#you know how you just like call family or friends and end it with love you bye? he made that mistake but like with his boss yknow
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Bakugou Katsuki headcanons
When you first meet:
He HATES you. He hates everyone but something about you just really makes his blood boil.
Everytime Aizawa forces him into a group with you he complains nonstop about how "stupid" and âannoyingâ you are and now he'd much rather do the project/assignment himself.
He hates it when Kiri or any of his other friends talk to you because he doesnât understand now anyone could hold a conversation with someone as annoying as you.
Dare I say he finds you more annoying than Deku? (No that's impossible⌠right?)
After he gets to know you:
He's learned to tolerate your presence these days, though he still finds you annoying.
He'll attempt to have conversations with you over text but he ends up forgetting to respond most of the time.
He âhelpsâ you with your homework while throwing insults about how stupid you are out the whole time.
He also doesn't mind you talking his "friends" anymore.
When he starts catching feels:
He tolerates your presence even more now, dare I say he loves it? (Winkie wink)
He initiates conversations with you first over text and in person, the name calling doesn't stop tho. Itâs just apart of who he is.
Heâll offer to help with your homework and training and gives his own... Katsuki compliments. (though you swear they're just less harsh versions of the usual insults he gave others.)
Kirishima is the only one who has conformation that katsuki likes you, though everyone else definitely has speculations.
After you guys start dating:
He listens to you ramble about whatever it is that's on your mind, whether it be good or bad. (He doesn't even insult you!)
If he goes to the store he'll pick up items he knows you like and things that remind him of you.
If you don't respond to his message(s) quick enough he'll think you hate him and text kiri a bunch asking what he should do and if he's a bad boyfriend or not (he's not.)
When listening to music he adds songs you like to his playlist so when you're around you two can enjoy the playlist together.
He holds your backpack/ purse for you even if you don't ask.
After you marry:
He was nervous to propose ... What if you say "no" what if you didn't like the ring???
Good thing you said yes and loved the ring.
The wedding was a small intimate event with close friends and family, kirishima as his best-man.
You two buy a nice sized home together and a cat (he swears he hates "that damn thingâ but it's really his best friend.)
Housework is 50/50 you clean, he cooks.
After a few months of marriage you're begging for babies so... He gives them to you.
The end.
Hi friends!! I hope you enjoyed reading! I haven't wrote in a longgg time so its rusty I'm sorry lol..
This post is not proofread so sorry for any grammar mistakes!
Thank you for reading, have a good rest of your day/afternoon/night!
XO - winter.
(I really rushed the end because I bored sorry)
Dividers not mine (i don't remember who i got them from sorry )!
#mha x reader#mha headcanons#bakugou x reader#bakugou headcanons#bakugou fluff#bakugou fic#bakugou x you#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katuski x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#mha x you#mha fanfiction#mha x y/n#mha bakugou#bakugou smut#katsuki x you#katsuki x y/n#mha fluff#mha fic
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[âSometime around 2008, I attended a San Francisco rope performance event with a friend. Watching girls get tied up onstage, I felt like I was actually a part of the kinky queer underworld that I had long romanticized. At one point in the evening, starting as a joke and then fueled by free prosecco, I just started calling my date âdaddy.â It was meant, I think, to project the message that I was down to fuck and in the know to fellow hotties. On an elevator ride, I responded to a question about a cab with a breathless âYes, daddyâ and everyone around us started moaning, âThat is so hot.â Once I saw what a rise that magic word got out of everyone, I couldnât stop smashing my hand on the daddy button. It was hot and also, crucially, funny to call a woman I was on a date with daddy.
This is the daddy joke. It can also be the mommy joke, the boy or girl or boi joke, the puppy or pony or piggy joke. A fantasy diffused into a 24/7 leather identity. The dignity, the ethics of these leather identities, is feeling it all the time without imposing it on anyone who hasnât consented to that dynamic: just because you are a daddy to someone in a leather bar doesnât mean you are the daddy of everyone in the leather bar. âItâs not some creepy thing about my father!â I found myself constantly disclaiming the more I used the word as dirty talk, as seduction, as casual in-joke. And itâs not. Itâs about something much more malleable than any one man or even manhood.
By becoming a deeply personal pet name, daddy connects you to a subculture by way of a term of endearment. It invokes a hard cock rubbing against a bubble butt on the dance floor, silver chains along the brim of black caps, the idea of being, and/or being under the boot of, someone enormous who has all the knowledge and the taste and the unconditional love in the world, love that is all for you, even if itâs just for one brief encounter in a dark alleyway. Daddy telegraphs that when youâre here, youâre familyâand no matter what happens, no matter how dangerous things get, you will be loved until the end of time.â]
tina horn, from why are people into that? a cultural investigation of kink, 2024
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I will now actually answer VERY SINGLE QUESTION OF THIS XD
also i wrote this in an interview type style... you can also read this on my AO3 .... this is over 5000 words long gods help me ...........
Name: Ashryn De RivaÂ
Pronouns: They/She /HerÂ
Race: ElvenÂ
Faction: An Antivan Crow
Class: Mage
Specialization: Spellblade
Before The Veilguard
Where was Rook born? Who were their childhood family and friends? What did they spend their free time doing as a child? What did they want to be when they âgrew upâ if anything.
A: Uff good first question. Well, as far as I know I was born somewhere in Antiva, I don't really know where as I didn't really stay there for a long time. As a kid I didn't really have friends, like before I became a crow. I had other problems than who I should play with at the time. My mother was my only blood family I knew as she was taken with me. She was a slave for a Powerful Mage, and if I had to name a friend during that time I would say the stable boy, he was also a dalish captive but I heard he had been sold from Tevinter , or was he a present I don't really remember ⌠He was the one I could talk with and he hid me more than once when the Mages son was looking for me. What I wanted to be when I grew up? Mmmh another good question, free maybe? ( she laughs) No, I wanted to be powerful and able to help others. Actually I wanted to be Crow, I heard from the other slaves that there were those dark Asassines who would kill if you paid them enough. I actually used to save up any coin I could find, or steal, to pay them one day. In the end I didn't even save up enough to buy a loaf of fresh bread.( laughs again)
Where and how was Rook educated? What did they enjoy learning; what did they dislike learning? Who did they admire most? Who was an example of what not to do or be?
A: My Mother, bless her , tried her best to teach me things. Thanks to her I actually still speak elven, well to some extent. My magic abilities showed very early. I was still a little kid, maybe around the age of 7 or eight, so she also tried to teach me about those things even though she didn't have any magic gifts. She always said I got that from her father. The other slaves also tried to teach us young ones. IÂ snuck into the attic often, from there you could hear the teacher of the Mages son ramble for hours, while his student fell asleep most of the time.Â
How did they experience gender as a young person? Did they grow up in an environment of strict gender roles and expectations or were they allowed to be themselves?Â
A: IÂ never actively thought about being anything other than a woman, I am what I am and I like it. But I don't really care as to how people call me, okay maybe âheâ just doesn't fit with me but if they want to people can call me âtheyâ as well. ( shrugged) I don't really care.Â
My mother wasn't really strict about gender, she always said being me was enough. She even kind of adopted another young slave who had been shunned by the others, as she identified herself as a female, despite being born a male. Gods did I hate that girl, not because of this obviously but she wasn't the nicest person, when the adults were not around.Â
What was their take on sexuality as a young person? Did they experiment with romance or find it entirely uninteresting?
A: Again never actually thought about it. I liked men as a kid ⌠tho I never had a puppy love or how you call it⌠And after I joined the crows as a fledgling I started to notice how I felt for women ( shrugges ). I used to flirt with Teia as a young one just to annoy Viago, and I had a bit of a crush on her , but please don't tell him that. I want to live for a bit longer.
What was their take on spirituality as a young person? Did they grow up around one particular religion and if so how did that affect their beliefs?
A: I was fascinated by the veil and the fade as a kid. Loved to study on Spirits and things like that, so I would say I was fond of Spirits⌠oh you mean spirituality like religion⌠mmmmh i grew up with both elven gods and the maker. My mother taught me the tales of our ancestors and I loved hearing them. And the crows showed me the beliefs of the Maker. But I associate myself more with the elven beliefs I would say.Â
What childhood fear(s) did Rook carry with them into adulthood?
A: It's not really a fear but⌠I can't really swim that well, which is ironic when you think about where I grew up but the mage that owned me had this spell⌠Made you feel like you were drowning so I never went deeper than knee deep water till I was what? Like 17?Â
How did Rook become involved with their chosen faction? Who did they meet first, and how, and where, and why did they join up?
this is gonna take a while ( laughs) the first Crow I ever got to meet was Viago⌠I am not surprised as he is my house's Talon and something like my older brother, which he would never under any circumstances admit. I met him at a job of his. Okay maybe i have to further explain that. I met him after I ruined his contract by killing his target , who was also the Slave owning Mage I mentioned before⌠i dont think I'm actually gonna elaborate on that one, sorry. Let me have a few more secrets or surprises left. ( laughs)Â
Was Rook interested in finding a life partner of some kind when they joined their faction? Why? Who were their best friends and how did they meet? Who were their rivals, who did they trust?Â
A: Of course I want a live partner, but that's certainly not why I joined the crows. You die alone more often on the job than you find a spouse being an Assassin. Also I was only eleven, boys were disgusting at that age and growing up under Viagos keen eyes⌠It's a miracle I actually got to meet other beings other than snakes and other poisonous things. My best friends would actually be Teia and Viago. I know that's lame but its like that. I'm also close with Jacobus now⌠I hope I'm something to him like Viago was to me. My rivals mmmh all the other fledglings I guess, i don't know.Â
Did Rook have any scars or tattoos? Whatâs the story behind them?
A: I do have a few of either one. My most notable scars are the one on my nose and the one on my cheek up to my eyebrows. The nose one is actually quite embarrassing. I got it sneaking out of the De Riva mension when I was 16 to meet a merchant's son I found⌠rather interesting. Viago caught me and threw a book after me, hit me right in the face and had me falling off my BalconyâŚ. Right on his Motto being killed by my own stupidity.Â
On the cheek that one is fairly new got it fighting the Antaam 1 vs 20 to free their captives. That's how I meet Varric.Â
I also have one on my right shoulder and one on my neck that when a fledgling from another house tried to kill me⌠Got damn near close to it, but let's just say I'm a Crow and he's not.Â
For tattoos I have my Vallasin , my mother gave it to me when my Magic began showing, and I also have a snake on my chest for the way Viago and the De Rivas saved my life. My house tattoo is on my right wrist.
Did Rook ever strongly identify with a particular nationality, city, race, creed, or religion? Is this something they explored on their own or a tradition that was passed down to them? Did this identity evolve as they grew into adulthood?
A: I am an elf, so of course I identify with them. They are my people and my heritage as I said I was born dalish but not raised like them, traditionally. But Antiva and over all Treviso is my home, it's my city, it's my country. I will protect it even if it means going against the rules or losing my life.Â
Lightning Round - PREGAME VERSION
Favorite scent: snake babies⌠don't ask, just smell them. And maybe ThymianÂ
Favorite food: I love anything with Caramel, also anything with potatoesÂ
Favorite animal: mmmmh Wolves are pretty neat, maybe mabaris and cats too. Oh and of course Crowds
Favorite book or story: the dreadwolf and the Halla its a tale my mother used to tellÂ
Favorite drink: Cioccolata calda
Favorite item of clothing: capesÂ
Favorite keepsake: a little halla statue, my first daggerÂ
Favorite place: the diamondÂ
Favorite person: Teia
Favorite little treat: Caramel drops and cake.Â
During The Veilguard (HEAVY SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT)
Act 1: Signs and Portents
What was Rookâs status with their own faction at the beginning of the game? Why were they recruited by Varric?
A: I was good on the side , I think, okay I pissed them off with the shit I pulled with the Antaam. Tho Teia said she and Vi were a bit proud about me, beating them 20 against 1. Varric recruited me because I freed him, but if you ask him it's because I went against my orders for a greater cause thinking only about the others, not me as I freed them.Â
What did Rook think of Varric when they first met? Did Rook support Varricâs choice to confront Solas alone?
A: At first I found him strange, I did know about the Inquisition and heard tales of a dwarf with them but still strange. Funny thing is, I actually own a few of his books. But he grew on me and we made a contract soâŚ
Did Rook take Neve or Harding with them when they went to interrupt the ritual themselves? Why?
A: I took Harding, as a Mage Neve would be more skilled fighting the demons of while we would be a tad more difficult to spot for solasÂ
How did Rook engage with stories of the elven gods at the beginning of the Veilguard? Were the familiar or strange? Was it disorienting to have them rewritten or did it make no real difference to them?
A: Oh I knew them as I said my mother used to tell me stories about them even my lullaby was about Ghilan'nain and her Halla.Â
Having them rewritten as tyrants wasâŚ. something. Like a half identity crisis, they are not my whole life like for the Dawlish, but still they are my ancestors' gods.
What was Rookâs instinctive reaction to having Solas in their head and dreams? How did Rook respond when Solas asked them why they should be the one to lead the Veilguard?
A: It was concerning, him using blood magic to speak to me. I wondered if he could read every thought of mine if he could control me. And again he is the Dread Wolf, the god my mother said to love and fear at the same time. He's the trickster of trickster, the one who's neither an forgotten god or an evanuris.Â
I answered him directly. There is no use to lying at him, maybe half truths are the way to go. Nobody else would do it, and Varric told me to look after them for him. I'm just a Rook who switched with the king.Â
Did Rook think Neve was right about needing more investigation before acting or that Harding was right that there was no time to spare? What made them think that?
A: I was with Harding on this , yes we needed more information but the situation was⌠Not really time giving.Â
What did Rook decide to do with Mayor Julius of DâMetaâs crossing? Why?
A: I saved him, ironically I'm not a murderer , I don't kill if it's not a contract or a necessary thing. He was wrong and the best way to punish him was living with what he had done.
How did Rook react to Hardingâs new magic? Were they supportive or wary or a mix of both?Â
A: I think magic is a gift and that I told her even though it did make me worried about how she got it. It was something to worry about after..
How did Rook feel among the ancient elven magic and ruins of Arlathan? Did they find Bellaraâs work disturbing or fascinating or something else?
A: It was fascinating, very very fascinating. The ruins made me feel small and insignificant in comparison with the history of those places. It felt heavy and rich with tales that were never told and lost in time.
How did Rook feel about working with a bunch of assassins, the Antivan Crows? Were they familiar with the organization, a Crow themselves, or something else? How did they feel about Lucanis, specifically about Lucanis and Spite?
A: I'm a crow so I was excited. I had heard about the Demon of Varentium, but oddly I don't think I have ever met him before. At least I don't remember, maybe at some banquet or something. I find him and spite⌠fascinating a none mage that was possessed or better to say bonded with a demon without it taking over⌠fascinating. And of course I respect him as the first Talons Grandson. He is⌠powerful to say the least. I do keep my eyes on him⌠to keep track of Spite of course
  How did Rook feel about the Shadow Dragons? Had they ever been to Minrathous before or just heard stories? How did Neve strike them at first?
A: It's a good organisation fighting for their city and it's good to have a widespread connection for information. Â
Neve is competent and powerful. Also she is kind and fights for those who can't fight for themselves. And her mind, wow it's sharp as a knife and gods that women are charming.
What did Rook think of the Wardens when they met them? The First Warden? Antoine and Evka? Davrin (and his tits)? And of course, the MVP, Assan?
A: I have adored Antione and Evka with my whole life. I have known them for like a day and if anything happens to them I will kill all of Thedas. The first Warden? He can fuck himself in his metal protected knee. He has to come down from his high horse or he's gonna fall very very deep, in my Knife.Â
Davrin is⌠A blessing of the eyes and mind. He's someone reliable and I think we are gonna be very good friends.Â
Assan? That's my kid and I will fight Davrin for it⌠I love that damn winged cat so much, do you know he can Purr.Â
Did Rook choose to help Minrathous or Treviso? Why?
A: Treviso, it's my city, my home, my people. It was still a hard choiceÂ
How did Rook feel after seeing what happened to the city they couldnât save? Who did they talk to about it, if anyone, and how did they feel toward Neve and Lucanis in the aftermath?
A: saying I was devastated is the understatement of the Age. IwasâŚ. In pure shock especially as I saw the Viper blighted itâŚ. It was such a huge decision and only one person made it? That's not fair, I thought that maybe with the army and the Shadow dragons Minrathous had the biggest chance of keeping themselves safe, how could a single mage do anything more.Â
Had Rook ever been to Rivain before? What were their impressions? Did they have any experience with Antaam or Qunari outside the Qun? What did they think of Taash and Shanthann?
A: I've been to Rivain before on a contract on a Pirate. Pretty fun one actually. Oh and I KNEW the Antaam before, I had seen a few Qunari before, those who fell out of the Qun but aren't Antaam but not too many. For Taash and their motherâŚ. I like Taash, they are a bit hot headed and that comes from me soo⌠Their mother is odd, too strict about Taash and the Qun about living like a Qunari when she was the one that brought them to Rivain.
What was Rookâs first impression of the Nevarran Necropolis? Were they interested, disturbed, or something else? What did they think of Emmrich and, most importantly, Manfred?
A: I LOVE THE NECROPOLIS. It's so haunting and spooky while you can learn so many things there. Also Vorgoth is just I love him, them, i don't know. Also Emmrich is just so inspiring and I can learn so much from him. It's so good to have him join us. Manfred is also an enrichment, finally. Someone to play with our little Griffon. Also I don't really drink tea but the tea Manfred makesâŚ. so good. Even though I do have to say it's a bit of a waste of my work , necromancy I mean what does it bring killing someone just so they can be resurrected at a mages will.
What did Rook think of the Inquisitor? Did they become personal friends or did they keep it professional? Who was the Inquisitorâs lover, if any, and did Rook have an opinion of that?
A: The Inquisitor is such A strong person and she is powerful and stunning. We write eachother often and I admire her even more for her strength to keep believing in Solas and the love they share.
At the Siege of Weisshaupt, how did Rook deal with the First Warden and why?
A: I punched that prick's face. Didn't think he would go down with one punch. I mean he's a warrior after all, but he went down like a sack of stones. There was no reasoning with him, he would have killed way more of the Grey Wardens.Â
Act 2: The Price of the Past
How did Rook react to the aftermath of Weisshaupt? Were they sad, angry, scared, all of the above, or something else? Did they blame themselves? Lucanis? The First Warden? Ghilan'nain? Who did they talk to about it, and did they show their true feelings to their companions?
A: I blamed myself, I was the one responsible for the team, I was the one with the most information on the godsâŚ. It was not Lucanis' fault or anyones else's, it was mine. We should have taken her down at Weisshaupt and the guilt we didn't lie with me, the guilt is my burden to bear so no I didn't tell any of the companionsâŚ. It's my burden to bear.
Had Rook developed a romantic interest in one of their companions--or someone else!--by the time Weisshaupt fell? If so, were they eager to explore it or afraid to? Why?
A: Okay, I admit it.. I do have hots for Lucanis. Can you blame me? Have you seen this man cook or heard him talk? âŚ. that's better than anything. Also he's just⌠wow how can he be so careful with us all, so soft around us, helping us, care for us while he's a feared assassin. And also while he's possessed by a literal demon. And no I did not act on it, he has enough things to handle himself and spite. I don't wanna add myself and my one sided feelings to it. Though I did catch myself that I do talk to him more often and that I look at himâŚ.. I believe Neve might have caught that.Â
Who were Rookâs closest companions, and what did they like about them? Who irritated Rook, if anyone, and how?
A: Most of the time on the road with Lucanis and Bellara, or sometimes Emmerich. I'm closest to those three I would say. Nobody irritates me really, maybe Taash sometimes.. They really need to work on their patience but no one really gets on my nervesÂ
How did Rook respond to Davrin and Lucanisâs animosity finally boiling over? Were they sympathetic to one or the other or to both?
A: I understand both. Davrin lost so many friends at Weishaupt, the survivor's guilt is eating him alive faster than the blight could. Lucanis is spiraling because of guilt , he never missed a shot before he always meets his Target, failing to kill Ghilan'nain is a hard blow for them both, they needed to let go of that steam.
When Elgarânan took the Dalish prisoners to use as sacrifices, what was Rookâs first reaction? Were they resolved, raging, sad, or some combination? Did they talk to any of their companions about it?
A: Horror pure Horror, the way he slaughtered those Halas, the casualty of the Venatori that attended it was gruesome and got my blood boiling. His whole Plan, the dalish everything was just, he may not be as visually shocking as Ghilan´nian but he is so mu=ch worse than her. I will rip his damn heart out of his chest while it is still beating. I talked with Bellara about it for hours after.Â
What was Rookâs reaction to The Butcherâs proposition to them in Treviso? Did they respect it, think it was bonkers, or something else? Did they discuss it with any of their companions after the fact?
A: It was weird to say the least but I respect that, kind of. Treviso is a jewel and we have to protect it.Â
Did Rook express concerns about Illarioâs behavior to Lucanis? Did Rook encourage him to punish or to forgive Illario? Did Rook encourage Lucanis to work with Spite to save Catarina or to punish Illario? What were Rookâs impressions of Catarina both before and after her kidnapping? How did Rook feel about Lucanis becoming First Talon?
A: I have to admit, Illario always made me suspicious, but in the end I encouraged Luvanis to forgive him, the embarrassment was more than enough. But I will keep a close watch of him⌠If he tries to pull such a stunt again, I will end him myself. Even if it means Catarina will kill me.Â
Of course I encouraged him and Spite to work together to save Catarina , everything else would end in innocent blood being spilled.
Catarina is scary, she wants furst talon for nothing. She's Deadly. I'm glad to never have met her at her Prime and I respect her so much. She raised Lucanis, maybe not fair or lovingly, but he came out right.
Lucanis becoming First Talon, was , wow he's now my boss's boss which isâŚ.. concerning feelings wise but also I respect him. It makes me nervous to tell him what to do. ( laughs)
Did Rook support Bellara in her desire to save Cyrian or did they encourage her to be more forceful in stopping him immediately? Did they encourage her to keep the Nadas Dirthalen or to destroy it?
A: I helped her trying to talk to Cyrian and I cried with her as she held him in Her arms As he died. For the archive I told her to keep it, it holds a lot of knowledge about our people, and now we need something to cling to now after our gods and our beliefs were shattered.
Did Rook encourage the alliance with the Threads in Dock Town? Did they encourage Neve to bring Dock Town hope or to become a darker protector-figure?
A: the threads may be criminals but they certainly care for the city , for Neve she's a hope for Dock TownÂ
What was Rookâs reaction to the revelations about the Titans and the residual anger their downfall and exploitation at the hands of the Evanuris left behind? Did it change how they felt about Hardingâs new powers, and if so, how? Did they encourage Harding to embrace the Titanâs anger or to remember their compassionate side?
A: I felt âŚ. guilt i felt Solas guilt, my ancestors killed hers, they eradicated every single one. I told her she was more than this Anger that her compassionate side was stronger. She may have the blood and memory of the Titans but she still is Harding
How did Rook encourage Davrin to train and interact with Assan? Did they suggest discipline or kindness or some mixture of both? What were Rookâs feelings on seeing the twisted recreation of Weisshaupt, The Profane City? How did the blighted First Warden react to seeing Rook again there? Did Rook decide the griffons should go to the Anderfels with the Wardens or stay in Arlathan as protectors of nature?
A: I will have nightmares about that twisted Weisshaupt. Maybe I should take Lucanis' approach and just not sleep. For the griffons I think it's time they lay down the weapon⌠they will flourish in Arlathan and Arlathan will flourish through them. For the First Warden, he didn't like me living, he dont like me as blighted. Still he didn't deserve that ending.Â
Davrin and Assan are a team now, kindness and discipline is a good mix for both of them , but let's be fair Assan is going to dance on Davrins nose.Â
What did Rook think of Emmrichâs confession that he wanted to attain lichdom? Did their views on necromancy change as they got to know Emmrich and the Mourn Watch better? Did they encourage Emmrich to attain lichdom or to revive Manfred?
