#if i'm not showing up in the tags again i'm going to toss this entire website in the trash

[nebulousbrainsoup]

I’ve had this thought in my mind for a while and even at work I just couldn’t get it out of my head so I was wondering if you can write a Hongjoong smut and include the reader leaving kisses (maybe some hickeys) on Hongjoong’s “NO1LIKEME” tattoo, and that just making joong go ballistic and messing up the reader (in a good way ofc)☺️🫶

ohhhhh nonnie. yes, yes, 1000x yes you absolutely can. as someone who loves having their tattoos traced and such, you have my heart for this request. i'm smooching you on the forehead (with ur consent). i'm so very sorry this took so long my dear, but i hope you enjoy!

Mine

PAIRING: boyfriend!hongjoong x fem bodied!reader (no pronouns used) GENRE: smut, fluff TAGS/WARNINGS: established relationship, hongjoong's tattoo, no use of y/n, quick edit, the rest are under the cut~ WORD COUNT: 2.5k of mostly filth!

nsfw tags under the cut ; masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

this work is 18+. this is a friendly reminder that if i catch a minor interacting with this work, they will be blocked. so don't :)

divs from @cafekitsune

NSFW TAGS/WARNINGS: pwp, pet names (love, dollface, little dove, angel), hickeys, thigh riding, edging, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (boo 👎), possessive!joong strikes again, creampie; lmk if i missed any

It had begun innocently enough. You were laid out across the couch with your head in Hongjoong’s lap, the most recent episode of what you two had deemed your show playing on the TV. He was enthralled, eyes glued to the screen, stomach twitching with his gasps and fist clenching the cushions every time something big happened. Your gaze, however, had been locked onto the black calligraphy etched into his skin, “NO1LIKEME” on display for anyone who dared think otherwise. The seasons were changing, the weather just this past month turning warm enough to force your boyfriend out of his sweaters and hoodies and, just as you had every year since he got it, you found yourself obsessing over his tattoo.

Thoughtlessly, you reached up, your fingers barely coming in contact with the ink before he jumped slightly, and you jerked your hand back. “S-Sorry.” You huffed a laugh, turning back to the TV to hide your visible embarrassment.

To your surprise, he let out a quiet giggle, and you glanced back up to find a curious half-smile on his face. “It’s okay," he reassured, “I just wasn’t expecting it.” You nodded slightly dismissively, lost in your own little world of mortification. Of all the things for him to catch you ogling, it was his tattoo. How weird did he think you were, now? 

Before you could delve too far down that particular shame-filled rabbit hole, a weight settled on your stomach, yanking you out of your spiral. Hongjoong’s hand had dropped from the couch, and when you tossed a confused look in his direction, you were met with a warm, reassuring smile. “Now you don’t have to reach up as far,” he muttered, giving your hip a squeeze before turning back to your show. The heat that had risen to your cheeks amplified as you blinked up at him in mild shock. 

When you reached up again, you caught his eyes flickering your way, and you could have sworn his arm shifted toward you, but he didn’t pull away this time. Gingerly, your fingers brushed over the line of text, one after the other, up and back down his inner arm. You felt his muscles twitch under the attention, his fingers tapping out the energy you were filling him with as you set his nerves alight. You smiled softly, sneaking one more glance to his face before all your focus shifted entirely back to the characters curling up over his bicep, touch remaining feather-light as you resolved to trace each one. The little jolts that shook his arm only grew in intensity as you continued your ministrations, entranced by every curve and line, lips parted in awe. 

The first quiet, nearly imperceptible change in his breathing was the little gasp left him when you were halfway through, your fingertip dancing over the loops dotting the ‘I.’ He shifted under you and you snuck a glance up to his face again and, finding his eyes still glued to the TV screen, you let your fingers continue their journey. The second came shortly thereafter, a ragged sigh leaving him when your touch left his skin just long enough to shift from the first ‘E’ to the ‘M,’ and this time he shifted with it, sitting up straighter and forcing your head closer to his knees. When you glanced up, you caught his gaze flickering away, eyelids hooded and plush lips parted as he turned back to the screen. 

You bit back the sly grin that threatened to break over your face, taking your time drawing over the last two letters before letting your hand fall back to your side. He let out another shaky breath, glancing down to flash you a slight smile. “Have fun?” You nodded, and his warm smile spread. “Good. It’s there any time you want it.”

His hand left your hip to reach for the couch cushions again, but before he could stray too far, you caught his wrist and flashed him a playful glare.

“I wasn’t done,” you huffed, earning a quiet giggle from him. 

“Okay, okay, go ahead.”

You grinned, shifting to sit up and watching with glee as his face shifted to confusion. You’d settled cross-legged, your back turned to the TV as you draped his arm over the back of the couch, returning it to its original position. Hongjoong had turned his attention from the show to you, following your movements with a confused, crooked smile. You flashed him an impish grin, trailing your fingers up and down his skin once more, delighting in the way his gaze darkened and he sighed. Barely managing to tear your eyes away from his face, you zeroed in on your next point of focus while your thumb swirled around it—the face doodled into the ‘O.’ 

Before he could protest, your head darted down, lips pressing against it. You felt him jerk underneath you, the couch cushions shifting beside you as he moved closer. Grinning against his skin, you let yourself wander, pressing increasingly open-mouthed kisses over the tattoo. You could feel him inching closer, each one making his arm twitch underneath you and pulling a quiet noise from him. Your eyes slipped shut as you drank them in, as you drank him in, your kisses lingering and your teeth beginning to graze his skin lightly. He hissed quietly with the first pinch, and you giggled to yourself, soothing the pain with your tongue. 

The feeling of his free arm wrapping around your waist made you jump, turning to find his face mere centimeters from your own with a dangerous fire sparking to life in his eyes. 

“What do you think you’re doing, love?”

You met him with that same impish grin he always wanted to wipe off of your face. “Having fun.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes with an amused smile, and if you hadn’t already decided on your next course of action, you would have right then and there. Flashing him a glare and a disgruntled frown, you leaned back down to his arm, sinking your teeth into the bare skin below the crossbar of the ‘K.’ Hongjoong jolted under you, his muscles tensing and a choked off groan falling from his lips as you sucked and bit at it, your tongue following closely behind to lessen the sting. When you sat back on your heels again, the pretty pink spot left behind had you beaming with pride, and you darted down to press another kiss over it. 

Before you could give anywhere else the same treatment, his grip on the cushions released and his hand snapped up, quickly fisting into the hair at your nape to pull you into a bruising kiss. Your noise of surprise was muffled by his lips and you melted into him, hands planting themselves firmly on his shoulders. His free arm wrapped its way around your waist and he tugged at you, guiding you to straddle his thigh. You were both breathless when he pulledyou back, lips red and swollen and eyes already glazing over. 

“You really like my tattoo, huh?” he breathed, letting his right arm fall back against the couch. Immediately, your eyes zeroed back in on the ink, and you nodded. “Give it some more attention, then, dollface. Show me how much you love it.”

The grin fixed on his face made your stomach flip, a pleasant mixture of anticipation and arousal lighting through you. Biting your lip, you nodded, attention turning back to the text curling up his bicep. After pressing a kiss to the mark you had already left, you quickly shifted to dot the ‘I’ with a mark of your own making, sucking and lapping at Hongjoong’s skin. The quiet sighs he let out were music to your ears, and you spared a glance toward him, catching his gaze as you found it fixed solidly on you. The corner of his mouth ticked back into that signature smirk of his and you felt his thigh twitch under you, your breath catching in your throat. You paused your work, pulling back with a satisfying pop to face him better. 

His smirk dropped, one eyebrow raising, and he relaxed again. “Done already?”

Heat and nerves coiled in your gut as he stared you down and you floundered for a response, shaking your head silently. Hongjoong always had a way of making you feel small with only a single look, like a mouse caught between a cat’s claws. Slowly, he let his eyes trail back to his tattoo, then back to your face. With a shaky sigh as your mind went a little hazy and lust-clouded, you returned your lips to his skin, resolving to trace every inch of the ink with your tongue. It only took seconds this time for his thigh to flex under you again, and you whined, grinding down against him. His quiet little giggle graced your ears and his free hand settled on your hip, encouraging you to continue your movements. With a soft whine, you complied, hips rolling against him. 

It was only a few short minutes before your arousal had you abandoning your work halfway through, moving instead to press open-mouthed kisses over his skin, nipping at it every so often. You could hear his breathing becoming increasingly ragged as you too became more desperate, the soft whimpers and sighs you let out becoming more frequent as he toyed with you. They were music to his ears and, when coupled with the feeling of your lips worshiping his skin and the sight of you rutting against him, he could feel his own arousal quickly becoming unbearable. A particularly hard bite had him groaning openly and his thigh pressing harder against your aching cunt as his hips sought friction. You released him, throwing your head back with a moan, and he took the opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair again. 

In a matter of seconds, Hongjoong had you face down against the couch, his fingers curling under the waistband of both your lounge shorts and your underwear. With one swift tug, you were left exposed to both the cold air and his hungry gaze. He let out a pleased sigh, one finger coming up to trace lightly between your folds, and a quiet giggle left him as he pulled it back, taking in the slick already coating it.

“Needy for me already,” he purred, and you nodded into the cushions, letting one of your legs fall from the side of the couch to spread yourself further for him. 

Leaning down, he lapped a fat stripe over you, earning a choked, breathy moan. Humming happily, he quickly dropped back down to your clit, lips quickly closing around the sensitive bud. You cried out as he sucked harshly on it, hands stretching out in front of you in search of anything more substantial to grab onto. He quickly shifted up, and you sighed in relief, eyes slipping shut as he began to work you open on his tongue—not that you needed the prep. You would never complain about the magic your boyfriend worked with his tongue, though, your hips rocking back eagerly against his face as you let out little whimpers and sighs. 

When he pulled away with one last lingering suck to your clit, you let out a keen he wanted on a recording, playing on loop in his ears. Sighing contentedly, he pressed one last kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves and sat back on his heels, promptly shoving his sweats down his thighs. You had barely recovered from the second high he’d dangled just out of your reach when you felt the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance, and your whines pitched up again, hips nudging back toward him. He pressed into you in one fluid motion, both of you letting out heady moans—you at the fullness of him, and Hongjoong at the way your walls hugged him. 

Once you had both had a moment to adjust, he pulled his hips back and snapped into you, the suddenness pulling a shout from your throat. He chuckled as he leaned over you and grabbed another handful of your hair, bracing himself on his right arm and forcing your gaze onto the marks you had left. He held his hips still as he pressed his back against yours, lips finding the skin just below your ear. 

“I’m yours,” he muttered against your skin, tugging at your hair lightly. 

A lazy smile spread across your lips and you nodded, committing the sight of his tattoo, painted with your marks, to memory. He laughed quietly at your already fucked out state, the noise sending electricity lighting down your spine. Without warning, he sank his teeth into your skin, pulling it between his teeth, sucking and laving at it enough that you were sure the mark he’d left would be a deep purple in the morning.

“And you’re mine, my little dove. Now sing for me.”

Pressing one last kiss to the mark he’d left, Hongjoong straightened back up, quickly setting into a brutal pace. Your quiet sighs and breathy whines were traded for full-throated moans and needy keens as he railed into you, one hand still in your hair while the other rested firmly on your hip. Each snap of his hips against yours punched another unfiltered sound or curse from you and you melted under him, back arching further into the couch below you. The shift had his cock dragging across your sweet spot with every stroke and you cried out his name, the high you’d lost building rapidly.

“Cum for me, angel,” he managed, pace picking up that much more as he began to use you to chase his own high. 

Only seconds more passed before you were unraveling around him, walls spasming and pulling him in tighter. A drawn-out groan was forced out of him as he fucked you through it, hips stuttering as his own climax washed over him like a wave. He bottomed out within you and you sighed happily, your own orgasm prolonged as thick ropes of his release painted your insides white. You were sated, full of him, surrounded by Hongjoong, a blissful smile gracing your features as you let yourself bask in the afterglow, floating somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness.

You were vaguely aware of movement in your peripheral when you came to again, and a shiver lit down your spine. You were cold, lonely and empty; but in a moment warmth and a familiar scent of home surrounded you, and your sleepy smile returned. Your eyes blinked open to find Hongjoong’s arms wrapped firmly around you. A few of the marks you’d left were visible from this angle, and you let out a pleased hum, leaning forward to press a kiss to one of them.

“Mine,” you sighed, and felt the little giggle that shook his chest.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to the space below your ear, echoing quietly, “Mine.”

TAGLISTS [all open]: permanent: @justhere4kpop @tastymintchocolate @soul-jae ateez: @pyeonghongrie-main @thatonenoona

© June 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my work.

#cromernet #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong x you #hongjoong smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong x y/n #kim hongjoong x you #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #ateez #ateez fanfic #atz #atz hongjoong #neb.atz #nebulous writes #neb.requests #neb.nonnie

[sincerelyverena]

⟡⁺ VAYA CON DIOS TEASER

. . . OLIVER QUICK X GN!READER ‘i don't know if i'm going to see you again, go with god."

comment (or dm) to be added

to the tag-list<3

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver and you form an unlikely bond over his hatred for the cattons and your thirst for revenge. but when you dance with the devil, you're bound to fall. for satan himself or something far more sinister...

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒graphic implied sex ﹐major character death ﹐strangling (non-sexual) (sorry yall) ﹐ drowning (non-sexual)

i wanted to hold off from giving a snippet of this one-shot so soon but im SO excited to show u guys!!

As predicted, the entire Catton household fell apart after Felix was found. He collapsed on the wooden tiling of the bridge, sprawled out with a mouthful of his puke pooled around his ever-paling silhouette.

It was obvious he suspected. He trusted them anyway and attempted to save himself in the process.

Even though you both were invited to the funeral a couple of days after the fact, the rock-tossing (an off-putting tradition in the Catton family) was regarded as family only.

You sat, only an hour later, bare feet dangling off of the edge of the bridge as Oliver attempted to retrieve each rock from the drafts of the flowing river current.

"Don't fall in and drown, Ollie!" You exclaimed, playfulness irking your tone as you grinned down at him. The sight of Oliver, ass-up, in an attempt to grasp the smooth, memorial rock was a sight to witness indeed.

Oliver turned his head and snapped out of his focused determination to flash you a similar smirk. "I'd have to be bound and gagged for that to happen, sweetheart."

His words caused a particular imagery to pollute your thoughts.

Alas, your plans towards the Catton family and their demise were practically writing themselves. Venetia was becoming heavily depressed by the absence of Felix and Farleigh (whom Oliver framed and resulted in him having to exit Saltburn for good). 

With a few metal blades smuggled into a porcelain bath and a few encouraging words from Ollie, the woman was found bathing in her crimson remains. Funeral. Rock-tossing. Rock-retrieving.

"Be careful the rock doesn't weigh you down, Ollie!"

You continued to tease him as he soon approached you. Oliver's typically straight, combed-over locks of caramel were drenched. The waterdrops highlighted the olive tint of his skin, and you wished desperately to kiss all the droplets away.

Oliver took hold of your waist, pulling you in. A droplet of water splashed against the end of your nose, causing a stray laugh to rise out of you. 

"If I'm goin' down, you're goin' down with me."

Oliver lowered his head, his water-dripping, plump lips placed a long kiss on the end of your nose. The sudden shake of his wet strands caused water to spray all across your face. 

You groaned in protest. You kissed him back anyway.

WORD COUNT: 384 MASTERLIST REQ ME!

#🧷﹟ 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 .ᐟ #🕷️﹟ 𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 .ᐟ #oliver quick x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #saltburn #oneshot #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #saltburn imagines #saltburn x reader #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #sincerelyverena #felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #felix catton smut #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you

[chiriwritesstuff]

Hometown Glory; 1. Back to the Old House

Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: Glory and Frankie, two best friends from a small town in Texas, find themselves in different places as adults. They haven't spoken in years, yet find themselves being drawn back home, searching for... something they can't quite explain. Will they be able to find their purpose back to where it all began?

Chapter Warnings and Tags: Strong language, Frankie is going through it, Someone decides it's a good idea to dip in the middle of the night, Sexism in the workplace, Unstable family dynamics.

Word Count: 8k

1998 (16 years old)

It's a school night on a random Monday, and you're perched cross-legged in a boy's room, a bowl of popcorn resting precariously on your lap. With a mischievous grin, you snatch the remote control from said boy, clicking it over to ABC as he groans in annoyance.

"Hey! What the hell!" he grumbles in annoyance, "Don't you know it's rude to just take a man's remote?"

"It's my night, remember?" you remind him playfully. "There's a new episode of Ally McBeal, and I'm dying to find out what happened between Ally and Billy."

"Gross. Not the biggest fan of that girly romance shit-" he drawls from above, his arm snaking around your shoulder as he reaches for a handful of popcorn. "I would rather watch something cool, like that 70s show. At least it's funny."

You roll your eyes at his protest, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Come on, Frankie, let's be real here. We both know the only reason you want to watch it is because you have a huge crush on Jackie," you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But remember, we made a deal, Frankie baby. Mondays are my night!"

Frankie flops back onto his bed, his arms crossed over his chest in a mock pout. "Fine, but I reserve the right to complain the entire time," he declares, a faint smile on his lips. "I mean, at least Ally is kinda hot-"

You playfully toss a piece of popcorn at your best friend. "Anyway, remember when we had to write that paper in Mrs. Miller's class? About what we wanted to be when we grew up?" You lean in closer, your eyes fixed on Calista Flockhart as she flirts with Billy on the screen. "Well, I wrote that I wanted to be just like Ally," you share, taking a sip of Pepsi.

"What, like a lawyer?"

"No, like an actress. Of course like a lawyer!" you exclaim. "I mean, I love to argue-"

"Not correcting you there-"

"... and, it's like, so grown up, right? She looks like someone who has her shit together, her lack of love life notwithstanding, but still. I can see myself doing that!"

Frankie groans as he props himself up on his elbows, his warm breath tickling your ear. "I can totally see you doing that," he says with a chuckle, his voice close to your ear. "But hey, you're good at everything you set your mind to, Glo."

"Aw, Frankie... is that a compliment I hear? maybe I should check outside and see if any pigs are flying-"

"Very funny," he scoffs, joining you on the floor and reaching for the bowl of popcorn. "You know you're smart as hell, so I don't doubt that you can do it."

