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#and i love him more than i love life itself
wires-and-hellfires · 19 hours
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Hi could you do Alastor x Vox's sister that's staying at the hotel. Vox didn't know they were in hell and they are not a tech demon like him if this makes any sense.
Vox only realized it was his sister because unlike her brother who's good with tech she opposite like the best equivalent comparison I can think of is someone who's so bad at cooking that they could burn water.
Sorry for the long request you dont have to do it if you don't want to
look at how well you took care of me
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Pairing: Alastor & fem! reader (queer-platonic), Vox & sister! reader
Description: Vox comes to the realization that he may have made a mistake... he can only hope it's not too late.
Warnings: The battle in episode 8, violence, murder, injuries, alcohol, Alastor as a warning in itself, Rosie being Rosie,
Author note: Hi hi! Thanks so much for the request!!! I don't write romantic relationships for Alastor, but I loved this idea so I hope a QPR is okay! The title is from "Whispers of Your Brother's Blood" btw. This was tons of fun to write and it kinda got away from me but hopefully it's okay.
Lemme know if y'all want a part 2 with a reunion!
Meeting Alastor was likely the best thing that happened in your entire life, including your time on Earth and in hell.
You weren't stupid. You knew how Alastor treated people, hell, how he used to treat you, and yet, somewhere along the way he showed you more kindness than anyone else.
You met through Rosie, which was likely the best way to come face-to-face with the radio demon.
Rosie found you when you first arrived in hell, and despite very obviously considering eating you, she saw potential of some sort. Perhaps it was your steady gaze or the way you gripped the broken glass in your bloody hand like a knife, but she took you in and showed you life in hell, even if you didn't share her... dietary choices.
When Alastor came for their weekly gossip session meeting, she introduced you two. At first, he seemed to disregard you. You didn't mind.
You did your best work behind the scenes anyhow.
Alastor mentioned a man from the Weapons District who had been speaking badly of Rosie, laughing that he was practically volunteering to be a guest on his broadcast. You could hear the static in his voice from your spot in an armchair across the room. He wasn't joking.
Which meant you had to act first.
Later that night, you bid farewell to Rosie with a smile, claiming you had errands to run, which to be fair, wasn't entirely untrue.
The man was easy to find thanks to Alastor's description. He reeked of cheap booze and tobacco, already drunk in the bar you tracked him to.
Sliding up to him with promises of "a good time" and more booze, he stumbled out of the bar after you, straight into the back alley.
He was dead within 10 minutes. A mugging gone wrong, they'd say.
How tragic.
During the next meeting between Alastor and Rosie, Alastor invited you to sit with them, much to Rosie's delight. And if his smile seemed a bit too knowing and he made a few jokes about drunks in dark alleys? Well, that could stay between the two of you.
And that's where it started.
Every visit, regardless of what you were doing, Alastor would ask if you'd like to join them. You three would chat over tea, sharing gossip and talking shit. You couldn't tell if he genuinely enjoyed your company or if he just found you entertaining, though you suspected those two things weren't too different with Alastor.
And when someone was a bit too careless with their opinion about Alastor in the bar you frequented one night? The radio demon didn't need to make an appearance, you would destroy that scum yourself-
The next day, Alastor paid you a visit personally.
In the parlour, he expressed an interest in your... skillset, laughing about how you worked in the darkness.
He offered you a deal for your soul.
Whatever care he had developed for you likely saved your life when you refused.
"Partners or nothing," you had offered. When his grin sharpened, you knew he was intrigued.
He was the flashy showman, broadcasting the screams of overlords and inspiring fear across all of hell.
And you?
You were the shadow on the wall, charming those who would be too stubborn or too afraid to usually talk, convincing them to give away the information you needed to build your empire further.
Those who knew of your existence understood the consequences of speaking out. The radio demon didn't take well to those who threatened you.
In a dangerously comforting way, it all felt far too close to your life on earth. Sure, you weren't killing nearly as much back then, but flirting for information, gathering secrets and destroying those who opposed you or those close to you?
Yeah, that was familiar.
Your brother would be proud, you thought.
Or maybe he'd be just as unappreciative as he was in life.
Half a decade at Alastor's side, the two of you taking the phrase "partners in crime" very literally.
As a show of trust, he once allowed you to help with a broadcast, as long as you promised to keep quiet. Admittedly, he quickly discovered your... less-than-ideal skills with technology, but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.
You relied on one another. You leaned on him and he would lean back.
And then he disappeared.
No goodbye, no warning at all, not even a body.
Just... gone.
After five years, you moved into an apartment in Cannibal Town, further isolating yourself. Finding work wasn't difficult, but you refused to use your skills for just anyone, and there were few people you trusted more than Rosie.
You arrived late one night, two years into working with Rosie. Setting the keys down on the counter, the dull buzz of static spread through the room.
Alastor was holding you before you even hit the ground, legs giving out in relief.
And yes, he wasn't the most physically affectionate demon, but for you?
For you, he could make an exception.
The hotel could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he had apologies to make and a partner to comfort.
The next day, after Alastor pitched his ideal to the princess of hell, he brought in Niffty, Husk and you as help, and if everyone thought you were a soul under his command, well, it was easier that way.
However much you didn't want to admit it, you grew to care for everyone. Losing at cards with Husk, cooking lessons with Angel, sparing with Vaggie, watching musicals with Charlie, crafts with Niffty, failing at inventing with Sir Pentious...
And doing absolutely everything with Alastor. After his reappearance, you were reluctant to let him out of your sight, and the radio demon was all too willing to keep you close, even if Husk seemed concerned over it.
Which was probably why when Alastor tried to get you to leave during the night before the battle, you refused.
You could tell his desperation to keep you safe drive you out of the hotel by the static in his voice, his subtle requests turning to false threats and finally a plea that neither of you would admit to leaving his mouth.
"I'm a lot of terrible things, Alastor, but I am not disloyal. I will stand tomorrow with you and everyone else. You're not leaving me again."
And for the first time that you've met him, he lets it go. No further bargaining or attempts to trap you, just a sigh and "Whatever you want, my dear," with a tighter smile than usual.
The next day, everything goes to shit.
Alastor and Adam are fighting, with Alastor firmly kicking his ass.
Then Sir General Pentious yells to unjam a cannon near you, and while pushing random buttons and gesturing angrily, you scream, "I don't know how to use this shit!"
You don't see the VoxTech drone nearby recording everything for the Vee's future entertainment.
With your back turned, you cry out at the feeling of a spear slicing across your back.
The pain of the blow sends you stumbling forward into the side of the cannon, causing it to finally go off, turning the angel behind you into pieces.
The force behind the machine sent you crashing into the wall of the hotel next to Angel, who turned to you in shock.
At the sound of your pain, Alastor's focus breaks for only a second.
It's enough for Adam to gain the upper hand, breaking his staff in two and sending him to the ground.
As he fades into the shadows, he focuses on your energy signature and pulls you into the darkness alongside him.
Across hell, at the top of V Tower, Vox swore wildly at the screen.
What a fucking coward!
Alastor running away to die off camera had to be the biggest disappointment in his entire afterlife.
Scratch that, second biggest disappointment. Still a pretty big bummer though.
Saving the other views of the battle for later inspection, he and the other Vee's watched as Lucifer slammed Adam into the dirt in delight.
It was 3 hours after the extermination was cancelled that he found the footage of you and the cannon. Of you hitting the wall and disappearing, but you're not dead, you can't be dead oh please not again-
How long have you been in hell? He assumed that you had been killed permanently before he arrived in hell after you, or maybe you'd even been sent to heaven, despite your sins. If anyone deserved to be forgiven, it was you.
But no, no no- You'd been here, the whole time, in that stupid hotel with fucking Alastor-
Vox's fans speed up in an attempt to keep his whole system from crashing.
Your appearance had changed, sure, but he would recognize the sight of you cussing our technology anywhere.
He would recognize his little sister anywhere, even in death.
This was all his fault.
You and Vox grew up close. Always the two of you, there could be no one else, the sheltering of your parents ensured that.
Over time, Vox's mastery of technology grew, and so did his influence. When he needed someone he could trust to keep things clean and running in the background, you were the obvious choice.
He took you for granted, Vox knew that now. You had argued about something stupid before a job one night, he couldn't even remember what he said, only that he went too far. When you left to go speak to do some "clean up", he resolved to properly apologize for once. And to say thank you. He wouldn't forget this time.
But you never came back.
You were found shot dead in an alleyway by a couple of employees from a nearby bar later that night.
Did Vox send you on a job that was too much for you? Were you distracted from the argument?
Either way, it was his fault you were dead. His fault the one person he loved, his baby sister, lay in a casket.
It didn't take long for him to get put into the ground himself.
Arriving in hell felt like a second chance. He would find you and everything would be alright again.
And yet, you were nowhere to be seen.
The drones around the hotel (or what was left of it) circled, scanning for a sign that you were there. That his ignorance hadn't killed you for a second time.
On the screens, the clean-up of the rubble continued.
Vox twitched.