A: it's his choice but i would have been sad to see manfred go, which is weird to say as he's a Skeleton but still. Who would play rock, paper scissors with me. And I know that Emmerich would have shattered without his skeleton son, eternity can be lonely just look at Solas.Â
How did Taashâs journey to finding themselves strike Rook? What did Rook think of Shathann once they got to know her better? Did that change after her death? Did Rook encourage Taash to embrace their Rivaini culture or to fall back on the strength of their motherâs teachings about the Qun?
A: Taash mother and me never really got along and that's okay, i don't need to be liked by everyoneâŚ. i don't even want that. But still i was sad to see her die that way, my heart broke for taash. still i told them to embrace who they are and where they grew up. find strength in happiness of your own.
(If Rook didnât romance Harding or Taash:) Did Rook encourage Taash to get a gift to express interest in Harding? What was it and why? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?
A: Taash bought Harding something for her arrows and hey I love that they get along THAT well ( laughs ) at least some of us are getting some u know what ( laughs even louder)
(If Rook didnât romance Emmrich:) Did Rook encourage Emmrich to take Strife to the caves or the forest on a date? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?
A: This really came out of nowhere to be honest but I like it, even though Strife can be a bit⌠mean sometimes ( laughs again) the comment about me being a city mage wasn't really necessary but still. I love that for them they are like my unclesÂ
How did Rook deal with the friction between Taash and Emmrich? Did they encourage them to find common ground or to talk about other things? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?
A: told them to just find a common ground ⌠this little fight was unnecessary, but it also was kind of predictable now they always ramble on about plants
Did Rook romance any of their companions after all? What was that like for them, and how did it happen? Did the other companions have an opinion?
A: Well, ahem ( visibly blushes) me and lucanis are getting along very very well, even spite seems to like me ( laughs) it was actually nice talking to him in Lucanis mind⌠Even though the circumstances could have been better. For the companions Neve was happy for us both especially seemingly for Lucanis. Harding was also happy but still worried about spite. I think Emmerich is already planning a wedding bouquet and he's getting ready to fight Viago to be the one to bring me to the altar. The others are happy too though Davrin seems the most worried. Oh and the Inquisitor is more than thrilled ( laughs)
Who did Rook feel closest to by the time they were making plans with the Inquisitor to stop the godsâ ritual at the eclipse?
A: I mean the answer is obviously Lucanis, but after him maybe Emmerich he was my calming point of this whole thingÂ
Did Rook choose Davrin or Harding to lead a second team at Tearstone Island? Why? How did they feel in the aftermath of Tearstone Island about that choice? How did they honor their fallen teammate later?
S: It was Harding and I was devastated. I lost my sister that day.That what she was for me Family not just a friend. I joined her to keep going, no matter the price , for LaceÂ
Did Rook choose Neve or Bellara to take down the wards at Tearstone Island? Why? Did they regret their choice? How did they come to terms with it after?
A: my bell my little Bellara she was the one to take down the wards she knew them enough , I thought she would be safeâŚ. I beat myself up over it and i still feel the guilt
How did Rook deal with learning theyâd been magically gaslit into thinking Varric was alive all this time??????
A: I wanted to kick his bold wolf assâŚ. THE PURE AUDACITY LIKE WHAT?!?!?!Â
Did Rook find the Mysterious Circles?
A: yes i actually didÂ
Did Rook find all of Solasâs regrets after the Inquisitor gave them the first? What were their reactions to the revelations about:
A: I found them allâŚ. One worse than the other
The Golden City/The Black City and The Chantryâs doctrine being false
It did not hit me as hard as it should haveÂ
Mythal convincing Solas to take a mortal form
The pain Of him⌠I understood him better after this. A spirit if wisdom becomes a Pride demon after being Used against their purpose and getting twisted
Solas being willing to sacrifice his followers for his end goals
heâŚ.. I hated him for that but it was necessary and I know it was not an easy decision for him. â they died as who they wereâ this hitted harder after knowing who and what he once was
Ancient elves originating as spirits who took mortal form
I jokingly talked with Emmerich about what kind of spirit I would be. He said Determination , Courage or Compassion âŚ. Lucanis said Spite liked the idear of me being a Spirit of DeterminationÂ
 âThe elves -- particularly Solas and Mythal -- killing and exploiting the Titans to win the war against them
Guilt i felt the guilt of Solas, like i already, saidâŚ.. and rageÂ
The blight being the Titanâs lost, angry dreams
It scares Me how powerful those beings could have been if the blight are there angers and dreams
Solas regaining his power pre-Inquisition by killing Mythalâs current host
-i didn't know her , the other host, and to be true after all i have seen of her i don't really know if i feel sympathy for her, i meant mythal.
Bonus Round: Were Solas and Mythal doing it?
Oh definitely
Mythal's essence. How did they get it from her? Was it a fight or a matter of discussion? How did they feel, meeting her?
It was a discussion, one that felt like talking to an explosive ready to go off any minuteâŚ.. it was strange meeting her. Her fragment seemed bitter and like she lost herself.
Act 3: The Wrath of Ages
Were all Rookâs allied factions at maximum strength when they launched their attack on Elgarânan? Which ones werenât, and why? Did Rook favor any of them? Their own? Someone elseâs?
A: They were all my allies and all were the strongest they could beâŚ. And of course I would favor my people the crows
Who did Rook choose to support the Veil Jumpers in the final battle dealing with magical wards or protecting others?
Neve knows Those wards better than anyone so i chose her
Who did Rook choose to support the Crows and the Lords of Fortune in the final battle fighting mages or attacking by surprise?
A: Of course lucanis⌠Whonwohlf be better at killing mages than my own Demon of Verantium
Who did Rook choose to support the Wardens and the Mourn Watch in the final battle fighting massive enemies and constructs?
A: Taash knows best how to fight giant enemies
Who did Rook choose to take with them for the final battle against Elgarânan and why?
A: Emmerich and Davrin, Emmrich is a skilled mage with years of knowledge also he keeps a cool mind no matter what. Davrin is a Warden he qs trained to fight Darkspawn And he's a skilled soldier who has fought many battles.
Did Rook plan to trick Solas with the fake dagger or did they think they better not risk it?
A :Tricking the god of Trickery is suicide but it was put only option if he would have not let him be talked down
Did Morrigan give you Felassenâs Rune? How did Rook use it?
A Fellassen helped me finish it all for good
Did Rook have a lover to talk with before the final battle? How did they feel in that moment?
A: Lucanis and I talked⌠His words embedded themself in my brain they guided me up that tower and echoed inside me as i slayed a god
After defeating Elgarânan, how did Rook deal with Solas and the veil? Was it different than they had planned? If so, why and how?
A: I Talked with him⌠He had to overcome his regretsâŚ. Mithal was there and seeing tbe mighty Dread wolf breakdown âŚ.. cried as i saw the Inquisitor leave with him together into the fade i hope to some day to hear from then againÂ
What did Rook do on the day after saving the world?
I returned to the lighthouseâŚ. and slept a long Dreamless sleepâŚ. I think it was DreamlessâŚ.
Lightning Round - AFTERMATH VERSION
Favorite scent:Fresh grounded Coffee and the forest
Favorite food: PaellaÂ
Favorite animal: Griffons and DragonsÂ
Favorite book or story: Varric's last book he never released
Favorite drink: Coffee
Favorite item of clothing: my Crow attireÂ
Favorite keepsake: An antivan crow mask, varrrics shawing mirror
Favorite place:the lighthouses dining table and the wolf's lair
Favorite person: LucanisÂ
Favorite little treat: Hazelnut Torte
Who is Rook?
We have no Keep to keep our memories this time my friends, so I made a thing. Use it as you will, take pieces, use parts, do the whole damn thing, whatever. Thanks to @mageofquandrix for the backup on this!
Leaving the spoilery part beneath the cut.
Who is Rook?
Name:
Pronouns:
Race:
Faction:
Class:
Specialization:
Before The Veilguard
Where was Rook born? Who were their childhood family and friends? What did they spend their free time doing as a child? What did they want to be when they âgrew upâ if anything.
Where and how was Rook educated? What did they enjoy learning; what did they dislike learning? Who did they admire most? Who was an example of what not to do or be?
How did they experience gender as a young person? Did they grow up in an environment of strict gender roles and expectations or were they allowed to be themselves?Â
What was their take on sexuality as a young person? Did they experiment with romance or find it entirely uninteresting?
What was their take on spirituality as a young person? Did they grow up around one particular religion and if so how did that affect their beliefs?
What childhood fear(s) did Rook carry with them into adulthood?
How did Rook become involved with their chosen faction? Who did they meet first, and how, and where, and why did they join up?
Was Rook interested in finding a life partner of some kind when they joined their faction? Why? Who were their best friends and how did they meet? Who were their rivals, who did they trust?
Did Rook have any scars or tattoos? Whatâs the story behind them?
Did Rook ever strongly identify with a particular nationality, city, race, creed, or religion? Is this something they explored on their own or a tradition that was passed down to them? Did this identity evolve as they grew into adulthood?
Lightning Round - PREGAME VERSION
Favorite scent:
Favorite food:
Favorite animal:
Favorite book or story:
Favorite drink:
Favorite item of clothing:
Favorite keepsake:
Favorite place:
Favorite person:
Favorite little treat:
During The Veilguard (HEAVY SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT)
Act 1: Signs and Portents
What was Rookâs status with their own faction at the beginning of the game? Why were they recruited by Varric?
What did Rook think of Varric when they first met? Did Rook support Varricâs choice to confront Solas alone?
Did Rook take Neve or Harding with them when they went to interrupt the ritual themselves? Why?
How did Rook engage with stories of the elven gods at the beginning of the Veilguard? Were the familiar or strange? Was it disorienting to have them rewritten or did it make no real difference to them?
What was Rookâs instinctive reaction to having Solas in their head and dreams? How did Rook respond when Solas asked them why they should be the one to lead the Veilguard?
Did Rook think Neve was right about needing more investigation before acting or that Harding was right that there was no time to spare? What made them think that?
What did Rook decide to do with Mayor Julius of DâMetaâs crossing? Why?
How did Rook react to Hardingâs new magic? Were they supportive or wary or a mix of both?Â
How did Rook feel among the ancient elven magic and ruins of Arlathan? Did they find Bellaraâs work disturbing or fascinating or something else?
How did Rook feel about working with a bunch of assassins, the Antivan Crows? Were they familiar with the organization, a Crow themselves, or something else? How did they feel about Lucanis, specifically about Lucanis and Spite?
How did Rook feel about the Shadow Dragons? Had they ever been to Minrathous before or just heard stories? How did Neve strike them at first?
What did Rook think of the Wardens when they met them? The First Warden? Antoine and Evka? Davrin (and his tits)? And of course, the MVP, Assan?
Did Rook choose to help Minrathous or Treviso? Why?
How did Rook feel after seeing what happened to the city they couldnât save? Who did they talk to about it, if anyone, and how did they feel toward Neve and Lucanis in the aftermath?
Had Rook ever been to Rivain before? What were their impressions? Did they have any experience with Antaam or Qunari outside the Qun? What did they think of Taash and Shanthann?
What was Rookâs first impression of the Nevarran Necropolis? Were they interested, disturbed, or something else? What did they think of Emmrich and, most importantly, Manfred?
What did Rook think of the Inquisitor? Did they become personal friends or did they keep it professional? Who was the Inquisitorâs lover, if any, and did Rook have an opinion of that?
At the Siege of Weisshaupt, how did Rook deal with the First Warden and why?
Act 2: The Price of the Past
How did Rook react to the aftermath of Weisshaupt? Were they sad, angry, scared, all of the above, or something else? Did they blame themselves? Lucanis? The First Warden? Ghilan'nain? Who did they talk to about it, and did they show their true feelings to their companions?
Had Rook developed a romantic interest in one of their companions--or someone else!--by the time Weisshaupt fell? If so, were they eager to explore it or afraid to? Why?
Who were Rookâs closest companions, and what did they like about them? Who irritated Rook, if anyone, and how?
How did Rook respond to Davrin and Lucanisâs animosity finally boiling over? Were they sympathetic to one or the other or to both?
When Elgarânan took the Dalish prisoners to use as sacrifices, what was Rookâs first reaction? Were they resolved, raging, sad, or some combination? Did they talk to any of their companions about it?
What was Rookâs reaction to The Butcherâs proposition to them in Treviso? Did they respect it, think it was bonkers, or something else? Did they discuss it with any of their companions after the fact?
Did Rook express concerns about Illarioâs behavior to Lucanis? Did Rook encourage him to punish or to forgive Illario? Did Rook encourage Lucanis to work with Spite to save Catarina or to punish Illario? What were Rookâs impressions of Catarina both before and after her kidnapping? How did Rook feel about Lucanis becoming First Talon?
Did Rook support Bellara in her desire to save Cyrian or did they encourage her to be more forceful in stopping him immediately? Did they encourage her to keep the Nadas Dirthalen or to destroy it?
Did Rook encourage the alliance with the Threads in Dock Town? Did they encourage Neve to bring Dock Town hope or to become a darker protector-figure?
What was Rookâs reaction to the revelations about the Titans and the residual anger their downfall and exploitation at the hands of the Evanuris left behind? Did it change how they felt about Hardingâs new powers, and if so, how? Did they encourage Harding to embrace the Titanâs anger or to remember their compassionate side?
How did Rook encourage Davrin to train and interact with Assan? Did they suggest discipline or kindness or some mixture of both? What were Rookâs feelings on seeing the twisted recreation of Weisshaupt, The Profane City? How did the blighted First Warden react to seeing Rook again there? Did Rook decide the griffons should go to the Anderfels with the Wardens or stay in Arlathan as protectors of nature?
What did Rook think of Emmrichâs confession that he wanted to attain lichdom? Did their views on necromancy change as they got to know Emmrich and the Mourn Watch better? Did they encourage Emmrich to attain lichdom or to revive Manfred?
How did Taashâs journey to finding themselves strike Rook? What did Rook think of Shathann once they got to know her better? Did that change after her death? Did Rook encourage Taash to embrace their Rivaini culture or to fall back on the strength of their motherâs teachings about the Qun?
(If Rook didnât romance Harding or Taash:) Did Rook encourage Taash to get a gift to express interest in Harding? What was it and why? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?
(If Rook didnât romance Never or Lucanis:) How did Rook feel about Neve and Lucanisâs Romance? Did they encourage it?
(If Rook didnât romance Emmrich:) Did Rook encourage Emmrich to take Strife to the caves or the forest on a date? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?
How did Rook deal with the friction between Taash and Emmrich? Did they encourage them to find common ground or to talk about other things? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?
Did Rook romance any of their companions after all? What was that like for them, and how did it happen? Did the other companions have an opinion?
Who did Rook feel closest to by the time they were making plans with the Inquisitor to stop the godsâ ritual at the eclipse?
Did Rook choose Davrin or Harding to lead a second team at Tearstone Island? Why? How did they feel in the aftermath of Tearstone Island about that choice? How did they honor their fallen teammate later?
Did Rook choose Neve or Bellara to take down the wards at Tearstone Island? Why? Did they regret their choice? How did they come to terms with it after?
How did Rook deal with learning theyâd been magically gaslit into thinking Varric was alive all this time??????
Did Rook find the Mysterious Circles?
Did Rook find all of Solasâs regrets after the Inquisitor gave them the first? What were their reactions to the revelations about:
The Golden City/The Black City and The Chantryâs doctrine being false
Mythal convincing Solas to take a mortal form
Solas being willing to sacrifice his followers for his end goals
Ancient elves originating as spirits who took mortal form
The elves -- particularly Solas and Mythal -- killing and exploiting the Titans to win the war against them
The blight being the Titanâs lost, angry dreams
Solas regaining his power pre-Inquisition by killing Mythalâs current host
Bonus Round: Were Solas and Mythal doing it?
Mythal's essence. How did they get it from her? Was it a fight or a matter of discussion? How did they feel, meeting her?
Act 3: The Wrath of Ages
Were all Rookâs allied factions at maximum strength when they launched their attack on Elgarânan? Which ones werenât, and why? Did Rook favor any of them? Their own? Someone elseâs?
Who did Rook choose to support the Veil Jumpers in the final battle dealing with magical wards or protecting others?
Who did Rook choose to support the Crows and the Lords of Fortune in the final battle fighting mages or attacking by surprise?
Who did Rook choose to support the Wardens and the Mourn Watch in the final battle fighting massive enemies and constructs?
Who did Rook choose to take with them for the final battle against Elgarânan and why?
Did Rook plan to trick Solas with the fake dagger or did they think they better not risk it?
Did Morrigan give you Felassenâs Rune? How did Rook use it?
Did Rook have a lover to talk with before the final battle? How did they feel in that moment?
After defeating Elgarânan, how did Rook deal with Solas and the veil? Was it different than they had planned? If so, why and how?
What did Rook do on the day after saving the world?
Lightning Round - AFTERMATH VERSION
Favorite scent:
Favorite food:
Favorite animal:
Favorite book or story:
Favorite drink:
Favorite item of clothing:
Favorite keepsake:
Favorite place:
Favorite person:
Favorite little treat:
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Ok! Spoiler warning ship. Where Wes explains why he hates Danny. No one will believe him that fenton is phantom.
Steph looks him dead in the eye, takes a deep breath. Then explains to him in a dead serious tone how stupid and dangerous that is, not only to the hero, but him and everyone else too.
(It's funny that you ask me this. Just wait for tomorrow lmaooo)
"I know that. I was fourteen." Wes crossed his arms and looked away, glaring at nothing. "It doesn't mean that I can't hate Phantom."
Steph raised a finger and opened her mouth, ready to defend Phantom when she paused and reconsidered. Then she asked, "If you know that it was dangerous, why do you still hate him? Did he do something to you?"
"Yes!" Wes spat. "Even though I was fourteen and stupid, you know what he would do? He would transform in front of me and gloat that no one believed me! Like, I get that he had a secret identity but he laughed in my face because he thought it was funny that everyone thought I was lying! Not even my familyâ my brothers believed me! I was called 'the Crazy Weston' for years in high school!"
Steph pursed her lips. As a vigilante, she understood the importance of secret identities and Wes had almost purposefully endangered the lives of others by trying to reveal Phantom's. But it was true that Wes had only been fourteen when he found out, and Danny had no right to tease him when he should've just explained properly.
"... okay, I get that." She scooted over to press against him. Wes didn't react, still looking irritated. Steph continued, "But aren't you two friends now? I guess I find it weird that you still hate him after so long, especially when you guys help each other so much."
"I don't really care about Phantom. Danny is just an asshole," Wes growled.
Steph did not voice the fact that Wes could also occasionally be an asshole.
Wes must've noticed because he went silent and then he said, "But we're fine now or whatever. I have blackmail on him that I can use and he lets me do it. I'll protect him because he's a hero from my world and because he's our King, but I don't care if I'm rude or not. He owes me for those years of hell in high school."
Stephanie shrugged and then smiled, pressing herself against him again. "Well, it's not like I can say anything about your relationship with him. I just wanted to make sure you know about the importance of secret identities."
"I don't want to hear that from you, Miss Spoiler," Wes said, rolling his eyes but he uncurled his arms and then wrapped one around her, pulling her closer to kiss her hair.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, just cuddling and enjoying each other's presence. Learning something new about each other was always fascinating. Steph suddenly sighed.
"Y'know, I don't know how I didn't realize before, but you're really petty."
"Excuse me? I'll have you know that Iâ"
Wes began to rant and Steph couldn't help but laugh at his indignation. In the end, he attacked her with angry kisses until she was shrieking with laughter.
Her boyfriend may be petty and vindictive, but at the very least, he was all hers.
(Note: I actually love how the fandom characterize Wes and I especially LOVE how hostile Wes can be. People don't seem to realize that they created the perfect character to be a villain bc let's not forget that since Kyle Weston is headcanoned to be Jazz's age, Wes is in the perfect position to threaten Danny's loved ones, especially with how Danny seems to tease him a lot (which is probably infuriating). I imagine that Wes and Danny have a frenemy relationship (that is a little one-sided), but they will help each other if need to be. Imo, with how the phandom characterizes them both interacting, they are BOTH in the wrong.)
#dpxdc#dcxdp#dp x dc#dc x dp#danny phantom x dc#dp x dc crossover#ask#danny fenton#wes weston#stephanie brown#wes x steph#spoiler warning ship#ty for the ask!#proneterror204#dp headcanons
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I just read age is just a number and I loved it! I would love to see more with them as y/n meets Lukeâs parents and friends and the anxiety that can come with that.
Also seeing y/n in the wag life as she seemed to not know they were NHL players!
â¤ď¸
Age Is Just a Number⌠Right? - Part 2.
Summary: Luke Hughes, 6 years younger, seems like the perfect matchâeffortless and sweet. But when the reality of family, friends, and public attention creeps in, the simplicity starts to fade, and things get more complicated than expected. Welcome to Part 2 of Age Is Just a Number...Right? Warnings: Implied sexual situations, age gap (6 years), online harassment, bullying Note: Hey Lovelies! So hereâs Part 2, and Iâm so excited you asked for it! Thank you for requesting! Honestly, writing this was a total blast. This oneâs a bit different thoughâit dives deeper into the challenges of the age gap and all the NHL pressure. Itâs definitely not all smooth sailing, but I hope you still enjoy the drama!
Also, I swear I wanted to keep it short... and somehow ended up with 20,056 words. I just canât do short, can I? đ
For more fun: masterlistâ¤ď¸
Six months. Itâs almost impossible to believe how quickly time has passed since you first stumbled into Lukeâs kitchen, skeptical, unsure of what would come next. Now, here you areâhalf a year into a relationship with him, and yet, some days, you still can't believe it's real.
Luke is perfect. Maybe too perfect, sometimes. Heâs mature beyond his years, grounded in a way youâve always admired but feared was too good to be true. When you first met, that six-year age gap felt like a huge mountain between youâsomething that might trip you up before you even got started. You worried there would be moments when he'd act too young, too impulsive, and you'd find yourself questioning whether you had made a mistake or whether he was ready for something serious.
But Luke? Heâs proven you wrong over and over again.
His calmness, his commitment, and his quiet strengthâit all made you realize that maybe age really is just a number. With him, youâve never felt rushed, never pressured. Itâs like he understands the pace you need to move at. Heâs steady and unwavering, always ready to meet you where you are, to take it one step at a time. And thatâs exactly what you needed. You werenât ready to dive headfirst into something this serious until you knew it was real.
So youâve taken things slow. Six months in, youâre still navigating the early stages of your relationship. You havenât met his parents yet. You havenât gone to one of his gamesâthough youâd love to, just to see him in that element, doing what he loves. But youâve both agreed that when those things happen, when you step into those parts of his world, it will be because youâre both sure of what you have. Youâre building something strong and lasting.
And it hasnât been all easy. Thereâs Jack, of course. He found out about you and Luke pretty much the moment you tried to sneak out after your first date. The cat was out of the bag before you even had a chance to process it. And naturally, that meant Quinn knew too, because Jack was worse than a tabloid. That boy couldnât keep a secret if his life depended on it. Though you only saw Quinn a handful of timesâmostly through FaceTime when you would pop into the background of Lukeâs callsâyou could always feel his eyes on you, sizing you up, assessing whether you were really what Luke needed.
You never blamed Quinn. You understood the brotherly protectiveness. It was clear from the start that Luke meant a lot to him, and anyone who stepped into his life had to be worth it. But still, you felt that unspoken judgment. That quiet skepticism that weighed on you, even if it was never voiced aloud. Jack reassured you, though. "Heâs just protective," heâd say with a grin. "Heâll warm up to you. Trust me." And sure enough, as the months passed, the tension started to melt away.
It took five months before Quinn finally invited you to dinner. Just a simple gatheringâLuke, Jack, you, and Quinnâwhile Quinn was in the city playing with the Rangers. At first, you werenât sure how it would go. You knew it wasnât just a dinner; it was a test. A chance for Quinn to see if what you and Luke shared was the real thing.