"What about you?" you ask, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"What about me?" he responds, his shoulder bumping against yours. "What do I want to be when I grow up? That's easy. I want to be a pilot."

"So, like... the military, then? Flying Black Hawks and getting everyone to safety? I always knew you had a hero complex," you tease, nudging him again.

Frankie grins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Yeah, something like that," he says, his voice full of wonder. "I've always wanted to serve my country, you know? And being a pilot in the military seems like the perfect way to do it. Plus, I get to carry a gun," he adds with a smirk. "Chicks dig that, you know?"

"Chicks? Frankie, I love you, but for the love of everything holy, please don't refer to women as "chicks", it's degrading-"

"Some chicks like to be degraded," he quips, cocking his head. "At least that's what the guys say in the locker room."

"Not me though," you muse, resting your head on his shoulder as he settles himself against you more, placing his arm around your shoulder as Ally and Billy kiss on screen. "I guess that makes me not like other girls, huh?"

You feel the slight rumble of his chest as he chuckles.

You swear you feel the ghost of his lips on your temple.

Frankie leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "No, Glory," he whispers. "You're so much more than most girls."

16 years later.

"Excuse me, I think I heard you wrong."

"No, you didn't," you retort firmly, eyeing the hefty stack of papers across from you, addressing the group of men- the partners and board members of the firm you decided to spend the last ten years of your life at seated before you. Settling back into the plush leather chair, you cross your legs with an air of confidence. "While I appreciate your acknowledgment of my ten years of hard work and the countless cases won," you pause for emphasis, casually inspecting your nails before meeting their gaze head-on, "...if it weren't for a stupid technicality, I'd be hailed as the first female lawyer in the entire state of New York with a flawless record, right?"

"Indeed, we recognize your almost-stellar track record," Nigel, the lead partner of your firm continues, glossing over your achievements like you expected, chuckling as he adjusts his suit collar. "That's precisely why we believe it's the perfect time to bring you on as a junior partner. We think you're ready."

"Junior Partner?" you echo, incredulous, your tone laced with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "After all these years of fighting tooth and nail against men who were promoted with far less experience, after winning case after case and saving these assholes millions of dollars in alimony payments, I'm still only good enough to become a Junior Partner? Please. Please tell me you're joking." You lean forward, fixing them with a pointed stare, the intensity of your gaze daring them to justify their belated recognition.

The ten men in question, a mix of balding, beady-eyed partners and sharply dressed greying board members shift uncomfortably in their seats. The rustle of their tailored Armani suits rubbing against one another fills the room with a grating sound akin to nails on a chalkboard.

"It took me a decade to even get offered Junior Partner. How many more years until I'm considered for a full Partnership? Another decade?" you ask, your impatience seeping into each word.

"Is there something amiss?" another member of the board interjects, gesturing towards the stack of papers on the table once more. "We don't often extend promotions like this, especially to someone as young as yourself... or any woman, for that matter," he adds with a cough, a smirk playing on his lips as if he's cracked a clever joke. "Most would consider it a gift, wouldn't you agree?"

"I appreciate the offer, truly," you interject, "but I believe my worth exceeds what you're offering." Each word resonates with a sense of determination, a testament to the challenges you've overcome and the achievements you've earned in your career.

With a flick of your wrist, you push the stack of papers back across the conference table, the pages dancing in the air as the men across from you watch in disbelief. The gravity of your decision hangs heavy in the room. "I'm done," you announce firmly, the weight of your words echoing in the silence that follows.

The room fills with gasps as another suit interjects, his face flushed with anger. "I beg your pardon?!" he exclaims. "This isn't a negotiation, and it's a fair offer for someone of your talents," he spits.

You fix him with a steely gaze. "Tell me, Bill-" you retort sharply, "who's the most sought-after associate in this firm? Why do I have gold-digging socialites, cheating tech bros, and trigger-happy celebrities clamoring for a meeting with me at the front desk? Whose face is it on the news when the courts decide to rule in our favor? Certainly, it isn't any of you, that's for damn sure."

Gone is the girl from the small town off the outskirts of Austin, Texas- a former homecoming queen slash magna cum laude loved and cherished by a town that seemed so minuscule compared to the vastness and hunger of your ambition.

You were both a dreamer and a doer, tirelessly working and amassing scholarship after scholarship, grant after grant. Your sights were set on one school only: Yale. You believed that if you couldn't make it there from the start, settling for anything less wasn't an option.

"I'm gonna be like that when I grow up," you declared, flopping onto the lumpy couch as reruns of Law and Order SVU played in the background. Your Nana, her tight, white curls peeking out from the worn brown fabric of her La-Z-Boy, glanced at you with mild curiosity.

"Be like what?" she would reply absentmindedly, her voice raspy from the years of Misty's holding constant residence at the corner of her lips. "Like an actor? Like Mariska? Did you know she's the daughter of Jayne Mansfield?"

"No, like a Lawyer," you would tease, your eyes locked onto Stephanie March as she takes the stand, her sneer as icy as the blonde of her pin-straight hair, her voice strong and confident as she calmly verbally eviscerates yet another rapist, this time one of the shaky-ijustwantedtosmellher-variety, shaking like a leaf as they undergo cross-examination. "She's so fucking cool," you would whisper to yourself, the loud chuckle-cough-chuckle of your Nana as she peers at you from the corner of her eye.

"... but you're such a sweet girl!" she would retort, "how are you gonna win the case when you're so damn nice all the time? those suits would eat you alive, believe you me!"

Your voice rises steadily, like a crescendo building to a climax, until you're finally shouting. All the hurt and embarrassment you've bottled up explodes, coursing through your veins like an unstable chemical reaction. "The reason we're all still in business is because of me!" you declare, your words punctuated by frustration. "Or should I ask Bill in finance for confirmation? Maybe he's mistaken." You unclench your jaw, feeling the tension in your neck as you reach for your phone. "All those high-profile clients? They're loyal to me. If I leave, they'll follow. Think about that."

As the partners exchange bewildered looks, Nigel's discomfort is palpable as he clears his throat. "But... where will you go?" he stammers. "How do you expect to thrive in this industry without the support of a prestigious firm like ours? Besides, no one just turns their nose up at a salary increase of a hundred thousand dollars-"

"Okay, got it. So this isn't a negotiation, and there's no room for reconsideration?" You glance around the room, meeting each of their downturned gazes. Leaning back in your chair, a smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you hold their gaze.

"Oh, don't worry about me," you retort, rolling your eyes slightly. "You don't have to concern yourselves with my well-being. After all, you haven't given a damn about it throughout my entire career here, have you?"

A ripple of anxious laughter echoes through the room, mingled with the partners' disbelief at your audacity. "And just where do you plan to go?" Nigel presses.

With a knowing smile, you rise from your seat, gathering your belongings with a newfound sense of purpose. "Back to where I belong, I suppose," you declare. "Home."

You give the group of men one last nod, your expression firm. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't think this is going to work out," you say, your tone resolute. "And frankly, I've had enough of playing by your rules."

With a final flick of your hair, pin-straight and glossy like Stephanie, you stride out of the conference room, leaving behind the stifling atmosphere of the sleazy-suited assholes, their mouths agape, completely stunned. As the door clicks shut, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you, like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

Good fucking riddance, you think to yourself, walking past your colleagues, their heads bobbing up curiously from their cubicles as they watch you march away. You laugh to yourself at the sight of it, your head held high in defiance. Today marks the beginning of a new journey, one where you refuse to let others dictate your worth or your future.

Back in your corner office, tucked away at the back of the building- a spot they seemed to think was where you belonged, far away from the big boys club, you're surrounded by the familiar trappings of your professional life. The cardboard box on your desk awaits its contents – the remnants of a career spent in a firm that never fully appreciated your efforts, despite your unwavering dedication and the millions of dollars earned in your wake.

Shaking off the sting of humiliation and blinking back the tears of frustration threatening to spill, you begin the task of packing up your belongings. Your framed Juris Doctor is tossed in haphazardly, followed by a flurry of other items scattered across the surface of the box. Three framed photos: two girls, with wide smiles and pigtails, an old woman standing on the porch of a decaying home, and a group of like-looking women, the bright smiles and the promise of the endless possibility of the future in their eyes. Gone is the meticulously styled hair, now hastily tied up in a messy bun as you delve into the depths of your desk drawer. You pull out items in a flurry, tossing them into the box until your fingers come across something unfamiliar, hidden at the very back of the drawer.

Your fingers brush against something soft, and you pull out a faded friendship bracelet. Its beads are strung together to spell out a name you haven't seen in years. The memories flood back, threatening to overwhelm you as you stare at the name engraved on the bracelet.

F-R-A-N-

In an instant, you're transported back to a moment etched deep in the recesses of your mind: small hands trembling as they offer the bracelet to yours, the earnest gaze of a young boy not much taller than you. A tentative smile graces his lips as he extends the friendship offering. "You gave me yours, so I'm giving you mine... that means we're friends, right?"

You accept the bracelet with shaky hands, feeling a warmth spread through you. You smile back at the boy in front of you, his smile widening to match yours. "Right. Best friends!"

A pang of regret washes over you, mingling with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia for the friendship that once meant so much to you. With a heavy heart, you carefully place the bracelet into the box, a silent reminder of the past you've left behind.

Two Weeks later (somewhere in between New York and Texas)

"Okay, let me get this straight. They finally offer you a promotion, and that's when you decide it's the perfect time to quit? Seriously, Glory, please explain that logic to me," your sister's voice crackles through the car speakers as you navigate down the coast, taking another sip of your coffee to steel yourself for the conversation. "I'm begging you, please make it make sense. If management told me I needed to shake my ass to get a wage increase, I would say when and where. Surely, a hundred thousand dollars is a decent offer-"

"Yeah, they dangled a hundred thousand dollar salary bump in front of me, but it's not just about the money," you reply, frustration evident in your voice. "They were going to make me a Junior Partner. Junior. It's like they're saying, 'Hey Glory, you're good, but you're not quite good enough to sit at the big kids' table yet. Maybe in another decade or two, you'll get there.'"

"So what's the plan, then? You're just gonna pack up your office, leave your fancy Upper East Side condo behind, toss your shit in a U-Haul, and hightail it back to Nowheresville, USA? You're seriously going to start your firm in a place you swore up and down and to the heavens above that you'd never return to?" Your sister's incredulous voice echoes through the phone as you navigate the winding roads back to your hometown. "As much as the kids and I would love for you to finally be around, shouldn't you be aiming a bit higher than Fredericksburg? There's nothing here-"

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sharp pain making you wince as the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. Relax, you tell yourself. She's right. You should be aiming higher.

"And don't even get me started on that rundown old house that Nana used to live in. Seriously, Glo, you're going to live in that dump? I wouldn't touch that place with a ten-foot pole, let alone live in it. It's a fucking money pit! You'll lose more money than what it's worth!" she snarks, chuckling to herself. "I know that it was all fun and games, talking about how you were gonna fix up that place, make it your forever home, but that was when we were kids! That place barely has a functioning roof!"

"Well, you must read minds, then." you retort dryly. "Sister, I think that you should think about becoming a psychic, because how did you know?" you sing-song back. "Besides, don't you have a guest room in that place of yours? I remember you asking me very nicely to help you out with the reno you did a few years back as a wedding gift, doesn't that mean that the room is mine if I ever needed it?"

There's a weird, awkward silence that suddenly fills the cab of the U-Haul, and you swear you can hear the gears turning in your sister's brain as she processes the implications of your words, holding your breath as you can feel the wrath that is sure to follow next. You appreciate how predictable your sister always was, knowing damn well that if you had told her that you were actually telling her the truth about your plans on returning home, she would try with every fiber of her being to convince you not to.

"There's nothing here for you, Glory. Nothing but heartbreak and the skeletons that have gathered dust in your bedroom closet. You've always been better than this little old town..." You remember her drunkenly telling you over FaceTime as you down your third glass of Pinot Grigio, your eyes fixed on the blue light radiating from the screen of your MacBook.

Congratulations, the email read. The buyer has accepted your terms, and is expected to move in shortly-

"No, Glo-" she starts.

"The condo sold for over market value-" you offer, a thinly-veiled attempt to try to reason with her.

"Wait. Are you fucking telling me that you're in a U-Haul driving back home? and you're only telling me this now when I haven't even had time to clean out the guest room?! You know how I get when things are left to the last minute-"

"Relax, I'm not going to crash at your house, not when Andrew doesn't know, I've already booked a month at the Hyatt in Austin while I square away the final plans for the house. Think of it this way, if you ever need a place to stay after another one of your husband's benders, you could always sneak away to the hotel room, now that I'll finally be close by. Plus, Hank told me that there's a vacant storefront on Main Street, It's a perfect spot to open the firm-"

"It's just..." Your sister's voice trails off, her chuckle sounding forced. "You always seem to have impeccable timing." There's an odd tension in her tone, a hint of something unsaid lingering between you.

"Impeccable timing, huh?" you prod, sensing there's more to her words than she's letting on.

But before you can dig deeper, she interrupts with a hurried excuse. "Hey, I'd love to chat more, but I've got to run. We'll catch up later, okay? Call me when you get to the hotel, we can grab lunch or something with the kids-"

"Hey, what did you mean about impeccable timing?" you press curiously.

"I gotta go love you byeeee-" she says hurriedly, cutting the phone call.

You're left staring at your phone, a gnawing sense of confusion settling in your gut. Something about her sudden evasiveness doesn't sit right with you, but you push it aside for now, focusing on the road ahead as you continue your journey back home. "Love you too, I guess."

You continue to drive throughout the night, the 26 or so hours that the GPS has estimated your trip to be, refusing to stop for anything other than gas and the occasional bathroom pit stop, grabbing yourself a Buc-ees t-shirt for shits and giggles to commemorate your arrival, breathing a sigh of relief as you eye the “Welcome to Texas!” Sign out in the distance, its surface illuminated by the purple skies of early morning.

"Not much longer," you reassure yourself as you nibble on a sad-looking fruit bowl and sip lukewarm water in the Buc-ee's parking lot. Between bites, you check the time on your phone, swiping away the occasional concerned email from your former associates at the firm.

You raise your phone, capturing the Buc-ee's sign in the distance with your camera app. The empty parking lot reflects the loneliness that has become all too familiar in your adult life.

It's not like I meant for it to be this way, you muse silently, drafting a caption for the photo. "Homeward bound, just a few more hours!" You type out as you hit upload, sharing the moment on your Instagram feed.

As you enter the city limits of the small town you once called home on the way to the Hyatt, you can’t help the wave of nostalgia that suddenly washes over you. You can't help but smile as you pass by familiar landmarks – the public library where you would spend countless hours buried in books, the little Italian place with your favorite lasagna, still in the corner where all of the birthday dinners would be held, the bustling mall, still bursting at the seams with teenagers and young families alike, a place where you and your best friend used to gossip about boys and clothes and how much you hated Mr. Frankel constantly staring at your tits over scoops and cones of ice cream, the shrillness of your combined laughter ringing throughout your ears.

Ex-best friend, you remind yourself bitterly, your knuckles turning white as you clutch the steering wheel. It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the one person you would never think would betray you ending up with the guy you once harbored feelings for. The guy. They probably have a picture-perfect life now, living in some military town with a gaggle of kids, the sound of their laughter echoing in your mind like a haunting melody.

As you drive through the familiar streets of your hometown, memories of you and him start to slowly flood back into your consciousness – lazy afternoons spent together, whispered secrets shared under the shade of a tree. But now, those memories are tainted with a bittersweet ache, a reminder of what once was and what could have been.

You can almost see him now, running around the backyard with their children, his laughter mingling with theirs as they play. The image is both heartwarming and heartbreaking, a painful reminder of the love you lost and the friendship that slipped through your fingers.

With a heavy sigh, you tear your gaze away from the fleeting fantasy, focusing instead on the road ahead. It's time to move forward, to let go of the past, and embrace the uncertainty of the future. But as you drive away, a part of you can't help but wonder – what if things had been different?

As you navigate the winding streets, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging wash over you. This may not have been the life you planned, but somehow, returning to your roots feels like coming home in more ways than one.

After a few more hours of driving, you finally pull up to the Hyatt, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs and unload your belongings. The luxurious lobby offers a stark contrast to the worn-out upholstery of your car seat. With a sigh of relief, you drop off your bags in your room before heading back out onto the road.

As you pull up to your Nana's old place, you can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with apprehension. The once-charming house now stands in complete disrepair, its paint peeling and windows boarded up. Standing outside the weathered front door, you can't help but shake your head.

"Welcome home, Glory," you mutter to yourself, the words carrying both resignation and determination. With a deep breath, you unlock the door and step inside, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

Frankie, two weeks before your arrival.

Frankie forgot how fucking hot it was in Texas.

With a heavy sigh, he turns off the ignition of his truck and gazes at the house he hasn't seen in the last few years. The weathered paint job catches his eye, the deep cracks spiderwebbing across the exterior walls. Once-bright white has faded to a tired tan, and a single bright blue shutter still hangs slightly askew from his bedroom window.

"Shit Frankie, do you think your pop is gonna kill me for that?" The voice seeps into his thoughts, unbidden. He shuts his eyes tight, battling against the memories he's long kept buried deep in the recesses of his brain.

His ears catch the familiar sound of tinkering echoing from the depths of the carport beside the house, still cluttered with dismantled shells and rusty car parts. He recognizes the soft grunts of his father as he works on yet another car he decided to fiddle with probably after spotting it abandoned on the roadside.

I've been gone for fifteen years, and yet, it feels like nothing has changed, he muses to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

Frankie lets out a groan as he swings open his car door. His legs feel like lead, knees protesting from the strain of hours spent behind the wheel. He's just made the long haul from his actual home in Florida, leaving behind his daughter and the life he's built there for the last fifteen or so years.

Or tried to, at least.

The notion of divorce loomed over Frankie's thoughts like a persistent shadow, coloring every interaction with his wife. Even in the mundane moments of their daily life, he couldn't shake the feeling of their impending separation. It was as if they were constantly tiptoeing along the edge of a cliff, one wrong step away from falling into the abyss of divorce.

He found himself distancing emotionally, a subconscious defense mechanism against the possibility of heartache. Small disagreements turned into major rifts, each argument fueling the belief that their marriage was irreparable. He couldn't help but imagine a life without Chelsea, even as they sat across from each other at the dinner table or shared a quiet moment on the couch.

