingshan · 10 months ago

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Love for Love's Sake Episodes 7 & 8

Well holy shit, that went in some directions I never imagined, and it was very dark indeed. I can't believe this intriguing little show is already over. So let's unpack what happened here.

My interpretation of everything we learned in these final episodes is that Myungha already died by suicide in the real world after a series of hardships, including the death of his grandmother, a long-term struggle with depression, and rejection from his ex and his mother, and the author gave him a chance to live again in the game world. The ending suggests he will now stay in the game world with Yeowoon and get another chance at life where his core objective is to make himself happy, and any expectation we had that he would have to return to the real world is out the window, because his life there has already ended.

But what exactly is this game world? I don't think we'll ever fully know for sure. Certainly, the show did not explain the how of it, or tie together all the vignettes we saw of Myungha and the author discussing their philosophy on life in a clear throughline to how we got to the game. The game world was purportedly based on the author's fictional novel, but all along it has taken on the features of Myungha's real life, including all the significant people we saw in his first life flashbacks. His grandma is here, his mother is here, his ex is even here in the guise of Yeowoon's agent. Myungha's memories and consciousness seem to inform the way this world was built, even as he did not create it. The author is given the role of Creator, somehow designing this world for Myungha to try to find happiness via seeking to make someone with very similar experiences to his happy.

Now, on this point, I don't think everything that happened in the original iteration of the game totally holds up. The way the author was messing with Myungha and forcing cruel choices on him really does not track with a desire to help him find happiness, and the point where Yeowoon seems to discover the game and somehow intervene to pull Myungha back in was lacking some clarity. And I wish the show had grounded us in Myungha's experiences earlier on rather than holding everything back for the sake of mystery--I do think that choice got in the way of a more coherent emotional arc for our protagonist.

But despite those quibbles, I still was able to connect with Myungha's struggles. This is a boy who has been so mired in his own misery that he doesn't know how to let anyone else in. He is too afraid to trust and let someone care for him in the way he cares for others. I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle him when his own emotional paralysis caused him to destroy the game--Yeowoon was telling him exactly what he needed, but he couldn't find the strength within himself to give it to him. And this is why knowing Yeowoon is exactly what he needed to see a different path for himself, because Yeowoon has experienced many of the same hurts but still finds within himself the ability to trust and rely on Myungha. Yeowoon is the stronger of the two of them, and Myungha needed to learn from him to overcome his own cowardice. Their happy reunion in the game world felt earned, and I believe in Myungha's ability to try again at both life and this relationship without holding back this time.

This show definitely wasn't perfect, but it really did some interesting things and left us with a lot to think about. I am looking forward to reading everyone else's interpretations of these final episodes, and Myungha and Yeowoon will be staying with me for a long time.

#love for love's sake #korean bl #kdrama #shan shouts into the void

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thehollowwriter · 4 months ago

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Warnings: Technically none, but I suppose child abuse Word count: 3697

Summary: At six years old, Finn can't look after himself. When an unexpected situation befalls his Papa and his Papa's staff, there is nobody to look after him besides the last resort: his grandmother.

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ♥️)

The Grandmother

Grandparents. Everybody had them. Even if they weren't alive anymore or you didn't know them, there isn't a single person in Twisted Wonderland without them.

The relationships between grandchild and grandparents were different everywhere for every family. Some are close, some are distant, some are complicated, and others never got to know or meet their grandparents at all.

Finn fell into the distant category. Extremely distant. At least for the one living grandparent he did have.

His grandmother, on his dad's side, was somebody he had only met once.

His Papa didn't mention her (or Finn's grandfather, but he died a few years ago) or talk about her at all. In fact, Finn wouldn't have even known she existed if it weren't for his classmates.

"My Grammy makes the best crab rolls. You've got to try them!"

"Oh, my grandpa knows how to wrestle. He was a wrestler when he was young!"

"My grandparents said they had to swim through ice to get to school."

The few kids willing to talk to Finn looked at him.

"And what about you?" One asked. "What are your grandparents like?"

Finn, knowing they were just going to make fun of how he talked if he answered, just shrugged.

However, even as the conversation was dropped, Finn wouldn't stop thinking about it. Grandparents? His Papa's parents were dead, but he didn't know about the other side. Did he have any? What did they look like? Why didn't Papa talk about them?

When Finn got home from school, he swam into the kitchen where his Papa was making lunch and tugged at his arm.

"Papa," He said. "Do I have g-g- gwamparens?"

His Papa paused his actions and took a moment to translate his botched pronunciation.

"Grandparents." He corrected quietly. "Yes, one. Your dad's mother."

He didn't say any more, and Finn knew not to ask anymore. He could hear in his Papa's voice, the way it wavered slightly, that he didn't like this topic.

That was fine. Finn didn't actually care that much. His curiosity was fulfilled, and really, he just wanted to go play in the sand and hunt crabs in the garden.

This topic was only brought up again later, when Finn and his class were given a school assignment relating to their little history lesson about some times of civil unrest in the past.

"Talk to your parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, whoever you can," said Finn's teacher. "It's important to hear from lots of different people."

Finn went home with the paper containing the information about his project clutched in his hand, then held it up for his Papa to see.

"Can I see gwamparens?" He asked. "For questions."

"Grandparents." His Papa patiently corrected. "And no. You can talk to Timo and the others instead."

It was around this time that Finn realised that being no contact with certain relatives was considered abnormal. Wrong. Something to pity.

When Finn relayed what his Papa said to his teacher, and she, after several tries, eventually translated his stilted, slurred speech, her demeanour became awkward.

"Oh." She said. "Are you sure?"

Finn nodded. She looked uncomfortable.

"Ask your Papa again." She said, and when Finn was on his way out the door, she mumbled. "Honestly, parents always let their petty family drama get in the way of their children's schooling."

She said it under breath, thinking Finn wouldn't hear, but he very much did.

Finn came home wondering why his Papa wouldn't let him see his grandmother, and then asked him again to see her.

"No." His Papa repeated. He was annoyed, but not at Finn. Never at Finn. "Tell her not to make you ask me again."

Finn nodded. "K. But Miss Key said fammy dwama gets in the way of... of..." He frowned, annoyed at the words that refused to come out right. "S-sooling."

His Papa squinted at him. "Family drama gets in the way of schooling?"

"Yeah."

His Papa drew in a slow breath but said nothing more on the topic. Instead, he told Finn to take his questions to the staff. They were happy to comply, ruffling Finn's hair and telling him all about their experiences "back in the day."

Finn was given many school projects revolving around talking to or about his family. He would always ask Timo, who was like his big brother, and Gale and the others, who were like his aunts and uncles.

His teachers didn't really like this, insisting he talk to his real family instead.

"Dey are." Finn said, blinking, and his teacher sighed and grinded her jaw.

"They need to be related to you, sweetie." She said.

When Finn repeated what he said to his Papa, the older shark just rolled hus eyes and muttered, "Bullshit." followed by a hurried, "Don't copy that."

From time to time, especially when given these projects, Finn wandered what this grandmother he apparently had was like. However, he would quickly lose interest because if his Papa didn't like her, he probably wouldn't either.

Oh, how he underestimated how true that statement would be.

It started when his Papa got in trouble for something. Finn wasn't sure what it was exactly, but he knew whatever it was, it wasn't true, so he didn't understand why these people wouldn't leave them alone.

Timo was in trouble, too, as well as some of the others. There wasn't anybody to look after him while whatever was going on was being sorted out, and his Papa absolutely refused to leave him home alone, so it was eventually decided he'd stay with his grandmother.

His Papa looked furious about it, finns trembling, hands clenching, eyes dark.

"Papa?" Finn asked, grabbing his hand. He stared at his Papa, wondering why he seemed upset.

His Papa muttered something and looked back at Finn, squeezing his hand.

"You're going to stay with your grandmother for a little bit, okay?" He said, his voice tinged with that same waver from before. "Probably just for a night until I get this sorted out."

Finn was given ten minutes or so to pack a little bag for himself. Toothbrush, toothpaste, his drawing things, and some of his toys were hurriedly shoved into a bag made of kelp, and then he was waiting at the door to go.

They swam for a while, until they reached the main part of the city. The streets were empty due to how late it was, and the sky was dark.

Silas turned Finn around and gently held his face. "Whatever she says to you, just ignore it, do you understand? Think of it as a nonsense rhyme. I promise I'll come fetch you as soon as possible."

Finn nodded, unsure why this was being said at all. He didn't care to listen to anyone besides his Papa most of the time anyway.

Eventually, they both noticed a lone figure drifting down the street towards them.

She was pink and white in hue, and skin sagged in a way that felt sad, somehow. Hair as white as snow flowed past her back, which was straight as an arrow. Her wrists were adorned with golden bangles, and she wore many rings. Two gold necklaces with a diamond on each one hung elegantly around her neck, clinking softly as she swam gracefully toward them.

Her face, now, that was the interesting part, was obscured by a thick white veil with golden patterns woven into it.

She looked like a ghost, and the thought made Finn's heart nearly stop. Next to him, his Papa tensed.

"Ah, Finn, dear, there you are." Said the stranger, who then turned her face towards his Papa."And.. Silas."

It felt wrong, in a way, to hear his Papa's name coming out of her mouth. Especially in a tone filled with such resentment and disgust.

"Cyrus." Said Finn's Papa.

A silence settled over them for a moment. A heavy, pregnant silence.

"Look after him." His Finn's Papa said after a while. He then covered Finn's earfins with his hands and said something Finn couldn't hear. He then lifted his hands just in time for Finn to hear the grandmother call his Papa a brute.

They hugged goodbye, and Silas once again reminded Finn not to listen to her, then parted ways

Finn followed the grandmother down the street, the two of them swimming in silence. He could feel her eyes on him behind that veil, scanning him from head to tailfin.

"How old are you?" The grandmother finally asked as they weaved through silent, unlit houses. "I haven't seen you were just a little baby. You've certainly... grown."

"Six." Finn mumbled, staring at the ground.

"Speak up." Said the the grandmother, her tail flicking in annoyance. "And look at me when I'm talking to you. Your father may not have bothered with teaching you manners, but I certainly will. I'll ask again, how old are you?"

"Six." Finn repeated a little louder, annoyed. He knew manners! He just didn't like people's eyes or looking into them. His Papa said he didn't have to do any of that.

Tye grandmother sighed. "We'll work on it. Six, hmm? My, how time flies. I'm surprised you're still alive."

Finn didn't understand what she meant by that, but he still didn't like it. He decided he didn't like her either.