The moment you sat down at the table, you felt it: Quinn was watching you. Not like Jack did, with his easy humor and teasing grin, but in that calculating, watchful way that only a protective older brother could. You could almost feel his doubts lingering in the air. Was this just a phase for Luke? Something fleeting? Or was it something real?
You didnât take it personally. It was hard, but you understood. You knew what came with being in Lukeâs life. Youâd heard enough stories from Jack and Luke to understand the whirlwind of the NHL lifestyleâthe crazy girlfriends, the fleeting connections, the messiness. But you were different. You werenât here for the money, the fame, or the excitement of it all. You saw Luke for who he really wasâthe person, the man he was becoming. You knew it wouldnât be easy, but you were willing to take it slow, to fight for something real.
You held your ground during that dinner. You laughed, you talked, and despite the nerves, you found yourself connecting with Quinn more than you expected. Before long, you were exchanging book recommendations and recipes with him, finding that you shared more in common than you thought. For a moment, the tension eased. You realized you werenât just some outsider in their world. You were part of it, in your own way.
By the end of the night, Quinn wasnât just the overprotective older brother anymore. He was someone you could see yourself getting along with, someone you could trust. And he realized it too. What you had with Luke was more than just a passing fling. It was real.
As you looked across the table at Luke during that dinner, his smile so full of pride and warmth, you knew the slow burn of the past months had been worth it. Every carefully measured step, every moment of uncertainty had led to this. The connection you were building with Luke was undeniable, and you were ready for what came next.
With him. For the long haul.
â
The apartment is quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages turning.
Youâre curled up on one end of the couch, a book in your hands. At least, it looks like youâre reading, but not a single word has registered in the last fifteen minutes. Across from you, Quinn is stretched out in the armchair, legs casually crossed at the ankle, his own book open in his lap. Heâs in town for a gameâthe Canucks played the Devils last nightâbut instead of heading straight home for the short break in the season, he decided to stay an extra night. It made sense, with the Michigan trip tomorrow. The four of youâQuinn, Luke, Jack, and youâwould be flying out together to celebrate Ellenâs birthday. And since he doesnât get to see his brothers often, heâs crashing at the apartment for the night.
Unlike you, Quinn actually seems to be reading, his face neutral, focused, like heâs in his own world. Meanwhile, youâre pretty sure youâve bounced your knee up and down at least twenty times in the last half hour.
Quinn doesnât even look up when he says, âYouâre fidgeting.â
You blink, caught off guard. âWhat?â
He finally glances at you, raising an eyebrow. âYou keep moving. And youâve been staring at the same page for about ten minutes now.â
You sigh, closing your book with a little more force than necessary. âDidnât realize you were keeping track.â
Quinn shrugs without breaking his gaze from the page. âHard not to when youâre sighing like someone just called you for a penalty in overtime.â
You canât help but laugh softly, but it doesnât last long. Instead, you stare down at your book again, running your fingers over the creased edges. âIâm just⌠nervous about tomorrow.â
Quinn doesnât react immediately, but you can tell heâs listening.
You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. âMeeting Ellen and Jim, the whole Michigan trip. Lukeâs friends. Itâs a lot.â
âThey already know about you,â Quinn points out. âJack made sure of that.â
You roll your eyes, dragging a hand over your face. "Yeah, because Jack never shuts up. Honestly, I'm surprised it took him seven months to blurt it out on FaceTime."
Quinn chuckles, the sound soft and amused. âYeah, heâs not exactly the type to keep things to himself.â
You smile faintly but shake your head. Jack could be annoying as hell sometimes, but you'd grown to appreciate his cheeky styleâthough youâd never let him know that. Giving him the satisfaction would only make him worse.
"Still," you continue, "knowing about me is different from actually meeting me. I donât know... I guess I just feel like I have to prove myself. Like, I need to show your parents Iâm good enough for Luke."
At that, Quinn tilts his head, his expression softening with something you didnât expectâunderstanding.
âI get that,â he says quietly.
You glance at him, surprised. âYou do?â
You blink, taken aback. Quinn always came across as confident, wiseâsometimes quiet, but never unsure.
Youâre about to ask him to elaborate when he continues, his voice slower now, more reflective.
"Jackâs always been the effortless one, you know?" he starts, a hint of admiration in his voice. "He walks into a room, and people are just drawn to himâlike itâs second nature. That charm, that ease⌠heâs always had it."
Thereâs no bitterness in his voiceâjust truth. And you get it. Even though Jack can be a lot at times, Quinnâs right. Heâs got that natural charm that makes it impossible not to like him, even when heâs being the most annoying person on the planet.
âAnd LukeâŚâ Quinnâs voice falters for a second, but he recovers quickly."Lukeâs a phenomenal playerâand the kindest person youâll ever meet. I can still hear Dad saying, âLook at him, Quinn. Heâs only eight, and heâs already better than you were at that age.â"
You frown, your heart tightening slightly, but Quinn keeps going, his words surprisingly soft.
"I had to work my ass off just to keep up," he admits, his gaze dropping to his lap. "Growing up with brothers like mine... it was impossible not to notice the difference. Jack walks into a room, and people light upâhe doesnât even have to try. Luke picks up a stick, and itâs like the game was made for him. They were special. Everyone saw it. Everyone told them. And me? I was good, but never in the way they were. Never effortless. Never undeniableâŚSo I pushed myself. Skated longer, trained harder, did everything I could to close the gap. Because if I wasnât a prodigy like Luke or magnetic like Jack, I had to be something. I had to earn my place. Prove I belonged. Not just to everyone else, but to myself."
A tightness settles in your chest as his words sink in, striking a little too close to home. You loved being with Lukeâhe was the best thing that had ever happened to you. But sometimes, the weight of not feeling special enough to be with him was suffocating.
âItâs easy to get caught up in that,â Quinn adds, looking at you now. âThinking you have to earn your place, like if you donât, people will start to see you for what you âreallyâ areânot enough.â He gives you a sharp look, and his voice drops a little, more serious. âItâs good to have that drive in sports, but if you start believing you only deserve love and kindness if you prove it every day, itâll eat you alive.â
Your throat tightens as you meet his eyes. Thereâs something in Quinnâs expression that feels like heâs not just talking about youâbut about himself, too.
âBut itâs bullshit,â Quinn continues, the gentleness in his tone surprising you. âPeople who matter will love you for who you are. You donât have to prove yourself. Not to Luke, not to anyone. If they donât see you for what youâre worthâwhat you bring to the tableâitâs their loss.â
You let his words sink in, the knot in your stomach loosening just a little. You want to believe him.
But before you can say anything, the front door swings open with the usual creak, and Jackâs voice fills the apartment.
The familiar sound of Jack and Luke bickering fills the apartment. You steal a quick glance at Quinn, trying to pack everything you feel into one look. You want to thank him for opening up, for comforting you. You want to say something that might ease whateverâs been weighing on him tooâtell him youâre sorry he had to go through all of that, and that if he ever needs someone to talk to, youâll listen.
Quinn meets your gaze, and for a moment, he just nods, a small but genuine smile crossing his faceâone that says more than words ever could. Then, without a word, he turns back to his book, flipping the page as if nothing happened..Â
âDude, you definitely ate half of my roll!â Jack complains, his voice sharp with outrage as he and Luke walk in.
âI didnât eat half your roll,â Luke counters, rolling his eyes as he kicks the door shut behind him. âI paid for the sushi, Jack. That means I can eat whatever I want.â
Jack huffs dramatically, holding up the takeout bags as if theyâre the most precious thing in the world. âYou hear that, Quinn? Our baby brother is robbing me blind. Iâm practically starving over here.â
Quinn, still curled up in the armchair, doesnât even glance up from his book. âSounds like a you problem.â
Luke grins, completely unfazed by Jackâs theatrics. âYeah, because that makes total sense. Iâm here plotting to steal all of your sushi.â
Jack dramatically sighs, but thereâs a grin tugging at his lips despite his best efforts. âWhatever, dude. You owe me a roll. Just keep track of it.â
Luke shrugs, tossing the sushi bags onto the counter as if itâs all water under the bridge. âIâll pay you back next time. Maybe.â
With that, Luke crosses the room and heads straight for the couch where you're sitting. You glance up just as he sits down next to you, his body naturally leaning into yours. Before you can even process it, his lips brush softly against your temple, the gentle touch making your heart skip a beat.
âMiss me?â Luke asks, his voice light, teasing, but thereâs something warm behind his words.
You smile, leaning into him slightly. âYou were gone for like five minutes.â
Luke gasps, pretending to be hurt. âFive minutes is a lifetime! You shouldâve missed me way more.â
You laugh, nudging him with your elbow. âYouâre so dramatic.â
âMaybe. But Iâm dramatic because I love you,â he says, his voice turning soft as he tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. âIâll never apologize for that.â
You feel your heart soften, the quiet between you settling in. Itâs easy with Luke. Too easy, like youâve always been meant to share moments like this.
Meanwhile, Quinn is still immersed in his book, but you can hear the soft chuckle in his voice when he finally looks up. âYou two are ridiculous.â
Luke grins, glancing over at him with a playful spark in his eyes. âIâm sorry, Captain. Did we interrupt your important reading time?â
Quinn rolls his eyes, but thereâs a smile tugging at his lips. âYouâre lucky I have important things to do.â
Luke nudges you gently. âGuess weâll leave you to your important work then.â
Just as youâre about to respond, the bathroom door flies open, and Jack steps in, fixing Luke with a sharp look. "I swear, you took half my roll, but Iâll let it goâjust so you can appreciate what an amazing brother I am."
Luke doesnât miss a beat, rolling his eyes. âYeah, thanks for your endless generosity, Jack.â
Jack shakes his head,âYouâre impossible. But whatever, Iâll live.â He glances at Quinn. âYou guys hungry?â
Quinn looks up from his book and shrugs, a small smirk on his face. âYeah, alright. Letâs eat.â
Lukeâs arm stays comfortably around your shoulders, pulling you in a little closer as Jack starts unpacking the sushi. He hands you a roll, and without hesitation, you take it, offering a piece to Luke, who grins at you.
âYou sure you want to give me that? I might eat it all,â he teases, leaning in to take the piece from your fingers.
You roll your eyes but laugh. âItâs yours, baby. Iâm just being nice.â
He takes it anyway, his lips brushing your hand for just a moment. âIâll always accept nice,â he says, his voice warm and low.
Meanwhile, Quinn and Jack are fully engaged in their own conversation across the room.
âWait, seriously? You're not hooking up with anyone?!â Jack asks, biting into his roll and glancing over at Quinn. His tone is a mix of playful curiosity and teasing challenge.
Quinn furrows his brow, unsure where this is headed. âJackâŚIâve got other things on my mind right now,â he replies, trying to sound casual but ending up a little too defensive.
Jack raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. âOther things, huh? Like you are too busy brooding about your love life?â
Quinn shoots him a lookâpart amusement, part mild annoyanceâbut itâs clear thereâs no real heat behind it. âIâm not brooding, Jack.â
Jack leans in, eyes twinkling with mischief. âSure about that? Youâre the type who could use a little fun, yâknow. Just a little something to shake things up.â
Quinn sighs, pushing his sushi aside and leaning back slightly. âIâm having fun, Jack. But I donât need drama or... random hook-ups like you.â
âOh, come on,â Jack waves a dismissive hand, grinning. âHook-ups arenât drama. Theyâre just... passing moments. You should try it.â
You glance at Luke, stifling a grin as the brothers bicker. Luke notices and leans in, his breath warm against your ear. âBet you ten bucks Quinn secretly thinks Jack needs a relationship.â
You chuckle softly, meeting his gaze. âYouâre probably right.â
Luke shrugs, his grin sly. âHeâs a good big brother, always looking out for Jack. But Jackâs more about living in the moment. Quinn doesnât get that.â
As Jack continues ânow full-on teasing about a girl heâs seeingâQuinn leans back, his patience clearly wearing thin but heâs trying to remain composed. âItâs not just about fun, Jack,â he says, his voice steady but earnest. âYou need stability. You canât just hop from one person to the next and think itâs gonna mean anything.â
Jack leans forward, his grin not faltering. âWho said anything about it âmeaningâ anything? Iâm just here for the ride, bro. You should try living in the moment sometime.â
Quinn shakes his head, voice calm but resolute. âLiving in the moment is fine, but you canât run from what really matters forever.â
Jack shrugs again, his smirk widening. âThe âreal thingâ? Overrated.â
Luke leans in closer to you, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. âIâll never be âoverrated,â right?â
You laugh, nudging him playfully. âNever,â you reply, your voice light with amusement.
Lukeâs fingers brush yours as he takes another piece of sushi, then presses a quick kiss to your cheeks, his breath warm against your skin. âGood. Because you know, youâre my real thing,â he says, so quietly that only you can hear.
Your heart flutters as you look up at him, the familiar comfort of his presence pulling you away from the noise around you. Jack and Quinnâs voices fade into the background. Everything feels easy and relaxed, like you could just stay in this moment.
You lean back against Luke, resting your hand on his thigh, your fingers moving in soft, slow circles. You let his words sink in, the quiet meaning behind them making you feel warm, sparking something inside you.
Lukeâs voice drops again, near a whisper in your ear. âYouâre not listening, are you?â
You shake your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. âToo distracted.â
Lukeâs grin widens, his arms tightening around you. âIâm distracting, huh?â
âDefinitely,â you reply, the heat of his touch quickening your pulse just a little.
In the background, Jackâs voice rises in exaggerated complaint. âYou really need to get a life, Quinn. Iâm starting to think youâre allergic to fun.â
Quinn chuckles under his breath, the familiar rhythm of their sibling banter carrying on.
You close your eyes for a brief moment, listening to their back-and-forth, the warmth of Lukeâs body beside you, the comfort of silence between you two that feels more intimate than words ever could. This momentâthis quiet, easy, perfect momentâfeels like something you never want to let go of.
â
Quinn was wrong. Ellen didnât just dislike youâshe made it clear from the start that you werenât welcome. You still couldnât figure out why.
Youâd arrived in Michigan just a day ago with the boys. Jim, their dad, picked you all up from the airport, and he couldnât have been kinder. He gave you a big, welcoming hug and even cracked a funny joke about his son. He said heâd always known Luke would end up with an older woman because he was the smartest and most mature of the bunch. Jack and Quinn didnât seem too thrilled with the comment, but you couldnât help but feel relieved by Jimâs warmth. He reminded you a lot of Lukeâwitty, laid-back, and effortlessly easy to talk to.
But when it came to Ellen, it was a completely different story. From the moment she saw you, she made sure you knew you werenât welcome. Her âkindnessâ was stiff and calculated. She didnât ask a single question, didnât accept your offer to help clean up after dinner, and every time you spoke, she responded with nothing more than the bare minimum. It was so painfully obvious that, by the end of the night, you couldnât shake the feeling that something was wrong. The boys didnât seem to notice at first, but the tension between you and Ellen only grew, and it soon became obvious to everyone.
After everyone had gone to rest, you sat down on Lukeâs childhood bed, the weight of the evening settling heavily on you. Your chest tightened, and you almost couldnât hold back the tears.
"Hey," Luke said, his voice gentle as he cupped your face. He sat beside you, pulling you into his lap. "Iâm so sorry, darling," he murmured, his voice soft with concern. "I donât get it. Iâve talked about you with her, and she never said anything. I thought this would be easy... but Iâll talk to her. I promise."
You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him as his warmth surrounded you.
You nestle into Lukeâs chest, letting his warmth pull you in. His arms tighten around you, offering comfort, but a familiar knot forms in your stomachâone you hadnât expected to feel again. The way Ellen had treated you, the coldness in her eyesâit hit you harder than you wanted to admit. The doubt that had been lurking in the back of your mind since the beginning, started to creep back in. The same insecurity, the same fear youâd been trying to shake off for months.
You swallow hard, but you donât let your voice shake as you speak. âItâs not your fault, Luke,â you say, your words soft, almost too soft. âItâs just... she made it feel like I donât belong here, you know? Like I donât fit with your family.â
Luke brushes his fingers through your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. âYou do belong here. I want you here, always,â he murmurs, his voice steady, but you can hear the underlying concern in it.
You nod, but deep down, youâre questioning everything. Am I really good enough for him? That age gapâthe thing that had once seemed so insignificant now feels like an undeniable wall, one you canât climb over. And if Ellen can see it, if she can feel it, maybe itâs a sign that you donât truly fit into his world after all.
âMaybe... maybe Iâm just not what you need,â you whisper, the thought slipping out before you can catch it. âMaybe itâs just harder for me than I thought.â
Luke freezes for a moment, his breath catching as he pulls back slightly to look at you. His eyes are soft, searching, and he lifts your chin with his fingers so youâre forced to meet his gaze.
âWhat do you mean by that?â His voice is low, gentle, but thereâs an edge of worry in it.
You take a shaky breath, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You canât explain it without sounding ridiculous, so instead, you focus on the doubt tormenting you. âI just... I donât know. I keep wondering if Iâm enough for you. If the age gap will always be something that... that people notice. Or if your family will ever accept me for who I am, not just because Iâm with you.â
Lukeâs expression softens even more, and he pulls you close again, this time more firmly. âListen to me,â he says, his voice serious but full of tenderness. âI donât care about the age gap. I donât care about what people think or what my family thinks. All that matters is usâwhat we have together. And if they canât see that, itâs their problem, not ours.â
You close your eyes for a moment, trying to absorb his words, but the uncertainty still lingers, tucked into the corners of your mind. Lukeâs arms tighten around you again, and you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. He doesnât say anything more, just lets the silence settle around you, and you let yourself lean into him completely, allowing the weight of everything to fall awayâif only for a little while.
âI just want you to know that Iâm here,â he adds quietly, his voice almost a whisper now. âNo matter what, Iâm here. And Iâm not letting you go.â
â
The next morning, as the birthday party for Ellen kicks off, the energy in the house is a bit brighter, but your nerves are still on edge. The situation with Ellen hasnât improved, and you're doing your best to push the unease to the back of your mind. Guests begin to trickle inâfamily, friends, everyone buzzing around and chattingâbut you feel like you're still on the outside, quietly observing.
As soon as Lukeâs friends walk inâEthan, Mark, and Dylanâthe room instantly fills with their loud, boisterous energy. You feel a flutter of nerves, but Luke catches your eye, offering you a warm smile and a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. You stand a little taller.
Ethan is the first to notice you, his gaze flickering between you and Luke.Luke gives a quick, casual introduction, but before you can even get a word in, Ethanâs brow arches, and a kind smile spreads across his face.
"Well, look at this," he says, his voice teasing but laced with curiosity. "Didn't think you'd go for someone a little... more seasoned."
Mark grins and nudges Lukeâs shoulders playfully. "Of course he would, Ethan! Lukeâs always been Mister Serious when it comes to love. But man, you really hit the jackpot here. Didnât think you had it in you."
You canât help but blush a little at their teasing, your cheeks warming. âWhat can I say? Heâs got great taste,â you reply with a playful smile, then turn to Luke, your gaze warm. âAnd sure, heâs youngerâbut trust me, heâs all man. And he deserves someone who sees that.â
For a moment, the teasing fades. Thereâs a brief pause as the words settle in. Lukeâs expression shifts, his eyes lighting up with something close to pride. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. Without hesitation, he pulls you a little closer, his arm resting around your waistânot for show, not to prove a point, just because it feels right.
Ethan lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. âAlright, alright. I get it. Guess Lukeâs not the only one serious about this. You finally found someone whoâs in it for real.â
Mark nods, his usual joking tone giving way to something more genuine. âYeah. Honestly, I wish you couldâve heard all the whining before you two got together.â
âOh, it was painful,â Dylan adds, shaking his head dramatically. He drops his voice lower, mimicking Luke in an exaggerated, desperate tone. ââOh, guys, I just want someone who actually wants something realâŚââ
Ethan clutches his forehead like heâs in distress. ââYeah, all the hot girls only want situationships. Itâs terrible. I donât know how Iâll surviveâŚââ
The group bursts into laughter, and Luke, instead of arguing, just grins wider. He shrugs, completely unfazed. âLaugh all you want,â he says, voice steady. Then he turns to you, his smile softening just a little. âBut all the work I put into finding the right person? It was worth it. Sheâs the best thing thatâs ever happened to me.â
His words land like a gentle touch against your heart, a warmth spreading deep in your chest.
The next hour passes in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. You find yourself caught up in wild university stories, each one more ridiculous than the last. The guys tease you, you fire back just as quickly, and before long, youâre all grinning like old friends. Youâre relieved they donât take the whole situation too seriouslyâitâs a welcome break from the weight of everything else on your mind. And right now, you could use a little lightness.
But after a while, Luke reaches for your wrist, his touch gentle but firm. âAlright, Iâm stealing her for a bit,â he announces, giving the guys a pointed look. âGotta introduce her to some family members.â
Mark groans dramatically. âAh, yes. The official tour. Good luck.â
"Donât let Aunt Carol talk your ear off," Dylan smirks before taking a long sip of his beer.
Ethan leans back with a knowing grin. âAnd watch out for the cousinsâthereâs like a hundred of them.â
You laugh, but as Luke leads you away, you quickly realize they werenât exaggerating. The Hughes family is much bigger than you expected.
For the next forty minutes, you meet what feels like an endless stream of aunts, uncles, and cousins, each one greeting you with warmth and curiosity. But what surprises you most isnât the size of his familyâitâs how effortless Luke makes it all feel.
He guides you seamlessly from one introduction to the next, never once leaving your side. He carries the conversations with ease, knowing exactly when to jump in, when to steer the small talk, and when to give you space to speak. Any moment you start to feel overwhelmed, heâs thereâa reassuring glance, a hand resting lightly on your back, a quiet squeeze of your fingers. Itâs not just about introducing you to them. Itâs about making sure you feel comfortable.
And thatâs when it truly hits you.
Luke isnât just proving something to his family and friends. Heâs proving it to you.
Every touch, every word, every small momentâitâs all a reminder. A reminder that this isnât temporary, that youâre not some passing phase in his life. You belong here, with him, in his world, and he wants everyone to know it.
More than thatâhe wants you to know it.
And as you watch the way he looks at you, the way he proudly keeps you close, the way he makes sure you feel seen, heard, and respectedâitâs undeniable.
Luke isnât just proud to be with you.
Heâs protecting this.
Protecting you.
â
After what feels like the hundredth introduction in a row, you realize you need a break. The constant smiling, small talk, and endless new faces are starting to wear on you. Luke has been incredibleâsteady, attentive, making everything easierâbut even with him at your side, you need a moment to breathe.
âIâm just gonna grab some water,â you tell him softly, squeezing his hand.
He studies you for a second, like he knows youâre feeling overwhelmed, but he nods. âTake your time. Iâll be right here.â
Slipping away, you make your way to the kitchen, relieved to find it empty. You lean against the counter, inhaling deeply, trying to shake the exhaustion creeping in. Just a few seconds of quiet. Thatâs all you need.
But then, voices drift in from the hallway.
Ellenâs voice.
And she doesnât sound happy.
âI just donât understand it,â she says, frustration dripping from every word. âWhat does she even want with him?â
Thereâs a pause, then another voiceâher friend, quieter, hesitant. âMaybe she really does care about him?â
Ellen lets out a bitter laugh. âOh, Iâm sure she cares. Why wouldnât she? Heâs young, successful, and comes from a good family. But letâs be realâsheâs not stupid. She knows exactly what sheâs doing.â
Your stomach tightens.
âWhat do you mean?â her friend asks cautiously.
Ellen huffs. âSheâs older. She knows time isnât on her side. Sheâs probably already thinking about ways to lock him down before he wakes up and realizes what a mistake this is.â
Your breath catches in your throat.
âOh, come on,â her friend murmurs. âThatâs a little extreme, donât you think?â
âIs it?â Ellenâs voice sharpens. âYou know how these things go. Maybe sheâs already hinting at the next stepâmoving in, getting engaged. And then what? A baby? Accidents happen all the time, donât they?â
Your heart pounds.
No.
