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koinotame · 6 days

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how dangerous the twst cast is as yanderes

content warnings: this is yandere stuff so plenty of relationships and mindsets of questionable healthiness. reader implied to be yuu. mentions of murder and violence (nothing explicit/graphic, but frequent. mostly not aimed at reader). most are pretty ambiguous wrt being romantic or platonic (though it’s assumed they have an at least somewhat close relationship with you). i don’t think there’s any explicit spoilers but this was written with mostly-up-to-date knowledge so maybe beware if you really want to avoid any spoilers

whole main cast is included, under the cut for length (near 4k words)! if you read ortho's section as incestuous or romantic in any other way i will shoot a laser beam at you.

fairly harmless overall ▸ i actually normally wouldn't put them together, but in either case i can't see either of the adeuce duo being too dangerous to others. yeah, they might beat someone up for getting too close to you or hurting you, but i really really can't see either of them going much farther. deuce in particular used to be a delinquent, and he does sometimes slip back into that mindset, and he does know how to beat someone up well… but he's a good boy now. your good boy. even in his delinquent phase he would've never actually killed someone, and the idea horrifies him a little too much to ever seriously consider. ace has a bit less restraint, but also a lot less experience. what he lacks in experience he does more than make up for in wit and quick learning, but… while the thought does cross his mind occasionally, he wouldn't be able to stomach actually killing someone either. he'll beat someone up if they hurt you or you ask him to though. unlike deuce, he'll probably brag about it to you if he knows your reaction would be positive.

▸ don’t you worry! your cay-kun would never kill someone! in fact, cater is very unlikely to get violent at all. when he gets jealous (which happens pretty often), he turns that bitterness inside. what do they have that he doesn’t? do you like quieter guys? is he too obsessed with magicam? do you not like the way he doesn’t let you in unless you push, because he’s too afraid you won’t like what you find and leave? is he not affectionate enough? do you not like his hair? it doesn’t matter what it is about him that you don’t like, about others that you do like. he’ll fix the problem; he’ll fix himself. he’s already used to putting on acts around others—this isn’t that different. even if it’s not him you like at this point, as long as he can stay by your side, it’ll be fine. there’s a desperate edge to his actions that’s hard to spot, but once you have is impossible to unsee. as long as you continue liking him, he’ll throw away who he is—just. don’t throw him aside once you’re bored of him, okay? keep him around forever. please. ▸ jack is another that’s fairly harmless. it’s in his nature to be overprotective, and he doesn’t see much wrong with that, but he has no issue with your friends and he’s pretty reasonable at telling apart actual threats from things like jokes. he’s much like your guard dog… or maybe he’s more like guard puppy, with the way you doubt he’d ever actually hurt anyone despite his big stature. he’s embarrassed when you tell him this, but the wagging of his tail gives away just how much he likes knowing you’re okay with—even like—his constant presence. he’s not… completely against going behind your back when someone is actually about to hurt you to deal with he issue, though. just… just occasionally, when it’s really necessary. he won’t make a habit of it. he just… doesn’t want you to see him like that. he’d never want to scare you. that’s all.

a bit less harmless but not by (too) much ▸ riddle is good and well behaved and refuses to resort to something as drastic as violence or murder, or at least he’s trying very hard to convince himself so. he’s definitely somewhat tyrannical to everyone around you even after he mellows out after his overblot, and he has no hesitation in punishing those who hurt or displease you, especially his own dormmates. even once both of you graduate, this habit of his never quite vanishes. he gets a little frantic if you show disapproval of his actions though, especially if you seem scared of him. he’s desperate to prove that he’s good and loves you and would never hurt you, and if that means toning down his ardour, he’ll try his best. the stress of possibly losing you just makes him all the more overbearing to everyone around him. he’s trying his best for you though, so… don’t you love him as much as he loves you? won’t you turns your eyes back to him and only him? ▸ kalim would never kill someone! nor would he have someone be killed. but his family's wealth and influence extends far, and anyone seeking to hurt you (or him through you) would be a fool to think otherwise. he'd never kill someone, but making sure they end up rotting in prison for the rest of their life is just doing the right thing! he might be a little blinded by his panic, sure, but— they tried to hurt you! if he's really jealous (something that doesn't happen often—he only has eyes for you, after all, so he tends to not think too much about others), it's not hard to just have them transfer. or be fired. or something. he won't tell you outright, but if you ask he sees no point in hiding it from you. if you don't react well, he gets a little frantic and insists that he really really really wouldn't ever go farther than that…! probably. ▸ epel getting into yet another fistfight for you is something you’ve grown unfortunately used to. you’re frankly convinced he outright wants you to see at this point, maybe in some misconceived idea it’ll make you think he’s tough, with the way he runs up to you like a puppy expecting praise afterwards. he’ll be torn if you fuss over him afterwards—on one hand, he wants you to think he’s tough and your coddling doesn’t really give the impression that you understand that, but it feels really, really nice when your attention is focused on only him. but as unrestrained as epel is, he’s not particularly dangerous. if you seem really put off by his actions, he might even rein it in a little (vil is glad for your cooperation, even if that wasn’t your intention). he’s more preoccupied with earning your attention and approval than he is with stuff like keeping other suitors away from you. ▸ i just think it’d be really funny if despite everything about him, rook is one of the most harmless. he’s the type of yandere to have a shrine (it’s not in his closet because he has no shame) and have his room covered in notes about you but who’d never actually kill someone. he’s also… the type who enjoys and loves everything about you. to rook, the journey is more important than the destination, and that includes you. the you on your own, the you around your friends (not that they’ll stick around too much once they notice rook), and the you around him are all different and equally worth loving. he’s not exactly shy about his stalking either, but once you get used to his constant presence, it doesn’t really get worse. maybe a little more intense, but not worse. he’s fine with pretty much any way you want to treat him, too—whether you treat him like a beloved pet or a plaything or act like you don’t know or notice him, he’ll love you all the same. forever.

holds themselves back… but not because of ethics ▸ when trey thinks about the future he wants with you, he allows himself to imagine what it would be like to be so wholly engrossed in each other that everything else might as well not exist. unfortunately, the two of you live in real life and not in a fairy tale, so he’s settled for the idea of eventually settling down and growing old with you. it’s… not entirely ethics that holds him back. he’s aware that most of the urges he gets when he sees you around others or when he sees you get hurt in someway are immoral, and he reigns himself in. aside from some people in your life suddenly finding it odd how the ever dependable senior suddenly doesn’t seem to like them much and has been giving them the cold shoulder, most people are very unlikely to realise there’s anything off about trey… including you. just let him be your normal (if fairly fussy) boyfriend, okay? and if he occasionally slips a bit of a sleeping potion into your food and masks the taste with his unique magic so you end up staying the night just so he can spend a little more time with you… that can be his little secret. ▸ it's definitely not ethics that holds ruggie back, but it would be a serious problem if he gets caught killing someone. or even just gets particularly violent with someone else. he'd do it in a heartbeat, especially for you (especially if you asked him), don't get him wrong, but, well— if he goes to jail, he's fucking his family over. if he goes to jail, he won't be able to provide for you in the future—or have any sort of relationship with you. his resolve might waver if you were to actually ask, but even then he’s determined to stick to actions he can reasonably get away with. it's not uncommon for him to use laugh with me to embarrass any guys he thinks are getting too close to you though, and it's not too hard to be discreet with his unique magic when someone really deserves to fall face down a flight of stairs. or three. oopsie. odd they don't remember it, huh? well, he had nothing to do with that. ▸ jamil is a bit more restrained. murder is fine (it’s definitely not his first resort, but it’s there as an option if he really needs it—he did kind of try to kill five people, even if it was during his overblot), but using snake whisper is just so much more convenient… most of the time. due to his position as a servant of kalim, he has to carefully consider any actions he takes unless he wants there to be dire consequences for his family. unfortunately for him, this means he can’t just beat up anyone getting too close to you no matter how much he may feel like it. his unique magic does work well for him here though—and he’s not opposed to using more force if there’s a good reason (like impressing you and getting complimented by y—ehem. making sure your bullies won’t bother you again). the one person he’d rather not use his unique magic on is you. what he likes so much about you is that you’re choosing him of your own volition, and that’s worth more than any force could get him.

not the worst, but… ▸ azul tries really, really hard to keep everything he does behind your back, well. behind your back. he doesn't usually get his own hands dirty, but it would be a serious problem if you found out about the students he's been tricking into unfair contracts just because he got jealous. and it'd be one thing if it ended there, but more than that… if anyone hurts you, the tweels haven't amassed a certain reputation for nothing. if azul’s this fond of you, there’s a very high chance they’re familiar with you as well—and even if they weren’t, azul being jealous enough to send them after people that aren’t even remotely threatening your relationship is amusing enough for them to comply. he won’t go too far though, no matter how envious he may get. ruining someone’s reputation, having the twins beat them up or tricking them into unfair deals is one thing, but even someone like azul wouldn’t resort to cold-blooded murder. ▸ remember when vil, pretty lucid, tried to poison neige? yeah. with his unique magic and social standing, it would be really easy to get rid of anyone causing you issues. of course, with you being aware of his unique magic, he’d have to be careful to make sure you don’t realise, so it’s something he’d reserve for only actual emergencies. it’s also a lot easier to abuse his influence and fame to keep others away from you, whether it’s by threatening them himself or getting others to do his dirty work for him. when it comes to you and keeping your attention on him, he finds it much more rewarding to keep working on himself to meet your standards and doting on you even much than he already does. keep your eyes on him and only on him, won’t you? he’ll make it worth your while. ▸ idia, as a yandere, is incredibly desperate. he’s already perfectly content (well, not perfectly, but content enough) to just watch you through his screen and maybe chat with you online (with your anonymous pal who you definitely don’t know irl, of course), so if he gets lucky enough to be with you for real, there’s very little he won’t be willing to do to ensure it stays that way. in practice this means trying to appeal to you more than anything else; if you seem even the slightest bit unhappy with him, he’s desperately trying to fix it immediately. do you think he’s too offputting? he’ll cover his mouth and hair and— are you mad because he tried to convince you to ditch your friends and just stay with him again? he’s sorry! he doesn’t have an excuse, he’s just scared that you’ll realise you could do so much better and don’t like him that much after all. sometimes he thinks about how he definitely has the resources for more forceful and permanent measures, but then you smile at him, or tell him his smile is pretty, or run your fingers through his hair, or laugh at a comment he made and his mind goes blank and gives him a 404 error. there’s no way he could ever give that up just for some measly certainty… though the same can’t be said for those who he gets too jealous of or those who hurt you. not that you need to know that.

not needlessly violent ▸ sebek is… very enthusiastic about the things he dedicates himself to. this includes you. if you thought his devotion to malleus was excessive, it’s even worse when it comes to you. while he has no personal issues with fighting if it means protecting you (whether that protecting includes only actual threats is debatable), he takes pride in his position as malleus’ retainer. this means that no matter how he feels, he has to consider how his actions would make briar valley and his lord look. he also doesn’t really get jealous. instead (and this is almost worse), he has his own idea of how everyone else should treat you and he does get aggressive with others if he doesn’t think they’re treating you right. you deserve a heavy amount of respect and he finds it very aggravating when others don’t give you that (see: treat you like a regular person). he’s not subtle either—if anything, going behind your back on this would go against his values. he wants to be useful to you!!! he wants you to know how much he cares and how you’re superior and the one with all the power in this relationship!!! the good thing is he listens to everything to ask of him, no matter how ridiculous he finds you insisting you prefer being treated casually by your friends and peers. ▸ silver, while less outwardly enthusiastic, is no less devoted. he doesn’t really get jealous (there’s a dull ache in his chest when he sees you with others and thinks about the possibility of someone being more important to you than you are to him, but that’s not jealousy, right?), and he’s fairly realistic about what counts as a threat to you and what doesn’t. the problem is that as soon as something crosses that threshold, he’s drawing his wand (or baton. or sword. he’s trained and prepared with all three). it’s almost scarier than if he were enjoying it, because you have absolutely no clue how far he’s willing to go for your safety—or if he even has any limits when it comes to you. he has a rather twisted view on relationships, and that extends to you. you’ve been so kind and accommodating and caring, and he needs to repay you for that. he’s insistent on serving you, because his entire self worth (and by extension any care you’ve gracefully granted him) relies on being useful. also doesn’t really see himself as your proper equal, though he’s less aware of this compared to sebek, and also listens well to just about anything you ask of him. if it’s for you, he’d do anything. ▸ you have a very different definition of "not needlessly violent" than lilia, but it’s at least true he doesn’t go around picking fights. he's not bothered at all by baby chicks clinging too close to you. if anything, he might pop into the conversation and agree with them—you are great and wonderful and adorable and so much more! it makes the conversation kind of awkward, and whoever you were talking to might not seek you out as much afterwards, but beyond teasing you there's never any indication that he goes any further. of course, violence is something he’s been very accustomed to over his long life, so when someone actually hurts you he has no issue with getting the message across in a more… drastic way. as soon as he's done, he's right back to coddling you. they won't be repeating the same mistake again, so don't worry too much about it and stick close to him from now on, okay?

very needlessly violent ▸ violent probably isn’t the best way to describe leona, but he doesn’t hold back when it comes to you. what, you think he’s just going to sit back and let you go? you’re the best thing that’s happened to him, like hell he’s going to not put in the proper effort in keeping you. …even if you’re not sure if you entirely agree with the sentiment. he gets jealous very often, so it’s common to see him glowering and scaring off anyone he deems too close to you. there’s no need to go further when he knows they’ll leave you both alone afterwards, but the threat only works as well as it does because he has both the magical prowess and social influence to make good on his promises. he’ll insist he doesn’t see them as threats so much as pests hanging around and leeching off of you, but there’s some part of him deep down that’s scared you’ll decide you like someone else better after all. he’s not sure he could take even you leaving him. any actual danger to you is also dealt with quickly, and while he doesn’t want to threaten you into it, you won’t have an easy time abandoning him even if you try. you were the one who wormed your way into his life—you don’t get to leave now. ▸ yeah. lol. the tweels are very, very needlessly violent. perhaps not the most Dangerous in the grand scale, but almost definitely some of the most unpleasant. for their victims, at any rate—though they do occasionally (or not so occasionally) nearly give you a heart attack. they’d never seriously harm you though… probably. or actually kill anyone. right…? floyd tends to be the most immediately dangerous. he’s quick to turn to violence (and to get a little too into it) when you’re involved, even more than usual. someone’s bothering you? someone’s getting a bit too close to you in his opinion? you just want him to? you’re not paying enough attention to him and he knows this’ll get your focus back on him, where it should be? :) he’s not too hard to pacify, at least when it’s you offering to let him rest on your lap or offering to spend the whole day with him. jade is usually clocked as less dangerous than floyd, but. well. you know that line he says when he ruminates on how he’d react if betrayed? yeah. unlike floyd, who’s very open about his misdeeds, you’re not actually sure what jade does behind your back. you don’t want to know. the way some people in your life pale and flee at the sight of you, the way you don’t see some of them again at all, and the way jade smiles when this happens tells you all you need to know. what would happen if you betrayed him? fufu, you’d never do that so there’s no need to worry about it. ▸ didn't he attempt to blow up the school once… 💀 yeah, as cute as ortho is he's not exactly built with too many stop guards. the good news is he's easy to dissuade! the bad news is he's also very quick to escalate to really ridiculous levels. you're his older sibling, it's only natural he'd want to protect you! are you sure you don't need him to blow them up? chances are the threat alone worked well enough to deter anyone from messing with you again. you might want to have a conversation with idia about limiting some of ortho's abilities though because his enthusiasm… is a little very concerning… he does get a little jealous occasionally, but it's much easier to insert himself in the conversation and steal your attention that way. isn't your little brother cute? won't you focus some more on him? please?

▸ malleus is… malleus. violence isn’t his first resort, largely because it just… doesn’t need to be. he’s one of the five most powerful mages in the entire world. that title alone is enough to scare off anyone who’d mean to hurt you or is getting too close to you, so he rarely has to intervene in the first place. he also doesn’t mind you having other friends (though he does get lonely in your absence… make sure to make it up to him afterwards), so he really only steps in when you’re in danger. he’s not particularly worried about getting caught by you, because he’s so out of touch that it doesn’t occur to him that you may not appreciate him turning anyone who hurt you into ashes. if anything, he enjoys showing off how capable of keeping you safe he is. he’s defending you, who he cares about most in the world; why would that upset you? if you try to spin it as being worried about him getting into trouble for killing someone, he’ll be very pleased you’re worried about him instead. the only thing that would crack his calm attitude is any sort of reminder that he will long, long outlive you… but it’s best not to dwell on that. fret not, he won’t ever let you go.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #i. am NOT tagging everyone #sorry for the awkward line breaks. the editor has it out for me specifically

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mimymomo · 2 years

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In ‘Lucas on the Line,’ Lucas Sinclair experienced countless bouts of racism and micro aggressions including but not limited to:

Had children run away from him and refuse to touch him because they thought his Black skin color would rub off on them. This happened IN THE THIRD GRADE! And he never told his parents about it!

Calmed his anxiety about being the only Black kid in his homeroom class by coming to the realization that since there was no other Black kids that meant he most likely wouldn’t be bombed

Had to install a camera in his locker because his property got defaced by a glitter bomb

Lost his first and only black friend/mentor who supported him thanks to an ACTUAL MAKESHIFT BOMB being installed in his locker that caused a janitor to go to the hospital for 1st/2nd degree burns (and the white boy who did it barely got punished)

Got teased that the only reason he got on the basketball team was because he was Black

Comes to the realization that he might’ve actually only gotten in the team because the coach has a history of recruiting Black boys for the team regardless of their skill level

Gets called an Oreo (for uneducated: white on the inside, black on the outside) by racist bullies. Erica (who apparently has also been called this) sticks up for him and is the only one who understands what the insult means which means Mike and Dustin don’t know/understand the lengths of how deep the racism Lucas experiences in Hawkins on a daily bases

And these aren’t even all of them! These are just examples I had from the top of my head!

And despite all this happening in the book, “fans” have STILL FOUND A WAY to turn this book about Lucas and his struggles as a Black boy in a mostly white suburban town and his deteriorating relationship with Max and make it about Byler!

The fact that Lucas, one of the only characters of color on this show, can’t have ANYTHING to himself without people using him to push their ships is so aggravating!

He and Erica constantly get shit talked and miss characterized by fans, get excluded/cut out of group shots, and barely get any fanart/fics about them and their struggles compared to the white characters (I could make a whole new post about the terrible way this fandom treats Erica but I won’t do that here). Hell don’t forget that the fandom constantly tries to dispute the racism Lucas received in S2 from Billy was either not really racism, just a moment that Duffer Bros. put in to “ruin” Billy’s character and ultimately can be tossed out and ignored.

The only time I ever see Lucas get any large amount of attention is either due to 1) Lumax (but let’s be honest: 90% of the lumax tag on here isn’t even about them and has now become Elumax 2.0 and most post are people praising ElMax and then being like “oh Lucas/lumax is cute too” in the tags and that’s it). 2) people creating “parallels” of Lumax to their ship of choice (mostly Byler and Mileven) as a way to say that their ship is gonna be canon or 3) to say that he’s bisexual.

And all that is fine and whatever, ship and headcanon things to your hearts content, but if you only care about Lucas if he’s helping push you ship narrative or because you think he’s gay (to the point where some people actually read snippets of the book that talked about Lucas coming to the realization that Black boys like him can be considered attractive and only acknowledge the “queer” reading of the text and completely ignored the big race element that was the main focus), I’m sorry but, that’s not cool. The fact that 95% of the Lucas Sinclair tag isn’t about Lucas himself but white characters like Steve, Eddie, Byler says everything about how the fandom treats him.

I’m just so tired.