Eventually, they arrived at a large double story home with a fenced front garden that contained a stone pathway and coral sculptures. The house itself was carved out of limestone, and it was very pretty.

"Woah." said Finn.

"Better than a rock, isn't it?" Said the grandmother, and Finn decided not to answer.

The inside of the house was neat and tidy. It was almost too perfect. More props for a movie set than an actual home.

Furniture, picture frames, and paintings were perfectly placed an angled, looking brand new and untouched by time. The only thing out of place was the dining room table, which had deep clawmarks running through it.

Finn stared at it, wondering what happened, until the grandmother ushered him away.

The house was so big. There was an entrance hall, a lounge, a separate dining room, a large kitchen, a small library, several bedrooms, and two master bedrooms.

"You must feel so cramped in that hunk of rock you live in." Said the grandmother. "This would be a much better place to stay, don't you think?"

Finn shrugged his shoulders, and she sighed but didn't say anything, opting to open up one of the bedroom doors instead.

"You will be staying here." She told him, opening the curtain of seaweed that functioned as a door. "This was Morri- your other father's room when he was younger."

Finn slowly swam inside and looked around. He felt like he'd travelled back in time for a moment, taken to an era from long before he was born.

The room that had apparently belonged to his late dad was just as freakishly perfect as the rest of the house. Not a speck of algae in sight, not a single sign of age or decay. It hadn't been disturbed, seemingly the exact same as it was when it was being used.

Overall, there wasn't actually much to it. The walls were painted teal, and the floor lilac. A box of various musical instruments sat in the corner, probably the most disorganised thing in this house.

In the back corner of the room was a huge trophy cabinet that was fit floor to ceiling. It was filled to the brim with trophies, plaques, scrolls, and certificates. Finn couldn't read yet, so he didn't know what they were for, but it seemed important.

Band and movie posters, a calendar marking an age of almost fifty years ago, and sketches of odd diagrams were hung up on the walls, slightly faded.

The large clamshell bed was littered with clawmarks on the sides, the only odd sight on the perfectly made bed.

On an empty dressing table sat a single framed picture of Finn's dad, surrounded by little glass containers of tiny bioluminiscent creatures.

Unlike all the other pictures Finn had seen of him, he wasn't smiling here. No, his face held a blank, exhausted expression.

"He was such a talented and clever child." The grandmother sighed suddenly. "I hope you are, too, Finn."

Finn's earfins flattened unhappily at the odd, unplaceable tone of her voice.

The grandmother shuffled back down to the ground floor, leaving Finn alone in that eerie room.

Finn didn't know why, but he didn't like it in there. Being there felt wrong. He put his bag down on the bed and swam out of there to instead watch the grandmother make food in the kitchen.

"You're awfully quiet, boy." She said. Finn blinked at her, and she sighed. "I believe you're meant to thank your kind grandmother for looking after you while your crook of a father deals with the police."

"Oh." Finn said, silently wondering if this was something he should ignore. "F... Fank you."

"Oh, don't tell me you can't talk right either." The grandmother groaned and raked her hands through her hair, careful to avoid the veil. "Thank you. It's quite simple, dear."

Finn frowned, his cheeks flushing in mild embarrassment. He'd always been slow in learning to talk. It took him far longer than considered normal to even say his first word, nevernind a sentence.

"Speech delay," it was calmly explained to both himself and his Papa. Quite a frw children experience it. All he needed to do was go to speech therapy for a while until he caught up with his peers.

Finn knew all of this, though in a much more simplified manner. "Talking problems." He would explain to people, but he couldn't muster the words to elaborate.

This stranger, this grandmother, probably wouldn't even bother trying to decipher his botched pronunciation.

Finn bowed his head and muttered a quiet "Sorry."

"You need to speak up." Was the reply. "Does Silas even talk to you?"

His Papa did talk to him, just not a whole lot. At least, compared to other parents. It wasn't because he didn't like talking to Finn or anything, but because he didn't have much he felt he needed to say.

He talked to Finn enough that Finn didn't feel ignored or abandoned and that he could learn how to talk. He just didn't constantly try to fill the air.

Trying to get this across to adults who were convinced his Papa was neglecting and mistreating him was impossible, so Finn just shook his head and said, "Papa talks lots."

The grandmother muttered something disbelief as she cut up kelp with a knife. "Yes, I'm sure two sentences a day is 'lots' for Silas. No wonder you're so behind... oh, I know this would happen without Morrigan there..."

Finn didn't understand what she was talking about, but the vague feeling he did something wrong and his Papa was being blamed for it gnawed at the back of his mind.

"Here, I talk to you like a parent should." Said the grandmother. "Isn't nice, having a conversation with someone who actually talks?"

Finn didn't answer.

Dinner was served at that scratched up table in that perfect dining room in that perfect, empty house.

Finn was tired and hungry, so when a platter of shredded seaweed, shrimp, and crab legs was placed in front of him, he reached out to grab some.

A sudden stinging pain on his knuckles made him yelp and draw his hand back, shaking it as it ached. That hurt, that really hurt, and it made his eyes water.

He looked up to find the grandmother holding a metal salad fork, waving it at him and looking at him like he'd committed a crime.

"Ungrateful." She seethed. "Greedy boy. I was worried Silas wasn't feeding you, but it seems that instead, he raised a little glutton who thinks he can take what he wants. Well, not under my roof. You take what I give you, the amount a child is supposed to eat, nothing more and nothing less."

Finn blinked back the tears and looked at his hand, noticing the bruises already forming on his knuckles. He nodded slowly. "Kay."

He was given a tiny helping and a fork, which was forcefully shoved into his hand until he was holding it "correctly."

"There." Said the grandmother. "Perfect. Civilised. Isn't this better, dear?"

Finn still didn't answer, and she just huffed and dished herself up an obscenely small portion of the dinner.

There was a pause as Finn stared at her veil, and she raised her hands to it.

"Don't say a word." She said and slowly removed it.

Finn blinked, surprised.

Her face was scarred. Very scarred. One could say she was little more damage away from being mangled. The jagged, rough marks on her flesh seemed to indicate she had been slashed in the face in a very violent manner. Attacked by something with claws.

Her lips were scarred, too, almost clefted. Her eyebrows were missing hair in some places. Her eyes, her bright turquoise eyes, were cold as ice.

Finn was no stranger to scars. His Papa had many, and Timo and the others had a few of their own. But even by those standards, this damage was... extreme.

They ate in silence, accompanied by only the ticking of the kitchen clock. The obnoxiously loud "tick tick tick" made Finn flinch and squirm in discomfort.

Even as he ate, he couldn't take his eyes off the grandmother's face. Those scars, they told a story. A very violent, painful one.

The grandmother stopped eating and stared back at Finn with those haunting eyes.

"Your father did this to me, you know." She said. "Ruined me. I can't even show my face in public anymore, not like this."

Finn narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe her. He'd never seen his Papa hurt someone before, only sea creatures.

"Oh, I suppose you think he's just wonderful." The grandmother said with a bitter laugh. "That your 'Papa' is just a stoic man who wouldn't hurt a fly. That's what he convinced your dad, too. Shame my poor Morrigan never saw the truth before it did him in."

Finn shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore her like his Papa told him to. 'Nonsense rhyme that doesn't rhyme.' He told himself, even as his eyes brimmed with tears again, and he wished he could go home.

The grandmother reached across the table and took Finn's hand in hers. "I see the truth. I know you must be suffering, being raised by him. I can help you."

Finn yanked his hand back, staring at her. She sighed.

"Fine. You'll understand soon. Brush your teeth, now, and off to bed with you."

Finn eventually went back to that awful room and curled up in that awful bed, staring at that awful picture of a sad, dull version of his dad. He thought about what his grandmother had said and, by extension, what the others at school had said about his Papa, and then cried until he fell asleep.

The next day, his breakfast was a single crab with a glass of water. He was still hungry from the night before, and honestly, the crab looked a little... old. But he ate it anyway, scared of being hit again.

When he finished up and went to fetch his bag, a knock at the door and the sound of familiar voice calling made him perk up and come rushing down towards it, only to be grabbed by the grandmother.

Her grip hurt, the golden rings digging painfully into his skin as she stared at him with those cold eyes.

"You're not safe with him." She said. "Stay with me. I can raise you properly, make sure you're cared for. I'll make sure I don't make the same mistakes I did with Morrigan. You'll be happy. Wouldn't you like that, dear?"

Finn yanked himself out of her grip and shook his head wildly. "No!" He shouted. "No!"

The door suddenly burst open, and Finn took the opportunity to rush through it until he crashed into his Papa and buried his face in his chest.

His Papa paused for a moment, then placed a hand on Finn's back and gently patted him.

"Papa," Finn sobbed, his voice wobbly. "Papa, I wanna go home."

His Papa held him close and grabbed his hand. "We're going home, my treasure, I promise."

Finn yelped and pulled his hand away. "Owie..."

"What?" His Papa's brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"Hand." Finn said, holding up his bruised hand for his Papa to see. It was worse than it was the night before.

His Papa's breath hitched. There was a long stretch of silence as he seemed frozen in place. Then he suddenly moved Finn so he was sitting on the sand by the door.

"Wait here." He said to Finn, then swam inside and closed the door behind him.

Finn, happy his Papa was finally here, drew little pictures in the sand and hummed quietly, only vaguely aware of the muffled voices coming from behind the door.

A high-pitched shriek made him look up, but after a moment or two, he simply went back to drawing, unbothered.

A moment or two later, his Papa swam out of the bride and carefully picked him up.

"Let's go home now, Finn." He said quietly.

During their silent swim, Finn's head was buzzing with thoughts. The grandmother was terrible. He didn't like her. She said strange things and hurt him. But the main thing that stuck in his mind was that one sentence.

"Your father did this to me."

Finn gnawed on his hand nervously, his tail flicking back and forth. It couldn't possibly be true, could it? Or maybe it was, and it was a misunderstanding of some kind.

"Gamma says you hurted her." Finn blurted after a while. "Hurted her face. Why?"

His Papa glanced at him but didn't answer for a while. He seemed to be thinking, remembering something Finn wouldn't know about. Then, he spoke.

"She tried to take you from me."

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

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this little fic! It was a lot of fun writing it. And if you're wondering what Silas did at the end there, he broke Cyrus' hand. Moral or the story; don't hurt Finn. Fun Fact: my little brother also has speech delay, and the way Finn pronounces things was taken from him.