Vox hadn't prayed since he was a child in the front pews of the neighbourhood church. Back when purity was still an option and repentance was unnecessary.
Now, he didn't know who he was pleading to. Does God listen when demons pray?
Please. Please, let her live. Let Alastor have saved her. Let me make this right.
Please.
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toby smut w a female/gn reader? maybeeee some dom toby?
Gender Neutral with this one, and I did do dom Toby, but I wanted to try something different. Hope you enjoy!
As I've said a lot before, Toby tends to want to be the more submissive one in your relationship. I think this is because usually, the main times he's open to sex are the few times when he's actually feeling happy and bubbly, and not when he's normally feeling cold and emotionless. However, the few times that he's interested in sex with you when he's feeling like his usual colder self, that's typically when he's going to be the one domming and taking charge during sex. It doesn't happen very frequently, but every now and then he just feels the need to take control of you and blow off some steam in a non-destructive manner, which presents itself in the form of fucking you into oblivion. 
Toby tends to be a lot quieter in situations like this. Normally when he's submissive he's constantly making noise, whether it's whines, moans, or just constant word babbling, something is coming out of his mouth. When he's domming you, though, he's a lot more observational than he is reactional. He watches you closely as he touches you, watching your face as he strokes you in all the right areas, when he starts to slide his fingers into you, when he starts to spread you open with them, when he presses his mouth to you and begins to explore you in all the places he knows you love. Every touch is much more intentional and focused than when he's submissive, and the only time he makes any noise is if he's asking you if what he's doing feels good, if it's okay for him to do something, or when he's praising you for how good you're being for him. His voice is colder and more monotone than normal, but when you look into his eyes you can still see those bright hints of love in his eyes. 
At least, until he finally gets on top of you and slides his dick inside of you once you're finally warmed up and prepared to take it. He looks down at you with eyes filled with lust and control, and it's like a totally different beast from how he normally is. When he's submissive, he fucks you gently, he makes love to you passionately and tenderly. When he's dominant, he fucks you so hard the bed is shaking and the headboard is bashing into the wall, so hard your body jolts with every thrust and you barely have time to catch your breath, the echoes of skin slapping against skin echoing loudly throughout the room. It's almost animalistic how he fucks you, pushing your legs to your chest and hammering away as if it's his life purpose. You can also expect yourself to be covered in markings from head to toe, as Toby will leave bitemarks and hickeys across nearly every inch of your skin, growling and groaning into you as he does so. 
When he praises you when he's on top of you it almost feels like he's mocking you, but you know better, you can tell from the way he tenderly holds and squeezes your legs, a stark contrast from the force of his hips ramming into you. When he cums, he cums inside you and he cums hard. His body shakes and he nearly collapses onto you, holding you close and pressing reverent kisses to you, making sure you're alright. He'll lay there with you, holding you and reassuring you, pressing delicate kisses to your marred skin, at least until he's ready for round two and the process repeats itself, as dominant Toby also tends to have much more stamina and lust overwhelming him. Your body is going to be incredibly sore and worn out by the time he's finally finished with you, but he'll always clean you up and patch up any particularly bad markings he might have left on you, getting you a warm cup of hot chocolate and some snacks afterward. Again, a very, very stark contrast from the man that just roughly fucked you so hard for so many rounds that you can't move or feel your legs anymore.
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loserlvrss · 2 days
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꒰ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ꒱ 이찬영
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summary : you and anton had a lot of memories attached to seemingly meaningless songs
genre : fluff, anton x afab!reader, drabble, established relationship tws : pet names, kiss author notes : i love my man (this is not proofread at all) word count : 0.7k
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the atmosphere was dim, romantic even, as the music wafted through the air. you reminisced about the song, imagining your boyfriends hands on your waist swaying you gently. you imagined the love-sick look in his eyes as he finally leaned in, kissing you for the first time.
"are you okay? do you not like this song? i can put on —"
"no!" you blurted, features pink. you further approached him, laptop set against his legs as he scrolled with two fingers on the touchpad. "it's the song you first kissed me to, anton, i love this song."
he laughed quietly, "do you remember this one then?" he asked, looking up at your standing position.
you heard the familiar intro, laughing out as the memories started flashing behind your eyelids; a rainy night when you and anton had decided to try baking together — the spoiler was that it didn't go well, and you ended up walking to the nearby convenience store for ice cream.
you pointed an accusing finger, "if you hadn't distracted me, it wouldn't have burnt!"
he gave you his signature shy expression, which contradicted his bold words, "you're easy to distract though, y/n."
your eyes narrowed, you hummed in disbelief, remembering a couple specific memories where anton was more than distracted by you, "i won't say what just came to mind, baby."
he started playing another song, one that happen to be playing when those memories occurred. you couldn't help the laugh that escaped your lips; a laugh that was absentmindedly directed at your boyfriend. however, he knew it just as well, too.
anton decided he had enough of your mocking, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down onto the couch next to him. contrary to his desire, you were still giggling.
you pointed at the screen again, "this one always reminds me of you and the boys."
he smiled, and you rested your head against his broad shoulder, "this one reminds me of you, i always have to add it to my playlists."
you lifted your head silently, staring at his side-profile. your lips pouted, and you don't know why you wanted to start crying.
his face turned to you, lips only inches apart, "what?"
"that's the cutest thing I've ever heard."
"it was my most played last year." he admitted.
you felt your heart pound against its confines, looking into the eyes that always gave you comfort. you knew anton owned all of you; your heart was his, and his yours. you loved him more than the earth itself. more than life itself. you found it cliche at first, how you thought you couldn't live without him, however, it was true. you didn't know what you'd do without him. he was your peace of mind. your safe place. your home. the person you knew was always on your side. and all the memories attached to mediocre songs only confirmed it.
sweetly, you pressed your lips to his, letting the feeling linger. your breathing was in synch. your heart beat was in synch. your love for one another was in synch. you never had to give each other reassurance anymore because nothing was up for debate. he was your perfect person, and there's no one else you'd rather spend your time with.
anton pulled back, whispering so melodically against the music in the air, "i love you, y/n."
and another memory attached itself to a song that meant nothing to anyone else, but everything to you.
you pecked his lips quickly, a smile plastering your features — skin still tinted pink from everything.
"i know," you replied, looking down at the screen and choosing a different song, one he could attach to you. one that you could deem yours. one that you've always known had a special place in your heart. "i love you, more."
he felt his heart start beating, palms sweating, and skin tinting to match your shade. he'd never heard those words from you despite knowing they were true.
he switched the song, "not possible, baby." he joked, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers with his, and you smiled, squeezing it comfortably.
eventually, your head made its way back onto his shoulder, and throughout the rest of the night you both took turns picking songs that had memories attached to them, giggling and relishing in the tenderness that a seemingly simple thing could bring you.
if this was the little life people were talking about, maybe you didn’t mind it after all.
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reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!
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hihomeghere · 22 hours
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Dreams | Arthur Morgan/Reader
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Word Count : 1.1k Summary : Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you Warnings/tags : Cursing, fluff, mention of infidelity, just Arthur being a sweet guy <3
He knows he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t be having these thoughts, because all they are just dreams. They’re never going to become a reality. Not when they’re constantly on the move, running from place to place. He sees the way it affects Jack, poor kid, not knowing what the hell is going on. And his daddy doesn’t exactly help him understand. 
He can’t even say he would be a better father, he wasn’t before. 
Hell you two ain’t even married yet, and he’s not that much of a fool. Not anymore. His regret for not marrying Eliza weighs heavily on him most days, even if he didn’t love her in that way. Now you on the other hand, he loves you more than anything. More than this stupid gang, more than life itself. He would happily lay down his life if he knew you would be happy, safe. 
When these thoughts enter his head, he can’t say. His days sort of blend together, making it hard to pinpoint. Although seeing you interact with Jack doesn’t help. 
You are so sweet, so motherly, hell you even mother the younger folks in the gang. Soft touches, kind words, but internally strong. You have all the qualities he finds attractive in a woman. Somehow you fell for him just as hard as he fell for you. 
But he ain’t a fool, he knows this ain’t the right time or place. So instead he writes down all these dreams in his journal, his safe place. The place where he can say anything without being judged. He dreams of little girls, he didn’t know how to interact with Isaac. Too afraid of being his own father. Girls seem less daunting, and a little you would be perfect. He already has one angel, what’s one more?
He comes up with the name while north of Brandywine Drop. The bright purple flowers caught his eye just off the trail.
Violet.
Violet Beatrice Morgan.
His heart sings, scribbling the name down in the margins of his journal. He finds himself writing VM in his journal, smiling foolishly to himself. It’s beautiful, his precious flower. 
It’s not like you meant to snoop. You were looking for Arthur, since he was nowhere to be found. You entered his tent, which in reality wasn’t much of a tent at all, finding his journal open. You walked over to it, looking over the worn page. There were the normal doodles he drew, along with his flowing hand writing. But one thing stood out to you, a pair of initials circled by hearts. VM.
You furrowed your brows, you couldn’t think of anyone you knew with the initials VM. Those definitely weren’t your initials either. 
