#I just want to answer the asks Ive gotten and move the the story to earth

[lets-try-some-writing]

Survivors

The Pretenders have made attempts to spread. Efforts have been made to stop them, however fear amongst the Decepticons is growing. The Pretenders are appearing more and more often, always being cut down before they can return to their abominable creator. The Cons learn more with every Pretender killed, but the survivors still bear the scars.

Damus wishes more than anything else that he could have minded his own business long enough to not get involved.

Previous part here.

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Damus never intended to get involved. He already had enough to deal with considering his outlier ability, his faltering memory, and the fact that empurata had done extensive damage to his ability to function normally. He didn't have the time or the motivation to join up with either faction when the war began, at least at first. He knew Orion Pax, well he knew of him at any rate. He was also familiar with Megatron's doctrine. As such, he took his time trying to decide which faction he would inevitably end up siding with. War would force him to choose eventually, but he was slow in his selection. There was no need to rush, not yet.

He saved up shanix, doing odd jobs for both sides as peace talks began to occur. Maybe he wouldn't even need to pick. At least, that was his hope as he got his life together. With the senate in disarray, they didn't care for the fact that he went to a medic and payed an absurd amount to receive a new set of servos and a proper face. Things were looking up for him and he couldn't have been more thrilled when his old mentor called upon him to do odd jobs and run calculations. Damus didn't know why Shockwave wanted him to collect seemingly random fauna and flora from on and off world, but he did as instructed and was paid handsomely for his services.

Part of him wanted to question, but after the Senate and his prior empurata- No, he refused to risk it. He was getting his life together and he was going to keep things stable. That was his hope. But of course, just as he found himself a spot working as a field scientist for a research facility, everything went to slag. Orion Pax dropped off the face of creation and in turn the war went to the pits and back. Both sides were in an uproar, so Damus tried to steer clear of it. That of course did not last, not when during an expedition underground for a few stellar cycles to escape the horrors of war, he met a mech who was far larger than he remembered.

"You are Damus."

"Orion Pax. It is a surprise to see you here."

"I come in search of the Matrix of Leadership. Do you know its location?"

"Legend says it returned to Primus after Sentinel offlined."

"Do you know the path to Primus's core?"

"Maybe? I can try, but I don't work for free Pax. I am not the lost mech you knew. I have a life, a job. I am not risking it by helping out the Autobots without something in return."

"You desire payment?"

"Obviously. I know the tunnels well enough to get you going in the right direction at any rate."

"That is sufficient. Should you complete this task adequately, you will be rewarded in due time."

There was something very off about the mech who Damus was pretty sure was Orion. But he decided whatever it was, he didn't want to get involved. Orion had been gone for stellar cycles, probably on this foolish mission. It was in his best interest to get Pax where he needed to be so he could get his aft but up to the surface and stop the panic. And so that's just what he did. He walked Orion down the right paths until he didn't trust his memory to lead him further. Orion, or at least the mech who looked a great deal like Orion, watched him with calculating optics and nodded before vanishing into the dark. He decided then and there that he didn't even want to be paid, not when this mech was staring lasers into his spark during their entire walk.

Not his problem. Not his problem.

That was what he chanted to himself as Optimus Prime emerged onto the battlefield not long later and Damus found himself with no choice but to join up with the Decepticons for his own safety. Something was very wrong with Optimus Prime, although he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was. He was just WRONG and looking back at the tunnel incident, Damus regretted guiding him. He did everything in his power to steer clear despite being with the Cons technically. His hope was that by staying in the city of Tarn, he could keep away from whatever was going on in the war. Being a researcher behind the lines was his safest bet. He didn't even care about trying to make something of himself. The job could frag itself now that he had his face and servos. He just wanted to stay as far away from all of it as he could. Whenever he left the safety of Tarn for whatever reason, he seemed to run into trouble.

Optimus met his gaze twice from a distance. Damus purged after each incident. The Prime was focused on him, and something deep in his spark told him that was a death sentence. A few times he caught sight of another one who gave him unsettling feelings. A yellow scout, one who the records stated was designated as Bumblebee once he finally worked up the willpower to look him up. Then there was the third, the last one that confirmed Damus's fears. Ratchet was the CMO of Cybertron before the war, but now he was on the battlefront every now and then... and he was different. There were rumors that he got ill and then miraculously recovered. But looking at him from a distance? Damus got that same feeling, the one he got when he saw Optimus. Those three were wrong, and so he tried not to leave Tarn for his own safety.

He was concerned to say the least. But he was safe in Tarn. Of course that was fine until Megatron began laying down rules that Damus and many others didn't understand. There were constant warnings about an infection originating from Autobot lines. Medics were suddenly being trained en masse and were promptly put absolutely everywhere. Medical procedures grew more invasive and frequent, constant sanitation became the norm, and any soldier that presented even the slightest behavioral difference after battle was taken away, often never to be seen again. There was also the sudden appearance of strange armor suits that mecha amongst the Decepticons began to wear. There were whole propaganda campaigns urging every soldier to get the suits for their own protection. The bulky things covered every possible part of the frame, and somehow Damus got the distinct impression that something darker was going on behind the scenes. Things weren't adding up.

His fears were confirmed when Optimus Prime decided it was time to give Damus his payment.

Damus had no time to react when the Autobots launched an attack on Tarn shortly after the destruction of the Senate. Damus hid with the rest of the non combatants, but the Prime was quick to appear on the battlefield and tracked Damus down like a bloodhound when he tried to run. Optimus Prime found him huddled amidst the ruins of the bombed out fortress he called home for so long. And it was there that the Prime, no, the monster, ruined his entire life.

"I promised you payment. I have come to offer it."

"GET AWAY!"

"You are one of his students. You will be useful."

"Primus no-!"

He could only scream as the thing's jaw came apart, splitting into a maw of mandibles. Then just as quickly, a squirming bug of some sorts was lowered toward his right optic. It was agony as the thing wormed its way into him, and all the while the monster above him seemed to smile in its convoluted way. All he knew was pain as the thing left in a hurry and he was promptly collected and dragged away to a place he didn't know.

He remembered medics, dozens of them all practically buried under the protective suits the posters were always advertising. He remembered screaming in agony as they worked on him, doing something to his helm and much of his torso. But then it ended, and Damus was left in an isolated room, strapped down to his berth with heavy chains, and standing before him was the one and only Megatron who also wore the suit.

"What in Primus's name happened to me?"

"You were infected with the Pretender larva. We managed to remove the larva itself, but its roots have already spread."

"What does that means? What is this?"

"Listen closely Damus. We don't know where it came from, but the Pretenders are creatures that infest a host and devour them in order to wear their frames as disguises. Optimus Prime is one of these creatures."

"Then he-"

"He spread the infection to others, including yourself. We have found hundreds of others like you in various stages of infection. We have done everything we can to reverse the effects, but all we have accomplished is slowing it down."

"So... I am going to die?"

"Yes. We slowed the infection to a crawl and your life will be extended through frequent surgeries to remove the largest of the roots. However, it will kill you one cycle."

"I will become one of those monsters."

"Only if you give in. We have installed an explosive in your processors that will eliminate you at a moment's notice. This is not out of cruelty, but merely to ensure you cannot become another tool for the Pretender plague."

"I see..."

"You will die, but you need not do so without honor. You carry part of the Pretender genome. With it, you will likely find you have new abilities, most notably, an inbuilt radar which will point toward other Pretenders."

"You want to make me a tool."

"I offer you a choice. You can die here with a quick and painless offlinement, or you can serve us and use your curse to ensure others do not suffer the same fate."

"How many have died due to this?"

"Thousands. We find more every cycle. The thing that calls itself Prime is prolific and must be eradicated."

"Then... I will serve. I will make sure this CURSE cannot spread."

"Good. We will have need of you Damus."

"Please, call me Tarn. I want that monster to know that the city it destroyed yet lives on. That I still remain defiant."

Damus, or rather Tarn took one look at his face and knew what he needed to do. The larva had buried itself into him, and so to remove it, his face that he spent so long achieving was now devastated. However in his rage, he found he didn't care. He wasn't afraid anymore. That monster took his entire life from him. Condemned him to eventual death alongside countless others. He refused to let the newly named Pretenders be. Not after everything.

He wanted to not be involved. But now he had no choice. Passivity got him infected. And so until he perished, he would fight. He could feel the new strength that hummed in his fuel lines. Evidently, the Pretenders were more than simple infiltrators. The world was brighter, more noisy, and far less frightening. The thing within him would kill him, but until it did, he had its strength as its own.

The Pretenders were going to DIE.

With Megatron's aid, Tarn was given access to all he needed. Every moment was spent on the hunt, and the few he found in time to save quickly joined his ranks. Other mecha, each survivors of the larva. Together they grew in number and slaughtered the Pretenders in their cradles. The things were so very weak when young. Tarn could feel the rage of the one called Prime. But he merely smiled as time went on. Every Pretender killed was one less threat. Megatron's warnings now made perfect sense.

An infection was spreading across Cybertron, and Tarn was going to stop it.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #megatron #tarn #pretender au #damus #slightly rushed #but here it is #more pretender au #I just want to answer the asks Ive gotten and move the the story to earth #but not yet #just a lil longer

[gazelessmenagerie]

( the urge to just delete asks im not feeling is so high but at the same time the urge to answer them bc im that much of a stubborn ass bastard is biting into it. )

#|| Tag: OOC #( ...there are two wolves-- ) #( FDSLJG i take ages and im sorry for it. back in highschool or early college. i'd have gotten this all done in a snap ) #( but fuck man. been busy. got other things to do. maybe i just can't do it that day bc my brain is not in the right state. ) #( ive been in more of a self-driven story to write just bc it doesn;t really need a reply to move forward but its an Option regardless. ) #( think of it as just possible plot hooks. ) #( i mean there's only so much I can do with this bastar that doesn't revolve around destroying cities and high stakes like that. ) #( and i get that not everyone likes having that level. sooo that's why he just mainly hangs out in some gd desert. ) #( doing survival things. not caring about world conquest bc lmfao? why should he? ) #( he did it plenty of times before. whats so great about it than he gets to have a nicer palace but even then ) #( stupid inhabitants want to /get their freedome/ and /this is an atrocity to our people/ ) #( *cue broly just making those large sarcastic quotations with his fingers* ) #( fuck that ssomething i need to draw when ihave the chance. ) #( yeah this is how my damn brain goes. bc tags are like whispering and I like that a lot better than putting every damn thought ) #( that crosses my head on main wihtout it being asked for or detracts from my initial post/thought ) #( just UGH. maybe i do need to write him destroying shit. ) #( much as i like him getting a better life. sometimes i want him to be depraved and destructive. ) #( he can be both. ) #( anyway thats the end of my other essay in the tags ) #( Im not gonna put a hard limit on myself to answer and see if that helps crank the brain juices a bit. )

[wingedstatesmanlandturtle]

Telling off Mineta

|Izuku Midoriya|Katsuki Bakugo|Shoto Todoroki|Fluff|Female reader|

It was a training day. Everyone was excited to finally be able to use their quirks after long boring classes, being able to burn off some energy. Everyone was in the changing rooms getting ready and changing into their hero costumes. Making small talk with each other wondering about what exercise Aizawa and All Might would make them do.

“I hope we get paired up today Iida. Ive been working on my powers and I want to see how well it would measure up to your super move!” Midoriya slide on his suit while thinking about how exactly he would use his shoot style and ways he could improve it.

“Youve been practicing well Midoriya, but your not the only one. Everyone has gotten stronger” Iida said tying up his shoes tight. It would be horrible if he used his quirk and he ended up tripping.

Midoriya turning to grab something overhears Mineta spouting on about someone. Midoriya has learned to ignore Mineta's antics until he heard who exactly he was spouting about. You.

Even though you didn't even attend UA that didn't keep you safe from Mineta's perverted antics.

“You’ve seen Y/N right? I hope she comes to visit UA again. The skirts at her school are so short. Mmm~ I just want to-” His speech came to a sudden halt when he felt a deadly grip on his shoulders. Glancing up he saw Midoriya with a...smile? “Mineta ...do you mind not talking about Y/N like that? I dont think its really appropriate to do so” Even though Midoryas face seemed warm his tone and grip on Mineta's shoulder told a completely different story.  

Mineta sucked in a breath “Y-Yeah of course. It was just a joke” His choice of word just agitated Midoryia more. “Yeah? Well the next time you decided to “Joke” about Y/N we will have a problem.” Mineta nodded his head quickly and Midoriya went back to Iida.

“You know what Iida. I wouldn't mind Mineta being my partner today either” He slammed his locker shut walking off. 

“What happened to Midoriyas locker?” Kirishima asked Iida looking at the door hanging off a single hinge. “Mineta” Iida simply said closing his and heading out to join the rest of the class.

Everyone had settled in the cafeteria. Students bustling, utensils clattering, the mumbled tones of food-stuffed voices, it was utterly annoying to him. It's not the fact that it was loud, heck he could be louder than anyone in there. It was the catastrophe sound of it altogether. 

“...it was so cool to see! I have to train 100x harder to be on their level!” Baukgo was with his usual group. Kirishima was telling some story of a Hero he saw that morning. He wasn't fully listening only picking up on parts here and there. “Dude you train all the time. You train just as hard not if harder than everyone else here” Denki responded. “Yeah man, you will reach the Hero level sooner than you know it” Sero chimed in.

Bakugo was mostly in his own head. Thinking about training today school work and other things, but something pulled him out of his thoughts. Someone. A voice stood out to him, an annoying one at that. Bakugos sudden grown snapped Kirishima out of his story. “What's wrong man? What-” Bakugo instantly stood from the table hands slapping down and shaking it.

Hands in his pocket he walks up to him. “So I was thinking me and you could you know...” Mineta's hand reaches out to you but before it makes contact a shadow looms over him. Mineta looks up behind him. Bakugos eyes were narrow and livid “What were you trying to do with my girl you fucking pervert” His voice was low and dangerous. “Katsuki...” you said calmly. He clasps his hands on Mineta's shoulder his hands starting to spark. 

Mineta froze in place “Answer me when I ask you something shit face!” Burn marks starting to form on Mineta's shirt “OW! OW! N-NOTHING, I WASN'T TRYING TO DO ANYTHING” A sinister smirk came up on Bakugos face “You better pray we aren't paired up together for training. You won't live through it” He says letting go and walking towards you. “He didn't touch your right?” He asked you still slightly pissed off. You shook your head giving him a reassuring smile and placing a hand on his arm.

“I'm fine Katsuki. Thank you.” He smirks grabbing you and kissing you deeply so Mineta and everyone else knows that you are his and his only. Mineta kept his fat mouth shut for the rest of the day but was unlucky during the training session. He was with Recovery Girl for the next 2 days.

It was pretty quiet in the classroom. Mostly hushed voices and paper rustling. Everyone was just waiting for Aizawa to roll into class. Todoroki was just reviewing notes with you until you stepped out to use the bathroom. 

Todoroki continued to review notes on his own until he could have sworn he heard your name. He glanced around the classroom looking until, there. He spotted Mineta talking to Kaminari and Sero in the back of the classroom. Gesturing towards the door you just walked out of with that gross look on his face that made Todoroki shrivel up in disgust.

“Did you see the way her legs looked? They're so slender and sexy”

“Bro I don't think you should-”

“And her bust! Oh man I was Y/N to just-”

An ice crystal soon shadowed the room. Mineta is displayed inside. “I strongly suggest you keep your perverse topic of conversation away from Y/N and all the other girls in class”

Todoroki said towards Mineta's frozen body before swiftly returning to his notes. “All right everyon-” Aizawa halted seeing the large spear of ice. Glancing towards Todoroki who innocently carries on with his studies. “What happened here?” He questioned everyone pointing at you as you coincidentally walk in. You stand there confused seeing an ice block and fingers pointed towards you slowly putting together what had happened. 

#mha #bnha #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #shoto #todoroki #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x y/n #bakugo #katsuki #bakugo katuski #katuski bakugo #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #mha bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katuski bakugo x you #reader #reader insert #deku #izuku #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #mha izuku #mha deku

[ramblingoak]

Naps With Copia

Chapter 9: A Nap to De-Stress

Other Naps: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

For @visiosatanae 💙 who wanted a post stress nap

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader

These are all stand alone chapters so you do not have to read one before the other! This series came from my post about wanting to nap with Copia all around the abbey. The stories will all have gender neutral readers and soft Copia naps.

Warnings: Primo, Secondo and Terzo being annoying, job related stress and a loving nap with Papa, some cursing but sfw, 1,300 words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

If the phone rang one more time you were going to smash it to pieces.

All day you had been dealing with this.  Not even just the phone, but it seemed like no one could handle anything on their own today.  You had been visited by what felt like every Sibling in the abbey, most asking questions that they should have been able to handle on their own.  Even a few Ghouls had come by, pestering you about band practice schedules and whether or not the delivery truck had been by.

You probably could have survived the nonsense from the Siblings and the Ghouls, you were used to having them wander into your office.  It was when the Papas decided to join in that you reached your limit.  One of your jobs was keeping the front entrance area clean and ready for any visitor that came in and so each morning you took the time to sweep and mop the entrance.  That way the intricate tiles on the floor would be shiny and impressive, they’d be practically glowing as the sun beamed in through the stained glass windows.

Or they would have if Primo hadn't tracked mud all over them.

“What the fuck, Papa?!”  Primo had turned and raised a delicate eyebrow your way, no doubt ready to snap back at you until his eyes fell to the mess he had left.  You waved away the apologies you knew he’d start muttering and trudged back over to the mop and bucket.  “At least take your stupid crocs off before you come inside!  Look at this!”

Behind you there were some hurried whispers in Italian and when you turned around you saw the back of Primo’s robes as he quickly ducked around the corner.  In his place was Secondo, looking tall and imposing as usual.

Like that shit ever worked on you.

“The answer is no.”

“I haven’t even asked you yet.”

“Yes but you always ask me the same three questions,”  You turned and held up your fingers, ticking them down as you listed what he always bugged you about,  “Have my packages arrived?  No, I haven’t gotten anything from Pure Romance or Buttercup’s Bunny Boutique.”