Lucas Sinclair deserves the same respect that the white characters get!

I leave you one of my favorite sections of the entire book: Lucas learning to become unabashedly himself:

Rant over.

Edit: in my blind rage I realized I forgot to edit out the Twitter handle. That’s completely my fault. Please don’t hate that Twitter user. I’m just coming back to fix that.

#stranger things #stranger things spoilers #lucas sinclair #lucas on the line #st season 4 #you know what? I AM gonna tag all the popular ships #if you clog the Lucas/lumax tags I’m gonna clog yours #Byler #steddie #mileven #steve harrington #eddie munson #will byers #mike wheeler #Lucas Sinclair deserves better #also stan lumax for clear skin

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infamous-if · 11 months

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I know, I know. It took 2 months to write the second drabble from the poll but...this is not even a drabble anymore. Instead, it's more of a collection of scenes mostly because if I do write how Orion found and began managing the band it would be an entire chapter. I will say that I condensed this due to that, but if I ever do write the whole thing it might look a *little* different. I had to cut corners and shorten scenes for the sake of length. Still, hope you like it! (This is 4, 363 words btw. what is wrong with me) I should probably find a more efficient way to share such long works but whatevs. As always, ignore any mistakes or typos or wordy sentences or sentences that probably make no sense upon reading it a second time. I don't edit drabbles and I always just publish the first drafts. haha.

“…Love me and hate me, I don’t mind as long as you take me—”

A low grumble rises in Orion’s throat when the song pauses, the car falling into an unfamiliar silence just as it slows in front of a red light. His large hands tighten their grip on the wheel, and his eyes glide to his co-worker, Marty, just as he’s pulling his hand away from the PAUSE button on the console.

“Is there a reason you’re touching my stuff?” Orion asks, his voice carrying its usual calm that holds a level of ice that has even his superiors shuddering when they think he’s not looking.

Marty licks his lips, his face twisting into its usual expression of guilt. Orion softens his face for his friend’s sake.

Orion Quinn knows the impact he has on people. The rumors that plague him have reached his ears on multiple occasions; he’s a shell of what he once was, never having gotten over the one who got away. He’s detached, the merciless worker that the boss goes to when he’s in need of someone who can do the firing.

He’s the one people are afraid of crossing or talking casually to in fear of letting something slip. People fear him more than they fear the execs.

It wasn’t always like this, sure. Once, Orion used to smile freely, used to talk openly and wear vulnerability like a favorite coat. But then the divorce happened and sides were taken. Suddenly, the armor he didn’t know he had was reinforced, dented and bruised from a battle he didn’t expect to fight, but reinforced nonetheless.

Never date your co-workers.

“The song is terrible, man.” Marty sighs, running a hand through his oily brown hair when he plops back in the seat. The same seat he pushed back at a 120-degree angle. Admittedly, it makes Orion’s nerves flare up. He says nothing; he has enough self-awareness to know that complaining about his seat is a bit too much, even for him. “I was doing both our ears a favor.”

The light changes and Orion absently drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives on ahead, eyes gliding outside to soak in the densely populated street underneath the rising sun. “Yeah.” The word comes out in a resigned breath. “I was hoping it’d get better.”

“We were on the bridge,” Marty throws back. “The only way it could get better is if it ended.” Orion’s lip twitches and of course, Marty can’t let it go. ”Oh! That was an almost-smile.” He leans forward to poke Orion’s rib.

Orion lets out a laugh before his face quickly drops.

Marty grins, plopping his elbow on the ledge of the car door. “All I’m saying is you’ve been listening to demos nonstop this whole month. Not once have I seen you even mildly excited for any of them.”

Orion grits his teeth. “I haven’t had anything substantial to show the team in ages. Our last artist pulled out on signing with us last minute. Our established artists aren’t selling as well anymore. The industry is getting oversaturated—“

“—and we need to be ahead of the curve. Yadda, yadda.” Marty rolls his eyes. “Do you ever just relax? Damn. That stick up your ass is ten-feet lon—“

Marty chokes on his words when Orion’s eyes cut to his. “Say anything else and I’m kicking you out of my car.”

Marty pouts but relents anyway, choosing to change the subject. “What about dating?”

Orion keeps his eyes on the road but quirks a brow. “What about it?”

“You know…” Marty starts, gesticulating vaguely as he searches for the right words. “Maybe putting yourself out there could help you relax. Or even inspire you—“

“No.”

“What? Okay, but—"

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to sa—“

“Don’t have to.”

Marty huffs and says nothing for a long moment. Neither of them rush to fill the silence; normal for Orion but unusual for his infinitely more talkative friend. It’s only when he pulls into Carolina Records’ parking lot that Marty speaks again and Orion realizes his silence was really just contemplation.

“I know the divorce was difficult,” he starts, delicate, “but—“

Orion’s jaw clenches.

“— that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

Orion sits there a moment, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not giving up if I never tried in the first place.” He swings open the door and steps out, the car door slamming with a hint of finality.

. . .

Carolina Records boasts a twenty-floor skyscraper made up of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sleek, dark marble floor. Orion has been here since he graduated college; going from a measly intern to an A&R representative responsible for finding two of the most promising artists in the company.

That was a year ago. Since then, the well of new talent has dried up and Orion doesn’t know what to do.

Of course, he was offered higher positions, all of which he quickly denied. Orion always had a knack for numbers and trends, discovering what new genre is going to come to the forefront, seeing what kind of music the general public is listening to. Music: he understands it better than people. His understanding is almost clinical: while people listen to it for enjoyment, Orion seeks the patterns, the feelings that every beat and scale and vocal run they invoke. He takes it apart and puts it together like a surgeon does a patient. It just makes sense to him.

He could do so much more, he knows that, but none of that interests him.

The music—that’s what he likes.

Discovering new talent is what excites him. Which is why this odd dry spell has him walking with gritted teeth and tension between his shoulders-blades. He has to do something.

“Mr. Quinn.”

Orion nods at a woman who passes by the hallway, ignoring the way Marty does a whole spin when he tracks her retreating frame down the hall.

Another one. This time a man from the marketing department. “Good Morning, Mr. Quinn.”

“Morning.”

Marty scoffs when the man continues walking, not sparing him a glance.

“Am I chopped liver or something?” Marty complains.

“Mr. Quinn, hey!”

“Hi.” Orion nods his head once and presses the elevator button. When his eyes land on a frowning Marty he says, “You’re just not sociable.”

“Huh?!” Marty then lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sputter of a laugh. “And you are?”

Orion frowns. “Yes.”

Another laugh. “You’re smart, dude, you know it’s more because of that”— he gestures vaguely at him—“than your social skills.”

The elevator doors open with a cheerful bell and they step inside. “What?”

“You know.” Marty shrugs. “Your face. You look like you should be on a billboard advertising overpriced cologne with your shirt unbuttoned and your hand in your hair talking about your luxurious life or something.”

“That’s…specific.”

Marty shrugs. “I read a lot of GQ.”

Orion wrinkles his nose when they spin to face the doors. “While it is true I would be considered objectively handsome by societal standards—“

“Oh, fuck off.”

“—I don’t think that’s the case.” This time Orion lets out a small smile. “Or maybe it is?” He quirks a brow at his co-worker. “Should I send a gift basket to my parents? A ‘thank-you-for-the-superior-DNA gift?’”

Marty shakes his head. “You know, when you do try to be funny you still sound like an asshole.”

Orion hums, the joke tickling him enough for him to let out his first smile of the day.

The elevator doors sing their arrival and they bid farewell once they part to go to their respective offices. Orion strides to his corner office where another one of his co-workers, Kass, is standing with a box in her hands.

“This week’s demos.” Orion is just putting his arms out when she plops the boxes on them. “You should really stop requesting unsolicited demos. It’s such an outdated way of doing things.”

Orion ignores her and unlocks his office door, turning the knob and pushing it open with his hip. His office is barren but spacious, with high windows overlooking the city. Marty told him once that people would kill to have his office, but really it’s just like any other space. What’s an office without a productive person to work in it? Orion hasn’t done anything of meaning in weeks.

Sighing, he drops the box on the table unceremoniously, picking up the first CD on the top of the pile. GROUNDED IN REALITY reads the title, and it’s so apt that he almost chucks the CD in the trash on that very fact alone. Still, he’s nothing if not fair. Another sigh escapes him and he gets to listening.

. . .

Helpless.

That’s how he feels.

After hours of listening, the music has long since blurred together in a portrait of uninspired melodies and generic, radio-friendly lyrics. Nothing stood out, nothing made him want to dig into the song in search for more, nothing made him feel.

Is it me? Am I the problem?

Jaw clenched, Orion fishes out his phone, the usual flinch coming to him when he sees the background. He forgot to change it, and it’s always an (unwanted) surprise whenever he sees a picture of them together.

One year ago. The beach. Happy.

Shaking his head, he sends a quick text to his mother telling her that he’ll have to raincheck on their dinner. He still has half a box of songs left. Looks like he’ll be staying late.

“Yo, Orion!” A knock. “Let’s go! I want to driiink.”

Or not.

Marty strides in without waiting for an invitation, a grin on his face. “Tab is on me.”

“Do you ever work?” Orion asks, eyes half-lidded in equal parts annoyance and indifference.

His friend frowns. “This is work.”

“I don’t think getting drunk is in the job description.” Orion looks down, absently clicking on the button of his mouse in an effort to busy his hands.

“Wah, wah. Don’t be a fucking party pooper.”

“Too late.”

Marty shoots him a look. “A few artists are playing tonight. Call this recruitment.” He uses spirit fingers. “Maybe you’ll even loosen up for once.” When Orion looks at him, a brow raised, Marty drops his hands. “Yes, I do my job sometimes. Don’t look so surprised.”

“It’s not that,” Orion starts. He doesn’t immediately continue. Instead, they simply stare at each other. Marty wiggles his brows as Orion narrows his gaze. “When you say the tab is on you—“

Marty whips out a black card. “Company card, baby!”

Orion palms his face with a long groan as Marty begins to moonwalk across Orion’s office. “I was perfectly fine staying inside.” Even though he says this, a moment later he stands and grabs his trenchcoat from the back of the chair. “And you’re driving.”

“What!” Marty stomps his foot as he follows him out. “Nooooo.”

. . .

The bar sits in a livelier part of the city, a part that Orion doesn’t often find himself in. It’s less about the scene and more about the memories associated with every damn corner of this place. Orion can pluck a memory from his mind like a petal from a rose garden: the diner they went to and fought for fifteen minutes over who would get to pay the bill, the park they spent their lunches at.

The shop where he bought the ring.

“This place is golden,” Marty says, breaking Orion out of the string of memories he wishes he could erase forever, “it’s like a real gritty, underground hole-in-the-wall vibe.”

“Sounds like fun,” comes out of Orion in a dour tone that has Marty rolling his eyes.

They stride through the neon glow of the brick hall until it opens up to a dimly lit bar. The space is humble; the sparse crowd is compensated by the energy of the performers on the stage.

“Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn…?”

“Is the band really covering Fountains of Wayne?” Orion says through gritted teeth.

Marty bites his lower lip, his obvious attempt to stifle laughter only making Orion’s faux horror flare even more. “Maybe.” Marty spins around, shimmying his shoulder. “You don’t agree that Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going on?” Marty then realizes something and laughs. “You know, I dated a Stacy once. Weirdly enough, her mom wasn’t that bad looking—“

Orion sighs and quickly moves to the bar. “I need a drink.”

Whatever hope Orion had of finding new talent is gone in the face of the line-up. It quickly becomes obvious that the performers are composed of people who aren’t taking the ‘gig’ seriously or patrons that are half-drunk and stumbling on the small stage.

Worse that the place is pathetically empty; it’s only them two and three other stragglers eating stale fries and bobbing their heads to the music, more out of obligatory politeness than anything else. Orion is suddenly regretting taking Marty up on his offer.

Orion drinks his lager through periodic gulps, his desire to forget this night growing with every person that performs. The memories of this area coupled with his lack of work lately make him dizzy. He wants to escape. Quit. Scream. All of it.

“Get me another,” Orion says, much to Marty’s delight.

More and more people perform until Orion has lost any focus on the stage. Instead, he entertains himself by watching the game on the TV, having long given up on finding any new promising talent in a place like this.

“Next up we have”—the bartender stops, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read something off an index card—“er, [band]. Yeah. Give them a round of applause.”

With how few people are in attendance, the applause is less applause and more awkward clapping that quickly dies after two.

The people on stage are younger. Immediately, Orion notices that they’re equipped with actual instruments instead of relying on the karaoke machine in the corner. A decisive point in their favor, he decides.

“You said this was a gig…” He hears one of them say to what appears to be the lead singer. The boy wears a red hat, as well as an assortment of chains on his neck. Three other band members set up their instruments, trying not to look too disappointed by the turnout. Still, even with the lager creating a slight fog in his head, Orion knows that look. The moment when hope dies, burning like a napkin to a flame.

“No,” the lead singer says pointedly as they adjust their mic, “I said this was a favor.” In that moment, the singer nods their head at the bartender, who shoots them an appreciative thumbs-up. “A paid favor.”

The boy shakes his head but snorts. “I guess.”

Once they’re set up, the singer looks ahead, gazing at the bar. Their eyes briefly settle on Orion as they gaze at the few faces in the room. “Hey!” they say, chirpy. “We’re [band]. Thanks for coming out!”

A chorus of muttering replies.

Marty taps on the bar. “Wanna head out?”

Orion, unable to look away, shakes his head. “No. I want to see this.”

The next few minutes feel like a dream. Orion is in a daze as the song plays, the beats piercing through him. The voice sends goosebumps up his arms, the instruments weave together in a perfect harmony that has Orion’s heart racing. When the song ends, it’s too soon. He wants it to keep going. He doesn’t want it to end.

He wants more.

“Thanks!” The singer says to a smattering of slightly enthusiastic applause. This is the most energy everyone has had all night. They turn, grab their things, and disappear through the curtain. Orion bursts up….

…spilling his drink on the table.

“Oh!” the bartender squeaks as Marty hisses.

“Aw, fuck.” Orion curses, and then flinches. “Sorry. Uh….sorry.” He doesn’t know what his apology is for. Dropping the drink, cussing, or speeding away before he could help clean it up in order to catch the band backstage?

“Hey!” Marty calls. “Where are you going?”

Orion ignores him. He has a one-track mind right now, one focused on finding the band that just made him feel like he hit the jackpot. This. This is what he’s been looking for.

The door swings open, and the band stop mid-conversation to look at Orion, who busted through the door without so much as a plan or script in place. Instead, he simply stands there.

“Uh.” One girl, flaunting bright blue hair, says. “Yeah?”

Orion reveals his card, feeling a bit like a robot. He moves on automatic, working through the many thoughts in his head to utter the rest of his words. “Do you have a manager?”

. . .

“You want to manage us?”

The din of the coffee shop sings with the sound of plates and aimless chatter. It’s been two days since he heard them perform back at the bar, and Orion has been running through his pitch the way one does before an interview. He’s never been this…nervous? Uncertain? In his life.

“Yes,” is Orion’s only response. He sits on one side of the table while the band sits on the other; an invisible wall between them. He can see it, their apprehension. He is not one of them.

Not yet, at least.

“Wait.” The boy Orion learned is named Rowan leans forward, fingers on the table. “How do we know this isn’t a scam?”

“I’m not asking for money. All I ask is for you to show up to play for my boss. That’s it.” Auditions are a lost art. Nowadays artists are recruited through viral internet songs and connections. Two things that always exhausted Orion. It hasn’t been just about the music in a long time.

Their eyes widen. They all exchange looks, equal parts excited and wary.

“Why?” [MC], who he learned is the sole singer of the band, asks.

Because you made me feel something. Because listening to you is the first time I felt human in a long time.

He imagines himself waving off those words like mist. “Because you’re the first band that has caught my attention. And it’s not easy to catch my attention.”

The band member named Iris snorts.

“I’m not trying to be arrogant,” he says blandly, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”

“Where do you work?” Another member, Devyn, asks.

“Carolina Records.”

Multiple pairs of eyes widen.

“Holy shit.” Jazzy laughs. “The Carolina Records?”

Orion nods, used to this kind of reaction. Starry-eyed artists are pretty much the same when it comes to Carolina. “Yes.” He leans forward, his heart racing. “Just one audition. That’s all I ask.”

He watches as they all exchange looks; a silent language only they share. After an agonizing moment, [MC] turns to him and nods. “When?”

. . . .

Orion has been pacing for the last half hour.

He stands outside Carolina’s humble theater space, chewing on his nails as he waits for his boss, Jacob Hill, and a smattering of other executives and shareholders that will be the final word in whether Orion can work with [band]. He hasn’t asked for something this big in so long that Jacob Hill immediately said yes, more out of excitement and surprise than anything else. Orion did produce two of their most profitable artists in the company.

The elevator doors open and Orion stops in place, head whipping up to see them walking through the hall in a wave of black suits and greased hair. Orion brushes down his shirt, trying to dampen his nerves. Jesus. Nerves? Get a grip, Orion.

He doesn’t know how to stand as he waits for them to approach. Hands in pockets? Arms crossed? Orion is so indecisive he just resorts to standing straight, arms at his sides.

“Mr. Hill.” Orion shakes his hand, clearing his throat. He makes his polite greetings to the rest of the team and says, “Thank you for making time for me.”

“Always, Orion.” Jacob slaps a large hand on his back. “You’re one of my best. You should ask me for favors more.”

Orion lets out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Ah, you know. I like to—“

“—do things on your own,” Jacob finishes, a soft smile on his face. “I get it.”

He slowly looks up, meeting Jacob’s eyes. In them he can see the familiar pity he’s gotten since the divorce.

It’s Orion’s fault, really. If he didn’t isolate himself and turn into what he is now, people wouldn’t look at him and assume he’s broken inside.

Would they be wrong in their assumption, though? Am I broken inside?

“Shall we?” another executive says, and Orion bobs his head in a nod, pushing away the image of Jacob’s face.

Inside is a small theater, the stage just big enough for one artist. The seats are plush leather, the lights dim but blue. Jacob always likes the spectacle, and he catered this space to feel like a real performance for possible signees. Orion decides against sitting, too nervous to do anything but stand in the back, giving them the signal he taught them in his pep talk before they came.

[MC] nods. “Um. Hi. We’re [band]. I’m [MC] and this is Iris, Rowan, Devyn, and Jazzy. And um…this is [song].”

Orion flinches at the lackluster introduction. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, unfamiliarly optimistic, the music will do the talking.

And it does.

But not in the way he thought.

All throughout the song, Orion peeks at Jacob and his team. He wants to celebrate when he sees them bobbing their heads, wants to curse when they get on their phones. Orion has never worried this much in his whole career. He’s never wanted something so bad.

He’s never allowed himself to want. Not after the divorce.

He didn’t think he was deserving of getting what he wanted.

The song ends, and Orion lets out a breath. There’s muffled chatter between the men, and on stage the band crowd together, hopping in place as they let out their remaining nerves.

Jacob stands, the rest following. Orion speeds ahead, wanting to see the thoughts on his face. Instead, Jacob simply regards him with thin lips.

“They were…good,” Jacob whispers, putting a hand on Orion’s shoulder and guiding him out of the room and to the empty hall, “but I think we’re going to go in another direction.”

Orion’s positivity leaks out of him like an open faucet. “What.”

Jacob inhales through his nose. “Look, the singer is talented. They all are. I understand why you like them but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the guys see it. And plus,” he shrugs, “they don’t have what we’re looking for.”

Orion’s brows furrow. His stomach drops in itself and his mouth dries. “They have another song. They could play it—“

“Orion.” Jacob gives him that pitying expression again. Fucking hell. He wants to smack that expression off his face. “I know you’ve been…off, since the divorce. You haven’t been on top of your game, and I’ve been giving you your space. It’s not easy, especially since you worked together—“

“I’m fine,” he says tightly.