With your curiosity peaked you flipped through a couple more pages. VM was written everywhere, along with those damn little hearts. 
You felt that green little monster grow inside you the further you looked into his journal. Biting your cheek so hard you could taste blood. It did nothing to quench the fire inside of you. 
“Darlin?” Arthur called walking into the so-called tent. You dropped the journal back onto the table, turning to face him. “There you are.” He grinned walking towards you.
“Here I am.” You said forcing a smile.
“Hosea said you were looking for me.” He said softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "Anything you need?”
“Must have forgot.” You said with a noncommittal shrug, “I ought to get back to work.” You nod walking past him. Arthur furrowed his brow at your attitude. Did he say something to offend you?
Then his eyes fall onto his open journal. His stomach drops at the sight. Jesus, you saw. You saw all of it. You were probably thinking the worst, seeing the initial surrounded by hearts. How was he gonna fix this?
You stomped off to the edge of camp, trying to wrack your brain as to who this VM could be. And why was Arthur drawing hearts beside the initials? Maybe you had this all wrong, Arthur would never do anything to hurt you. He was a good man, a man you could trust. Wasn't he?
“Y/n!” He called trailing behind you, a crestfallen expression on his face. You stopped at the tree lining, biting your lip as you turned to face him. “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I-“ He sighed looking down, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a low curse. 
“Who is she?” You asked clenching your jaw. He furrowed his brows looking up at you.
“What?” He asked, his hands settling on his hips.
“VM, the girl you keep drawing hearts around. Who is she?” You were blunt, something he loved so much. Always telling it like it is, never leaving him to guess your feelings. A small smile spread on his face, which only made you more mad. “Seriously, you think this is funny?” You hissed, taking a step towards him. Arthur only had one choice, to tell you the truth. 
“Violet.” He said softly, reaching for you. “Violet Morgan.” You let him wrap his hand around your forearm, pulling you close to his chest.
“Who is Violet Morgan?” You asked, swallowing thickly. He sighed, looking off to the side, wetting his lips.
“She’s uh-“ He shook his head, a nervous smile on his lips. “She’s not exactly real, not yet at least.” He said. 
You shook your head, brows knitted together, “Not real? The hell you mean, not real?”
“I-“ He rubbed the back of his neck looking down, “It’s uh- shit.”
“Spit it out Morgan.” You huff throwing your arms up. 
“I thought of a name,” He explained, “A name for a girl if we- if we have one some day.” He said with a shrug, his cheeks flushed, almost as though he had been in a scuffle. 
Oh.
If we have one some day. 
“Oh Arthur.” You said softly, a smile spreading across your face. Feeling suddenly very foolish for doubting your man. “That's so sweet.” You took a step forward, tilting his face up to look at you. 
“Yeah?” He asked, looping his fingers in his gun belt. 
“Yeah.” You repeated, nodding. “Jesus you had me scared you were gonna tell me you found someone else.” You chuckled, shaking your head.
“Never. There ain’t no one else in this goddamn world that could replace you.” He said his hand reached up to cup your face. “You’re uh- you’re it for me darlin.” His bright blue eyes peered into yours, love and affection pouring out in his expression. “When we have our girl.” You said brushing away a stray strand of honey brown hair, “Violet will be a perfect name.” He grinned, wrapping a hand around your waist.
“Guess it’s settled then.” He said as he leaned down to press his lips against yours.
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andy-15-07 · 2 days
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Midnight Revelations
masterlist ! pairing Drew Starkey x reader
summary: Drew and Y/n are sleeping together for the first time
Outer Banks Masterlist
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In the dimly lit bedroom, shadows danced across the walls as the moon peeked through the curtains. Drew lay beside you, his breaths steady and deep. The air was thick with anticipation, the electricity between you palpable. It was a moment you had both been yearning for, a culmination of unspoken desires and lingering glances.
You shifted closer, the warmth of his body drawing you in like a magnet. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. His heartbeat echoed in your ears, matching the rhythm of your own racing pulse.
"Are you sure about this?" Drew's voice was a whisper, laced with uncertainty.
You lifted your gaze to meet his, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
A flicker of emotion crossed Drew's face before he leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It was soft and tentative at first, a gentle exploration of newfound territory. But as the seconds stretched into minutes, the kiss deepened, igniting a fire that burned between you.
Clothes became a hindrance, discarded in a haphazard pile on the floor as skin met skin. There were no words, only the symphony of sighs and whispers that filled the room. Every touch, every caress was a revelation, each sensation more intoxicating than the last.
Drew's hands roamed freely, mapping the curves of your body as if committing them to memory. His touch was both reverent and possessive, a silent declaration of his desire for you. And as you surrendered to him completely, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you, freeing you from the constraints of doubt and fear.
In the darkness, you found solace in each other, two souls intertwined in a dance as old as time itself. And as the night stretched on, time seemed to stand still, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.
"I love you," Drew whispered against your skin, his words a promise etched into the very fabric of your being.
Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion that surged within you. "I love you too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.
In that moment, as the world outside faded into insignificance, you knew that you had found something truly special. It wasn't just about physical intimacy, but a connection that transcended the boundaries of the physical realm. It was a bond forged in the fires of passion and tempered by the trials of life.
As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, you lay tangled together in a cocoon of warmth and love. And as you drifted off to sleep, you knew that this was only the beginning of a journey that would last a lifetime.
In the quiet stillness of the morning, you found peace in each other's arms, knowing that no matter what the future held, you would face it together, hand in hand, heart to heart.
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The Crow Road by Iain Banks
I finished The Crow Road and had a little time to think about it. I'll put my thoughts under a Keep Reading in case anyone is trying to avoid spoilers.
As I speculated before, I think it's likely that The Crow Road is more related to Good Omens in philosophy than in plot. I mean, it's not that the plots necessarily have nothing in common, and we could be very surprised in the end of course, but now that I've read the whole book, its philosophical commonalities with GO are both apparent and kind of inspiring. Also, if I were a writer, I'd be more interested in dropping hints about what themes are important than telegraphing my whole plot ahead of time.
So here, I will describe the book and point out themes that I believe may reappear in Good Omens 3.
This is a long post. If you read it, make a cup of [beverage of choice].
Below are mentions of suicide, death/murder, and sexual acts.
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The Crow Road centers around a character named Prentice McHoan, a university student in Scotland who starts to sort out his complicated relationship with his complicated family as he explores the mystery of his uncle Rory's disappearance. Although the book is mostly from Prentice's perspective, the narration jumps around in time with the McHoan family. There are quite a lot of important characters to keep track of; the bare-bones summary I put below doesn't even include some of the important ones. I wanted to make the summary even shorter and simpler than this, but the truth is that this book is not short or simple, and if I made the summary any simpler, it might be downright misleading.
There are at least three major cultural aspects of The Crow Road that I am inexperienced with: the overall culture in the 1950s-1980s (I was born in 1988, so of course wasn't here for the relevant decades), the international experience of the Gulf War (again, born in 1988), and the history and culture of Scotland itself (I'm USAmerican with only reading as a source). As a result, I'm sure there are important dimensions to the book that I've missed. If someone has a different perspective taking some of these things into account, I'd love to know about it.
Also, keep in mind, there is a great deal of descriptive writing in this book. There are a lot of pages about the geography of Scotland, and about Prentice as a kid, and about Prentice's father and uncles hanging out together in their youth, and about various family incidents, and about Prentice spending time with his brothers and friends. At first, these passages seem to just make things more confusing, and in my head, I accused them of being "filler." But they definitely serve a purpose. They're a way of showing and not telling the characters' attitudes and relationships to each other. More importantly, because we get to actually live these experiences with the characters, they are what give all the plot points below their deeper emotional impacts. In other words, the everyday experiences give the plot its deeper meaning. They resonate with one of the core themes in the novel: that our experiences in life, rather than any supposed existence after death, are what matters.
The Crow Road's story is like this:
Prentice is rather directionless in life, and he seems to have trouble investing any energy in his own future as he moons over his unrequited feelings for an idealized young woman named Verity. Soon, Verity ends up in a romance with Prentice's brother, Lewis, and Prentice feels that Lewis "stole" her from him. Prentice has also become estranged from his father, Kenneth, over spirituality. Prentice believes there has to be something more after death because he feels it would be incredibly unfair if people didn't get anything other than this one life; Kenneth is not only a passionate atheist, but is offended by the notion of an afterlife.
Prentice's uncle Hamish, Kenneth's brother, has always been religious, although his religion involves a number of bizarre and offbeat ideas of his own, with inspiration from more traditional Christian notions. Prentice is not really sure about this ideology, but he's willing to talk to Hamish about it and even participates during Hamish's prayers, whereas Kenneth is openly scornful of Hamish's beliefs. Hamish interprets this as Prentice being on "his side."
Prentice has a few opportunities to go back and talk to his father, and is begged to do so by his mom, Mary, with whom his relationship is still good. Mary doesn't want either of the men to give up their inner ideas about the universe; she just wants them to agree to disagree and move on as a family. Prentice says he will visit, but he just keeps putting it off and off and off.