“Those are completely diff–”

“I don’t care what they sell.  Moving on, I also haven’t gotten a call from the car dealership so I’m imagining whatever new Italian monstrosity you’ve ordered this time isn’t ready yet.”  You raised your eyebrow when he started to say something but thankfully he took the hint and closed it.  “And finally, your fri–”

A frantic knocking at the front door interrupted what you were going to say.  You pointed a threatening finger Secondo’s way before hurrying to the doors and swinging them open.  It took all your self control not to let your face fall at the sight before you.  At least twenty children were staring up at you with wide eyes, most of them clutching onto the hands of the adults with them.  A tour, a tour that was not on your calendar this morning.

“Um.”  Your usual professional demeanor seemed to have left the building and you couldn’t stop yourself from just staring and blinking at all the faces in front of you.  “Are you he–”

“Ciao, ciao!”  The hurried voice of Terzo came up behind you quickly, his shoes squeaking loudly on the still wet tiles.  “Thank you darling, I will take it from here.”

“You’re giving a tour?”

“SÌ, I happen to give the best tours.”

“Yeah, but only when you want something Terzo!”  

A throat clearing from the steps had you and Papa breaking your death glare on each other.  One of the adults with them, a younger woman who seemed to only have eyes for Terzo, stepped forward with her hand out.

“Oh thank you Papa!  We’re so lucky you took the time out of your busy schedule to show m– uh, I mean us around!”

“No, no dolcezza, I’m the lucky one.”  He gently took her hand, dropped a lingering kiss on the back before tucking it into the crook of his arm.  “Shall we?”

You stood there, trying to keep your smile on your face as the group started following Terzo like a bunch of lost ducklings.  He led them around the corner, daring to turn and give you a mischievous wink before disappearing down the hallway.  You didn’t move for a moment, your feet frozen in place and your fists clenched.  Secondo was gone, no doubt using the distraction as his chance to run away.  This was the last straw for today.  You didn’t care if Satan himself was going to knock on that door next you were done.  

The door to your small office banged against the wall as you flung it open.  You’d just grab your laptop and phone then you could hide out somewhere else.  Imperator owed you some sick time anyway.  If you stayed here any longer you’d be too tempted to burn the whole abbey down.  There was only one place in the abbey you’d be able to relax after a day like this and your feet quickly took you there.  The door flung open right when you were grabbing the handle and you nearly had an armful of an irritated Secondo. Your mouth started moving before you could stop yourself.

“Whining to mom, Papa?”

“I’m not whining to anyone, I’m just telling mio fratellino that maybe he should take you on a vacation before you kill someone.”

“Yeah?  Well you’d be the first one Mr. Buttercup Romance!”

“Ok, ok!”  Copia rushed over to the door, pushing himself between you and his brother.  “Let’s uh, let’s take a breath here and maybe, apologize.  Can we do that?  Hmm?”

With a huff from you and a growl from Secondo you both walked away from each other.  Secondo quickly leaving down the hall and you brushing by Copia to throw yourself on the plush couch he had in his office.  He mumbled something under his breath as he closed and locked the door behind him before wandering over to look down at you. 

“I want to go to Venice first.”

“Venice?”

“Then Verona, Milan and Florence.”  He had that adorable confused look on his face and you had to hide your grin in one of the throw pillows for a moment.  “You know, for our vacation.”

“Oh!  SÌ, sÌ of course.  Well, he’s right amore, you do deserve a vacation.”  Copia dropped to his knees next to the couch, cradling your face in his hands for a moment before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your nose.  “We should do something else first.”

“And what’s that?”  He grinned as he stood up, groaning briefly when his knees popped.  With quick movements he moved to your feet and gently took your shoes off before sitting on the edge and working on his own.  “Copia?  What are you doing?”

“We are taking a nap.”  Copia noticed the confused look on your face and smiled softly, dropping his shoes on the ground and then sliding in next to you.  “A nap can do wonders, yeah?”

“I suppose.”  He chuckled against you, sweeping a hand over your head and rubbing your scalp.  With a sigh you melted against him, all the stress from the day seeping out of you by his presence alone.  “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“Probably not, but you can tell me about it later, eh?  We should rest for a bit first.”

“Okie dokie, Papa.”  Copia laughed again and you felt his lips brush against your forehead.  You slipped your arms around his waist, getting as close as you possibly could.  Close enough his warmth alone began to lull you to sleep, the comforting beat of his heart under your ear helping as well.  “We’ll talk about Italy later.”

“Of course, amore.  Whatever it takes to keep the abbey standing.”

You grinned against his shirt, inhaling breaths of his cologne and letting everything that was Copia help relax you to sleep. 

@da-rulah your nap is next 😉

Other Naps: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

#my fics #my writing #naps with copia #copia x gn reader #papa emeritus iv x gn reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #copia fanfiction #papa emeritus fanfiction #reader insert

[bbrissonn]

𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐲 - 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝

in which even if you've been there the longest, you'll always be second to her

disclaimer: english is not my first language and this is not proofread so please excuse any errors and if any words are missing add them in your head :) also this is a work of fiction, this doesn’t reflect how these boys act in real life, and it isn’t how i imagine them acting 

warnings: angst, swearing , not proofread  

pairing: cole caufield x reader

wc: 5.4k (including lyrics)

a/n: the end is complete shit, but i really wanted to be done with this fic cause ive been working on it for like a month now so yeah sorry about that

guts masterlist

Lacy, oh, Lacy, skin like puff pastry

Aren’t you the sweetest thing on this side of Hell?

Dear angel Lacy, eyes white as daisies

Did I ever tell you that I’m not doin’ well?

Ever since you could remembered it had always been you and Cole, the first picture taken of you two was the day of your birth, two days after Cole’s. Your dads meet at work, and quickly became best friends, and so did your moms when they met. When they all found out they got pregant around the same time, they were over the moon, already knowing their kids would be best friends. 

And they were right. The two of you spent everyday together, your moms always taking walks with the two of you when you were still babies. When you became toddlers, playdates happened almost every evening when you’d get back from daycare. Cole was by your side when the two of you started kindergarten, graduated elementary school, started middle school, graduated middle school, and when you started high school. You were there for each other through it all. 

You went to Cole’s games every weekends and week nights, even going away for a tournament with him and his family during spring break of 8th grade. It was like your two families became one the day you were born, something neither of your parents minded. The longest period of time you were apart was maybe five days when you went to visit your grandparents out of town in 9th grade. 

Of course, that all changed when Cole made the NTDP team, meaning he would have to move to Michigan for the whole season. You were happy for him, obviously, but the fact that you’d be losing your best friend pained you. The two of you promised to talk everyday, but of course things always got in the way with his busy schedule and you started to work a part time job. 

Eventually, your daily phone calls turned into weekly phone calls, and then every two weeks, and eventually you wouldn’t hear from him for a whole months some times. It hurt, of course it did, you always saw his snapchat stories of him and his new friends having fun, messing around, and he couldn’t even find the time to send you simple text. 

You didn’t really understand where his sudden lack of communication came from, but it all quickly made sense when you found out from his brother that he had gotten a girlfriend, one that clearly wasn’t comfortable with how close the two of you were. You had cried in Brock’s arms that night, Cole couldn’t even bother to tell you himself about this, instead finding out from Brock when he was in town for a game. 

When your mom told you Cole would be coming home the next week, your reaction confused her. You didn’t show any signs of happiness at the thought of being reunited with your best friend, instead just shrugging and mumbling a small okay. Later that night, your mom called yours, and she was as surprised as your mom about your reaction, neither you or Cole had mention about a falling out, and the two of you barely ever argued.

Cole’s mom questioned him when he came home, asking if anything had happened between the two of you, the boy quick to answer with a simple no. He hadn’t asked to stop by your house before going home, something he always did when he’d come back from an away tournament, something she found really odd.

When your parents mentioned going to the Caufield’s house that night for dinner, you lied and said you had work. Your parents questioned you about it, you hadn’t mentioned having a shift that night, so you lied again, saying you had to cover for someone else’s shift. They didn’t believe you, at all, but clearly going to see Cole wasn’t something you wanted to do, so they didn’t push it. 

You didn’t hear from him the whole summer, but to be fair, you hadn’t reached out to him either. It was like he became a total stranger in the last year, slowly slipping away from you, and he did nothing to stop it.

But that all changed the day before he left to go back to Michigan. You had woken up that morning with a text from him, asking to meet up at your usual spot at 11. You accepted, of course you did, all you’ve wanted since the boy left the previous year was to see him again. 

You were sitting in the same booth the two of you always sat, watching your phone as the seconds ticked by. Then, 20 seconds before the clock hit 11, he walked in. His skin was tan, his hair a little longer than usually, the only thing that hadn’t changed was his height. 

“Hey.” He spoke softly as he sat down in front of you. Your eyes were piercing through his as your mouth stayed closed. “It’s nice to see you.” He added once he realized you were not going to great him back. His words made you nod a bit as your eyes stayed focused on him. He looked so different, but he still looked like your Cole, the one you spent every second of every day with for sixteen years. 

“Mhm.” 

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna answer me, honestly.” He admitted, even the way he talked had changed. You finally looked away from him, and instead down at the menu. He knew you were doing it simply because you didn’t want to look at him, the two of you had gotten the same thing here ever since the first time you came after one of his hockey game. 

“Wasn’t sure I was ever gonna hear from you, honestly.” You mocked him a little. The boy in front of you sighed as he looked down at the menu as well. 

“I am sorry.” Was all he could say, making you scoff before looking back up at him. His head was straight, but his eyes were still staring at the menu. 

“Fuck you, Cole. I haven’t heard from you in almost nine months and all you have to say is I am sorry?” 

“I know, I know. I fucked up, okay? Trust me, I know. And I am so sorry, Y/N/N, it’s just Bella… She wasn’t comfortable with how close we were.” 

“So you decided to pretty much just end our seventeen years of friends for some girl you just met? Thanks, Cole, that just makes me feel so much better, truly.” You spoke, your voice laced with sarcasm. 

“I didn’t end our friendship-” 

“Oh, then what was it? ‘Cause last time I checked, you just decided to not answer me anymore, without giving me any type of explanation. For fuck’s sake, I had to find out from Brock that you had a girlfriend. I though we promised we’d always tell each other everything! You could’ve just told me how she felt and I would’ve backed off instead of just cutting me off like that. How do you think I’ve been feeling since you left? Have you ever thought about that?” You said, making him go speechless. Luckily for him, a waitress came and took your order. Cole started, going with his usual, but his eyes quickly focused on you when he heard you select something else off the menu. 

“You changed your order?” 

“Yeah, you’d know if you hadn’t cut me off.” You sassed, making the boy sigh slightly before looking down at his lap. 

“Y/N/N…” The boy sighed, his eyes looking back up at you. “I’m sorry, I really am. I shouldn't'… I shouldn’t have pushed you away, and I am sorry I hurt you.” 

“You should be. I had to find out from Brock if you were even still aliv. Have you even thought about how I’ve been feeling? First, you leave, promising we’ll talk everyday, and then you cut me off like we haven’t been friends since we were literally born.” You said, tears starting to form in your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. You had already cried enough because of you. 

“I know, I know. I am so sorry, Y/N/N. Let me make it up to you, please.” He begged, and you could tell he was being honest. Nothing about his body language was showing you that he was telling you the truth, you just knew. You always knew. 

“Promise me, when you leave again, you won’t do the same thing. Promise me, Cole.” It was now your turn to beg. You wanted nothing more in the world than to get your friendship back, but you did not want to get hurt again. You refused to get hurt again. 

“I promise. I promise, Y/N.” He whispered, his eyes staring right into yours. You nodded slightly, sniffling a little, and the two of you sat in silence until your meal arrived. You slowly started catching up, Cole telling you about his new life in Michigan, while you updated him on all the drama from your high school. When the topic of his girlfriend came up, you stiffened slightly. You knew she was reason he had stopped talking to you, and you knew they were still together since you saw them not long ago. You only wondered if she knew he was here with you. 

“Her name’s Alana, I really think you’d love her. She reminded me a lot about you at first, I think that’s why I was so drawn to her.” He explained, a smile you had never seen before plastered on his face. Those words were exactly the ones you didn’t want to hear. He hadn’t just pushed you aside, he replaced you. He found someone to fill the gap in his life that was missing. 

“Your mom talks about her sometimes, she seems great.” You said, forcing a smile onto your face. The truth was, from what you had heard from Kelly, she was nothing like you. Not only physically, but also in the way she behaved. She seemed a lot more outgoing and high-energized, just like Cole. 

They were a great match, you thought. Perfect for each other. But then, the conversation you over heard your mom having the night before while you were in the kitchen and she was in the living room replayed in your mind. Kelly claiming something felt off about his girlfriend, sometimes giving the family weird looks while she was at their house. In the moment, you didn’t think much about it, but now it kept playing in your head. Cole loved his family so much, they held a very special and important place in his heart, so would he be okay with his girlfriend not getting along with them? 

You wanted to ask him, you really did, but you knew you shouldn’t. Questions about how you knew that information would be asked, and having to explain that you just overheard a silly little conversation your moms had on speaker phone would be weird to explain. So, you stayed quiet. 

Ooh, I care, I care, I care

Like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time

Watching, hidden in plain sight

And ooh, I try, I try, I try

But it takes over my life, I see you everywhere

The sweetest torture one could bear

When Cole left for Michigan again, your friendship was almost what it used to be. There were multiple things that hadn’t picked up again, like your weekly movies night cuddling on the couch in his basement. He has a girlfriend, he can’t just cuddle with a girl now, you had to remind yourself every time you’d think about it. 

It felt weird, like the guy in front of you wasn’t the one you grew up with, like he was replaced by some stranger. But it was him, it was Cole’s eyes staring back at you, not some stranger’s, his smile lighting up the whole room, his voice echoing in the house. It was Cole, just not your Cole. 

Thankfully, he had kept his promise of keeping contact with you, face timing you once a week, and texting you everyday. But it was all so different. He was always busy, either with hockey, or hanging out with Alana, and when he wasn’t busy, he was sleeping. It was hard, but it all changed when he came home from the holidays, alone.

Your families shared a Christmas evening, giving each other gifts, talking during dinner around the table and in front of the fireplace. Festive songs were playing the whole time, the volume so low you couldn’t hear it if multiple conversations were taking place. Eventually, you ended up in Cole’s room, laying on his bed as he sat on his desk chair. 

“I have somethin’ for you.” He mumbled, sitting up and walking over to his closet. He pulled out a letter, your nickname written messily on the front of it. “Wrote it when we were, I don’t know, seven maybe. Found it when I came back last summer, thought it’d be a good time to give it to you.” He explained, handing you the envelope. 

“You had a horrible handwriting when we were young, there’s no way I can read a whole letter of this.” You joked, pointing at the messy letters that spelt your name. 

“Shut up and read the damn thing, Y/N/N.” He whispered, his cheeks turning a little red front your teasing. He was now next to you, sitting next to you as you pushed yourself up. You carefully opened it, pulling the letter out carefully. 

Dear Y/N/N,

I donot kno when you will read tis but I want to tel you that you are my favorite person ever. You are a great bestfriend and I hope you will be in my lyfe for a long time. I realy enjoi when you come to my gamez, I play a lot bedder when you are tere. I think you are very prety two Jacob talk about it all the time. I wish when you read this we are stil bestfriend becoze I love you so moch. 

Cole :)

You couldn’t help but laugh at the spelling mistake he had made, Cole was probably the worst kid in your class at spelling, while you were one of the best. You felt your heart warm up at the thought of seven year old Cole writing this, the sweet smile of his on his face as he messily wrote. 

Cole was reading the letter over your shoulder, he hadn’t opened the envelope when he found it, wanting you to read it before him. His cheeks redden a bit again as he read the second to last sentence, coughing a bit as he looked away. 

“That’s real sweet, Coley.” You whispered, looking over at him with a soft smile once you were done reading the letter. “Your spelling wasn’t cute, but you know, you learned.” 

“Okay, considering I was seven, I think I did pretty good.” 

“You did, you did.” You mumbled as you wrapped your arms around him, his going to your waist as the two of you sat there for a couple of minutes, holding each other close. Well, that was until you were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, Alana’s contact popping up the screen. 

“Sorry.” He said, picking up his phone and leaving the room. You couldn’t help the heartache you felt as he left you for her, once again. It wasn’t right, you shouldn’t be feeling so jealous towards her for having his attention, but you were. You had been feeling this way ever since he left for Michigan, you didn’t understand it at first, but now it was all so clear to you. 

You loved Cole the way he love Alana.

Smart, sexy Lacy, I’m losin’ it lately

I feel your compliments like bullets on my skin

Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate

Well, aren’t you the greatest thing to ever exist?

The next summer, right before the draft, you finally met Alana. Her hair sat perfectly, her outfit hugging her perfect body as the two arrived at the restaurant. Your parents decided to have a night out to celebrate the two of you finishing high school, and of course since Alana was in town, she was invited. 

You were sitting next to Brock, Cole in front of his brother and Alana in front of you. Your parents were in their own little worlds, your moms gossiping about who knows what, and your dads talking about sports like always. 

“You look really pretty.” Alana said after a couple of minutes of the two of you being quiet and listening to the brothers. You were previously focused on the two, but your eyes quickly moved over to her when you heard her voice. It was so sweet, like an angel had just talked. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Cole look over at her briefly, a grin appearing on his face. 

You knew she was trying to be nice, befriend you since you were such an important part of her boyfriend’s life. Yet her words made a bullet shaped hole form in your heart. A year ago she had pretty much forced Cole to leave you behind and forget you even existed, and here she was, trying to be all friendly and nice to you. 

“You too.” You mumbled, thankfully the server arrived at the same time, taking your orders meaning your conversation witht he girl wouldn’t continue any longer. 

“So, Alana, where are you going to college next year?” Your mom asked once all your plates had arrived and you all started eating. 

“Wisconsin.” She answered with a smile, smiling shortly at Cole before looking over to your mom. Great. Now you’d be stuck having to see them together every single day next year. Fucking amazing. 

In the car ride home, the only thing your mom was capable of talking about was how amazing Alana was. Alana this, Alana that. You were so fucking tired of hearing everyone talk about this girl all the time. You tried to block out her words until your name was mentioned. 