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

#finn clearcove #silas clearcove #cyrus clearcove #twisted wonderland #twst oc #writing

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fantasiawandering · 1 month ago

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I've been struggling a bit lately and could use some advice from the hivemind. It deals with a lot of the emotional baggage I've been trying to carry lately, so I'm putting it under a cut if you're not in the headspace for that sort of thing right now.

So the relevant backstory: Dad was in love with Mum since high school, and when she died, he went to pieces. My sister, who'd been living at home, helping take care of Mum through the cancer, basically put her grief on hold to keep Dad going through the next six months. Then, on the way home from Mum's memorial six months after her death, he told my sister he was seeing someone. He met her at work when he returned from bereavement leave. Now, I do understand this is a man who never learned how to handle his own emotions. He'd always had my grandmother, then my mother, to manage them for him. But in the next year, he did pretty much everything he could to drive both of his children away for a woman who bailed on him the moment the going got tough. Without getting into too much detail, my sister checked into an institution a while back because she was having some pretty dark thoughts about her own life, and her triggers were feeling like a burden to the family. Mum assured her she wasn't, and that she'd always have a home as long as she needed it. But as soon as that woman moved in and Dad didn't need my sister anymore, he started emotionally abusing and berating my sister, telling her what a burden she was every day until she had no choice but to leave. This was in the middle of the lockdowns. My sister landed with one of the greatest people in the world, and they're living in poverty but relatively happy. Because of this, Dad has convinced himself that not only did he do nothing wrong, he was actually a great Dad, making sure his disabled child developed independence.

But after multiple infections thanks to the woman he was living with (who believed that COVID was "just the sniffles" and vaccines were poison, and as long as they drank colloidal silver they'd be fine), Dad now believes he's developing dementia. His doctor thinks it's actually "pseudodementia," which apparently is mental health related. But Dad watched his mother lost to Alzheimer's and nothing scares him more. And the second colloidal silver and celery juice didn't cure him, the woman he'd moved into the house bounced.

Now Dad's scared. And he's been pressuring us to move in with him to take care of him. My sister will never trust him or put herself in that position again, and I'm of the same mind. He used to do similar to me when I lived there. Meanwhile, I'm still sick with a mystery disease that has no cure yet. I've got GP who actually believes in Long COVID, and a series of specialists I can get to in under 20 minutes. They're basically hacking away at the hydra heads of my symptoms until modern medicine figures out where the heart is. I'm still very much disabled. If I get ANY infection, my immune system goes berserk and starts doing the equivalent of firing a bazooka into a crowd in hopes of hitting whatever is off. I'm just coming off of about 2 months of throwing up at least once a day from the havoc it's wreaked on my digestive system. I can barely take care of myself, let alone another person, and if I moved three hours away to a small town with no public transit, at a time when there's a provincial crisis and NOBODY can find a new GP, not only would I lose my health network, but I'd be essentially housebound in a way I'm not in the city. I also know that I physically cannot handle a three-hour commute either way on days when I have to go in to work, so moving in would involve giving up the career I've been working toward for twenty years.

For all of these reasons, I said no. His siblings are coming at me with varying degrees of "it's your filial duty." None of them really understand just how sick I actually am, but I also don't think that would change things. And I feel guilty. Despite knowing that moving into a place with no infection control could make me bedbound or worse, and that I can't afford to be without a GP or a medical team, I feel like I've failed somehow. I love my Dad. But I can't take care of him and keep myself healthy at the same time. I've been doing what I can from here since he first started feeling like he was losing it. Every other day, I call him and read him a chapter of Sherlock Holmes, and he's told the rest of the family how much he enjoys it. And sometimes it's exhausting to read for that long, but I do it because he needs me and it's something I CAN do. I've also offered to help with his banking and things, but he's turned me down whenever I offer.

Now, since I said no, Dad has said that he wants to sell his house and move into a care community, and that what's holding him back is knowing if he did, there'd be nothing left for me and my sister when he's gone. And I don't think that's an attempt at manipulation, I genuinely believe he's concerned, because he knows how much we both struggle currently. But honestly, neither one of us was counting on getting anything anyway, and as much as we're still deeply hurt by what he did (he also threw my mother's remains away and then informed us in an add-on to an email forward, which broke me in a way I've never been broken before, and when my sister called him out on it, HE got mad and said "it was none of your business, this was between a husband and his wife."), we still want him safe and not alone and scared. We've both told him as much, and that neither of us are the kind of people who'd be sitting around going "raaah, how dare he spend our inheritance! Who does he think he is taking care of himself?"

But it's not an easy thing to deal with, especially given that I'm the one he's leaning on hardest -- I think even he realized he didn't just burn the bridge with my sister, he nuked it from orbit. I've been crying on and off for the last three days. And I don't know how to get myself out of it. Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you. And yeah, that's what I'm dealing with as I try to drag myself out of this funk. So here's where the advice part comes in. I've been reflecting on a lot of things, and one of the conclusions I've come to is I need something to DO. I fill my days when I'm not working with movies and playing video games with my sister, but I think I need a physical hobby. Something to do with my hands. Something that lets me create things.

I've had to put a lot of what I used to do on hold. My brain still hasn't healed enough to write reliably. I started knitting, but COVID did something to my eyes, and when I look at the knitting for more than a minute or two, the rest of the world goes blurry and I can't see clearly again for another thirty minutes. I have similar problems with the beadwork I used to do. Anything that involves leaving the house is iffy due to my health, so it's got to be something I can do from home. So. Any ideas? What brings you joy?

#Fantasia rambles

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ashen-vulture · 3 months ago

Text

A Vulture In Therapy

It’s Never Been About Death (But It Is All I Think About)

The hospital was like a labyrinth. I remember having an anxiety attack the first time I went to inpatient therapy here, and the nurses who were talking to me were absolutely useless. They sent me to the wrong floor and were really pushy and suffocating even as I was starting to twitch and cry and hyperventilate.

Now I wore the same sticker tag every day and knew the route. Why did it require two different elevators to get to this floor? I have no clue. I didn’t build it.

My therapist and psychiatrist both wanted me to attend inpatient therapy, saying that it might help me develop some healthier coping strategies, and determine if further treatment would be worth pursuing. I think they were worried about how my suggestion for treatment overlapped with my obsession with death. People get concerned when I talk about how often I think about death. I have to reassure people over and over again that I don’t want to die. It’s a macabre and spiritual fascination. The historical, chemical, spiritual, emotional, and biological process fascinate me. Everything dies. It's one thing all of us animals of planet earth truly have in common.

And death feeds life. That has been the case almost since life has been.

Today was my next to last day. It helped to see other people who were struggling like me, especially when we helped each other with wisdom for our own lives. I made some friends I would never see again. I shared some good moments and some uncomfortable ones. Today was going to show them this other side of me, though.

Today we also ended up, intentionally or otherwise, with death as the main topic of discussion.

When you live in the south it’s hard to find anything that is secular. Even things explicitly said to be secular make sure that there is all the space for religious talk that people could possibly want. I mean I suppose it’s fair, we were talking about death and many people process death through religion.

Still, people kept trying to include me specifically in their religious talk, so when it was my time to speak…

Well…

“I’m not a religious person.”

Several people’s faces got awkward as they realized they had been trying to rope what they assumed was the only atheist in the zipcode into their church talk.

“I am spiritual though. I think about death a lot. I never learned how to mourn correctly. My family tried to hide death from me. I was never allowed to feel or express negative emotions, so even when someone died, I didn’t know how to cry anymore. I would just go numb. Besides, other people around me needed me, and I have a chronic need to be there for other people when they need me. I am a person who can reschedule grief. A month or two months or three would pass and then suddenly that grief would come knocking. My grandmother passed last year. It took me two months of time and three solid days alone to break down and cry.”

I tastefully edited out that the bourbon helped too, because two of the people there were recovering alcoholics.

“To me, the vulture is a sacred animal.”

I held up the painting I’d worked on during art therapy. It was of a swarm of black birds ascending into the sky. I know it looked grim and ominous to other people, but as I talked I could see them begin to understand.

“It doesn’t waste. I love scavengers in general. Creatures that take up the unwanted or lost. I see vultures and I see the grim cleaners of the world. Many people don’t see the value of the scavenger, but we’re far better off with them in it than without. Did you know that in areas with low vulture populations, rabies is more common? This is because without flocks of vultures to break down carcasses quickly, they are instead visited by feral dogs, coyotes, foxes, racoons, and many other mostly mammalian opportunist. This makes carcasses a disease vector. Parasites and disease can spread from conflicts over a carcass,” I realized I was beginning to overshare one of my hyperfixations. Time to wrap it up. “They rarely kill. They consume the rotten and undesirable. They prevent disease. I love seeing them because to me they are not just symbols of death, they’re life. There is no real death here, only the cycle of life reusing its building blocks to make more life. I don’t want to be embalmed when I die. I want to be put in the earth to rot, that way the molecules that make up my body can be where they belong. Everywhere. Death as a continuation of life. Everything that consumes me, I will be.”

I was used to creeping people out. The room was quiet for a bit, digesting the condensed documentary I had just unloaded on them, punctuated with my funeral plans.

What do you see when you look at me? I don’t look like a monster, not until you interact with me. My way of talking has never been quite human. I am physically the human animal. I don’t like that many humans don’t see themselves as animals. We are. We’ve tricked ourselves into thinking we aren’t, that we are something separated from the animals and plants and dirt, and that’s not healthy.

So I refuse to act. It unsettles people.

I am an animal of the dirt and sky and rain.

I just happen to wear human skin.

The conversation moved on.

The day’s session came to a close.

There was a new respect for vultures in that room. I walked away feeling lighter in mind and body. I stood on the 3rd floor of the parking garage and looked out over the streets.

I opened discord on my phone and scrolled back through a conversation with a friend.

tigergirltail - 06/06/2024 9:50 AM

Maybe wanting to be a therian is a symptom of being a therian. It didn't occur to me until last night that wanting to have the dreams was a sign.

ashedink 06/06/2024 9:51 AM

That’s a good point.

Kinda like how some people figure out they’re trans, not because of a presence of gender dysphoria, but by the absence of gender euphoria.

tigergirltail - 06/06/2024 9:55 AM

Wanting it is that first symptom.

Yeah, literally how I awakened.

We’ve been friends for so long, and we’re still finding new bridges to cross together.

Maybe I will follow you over this one too, if my therapist is satisfied with how inpatient therapy went.