Prentice acquires a folder containing some of his missing uncle Rory's notes in the process of hooking up with Rory's former girlfriend, Janice Rae, who seems to have taken a shine to Prentice because he reminds her of Rory. Using the contents of the folder, Prentice wants to piece together the great literary work that Rory left unfinished, which Rory titled Crow Road; however, it becomes apparent that Rory didn't turn his concepts into anything substantial and only had a bunch of disconnected notes and ideas. He hadn't even decided whether Crow Road would be a novel, a play, or something else. The few bits of Rory's poetry for Crow Road read are bleak and depressing.
Prentice also spends a lot of time with a young woman named Ash. They've been good friends since childhood and seem to have a somewhat flirtatious dynamic now, but they aren't in a romantic relationship; mostly, they drink and hang out together. Ash tells Prentice bluntly to get his life back on track when she finds out he's failing at school, avoiding his family, and engaging in shoplifting. She is a voice of reason, and when Prentice insists to her that he's just a failure, she reminds him that actually, he's just a kid.
Prentice's efforts to figure out Rory's story or location stagnate, and he continues to fail at school and avoid his father. He then receives word that Kenneth was killed while debating faith with Hamish. In fact, Kenneth dies after a fall from a church lightning rod, which he was climbing in an act of defiance against Hamish's philosophy when it was struck by lightning; Hamish is convinced that Kenneth had incurred God's wrath. Ash is there for support when Prentice finds out about the death.
With Ash's help, Prentice returns to his hometown again to help manage Kenneth's affairs. Prentice speaks with a very shaken Hamish, who is handling Kenneth's death with extreme drama and making it all about his own feelings. Hamish tells Prentice that Kenneth was jealous that Prentice shared more in common with Hamish's faith than with Kenneth's lack of faith. However, this isn't really true, and as he contemplates his father's death, Prentice begins to internalize one of the last things Hamish reported that Kenneth had argued: "All the gods are false. Faith itself is idolatry."
As the chapters go on, Prentice is compelled by some of the meaningful items related to Rory that he discovers in his father's belongings. He gains a renewed sense of purpose trying to solve the mystery of where Rory went and what happened to him. Among the interesting items are an ancient computer disk of Rory's that Prentice can't access with any equipment he can find; Ash uses her connections in the US and Canada to find a computer expert who can finally open the files on it. This takes quite a while, since the disk has to be mailed and Ash's connection is investigating the disk only in his free time.
Prentice also discovers that his feelings for Verity have changed. He no longer feels angry with Lewis for "stealing her." At first, Prentice's narration describes this as his feelings "cooling" as a result of the trauma of losing his father, but interestingly, this soon means Prentice gets to know Verity as a sister-in-law without getting caught up in jealous romantic feelings. Verity gets along well with the family, and Prentice is actually happy to discover that she and Lewis have a baby on the way. Prentice's relationship with Lewis improves greatly as well, partly because he is no longer jealous and partly because he realizes he does not want to lose Lewis, too.
Ash's connection who was looking at Rory's computer disk comes through and sends the printed contents of the files to Prentice. The files reveal to him that Rory likely knew Prentice's uncle, Ferg, murdered his wife by unbuckling her seat belt and crashing their car. Rory had written out a fictional version of events and considered using it in Crow Road. I'm not clear on exactly how certain Rory was about Ferg's crime, or whether Rory would have intentionally reported Ferg, or whether Rory even had enough proof to publicly accuse Ferg of murder, but people would likely have connected the dots in Rory's work and become suspicious of Ferg. For this reason, Prentice believes Ferg murdered Rory as well.
Prentice confronts Ferg. He doesn't get a confession and leaves Ferg's home with no concrete proof of anything; Ferg denies it all. But Prentice is soon physically assaulted in the night, and it seems Ferg was almost certainly the culprit, because he hadn't been home that same night, and he had injuries (probably from being fought off) the next day. A day or two later, Ferg's body is found unconscious in the cockpit of a plane, which crashes into the ocean. It's uncertain whether this was a suicide, but Prentice suspects it was. Rory's body is then soon recovered from the bottom of a waterway near Prentice's home, where Ferg had sunk it years ago.
As the mysteries are solved, Prentice realizes his feelings for Ash are romantic love. However, it's too late, he thinks, because Ash is about to take a job in Canada, where she may or may not stay. Prentice also hesitates to approach her because he's embarrassed about his previous behavior, venting all his angst about Verity and his father. He isn't sure she would even want to be in a relationship with him after that. But the very night before Ash leaves, she kisses Prentice on the cheek, which leads to a deeper kiss. They finally connect, have sex, and confess their mutual feelings. Ash still goes to her job in Canada, but says she'll come back when Prentice is done with his studies that summer.
The relationship's future is somewhat uncertain because something could come up while Ash is in Canada, but Prentice is hopeful. The book ends with Prentice getting ready to graduate with his grades on track as a history scholar, fully renouncing his belief in an afterlife while he acknowledges the inherent importance of our experiences in our lives now, and enjoying his time with Lewis and Verity and his other family members.
What's the point of all these hundreds of pages?
Well, look at all of the above; there's definitely more than one point. But the main point I took away is that we get this one life, with our loved ones in this world here and now, and this is where we make our meanings. There is no other meaning, but that doesn't mean there's no meaning at all. It means the meaning is here.
It's not death that gives life its meaning. It's the things we do while alive that give life its deeper meaning.
The Crow Road is described (on Wikipedia) as a Bildungsroman, a story focusing on the moral and philosophical growth and change of its main character as they transition from childhood to adulthood ("coming-of-age novel" is a similar term that is interchangeable, but more vague and not necessarily focused on morality/philosophy). And, indeed, all of the plots ultimately tie into Prentice's changed philosophy.
After his argument with Kenneth, Prentice feels childish and humiliated, and as a result, he refuses to go back home, which leads to a spiral of shame and depression. Kenneth dies and Prentice realizes it's too late to repair the relationship, which also leads him to realize it's what we do in life that matters, and that therefore, his father's argument was correct after all.
At the end of the novel, Prentice outright describes his new philosophy. However, I can't recall one specific passage where Prentice describes the process of how he changed his mind (if anyone else can remember something I missed, do let me know). There is, however, a moment when his narration indicates that Hamish seems less disturbed by his own part in the incident that led to Kenneth's death and more disturbed by the notion that his beliefs might actually be true: there might actually be an angry, vengeful God. In other words, Hamish's philosophy was selfish at its core.
My interpretation is that when his father died, Prentice realized three things: how utterly self-serving Hamish's devout faith is, how Kenneth's untimely death proves the importance of working things out now rather than in an imaginary afterlife, and how much profound meaning Kenneth had left behind despite having no faith at all. After these realizations, a determined belief in an afterlife no longer makes our lives here more profound like Prentice once thought it did.
Also, it's worth noting that this incident changes Prentice's idea of partnership, too. He loses interest in this distant, idealized woman he's been after. In love as in the rest of life, Prentice lets go of his ideals, and in doing so, he makes room for true meaning, both in a sincere familial, platonic connection with Verity and a sincere intimate, romantic connection with Ash.
But what about the sex scene?!
Yes, indeed, at the tail end of the story, Prentice and Ash have sex and admit they want to be in a relationship together. Prentice's narration describes them sleeping together and having intercourse not just once, but many times, including some slow and relaxed couplings during which they flex the muscles in their private parts to spell out "I.L.Y." and "I.L.Y.T." to each other in Morse code. This is relevant because earlier, they had been surprised and delighted to discover that they both knew Morse code; it isn't a detail that came from nowhere.
I didn't get the impression that this scene was trying to be especially titillating to the reader. It was mostly just a list of stuff the characters did together. I felt the point was that they were still anxious about being emotionally honest, a little desperate to convey their feelings without having to speak them out loud, and awkward in a way that made it obvious that their primary concern was the feelings, not the sexual performance. They cared about each other, but they weren't trying to be impressive or put on a show; contrast this with previous scenes where Prentice would act like a clown in front of Ash to diffuse his own anxiety. I've always thought that being able to have awkward sex and still enjoy it is a good sign.
Okay, so what does this all have to do with Good Omens?
Here's where I have to get especially interpretive. I'm doing my best, but of course, not everyone reading this will have the same perspective on Good Omens, the Final Fifteen especially. I believe similar themes are going to resonate between The Crow Road and Good Omens regardless of our particular interpretations of the characters' behavior and motivations, but I suppose it could hit differently for some people.
The TL;DR: I see similar themes between The Crow Road and Good Omens in:
The importance of mortal life on Earth
Meaning (or purpose) as something that we create as we live, not something that is handed to us by a supreme being
Sincere connection and love/passion (for people, causes, arts, life's work, etc) as a type of meaning/purpose
Relationships as reflections of philosophy
The dual nature of humanity
Life on Earth as the important part of existence is a core theme in Good Omens, and has been since the very beginning. We all already know Adam chose to preserve the world as it already is because he figured this out, and we all already know Aziraphale and Crowley have been shaped for the better by their experiences on Earth. But Good Omens isn't done with this theme by a long shot. I think this is the most important thematic commonality Good Omens will have with The Crow Road. Closely related is the notion that we create our meanings as we live, rather than having them handed to us. Isn't this, in a way, what Aziraphale struggles with in A Companion to Owls? He's been given this meaning, this identity, that doesn't fit him. But does he have anything else to be? Not yet.