“Honestly, Y/N, I always thought you and Cole were going to end up dating one day, but this Alana girl, god, she’s perfect for him!” She exclaimed, unaware of your burning crush for the youngest Caufield siblings. That was the last thing you needed to hear your own mother say. When you finally arrived home, you were quick to make your way to your room, locking the door and going to sleep. 

The next morning you woke up to a couple of texts from both boys, but mainly from Brock, asking if you were okay and why you hadn’t answered either of them. Normally, whenever you wouldn’t text the siblings after telling them you would, Cole would text for hours, spamming you letters just so you would answer. One time, he almost came over to your house at midnight after you hadn’t text him for ten hours. 

This time it was different thought. Cole had only left two messages, compared to the hundreds he used to send. 

Hey you get home okay?

Are you alright? 

That was it. No, do I need to come over? Did something happen? Is everyone okay? Answer me please. Nothing. Not even a good night, granted you didn’t text him that either, but it all just felt so weird. It was like your friendship was back, but with an obstacle that made it impossible for the two of you to go back to how your friendship was before he left for Michigan. The obstacle being Alana, of course.

You eventually texted them, telling the both of them that you had fallen asleep almost as soon as you got home and forgot to text them. Brock answered you almost immediately, while Cole didn’t answer you until later that night. You found out during the afternoon that him and Alana were spending the day together, just them, meaning all Cole was focused on was her. Not you, her.

Ooh, I care, I care, I care

Like ribbons in your hair, my stomach’s all in knots

You got the one thing that I want

Ooh, I try, I try, I try

Try to rationalize, people are people

But it’s like you’re made of angel dust

You never thought of yourself has a greedy person, well that was until Alana, of course. You hated her. You had been in Cole’s life since the beginning, literally, you were there for him through every step of his career, whether that be his first game to away tournaments. You were there for all of it. Until you weren’t. 

You weren’t the first person he hugged after his game anymore, and you sure as hell weren’t the first he hugged when he got drafted by Montreal. You weren’t even in Vancouver, the boy completely forgetting to ask for a ticket for you. So, here you were, on your couch watching as Cole smiled brightly into the camera, the habs jersey engulfing him. 

You knew it was rubbish, he shouldn’t have gotten picked at the fifteenth spot. He was so much better than many guys that got drafted before him, but you knew deep down why the teams had chosen them over him. He was too small. Guys before him were almost all at least half a foot taller than him, stronger than him, of course general managers and scouts would look at them before him. But if going fifteenth meant getting drafted by the Canadians, then you were fine with it. 

When you were kids, the Caufield siblings would always talk about one day being the coach of the Canadians, even going as far as taking French classes in high school. Back then, you would all just laugh about it, but now here he was, getting drafted by them. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so proud of him, this moment not even coming close to when he told you he made the NTDP squad. 

Tears formed in your eyes as you watched your lifelong best friend, who felt like home and a completely stranger at the same time, accomplish his dream. Yet your heart ached as the camera showed his family, Brock and Alana sharing a hug as they all cheered for him. That should’ve been your spot. 

You had been there for everything, and suddenly this girl just shows up and takes your spot? It made you angry, so angry. She had everything you wanted, she had the one boy you ever wanted. Knowing you’d have to be on the same campus as them next year only making it hurt so much more. You’d be stuck seeing her be with him every single day. See her enjoy having the one thing you’ve ever truly wanted. 

You hated yourself for not realizing your feelings for the boy sooner, maybe if you had you’d be the one wearing his new jersey at the moment. Instead, you’re laying on your bed, Brock on the other line of the phone since Cole was apparently too busy to answer you. 

“It was weird.” The oldest sibling stated, making you fur your brows slightly. 

“What do you mean?” You questioned. 

“Not having you there. It was so peaceful, I loved it.” The boy joked making you roll your eyes as a grin grew on your face. Brock laughed, clearly proud of the very sad joke he had made. 

“It was so obvious I wasn’t there. I would’ve never let you walk out the hotel room with that suit.” You teased, making the boy gasp a bit. 

“Was it really that bad?” He whispered after a couple of seconds making you giggle a bit. 

“No. You looked great.” 

“I am serious though, Y/N/N. It was weird not having you there. I know Cole will never admit it, but he regrets not inviting you, you know.” The boy told you, his tone going from a light one to a very serious one. 

“Is it bad if I say I am not that mad I am not there?” You mumbled after a short period of silence. Your words confused the boy on the other end of the line. 

“What? But you and Cole have been talking about this for years. He should’ve invited you.” Brock stated, getting a little worked up at the end. “You’re more family than she is.”

“She’s more important to Cole than me. She’s his best friend now, not me.” You told the boy. You had been thinking about it for a while, but saying the words out loud hurt so much more than you though it would. 

“He’s being stupid. He remembered to invite some of our cousins we haven’t seen since we were babies, but forgot you? He’s so fucking stupid.” 

“She doesn’t want me there. She thinks of me as like… an obstacle, I guess. I was getting in the way of her relationship with him at the beginning, she asked him to stop talking to me and he did. I wouldn’t be surprised if she asked him not to invite me and he agreed.” 

“Do you? Get in the way?” You knew he wasn’t asking it in a rude way. He just wanted to know if you had done something to make her act that way about you. 

“No. At least I don’t think so. But if Cole would’ve told me before they started dating that he was seeing, I probably would’ve became one on purpose.” You admitted into the phone, leaving Brock a little shock. 

“You love him?” 

“Yeah. I hate her for taking him away from him, but she makes him so happy. She makes him happy, not me.” You cried out, tears starting to form in the brim of your eyes. 

“Does he know?” The boy asked. You scoffed loudly, blinking the tears away before they fell on your cheeks. 

“Of course not.” 

“Are you gonna tell him?” 

“And give her a reason to actually think of me as an obstacle and possible lose my friendship with Cole? Absolutely not.” 

Oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh

The first month of college surprisingly went quite smoothly, you barely ever ran into Cole and Alana. But that all changed when the first game of the season approached, Brock asking you to be there of course. Being so close with Cole meant you had also always been there for Brock’s big moments in the show. You were for his first USHL and College game, having to skip a little school sometimes. But now you had no excuse not to come. 

So, here you were in the stands of the Khol centre, your friends standing next to you as the crowd cheered the Badgers on. Alana was sitting a couple of rows in front, sitting with the friends she had made over the last month and a half. You couldn’t help the jealously you felt every time your eyes landed on her, a Wisconsin jersey hiding her frame, C. Caufield written on the back. 

Your feeling only grew stronger when you made your way down to where Brock had told you to wait, which was of course where Cole told Alana to wait for him. The two brothers came out at the same time, the girl next to you letting out a squeal when her eyes landed on Cole. 

“You were amazing, babe!” She exclaimed as she threw her arms around him. Thankfully, the eldest sibling came in front of you, hiding the couple from your line of sight. 

“Thank you for coming, munch.” He mumbled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and bringing you into his chest. He didn’t use that nickname often, only during moments where he was really thankful to have you there. 

Your friendship with Brock was one you held so close to your heart, he was like the brother you never had, and you were the sister you never had. You could always talk to him about anything, whether that be something stupid you did, or just wanting to gossip. He had helped you with your nerves on your first day of high school, giving you a tour of the place himself before class started. He was one of your favourite person ever. 

Another reason why you were so scared of telling Cole how you felt about him. What if that meant losing Brock as well, and their parents. You didn’t know how you’d survive without him in your life, he was somehow always right there when you needed someone, becoming more of a comfort person than Cole was. 

“Let’s get out of here, I am hungry.” The boy told you after looking over his shoulder, getting glimpse of his brother and his girlfriend deep in a make-out session. He made sure you didn’t see them, but the sound of their kisses was something he just couldn’t hide from you. 

“They’re disgusting, anyone could see them.” You mumbled as the two of you walked away from the couple, Brock’s arm still around your shoulder. The boy chuckled slightly as he opened the door for you. 

“Be glad you’re not his roommate. Think I might have to invest in earplugs soon.” He joked, making a sour look creep up on your face. 

“You can come crash at mine if you ever need, you know.” You told him. Brock had always been there for you, helping you through though situation, it was always fair for you to return the favour. 

“Got place for an extra tonight?” 

Lacy, oh Lacy, it’s like you’re out to get me

You poison every little thing that I do

Lacy, oh Lacy, I just loath you lately

And I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you

Yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you

As the year went by, your feelings towards Cole’s girlfriend slowly became mixed. You couldn’t help but hate her, but you also envied her so much at the same time. You wanted to be her, you wanted to live her life. Be the most important person in Cole’s life, but most importantly have the boy look at you like you hung the moon. 

But that was never going to happen. You would always be second in Cole’s life from now on, meaning you’d eventually have to move on from this overwhelming crush you had on him. Even if the two of them ever broke up, he’d find another girl to take her spot, a girl that wouldn’t be you either. You were his childhood best friend, and that’s all you were every going to be to him. 

You hated it, but you eventually found yourself trying to become another version of Alana. Picking up on some of her little quirks and manners, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the older Caufield. 

“You’ve been acting weird lately.” Brock stated as the two of you sat on the couch of his shared dorm apartment with Cole. You furred your brows slightly, lifting your head from his chest and looking at up. 

“What? No I am not.” You scoffed, only making the boy next to you sigh. 

“But you are. You switched your coffee order, the order you’ve had for four years. You switched from silver jewlery to gold, you’ve been doing your hair differently, you dress completely the opposite of how you used to. It’s like… it’s like your trying to become Alana.” He mumbled the last part. Now it was your turn to scoff. 

“‘M not.” 

“But you are. Gosh, Y/N/N, you even talked about dying your hair the same colour as hers. Look, if this is how you plan on getting Cole to look at you differently, you need to stop. Becoming someone you’re not isn’t going to help you, it’s only gonna hurt you.” 

“Then what’s gonna help me, Brock?” You asked harshly, fidgeting with your fingers. The boy next to you sighed once again before answering you softly. 

“You need to move on, munch. I know you don’t want to hear this, but Cole loves Alana. I mean yeah, he had like the biggest crush on you when you guys were in third grade, but he moved on, and so should you.” He explained softly. His words hurt, a lot, but you knew they were true. “Why not me? Why her, and not me?”

guts taglist <3 @cixrosie @nhlfs @privatemythss

#bri writes #cole caufield #cole caufield fic #cole caufield imagine #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield blurb #cole caufield fluff #brock caufield #guts series

[heliads]

Hiya! I sent a request earlier but i dont know if it sent in because i had bad wifi- so please ignore this if it sent in- (so sorry for the repeat) but i found your blog and you write the best luke Castellan fics ive ever read!! Could i request a Luke Castellan x Reader where reader is Percy’s older sibling? Like reader has been in the hermes cabin as an unclaimed since they came to camp with luke thalia annabeth and grover- so theyve gotten used to it but then percy gets there and they get claimed at the same time as him but they get upset because they feel like they were only claimed because the gods want to use them and they dont want to move into a big empty cabin with some kid they dont know? Thank you thank you thank you!!

thank you!! also this request HITS, anything for my man luke

masterlist

Luke Castellan thinks that he may come to regret this.

He’s sitting on the roof of the Hermes cabin, his favorite spot to get away from the noise currently roiling somewhere below him. Luke loves the people in Cabin Eleven, his half-siblings on the godly side and those who don’t have a true immortal parent to call their own. Not one they know, at least. That has always bothered him and likely always will.

Despite the fun of those good kids all decked out in orange t-shirts, gleeful grins, and bitter stares, the sound of all that teenage rage and rebellion can get to just about anyone. Curfew was already called, but the cleaning harpies won’t be around for a while, so Luke dares to stay out of doors for a few moments more.

The shadows shift in Luke’s periphery, and suddenly he’s alone no longer. Luke turns to see the intruder, letting the cool breeze guide him to the figure moving towards him in the semidarkness. Once he’s determined that he’s not about to be attacked, or at least not by an unfriendly face, he looks out towards the front of the cabin once more.

Luke closes his eyes, letting the creaking of wooden timbers and soft rhythm of footsteps tell him that his visitor is taking a seat next to him. Luke will answer their unspoken question soon enough, will carve out parts of him to make the other whole, but for now he lets himself bask in the blissful darkness of no one needing him for anything quite yet.

It is still here, it is quiet. The late hour must be getting to the Hermes kids below him; even the most rambunctious youth are murmuring about sleep and wanting to be silent for the time being. Luke can hear the insects whispering in the woods, the click of pincers, the swoosh of grass far below him. Luke knows what’s coming, but gods, if he doesn’t hate himself for wanting it so much.

Someone asks, “Can I come in?” Luke does not refuse. Does he ever?

It started earlier, all of this. Of course it did. Theirs is not a world of mere beginnings and endings. The past feeds the future, the present serves the past. You cannot pull one singular thread from a tapestry and expect to see the whole story.

Luke Castellan is used to people arriving unannounced to the Hermes cabin. Rarely has it been a place for solely his half-siblings, if it ever truly was. No, Hermes was the jack of all trades, so his home by extension must be the same as well. The bunks are always crowded, the floor always taken up by sleeping bags and curled forms of people who will never know who they truly are.

It used to make Luke mad. It still does, but that anger has been tainted with something else, a sort of grim sadness that tells him the bad times will just keep coming and coming. Every day, more unclaimed kids are sent here. If you get furious over every new arrival, the hate will never let you go. Sometimes, that’s more tempting than it should be.

There’s one unclaimed soul that Luke has never minded, though, and that would be Y/N L/N. They first came to camp a couple of years ago; no one knows when for sure, not even Luke or Y/N. Such details of such seemingly inconsequential arrivals are rarely written down in the great history books. Claimed kids have always been more important, especially those children of the more important gods. Some shadow of another indecision will just be given a camp t-shirt, a weapon, and an empty promise that they might, at some point, grow to know who they are.

So the Hermes cabin gained another soul to beat against its walls like a moth trapped inside past dark, who cares. Luke did. He still does, because Y/N wasn’t just another unclaimed demigod, they were his best friend. They plot late into the night about how they’d fix this place if they were ever in charge. Half of the scars on Luke’s sides are from all the times they were sparring together and Y/N managed to get through his defense. Luke heals some of those wounds with nectar or ambrosia, but not all. A couple are alright, to remind him of how much he’d bleed and die for Y/N if he ever got the chance.

They made a damn good team, anyone could see that. The jaded son of Hermes and the bitter unclaimed half-blood, the two people no one crosses, the only ones capable of pulling the other out of their own heads. Luke never knew what it was like to need someone until he met Y/N. He risked his life with Thalia, of course, he protected Annabeth, but he needs Y/N to breathe, to keep going. There are people who would despise such weakness, but Luke is not one of them. Not yet, at least. Not ever, so long as he’s in control of his own mind.

When Luke thinks about how much he hates the gods, when he drives himself half insane because of all the times the demigods needed their immortal parents and the gods never even bothered to claim them, he thinks about Y/N first of all. 

He’s seen them cry a thousand tears for a parent that will never want them back, a sense of belonging that will never be theirs. Luke pulled Y/N close a hundred times, whispered a million worlds, and let his heart break in unison with theirs. They’ll get their revenge someday. Y/N will have their home, and even if that only ever ends up being Luke, it will be enough.

And then, all of a sudden, he wasn’t the end all, be all, of Y/N’s existence. A boy came to camp, sea-green eyes wide with shock and fear. His hair was dark, his conscience clean, and although Luke didn’t have a concrete reason to hate him, he did so anyway. Percy Jackson doesn’t know it yet, but he’s ruined everything.

The evidence was there soon enough. Capture the Flag has always been a favored pastime of the Camp Half-Blood demigods– who doesn’t love a chance to swing swords at your friends and enemies, then risk your neck in an attempt to wrangle victory and bragging rights in one go? Luke and Y/N have always made the best co-captains, and this time is no exception.

This time, though, Percy was on their team too, as another unclaimed kid stuck in Hermes cabin. Percy was the one who mysteriously has to face down a hellhound that somehow got into camp. No one looked to Luke as a source of the monster. No one suspected him. He made sure of it.

The result, though, he hadn’t counted on that. Percy is claimed, but the Jackson kid isn’t the only one with a glowing symbol hovering above their head. No, Luke looks to his side and realizes that Y/N, too, has been claimed. Y/N is a child of Poseidon as well. Looks like the god of the sea is only interested in claiming his children when he can multitask and get multiple at once, like checking off bothersome items on a to-do list.

Now is not the time for jokes, though. Y/N stares at him, eyes wide and reflecting the blue-green glow of being claimed, and Luke knows that it’s all over somehow. This is the sign Y/N’s been waiting for all this time, but it means that they’ll have to go to Poseidon’s cabin forever now, and just like that, all of their memories have come to a sudden halt.

They’re not done, of course. They’ll still be at the same camp, but nothing will ever truly be the same. No more of those late nights curled up together, whispering promises of a better future. No more working together on every cabinwide game or activity. No more eating meals together and exchanging jokes over bites of food. There is an immortal wedge driven between them now, as high and insurmountable as Luke has ever seen.

Y/N knows all this, and they look just as thunderstruck as he feels. Y/N looks like they want to run, and if it weren’t for the fact that the entire camp has now gathered around the two children of the sea god, Y/N might try it, too. Instead, they just stand there, staring at Luke like they’re hoping for a lifeline.

There’s nothing Luke can do, even if he hates himself for it. Instead, he sinks to one knee like the others, but he keeps his head up, eyes on Y/N until they’re physically separated by Chiron leading Percy and Y/N away. After that, Luke is left to stumble back home by himself, wondering why it hurts like a blade pierced between his ribs to notice that Y/N’s things have already been gathered and removed from the Hermes cabin.

Y/N and Percy sit by themselves at dinner that evening, as per tradition. Luke has never known Y/N to have a problem talking to people; seats by them are highly coveted at every meal, but you wouldn’t know that now. Y/N sits up perfectly straight, spine resolute and unflinching. Percy musters up the occasional effort to ask a question or two, but Y/N answers everything in monosyllabic words, making it clear that they want nothing to do with him.