Is it arrogant to try to become that which I hold in such high spiritual regard? Maybe that’s just human greed want it. There is no dysphoria here, I simply exist as I am regardless of my vessel.

But maybe I should try it. Maybe euphoria is waiting for me in an unexpected shape.

I mean, I’ll be an animal either way.

Maybe I'll be a happy animal.

#therian HRT #writing #oh gods fuck I'm posting writing to tumblr how did this happen

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jeankluv · 1 month ago

Text

Birdie - Satoru Gojo | Chapter 20

words: 3,4k

summary: While everyone adored him, you stood apart in your feelings. It wouldn't be accurate to say you hated him, as " hate " was a strong word, rather, you harbored a profound dislike towards him. The problem was he knew that and his irritating presence seemed to persistently cling to you whenever he crossed your paths. Now, you found yourself paired with him for your semester project, and the thought made you wish to hurl yourself out of the third-floor window. Three months of working alongside him loomed ahead. Adding to the discomfort, you were currently under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, each gaze feeling like a murder attempt. It seemed everyone coveted the opportunity to collaborate with Gojo Satoru, except for you.

tags: modern au, college au, fem!reader, academic rivals, he fell first, fluff, old money Gojo Satoru, abusive parents, slight slow burn, Satoru is a softy, secondary couple (Geto Suguru x oc), a bit of angst, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, Gojo plays basketball, Gojo needs a hug

notes: I’m so busy right now with classes and works and everything, that I have almost not time to write. Also the fact that I have been playing Love and Deepspace too much. I know I have request to write one shots and I’m sorry if I’m not responding, I haven’t find a moment to sit down and think about a story 😭

warnings: mentions of injuries, d€ath (past)

Sorry if there is any type of typo in the chapter

materialist | previous chapter | next chapter

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist | ao3

Satoru's words stuck in your head like a burning fire. Your chest began to race, feeling the anxiety starting to get the better of you. Your hand went up to your chest, feeling your racing heart beneath your fingers. You were about to have a panic attack, again caused by the same person.

You really felt like you were going to pass out, until at the distance you started to hear your name and finally the calm shake that was moving you.

“Look at me.” Satoru was right in front of you, with worried eyes and an expression that hurt your soul. “He is not coming for you, okay?”

“You don’t know that… he…”

“Birdie… he won’t, I swear on my life, he won’t.” He touched your arms, up and down, searching to comfort you, to take away any pain you were feeling.

“How are you so sure, Satoru?” You whispered, you wanted to believe him, to trust him but this feeling was bigger.

“I pay him…” He murmured and your eyes opened.

“You what?!” You said looking at him.

“Birdie… it’s okay, it was just enough to make him disappear alright?” He tried to hold your hand. “I also told him to leave this place, to go away from Tokyo too, to go far away where he can’t ever encounter and bother you. “

You sighed. “Satoru… that man, that man only cares about money, he will eventually come back asking for more. He only cares about that.” You gripped your fits. “He never cared about me, or my mom, that’s why…” Your bottom lip trembled, enough for Satoru to notice it.

“What happened?” You saw how his eyes moved around, scanning your face.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”

“It does matter, if it makes you shake like that birdie, talk to me baby.” His eyes were penetrating you, trying to read you, to understand the pain you were going through at that moment.

“He is the reason why I stopped doing taekwondo.” You finally said, avoiding his eye contact. “I was 17 and I was good, you know? Really good.” A faint smile appeared on your lips. “I was so good that they wanted me to go to the Olympics and I was preparing for that.”

You began to recall those days and how your grandmother would take you so you could practice. She used to say that she loved seeing you so enthusiastic about it and smiling so brightly whenever you came out of the training sessions. She would go to your tournaments, even when she was already too old to do that.

So when she died, you were left empty but taekwondo was the only thing that connected her with you, it was a reminder of those walks from home to the gym, those weekends, traveling to another place for your tournaments, the hugs from her whenever you won or when you were sad for the losses.

You bite your lip. “After my grandmother died, I focused on becoming the best version of myself, to go to the Olympics and at least win something. But 7 months after her death, on my 17th birthday, my father who I knew nothing about, appeared.”

Satoru moved closer to you, letting you know he was there. No matter what Satoru was there.

“He came asking for money, apparently ever since my mom died he came every single year asking my grandmother for money, he knew I had my mother's savings and he would always threaten my grandmother with taking me away from her.” You sighed. “So when I was 17, he appeared, the man I never knew was there. Telling me to give him money or else I should move with him. He was terrifying, you know? I was just a teen back there, I didn’t know if he was really my dad or just a drunk man who wanted to fool me.”

Satoru rubbed your back, comforting you. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”

“No. I wish to continue, I need to put this out.” You said, still avoiding his eyes. “I… I was with my boyfriend at the time, things were not really good between us, he was a dick. And god…” You teared a little bit remembering how that bastard didn’t do anything for you. “Satoru.” You looked at him. “Thank you for standing for me when you were with my father.”

“I…” He looked at you confused and surprised. “It was what I had to do.”

“Yeah… My ex boyfriend didn't do anything when my father started to threaten me, he stood there just watching, he didn’t even had the guts to call an ambulance.” Your voice trembled.

“The ambulance…?” You felt Satoru’s voice trembling with fear. “Birdie, what…?”

“I was trying to get out of my father’s grip when I fell down the stairs,” you whispered. “I broke my leg… and well, it left me with scars.” You looked at Satoru with a grimace. “My dream of bringing a medal to my grandmother ended that day, on my 17th birthday.”

Satoru’s arm wrapped around you and you simply closed your eyes.

You had never imagined that your heart could be as excited as it was when you were with Satoru, that you could feel safe just by his presence, that things looked brighter. All your life you had thought that love was a deception, and it was not surprising after all, your own experiences and those of your grandmother, your mother or Kyoko, told you that, that love was only painful.

But with each moment you spent with him, you no longer thought it was like that, love could really be beautiful and Satoru Gojo was showing you that, with every look, every smile, every touch, every kiss, with everything.

You loved that man so much. So freaking much.

“He won’t be in your life anymore…” Satoru whispered against your hair. “And I’m so sorry, so sorry…”

“It’s not your fault ‘Toru.” You whispered back.

“I know, but I wish I would have been there for you.” He said. “But I promise I will be there from now on.”

Satoru moved from your side and kneeled in front of you. Your heart skipped a bit as you saw him, this couldn’t be what you were thinking, right?

“Satoru, what are you?” You began but Satoru’s voice cut you off.

“Birdie, wait…” You saw him searching for something on his pocket.

Oh fuck.

“Wait, Satoru! It’s too early for that.” You said in panic. “We haven’t been dating for more than two months, this is too fast.” You moved your hands. “We should graduate and maybe live together and…”

Satoru chuckled. “I would love to ask you to marry me right now, but I know it’s early and that we are young, I’m not doing that. Relax sweetheart.” And from the pocket, it came a bigger box than a ring box. “It’s a present for you.”

You took the box in your hands and gasped once it was opened. “Satoru! This is… it looks expensive.” You said taking the necklace in your hands. “I can not…”

“Yes you can.” He said.

“It has an S on it.” You said touching it.

“S of Sa-”

“S of sexy, because I’m so sexy.” You looked at him with a smile.

“Yes but no. S of Satoru. But I’m glad to see you joking and smiling.” He said, taking the necklace in his hands.

“Thank you ‘Toru...”

“This necklace is not something like ‘I own you thing’, you are your own persona and I will never hold you back, I will always walk by your side, no matter the decisions you chose. It’s to know that you will always have me there and because you are the person I trust and love the most.”

The cold of the necklace hit your chest, while you excitedly looked at Satoru's face, who looked at you from a little lower down with a smile. “I love you.” You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And I love you too.” He said back before connecting your lips on a needy kiss.

Satoru didn’t take his lips off of you for a long time. If they weren’t on your lips, they were on your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, your nose—each kiss leaving you feeling completely adored. You melted into his affection, not wanting this moment to ever end.

“I’m glad we got that project together.” You said softly when Satoru finally paused from kissing you.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “But about that…” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s something you should know.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What did you do, Satoru?”

He grinned wider. “I might have asked Mrs. Tanaka to put us together.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You… did what?”

“Listen!” He quickly defended, holding his hands up. “You were always ignoring me, and that was my only chance to get close to you! Besides.” He added with a smug smile. “You just said you’re happy we got put together.”

You shook your head in playful exasperation. “And here I thought it was destiny.” You said dramatically, pretending to be scandalized.

Satoru chuckled and leaned in, placing a kiss on your lips. “Oh, birdie, I’m sure our first encounter was meant to be,” he teased, his tone affectionate.

You smiled against his lips before pulling back slightly. “You always mention our first encounter… but when did we actually meet, Satoru?”

He tensed for a brief moment, then abruptly stood up, clearly dodging your question. “We should head back!” He announced, looking down at you with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You crossed your arms, still seated on the grass, and narrowed your eyes at him. “Satoru, answer the question.”

He gave you a quick kiss, avoiding your gaze. “Not today.” whispered against your lips before kissing you again, more lingering this time, as if trying to distract you from your curiosity.

His soft kisses made you laugh as you tried to separate from him. “You should be glad you are cute.”

“Just cute?” He joked.

“You know what else.” You smirked.

“Tell me…” He said while his hands went down your back.

“It’s getting cold. Let’s head back to the hotel.” You said turning around and walking away.

Satoru laughed and rushed to your side, walking right next to you. But as you walked, the thought of Satoru dodging your question kept running through your head. Why did he always avoid talking about your first meeting? You went through the memories in your mind, trying to find something, some reason for it.

For you, your first encounter had been that first day of university, the day you had decided to ignore and not put up with Satoru Gojo, the old money kid of the university.

And there you were, dating him and feeling how he was your everything, the one that was bringing out the best parts of yourself to the surface.

The you of a few months ago would have hanged Satoru Gojo for doing those schemes so that you could play together, but the me of now could only be completely grateful to him and Mrs. Tanaka.

The cold night air hit your cheeks, even though summer was a few weeks away, it was still cool at night. “Are you cold?” Satoru whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

You shook your head with a smile. “Not now…”

When you got to the car, Satoru opened the door for you, and as you slid into the seat, you decided to test him one last time tonight.

“So, about that ‘first meeting’…” You began, looking up at him as he sat in the driver’s seat.

His expression faltered, just for a second, before he showed his usual confident smile. “You’re still on about that, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Why do you always get weird about it?”

He turned the key, starting the engine. “It’s nothing, really.” He said, brushing it off. But his tone didn’t match his words.