The weight of his doubts pressed down on him, clouding his perception of their relationship. Frankie had never truly loved his wife; their relationship was born more out of convenience and familiarity than genuine affection. He often wondered if Chelsea sensed his lack of affection, if she felt the absence of passion and connection that should have been the foundation of their marriage.

Guilt gnawed at him, knowing that he had never given Chelsea the love she deserved. He had entered into their marriage with a sense of obligation rather than devotion, and now he was trapped in a cycle of discontent and disillusionment. Divorce had become more than a possibility; it had become a constant companion, lurking in the shadows of their marriage.

Fuck. She never stood a fucking chance.

So, with a heavy heart and a mind full of fucking turmoil, he'd packed up his car and hit the road, effectively abandoning his wife and kid like a fucking coward, driving with no destination in mind until he found himself back in the town where it all began.

Frankie's chest tightens at the memory of Lily's desperate pleas, her small face etched with fear as she begs him not to leave. He had thought he was being discreet, tiptoeing past her room, his rucksack slung across his back. Pausing in the dim light, he takes a long look at his daughter, knowing he might not see her again for some time. "I love you, baby girl," he whispers, his voice barely audible as he gently closes her door, the click echoing in the quiet hallway.

He pushes open the door leading to the garage, grateful that he had the foresight to leave the garage door open earlier in the evening. It was a calculated move, part of his plan to make a quiet exit from this house that never felt like a home. He had thought about his grand escape throughout dinner that night, opting to remain silent as he tuned Chelsea out, her words of her displeasure falling on deaf ears as he nodded in agreement, cutting into his meatloaf as he slouches himself down his chair.

Lousy, lazy husband. Neglectful and absent father. The biggest disappointment and regret of her fucking life. Coward. Fucking Coward.

Ah, there it was.

I bet you wish that it was her, huh? I bet you wish that it was her pussy that you were fucking instead of mine, right Frankie? Chelsea would accuse, her hand motioning for him to pass over the mashed potatoes in the same breath.

Hell. She isn't wrong.

He thought his plan was about to unfold smoothly, exhaling a sigh of relief as he set his rucksack in the bed of his truck. Then, he heard it—the unmistakable creak of a door opening, followed by the soft padding of feet on concrete, drawing closer from behind. With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming.

"Daddy?" his daughter's sleepy voice broke the silence of the darkened garage. "Where are you going?"

Frankie's heart sank at the sound of Lily's voice, her innocent question piercing through his resolve like a knife. He turned around slowly, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light filtering through the garage.

"Lil, sweetheart," he began, his voice catching in his throat as he struggled to find the right words. "I... I have to go away for a little while." His chest tightened with every word, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders.

"Why?" Lily's voice trembled with confusion and fear, her small frame shivering in the cool air of the garage. She took a hesitant step closer, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Frankie knelt down in front of her, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. "It's... it's complicated, baby," he said softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face. "But I promise, I'll come back for you. I love you so much, Lily. You're my everything."

Lily threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed. "Please don't go, Daddy," she pleaded, her words muffled against his shirt. "I need you."

Tears pricked at Frankie's eyes as he held his daughter close, his own heart breaking with every second that passed. But he knew he had to go, for both of their sakes. With a heavy heart, he gently pulled away from Lily's embrace, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll always be with you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I promise. I'll come back for you, but you have to stay with Mommy for now, okay? I swear I'll come back for you."

As he stood up and turned away, leaving Lily behind in the garage, Frankie couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed on him like a lead weight. But deep down, he knew that he had to do this—to find a way to be the father Lily deserved, even if it meant breaking both of their hearts in the process.

His throat tightens as he relives that moment, the memory etched vividly in his mind like a relentless nightmare. He can still see Lily's tear-stained face, her eyes pleading with him not to leave, her small hands reaching out for him as he walked away, the way her small form looks back at him as he looks at his rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller as he drives out of the cul-de-sac like a fucking coward. The weight of her despair presses down on him like a vice, suffocating him with guilt and remorse.

Frankie silently makes his way over to the carport, his father's familiar silhouette outlined against the fading sunlight. He watches as his dad tinkers away, lost in his own world of gears and grease. With a smirk playing on his lips, Frankie leans against the doorframe, soaking in the scene before him.

"When I left, I was saying goodbye to a pair of feet under a fender, and I come home years later and it's like you haven't moved an inch," Frankie quips, his tone laced with affection and a hint of disbelief. "Are you sure you ain't dead under there, old man?"

His dad chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that fills the air. "Nah, still kicking, just like always," he replies, not bothering to look up from his work. "You, on the other hand, look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Frankie rolls his eyes, but there's a warmth in his chest at the familiar banter. Despite everything that's changed, some things remain constant – like the easy camaraderie between a father and son, even after years apart.

Frankie's dad finally emerges from under the car, wiping his hands on a greasy rag as he beams at his son. "Well, well, look who's finally back home, a child of mine finally appears!" he says with a grin, opening his arms for a hug.

Frankie steps forward, enveloped in his dad's embrace, the familiar scent of motor oil and sawdust washing over him. "I'm your only child, Dad, or did you forget?" he teases, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

His dad chuckles, patting Frankie on the back. "No, son, I didn't forget," he replies with a twinkle in his eye. "But you always knew who my favorite was."

Frankie nods solemnly, his eyes squinting in the distance, not wanting his mind to go there. He clicks his tongue. "So-"

"I assume that your sudden appearance has something to do with that wife of yours screaming into my voicemail about you abandoning your family in the middle of the night?" his dad asks, a hint of concern lacing his words as he studies Frankie's expression.

Frankie lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he meets his father's gaze. "Yeah, Pop," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "Things with Chelsea... they haven't been working for a while now. I couldn't stay there anymore. I had to get out."

His father's expression softens, concern etched into his features. "And what about Lily? How's she taking it?" he inquires, his voice laced with worry as he thinks of his granddaughter.

"Yeah, she was torn up about it," he admits, his voice heavy with sorrow. "But I couldn't just take her. Chels would accuse me of kidnapping, and you know how the courts always side with the mother. I can't risk getting arrested again. Not after what happened last time."

"Well, that seems about something she would do, I guess," his father surmises, "... but what the hell are you doin' back here? I swore the last time I saw you, you told me you would never step your foot back here, especially with what happened with Glory-"

Frankie cuts him off, his jaw tensing as he steels himself against the memories threatening to resurface. "Look, Dad, let's not go there, okay? It's been years, and I've moved on, she's moved on," he says, his tone firm. "I'm just here to figure things out, clear my head. I don't need to worry bout no skeletons in my fucking closet, especially when I know for a fact that she ain't here no more to spook me."

Frankie's dad pauses, his gaze distant for a moment before he speaks again. "You know, son, I always loved her like my own," he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "She was like family to us, and seeing her leave was one of the hardest things I've had to witness. It broke my heart, and I know for a fact that it broke yours, too. Maybe if she had stayed... you wouldn't be here standing on my front lawn, hiding from your wife."

Frankie's chest tightens at his father's admission, a pang of guilt gnawing at him for the pain he caused. "I know, Pop," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things had turned out differently."

"Yeah, well... shit happens, I guess." His father slaps his hand on his shoulder once more, motioning towards the house. "Come on, I got a pot of Chili that’s been simmering for the last few hours, I reckon it should be ready right about now. Go grab your shit and come help me set the table after you get settled, alright?"

Frankie nods, giving his father one last smile as he makes his way back to his pickup truck, slinging his military-grade duffle over his shoulder. Groaning, he makes his way up to the old house, the floorboards of the patio creaking as he opens the front door, the smell of his father's chili wafting in the air. He takes in the familiar sight of his living room, still the same as he left it all the years ago.

The same lumpy couch, the imprint of his father forever immortalized in his spot where he watches reruns of Pawn Stars and Columbo, greeted Frankie as he stepped into the living room. The faded fabric sagged under his weight as he lowered himself onto it, memories flooding back with each creak of the worn-out springs.

As Frankie's gaze shifted to the mantle, he couldn't help but notice the familiar photos arranged there. His eyes lingered on the one of him and his mother, her radiant smile captured forever in the frame. Beside it was a picture of you and Frankie as kids, arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace, the innocence of youth reflected in your beaming faces.

Frankie's breath caught in his throat as he noticed a new addition to the mantle – a photo of you and his father in front of the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center. His father's arms were proudly slung around your shoulders, and both of you wore wide smiles that reached your eyes. It was a moment frozen in time, capturing a bond that had evidently formed in his absence.

"Well, what are you doing just sittin' there? Table ain't gonna set itself."

Frankie rolls his eyes at that. Yep, shit hasn't changed a bit. "Placemats still in the same drawer?"

"Unless someone moved them, which I highly doubt, being that it's just been me in this house for the last fifteen years," his father replies with a weary sigh, retrieving a steaming casserole dish from the oven and setting it on the stove. "Made some of that cornbread you like so much too," he adds with a wink. "Your Mama's recipe, not that boxed shit."

As they arrange the table settings, Frankie's father casts a cautious glance at him, a hint of concern in his eyes. "So, besides your marriage, How's everything going, son?"

Frankie lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he carefully places the silverware beside each plate. "Could be better, Dad. Could be a lot better."

His father's expression softens with understanding. "I heard about what happened. You doing okay?"

Frankie nods, though the weight of his recent troubles still hangs heavily on him. "Yeah, I'm managing. Just trying to figure things out."

His father places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You know, son, we all make mistakes. What's important is how we learn from them and move forward."

Frankie meets his father's gaze. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it."

His father's fork hovers awkwardly over his plate, his gaze fixed on the food as if it holds the answers to questions he dare not ask. "Dig in, for fucks sake. Don't let it get cold."

Frankie senses an opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere, away from the awkwardness. "Hey, Pop," he begins, trying to sound nonchalant, "I couldn't help but notice that photo on the mantle. Is it new?"

His father pauses, then looks at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he answers, "The one from New York? Yeah, it's recent."

"How recent?" Frankie probes further, his curiosity piqued.

His dad casually tears off a piece of cornbread and dips it into his chili, shrugging. "About three months ago," he replies, his tone casual. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all," Frankie says with what he hopes is casual, stabbing his spoon into his bowl, pushing the pieces of beans and corn around, refusing to make eye contact with his father who is surely gazing back at him with the quirk of his brow. "Wasn't aware that the both of you were still close," he mumbles, the sight of your bright wide smile feeling like death by a thousand cuts straight into his jugular. “Never thought that you would actually leave this fucking place, let alone go to New fucking York.”

"Well, we haven't stopped being close, son. Did you know that she sends me a bottle of tequila every year on my birthday? Noticed the difference in quality as the years gone by, she's doing quite alright up there in the big 'ol apple." Frankie hears his father make a noncommital snort as he continues to eat. “Besides, she asked me to visit her the last time she was in town, and I ain’t getting any younger, have to enjoy life somehow, right?”

You still remembered his father's birthday. Do you still remember his? he wonders silently.

He strains his eye at the label of said tequila bottle, near the center of the dinner table. José Cuervo 250 Aniversario. Twenty-one hundred off the shelf, easy. A soft snort escapes his lips, shaking his head. Well, at least you still remembered your shit.

"You know, she's one of those lawyers that deal with family stuff," his father muses, chuckling to himself as he gets that gleam in his eye when he realizes he has a (stupid, but convenient idea). "Maybe you should-"

“No.”

“I could even be the one to call her, I know she won’t say no to me-“

“Pop-“

“She’s still single, you know.”

“I don’t know what her being single has to do anything with my divorce-“

“She never really got into anything serious, at least she never told me… but I knew. She was too busy for it, you know? Too distracted. Told her she should stop playing ball with the boys and start her own firm back here."

Frankie's father continued, a wistful tone creeping into his voice as he reminisced. "She always had that fire in her, just like her grandma. I remember when she was just a kid, always standing up for what she believed in, never backing down from a challenge. That girl could argue her way out of anything."

Frankie listened quietly, his mind racing with memories of Glory's fierce determination. Despite their differences, he couldn't deny the admiration he held for her unwavering spirit.

"Yeah, well, she's probably forgotten all about this place," Frankie muttered dismissively, though a small part of him hoped it wasn't true.

His father's gaze softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes.

"Maybe. But some things, some people, they never really leave you, no matter how far you go."

"Why settle for Fredericksburg when she's killing it up there?" Frankie says bitterly, his frustration palpable. "She's made it clear that there is nothing for her here beside her sister, and her Nana has been gone for the last ten years. This place is a shithole, honestly."

"If it's such a shithole, then why the fuck are you here then?" his father challenges, his irritation evident as he stabs his salad with more force than necessary. "It might not be fancy like New York or as interesting as Tampa, but it's your home, son. It's her home, too."

"Well, I'm glad to know that you still gave a damn about somebody after all these years," Frankie retorts quietly. "... and here I thought I was your actual child-"

"What do you want me to say, huh? I feel like you're trying to insinuate something here, son, so just be a fucking man for once and spit it out!"

"Why didn't you visit me, huh? If you had so much time on your hands, why her and not me?"

"What, so I could bear witness to the shitshow that's your marriage? Do you think I like watching you suffer?" his father shouts, slamming his fork on the table. "Your wife can barely stand being in the same room as me! I ain't gonna waste my time spending it with people who clearly don't want me there."

"Well maybe if you didn't find the need to compare her to Glory all the damn like you did, maybe she would have made my life a fuck of a lot easier, don't you think?"

His father's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and guilt flickering across his features before settling into a resigned acceptance. "Son, I never meant to make things harder for you," he starts, his voice softer now, devoid of the earlier hostility. "But you gotta understand, Glory was special. She was... different. And I know I shouldn't have let that affect how I saw your wife, but I guess old habits die hard."

Frankie's shoulders tense as he absorbs his father's words, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. "Well, you certainly made it clear where her place was in your eyes," he mutters.

His father sighs heavily, his gaze dropping to his plate. "I know, son. And I'm sorry for that," he says, his tone laced with regret.

Frankie's jaw clenches as he struggles to contain his frustration. "Yeah, well, easier said than done," he grumbles, his gaze flickering to the tequila bottle on the table, a stark reminder of the divide between them.

His father rises from the table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if weighed down by the gravity of their conversation. "I'm heading to the bar," he announces quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "Don't wait up for me."

Frankie scoffs under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Typical," he mutters, bitterness seeping into his words. "Always running away when shit gets dicey. Coward."

As his father reaches the door, he pauses, casting a sorrowful glance back at Frankie. "Takes a coward to know one, son," he says softly, the words heavy with unspoken regret. Then, without another word, he slips out into the night, leaving Frankie alone with his thoughts.

With a frustrated grunt, Frankie snatches the tequila bottle from the table, his movements rough and unceremonious. He doesn't bother with a shot glass, instead opting to take several swigs straight from the bottle. The fiery liquid burns as it travels down his throat, but he hardly notices it amidst the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

"Fuck," he curses. "Welcome home, I guess."

Clutching the bottle tightly, he trudges up the stairs to his bedroom, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. As he disappears into the darkness of his room, the only sound that fills the empty house is the quiet echo of his footsteps on the creaking floorboards.

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#fic: hometown glory #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #hometown glory #frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier

[thcfountain]

I recieved 2 requests for enemies to lovers between Matt and Reader.

tags: enemies to lovers, mentions of male masturbation, implied degradation kink.

word count: 2,029

banner cred. Join my tag list.

tag list: @to-be-written @th4t-em0-k1d @cheyyyr @somewhere-diamond @ravieisunhinged @blackveilomens @sprokat @jilliemiw86 @cookiesupplier @emmmm127 @thatchickwiththecamera

A/N: Hey guys, sorry about the somewhat hiatus that happened from me without warning. I don't have an excuse for vanishing really, so I'm sorry and please know that I'm working on your requests now!

“I do not need an assistant,” came the same complaint that Matt had already given the rest of the band multiple times over the course of the last week.

Unfortunately, Matt did need an assistant, so much so that he had been complaining about it for months. The bigger the band got, the more responsibilities hit his plate and the less time he had to work on each responsibility, let alone have time for the occasional problem that occurred. He was stretched thin and the band knew it. Noah had told Matt not to worry, that he would find Matt the perfect assistant and that had been that.

At least until Noah had announced the new hire.

There weren't many people in Virginia that Noah kept in touch with, outside of Ruffilo's family and her. A childhood friend of Noah and Nicholas who was still close enough to both of them that Matt and the band and crew had met her and hung out with her on a multitude of occasions over the years.

Matt knew Noah had a soft spot for y/n - they had met in high school and back then she had been just as enamored with the music industry as Noah and from what Matt knew, she had doubled as photographer and occasional manager for Noah's high school band. (Of course she was also a high school student, so Matt had been put under the impression that Noah and his ex bandmates had paid her in drinks or weed or dinner here and there.) 

She had gone on to work as a tour manager for a few small bands here and there since then and maybe Matt would have been more impressed if he didn't hate her.

“She's extremely professional, you could do a lot worse,” Noah countered Matt's complaint in a tone that said he wasn't going to have this argument again.

Matt persisted, he wasn't the hater king for nothing after all, “she's obnoxious, she's not as good as you think she is, she'll slow me down or get in the way,” he listed off his reasons.

So called ‘boba’ eyes roll as Noah doesn't even make an attempt at hiding his own annoyance towards Matt's complaints. “I don't know what your issue with her is,” he says, pointing a finger in Matt's direction, “but you need to get over it. The decision is made and I'm not going to listen to you hate on my friend the entire time she's under our employment. Which means suck it up.”

And that was that. Case closed, at least in Noah's opinion.

With tour upcoming, Matt had a long list of things that needed to be finalized before they left. Normally it would have taken him days to get through them all but she showed up (and Matt could only describe her as a whirlwind) and took one look at his list and completed more than half in a day.

With ease and professionalism, she finalized hotel rooms across the tour as well as a slew of other things, leaving Matt more angry than relieved. She made his job easier while simultaneously making it all look too easy.

“What's with that scowl?” she asked, smacking him in the face with a pen in what he could only assume was her attempt at being silly. “If you want, I can pick up lunch while you finish your half of the list?”