“—but you can’t…fixate on something to get over it. You need to do it the healthy way. The old Orion would’ve brought me someone with pizzazz. With that unique Orion touch, you know?” Jacob pulls him close. Orion is reduced to a scolded child, unable to do anything but listen. “This isn’t the Orion I know. You usually bring me diamonds.”

“I—“ Orion swallows. “I’m trying.” And it’s the most honest thing he’s said in ages. He’s trying. And it’s not working. He’s been trying the day he signed that fucking divorce paper and signed the only life he’s known away.

“I know you are,” Jacob says, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometimes we miss, and that’s alright.”

The rest of the group filter out and both Jacob and Orion step back, trying to hide any sign of their tense conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Orion nods slowly, the lump in his throat growing as he feels multiple eyes on him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are downturned. He can hardly look at his boss.

He stands there, frozen, forced to listen to their careless chatter as they walk down the hall. The moment they stepped out of those doors, they forgot about the band. The same band that made him feel something, the first time since his divorce. The same band he can’t get out of his head. The same band that proved he is not broken. He can still feel.

And they don’t even fucking care.

“I quit,” Orion says, the words coming out of him before he could even think. Jacob and Co turn around, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Orion looks up, straightening, trying to look even an inch of the Old Him.

“What?” Jacob blurts.

“I quit.” Orion swallows. “I’ll formally hand in my resignation tomorrow.” He bows, trying to muster up the little respect and professionalism he has in him. “I’m sorry.”

“Orion—“

He spins around, walking back inside.

The band is still on stage, this time all packed up and ready to go. When the door closes, they all look up, their hopeful and wide eyes on Orion as he walks down to the stage.

He stops in front of it. He puts two palms on the stage, looking at the members of the band he will take to the top. He promised it to himself…two minutes ago.

“I’m going to ask again,” Orion says through his teeth, his heart racing with the adrenaline of his quitting. What the fuck is he doing? And why does it feel so good? “Do you still need a manager?”

When he looks up, the band stares at him in silence.

He witnesses [MC] look behind him at the door, where Jacob and his team left. As if realizing something, they look back down. “Yeah. You okay with another artist in your roster?”

“Yes.” Orion nods. He’s okay with it.

Because all he needs is one.

#orion quinn #drabble #looks around #scratches head #infamous

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shdo-xplosion · 1 year

Note

Hi Dove❤️ welcome to tumblr!! For your event, I’d love to read aizawa and prompt 7🖤

eeeeeeek thank you! this is one of my favorite prompts with one of my favorite characters! and i got VERY carried away with it. oopsie!

7. 🖤 MONSTERFUCKING • s. aizawa

alien!aizawa, size difference, humanoid features but still monsterfucking, womb-fucking, belly bulge, oviposition, drugs (his alien spit has a sedative in it or something)

When you’d agreed to be part of the research group, this is not what you had in mind. Blood tests? Sure. New drugs to be a guinea pig for? Why not. Spreading your legs for an alien specimen, though? How the hell did this even happen?

You’d been promised a lot of money, is how it happened. A lot of money and a photo of a not entirely horrible looking creature from a world or two away. Aizawa.

He doesn’t speak, which is fine, just towers over you with blacked out eyes, inhuman tongue slithering out of his mouth every once in a while to dab at your pulse point, only emphasizing how fast your heart is beating with him on top of you.

You’re safe. You think. You’re being supervised through a window, not entirely alone. It would bother some people, but your standards for sex went out the window way before this. You’d prefer this metal lab table to the gravel behind the bar from your college town.

Smooth, thick digits are buried inside your cunt, feel more like your silicone toys than any human finger or dick you’ve ever taken, but it’s not bad. His hands are huge, fingers impossibly long, and the way he’s touching you makes you feel like he’s the one doing the research here. Impossible to tell what he’s thinking, though.

His body is mostly human-like in terms of shape. A head, a torso, two arms, two legs, et cetera, but there’s no denying he’s anything but. For one, he’s enormous, at least twice the size of an actual human. His flesh is… cold and dense, rigid, muscle packed into different groups to ensure he can move in ways you’ve never seen before. The black mop on top of his head is impossible to describe. Hair? Sensors? A million antennae? You don’t know for sure, but you’ve mostly stopped worrying about that in favor of focusing on what’s hanging between his legs.

That is 100% an alien cock. In size and shape and… function. There’s no use comparing to what you’ve seen before because the only thing that’s similar about it is that it’s vaguely shaped with the purpose of sliding into some kind of hole. In this case, your pussy. Even with his fingers doing a strange, meticulous job of stretching you out, you don’t know how he’ll fit.

Then it sort of clicks into place when he leans up and slips his long tongue into your mouth, secreting something sweet from it that makes you feel boneless.

Oh. So this might be a problem.

He moves his fingers a little more aggressively inside of your body, adding another and another. You can feel your body stretching, feel the sting that comes with, but you don’t mind for some reason, like even if you were scared or angry, all you’re capable of feeling in the moment is contentment.

The initial press of his cockhead to your entrance almost jolts you from whatever high state you’re in, but Aizawa rests a hand on the side of your face and softly pushes a finger into your mouth, and you find yourself sucking at it, tasting the same sweet sedative he had given you before.

You can’t make a sound as he pushes into you, leaning his hips forward as his huge cock bullies your walls open. You suck in a deep breath, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, but it doesn’t hurt. You know it’s supposed to. You know it will. But it doesn’t. It’s almost like the tears and air are being pushed from your body in a feeble attempt to make more room for him. All you’ve taken is his tip and you already feel like you’re going to burst.

You also feel like you’re going to run out of fluid with how wet you are, pouring slick all over his length where you lay spread for him. You can’t read any facial expressions or even the look in his eyes, but something about the way his head lifts and those endless eyes reflect your sweaty face… you think he might be satisfied with the effect he’s having on your body.

Aizawa starts thrusting shallowly, slowly working you open, stretching your cunt so that he can fit more and more of his cock inside of you. Human bodies were obviously not mean to accommodate a creature of this size, so why exactly are people researching it?

His cockhead finds your cervix, landing uncomfortable but soft kisses to it for a few moments before Aizawa starts pushing in more. Your chest tightens, blood going cold because no no this isn’t how bodies work, he can’t just—but he kisses you with his addictive, euphoric alien tongue, and your body just parts for him, and suddenly there is something deep inside of you—deeper than anything has ever been.

You can feel how wide your eyes are, how far your jaw has dropped, and how wet your pussy is. You don’t understand it, but it’s all happening. He’s touching every millimeter of your insides, massaging your g-spot just by being there. A smooth finger pinches and toys with your engorged clit, and you cry out when it makes you cum. Your muscles try to clench with each pulse of your orgasm, but it’s impossible to tighten around the huge cock inside of you. All you can do is stay stretched around it as juices leak from you.

Something of a grunt catches in Aizawa’s throat, his head down as if he’s looking at yoir cunt, where the two of you connect. He touches your sensitive bud again, another noise leaving him when you jerk beneath him, and then he begins rubbing it in time with his now faster thrusts. He must have liked seeing you cum.

You don’t know what you like anymore. You don’t know anything.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, face wet with drool and tears, but you’re not in pain exactly, just overwhelmed, can’t really breathe, can’t focus on anything other than how full your poor body is. When you look down, you whimper at the sight of your stomach bulging and moving with every push and pull of Aizawa’s cock. He’s so deep, sliding against your insides, pounding into your guts—your womb—and you don’t know how long he’s there or how many times you cum. All you know is you’re trembling and breathing quickly and sobbing when he throws his head back and climaxes.

The feeling is indescribable. It’s not like with a human when you can feel warm cum dripping from your pussy. You don’t feel anything dripping from you. You just feel something filling you, something being added to your body, a tightness forming in your belly that shouldn’t be there.

Aizawa pulls out, leaving you so cold and so, so empty, but he places a hand on your swollen tummy. Swollen even without him inside of it.

There’s still a pressure deep inside you, a pressure, and then a pinch, and then—

You scream, back arching, legs spreading even further than before as you bear down on the table. Another orgasm crashes into you from out of nowhere, and the force of it pushes whatever is inside of you out of you.

Eggs. You don’t know how many. You just know they fall from your gaping hole like a grotesque slime, oddly pleasurable as they breech your entrance and only prolonging your orgasm. Both your brain and body are confused at everything that’s happened since being locked in this lab, and once you’re finished expelling all of the eggs, all you can do is curl up on the table and shake.

Aizawa is very still for a while. You think he might be confused. He reaches down and scoops up some of his wasted contribution, considering it and then you, then drops it back to the ground.

“S-sorry. My body’s not… the right fit for you,” you tell him breathlessly, surprisingly sheepish.

Silence. A few more glances. Then he’s reaching for you and pulling you from your fetal position, tugging you until your ass is on the edge of the table and your legs dangle on either side of him.

Leaning in close to your face, he speaks for the very first time. It should be comforting that he knows your language, but it only sends a chill down your spine.

“You’re the perfect fit for me.”

event masterlist ✿

#doves welcome event ✿#aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #bnha x reader #tw monsterfucking #I WROTE THIS AT 6AM LOL WHATS WRONG WIF MEEEE

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gold-rhine · 10 months

Text

Inazuma Rewrite part one

This is bullet points rewrite for Inazuma general plot structure, bc I think it had so much potential, but was horrifically scuffed in game. If I keep something from canon unchanged, I’ll just say so without retelling the entire thing to keep the length down, bc it’s gonna be A LOT already.

Some disclaimers: I’m not trying to fix every single problem, just what I see as major structural failures. I will reference my problems, but you can read my explanations on them more in depth in my “inazuma ranting” tag.

This is also not envisioned as free for all fanfic where I can write whatever I want, but aimed to be actually feasible to see in game, bc it’d be unfair and I want to show that Inazuma could be improved in the same constraints that hoyo writers had. So please don’t ask why I didn’t do wildly inconsistent thing that would be cool, but genshin would never actually do.

I’m aiming to retain all relevant lore and achieve basically same worldstate in the end, including character arcs, for the most part, because I presume them to be integral to the larger strategic plotline of the game. Which means I can’t drastically change characterization and major plot beats like the decrees, rebellion, Raiden has to be a sympathetic ally in the end, etc. I’m also trying to keep genshin’s general tone and modus operandi, bc like, target audience includes 13 yolds and I can’t just “make Inazuma good” by turning it into like, a gruesome and complex power struggle of political factions like Fallout New Vegas.

List of main issues I want to address: pacing in general, rebellion pacing especially, lack of impact and continuity of effects of vision loss on people, lack of setup for the stasis vs transience aka ei vs makoto conflict, character arcs: raiden, ayaka, kazuha, kokomi, yoimiya, kujou sara. And more!

Initially I wanted to make a single post, but it’s already 3k and I’m only up to Raiden’s first duel and I plan to cover post-archon quest content too, like Raiden and Yoi story quests, so I decided to split it up instead of posting like 20k monstrosity. So remember, this is for now mostly a setup.

EDIT: Part 2

Raiden’s motivations\Reasons for vision hunt

Ok, so one of the biggest principal changes is that vision hunt and sakoku decree are active Raiden’s decisions, instead of Fatui’s plot that she’s just passively allowing to happen. Raiden closed the country, but she’s ok with Fatui starting a civil war and selling delusions, bc it doesn’t “affect eternity”, like??? I honestly think that the current plot of her people dying in a civil war meant nothing to her is much worse than her starting vision hunt decree out of misguided plan to ultimately do better for people.

I mean ok, we have to have closed borders to reference Japan’s history, sure, but like, the whole point of isolationist policies like this is to prevent the outsiders’ influence on the country. So she should not be ok with Fatui schemes at any point.

I mean, if it was fallout new vegas AU, I’d keep it to show that dictator doesn’t not care about foreign powers exploiting it’s people as long as it profits the empire and helps to keep people subjugated, but like. Then raiden can’t be uwu waifu. So we gonna give her good intentions and integrity, but misunderstanding of humanity due to closing herself off instead.

Now to why would she close the country and institute sakoku decree. I want to tie this in with another plotline that is just. Kinda floating at sidelines at the moment, but I think could work nicely in tandem. The Scaramouche destroying Raiden Gokaden, the five schools of weapon smithing, which were canonically highly valued by Raiden.

I’m not gonna recount Scara’s entire plotline, but basically he went on a misguided crusade against Raiden Gokaden and managed to cause fall of 4 out of 5 weapon-smith schools.

Game says that he like, tampered with the schools and covertly led to their ruin, which like?? They never found anyone guilty, like the most prized weapon art smiths of your country fall apart and you’re like oh well, I guess Yashiro commission is just bad at it’s job?

There is a plot point in this story where Isshin weapon smiths, unable to replicate a faulty design that was Raiden’s commission tampered by Scara, were scared of Raiden’s wrath and decided to flee to Snezhnaya. I want to change it to be that there is an event, where ALL weapon schools receive same commission at the same time, and Scara tampers with it.

Just as in canon, scared smiths, but now from 4 schools, not one, are manipulated by Fatui to flee to Snezhnaya, But we add a new NPC, the most talented blade smith who had a vision. Fatui frame him as the ring leader, as if they were running not to save their lives because of the tampered design, impossible to fulfil, but that this was a betrayal because of his ambitions.

After this, Raiden has legitimate cause to feel like her eternity is threatened. She sees weapon art schools, one of the most prized country’s traditions being ruined in a moment because of what she thinks is ambitious hubris of one vision holder, who colluded with outsiders. So she closes Inazuma and declares a vision hunt, to prevent this from ever happening again.

But ironically, in truth it was the fault of not just Fatui, but specifically a puppet without a vision that she herself created and failed to supervise. This brings the main idea of the plotline from “Fatui evil, Raiden passive” to “Solipsist goddess who doesn’t understand humanity tries to protect her people by locking them in stasis and taking their ambitions, but the real case of tragedy was her negligence and lack of empathy all along, and this is what needs to be changed.”

Interlude and plot setup

We start with similar plotline. Traveler tries to go to Inazuma, learns that it’s closed, talks to Inazuman NPC to learn more. Here we’re introduced to the general idea that Inazuma was closed off due to one traitor blade smith with a vision who sold off Raiden Gokaden to Fatui.

We go to Beidou’s tournament, which goes basically the same, we meet Kazuha and watch a beautiful cutscene about his dead friend who challenged Raiden to a duel, and now Kazuha tries to find someone who can reignite his vision. I will actually add changes to Kazuha’s storyline, but it be will later.

then we arrive to Inazuma, go through the same bureaucracy loops with Thoma on Ritou, to show the barriers to outsiders and also to illustrate how Thoma is the best fixer when he manages to drop a fee from 1 mil to like 10 gold by promising to have a dinner with government official.

But we’re cutting the second part of Ritou, with the boring plot about like merchant from Mond scamming people with the local police and then Traveler delivering love letter or whatever. I mean, we can keep this as an optional side quest, if like hoyo thinks the lore about love letter is essential for the Ayato’s quest or smth, but not as an Archon quest.

Instead, we put a part of Yoimiya’s quest there. I think Yoi’s quest is relevant enough to stay in the Archon quest, unlike Ayaka’s, but it’s slapped into a place where it ruins pacing. So instead, we’re cutting it up in parts and inserting it into main storyline.

On Ritou, while doing bureaucracy bullshit, we meet Yoimiya, and play the part of her quest about her helping a guy with a vision to escape from his former best friend, who is now a guard hunting him. It helps to show the rift that vision hunt brings not only with the outsiders, but with inside of the country as well.

Ghost of Makoto\Transience setup

another key point that I think is integral to fixing Inazuma is planting seeds for Makoto’s reveal from the start. I really like the Stasis vs Transience conflict from raiden’s second story quest, where raiden believed in eternity as lack of change, a perfect state maintained until the rest of time, while her twin Makoto believed in eternity as never-ending change, where people’s dreams constantly evolve, nature of them chasing these dreams never changes.

but it feels like it came out of nowhere and raiden just speedruns character development in like an hour, so a lot of people ended up feeling like it was just about Raiden mourning her sister, instead of raiden coming to understand makoto’s belief system and through that unlocking makoto’s final connection and then being able to let go.

so we need to first of all, introduce makoto’s ideas of transience from the start, and also empathize the conflict of them with raiden’s stasis.

and it doesn’t mean we’ll spoil the reveal about the second raiden shogun! we don’t have to ever use makoto’s name, just her title as a raiden and sprinkle her ideas throughout the land. We know hoyo area designers can do that stuff really well (guizhong’s relics being scattered all over liyue, rukkhadevata’s shadow in the aranara quest).

like, it’s strange that Makoto primarily ruled and shaped country by herself while Ei was just a warrior, yet we do not have Makoto’s influence visible. We need to add ideas of transience into fundamentals of Inazuma,

“Transience is the dream of the nation of thunder. We find the greatest joys in mortal life in fleeting dreams, for is life itself not like the shadow of the thunder? Pursue your dreams into the clouds if you wish, and enjoy the unexpected silence of the dim lamp-lit nights.” - Guide to Transience talent book.

add these ideas all over the place, esp near sakura. And let’s draw player’s attention a couple of times specifically to the internal contradiction of these ideas of transience being integral to inazuma and raiden’s current hatred of change.

like, we need even 13 yolds and twitch streamers to remember this, so lets make paimon say like

“Huh, this shrine to raiden shogun says that eternity is the pursuit of fleeting dreams, but doesn’t raiden shogun fucking hates dreams?? I wonder, what made her change her mind about them to the total opposite!“

this and more subtle puzzles\locations with focus on transience for people who pay more attention will add the much needed setup for makoto’s reveal

Kamisato siblings

ok, first things first, Ayato being absent without any explanation while his little sister is plotting treason and his malewife Thoma is about to be executed on the streets is unacceptable.

like I know it’s marketing or whatever and he’s not being released but we need his model, hoyo. If we 200% CAN’T have his model, we need to come up with solid excuse why he’s not here. Like idk, he’s helping the war refugees or smth

And we need hints at his presence\influence throughout the story. Like oh, here’s group of refugees who were helped by Yashiro commissioner, they are relocating to new homes, I guess Ayato is really busy. Oh, here is Fatui’s camp where everyone is slaughtered and boba tea cups are littered around, I wonder what is up with that.

and also, Ayaka is organizing resistance behind his back, and we never meet him bc Ayaka actively tries to hide traveler from him.

bc like, Ayaka doesn’t have a development arc in archon quest. She’s just kind of there, being perfect. Like in her story quest that hoyo makes you do at gun point, you like, go on a date, learn that she’s lonely and has trouble connecting with people due to the pressure of having to project an image of perfection and societal distance, do an investigation to uncover her late mother’s fox fursona roleplay diary which she used to cope her with own societal pressure. Which like. Ok, sure, but but this wet socks quest is not an archon quest material. It should be just a normal story quest.

no, Ayaka’s real conflict is wanting to prove herself to her brother, bring real difference to the world. This is her ambition, she literally gained her vision while fighting Ayato in a training, she wanted to show him that she’s strong enough to handle responsibility, he named her Shirasagi Himegimi after she won that fight

but during a civil war, watching people suffer, her role as a cultural figurehead is not enough. She wants to help, but she’s afraid to act, because this will undermine Yashiro Commission and her brother worked so hard to build it back up after Raiden Gokaden fall. so she organizes resistance behind her brother’s back in secret, to help, but without compromising Kamisato name

this basically tracks with what happens in game, but we spell it out and expand on this later.

Getting Traveler to help

next, let’s throw out the weird edging introduction where traveler is not allowed to see Ayaka the first time. like??? bro, we’re friends with 2 archons and heads of their governments, you’re not that important. and it can’t be to protect her identity, bc like. You go to Kamisato estate! You’re told who she is! If you wanted to betray her, that would be enough already.

another awkward thing is that Traveler, who agrees to do every stupid quest they meet, suddenly refuses to help the resistance.