You reached out and gently touched his arm, your voice soft but had that serious tone. “Satoru, if it’s nothing, why don’t you tell me?”

His eyes stayed focused on the road in front of him as the car began to move, the street lights casting shadows on his face, you could see the uncertainty on his face. And you felt the tension in the air, as if he was debating something in his head.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you.” He said quietly. “It’s just that… I’m not sure how you’ll react. I’m scared.”

You frowned slightly, confusion mixed with worry. “React to what? And why would you be scared?” Your mind began to work, searching for something that could explain that behavior.

“Today is not the day, birdie… so please, let’s just stop this conversation here.” But then something clicked on your head.

“Is this about that lake?” You murmured.

“Birdie…” You watched how Satoru tensed up.

“It’s that right?” You turned to look at him. “Satoru…”

“Birdie, you already had enough for today, let’s not talk about things that bring you bad…”

“I only visited that lake once.” You said, interrupting him. “And I didn’t remember it… not until you took me there.”

There was a deathly silence in the car, interrupted only by the sound of the car's engine.

“My mother died that day.”

That was the first time you were saying that, telling someone that. Not even Kyoko knew the full story.

“We went to Tokyo to visit it because she finally had some days off, so we went to that lake.” You paused. “I don’t remember it very well, but we got hit by car. My mother passed away and my brain completely erased that day from my memory.”

The car started to go slower and you noticed it was pulling over. Confused, you looked at Satoru, whose gaze was fixed in front.

“I’m so sorry…” He choked. He was crying.

“Satoru, why are you crying?” You tried to get closer to him.

“I brought you there and brought back painful memories, and…” His eyes shouted down completely as if he was trying not to cry.

“But you didn’t know that… it’s not your fault.” You touched his face.

You couldn’t understand why Satoru seemed so desperate, so conflicted with himself. But you did why you thought it was best, you hugged him and tried to calm him down.

“‘Toru… please is not your fault.” You whispered.

“The day my life changed, was the worst day for you…” He said in a low voice and your hand stopped moving.

“What…?” You said looking at his eyes.

Satoru looked at your eyes, his blue eyes were clearer than usual. “We met there.” He whispered. “In that lake… that’s why I took you there, I wanted to tell you everything. How you helped me and how bright you made my life that day…”

You stayed silent, your heart racing on your chest. You didn’t know what to say. You met Satoru back then? Your memories of that day were still foggy and painful to look at, but the fact you and Satoru met back then…

“Satoru…”

“Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m making everything about me when the one suffering is you.” He moved his hair backwards in frustration. “I’m so sorry birdie. You are probably…”

“Stop saying you are sorry.” You whispered. “I… all my life I have been trying to avoid that moment, I never asked my grandma about what happened that day, I didn’t want to suffer. But when you brought me to that lake, not only I remembered the accident, but also the moments I shared with her, the last moments I spent with my mom, which I forgot.” You cherished his face, carefully. “And I’m thankful for that, because I could not remember what it was like. And also, if that was the day we first met… I’m happy.” You finally cried. “It’s not your fault what happened Satoru.”

Satoru looked at you. “Still I’m…”

“Enough ‘Toru.” You kissed him. “Enough… you truly don’t understand how much you are helping me right?” He shook his head. “Months ago I wouldn’t have imagined myself in someone’s car, opening my heart and talking about things that I’ve kept so hidden like my mother or the conflict with my father.” You sighed lightly. “And I’m not going to say that I’m okay, because I’m not, I know that I still have a long way to go and be completely okay with it. But having you here, listening to me, supporting me and telling me that you’re going to walk with me, makes me strong and able to open up.”

You grabbed his hands firmly and looked at his blue eyes, those you never thought you would love so much.

“And I hope that you also know that you can do the same with me, you can open up, talk to me and vent, because I’ll be there for you.” Satoru sniffed his snot and wiped away his tears. “Who would have told me that Satoru Gojo was so sensitive.” You smiled, wiping away a couple of tears from his face.

“Just for you, my love.” He said. “Are you sure it is too early to ask you to marry me?” He said with a smile appearing on his face.

“Definitely Satoru.” You smile. “It’s still too early.”

“Okay…” He smiled again. “But one day I will definitely get down on my knee and ask you to be your husband.”

“You really see us getting married?” You asked him.

“Oh definitely.” He said.

“By the way, Satoru?” He hummed. “Does my nickname have anything to do with our first meeting?”

“Oh! It’s true… but are you sure you want to listen to the story.” He looked at you for a moment. “It might bring you bad memories.”

You thought for a moment. “Maybe not today, but definitely I want to hear it.”

“Okay, I will make sure to tell you about it then.” He touched your leg with care. “Next weekend, we have our final match.”

“Already?” You asked with surprise.

“Yeah, the last one of this season, I mean summer break is coming.” He explained. “Will you come?”

“I will try, but I can’t promise you anything.” You said remembering that you have already asked too many favors to the Haibara family.

You arrived at the hotel late at night. Once inside the room, you felt the tiredness of the day settling in. The room was cozy, with large windows that offered a stunning view of the ocean and was slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

Satoru turned to look at you, his expression was gentle. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, his voice filled with concern as he moved closer.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah, I am. It’s just… there’s a lot to take in, you know?”

Satoru nodded and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know. I’m sorry I overwhelmed you.”

“I wasn’t.” You shook your head and said quickly and placed your hand on his chest. “I’m glad you told me... Even if it’s hard.”

He rested his forehead against yours, his warm breath hitting your skin. “You’re stronger than you think, birdie.” He whispered with admiration. “You’re fucking admirable.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, just held each other close. You could only hear the sound of the waves and the wind that slightly moved the windows of the room. But everything felt at peace.

Satoru finally pulled away a little, his lips leaving a kiss on your forehead. “Let’s get some rest, okay? It’s been a long day.”

You nodded, feeling tiredness wash over you. As you prepared for bed, the heaviness of the day began to fade away, replaced by a calm sense of peace. When you finally got under the covers, Satoru slid in beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Goodnight, birdie.” He whispered.

You smiled sleepily, resting your head on his chest. “Good night, ‘Toru.”

— comment if you want to be tagged

🏷️: @lavender-hvze , @crybabytoru , @sanriosatoru , @norvacaine , @sadmonke , @faetoraa , @hexipessimistic , @gojoful , @kitzusune , @sh0jun , @manyno , @ropickle , @anniegojo , @milk3evee , @crunchypotatoooooooooo , @catobsessedlady , @zoeyflower , @starlostwish , @tinydonkeysforlife , @mimisq11341 , @n1vi , @olanii1019 , @vtrulvamp , @yjuisu

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captainknell · 1 month ago

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*BOOK REPORT*

Napoleon and His Son by Pierre Nezelof

First of all, this book is called a "fictionalized biography" so that leaves me to doubt most of it as "fact", at least in a word for word sense. That is my disclaimer.

This book, unlike most Napoleon books I have read, tells what the characters are thinking and feeling and saying. It seems that normally in books, direct and known quotes are the only dialogue that occurs. The way that this one is written makes it feel as if you are really there and it is easy to visualize. It's not just some dry spouting of facts. That being said, I'm not sure how historically accurate it really is.

Our story begins with Marie Louise finding out that Napoleon has divorced Josephine and is looking for a bride. She soon finds out that she is the intended target and is upset, calling Napoleon "the devil" and "the antichrist".

The story progresses through their marriage and the birth of Napoleon II. Here is the one part where I actually feel bad for Marie Louise. I can relate to her on a mom level. She had a difficult birth and then, by etiquette at the time, didn't have the moments of bonding needed for a mother and baby, especially your first baby. Napoleon II had servants for everything. He did not even need his parents. A wet nurse breastfeed him, which again, was common at the time, but breastfeeding and skin to skin contact with a baby is a HUGE thing in bonding. Marie Louise never had that chance. Now I'm not condoning her neglectful behavior later on, but I understand the reason. She did not feel close with Napoleon II, and I think that made it easier for her to just ignore him and leave him to be brought up by tutors. I know with my first son, not having EVER been around babies, that I didn't know how to connect with him at first. My husband went as far as to accuse me of not loving our son when really I just didn't know how to interact with a baby. Once I figured that out, things were much better. But what I'm saying here, is that she didn't get the chance to figure that out. She didn't have to. There were people for her son's every need except that of a real mother.

Once Napoleon went into exile, first at Elba, and then again to St. Helena, Marie Louise ran back to the only life she knew without Napoleon: Austria. Napoleon II was only a toddler. They took away his toys and French clothes and did their best to make him an Austrian prince under Metternich's careful watch. They began calling him Franz. Eventually all his French staff were removed and replaced with Austrian staff. He was kept in the dark about many things concerning his father, especially where he currently was and how he was being treated. Meanwhile, Marie Louise had quickly fallen in love with Count Neipperg, and was concealing her new life, and even new children! from her son. She was away from Franz for years at a time, often making excuses on why she couldn't travel to see him.

Franz's only friends were Sophie of Bavaria and Prokesch von Osten. Sophie was his comfort and Prokesch was his hope. They were always making grand plans to help Franz return to the French throne. He felt that these were the only people he could trust. Everyone else reported back to Metternich, who was basically holding him prisoner, keeping him away from France and even his own inheritance.

Unfortunately, Franz was a sickly young man. By the time he was 21, he was on his deathbed. Unfortunately, Prokesch was away - meeting with Franz's grandmother, Laetitia (as it is spelled in this book), mother of Napoleon Bonaparte. Sophie went into labor also at this time with her second child, and was unable to see Franz once more. She had barely left his bedside during his illness despite her pregnancy. Begrudgingly, Marie Louise showed up, ordered by her father to do so. She couldn't stomach the sight of her dying son and kept fainting/running out of the room/leaving him alone. Franz died of Tuberculosis and Metternich slept easily, knowing that the threat of Napoleon was gone.

It was a very good book with an engaging story. I would definitely recommend, but again, I caution that it might not be 100% fact.

#napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #marie louise #napoleon ii #franz #duke of reichstadt #l'aiglon #king of rome #sophie of bavaria #prokesch von osten #klemens von metternich #napoleonic #austria #book report #napoleon and his son #pierre nezelof

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happyunbday2u · 9 months ago

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So I recently saw a comic on YouTube about Husk having a daughter when he was alive so now I can’t get it out of my head and now I’d like to welcome Spade and Diamond, human names are Scott and Diane

They died some time in the late 1990’s and were born in the late 1940’s

I like to think Husk was a good father with a soft spot for kids, I am still thinking on their mother’s design but I have the backstory ready, this includes Husk being the Vietnam war.