The pen is yanked from her hand and tossed aside, hitting the floor with a clack and although it was a relatively quiet noise, it felt all too loud in the sudden silence between them. There was an intensity in Matt's eyes that she hadn't before noticed. He suddenly seemed to loom over her, as if his anger had made him taller but she was used to tantrums and shitty people, it came with the territory of working in the industry and so she held her ground, meeting his gaze with an unblinking stare.

The silence remained for a good 30 seconds as neither of them said anything, each waiting for the other to back down and break the silence first. She wasn't afraid, at least not of Matthew Dierkes, he was all talk and no walk, and she knew it. And he knew she knew.

“You should quit,” he says finally, breaking the silence between them with quiet words filled with anger. “I don't want you here.”

“Too bad, throw this small dick syndrome tantrum elsewhere because we both know I'm doing a good job,” and with that, she spun around on her heel and walked away, head high and without a glance back in his direction to see whether or not the words had stung him.

He didn't want to admit it or even think about what it meant for him, but her attitude and crude remark, paired with that cleat confidence went straight to his dick.

The thought of her plagued his mind. He ran and re-ran her every word in his head, again and again as he laid in bed that night. He fell asleep to thoughts of her and those thoughts turned into dreams.

Dreams that woke Matt up in the middle of the night, his cock straining against his boxers as precum made a small wet patch over the fabric. He palmed his erection through his boxers, half asleep and thinking of her and how she stood up to him. He pushed his boxers down his thighs, just enough to free his cock before spitting into his palm.

It didn't take much - just a few strokes over his cock before he was shooting ropes of cum over his stomach and chest. 

“Fuckin’ Y/N,” he murmured.

Gear and suitcases and everything in between had been loaded onto the bus and band and crew had chosen their bunks. Matt wasn't exactly sure how it happened but he had a sneaking suspicion that Noah had been involved, but Matt had ended up with the bunk beneath Y/N's. His suspicions were immediately confirmed by a wink from the frontman and Matt had a moment of fear, wondering if somehow Noah had found out about Matt's late night masturbation session and who exactly he had been getting off to.

He shook those thoughts from his head because as weird as Noah could sometimes be, he definitely wasn't a mind reader.

“Uh-oh, Matt, looks like we're bunked close together. Hope that doesn't cause you to have a piss party,” she stated, tossing her bag into her bunk.

“The shits a piss party?” he grumbled back, immediately back to his hater self. “You say the stupidest shit. Fuck, you're so annoying.”

Jolly, from his own bunk, nodded solemnly at Matt. “I've had a piss party,” he stated and then proceeded not to elaborate further and Matt wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

As the weeks crept by, Matt became more and more agitated. He couldn't deny that Noah had been right about Y/N being a good assistant tour manager. No matter what kind of shit was flung at her, she handled it quickly and professionally which ultimately made Matt's job easier. 

He tried to find things to nitpick and reasons to be mad, but he failed. Her time working as a tour manager for other, smaller bands, had given her plenty of experience and the very few times that she came up lacking or un-knowledgeable, she proved to be a quick learner.

As much as he hated to admit it, she was the proverbial yin to his yang.

“Hey, Matt,” her voice knocked him out of his thoughts about her and he turned to face her. They'd just finished loading the last of their gear back up and the band had dispersed to figure out their dinner situations. “Let's go get dinner,” she continued and then gave him a mischievous grin. “You're paying since you've been eye-fucking me for the last hour.”

“I have not,” he denied, immediately following after her as she began walking in some direction, clearly having an idea of where she wanted them to get dinner. “You are so fucking full of yourself, you know?”

“Yeah, because I'm the fucking shit,” she answered. “Plus anyone with eyes can tell you wish I was full of you.” She waggled a finger at him. “I finally have you figured out. Well actually, Noah figured you out and then ratted you out.”

Noah Fucking Sebastian. He loved the man but hated how easily Noah figured out how to fuck with him. And this time it was by realizing that Matt had developed feelings for Y/N.

He snorted and then went silent, unable to think of a comeback for what she had said. So instead he just shrugged and followed her into the little restaurant. He was somewhat surprised the place was still open but that was the bright side to American tours, there was always one or two little places with kitchens that didn't close until one or two am.

He followed her up to the counter and, yes, he paid for her meal too. It wasn't until they sat down to eat that he finally had input to give on her little revelation towards his feelings.

“Noah's a bitch,” he grumbled. “But yeah, fuck it, he's right. I guess you aren't that bad.”

She laughed and then choked on her drink, causing him to smile. “It didn't take him long to figure it out since you keep moaning my name in your sleep at night. Here I thought you were fighting me in your dreams but Noah said those were wet dream moans.”

It was Matt's turn to choke then. “I fucking did not do that,” he argued in horror.

“Ask anyone on the bus, they'll agree that you did,” came her amused response. “Kinda cute in a perverted way.”

“That shits fucking embarrassing,” he said, unable to believe that this was how the current admission to feelings was happening. If he wasn't as close to the guys as he was, he might have crawled into a hole to die.

She caught him by surprise, leaning over their little dinner table to steal a kiss. “Shit talk me again and I'll beat your ass,” she warns.

“Not going to lie, that kinda turns me on,” he laughs, cheeks going a little red because its true.

“Well in that case the next hotel we're all in, come to my room and I'll beat your ass for fun.”

He reaches across the table, taking her hand in his, not exactly sure what this meant for their relationship or how they would even define whatever this was between them.

“Noah's never going to let you live this down,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Lets fuck with him and fight even worse and see how long it takes for him to figure it out.”

“I might be a little in love with you now,” he says, agreeing to her proposal. “Maybe we can trick him into buying us dinner while we're at it.”

The two of them walked back to the bus, practically giggling over their little prank idea on Noah.

Noah, who took one look at them over the top of his phone when they got back, and then proceeded to announce to the whole bus that Matt and Y/N were dating. 

“Please,” Noah says after the announcement, “you two have been in denial about liking each other since you met. I'm just surprised it took this long. You're both welcome for setting you up by the way. When you get married, I expect to be the maid of honor and the best man.”

“You motherfucker. I love you though,” Y/N says with a laugh. 

“Hey, remember the bus rules you two,” Jolly adds quickly. “No fucking on the bus. Unless I'm allowed to join.”

Matt handed his new girlfriend the pillow off his bunk wordlessly and then cheered her on as she used it to beat the shit out of Jolly. 

“Thanks, Noah,” Matt added quietly and Noah just laughed before retreating to his own bunk.

#matt dierkes fanfic #matt dierkes x reader

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 5

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

AO3

Summary: A nearby air raid forces Susie to confront the past

Warnings: Drinking, alcohol, death/description of dead body, angst again yayyyy

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

The band was in full swing, the sound of Egan's terrible singing almost drowned out by the overlapping din of music and conversation that filled the officers' club, the flight crews toasting another successful mission. Susie couldn't recall what the mission had been about - she wasn't even sure anyone had told her in the first place. She'd gotten used to taking Meatball without question and going about her day - what the pilots did never affected her, save for the faint sense of anxiety that had begun to permeate her during the hours they were away. It was unnerving.

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me," Maeve huffed, eliciting a proud laugh from Charlotte as she forked over another fistful of the peanuts they'd acquired from the bar to act as poker chips.

"Call it a punishment for being so young and sprightly," Charlotte shrugged, a smug grin curling her lip as she took her share. They had acquired a table in the back corner of the club, far from the dancing but comfortably close to the alcohol, Charlotte's huge engagement ring and Susie's resting-bitch-face a foolproof deterrent to protect them from any unwanted attention.

"She's just jealous, Maeve - her freedom's running out, and she's taking it out on us," Susie smirked, reaching for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table to refill their glasses. It was a recurring joke among the women - that Charlotte's engagement had only been dragged out as far as it had because she secretly dreaded being 'tied down', dreaded losing her individuality and becoming one of those stereotypical housewives, like the girls Susie had never gotten along with growing up. It was all in jest. Her sisters were married, and most were decently happy. But it had never been a future Susie had been able to picture for herself, and maybe that was why she felt the need to poke fun.

"Ha-ha," Charlotte drawled sarcastically, and Maeve let out another sigh of despair as she turned over another card. "You'll be the only ones showing up to the wedding alone with that attitude - two old spinsters in the back."

The sound of whimpering distracted the group from their petty bickering as Meatball padded over, resting his head dramatically in Susie's lap, ear twitching against her thigh. As she reached for a couple of the peanut-poker-chips, tossing them into the dog's waiting mouth, the other two let out cries of annoyance, and Maeve hunched over the table, beginning to try and count how many remained.

"Ladies," From behind her, DeMarco approached, drink in hand as he surveyed the state of their table - peanuts scattered all over the place, interspersed with an almost-empty bottle of wine and several glasses, their playing cards tattered and stained. The game was a mess, entirely indecipherable to anyone except the three of them.

"Your dog's eating our poker chips," Charlotte stated dryly.

"Susie's fault!" Maeve added, reaching over to scratch behind Meatball's ear.

"Oh, I'm sure," He nodded, smirking faintly as he lifted his glass to his lips. His other hand rested on the back of Susie's chair, fingers occasionally brushing against her back when she moved.

Susie stared down at her hand of cards. Her gaze had not shifted to look at him since the moment he arrived. "Thought you usually dance at these things. Why don't you go ask... Gwen, or someone. She'd probably say yes."

"I don't wanna dance with Gwen," Benny shrugged. "I came over here to see if you'd dance with me."

Maeve's brow raised, shooting Susie a pointed look, but she didn't notice, playing her turn. "Can't. Busy."

He peered over her shoulder at the cards in her hand. She was losing. Badly, in fact. "... I can see that."

Charlotte stared across at him, noticing the way his brow furrowed, frown deepening slightly as he noticed Susie's hand. "DeMarco has a terrible poker face."

"Oh, dammit!" Susie huffed, turning sideways in her chair to whack him across the arm with her cards. With a stubborn frown, she tossed her cards down onto the table, and Maeve let out a sigh of relief at the game's sudden ending. "Enjoy your peanuts, Charlotte. I hope your wedding sucks."

Standing up from her seat, she came face to face with DeMarco, who appeared slightly appalled at her last remark. "Jesus, sore loser much?"

"Wouldn't have lost if you could keep a straight face."

"I don't think anything could've saved you there, sweetheart," He admitted as she reached for her wine, pouring the last of the red liquid down her throat. It clearly wasn't her first glass - the slight flush in her cheeks could attest to that - but she was holding it well, her aggression no more irrational than usual.

"So?" DeMarco prodded.

"So... what."

He put his empty glass down on the nearest table, holding out his hand for her to dance. Susie hesitated for a moment before letting out a scoff, rolling her eyes as she took his hand in hers, letting him lead her towards the dancefloor.

"You know I hate dancing," She pointed out somewhat bitterly.

"You hate most things. And you're a nice dancer."

"God, I don't like you."

"See, that’s just not true," DeMarco grinned. "Hurtful. But not true."

Susie couldn't stop herself from smiling, looking down at her feet as they moved in time with the music. "There she is," She could hear the smirk in his voice and tilted her head back up to face him, biting her lip to stop a chuckle as she refused to meet his eye. He was staring. She could feel it, resisting the urge to squirm.

"Stop it," She shook her head, pushing against the palm that held hers.

"Stop what?"

"Staring."

That boyish grin never wiped itself from his expression as he tilted his head sideways to get a better look at her. Susie couldn't reciprocate his gaze, not when he looked at her like that, turning away as a nervous chuckle escaped her throat. DeMarco felt her grip on his hand slip, and was about to speak again when a sudden interruption sounded.

"Come on everybody! Bike race in the mess hall! Who's in?"

The very moment the invitation was issued, the crowds began to disperse, couples fleeing the dance floor in a dash to the door, their ranks thinning by the second. Susie pulled away, hands dropping to her sides as she took a step back. "That sounds like your cue, DeMarco."

His hand was still raised where it had been when she'd held it, and as she turned away to find her friends, he let out a long sigh. "...Damn it all."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She found Charlotte and Maeve halfway along the path to the mess hall, a new bottle of wine in Charlotte's hand as they passed it between themselves, sipping straight from the neck. Susie stepped in seamlessly, announcing her arrival by tugging it from Maeve's grip, the tart liquid running smoothly down her throat.

"Thought you were off with your pilot," Charlotte teased, stealing the bottle as soon as she was done.

"He's racing. I'm babysitting again," She raised Meatball's leash, and Maeve let out a slight gasp of delight as she noticed the dog trailing along beside them, tail wagging in satisfaction.

DeMarco dragged his bike into position beneath the mess hall lights, shouldering for space among the crowd of pilots, pressed together so tightly he barely had room to pedal. Buck and Bucky had pushed their way to the front, exchanging grins with him as they passed, and all around the edges of the room spectators pressed themselves up against the wall, waiting anxiously for the race to begin.

His gaze searched the crowds distractedly, not quite attuned to the announcer's instructions as he searched for Susie among them. When he spotted her, he couldn't help but let out a laugh, drawing the confused stares of the men beside him. She was stood in the far corner with her friends, cradling Meatball in her arms like a giant baby so that he wouldn't get underfoot and trip any of the cyclists in all of the excitement. Her head was turned away from him, talking to Charlotte, but every now and then one of the other women would raise the wine bottle they were sharing up to her lips, a red droplet running down her chin where it missed.

Maeve must have told a joke, for Susie suddenly began to laugh, nose scrunched, eyes screwed tightly shut. The sight made him smile, and the sudden bang! of the starting pistol startled him, pushing off with a clumsy start and almost knocking over the man beside him as the race began.

Her expression contorted into momentary horror as DeMarco seemed to almost crash before even crossing the starting line, but he quickly found his footing, and her friends let out cheers of encouragement as the men zipped past, navigating the twists and turns with reckless abandon. Meatball let out a howl, mimicking the whooping of the crowd, and she laughed, the wine beginning to go to her head.

All three of them had begun to go red in the face, everything seemingly far funnier than it had been an hour ago. And as Cleven and Egan screwed it up on their final corner, their bikes taking a tumble, knocking down the cyclists behind them in turn, it suddenly seemed one of the funniest things they'd ever seen, tears brewing in Susie's eyes as she let out a cackle of laughter.

DeMarco had just managed to avoid the crash, wheeling to a stop and a long, sobering siren split the air. The energy in the room didn't seem to dissipate for a moment, realisation about what was happening encroaching slowly, but the sound had ripped Susie out of her somewhat-drunken haze instantly, a sudden nausea bubbling in her stomach.

Her gaze darted wildly across the room, waiting for the rest of them to notice, to get up and move. It wasn't until Charlotte shot her an unnerved glance that she realised her breathing had quickened, coming sharp and ragged, panic clearly visible in her expression.

"It's ok, we're good," She assured her, a hand on her arm as she put Meatball down, his claws skittering against the linoleum. "Let's go, yeah?"

Susie nodded firmly, making a beeline for the door just as the situation seemed to become apparent to the rest of the room, the cyclists collecting their bikes and calmly departing for the air raid shelters. Leaving the warmth of the mess hall and stepping out into the cool night air seemed to make it easier to breathe, panic beginning to subside as she took in their surroundings - the squat Nissen huts, the rolling countryside in the distance.

This wasn't the city. This wasn't home. No one was out to get her here.

But then she reached the top of the stairs to the shelter. Staring down at the dark doorway, she couldn't take that next step, couldn't descend below ground level to wait it out.

"You take Meatball and go down," Susie turned to Maeve, pressing his leash into her hand. "I'll come in a minute."

"Okay," Her friend nodded, looking up at her with concern as she took the dog down the steps, disappearing into the shelter with the others. People flooded past as she pushed against the tide, pulling away from the crowd and stepping back into the grass.

The sky lit up with dozens of colours, explosions of flame and flak smoke like blots of watercolour against the clouds. The hum of engines and the rattle of anti-aircraft guns were far from unfamiliar sounds to Susie's ears as she sat down on the lawn, pressing her hands into the grass, tethering herself to the knowledge that it was different here - that they weren't the target.

She'd been awoken by these sirens so many times before, listening to the rustle of bedsheets beside her as Ellie scrambled awake, shaking her shoulders until she got up. Susie couldn't even remember why Ellie hadn't been home the night they'd killed her. All she remembered was sitting in the shelter with her mother, and the blinding daylight as they reemerged the next morning.

"Hey," A voice broke her train of thought, tugging her gaze from the planes that circled above like moths to a flame. The woman standing above her was dressed in a WAAF uniform, frizzy brown hair falling to her shoulders, an unlit cigarette between her lips. She recognised her, but she couldn't quite pinpoint who she was.

"Hi," Susie nodded, brow furrowing slightly as the woman sat down beside her. She stared at her for a long moment, watching the way flickers of orange light flashed across her face as the fighting continued above.

"... You're the mechanic, right?"

The woman smiled, holding out a hand to her. "Frankie."

She accepted, shaking it gingerly. "Susie."

Frankie nodded, and Susie accepted a cigarette as she held the box out to her. "Not many people 'round here with an accent like yours."

"Manchester."

"...Ah," She let out a long sigh, clearly piecing things together immediately. "I got friends in Coventry."

"Everything's a shitshow," Susie huffed, lighting her cigarette, and Frankie let out a low hum of agreement, leaning back on her elbows.

"We're okay out here, though."

"My sister... Got a sister in London. One of the plotters. She'll be all over this."

"My friend George takes their telegrams."

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Susie suddenly realised she was still carrying the half-empty bottle of wine, too consumed by panic at the mess hall to have bothered putting it down.

"... You want some?" She offered, holding it out to Frankie.

"Oh, thanks," She smiled, tipping it by the neck and taking a long sip. Susie couldn't stomach the idea of drinking anymore. She didn't reach for it back, and Frankie didn't pass it.

Sucking in a long, tight breath, Susie lay back, feeling the damp grass against her scalp. 'My sister...' She'd almost told her. A complete, utter stranger, and she'd almost let it slip. She almost told everyone these days. Ellie's body had been dragged out from the rubble, pale and battered and limp, but it hadn't been her. Not truly. Her body was an empty vessel - whatever had truly been her had slipped away the moment her head caved in. It seemed as if every room she entered now, she brought with her a silent cry of ‘Have you seen my sister?’, a quiet search for her soul in the eyes of others.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It lasted just less than an hour. As soon as the planes had arrived, they were gone again, the sky falling flat and black, the buzzing silenced. Frankie had said something to her before she left, but Susie hadn't been listening. When she looked up, the mechanic was gone. So was the wine.