Luke doesn’t get a chance to talk to them until the next day. Ever since the hellhound incident, Chiron has recommended that teams of demigods with more sword experience under their belts go search the woods for more monsters, just in case. Luke isn’t going to tell anyone that they don’t have to worry about that, obviously, but he isn’t about to pass up a chance to see Y/N.

He chooses Y/N as his patrol partner and they set out into the forest in search of certain death. Luke side eyes Y/N as they go, unable to stop himself from searching for clues that they’ve always been a child of Poseidon. Now that he thinks about it, they’ve got this familiar scent of salt and sea air, or a bit of wildness in their eyes that could only ever remind Luke of the untamed ocean. Then again, it could just be Poseidon amplifying those qualities in his elder child, trying to make it seem as if Y/N had his blessing all along. It wouldn’t surprise Luke if that were the case.

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to catch onto what he’s trying to do, though. “Spot any drastic differences in my appearance?” They ask, one brow raised, “what, did the old man dye my hair blue to match the waves?”

Luke snorts. “I don’t think anyone would be foolish enough to try that, even a god.”

Y/N laughs along with him, but their smile fades soon enough. “So? Am I completely and utterly different now that I’ve been claimed? All this time of waiting for it, surely something should have changed.”

Luke shakes his head decisively. “You’re still Y/N in every way.”

“No kidding,” Y/N says bitterly, “it’s because I was never important to Poseidon. Not really. He was already going to claim Percy and felt bad, so he got me too. He probably wants a pawn, someone he can sacrifice instead of Percy and feel appropriately big-hearted about it.”

Luke can’t say he’s surprised to hear Y/N so upset. It can’t feel good, knowing that the only reason your godly parent finally noticed you was because of someone else. “He could have done it so much earlier. The fact that he waited this long to claim you isn’t great, to say the least.”

Y/N’s lips curl with a sneer. “No, it’s just fantastic. I gave up on him, you know? Sometimes I liked to pretend that my claiming might happen, but we all knew the truth. I accepted my fate as an unclaimed demigod forever, and just when I was finally appreciating it, he goes and does this to me. Now I have to spend the rest of my days in this empty, gloomy cabin with a kid I don’t even know. I feel closer to the other Hermes kids and they’re not even my family. Hell, they are my family, just not by the godly side, but for some reason that pales in comparison with some stranger from Manhattan.”

Luke reaches out an arm to pull Y/N closer by their shoulders. “You’re not done with us Hermes kids, obviously. Cabin Eleven is still yours, even if you’re no longer unclaimed. If you get sick of Jackson, we’d be glad to have you back.”

“Even though you need all the empty space you can get?” Y/N asks doubtfully.

“Well,” Luke says as casually as he can, “we mainly just tell that to the others to scare them off. You’re one of us, Y/N.” He pauses, then forces out the last bit in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “You’re the only one I want there with me. I miss you.”

Y/N looks up at him, eyes soft. “I miss you too.”

“It’s stupid, though, isn’t it?” Luke mutters, “we’re at the same camp, I can see you whenever.”

“It’s not the same, though,” Y/N muses, “I might take you up on that offer, though. Just warning you.”

“I look forward to it,” Luke promises.

They talk for a while longer about sword fighting practice and demigod rivalries and other nonsense. Even after they go back to their respective activities, though, Luke can’t fight a pang in his chest. Y/N isn’t his anymore, not in the way that they used to belong to each other in a way that only misfits do. He’s Hermes, they’re Poseidon, and times will never be the same again.

Luke has always liked the relentless babble of the Hermes cabin, but today is a different story. Instead of washing away his troubles on an endless stream of chatter, it only serves to grate against his nerves. Luke waits until no one is watching, then pulls himself out of a nearby window and up to the roof in one swift movement. No one sees him go, no one will follow. At last, he can be alone.

Or, he’s alone until someone touches down on the roof. Luke sits there, legs swinging over the edge, and shuts his eyes. He can stretch this moment out into infinity while he’s waiting for Y/N to cross the roof to sit next to him. The goodbyes never come if the hellos never do, either.

Y/N places their hand on his shoulder, warm and steady as always. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Luke murmurs back. As if he would ever let them go.

The lights are off when he slips inside once more. It’s a blessing, as no one notices Y/N follow him in. Hermes kids are usually quiet, best at sneaking around. It’s a trait Y/N has clearly picked up from him. Luke tries not to let it go to his head. Usually, he hates any evidence that his father has impacted him in some way, but for some reason he doesn’t mind it in Y/N.

It’s quiet in the cabin, so this is no time for conversation. Instead, Luke makes his way over to his bunk, holding out his arms for Y/N to join him. The night passes in the same fashion as many before it:  the two of them intertwined like thread, heads against shoulders and legs together. Y/N falls asleep first, but Luke stays awake a while longer, cursing this world for not giving him what he needs to live through it in peace.

This is the beginning of the end, he thinks. He thought that maybe getting claimed would ease Y/N’s anger, but it only ignited it. That makes Luke furious in turn. If the gods are only going to use Y/N as a pawn, well, Luke will clearly have to stop them before they try anything of the sort. None of the immortals care about their children, but Luke does. Luke always will.

He makes himself a promise before his eyes shut that night, even swears it on the River Styx. Their revenge will come. The gods will know their names, and not just as tools to claim when the time is right. Luke will make the Olympians do right by him, by Y/N, by all of them. They have no idea what’s coming.

pjo tag list: @w1shes43, @fadedver

#luke castellan #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan oneshot #pjo #pjo imagines #pjo x reader #pjo oneshot #pjo luke #pjo luke imagines #pjo luke x reader #pjo luke oneshot

[randomfoggytiger]

"You're Not Here, Dana-- You're a Million Miles Away"

Part IV of the Bill Scully POV mini-series (Part I, Part II, Part III~.)

Bill's POV during A Christmas Carol.

*****

He didn’t know what had gone wrong.

At the airport, Dana had been fine. She'd been chatting, laughing even, fresh off the plane, debating some feminine topic with their mother as the two wheeled their luggage closer and closer to the exit. Catching his eye, she’d lit up-- like a firecracker, as Melissa used to say-- and even quickened her pace to soak up “a Big Brother Bill hug”-- something else Melissa used to say but which had rubbed off on the rest of the family. 

Maggie had deferred the passenger side seat; and the three of them chit chatted and caught up on the drive to the base. They’d asked spirited questions about Tara; and Bill, per his wife’s specific instructions, had refused to give away any hints about how big she’d gotten. 

“He’s a dad already,” smirked Dana; and the teasing and good-natured snipes had trailed after them until they turned the last corner. 

Everyone had been delighted with each other, Tara had had her fun surprising her guests, and no one had seemed bothered about the sleeping arrangements. 

It was the phone call that did it, he realized: Dana had come charging up the stairs, tense and distraught, insisting that Bill drive her someplace that he knew she’d never been before. Somewhere he’d never been before, either. 

“I heard her-- I heard Melissa’s voice-- and I have to know what is going on. And the only answers I’ll have is if we go, right now, and find out who was on the other line.” 

He'd taken her, of course-- he’d taken her despite how crazy her story sounded, waited outside the crime scene until Dana finished poking around, then driven her home. She’d remained tight-lipped about what had happened; but that was to be expected-- nothing had come from their detour other than a sense of confused embarrassment-- and they’d both silently moved on from it as soon as possible. 

It was after the phone call that she'd begun to withdraw.  

*****

Tara went to bed early: up at four and likely tidying and cleaning until their guests arrived after noon, the day had caught up with her-- so Bill supposed-- after the last of her luxurious dessert disappeared from the plate. That, and Dana sat quietly through the meal, seeming bruised rather than pleased during his wife’s happy monologue at dinner. 

“Bill, is everything okay with Dana?” she’d sighed as he helped maneuver her around the temporarily cramped room. “She’s been awful quiet since you two returned from the crime scene.” 

“I think she’ll be okay. Dana’s probably processing.” 

“So I didn’t offend her?”

Bill stopped pulling the quilt back, turning to see how badly Tara’s feelings had been hurt. “It’s the case, Honey, don’t worry about it. You know how I get about work sometimes--”

“But Bill, this seems different. Maybe she was hurt, somehow, by what I was saying about a family or becoming a mom; or she feels guilty because Melissa’s not here.”

“If it’s more than just the case, Mom’ll get it out of her; and if it’s about us, Mom'll let us know. I don't think there's cause for worry, Sweetheart.” 

Tara sighed, sat down on the bed, and reluctantly smiled as he bent to take off her comfortable house shoes. “You’re so good to me, Bill. I just want this Christmas to be perfect-- it’s the first since… well, a few firsts since.”

“The past few holidays have been hard on us Scullys; however, I’m convinced we’re due a really, really good one.”

“Baby here included?”

“I thought he was a New Year's baby.”

“You’d better hope it’s a boy then, Bill Jr., because the Scully women seem to have a mind of their own.” 

He nodded, grabbing her empty glass to refill downstairs. “Still thinking of Melissa for the name?”

She smiled, reaching out to catch his arm and pull him closer. “As long as we’re still thinking of Matthew for a boy.” 

*****

Melissa was an inescapable topic this Christmas. She lingered like a benevolent ghost, lounging on the sofa from the corner of his eye or twinkling companionably from the photographs displayed around the house. 

The creaking floorboard, however, was a reminder that Dana, not Melissa, was up and wandering. It was after midnight at least, but she was probably still on East Coast time, Bill assumed; or, of course, she was taking a private call and would be flying out when it was light. Try as he might, the thought that his remaining sister would be called back to work with Mulder-- away from her family, over the holidays, after a miraculous cancer remission-- made his blood boil. 

He waited up after the Jeep drove off, arguing himself out of calling Ethan Minette back to retract his retraction. 

Dana had never been good at sneaking out; and he listened to her tiptoe back in before sunrise, settle in the dining room, and stay there as the minutes then hours ticked by. 

The morning newspaper thudded against the front door, the sun began to rise, Bill slid down before his military wife or mother could wake and start the day. 

“Dana?”

*****

He knew disappointment should be second-nature by now with Dana and promises she couldn’t keep. Likely, the sting was keener because Melissa, for as flaky as she’d been, had never pretended or promised to be someone she wasn’t: she wandered in and out of their lives whenever the mood struck but always with a tenderness to their fixed positions. Even Charlie didn’t hide who he was or what he’d decided behind a false front. Meanwhile, Dana passed herself off as stalwart and dependable before jerking left and ditching medical school, the FBI mainstream, and familial obligations.

“Alright,” he’d agreed. “Lunch!” And she hadn’t agreed; and left. 

Although this was her work and her business, it was quickly becoming the family's problem: Tara, puzzled by this impossible situation, did her best to distract Maggie by hostessing her around; and Maggie, tight lipped whenever Dana’s name came up, tried to talk over ruffled feelings and assure everyone Dana would be there for the Christmas party, of course, so nice to meet friends of Tara’s, they were such nice people, reminded me of the Stotes family we knew in ‘75, remember them, Bill? 

It was the Scullys first Christmas after so much grief and miraculous second chances-- his and Tara’s as much as Dana’s-- and still, Dana flaked.  

“It’s work, Honey. You know how that is,” Tara reassured, taking on the previous night's role of comforter. “God and country come first in your jobs.” 

It wasn’t country Dana was putting first. Or God. 

Bill kept these thoughts to himself, letting Tara pull back the covers for him tonight. He even smiled when she promised to refill his empty glass of water after New Year’s.

“After New Year’s,” he agreed.   

*****

Dana left with Detective Kresge before Bill finished an insignificant morning errand. 

“She didn’t even say hello to you or Tara, just left? I thought she wanted this vacation, Mom.” 

“Dana does, Bill. She’s just… going through a hard time right now.” 

“And she  doesn’t want to share that with us? Just wants to sleep here most nights and leave in the morning before I can even say ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’?”

And it had come tumbling out. Dana and Maggie, huddled at the table mere hours ago, denying and insisting about PCR tests and a long-lost Scully daughter. 

“I know Melissa, Bill-- she would’ve never had a child without telling me. Dana is using a 60% possibility to justify her denial because she sees this little girl as a chance that… a chance that was taken away from her. And,” she paused, gripping her arms and steeling her voice, “and I know my babies. I know myself. There were so many small things after your father passed… sometimes, I’d see him from the corner of my eye, smiling at me; or I’d hear his voice late at night, announcing his sudden arrival back from deployment.”

“But, Mom--”

“Yes, I know they weren’t real; but there are things that feel real, and your sister is struggling with them right now. This Christmas has been hard, Bill, as much as we do our best to make it a beautiful time for you and Tara and the baby. Dana has more than the loss of her father and her sister to wrestle with.” 

*****

The day passed in preparation for the evening’s party, more decorations and more food and more people filling up the space before Bill could take a moment to relax. An innocent remark about his late father flew completely over his sister’s head; and, tired of walking on eggshells, he asked her to help him in the kitchen. 

Careful Billy, you meddler, Melissa used to tease. Perhaps that was her version of wisdom; and perhaps he should have remembered it before his directness came across as accusation, slipping from one point of irritation to the next without tact or grace.

You know Dana hates how direct we are, Billy: it shoves her into a corner that she can’t escape from.

It’s never stopped you, he'd said.

Yeah, well, why do you think she doesn’t ask me for advice very often? she'd replied, poking him companionably.

Bill mumbled their back and forth, alone, with somber fondness.

*****

He’d been given the picture shortly after Melissa’s became a more permanent fixture in their lives. 

“It’s a good one, isn’t it? Had it taken before… you know.” 

They’d been sitting in his rattrap apartment listening to Tara prattle to one of her girlfriends about how happy she was to unpack the last of their things-- relaxed and hearty and if not happy then something close to it. Their little sister’s abduction and return had unsettled them, unsettled him; and her quick recovery and dogged insistence on going back to work soon, too soon, had rankled him. But Bill had finally given in and called up Dana at Melissa’s insistence-- the wound, though it remained, was healing. 

“I never understood why you left for so long without at least calling more than once in a while.”

“Bill, I just… I needed to resettle after Dad died. You all were there for Mom, even Charlie; but I….” She shrugged, changing the topic by pointing at the photograph. “My friend took that right before I had to jump in the car to go. She said, ‘Think of a beautiful memory and I’ll capture it forever’; and the most beautiful thing I thought of in that moment was the smile you flashed me after I threw an orange right between Harry Pinklewhit’s eyes.” 

He’d laughed in spite of her non-answer; and their conversation drew Tara in, who’d also laughed at nine-year-old Melissa’s incredible throwing arm. 

Bill didn’t feel like smiling when he’d handed over that photograph to Dana, the question of Melissa's legacy laid to rest in the replica of his sisters' girlhood bedroom. He and Tara, his mother, and Melissa had been where Dana now stood; and, despite some necessary pain, the facts would give her an opportunity to accept and grieve her loss.

Standing in the doorway while Dana, rebellion and determination in her eyes, slid past him with the social worker, Bill wondered when-- or if-- that acceptance would begin. 

***** 

The three had resolved not to question Dana further. If she was pursuing adoption, then a decision would be finalized either way; and in the end, it was just the four of them.

“Five”, Bill amended; and Tara had teared up and given him a big hug.

Determined to have a good time on Christmas morning, even if the youngest Scully might get up and walk out on a moment’s notice, they’d flocked in, woken Dana, and pounced on the presents before she’d completely defogged-- a strategy unintentionally spearheaded by Tara. Seizing an opportunity, Bill swept along beside her, kneeling down to hand over the biggest present she'd been drooling over for the past month. His mother gravitated to Dana, snuggling up next to her on the couch; and teamwork or group effort or separate but uniting plots seemed to successfully keep his sister from bolting. 

Until he’d gleefully stumbled to the door and inadvertently shepherded in Dana’s latest twist in the case.  

“According to this… I… am Emily’s mother.” 

And what could anyone say to that?

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic!

#txf #fic #Bill Scully POV #Part IV #You're Not Here Dana-- You're a Million Miles Away" #Bill Scully #Scully #Maggie Scully #Tara Scully #Melissa Scully #xf fanfic #x-files #xfiles #the x files #mine #randomfoggytiger's fic

[eoieopda]

menace (pjm) — pt. iv

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 4/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 6k Summary: Every villain has an origin story. This is yours. AUs: Older brother’s best friend; fuck buddies that hate each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer; sort of an omniscient POV?; angst; very self-indulgent reference to Foresight (can you spot it? 👀); and — oh, hey! some of the other tannie boys are here. A/N: We love a flashback moment :') This takes place about a year prior to the first part, fyi. Major thanks to @ressjeon & @mimikookie for fireman carrying me out of a plot spiral 💕 ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

Jeon Jungkook was half-asleep with his face propped up a slack fist when you came through the front door of the book shop like a wrecking ball in a peacoat.

The chime of the bell above the door was no match for the way you sang out to him, and neither were his unsuspecting ears. He snapped to attention so suddenly that he knocked a pile of first editions clear off the counter. He didn’t even try to catch them as they hurtled towards the floor; they’d join the other casualties he’d dropped half an hour earlier. 

Namjoon could kill him for his carelessness later, if he was so inclined. Jungkook just hoped that Namjoon remembered he was helping for free — and not at all because losing a bet meant assisting his senior in preparing the soft-launch of his business. Forced altruism should result in him being cut a bit of slack, he’d decided.

“Guess what?”

The last word of your question was held like a whole note as you walked — skipped, rather — towards him. Your giddy smile was starkly contrasted by the muted, wool coat that fluttered limply as you moved. Eyeing the counter, now free of any obstacles, you hopped onto it and sat cross-legged. When Jungkook was too stunned by your sudden energy to respond, you raised your eyebrow expectantly. 

Hoseok’s head poked out from the back room. Unlike Jungkook, Hoseok was present and accounted for simply because he was a good person. He wiggled his eyebrows as he asked, “Did it finally happen?” 

Since you’d met him earlier that year, Hoseok had wholeheartedly subscribed to this new chapter of your love life. He’d gotten bored of your decidedly unremarkable ex-boyfriend from a few months back, and now eagerly awaited any updates that followed your break-up. You couldn���t blame him because you seemed to be hooked on the plot, too.

Jungkook was lost, but that was news to no one. Hoseok dropped the name of the unknown subject like a bomb, and now his ears were ringing. His eyes widened far enough that he feared they’d fall right out of his skull. 