She wouldnâtâshe couldnât think that.
"Thatâs just the natural progression of a relationship, Ellen," her friend says, though thereâs a hint of hesitation in her voice. "And she doesnât seem like the type who would do that."
Ellen doesnât hesitate. âMaybe not now. But give it time. Sheâll make sure sheâs set, one way or another. And then what? Lukeâs stuck. Tied down before heâs even had the chance to live his life. Heâs too young for thisâhe should be focused on hockey, his future, not playing house with some woman whoâs way older than him.â
Your hands tremble against the counter.
She thinks youâre trapping him. That youâre manipulating him, clinging to him for his money, his name, his future. That youâre selfish enough to take away everything heâs worked for just so you can have stability.
Every ugly thought youâve ever had about yourself, every insecurity you thought youâd buried, slams into you all at once.
Youâre too old for him. Heâs too young to know what he really wants. You are holding him back. Maybe one day, he will regret this.
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shove the thoughts away, but they keep coming. The weight of them sits heavy on your chest, suffocating.
Itâs unfair. Itâs cruel.
Because you know the truth.
You never wanted anything from Luke but him. His love, his presence, the way he makes you feel like you finally belong somewhere. Heâs the one who pulled you in, who made you believe this could work.
And yet, here you are, listening to his own mother rip you apart like youâre nothing more than an opportunist.
Tears sting at the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.
No.
You will not let her do this to you.
You take a shaky breath, lifting your chin.
You could walk out there right now. Confront her. Demand to know how she can say these things when everyone else can see how much you and Luke love each other.
But you wonât. Not yet.
This isnât the time, and you wonât make a sceneânot at Lukeâs family gathering, not when heâs worked so hard to make this day special.
Instead, you straighten your shoulders, press your palms against the counter, and take one last deep breath.
Youâll go back to Luke.
Because he is the only thing that matters right now.
But laterâwhen the party is over, when itâs just the two of youâyou will talk to Ellen.
One way or another, this conversation is happening.
Because no matter what she thinks, no matter what doubts she tries to plant in your head, thereâs one thing you know for sure.
You love Luke, and you're not going anywhere. You wonât let the dark thoughts take over.
â
When the party winds down and the last of the guests have left, the house settles into a peaceful quiet, a soft hum lingering in the air. The only sounds coming from outside are the occasional bursts of laughter from the porch, where Luke and his brothers sit with Jim, sipping their drinks and listening to some old country music.
You were out there with them for a while, curled up next to Luke, letting the warmth of his presence chase away the lingering sting of what youâd overheard. But no matter how much you tried to push it down, itâs still thereâEllenâs words, the accusations, the way she spoke about you like you were some kind of threat to her sonâs future.
You canât let it go.
So you slip inside, your pulse quickening with every step through the quiet house. You find Ellen in the kitchen, wiping down the counters, her expression calmâlike she hasnât just spent the evening making you feel like a complete fraud.
She doesnât even glance your way, let alone acknowledge you with a hi. So, youâre the one who finally breaks the silence.
âI heard what you said earlier,â you say, your voice quieter this time, but no less firm. âAbout me. About why you donât think I belong with Luke.â
Ellen tenses but doesnât look at you. Not yet. âI assume you didnât like what you heard.â
You let out a soft, humorless laugh. âNo. But I think I get it.â You hesitate for a second before continuing, forcing yourself to push past the knot in your throat. âThe truth is, Ellen, Iâve had all of those same fears. Maybe even worse ones.â
That gets her attention. She looks up, eyes narrowing slightly. âWhat do you mean?â
You exhale, gripping the back of a chair as you gather your thoughts.
âWhen I met Luke, I didnât even know who he was. I didnât know he was in the NHL, I didnât know he was 21. Hell, I didnât even know his last name the first time we talked.â You shake your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. âIf I had known? I probably wouldnât have let myself get close to him. Because I never intended for any of this to happen.â
Ellen watches you carefully, arms crossed, but she doesnât interrupt.
âI fought it,â you admit, voice barely above a whisper. âYou have no idea how much convincing it took for me to even give this a chance. Luke⌠he saw something in me from the start, something I didnât even see in myself. He was patient. He never pushed, never made me feel like I had to be anything other than who I was. And when I told him I wasnât sure? That I was scared? He just waited. He let me take my time.â
You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the back of the chair youâre standing behind. âThatâs why we kept it quiet. For seven months, Ellen. Not because we were hiding, but because I needed to be sure. Because I needed to know that this wasnât just some fleeting thing for him. That it wasnât just⌠a phase, or a rebellion, or some naive fantasy. I needed to know that what we had was real before I let myself believe in it.â
Ellenâs expression shifts for the first time, and you catch a flicker of somethingâuncertainty, maybe understandingâbut you still canât read it completely.
But youâre not done yet.
âI never wanted to be some scandal. Some headline. Some⌠joke to people who think they know our relationship just because they know his name.â Your throat tightens, but you push through it. âIâve never even been to one of his games. Not once. Because Iâm terrified of what people will say about me. About us. About how Iâm âtoo old for himâ or âusing himâ orââ Your voice breaks slightly, but you shake your head, forcing yourself to continue.
âYou think I donât lie awake at night wondering if Iâm whatâs best for him? If I should justâwalk away before the world does everything it can to tear us apart?â You let out a shaky breath. âBecause I do.â
Ellen looks at you then, really looks at you. For the first time, she doesnât seem like an overprotective mother searching for someone to blame.
She just looks like a mother whoâs scared.
You exhale, your voice barely above a whisper as you speak, âYouâre not the only one scared of me hurting him, Ellen. Iâm terrified of it, too.â
Ellen listens, her eyes focused, waiting for you to continue. You swallow hard, your chest tightening as you try to steady your nerves.
âI know the fans donât even know about me yet, but I can already see it. Once they do, itâll blow up. All over social media, rumors flying, and people judging himâjudging usâjust because Iâm older. I donât want him to have to deal with that kind of pressure. Not when heâs already got so much on his plate.â
You run a hand through your hair, the weight of it all sinking in like a stone in your stomach. âAnd his teammates... What if it makes things weird for him? Heâs worked his whole life for this. The last thing I want is to be the thing that complicates his career, or makes him feel like he has to choose between me and them.â
Your eyes meet Ellenâs, filled with doubt, uncertainty. âI just donât know if heâs ready for all that... for everything this could mean.â
A heavy silence settles between you, not suffocating, but thick with the gravity of your words. Ellenâs gaze drops for a moment, her hands gripping the edge of the counter like sheâs trying to hold herself steady, as if your fears have somehow shifted something in her.
Finally, she speaks.
âIââ She stops herself, exhales sharply. When she looks at you again, thereâs something different in her eyes. Not quite acceptance, but maybe the beginning of understanding.
âI didnât know any of that,â she admits with a flat voice.
âNo,â you say softly. âYou didnât.â
She presses her lips together, glancing out the window at Luke, whoâs still outside with his brothers, laughing, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside. When she turns back to you, her expression is unreadable. âYou drink?â she asks, tone even.
You nod without a second thought. âI do now.â
For the first time since you walked in, the corner of her mouth twitchesâjust a hint of amusement, barely there but enough to notice.
â
ââThe tension in the kitchen finally eases, and for the first time tonight, the air feels lighter. Ellen, usually so cold, is now leaning against the counter, sipping her gin and laughing with you. The sharpness in her gaze has softened, replaced with a warmth you never expected to see.
âIâll tell you something,â she says, her words slightly slurred, âI didnât expect this to be my night.â She chuckles, a soft, genuine laugh that catches you off guard. âBut itâs good to let the walls come down every once in a while, huh?â
You nod, amused by how effortlessly sheâs transformed. âYeah, itâs surprising,â you admit, feeling genuinely relaxed now. âBut I think weâre getting somewhere.â
âOh, we definitely are,â Ellen agrees, her eyes twinkling with mischief. âBut you wanna hear something really fun? Luke⌠oh boy, Luke was a mess with his first crush.â
Your eyebrows shoot up. âLuke? Mr. Charismatic?â
âOh, yes,â Ellen says, practically grinning. She lowers her voice, leaning in like sheâs about to share the juiciest secret. âI remember this girl. He practiced for days in front of the mirror, building up the courage to ask her to the school dance. Iâm standing in the hallway, praying for him, and he goes up to her and says, âHi⌠um⌠so⌠would you maybe⌠like, want to⌠uh, go with me to the event?ââ She mimics his awkward tone, twisting her face in that exact âIâm-so-embarrassedâ expression. âThe poor kid froze. It was so bad, I had to leave the room because I couldnât stop laughing.â
You try to stifle your laughter, but it escapes in a burst. âNo way, Luke? He really did that?â
âOh, yes,â Ellen confirms, shaking her head with a grin. âThatâs my boy. The âcharismaticâ one.â She takes another sip of her drink, voice dropping even lower. âBut wait. Thereâs more.â
Your eyes widen, knowing youâre in for something worse.
âOh yeah,â she smirks, clearly loving the moment. âLetâs talk about Lukeâs first real kiss. He was about 15, hanging out at a friendâs party. He finally found the courage to kiss this girl heâd been eyeing all night, and everything was going fine. Theyâre talking, laughing, and thenâhe goes in for the kiss. And completely misses. Right past her lips, straight into her nose.â She pauses, relishing the buildup. âSheâs standing there, totally confused, and Luke? He freaked out and bolted. Literally ran out of the party like a man on fire.â
You burst into laughter, barely able to catch your breath. âNo way! He missed the whole thing?â
âOh, yeah,â Ellen says, not missing a beat. âAnd then he spent the next hour Googling âhow to kiss a girl.â I had to give him a whole lesson on lip placement.â She shakes her head, still grinning. âI thought I was going to die of second-hand embarrassment.â
Just as you think you canât laugh any harder, the door creaks open.
Jack steps into the kitchen, eyes widening at the sight of the empty bottles and the two of you clearly well into your cups.
âWhat the hell is going on in here?â Jack asks, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face, though his grin is practically splitting his face in two. You can tell without a doubt that he overheard your conversation with Elle. His eyes flick to Luke, whoâs right behind him, his face already bright red. âWait, youâre telling me thatâs actually true? You missed your first kiss?â
Luke freezes, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. âIâlook, it wasnât a big deal. I was nervous, alright? Cut me some slack.â
Jackâs grin widens, clearly delighted. âOh man, this is perfect. Finally, something else embarrassing about Luke I can hold over his head.â He laughs to himself before adding, âI thought I knew all the stories. This oneâs gold.â
Before Luke can recover, Ellen jumps in, her voice rising as she relishes the moment. âOh, weâre not done yet, Jack. Remember when I found Lukeâs âdating handbookâ when he was 16? A whole book, filled with tips like âhow to avoid awkward silencesâ and âperfect first date questions.ââ She practically slams her glass down, savoring every second of Lukeâs embarrassment.
Luke looks like heâs about to vanish into thin air. His hands are buried in his face, but itâs no useâhis brothers are on a roll.
Quinn walks in, laughing, with Jim right behind him, grinning widely. âWait, what? A book? Oh man, Iâm dead.â
Luke tries to defend himself. âGuys, please. I was just⌠figuring things out.â
Jim gives Luke a dramatic pat on the back, his voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy. âDonât worry, son. Weâve all been there. I remember when Jack asked meâat 18âhow to know when itâs the right time to hold hands.â He pauses for effect, letting the silence hang. âAt 18!â
You burst into uncontrollable laughter, practically gasping for air. âOh my god, Jack?! Mr. âIâm your Prince Charming, Flirt Kingâ himself?â
Jackâs face goes pale, and his expression shifts to pure horror. Itâs his turn to turn bright red now. âDad! You promised it was gonna stay between us!â
The kitchen is filled with laughter, and your cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much.
Ellen takes another sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eye as she winks at you. âYou think thatâs bad? Just wait until I tell you about the time I caught Quinn on his computer, searching for⌠letâs say, questionable content. I almost had a heart attack. I thought he was watching a documentary on the history of hockey⌠but nope. Wrong side of the internet.â She smirks, clearly enjoying herself. âAnd, for the record, I learned something that day. Quinnâs type is definitely Latinas.â
Quinn, whoâd been casually sipping his beer while leaning against the kitchen arch, nearly chokes on the drink. His face turns bright red as well. âMOM, STOP!â
The whole room bursts into laughter again.
Ellen, a little tipsy but clearly loving the chaos, glances at you with a softer, more genuine smile. Her voice, though still playful, carries a hint of warmth. âBut Lukeâs a good kid, you know. A little awkward, a little goofy, butâŚâ She pauses, her eyes softening as she looks at Luke, then back to you. ââŚbut heâs got a heart of gold.â
You take a deep breath, wiping away tears of laughter. âOh, I know, Ellen. Iâm one lucky woman to have him in my life.â
Luke looks at you with so much love in his eyes, his gaze shifting between you and his mother, a soft smile on his face. You can see the relief wash over him.
You wink at him, giving him a silent sign that everything is going to be alright.
Ellen takes another sip, her tone shifting into something more sincere. âIâm sorry for all the tension earlier. Luke is lucky to have you as well.â
Luke meets her eyes and sends a warm, loving smile to his mother. He steps over to you, wrapping his arm around you and planting a short, warm kiss on your forehead. âThanks for sticking around for this disaster,â he says quietly, whispering in your ear, his voice full of meaning.
âOf course, honey! You canât get rid of me that easily!â
â
You never imagined youâd miss Michigan that much. But back in Jersey, the difference hit you hard. Life here was faster, louder, and more chaotic. The NHL season was in full swing, and the Devils were struggling. With every loss, the pressure on Luke grew, and so did the distance between you two. His mind was consumed by the game, leaving little room for anything else. You could feel the weight of his career slowly pushing you apart. The whole situation felt like it was constantly testing your ability to balance everything, but you knew you had to figure it out.
So, without thinking too much, you made the decision to move in with Luke and Jack. You didnât want things to feel so difficult. Luke had already sacrificed so much, supporting you through everything. Now, it was your turn to make the sacrificeâto make it easier for him.
The adjustment wasnât instant. Between Lukeâs demanding schedule and the pressure from the season, there were days when it felt like everything was pulling in different directions. But you found a way to make it work. You took a new job with more flexible hours, something that would allow you to be there for him more consistently. It wasnât just about giving him spaceâit was about creating the kind of life together where you could both feel secure and steady, no matter how busy or intense his career became.
Living with Luke and Jack brought its own challenges, but it also gave you the chance to help shoulder some of the burden. You worked from home most days, only going into the office once a week. You kept the apartment tidy, cooked meals, and made sure they always had something warm to come home to. Even Jack, who kept up his usual tough-guy act, showed signs of how much the season was getting to him. You could tell the losses were affecting him too. And though Luke remained a rock for everyone around him, the weight of the season was clearly taking its toll.
Luke insisted on covering everythingârent, utilities, groceries. He wanted to spoil you, but you couldnât just let that happen. You needed to contribute, to show that you were just as invested in making this work. You wanted to take care of him, take care of them, and make sure they all felt supported during this time of stress. The more you learned about the pressures of his life, the more you were ready to do whatever it took to ease his burden, even if it meant adjusting your own life to make it easier for him.
One evening, not long after youâd moved in, you and Luke were curled up on the couch, watching a game. You didnât fully understand hockey, but the Leafs were playing, and if you were being honest, they were the other team you secretly enjoyed watching. In fact, if you werenât so loyal to Luke, you might have even liked them betterâsomething that always made him laugh. Youâd deny it every time, swearing your heart belonged to the Devils, but he always saw right through you.
Between plays, Luke glanced at you, his expression turning serious. âI know you want to take things slow and everything,â he started, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your thigh. âBut I was thinking⌠maybe you could come to my game this weekend.â
Your breath hitched slightly, and he must have noticed because he quickly added, âThe guys already know about you, so it wouldnât be a big deal or anything. We donât have to post anything online, but I donât want to hide you.â His voice was firm, certain. âI want the world to know youâre mine.â
You hesitated, nerves flickering in your stomach.
âThe Devils are playing the Leafs,â he continued, knowing that might tip the scales in his favor. âSo, technically, youâll be seeing both of your favorite teams.â
You laughed, rolling your eyes. âYou act like Iâm a Leafs fan.â
He smirked. âYou are a Leafs fan. You just refuse to admit it.â
A few months ago, the very thought of agreeing to this would have terrified you. The idea of stepping into the spotlight, facing criticism, and becoming visible would have been enough to send you into a spiral. But after everything you had been through with Luke, you knew one thing for sure: you trusted his love.
A slow smile spread across your lips as you nodded. âOkay. Letâs do this.â
Luke blinked, caught off guard. âWaitâthatâs it?â
You laughed at his shock. âYep, thatâs it.â You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. âBecause I love you, Lukey. You stood by me when I was scared, when I didnât trust this, when I wasnât sure I could handle it. You were patient, you fought for usâeven when your family made it hard. I want to be there for you too. I want to be the girlfriend in the stands, screaming my lungs out for you.â
His grin was instant, boyish and bright. âGod, I love you,â he murmured before pulling you into a deep kiss.
You smirked as you pulled back, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. âI canât wait for the weekend,â you teased, watching his lips twitch in amusement as you both turned back to the game. The Leafs were destroying Montreal, and you grinned. âDo you think I can meet Woll?â
Luke groaned, shaking his head. âYouâre insane,â he said, but there was nothing but fondness in his tone. âBut if thatâs what you want, Iâll make it happen.â
You giggled, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. âIâm just teasing. But you really are the best, honey. Thanks for offering.â
Lukeâs large palm slipped under your pajama top, fingers trailing slow, teasing patterns against your skin. His touch sent a shiver through you, the warmth of his palm settling just below your ribs, dangerously close to your breast. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.
âOf course, baby,â he murmured, dipping his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. âI love seeing you happy.â
His tongue traced light, deliberate circles on the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and a soft whimper slipped from your lips.Your fingers trailed down his chest, moving lower, before wrapping around his cock in a slow, languid stroke. He tensed beneath your touch, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as his head fell against your shoulder.
"If I knew youâd be this grateful just for the chance to meet Woll," he rasped, voice thick with amusement and something darker, "maybe I should set up a whole meet-and-greet."
You chuckled, your touch slow and purposeful. âOh, let me give you a real taste of my gratitudeâŚâ
And just like that, all thoughts of hockey, public appearances, and game-day nerves melted away.
â
The hum of the arena is deafening as you step inside, the rush of energy from the crowd crashing over you like a wave. The lights pulse overhead, casting a bright glow over the ice below. Youâre here for Luke, to support him, to cheer him on the way a girlfriend should, but thereâs something about this placeâthe cold air, the flashing cameras, the subtle glancesâthat makes your nerves spike.
You knew this was going to be hard.
Dating someone like Lukeâsomeone young, rising, and constantly in the public eyeâwas never going to be easy. The moment your relationship became public, you knew the scrutiny would follow. You had braced yourself for it, told yourself that the people who matteredâLuke, his family, his friendsâknew your heart. But now, standing in the heart of it all, the weight of their eyes on you, the quiet whispers just loud enough to hear, it felt real.
Luke had reassured you before you left. He had watched you fuss over your outfit for way too long, smoothing out invisible wrinkles, reapplying your lip gloss three times, making sure everything was just right. He had only smiled, stepping behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
âBabe, you look amazing,â he had murmured. âBut none of this matters. Just enjoy the night, okay? Thatâs all I care about.â
You had nodded, comforted by his words, but now? Now, under the luminous glow of the arena, your stomach was twisting.
The energy inside the arena was electric, the kind of buzz that sent chills up your spine. Fans decked out in red and blue roared with excitement as the players hit the ice, their sticks tapping against the boards, the sharp sound cutting through the deafening noise. You shouldâve been excitedâthis was Lukeâs big game, your first official game as his girlfriend.
But all you felt was nerves.
You sat with the WAGs, hands folded tightly in your lap as you tried to shake off the anxiety bubbling in your chest. Some of the women were niceâreally nice, actually. Reanne, Curtis Lazarâs wife, was a breath of fresh air. From the moment you sat down, she had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, chatting with you like youâd been friends for years. She had this warmth about her, something easy and kind, and it helped, a little.
But then there were the others.
The ones who barely acknowledged your existence. The ones who offered tight, forced smiles when you caught their eye, then turned away just as quickly. And then there were the ones who didnât bother hiding their disdain at all.
You tried not to let it get to you. You focused on the game, let Reanne fill in the gaps whenever you looked lost, and even managed to enjoy yourself. For a while, it almost felt normal.
Until you heard them.
âSheâs way too old for him... And whatâs with those thighs? She could crush him with those things.â
The words were whispered but loud enough to make your stomach sink.
âI know, right? She looks like sheâs been spending all her time in the gym, but not in a good way. Itâs like, too much muscle, too little femininity.â Another voice scoffed, clearly enjoying the cruelty.
You clenched your fists, refusing to look at them, keeping your focus locked on the ice.
You knew you were strong, and you had worked hard for the body you had. Youâd been a big runnerâthe kind of runner who had thick thighs and a solid ass from hours on the pavement.
You used to take pride in it. It was why you crossed the finish line of that half marathon when no one thought you could.
But now, their wordsâthose cutting commentsâhad you questioning everything youâd once felt proud of.
Reanneâs body stiffened beside you, her hand gripping her drink so hard you thought it might shatter. You could feel her holding back, ready to snap. But before she could, another voice joined in, the laugh sharp and cruel.
âSeriously, she has to be in it for the money. Why else would someone her age be with a kid fresh out of college?â
Laughter. Actual laughter.
Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms.
You shouldnât care. You knew this would happen. You knew people would judge. But knowing didnât make it easier.
And then you saw it.
A few rows ahead, a girl had her phone out, camera angled just right.
She was recording.
Your breath caught in your throat.
She wasnât recording the game.
She was recording them. Recording their words. Recording you.
Your chest felt tight, your pulse hammering in your ears. You wanted to look away, to pretend it wasnât happening, but you couldnât. You were frozen, caught in this horrible moment, trapped between humiliation and the overwhelming desire to disappear.
The rest of the game passed in a blur. You barely saw Luke on the ice. You barely heard the cheers, the commentary, the final buzzer signaling the end of the third period. By the time you snapped out of it, everyone around you was standing, gathering their things, filing out toward the exits.
Reanne touched your arm gently. âHey,â she murmured, her voice filled with concern. âAre you okay?â
You forced a smile and nodded. âYeah, just tired.â It was a lie, but you said it anyway.
She didnât look convinced, but she didnât push. Instead, she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. âDonât let their words get to you. Luke loves you, and thatâs all that matters.â
You walked out of the arena, blending into the sea of fans, trying not to let it showâtrying not to let the weight of their words sink too deep.
And you almost made it.
But then, later that night, the video surfaced.
You saw it before Luke did. Before anyone did.
A clip, grainy but clear enough. Voices sneering, words like knives. The comments were already rolling in, tearing you apart.
"Imagine being this insecure đ"
"She looks so uncomfortable, lol. Like she knows she doesnât belong."
"Luke deserves WAY better than this. Yikes."
"Sheâs literally just a glorified babysitter at this point đ"
"Does she think having a nose that big makes her look sophisticated? Girl, itâs giving witch vibes."
"Her thighs look like they belong in a bodybuilding competition, not on a woman supposedly âdatingâ someone half her age. đŠ"
"Sheâs trying so hard to act unbothered, but itâs actually embarrassing to watch."
"Grannyâs out here desperately trying to keep up with the younger crowd. Itâs kinda sad, tbh. đľ"
"What does Luke even see in her? Itâs definitely not her looks. đŹ"
"Her whole vibe is just âclinging to relevance.â Sheâs obviously using him for attention."
These were the milder ones. The others were worseâfull of venom, wishing harm on you, calling you a slut, and throwing out every vile insult they could think of.
The comments made you feel sick, a weight settling in your chest that you didnât know how to shake. Youâd never felt this insecure beforeânot like this. Youâd had your struggles when you were younger, moments of doubt about your body, but you grew past them. You were strong, healthy, confident. But now? Now, their words crawled under your skin, making you question everything. And worst of all, you didnât know how to make it stop.