I think we should reframe their convo a little, like Traveler says hey I’d love to help, but my primary goal is to get info about my sibling from an Archon, so I don’t want to go against her.

To which Ayaka says oh, I totally get you, you see, I am myself a culture figurehead and a nominal princess and I can’t speak up against the decree, bc that will hurt Yashiro Commission. But I’m not asking you to fight Raiden Shogun in a duel or smth, I’m just asking you to help people with the resistance, which we do totally in secret. No one will know! Also, how are you going to see Raiden? She’s locked up and doesn’t appear in public. But my big brother is a head of the Commission, if anyone can get you an audience, it’s him. So help me help people and I will ask him to help you see Shogun!

she secretly believes that after traveler sees ppl suffering, they will change their mind and help willingly, same as in canon, but she’s more subtle about it

Rebellion connection

my other problem with vision hunt is that the 3 quests they force you to do about meeting people who lost their visions are like. not good. The concept is interesting, but they are just kinda boring and meandering. They lack dramatic impact. They could do better. So we’re not doing these 3 quests rn, but don’t worry about it, we will get to the effects of vision loss

Instead, ayaka sends us to help Yoimiya and we do the same quest we do in archon quest - help her to free someone from prison dungeon. It goes the same, we get to the dude being mistreated by cops, Kujou Sara steps up and lets us go

But then it’s like, we need to get this dude out of Inazuma city. Cops know he escaped! They will just come for him again! There is only one place that will take him and it’s the watatsumi rebels.

Common complaint about Inazuma is that other countries feel like found families and Inazuma doesn’t, bc characters from resistance and rebellion basically don’t interact, and it’s true. And like, we can get them together! Thoma knows Kazuha, Kazuha knows Gorou, Gorou in canon went to recoinsanse missions to Narukami island.

So, Gorou visits the tea house to pick up the Vision Dude, and the gang has the hotpot meet up. Everyone is there (except Kokomi bc ok hoyo, we’re saving up for dramatic battle reveal, and i think her reveal would fuck up banner schedule). Ayaka, Thoma, Yoimiya, Kazuha, Gorou. and Teppei! Who is here bc he was recruited by Gorou. He’s actually from Narukami island, not Watatsumi, and he had nothing to do with visions, but he’s an idealist, he believes in freedom, so he joined rebellion. fun times are had, Ayaka tries to play srs bsns lady host, but breaks into giggling at The Shenanigans, Gorou is overly polite but adorable and apologizes to Ayaka about The Shenanigans in which everyone but him participates, Yoi is a life of party and the Shenanigans and later has to be bodily stopped by Kazuha from organizing fireworks right here, right now, Thoma and Teppei both get sick from eating Ayaka’s nasty cakes that she threw into soup, bc Thoma is just into oral stuff and Teppei is so earnest and eager to prove himself and impress ppl, haha comic relief, look how sweet and funny this guy is and all characters get along so great with him

bc like, I think Teppei has a problem of a) not having enough screen time b)not having any interesting characterization moments to make him stand out 3)not having other playable and already likeable characters interact with him

so this scene can serve not only to bring that “unlikely bunch of people becoming friends and working together” connection to life, but also to endear Teppei to the players

Vision Loss Effects\ Yoimiya and Thoma

ok, next Ayaka asks Traveler to do that one quest about martial arts master losing their vision. I think it’s the one quest from 3 about vision loss with most drama, but the real reason is that it introduces Yae Miko and we need to do this before leaving for the rebellion. Like, in theory, it could be switched to another, better quest that lets us meet Yae Miko, but honestly, this is not one of Inazuma archon quest problems so I can’t be arsed. Feel free to imagine a cooler intro instead.

when we go back to tea house, we learn that Yoimya’s vision has been taken away. She has been recognized in that last prison raid and the guards came for her later, and she didn’t fight bc there were kids and her old father around.

She’s completely changed. Her innate optimism, her belief in people and their dreams has been drained from her like a sunshine from a dark cellar. But she’s still Yoimiya!! She came here to warn you bc she still cares even if she had her own joy taken from her. She tries to smile and reassure you that it’s ok, she’s fine, but her smile is visibly strained, she’s never had to fake it before so she doesn’t know how. She wears a vision, but it’s a fake one, because her pops said that maybe having it here would help and she agreed, tried to pretend for him that it does help, bu. It very obviously doesn’t.

Ayaka is horrified. She apologizes to Yoimiya, tries to think of ways to help her, but Yoi just laughs humorlessly. “It won’t ever touch you, princess.”

She’s immediately disgusted at herself and apologizes, tries to take it back, this isn’t her, she would never say this, and not to her friend! But also, it’s so hard to care now and she can’t remember why it’s so important to care at all.

Ayaka is shaken. Bc it’s true! She is a privileged noble, vision hunt will not come for her! She is playing at the resistance from the safety of anonymity, while people like Yoimiya actually risk themselves and pay the price!

And this is when the news that Thoma was arrested and about to be 100th vision taken at the feet of the statue comes. Tenryou commission truly strikes back.

Ayaka is in uproar. She’s ready to go herself and fight for Thoma, especially after Yoi’s words. She’s sick and tired of being a perfect princess, she can’t allow any more of her friends, her family come to harm because they don’t have her protection. Clearly Thoma being a theatrical execution is a blow specifically against Yashiro commission and Kamisato family in particular, and if Shogun has beef with her, well, she can settle it with HER instead of going after her friends!

Traveler stops her. This is what they want. If Ayaka openly moves against the Shogun, the entire Yashiro commission falls. Even if Ayaka is in the right! No, it’s the Traveler who will go to save Thoma

But traveler needs raiden’s good will for the info, they can’t confront raiden openly, it was the deal from the start!

But at this point traveler has seen too much, the divide in the country, the change and suffering of their own friends, and they can’t allow all of Yashiro commission take the fall.

This is when the Traveler decides to take a stand.

ACT 2

#rhine talks #inazuma ranting #genshin impact #rhine lore study #rhine writes

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neonovember · 2 years

Text

steve rogers as a husband headcanon!

things about husband!steve that just makes sense

steve isn’t big on pda, thinks affection should be something private, he’s old school like that, there are some exceptions however, some very fun ones

even though he might be abit of an aversion to pda, steve will make sure that you know he’s just there

whether it be holding your hand, or his palm guiding you through a big crowd, he always feels a need to keep you at arms length.

steve is extremely protective of you..like bordering on possessiveness. he’ll even go as far are ignoring his own morals to make it sure, that people know his yours. It’s just that you’re the one thing that ever really grounds him back to earth, in moments where he gets lost in time and memories from before

“Hey I’m just saying, if you ever get bored of popsicle here, the iron suit is ready for you” Tony smirks, his legs perched against the coffee table. The Avengers are scattered around the tower's living room, half drunk and the other half trying to. You feel Steve’s grip on your waist tighten, and from the corner of your eye, you notice his orbs turning a ink-black. He leans across to Tony, whispering into his ear, the words falling out of his mouth like wine and into Tony. Tony’s eyes bludge comically, his throat bops as he swallows, nodding along to whatever Steve was saying, looking at you. Steve smiles, into his ear, it’s eerie, the way his canines glint under the high ceiling lights. You wish to the gods that you were given Bucky’s hearing but without a second, as if you had dreamt it in front of you, Steve is back beside you, only this time you feel his fingers slip between your thighs.

for some reason, I don’t get the whole “Steve being a horrible cook” trope, I genuinely think he’s an amazing cook and BAKER! that man can bake a mean batch of cookies

steve loves loves loves, calling you mrs rogers, or his wife. the first time he said it was well before you both uttered your vows, he just knew. oh and if you call him your husband? poor man will probably be hard for the rest of the day

steve has a breeding kink. we all know this, it’s practically attached to his file along with super soldier. but what most people don’t know is that he fucking lovess when you’re pregnant, it’s like senses go on overdrive until all he breathes, thinks and eats ;) is you.

steve has this fear of abandonment, mostly because he was, by his own country for a century. It seeps into his relationships, you’ll see if when he comes home from long missions and it’s as if he’s walking on eggs shells. His shoulders are tense and his holding his breath as if he’s just waiting to find the house bare and empty and your belongings gone. He gets really sensitive then, all murmurs and soft kisses and just holding you to remind himself you’re here.

there will absolutely be a time where steve fucks over the kitchen sink. the dirty dishes left abandoned (should I write this?)

steve can get a little anxious, and so his wedding band is something he’ll ALWAYS play with, he’ll twist its around his finger as a kind of reminder.

you love to tease him by bringing him lunch at the compound, wearing one of those sun dresses he adores because it gets him so. fucking. hard. He wont ever tell you though, just have to deal with it until he can get home, and by then you already panty less and on your knees waiting for him.

steve will probably force you to train with him, even if you can kick ass, he’ll pull a fitzgerald and force those trainers on you. poor boy is just scared that something will happen to you when his not there, plus, seeing you fight kinda turns him on. (just like anything else you do really)

Steve’s really bad at technology, we all know this, but he absolutely will try to learn how to use a phone so he can send you texts and updates throughout the day. he’ll take random pics of tony and sam when their not looking, take some Facebook mom ass selfies, take pictures of things he wants to draw and ask you if they’d look nice, he’s mind just constantly finds it’s way to you

cockwarming with husband!steve. that’s it

you help steve open up to the new things in this century, take him out to help him ease himself into the real world. people forget he never really got that chance, he died in one war only to be pushed into another.

it’s through you that steve learns that he’s obsessed with avocado. on toast, in milkshakes, everything, he’d literally a millennial

when things get too much, you’ll draw a bath and the both of you will just sit in the steaming water filled with some bubbles, candles illuminating the room instead of lights, and the ceiling to floor windows open. skin to skin helps steve calm his nerves, and it’s not abnormal for you both to stay in that position for hours

steve still gets shy around you, no matter how many years he’s been with you, he’s still that boy from brooklyn with a heart too big for him

steve has absolutely zero self control when it comes to you, say something nice about a necklace you see passing by? It’s on your neck the next day. Hears the sound of a slight rumble in your stomach? Steve’s whipping out his apron and making you eat something

steve is the type of man to never let you go to bed angry, even if you’ve both had a fight and he ends up on the coach it won’t be too long before you both find yourselves in the middle of the hallway missing each others touch

“babygirl, honey, my wife, doll, gorgeous”

you take priority over a lot of things in Steve’s mind, he’s never ever late to dinner, he’d rather lose his leg than disappoint you

sundays are for sex and sleeping

steve fucked you one time really hard over a drawer or ottoman and BROKE IT. now he’ll spend saturdays carpenting reinforced drawers, counters and bed frames ;)

makeup sex, and face and thigh riding <3

steve always feels as if he’s leaving a part of himself at home or with you whenever he leaves, he’s constantly watching the clock and bouncing that leg of his to get back to you.

steve would probably let bucky watch him fuck you..maybe.

even though I believe steve would be really possessive I also think he could easily be very private about his relationship with you. like that scene in aou where we meet Clint’s family? fury will probably drive up to some big cabin house with the avengers in the back and they’d be confused af when they open the door to find steve and you cooking in the kitchen with your kids running around the place.

“How much longer Fury, my backs starting to ache with this stiff as seat and Bucky’s feet in my face” groans Sam, leaning away from Bucky’s towering figure. “It should be around the corner” motions Fury, and just as promised the avengers pull into an expansive cabin house, elegant with is softened wood and timber gate ribboning around the land that seemed to stretch endlessly. When Fury had told them that he needed to grab something, they didn’t think it would end up with corny 70’s tunes cranking out throughout the car, one and a half hours from the city.

“This looks…lived in” Nat remarks, her fingers brushing against her holister, ears perked for any signs of human activity.

“Yeah, Fury, are you having us raid some lumberjacks generational home” Tony barks, stretching out his arms

“Just shut up and follow me” Fury sighs, before stepping through the gate and following the stone path. Wiping his boots across the mat, his reaches for the door, opening into the hallway of the strange home.

“Wipe your shoes, she hates when you trek mud in” Fury calls before walking in as if he owned the place

“She?” Thor whispers, what they all but Bucky thought. They followed unspeaking down the hallway leading to an open floor, the scene infront of them had their mouths hanging.

There Steve, their stone faces leader, fucking sautéing onions on large brimstone stove, laughter falling from his lips as you whispered into his neck. You were a sight to see, a dress falling onto your body like silk, cascading againts your curves, your hair was in an updo, curls draining your face and a bright smiling lighting up your eyes.

You were absolutely gorgeous, and to see Steve react to your affection in such a way told them you were more than just an old friend

“Bucky!” You smiles, reaching for the dark haired man, squeezing him in a tight hug.

“Hey sweet girl” Bucky smiles, gripping you.

Sam looked towards Bucky in disbelief, eyes shooting bullets at Steve in mock betrayal

“Really? You’re going to tell the ex murderer about your little secret life but not your saviour?” Sam mutters, before steve laughs gripping his chest.

“Sam meet my wife, doll now you know why I don’t let them near you” Steve whispers into your ear, making you giggle.

Sam reaches for your hand but you ignore it, going for a hug. “Oomf, hello to you too” Sam laughs hugging you back

“Hey Fury” You smile, waving a hand towards the man who nods in return.

“You all must be Natasha, Thor, Clint and Tony?, it’s so great to finally meet you” You speak, dimples pressed into your cheek

Clint seems to be the only one who snaps out of the rest of the avengers stupor, “I see you’ve pulled a Barton” He jokes, hugging you.

Once the rest of them finally greet you, along with some condescending remarks from Tony about “how the hell did you land her?!” The avengers sit around the table, drinking beer and eating good food and getting used to seeing Steve with his wife on his lap.

that’s all I have for steve at the moment, I’ll probably add way more later but I haven’t been uploading in ages and thought this would a quick little head canon for our spark spangled soldier!

p.s! requests are always open ;)

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bisexual-horror-fan · 8 months

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I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September.

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse?

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.”

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?”

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to.

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious.

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that.

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.”

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?”

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.”

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.”

He was such an insufferable asshole.

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.”

He lets you go.

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?”

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.”

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?”

He knew just how to really fucking bother you.

You know how to bother him, too.

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.”

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?”

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.”

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?”

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?”

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!”

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!”

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other.

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.”

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?”

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

“Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.”

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.”

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering.

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.”

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.” Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-”

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.”

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?”

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy.

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.”

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree.

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that.

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does.

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal.

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.”

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing.

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would.

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that.

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain.

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.”

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.”

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks.

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it.

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away.

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified.

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex.

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.”

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.”

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups.

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better.

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.”

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted.

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do.

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again.

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure.

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared.

There is a moment that you keep coming back to.

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it.

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.”

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly.

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength.

You move.

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!”

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage.

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.”

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red.

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care.

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least.

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him.

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run.

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who.

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight.

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet.

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand.

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you.

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

#Mickey Altieri X reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE #HAVE IT #ENJOY IT #FUCK #FINALLY #Been working on this one for a WHILE

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heliads · 1 year

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Hi! If that's okay could i request Tewksbury x gn!reader?

You know that scene where Enola takes him to her room to talk about what she discovered? That scene with reader instead except they don't get attacked by the police and he ends up staying the night, nothing nsfw just fluff! And maybe he or they confess? And could you add the one bed troupe? Ty!!

Your choice of a scenario or headcanons, whatever you're more comfortable with! :)

honestly thank you so much for the choice of scenario or headcanons i appreciate the opportunity to have less of a workload, as a reward you get a full length fic

masterlist

After all these days of searching, you think you’ve managed to find him at last. You and Enola have been worried sick about what could have happened to the Viscount of Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether, Owner of Far Too Many Titles for quite some time now, so even the sight of what could be familiar brown tousled hair across a crowded city square fills you with a rush of relief.

He’s alright, that’s what matters most. You can catch the barest flickers of his smile from where you stand. Scores of people weave in between the two of you, but the distance is slowly shrinking. You didn’t expect to miss him quite as much as you did when you first parted ways, but for some reason the thought that you’ll be able to see him again is enough to make you smile like a giddy fool.

In a way, you are. Judging by all the nasty business with Linthorn and the people trying to follow you, you were worried that leaving Tewkesbury behind had been a mistake. What would you have done if that man with the bowler hat from the train had caught up to him? The consequences are more severe than you care to think about, yet here you are, finding Tewkesbury at last.

He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. You’re still doing your best to remain unnoticed. You and Enola are getting more paranoid by the hour, a practice which has only served to keep the two of you alive and mostly out of trouble. You’re being tracked by Linthorn and his men, of that you have no doubt, but what matters most right now is getting to Tewkesbury before they can.

That’s why Enola is currently on another side of the city, doing her best to distract anyone trying to find you. She’s also hoping to locate Tewkesbury yourself if you couldn’t manage it, although you have to admit that you feel very pleased to be the one who’s found him first.

You hurry across the town square, ducking obliviously around throngs of people and charging coaches to make it over to him. Tewkesbury is helming a small flower stand, and, judging by the empty spots in the vases lining his table, he’s making his fortune quite easily.

That might be due in part to the easy smiles he’s giving out like extra change to any passersby. In fact, the customer currently purchasing a bouquet is looking at Tewkesbury as if she’d rather like to buy him, too, just for the thrill of propping him up in her house for a good stare or two. For some reason, the way that the girl keeps eyeing him makes a knot twist in your stomach, some deep unhappiness that only allows itself to be known through no uncertain pressure.

Just when you fear you may be swept away on the tide of what is definitely not jealousy, Tewkesbury looks up and sees you. Instantly, any thoughts of the girl in front of him, if they even existed in the first place, vanish from his face. It becomes clear that he must have been faking a good temper before, because the sheer joy on his face is infinitely better what he’d been displaying just a few minutes ago.

Evidently picking up on the fact that she’s no longer remotely on Tewkesbury’s mind, the flirtatious customer sighs in irritation and leaves. You don’t even think Tewkesbury noticed, he’s beaming ear to ear as you hurry up to him.

“Y/N!” He says, absolutely delighted. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”

You laugh. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“No,” Tewkesbury hurries to assure you, “not disappointed in the slightest. Really, I couldn’t be happier. What’s going on? How did you find me?”

“It’s not just me who’s been trying to find you,” you relate, “I think I’m being followed. Most likely you are too. There’s some man out there who’s been trying to find you. Enola and I split up so we could try to get to you first before anything happened. I’m glad I found you.”

“I’m glad you found me, too,” Tewkesbury says, then hurries to straighten some already pristine display on his stand before you can notice the blush rising to his cheeks.

You allow him a moment or two to collect himself, then continue on. “We’ve found out a lot since we saw you last. Do you know anywhere we could talk without being overheard? Sorry for being nervous, it’s just that I’d rather not have anyone know we were here.”

Tewkesbury nods, a faint grin on his face. “What, are you worried about getting into a fight?”

You blow out a tired breath. “You’d be surprised.”

His face turns awestruck. “You’ve been in a fight?”

“Yeah,” you say, glancing across the street to see if you spot Linthorn, “in trying to protect you, too. You’ll be pleased to know that I won.”

When you turn back to Tewkesbury, he’s regarding you with a charmed look, like he could listen to you talk for hours on end and never tire of it. Something tells you that the thought of you choosing his side over safety or anything else means more to him than Tewkesbury could possibly put into words.

Whatever he’s thinking, though, neither of you are quite brave enough to express it at the moment. Tewkesbury clears his throat and gestures towards the street.

“I have a place not far from here where we should be fine to talk. Just let me close up shop and we should be good to go.”

You watch him work with a smile. “You know, I do have to admit that it’s cool that you did all this. You know, you were able to set up your own store in Covent Garden and all that. Not bad for a boy on the run.”