Her watch had just ticked past midnight by the time she sat up, smoothing down her damp hair with one hand as she rose to her feet. Something bubbled within her, something caught in her throat that made her feel all at once about to vomit and about to weep. She took a deep breath, watching as people began to clamber out of the shelter across the lawn. DeMarco was with them, a part of the dispersing crowd of spectators, and even through the darkness, he caught her gaze, a frown creasing his brow. They drifted towards each other as they walked, meeting halfway.

"Where were you?" He asked. "You were supposed to be in the shelter."

"So were you," She huffed. He could tell something was bothering her. She reached up to scratch her nose every other second, an incessant, phantom itch that she couldn't conquer. "D'you have a phone?"

"... Are you ok?"

"Fine. Just need to call someone."

DeMarco frowned, watching her expression keenly. "There's one in the officers' club. I'll walk you over."

She was surprised the place was still open, the door hanging slightly ajar, left open as its inhabitants had hurried to find shelter. The bulbs buzzed as he flicked the lights on, showing her over to the bar where a phone waited on its hook. He hesitated for a moment, watching her hand twitch as she tried to remember the number, the dial rattling as she turned it. Susie looked up at him, and he took it as his cue to leave, the door closing behind him with a click as she was left alone, glancing around at the half-finished drinks and still-smoking cigarette butts that littered the room as she waited for the other person to pick up.

An irritated groan sounded on the other end of the line, and she could hear the rustling of sheets as she waited to speak.

"Hello? What is it?" Beatrice huffed, sleep lining her voice.

"Hey. It's me."

"Susie? What do you want?"

Her sister always had such a way with pleasantries. "Just watched a raid over... Norwich, I think. I was wondering if... if you knew anything?"

"Wasn't my shift," She replied curtly. Susie could picture her now, half sitting up in bed, rollers in her hair as she leant against the headboard, scowling.

"Oh, right," She paused, mentally scrambling for something to say before Beatrice hung up. "Is your husband there?"

"No. Staying in his flat, probably with his girlfriend."

"... Ah."

It was quiet for a moment, before she heard her sister let out an irritated huff. "What do you actually want, Suze? I know you don't care about bloody Norwich."

Beatrice's accent had changed since she'd left Manchester - she'd married rich, and she'd made sure she had something to show for it. But whenever she got annoyed, that familiar northern drawl seeped back through.

"I was just... I dunno, I needed to talk to someone."

"You were thinking about Ellie, weren't you?" Beatrice asked. The silence stretched out between them, and it was all the answer she needed, letting out a sigh. "You've gotta get unstuck, Suze. You can't live like this forever."

"I'm not stuck," She replied indignantly, brow furrowed.

"Yes. You are. None of us ever saw you cry after it happened - you never felt it like the rest of us, you never let yourself move on."

Susie bristled, suddenly defensive. "I'm just not like you - I was always braver than the rest of you."

"No, that's the opposite of what you are," Beatrice thundered. "You're a coward, Susie - you don't ever move on with your life because to do that you've gotta feel something other than fucking angry. You were there when they found Ellie and I know the rest of us weren't, I know it's different. But stop making that everyone else's fucking problem and just deal with it."

"She was my-"

"She was my little sister too! But so are you! I'm sick of listening to you make excuses for why you just wallow in it - it's been years since I've seen you not miserable, and it's your own fault. You know I love you. And I'm only being like this because everyone else in our family is much too bloody nice. But get over it, Susie."

She'd been gnawing at the inside of her lip the entire time she'd been listening to Beatrice speak. With a hiss, Susie realised she'd broken the skin, a droplet of blood pooling in her mouth, coating her tongue with a sour, metallic flavour.

She wanted to snap - a thousand cruel words poised on her tongue, a hundred things to hurl back at Beatrice. But not one would have made her point any less true. Tears were forming in her eyes, blotting out her vision until she could barely see an inch in front of her face. Susie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, feeling them roll down her cheeks, leaving warm, wet trails in their wake.

"Susie?" Beatrice's voice came tentatively, and she realised it had been a few minutes since she'd uttered a sound.

"Goodnight, Beatrice," Her voice came firm, hanging up before her sister could reply.

Suddenly the silence in the officers' club was too much to bear. She felt as if she were about to explode, the hot sting of tears in her eyes, the sudden, painfully breathlessness in her throat all too foreign, too frightening. Susie opened her mouth to suck in a breath, a hoarse, choking sound ripping through her, the air getting stuck before it could reach her lungs. She felt her expression contort in anguish, and the first, involuntary sob broke free. Once the floodgates opened, they couldn't close, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fought to catch a breath, fumbling blindly as she crossed the room to the door, desperate to be anywhere else.

The door to the officer's club swung open easily, and Susie stormed out into the night, chest heaving up and down over and over as she sobbed, hands trembling. She turned her head, caught off guard just long enough for a sob to catch in her throat, coming out as a hiccup as she spotted DeMarco, throwing up her hands in frustration. He'd been leaning up against the wall as she came out. He had waited for her.

"Susie? Hey," DeMarco hurried forward, expression twisted in worry. He reached for her hands, thumbs rubbing against the backs of her palms. His voice was so incredibly gentle, more than she'd ever heard it. "Hey, c'mon."

Susie's lip trembled, and she let out a croak as she fought to catch her breath, heart beating too fast for her body. He sighed, letting go of her hands to wrap his arms around her, pulling her forwards against his chest. It was too close. For a split second, she wanted to push him away, to peel his touch away from her body.

But it was so warm here. Her head turned to the side, her ear pressed up against his ribcage, she could hear his heartbeat, soft and steady. In the cage of his arms, for the first time in a long time, she felt tethered to something. She had balled her hands into fists. Slowly, they unfurled, and she wrapped her arms around him, hands resting against his spine.

"My sister didn't die. She was killed." She whispered, voice muffled against his jacket, just loud enough to hear. "They bombed her factory. I was there when they pulled her out."

Everything suddenly came into alarming clarity. DeMarco nodded, releasing a long sigh. He brought a hand up to the back of her head, her curls snaking around his fingertips as he gently stroked her hair.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," He uttered, tilting his head downwards, his nose pressed against her forehead.

"I want to. You waited."

"I thought you looked a little spaced out earlier. After the raid. So that was because-?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus. I'm sorry, Suze."

"It was a few years ago, now."

"That doesn't make it okay, though. Does it?"

She looked up at him then. In the darkness, her eyes looked like bottomless pools, the brown turned black in the starlight.

"... No. It doesn't."

A few strands of hair had stuck to her cheek where her tears had begun to dry. He lifted a hand to brush them away, the warmth of her skin against his fingertip so wonderfully soft. Susie sniffed, and it was as if some trace had broken, her arms tugging away from him, the squeeze against his back suddenly gone as she stepped back. Exhaustion tugged down at her face, dark circles forming beneath her eyes. She looked so helpless it almost broke his heart.

"God," She sighed, running a hand across her brow. "I don't-... I don't know, I don't think I wanna go back to my hut. Too many questions."

"Ok," DeMarco nodded. "That's ok. I know a place. C'mon."

Susie had no idea where he would take her. Perhaps if she'd been in any better state she would've refused. But she wasn't. She was tired, and he was kind. Her mind was clouded over, thoughts barely half-formed.

But she trusted him. She'd gotten him out of the middle of nowhere when their truck broke, and now he was getting her out when she did.

"... Alright."

#masters of the air #masters of the air fic #masters of the air oc #bernard demarco #bernard demarco x oc #oc: susie #fic | better off #oc: frankie #mota oc #mota fic #benny demarco

[inf1nyxw0rlds]

reposting my infinite is not weak essay because i got anxious and deleted the last one <3 i've been meaning to do this for months, but i'm not exactly the most functional person and i don't often put myself out there. in the process of rewriting it, i also altered the wording and added a few things, as you might notice if you've seen it before; and if you haven't, then welcome to whatever it is i'm doing here!

this is written with all my love, all my frustration, fueled by years worth of listening to a cycle of minsinformation that left permanent damage in the form of skewed perceptions – based in a false claim and the jokes that came with it – and a hesistance on sega's part to even address him save for a few tossed crumbs over the span of the last half a decade. originally i had an elaborate metaphor here, but there was no need for it and i'll cut right to the chase; there has always been good in infinite's character – but not everyone cares to look for it.

it's been six years since the release of sonic forces. which is insane! it's wild to me! as somebody who's been here since before the game even released, i've seen it all. to commemorate the occassion, when i wrote this originally, i thought that i would talk further about infinite's reception; in particular, the Weak thing. i've discussed it before in brief, and you can read that one here; this time though, i'm going to get more into dissecting the actual problem, and debunking arguments that supposedly prove infinite to be objectively weak and pathetic... when canonically, that isn't the case. i'd actually argue the opposite, but at the very least he isn't lacking strength – his skills are average at worst.

the first reason that i see, the one we're all plenty familiar with and the one i brought up previously, is that infinite is weak because he lost to shadow. once. that's it. do i really have to explain why this is stupid? yeah, he did lose, one time. even against a normal opponent, one defeat in comparison to what we can assume, based on his title, many victories, isn't much of an indicator toward being weak. shadow is also the ultimate lifeform, in case anyone has forgotten that detail, and bear in mind that infinite knows shadow to have just slaughtered his entire team – do you really think he would be at his best in that state?

there's also a fuckton of context clues implying that infinite had issues prior to this encounter, specifically inferiority issues. shadow literally told him, after having wiped his whole team out, to never show his pathetic face again. the face with the, you know. the big scar. the blind eye. (shoutout to the person who pointed this out in the tags in the "first part" of this, by the way! based for that)

this argument is so full of holes that it just drives me kind of bonkers how it can be used to claim infinite is weak and stupid. do i think that the scene is without flaw? of course not. if you want to say that the way they handled his breakdown wasn't the greatest, you can, you have every right to your opinion. but that's just it. we're talking about something else. i get it, the "i am not weak" was a memeable line, but it doesn't actually make him weak. people that reduce his reaction to "just" hating shadow because he got his ass beat, people who call it a "temper tantrum", i ... the context is right there. it was never "just" because shadow beat him up. would people say this about anyone else that shadow happens to beat up? that they're irrefutably weak? no. that's stupid. obviously. so why infinite? because it wasn't a strong enough spectacle. let me illustrate this more with another example;

another reason people say that infinite is weak is because sonic didn't need to go super in order to beat him. and... again, this one, too, falls apart pretty easily. sonic has beaten other characters without going super, and this includes shadow. the difference is the when, the how, the context. it's not that infinite is weak, but it was a weak final boss fight. do you get what i mean?

forces, in general, suffered a lot with this problem. it wasn't a problem that was exclusive to infinite. unfortunately, as the new character, he got the most heat. there was a huge amount of hype for him, so when the spectacle fell short, people were pissed. and i get it. but then that issue became, "infinite bad". that issue became "infinite's weak". it has never been that, though. this is why i personally hate weak jokes – because they're rooted in non-issue and misinfo.

a point i saw made once was that the characterisation of sonic and the rest of the cast are part of what made infinite's character hard to take seriously, and i'd agree! infinite actually fits the setting quite well; he has a mysterious, serious presence. he's harsh, he's edgy, but it's cheesy enough that it works in the typical style of the sonic franchise. the problem is, when the other characters aren't taking things seriously, it throws the whole thing off. we're being told this is a hard-hitting, high stakes plot, but how can we see it that way, when they're all just cracking jokes?

as a side-tangent of sorts, you know what's real funny? infinite's backstory, the one thing people use more than anything else to declare his obvious weakness, quite likely wasn't originally going to exist anyway, and he was instead going to be made by eggman. i say "quite likely" as, as i've stated, i don't like misinformation, and sega will probably never confirm this one-hundred percent, but this is something fans – myself included – have discussed a few times.

first, there's the odd dialogue and enviroment in stage 29. tails states outright, as you go through the fortress, where containment/test tubes line the walls in countless numbers, "so this is where eggman built infinite". the tubes do, in fact, appear to have low-res bodies inside them. this is also something they detailed in an early version of the script. infinite's remark on sonic's "data" also fits in with this idea of him being some form of android. prior to release, there was also a cryptic message that, when decoded, referred to infinite as "the fated son of daedalus"; in other words, icarus, who flew too close to the sun; his father being an inventor! that's really dope foreshadowing.

you can argue that tails and amy's commentary is speculation rather than solid fact and that they're mistaken, it's a possibility i definitely consider here, but given how rushed the dlc and prequel comics feel, the fact that there was a statement that big changes were made late into development... yeah. i'll buy it. i often find myself wondering what people would think of infinite had this been his story, whether they would view him differently. also, speaking of the dlc being rushed, there are actually unused lines for episode shadow implying that you would have fought the jackal squad; they were likely just unable to implement it in time. it's a shame, as it would have added to that spectacle factor i mentioned. but hey, gotta push for that holiday release!

what i find really interesting is that you can look at his character through either lense: the former mercenary turned war criminal, or the creation of our ol' doctor, and he still reads well! his behaviour makes sense in whichever context you choose to apply; what he thought he had to become, versus what he was made to be. it's cool and it makes me a bit insane. a lot of people criticise infinite for his one-dimensionality, but in my opinion, like... it's the point. he's meant to feel hollow. because he's masking; or because he wasn't made for feelings, but rather for destruction.

something that seems ironic is that many people attempt to "fix" him by... putting him into a box and inflating a single trait into his entire character and calling it "better writing". now, here's the disclaimer, okay: i'm all for people having fun and being proud of their work! i don't think that we should police what others can create. this is just about the phenomenon of watering a character down or changing them to fit ships and narratives rather than those characters being what shape the direction the story and their relationships take, things like that; which... i mean, i'm not a cop, you can still do these things even if i don't like them! i'm not saying it isn't allowed, but i think that you're kind of missing the point.

he never needed fixing. his story needed refinement. that's different. it's more about exploring what we've been given, looking below the surface; infinite is not just an evil, ruthless tyrant that deserves death nor a traumatised sadboy to be made good by the power of love and friendship – not to me. his trauma and anger are both part of him, and you cannot – or rather shouldn't – reduce him to one thing or another. it does him a major disservice, i think. there are good things there, things you can dissect, you just have to be willing to look.

in choosing to ignore what made him who he is, disregarding the loss of his squad and blatant insecurity unless it's funny, you're purposely looking at him through a faulty lense. bad writing doesn't mean that the intent isn't there. context is so important, and you can't analyse him or critique him with worth unless these things are acknowledged. it's like if you were eating a cake, avoiding the frosting and complaining it's not sweet enough. the frosting is there, not even being withheld from you. it has always been there. you decided not to eat it. sorry i'm making weird analogies again but hopefully this makes sense.

this has gotten long, wow. the point i want to highlight, overall, is that infinite is not nearly as awful as people make him out to be. it was never about his strength, it was about the limits and shortcomings of the narrative, a problem not exclusive to him yet one that has been pinned on him for so many years. i don't want it to sound like i'm saying he is immune to criticism, or that forces is, even though i've criticised forces during the creation of this post (and don't think that i think forces is terrible, either! it's my favourite game and i have lots of things i like about it as well! i've just been drawing attention to these parts to better explain what i want to convey lol); but i do hate how the wrong thing is being criticised.

this issue has been watered down into "infinite weak" when it's way more broad, way more complex than that, and i cannot stand it. it seems like such a trivial matter, like, oh, fandom is being mean about my favourite guy, but it did actual damage and forever altered people's perception of him. i am pissed about it! i'm mad! i don't care if you don't like infinite (because i can just block you as we will not get along!) but... it's about why people don't like him. they don't have to justify it, they can continue hating him, but it always bothered me that the reason is so often not a real problem. yeah.

okay, i think that's it. thank you for taking the time to read this, and if you made it this far, you're gay

#transmission #infinite tag #infinite the jackal #long post

[nuwildcat]

10 QL people I want carnally aesthetically

Sooooo as your local ace, I couldn't complete the lovely tag from @sunshinesanctuary with carnally, cause....I don't think that way. BUT with a little chit chat in DMs with @luckydragon10 I was able to cobble together a list of aesthetically pleasing people from Queer Love series.

Cool I'm going to start with the two who lured me into Thai BL cause why not.

**note the following gifs will not be the most flattering, but instead the most hilarious ones I find on tumblr's atrocious gif search.

10. Tan (Max Nattapol) - Manner of Death

What can I say, I like a good cheeky monkey who has no idea what to do with the pretty man that has just kissed him. He has his little shit face on here, and that's about all it takes to lure in my ace heart.

9. Bunn (Tul Pakorn) - Manner of Death

What an orange cat of a man. Like, what were you thinking was going to happen (spoiler he was checking for a gun I think? sus little bean) but that is a horrible way to go about that. Charmed the shit out of me from the get go, he absolutely deserves to be on this list. Also that shirt is doin' werk.

8. Phupha (Earth Pirapat) - A Tale of a Thousand Stars

Right, so, as far as aesthetics go, this man is already pretty, but then they stuck him in a uniform, and I've always been a sucker for a uniform. He gives gremlin vibes this entire show, despite the serious face that is just stuck like that. (I am starting to sense a pattern...).

7. Prapai (Fort Thitipong) - Love in the Air

What does this man do? Seemingly, nothing. He has way too much time on his hands and a clearly overworked secretary, but I will say the lack of brain cells and puppy dog eyes kinda worked for me. (not enough to finish the series, but I was digging him).

6. Jang Jae Young (Park Seo Ham) - Semantic Error

I love how freakishly tall this man is. Once again I have found an absolute terror of a man (this one totally has a golden heart) and latched onto him instantly. The fact that he came with a built in size difference is just the icing on the cake.

5. Choi Yu Na (Song Ji Oh) - Semantic Error

Ummm. Yeah Imma just let that gif speak for itself. Immaculate babe, just keep doing what you're doing.

OKAY from here on it's just KP I don't know what y'all were expecting otherwise.

4. Tay (Us Nititorn) - KinnPorsche the Series

My love affair with Tay is long standing and undying. This is the best I could do to find a silly gif of him. Honestly I think that speaks to why he is so high on the aesthetic list. Poor man lost in a google coin toss to Big 😭

3. Big (Nodt Nutthasid) - KinnPorsche the Series

That right there ladies and gentlemen, is peak bodyguard performance, losing your shit over the new kid. All jokes aside there's something about this man's face that makes me wanna stare at it from like every angle. Give this man another role so I can stare at him more, please.