But you didnât tell Luke.
You couldnât bring yourself to. He was always so strong for you, always there when you needed him. You wanted to do the same for himâbe there on his game day, support him, and not add to the weight he was already carrying.
So you swallowed it down.
You went home with him, pretended everything was fine, let him kiss you, let him hold you. And only when he grabbed his book and started reading, you slipped into the shower.
You strip off your clothes, the chill of the bathroom air prickling your skin. As you step into the shower, the scalding water rushes over you, its heat wrapping around you, though it does little to quiet the chaos inside. The cold porcelain presses against your back, a sharp contrast that should bring you back to the presentâbut even that isnât enough. You feel trapped. The cruel words from earlier echo in your mind, the judgment, the harshness, circling you like a storm you canât outrun.
Youâre ashamed of yourself for feeling weak. For letting it get to you. But despite your best efforts to keep it together, the tears come. And this time, you donât fight them.
They fall freely, hot and relentless, and for the first time tonight, you allow yourself to feel the weight of it all. You spend what feels like hours under the running water, each tear that falls stripping away a little more of the armor youâve been wearing all day.
Luke knocks gently on the door after a while. His voice is soft, just outside the bathroom. âHey, are you okay in there?â
You swallow the lump in your throat and force a shaky breath, brushing the wet strands of your hair away from your face. âYeah, Iâm fine,â you say, your voice betraying you. âJust wanted to wash my hair.â
Eventually, you rinse the last of the tears away, the water now lukewarm against your skin. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to steady your hands as you turn off the shower. The silence in the bathroom is almost suffocating, but itâs better than the weight of the words still lingering in your mind.
You wrap a towel around yourself, trying to gather your thoughts. You take a moment to compose yourself before stepping out, the cold air hitting you once more. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the person looking back.
With a final, shaky breath, you step out of the bathroom, the cool air hitting your damp skin. Your heart feels heavy, the weight of the night still pressing down, but with each step toward the bedroom, the tightness in your chest loosensâjust a little.
You force a smile onto your face, though it feels more like a mask than anything real.Â
Luke is lying on the bed in just his boxers, scrolling through his phone. Your heart skips a beat as you take in his tall, athletic frame. His hair is still damp from his post-game shower.
"Luke, Iâm so proud of you tonight," you say, sitting down beside him and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "The whole team was amazing. I canât believe you guys beat the Leafs! You really played your hearts out."
He smiles at you, but thereâs a flicker of concern in his eyes. You try to ignore it.
âIâm gonna make us some hot chocolate to celebrate,â you add, standing up. âI know how much you love it after a game.â You try to sound upbeat, like everything is fine, but as you turn toward the door, you feel his hand gently catch yours.
âHey,â Luke says softly, pulling you back toward the bed. âWhy didnât you talk to me about the video?â
You freeze.
Heâs holding you close now, his gaze steady, but thereâs a quiet hurt in his eyes. âI saw it online. And I saw the comments as well. I⌠I donât want to push you, but I need to know why you didnât tell me.â
You bite your lip, your heart hammering in your chest. This is the moment youâve been avoiding. You feel all your walls start to crumble.
âI didnât want to bother you,â you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. âI know you have so much on your plateâyour career, the pressure from the team. And IâI didnât want to be another thing weighing you down. But when I saw those comments, when I heard what they said tonight⌠I justâI felt like I didnât belong. Like Iâm too old, too ugly, not thin enough⌠likeâŚI justââ
Your voice wavers, thick with emotion, but Luke doesnât rush you. He just waits, patient and steady, his eyes soft with understanding as he gives you the space to let it out.
âI think this was my breaking point,â you admit, your voice trembling slightly. âIâve been fighting from the startâtrying to prove myself to everyone. And I know youâve been fighting tooâdonât get me wrong, I know youâve had my back every step of the way. But first, it was Quinn, questioning if I was really with you for the right reasons. Then your mom, who hated me from the beginning. I know they all love me now, but it wasnât easy. Itâs been so stressful, Lukey.â
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. âAnd then today at your game... what those girls said about meâit hit hard. I tried to brush it off, but then someone recorded it and posted it online. I felt humiliated, Luke. And when I checked the comments... they were brutal. Nasty, hurtful things. Itâs messing with my head, and I donât know how to ignore it anymore. Iâve never been this insecure. But ever since weâve been together, all I hear is that Iâm not enough. Not pretty enough, not young enough, not enough to be your partner.â
Your voice catches, a quiet sob slipping through before you can stop it. The moment it does, Luke moves. He doesnât hesitateâhe just pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your damp hair as he holds you close.
"I just⌠I wanted today to be about you, not about me." A shaky breath escapes you as you drop your gaze, fingers twisting nervously in your lap. "You played so well tonight, and all I wanted was to celebrate you. But instead, I let thisâlet themâget to me. And I hate that."
Luke exhales softly, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. When he speaks, his voice is quiet but sure, full of something unshakable.
âYou are more than enough,â he murmurs, the words sinking into you like warmth on a cold night. âYou always have been. You always will be. Youâre everything to me.â
Luke doesnât let go. His arms stay wrapped around you, his hand resting against the back of your head like heâs trying to shield you from the weight of the world. You donât realize how tightly youâre clinging to him until he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek.
For a moment, he just studies you, his gaze searching, like heâs trying to memorize every inch of your face. Then, without a word, he reaches over to his nightstand, pulling open the drawer. You watch as he hesitates for just a second before pulling something out, something small, something that glints under the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
A ring with a stunning, oversized diamond that catches the light with every movement.
Your breath faltered.
âI need you to listen to me,â Luke says, his voice steady but laced with something deeperâsomething raw, something real. He holds the ring between his fingers, turning it slightly so the light bounces off the metal. âIâm not asking you anything right now, okay? So donât freak out.â
You blink, heart hammering in your chest.
He exhales, a quiet laugh escaping, but thereâs no nervousness in his expressionâonly certainty. âI bought this after our first date.â His eyes flicker up to yours, searching for your reaction. âAfter you left my apartment that night⌠I just knew. I knew what I wanted. What I wanted with you.â
Your lips part, but no words come out.
Luke swallows hard, his fingers tightening around the ring like it holds the weight of everything he feels for you. His eyes never leave yours, soft yet unwavering, full of a love so deep it steals the breath from your lungs.
âI didnât buy this because I thought weâd rush into anything,â he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. âI bought it because from the moment you walked out of my apartment after our first date, I knew.â He pauses, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, tracing invisible patterns on your skin. âI knew that someday, this is where weâd end up. That no matter how much time passed, no matter what life threw at us, it was always going to be you.â
Your throat tightens, tears pooling in your eyes, but they donât fallânot yet.
Your breath catches, and Luke lifts your hand, pressing the ring into your palm, letting you feel the solid weight of it.
âYou are my safe place,â he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your skin, warm and reassuring. âNo matter what happens in my careerâif I have the best season of my life or if I screw up every gameâI know I get to come home to you. And that means more to me than anything.â
Your fingers tremble as they curl around the ring, feeling the cool metal press into your skin.
Lukeâs lips twitch into a soft, knowing smile, his dimples peeking through. âIâm not asking you to marry me right now. I know youâd think itâs too soon, and I want to do this rightâwhen you're ready. But I need you to know⌠this is my plan. You are my plan.â His voice drops lower, thick with love, with certainty. âI want to spend my life with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. I want a house filled with love and warmth. And laughterâso much laughter.â His grin widens, eyes sparkling. âKids' laughter. A lot of kids, running around, driving us crazy, making our house a home.â
A tear slips down your cheek, but youâre smiling, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.
Luke lifts a hand, gently wiping away the tear with his thumb before cupping your face. âI just needed you to know that no matter what anyone says, no matter what doubts creep into your head⌠you are everything I have ever wanted. And one day, when the time is right, Iâm going to put this ring on your finger for real.â Lukeâs thumb traces slow, soothing circles against your cheek, his gaze still locked onto yours. âJust promise me one thing,â he murmurs. âBe honest with me. Always. No more hiding when youâre hurting, no more keeping things in because you think you have to protect me. Weâre a team, okay? You and me.â
Your heart swells at his words, the sincerity in his eyes making it impossible to look away. You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. âOkay,â you whisper. âI promise.â
And then, the words just spill outâbecause how could you not say them?
âI love you, Luke.â Your voice is full of emotion, thick with everything you feel for him. âI love you so much it scares me sometimes.â A watery laugh escapes as you shake your head. âAnd I know it sounds ridiculous, but I want this too. The house, the laughter, the kids running around and driving us insane. I want all of it. With you.â
Lukeâs smile is so wide, so full of love, that it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. But youâre not done. Because itâs not just the big thingsâitâs the little things too.
âI love how you have to eat the same exact snack after every game because youâre convinced itâs good luck, even though you definitely donât need it,â you tease, nudging him playfully. âI love the way you belt out the wrong lyrics to every song in the shower like youâre performing at Madison Square Garden.â
Luke lets out a laugh, shaking his head, but you can see the way his ears turn red.
âAnd I love that you send me the dumbest textsâeven when weâre literally in the same apartment,â you add with a grin. âLike, do you really need to text me just to ask if we have ice cream when you could just open the freezer?â
His laugh is full and unguarded, his arms tightening around you as he buries his face in your neck. âOkay, that oneâs fair,â he admits, voice muffled against your skin.
You tilt your head back, looking at him, feeling completely at home in his arms. âI love all of you, Luke. The good, the bad, the absolutely ridiculous.â Your voice softens as your fingers trace along his jaw. âAnd no matter what happensâno matter what anyone saysâyouâll always be my favorite thing.â
Luke exhales, his forehead resting against yours, his hands holding you like he never wants to let go. âYou have no idea how much I love you,â he whispers.
You smile, tilting your chin up just enough to brush your lips against his. âI think I do.âAnd when he kisses you, slow and deep, you know without a doubtâthis is it. This is home. He is home.
#luke hughes fic#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes fanfic#luke hughes x you#luke hughes x y/n#luke hughes x oc#luke hughes imagine#luke hughes#lh43#jack hughes fic#jack hughes imagine#quinn hughes imagine#quinn hughes fic#jack hughes#quinn hughes#nhl fanfic#nhl fic#nhl imagine#hughes brothers
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If "I Love You" Was A Promise
Summary: Your mind has been unkind to you as of late, and Spencer picks up on it. He comes over to try to get you to open up.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN reader
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: very self-deprecating, physical abuse if you squint (reader shoves Spencer), mean!reader but they don't mean it, mental breakdown (like... total meltdown), yelling, no use of y/n, Spencer being a sweetie, I think that's it.
Word count: 3k
Author's Note: I truly do love me some angsty angst. I've been going through a gloomy patch recently and wanted to just write a super self-indulgent comfort fic. enjoy enjoy enjoy
You met Spencer a few months ago at a bookstore and you were quick friends. Heâs brilliant, great to talk with, and you like a lot of the same media. However, he also happens to be an FBI profiler, which means he thinks he knows everything about everyone all of the time. Youâre getting pretty fucking sick of it. He noticed oh-so-astutely that you were going through some shit, and asked under the cover of a movie night to accompany you to your house. Blindingly naive, you agreed. Thatâs how you ended up in front of him in a heated argument about your current state of mind.
"I don't know what you want from me, Reid! This isn't any of your goddamn business. Just because I've been distracted doesn't mean you need to give me a fucking house call!" you shout, your hands pulling at your hair to ground yourself. "This has nothing to do with you."
Spencer held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm and measured as he responded. "Okay, let's take a deep breath. I'm not trying to overstep any boundaries here."
He studied your body language intently - the way your hands gripped your hair, the tension in your shoulders. The distraction, the frustration, it was all rooted in something deeper, something that had nothing to do with their current argument.
"Tell me this," Spencer said, his tone gentle yet firm, "is there a pattern to these distractions? Have they been getting worse over time?" He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. "Sometimes, it helps to talk things out with someone else. And right now, I'm here to listen."
Spencer was acutely aware of the small, cluttered apartment around him â the scattered books and papers on the coffee table, the faint smell of coffee that lingered in the air. He used the familiarity of the space to center himself, to keep his focus on understanding the root of your distress.
"I'm not here to judge or criticize," he assured you, his voice low and soothing. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
In that moment, Spencer's mind raced with possibilities, trying to piece together what the hell your problem was. Was this distraction tied to a past trauma, a family issue, or something else entirely? As an FBI profiler, he knew that the key to understanding a person's behavior lay in their history, their experiences, their upbringing.
"Talk to me," Spencer encouraged gently, his tone warm yet authoritative. "I'm here to listen. Please?" He held out his hand, a silent offer, and waited for you to open up to him. Yeah, right.
"God, stop being so fucking you for a minute!" you stomp up to him, about 2 feet away, and shove at his chest. "Act like a goddamn human, for once in your life! Would it kill you? Huh?"
Spencer stumbled back from the sudden shove, caught off guard by the contact. His heart raced as he felt the warmth of your hands against his chest, the bloom of dull pain. He was shocked. No one had ever laid hands on him like that before, no one he cared about at least, and especially not you.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to process the surge of emotions that flooded through him. If the breath was meant to keep tears at bay too, then maybe you didnât need to know that.
"I... I know I'm not always easy to understand," Spencer said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know your mind works differently than most people's. But I'm trying... I'm trying to be here for you, in whatever way I can."
"Stop it!" you shout. "Stop trying to be unaffected. Stop trying to act like my fucking therapist, because you aren't! You... Don't... Know.. Me." you pause between each word, your finger in his face. "Stop trying to fucking profile me. Act like you have any sort of goddamn emotion, for once in your life!"
Spencer flinched as if struck, your finger hovering inches from his face. The harsh words hung heavy in the air between you, a bitter sting he couldn't shrug off like he might an insult from a suspect.
For just a moment, he faltered. He knows he's insecure, it's one of his biggest flaws, but he thinks maybe right now he should be. Maybe he's stepped too far. Maybe this isn't his place.
He shrugs that off just as soon as it comes. This is more important than being polite.
He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your frustration, your anger, your desperation. It was raw, visceral, a maelstrom of emotion he struggled to comprehend. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his hand around your wrist, gently lowering your finger from his face.
"You're right," he said, his voice low. "I'm not your therapist. I'm not perfect.â
He paused, words careful with his gaze locked onto yours. "But know this... I care about you. More than I can express. And I'm trying.â
Spencer's other hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the heated skin. "I may not always show it in ways you expect... but I do have feelings. This isnât fair, you have to know that.â His eyes brim with unshed tears, as if pleading with you to apologize. He sincerely doubted he'd get that, at least right now.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to do this, because Iâm at a loss.â
"Stop it! Stop, stop, stop!" you scream, pounding at his chest once more before turning to dig your fingernails into your scalp. "God, you're such a fucking asshole! You don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about. You've only known me for a couple of months! You couldn't possibly-" your voice catches in your throat, but you choke down a sob. You couldn't possibly love me. You firmly remind yourself he did not say that. Why would he?
Spencer stumbled back, his stomach and a twist and head spinning as he absorbed the brutal impact of your fists against his chest. He tries to keep in mind that you arenât trying to hurt him, youâre just overwhelmed. Heâs having a hard time believing it.
He reached out, trying to grab your wrists to still your frantic movements. But you wrenched away, pacing the small room like a caged animal. Spencer stood frozen, watching the scene in front of him, cinematic in its drama.
"Just because I haven't known you long doesn't mean I don't care about you," he interjects, voice tensely controlled. "You don't get to tell me what I feel or don't feel."
He took a step closer, then another, until he stood behind you. Gently, carefully, he placed his hands on your shoulders, warmth seeping into your tight muscles.
"I can't pretend to know everything you've been through. I can't claim to understand what you're going through, especially 'cuz you won't tell me anything," he sighs. "But I see you, or I'm at least trying to. I see the strength in you, the resilience, the courage.â His fingers tighten minimally in support, pausing a moment. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."
That did it.
One sentence, and the dam is breaking. Months of grief, loneliness, and a lifetime of being a last priority come crashing into you all at once. Your knees buckle at the weight of it as sobs wrench your body. "Get out," you demand, but your hands wrap firmly around his arms. "Get out. Please." You shake your head. "Please, Spencer, go home." You press back into him, curling into his warmth. "You're such a fucking dick."
Spencer held on tighter, holding you up with a grip around your waist.
"Okay," he murmured. "Okay, I'll go. If that's what you need."
But he didn't let go. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he knew you were steady. Not until he knew, without a doubt, that you meant it.
"Tell me this first," he pleaded softly, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. "Tell me you know you're not alone. That you have someone in your corner, no matter what."
His arms tightened, a silent vow. "I know we're not close, I know I'm not always the easiest person to deal with. But I'm trying. I'm trying to be what you need me to be."
He stood there, holding you through your sobs. It impressed you, the resolve of him. It impressed you that he didnât get pissed, as much as you wanted him to. You arenât used to gentleness. Youâd rather fight than stand in front of someone whoâll just let you cry.
The wails leaving your throat embarrass the living shit out of you, and you know tomorrow you'll hate yourself for it, but right now youâre grateful. "I'm sorry," you cry. "I'm so sorry. So sorry, Spencer." You empty your lungs completely with your sobs, then refill them just to empty them again. "I hate you. I hate you," you repeat, holding his arms with a bruising grip as he gently lowers you onto the floor despite his unrelenting germaphobia. He winces. "I hate you."
The mindfulness applied was the kind he usually reserved for crime scenes. He sat behind you, cradling your trembling body against his chest, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand.
"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You don't need to apologize. You don't need to hate anything right now except maybe the hand dealt to you."
He rocked you gently, matching the rhythm of your ragged breaths. "I know you're hurting. I know itâs confusing. But please, don't hate yourself for feeling. Don't hate yourself for needing someone to be here for you."
Spencer's hand slid up to cup your cheek, tilting your face towards his. He thumbed away the tears that fell in steady streams, his own eyes a pool of their own. "Hate me if you need to. I can take it. I can take anything, as long as you're not hating yourself. None of this is your fault."
He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to break. You're allowed to scream and cry and rage until you have nothing left. And I'll be right here, picking up the pieces, gluing you back together.â He pulled back just enough to watch you for a moment, your cheeks burning ever hotter. âI love you. You know that, donât you?â
Your breath catches on a hiccup. "Don't say that," you beg. "Please," you sob. "Don't you say that to me. You don't know me, Reid." your voice is totally wrecked, you sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "You don't know what you're saying, you-" your breath catches, then another, then another, and then before you know it youâre hyperventilating.
What you didnât say was, when you say it out loud, it becomes a promise. What you didnât say was, I trust you. To say that is to make a promise you will not keep. To say that is to promise to break my trust. What you didnât say was, To say that is to lie.
Spencer felt a surge of panic as your breathing grew rapid and shallow, your body shaking violently in his arms. He tightened his grip, a fierce, protective hold, as if he could physically keep you anchored. A folly effort, but you appreciated it nonetheless.
"Hey, hey, slow down," he urged, his voice calm and steady despite the fear gripping his heart. "You're okay, you're safe. I've got you."
He slid his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your head down towards your knees. "That's it, just like that. Breathe with me. In and out. Slow and steady."
"Don't- don't- don't- d-" You tremble like a fucking leaf. Pathetic. You try to calm down enough to say this because you know it needs to be said: "Don't make- make- don't make pr- promi- promises you ca- can't- can't keep."
Spencerâs heart drops. What did he do wrong?
He didnât quite know what to say, but he made an effort anyway. "You need to breathe, sweetheart. You need to breathe through this, one breath at a time.â
You lean down to softly press your lips against his hand, still shivering. Shaking. "I'm so sorry," you whisper. "I'm sorry. This is so pathetic."
"Hey, hey, none of that," Spencer soothed, turning your face towards his. He brushed away a lingering tear with his thumb, his gaze locked onto your red-rimmed eyes. "Being human isn't pathetic. Feeling, caring, needing... that's what makes you beautifully, perfectly human."
The smile on his face is sad, but genuine. He lays his hand on the side of your head, dragging a thumb across your temple. âI'm here because I want to be. Because I choose to be. Your strength and your vulnerability, they're a part of what draws me to you. Never apologize for being who you are."
"Can you stay?" you whisper feebly. "I mean, you don't-" you hiccup. "Don't feel pressured, of course. You know what?" You force a smile, which appears hopelessly pathetic considering the salt stains marring your cheeks. "I'm actually okay. I'm so okay. You can go home, Spencer. Go get some rest. Sorry." You move to get up, but his hold tightens. He mets your gaze, his voice low and firm. "No. I'm not going anywhere. I told you... I'm staying right here, with you."
He adjusted your position, lying down and gathering you fully into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "Rest now," he murmured, stroking your hair. "I'll be here when you wake up." Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your hair.
You chuckle without any meaning. "Spencer, no. Not on the hardwood floor," you say apologetically, sitting up. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. C'mon, get up."
Spencer reinforced his embrace, not letting you pull away as he sat up slowly. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the last of their tears. "I'm not leaving you alone. End of discussion."
He stood, pulling you up with him, then guided you down the hallway, to your bedroom, then to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Spencer's arm remained wrapped around your shoulders, a constant, comforting presence.
"I'll sleep here, with you. I won't leave your side." His voice softened, a gentle caress. "Please don't ask me to go, not now. I need to be here for you.â
"Spence-"
"No," he interjects. "No. Lay down. I'm gonna get you some water, I'll be right back."
He pats the bed behind you. Sluggish, you settle back into the plush mattress, encircling yourself in the comforter, dragging it right up to the bottom of your chin. You huff.
Spencer returned a moment later, a glass of water in hand. He set it on the bedside table and looked down at you, sympathy written all over him as he observed your closed eyes and the way you had curled in on yourself, still sniffling in the aftershocks.
Gently, he sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing it to dip slightly. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. You felt warm, almost feverish.
"Hey, sweetheart..." Spencer's voice was soft, almost a whisper. He leaned in closer, his breath ruffling the hair he had just smoothed. "I know you're not asleep."
His hand slid down to your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" Spencer's words were gentle, a nudging request. Not a demand. Never a demand. He wanted to know you were okay, but he wouldn't force it out of you. If you were going somewhere dark, he wanted to follow you with a flashlight in hand, but only if you'd let him.
"Go to bed, Spencer."
Spencer's brow furrowed, stubbornness hard-set on his face. He didn't move from his perch on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting firmly on your shoulder.
"No. You canât go to bed feeling like this. It could cause nightmares, increased cortisol levels, and I know youâll have a headache in the morning if you donât drink water." He took a deep breath, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your shoulder. "Please, talk to me. Let me help carry this burden with you. I'm stronger than I look, I promise."
You smile, your eyes still closed. "You look plenty strong," you reply. "Please, go to sleep. I'm tired."
Spencer's eyes narrowed, not convinced. âLook at me. Please." When you didn't immediately comply, he gently squeezed your shoulder. âI know you're hurting, and I know youâre tired, but you canât end the night like this.â
He paused, his posture wilting in his frustration.
You open your eyes and roll onto your back. "Drop it, Reid. It's late, I just cried my fucking eyes out, I want to go to bed. Now, either lay your pretty ass down, or go sleep on the couch."
Spencer studied your face, trying to settle the odds with himself. Accepting defeat, he finally relented with a soft sigh. "Fine.â
He slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed beside you, being mindful not to jostle you. Settling onto his back, he turned to face you, a gentle hand coming to rest on your waist. "Goodnight," he murmured, eyes already heavy with fatigue. "Sleep well."
"Can I-" You turn toward him, but shut your mouth before you ask. "Nevermind. Goodnight."
Spencer felt you shift, turning to face him. âNo, what were you going to say?â
You hum, trying to decide how to phrase it. âIt was nothing.â
âHere,â he offers, lifting the arm nearest you, inviting you to curl into him. Heâs always so observant. Despite your thus-short friendship, he knew exactly what you wanted. You complied.
"Sleep well, sweetheart," he repeated, his hand on your waist giving a gentle, comforting squeeze. "I'll be right here when you wake."