Tewkesbury straightens up with an amused look. “Is that a compliment? I think I’m touched.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t hide a grin. “You’re allowed to have them every now and then. I’m not Enola, I can refrain from sarcasm once in a while.”

“I’m well aware that you’re not Enola,” he says, and for some reason you get the feeling that he’s very appreciative of the fact, too. It makes a flush of heat spiral up your cheeks until you have to look away to get your bearings once again.

Tewkesbury leads you through the busy streets until he comes to a stop in front of a locked door.

“This is my place,” he says by way of explanation, “I had to do a fair amount of convincing so the owner would even allow me to let the room, but it’s not too bad. It means no one is trying to follow me, at least. Well, except you.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the clarification.”

Tewkesbury chuckles and leads you upstairs. You can see a hallway with many similar doors stretching out into what feels like an endless abyss of rooms, but Tewkesbury seems to know the way to his flat like the back of his hand. Soon enough, he’s locking the door behind you, and the two of you are alone at last. You were together like this in the marketplace, but for some reason, it’s different now that no one else can see you.

Tewkesbury gestures for you to take a seat and settles into a chair opposite you. “So?” He asks, always curious, “what’s been going on?”

You let out a frustrated breath. “Everything. Enola and I have been running ourselves ragged trying to keep up with Linthorn and your family. Honestly, we were worried sick that we wouldn’t be able to find you in time. We agreed to meet up tomorrow morning, hopefully with you in tow.”

“At least we have a destination for tomorrow,” Tewkesbury muses. “And a plan, I hope?”

You nod. “The barest scrap of one, but it does for now. What, will you be sad to leave your flower stand?”

“A little,” he admits, “it was nice to pretend that I could have a life as simple as that, but I knew it was only temporary. Still, I get the feeling I’ll have reasons to enjoy my future anyway, with or without selling flowers in Covent Garden.”

Again, you get that feeling that he’s hinting towards more than he could ever say. You quickly steer the conversation back towards safer shores, like the fact that there’s at least one man out there trying to kill both of you, and slowly you’re able to fight back the wave of heat that’s currently dusting your cheeks.

It’s easy to spend time with Tewkesbury. You forgot about that in the time since you’ve last seen him, but it’s true. Before you know it, the dangerous topics of Tewkesbury’s family and Linthorn’s plotting are left far behind. You and Tewkesbury laugh until your ribs are sore, trading jokes like you’ve known each other all your lives instead of just a short matter of time. He is fascinating to speak to, host to knowledge you’d never guess at in your entire life.

At the same time, you seem to hold his attention in the palm of your hand like a flightless bird, never to soar away. Every time you open your mouth to voice a single syllable, Tewkesbury looks at you with his heart in his eyes, totally captivated by you. It’s enough to make anyone feel important, and you are certainly no exception.

Before you know it, you’re fighting back a yawn in between another tangent of conversation. You do your best to hide the sudden bout of exhaustion that’s flung itself upon you, but Tewkesbury notices you. Always the eagle eye when it comes to spotting details about you, right? It’s as if he can only ever look at you, so he might as well do it right.

Tewkesbury glances at the window behind him and his face transfigures with surprise. “My goodness, it’s already so late. I had no idea.”

Sure enough, when you glance through the leaded panes, you notice that the streets outside have already succumbed to night. Darkness has fallen upon the town, pierced consistently by the even light of lanterns lining the streets.

You curse under your breath. You hadn’t meant to stay this long, but then again, if you were to do it all again, you have a feeling you’d repeat this afternoon exactly the same way. You haven’t felt half so light or free as when you’re talking with Tewkesbury. He makes you feel as if nothing in the world could ever trouble you, and when you have as many problems as you do right now, that’s certainly something worth your time.

Still, even the best of evenings have to end at some point, and the moon rising over the horizon acts as your timepiece for the night, signaling that you’re going to have to call off your happiness for the time being.

“I’d better head out,” you say, rising to your feet, “I’ll come back in the morning, we can go meet Enola. It’s just not safe for you to keep up your life here, not until we figure out Linthorn.”

Tewkesbury jerks into a standing position as well. “Wait, you can’t go out there by yourself, it’s pitch black. I’ll walk with you.”

You shake your head. “Then you’d be coming back here in the dead of night. Linthorn’s out there somewhere on the lookout for you, it would be too dangerous. I have to go by myself.”

Tewkesbury refuses to take no for an answer. “Then stay here. If I can’t go with you, you can’t walk these streets after dark on your own. I have space, you can stay the night.”

You hesitate, wavering on the edge of what you truly want and what surely must be done. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, I can’t ask you to keep helping me stay safe from Linthorn, and you do it anyway,” Tewkesbury reasons, “Look, it’s no big deal at all. I promise.”

You cave at last. “Alright. I am rather tired.”

Tewkesbury grins, thrilling over his victory. He looks around to offer you a place to sleep, and that’s when the two of you reach an insurmountable problem at the exact same time. When Tewkesbury found this place, he was only thinking that he’d be host to himself. For this reason, there’s only one bed, and for this reason, the fact that you’re going to be here too creates many, many difficulties.

“I’ll sleep in the armchair,” you say quickly. “It looks quite comfortable.”

Tewkesbury scoffs. “That’s a lie and you know it. You take the bed, I’ll be in the armchair.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” you argue.

“And I’m not forcing you to stay here overnight just to delegate you to the chair,” Tewkesbury replies just as quickly, “Take the bed.”

“You take the bed,” you quarrel.

“We can both take the bed,” Tewkesbury says in a rush, and both of you try to pretend as if that declaration isn’t somehow both the most perfect solution and also the most terrifying option that could possibly come out of this debate.

Not one to show any sign of weakness, you nod before Tewkesbury can take it back. “Alright. It’s big enough for the two of us. It’ll be fine.”

“Very fine,” Tewkesbury adds, although you notice that he does look a bit panicked at the thought.

The two of you have gone and committed to the idea now, though, so it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it. You dress for sleep and crawl into the bed, Tewkesbury on the other side. It was definitely meant for one person, which is made clear when both of your efforts to give each other as much space as possible result in you practically falling onto the ground.

At last, you sigh and give in to what must be done. You turn on your side to face Tewkesbury and stretch out an arm to reach out to him. He stiffens at first, then turns over as well. Your head fits perfectly against his chest, and when his arm wraps around you, you wonder why either of you ever tried anything else. It’s as if you’re two halves of one being, always meant to be here together. The thought of ever getting up and splitting away from him feels like a strike through the heart.

Tewkesbury speaks quietly against the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here. Really glad.”

You smile. “I’m glad too.”

It is easy to sleep after that, regardless of the fact that there’s a stranger out in the city who wishes for the quick death of both of you. Right here, nestled in Tewkesbury’s arms, the thought of danger has never even occurred to you. No safety net has ever been woven of stronger stuff. The stars wheel in the sky overhead and the two of you sleep soundly, brows smoothed of worry. All is well.

requested by @dexpairs-blog, i hope you enjoy!

enola holmes tag list: empty for now!

#tewkesbury #tewkesbury imagines #tewkesbury x reader #tewkesbury oneshot #enola holmes #enola holmes imagines #enola holmes oneshot #enola holmes tewkesbury #enola holmes tewkesbury x reader #enola holmes tewkesbury oneshot

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sapphicseasapphire · 4 months

Note

Can we hear more about Cryptid!Four? he's so interesting to me <3 how does he interact with the rest of the chain?

CRYPTID FOUR CRYPTID FOUR!!!

Okay, full disclosure, you’ve asked me about the Link that I know the least about. I’m still figuring out their origin story and even what to call them. BUT. I can tell you about their interactions with the rest of the Chain!

I’ll explain it first by doing what I always do and linking it back to Sky. When I first had the idea of the Cryptid au, I toiled with whether or not Four would have to hide that they could split. After all, everyone is some kind of strange, surely they wouldn’t have any reason to believe that they would be thought less of.

But I mentioned before that Sky has no idea how to talk about himself before he fused. With two separate consciousnesses merged into one, it’s very confusing when he thinks too much about his past. So when he’ll try to tell stories from his adventure, he’ll mess up the pronouns or have to restart a million times. “So then I- well, I mean he- well. Okay. No. We. Wait, but it was just him, but I…”

I thought that maybe the first time he’d slip up like this in front of the rest of the Chain, the others might look at him a little funny. Like. Is this guy okay? What’s going on? But Four… Four sees how Sky talks about himself and recognizes it. They understand feeling so fractured and scattered. And maybe they interpret the others’ concern as judgement. And they decide to hide that part of themself for as long as they possibly can.

(The first person that they split in front of is Sky. And it’s not even intentional, but that’s plot stuff that I’ll get into later haha!)

Because they relate to Sky so much, and because of certain events that will happen in the future (mostly involving Time), they become almost protective over him. They’re always the first to notice when Sky’s acting off and he’s not afraid to tell the others to back off.

Four is FASCINATED by Wars oh my god. Time usually wields the sword and Warriors likes to hang out around Sky, but Four is always welcome company to the sword spirit. If Wars’ sword ever gets damaged, Four is right there to fix it. Four always bombards Wars with questions, and makes sure that his sword is always taken care of. Wars… tolerates Four. Usually he’d like to be left alone, but Four means well and he knows that.

Four respects Time (especially after the God reveal), but is wary. Time makes Sky uncomfortable and even if they don’t understand it, they know that it takes a lot to get Sky to that point. They’re civil with the Old Man, but they never make an effort to initiate an interaction.

Other than that, they’re very reserved. They tend to keep everyone at arm’s length, an enigma, even among the Cryptids. Their company is good enough for themself (haha) so while they’re never mean to the others, they don’t prioritize socializing with them. Except Wars and Sky for the most part haha!

Like I said, Four is every much still a work in progress! I hope this was okay though haha!

#the legend of zelda #linked universe #chain as cryptids au #lu four #I answered question #cryptid lore #links meet au

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quietblueriver · 5 months

Note

Hi! For the prompting: Imodna, luminescence

Hello! Okay so I started writing and realized I actually want to answer this in two parts, so please find below part i, which is incandescence/Imogen. Working on a part ii, luminescence/Laudna.

Thank you so much for the prompt!!

PS- Usual disclaimer re: errors and prompts. Pls excuse.

The idea came to her last week, when she helped Laudna take the old door out of her refurbished little cabin. It had been hacked in half for some reason but the wood was still good, not rotted through, and she’d tucked it away behind the cabin before she left, telling Laudna vaguely that she had an idea for it.

She thought briefly about paint, but figured Laudna should get to choose the color and they could always add it later if she wanted. The only thing she really needed was rope, which was easy enough to get from the farm’s store, Harlan waving her off when she offered to have the cost taken from her pay.

She made sure to do it when Laudna was out foraging, mindful of the process. The scars on her neck were hard to misinterpret, and she knew some of what had happened, shared quietly under the stars outside Laudna’s cabin or, once, memorably and horrifyingly, through Pate. The last thing she wanted was for Laudna to watch her string rope up in the tree. She hoped the swing itself would be okay, was ready to take it down immediately at the slightest sign of discomfort, felt her palms get sweaty with nerves before she forced a deep breath.

Steady, Imogen. You’ve gotta actually put it up before you panic about takin’ it down.

She wound some rope across the length and around each end, connecting the separate loops in a series of knots she was pretty proud of and, when she was satisfied, hung it on the massive oak with the best view of the sunset.

Imogen had nearly destroyed her thumbnail by the time Laudna made it back, but the immediate and obvious joy on her face and in her thoughts as she emerged from the forest and saw Imogen standing next to the swing soothed all of her nerves. She dropped the basket of mushrooms and clapped, eyes looking between Imogen and the swing like one or the other might disappear if she stopped.

“Imogen! Is this…is this for us?”

Imogen nodded, cheeks aching from the size of her smile. “For you, mostly, but I’ll join you as often as I can. If you want, I mean!”

Laudna tilted her head, an increasingly familiar and comforting melody of fondness in her mind. Her voice carried that same fond feeling as she said, “Whenever you can, please. Thank you, darling.” The flutter in her stomach at the term of endearment ended quickly as there was, to Imogen’s distress, ichor pooling in the corners of her eyes.

Shit.

Laudna must have seen the concern growing on her face because she waved Imogen off, tucked her fingers next to her eyes so that the ichor reabsorbed. “I’m sorry. Happiness, I promise. It’s been a long time…Actually, I don’t think anyone has ever…” Her fingers moved to Pate but stopped, smoothed at her skirt instead. “Swing with me?”

Imogen smiled again, moved to hold the door steady so that Laudna could get comfortable. “After you, m’lady.” She felt silly, something that generally made her uncomfortable, but it was worth it for the laughter it earned her. She was finding she didn’t mind being silly for Laudna.

When Laudna was settled, she hoisted herself up next to her, shoulders touching, and then pressed her right foot against the ground and began a gentle movement. Laudna sighed happily, and they were quiet for a while, the sounds of the frogs and the crickets playing around them.

As the sun set, reds and purples spreading over Faramore’s land and the bluffs, Laudna tangled their ankles together, eyes cutting at Imogen in that way they always did when she initiated physical contact.

(The first time she really touched her, placing a steadying hand on Imogen’s back as she nearly tripped over a log, she yanked it back so fast, her mind in such a panic that Imogen thought there must be danger.

Laudna? What’s wrong?

She turned to find Laudna staring at the ground and fisting her skirt so tightly Imogen was afraid she might tear it. It was like she couldn’t hear her.

Imogen understood once the panicked thoughts cleared enough for her to be able to separate them, found tears stinging at the corners of her eyes and felt a rage on Laudna’s behalf, more and more common, at a low boil in her stomach.

Careful. Disgusting. Cold. Ichor will stain her pretty shirt. Don’t want to scare her. Can’t believe I...she’ll leave. She should leave. Dangerous.

She stepped closer carefully, placing a gentle hand on Laudna’s forearm, which was smooth and cold and a little clammy but certainly not disgusting. Laudna raised her head slowly to meet Imogen’s eyes.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded, and Imogen took another half-step in, let her fingers slide down and tangle with Laudna’s. Her eyes left Imogen’s again to stare at their joined hands.

“Imogen, you don’t have to…I know I’m not…it’s not…”

“I don’t mind you touchin’ me, Laudna. I’m real clumsy, so it’s nice, really, to have somebody there to help.” She squeezed very gently at Laudna’s fingers, ran her thumb over the skin of her inner wrist, leaned forward and said the next part near Laudna’s ear, sure but soft. “And you’re not disgustin’. I’m sorry anybody ever told you that. You’re just a little different.” She let go of Laudna’s hand to remove her glove, took it back and raised them between their bodies, her scars facing Laudna. “I am, too.”

Laudna raised her head then, a tentative half-smile on her face, pulled Imogen’s hand closer and looked at the purple lines scattered across it. Imogen ignored the embarrassment and fear and shame for once, didn’t pull her hand away.

“They’re quite beautiful.”

Her face was burning, suddenly, and she set her own eyes to the ground. “Well, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before.” She cleared her throat and looked up again, gathered some bravery. “It feels nice. Your hand in mine, I mean. I run real hot and you’re so cool.” She winked, felt immediately ridiculous but got Laudna’s smile to widen so called it a win.)

Like always, Imogen did her best to show it was welcome, pressing her ankle back. Laudna stared down at their feet as she asked, “How would you feel about a picnic tomorrow?”

She answered immediately, “That sounds perfect.” Laudna’s hands had only fluttered a little as she proposed the idea, and she didn’t even follow her question up with a dozen qualifications about the value of Imogen’s time. Imogen felt a swell of pride and satisfaction that Laudna was becoming more comfortable with her. She added, positive reinforcement and also the simple truth, “Real excited to get to spend a day off with you.”

Laudna’s cheeks stained a bluish purple in the low light, and Imogen felt an entirely undue sense of accomplishment, leaned over to let her head rest on Laudna’s shoulder.

This was something Imogen was trying, the physical affection. She wanted to be sure Laudna didn’t feel like she was the only one ever reaching out, wanted to reassure her, push back against some of the shit she’d been told about herself.

Mostly, though, she wanted to be close to her. They hadn’t known each other that long, in the scheme of things, but Imogen was pretty sure both of them had been touch-starved for a long time, and she felt more at home with Laudna than she had with anyone, ever. So she was slowly letting herself give into the impulses to touch and tease and be lighter than she was anywhere else, with anyone else. To be at home.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Laudna laughed, even as she lifted a hand to wrap around Imogen’s shoulders to keep her in place.

Imogen scooted closer. “It’s plenty comfortable, thanks.”

She walked back to the house humming to herself and thinking about what Laudna might like from the market for their picnic, making a plan for her morning. She was excited about spending a whole day with Laudna—dipping her feet in cool water and watching at least one performance from Pate and eating fresh bread and cheese and fruit and, assuming she didn’t get stampeded in line, a few slices of the first chocolate pecan pie of the season from Mackey’s stall.

She laughed into the quiet of the forest. They were going to have a picnic.

The market was more crowded than usual, and Imogen’s headache was threatening, a steady pulsing reminder at the base of her skull, but she was undeterred, buoyed by the promise of the rest of her day.

She avoided a cart and brushed by a family with a teenager whose brutal (and correct, from what Imogen could tell) running internal commentary on her uncle’s bullshit. He must’ve picked that up from that circle jerk of a riding club. What fucking clowns…was so loud that Imogen had to bite into her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

She refocused, picking her way through the stalls looking for the best fruit she could find rather than the best bargain because she was in a good mood, and she’d just gotten paid, and she could almost hear the delighted noise Laudna would make if she could find some of those sour apples she liked so much. She blocked out someone’s mental rant about stepping in dog shit and grinned triumphantly as she spotted a bucket of green apples.

Prize in hand, she moved the already secured slices of pie and perfectly crisply loaf of bread carefully to the side to make room in her basket. “Now, cheese…”

She made it back to the house without incident, headache still only a threat, and loaded her pack and saddled Flora, who was off the roster for the day same as Imogen, before heading to Laudna.

Her cabin was empty, a little surprising because Imogen was almost certain they’d agreed to meet here last night. She had been exhausted, though, so maybe they’d decided on the creek after all.

Redirecting Flora, they headed in the direction of the section best for picnics, a little bend with big flat rocks and enough tree cover to create a little privacy.

She heard it about halfway there, the familiar music of Laudna’s thoughts discordant with panic and fear. Imogen had Flora at a gallop immediately, cussing and hissing as thin branches whipped at her face.

There was a group of people crowded around a set of boulders, Laudna’s lanky form easily identifiable, surrounded and pressed almost all the way against a the rocks. The group consisted of a dozen or so people, including Amos, the local cleric, and some other folks in religious robes she didn’t recognize. There were also several of Imogen’s least favorite men from town, a combination of assholes and real creeps whose thoughts made her wish she could give her brain a shower. At their head was Davey Moore, the sheriff’s brother who thought he was big shit.

They all turned as they heard Flora’s approach, and Imogen barreled through them without hesitation, forcing them to either move or be moved. They dived, crying out, thoughts temporarily diverted to their own safety. They’d be able to block them in before Imogen could get Laudna up behind her, but this at least gave them a moment.

Imogen stopped Flora next to Laudna, whose normally wide black eyes were even wider and whose thoughts were jumbled and afraid and now worried, not for herself but for Imogen.

Imogen smiled at her, as softly as she could manage given the worry and fury that were mounting in her body.

Well, hey there. You okay?

I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to…I thought you might like…

Imogen saw then the flowers in her hand, beautiful yellow and purple and blue blooms whose stems even now Laudna was trying to keep from crushing in her anxious grip. Her hands rose the smallest amount, in offering, and Imogen felt such an intense surge of affection and the desire to protect that it nearly winded her. Probably would have, if she weren’t also burning hot with anger.