2. Porsche (Apo Nattawin) - KinnPorsche the Series

Ahhh Apo and his amazing faces. There is a unique ability to demonstrate just how little is going on in a character's head, and Apo has it DOWN. Porsche my darling, aesthetically your a freaking masterpiece, but baby if you think too hard you might hurt yourself. (Yes I am aware the theme is getting worse). THAT BEING SAID. Holy shit when you clean this boy up he is a force to recon with. That green suit??? it haunts me. Aesthetics on point with this brat.

Kinn (Mile Phakphum) - KinnPorsche

Right so this last one was actually hard to pick between Porsche and Kinn, buuuuut if I'm going form a character aesthetic approach I have to give the #1 spot to Kinn. My man slays through the majority of this show with suits on point, and cocky faces galore. I kinda hate him a little bit for how long I had to scroll to find an unflattering gif. EVEN HERE HE LOOKS GOOD he just got his dick sucked too hard in a helicopter to pull off suave. *throws hands up in the air* I just wanna put him in my pocket and take him out and shake him every once and a while.

I am very late to this game but I am going to inflict this on a couple people I think who haven't been tagged and whose answers I would find amusing. @lady-guts @fairhairedkings @medievalraven @stoeptepel @dr-lemurr

Please feel no obligation to participate I just think y'all would have good hot-takes.

#tag game #boys love #girls love #queer love #kinnporsche the series #manner of death #semantic error #love in the air #I don't know what I'm doing here I'm too ace for this

[vancehopperenthusiast]

HI SO PLEASE I'M SORRY IF THIS COMES OF WEIRD BUT CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A PART TWO TO PURE KISSES ABOUT YOUR DATE THEN WHEN YOUR FRIENDS WALKS YOU HOME THEY ASK WHY YOUR MOUTH IS PURPLE??? IF THAT MAKES SENSE.

HE IS SO PRETTY AHHGGGGG

Pure Kisses P3

Summary: After the little event with Vance, Carly comes to pick you up, and all of a sudden, within the last 3 hours you were apart, she's sherlock fucking holmes.

Notes: OMGOMGOMG yes yes!

me pretending like I don't have school in the morning to write this LMFAO

I hope you like ittt

Tags: easily flustered Vance, carlys back lols, probably really wordy bcz I'm sleepy, uhh idk that's all

CWS: cursing that's it i think

After vance was done with his maniac laughing and you sitting there completely flabbergasted and a little annoyed, he wiped his tears. He looked up at your straight face and grinned, he looked like he had just beat his new pinball score (which mind you was currently at a record of 120,420 not to brag or anything) 

You couldn't help but smile back. Something about his laugh and smile was so contagious,  “fine then Mr. Vance, show me your tongue” he looked bashful as the words flew from your mouth. “Fuck off” he rolled his eyes. After a minute of comfortable silence, you noticed the rain had stopped. “Hey, I’m gonna call Carly, ask her to pick me up... See you tomorrow?” 

“Don't you want me to walk you home?” the curly-haired blonde shot up from his position on the bed. “No, it's okay. My parents would never let a boy on our front porch. They barely let me on our date!” 

His curls were covering his face but he was clearly disappointed. “I pinky promise I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s gonna take a minute for Carly to get here anyway. We can hang out till then” you stuck out your pinky. He looked at you like you were crazy.

“I don't do those pinky promises they're fucking stupid.” the curly-headed boy stated, your eyes were filled with sadness and you were sure you could feel your heart tear a little. Pinky promises had always been something you held close to you. Sure it was stupid to do it in damn near high school. But you've always done it.

It was almost like he could feel your sadness from a mile away because he looked up almost immediately after he said it. “Fine but nobody ever finds out about this and if they do, I’ll never admit to it.”

Your face lit up, “okok nobody with ever find out!” you stuck your pinky out again, this time a stronger finger hooked itself around yours. You wrapped your pinky around his and kissed it, locking it in.

“I’ll be back I gotta call Carly,” you said, rushing out of the room and hustling down the steps.

He sighed, shaking his head, curls bouncing with it. Covering his face with his hands, he put his entire body back onto his bed, rather than just his bottom half. You made him feel so giddy inside. It was so embarrassing how whipped he was for you. Say the word and he’s already doing it. If anyone saw how he was acting they wouldn't believe it

The pinball Vance hopper, giggling, kicking his feet, playing with his hair over a random bum? Nope possible. He laid there for a moment longer in peace before he heard your footsteps making their way to his domain. “She's on her way. So I expect about 30 minutes,” 

He bit the inside of his cheek trying his hardest not to smile, of course, that failed. A toothy grin plastered itself on his face again. He looked fucking goofy and he knew it. As long as it was you who caused it, he couldn't essay he exactly minded all that much.

“What is it?” you asked curiously. “Nothing, just you”

Thirty minutes ran like Usain bolt because before you noticed, Carly was knocking at the food. You quickly tossed on your shoes and looked at Vance, “see you tomorrow” you stated before kissing his cheek and heading downstairs. 

“Let's go!” Carly ushered, you walked outside and shut the door. Carly didn't ask too much. She didn’t want to intrude if you wanted her to know, you'd tell her that's for sure. While you were rambling about something, she noticed your tongue. “Y/N what's wrong with your tongue?” she asked slowly, you pretended like you had no clue what she meant.

“Why’s it purple?”

“Oh no I guess I've gotten sick from the rain haha”

“Y/N.”

“We kissed! Okay more like totally made out but you can't tell anyone!!” you squealed 

“I knew it!! Omg is he a good kisser??”

“Girl, don't even get me startedd!”

#pinball vance hopper #finney blake #griffin stagg #paperboy #robin arellano #vance hopper #the black phone #pinball #tbp #pinball vance #vance x reader #vance hopper x reader

[bbeanbbao]

nothing on me but you

summary

Yoongi, Jimin and you.

You weren't entirely sure how the three of you had come to this arrangement but here you found yourself, and it was addictive.

relationship

min yoongi/park jimin/you

tags

f/m/m, threesome, smut, vaginal sex, kinky, soft dom yoongi, switch/vers jimin, sub reader, one-shot

read on ao3!

preview 🔞

You weren't entirely sure how the three of you had come to this arrangement. Not sure who made the first move, who had suggested it, how exactly it had happened.

Was it Jimin who had kissed behind your ear as you had lounged around together that day? Or maybe it was Yoongi, sliding his hand up your thigh, who had started this. Maybe it had just been a look shared between the three of you, in that way that you all just knew.

What you do know is that the first time it happened, it had been in the living room of your shared apartment, kisses that turned into clothes being stripped. That turned into two pairs of hands on your body, touching you and making you feel things you'd never felt before.

It had ended with you breathless on your back, cum dripping down your thighs and your chest, panting and aching.

After the first time, it didn't happen again for a while and you were so worried; scared that you had all crossed that line that friends maybe should never cross, that maybe you had seen too much of each other now, done too much to each other.

But through some stroke of fate, though that line had been crossed, things didn't really change, at least in your everyday life with your two best friends.

Jimin was still the kind sweetheart who wrapped you in blankets when you were cold, bought you little gifts just because he felt like it, and could talk to you and giggle with you for hours.

Yoongi was still the strong pillar you had always leant on, quietly but unwaveringly showing his love in small ways - leaving you home cooked meals when he knew you were working late, playing your favourite songs when you were doing laundry together, drinking glasses of whisky with you late into the night, setting the world to rights and laughing at your crazy ideas.

But as time stretched on, you all began to feel that need again, that ache for something more. You tossed and turned in bed more nights that you could count, the image of Jimin's toned body hovering above you, his dark hair falling into his eyes and his honey skin glistening with a sheen of sweat; the feel of Yoongi's lips on your neck, his rough hands feeling your body and his cat-like eyes looking up at you; the memory of Yoongi’s deep voice commanding Jimin to go harder until he spilled inside you...the memories were vivid in your mind and your body was crying out for it.

You could sense Yoongi and Jimin felt the same, their touches on you, always friendly and sweet, becoming more lingering. Jimin biting his lip when he looked at you, Yoongi's eyes catching on your mouth as you spoke.

It all came to a head one rainy night when a sex scene started in the movie you were all watching, and Jimin slowly shuffled closer to you. You felt his hand on the back of your neck, delicately playing with your hair, and you could hear his breathing become a little heavier.

"Aw, is our Jiminie enjoying the movie a little too much?" Yoongi had suddenly teased, voice low. Jimin flashed him a frustrated look then turned to you.

"How are you finding the movie?" he'd asked, lips close to your ear. You felt a pleasurable shudder roll through your body.

"It's okay," you had started. "But I'm not enjoying it as much as you clearly are." You'd flicked your eyes down to his lap, where his hand was pushing slightly, clearly trying to tame a growing hard-on.

"Maybe Jiminie is thinking about if he could do those things to you. You'd like that, wouldn't you Jimin?" Yoongi continued and Jimin had let out a huff. You could have almost laughed at how cliche this situation was but no - it was happening.

"Fuck you, hyung," Jimin had bitten back, but Yoongi had just chuckled darkly.

"Maybe one day, but for now..." His eyes had moved to yours and you held your breath. "I think I'd like to see you take care of Jimin's problem, perhaps."

continue reading on ao3!

#bts fanfic #bts smut #yoonmin #yoongi x jimin x reader #yoongi x jimin #yoonmin smut #threes0me #smut

[anchirayce]

To Behold the Golden Sun Ch. 1

This takes place after the events of BG3. Basically, a smol adventure about Tav and Astarion arriving at Tav's childhood city to search for a way to have Astarion walk in the sun again! Drama ensues!

Rating: T - Sexual themes, strong language

Warnings/Tags: Tiefling racism, alcohol use (responsible, suggestion of misuse), suggestion of non-con, suggestion of child abuse, typical canon violence, slight angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn(I mean it, it's slow), Astarion might be ooc, but hopefully not!

Tav couldn't always run away from his past. He knew this from the moment he started to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again. He wanted to stay away, but spurred by another failure, a memory of eld came to him. A whisper of something said, something promising. Hopefully, this little spark of hope was what he and Astarion were looking for.

My Tav:

____

The winter breeze caressed through the thick cloak wrapped around my shoulders. My armour murmured through the silence. And the chill burrowed pleasantly through the heavy metal.

"Is the wind bothering you, my love?" Astarion's smooth voice was almost reverent against the darkness.

"Not quite, it's colder than I expected though." My breath puffed past the thick wool scarf.

“We can camp if you need.”

“No, no.” I said, “it feels nice.” We continued through the snow pack. There was a path, but the fresh blanket covered up the tracks left by the previous travellers. It slowed our pace and I worried that dawn would arrive sooner than anticipated.

For a time we continued in silence, our exertion and the crunching snow being the only audible sound.

“Are you sure this lead is viable?" My love asked, his doubt was understandable. I told him about a lead to cure his vampirism. And he trusted me completely. But I suppose he saw something in me.

It was a very old memory and I'm not sure if it's even true or not. But to spend time with him in the sun again, to have him taste food and walk through water without burning. It would be worth returning to my personal horrors to help Astarion.

“Not, entirely. But it’s better than trying to find that Ring of Sunwalking we chased for a solid three months.” I huffed and Astarion took my hand.

It was near dawn when we arrived. The urgency of finding a place to stay fueled our tired bodies forward. I would have to set up the tent quickly if we couldn't find anything.

The streets were mostly clear of people, those awake paid us no mind either. We still kept our heads low and forever glanced at the sun. We avoided the spots that were becoming exposed. And I blessed the memories of the times I ran through these alleyways.

We made it, with only a few minutes to spare. Hurriedly, I made a show of placing my all too heavy pack on the table. Making it loud enough for the patron to hear through the open window. The sun began to peak above the buildings.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” She asked as she exited.

“Yes, we’re looking for a place to stay. We've been travelling all night. Are you open?” I said, pulling down my scarf so my nose was free.

“We aren't entirely! But please, both of you come in and make yourselves warm! It would be cruel to toss you back into the snow.” I let Astarion go first and we entered the empty hall. It smelled deliciously of roasting meat and porridge. And the sudden change of cold to warmth kissed a shiver through my limbs.

“What made you folks brave the darkness?” The hostess asked as she went behind her counter. "Not many people travel at night. Especially up here."

“We’re on a journey to meet someone. We promised them we would be in the next town over by the end of this tenday.” I lied.

“Oh, my! I suppose a rest is in order then?"

I smiled through my scarf. "That would be lovely, is there a room somewhere quiet? Away from the noise of the tavern? I understand you're closed but I'm willing to trade my services of labour for it. Or some gold.”

“But of course, and I'll just take the gold!" She smiled and opened the ledger. "I'll give you one of the basement rooms, be warned what you find. That room is for…soliciting activities.” I chuckled lightly.

“We'll keep it in mind, thank you.” She handed me a key and I gave her gold.

“Enjoy your stay gentlemen!” We wandered down and into our humbly plain and well kept room. There was a wardrobe, table, and basin of water. As well as everything needed for basic comfort and a fun night hidden in the corners.

“You’re surprisingly quiet.” I mentioned as I locked the door and began to shed my armour. Astarion went to the single foggy window and peered out at the hushed dawn.

“There’s something you’re not telling me?” He replied and took a piece of canvas from our packs.

I heaved a long, weary, sigh and limped sorely to the bed. I hadn't realised how much of a toll pushing through shin-deep snow had put on my body. “Even without the tadpole you can read my mind so clearly. But yes…you're right."

Astarion shed his own elven chain and claimed his spot on my lap. The comfort of our tenday routine took over as I relished in his coolness. The fire of Avernus burned in my blood and no matter how the claws of winter chill dug deep--I was still hot.

“You can't hide anything from me." He quipped and kissed my jaw, his hands lowered as he pulled off my sweaty shirt. His teasing sent shivers through me.

I laid back, leaning my head against his as he bit gently into my flesh. I reached through the hem of his shirt to hold his back and waist, giving him my warmth as I held him.

He hummed and readjusted the position of my head. He moved his grip slowly back to under my neck and embraced my middle with his left. I moved to hold him tight against me. His deep and gentle gulps almost pulled me into sleep.

He sat up when satisfied. And licked the wound clean before I reached clumsily to heal the pinpricks. I opened my eyes, smiling as I regained my conscience.

“Are you alright? Did I take too much?” Astarion asked as he got off of me.

“No…I’m just tired." I said and moved an arm over my eyes. Their heaviness was unbearable. "I’m sorry I haven’t been completely forthwith too. This place makes me nervous.” I felt him lean on his elbow and I hummed delightfully as he stroked a hand through my hair.

“Nonsense, as long as it's not a lie--you may keep as many delicious secrets as you can. Even the juiciest ones.” He placed a hand to my chest and leaned to kiss my forehead. “Rest now, darling. Tell me about it in the afternoon. Or when you're ready.” I drew close to him breathing in the crisp smell of my blood and his scent.

I woke up late, very late. I stretched trying to find Astarion. My hand met his thigh and I stayed there as he weaved his delicately cold fingers through mine. I turned onto my stomach trying to squeeze out just an hour more. I rested until I heard Astarion speak.

“Darling, as much as I adore being in bed with you all day. We are very much in need of supplies. And we need to get them before the shops close.” Astarion said and leaned to kiss my exposed cheek.

I whined low, and before he could leave I sprang up and grabbed his waist, pulling him down into the covers.

“Tav!” He laughed loudly. I leaned over him and kissed him deeply, relishing in the feeling of his touch through my long hair.

“Come now, stop procrastinating.” He rebuked as I buried my nose in his neck, kissing the two scars and his collarbone. I adored the day he allowed me to get this close to him. To kiss and care for his insecurities filled me with only the deepest love.

“We haven’t had a day to ourselves in nearly half a year! Can’t I relish in you for a few more moments?” I asked, nibbling my chosen spot.

“We have too! We’ve been travelling together non-stop!”

“But a bed, Astarion! A warm, slightly lumpy bed!” I rolled over and sprawled.

“How about this?” He began, sitting up. “You--gather supplies and information. And later we could...possibly have a night of passion?”

I grimaced, “I don’t want an exchange.”

“No, not an exchange. Consider it…something to look forward to when you get back, my sweet.” I hummed and sat up.

“I suppose that is better.”

“Good." I managed to find some clean clothes at the bottom of my pack. And stepped out of the cool room once dressed, kissing Astarion as I left.

“Be safe.” He said as he closed and locked the door behind me.

I knew exactly where to go, the markets weren't far from here. The only thing that made me nervous were the guards. I knew most of them from my childhood. Luckily with my scarf and hood I was able to blend in with the crowd. I was glad--for once--that the coloured tips of my horns were the same as a common servant's.

I entered the bustling market--snow had begun to float from the low clouds. I tried to keep a keen ear on gossip and whispers as I weaved through the crowd. But my heart was too loud to focus. I shooed away a beggar. Hurt that I was unable to spare a single coin or morsel of food for them.

I wandered silently, only speaking to the shop owners. Who treated me like I expected. With indifference and annoyance. I found and gathered some rations for myself and other supplies. Such as repair kits and some new tools to replace the ones that broke on the long road.

On my way back I stopped by a booth that filled the cold air with gentle fragrances. Soaps, lotions, and perfumes were on display. And with the last gold I bought a single fragrant bar and bottle of bergamot and lavender scented oil. I hoped Astarion would like this. I ignored the comment from the shop keeper as I bumped into a guardsman.

I knew her, the unmistakable recognition from a childhood friend.

"Tavalin?" She gasped, she knew just from my eyes.

Panic broke through my shock and swirling emotions. "You're mistaken, guardsmen." I cleared my throat and pulled away. "Have a good day." She followed, and was good enough to keep up.

But with a murmur, I was able to pull myself away with a well-timed misty step. With a long inhale I pulled myself together and entered the tavern.

I tapped my knuckle against our door. And waited a moment for Astarion to respond.

“Welcome back.” He smiled mischievously.

“I was gone for an hour.” I smiled and glanced at his form. Taking in his half-nakedness.

“A promise is a promise.” He hummed as he kissed me deeply, gracing his fingers on my chest as he pulled me inside by the waistband. I laughed and gently dropped my pack to the ground as he hopped up and wrapped his legs around my waist. He hesitated before kissing me again. He must have felt my heart racing. I placed my hand against his, smiling through my anxiety.