Their life couldn’t have been more perfect if it weren’t for their dad having to leave for war and their grandmother trying to convince their mother that she could do better, but it got worse when they found her dead after being missing for weeks. (Plot twist! The Grandma killed her because if she wouldn’t leave Husk then there was only one thing left to do! JK it was a moment of sheer rage and the next thing she knew her daughter was dead in her arms, she doesn’t regret it because now she has her precious grand babies)

The only thing Husk came home to was his mother-in-law telling him to give his kids to her, she got in his head by telling him how he’d be able to care for them alone, without his wife, without their mother, so with much pain he gave them away.

They didn’t want him to do it but he told them it was for the best, they tried to hate him for it but they couldn’t, Scott was the one who ended up becoming a rebel and while his sister didn’t he got into some trouble and she had to hide him and one day someone tried to attack them and in a moment of panic she killed them forcing her to the life of crime.

Both died in a crossfire and coming to Hell they resembled their dad (and mom?), they didn’t even know he was there until they watched the new and heard about the fight with the Angels and the Hotel they’ve heard so much about, but there was no denying that they saw their dad on screen.

After seeing it they couldn’t help but go to at least SEE if he really was there. Let me tell you the amount of joy there was in that family reunion was the equal amount as seeing a family of your favorite animal, a bit shocking for everyone to find out that not only Husk was married when he was alive but had kids, but he is the type of person to randomly bring up things about their life and never bring it up again.

Both siblings like Charlie and her energy tho it is a bit much for the two, Vaggie was intimidating at first but then they began to grow a connection and BOTH sides would kill for each other.

Surprisingly they got along well with Angel Dust and they were the first to realize the love in their eyes for each other.

“Why do they make such intense eye contact?” “It’s kinda like how dad and mom did it during anniversaries…oh…” “…Oh..” “OH!”

Niffty is a bit crazy for their taste but over all they can get along with her, Diamond helps her clean.

At first they were okay with Alastor until Husk casually brought up his souls was owned by him, now they secretly hate him.

Spade is absolutely fascinated by Cherri Bomb’s bombs, and has helped her make bigger explosions and make it for farther distances.

Lucifer is basically their new grandfather who spoils them.

You guys can use these OCs if you want just make sure to not say it’s your own OC and tag me so I can see y’all beautiful art or mini fanfic or whatever you decide to do with them 😀👍🏽

Edit: i started on a draft for their mother! 1/2/3/4

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sitepathos · 1 month ago

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Hello. I know this might sound dramatic, but I want you to know that you probably save my life tonight.

I was having a really bad day. My family doesn't understand me enough to care, and maybe my issue with my family is the reason why I found comfort in Batfam fics. Today, everything just got worse. My father yelled at me for something he didn't even know, I don't know why he even had the audacity to speak when he doesn't even know the matter, and now I can't speak and yell at his face that he's wrong because I am a child and not a parent, I would be considered "disrespectful" if I wanted to speak what is right and true.

I was really begging any Gods at that point to take me. I was thinking of ways to execute myself tonight. I was planning to starve myself tomorrow and ignore today's dinner. I was planning on searching what's "Metoprolol" is because growing up as a kid, I always think that "concern" is a form of love, and maybe if they saw my dead body tonight, maybe they'll cry because they love me. I know this is bad. I know this is inappropriate to say, but when I tried to atleast make myself feel better and decided to read Batfam fics again, I saw your new chapter of From Gold to Mold and it genuinely makes everything better. I didn't want to read Chapter 3 because I saw the comments that you left it with a cliffhanger, and I hate that, and decided to wait for the next chapter instead. Ever since I saw the new chapter, I actually ate dinner, because atleast I know there's still things in this world that makes me happy. When I saw your new chapter, I asked God, "Is this your way of comforting me?", and I want you to know that your work is a form of blessing for me. I started thanking God at that moment, and told myself that I also want to thank you.

I actually don't read Batman comics, or watch Batman. I never read or watch any DC movies before, but Batfam fics is about a family that I will always desire yet never really grasp. I wish for all Batfam authors to live the life they wanted.

I am very sorry for saying this, and straight up said that I was actually considering doing it. I am very aware that this is inappropriate but I really, really, really want to tell you that you save me. I know saying that a "fanfiction" save my life sounds ridiculous, but that's where I found my comfort in, and I would be willing to be ridicule at if it means showing what genuinely makes me happy. I will always love your works even if it means showing my lack of redamancy for my family, or even hatred if I have to admit. This doesn't mean that you are a start of my rebellion. I am only stating that you are a light in my times of darkness.

Thank you.

Wow, ok, wasn’t expecting my work to have such an impact. Good to know.

First of all, I’m glad you’re enjoying the series! When this idea popped into my head, I wasn’t sure if there would be many who’d actually enjoy it. With people like you, I’m inspired to put all that I have into From Gold to Mold! I hope my future work meets and exceeds all your expectations!

Second of all, I’m so sorry that you’re going through such a rough time in your life right now. Since you were brave to share a part of you for all to see, I’ll share something, too. About five years ago, my mother was a major junkie. With that, plus her narcissism, led her to divorcing my stepdad (who brought me out of my shell and made me a better version of myself) and moved us to my grandmother’s house after my grandfather died after battling lung cancer. Living with her was a nightmare, constantly walking around eggshells for fear of pissing her off, her stealing money from my grandmother, and yelling at everyone. She was always riding my ass to get a job just so she could take money from me. Early 2020, she was finally evicted and it’s just my grandmother and I living together.

She’s actually cleaned herself up and we enjoy a decent relationship.

So, while things look horrible and it may take a while, things do get better. I’m rooting for you.

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queerprayers · 1 year ago

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update <3

I've been procrastinating this (as if that could make it all less real), but so many people have sent prayers and well wishes that I wouldn't feel right not letting you know how grateful I am for your words and also letting you know this: My beloved grandfather died last week.

I honor the faithful service he gave to countless churches and communities, the children he helped raise, the grandchildren he sang to, the children he baptized, the couples (including my parents) he married, the people he buried, the music and faith that never left him even when so much of him did.

I will pass on the last thing he ever said to me, in July, after a busy and joyful weekend celebrating his fiftieth wedding anniversary, as he got in bed for his nap, taking seconds in between words to think: "It's not all hard. Not all the time." This is so hard. But it's also part of loving someone: promising to mourn them when the time comes. Promising to keep going. Love is hard, but it's not all hard. Not all the time.

His funeral will be Catholic, but he used to be a Lutheran, and he presided over many funerals from the worship book I still use, so here are some words I've been saying from there:

O God of grace and glory, we remember before you today our brother. We thank you for giving him to us to know and to love as a companion in our pilgrimage on earth. In your boundless compassion, console us who mourn. Give us your aid, so we may see in death the gate to eternal life, that we may continue our course on earth in confidence until, by your call, we are reunited with those who have gone before us; through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.

The generations rise and pass away before you. You are the strength of those who labor; you are the rest of the blessed dead. We rejoice in the company of your saints. We remember all who have lived in faith, all who have peacefully died, and especially those most dear to us who rest in you. Give us in time our portion with those who have trusted in you and have striven to do your holy will. To your name, with the Church on earth and the Church in heaven, we ascribe all honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, thy victory? The strife is o'er, the battle done. Love will come again like wheat arising green. The Lord bless and keep him. The Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious to him. The Lord look upon him with favor and grant him peace.

I'm not a Catholic, and was never really taught to pray for souls, but I think I get it a bit now. He was, though, and if that's something you do, I'm sure he would have welcomed that. (And if you know any good saints to throw in the mix, go for it.) My grandmother could also use your prayers.

Thank you for reading this, and holding for a moment the love I have for him. It's heavy right now, and easier to carry with others' prayers beside me. I am praying beside you as well, especially with the many people who have sent me asks that have gone unanswered for ages now. And God holds all of us, more than we could ever imagine. I don't claim to understand death, but I am in the palm of the universe's hand, and my granddad is too, reunited with all that left him in his sickness, and united with a God who knows death intimately. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, love to love.

<3 Johanna

#death mention

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inthedarknessofnight · 2 months ago

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Bartender Eddie this, bartender Eddie that… No. Give me Eddie Munson working at a small town diner. It’s a random morning, the middle of the week, 6.30 am, and the place hasn’t even opened yet.

Eddie sees a silhouette sitting in one of the booths against the backdrop of fogged up glass, rain pitter-pattering softly against the diner windows on a gloomy morning. He contemplates turning on the lights and telling the guy to scram, but he finds himself captivated by the moment. Coffee pot in hand, Eddie just stands there, staring at what he thinks has to be the most beautiful side profile he’s ever seen.

Steve Harrington is fairly certain crying in a dingy little diner on a Wednesday morning has to be a new low, even for him. Up until the moment he got the call that his grandmother, the only remaining relative that actually gave a shit about him, had died, Steve thought he’d never set foot in this town again. Now, all Steve’s got left are all of his grandmother’s worldly possessions, an empty house, and a gaping hole in his chest.

“Hey.”

Steve feels a low, barely audible voice pulling him out of the endless cycle of thoughts. He turns his head towards the window, and gives his eyes a quick wipe with the sleeve of his sweater. The last thing he needs is to stoop even lower by crying in front of some random guy.

“Hey,” he croaks, looking back at the figure obscured by the shadows of the dimly lit room.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but are you okay?”

The man’s tone is surprisingly tender. It almost makes Steve break all over again. He chances a look at the guy’s face, finding a pair of dark eyes that seem to be twinkling despite the low diner light staring back at him. Big mistake.

“Yeah, umm… Yeah. Sorry,” is all he manages to get out.

“Hey, no worries. You’re all good,” the man quickly reassures him, offering a soft smile.

“Umm,” Steve sniffles, letting out an airy laugh, “you guys sure like to keep it dark in here, huh?” He tries to lighten the mood, if only to make the interaction slightly less awkward.

“Well, umm,” the guy shuffles awkwardly on his feet, “that’s because we’re technically not open yet. Technically.” He gives Steve an apologetic look, his hand flying up to grip at back of his head.

“Oh… Oh! Shit! Shit, I am so sorry,” Steve stars feeling for his jacket crumpled on the bench next to him. “It’s just that the sign on the door said ‘open’, I assumed…”

He stars getting up when he feels a warm hand land on his shoulder, pushing him back down. He lets it happen. Steve isn’t sure whether it’s the man’s firm, yet tender touch pinning him down, or the way he’s looking at him. Like he could hold all of Steve’s pain in the palm of his hand.