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid fanart#mgg#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fic#spencer reid fanfiction#autistic spencer reid#spencer reid angst#hurt/comfort#angst#angst with a happy ending#Spotify
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I feel so conflicted. Iâm so happy but sad, empty but so full of joy, crying and laughing at the same time. Mobyâs owner, you wrote such a beautiful story.
Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) â Pt. 10
Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Thatâs it, thatâs the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmmâŚ. letâs leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3
Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10
âOh, what the hellâsince when do you cook?â
âBitch,â you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. âDo you want the risotto or not?â
The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friendâquestionable, at the momentâlives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure whoâs barring you from crossing the threshold.Â
Itâs still warm, and youâre not one to brag, but you think youâve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it mattersâeverybodyâs a fucking critic these days.
âRisotto?â Khol parrots in disbelief. âYou donât show up in forever, suddenly youâre all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario assââ
âDonât mind them,â Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. âThis smells amazing, actually. Come in!â
With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.
âOh wow,â you remark, all mock surprise. âYou live together now?â
Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. âYou missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.â
You step inside, and right away, something feels⌠different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and itâs clearly still their placeâthe brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acidâbut itâs been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.
Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramĂŠ hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like theyâre trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.
And then thereâs the rug. Oh god, the rug.Â
A comically massive tufted âFlower Powerâ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and orangesâa final, cutesy fuck you to the apartmentâs formerly depressing atmosphere before Kholâs new roommate staged her cheerful coup.
It shouldâve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow⌠it works?Â
Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.
âLove what you did with the place, Anna,â you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. âIt doesnât look like a twelve-year-oldâs fantasy bedroom anymore.â
âShut the fuck up,â Khol laughs, shaking their head. âAs if youâre one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?â
You sniff haughtily. âExcuse you, but thatâs a custom piece. You wouldnât get it.â
"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"
"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They donât even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.
You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. Itâs niceâbeing here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.
The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.
Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.
She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. âWe havenât seen you in a while.âÂ
You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past⌠couple of months, I guess."
Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "Youâre doing okay now?"
The easy answer sits on your tongueâyeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.
But youâve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,
"Not⌠really."Â
The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.
Your gaze flickers to the side tableâframed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You donât linger.
âI mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. Iâm getting there.â
Annaâs brows lift slightlyânot in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. Thereâs something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. âGood. Thatâs good.â
You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.
"Yeah."
Thereâs a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardiganâa nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but thereâs something about sitting still under Annaâs gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.
From the kitchen, thereâs the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, âshit.â
Anna exhales, long-suffering. âI donât know why I even bother buying nice things.â
ââOy,â Kholâs voice carries from the other room, âget in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.â
You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, itâs quick workâbowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.
By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone whoâs worked far too hard for far too little.
You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You donât touch your food. Your appetiteâs still in remission, though itâs been steadily improving lately.
Khol notices. âNow, why the hell arenât you eating?â They shoot you a side-eye like youâve personally offended them. âI knew it. You put something in this, didnât you?â
âJesus, Khol,â Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. âYour diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. Youâll live.â
She pauses, though, casting you a look. âDonât get me wrongâthis is really good.â
âHa,â you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. âAre you fucking kidding meââ
âAlright, alright.â With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twiceâeyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to sayâuntil, begrudgingly, they nod.
âShit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?â
You preen at the praise.
For a while, thereâs nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. Itâs⌠nice. Comfortable in a way you havenât felt in what feels like forever.
Youâve missed this.
Missed being here. Missed being with people.
Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. âHow come youâre free today? You on leave or something?â
You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. âOh, I quit my job.â
Thereâs a beat of silence. You donât know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."
Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"
You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. âYeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.â
Khol grunts in agreement. âGood fucking riddance. That job was killing you.â They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. âYouâre not hung up about it, are you? Youâve been bitching about that job for ages.â
You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. âYeah, no. Iâm glad I left.â The words come easily, and theyâre mostly true. But stillâthereâs something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy.Â
A thought strikes you, and you glance up. âHey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?â
Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? Itâs minimum wage, just telling you in advance."
"Thatâs fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. Iâm doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."
Anna perks up at that. "I think thatâs a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but Iâm pretty sure theyâre still looking."
Khol stares at you, and for once, they donât have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banterâjust a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. Youâve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadnât meant to, not really. It wasnât like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didnât you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you justâvanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.
You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. âThanks,â you say, quiet but sincere. âReally.â
Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. âYou can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.â
You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. âGet me the job first, and Iâll see what I can do.â
Anna grins, raising her glass. âNow, thatâs the spirit.â
ââââ
You get the job.
You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudgedâhalf-formed, half-thereâbut unequivocally yours.Â
A month ago, you wouldnât have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than personâdistant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit.Â
Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others donât quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was⌠But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you. Time moves like water carving through rockâgradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.
The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize itâs the first time youâve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like youâre stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.
Youâre here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, youâre doing more than just holding on.
(You think heâd be proud of you.) And the thought doesnât leave you aching the way it used to.
ââââ
âYou think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?â You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. âI mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But youâre pretty self-sufficient anyway.â Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks onceâdismissive, uninterestedâbefore he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. âWell, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, Iâm sure I can manage,â you mutter unconvincingly. âHow hard can it be?âÂ
â
By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isnât exactly thriving. You donât want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inwardâmore than they should, if the reference pics on that âIndoor Succulentsâ blog youâre subscribed to are anything to go by.Â
You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. Itâs just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun landsâearning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing felineâand sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like itâs supposed to just... fix itself.
â
The next few days pass with you watching it more than youâd care to admitâchecking, hoping, second-guessing yourself.Â
You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill.Â
But you keep at it, because youâre nothing if not stubborn.
â
A single flower has bloomed.
You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. Itâs small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably thereânestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter.Â
A faint smile tugs at your lips. Itâs not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But itâs something.
The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to growâlarger, stronger.
You canât wait to bear witness to it.Â
ââââ
Youâre not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons.Â
Itâs not⌠something you planned on doing, really. Youâd been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this oneâs more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra fewâunpremeditated!ââminutes on the elliptical.Â
It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.
GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!
The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reasonâsheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someoneâyou thought: Why not?
Before you could talk yourself out of it, youâd marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.
âUp, upââ your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, youâre standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. âKeep your arms up at all times, alright?â
You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.
Itâs part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. Youâve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.
âŚOr maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind.Â
But things are different now! Youâre trying new things. Youâve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this⌠wellness journey, then, well, so be it. Youâll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.
You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. Youâre wheezing like an asthmatic child, and youâre about one bad punch away from toppling over.
Then, mercifullyâ
âOkay, thatâs enough for today.â
Oh, thank god.
âYou did good,â she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didnât just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.
You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where youâre standingâwobbling, reallyâyouâre pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It mustâve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session.Â
Not that youâre planning to. No, of course not. Youâre just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.
âHey! Wait up!â
You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guyâmid to late twenties, give or takeâjogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. âOh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?â
He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. âYeah, you. Iâve seen you training with Coach. Just wanted to sayâyouâre improving.â
You blink. Wait, what?
A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didnât know you had an audience. âUhâthanks, I guess?â
You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.
His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that mightâve come off. âFuck, sorry. That came out weird, didnât it? I swear, Iâm not, like, watching the whole thing or anything.â He makes a vague gesture to his left. âThe studioâs right in my line of sight when Iâm doing TRX reps. Hard not to notice.â
You force a smile. âAh, yeah. Figures.âÂ
âIâm Byron, by the way,â he offers, sticking out a hand.
Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice heâs got this kind of⌠geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibesâexcept for the fact that heâs jacked.
(Honestly? Work.)
You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. Youâre about to wave goodbye and turn away whenâ âSo, what are you doing later?â
Um.
You hesitate. âIâm, uh⌠heading straight home after this?â Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because youâre not really sure why heâs still talking to you.
âYeah, âcourse,â he replies quickly, glancing down like heâs suddenly nervous. âI just⌠thought Iâd ask if youâd wanna grab coffee sometime?â
Oh.
It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know Iâm a barista?
⌠The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?
Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.
âIâwoah, um.â You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. âSorry, I already have⌠a boyfriend. Ifâif thatâs what youâre leading up to.â
You say it like a question. He picks up on it.
âYou donât sound too convinced,â he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. âIf youâre not interested, you can just say that, you know.â
A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharperâsomething that stings. You push it down. âNo, heâs just⌠not around.â âAh.â He clicks his tongue sympathetically. âLong distance?â ââŚYeah.â You have no idea.
He shrugs, undeterred. âAlright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.â
I⌠donât think I do. âUm, maybe?â you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.
âOh, come on,â he says, his grin widening. âYou can even introduce me to your boyfriend,â he emphasizes the word out, âwhen he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.â
Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, youâre the very embodiment of what fears him.
Youâre so out of your element that all you can manage is, âHe boxes too, actually.â
âYeah? He any good?âÂ
That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, âCould probably beat you up.â
Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. âAlright, alrightâmessage received.â He flashes you a wide smile. âWell, if you change your mind about the coffee, Iâll be around.â He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. âThere, usually.â
Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you canât help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. âIâll keep that in mind.â
You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. Itâs so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from cringe.Â
Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.
Smooth.
ââââ
Itâs another relatively easy night at the bistro. Youâre on the last two hours of your shift, and youâre carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her.Â
You donât want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear spaceâby the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her rightâwhen something red catches your attention.
A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.
For a moment, you feel like youâre suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where youâre in her place, and heâs there, keeping you company while heâs polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you donâtâyou canât thinkâ
You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girlâs gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.
With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.
âOh, shit,â she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. âThatâs embarrassing.âÂ
You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. âNoâno, donât worry about it,â you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. âCute guy, honestly.â
That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. âOh my god, you have no idea.â
Fuckâyou canât breathe.
ââââ
The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but stillâbut alwaysâfamiliar.
Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fireâit licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him.Â
Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.
Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find somethingâanythingâto fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound youâve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams.Â
A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it canât quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.
âYours, yoursââ you tremble, desperate. âYours. Just yours. Please.â
-
-
-
You lie in the wake of itâpleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.
âI miss you,â you whisper in the dark. You always do.
You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.
You were doing so well.
But itâs fine. Youâre fine.Â
Everythingâs fine.
The words swirl and echo in your mind, until theyâre swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you canât keep.
Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.
For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity youâve built, painstakingly, for months on end.
Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feelâonce moreâlike a penitentiary.
ââââ
The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into viewâlarge swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.
Below, the small city stirs.
Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.
Your hometown.Â
It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and newâsome buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if theyâd sprung up in the years youâve been away. Itâs been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.
Only your sister lives here now, her and her familyâa couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood.Â
The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.
But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.
"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.
"Whatâno excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.
"Auntie, hi! Hi!"
You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight.Â
"Ah! Cat!"
"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."
"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"
She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"
"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "Youâre getting socks."
"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.
You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surfaceâalong the bannister, around doorwaysâleaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.
The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.
Itâs gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchangedâfamiliar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, thereâs still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus youâve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen mid-celebration.
Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantelâa whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.
Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.
He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.
You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.
âThereâs a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?â She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. âActually, scratch thatâyouâre in charge of the punch.â
âYou just want a head start on the drinks,â you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. âHey, whereâs the little squirt?â
She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. âShe finally stopped crying, thank god. Donât wake her up, or youâll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.â
The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinnerâcloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light.Â
Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.
"Go ham," she quips.
You give her a flat look. "You think youâre funny.â
She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where sheâd left off before your arrival.Â
The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.
Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.
In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephewâs occasional giggles.
Thereâs no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clink of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.
âSo, Mom called,â she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. âKept calling, actually.â
âMm.â You reply noncommittally, shaking the last canâs contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.
âSheâs worried about you.â
You donât answer.
âShe was. She is.â Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. âYou know that, right?â
Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. âI know.â
She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know thereâs no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. âI am too.â
You blink, before looking away. âOh.â
And maybe she does worryâyour mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond.Â
Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that sheâs carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your personâher former husband, your fatherâand that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldnât feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.
But you are your motherâs daughter, and she is her motherâs daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. Youâll carry it with you until you die.
âBut you look⌠okay,â she observes, cocking her head. âAre you okay?â
You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, âI havenât⌠been okay for a while.âÂ
Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, âThings are better now, though.â
She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. âCould be a little more specific there, but Iâll take it.â She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. âYou let me know if that changes anytime soon, âkay?â
Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. âYeah, okay.â
â
Itâs ten minutes before midnight.
Youâre leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though itâs mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sisterâs family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.
For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if youâre not quite part of the scene. Thereâs a strange sense of detachmentâvoyeuristic, almostâas though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment.Â
Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to lifeâthe same one that always does when you look at her.
You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. Itâs tumultuous, and itâs complex. Andrewâs practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.
Something tightens inside your chest.
âAndrew,â she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.
He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. âHey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.â
Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. âBoom-boom?â
âYeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!â
The kidâs face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. âBoom-boom!â
You watch as your sisterâs gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.
And in that instant, you understand.
You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you couldâve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your fatherâa man who didnât quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable.Â
You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place thatâs meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unspoken. Sheâll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.
You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her.Â
You feel her pain as if itâs yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bonesâher blood flowing through you. â3âŚâ You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and seeâ
She glances up at you.
Oh. â2âŚâ In the fleeting moment where your eyes meetâeyes you two share with your motherâyou feel so small.
Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sisterâs quiet victories, too selfish to admit youâve diminished them just to feel less alone about your own. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. â1âŚâ And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if youâve been doused awake.Â
You see her anewâwhat seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose.Â
You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that youâve always lacked, that youâve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.
And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in youâborne from the pure look of adoration in your sisterâs eyes for her youngest daughterâas envy.
You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.
As you watch them, something inside you shiftsâa deep, aching realization.Â
You see⌠home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. âHappy new year!â The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.
Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sisterâs arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her husband struggles uprightâthen, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.
The image before you is far from perfect, but itâs theirs.
âAuntie, auntie!â The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. ââappy nâyear!â
A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, âhappy new year!â
Youâre tiredâtired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood thatâs left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see whatâs in front of you.Â
This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.
The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.
This time, you wonât hesitate. Youâll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.
You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark.Â
A warmth settles deep in your chestâbittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.
Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .
.
.
.
.
. . .
The air at the threshold of Vagrantâs land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirageâan area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it.Â
Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict.Â
It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what itâs truly worth.Â
Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door.Â
A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.
Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purposeâgetting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.
Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point.Â
Heâs worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since youâve exchanged your temporary goodbyes.Â
He had measured everything he couldâthe unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences.Â
But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him.Â
Still, theory matters less than function. He doesnât need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.
Itâs a gamble.
Contrary to whatever reputation heâs earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks thatâwhile dangerousâare still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where heâd land.
But this is different.
He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.
He had no reason toâuntil you.
Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknownâ
Heâll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation.Â
Heâll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesnât know what awaits him on the other side. If heâll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.
Sylus has never really questioned why heâs the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesnât care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.
Because wherever you areâthat is home.Â
He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.
-
-
-
Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.
Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.
The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, unevenâtangible in a way heâs never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown.Â
This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.
Above, the sky erupts.
Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instantâtoo fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.
The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost⌠alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath.Â
And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. Heâs lost in the sensation.Â
He exhales. Then winces.Â
Immediately, he feels itâthe weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it.Â
That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.
He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.
A lesser man might have feared it.
But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh.Â
He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display aboveâas if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.
Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.
ââââ
Itâs summerâthe summer that marks two years since he left.Â
Two years. Itâs enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago.Â
The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pangâa bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware.Â
Youâre closer to thirty now, and the thought doesnât terrify you as much as it did before. Your hairâs in a pixie cutâshort and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago.Â
It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it isâone more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices youâve made over the past two years. Itâs yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.
Itâs liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil.Â
The voiceâthe one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfectionânever really shuts up. Itâs quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe thatâs just the price of being human.
But you donât fight it anymore. You donât let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you donât feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively.Â
The change has come in wavesâsometimes gentle, sometimes harshâbut itâs there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, youâve shifted and grown. And perhaps thatâs enough.
The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.
Youâre behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. Itâs all routineâthe rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and itâs the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.
You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer.Â
Itâs a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting.Â
âHi, welcome toââ
The words die in your throat.
Itâs a slow unfoldingâalmost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable.Â
His height is the first thing you notice. Heâs taller than you expected, and you know heâll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almostânot the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what youâve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if heâs lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.
Then his eyes. The red is goneâno longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet thereâs a warmth buried beneath itâand the familiarity of it tugs at you.
Even with the changes, even though youâve never met the person standing in front of you, youâll know him anywhere.Â
Thereâs a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. Itâs as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breathâand you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.
Your eyes lockâand for a moment, nothing else exists.Â
Itâs as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, itâs as though a piece thatâs always been missing has finally snapped into place.
Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.
Sylus smiles.
âHello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?â
It feels like home.Â
____
âNow I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feelâ This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.â
End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now, with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira
#donât wanna spoilt so back to my usual place. the tags. hahaha#omi.recs.fics#lads Sylus#ufff. where do I even begin? I donât just love Sylus and Reader here but her group of friends and family surrounding her.#it makes her so human? so relatable? I love how itâs not only focused on their relationship/love story but also her personal struggles#her inner monologue/thoughts and the pacing. I think it all developed so well.#hell. I started crying even before reading and as the story progressed I kept sobbing and laughing and marveling at the way it was directing#us to the grand finale. like we knew Sylus would pop up eventually in some way. but the girl with the iPad? and the guy asking reader out#and friends and family? it all was just a well shaped road to that fated moment. beautifully placed in my opinion.#I SCREAMED WHEN SYLUS DESCRIPTION BEGAN EXCUSE THAT WAS SO UNEXPECTED BUT SO FITTING IN THIS NARRATIVE#LIKE IDK I FELT HE CHANGED BUT WAS THE SAME BUT FOR HER#LIKE IDK IM JUST A SAPPY MESS#itâs so overwhelming to come to an end. itâs one of my favorite fanfics of all time. and Iâve been to plenty of fandoms.#Mobyâs owner (sorry I just got so used to calling you that đđŤ)#Iâm so happy to share a fandom with you and being able to read such a wonderful series!!!#I have so much to unpack. damn. Iâm so emotional.#BUT I CANT IM A SEA OF TEARS#(now let me cry. bye)#I REPHRASE THAT SYLUS CHANGED PART! I mean that she saw herself so below him sometimes? so different? so out of reach? and instead of reader#becoming this idk MC like being. Sylus came back *human*? like her? like saying physically *I love you for you.* I love you so much that#I can leave my godlike self behind. itâs worth it for you. you are perfect for me so becoming like you is being perfect as well?#I DONT KNOW BUT I CRIED AND IM STILL SOBBING#DOES THAT MAKE SENSE
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End of the First Season
Masterlist
Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming
After the season wrapped up, I finally found a moment of calm. The chaos of F1 had slowed, and I was allowed a little breathing room. But even with the peace, I couldn't shake the constant ache in my body. I thought the bruising I had gotten from the Abu Dhabi crash would eventually subside, but it never did. Every day, it seemed to hurt a little more, so I finally caved and went to the doctor to get checked out.
I wasnât prepared for the news. It wasnât just bruising. My ribs had cracked, and so had a bone in my right forearm. The realization hit me like a ton of bricksâno wonder Iâd been hurting so much. But, being me, I just shrugged it off. If there was one thing Iâd learned over this crazy season, it was how to power through. And if I could make it through that wreck, I could handle a couple cracked bones, right?
I needed to break the news, of course, but I had a little fun with it. I posted on Instagram, sharing all the high points of my 2024 seasonâmy wins, my podiums, the laughs, the frustrations. But as the last picture in the post, I slid in a photo collage of my X-rays. Just for the shock value, of course.Â
The response was exactly what I expected. I saw the comments flood inâfans, media, and especially the drivers. They were all so concerned, immediately freaking out about me being in pain, even though I was smiling through it all. Some of the messages I got were hilarious, like Lando calling me crazy for not telling him sooner. âYouâre seriously not a robot, right?â he texted me, complete with a couple of eye-roll emojis.
And then there was Max. Max Verstappen. He was texting me every five minutes, demanding I go see another doctor. "You shouldâve told me. I would've taken care of it for you." Like he was going to fly out to Monaco just to be my personal healthcare assistant. I almost laughed at how protective he was being, but honestly, it was sweet.
Liam, of course, had the most dramatic reaction. "y/n, what the hell?! Why didnât you tell me about this?" he practically screamed down the phone. "This couldâve been a big deal! You couldâve been seriously hurt!"
I couldnât help but laugh. âLiam, calm down. Iâm fine. Iâve been dealing with it. Itâs just some cracked bones.â
But he wasnât having it. "Thatâs not something you âjust deal with.â You need to get checked out, properly. Iâm seriously getting worried now."
At that point, I had to assure himâno more freaking out. Everyone was so sweet, though. Even Carlos sent a message telling me to take it easy and that he was looking forward to seeing me next season. âJust donât go crashing again, okay?â
I even caught a text from Fernando, who simply said: âYouâre strong, but next time⌠maybe take it easy?â
The support from all the drivers was overwhelming, but honestly, it was what I needed. The kind words, the check-ins, it made me feel like I had a big family backing me up.
I had also made the decision recently to buy an apartment in Monaco. It wasnât something Iâd planned at first, but Lando convinced me it was the perfect move. He was all about the idea of having me live close by so we could hang out in the off-season when I wasnât visiting family back in the U.S. Plus, Monaco seemed like the kind of place where I could really start fresh, living on my own but still be surrounded by people who understood the craziness of F1 life. Lando lives just above me, and we joke that Iâm now not on "Landoâs level".
Itâs been nice, honestly. I can walk around without the chaos of a race weekend looming over me, and sometimes, it feels like a different world entirely. Having drivers around gives me a sense of comfort, knowing Iâm never too far from a friend, and I love that Lando is nearby for spontaneous hangouts. Heâs been a solid support system, and having him in Monaco means I never really feel alone. Itâs just nice, knowing that someoneâs always nearby, especially after everything Iâve been through.
Franco and I were sitting in the lounge of my new Monaco apartment, just a couple of glasses of wine between us as we talked about the future. There was this quiet tension in the airânothing too obvious, but we both knew what it felt like. He was leaning back on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes focused on the half-empty glass in his hand, but I could tell he wasnât really looking at it.
He sighed, finally breaking the silence. âI donât know whatâs next for me, to be honest. Alpine offered me a reserve driver contract with them, but it's basically the same thing I have at Williams. The only real difference is that they are telling me they will take Jack out of his seat if he doesnât do well. So I get paid more and have a more likely chance at racing again with them or I get loyalty points and probably never seat the steering wheel for another season with Williams.â His voice carried this layer of frustration I hadnât heard from him before. He ran a hand through his hair, and I could see the weight of it all on him. He wasnât the kind to complain, but I knew how badly he wanted that full-time seat. I could tell by how hard he fought to stay on the grid this season.
âDonât let them make you feel like you have to settle,â I said softly, my words maybe a little more sincere than I meant them to be. He was one of the most talented drivers I knew, and he deserved to have a seat that would recognize that.
He let out a bitter laugh. âItâs not like I have much of a choice, is it? The gridâs stacked, and Alpine knows Iâll have to take what I can get. But I donât know⌠maybe itâs not where I want to be.â
There was a pause between us, and I watched him carefully, sensing that this was more than just a conversation about racing for him. It felt like the moment he was letting himself be real, vulnerable in a way he rarely showed.
âFranco,â I started, but the words faltered in my mouth. I didnât know how to make him feel better, not when I knew what was next for me. He had been my rock in so many ways this season, and now it was my turn to be there for him. But it felt like something more was hanging in the air, something unsaid.