Partnerships as a parallel to the characters' philosophical development also resonates as a commonality that The Crow Road may have with Good Omens. Prentice's obsession with Verity goes away when he starts to embrace the importance of life on Earth and makes room for his sincere relationship with Ash. Note their names: "Verity" is truth, an ideal Prentice's father instills in him; "Ashley" means "dweller in the ash tree meadow" in Anglo-Saxon, according to Wikipedia, and "ash" is one of the things people return to after death. Prentice literally trades his high ideals for life on Earth. We see in Aziraphale a similar tug-o'-war between Heaven's distant ideals and Crowley's Earthly pleasures, so I can see a similar process potentially playing out for him.
I don't particularly recall a ton of thematic exploration of free will in The Crow Road. However, there is a glimmer of something there: Prentice feels excessively controlled by Kenneth's desire to pass down his beliefs, and part of the reason Prentice is so resistant to change is simply his frustration with feeling censored and not being taken seriously. As the reader, I do get the feeling that while Prentice is immature, Kenneth made major mistakes in handling their conflict, too. And Kenneth's mistakes come from trying to dictate Prentice's thoughts. There is likely some crossover with Good Omens in the sense that I'm pretty sure both stories are going to take the position that people need to be allowed to make mistakes, and to do things that one perceives as mistakes, without getting written off as "stupid" or "bad" or otherwise "unworthy."
Suffice it to say that the human characters in Good Omens will also certainly play into these themes, but it's hard to write about them when we don't know much about them except that one of them is almost certainly the reincarnation of Jesus. This also makes me suspect perhaps the human cast will be 100% entirely all-new, or mostly new, symbolic of how Aziraphale and Crowley have immersed themselves in the ever-evolving, ever-changing world of life on Earth. Alternatively, if we encounter human characters again from Season 1 or 2, perhaps the ways they've grown and changed will be highlighted. For example, even in real-world time, Adam and Warlock have already, as of the time I'm writing this, gone through at least one entire life stage (from 11 in 2019 to 16 in 2024). They'll be legal adults in a couple of years, and if there's a significant time skip, they could be much older. If characters from Season 1 do reappear and themes from The Crow Road are prominent, I would expect either some key scenes highlighting contrasts and changes from their younger selves or for stagnation and growth to be a central part of their plot.
The more I write, the more I just interpret everything in circles. Hopefully this post has at least given you a decent idea of what The Crow Road is like and how it may relate to Good Omens.
I'll end this post with a quotation that feels relevant:
Telling us straight or through his stories, my father taught us that there was, generally, a fire at the core of things, and that change was the only constant, and that we – like everybody else – were both the most important people in the universe, and utterly without significance, depending, and that individuals mattered before their institutions, and that people were people, much the same everywhere, and when they appeared to do things that were stupid or evil, often you hadn’t been told the whole story, but that sometimes people did behave badly, usually because some idea had taken hold of them and given them an excuse to regard other people as expendable (or bad), and that was part of who we were too, as a species, and it wasn’t always possible to know that you were right and they were wrong, but the important thing was to keep trying to find out, and always to face the truth. Because truth mattered. Iain Banks, The Crow Road
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smallsilvermoons · 1 day
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i think my fav whole cake headcannon is that luffy 100% knew what judge meant and just wanted to make a point to sanji. ik it’s not like a hot take but it genuinely means so much to me bc luffy is very perceptive, even if he doesn’t always act like it. he’s really good especially at seeing to the root of what’s hurting his friends and cutting it at the root. so to address judges insults at Sanjis hearts, the negative comments that have defined Sanji’s opinion of himself, as if the idea of someone insulting Sanji is incomprehensible is so powerful ykwim?? like it’s telling Sanji that Luffy has never even CONSIDERED these things as negative, that it wouldn’t cross anyone’s mind except for sanjis “weird” ‘dad’ (dad is in quotes for a reason) I mean come on. imagine the most painful person in ur life lists all ur negative qualities for ur best friend, and they say “why did he start saying all the great things abt u?” Luffy is effectively attacking sanjis insecurities in such a simple way and I LOVE him and I love them
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elatedfool · 3 days
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daylight
its's ayato day!!!! mention of murder, fluff! lots of petnames (wife, beloved) also i haven't actually written anything for him so sorry hubby take this as an apology letter ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ i put some taylor lyrics here btw hihi 😼
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AYATO is anything but innocent, and he knows that very well.
he has crossed many lines, stained those hands he use to caress your cheek tenderly with blood—not that he did it out of nowhere—and has his fair share of mistakes. nevertheless, ayato never told you goodbye. he can't, to be precise. he doesn't want to look at anything else after he saw you. you are... what makes life better for him, like a ray of sunshine forcing itself into the bleak water that is his life.
do you know of this secret of his? yes, you know it very well, actually. the commissioner was not the type to hide things from his beloved. he prefers to let you know and be aware of the risk you are taking merely because you became his lover.
do you accept it? living in constant fear of someone from the other two commissions taking you hostage to draw the attention of kamisato ayato, having a lot of noble friends across inazuma, yet knowing that any of them could backstab you in any situation?
yes, of course, it was worth the risk if it means you can sneak into the bed and intertwine yourself with him, come home to his sweet nothings, and feel his hand around your waist everytime you are taking a stroll around the city to show you off to everyone, letting them know who do you belong to.
plus, ayato provides everything for you, and i mean it when i say everything—he assigned the shuumatsuban to guard and watch over you whenever he's too busy to accompany you out, and when you come home exhausted, his servants have prepared a warm bath and lit up the scented candle to enhance your experience. you wouldn't have to lift a finger, for you deserve to relax and be pampered by him.
but in this special occasion, you want to reverse the role and pamper the head commissioner instead! you baked the softest and most beautiful cake for him with the help of thoma and ayaka, decorate your bedroom with cherry blossom petals and heart shaped balloons—everything is perfect, and you are sure ayato will be elated when he comes home to this.
"my love, i have returned—"
"happy birthday, dear brother—master—my husband!"
the three of you spoke in unison, with you holding the cake up, thoma carrying an entire jug of milk tea, and ayaka popping the party crackers. ayato is surprised, very much so, of course, but the commotion is welcomed as he barely has time to spend with his sister, his most trusted servant, and you—the most treasured people in his life.
when the initial shock fades, his weary eyes lit up with delight, walking up to you to plant a kiss on your lips. it was meant to be a short and quick one, but after being away from you for so long (by so long i mean like, two days), it would be too cruel to reject the kamisato clan leader's advance.
the cake in your hand almost got knocked over when ayato leans further down to devour your lips—thankfully, the ever-so-competent thoma managed to save it despite having his hands full, but not without mumbling how you two should really be more careful. meanwhile, ayaka smiles fondly at her brother's clingy attitude, secretly taking pictures of the romantic moment as a memento of this special day.
your husband doesn't seem to care that much about the cake though, your lips are waaaay sweeter than any whipped cream in teyvat and way softer—the softest, dare he says. one kiss from you and he's sure that heaven is a thing because he went there everytime you touch him. he's so lost in the taste of your lips that it takes a loud and harmonized cough from ayaka and thoma to get him to separate himself from you.
"are you done, master?" the blond man asks with a grin, finding it cute how the serious and cunning master he serves can be this adorable when it involves you, "we should really start eating! wouldn't want the dinner to go cold,"
ayaka turns to look at you and her brother, knowing that you two might like some privacy, "we will be waiting at the dining hall," ayato simply nods in gratitude for her understanding, before turning his attention back at you.
"so, my beautiful wife is the one who prepared all this surprise for me?" he grins mischievously, trying to mask his excitement and giddiness with that smirk he always wore when he's trying to fluster you. you nod to confirm his words, "with the help of thoma and ayaka,"
ayato chuckles, already knowing the answer but doesn't want to miss the chance of calling you his wife—the way you congratulate him earlier did not went past his ear by the way, and he loves, looooves the sound of being called as your husband. after living a colorless life with only his sister to support him, he is finally able to throw his cloak and daggers away because morning has arrived in the form of you.
"i had the best birthday of my life, and it's all because of you," he smiles at you, leaning down again to kiss your forehead, "i love you, my darling,"
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dollypopup · 5 hours
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I think it's interesting to look at the 'Mr. Bridgerton' scene as a backdrop for the eventual mirror scene. Firstly, in the fact that I think we've kind of misinterpreted it.