“Please. Stay,” he says, removing his hand from Steve’s shoulder, and covering Steve’s hand braced against the top of the table instead. “It’s my fault anyways. No one usually comes in this early, so I always flip the sign when I get here first thing in the morning. The regulars already know the drill, but, umm… you’re clearly not one,” he lets his eyes roam over Steve, his gaze filled with something Steve can’t quite pinpoint. It draws him in all the same. “So don’t worry that pretty head of yours too much. Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Okay.”

The man smiles at him and the entire diner fills with light.

#steddie #stranger things #eddiemunson #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #steddie fic idea #steddie fanfiction #waiter eddie munson #eddie munson working at a small town diner #broken steve harrington #they’re soulmates your honor

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omgkatherine01 · 1 year ago

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Moments to Memories: Chapter 2 - Valyrian Steel

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Pairing: Daeron Targaryen x Fem! Targaryen reader

Please comment, like and share ❤

You were a bright young girl, and you noticed things very quickly, even before your younger brothers: Jacaerys and Lucerys. While you had been born with the Valyrian silver hair, your brothers all had dark brown locks on their head. You knew the Queen had also taken notice, but while she had been speaking about it openly, your grandsire had dismissed his wife's accusations.

But you weren't as blind as your old grandfather, you knew your brothers had not been sired by your father, Laenor, but it didn't matter because in the end, you were all Blood of the Dragon, and Laenor Velaryon had been your father.

Now, at the age of 13, you were waiting in your family's chamber for the news of your mother giving birth to your third brother.

She was pregnant again after six years, and during the pregnancy, you had been with your mother's side every day, attending her and making sure she was alright. Of course your father was there as well, and your brothers too.

But, you were also worried about what could go wrong during childbirth. You were afraid that your mother won't make it. Like your grandmother, who died in childbirth, and then a few hours your baby uncle died after coming to the world.

You were sitting on the window and sketching the outside with the new sketch book you have received from your uncle Daeron.

The thought of your said uncle made your cheeks heating up slightly, and you tried to blink the thoughts of him away.

"Wow, y/n! That looks amazing!"

You looked up from your sketches when you heard Luke's voice. You smiled at him, relief of the distraction, "Thank you."

"May I have it?" he asked.

You let out a soft chuckle, "Of course. I just have to finish it first. After that, I will give it to you."

"Yes!" Luke said with a grin as he jumped up and down before running to the carpet where Jace was sitting at.

You saw Ser Harwin Strong approaching the boys and smiled a little. Ser Harwin was the new Lord Commander of the City Watch after your mother's uncle, Prince Daemon, disappeared 13 years ago.

You heard the rumors.

That you could be possibly Daemon's daughter because he and your mother were together one night.

You asked your mother about the rumors before when you first heard them, and without a thought, you even asked your grandfather, and asked if you were a bastard like everyone think about your beloved brothers. He dismissed it, and told you they were nothing but lies.

But deep down, you thought otherwise.

Was Daemon really my father?

Your mother never answered you about that question.

Your thoughts were cut short when one of the maids walked in, "Princess y/n, your mother wishes to see you."

"I'll be back soon," you told your brothers. When you received a nod from them, you stepped out of the chambers and spoke quietly to the maid, "Is she alright?"

"It's almost time," the maid informed you.

You walked to your mother's side where she was now laying on the bed and petting her large belly. Your mother smiled at you, and you placed her hand on your mother's belly, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, don't worry about me," she answered.

"How's my little sister doing in there?" you asked with a small smile.

Your mother laughed and petted your soft hair, "You still think it's a girl?"

"I hope so," you admitted, "I want a sister, you know that."

"Yes, I do," your mother said with amusement. Your smile faded away, and she tilted her head and gave you a small smile, "What is it, my love?"

"I'm just worried about you," you muttered. "What if something will go wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong," your mother assured you, "I promise you that." You looked down, as your mother looked at the few midwives around, "Could you please let me and my daughter some alone time for a few moments?" They nodded and left the room. Your mother nodded to her desk, "Can you open that top drew and give me the wooden box inside, love?"

You did as told and walked back to the bed to sit on it. You handed the box to your mother. She opened the box and pulled out a necklace with a ruby on the pendant. "It's beautiful," you muttered with a small smile as you touched the ruby gently.

Your mother smiled softly, "Yes," she said as she placed the box on the side. "You know what this made of, right?"

"It's made from Valyrian steel," you answered with a nod.

Your mother nodded, "Yes. It was gifted to me." She hesitated for a few seconds as she stared at the necklace. "From your father. Your real one."

You took the necklace when your mother held it out for you, "My father?"

Your mother nodded and gave you a small smile before she answered, "He's my uncle. Daemon."

"So, the rumors were true?" you muttered, "He is my real father."

"Yes," your mother breathed out as if she was relief to get this out of her chest. She looked at your face. "To be honest I never planned on telling you this. I never planned on telling Daemon about you. He disappeared before you were born. Before I even realized I was pregnant. I haven't seen him since I married Laenor."

"And the rumors of me been a bastard like they say about Jace and Luke are--" you stared.

Your mother stepped in, "You are not a bastard. And neither are your brothers. You are a true Targaryen. No matter what anyone says, you listen to me, you and your brothers have Targaryen blood in your veins. Do you understand?" You nodded, and your mother placed her hand on your cheek softly, caressing your soft cheek. "Listen to me, y/n, there's nothing more scarier than a full blood Targaryen. You are one. And you're the next in line to the Iron Throne, after me. It's already been said and done."

You knew your duties as the next Heir to the Iron Throne, and when you were younger, you were afraid of been the next Queen if something would happen to your mother.

You even confessed to your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys of your fear; that you wouldn't be a good Queen. However, Princess Rhaenys assured you that you would be a wonderful Queen, and not to worry about it.

You nodded to your mother and took a shaky soft breath before answering, "I understand."

Your mother nodded and took the necklace, "Turn around." You slowly turned on the bed and pulled your hair to the side as your mother placed the necklace around your neck. "I want you to have this now."

She clipped the necklace and you turned to her again. "Are you sure?" you asked softly.

Your mother smiled softly and nodded as she touched the ruby. "It looks better on you."

You smiled softly as the midwives walked back inside.

A few hours later at your family's chambers, you and your brothers were informed that your mother was going into labor. You wanted to go and see your mother, and be with her during it, but your father convinced you to stay with your brothers and that he will go and see her.

You, along with Jace and Luke, were happy that Ser Harwin had volunteered to watch over the three of you and keep us company while you were all waited for your parents and the new babe. Jace and Luke were playing on the carpet while Ser Harwin and you were sitting on the couch.

After a while, you noticed how your brothers were getting worried since your mother haven't come back yet, so you decided to entertain them with one of your stories. You were kneeling now in front of them on the carpet, and your brothers were listening to the story of Aegon the Conqueror.

Ser Harwin was watching the three of you with a fond smile; he loved to sit with the three of you and watch how you managed so quickly to pick the boys' interest with your stories. It was true that Jace and Luke were his sons and the soon born babe Rhaenyra was giving birth to, but you weren't his.

As you grew up, the rumors about you been Daemon Targaryen's daughter with Rhaenyra continued on. Even so, Ser Harwin was close with you just like with Jace and Luke, and he loved you very much like he loved the boys.

Laenor was the same, he was ignoring the rumors, and he showed the three of his children his love for them.

He didn't care that you, Jace and Luke weren't really his. He was still your father, and you always saw him and called him one.

You and Laenor have a very good and loving father-daughter relationship. Since you were a child, Laenor would often had sneak you out of the castle at night to go on dragon rides at night, he knew that while Rhaenyra would have no problem with this, you loved the idea of doing something that you thought was breaking the rules.

Before you could ride your dragon, you used to ride on your father's dragon with him. When Hellfyre was big enough, you were giving the chance to ride on him. You and Hellfyre would race together with your father and his dragon between King Landing and Driftmark, oftentimes trying to rile Meleys up, when Princess Rhaenys found out what you and her son were doing, she would join you often, which made you and your grandmother get close, to Laenor's happiness.

However, his mother didn't like Luke and Jace, simply because they were with brown hair and not silver hair like the rest of the family. Despite Laenor asking his mother to spend time with the boys, Princess Rhaenys seem to enjoy spending time with you.

You were loved by her and your grandfathers, Viserys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon. Corlys did however show he also loved the boys and was more than happy to spend the time with them just as much as he like to spend time with you.

As the time passed, one of the maids approached the family's chamber and smiled at you and your brothers, "It's a boy," she informed you, cutting in the stories.

Despite wanting a sister, you smiled at hearing that you had a new baby brother. "Yes!" Jace said with a grin as he jumped up to his feet.

You were telling the boys another story when the door to the chamber was opened and a tired and in pain Princess Rhaenyra slowly shuffled into the room with Ser Laenor walking behind her with the newborn son wrapped up in his arms.

Ser Harwin was the first to stand up, looking upon your mother. He wanted nothing more than to forget the formalities and help ease her pain in any way he could.

You smiled in relief when you saw your mother, and she stood up, "Mother!"

Jace and Luke quickly looked up at your mother and stood up. "Mother, look," Jace said and the three of you walked toward the warming chamber that held the dragon egg.

Jace was quick to grasp the handle, wanting to be the one to show off the egg that had been chosen. Luke stood tall beside your brother with you standing behind him, making sure that he didn't try to touch the dragon egg as he had in the dragonpit.

Jace lifted the top of the warming chamber off and the crackling sounds of the coals within fill the room, as well as the unmistakable smell of a dragon.

"We have chosen an egg for the baby," Luke said, looking up at your mother with a toothy smile. Proud to have picked out the egg for your new brother.

Your mother let out a noise of approval and pain as she slowly moved to sit down on the couch, watching the three of you as you fuss over the egg, "That looks like the perfect one," she said as she grabbed Ser Harwin's arm and lowered herself onto the couch. She smiled up toward Ser Harwin and looked back toward her children.

"Y/n and I have let Luke choose this time," Jace proudly told her and Luke excitedly nodded.

"It was from Dreamfyre's newest clutch of eggs, Helaena was happy that we chose one from that clutch," you told them with a smile, quickly grabbing Luke's extended hand that almost touched the egg once again, "No."

Rhaeryna smiled as you held Luke's hands onto his chest, keeping them from going for the egg again, "Tell her we appreciate that."