He met my eyes, and for a moment, there was this quiet, unspoken connection. âI donât want to leave, you know?â he whispered, almost as if he were saying it to himself more than to me. âBut I donât know if I have another option.â
I didnât know what to say, so instead, I just leaned over and put a hand on his arm, my fingers gently brushing his sleeve. It wasnât anything dramatic, just a small gesture, but it felt like the right thing to do. We stayed like that for a while, just sitting in silence, letting the quiet of the room fill in the gaps of our thoughts. When finally a thought came to me, âYou know, I was in the same predicament before becoming Aston Martinâs Reserve driver?âÂ
He shook his head, not making eye contact yet. âBefore Aston Martin I was driving only as a test driver for Redbull, no chance at racing only at being available when their own drivers reserve or not couldnât be there. Then Aston Martin came to me with a contract, be their reserve driver. A team with a literal multi world champion driver and a driver who was the owner of the teamâs son. So basically, my only chance at driving was someone getting sick or hurt. Or I could stay with my red bull contract and earn loyalty points but probably still never see the steering wheel during a real race.â I looked at him, seeing his expression change. âIt was a tough decision but I listed out the pros and cons of each. In the end, Aston Martin gave me the most potential to grow into the F1 world.â
Then, he looked at me, and there was this flicker in his eyes, something I hadnât seen before. Something that felt real, honest. And I knew in that moment that we were both feeling itâthat subtle pull between us. But neither of us said anything about it. Instead, we just let it linger, both of us too scared to do anything about it. âSo what I think you need to do is think about what would help you grow or just what you want to do for your future? Is your future still F1 with Williams? Or do you want to explore other options to see what happens?â
His expression changed to one almost deep in thought. I pulled my hand back, giving him a small smile. âYouâll figure it out. You always do,â I said, trying to lighten the mood, even though my heart was beating a little faster than usual.
He smiled back, a little half-hearted, but genuine. âThanks. I donât know what Iâd do without you, Y/N.â
âSame here,â I replied, my voice softer than I meant it to be. And for a moment, it felt like we were more than just teammates, more than just friends. But neither of us made a move. We just stayed there, pretending it was enough to be in each otherâs company, not acknowledging the unspoken feelings simmering beneath the surface.
The moment passed, and we both knew it. But neither of us could shake the feeling that things had changed, even if just a little.
Post-season testing was in full swing, and I found myself behind the wheel of a Red Bull. Well, technically, it was a VCARB test, but they had thrown me and Yuki into the main teamâs carâbasically the 2024 title-winning machine before it would be slightly modified for our âjuniorâ team.
The car felt incredible. The downforce, the grip, the way it responded to even the slightest inputsâI had driven a strong car before, but this? This was on another level. It was a taste of what could be possible with the right setup, and I couldnât help but grin every time I pushed it through a turn.
âOi, donât get too comfortable in that seat,â Yukiâs voice came through the radio as we wrapped up a practice run. âYou still have to share it next year.â
I laughed, pulling into the pits and hopping out, only to be immediately greeted by VCARBâs social media team. I had already been warned that their content crew was⌠a little too good at capturing moments. The internet had already fallen in love with the way Yuki and I had been interacting over the past few weeks, posting clips of our playful bickering, him teaching me random Japanese phrases, or me teasing him about his food choices.
Case in pointâbefore I even had my helmet off, Yuki was standing beside me, pointing at my water bottle with an accusing glare. âYou forgot to drink again, we never saw the water button activateâ
I groaned. âI was driving.â
He snatched the bottle out of the table and unscrewed the lid. âDrink. Now.â
âBossy,â I muttered, taking a sip just to get him off my back.
Of course, VCARBâs media team caught the whole thing, and I had no doubt it would be on their Instagram story in minutes.
Later that evening, while cooling down after the dayâs sessions, I found myself sketching out ideas for my new helmet. My current design had meant so much to me, but with a new chapter starting, I felt like I needed something fresh. Something that still honored my journey but signified a step forward.
I sat in the VCARB lounge, my sketchbook open in front of me, absentmindedly doodling designs. Maybe something sleeker, sharperâstill keeping the essence of my previous helmets, but with a modern touch. I knew I wanted to incorporate the sea turtle shadow again, but this time, maybe in a way that intertwined with something symbolic for myself.
Yuki plopped down beside me, peering over my shoulder. âYouâre making it blue, right?â
I rolled my eyes. âJust because I drive for VCARB now doesnât mean my entire identity is changing.â
He grinned. âFine, fine. But if you donât put at least a little VCARB energy into it, Iâll be offended.â
I smirked. âIâll think about it.â
Truthfully, this whole transition was already feeling better than I had expected. The team was welcoming, the car felt strong, and Yuki had quickly become an easy person to be around. For the first time in a while, I felt like I had something solid to look forward to with my future in this sport.
Now, I just had to survive another season of teasing from Yuki and VCARBâs relentless social media team.
Netflix: Drive to Survive â Post-Season Interview
The cameras were rolling, the dim lighting of the Drive to Survive interview room setting the scene. I sat in the chair, legs crossed, hands fidgeting slightly in my lap as the producers got everything settled. It felt weird, really. Looking back on the season as if it was just a chapter in a book rather than something I had physically, emotionally, and mentally endured.
The interviewer gave me a reassuring smile before jumping straight into it.
âThis was your rookie seasonâor, well, partial rookie season. And it wasnât exactly an easy one. How do you even begin to reflect on everything that happened?â
I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. âHonestly? I donât even know where to start. It was the highest of highs, the lowest of lows. I donât think I ever imagined just how much this season would take out of meâphysically, mentally. I came into it with so much to prove, knowing that I wasnât even guaranteed a seat for next year. Then the Vegas crash happened, and suddenly everything shifted. I had to rebuild myself from the ground upâagain.â
âYou mentioned the Vegas crashâarguably one of the scariest moments of the season. How much did that affect you going forward?â
I swallowed, running my tongue along the inside of my cheek. âItâs weird because at the time, I was just focused on getting back in the car. I didnât want to sit out, I didnât want to give people a reason to doubt me. But looking back? I shouldâve given myself more time. I was hiding injuries, pushing through pain I didnât even fully understand. It wasnât until after Abu Dhabi, when I finally went to a doctor, that I realized I had been racing with cracked ribs and a fractured forearm. That⌠that hit me hard. Not just because I knew I had been reckless with my own health, but because it made me realize just how much I feared losing my place here.â
âAnd now, even after proving yourself with a few Grand Prix wins, multiple podiums, and signing with Cadillac, youâre still facing uncertainty. How does that feel?â
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. âYeah⌠itâs tough. I signed with Cadillac for 2026, which is exciting, but next year? Iâm on loan with VCARB. Itâs a temporary situation. Thereâs no telling how things will go, how Iâll fit into the team, how the car will perform. And then after that, Iâm moving to a completely new team, a completely new project, whichâdonât get me wrongâis an incredible opportunity, but also terrifying. I wonât have the stability that some of these other drivers have. I donât get to settle in and build a team around me. I have to constantly prove myself, adapt, and just hope that everything works out.â
âDo you think about that often? The uncertainty of it all?â
I huffed out a laugh. âEvery damn day. But thatâs the sport, isnât it? You never really know where you stand until half through the season. I just have to trust that Iâm here for a reason.â
âYou had a lot of support from fellow drivers this season, some of them clearly becoming very close to you. How much did that mean, especially in a year as chaotic as this one?â
I smiled at that, shaking my head slightly. âI donât think I wouldâve survived this season without them. Lando, Max, Lewis, Carlos, Francoâthey all helped me in different ways. Max was like this overprotective older brother, always making sure I wasnât pushing myself too hard, whichâironic, considering itâs Max Verstappen weâre talking about.â I laughed. âLewis was there in a more subtle way, just letting me talk through things when I needed to. Carlos and Lando, well⌠they made sure I never took myself too seriously. And Franco⌠Franco understood in a way no one else could.â
âSpeaking of Franco, Heâs not on the grid next year, but you are. What is that like?â
I exhaled softly. âIt is hard. Franco deserved a seat just as much as anyone else. He knows that. We have had a moment together where we both acknowledged that, no matter what happens, weâll always support each other. But itâs bittersweet. Iâm moving forward, but I donât get to have him there with me next season. Itâs just another reminder of how brutal this sport is.â
âDespite all of that, you still seem⌠excited.â
I let a small smirk tug at my lips. âI mean, yeah. Itâs terrifying, but itâs also incredible. I get to drive a Formula 1 car for another season. I get to be part of the chaos. And, hey, if nothing elseâat least Yuki and I are going to make VCARBâs social media teamâs lives very entertaining next year.â
The interviewer chuckled. âThatâs for sure. Final questionâif you could say one thing to the version of yourself that started this season, what would it be?â
I sat with that for a moment, thinking. Then, with a slow, deep breath, I met the interviewerâs gaze.
âIâd tell her she should allow herself to lean on her friends more, to allow her grid family to help her when situations go downhill. But even when they get terrifyingly bad, sheâs gonna get through it, after all, mama didnât raise no bitchâ I smiled mischeviously knowing that was the last question and while I had done well the entire time not swearing, the last word would have to be beeped for tv.
Pre-Season testing
My first partial season had long ended. The whirlwind of emotions, the battles on and off track, the celebrations, the heartbreaksâit had all been wrapped up into one chaotic, unforgettable year. And yet, as I stood there now, staring at the package in front of me, I realized it was only the beginning.
The VCARB garage was quieter than I had ever heard it. No roaring engines, no frantic radio chatter, just the distant hum of mechanics working in the background as the pre-season test wound down. Yuki had already disappeared somewhereâprobably off to grab snacks or cause some minor chaosâand the crew had mostly filtered out, leaving just a handful of us behind.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the box, my name printed in bold letters on the lid. This was it. A new chapter. A new beginning. A new identity.
I glanced up at the lead designer, who gave me a small nod, encouraging me to lift the lid.
My heart pounded as I peeled back the protective wrap, the first glimpse of my brand-new helmet catching the dim garage light. I inhaled sharply, my fingers brushing over the surface, tracing the details I had agonized over for weeks. This wasnât just a helmet. It was a statement. A promise.
A warning.
Something is coming.
I smiled to myself, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline, that unwavering hunger for what came next.
The season was over.
But the story was far from finished.
#x reader#driver!reader#f1#f1 angst#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#formula 1#max verstappen#charles leclerc#oscar piastri#lando norris#franco colapinto#lewis hamilton#carlos sainz#george russell#grill the grid#f1 grid x reader
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Daddy issues || #5
{masterlist}
Aaron: Did you sleep well?
Aaron: Are you mad at me?
Aaron: Look, I donât know what I did, but this silent treatment is pretty childish. Talk to me.
Aaron: Come on, I know you read these messages.
You: Stop. Please.
Aaron: Okay, what have I done?
You: Nothing.
Aaron: Then?
You: It has nothing to do with you.
Aaron: Is it related to your boyfriend?
You: My what?
Aaron: The guy who left your apartment this morning.
You: Oh, that guy.
Aaron: âThat guyâ? Who is he?
You: Itâs none of your business.
Aaron: You went out some time after you left my apartment. Where did you go?
You: Who the hell do you think you are?
You: Where I go is none of your business.
You: Thank you for the dinner, but thatâs all it was about.
Aaron: Why are you so hostile all of a sudden?
You: I donât want to be interrogated. I have plans for tonight, donât disturb me.
You hate to be mean, you donât want to hurt him, but this is what needs to be done. To be honest, you donât know why youâre like this all of a sudden, but you have this gut feeling that you canât let him get closer. Was that kiss the best one in your life so far? Absolutely. But you werenât ready to deal with their family dynamics.
Itâs not that he didnât talk about what made Jack upset, itâs more the fact you had no idea how to react, how to comfort him. You are not girlfriend material, never have been, maybe you shouldnât start with a man whoâs a good twenty years older than you with a son he raises alone.
Last night you felt like being locked in a cage after you returned to your apartment, and in the end you asked a friend to go to a club with you. Leo is a friend with benefits, although heâs not really a close friend of yours. A fuck buddy? Yeah, maybe thatâs a better way to describe your relationship with him.
Youâre not proud of yourself, not proud of your always partying lifestyle, but youâre an adult with a good job and a decent salary, youâre doing your best to be nice to peopleâthat should be enough. Maybe youâre just too hard on yourself, thatâs why deep down youâre building a distance between you and Aaron. Before calling Leo last night, you realized that your life isnât compatible with Aaronâs, you two are too different to be able to make this work.
Yes, this must be the answer youâve been looking for. Youâre scared of not being good enough. Youâve always had a problem with that. Your parents loved you, but they were so very proud of you that you developed this need to be outstanding in whatever you were doing. Sometimes it happened, sometimes it didnât. There were more failures, which probably guided you toward parties and one-night stands that helped you get away from reality temporarily.
When you wrote to Aaron that you have plans for tonight, you meant it, but not in the way he probably thought. You were going to watch a movie with a girl you know from college, then you probably go to some fast food restaurant where you can talk freely. Sheâs the closest thing you have to a best friend, which is probably pretty sad from the outside.
Just when you turn the key in the lock of your front door upon leaving, you hear the familiar creaking sound from next to you, followed by confident footsteps that get louder with each second. You know who it is. You donât have to guess or look, because his presence is overwhelming from the moment he stops next to you.
âDoes it have anything to do with me not telling you about Jackâs nightmare?â
He sounds exhausted, exasperated, and maybe thereâs a hint of uncertainty too. His eyes are fixed on your face, carefully watching your reactions to see if he can find out something youâre not telling him. At this very moment you hate that he reads people for a living, because itâs simply not fair. Thereâs a power imbalance in a wayâhe knows everything, you know nothing.
In the end, you shake your head to assure him itâs something else. âI have to go,â you tell him, your tone being timid, sounding nothing like it should based on your messages.
âI thought it meant something, you know,â he notes as he crosses his arms over his chest. âThat kiss yesterday, it was⌠I want more. I want you, all of you. I know, maybe thereâs an age gap that can cause problems, but we should give it a shot, just to see where it leads us.â
What are you supposed to say? That he should choose someone better than you? That this age gap might be a problem? That youâre not sure you could take care of Jack in the way he would like you to? Itâs hard to say, because the thought of hurting his feelings causes physical pain.
So, you shake your head and draw in a shallow breath. âAaron, I like you, but why me? Weâre so different, you should pick someone whoâs more like you. Someone with a successful career, someone more mature than me,â you tell him.
He smiles. That damn smile and those dimples. God, why is it so hard to think clearly around him? And why canât you just wave goodbye and walk away? Why are you torturing yourself by staying in his gravitational field?
Before you know it, he leans down to place a kiss on your temple, and he stays there, maybe a little too close to your liking. âThose short dresses and stilettos of yours are my biggest weaknesses,â he begins, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. âBut putting that aside, youâre down-to-earth, kind, beautiful, and the way you talk about your job tells me youâre good for a reason. You are perfect for me, never doubt that.â
You look at him wide-eyed, taken aback by all the things he told you. It feels surreal, to be taken so seriously by himâor anyone for that matter, but thatâs a different issue. Right now you have to focus on not fainting on the spot. You canât help but wonder if he knows what heâs doing to you, what numbing effect he has on you, as if he was a drug that can give you a delicious high with a single look.
âDonât go anywhere, just come over,â he tells you, looking into your eyes to be more convincing.
And damn it, it works like a charm.
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So I definitely feel like I will be adding to this post quite a bit, and this first addition is coming after @jjohnnyutahâs fantastic reply, which kinda summarised the history a bit more.
As I said earlier, I was really umming and aahing about making this post, because Iâm still new to a lot of the comics, so this was really inspired by what I have been able to get my hands on (literally⌠I started out borrowing my friendâs comics last year) whilst Iâm slowly making my way through whatâs available online. As it is, you can probably see that I was able to read more of the modern stuff than the older stuff so far. I didnât really want to make a post until I had read more but hey Iâm adhd as hell and intended to just make a small one in reply to the tags and it spiralled from there. I did try to find some info of what I missed online but apparently that left out a lot! So this post is gonna have constant updates of me doing a DC and retconning stuff as I learn more.
So, anyway, jjohnnyutahâs reply addressed a couple of things. Firstly was Maryâs origin as a dental hygienist, rather than being from the circus herself originally. Canât lie, I actually love this for her. Is it super unusual from a how-gypsies-work perspective? Sure. But like I say, a lot of my cousins are Diddakois, and I kinda love the idea of Mary coming into the fold, when just as often, the gypsy partner ends up leaving it. Of course, thereâs nothing to say for sure that Mary did not have Romani ancestry (like I say, in the N52 modern stuff, she was friends with other Romani characters, so she wasnât completely unfamiliar with the Romani sphere) - I, myself, am a gypsy with a degree, so itâs not exactly like getting a different job cancels your Gypsy Card. Although I do really love the idea of Mary being a gypsy and working as a dentist for the simple reason that, although attitudes to education have greatly improved in recent years, my family would have lost their shit if I got my degree twenty years ago, as it would have been seen as ruining my prospects. So from a feminist perspective, I really love the idea of Mary having at least some Romani heritage too.
The other is Dick not knowing much about his heritage and wanting to learn more, and let me tell you, I feel that. Even growing up surrounded by it, my dadâs side of the family never told me anything. I didnât even get confirmation of how many siblings my grandmother had until she died. My mumâs side was much more forthcoming. Like I say, Iâve had a lot less opportunity to read the (letâs face it) better older stuff so seeing what I have of it, it seemed more of a given that Dick knew something. The reason for this presumption was mostly of how much Romani heâs seen to know even early on?? As Iâve said on previous posts, in the modern day, Romani is a lot less complete for actual use, so how much he knows is impressive. But yeah, this has just made me so much more excited to continue reading. But at the same time, fully expect another post from me six months from now when Iâm more caught up calling myself an idiot. Ta x
Ok so Iâve been umming and ahhing about making this post for a while. Iâve always kinda planned on it, but seeing these tags on a previous post of mine (no hate to this user) made me want to post something now. Itâs also gone 3am. So itâs not really going to be very clean and tidy, and will probably be a bit rambling, but I can always post a âtidyâ version another time.
So! Tackling Dick Graysonâs Romani/GRTSB heritage (warning: itâs a long one)
So, as usual, a few disclaimers: 1) I am not American. 2) I myself fall under the GRTSB umbrella - for clarity, I am from the fairground/circus so a Showman, but my family were simply âgypsiesâ before getting involved in that in the Victorian period, so I use gypsy/traveller/Showman for myself. I also speak Romani and grew up in the culture and on the grounds. Iâm not just talking out of my arse, I promise. 3) I do not pretend to have read every comic. However, this post will be based in things which DC have published (yeah I know it gets retconned every two minutes but hey, Iâm working with it), even if some of it is more speculative/Headcanony, it will all be canon-compliant/what makes sense based on my own experiences. 4) That being said, everyone who does in some way fall under the GRTSB acronym will have different experiences and opinions, and all are equally valid and should be respected. 5) I use the term âgypsyâ a lot. Where I am from, it is not a slur, but is used almost a catch-all phrase for GRTSB people, by us. We also see Dick use it so Iâm going to. I personally donât mind if people use it (so long as they donât use it as an insult) but not everyone will feel that way, so itâs always better to ask individuals. 6) this post is intended as a fun exploration of a character whom I relate to based on our shared heritage (when itâs really rare to find characters like that). Iâm not trying to dictate to you how you should interpret Dickâs character. Youâre welcome to different opinions and interpretations - this is just one of mine! :)
So, first, what is GRTSB? Well, itâs an acronym which covers all aspects of the gypsy/traveller umbrella. It is used in British legislation. It stands for Gypsy Romani Traveller Showman (aka fairground and circus) Boater. Under British legislation, only the first three (Gypsies, Romani, and Travellers) are considered an ethnic identity, whilst Showmen and Boaters are considered a cultural identity.
This is absolutely FULL of problems and has been hotly debated for years, with different people identifying in different ways. People who share the same/very similar ethnic heritage (i.e. siblings, or cousins) can have completely different points of view on what they identify as. As such, donât take it as gospel - itâs more of a guideline than anything. Especially since a) these groups often intermarry, meaning that someone can be multiple at once; b) if a Showman stops travelling with the fair and settles, they donât become a non-traveller, because itâs in your blood, not just a job; c) people can trace their heritage back past a particular group - e.g. my own family (circus and fairgrounds aka Showmen) can be traced back to at least the 1600s, before fairs were really a thing - at the time, they simply identified as gypsies. They didnât stop being gypsies just because they changed their job/founded a circus/fairground. As such, many in my family identify primarily as a gypsy or traveller, and a Showman secondarily, whilst others do the opposite, or identify as just a Showman or just a traveller/gypsy. Like I say, this classification is not perfect, and is hotly debated, especially at the present time.
So, now, onto the subject of Dick Grayson. I included the tags above mostly because of the âtell me you donât know a character without telling me you donât know a characterâ, because, firstly, rude. secondly, the poster makes reference to the Golden Age. And yeah, obviously DC arenât going to make reference to Dick being a gypsy in the Golden Age - do you really expect writers in the 40s to care enough about the nuances of a characterâs ethnic heritage, especially a gypsy, at a time when it was still common even in countries like England (where legal segregation wasnât a thing) to have signs on pubs like âno blacks, no Irish, no dogs, no gypsiesâ - btw we still get those occasionally? However, if we look at the comics which have been published in the eighty five years since Dickâs debut, we see a lot of references to Dick having Romani/GRTSB heritage. Again, Iâm not well read, but in Graysonâs run, at least, we do see Dick speaking Romani and self-identifying as a gypsy (Nightwing #91 btw). So Iâm sorry but it is definitely canon that Dick has at least some Romani heritage (since Romani, by culture, is not taught to non-travellers on purpose, and is thus only passed down from parent to child. Hell, even some of my cousins who are half gypsy - Diddakois - donât know the language!), and the fact that he speaks it and IDs as a gypsy does suggest that this is something important to him and his character. I know that being a gypsy is certainly a big thing to me (with how the world treats us, you have to be proud of it and have it be important to you to make it worth it).
So now we come onto the second part of my rant: wtf is going on with Halyâs Circus.
So, an important bit of context is, what makes a gypsy a gypsy? And the answer to that, in my opinion, is a mix between culture and blood. You canât be a gypsy (unless in circumstances like adoption) unless you have both. What I mean by that is, if youâve got one gypsy great great great grandparent, but werenât bought up with the culture and morals, you have gypsy heritage but are not a gypsy. However, if you are a gypsy and you decide to settle down in a house, work in an office, and never speak Romani again, you are still a gypsy. Similarly, if you suddenly decide to take on the gypsy lifestyle (maybe work on the fairgrounds or in the circus, or go travelling like the New Age lot), you are not a gypsy, because itâs not in your blood - hence why itâs an ethnicity, not a cultural thing really. As such, it is common for there to be a us vs them mentality even with those working on the ground - you have the gypsy/traveller/Showman who tends to own/run things, and then you have hired non-GRTSB staff (traditionally called chaps, but this has fell out of fashion in recent years).
Now, I make this distinction because Halyâs Circus is really odd in that regard.
Most gypsy (or Showmen - like I say, it can be both at the same time) ran circuses and fairs tend to be family affairs. For example, it might be John Doeâs Circus on the tin, but the Smith family (which Mr Doeâs sister married into) will often work with and alongside the Does in the running and operating of the events. Largely, this is on an ownership level, with various relations then owning the surrounding supporting elements (e.g. sideshows, fairground rides and joints, food kiosks). Other family members might then help âmindâ the stuff, or you can hire non-GRTSB staff to help.
Now to draw on my own family history: historically, in the Victorian period, etc, it was common for the gypsy family who owned the circus to also perform in it. For example, in my grandfatherâs circus, my grandmother was a lion tamer and equestrian performer in parades. They did also hire non-traveller performers, but there wasnât such a distinct line. However, by the 30s approximately, this had changed to be a more managerial role, with it being more common to have purely hired performers in the main event. The exception here was for sideshows and fairground rides - it is still common today for these to be ran/worked by GRTSB people (e.g. my grandmother did the dookering - fortune telling - and my grandfather did the boxing; today, we still run and operate the rides and kiosks).