Trying to let some of that affection out through her eyes, she projected, You got nothin’ to be sorry for, Laudna. Those flowers are real pretty. I’m sorry that these fools…

She turned to glare at the group of men who had recongregated around them, one of the clerics having cast some kind of barrier spell that Imogen could see glinting in the light over their shoulders.

Well, shit.

Moore yelled out, “Temult! Of course you’re wrapped up with this…this…”

Imogen flexed her hand around the reins, ground out, “I’d be real careful how you finish that sentence, Davey.”

Imogen. Don’t put yourself at…

“Ma’am,” one of the clerics she didn’t recognize tried, blue robes shifting as he put a foot forward, “Clearly you’re not aware that you’ve been associating with an abomination.” His voice was kind, gentle, like she was a child and he genuinely wanted to protect her, but he had his staff raised in one hand and the other out, ready to cast at Laudna.

“She’s not an abomination.”

Imogen. Be careful. It’s not worth it, darling.

She heard what Laudna wouldn’t say: I’m not worth it. She sure as shit was, though, was the thing, and Imogen wasn’t about to let these fuckers have her. Imogen looked down at Laudna again, steel in her eyes this time, and brought Flora’s body forward and around a little, a half-shield for Laudna.

Stay as much behind Flora’s body as you can. When it’s safe, I’m gonna pull you up and we’re gonna go. Okay?

Imogen.

Laudna.

“Don’t bother with this one. She’s a freak, too. All messed up in the head like her mama was. Actually,” he sneered at Imogen, moved his hand to the sheath on his belt, “better be careful with her, too. She might try to mess with your mind.”

A set of frowns deepened, confused thoughts pressing at the barrier of her mind as Amos stepped forward. Nobody in her day-to-day life was deeply religious, but Amos had once offered to pray over Imogen while her daddy stood stoically and silently next to her. (He’d told her later that it “couldn’t have hurt to let him try,” while a cacophony of thoughts about Imogen sounded in his mind. Stubborn. Just like her mama. Didn’t sign up for this. Wish she’d just act normal. Can’t even have a fuckin’ ale in peace since she screamed at Darius’s boy. The thoughts were familiar enough at that point that she should’ve been innoculated against the hurt they caused. She wasn’t.) She’d declined as politely as she could, pushing down the part of herself that wanted to tell him to shove his prayers up his own ass, and Amos had been gravely concerned that she wasn’t open to being healed.

Now, in his most pious voice, he said, “Imogen. I feared when you declined my offer of prayer that you had given into darkness, and now I see that it’s true. After we handle your…this…unnatural creature…”

“Hollow One,” another supplied, and Amos turned slightly to nod in acknowledgement.

“Yes. In any case, after we handle it, we can bring you to your father and see about…”

Her heart pounded, and her head rang, her whole body flushed with heat, as she said, “You won’t be handlin’ anything, especially not Laudna.”

“Ms. Temult, is it? I don’t think you…”

“Enough.” Moore unsheathed his knife and Flora tried to put distance between herself and the man, whinnying when she realized there was nowhere to go.

“Shhh,” she rubbed a hand down her neck, eyed Laudna, whose hands were even darker than usual, ichor and magic bubbling up and bleeding across now-wilted flowers to drip over the ground.

With a last pat to Flora, she dismounted, stepping in front of Laudna and sending Flora out toward the path they’d come from, the group of men parting and reforming to let her pass. Flora made it through the barrier without issue and Imogen filed that away, wondered if it was just for humans or just for Laudna or maybe, if they were lucky, just for show.

Imogen.

It’ll be alright.

There was almost no space between her and Moore now, his sharp blade glinting in her eyes as his vile thoughts cut at her mind. She pushed them to the side.

“You’re right. That’s enough.”

She wasn’t the Imogen Temult he knew in that moment. She wasn’t the weird, reclusive girl whose mind wasn’t quite right but who was “real good with those horses.” She wasn’t the panicked, overwhelmed teenager breaking down in the market, the attention-seeking, unmanageable girl yelling at the people around her when there were no more boxes in her mind for the vile thoughts of others. She certainly wasn’t the polite, palatable version of herself she had learned to present to keep the peace.

She was Imogen Temult without filter, and she was done.

Moore blinked for a moment, a break in his thoughts, but then he turned to the clerics around him and said, “Someone knock her out first. Then we can finish the job.”

The minds around her were conflicted at the order, but enough accepted it that someone began to cast, voice loud.

She heard Laudna cry out behind her, saw a flash of black streak by and hit the cleric in the shoulder. He yelled, shock and pain projecting from his mind, but then he started again, and soon his voice wasn’t alone.

There were too many of them, too many of them with too much belief in what they were doing and they had trapped them here, in these woods, where nobody could hear them call for help.

Something in her chest, familiar, hers, but never let loose before, cracked open, and heat flowed out, across her chest and down her arms. It almost felt like her scars were…she raised her hands and confirmed—they were glowing, pulsing purple with power.

“Imogen,” Laudna breathed out behind her, something close to awe battling with concern in her tone.

“What the fuck?”

She looked Moore in the eye as she said, “I said, that’s enough.”

She didn’t know what she was doing, but it felt natural, right, to extend her hands in front of her, nearly pressed to his chest. He lunged with the knife and froze mid-way, body stiff, wrapped in light that beamed from Imogen’s hands over and through Moore and Amos and all the rest of them, her whole body hot and surging like a live wire.

And then Moore was screaming. He was screaming, and so were the others, out loud and in their minds, loud, so loud, a horrible, inescapable set of voices becoming one.

“Ahhh!!!” It burns! Make it stop! “Mercy! Mercy!” So hot, so hot, my gods, I can’t…“Please!” Mother save us…

Hands grasped at heads as their bodies shook and fell to the ground, and bits of their skin, where Imogen could see it, withered with burn, strange purple and white flames appearing and disappearing on their bodies and clothes.

When it was over, all of them prone, Imogen took half a moment to feel both relief and a deep kind of sickness before grabbing Laudna’s hand, pulling her toward Flora, the best girl, who was waiting for them at the edge of the forest.

She grabbed the reins, scars still alight with purple heat, lightning still in her veins waiting to be let free, and they ran.

#imodna #imodna fic #southerngothic #cr prompt fic #imogen temult-centric

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kingofbodyrolls · 16 days

Text

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | fourteen

🐴Chapter summary: After breaking up with Jimin, you realize how much you love him, and that maybe that love should be enough to carry you through your new life— being a parent, for someone else’s child.

🐴Chapter title: I Wish the Past was Different

🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc

🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters.

🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst

🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

🐴Chapter warnings: angst (is this really a surprise?), mention of pregnancy (not oc!!!), a riding accident, a lot of thinking and overthinking, sadness and angst, jealousy, working through feelings.

🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!)

🐴Word count: 10.5k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Time Turn Over” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?]

🐴Author’s note: OC is being very Bella Swan in this chapter, I’m sorry again 😭 BUT!!! The angst goes away in this chapter too, because I just wouldn’t do it (I’m tired of the angst, lol). Because of said angst, it was tough for me to write and I actually ended up asking my husband for advice because I was stuck, not meeting my own word length deadline and because I just felt stuck in general 🥲 But alas, he gave me a good idea, and I went with that! There is very minimal angst going forward from this chapter, like it’s so minor compared to all the rest, so I hope you’ll enjoy mostly unicorns and rainbows after this chapter ☀️

You can send in your questions for the characters or me here → Ask away 💜*

*for people on AO3 you can also participate if you want to, just leave a comment (guest/anon or not), and I’ll reply to that and I’ll add your question in the Epilogue 💜

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.Wanna see the book cover?

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

“And oh, I wish the past was different And oh, I wish it wasn’t so But in the end, because I’m here now In the end, I think you know I can’t say it and you can’t feel it but I can not let it go And oh, I wish the past was different And oh, I wish it wasn’t so” ‘I Wish the Past Was Different’ by Rebecca Lavelle

You’ve thrown yourself into your work with the wild horses, seeking solace in their untamed spirits. Yet, the bittersweet reality of having to work at Jimin’s place constantly tugs at your heartstrings. Each encounter with him reignites the longing to be wrapped in his arms, to find solace in his embrace, and to believe in a future together. But then you catch sight of Deiji, and the floodgates of jealousy and insecurity and self doubt burst open once more, drowning you in feelings of inadequacy and unpreparedness for the daunting prospect of motherhood, especially when it's someone else's child at the center of it all.

Why does life have to twist and turn in such cruel ways? The weight of this pain is crushing, dragging you down with each passing moment, threatening to shatter you into irreparable fragments.

You find yourself yearning for an alternate reality where Jimin never crossed paths with Deiji, where their relationship was just a figment of imagination rather than a painful reality. The ache in your chest resonates with the desire to assign blame, to point fingers at anything but your own heart for walking away. It’s easier to lay fault at the feet of Deiji and Jimin than to confront the agonizing truth of your own decision to part ways.

You scuff, a tempest of anger and sorrow swirling within you, each emotion battling for dominance, leaving your stomach tied in knots. Amidst this tumult, focusing on the wild horses becomes a difficult task, prompting Hoseok to step in and assist Yoongi more frequently while you remain perched atop the fence, a silent observer of the scene below.

The love between the two men is palpable, their synergy evident as they collaborate seamlessly. Yet, as you observe them coaxing a once-wild gray horse into submission, a bittersweet symphony plays in your heart. Their laughter, like tinkling bells, fills the air, but with each shared chuckle, a pang of longing grips your soul. You can’t help but notice the gentle caress of Hoseok's hand on Yoongi’s arm, the way their eyes meet with an unspoken understanding, and their voices, light and airy, carrying the melody of their affection.

Their effortless relationship is both heartwarming and gut-wrenching to witness. You adore them both and revel in their happiness, yet a pang of envy lingers as you yearn for a similar bliss with Jimin. The prospect of parenthood looms over you like a daunting storm cloud, and you're lost in a tempest of uncertainty, unsure of how to navigate the tumultuous waters ahead.

Hoseok’s hands caress the sleek coat of the gray horse, his touch a delicate dance of reassurance and patience. The majestic creature stands serene under his guidance, a testament to their bond of trust and understanding.

Yoongi pivots, his keen eyes catching the shadow of sorrow that’s cloaked you for days, casting a solemn hue over your features.

He strides over, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of your storm. Perching beside you on the fence, he offers a reassuring pat on your shoulder. “It’s going to be alright,” he assures, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled soul.

You highly doubt it. You replay the choices in your mind like a broken record, each decision leading you to this moment of heartache. You could have chosen to stay with Jimin, to endure the pain silently, but the weight of it all felt unbearable. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil within.

You turn your gaze towards Yoongi, the question burning on your lips, a mixture of curiosity and longing swirling in your chest. Despite knowing you shouldn't pry, your heart yearns for a glimpse into Jimin’s world. “How’s Jimin holding up?” you inquire, your voice tinged with a fragile hope, betraying the emotions you've been grappling with.

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours, a silent plea evident in their depths, urging you to reconsider your question. His expression carries a weight of concern, as if he’s shielding you from the painful truth that might follow.

As the silence lingers, you press further, your voice a whisper weighted with apprehension. “Is he... back with Deiji?” The words hang heavy in the air, fraught with a mix of dread and longing for a truth you're not sure you're ready to confront.

Yoongi’s features contort into a mask of sorrow, his gaze drifting downward to the grains of sand within the pen, as if seeking solace in the mundane. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself with questions like this,” he murmurs, his tone heavy with empathy and resignation. “But no, Jimin is still very single.”

The revelation doesn’t exactly lift the weight from your heart, though it's a relief knowing he’s not rushing back into Deiji’s embrace. Still, a melancholic ache persists, knowing that things have unfolded this way.

Yoongi’s words land like a gentle breeze, stirring a mix of emotions within you. “You know,” he confides, his tone carrying a thread of hope. “Jimin misses you a lot. He talks about you everyday. He wishes that you’ll change your mind and come back home.” As his gaze meets your weary eyes, a glimmer of optimism dances in his own.

Tears have become an unwelcome companion, tracing silent rivers down your cheeks, staining your pillow with the remnants of your sorrow. Night after night, you find solace in the lullaby of tears, until even your sister’s concern casts a shadow upon your weary soul. Your eyes, once bright with laughter, now betray the weight of your heartache, swollen and heavy with the burden of your grief. Yet, in the face of it all, you couldn’t summon the energy to care.

You draw in a shuddering breath, grappling with the tempest of emotions swirling within you. “I miss him too,” you admit, your voice quivering with raw honesty. “But I can’t bear the thought of being in a relationship with him, not with his child on the way with another woman.”

You release a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping under the weight of exhaustion and emotional turmoil. Every task seems monumental, even the simplest ones, and just coaxing yourself out of bed feels like an uphill battle. A tear teeters on the edge of your waterline, a silent testament to the inner turmoil gnawing at your soul. Desperate to divert your thoughts from Jimin's memory, you draw in a deep breath and pivot the conversation. “You and Hoseok seem really happy,” you remark, attempting to steer the dialogue towards a lighter topic.

A gentle chuckle ripples from Yoongi’s lips beside you, a soothing sound amidst the heaviness of your emotions. He senses your need for a reprieve and graciously allows the shift in conversation. “Was that a question or a statement?” he quips, his laughter like a beacon guiding you away from the shadows of sadness, urging your weary spirit back towards the light.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, a brief respite from the weight of your thoughts. “Definitely a statement,” you reply with a hint of self-awareness, the sound of your laughter mingling with the breeze, carrying a fleeting moment of lightness through the heavy air.

“We are happy,” Yoongi affirms, a genuine smile spreading across his face, revealing the warmth in his eyes. Together, you observe Hoseok’s movements with the gray horse below, the sight of him successfully saddling the animal a testament to his skill and patience.

“That’s great. I’m so happy for you, Yoongi,” you express, mustering a smile, though it lacks the usual sparkle that once defined it.

“Thank you. But I can see it’s tough for you,” he starts, his gaze probing yours, seeking something elusive, something you're not quite sure of.

You brush off his concern with a casual flick of your hand. “I put myself in this situation,” you say, the weight of your words heavier than you intended.

You slump further against the fence, sinking into the sanctuary of your own fragile thoughts.

Hoseok remains focused on the horse, his movements fluid and purposeful, while Yoongi stands steadfast beside you, his arm enveloping you in a comforting embrace, a reassuring anchor amidst the tumult of your thoughts.

“Thank you Yoongi,” You express your gratitude to Yoongi with a heartfelt whisper, leaning into his comforting presence. His embrace is a sanctuary, enveloping you in warmth and the refreshing scent of mint, a soothing balm to your troubled soul.

“What for?” With a soft chuckle, Yoongi queries, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

“For always being there for me,” You utter, your voice laced with profound gratitude. The weight of your words hangs in the air, a testament to the depth of your appreciation for his unwavering friendship.

The relentless sun beats down upon you as you toil alongside Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin, laboring to scrub clean the water trough for the cattle in a distant paddock. Beads of sweat form rivulets on your brow, and you futilely attempt to brush them away with the hem of your shirt, but the relentless heat refuses to relent.

The scorching heat bears down upon you relentlessly as you vigorously scrub away at the trough, determined to rid it of its slimy residue, accumulated grime, and encrusted grease. Each stroke of the brush is a testament to your commitment, knowing full well the vital importance of this cleaning ritual to ensure the cattle’s access to pristine water during their time in the paddock.

“Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” Ara’s words pierce through the haze of your thoughts, jolting you out of the cocoon of self-pity you’ve wrapped yourself in.

Beside you, Soo-ah and Ha-rin exchange startled gasps, their synchronized reaction prompting you to arch an eyebrow in curiosity, silently urging Ara to continue.

“That’s so inconsiderate of you to say, Ara!” Soo-ah’s reprimand cuts through the air, her words laced with a protective edge, while Ha-rin’s support echoes her sentiment, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

“What? But she seems so miserable, Jimin too, why don’t you just work it out?” Ara’s voice carries genuine concern, wrapped in a gentle tone, yet it strikes a nerve within you. You sense her good intentions, but the thought of rehashing your struggles yet again feels draining. With a heavy exhale, you opt for silence, allowing your frustration to seep out in a weary sigh.

“Don’t you think she would work it out with him, if she wanted to?” Ha-rin’s words cut through the humid air, laced with a hint of frustration as she vigorously scrubs the steel trough. It’s a valid question, one that resonates with the unspoken doubts lingering in your mind. You ponder her inquiry, the rhythmic sound of metal against metal providing a backdrop to your internal turmoil.

It’s a surreal sensation, like eavesdropping on a conversation about your own life from a distance. Their words hang heavy in the air, echoing the unspoken complexities of your situation. You stand there, a silent observer to your own narrative, grappling with the strange disconnect between your presence and their discussion.

Ara’s voice rises, her words infused with a desperate plea for understanding. But like, last time they didn’t talk for months and it was just a stupid misunderstanding,” she insists, her eyes searching for empathy among her companions.

Soo-ah interjects with a firm tone, “Do you even comprehend the sheer effort it takes to raise a child?” she questions, her gaze piercing. “If she’s not prepared for that responsibility, then she’s simply not ready.”

It feels funny, how they are talking about you and Jimin, you might as well say something.

The scrubbing of the trough halts abruptly as you pivot towards Ara, your expression a mix of vulnerability and resolve. “It’s not that we aren’t talking,” you begin, your voice carrying the weight of your emotions. “We still communicate, but it’s the sight of Deiji that stings the most. Knowing they’re expecting a child together... it’s hard not to feel consumed by jealousy,” you confess, the words heavy with raw honesty.

Ara’s eyes soften with understanding, her nod a silent acknowledgment of the tumult of emotions you're navigating. “It sounds like you want a child of your own, with Jimin,” she ventures, her words carrying a gentle empathy that resonates with your innermost desires and fears.

Ha-rin’s reaction is a blend of admonishment and hushing as she playfully nudges Ara’s arm, silently urging her to tread carefully while also chiding her for broaching a sensitive topic.

“I’m not entirely certain about having children,” you start, your words measured and tinged with uncertainty, “but raising someone else’s child is certainly not what I imagined or wanted to do.”

Soo-ah and Ha-rin exchange understanding nods. “Do you think you might change your mind later?” Ha-rin inquires gently, her voice carrying a tone of empathy as she continues with her task.

You pause, mulling over her question for a moment, before responding thoughtfully, “I’m not entirely sure... perhaps. It’s just... I can’t quite envision how it would all come together, you know?”

“I just... when I envision Jimin embracing fatherhood, cherishing that little girl of his soon entering the world, it’s her child, not mine,” you sigh in frustration, yet oddly finding a glimmer of relief in the honesty of your words.

“So you’re jealous that it’s not going to be your child?” Ara teases beside you, prompting a scolding glare from Soo-ah.

“You just said you didn’t want kids, but now you say you do... make up your mind,” Ara adds, rolling her eyes in a playful yet challenging manner.

“She doesn’t want Deiji’s kid, can’t you get that?” Soo-ah says, coming to your defense once more, her voice firm with conviction.

“Guys! I’m just not sure I want kids, period. Why can’t I be undecided on this?” Your words hang heavy in the air, a plea for understanding, as you return to the task of scrubbing the trough with a vigor that betrays your inner turmoil.

“Yeah. Let’s not badger her, okay?” Ha-rin’s voice cuts through the tension like a soothing balm, her gentle plea for empathy echoing your own sentiments. You catch her soft gaze, a silent acknowledgment of her understanding, offering a momentary respite from the probing questions.

“But can I say something?” Her demeanor shifts with a mix of hesitance and determination, her gaze seeking reassurance before she speaks. You offer a nod, granting her the space to voice her thoughts, curious about what might follow.