“Can you sit with me? I’m not really up for sex.” I said as I set him down.

“Whatever your heart desires, my sweet.” He laid beside me. Studying my features to see why I was hurting.

I sank lower and embraced him, resting against my pounding heart and heavy breath. “Tav…?” I hummed. “Are you going to tell me why you’re so nervous?”

I took a moment to think. Trying to find a way to tell him. “I met someone. From my past, she recognised me.”

"Do you think she followed?" I shrugged.

“I remember something from my childhood. A tome or conversation. Something about a scroll, or item. I remember being caught, and--something happened. It isn't clear. I remember gold, so much gold. Like the colour."

“And where was this?"

"I don't know. It might have been the mansion on top of the hill. If we are to go, then I have to be careful. If we’re caught, I’ll--be taken. Back there…"

He waited for a response. “It’s--It’s dark, it smells like death and vomit. Everyone is in one room, it's so cold and lonely, yet so cramped. My parents were forced to have me." It spilled loose, and memories were burning through. "They hated me, my mother wanted nothing to do with me. My father saw me as his personal target--!'' I swallowed back a gasp. But my inhale itself seemed to bring the memories back vividly.

I suddenly sat up, trying to get away from Astarion’s touch, it was like fire. “I’m sorry.” I leaned against my knees. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You shouldn't be concerned by this! I--”

“Tav, stop.” Astarion kneeled not touching me as I clawed my pants, “breathe, my love.” I shakily inhaled and felt my panicking heart ease. I reached out and he grabbed my hands. I tried not to squeeze my talons into his soft flesh.

“I have you Tav. And you don’t have to say anything. You can stop. But I wish you did concern me with this. I'm as much a part of your life as you are in mine. Your past included.”

I shook my head bringing his hands to the base of my horns. “It's been two years, I should be over this!” I hissed.

“No. This doesn't just vanish. I know you understand this." Astarion retorted, he leaned on my legs. Adjusting my chin so he could cup my cheek. “You’ve helped so many people overcome their darkness. You’ve always put them before you. You’ve had no time to think about what has happened to you, and it's not right. So please. For once in your life--be selfish and focus on coming to peace.” Tears began to fall from my eyes, something I haven’t done in so long.

A lifetime and two years of pent up anger, sadness, and fear seemed to break free. It hurt, having him see me so weak, I was his support. I couldn't be like this, but I couldn't help it either. Being here, meeting someone from my past so suddenly. Having the idea of going back. It was too much.

"There we are, let it out…" Astarion soothed and when I reached for an embrace he stood and squeezed me tightly. Whispering affirmations.

“How did you do this so elegantly? I feel like a fool." I mumbled against his chest.

Astarion chuckled dryly. "Elegantly?" He scoffed, "you forget how shaken I was when I stabbed Cazador to death." He thumbed away my tears. "I hate how you kept helping others with their problems. I knew this was going to accumulate into something."

I huffed, his truth stung. "I prefer helping other people, it's easier to be there for them. This makes me want to run away.” I flinched as Astarion moved, his legs were probably numb.

"I'm sorry you can sit on the bed." He glanced at me with a disapproving grimace. Mentioning he didn't want me to apologise.

I didn't look at him as he slowly replaced his hand on mine. "I know you want to, but you can't just deny what has happened to you Tav."

"It's so much easier." I choked out.

"Tell me why?" He tried. I looked away from his eyes, shaking my head. I wanted to tell him, but I just couldn’t.

"Well, if that's the case, and you want to. We'll ignore it until you're ready and focus on my own selfish needs." Astarion said, kissing my knuckles. I chuckled and wiped my eyes.

“Oh, joyous day! My one true love is enabling my wicked vices!” His laugh was light as I dramatically gestured and fell back onto the bed.

He reached and stroked a finger on my chin, his soft grin comforting as he leaned to place his forehead on mine.

"We'll--" Both of us sat up, staring at the sharp knock from the door.

Astarion and I quickly stood and waited, then there was another knock. We pulled on our armour as quickly and quietly as possible. I opened the door and peered out, hoping it wasn't githyanki assassins.

"Tavalin?" It was Rowen, the guardsman.

"There is no one here by that name." I glared at her. Studying her unchanged features.

"Darling, come back to bed! Whoever is at the door can wait!" Astarion's acting startled me.

"Oh Selune, I am so sorry!" She gasped. "Enjoy your night!" I closed the door.

"We need to leave. Now." I whispered.

"Right behind you, love." Astarion already had our packs on his shoulder. I took the last step into the lobby and was greeted with:

"Wait! Stop!" My own impatience was palpable. We should've waited.

We rushed to the door weaving through the crowd of curious individuals. But some tavern patrons immediately stood to block us. I gripped Astarion's hand tightly, turning back to Rowen.

"I need to speak to you!" She waved at the people behind us.

"Why?" My voice shook with my beating heart. The patrons looked down on me, they didn't appreciate having me answer.

"I need to speak with you. Come, follow me. You're not under arrest." I looked at Astarion through his black hood. He nodded curtly and we followed Rowen out into the chill. We warily paced ourselves and stopped when she did.

"We can kill her." Astarion offered. I didn't realise I was in a trance.

"No...I-I don't think that's a good idea."

"Are you okay?" Astarion glanced back at Rowen who had stepped into her home.

"I don't know." I managed through a chokehold of fear and regrets.

"We can leave--" He started pulling me away. It was mainly to get off the road so he could speak privately. "There will be more opportunities."

“No. Just stay with me. Please don’t leave.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Thank you…I’ll be okay with you here.” I thumbed his cheek and hugged him tightly. He returned the squeeze, the enchanted metal of our armour bending with the embrace. He didn’t let go until I did.

We addressed Rowen at the threshold of her home. “Come in, we have much to discuss.” She sighed and began to peel off her chainmail and leathers.

Astarion and I placed our packs down and waited for her to settle. “Please, sit.” She offered her table.

“Could I get you two anything?” She asked. “I have water and gallons of wine.”

“Wine would be nice.” I replied, not taking my scarf and hood off. Astarion didn't either.

She set a mug down and looked at my love. “Do you need anything?”

“No thank you, darling.” Astarion replied as he was already reaching for my cup. I set it closer to him and waited for him to take a drink. He hissed at the taste as I took a long familiar swig. It burned and was tart, I loved the taste. Even in my youth the blueberries and mushrooms mixed well together. And made a great way to get easily pissed to talk about trauma.

Rowen collapsed against the chair, the wood groaning for her as she spoke. Rowen hadn't changed, or at least tried not to. She was an older human, short wavy hair puffed around her dark skin and pale blue eyes studied the oddness of us. She wore a simple stained and worn tunic.

"Would both of you kindly remove your hoods?" Her threat didn't go unnoticed as she pulled a hunting knife from her boot and placed it on the table.

I un-clipped the hood from my horns and pulled away my scarf. Astarion was slightly more hesitant. But eventually pulled off and folded his scarf on his lap.

"You came back…" Rowen sighed, "after everything. Why?"

"It's complicated."

"It better be. Because after everything we did--I did, for you. To have you come back after you escaped, it's just stupid! And just look at your eye too!" She referred to the forced heterochromia. My left eye was hellishly green while my right was considered a normal plain green. Both the scar and changed eye were earned when I escaped this hell. The tadpole healed the wound and I couldn't thank it enough.

"I know it looks bad." I traced it. "But I've grown to like it, Kavek helped with the wound." I took Astarion's hand. "And I came back for this man…" She scoffed and took a drink.

"Seriously Tavalin? You came back for someone else?" She tutted against the tart wine. "Where is my brother?"

"He--" My voice hitched, "he didn't survive the nautiloid."

"What?" She sat up, bewildered.

"Do you know what happened at Baldur’s Gate, two years ago?" I sighed.

"A band of adventurers saved it from an illithid invasion."

"Yes, and it began when Kavek and I were abducted outside of the city…" I told her everything but the deepest secrets.

"Selune save me..." She filled our mugs. "Does this also pertain to why your partner is invisible?" She twirled her knife about, the glimmering metal only reflected her and I.

I looked at him, and beckoned him to speak. "It does, for the most part." He sighed. Taking a drink of wine. "How well can she keep secrets?" Astarion asked me.

"We orchestrated a year-long plan to--” I shook my head. Trying to hide my anxiety through more wine.

I squeezed Astarion’s hand to reassure him and cast sanctuary. "Very well, I am a vampire."

"Ha!" She snorted, lifting her mug in a toast, "and I'm a beholder!"

Rowen took a gulp and realised we were telling the truth. "Oh shit, you're serious!" She burst into a drunken laughter. "You caught yourself the worst of the worst, Tavalin!"

"Oh yes, I am aware.”

“You’ll keep those fangs to yourself right?” She waved her dagger around.

Astarion grinned mischievously. “Ha! I have no care for your blood, Rowen. Hunting is so much work, and why ruin a perfectly good evening stalking? When I have a willing, loving, participant?” He leaned and pulled up my chin to show the faded scars on my neck. I chuckled and took his chin to kiss him.

“You two really love each other, huh?” Rowen asked, almost trying to convince herself. I pulled away and Astarion leaned against the table.

“Madly.” He replied, licking his lips from the nip he gave me.

“I thought vampires couldn’t feel emotion.”

“And I thought humans were only good for sex.”

“Astarion…” I tutted.

“What? It’s true.”

“You know it’s not. And how about we try to make friends instead of foes? Hm?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I suppose you make a point.”

“Rowen, we’re looking for a cure for vampirism. We need your help getting into the library. Or at least, I do.” She leaned back and scratched her scalp. Taking her time to think, I couldn’t blame her. I was asking something impossible of someone who I haven’t seen in years.

“You want to go straight to the worst place for you. To look for something that might not even exist, for a man who has insulted me?” She filled her cup and gulped the whole mug. “I’m in. For my brother. He would want you to be happy. Even if your partner is a sharp-tongued idiot.”

"It's called cunning wit, darling.”

She chuckled, “when do we start?”

“Astarion has to follow vampire rules now. No mirrors, no sun, no running water, no entering homes without permission.” I held up my hand to stop her question, “the tadpole stopped the worst of it.” I took a breath and leaned back moving my arm over Astarion, he sighed against me staring at the cup we shared.

“We would rather be together, but if I have to go alone. I will.”

"That is not going to happen.” Rowen said, she smirked and motioned her head towards my love. “Your little vampire might quip me to death if I don’t.”

“Is that an invitation?” Astarion mused.

“It’s a challenge.”

“Ooh, even better!” He smirked.

“I have an idea of what to do. But my head hurts, and I need to sleep." She pushed herself up. "Come, let me show you to your room and then we will start our plan tomorrow.” I took the rest of the wine in a single gulp. Astarion fetched our packs. And we followed Rowen to Kavek’s room. My wine-addled brain felt nothing, but my hands clenched as I walked into the room.

“I’ll leave you two to rest. I have guard-duty from dawn to afternoon. I’ll come fetch you around then, Tavalin.”

“Thank you, Rowen. Honestly.”

“It’s good to see you.” She grinned and closed the door.

Chapter Two: Here

#bg3 tav #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #slow burn #established relationship #hurt/comfort #slight angst #astarion x male tav #spawn astarion #bg3

[sansxfuckyou]

Camera Film (blurry and faded)

Summary: The last one alive, the only survivor of the wretched killing game- but, he wishes he was dead with the rest of them.

Warnings: major character death, body horror, mourning, machine gore (sort of???), check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: @sobredunia THIRD KENIKARI FIC, FEATURING, UNFILTERED DETAH ANGST BECAUSE THAT'S HOW WE ROLL! *clears throat* I've been thinking about how much fucking guilt and trauma the survivor is gonna be left with, this is like, really short though compared to how much I usually write. Anyways, this fic is brought to you by waking up and Dunia showing me some quality Detah art and then I sort of, wrote this, and its completely unrelated to the art at that. If you read it please consider leaving a reblog as they really help with my motivation!

"No!"

His voice was raw as he screamed, desperately reaching for Lares hand but missing. She fell back first into the vat of acid, her clothing sizzled just as fast as her skin melted. He couldn't bring himself to look away as her form distorted, her cries came out garbled and broken, syllables slurred into each other. Only when she was entirely melted did he look away, slumping backwards onto solid ground.

"Congratulations!" The Mastermind cheered, a green screen lowering down from the roof. A tangle of wires and mechanical tentacles helped lower down her disembodied screen. The smugness she wore and the confetti on her screen meant nothing to Detah who couldn't bring himself to look up from the ground.

Detah choked back sobs.

"You're the last one alive, you should be cheering! You should be happy!" The Mastermind exclaimed, the screen lowered to pivot itself to be at Detahs side.

"I'm the last one," He barely managed to get it out, he shrunk against the red fabric a little bit more. Razor sharp teeth ground together as he stifled back tears threatening to spill.

The sound of metal doors opening rung out, moonlight filtered in, "And there's your way out; but don't worry!" She laughed maliciously as she spoke, "I'll make sure to get their graveyards location to you for later!"

Detah stood up, brushed himself off, and punched a hole directly through the green screen. He pulled back his hand and shook off the small shards of glass clinging to his skin, a couple punctures were made. Then he did it again, cords came out this time and what remained of the picture was crackling and blacking out.

"Fuck you," He spat the words with enough venom to counter the Geographic Cone Snail, if The Mastermind could still hear him he hoped she was cowering in his boots. He tossed the handful of torn and frayed copper wires into the vat of acid, "Just, fuck you, I would tell ya to suck my dick but you're too scummy for that honor."

He would've kept disemboweling the machine but the bitterness in his throat and the shake that threatened to render him motionless came out on top. He did tear the screen from it's mechanical tentacles and stomp it, spiked boots tearing through glass and machinery like a hot knife through butter. He gave it a reluctant shove into the acid, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

How is he supposed to live?

He was friends with them, and then he watched them die- he helped them die.

And now he just, has to go on?

Yeah, he'll manage, he'll live with or without them, he still has a sister to take care of at home. He can get a job, he could be a crime detective, he knows what bodies look like under all sorts of death scenarios. He would be great at it! He'll just do that until his sister can sustain herself on her own and then he'll figure something else out.

That doesn't stop his steps from staggering as he steps ever closer to the door. It doesn't stop his mind from going blurry as he edges ever closer to those metal slabs. It doesn't stop the tears from finally spilling over as he breaches the the gate, basked in moonlight and a chilling breeze.

He can't do this.

He turns to step back but the entrance is gone.

He's stuck out here now.

Detah took a heavy breath as he stared at the tombstones all laid out in front of him, he clutched the bouquet in hand a little bit tighter.

He laid one of each at every grave, he never found out their favorite flowers so he went on instinct. But his gut feeling about them has faded over time, it's been so long since he was given a chance to properly mourn and look over what they were like. It's been so long since he's last seen them, years at this point, it hasn't treated him well.

He places a sprig of blueberries on Blues tombstone, he can't quite recall much more than her name.

He drops a mangled strand of lavender on Murasakis, he remembers that he was an asshole.

He puts a white lily on Chuyos tombstone, white petals, a chilly feeling, he always wore snow gear.

He puts a small bundle of wildflowers on Makos, chaotic like what he remembers of her.

He places a blossom of a chestnut tree on Alexs, he knows that the Brit was regal.

He places bee bomb on Bees, she was too quiet for him to garner what else about her asides from names.

He places hyacynths on Uzomis, they stand out from the rest just like she did.

Lastly, he places a jar of moths on Lares, it isn't a flower, but he owes all of his moth knowledge to her.

He takes a seat by her tombstone and gives a heavy sigh, "I miss you guys."

He pops the cap off the jar of moths and urges them to crawl from their confines, they latch onto the rock making up the tombstone. A couple fly off, a purplish hue casts across the sky and reflects to the ground below.

"I could've saved you, one of you! But I didn't," He gives another deep breath and slow exhale, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't know why it still stings when he's greeted with silence despite the fact he knows he'll never hear them again.

#kenikari #detah #lare #detah kenikari #lare kenikari #writing #kenikari fic #kenikari fanfiction #kenikari fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #tw body horror #tw death #tw major character death #tw minor gore

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Touch of glass ch.9

Blossom

masterlist

chapter 8

chapter 10

chapter preview for(?)

Tags: @willowaudreykeyes @saltofsaints

Previously:

“ Y/n, I want you too meet my co worker, Mimzy.”

" Hello, I'm Y/n." I said, holding my hand out to her. She stared at me for a moment, and it gave me the time to take in her appearance. She was a short woman, short enough to make Alastor look like a giant, and shorter than me. She was a small woman, a bit pudgy, with a long nose that pointed down. Her hair was short, around the top of her shoulders, a light blond color that was curled.

" Hello, Y/n.." She said, her tone sounding upsetting, as if something was wrong.

" She's just here to give me the reports for tommorrows broadcast, right Mimzy?" Alastor said with a smile, before her scowl turned into a smile.

" Yes of course! Mr. Sanchez sent me with the forecast and all! There's also updates on that killer that's going around. Goodness everyone's so shaken up about it." She laughed, before pulling out a few papers from her bag, all neatly stacked and clipped together. Alastor took the papers and nodded to her in a sign of thanks.

" Y/n Mimzy's my assistant, she gets me things when I'm too busy." Alastor said as he walked over to his fireplace, lighting a match and tossing it in. Mimzy smiled bashfully before hanging her coat on a nearby chair.

" Of course I do, I know his entire schedule, since I'm always doing things for him." She smiled gleefully, sitting down in the chair she had put her coat on. " So, how did you two meet?" Mimzy asked, looking towards me for an answer. I was going to answer, before Alastor cut in.

" Her father introduced us. She's not from around here. He gave me the pleasure to show her around town. It's been great so far, if I do say so myself." Alastor said, turning to face the two of us while dusting his hands off.

" Your father?" Mimzy asked, before I nodded.

" Can you believe Wallace is her father? Crazy. I've never seen her mother but I'm sure she looks more like her because she definitely isn't Wallace's look-a-like." Alastor said, putting his arm around my shoulders, before pulling me into a side hug. Mimzy's eyes went wide, a shocked look taking over her face.

" Your his daughter? You look different, did you change your hair?" She asked, before I shook my head.