So many people are of the mind that scene's purpose to 'drag' Colin, but really, that scene has 3 primary functions. The first is to inform Colin that Penelope is aware of what he said of her, thus opening the door to clearing the air between them and providing an avenue for which Colin can apologize. The second is to establish the ground that they are currently on: Penelope has given up on the dream of Colin Bridgerton, in particular the perfect prince that can do no wrong, and has made it clear to him. It also creates distance between them that they will bridge.
But the third, and to me the most wrapped up in the mirror and the inner workings of their relationship is that it reveals how Penelope feels about *herself*. It's not necessarily an echo of what the ton considers her as, after all, we have a lot of evidence indicating that, for all intents and purpose, people aren't *unkind* about her, but rather that they ignore her. Audience members recognize this as Penelope's own shyness being the cause, she is often sitting off on the sidelines or not really talking to much of anyone, in the books she's referred to as the 'one who doesn't speak', and her LW business takes her away from being a character in the action of the ton to a bystander, kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts that perpetuates itself. Pen felt unseen so she became LW to have some power, but then LW herself must remain unseen and Penelope continues to be by design of her own making.
No, I think what it really reveals is that Penelope has incredibly low personal self esteem. We as a fandom has lauded that scene as her dragging Colin, saying that he's cruel and calling him Mr. Bridgerton is absolutely meant to create distance between them, but I don't think she's dragging him.
Because the person she is *actually* dragging here. . .is herself. And it is a general theme in her life. In Whistledown. Aloud. Even with Marina, when she complimented her, she assumes that she's lying. When Edwina says she's wearing a pretty dress, Penelope puts herself down and doesn't believe her, even when the compliment is genuine. In truth, Portia is not seen as being particularly unkind to Penelope. At least, speaking as someone who's mum was *awful* about my size and weight and outfits, Portia is. . .overall rather mild. She's not KIND and loving, not by a long shot, but she's also not targeting Penelope only. She's plenty mean and critical to Prudence, too, even to the point where she foists her off to her own cousin as a pawn piece. Penelope has low self esteem because of a lot of reasons, she's bullied by Cressida (I think a lot of girls are, she was pretty mean even to Daphne in S1) and her family isn't very tender to her, and she's not being pursued at every turn, but part of it is also her own perpetuation.
Listen to what she says "Of course you would never court me" "I embarrass you" "I am the laughingstock of the the ton". She sees *herself* as an embarrassment. She puts *herself* down. Arguably, more so than the ton does. She's meaner to herself than anyone else is, aside from Cressida. And honestly? Looking at Colin's face there. . .he is HURT that she considers herself this way. That she's projecting that onto him. Yes, he's hurt that he hurt her, of course he is, he never wants to hurt her. And yes, he's ashamed that he said he wouldn't court her the way he did and that in doing so, he validated her fears that she is unloved and unwanted, but also because. . .she already feels that way about herself. She's felt that way for years. And it's painful to care about someone, to see them as wonderful, and realize. . .they don't feel the same about themselves at all. I don't think Colin is out here feeling so wounded over the fact that she called him cruel and won't refer to him by first name anymore, but that he's most hurt by what she says about herself.
Because he *doesn't* see her the way she accuses. She says she never expected him of all people to be so cruel, but he feels the same way. He never expected her to be so cruel to *herself*. He wants to go somewhere private, not because she is an embarrassment, but because he wants to have a private conversation with her. Maybe assure her. Maybe explain himself. Maybe hash it out. But god Luke Newton's acting. . .he is *aching* for her. And it feels like he's going to do those lessons not in atonement for what he said (thank god) but to genuinely help his friend who thinks badly of herself. To lift her up. It's not about him at all, not about earning forgiveness, but about elevating Penelope. And that's. . .fuck, I just find that's just so heart stoppingly beautiful.
You can see, in that scene, how much he cares about her. How deeply and genuinely he adores her as a person. And just how painful it is for him to know he has validated, whether on purpose or otherwise, how poorly she feels about herself. How low her self-confidence really is. She is giving him a glimpse into the cracks of her heart, and when he sees them, he wants to reach out with both hands and make it feel better. Make her feel better.
After she says 'even when I change my entire wardrobe', he looks so fucking crushed. So 'don't say that'. So 'you really believe that?'. So 'God, I hate that you think that way'.
Because regardless of it all, he does love her. It's not romantic yet. It's not sexual yet. But he genuinely, truly, from the bottom of his heart, thinks she's wonderful. That was evident even in the 'purpose' scene. Every time Penelope opens up and reveals a facet of herself, he likes it. He likes her barbs and her dreams, he likes talking to her. He likes her. And he feels awful that he hurt her. And he feels awful that she's hurting herself. He loves her. He wants her to love herself.
And that's where the mirror scene comes in. Because the mirror scene isn't about sex, not really. Not entirely, at least. The mirror scene is about *intimacy*. The mirror scene is about being seen. Not just her seeing him, or him seeing her, but for Penelope to see *herself*. In a way, through his eyes. Because hers are biased rather negatively toward herself, which is evidenced in the 'Goodnight Mr. Bridgerton' scene, and in so many little moments we've already gotten where she's literally looking down on herself, feeling down. She doesn't necessarily *like* what's in the mirror, but he does. Because he likes *her*. And he wants to show her that he does. Show her that he finds her beautiful and have her recognize that in herself.
The 'Goodnight Mr. Bridgerton' scene is about Penelope revealing how she sees herself. The mirror scene is about Colin showing her how *he* sees her. The Goodnight scene is about Penelope thinking she means nothing to him, that he thinks of her the way she thinks of herself, that this is how everyone thinks of her, and the mirror scene is a direct response to that: No, he doesn't. No, he doesn't think she's embarrassing. No, he doesn't think she's a laughingstock. No, he doesn't think she's unappealing. And he doesn't think she should, either.
And he's going to show her that. Not just tell her, but show her. The mirror scene is so often a focus on Penelope, so much of Polin is in Penelope's focus, but approaching it from Colin's perspective and his motivations is so fulfilling, too. It's a glimpse into them in conversation, and a demonstrate of how Colin loves her. How Colin loves in general, openly and earnestly and altruistically. How he encourages her to be braver and more confident in herself, bolstering her because he just likes her *that much*. How he finds the most fulfillment and satisfaction in caring aloud. The mirror scene is a demonstration of his heart in reflection.
When Luke Newton said the first word that came to mind with the word 'Mirror' was 'Exposed', he doesn't just mean physically. He means emotionally, too.
God this couple is so fucking good.
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Guys I’m thinking about Rick and Daryl fighting, like Daryl is definitely a professional little brother and spends all day wrecking havoc upon Rick (and maybe a few others)
also I know Daryl is a hardcore hair puller. In the bed and in fights. When he and Merle would fight, it was like a second nature for his hands to latch onto to curly hair, yanking the strands and on one occasion knocking his head into a wall
me when rickyl but also brotherhood
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
On the outside, Daryl Dixon was quiet, dark, and mysterious. He was a dusty book that had been closed and locked tight for decades, never opening up no matter who or what tried to pry. Most people would think that he was just one of the ones that never expressed any type of concern or emotion, but really, Daryl’s just a silent person. Until someone he knows pops into the picture.
“Get tha’ fuck off me! Get tha’ fuck off of me!” His voice rang out through the community alongside side Dogs chaotic barking.
People rushed out of their homes at what they thought were very distressed cries, Carol’s bow loaded and almost aimmed as he stepped out onto hers, only frowning deeply when she saw what all the ruckus was.
Daryl and Rick were wrestling in the dirt, the huntersman pinned down underneath the officer in a very uncomfortable looking position. Dog was barking at the two of them, tail wagging in the air as he stood in a playful position, standing over his defeated owner.
“Blah blah blah. You’re just a sore fucking loser” Rick laughed at him, pointing a finger in Daryl’s face, and pulling it away when his sharp teeth clamped down. “Gon’ make mah dog eat you alive” The man grumbled and squirmed.
“Gonna make the walkers eat you both alive” You sighed from where you had approached behind Rick, Dog now eagerly lapping and jumping around you as you too stood over your defeated hunter. “Seriously?” You shook your head and pushed Rick off the man, watching the way he dramatically fell over. “He started it! I was bein’ nice” Daryl frowns, and so does Rick, sitting up to face Daryl who had childishly wrapped himself around your leg. “Nuh uh, no! This asshole tried sticking mud down my pants!” Daryl cackled at the sentence and you knew he was gulity.
“You two are grown ass men” You huffed, shaking your leg slightly only for Daryl’s to tighten his grip. Absolutely wonderful.
“He needs to be put in time out” Rick grumbled, and you wondered if you were getting paid for this. “Time out?”
“Time out?” Carol approached, bow and arrow no longer in hand.
Daryl pointed at Rick, while Rick pointed at him, both men staring daggers at each other. “Him! He fucking started this!”
You share a look with Carol as the men bicker, and it’s quite funny untill you feel a sudden emptiness at your leg, and Daryl is hurling a ball of mud at Rick, who unfortunately catches it with his face. “Now I can really call ya ‘shitface grimes’” Daryl laughed as he climbed to his feet, standing behind you as Rick wiped his eyes clear, immediately locking them on his target.