“You still love Jimin and he still loves you— don’t you think you could focus on that, and just like, not focus on the kid?” Her words hang in the air, a delicate plea woven with threads of hope and uncertainty. You feel a pang of longing as she speaks, her sincerity piercing through the heaviness of the situation. Despite the weight of her suggestion, you can't help but consider the possibility buried within her question.

As her words sink in, you find yourself grappling with a newfound perspective. The idea of focusing on your enduring love for Jimin rather than fixating on the looming presence of a child is both liberating and daunting. It’s a notion you’ve never entertained before, a ray of light piercing through the clouds of uncertainty that have engulfed you. Could it be that the solution to your turmoil lies in embracing the love that binds you, rather than allowing fear to drive you apart?

Each stroke of the brush across the canvas feels like a dance, a rhythmic movement driven by the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through your mind. Jimin’s presence looms large in your thoughts, refusing to be ignored or pushed aside. Ha-rin’s words echo in your ears, a gentle reminder to reconsider your perspective. As you ponder the notion of shifting your focus away from Jimin’s impending fatherhood, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope flicker within you. Could it be that amidst the chaos of uncertainty, there lies a path illuminated by the enduring flame of love?

You remain ensnared in the labyrinth of uncertainty, grappling with the weight of your emotions and the intricacies of your relationship. The truth is a bitter pill to swallow: Jimin’s impending fatherhood would inevitably redefine the contours of your relationship, demanding a portion of his time and attention that you would never begrudge. Yet, amidst the tangle of doubts and fears, a flicker of understanding begins to dawn. Perhaps, in the vast expanse of love, there exists room for compromise, for navigating the labyrinth together, hand in hand.

The question lingers in the depths of your soul, a haunting refrain echoing through the corridors of your mind: are you truly prepared for it all?

Ready to become someone’s mother. Step mother?

Ready to raise a child?

Yet, can you truly provide a nurturing environment for a child if one of the adults harbors resentment towards their presence?

You understand it’s not the child’s fault, but the mere thought of it being Deiji’s offspring churns your stomach. You harbor an intense dislike for her, and a nagging suspicion still lingers, whispering that she’s up to something.

You’ve never laid eyes on any proof of the paternity test, and the unsettling thought lingers: did Jimin even ask to see it? Perhaps it's time to broach that topic with him.

As you reminisce about the warmth and intimacy you once shared with Jimin, a wave of melancholy washes over you, leaving you adrift in a sea of longing. Doubts creep in, questioning the wisdom of your choices. Should you have held onto what you had with him, despite the challenges?

The canvas before you mirrors the tumult within, a chaotic blend of muddy hues—gray, brown, beige, and dark blue—an unexpected abstraction of your inner turmoil. It’s a reflection of your tangled thoughts, much like the surprise abstract painting that has emerged from your brush. Yet, beneath the layers of color, a longing persists. You ache to create something different, something infused with the joy of yesteryears—perhaps the serene landscapes that once graced your canvas. Yet, as you realize nearly a year has passed since your return to the ranch, a flood of memories rushes in, dominated by thoughts of Jimin.

Oh, how you wish things were different.

On an unassuming day, bathed in sunlight, you find yourself quietly eating breakfast in the kitchen, lost in your own solemn musings. Suddenly, the tranquility is shattered as Jungkook steps into the room, jolting you out of your reverie.

You’re acutely aware that since parting ways with Jimin, you’ve been teetering on the brink of depression. It was a painful but necessary decision to safeguard your shattered heart. Yet, despite your efforts to protect yourself, you’re haunted by the gnawing realization that no matter what path you choose, your heart remains irreparably broken.

“Hey,” he greets you with a warm smile, but as you return the gesture, your own smile falls short of matching his infectious happiness. Your gaze lingers on him, curiosity piqued as you notice something clutched in his hand. Why is he carrying a letter?

“How are you doing?” he inquires, and you respond with a bitter chuckle. Can’t he see how you’re doing? You’re well aware of your appearance, having been reminded by your sister that you look like a mess. The truth is, you’re consumed by a constant sadness, and you’ve exhausted all your energy trying to conceal it.

“I feel like shit,” you admit, opting for raw honesty because pretending otherwise seems futile. Jungkook knows you well, understands the depth of your pain stemming from the breakup with his brother.

He offers you a reassuring smile, closing the distance between you as he gently places the white envelope on the table. Your eyes drift down to it, and you immediately recognize your name scrawled across it in familiar handwriting—it’s Jimin’s.

“This is from my brother,” he murmurs, his nerves palpable as he scratches the back of his head, causing you to shift your gaze between him and the letter, your mind racing with anticipation. What could possibly be contained within? Will it offer solace or inflict further pain? The uncertainty grips you tightly, leaving you on edge.

“Can’t he speak for himself?” You question, a hint of frustration seeping into your voice as your fingers hover over the letter, finally grasping it to inspect its contents.

“He’s torn about whether to give you space or not,” Jungkook confides, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “And he has no idea that I snatched the letter.”

Your eyes widen as you fix your gaze on him. “Are you sure I should read this then?” You inquire, a hint of apprehension creeping into your voice. “Maybe Jimin doesn’t want me to read it.”

Jungkook offers you a gentle smile. “It’s fine,” he reassures, his tone laced with determination. “If he gets mad, it’s on me. But you need to read it. I’m tired of seeing you both suffer like this.”

With those words, he leaves you to grapple with your thoughts and the letter, its edges slightly crumpled, a testament to the turmoil it contains. Your heart pounds in your chest, your mind weighed down by a heavy burden, and your eyes dry from the countless tears shed. You resolve to open the letter, sliding it out slowly; its handwritten contents are adorned with dried tears, each smudge a poignant reminder of the emotions woven into every word. Even before you begin to read, a lump forms in your throat, and your vision blurs with the tears welling up in your eyes.

Despite your trembling hands and the overwhelming emotions coursing through you, you summon every ounce of courage within you. With a determined resolve, you steady your gaze and immerse yourself in every heart-wrenching word penned by Jimin in his letter.

My love,

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love you more than words can express, and the ache of missing you is a constant companion. I’m deeply sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. No apology could ever capture the depth of my remorse for hurting you repeatedly. My heart weighs heavy with regret, and I want you to know how truly sorry I am. I wish I could undo the hurt I’ve caused. I understand that you may not be ready for motherhood, and I would never want to pressure you into anything. But I hold onto hope that we can find our way back to each other. I love you endlessly, and the thought of being apart is unbearable. I know I don’t deserve your kindness and forgiveness, but please, consider giving me another chance. You are my everything, and I long for us to be reunited.

With all my love and remorse,

Jimin

As your tears mingle with Jimin’s on the page, your heart aches with a poignant mix of love and pain. Despite the hurt he’s caused, your love for him remains unwavering, yet it’s accompanied by the uncertainty of whether you’re prepared for motherhood. However, amidst the turmoil, a flicker of hope ignites within you—perhaps, just perhaps, you can find the strength to be ready for that journey with him.

You sense the weight of your thoughts pressing down, suffocating you. There’s an urgency to clear your mind, to escape the labyrinth of your own making. And you know precisely what remedy awaits: a ride. Out onto the sprawling expanse of land surrounding your ranch, where the wind whispers secrets and the horizon stretches endlessly. It’s your sanctuary, your refuge from the turmoil within—a chance to lose yourself in the rhythm of hoofbeats and the vastness of the world beyond.

Typically, when you saddle up, the chaos in your mind settles, and you allow yourself to sink into the serenity of the natural world, letting the rhythm of hoofbeats replace the cacophony of thoughts.

That’s why you find yourself in the barn, carefully saddling Mikrokosmos, feeling the familiar weight of the leather in your hands, the comforting scent of hay and wood surrounding you. With each buckle tightened and each strap secured, a sense of anticipation builds within you. Leading Mikrokosmos out of the barn, you’re eager to immerse yourself in the healing embrace of nature, seeking solace in the rhythmic cadence of hoofbeats and the whispering winds.

With a steady breath, you slide your foot into the stirrup, feeling the familiar weight of your body settling into the saddle. As you swing your leg over, a surge of anticipation courses through you, mingling with the raw energy emanating from Mikrokosmos. With a gentle nudge of your heels, you coax her into motion, feeling the power of her muscles ripple beneath you as she eagerly responds to your command, propelling both of you forward into the boundless expanse of the open land.

With each rhythmic beat of Mikrokosmos’ hooves against the earth, you surrender to the wild abandon of the ride, seeking solace in the untamed beauty of the landscape unfurling before you. Away from the suffocating grip of memories and uncertainties, you allow the wind to carry away the weight of your burdens, embracing the freedom of the open horizon as you ride further into the unknown.

As the wind weaves through your hair, its gentle touch whispers a symphony of freedom, entwining with the rhythmic melody of Mikrokosmos’ hooves tearing through the earth. With each stride, she paints the landscape with her fervent dance, sending plumes of dust swirling into the air. In the harmony of nature’s cadence, your spirit soars, liberated from the weight of doubt and longing. Each thunderous beat of her hooves resonates with the pounding rhythm of your heart.

Surrendering to the rush of wind and the pounding of hooves, you relinquish the burdens that have tethered your soul, allowing them to scatter like leaves in the breeze, if only for a fleeting moment.

As the sky transforms from serene blue to ominous gray, then to the cloak of night pierced by flashes of lightning, you sense the electricity in the air mirrored by Mikrokosmos’ subtle twitch, a silent acknowledgment of nature’s impending fury.

As the thunderclouds gather with ominous intent, you’re acutely aware of the danger of being caught in the open during a storm. Lost in the vast expanse, you realize with a sinking feeling that you’ve ventured too far to return before the tempest strikes. Yet, the urgency to seek shelter pushes you onward, driven by the instinct to find safety amidst the approaching chaos.

Amidst the dense foliage, you urgently guide Mikrokosmos, a steadfast companion in the tumultuous terrain. Suddenly, a deafening rumble ruptures the air, and the heavens ignite with a blinding flash. Your loyal steed startles, veering sharply as a nearby tree becomes a target for the furious lightning. With lightning’s crackle still echoing, Mikrokosmos rears in panic, jolting you from the saddle. You plummet to the earth, pain searing through your body upon impact, a harsh reminder of nature's unforgiving power. Fuck it hurts.

Mikrokosmos, wide-eyed and trembling, lingers by your side, almost like she wants to make sure you’re okay. You extend a trembling hand in reassurance, craving the solace of her presence, but as another deafening thunderclap reverberates through the sky, she recoils in terror. With a swift and panicked motion, she breaks away, vanishing into the wilderness, leaving you alone amidst the storm’s fury.

“Mikrokosmos, come back!” Your voice echoes through the wilderness, a desperate plea swallowed by the roaring tempest. With each strained syllable, you feel the weight of your fear and frustration, your heart racing in sync with her retreating hoofbeats. As you struggle to rise, the sting of pain ignites along your spine, a harsh reminder of your vulnerability amidst nature's fury. Damn it - you should have prepared her for moments like these, should have been more vigilant in her training with sudden loud noises. Now, your failure looms large, a bitter taste of remorse in the storm's relentless assault.

As the rain pours down in relentless sheets and the sky is intermittently illuminated by flashes of lightning, she finds herself lost in worry. Hours have slipped by since her sister embarked on her ride, and with each passing minute, concern gnaws at her like a persistent ache. In the midst of such tumultuous weather, her sister should have returned by now.

Where could she be? What if something has gone wrong out there in the storm’s fury?

Anxious tendrils grip her as she leans in closer to Jungkook, her voice trembling with concern. “Kook, I’m really worried about my sister. She should have been back by now,” she confides, her words laced with a sense of urgency. Jungkook’s eyes widen in alarm, his grip tightening on the beer bottle as he absorbs her distress.

As she gazes out the window, her heart lurches at the sight of a panicked Mikrokosmos darting around the yard. “Mikrokosmos is running wild out there, but still no sign of my sister. This can’t be good,” she murmurs, urgency coloring her voice as she hastily slips into her boots and jacket. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Jungkook is right by her side, his expression mirroring her concern as they prepare to investigate.

Jessi manages to soothe Mikrokosmos, her fingers gently curling around the reins. “Easy, girl,” she murmurs, her voice a soft reassurance in the midst of the storm.

She strokes Mikrokosmos’ mane, her touch a comforting anchor in the chaos of the storm. “Easy, girl,” she whispers, her voice a soothing melody amidst the thunderous symphony. “Steady, now,” she repeats, her words a gentle plea for calmness.

She whirls around to face Jungkook, urgency etched across her features. “This isn’t good. Where’s my sister?” Her voice quivers with worry, each word punctuated by the pounding rain outside, echoing the frantic beat of her heart.

Jungkook pivots, his eyes widening at the sight of Soo-ah hurtling from her cottage. “What’s Mikrokosmos doing here alone?” His voice is laced with concern, mirroring the panic in Soo-ah’s expression.

Jessi relinquishes the reins to Soo-ah, her voice trembling with worry. “I think something has happened to my sister, otherwise Mikrokosmos wouldn’t be here alone. Can you please take her into the stables, calm her down, and we’ll search for my sister?”

Soo-ah seizes the reins with determination and offers Jessi a firm nod, leading Mikrokosmos over to the stables. Jessi’s expression is etched with concern as she turns to Jungkook, her brow furrowed in deep distress.

“Let’s go look for her, she shouldn’t be out in this weather,” With urgency etched in his voice, he clasps her hand firmly, a silent promise of support. Together, they hustle to his truck, determination fueling their actions as they race back to Bell Ranch, intent on rallying more help to find you.

They dash through the rain-drenched yard, urgency in each step as they burst into the house where Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi lounge in front of the TV, oblivious to the mounting concern etched on Jungkook and Jessi’s faces.

Urgency floods Jungkook’s voice as he interrupts their tranquility. “Guys, Jess’ sister is missing. We need your help to find her,” he implores, his words slicing through the calm of the room like a thunderbolt.

Jimin’s muscles tense, his expression darkening with concern as his heart quickens its pace. Yoongi springs from the couch with such urgency that he should feel lightheaded. In a synchronized rush, the trio leaps into action, snatching up their boots and jackets.

The weather outside is relentless, the midday darkness accentuated by the unyielding rain and gray skies, enveloping everything in a shroud of cold, damp chill.

Jimin’s voice cuts through the tension, his hand already reaching for the keys to his truck. “Should we split into groups of two or three?” he suggests, urgency lacing his words like a silent plea for swift action.

Jessi’s voice holds authority, her words cutting through the air like a command. “I think two are fine,” she concedes, her tone firm and resolute. “But you’re not driving.” Her finger jabs towards Jimin, swiftly snatching the keys from his grasp and passing them to Yoongi with an unyielding resolve.

Jimin’s expression shifts from disbelief to begrudging acceptance as he grapples with Jessi’s unexpected assertion. Despite his initial astonishment, a flicker of understanding ignites within him, and he obediently trails after his brother and Jessi, braving the torrential rain outside.

Yoongi and Hoseok climb into Jimin’s trusty blue truck, equipped with a walkie-talkie in hand, their fingers poised to establish a connection with Jungkook, Jimin, and Jessi in the other vehicle. As they settle in, the anticipation in the air is palpable, their shared determination driving them forward into the unknown.

Yoongi’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkie, edged with concern, as he asks, “Do we have any idea which direction she might have gone?” His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty, echoing the urgency of their search.

Jessi’s voice crackles with determination over the line as she directs the plan, “We’re clueless about her direction. Let’s split up – you take the eastern side, we’ll cover the western.” Meanwhile, Jungkook twists the key in the ignition, setting the window wipers to a frantic rhythm. Jimin, gripped by worry, perches on the edge of his seat in the back, craning forward over the center console to scan the rain-soaked landscape ahead.

They embark on their respective routes, traversing the treacherous terrain of the rugged hills. The landscape is unyielding, but the sturdy trucks with four-wheel drive prove to be invaluable companions. Jungkook guides their vehicle with practiced precision, a stark contrast to the frantic urgency of their previous search when Jessi was missing. This time, he maneuvers cautiously, each movement deliberate, mindful of the perilous conditions and determined to avoid any mishaps.

Jimin’s voice cuts through the tension in the truck's cabin, his impatience palpable. “Can’t you drive faster?” he urges his brother from the back seat, his anxiety mounting with each passing moment.

Jungkook’s tone carries a hint of frustration as he scuffs, “No, this terrain isn’t really made for fast driving. And relax. We’ll find her,” his words a gentle reassurance amidst the mounting worry.

Jimin huffs impatiently in the back seat, realizing there’s nothing much to do but wait until they find you. Each passing moment heightens his concern, hoping against hope that you’re safe amidst the storm and uncertainty.

Jessi turns to Jimin, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere in the truck. “That ring you bought a while back, is it just collecting dust, or do you plan on giving it to her soon?” Her directness adds another layer of urgency to the situation, hinting at the unresolved emotions lingering between him and you.

Jungkook chuckles beside her, a brief moment of lightness amidst the tension, yet his gaze remains fixed on the rugged path ahead, emphasizing the gravity of the situation they’re in.

Jimin stumbles over his words, his voice strained with uncertainty. “I just don’t think now’s the right time,” he admits, his words tinged with the weight of recent events. “This whole thing with Deiji and then your sister breaking up with me, I don’t think it would be appropriate.” His voice trails off, the unfinished sentence hanging heavy with unspoken emotions.

She scoffs, her tone laced with incredulity. “Appropriate?” Her disbelief echoes through the cabin, challenging Jimin’s hesitation with a raw intensity.

She turns her whole body in her seat to face Jimin, her eyes ablaze with urgency. “I’m sorry, but this whole thing with Deiji is hella suspicious. And you love my sister, right? She loves you too. She’s almost sick, because she broke up with you, did you know that?” Her words hang heavy in the air, charged with a blend of concern and accusation, demanding a response from Jimin.

Jimin’s eyes widen at her words, a mix of surprise and guilt flashing across his face, but he remains silent, his thoughts swirling like a tempestuous sea, grappling with the weight of her accusations.

“She doesn’t eat properly anymore. She’s lost weight, she’s not sleeping— shall I keep going?” She crosses her arms, her voice edged with a mixture of concern and frustration. This whole thing just makes her mad. She hates seeing her favorite people hurt like this, consumed by a storm of emotions that threatens to engulf them both.

“Oh, did you know she cries herself to sleep every night?” she adds, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and vulnerability, as if she’s revealing a secret that should have remained buried.

Jimin’s breath catches at her revelation, his eyes widening in shock. “I didn’t know,” he admits, his voice tinged with guilt and regret.

“Listen, I don’t know why she can’t talk to you,” Jessi continues, her tone a blend of frustration and concern. “But having Deiji around makes it incredibly tough for her— and I’m not suggesting you abandon her or your future child. However, finding a balance that allows space for my sister without causing her this kind of pain might be worth considering.”

“But she’s made it clear she’s not ready for kids,” Jimin murmurs, his voice barely audible over the increasingly rough terrain.

“It’s not just any kid, Jimin, it’s hers, for heaven’s sake! Can’t you see the weight of that?” she practically scolds him, her voice firm and resounding with frustration.

Jimin is rendered speechless—his mind swirling with conflicting emotions, leaving him utterly at a loss for words.

“You really hurt her when you started dating Deiji, you know. When you shut her out, assuming she was with Yoongi,” she adds, her voice laced with a raw intensity, fighting for you, voicing the unspoken turmoil you’re grappling with. “She loves you deeply, but I’m certain Deiji triggers memories she’d rather bury.” She pivots back, her tone searing with frustration. “And why the fuck would you do that? Why couldn’t you just talk to her?”

Jimin’s gaze locks onto hers, his eyes widening with a mixture of remorse and vulnerability, as if on the brink of tears. “I know I behaved poorly. I—I don’t know, I was just consumed by jealousy. I know I was petty.”