"Not every day an egg leaves the dragonpit, Princess," Ser Harwin said as he walked towards Ser Laenor, he watched you and Jace hold Luke back from the egg. "I thought it best to escort the children."

"Laenor and I thank you, commander," your mother said gratefully as she tried to position herself in a way that relieves some of the pain she was feeling. Ser Harwin looked towards the babe in Laenor arms, folding his hands together to keep himself from reaching out.

You moved yourself and Luke closer to your father to get a pick at the babe in his arms, from what you could see was that he had dark hair like your brothers and he still had blood on him. Your father looked down towards you as Jace approached too, slowly positioning the babe a little lower so the three of you could get a better look at him.

"He's so cute," you said softly with a smile.

Your father smiled at you, "What a fine knight he is going to make, right y/n?" he asked you, and you nodded in agreement.

"Might I?" Ser Harwin asked your mother, who smiled towards him and nodded.

"Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey," your mother told your father, who stopped rocking the babe in his arms.

Laenor looked between Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin as the smile fell from his face, "Of course." Laenor moved to hand Joffrey off to Ser Harwin as you looked towards your mother with a confused frown.

"Joffrey isn't a family name," you said and looked back toward your father, "Neither House Velaryon nor House Targaryen has had someone named Joffrey. It's not a Valyrian name."

Your father looked at you, "Well, it's a name of a good friend of mine. The name comes from one of the best knights I have met."

Ooh, you thought sadly. The friend that died. You gave him a soft smile and nodded, "I like that name."

Your father smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you softly to his side. You turned your attention to Ser Harwin. The sight of Ser Harwin gently rocking the babe was a sweet one. He knew that this was his son as well, that this child had fight and strength within him.

Luke turned to your father, "Father, please may I hold Joffrey?" he asked, but before he got an answer from your father or mother, he reached for the baby, trying to grab him in Harwin's arms. Both you, Jace, your father, and Harwin hold him back from trying to take the babe.

Your father looked between your mother and Harwin and directed you and your brothers toward the door, "No, No, No. Back to the dragonpit for you three. Before they send out a search party."

Once the three of you were in the hallway, your father softly closed the door behind him to give the new parents time to bond with the newborn.

Taglist:

@lady-targaryens-world, @minaxcarter, @bitchyunknownuser, @aestmilky

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #daeron targaryen #daeron targaryen imagine #daeron targaryen x reader #daeron x reader #daeron targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n

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changingplumbob · 6 months ago

Text

New Goth: Chapter 4, Part 8

Ariadne's visit wraps up before James and Alexander spend time together.

CW: Moderate sim spice and mentions of death Content Warning Guide

After the dishes are done Milton leads Ariadne to the library.

Ariadne: Woah. I... I thought Mrs Ali was expecting us to go to the actual library

Milton: *laughs* I think the actual library is closed by now. Want to play some chess. I can kind of move the pieces with my paws

Ariadne: since it’s not a video game, sure

Milton: You-you don’t like video games

Ariadne: Afraid not

The two play the opening moves in silence, unsure of what to say.

Milton: Ariadne?

Ariadne: Yes

Milton: Can you really speak to the dead

Ariadne: Huh? Sometimes, why

Milton: Alexander and Uncle James have custody because... my father died and mummy vanished. I'm used to everyone knowing but I didn't know if...

Ariadne: No, Mrs Ali didn't mention it. She vanished?

Milton: *shrugs* I just woke up and she wasn’t there anymore. I don’t know where she is but... I worry sometimes that she’s dead

Ariadne: *sighs* I know exactly what you mean

Milton: Wait- how?

Ariadne: My parents. They left me with my grandmother and just... never came back. I don’t know where they are either. Sometimes I worry they're dead to

Again silence settles over the chess table while the two sims think.

Milton: Do you want to know where they are

Ariadne: Sometimes I think knowing might be nice, sometimes I think it would be too hard to have an answer

The pair carry on with the chess game. They may be different but having had similar struggles makes Milton hope she decides to give his brother and Uncle James a chance.

Back in the dining room...

James: Did we do okay? I know we didn't meet in a conventional way-

Harper: Mr Goth, it is important for a potential adoptee to know you can be honest with them. If you had concocted a falsehood I assure you, she would have seen right through it. This wasn’t about my opinion, but yours and hers

Alexander: You know... I like her. I was worried she’d make fun of me for being so much younger than you but she didn’t seem bothered. She made zero jokes about our age or our marriage, and she didn't belittle Milton for his bear phase

James: That's true. She does appear rather generous of spirit. I like her to. I think she could keep us on our toes in a good way

Harper: Did her talk of auras and seeing the dead worry you

James: Oh I don’t think so

Alexander: If you look back every generation of Goths has at least one eccentric member

Harper: That's good. We don't want to find her a home only for the parents to want to change her. I guess the question is, are you still interested in adopting her

The pair look to each other and nod.

James: We’re ready to expand our family

Harper: Wonderful news. I will have to speak to Ariadne when I take her back to the group home and see if it’s what she wants

Alexander: So If she says yes? Or umm... what happens if she doesn’t want to see us again

Harper: There are other children we can introduce you to. But if she says she felt good about this meeting we’ll look at moving her in and beginning the foster to adoption process. There’s a few more steps than if she was just an infant. I’ll let you know in the morning

James: Thank you

When the guests are gone and Alexander has seen Milton to bed it’s time for the grown ups.

Alexander: Was she all you hoped then

James: Hard to say but I have a good feeling about it

Alexander: I think if we adopt her our life will be full of far more feelings and vibes

James: *laughs* I thought you liked her

Alexander: I do. It's odd- Harper said she could be competitive for attention. I didn’t get that feeling from her at all, perhaps family is exempt?

James: Maybe it was because the whole dinner was about her in a way? Or maybe Harper was just at the end of her rope having to relocate Ariadne all the time and didn’t have a clear answer as to why she could never fit with a family. Thank you for saying what you did about past Goth's

Alexander: Hopefully she can fit with us. I know how much you want to be a father and I'll do my best to be one to

James: So I’ve not pushed you into a role you’re not ready for

Alexander: Mr Goth, I love you

He pauses and draws James close for a kiss. Moving gently Alexander gets his arms around his husband and lifts him off the ground causing the older man to laugh.

Alexander: James you have never pushed me into a role I haven’t been ready for. Please know that

James: At dinner I did worry…

Alexander: I pursued you. I wanted you. By the time you showed me affection back I was more than ready to be yours. And now, you’re mine. Truly and completely

Hi friendly readers. Just wanted to let you know the rest of this part is the moderate sim spice so please feel free to SKIP reading, you will not miss any plot points. It's somewhat NSFW so I will not be offended.

James: It did take a while for you to have me honestly though

Alexander: *grins* That just made the chase more fun for me

James: *quietly* I figured

Alexander lowers his husband back to the ground then kisses their wedding bands in turn.

Alexander: Tell me, did you enjoy lying next to your wife and dreaming of me

James smiles and sits down on the sofa returning the mischievous glint in Alexander’s eye. James does love when Alexander goes down this path. For so long he wasn’t important to anyone, and thought no one would look at him like this. Alexander shows him his affection matters and makes him feel seen.

James: That never happened love. I did not dream of you while I was in someone else's bed

Alexander: No? *pouts* That is a shame

The younger man moves to stand over James and after delivering a kiss turns so James is looking at his backside.

Alexander: You’re telling me you weren’t lying in your bed dreaming of seeing more of my skin up close

James chuckles and raises his hand to give Alexander a spank before caressing the sides of his hips.

James: I was not lying in bed imagining you in front of me like this *slap* I never once wondered what it would feel like for my skin to hit yours and-

James pinches Alexander causing him to gasp and almost break his composure.

James: I did not dream about all the sounds I’d get you to make if I had the chance

Alexander: Are you sure you didn’t imagine me, under you, squirming away

James: *heavily* definitely not

Alexander: *innocently* Oh? You might want to tell that to the equipment in your pants

He lowers himself onto James lap, lightly grinding to emphasise what he’s meaning. James kisses the back of his neck and reaches his hands around to carefully remove Alexander’s shirt. As Alexander slides to the floor he removes his own, he likes seeing Alexander ogling his tattoo. He got it to spite Ophelia but it's part of him now.

While James thinks of this change Alexander open James pants, allowing his husband to be free, and moves on to massaging his thighs. When James eyes go hazy and he bites his lips Alexander knows he has him right where he wants him.

Alexander: Not one night was spent imaging me between your legs? You never thought about me in front of you, begging for it, while your wife lay snoring

James: *gruffly* You think you’re impossible to resist

Alexander: I just find it odd that you never imagined my mouth around you considering how much the idea ran through my mind

James grabs Alexanders hair and lowers his face signalling the younger man to begin his mouth work.

James: I… did not…

Alexander: Never once… mmm… imagined my hands here

James: *breathlessly* No

Alexander: Didn’t wonder… how it would feel… for me to… suck like…

James: *breathlessly* Nope… mhmm… never

Alexander: Didn’t dream… of seeing… my mouth… full of you

James curses as he can’t hold it in any more. Gripping Alexander’s hair tight he lets it come and closes his eyes enjoying the sounds of his husband dealing with the aftermath with enthusiasm. Watcher he was lucky to get himself a youthful man. When he opens his eyes again he sees Alexander’s looking up at him with eyes full of lust. A glance down confirms the younger man is ready for his turn.

James: Stand up and I’ll tell you what I think you imagined

Alexander complies and James pulls his husbands hips closer. Slowly he lowers Alexander’s waistband until the pyjama bottoms fall to the floor. As usual Alexander has opted not to wear underwear under his sleepwear.

James: I bet you imagined me impressed with this thing

Alexander: *breathlessly* yes. And your hands- mmm

James: Like this? Or… like this

Alexander jerks his hips in response and James chuckles.

Alexander: Yes… mmm… exactly that

James toys with him a bit longer and when Alexander peaks he falls into James’ shoulder moaning. When the younger man recovers he feverishly kisses James throwing his arms around him. James chuckles and speaks between kisses.

James: You knew I had a wife *kisses* and you still imagined *kisses* me doing that

Alexander: See *kisses* it was absolutely *kisses* me pursuing you. I love you *kisses* you never have to feel guilty about that

James: Thanks love *kisses* let’s get to bed

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#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #my sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0905 #MiltonGoth #AriadneSterlingFromBakersimmer #JamesGoth #AlexanderGoth #tw sim spice

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