Daryl doesn’t wanna admit that he didn’t think Rick would just go right around you, yelling when the officer took a swipe at him. “Stop it yew shit eater!” Daryl ran away with Rick hot on his heels, Dog sprinting right alongside them and barking excitedly.
“Can you imagine a small mini version of all that?” You shake your head, smiling softly at Carol. “You have got quite the character on your hands. Clinging to your leg? He must love you” You laughed, peering up the street where they had run off too, a cloud of dirt forming as they tussled, and from Daryl’s very loud screams he was probably getting what he deserved. “Dealing with him? He better love me” You scoff, knowing that your giant manchild loves you more than life itself.
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
Each press of the cotton to his skin makes him hiss, and he winces at the burning sting of alcohol. “No more fights” You frown softly, tilting Daryl’s head as you cleaned his wounds, gingerly placing bandaids over them. “But he-“ “Yes I know he started it, he also finished it” Daryl pouts, legs swinging off the countertop. You stick a bandage over his nose, and kiss his forehead. “All better. I want you in this house before it’s too dark, okay?” Daryl drops onto his feet, and plants a quick but eager kiss on your lips. “Yes mama” He tosses over his shoulder as he snatches his crossbow off the floor, barreling out the door with Dog. You watched them go, a smile tugging your lips. It faded at the sound of a Rick’s high pitched scream.
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
looks around because I dont know what happened and because I really like childish Daryl now and wanna write more
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catherineaboutlife · 9 hours
Text
Two Stories of My Three-Year-Old Daughter's Conscious Manifestation
Today I want to share two successes of a conscious manifestation. But not my own, but my three-year-old daughter.
Preface
As you know, children are the most important dreamers who easily adapt to the world around them. Therefore, since my baby has grown up, I have allowed her to dream, to consciously experience this world, talking about the law of assumption in a language she understands - in the form of fairy tales. It works. And here are the last two success stories of my daughter (she allowed me to share them if anyone cares 😁)!
First story
We took a family walk near our house for weeks and again saw a stray dog that had been roaming our streets for more than three months. She is very friendly and kind despite her hard life. A neighbor told us that the other day some hooligans treated her badly and beat her. Unfortunately, we couldn’t adopt her because my husband is allergic to dogs, and the shelters in our city (we live in a small town, by the way) were overcrowded. My daughter asked me: “Mom, why, if we can do everything, is this sweet dog suffering?” I told her that it is really not good that we, having such power, allow this to happen, but we can always change the situation.
I forgot about this situation, but not my daughter. Before going to bed, we were talking to her, and she mentioned this dog again. She knows that in order to manifest something, it is enough to completely identify yourself with your desire, and it will certainly manifest itself into the outside world. So she started telling me that this dog was now in a safe place where she was loved and appreciated. She talked about it so much that I completely believed her. She talked about it like it was real (which it is, u know)!
The day before yesterday we were walking again and the same neighbor told us that a wonderful couple stopped on our street and took this dog into their home. We met them and they turned out to be very nice people and good neighbors. Now the dog is completely safe and in good hands. When my daughter found out about this, she was incredibly happy for the dog and proud of herself (and my husband and I were proud of her)! 🥹❤️
Second story
My daughter has a friend whose father became seriously ill a few months ago (he doesn't have a mom, just a dad, FYI). I spoke with his grandmother, who looked after the boy during treatment. The prognosis for recovery was minimal. My daughter and a friend go to a dance together and he told her this story. Due to his age, he did not know the details of his father’s illness, but he understood that the situation was completely hopeless. My daughter told him that no matter what, he needs to trust that his father is okay, he is recovering and everything is fine, just like before.
We love to talk and fantasize with our daughter before she goes to bed. She shared this story and said that his friend’s dad would definitely get better, and his friend, as usual, would be cheerful and happy (he had been very depressed lately because of this). She said this every day for about a week, fully imagining and feeling the situation getting better.
After about another week and a half, my daughter learned from a friend that his dad was feeling much better and had already returned home. According to her, her friend again became cheerful and happy as before. I was so proud of my daughter and happy for her friend's family!
My husband and I are very proud of our baby. She is very empathic and kind, but at the same time very rational! We have a real conscious manifestor growing up who will certainly get the best from this world! These stories only confirm this. 🥹❤️
I am glad that I can pass on to her such fundamental knowledge about the law of assumption and thereby help her independently live a better life from childhood!
As you understand, the law works with everyone, no matter what! The main thing is to be persistent and pay attention to any depressing circumstances that do not make sense.
Good luck! I love you, guys!
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hopefulceladon · 2 days
Text
rest for the weary | kamisato ayato x reader
summary: kamisato ayato, though a man of many talents, hardly knew the meaning of the word ‘relax’. you, on the other hand, really wished he did. pairing: kamisato ayato x reader word count: 2.1k notes: happy ayato day!!! it's not much but at least it's something.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
As twilight blanketed itself over the horizons that surrounded the confines of the Kamisato Estate, so, too, had the celebration held within the guarded walls of the property ceased.
It had hardly been a stuffy, bejeweled social gathering beheld in a decked-out estate like many of the commissioner’s birthdays of the past, no. It was a simplistic and warm gathering with his closest friends and family members, and felt much like an embrace. Much like a temporary safe haven away from life’s ceaseless trials. Much like how such an occasion ought to be commemorated.
There was, perhaps a part of you was afraid that the current party would be too dull for Ayato's tastes—your beloved was the clan head, after all, and he only deserved a party as sophisticated as his wide expanse of titles, didn't he?—but the small, genuine smile he wore the moment he saw you, Ayaka, and Thoma huddled around a small feast table had soon eased your concerns.
And, perhaps, at his reaction, something within you urged you to ponder if this was the kind of celebration he preferred after all.
But now that the humble festivities of the evening had concluded, and Ayato had excused himself away from the scene, it became ever apparent that his intention was to immediately throw himself back into the rhythm of what he deemed as normalcy, as if the very concept of relaxation was foreign to the well-versed commissioner.
And as you leaned against the doorframe of his study, you frowned at the familiar sight of your beloved sorting through his moderately cluttered desk, fervent in his search of the next stack of documents to work on, with his back slightly hunched and his shoulders tensed from the weariness that found an unwelcome home within his bones.
It took him a moment to recognize your presence, but his countenance had brightened once he finally met your gaze, as if your mere existence was much like a healing balm for his tired soul. Still, his brows quirked upright at the sight of you, as if his aforementioned healing balm had no reason to be standing before him at the hour that it was.
“Hm? My love, why are you not in bed yet?”
Even if the expression upon his face was courteous, you could still recognize the exhaustion that plagued him deep beneath his pretty violet eyes.
“I could ask you the same question, couldn't I?” you replied as you approached him and his desk, frowning further at the scattered leaflets that were splayed across its wooden surface. “Why are you working?”
“I’m simply catching up on the work I skipped earlier this afternoon. Another all-nighter is in the books, I suppose...”
His admission caught you off guard, and you stared at him, baffled.
“You were meant to relax today, weren't you? Something regarding, oh, goodness, I don’t know, your birthday?”
“Oh, please, you really need not remind me,” he began with a sigh. “Much as one would expect, the flow of my tasks and duties won’t simply put itself on hold just because its master happened to make it yet another cycle around the sun...”
“I understand, but you haven’t had a break in quite some time...”
Guilt had added a new splash of psychological color to accompany the fatigue that was already distinctly painted across his features, but his hands still remained ever busy with his paperwork.
“If the imminent needs of the clan cannot cease for one day, then neither shall I, I fear.”
His counterpoint was logical, you supposed, but his utter refusal to even consider himself at all caused your heart to ache. Though you knew far better than to engage in attempting to explain anything to someone so stubborn, much less someone whose job, more or less, was to debate and persuade others to agree with his stances, you persisted.
“You still can always just simply... attempt to rest?”
A brief flash of surprise flickered in his eyes at the abruptness of your response, but he simply hummed in response, waiting patiently for your explanation.
“One of your concerns is keeping your loved ones safe, isn’t it? But were we not all there, happily celebrating alongside you? Was it not lively with nearby retainers, all hoping to do something to serve you? Is that not proof that we're all safe and secure within the walls of the estate you oversee?”
“I... suppose, yes, but I fail to see how that's relevant to the argument against me dealing with late night paperwork?”
“It means that you succeeded in at least one of the goals that I know you must surely think of when you sit at this desk. And if you succeeded in that, then... shouldn't that be enough for you to put up the paperwork for at least tonight?”
“Mm. I do appreciate the insight, dear, but it's hardly ever that simple, and I’m sure you, of everyone, would know that to be so.”
Quickly, you realized your claim was losing its validity, but you, fortunately, were as persistent as he was.
“I know, but it should be enough to prove that the members of the clan aren't at risk of any sudden disaster...” your voice trailed off as you took a moment to reach for his free hand, gently grasping it in your own. “The world shall not end, nor shall the Kamisato Clan crash and burn to the ground, if you happen to take a night's respite, I think.”