Jessi nods, her expression softening with empathy. “See, you were jealous and didn’t speak to her. Now she’s jealous and doesn’t speak to you. Do you see a pattern here?” Her words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of truth, urging Jimin to confront the echoes of his own actions.

Jimin nods, his heart heavy with a mix of gratitude and remorse, appreciating both the insight and the gentle reprimand from Jessi.

“Now. If you don’t get your shit together and talk to her, I’m going to ask your little brother to beat your ass up,” she teases, a playful grin lighting up her face. Her hand finds its way to his thigh, a reassuring squeeze emphasizing her point. “But seriously, she’s going to be alright, and you’re going to talk to her.”

Jungkook’s laughter fills the truck cabin, and Jimin nervously bites his lip, but he nods in acknowledgment to your sister’s words. He’s well aware that he needs to have that conversation with you, even though attempts in the past have been met with avoidance on your part. It’s clear that seeing Deiji has been a trigger for you, and the realization hits him hard. He's caused you so much pain, put you through hell, and it's a weight he can't bear. This isn’t how it should be, and he knows he needs to find a way to make things right.

As the rain continues to pour relentlessly, the passage of time becomes a blur, lost in the rhythm of the storm pounding against the truck's windshield.

“Have you had any luck?” Jessi’s voice crackles through the walkie talkie, a lifeline in the storm, as she eagerly seeks any sign of hope or progress.

“Not yet.” Yoongi's voice cuts through the static, tinged with a hint of frustration, indicating the ongoing struggle and the uncertainty of the situation.

Suddenly, Jimin’s voice crackles with urgency, breaking the tension in the truck. “I think I see something—over there, by that bush!” His finger jabs towards a dark figure, barely discernible amidst the downpour, a beacon of hope in the relentless storm.

Jungkook steers the truck towards the figure, the engine growling with determination. As they draw nearer, their headlights cutting through the rain, the silhouette resolves into a familiar form—there you are, huddled against the elements, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, each tremble echoing their worry.

With a surge of relief, Jessi flips on the walkie talkie, her voice slicing through the storm like a beacon of hope. “We’ve found her!” Her words, charged with emotion, resonate through the static, breaking through the tension like a ray of sunlight through dark clouds.

Yoongi’s voice carries a wave of relief, cutting through the tension like a soothing melody. “Thank god,” he exhales, his words echoing the collective sentiment of the group, a chorus of gratitude amid the storm’s fury.

Despite the lingering heat, your body trembles, a stark contrast to the relentless downpour that now subsides, replaced by a calm silence broken only by the soft patter of raindrops.

In the distance, headlights cut through the gloom, bouncing over the rugged landscape, gradually growing larger and clearer. As the familiar black truck draws near, a wave of relief floods your weary and trembling form, soothing your frayed nerves.

The truck grinds to a halt just a stone’s throw away, and in an instant, three figures spill out onto the rain-soaked earth: Jungkook, your steadfast sister, and Jimin, his urgency palpable in every stride.

Jimin sprints to your side with an urgency that echoes his concern, his strides propelled by an undeniable determination. His embrace envelops you, a reassuring anchor amidst the storm. “How are you holding up?” he implores, his voice a blend of worry and relief. You offer a nonchalant shrug, masking the turmoil within. “Could be worse,” you reply, your words betraying the weight of your ordeal.

Your sister’s gaze scans you intently, her eyes mapping every contour, searching for any sign of harm. “What happened?” she inquires, her voice edged with concern. “Mikrokosmos returned without you.” Her words hang in the air, punctuated by the gravity of the situation, each syllable laden with the weight of unanswered questions and looming danger.

“The thunder spooked her and I fell off,” you explain, feeling Jimin’s firm hand pulling you upright. The words spill from your lips, mingling with the pattering rain as you recount the moment of panic and disarray.

“Any injuries?” He inquires, his eyes scanning you with the same meticulous care as your sister had done moments before. Yet, to your relief, there isn’t a single scratch or bruise to be found on your body.

“I-I just feel sore,” you manage, your voice tinged with discomfort, the chill of the rain making your words stutter slightly. Jimin immediately envelops you in his arms once more, leading you gently towards his brother’s truck. Your sister, too, lends her support, her gaze fixed on you with concern. As you glance down, you catch a glimmer from her left hand, and there, amidst the rain, you spot something sparkling.

“What’s that?” You inquire, your voice a mixture of curiosity and exhaustion as they guide you back towards the truck, their arms offering steadying support.

“What?” your sister inquires, her brows furrowing slightly as she holds the door open for you to climb into the backseat.

“That ring on your finger,” you observe, noting the flush creeping up her cheeks. She attempts to conceal her hand, but it’s too late—you’ve already caught sight of it. With gentle insistence, you grasp her hand and bring it closer for inspection. A delicate gold band adorned with a simple white stone gleams in the dim light, its beauty striking you. Glancing at Jungkook, you’re met with a tender expression, silently affirming the significance of the moment.

“You proposed to her?” You inquire, your voice catching on the brink of tears, emotions swirling within you—a mix of overwhelming joy and heartfelt sentiment.

His laughter dances in the air as he admits, “I did,” his grin radiating warmth, all while your sister playfully attempts to wrest her hand from your firm grasp.

“When did this happen?” Inquisitively, you pivot between them, anticipation lacing your voice. Their eyes momentarily break contact, drawn down to the damp earth beneath them, as if searching for the right words amidst the glistening droplets.

“A week ago,” Her admission comes in a hushed tone, tinged with a hint of regret, the weight of secrecy palpable in the air. It's as though the words have been lodged in her throat for days, finally finding release, yet carrying with them the burden of silence she bore for an entire week.

“And you didn’t tell me?” You exhale a mix of disbelief and hurt, your incredulous gaze bouncing between them like a pinball in motion. Reluctantly, you yield to Jimin and your sister's gentle insistence, allowing them to guide you into the shelter of the backseat, away from the relentless downpour. With a comforting presence, Jimin settles beside you, while your sister and Jungkook join you in the truck, cocooning you in a blend of warmth and unspoken apologies.

“We wanted to tell you,” your sister starts, her voice carrying a blend of sincerity and hesitation, mingling with the hum of the engine as Jungkook maneuvers the truck down the hill, steering back towards home.“We just didn’t want to make you sad, so I didn’t wear the ring, until today…” she continues, her eyes betraying a sadness mirrored in your own conflicted emotions. You wrestle with the complexity of her consideration, torn between gratitude for her sensitivity and the ache of your own hidden sorrow. After all, shouldn’t you be thrilled for them? Yet, beneath the surface, your heart echoes with a quieter, more personal ache, one that whispers of your own unspoken battles with sadness and despair.

“Why would you make me sad? It makes me sad that you’ve been hiding it from me,” you lament, a tinge of frustration coloring your words as you grapple with the chill seeping through your sodden attire, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Each droplet feels like a weight, echoing the heaviness of the withheld truth, leaving you to mire in a mix of emotions, neither warm nor settled.

Sensing your shivers, Jimin swiftly sheds his jacket, enfolding you in its warmth with a tender gesture, a shield against the biting cold that had crept beneath your skin.

“I only wanted to spare you from pain,” your sister’s voice softens, regret lacing each syllable as she meets your gaze, her words heavy with remorse. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

You nod, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the sadness clouding your heart, you grasp onto the flicker of happiness for your loved ones. It sucks that she didn’t tell you, but you do understand why she did it.

Your gaze shifts to Jimin, a whirlwind of unspoken words swirling within you, a thousand thoughts clamoring for attention. Each thought jostles for prominence, yet amidst the chaos, you find yourself lost in the labyrinth of your own mind, grappling with the weight of unsaid feelings, uncertain where to begin or how to articulate the storm raging within.

“Thank you for the jacket,” Gratitude tumbles from your lips for the jacket, a feeble attempt to bridge the chasm of silence that has grown between you, though its weight feels heavier with unspoken tension. There’s an unfamiliar air, thick with unresolved emotions, a palpable unease that lingers like an unwelcome guest. You’ve been avoiding him, grappling with the aftermath of your decision to end things, haunted by the specter of his past relationship and the fragility of your own heart, torn between the longing for reconciliation and the fear of further heartbreak.

“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry,” Jimin murmurs, his gaze a tender caress as he studies you intently, as if attempting to decipher the intricate layers of your being. You can’t help but wonder if he notices the shadows beneath your eyes, heavier now than before, or if he sees the telltale signs of your daily tears etched upon your swollen, puffy face. Does he perceive the subtle changes in your physique, the way your clothes hang looser, mirroring the weight of your burdened heart? In the depths of his gaze, you question if he glimpses the essence of your soul, the silent yearning for his touch, for the rekindling of his boundless love that once enveloped you in warmth and security.

“What for?” You inquire, a soft sniffle punctuating your words, yet your gaze remains unwavering, locked onto the depths of his captivating brown eyes. In that moment, a wave of longing washes over you, the realization of your own foolishness crashing against the shores of your consciousness. You’ve yearned for him in his absence, now understanding the foolishness of your pride. Love pulses within you, a beacon amidst the stormy seas of doubt, begging the question: shouldn't love be reason enough? Isn't it the only thing that truly matters in the end?

“For treating you so poorly. For every misstep, every hurtful word, every moment of silence that drove a wedge between us, for dating Deiji, for not realizing how much it all has hurt you,” he confesses, his voice a fragile whisper teetering on the edge of remorse. Tears glisten in his eyes, a testament to the depth of his regret. His trembling hand finds solace in the curve of your cheek, tenderly cupping it as if to anchor himself amidst the tempest of his emotions. You yield to his touch, the warmth and softness of his hand a balm to your wounded soul, melting away the barriers that had stood between you, allowing you to surrender to the familiar comfort of his embrace.

“I’ve been unbelievably foolish, and I’m utterly sorry,” his voice catches in his throat, the weight of his remorse evident as a tear breaks free from his lashes, tracing a silent path down his cheek. “I never meant to hurt you like this,” he confesses, each word heavy with regret. “I love you so much,” he whispers, the depth of his affection echoing in the tremor of his voice, a testament to the sincerity of his devotion.

“I know you broke up with me because you’re not ready to have kids, and I completely understand that,” his hand intertwines with yours, a lifeline in the tumult of emotions that swirl between you. His gaze searches yours, seeking understanding, seeking reassurance, perhaps seeking forgiveness. “But I can’t shake the feeling that we belong together— I want you back,” he confesses, his voice a soft plea tinged with hope. “I love you, and I believe in us. I never imagined this path for us, but I truly believe we can navigate it together,” he asserts, his grip on your hand tightening as if to anchor his resolve. “And the child, she’ll have her own home with Deiji,” he adds, a note of reassurance in his voice, as if to alleviate any concerns that lingered in your heart.

“I got your letter,” you murmur, your tone laden with emotion, observing the shock that washes over his face.

“How?” His voice quivers slightly, betraying the turmoil raging within him, and a pang of guilt washes over you as you realize you probably shouldn’t have read the letter, especially since he didn’t give it to you personally.

Your gaze shifts towards Jungkook, and Jimin instinctively follows the direction of your eyes, noting the scuffs, before returning his attention to you. “I meant every word I wrote in it,” he declares, his tone unwavering despite the vulnerability in his eyes.

As you nod, waves of his love wash over you, intertwining with your own affection and flooding your veins with a warmth that knits together the fragments of your once-scattered heart.

Your heart flutters within its cage of ribs, caught in a dance of uncertainty and longing. His words resonate with you, stirring a flicker of hope in the depths of your soul, yet doubt lingers like a shadow at dusk. You’re torn, teetering on the precipice of indecision, but amidst the turmoil, one truth remains steadfast: your love for him burns unwaveringly, an eternal flame that illuminates the darkness of doubt. And in that flicker of certainty, you find solace, trusting that love, in all its complexities, will guide you through the labyrinth of uncertainty.

“Okay.” The word escapes your lips like a fragile whisper, hanging in the air like the delicate balance of a teetering scale. In the ensuing silence that envelops the truck, you observe the shift in Jimin’s expression, his features morphing into a silent query, a question mark etched upon his face, seeking to decipher the weight of your response and the myriad emotions swirling within you.

“What do you mean?” Jimin’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion, his brows furrowing in bewilderment at your curt response. His inquiry hangs in the air, an invitation to unravel the enigma of your brief words, beckoning you to delve deeper into the intricacies of your thoughts and feelings.

“I want us to be together again,” you confess, your gaze locked with his, the shimmer of tears mirroring the depth of his remorse. Yet amidst the regret, his love for you radiates like a beacon, casting aside the shadows of doubt. You can’t deny the intensity of your own affection, a love that courses through your veins, unwavering and undeniable. It’s as if destiny itself has woven your souls together, an unbreakable bond that transcends time and distance, a truth you've known since the moment your eyes first met after all those years apart.

Without hesitation, Jimin closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a fervent embrace. The kiss is hurried, tinged with the salt of his tears, yet you savor every moment, for his touch ignites a fire within you, reigniting the vibrant hues of your world. In the warmth of his embrace, you feel the dull ache of sadness dissipate, replaced by the kaleidoscope of emotions that accompany the return of his affection. It’s as if life’s dull monochrome has been replaced with a symphony of colors, painting your world anew.

Rekindling your relationship with Jimin has been more than just good—it’s been a revival of your soul. With him by your side, you feel whole once more, the missing piece of your heart seamlessly slotting back into place. Despite the challenges that still loom on the horizon, you find solace in the simple truth that you have each other to rely on, to support and uplift in times of need.

As two full moons have passed, the looming prospect of Deiji’s imminent labor hangs heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the complexities that have woven themselves into your life. Despite the passage of time, your disdain for her remains unyielding, fueled by a nagging sense of distrust that refuses to be quelled. You’ve voiced your suspicions to Jimin, laying bare the unsettling behaviors that gnaw at your conscience—her reluctance to reveal the results of the paternity test, the cryptic details surrounding her medical appointments, the sudden refusal to allow Jimin to accompany her, especially after your request to see the test results. With each revelation, Jimin’s eyes begin to open to the unsettling truth lurking beneath Deiji’s facade.

A creeping suspicion takes root within you, whispering the unsettling possibility that Deiji’s claims may be nothing more than elaborate fabrications. The thought lingers like a shadow in your mind, casting doubt upon the foundation of your reality. While a part of you entertains the notion that perhaps she never carried Jimin’s child at all, the implications of such deceit weigh heavily upon your conscience. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, the idea that unraveling her web of lies could potentially simplify your life, yet the thought of the devastation it would bring to Jimin is a sobering reminder of the delicate balance between truth and consequence.

In the face of adversity, you and Jimin are actively striving to strengthen your communication skills, recognizing the tendency to retreat into your own worlds when challenges arise. Both of you understand the paramount importance of articulating your thoughts and feelings openly and honestly, realizing that true connection and understanding can only flourish in the fertile soil of effective communication.

And so, you find yourself once more within the comforting confines of his home, the tantalizing aroma of dinner wafting through the air, stirring your appetite and igniting a sense of eager anticipation. As hungry as you were during your previous visit, this time the atmosphere is charged with a newfound warmth and intimacy, infusing the meal with an extra layer of significance. With each bite, you’re not only nourishing your body but also savoring the love and care that your boyfriend has poured into the culinary creation before you.

“Jimin, this looks absolutely mouthwatering,” you exclaim, your fork poised eagerly above the food, ready to indulge in the culinary masterpiece before you.

“Thanks, I hope it tastes as good as it looks,” he replies, a radiant smile gracing his features as he joins you in savoring the meal he's prepared with care.

The first bite is an explosion of flavors on your palate, a symphony of tastes that dance and mingle, leaving you craving more. It’s a culinary masterpiece, each ingredient harmonizing perfectly to create a sensation that delights every sense. This incredible man’s cooking never fails to amaze, leaving you in awe of his talent and grateful for the privilege of tasting his creations.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” he interjects between bites, his expression thoughtful as he pauses to address the topic weighing on his thoughts.

Locked in a gaze brimming with boundless affection, you find yourself lost in the depths of his eyes, a silent exchange of love and understanding passing between you. With a gentle nod, you encourage him to continue, your heart swelling with anticipation for the words he’s about to share.

“I’ve been thinking about the arrival of the baby,” he begins, his eyes alight with curiosity, sparking a smile to bloom across your face in response. “Do you think we should prepare a special room for her? And where do you think she should be sleeping?”

“I believe she should start off in our room, close to us, but later she can get her own room” you propose, a smile gracing your lips as you envision the cozy arrangement.

“Hmm. Good idea. Thank you for being so cool about it and wanting to do it with me,” he expresses, his eyes shimmering with affection as he extends his hand across the table, silently inviting you to join him in this journey.

You cover his hand with yours, gently tracing circles on his skin as you speak softly, “I don’t know if I’d call it being cool, but I’m doing my best to navigate this new territory.” Despite the uncertainty looming ahead, you offer him a reassuring smile, knowing that embarking on this co-parenting journey will undoubtedly present challenges. Yet, with Jimin by your side, you feel a sense of strength and reassurance, a reminder that together, you can weather any storm.

“Well, thank you. It means everything to me,” he murmurs, his voice laden with gratitude as he leans across the table, closing the gap between you to plant a tender kiss on your lips.

You draw back slightly, your hands tenderly cradling his face, locking eyes with him as you whisper, “I love you, Jimin,” the words carrying the weight of your devotion and the promise of forever.

A warm smile graces his lips in response to your declaration, a silent acknowledgment of the deep love you share. Returning to your meal, a comfortable silence descends upon you both, enveloping you like a soft embrace, a tranquil refuge from the chaos of the world outside.

Raising your gaze, you wait patiently for his eyes to meet yours, the urgency of your words evident in your expression. “I truly believe you need to have a conversation with Deiji,” you urge, a sense of unease settling in your stomach. “There’s something off about all of this, something I can’t quite decipher,” you add, your voice laced with concern and the unspoken weight of intuition.

Jimin nods solemnly, his brows furrowing in concern. “You’re right. It’s been bothering me too. She’s been unresponsive to my texts lately,” he admits, his voice tinged with apprehension and a growing sense of unease.

“Perhaps it’s time to pay her a visit and have a heart-to-heart conversation,” you propose, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he responds eagerly, his eyes alight with determination. With a renewed sense of purpose, you both continue to savor the meal, engaging in light-hearted conversation as you contemplate the impending discussion with Deiji.

For an entire week, communication between you and Jimin has been scarce, lost amidst the whirlwind of chores and responsibilities that accompany life on your respective ranches. From dawn till dusk, your days blur together with the relentless tasks of sheep shearing, cattle herding, and countless other duties demanding your attention. Exhaustion seeps into your bones, leaving little energy for anything beyond the essential exchanges of ‘goodbye’ and ‘good morning’ shared over the phone, a stark reminder of the physical and emotional toll of your demanding lifestyles.

Tonight is one of those nights when every muscle in your body aches with weariness, longing for the soothing touch of Jimin’s hands to unravel the knots of tension and stress that cling stubbornly to your frame. The thought of sinking into the warm embrace of his oversized bathtub offers a glimmer of solace amidst the weariness, a sanctuary where the trials of ranch life can be temporarily forgotten. Despite feeling battered and bruised, the exhaustion of the day weighs heavy upon you, dragging you into the welcoming arms of sleep within mere minutes.

You’re unsure of how long you’ve been lost in slumber, but a peculiar scent and an eerie sound stir you from your rest. As consciousness slowly returns, your head feels heavy and your senses are muddled, the faint aroma of something resembling a campfire teasing your nostrils. The source of the scent eludes you, shrouded in the fog of fatigue that clouds your mind, as the haunting creak of wood contracting fills the air, sending a shiver down your spine.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜 Remember the Q&A that is coming in the Epilogue— if you want to send in some questions for the characters, you can do it now (and later too) → Ask the characters (or me), anything ❣️

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