However, we know that Halyâs circus was not like that. We honestly donât know if Haly was a gypsy or not. Also, usually, gypsies have such big families and are surrounded by them, but we know that the Graysons died with no living family (no William Cobb does not count here) and had no relation to anyone at Halyâs. I suppose if you want a canon answer, you could point to how Halyâs was used by the Court of Owls, but it could just be Like That. This is unusual but not unheard of, but still worth pointing out I think. Alternatively, it could originate from one of the non-GRTSB started circuses which were popular around the turn of the 20th century. Since being a gypsy is really tied to your family name and, ethnically, means you have to be born into it - you canât just start a fair and claim to be one-, even 120 years later, these families are still met with scepticism - they could marry into a 100% gypsy family in 1901, and have all of their descendants do the same, and still the older generation would look at their surname and scoff and say theyâre not a real traveller because that one great grandfather 100 years ago was not a born-and-bred traveller. But honestly, I think 100 years is enough to integrate. So, to summarise, Halyâs circus is quite unusual in that it does not appear to be operated by only gypsies/Showmen, even if it still common for circuses not to be performed in by just gypsies.
Now, to answer, how Romani is Dick Grayson?
Like I say, canon does explicitly tell us that he has Romani heritage, placing him firmly within that second category of the GRTSB acronym (and he also identifies with the more general Gypsy identity). However, itâs frankly unlikely that the writers really went in depth with the whole GRTSB thing, so I think we can tentatively suggest that he might have also identified (keyword here being âmightâ - this is more canon-compliant HC here yâall) as a Showman (called a Carney in the US) because the whole deal with being a Showman is the circus/fairground aspect (but, like I say, it is still a âgypsyâ identity as you must be born a Showman, you canât just sign up, because it is based on a mutual gypsy heritage which predates fairgrounds/circuses, which means it still fits into what we know of Dick in canon. As such, Dick being a Showman is hardly canon, but it is 100% compliant with what we know of Dick in canon). As Iâve said, they are not mutually exclusive. He could ID as both or either, or just prefer the all-encompassing âgypsyâ.
Now, we also know that Dick is not 100% gypsy (but tbh who is nowadays? I have two non-gypsy great-great grandfathers). Although Dickâs family history is limited, we know that his great grandfather William Cobb was likely not a gypsy (he could be ethnically, itâs not ruled out, he might have just settled, but letâs go for safetyâs sake here and just say heâs not). Similarly, his partner was from a wealthy non-gypsy family, meaning that ethnically, their baby (John Graysonâs father) was likely not a gypsy (though could potentially have been a Diddakoi aka a half-gypsy, if we believe William Cobb to be a settled gypsy). However, since this baby still grew up amongst the circus, it is not impossible that he ended up marrying a gypsy, which would make John Grayson half gypsy - aka a Diddakoi. In fact, I would argue that it is even likely, owing to the fact that Dick speaks Romani, and the fact that Romani is only taught to other members of the family, meaning that somewhere in the Grayson family, a Romani speaker had to be introduced. Mary Grayson (formerly Lloyd), on the other hand, probably was Romani/GRTSB herself. I say this, based mostly on her closeness with the OG Richard aka Raptor from Seeleyâs run, who was Romani, and the fact that it is really common in gypsy circles to mostly mix with other gypsies, meaning that it would make sense for the pair to meet based on the fact that they were both gypsies/Romani. Therefore, I would argue that even if Dick is not wholly Romani/gypsy ethnically (but, like I say, who is nowadays?), I think there is enough both blood and culturally to make a pretty good case for him IDing as such, and foregoing the need to make any distinction. (Also, especially nowadays when Diddakois are increasingly more common, itâs not even that prejudiced to be a Diddakoi. A lot of my cousins are and you donât even think to mention it). Aka. Heâs a gypsy. Nuff said.
Then, I suppose, the final thing Iâll address is the âwhitewashingâ issue, or, what I really think is a non-issue.
Sure, a lot of ethnically Romani people are dark skinned. There is a reason why the term gypsy exists. Now, as my grandad will tell you, gypsies originated from Northern India about 2000 years ago, before moving into Europe. However, a lot can happen in 2000 years. There are a lot of people in the UK, at least, who identify as purely Romani who have very pale skin. My family has a real split: my dadâs side of the family is quite dark, and are often mistaken for being South Asian in the summer due to how dark they get when they tan. Meanwhile, he refers to my motherâs side of the family as being âpoxy and pastyâ. My mother is a full-blooded traveller btw, same as my dad (barring their singular non-gypsy great grandad they each had). You just canât paint everybody with the same brush. Take me for example: I am pale af and take after my mumâs side of the family, but Iâve still got the stereotypical dark curly hair and blue eyes of gypsies (which my boy also shares). Genetics are weird. So whilst I am a big fan of dark skinned Romani Dick Grayson, itâs also still ok and accurate for him to be paler. This does not make him any less Romani. (Like I say, this is all based on my experiences in the UK).
SOOO⌠TLDR:
Dick definitely has Romani heritage. This has been canon for decades and cannot be taken away from him.
He canonically self-IDs as a âgypsyâ (as well as the Romani heritage), and may also be interpreted as being a Showman (even if this is more of a European term) if you want to see him that way, especially since a lot of Showman families (mine included) can trace their families back past the origin of the fairground to when they simply identified as gypsies or Romani (hence why Dick might ID as a gypsy with Romani heritage. Honestly, this is mostly in the realm of canon-compliant Headcanon now)
The GRTSB classification system is a mess yâall and everyone has a different opinion. Just roll with it and donât get into the debates is my professional opinion.
Being Romani/a gypsy/a traveller/a Showman is something you are born into. You canât just become one, or stop being one. So, if we presume that William Cobb had no Romani heritage/was not a settled-down Gypsy, even after he joined Halyâs he did not become one. It really is in your blood, and is tied to family.
Halyâs circus is unusual because itâs mostly not a family affair (though points for the Graysons sticking with it and inheriting their roles - that is realistic!). Itâs unclear how many of the members of the circus are Romani.
Dick also has non-traveller heritage due to the William Cobb thing. His grandfather, at least, was probably not ethnically Romani (though he might have been half if we want to view William Cobb as having Romani heritage/being a settled gypsy). However, since Dick canonically has Romani heritage, IDs as a gypsy, and speaks Romani (a language which is closely guarded amongst gypsies), it had to come in somewhere. Honestly, I think we can comfortably view him as being at least 3/4 ethnically Romani/a Gypsy, but also since modern Dick Grayson was not born during prohibition, this really isnât a problem as itâs really common for Diddakois (half gypsies) to be treated as full gypsies nowadays.
As much as I love darker skinned Dick Grayson, itâs not a requirement. A lot of the GRTSB community (especially in Western Europe/Britain/Ireland) are on the pale side. This does not take away from their identity.
So thatâs my rant. Itâs like 3.30am so itâs probably a complete mess but hopefully it gets down the basics, at least insofar as it relates to my experiences and understanding as a gypsy from the fairground/a circus family. People will probably have different experiences (especially since Iâm in the UK). Although I have based all of this on canon, and as such it should all be canon-compliant to my knowledge (Iâve still not read all the comics!), it is also equally based on my experiences, so you may interpret it completely differently. The beauty of Dickâs character is that he has been built up over 85 years, and as such, we have to do our best to interpret what was laid down in the Golden Age by writers with no idea of what Dickâs character would grow to be. As such, canon really is a bit of a sandbox, and this is my own go at it!
If anyone has any questions/wants clarification/notices any obvious contradictions with canon since Iâve not read them all yet, please feel free to point it out! This is not intended to be a lecture/call out post/dictatorship on how you view canon, just a small exploration of my interpretation of a character whom I relate to as a Romani speaking gypsy from the fairground/circus myself.
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Shep-Centric Thoughts...
I'm plotting out a Shep-centric fic and I have come to the conclusion that this man is amazing, awesome, and doesn't get enough attention in the fandom.
Bullet points on why below...
One: His relationship with Phee.
Are they actually, biologically related? Was she instrumental in helping him and Lyana find Pabu, this safe place away from the Empire? Has she saved his and his daughter's life and now he feels like she's the greatest person ever? Was she a stray he found with a bullet wound in her side and a machete sword in her hand, snarling and snapping until he and Lyana "tamed" her? We don't know...but we're durn sure they're close and that for all anyone knows, they're family through and through.
Two: His willingness to accept Phee's friends.
Now, Phee might have called ahead to tell our friendly mayor that she was bringing friends, but even if she did Shep is so freaking welcoming. He doesn't ask how or why she came into sudden possession of three muscley ex-commandos and a smol danger child but you know what? He doesn't really care either. They're Phee's friends and so they're his friends, full stop.
Three: His eagerness to make the Batch feel accepted.
Throughout his scenes, Shep is going out of his way to make the Batchers feel safe and at home on Pabu. I ADORE that he seems to give extra attention to Hunter, who has the hardest time adjusting to a non-combat life and who is constantly on edge regarding the safety of those around him. Shep is also a leader in a way, so I feel like he understands a little of where Hunter is coming from, but because he's a normal human, he recognizes that Hunter's obsession with keeping what is left of his broken family together is breaking the sergeant. Because his accelerated life has been spent as an experimental soldier who may or may not see tomorrow and who must constantly be on guard, Hunter doesn't know how to be safe. He can't accept it because it goes against his very DNA. I think Shep clocks that and is trying to reassure the tracker that he can relax on Pabu - -that they're not threats, but also that Hunter and his brothers and sister are not a threat to the Pabuans, either.
Four: His insistence that they stay.
Shep isn't blind and I'm sure that little things reveal to him that the Batchers have all had very rough lives. Instead of pushing them away and being unwilling to take on their issues, Shep is completely sincere in wanting them to stay on Pabu, to build a new life for themselves despite what they've already been through.
When Wrecker says he's never full, what does that trigger in Shep's mind? I think he would instantly realize that these are survivors, but because he's around them, watching them, he also notices that just because they know how to survive doesn't know they know how to actually live. The Batchers are still adjusting to not being soldiers and now they're fugitives, castaways. Even before the war ended, they were experiments and viewed as canon fodder, created for a war that they didn't get to choose to fight. But more than pitying them, I think Shep would just be that much more eager to set their minds at ease and help them adapt to civilian life. That's certainly what he seems to be doing in the buildup to Season Three.
And now we just have some more pics because I love Shep so much.
#the bad batch#star wars#tbb hunter#sw tbb#tbb wrecker#tbb echo#tbb crosshair#tbb tech#shep hazard#lyana hazard#phee genoa#tech x phee#tbb phee#pabu#peace on pabu#shep is underappreciated and I shall change that#fic coming soon
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Hey Ghoul, hope your doing well. I'm sending this in hope of some advice. You can totally ignore this if you're uncomfortable. I've gotten myself into a certain situation and I can't stop myself anymore. A few years ago I started exchanging flirty texts with this coworker/friend. We no longer work together but are still in touch, every few months we would grab dinner together (with another friend so we're never alone). The thing is he's married, and recently had his first kid. Our less than friendly interactions started when we were still working together, during his first year marriage they were having issues and he confided in me, and I was having alot of family issues and I leaned on him, and we became close. We never did anything physical, it was more like dirty jokes and occasional flirty comments back then.
Over the last few years it's escalated, I recognize he would text me whenever he was horny and always lead the conversation to suggestive texts. I never started it, but I never stop or discouraged it either.
The thing is (and it's no excuse) I'm in my 30s and I've never been in a relationship, never been the girl guys choose or wanted and am extremely lonely. I like the attention he gives me and I can't stop myself from replying or engaging with him. I want to stop, I don't want to be the other woman. I know he'll probably never leave his wife, certainly not for me.
This is probably the only male attention I've ever gotten in my life, and I know male validation isn't something I should strive for but having never received any it feels nice. It doesn't feel nice being a dirt secret.
I don't know. Thanks for reading if you got this far...I just don't know how to stop myself
Wow. This is a lot friend. I want to start by saying I think for your friend's wife's sake I think you should block him.
While you're not without blame in this situation, this man also sounds like absolute trash for letting this go on this long without stopping. He has a wife and child, and any good person would not be cheating on their partner like this. That said, you should show some compassion for not just the wife but yourself and get this man out of your life asap.
This validation and attention feels good in the moment because it's fleeting and you don't have to worry about any of the hard relationship stuff, you get the pay off of "you're hot" without any of the emotional stuff of a relationship, and as good as it feels in the short term it's not going to help you in the long run. Which you already know because you've said it doesn't feel nice being a dirty secret.
Now. It is a terrifically false statement that you have "never been the girl guys choose or want." It is an unkindness to yourself and a categorically untrue thing to say. You don't know how many people have seen you and wanted you or known you and never said anything about wanting you. And to wallow in self-pity and say "but I do, and that number is zero" is just stupid. It's stupid and it's unkind to the people that pined for you, it's also just-
like there's a measure of self-centeredness to self-loathing that I think makes people think they know other people and how they should think better than they actually do. You don't know how many people or who has loved you for 30 years, and unfortunately you probably never will, but to assume that number is zero is just statistically improbable.
I've been where you are, when you've never gotten what you think every other woman does it's intoxicating to get that male attention. You feel almost honored that you finally got cat called, that some guy is giving you attention through flirty texts, that people are liking your bikini photos, or your male friend from college is rekindling your friendship. Craving this sort of validation isn't great, but it's understandable. What I think is more important to realize is that these men don't respect you, or care for you, and are using you as a means to an end.
You should block him because you deserve better than being a dirty secret, and you should start trying to love yourself more. Just because you're not your type doesn't mean you're no one's type, and just because you've never dated doesn't mean no one has wanted to date you. Most people cannot identify when someone is flirting with them, but that doesn't mean people weren't trying.
Give yourself some credit, and this guy's wife some peace of mind.
#ghoul speaks#I will not be giving my full opinion on this#but I tried to be helpful#but also you are actively helping this guy cheat on his wife#and you need to stop it#if you think you're a good person then do the right thing
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đTo begin again
Ushijima Wakatoshi x gn!reader
summary: between wakatoshi and you, there used to be love. until there wasn't.
content warnings: angst i guess? (i want to say no happy ending but itâs supposed to be hopeful sooo idk)
words count: 1.1k
You broke up with Wakatoshi a month ago.
Your brand-new apartment smells like paint and cardboard. The floor is cool beneath your bare feet. Itâs quietâtoo quiet. Youâd imagined the silence would be peaceful, that starting over would bring relief, but all it does is remind you of everything thatâs missing. That he is missing.
You used to think your old place was empty too, since neither of you were ones to accumulate much, but at least there was love.
Until there wasnât.
You wrap your arms around yourself, sat in the middle of the living room, and glance at the unopened boxes stacked against the wall. You havenât had the energy to unpack. You tell yourself youâll get to it tomorrow, but tomorrow keeps stretching further away. Maybe because opening them means admitting that thisâthis cold, white-walled spaceâis home now. That you wonât hear his keys jingling at the door. That his shoes will no longer be next to yours in the genkan. That this bed, this life, is only yours now.
The world keeps turning. People wake up and go to work. Lovers smile. Families gather. Friends laugh.
And youâre here. Alone.
How unfair.
You check your phone out of habit. You already know thereâs nothing new, but you do it anyway. Wakatoshi was never a good texter, but there was a time when his messages made you feel like you belonged to someone. Short, precise words that were so utterly him. We won. Iâm going to bed. How was your day? And sometimes, when he was away for too longâI miss you.
But you learned to read the silence, too. When his replies grew slower, when he stopped asking how you were. You traced the distance through every unanswered text, every forgotten call, every late night that turned into early morning without a word from him. You used to count the days he was gone. In the beginning, he counted them too.
Then, he stopped.
You donât even remember the exact moment it started slipping away. Maybe it was gradual, like leaves falling in autumn, one by one, before the branches turn bare. Maybe it was when he stopped asking if youâd wait up for him. Or when you started eating dinner alone without bothering to set an extra plate. Maybe it was when the bed felt colder, even when he was in it.
He used to know you. He used to see you.
Even when he was oceans away, he could tell. If your voice was different, if your laugh was forced, if something had chipped away at your heart that day. He knew without asking.
So, when you told him that night, âI canât do this anymore. Iâm tired, âtoshi.â
And he answered, âI didnât know,â and then, âwhy didnât you talk to me?â
Your heart shattered into a million pieces (you didnât think it was possible for your heart to break even more). You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry.
Because you thought he would notice. The dark circles under your eyes. The way your smiles didnât reach your eyes. The nights you curled up on the couch instead of waiting for him in bed. How you stopped reaching for him in your sleep.
You kept waiting for him to see it. To see you.
But he never did.
And so you left.
And for a moment, just a brief moment, you thought he would fight for you. That heâd realise what he lost. (At least, youâd hoped).
At first, he did. He messaged you every day to ask if you were okay. To tell you he missed you. That he wanted you back.
It almost made your mind falter, your heart waver.
But slowly, the messages became less frequent. Just like before.
And then, nothing.
You want to laugh at the irony of it. Heâs always been good at letting go. At moving forward. Why did you think it would be any different with you? Just because you dated for five years? Just because you talked about rings and big houses in the countryside and what it would feel like to have a kid or two playing in the garden?
Your throat feels too tight for air to get through. You want to cry.
Still, here in your cold, brand-new apartment, you think of little but him. You even find yourself wondering where he is now. Is he looking at the pictures of you on the wall of your once-shared living room? Or did he take them down? Or, worse, is he walking past them without really seeing?
Does he think of you at all? Or is he only looking ahead, already chasing the next goal, the next game, the next gold medal?
You loved that about him. His dedication, his discipline, the way he always knew where he was going. You told yourself you never resented it. That you understood. When you started dating a pro athleteâa brilliant one, the prodigyâyou promised yourself you would never ask him to choose between you and the sport that shaped him.
But now, standing here, you think (not without a guilt that rips your guts out) if maybeâdeep downâyou wouldn't have wanted him to choose you.
There was hurt in his eyes when you left him, it made you wonder if you should have told him how you felt sooner.
But what would it have changed?
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
In the end, you both made the same choice. You chose yourselves. Himself, over you. Yourself, over him.
What are you going to do now? Who were you before him? What do you have left, if not a broken heart?
"Youâll start over," a small voice echoes in your head. The one that believes there is something beyond this ache.
Youâll learn to cook for one (you always made too much when he was away.) Youâll wake up alone in a bed that feels too big. Even though, you should be used to it by now.
How many nights had you already spent alone? Too many. Itâd take hours to count them all.
But before, the door had always been open. Because there had always been the promiseâthe quiet certaintyâthat he would come home. But he wonât. Not anymore.
Youâll go days without speaking, without hearing his voice, without feeling the warmth of his presence (itâs time to be your own rock).
And maybe thatâs okay.
New beginnings are supposed to be exciting, arenât they?
One day, his name wonât sit at the top of your messages. One day, you wonât instinctively turn to tell him something, only to remember heâs not there. One day, his absence wonât feel like an open wound.
Youâll watch his life on the screen, the way you once watched him sleep beside you. Youâll learn to un-recall the way his name felt on your lips.
The world is at your feet now. Make it yours.
Your brand-new apartment. Cardboard boxes and white walls. A scent of something fresh, untouched.
But outside, the sky is blue. Thereâs a little shop downstairs that sells Taiwanese food. And a park across the street. Soon, the sakura will bloom.
And if you listen closely, you can almost hear children laughing, the wind rustling through the trees. Listen, listen, it whispers something.
You can begin again.
a/n: the sun is shining outside and i just wanted to remind everyone that you'll get through this
(i broke my own heart writing this btw hahaha)
#ushijima wakatoshi#ushijima x reader#haikyuu ushijima#haikyuu ushiwaka#ushijima x you#ushijima x y/n#haikyuu wakatoshi#wakatoshi x reader#haikyuu angst#haikyuu hurt#ushijima angst#haikyuu#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!!#hq!!#hq x reader#hq x you#hq x y/n#haikyuu time skip#haikyuu fanfiction
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What's Sasuke and Karin's friendship like?
i canât tell if youâre asking me for hcs or use canon? anyway i guess they both the same anyway because i donât like changing stuff. so yeah they are a very subtle friendship since karin is a side character and not meant at the center of sasukeâs arc the way itachi and naruto are but i still find them very precious.
like imagine youâre karin and you have no family and no village and youâre basically the lab experiment of some freak and thereâs this boy that saves your life and is the only person kind to you (you can notice is takaâs interactions sasuke defends karin from suigetsu which i find really nice of him). it makes perfect sense to me karin grows very attached to sasuke. heâs also the one to kill her abuser (more because orochimaru is his abuser as well but yeah) and free her of duty, and trusts his back to her. the way jugo tells sasuke they have to leave karin behind because they wonât make it otherwise but sasuke stands his ground and does everything to save her itâs so telling and debunks any argument people have of sasuke just seeing her as a tool.
in fact, i find hilarious ppl use him stabbing karin at 5ks as their proof when the whole point of that scene is seeing how far gone sasuke was and his mental instability when faced against the responsibility for itachiâs and his clan massacre that he ended up hurting a friend that gave all to help him. obito literally calls karin sasukeâs favorite out of taka during that fight, do people just assume kishimoto added that for no reason? but anyways back to them. i also love that despite his crush and flirting, karin also can talk back to sasuke and isnât meek. she isnât scared to call him out when she wants to. sasuke also apologizes to her and ik shippers of all kind love to say he didnât mean it but thereâs no indication he wasnât sincere unless you try to push an agenda lol. i also love that sensing sasuke in danger got karin to unlock the uzumaki chains technique so she could get to save him, it shows how much she cares (and it kinda parallels him saving her during the killer bee fight). and lastly karin just wants sasuke happy like for all her crush can be annoying at times she really cares more for sasukeâs happiness than âwinningâ him and doesnât try to generate pity with her feelings to get him to stay with her and i think thatâs why sasuke doesnât find her annoying lol.
so to summarize it, i adore their friendship even if itâs not in your face and you have to pick it up. i think they care about each other and like each other presences. i can also see them bonding over their traumas being victims of orochimaruâs grooming and being understanding. i like to think even after moving on from her crush karin still acts clingy and annoying w sasuke but instead of being confused like before he just now is like Whatever and lets her because they both know itâs not serious.
#ask#i still need a tag for themm#my fave sasuke bond after ns and uchbrothers trulyy#they were done really dirty for many translations also i found some analysis talking about it its just sad that only sk cared#this is late as always im sorryy
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sometimes a family is you, your girlfriend, her husband who's also your boyfriend, your mutual son and his electric rat, a mr. mime, and a baby
#delia ketchum#professor burnet#professor kukui#anipoke#pokeani#pokemon sumo#millidrew#art#my post#imagine the profs in i <3 milfs shirt thanks#probably a long multi-year slow burn that's also a very fast burn#bc they co-parent as friends for years. they're just known as ash's parents/family#kukui and burnet are madly in love and everyone knows it so they wouldn't consider the idea of there being someone else for a long time#delia wouldn't want to leave her restaurant in pallet and obvs the profs are staying in alola for their work so there's physical distance#so they call a lot until they get closer and closer until their lives aren't just connected by their love of ash#but also their relationships with each other <3#like i imagine they'd call for baby advice abt lei forgetting its like 4am in kanto LMAO and delia reminiscences on raising ash#as a single teen mom w/ no support. and maybe they surprise her by visiting!!!#i don't know how long it'd take for her to see lei in person tho... i think delia would have to go to alola#and ofc delia has feelings about ash and his second family and them seeing him more than she sees him at first#but it works out in the end because she's still a part of it <3 and bc ash is like her and neither dwell on feelings for too long#they're too whimsical#ash is just happy his mom's happy. and naturally they're both oblivious to the romantic aspects AKSDKMA#this isn't inherently romantic but it's about family...intimacy...love that creeps up on you but feels totally natural...#also i think they should kiss
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Business call.
It slipped out.
#he quickly hung up after that HAHA#you know how you just like call family or friends and end it with love you bye? he made that mistake but like with his boss yknow#devildice#the devil#devil Cuphead#Cuphead devil#human devil#human king dice#king dice#my art#my post#Cuphead#the cuphead show#devil#snake eyes
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