Before you could answer Hoseok’s initial question, Jungkook interjected, “Park Jimin? You’re joking, right?”

Dumbstruck, he glanced between you and Hoseok, like blinking rapidly enough would make his brain process the information any faster. Like repeating himself will make what he said true — what Hoseok said impossible.

“This is a joke?” 

Jungkook’s expression might’ve looked firm, but his statement was far from declaratory. The unintentional, upwards inflection at the tail end of his sentence came across as judgmental as it was disbelieving. It sounded a lot like, Are you stupid?

You shrugged. Either you didn’t want to answer in earnest, or you didn’t know how to. 

And yes, Jungkook did think you were being an idiot. He wasn’t necessarily wrong for looking at you that way, nudging you back towards reality. But maybe he should’ve given you a five-minute head start before he swallowed your joy whole and shat it back out. So, he swallowed the rest of his words instead.

Hoseok emerged from the back and crossed over to you and Jungkook. Once he did, he flicked the side of the youngest’s skull with a painted — albeit chipped — fingernail. Jungkook accepted it, knowing he deserved it, and he only grunted a little bit in response.

“I’m always shocked not to hear an echo when I do that, Jungkookie.” Hoseok shot you a smirk, and then immediately stuck his tongue out at Jungkook, who was glowering at him. He pressed on, “If you utilized that brain to its full potential, you’d have learned a long time ago that the heart wants what it wants.”

Ah, there’s that hopelessly romantic enabler. It was no longer any wonder why you’d swung by the shop, which was a significant distance outside the bounds of your usual commute home from your office.

“I’m just saying —” Jungkook raised his hands defensively before swatting at Hoseok, who tugged playfully at Jungkook’s ear. 

The elder danced out of the younger's line of fire with a whoop. Jungkook rolled his eyes and swallowed the frustrated grumble building up in his throat.

“— That maybe getting involved with Seokjin-hyung’s best friend is a truly garbage-tier idea. Am I not allowed to point that out?”

You and Hoseok blinked back at him, then simultaneously, you both scoffed, “No.” 

Hoseok smiled and scratched at your shoulder in a silent show of support before returning to whatever task he’d been working on when you came in. Jungkook was left deflated where he sat. The two of you joining forces against him had popped him like a balloon. Poor baby, the voice in his head said, sounding a lot like you.

His tone softened, and his eyes crinkled into his best attempt at a smile. He caved, as usual. “Got a hot date tonight, then, noona?” 

In lieu of a verbal response, you nodded furiously, beaming. He reached up and squeezed your knee as it bounced excitedly within centimeters of his face. Then, without commenting further, he bent over to re-categorize the same novels he’d alphabetized four times already that morning. 

“You’re supposed to ask for details!” Hoseok’s voice called out from the other room. “Honestly, Jungkook-ah, you need to get better at having female friends!” 

With an arm full of books, Jungkook sank back down onto the wooden stool he’d previously occupied. Truly, he didn’t know why he expected anyone to ever let him live. 

“I’m asking for details,” He rolled his eyes and yelled over his shoulder. When he turned back around, you were trying not to giggle. “So, uh, how the hell did this come about?”

You leaned forward and landed a smack on his shoulder, which, for the record, Jungkook did not enjoy. He didn’t enjoy what he knew of Jimin’s reputation, either.

“Could you at least try to give him a chance?” You pleaded, hands clasped in front of you in prayer. “You don’t even know him, Jungkook.”

You were right. Jungkook had never actually interacted with Jimin directly, certainly didn’t have the history with him that you did, but he’d heard a lot about him. The information itself painted a bad enough picture, but it got worse when he considered his source. 

Sources, plural.

The backstory came to him through hook-ups of his that, unbeknownst to Jungkook at the outset, were rebounding off of Jimin’s rejection. Park was patient zero, Jungkook’s study had concluded, and for reasons still unknown to the younger man, Jimin left everyone in worse shape than he found them.

Don’t get him wrong, though. The unhealed part of Jungkook was at least a little grateful for the influx of needy, emotionally unavailable girls in his orbit. He was fine batting clean-up, so long as no one stuck around to call him oppa the next day.

The rest of him — the evolved part —  was wary, especially when it came to you. Jungkook was a few months’ younger than you and nowhere near the helicopter sibling that your actual brother was, but he still felt protective of you. Still feared what damage Jimin could do, intentionally or otherwise; and the way your brother would make it worse.

Jungkook pulled a face that said he wasn’t likely to buy whatever you attempted to sell him. Still, he did what good dongsaengs are supposed to do: kept his fucking mouth shut and listened. 

That clearly wasn’t your specialty, but hey, at least you were endearing.

“He’s sweet, Jungkookie,” you defended. “Honestly, I think my parents like him more than me and Seokjin combined.”

For a second, you smiled sheepishly. Then, you quieted for even longer. When you picked up again, your brows furrowed; and Jungkook could tell by the tone of your voice how deeply you had to dig to say any of the things you were. 

They came out heavy, dropped with a thud between you like all the obscure, antique shit he’d knocked over so far that day.

“I’ve always felt like a shadow around Seokjin, you know? Everyone looks right past me; they always have. Teachers did, friends did, our parents still do.” You looked down at the fingers that fidgeted in your lap. “Jimin’s never been like that. When he’s around, I know I’m not just cellophane.”

Jungkook was well-accustomed to the way you romanticized people, like they were figures of your life’s mythology and not simply assholes off the street. That was one of the things he admired most about you, and hoped to be a little better at himself. It’s also why he continued to bite his tongue when you said:

“I have a really good feeling about this one, Jungkook.”

There was no point in arguing with you when you looked like that, all starry-eyed and hopeful. So, Jungkook demurred, “At least tell me he’s taking you somewhere nice. If you say you’re going to that dumpster bar —”

Hoseok unhelpfully interjected, “Oh, Yang Daehyun’s place? I think that’s where Yoongi-hyung met —”

“I will barf right on this counter,” Jungkook finished, punctuating his warning by rapping his knuckles against the wood below.

Jimin was pacing. 

He stopped knowing what to do with his hands a few hundred steps ago, so he gave up and shoved them into the back pockets of his jeans. As he circled, he shot Taehyung a panicked look that went nowhere fast. Whatever Webtoon he was reading was, apparently, far more important than his friend’s mental health and well-being.

Even without a captive audience, Jimin couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been on a thousand dates —” 

Taehyung interjected with a roll of his eyes, “That’s an egregious mischaracterization.” 

Jimin pulled one hand out of his pocket and held it up, silently begging his friend to save the slut-shaming for later. Though the tone of his voice indicated that he was getting there, Taehyung still wasn’t annoyed enough to pull his eyes off the screen of his phone. He missed Jimin’s plea entirely, stayed unbothered.

Still pacing, Jimin rambled, “And I’ve never gotten nervous. I’ve had to make speeches at massive conferences —”

For the first time, Taehyung glanced up over the top of his phone. A shit-eating grin tugged at his mouth. With a flexed eyebrow, his words nudged Jimin right in the ribs. “Remind me again how wearing a suit and getting day-drunk in a hotel ballroom is a conference?” 

Jimin’s raised hand folded so that his middle finger was on full display. He didn’t stop his movements, though, insistent on soliloquizing despite the interruption: “— and none of that shit has ever bothered me, but now my fucking palms are sweating, and I don’t know how to —”

With a put-upon sigh, Taehyung poured himself from the couch to his feet and stood directly in Jimin’s well-worn path. Assuming his typecast role as obstacle, he gripped Jimin’s shoulders and — without any resistance, whatsoever — backed his friend towards the couch. 

“You’re giving me anxiety,” He scolded, earning a disgruntled sigh from Jimin as he forced him to sit. “You wanted my attention; now, you have it. Just — give the pedometer a fucking rest, and listen, alright?”

It was microscopic, but Jimin’s nod in response was enough of a green light for Taehyung. The former knew the latter was no good at pep talks, and yet, there they both were. Taehyung had to wonder if it was too early for a stiff drink.

“Mechanically, it’s simple. You’ve done the hard part in asking this girl out,” Taehyung conceded calmly. Then, he cracked wide open; he couldn’t help it. He snorted, “Which — I’m sorry —  is still wild to me. I didn’t even know you knew how to do that, for real. Did you get body-snatched or something? Who the fuck are you?”

He almost dodged the hand that flew out to smack him.

“Jesus — okay! Don’t blame me for leaving Monogamous Jimin off my bingo card.” Taehyung threw his hands up, signaling a ceasefire. “Just go, buy her dinner, and make googly eyes at her. This is not a crisis.” 

This gave Jimin pause. His brows furrowed as he chewed his cheek, working to digest Taehyung’s words. With an uncharacteristically small voice, he eventually asked, “What if she doesn’t like the food?”

This was the straw that broke Taehyung’s back. He had to pause for a moment, talk himself out of walking out that fucking door and never coming back. Sure, it was his apartment, but that was irrelevant. If Jimin was intent on being this much of a baby, he could keep it.

“Would this girl have suggested the restaurant if she didn’t?” Taheyung challenged. 

He crossed his arms indignantly, waiting on an answer he knew — on some level —  he’d never get. Jimin shrunk more with every second that passed in silence.

“Would she have agreed to go anywhere with you if she didn’t want to?” Then, with a smirk, Taehyung amended, “Well, maybe she wouldn’t have if she knew you were going to spiral like this.” 

“I’m not spiraling,” Jimin countered meekly. Then, he thought better of it. There was no other way to describe it, and he knew it, as much as he hated it whenever Taehyung proved himself right. “Okay, fine. I’m mildly unzipped, but I walked into a minefield on purpose, so… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything, but his eyebrow raised quizzically. 

It was, frankly, impossible to try and keep up with Jimin’s calendar of dick appointments. While Jimin didn’t make it a point to kiss and tell, he didn’t keep secrets, either — not from Taehyung, at least. He normally folded like laundry when pressed. 

This time, for whatever reason, he’d kept his mouth shut. It was the most tight-lipped Taehyung had ever seen him be, and that hint was the closest thing to a reveal he’d gotten so far. Which, for the record, was a terrible sign.

A sign of the apocalypse, as far as Taehyung could guess.

Jimin whined and slapped his hands over his face. As he dragged them upwards, he pushed his hair back, paused with his fingers still tangled in his strands. His elbows dug into his thighs while he stared absently at the rug, as if he was waiting for it to swallow him whole.

Oh, so, this is bad bad, huh?

“This is not a thing I want to fuck up. I can’t fuck this up,” he admitted, more to himself than Taehyung. Another beat. “And I know I’m going to. Honestly, I think I already have.”

Jimin looked so beaten down that Taehyung could feel it in his own bones. Lead-laced quiet settled on his shoulders, forced him to drop onto the cushion next to Jimin, whose unblinking stare still stuck to the floor. 

And they stayed that way, neither one of them moving, until Jimin dragged his hands back down from his hair. Rubbing harshly at his face, he did the best he could to physically scrub that nagging, needling feeling off his skin. 

“Is there any good way to tell Seokjin that I asked out his sister?”

Oh, fuck.

Taehyung swallowed hard. “Doubt it. Maybe pick out a burial plot first?”

You’d tried on four different versions of the same outfit and wondered how you’d acquired so many fucking turtlenecks. 

After too much time deliberating, you opted for outfit number five — one of four (4) black sweaters hanging in your closet — and tucked the hem into your high-waisted skirt. As you snaked a belt around your waist, you assessed yourself in the mirror, frowning at your hair. 

Of the two hours you’d spent getting ready, half that time was spent toiling over the state of it. Over and over, you asked yourself: down and limp, or up and messy? Neither option was good enough, but the face of your watch whispered that you were running out of time.

In fact, it screamed that you should’ve taken the time to wash your hair earlier, instead of relying on half a can of dry shampoo to carry you through yet another day.

You heaved a sigh and stepped even closer to the mirror to check for any lingering imperfections. The pimple on your chin was, thankfully, invisible under the layers of concealer you’d applied. The tinted lip balm had stayed where it was supposed to, too, which was a miracle, given the number of nervous sips you’d taken from your nearby wine glass.

Unfortunately, your hair was doing a lot of things, and none of them were good. 

You grimaced.

If this was as good as it was going to get, why couldn’t it be just a little bit better?

You glanced down at your watch again and saw that it was 6:45 PM. 

Shit. 

During your sprint to your front door, you made sure to thank yourself for telling Jimin you’d meet him at the restaurant; one of few responsible choices you’d deigned to make lately. If you’d agreed to be picked up as he originally offered, he’d have been sitting in his car outside, dying of boredom and regret, while you turned your closet inside out. 

Black tights caused you to slide across the hardwood when you neared your front entrance. By sheer force of will alone, you stayed standing, every muscle in your body tensing. Huffing out a relieved breath, you wasted no time in choosing between near-identical pairs of Chelsea boots — seriously, why are you like this? — before shoving your feet into them and grabbing your coat from the hook near the door. 

With force, you snaked your arms into the holes, jerked the front door open, and stepped face-first into a cold so cruel, it bit your cheeks without mercy.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed, hands already frigid and aching as you struggled to lock the door behind you. 

Winters in the city were mild, more often than not; but this cold snap was making you snap, and part of you regretted agreeing to leave the house in the first place. Was anybody worth braving this frozen hellscape?

Don’t do that, you admonished yourself. Don’t act like you don’t want this.

The tears forming in your wind-whipped eyes would soon be the least of your worries, thanks to the boot heel that failed to find purchase on the slick surface of your driveway. Instead of your stinging cheeks, it was your tailbone that demanded immediate attention, having taken the full impact of your fall.

You yelped, more so out of surprise than pain, “Motherfucker.” 

Colder than before and with a wet spot soaking through the fabric of your skirt, you rubbed gingerly at your aching ass and scrambled to your feet.

It certainly didn’t help, but it didn’t hurt, either: You growled at the ground, “Get absolutely fucking fucked,” as if it might animate and apologize to you.

The scowl didn’t leave your face as you penguin-walked carefully to your car, ripped the driver’s side door open, and dumped yourself unceremoniously behind the wheel. The weight of your body against the seat only meant that the chilly dampness of your outfit intensified. Worse, you had the sneaking suspicion that your clumsiness had caused the back of your tights to run.

Caving to self-indulgence, you threw your head back against the seat and permitted yourself one (1) petulant, childish whine before re-committing to acting your age.

“Motherfucker!”

The drive wasn’t as treacherous as your walk to the car had been, though the city’s recent rainy spell left enough ice in its wake to keep those far smarter than you off the roads. To your surprise, the streets were clear once you made it downtown, with very few people meandering the sidewalks. It all felt ominous, parking in a ghost town, but you ignored that apprehension long enough to score a metered spot directly outside the restaurant. 

Maybe the universe is making it up to me, you thought as you slipped out of your seatbelt, out the door, and off the street. Maybe good things do happen to mediocre people.

Stepping inside the restaurant, the warmth enveloped you so sweetly, you nearly moaned. The fireplace crackling off to the side was meant to create ambiance, but it nudged the primal part of your brain that yearned to curl up in front of it. Shaking your head to clear those feral thoughts, your narrowed eyes scanned the room for any sign of Jimin.

It didn’t strike you as odd when you didn’t spot him. Jimin was a lot of things, but punctual had never — ever — been one of them. You couldn’t have reasonably expected to find him, anyways, not at your usual, early arrival.

After being informed of your party of two, the host led you to a small bistro table in the far corner. They bowed before leaving you to your own devices, giving you the space to fuss blindly with your appearance before Jimin would eventually walk in. No matter how many times you smoothed your fingers over your flyaways, you still felt their abject refusal to play along.

He’s seen you with braces, you reminded yourself. He was there for your tragic, dresses-over-jeans phase in the mid-aughts. He knows what your yearbook photos looked like, and he still wants to take you out.

You turned ever so slightly toward the door and crossed one leg over the other. Then, you placed one elbow on the white tablecloth, rested that hand delicately in the space below your jaw. It was your best approximation of desirable nonchalance, and you were sure you either looked ridiculous or extremely chic. Internally, you crossed your fingers and prayed it was the latter.

Jimin made plans with one Kim and wound up burdened by the other.

Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t a problem when Seokjin showed up on Jimin’s doorstep without warning, or let himself inside. It wasn’t uncommon for Jimin to come home from somewhere and find Seokjin already there, sitting on his couch and shouting at the television. Jimin’s life had always looked like that, for as long as he could remember. Like being an only child didn’t mean he lacked a brother.

That thought made nausea swirl in his stomach as he glanced between his watch, his couch, and the person lounging on it.

For once, Jimin was committed to being where he needed to at the time he was supposed to. A part of that promise was based on the fact that he was too eager to wait; but the majority of his dedication ran deeper than that. He was dead-set on proving to you that he could honor plans — that, when it came to you, he was a person that would show up.

And then your brother’s car blocked him in his driveway and kept him from leaving an hour early, like he’d told himself he would. Just in case.

Trapped, Jimin told himself he still had time. He could still beat you to the restaurant, still be there to pull out your chair the way your father always did for your mother.

Jimin knew that, outwardly, you always rolled your eyes at gestures like that — what’s the implication, that I can’t do it myself? — but he registered the way fondness twitched at the corner of your mouth. He caught all of those micro-expressions, studied them quietly from the other side of your family’s dining room table for — shit, two decades?

You never caught him staring, though, not once.

He suspected that you’d gotten used to being overlooked. Maybe, he figured, you stopped bothering to check if anyone glanced your way in the rare moments where you piped up. Jimin stayed quiet, for the most part, because the older boy sitting next to him picked up the slack your parents had dropped when they dropped you. 

Seokjin saw everything, was everything — to everyone. Jimin owed him more than anyone else for the way he dragged Jimin through school by the scruff of his neck. Seokjin’s nagging forced Jimin to buckle down and graduate, and once he did, Seokjin kept pushing. He hooked Jimin up with a job at his consulting firm, kept his toes in line long enough for Jimin to grow the fuck up.

Shit. 

Would he have gotten anywhere in life without your brother?

Your brother spoke for the first time in a minute, and the sudden addition of his voice made Jimin stop fidgeting with his fingers in his lap.