" This is my first time here. You must be thinking of Almarice." I said to her, before she was still for a minute, her eyes seemed to be focusing on something else. Yet, she was still staring at me.

Oh. Oh.

She wasn't staring at me. Well, she was, but she was staring at Alastor, who's arm was around my shoulders.

" Would you like some cake? We made some earlier." Alastor asked, sensing the tension. She nodded as he slipped away from me to walk into the kitchen, Mimzy following happily on his heels. I picked up my slice of cake, as well as Alastor's and began making my way to the kitchen, before I stopped, listening to whispers.

" Who is she?" I heard Mimzy ask in a hushed tone. She seemed upset, frustrated.

" You act like you didn't just learn her name Mimzy." Alastor said, his tone harsh.

" Why were you so close to her? I don't understand. Where did she come from? Just thin air?" Mimzy asked, angrier than before.

" Mimzy, for the love of Christ drop it. We've talked about it already and I absolutely refuse to do it again. You either get over it or get out." He said, calm. Too calm. I decided to act like I hadn't heard a thing, and simply walk in with the cake like nothing.

" I brought our cake. I figured we could all eat together." I said, trying to sound as happy and calm as possible. Mimzy frowned, before she walked away from Alastor, past me and out of the kitchen. I looked to Alastor and we were quiet for a few moments before we heard the front door slam. " Is she alright?" I asked, before Alastor wiped the knife clean of cake.

“ I know you heard us.” He said, and I felt frozen in my place. Well, there goes that.

“ I didn’t want to start anything. I’m sorry if I’ve caused trouble. That was never my intention.” I said, before he sighed and dropped the knife into the sink. He walked around the island, which was in the middle of the kitchen, before walking over to me and taking my hand, leading me back into the sitting room. There, he grabbed a record and pulled the vinyl out, before placing it gently on the record player. He pulled me close, his arm wrapping around my waist, while I put my arm around his neck.

“ You didn’t start a problem.” He said quietly, leaning his head on my shoulder. The silence filled the air as we listened to the music in the background, which was low.

“ Then why was she so mad?” I asked, before he let out a sigh.

“ Mimzy has alway felt, close to me. Eventually, she felt romantic feelings for me. I do not feel the same.” Alastor said. I was silent for a moment, before he placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder. “ I have something I’d like to ask you.” He said. I let out a small ‘hm’ in response. “ I know we’ve done things a bit backwards and out of the normal but… Would you allow me the pleasure to continue court you?”

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin demon #hazbin vaggie #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor

[springautumn]

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: an insomnia riddled night ends up with you tossing and turning in the middle of the night. Luckily, you have Eddie by your side.

Warnings: none (Eddie is accidentally elbowed but that's it)

AN: this is a repost from January 2023 with the title changed, hopefully this shows up in the tags this time

No amount of tossing and turning could help you get to sleep.

The street lamp outside flickered, the last blinks of its bright orange glow mocking you before the light eventually dimmed. Even a light on the street went to sleep before you could.

A deep sigh escaped you, its echo quietly travelling across the room before transforming back into the bitter silence that overtook the trailer.

You had tossed and turned all night, trying to find a comfortable position until you settled onto your back, tired eyes fixed onto the ceiling. Nothing could get you to sleep, and the worst part was you had no idea why. Stress from the upcoming finals, the cold seeping in through the window, the persistent ache in your calf- it all added up yet you were pretty sure none were to blame for your nightly bout of insomnia. It was one of those cases where your brain wouldn’t switch off.

A soft grumble pulled your attention from the ceiling. Looking to your right, you smiled at the sight of Eddie sleeping, his mouth slightly open with his hand curled underneath his pillow, his hair a messier tangle of curls.

Tonight was the third night in a row he stayed late at the garage, working overtime before the owner closed shop for a while, leaving Eddie to pass out as soon as his head fell onto the pillow, fast asleep for the entire night.

“Jerk,” you muttered enviously, gently running your thumb atop his chin to wipe away the soot he never managed to wash off. He was so tired he simply wiped a towel on his face instead of his usual wash routine, his aching muscles screaming for the rest he needed.  

Your touch was feather-light, quick to yank your thumb away when he shifted in his sleep to face you. You didn’t want to wake him; it felt cruel to have him suffer with you, especially after he worked himself to the bone to make up for the work he’ll miss soon.

You adjusted your position once again, only to accidentally elbow Eddie in the ribs, letting out a gasp on instinct as Eddie woke up with a snort, blinking rapidly to rid the blurriness from his eyes.

"W'ssit? Who's dead?" he mumbled groggily.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," you whispered, scrunching your eyes closed. "Nothing happened, go back to sleep."

Eddie flickered his gaze to you, his brows furrowed as he turned towards you, his arm slipping around your waist protectively.

Even half-asleep in complete darkness, Eddie could read you like a book, easily recognising when you needed comfort.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, covering a wide yawn with the back of his hand.

You shook your head, guilty you woke him up despite your adamant plan not to. “Just one of those nights”

Eddie let out a hum, now fully alert. “How about a bedtime story? I heard those can help.”

“Why not?” you shrugged, letting yourself close your eyes in anticipation. At this hour, you were ready to try again.

Eddie cleared his throat, taking a deep breath to prepare himself, his official ‘Dungeon Master’ voice at the ready. “Long ago, in a realm of evil, twenty rings existed: three for elves, seven for dwarves, nine for men, and one made by the Dark Lord Sauron. Now, Sauron poured all his evil and his will to dominate into this ring, which obviously was bad news for the elves, dwarves and nine men. So they all formed an alliance…”

You peeked one eye open as you heard him continue the familiar story. Both eyes now open, your lips formed a bright smile as your head turned towards your boyfriend: the gallant storyteller. One glance at you had him stop talking, his next words forgotten at the sight of the playful gleam in your eyes.

“What?” he asked, a smile gracing his full lips.

“Nice try, that’s the plot of The Hobbit,” you said with a hearty chuckle.

“Lord of the Rings, smartass” he deadpans, leaning over you to kiss you, smothering your growing giggles. His hand on your cheek, he stole two more kisses before he pulled back, letting out a deep breath as he tightened his arms around you to pull you into his chest, your head coming to rest directly on his heart.

You bit your lip, bashfully sneaking a glance at Eddie, your smile growing when you saw Eddie staring back at you, looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes, which grew tenfold when you let out a nervous chuckle.

“Alright, I got another one. I think you’ll like this one,” Eddie told you, breaking the silence that passed over you.

“Shoot,” you closed your eyes once again, hoping this story would do the trick.

“Once upon a time, let’s say a year ago,” Eddie began, forgoing the dramatics. “The brave men of the Hellfire club were spending the usual day of surviving the purgatory that is Hawkins High. Two of those brave men, the freshly joined Bard and Cleric were in danger of some good-for-nothing jocks. Eddie the Banished saw this and was ready for a call to arms, but somebody already beat me to it. An angel sent down from heaven. She shook a can of soda and heaved the exploding liquid down the main ringleader’s shirt. He ran away with his tail between his legs and left us alone since that day.” 

His smooth voice combined with the steady ba-bumps of his heartbeat in your ear, as well as the feeling of his knuckles travelling up and down your spine, was enough to soothe you into sweet oblivion, your eyes fluttering as you struggled to keep up with his words.

“Sounds like the angel came at the right time,” you mumbled drowsily, your brain finally shutting off and allowing you to have the rest you needed.

Eddie looked down and once he knew you were asleep, he gently lifted your head onto your pillow. “Couldn’t agree more, angel.”

He softly kissed your head, letting out a sleepy breath as he closed his eyes, the warmth pulling him back into slumber, the feeling of you in his arms bringing him content.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #my writing

[theheightofdishonor]

That page of hinata looking back at a Kageyama that gave him the first toss ever before falling out of fever and exhaustion. Your tags were interesting could u pls break it down?? Is it a full circle of view from the top narrative or Kageyama being the first setter to give him a toss so a silent thank you?

Ngl I write so much about haikyuu and tumblr's search is so bad that I wasn't able to pinpoint the post you're talking about but i'm pretty sure it's about these panel from ch 364 during the kamomedai match. (if it's not, feel free to send another ask and i'll do my best to reply)

In a way it is a full circle moment, both for their partnership but also for Karasuno and where the two of them stand within the team? Hmm, i'l try to explain this.

So the panel on the left is the first time Kageyama's ever set for Hinata, back in ch 4 when they're practicing for the 3 on 3 match. And at the time, Kageyama was refusing to set for Hinata because well, Hinata sucks and Kageyama won't set for people who are unnecessary to win. But they're still together, practicing recieves at like 5:30 in the morning because they don't really have a choice but to work together and then this happens

And Kageyama- who has been frustrated this entire time because no one else around him understand, who struggles with being the only one who is always going for every ball with the same desperate desire- is inexplicably moved by this, by Hinata putting in this much effort and hurting himself for a ball that ultimately doesn't matter much at the end of a long practice when he's getting tossed to by a guy who doesn't even respect him. So finally, after like 3 chapters of refusing to set for Hinata, Kageyama finally does. And it's significant that he's doing it here when when Hinata's exhausted and just completed a decent receive and for once, not actually asking for or expecting a set (it's a bit of a challenge too: i'm finally giving you this but when you're in a terrible condition, do you still want it?; it's a bit of a plea: won't you show me again? that you'll try for volleyball, that you won't give up no matter how tired, no matter how hard?)

Back to the present moment, it's in some ways the same thing but upgraded, a measure of how far they've come that Hinata can make an excellent receive and Kageyama looks at him and says, nope not enough come here now and finish it, won't you? and Hinata does!! Because he will always rise to the occasion, always drag himself back up if it means he can spike and all of these are facts that are firmly entrenched in both of them now

Back then Kageyama could barely dare to hope that someone would ever be able to match him and now he knows Hinata will and look at the way he fucking revels in the knowledge of all that.

But there is something else that's changed too. Namely that it's not just the two of them anymore.

It's not just Hinata now that can rise to Kageyama's expectations, it's all of Karasuno. It would be soo easy for any of them to not jump at the end of the 6th set of the day after back to back matches but they do. All of them jump, all of them are here now, caring just as much about volleyball and putting in just as much effort and the team as a whole is in sync, they're all united in this desire and it's a measure of how far they've all come together too.

And with the look at the end,

I think it's one part that they just completed something really cool and with each other so they're like reveling in the moment together but also one part that Kageyama sees Hinata fall and he realizes what's happening before everyone else does because he already suspected Hinata's sick and because he's got this uncanny knack for reading Hinata.

I think that covered everything about my thoughts on that panel. I hope this was what you were looking for, if it's not , feel free to send another ask clarifying like I said before. Also this ask gave me a much appreciated excuse to reread the Komamedai ask so thanks for that, anon.

#kamomedai #brotp: someone even better #haikyu #haikyuu!! #meta #asks #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyo #haikyuu!! meta

[myalchod]

20 questions for fic writers

Stole this from @backjustforberena because procrastination tastes delicious and also I love a good excuse to babble. Not tagging anyone else, but if you want to steal it and tag me in your replies, I'd love to read your thoughts in turn.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

110 currently.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

249,772. Which is a whole heck of a lot more than I ever thought I'd write. (70k of those were in the last year, which is pretty amazing for me when I think about it.)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At present, primarily Fate the Winx Saga, with a side of House of the Dragon on occasion. I tend to be a serially monogamous fangirl, but right now that seems to have an Eve Best asterisk. A number of others previously, most recently BBC's Musketeers.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Never and Always (Musketeers, post-S2 Milathos-centric canon-divergence AU, also the longest thing I've written for posting ... or possibly ever?)

A Pear and an Apple (X-Men comicverse, Kitty Pryde, for Jewish Comics Day)

Lessons (Musketeers prompt fic that just kept going; me writing completely against type except insofar as I am a people pleaser)

instinctively (FtWS, Silrah kink meme fill for a sex pollen prompt)

Show Me (Musketeers, Milathos sparring plus baby's first proper smut)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I'm consistently pretty far behind, but I like to try to show appreciation for the people who take the time to comment. (Whether I do or not, commenters are a gift and I love you all.)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh dear god. Considering my predilections, I'm not even sure what would win -- considering I've used the angst tag 26 times, there are definitely a few contenders (and in hindsight, there's things without that tag which could count). I think I'd probably put it as a toss-up between let's pretend i'm a man (because in my head it does not end well) and that thunder in your lungs (despite the tag I wrote later). (Despite the death count, I would not give it to who shall i say is calling?, mostly because canon?)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably gonna give that to the fading year. Is this in large part because of @anne-in-dreamland's ridiculously soft and gorgeous art for that last scene? Entirely possible. 💙

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Rarely. I feel like I write niche enough fandoms that it's not commonplace, at least. The occasional ones I've gotten have felt more bewildered than really hateful. (Hate commenting is bad, people. Do something better with your time.)

9. Do you write smut?

I didn't for the longest time, but was convinced to try in my last fandom and found I actually enjoy the challenge -- though I have to be in the right frame of mind and it has to fit what I'm writing. There's a puzzle to both the headspaces and the words, and I like trying to figure that out.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Also rarely. I have a couple that made it to AO3, and both were with the Sandman comics, which lend themselves well to that.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, which hopefully means never.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, not that I'm aware of -- I don't mind the idea but find the idea of it being done without explicit permission to be unaccptable. (I've had one fic podficced, which was such a flattering request.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Only one, for the March Madness challenge on the Winxsource server ... and I don't know if I'd call that co-writing given the blind activity and the crack. The two collaborations I have posted were for RBB, with some wonderful artist partners.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I refuse to choose. All of my idiot children are precious emotinally-constipated morons.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oof. The easy answer would be Between Midnight and Dawn; the framework is all sketched out, but thanks to the circumstances I hit such egregious writer's block on it that I don't think I'll ever be able to go back and finish it. This makes me sad, because I've got some parts of future scenes written out that I love, and I very much liked the concept and that (entirely unplanned) AU and how it took on a life of its own, and the fandom was so lovely and supportive, but ... alas, no. On an unposted front, I'm beginning to realise I will probably never actually write the House of the Dragon AU where Rhaenys and Meleys limp home after Rook's Rest and everything changes as a result. Intentions good, but the distractions are infinite, and right now they show no sign of flagging.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to think that I handle emotional beats and introspection fairly well, and I enjoy playing with word choice and sentence structure -- which people respond to positively, so let's go with that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action, my behated. Extended dialogue, my equally behated. Plot, my kryptonite. And yet. (If you know, you know.)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Depends on the length of it, whether translation is necessary (or the requisite understanding can be inferred), and how it fits. It has its place, but it has to be handled carefully or it can really be unpleasantly jarring.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek (TNG, mostly). In pencil, on notebook paper, starting in my preteen years, and lost to the ages ... which is probably for the best.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Once again, I refuse to choose, because I'm certain that once I do I'll think of another one I love. Each and every thing I've written has had a purpose: to get something out of my brain, to explore an idea, to push myself to grow as a writer ... As long as I got something out of it, and hopefully someone (or someones, even better!) enjoyed it, that's good enough for me.

#writer things #meme me

[sassy-cass-16]

hate to put a downer in the tag but is anyone else majorly disappointed in s&b season 2? it feels like the show was rushing to get to all the "important bits" without giving them the weight and buildup they deserved. they front-loaded the entire plot of Crooked Kingdom and got to the ending of Siege and Storm in, like, episode 2. And that ending... holy shit, that sucked.

No white-hair-Alina, no orphanage happy ending for her and Mal, no mention of Alina's full-ass cult. Does no one remember the girl with suns tattooed on her face??? I do. she was cool. And what the fuck is up with David dying in the assault on the Fold? He wasn't supposed to die until Rule of Wolves, it makes no sense why they pushed his death to this season. They're clearly expecting to get a season 3, based on the ending with the Crows (which is, inexplicably, the hook of the book that came before the one they adapted for this season????) so why would they not expect to play David's death out the way it happened in the book? And, again, why the fuck did they front-load the plot of Crooked Kingdom? Why is Kaz's most famous scene just kind of tossed in the middle of the season with no actual narrative buildup? Why does the show feel like Matthias, of all people, needs to have beef with Pekka Rollins??? Those two characters have exactly nothing to do with each other--iirc, they don't even interact in the books. It feels like the writing team just sat around a table and went "ooh what if" until they wrote enough words to fill in a script. I can't tell if Leigh Bardugo gave all of this her blessing, or if she just looked away too long and they went rogue on her.

(side-note, killing the king and Vasily at the same time wasn't a great choice. the scene in the book where Nikolai looks his not father in the eye and tells him to get out, or he'll be charged for his crimes against Genya is such a good moment of catharsis for her character, and the queen isn't in enough of the show for her little replacement scene to fill that gap.)

And I know I've mentioned this before, but the Darkling's death in the show is robbed of its weight by the way the show treats the name Aleksander. It's tossed around so flippantly that Alina's final extension of respect for him--calling him by the name he had when he was innocent--feels like she's just... saying goodbye. She's using the name he's had this whole time, rather than specifically calling him Aleksander as a show of respect for the dead. The Darkling is supposed to be a tragic character--not likeable by any standard, he's thoroughly and truly the villain of the Grisha Trilogy, but you're supposed to understand that at one point, he was innocent. At one point, he could have done something good. His death is a reminder of that, in the books. In the show, all you really feel is relief that you don't have to listen to his manipulative dialogue anymore.

Honestly, the season doesn't suck. It's not bad (I have some extra gripes about the sound design but that's definitely a budget issue and not really anyone's fault), it's just disappointing. There were some bits I really did like, too!! Every scene with Genya in it was absolutely incredible, the show did her so well. The humour in this season was consistently good. Show-Wylan lives up to his book counterpart very well. And the subplot with the saint in Shu Han was really well-done, even if I do wish the show had kept the original catalyst for Jesper using his Grisha powers. I know the show can do the books justice (the two Nina and Matthias scenes in season 1 that are literally word-for-word accurate come to mind as examples), and I do want there to be a season 3 so I can find out where they're going with all this. I was just expecting better. I'm sure people who haven't read the books, or are more forgiving of "high-budget fan fiction" style adaptations will really enjoy it, and that's not bad by any means.

Idk. I was just hoping for something the show didn't want to give, I guess.

#long post #shadow and bone #shadow and bone s2 #shadow and bone spoilers #shadow & bone spoilers #shadow & bone