“You look nice,” Seokjin said, having finally, actually perceived his friend on the other side of the living room.

He sounded surprised to find Jimin there — or maybe, he was just surprised to see him dressed up for once. Suspicion caused his eyes to narrow, but it was peak shithead behavior that made him smirk. “Big plans tonight, Jiminie?”

Jimin was this close to throwing up all over his lap. He clamped his jaw shut, offering a nod instead of a verbal response.

He needed to spit it out. He needed to rip the bandage off and deal with the situation on the front end because he knew how fucked it would be to try to fix it in the aftermath. If he could float the idea now — ease Seokin into it, give him fair warning — then they’d likely be fine, right?

Jimin picked at his cuticles. He was unable to stop himself, even when he remembered you — years ago, after elbowing him in the ribs — telling him it was a bad habit. His heart did a stupid little somersault at the memory, though his anxiety squeezed his lungs with a lot more force. He swallowed, throat gravelly.

“Yeah, actually.”

It surprised him when the words slipped out, so much so that he blinked in stunned silence for a beat.

Seokjin capitalized on the quiet without knowing what he’d derailed. He scoffed, “I hope they’re not with Chan’s sister. From what I heard, you’re lucky he didn’t make you swallow your teeth.”

Oh.

“What exactly did you hear?” 

Jimin did his best to keep the anger out of his tone, but he wasn’t confident that he succeeded. What he was, was sick of that goddamn narrative. It spilled over each sphere of his life, and the stain it left was ugly, even if it wasn’t deserved. Still, he maintained that a person doesn’t need to be a saint to be a decent human being. 

Didn’t that count for anything?

Every single person he’d ever fucked around with was a placeholder; and every single one of them was told, right out of the gate, that nothing was coming out of whatever it was they did together. He made his position clear from the beginning — every time — and he didn’t let a single person get closer to him until they confirmed that they had no expectations. 

Didn’t grab drinks, didn’t share meals, didn’t spare a touch unless they knew what they were signing up for: A dead-end, ultimately, but a nice trip.

They all said they understood, but they never actually did. Hurt their own feelings by exaggerating their place in his life, cried and talked shit about him when he tried to remind them where they stood. He wasn’t responsible for their reaction; he was transparent. Cellophane. 

Reality notwithstanding, everyone looked at Jimin like he was intentionally leaving a trail of casualties behind him. And, really, what was he supposed to do about it, if he’d only ever been honest? 

If he didn’t find somewhere to be — someone to be with — his twenties would look just like his teens: him, holed up in his room alone; him, with his fingers itching to call you up; him, chickening out the second he felt brave enough to pick up the phone.

He reached the big age of twenty-seven before he stopped running away from you.

Seokjin said it lightly and with a smirk, but it hit Jimin square in the chest. “I heard that you’re a menace.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d shown up unannounced on Jungkook’s doorstep. In fact, you’d done it so many times, you’d both lost count. 

When he answered the door all those times before, you never looked like you did now — like you’d spent half an hour crying in your car but were pretending you hadn’t. He immediately clocked the way your mascara had clumped ever so slightly on your bottom lashes, but he followed your lead and pretended he hadn’t. Instead, he ushered you inside while the corners of his lips pulled down into a frown.

You expected to find Hoseok on his couch, and you were faintly disappointed when his usual spot was empty. 

Oh, you remembered, it’s only 8:00.

Every Friday night was movie night for the three of you, but it never started until Hoseok’s studio hours ended at 9:30. Part of you was relieved to have beaten him here, though you felt guilty about it. He may have been more excited about your budding relationship with Jimin than you were, and you knew you couldn’t handle the disappointed look he’d try and fail to hide.

You could, however, handle whatever “I told you so” Jungkook was likely to hit you with.

You let Jungkook guide you into the corner of the sectional that you normally occupied on nights like this. Well, on the nights you didn’t have plans — or, more specifically, the ones where your plans actually came to fruition. 

Slumping dejectedly into the plush cushions, you tugged at the throw blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. The heavy fabric hit your lap with a muffled thump, but within seconds, it was draped over the back half of your head and both your shoulders.

Jungkook blinked at you as if he was trying not to laugh. “You — uh,” He missed his objective by a mile and snorted slightly, “You look like a little wizard with the —” He gestured over at you, and when he couldn’t recall the final word of his joke, he began snapping his fingers. “The — umm —”

“Cloak,” You mumbled with a sniff.

He snapped his fingers one last time, then brandished a single finger-gun at you. “That’s the one.” 

You wanted to give him the laugh he’d earned, but you felt too crushed to be light-hearted. The amused twinkle in his eyes disappeared, and instead, they creased with concern. His voice was gentle, careful.

“Didn’t go as well as you hoped, huh?”

“It didn’t go at all,” You wiped roughly at your cheek with the back of your blanket-coated hand, but it was no use. You’d been caught red-eyed and red-handed.

“He didn’t show. I waited an hour, but then the host said he needed the table. All those people watched me wait there, alone — only to get up, alone — because people with actual dates had to sit down. Don’t think I’ve ever been so fucking humiliated in my life.”

Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so tightly, you could see the emerging vein twinge in his neck. He was wracking his brain for something soft to say to you, you knew, but all he could come up with was:

“Give me his address. He and I need to have a chat.”

You sniffled again and shook your head; he pressed further. “Seriously, I’m going to knock him on his ass. What the fuck is wrong with this kid?”

“Jungkook,” you started, though he cut you off before you could finish.

“Don’t Jungkook me. That’s bullshit, and you didn’t deserve it.” He snapped. When your eyes widened at his terseness, he gave your knee an affectionate squeeze and sighed, “I’m sorry. I just —” 

The more he mulled it over, the angrier he got. His tone switched mid-sentence. 

“— He didn’t even call?”

You shook your head before dropping it to rest against Jungkook’s shoulder. Quietly, you admitted, “Left me on read when I started asking what was happening. Screened my calls, too, I think.”

Thankfully, you were only aware of how pathetic you sounded; you didn’t have to see how pathetic you looked. You could see Jungkook, though, out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t spend much time around Seokjin, but the identical way anger made their eyes go dark was uncanny.

“I’m choosing violence, I swear to God,” he said through gritted teeth. 

You offered, “The unhealed part of me left a pretty cruel voicemail, if that does anything for you.”

His eyes flicked over to the corner, where he’d dumped his gear after his recreational team’s hockey game earlier that week. He joined in the first place to let off steam, he’d told you, but it clearly wasn’t enough. His anger rolled off of him in waves, warmed you next to him from the outside in.

You rolled your eyes half-heartedly. “Violence isn’t the answer, Jungkook. What do you want me to do, take that stick and beat him with it until he apologizes?”

He didn’t answer, and that didn’t sit well with you. You were about to call him out on his alarming behavior, but he shook off whatever took hold of him, and looked back at you. Noting the way his jaw still clenched, you nudged him with your elbow until his posture relaxed; and he rested his cheek on the top of your head. 

The two of you sat like that, silently, for several minutes before his grand plan came to him so suddenly that he jolted. The unexpected movement caused your heart to skip, caused his hand squeeze yours excitedly. 

“You know what’ll hurt more than a hockey stick?”

You scoffed, confident that you’d guessed where his train of thought had sped off to, “Chaining him to the back of your motorcycle and driving off into the sunset?”

For a brief second, you saw Jungkook’s eyes light up. To your surprise, he didn’t stop to consider your absurd proposal, instead flying right past it.

“The only thing I can think of that hurts more than being stood up, is getting strung along.”

His explanation came at a frantic pace, but you visibly struggled to keep up with his genius. He patted the back of your hand eagerly, as if to say, check this shit out. 

“How many times have you complained to me that the dudes you fuck don’t give a shit about you? That everything’s always about sex, and it makes you feel like garbage?”

Jesus Christ.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “When you said you were choosing violence, I didn’t think you meant me.”

Jungkook breezed past you with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Revenge is best served cold, right? So, be cold.”

You looked pointedly at him, sharp enough to stab him, but he beat you to the punch: “I know, it’s straight from Jeon Jungkook’s asshole playbook. I know. It’s an objectively, unquestionably horrible thing to do to someone, but nothing gets someone’s attention like ignoring them completely.”

Clearly, he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted from you. He shifted away from your side to sit up on his knees, facing you. From there, he gestured wildly with his hands, as if additional emphasis was what you needed to buy in. 

“You can get his attention, have him trailing after you like a stray dog, and then you can slam the door in his face.” Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows, beyond pleased with himself. “Ouch.”

You chewed thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you processed Jungkook’s master plan. It was diabolical and, more importantly, the complete antithesis of how you’d decided to move through the world. 

Your heart was always pinned to the cuff of your sleeve because you chose to put it there, to let people in, let them see you. For as long as you’d known Jimin, you wanted to let him in. Wrote it in your fucking diary as a kid, praying that neon, gel ink could manifest it. Wasted wishes on it every year when you blew out your birthday candles, while he was off in the next room with Seokjin. Hoped that, eventually — someday —  he’d see you looking up at him.

And then it happened.

Everything you wanted fell right where you could reach it. Your casual texts back and forth turned into late night phone calls. In turn, those turned to video chats, into plans. Then, he asked you to dinner, and you gushed to all your friends that he was nothing like what they’d heard about him.

How fucking stupid you must have sounded.

The anger churned in your stomach like acid, and it threatened to burn a hole right through you. 

Jungkook was right. 

You’d always been committed to being whole-hearted, and it was exhausting to keep gluing yourself back together every time you broke. So, if someone was going to fall to pieces this time, it wasn’t going to be you.

“You have to be careful, though. If you get in too deep, you’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

Jungkook’s voice crashed through the maelstrom in your mind, startling you.

He continued his warning, “You cannot catch feelings while executing this kind of operation — trust me.”

“And how do I go about avoiding that?” You asked.

“You have to have rules.”

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[v-anrouge]

Hello may i ask why you are against the transfem vil hc but isn't agaisnt the genderfluid & bigender one? /genq

ok this will be a bit long cuz like even though ive answered tis before, i don't think i have given an answer that expressed myself as good as this one

it's because i understand the bigender / genderfluid hcs, in all honesty they make sense, i could def see vil as not being cis, plus, they r only be adding rep to ppl. there's no problem w the genderfluid or bigender hc because it's easy to see someone who is agaisnt gender roles to be trans and it's easy to see vil as someone who identifies with more than one gender

however, the transfem hc is bad because it goes AGAINST vil's character.

had vil not been a character that explicitly says he despises gender roles and even gets angry at the mention of dance moves being "too feminine" for a man to make by epel, there wouldn't be any problem w it, because it makes sense to see a character that presents in a feminine way as a trans woman just as much as it does to see them as just a cis dude who likes to dress feminine. but the whole point with vil's character is that he dislikes and refuses to follow gender roles, hence why he wears makeup, uses dresses, heels and acts in a way many consider feminine, because he wants to fight back the mindset that men need to be masculine and women need to be feminine. the transfem vil hc goes against that because it takes vil, a character that is constantly mentioned to be a man that fights the way society views men, and says "he's actually a woman" all because of the way he acts. do you get it? it's pushing gender roles in the one character in twst that explicitly hates it, it's literally doing what he has been fighting through his career. in the jp game vil calls himself by a gender neutral term, one that is commonly used by women, because he doesn't believe there is such a thing that is "exclusively for women" in the eng, the way they translated was by making him call himself a queen, that is a term made for women but that now days you see being used as a gender neutral term, it doesn't make sense to use those two things as "transfem coding" because literally a quick research on vil's character will show you that he used such terms BECAUSE he is a man and uses them as an attack to the gender roles. if vil WERE to be a trans woman, she would act masculine instead, call herself a king and use terms like handsome, because by following the logic, despite the way he identifies and was born as, he'd still hate gender roles and would fight them, especially because people think that transfem/transwomen HAVE to be feminine, and the ones that aren't get invalidated and hated on a lot of times by their OWN COMMUNITY. the transfem vil hc just simply doesn't make any sense at all and it was made to push gender roles onto a character that was made to break them, furthermore ppl that hc this r like normally super fucking annoying and keep pushing it as canon as if they played through all of vil's stories with their eyes closed and didn't actually take anything he said in.

the hc is problematic to both transmasc and transfem people, especially to those who are gnc, who barely get any rep and ate constantly attacked, ppl don't seem to understand this but this type of hc it follows the made up rules bigots made for genders= men have to masculine otherwise they're not real men, women have to be feminine otherwise they're not real women

when you point out such things ppl will bring up literally anything they can and even accuse you of being transphobic whole supporting a transphobic hc themselves. people don't seem to understand the importance of gender non conforming characters but as someone that is a trans man that doesn't care about how ppl think a trans man should act or look, ive gotten invalidated and harassed because of it, sometimes even by people that are also from the trans community and it hurts, you think you've found your place, a community that will accept you, and then simply because you refuse to follow made up rules, suddenly you're not welcome there anymore, and i know im not the only one who shares such a sentiment because ive seen multiple other ppl abt how hcs like this make them dysphoric (just like me) because they relate to the character and find them to be a safe space and to be comforting because they see themselves in them, so having them be pushes into the rules of society reminds them of what happens to them and it hurts them.

to finish this off; transfem vil hc makes me genuinely dysphoric and brings me bad memories + ive literally been attacked and called the T SLUR by one of the ppl that hc that so i def don't want any ties to that community. meanwhile the genderfluid/bigender/etc hc don't interfere with his character at all and it actually make sense for his character

#✎ ⇣‧₊˚ 【asks

[anjaelle]

White Light IV

Characters: Ghost!ATJ x Black Female!Reader Rating: T (slight flirting, mention of horny thoughts, ghost!bf being a little obsessed with his crush, and the hint of impending tragedy to come) Word Count: 3.0K Summary: In which the reader makes a brief list of pros and cons for reviving the dead... a/n: Not 100% where I want it to be, but I already know where I want the story to go and where it will end. And that's a new thing for me, because I literally never finish anything . HA! Please like, comment, and reblog! Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next updates.

[Part I] | [Part II] | [Part III] | [Part V] | [☁ Masterpost ☁] | [♫ The Crimson Zombies Mixtape ♫]

--

You awoke to the sound of running water from your bathroom, and squinted to protect your eyes from the blinding sunlight. Your head was pounding like you'd been knocked out with a baseball bat. You moved to sit up, and your vision immediately began to double, causing you to slowly lie back down and roll over. Then you noticed the small bathroom wastebasket sitting beside your bed, just as bile rose in your chest and you vomited into it.

"Shit," you heard Aaron mutter behind you. The water cut off, and the quick thud of a cabinet closing seemed to rattle in your head.

"What happened?" You asked, hoarsely. As you rested your head on your hands, you could hear more busy rustling in the bathroom. "How? I can't--what's going on?"

It was like waking up in the middle of a dense fog, and you were unable to decipher which way was up. You didn't know what day it was, what time it was, how you ended up in this predicament. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep. Your eyes began to drift close again, when rapid footsteps crossed the room towards you.

"Hey, hey, hey, no. You gotta stay awake, c'mon." He crouched down beside you as the upper half of your body lie draped over the side of the bed. You couldn't remember how exactly you ended up in that position, but you couldn't be fucked to move.

"Too sleepy," you mumbled, sighing, "Give me 10 minutes."

"I can't."

He hesitated, and then you felt his arm wrap gently around your waist to prop you up in bed. You could feel how ice cold he was through the sweater he had on--your ex's sweater. You didn't remember bringing it. You should've probably given it back when you left. Or maybe you'd steal it for revenge and give it to Aaron.

Aaron.

"You can touch me? You can touch things?" you murmured, peeking at him through heavily lidded eyes, "How?"

You noticed that he was fidgeting with a damp cloth in a bowl with steaming hot water, and he shrugged.

"I really, really don't know what happened. One minute you were sweating in your sleep, the next you were up and staring at me...I don't know." A pause, then, "You seem a lot less surprised than I expected you to be."

On the inside you were screaming. You were beyond fucking confused. You wanted to call your grandmother and get some goddamn answers. But you were too weak to do anything but sigh.

"Why aren't you surprised?" You finally asked.

His hands stilled in the water and he sighed before continuing to wring out the cloth, "I was. I had my reaction while you were passed out. Um--it's--I guess I've just gotten used to it now."

You quirked an eyebrow at him as he pressed the hot cloth to your forehead. It was then that you realized how cold you were. The water was steaming hot, but still didn't feel hot enough. You shuddered under the warmth and shut your eyes.

"How long was I out?"

He said nothing and returned the rag back to the water.

"Aaron--"

"Three days."

You sat up straight in bed and stared at him with widened eyes. He no longer looked hazy and out of focus. He was here. Alive. Or, at least, the illusion of mortality. He looked at you with equally wide eyes and you could see the healing scars on his face and hands. He looked...older?

"Th-three?" You felt your hands shaking, and you shoved them into the blankets that you squeezed in your fists, "I could've been dead! Oh my god!"

"You weren't!" He responded, holding his hands up, "You woke up on and off, muttered some shit, and then went back to sleep."

"Why didn't you call someone?"

He shot her a look of confusion and motioned around her apartment, "You don't have a house phone. And I don't know how to use your mobile phone. What was I supposed to do? Scream out the window?"

"YES!" You responded, holding your head in disbelief, "What if I died, Aaron? Fucks sa--"

You leaned over and vomited into the trashcan again, though you couldn't begin to imagine what you were purging from your body. You couldn't have eaten anything. He cautiously pat your back as you retched uselessly into the trash and coughed your lungs out.

"That's also how I knew you weren't dead," he mumbled, passing you a bottle of water, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. You thanked him as you cleaned your mouth out. What did it all mean? What changed?

This started after he disappeared. What happened to him during that time? You briefly glanced at him as you spit water into the wastebasket, and you found him watching you intensely with a furrowed brow.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You asked before rinsing your mouth out again.

He worried his lower lip and looked you over.

"This is fucked."

You chuckled, "Yeah, no kidding."

When you were sure that your mouth was sufficiently clean, you sipped the last of the water. You already felt a little bit better, but you knew that this was just a sign of something more nefarious. He helped you sit back up, careful not to touch your skin, though you were hyperaware of how strong his hands felt on your waist. His fingers flexed against you as if he read your mind, and he offered you a small apologetic smile that you didn't expect.

"I've been careful not to get too close, since the last time seemed to have knocked you out good."

Oh...

You blinked at him as you tried to unscramble your thoughts.

"How do you feel?" You asked him with genuine curiosity. It couldn't have been exactly easy to go from dead to...whatever the hell this was. He seemed surprised by the question. You watched him work through his own thoughts.

"Cold." He simply stated with a small shrug. As he smoothed the thick comforter over your bare legs, absentmindedly, you felt your face heat up.

You hummed in thought, distracting yourself, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Neither. It's just a thing. Y'know? I went from feeling nothing, to feeling...cold. All over. Except when I sit next to you, mostly. You're kinda like a really hot furnace."

At this, you give him your best shit-eating grin and wiggled your brows, "A hot furnace huh?"

"Stop it." He crossed his arms over his chest, and you were mildly impressed by how good he looked in more modern clothes. He began to blush.

He definitely couldn't do that before.

"I-I just found this in your stuff," he explained nervously, "I'd never seen you wear it, so I figured you wouldn't care if I snagged it." He shoved his hands in the pockets of the gray sweatpants that also belonged to your ex and you schooled your features into complete nonchalance.

"You're fine," you said, "They were Marc--my ex's things. I don't think he'll miss them much."

You weren't 100% sure of that, but whatever. They weren't his anymore, anyway. You thought back on the running water from the bathroom, and noticed his wet hair and fresh face.

"Did...you shower?" You asked him, wide-eyed. Excited, he jumped up from the bed and motioned erratically.

"I didn't realize how much I fuckin' missed showering," he ran his fingers through his damp curls and let out a cheerful laugh in disbelief, "The water didn't feel like much of anything until I turned it to the highest setting. But god, did I miss it. I've been showering twice a day for the last 3 days!"

"Why are you not freaked out about this?" You asked. He stopped in his tracks and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"As my dad once said, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'."

You rolled your eyes.

"You're dead, Aaron. You've been dead for 20 years. Now, out of the blue, you can touch things, and wear new clothes, and shower. And none of this is worrisome to you?"

It was then that he rushed to the bed and kneeled by your side, and you felt the goosebumps on your arms raise.

"I'm just as concerned as you--"

Doubtful.

"--but you don't understand how long it's been since I've been able to just do things for myself."

He grabbed your shoulders and you felt your body react through the thick fabric of your hoodie. Like you'd been splashed with cool water. You gasped and he removed his hands.

"Sorry. Got a bit carried away--"

"No, wait." You took a moment to sift through your thoughts again, and came to a certain conclusion. Maybe. You hesitated, and then reached out to touch his face, pressing a gentle hand to his left cheek. He shuddered, and you instantly began to feel tired. But you watched some of the color return to his face. His cheeks flushed red, and the blue in his eyes brightened as his pupils dilated.

"Oh." He whispered, leaning into your touch a bit more and shutting his eyes, "Fuck. That feels nice. So warm."

The gravely affect his voice took on was different from anything you'd ever heard from him before, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes landed on you again, and something flickered in his gaze. You felt your pulse quicken, and you could almost swear that you felt his heartbeat as well. His hand gently pressed over yours on his cheek, and then trailed down your wrist.

"This is different." He said, grinning at you with a newfound admiration you'd never seen.

You pulled your hand away from his face and you both shuddered with a small gasp. Energy returned to you in a slow trickle, though he still maintained some of the flush in his cheeks.

"I think," your voice cracked and your cleared your throat, "you might be like this because of me."

Aaron wanted to touch you again. Badly. The minute you found the strength to leave your bed, he trailed behind you like a faithful puppy. Admittedly, it was partially because you were still wobbly on your feet and he wanted to catch you if you passed out again. A bigger part of him wanted to grab you by your hips and pull you towards him. His eyes trailed down the curve of your lower back and ass as you searched though your closet for an old notebook that belonged to your grandmother. You muttered something about "witchy bullshit" and he couldn't help but laugh at the exasperation in your tone.

Though he probably should've cared more about the how and why of their current predicament, he couldn't give any less of a shit. He knew what it felt like to grab your waist and touch your skin, and he couldn't get it out of his mind. The way you not-so-casually brushed against him as you passed didn't make matters easier.

Aaron hadn't realized that he'd been watching you with the dopiest smile on his face until you turned with the notebook in hand and smiled back, confused.

"What?" You asked, scrunching up your nose at him.

Fuck, you were cute. And he had an undeniable crush. He wanted to hit himself in the face.

"Nothing," he lied. He nodded towards the book in your hand, "That it?"

You eyed him curiously. Whatever thought you had in that gorgeous head of yours was apparently not important enough to vocalize, as you shook your head to clear it.

"It is. My grandmother gave it to me when I last saw her, and I never even bothered to crack it open. Which was probably stupid of me." She called it a grimoire and mentioned that it was well over 100 years old. The leatherbound, thick book carried loose, yellowed pages and photos. Dried leaves and herbs seemed to poke out from every which way, and Aaron wondered how your family managed to keep it intact.

"Soooo you think you'll find out what's making me all zombie-like through that?" It's not that he didn't believe it, it's just that he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer. Going back to feeling the way he did before felt like a non-option now.

"Zombie-like?" You giggled and it sounded like a bell.

"Y'know," he stood over your shoulder, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around you, "not-quite-alive, not-quite-dead."

As you slowly flipped through the thin pages of the book, scanning the looping cursive for familiar words, you snorted. "If that's how you want to classify yourself, go for it."

At this, he leaned closer and whispered in your ear, "How would you classify me?"

He heard your breath hitch and your hand faltered over the next page.

"I don't know," you said, softly, turning your head to him. It was so close that your lips just barely brushed his cheek. "You feel very much alive, to me." You lingered there for a beat longer, before returning your attention to the next page. Warmth fluttered in his stomach and he felt like he was going to throw up. If his mates could see him now, he'd never hear the end of it.

He should've taken a step back to regain his composure, and he was just about to when you suddenly pointed to a string of words halfway down the page.

"Here," you said, tilting the book up so he could read it, "'Transformation of the Incorporeal and Corporeal Forms: Parasitism and Symbiosis'."

He hadn't a clue what the hell any of that meant. One look at his face told you all you needed to know, apparently, as you broke down the rules like he was ten. Which he appreciated.

"I don't know what happened to you while you were gone, but something changed. Something made you more..." she motioned with her hand, "adaptable? The first time you touched me was when you nearly gave me a heart attack that first time. And that was the first time I saw you. So the more you interact with me, the more tangible you become." You flipped through the pages eagerly, reading as fast as you could as he hung onto your every word.

"But the first time you touched me wasn't as intense as this time. And you weren't able to continue doing it for so long after the first time. So something is different now. But what?"

He felt the familiar tingle in his left hand from the very first time he touched you, and he flexed his fingers.

"It was purgatory."

At this, you paused your reading and immediately turned to look at him with a look of pure horror on your face. Suddenly he wished he'd just shut his mouth.

"Purgatory? I--how?" As you turned to face him, you hugged the book protectively to your chest, but inched closer to him in concern, "That's not fucking good. Not good at all. You can't just come back from there. That's impossible."

He motioned to himself and shrugged, "I did."

You mumbled something to yourself and rapidly began flipping through the pages again, looking for something specific. He wanted you to stop and look at him. Just to explain what he was missing, as you seemed to know far more than you let on. Your eyes scanned the pages in your hands, and your jaw dropped.

"The darkness..." you whispered, "The thing with many teeth. Did you see this?"

You flipped the book to face him, and pointed at the crude illustration of the grinning thing that haunted him for several nights. Even with smeared ink and scribbles around the image, he shied away from its gaze, avoiding eye contact.

"Ugh. Yeah. That thing. It wouldn't leave me alone. I still feel it watching me sometimes."

You immediately slammed the book closed and rushed out of the room, headed for the front door as he trailed behind you. "Wait, wait, hold on!"

"I've gotta speak to the elders! This is way out of my hands."

As you crossed the threshold into the main hallway, he instinctively grabbed your hand and you both gasped. He felt like he was on fire, and you felt like you'd been thrown into a freezer. Still he couldn't let go of you. The iciness and the blazing heat turned into a low buzzing sensation. Even when he eventually released his grip on your hand, he still felt the vibrations crawling up his arm from where he touched you.

It was then that you both noticed that he was standing beside you in the middle of the apartment building's hallway, with the front door of your apartment wide open.

"Did you pull me outside?" He asked, partially impressed and also terrified. You swallowed hard and shook your head.

"It wasn't me, it was this." You motioned between them, speaking in hushed tones to avoid detection from the neighbors. Then you swiftly turned on your heels and rushed down the hall to call for the elevator. He felt a strange pull emanating from you. And though he wanted to go back into the apartment, he blinked and found himself standing right beside you again.

"This? What's this? What are you talking about?" He was beginning to panic from the lack of information you were sharing with him. You fidgeted with your fingers, and he pleaded with you, "Please tell me."

You shot him a look of pure sadness just as the elevator doors opened to you, "The reason you're like this--the reason why you have a steady form and why you can touch me? I was hoping this was symbiosis but it's not. You're haunting me, and it's parasitic."

He followed you into the elevator as the doors closed, and you crossed your arms over your chest.

"What does that mean for you?" He murmured. You avoided his eyes and he knew right away what it meant.

"It means that you're slowly killing me."

#aaron taylor johnson x black!reader #aaron taylor johnson #atj x black!reader #atj x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #jaelle writes #fic: white light

[exocynraku]

thoughts on a starless clan so far

i don't know if anything i said here has any definitive spoilers in it but i'll put it all under a cut for safety

short answer: it's ok. frostpaw's plot & the stuff with riverclan, riverstar & the COTP, splashtail & curlfeather are all REALLY COOL. I liked sunbeam in the beginning and have grown to dislike where her story has gone. I like the concepts surrounding nightheart's plot but dislike the execution & the reaction from the community. I am still excited for star. long answer:

frostpaw and splashtail's plot is really really good and ive been enjoying it a lot (probably because it reminds me of tpb). i liked sunbeam's plot with blazefire and lightleap and berryheart in the beginning but have gotten bored of her & her plot since nightheart showed up in her life & she moved to thunderclan. nightheart's plot has good concepts behind it but i don't like the execution & i don't like the 2 cross clan relationship plot in a row. i think it could've been better if they focused less on cross clan relationships and more on clan prejudice & xenophobia & the corruptness of the code system as a whole (though i know it's incredibly unlikely the writers would do that i still want To Hope) instead of just the romance part since we did that last arc (though i don't think it really got us anywhere as i personally dislike the 'trials' thing that was developed & don't think it's particularly useful). especially because it was specifically a cross CLAN relationship in a row. i'd be a bit more lenient if it was a clancat x kittypet/loner relationship as that hasn't been done in a bit (like if nightheart fell in love with a COTP cat or something). 

i like the pacing per-book but i think the pacing overall could be improved upon as it feels both sunbeam and nightheart's plots have been too separate from & slow compared to frostpaw's plot and haven't really been meshing well in the later books as the erins try to tie them all together. i also don't know if this is just my bad memory but i dislike the change of sunbeam and nightheart's personalities over time. they both feel like they are becoming cardboard cut out main characters to me. i liked sunbeam's relationship with lightleap blazefire & her family and thought it all was really realistic and especially in the lightleap/blazefire department was a surprising change of pace. i dislike what has become of both her plot and her personality as i feel they totally abandoned the lightleap/blazefire plot and turned her into a flat love interest. i do think it makes sense for her as a character to yearn for love but i think it'd make even MORE sense if she had a much more complicated relationship with love

i'm not going to speak further on nightheart because i know no matter what i say someone WILL be telling me to kill myself in one way or another so i'll keep in brief: no matter what you think of him, you at Need To Acknowledge & Be Conscious Of The Fact That Very Bad Things Have Been Said About & To Both Women And Disabled People Because Of His Plot In This Community. yes some very good & well-thought out conversations have been said in response, yes the majority of these things were said months and months ago when asc first was starting, But That Does Not Mean You Can Ignore That They Happened. If you want the community you are apart of to not be perceived as jackasses you cannot Ignore The Hatred Towards Women And Disabled People That Festers Inside Of It. you don't need to write a 9000 page essay about it, that's not what i'm asking, you just need to be CONCIOUS of it okay that's it. also while thinking about this i thought of how i'd rewrite sunbeam and the third pov (which i'd give to sparkpelt) so if anyone wants to hear about that send me an ask i'll make another 4 paragraph post about it

#wc #wc spoilers #ray talk

[bensonsballerz]

i desperately want to die, a (wip) story of my oc, edith, and @tr85n's oc stella! in this, ive assumed stella is 16 and thus edith is 37. edith is also married to cj LOL

based on this post

Another day, another fight between Stella and Dad.

It was becoming routine, at this point; Stella and their father fight, and Stella goes to Edith’s house to get away from him. Edith hears from Stella all about how Dad “doesn’t understand her” and “he’s such an asshole,” while Edith hears from Dad over the phone about how Stella “is acting out” and “can you talk to her?” And every time, Edith tries to give her advice and thoughts to both parties, but to no avail; the cycle always repeats

It was occurring again. Edith gets a phone call from her little sister moodily asking to come over, and against her better judgment, she allows her to come over. Edith is mentally preparing for the repeated onslaught of insults against their father (she had said to respect him and not insult him, but it obviously didn’t work) when Stella walks in, using the spare key Edith gifted her. 

But something was different, and Edith could already begin to see what the problem was this time. Stella barely has a moment to step across the threshold before Edith is asking about it.

“What is that?” Edith gestures to her hoodie, eyebrows knitted in a puzzled and concerned frown. 

Stella follows the gesture towards her hoodie, a deep black color with white lettering on it, saying “I desperately wish to die,” with the second word being in a beautiful cursive that was unlike the grim phrase in question.

“Oh, this? It’s a hoodie,” the younger Dunwoody bluntly responds, smiling cheekily. Edith rolls her eyes in reply; either she would avoid the question or would too offensively face it. This was the latter

“I know that, Stella. I meant the design; why does it say… that?” 

Stella looks at her older sister with a smile, but it isn’t like her typical, cheery one: it’s one of melancholy and exhaustion.

“What if I have outgrown the pastels?” She answers vaguely, walking past Edith to go and find her usual spot on the couch next to her cat, Miso. “Pink’s not really my color anymore, sissy.” 

Frustration bubbles in Edith as she turns to face her sister, for she did not appreciate the tiptoeing around her question her sister was obviously doing. For a while now, Stella was moving away from pink towards the binary colors of black and… well, just black, actually. It didn’t alarm Edith as much as it alarmed their father. When Edith was a teenager, a lot of her peers dressed up in dark clothes and makeup; it was just something that they did. But the dark colors her little sister embraced instead of her usual pinks and yellows was not what was alarming Edith.

“I know that, too,” she repeats, walking towards Stella, who purposely was looking not at Edith, but at her cat, “I mean, why does it say that you want to die? Dad would never get that for you.” 

Stella, who has been petting Miso, pauses, a sad and almost guilty look on her face. Edith has gotten good at reading people and predicting their next move, but now? It was like her baby sister was a completely different person. 

A tension settles in Edith as a grave realization picks and prods at her brain. “Stella, where did you get your hoodie?” She purposefully phrases it so that Stella cannot wiggle her way out of the question, or offer a vague answer. 

Stella won’t look at her as she sinks deeper into the couch, hands now in her pockets and her teeth biting her lip. Unlike their father, Stella struggled more so to lie or talk back to Edith, for the latter found that being more direct and honest with her was better. And again, unlike their father, Stella could not fault Edith for any anger issues.

“I bought it,” she finally says, although it’s obvious to both of them that it’s a lie. 

Edith frowns and puts her hands on her hips, “You don’t have money.”

“I used my allowance.” 

“Dad doesn’t give you allowance.”

“Well, he-”

“Stella,” Edith firmly interrupts, arms now crossed, “you know I don’t like being lied to. So, tell me the truth: who gave you the hoodie?” 

Stella could say anything, at this point; a friend gave it to her, she found it, etc., because Edith already knew it came from that dumb wannabe emo shop, Carly’s. But nothing could prepare her for Stella’s actual response

“I stole it.” 

It comes out as a quiet mumble from Stella, who has somehow sunk deeper into the couch. It’s why Edith thinks she’s misheard her at first, although her eyes go wide regardless. 

“What?” 

“I said I stole it!” Stella says more clearly and loudly, almost shouting. Her voice and lip quivers, and the gumballs in her head begin growing scarlet. Edith can feel hers growing scarlet as well, completely baffled by the admission that Stella Gillian Dunwoody stole something. 

Edith, still in shock, mutters a “shit” under her breath as she runs a hand down her face; their father always emphasized to follow the rules to a T and to always respect and listen to those older than you, so there was no way in Heaven or Hell that Stella, nice and pure and wonderful Stella, would do this without consequence. 

“You what?” She replies in disbelief after a moment; now, Edith was now not only upset about the design of the hoodie, but now she was upset about how she got it. 

Stella scoffs and gets up from the couch and walks to the other side of the living room, now hugging herself. “What? Do you need to hear it again?” She says, defensively

“No, of course I don’t need to hear you again, Stella; I heard you very clearly,” she shot back, still trying to wrap her head around this entire situation. “I’m disappointed in you. I just- I don’t understand why you would steal such a thing.” Edith says it with an emphasis like it was a dirty word that would have the police come knocking on her door the second she uttered it. 

Stella scoffs like the reason was the most obvious thing in the world and, truth be told, it was. “Because I wanted it?” 

Edith still didn’t get it. She pinches the bridge of her nose and narrows her eyes; she’s going to need C.J.’s migraine pills after this. Despite her frustration and disappointment, though, she is more concerned with the answer she’s anticipating from her sister

“Why would you want that?” 

Stella doesn’t reply. Edith swallows a lump in her throat, lip trembling. Her voice grows more gentle. “Stella…”

With her back turned to her, Edith could only hear the beginning of Stella’s crying, her sniffles pulling at her. Even though Edith should still be angry, should still be firm, gaining a baby sister and watching her grow has made her grow soft. Marriage wouldn’t help that, either. Edith walks over to her, placing her hands on her shoulders and turning her around, although Stella’s gaze was focused on the floor

“I just- I thought it would maybe get Dad to… listen to me, or something… I asked him at the store for it, but he said the design was ‘ridiculous’ and that I shouldn’t wear it. So-So when I-I-” Her voice has grown more shaken and despairing; Stella wipes tears from her eyes that are beginning to spill. “So when I… took it and brought it home, he started getting really mad that I disobeyed him and-and took it, even though it’s not that big of a deal!”

So he knows that it was stolen

Stella’s voice is raised at the end, and now she’s crying full on. Edith can’t help but bring her into a hug, gently rubbing her back to try and relax her, but to also relax herself. So, she wants to… die? Her happy, bubbly little sister… She wanted to die, and that terrified Edith; she couldn’t fathom her life without her, the first 21 years of her life without her feeling only like a prequel to an amazing story.  She wants to begin by saying that it was a big deal and that theft was wrong but, surprisingly, the socially confused Edith knows even that wasn’t needed right now. C.J. would be proud of her, if she was here and not on a business trip.

#my post #edith dunwoody #stella dunwoody #regular show #regular show oc #wip

[despairforme]

hi toby! ive been a fan of your writing for a long time and the threads you had with your now deactivated partner, lexie, and i was wondering on why does nnoitra keep constantly thinking about grimmjow when nnoitra, himself, cheated on him and thinks that hes that deserving of having any form of relationship when he's a bad person. isn't he supposed to be this masculine guy that doesn't let stupid stuff get to him? wouldn't he just move on when grimmjow wants nothing to do with him? curious.

Ah, FUCK. He sure as shit didn't want to talk ( or think ) about this.

Isn't he supposed to be this masculine guy that doesn't let stupid stuff get to him?

Damn, he sure as hell wished things were that easy. If he could choose to NOT let stuff bother him, he'd have the best life ever. Unfortunately, he wasn't like that. He wasn't sure whether or not that had anything to do with his masculinity though. It wasn't like he was whining about his old relationship. He did think about Grimmjow quite a lot though, that was true. Was he not allowed to even think about him? His relationship with Grimmjow hadn't been some fling. It had been a deep, committed relationship. A connection that had lasted for many years. And Nnoitra had never loved ANYONE like he'd loved ( and, in a way, still loved ) Grimmjow.

First things first - the cheating.

Yeah, he'd cheated on Grimmjow, but that was not the full story. People usually said there was no excuse for cheating, and Nnoitra would agree. However, there was an explanation.

His relationship with Grimmjow had been falling apart. Not through arguments, but through a growing distance. Grimmjow had simply stopped giving him attention. Going without sex had been one thing ( Nnoitra had a huge sex drive, he needed to get laid ), but going without affection had been worse. Living with a person who didn't give him any attention what-so-ever. Feeling Grimmjow's love for him dwindle. Fade away. Nnoitra had ALWAYS feared that deep down, Grimmjow couldn't forgive him for what he'd done, and that that would eventually lead him to fall out of love with him. Having this fear unfold before him had been the worst. Nnoitra had never felt more unlovable than during those months. Yet, he'd held on. Hoping. That maybe Grimmjow would come back to him. Would look at him again. Touch him. Tell him: Sorry, I was going through something, but it's not your fault, I still love you. Of course, that didn't happen. It was just a fucking fantasy. OF COURSE Grimmjow would fall out of love with him. If he ever even loved him in the first place. Maybe their whole relationship was just built on Grimmjow trying to somehow cope with the trauma Nnoitra had caused him. Like a fucked up sort of Stockholm syndrome.

When Nnoitra had gotten a text from his ex, Kyota, asking to meet up, Nnoitra had hesitated. Even meeting up with Kyota while he was dating Grimmjow had felt wrong, but - in the end, he'd just NEEDED to see a friendly face. When he'd met up with Kyota at the bar, he hadn't had any plans of going to bed with him. Cheating on Grimmjow with Kyota hadn't been the plan.

But, when faced with Kyota's kindness, and the straight-forward invitation for a good fuck? Nnoitra hadn't resisted. He'd known he was throwing everything he had with Grimmjow away, and he'd chosen that. Just to feel close to someone. Just to feel good, for the first time in months.

He'd never told Grimmjow about the cheating, but maybe the other had figured it out somehow. In any case, one night Nnoitra had come home from work - Grimmjow had been gone. No goodbye. Nothing.

Why did his relationships always end with people leaving him without a word? Nnoitra had asked himself that many times. He wondered if the answer was that his partners were afraid of him. Maybe they were afraid he'd hurt them. Grimmjow had every reason to believe that, so Nnoitra couldn't blame him. Kyota too had left him like that. Without a word, even though Nnoitra had never hurt him. Perhaps he'd been able to see it anyway. See what kind of person Nnoitra was.

That was the story of how he'd cheated on Grimmjow. It wasn't like he'd excuse his behavior. However, he knew that if his relationship with Grimmjow had been good, he never would've done it.

Then, next - it was the matter of him thinking he was DESERVING of a relationship. This was simply not true. Nnoitra DIDN'T think he deserved to be loved. He knew he was a bad person. The worst kind of person, and there was no way he could ever hide that from anyone ( not that he even tried ). If someone managed to fall in love with him ( it could happen, since it had happened before ), they'd fall out of love with him when they saw his true self. There was only so long someone could lie to themselves about what Nnoitra was.

He didn't understand why this stranger thought he thought that he deserved a relationship. He WANTED one, sure. But that didn't mean he thought it was what he deserved. People usually didn't get what they deserved. They just got whatever random shit the universe decided for them. He'd pay for his sins when he died and ended up in hell. In the meantime... He sure would like to at least feel loved again. If only for a little bit.

Why was he so HUNG UP on Grimmjow? Why didn't he "just move on"? That sounded like some shit advice from someone who didn't understand. It was a cliche to say that, he supposed. He just didn't think that how things had turned out with Grimmjow could be classified as "stupid stuff". Stupid stuff was... When you dropped your phone, or someone gave you the wrong drink, or the bus didn't drop you off at your stop.

Having your fear of not being lovable confirmed by the person you loved the most in the entire world - that was not "stupid stuff". Moving past it wasn't that easy. ESPECIALLY when he hadn't gotten ANY sort of closure. It would've been easier if Grimmjow had broken up with him. Had told him everything straight out. Nnoitra would've preferred to hear him say: I DON'T LOVE YOU. Somehow, being left without a word was an even worse type of rejection.

It was unfair to say that he wasn't moving on at all, because - he was. He WAS looking ( though halfheartedly ) for a new partner. Be it a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Sure, he thought about Grimmjow from time to time, but not nearly as much as he had done a year ago. What was he supposed to do? Forget all about him? That wasn't happening. He'd known him since they were fifteen. How do you forget a person like that? He didn't even WANT to forget. He did want to move on though - or, to keep moving on. It was a process. It wasn't like stubbing your toe and "deciding to walk it off".

#[ 8)))))) ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANON ] #[ thank you so much for sending !!!!!!! i loved writing this as you can see i WENT OFF AHAHAHA ] #[ T - T thank you SO MUCH for sticking with my writing for that long omg ] #[ i'm so flattered and honored !!!! ] #[ hope this answers your questions t-t nnoitra did his best fjffjf ] #[ ALSO - it doesn't help him that he can't TALK to anyone about any of this ] #[ he has MAJOR self-worth issues and his break-up made everything A LOT worse ] #[ he absolutely knows he's a bad person and he doesn't think he deserves to be in a relationship ] #[ still he wants it tho t-t ] #[ he is not kind enough to want to spare others xDD ] #[ ANYWAYS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING AND FOR YOUR SUPPORT !!!! ] #despair for me. ╱ in character. #talking shit. ╱ answers. #burn the city. ╱ main verse. #longpost //

[powerpolyculeshowdown]

Bittersweet anon here, i hope this doesn't annoy you or is too long or anything and you don't have to post it if you don't want to but i just wanted to share my favorite bits of the threat with you because some parts of it made me think about our conversation about this whole thing:

"It is clear to everyone that this relationship is open to interpretations ranging from poly, to open with a +1, to platonic soul mates, etc right? And that this is left ambiguous due to the nature of the self-insert medium?" (this was a poll question he posted, where 98% of people answered yes and only 2% said no)

"I got a bunch of hate during Chapter 3 because I didn't explicitly state exactly what the relationship was, despite openly stating that any interpretation be it romantic, platonic, etc. was valid and welcome! No one was ever told no, or that they were wrong."

"These seemed to be people who were relatively new to my work, and(...) weren't there for the panic that swept through when Seth appeared and people thought Alphonse was going to break up with (listener), or that the relationship would change in a radical way."

"But damn, there were a few really loud folks during Chapter 3 that stole a lot of the joy from me during that time. Imagine telling a queer creator that they're baiting because they didn't pat your head and tell you you're the one true correct interpretation. Yikes!"

"It got to the point where I was questioning myself, wondering if I had drastically misjudged my audience and understanding of expectations. But...no, I think it was just a few people whose expectations from other creators didn't translate to how I do things."

"Which is fine, I don't want to appeal to everyone, and I create for me first and foremost. My art is for my joy, my story, my heart. But if you want to be a jerk about it, I will probably tell you to go fuck yourself moving forward."

"For those of you who have been supportive, voiced additional support in the face of the most bad faith shitty takes the fandom has ever seen, or just vibed in your own lane and enjoy my boys in peace...bless you. You keep me going. <3"

"It means a lot to me that interpretations like this exist and are valid. There's so many stories about jealousy and bitterness and miscommunication that would blow up a relationship like that. Sometimes it's nice that people can grow together and just be family!"

"I cross posted this on YouTube and got such a lovely response from the community there as well. Thank you all for the validation, I was really miserable after Chapter 3 wrapped but this comforts the hell outta me."

it doesnt annoy me at all!! to tell the truth i was worried about the author when you told me about the hate they got for choosing to keep it open. it's extremely frustrating to me that soany people target queer creators or queer media in general for not being what they personally consider Perfect, as if not fitting one specific mold makes it irredeemable fsr??

like ive seen ppl accuse media with a roch cast of queer characters where a few happened to die as "bury your gays trope" like no!! thats not how it works!! gay characters can die the problem is when you kill off your only rep!!

an auhor can leave something open to interpretation, especially smth like this where like the listener is a character and you're trying to make a large group comfortable, that's not baiting. the characters are even canonically gay and open to polyamory, like, someone's personal interpretation of the relationship status doesnt change that??

im happy to hear the author is feeling better now nd that they got support too! thanks for sharing these w me since i couldnt look at the thread on my phone, i appreciate it!! i might not be in the fandom but i do like when people tell me aboit the stuff they like so im always happy to listen when you send messages about bittersweet! (same goes for any other ask ive gotten that just wanted to talk about their beloveds!!)

#polyasks #not poll related #bittersweet yuurivoice

[mossymultiverse]

mossy log #13

so.... it's been a while.

i prommy im ok, just gonna start with that. i may have disappeared from the online world and from society a little bit, but no one in eterna really knew i "lived there" anyway, so im sure they didnt worry too much. and i certainly didnt disappear from the outside world, my companions have assured me of that.

we haven't quite finished construction, mainly bc we're goin as slow as we can On Purpose, but structurally, we're getting close. i.... i know i shouldnt try to move here full time. it wont work. it never does. but.... well, of my "secondary" homes, i think.... i think this one might be one of the closest. for one thing, it will (hopefully) stick around long after i leave, which is.... pretty unique among my homes. i do try to build them to last, but when im one of the only links holding it up.... but here, i know that there are so many different lines, a beautiful colorful web of strings crisscrossing all over the place, and even if they aren't directly connected to this base, the base still rests comfortably nestled in its silk. i.... that makes me happy, in a way im not sure i can properly describe.

anyway. i wont be changing my blog name, and i wont be fully vacating the old chateau either. the refuge might have been my idea, but its honestly more for zuko than me. and, of course, the other pokemon who live nearby.

speaking of zuko, and my other companions actually, theyve been.... really really happy to see me again. and, like. it makes sense. but it still always catches me off guard, for some reason. well, i know the reason. and its a frustratingly illogical one. but.... still.

and and. i dont think i mentioned this previously, or if i have i dont rember, because its been a long freakin time, but! the ghosties here are all so so nice. they play so carefully with zuko and phantump, and theyve definitely gotten rougher over time, but thats because theyve seen that my companions can take it. theyve learned how rough and how gentle they need to be and it just. idk. im Feeling abt it.

also, i should mention. i wasnt here The Whole Time i was offline. like, mentally, that is. physically, ive been here - tee was usually the one watching me, and ofc as the oldest the one who told the others i was ok - but mentally ive been wandering. i think one of the reasons im Feeling so much is. i wasnt just wandering to new places. i was wandering to old ones. *very* old ones, ones so old i didnt even use the same.... anyway.

if you want to hear any of these wandering stories, feel free to pester me. i cant guarantee you'll get an answer, but. youll never know if you dont ask.

#mossy log #again. not sure how long ill be Back. but for now.. enjoy! #[ ooc divider ] #and that applies to both ic and ooc

[bluegalaxygirl]

Hello again 😁!!

I don’t know if this is okay to ask, but would you be comfortable to share something about yourself? I could be anything as long as your comfortable with sharing it and it’s also okay if you don’t feel like answering this. I’d just like to get to know you a bit better since you seems to be such a beautiful person. 😊

Thank you for all your great One Piece stories!! They always make my day and help me get through them. ❤️

Thank you so much for all the love and support you and everyone else have been giving me, i'm happy to talk a bit about myself and I'll put a Trigger warning down bellow when i talk about some stuff. I don't mind talking about it since it was a long time ago and i hope it shows that others aren't alone. Also this is way longer than i thought it would be.

So first off i'm a very creative person i used to write a lot when i was in high school mainly because i have dyslexia (BTW why do they have to make it hard to spell) and it helped me a lot to understand words and spell. I remember when i was 13 i had the reading age of a 5-year old but thanks to one lady, i got up to my own age in reading in two years (Something my primary school refused to do). I do a lot of other creative stuff too like art, cross stitching, card making (I'm currently making Christmas cards for my family this year, its snow globe themed), jewelry making, sticker making and i'm trying to paint figures again. I

I also like to write how i want to be treated or how people should be treated while in a relationship, with love, respect, kindness and understanding. I wasn't treated like that in my past relationships, nothing bad happened and i wasn't abused but there were times when i would have to "Remind" them of my boundaries. That's also a big thing for me plus communication, if there's a problem or something is bothering you then it should be talked about so you can both understand and maybe figure out a solution. I find it funny how i love writing romance and stuff but i can't stand romance movies, i 1000% hate them, i just find them so annoying.

I love making people happy and i believe that if you are kind to others then they will be kind back but i'm also no longer a push over. If i don't like you then i won't talk to you. Family is very important to me but unfortunately there are members of my family that i can't stand for one reason or another and i won't talk to them as much but if i'm in a room with them i'm happy to be kind unless their not.

My favorite flowers are Sunflowers, there just so big and happy and come in different color's and shades. I love anime and playing video games, my favorite is watch dogs 2 but i also love the south park games. I love anything to do with autumn/fall, pumpkins (I love to help my mum make pumpkin soup and pumpkin pie), horror, maple leaves, cozy jumpers and socks, it's also the perfect time to start drinking hot chocolate. :)

TRIGGER WARNING AREA

You don't have to read through this part, its just explaining what iv been through and why i'm ok about writing stuff.

I was bullied all through primary school and all through high school, calling it hell would be an understatement, it didn't matter how nice i was or if i told a teacher it would still continue. I was spat at, called every name under the book, had my hair pulled, got kicked and pushed around and yet the teachers wouldn't do anything. When i was in primary school one of my bullies pushed me off a climbing set and i broke my wrist, she said it was an accident and the teachers believed her. My parents were constantly fighting the school, but they had an excuse for everything and i couldn't be moved form that school since it was way better than any of the others around (I would have gotten treated worse in any other school). In high school i was heavily sexualized by the boys, after years of bullying and getting no where with anyone you end up just shutting down and not saying anything, i went years without telling my parents anything or complaining to a teacher because it would go no where. My parents new something was going on but without me saying anything or any kind of evidence they couldn't confront the school.

When i was 14 i was sexually assaulted by a boy on school grounds (I found out when i was in collage my bullies told him to do it and one of them would sleep with him, and they did), I started talking to my parents again after that, and we got the police involved unfortunately it was my word against his because the bullies who where the only ones around said they didn't say anything (Even though they said to my face that they did and laughed about it) and the cameras in the area didn't work, i still don't know if that was the truth or not. I ended up getting yelled at by the headmistress for getting the police involved and then told me and the boy should sit down and talk about it. My parents went off on her after that and i feel so stupid because when they said they were moving me to another school i told them no. I wish i moved schools but the school i went too was the only one going Photography GCSE's and i wanted to be a photographer and my parents didn't fight me on it. Luckily things got better after that i think my bullies were to focused on getting a good grade than me but it didn't completely stop.

I worked hard though and passed all except one and got into collage where i did Photography for 2 years, i loved it so much and am so proud of myself for getting a very high grade despite falling very ill in the second year and hardly being able to attend classes but the teachers and staff there were amazing and gave me everything i needed. The first year i had some problems, me and the boy who assaulted me went to the same collage and lived in the same town, so we would get the same train i did, i tried to avoid him but i noticed he started sitting or standing close to me on and off the train. The first time i realized he was basically stalking me is when i got to the station and deliberately missed the train i was supposed to get, and he didn't get on when usually he would. The next time i got on the train and then got back off once he was on, and he left the train too. We got the railway police involved, but they said because he hasn't touched me there's nothing they could do, but they did give him a warning. That warning made everything worse though, he started following me to class even when i was with friends, he would stand right in front of me or right behind me if i was standing on the train, he even started to follow me home. Finally, the railway police gave him a restraining order and it all stopped thank gods.

I was too shy back then but after a lot of therapy and learning self defense i became more confident and able to stand up for myself, i still have my moments of going into my shell but i try to fight back with words if i can.