At the sudden contact between your hand and Ayato’s, though his black leather glove blocked most of the sensation, he breathed in sharply. As a quick-thinking means to distract himself from whatever seemed to stir his troubled soul, he focused on readjusting his grip on the calligraphy pen that he held firmly between his other hand’s index finger and thumb.
“Hmph, tell that to the other commissioners, then, my love...”
“The other commissioners are not here to perceive nor judge your actions, my love ,” you replied, then paused to make a humorous production out of warily glancing around for ‘eavesdroppers’ before you whispered. “...nor do I quite care what they think, regardless. They're hardly the ones who must bear the weight of knowing the exhaustion you strive to conceal.”
Your honesty made Ayato chuckle, but your confession still caused his eyebrows to furrow.
“I cannot tell if it's from the charm of your words or from the weariness you claim I possess, but I suppose you're quite right,” he mused aloud before his eyes reclaimed their familiar, charming glimmer. “Though, I suppose if we wake up tomorrow to, say, a burnt down kitchen, I'll at least have someone to blame for lulling me into a false sense of security, hm?”
“Now, why would the kitchen burn down? You'd be absolutely nowhere near it.” you quickly retorted, unable to suppress the small giggle that snuck past the stoic front you had built and forged with concern.
Ayato let out a soft hum of amusement at your witty remark, tapping the stack of papers against his desk to even them out before laying them to rest. Moments later, he arose from his chair and drew you in closer with a gentle tug at your arms, the playful grin from moments prior still plastered on his face.
“Oh, has the silver melted off your tongue now that you believe you finally persuaded me?”
“Huh? It's hardly like that!” you protested.
You swore the cheeky bastard had smiled at the flash of panic in your eyes, before leaning down to briefly press his lips to your forehead.
“I know, dear, don't fret.”
Much like a switch had been suddenly flipped, the lighthearted atmosphere that lingered in the room allowed itself to be reformed into a far more serene state, aided by the ambience provided by both the steady raindrops that pattered against the shoji windows, and the flames that frolicked off of the wick of the burning candle that rested atop Ayato’s desk.
In response to his affectionate gesture, you took a step closer to wrap your arms around Ayato in return, reaching your one hand up to thread your fingers through his silky, pale blue hair, and leaving the other to rest against his cheek, all of which elicited a soft hum of contentment from Ayato’s lips.
“So, does this all really mean you’ll rest?”
“Oh dear... if that’s truly what you’ve concluded from this, I fear you’re sorely mistaken.” Ayato said as he leaned his cheek further into the palm of your hand, smiling at you tiredly.
You sighed at his response, feeling slightly disarmed by the charming sight he put on display.
“I’m sorry for being so persistent, it’s just that after all that you do for the clan, for... everyone, I just wish you'd consider yourself more often.”
“Ah, if I considered what I truly wanted more often, I fear we'd both be out of commission for at least a small while...”
As your face scrunched together in thought, your mind still too exhausted from the weight of your concern to decipher any potential meaning beneath his words, Ayato chuckled at the profound confusion his words had implanted within you, and he shook his head.
“Mm, nevermind that. Now, come here, dear.”
Without further notice, Ayato wrapped his lithe arms around you and enveloped you ever closer. The sudden force he used in pulling your body so abruptly flush to his own nearly caused you to stumble backwards, but quickly, he steadied you before you could make acquaintances with the floor by placing his palms against your hips.
At the sight of the surprise in your eyes, his hands immediately retreated out of fear he had breached any sort of boundary—oh , you had nearly asked him to put them back—and he simply let a hand idly rest upon the small of your back, holding you close to him as if you were made of a fragile glass that was all too eager to shatter.
“I really do hope you enjoyed today.” you murmured suddenly against the fabric of his lavender kimono, reaching your hand out so that it might rejoin with his, interlocking your fingers between the webbings of his own the very moment they reunited.
“As far as I'm aware, every day is enjoyable whenever I get to spend it with you.”
With your fondness growing ever intensified by the unspoken intimacy of the moment, your chest ached pleasantly at the tenderness that shone in his eyes as he lifted your intwined hands up to his lips, brushing them against the bumps of your knuckles ever so briefly.
Wordlessly, with an idea in mind to reciprocate, you reached behind yourself and gently pried his gloved hand away from your lower back.
While Ayato was deeply engrossed by your actions, at least enough to analyze your expressions with a curious gaze, he hadn't realized you had managed to cautiously slide his glove off his hand until the moment he felt your touch brush upon skin that he knew should've been covered by leather.
His breathing audibly faltered the moment your warm fingertips grazed against his surprisingly cold palm, unable to catch himself in time.
“My darling, I..." Ayato fought to speak coherently through a breathy whisper. Quickly, he cleared his throat and forced himself away from the tempting arms of the pleasant stupor your touch had thrown him into. “If this is the means you choose to convince me to relax, then... I suppose that we ought to retire to bed now, after all.”
“You mean your work can wait?”
“Perhaps it can, perhaps it cannot, but I must confess that at this very moment, any matters regarding paperwork are truly the furthest things from my mind...” Ayato admitted quietly, burying his forehead comfortably against the crossing that joined your neck and shoulder together.
“Then... what is on your mind?” you asked, still holding him close, still holding his freezing cold hand within your grasp. It really was hardly any wonder why he wore gloves all the time, it seemed.
“Merely the thought of being able to rest within the comfort of my beloved’s embrace for as long as the night shall allow us, if I’ll be so kindly permitted...”
As he lifted his head up from your shoulder, his gaze meeting yours, his weary eyes yearning for you to please at the very least answer his inquiry, you cracked a small smile at the rare sight of the vulnerability he usually kept under highly secured wraps.
“I think it would be my honor to kindly oblige.”
After all, only the heavens knew how strongly you longed for that, too.
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pepsiboyy · 3 days
Text
beyond the contract - part 6
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P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6
pairing: matt sturniolo x reader summary: where the sturniolo triplets are part of an organization known as the eclipse alliance, matt has constantly failed to pull through with pulling the trigger on a target. fed up, their boss gives matt one last chance, where he is sent to northside high school to get some answers out of a girl. warnings: just some fluff gaurr author's note: HI GUYS!! this chapter is good compared to the last one imo but it is gonna get CRAYYY i love u guys <3 WC: 1730 lowercase intentional !!
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"come on matt," i giggled and lightly hit his shoulder.
"all i'm saying is you're being corny by doing all this," he stated matter-of-factly, but a warm smile remained on his face that reminded me that he meant no harm.
i chuckled and shrugged as i looked down at the notes app on my phone.
COLOR IDEAS FOR PROM: pink purple blue green
"does it matter that much?" matt questioned, peering over to look at my phone screen. i scoffed and shook my head in disbelief, looking at the clock that read 5:47pm.
matt and i had been hanging out in my room most of the day, waiting for night to roll around to go and look at the stars as promised.
"yes it matters, matt! all the couples match and stuff!" i chuckled as i kept looking through pinterest.
matt reached forward and gently picked up my phone, taking it and setting it face down between us. "no need for that, y/n. i promise we will look great. i'll make sure of it." he smiled warmly.
i couldn't help but feel my face heat up as i nodded and gently moved to take his hand in mine, holding it softly. matt ran his thumb over my knuckles before he sighed and stood up.
"do you wanna go get food? we can bring it tonight," matt stated as he lifted his arms in the air and arched his back, stretching carefully.
i nodded eagerly and began to walk towards the door, but my eyes widened when i felt matt hold my wrist and turn me around, placing his lips on mine for a brief moment. he pulled away and smiled warmly at me, and with his hand encapsulating mine, we walked together to the front door.
-
my eyes traced the stars as i lifted a hand and connected them each like a child with a coloring page.
the empty container with crumbs laid between matt and i as we looked at the sky like corny teenagers.
matt wanted it, i keep telling myself. but i loved it so much.
matt was sitting up, sitting with his legs crossed and his hand gently caressing my hair.
i turned to him and smiled softly, which resulted in matt letting out a deep sigh.
he removed the container from between us and laid down beside me, gently holding my hand and allowing the sides of our heads to touch gently.
a comfortable silence emerged from between us, and i turned to face matt after a few minutes.
"what are your brothers like? i'd love to meet them," i breathed with a soft hum, and matt just smiled softly, a soft laugh escaping his lips.
"um.. well," he started with a deep sigh, exhaling with another laugh. "i love them more than life itself. but they're my brothers. we're bound to have arguments and whatnot." he rambled, before he sighed and turned to me.
i was just looking at him and nodding, a soft smile remaining on my face. "i love that."
we sat in silence for a few more moments before i decided to speak up again.
"i wish i knew more about my family backstory.. my mom and why she left, my dad.." i emphasized, a soft sigh leaving me.
matt kept looking at me, his blue eyes serious as he nodded along with my words. "maybe you can try asking him?" he pitched, but i chuckled.
"no no, trust me. i've tried it all." i stared at the sky before i turned to matt and smiled. "i'll figure something out.. don't worry."
matt gave me a soft nod before he moved to wrap his arms around me, planting a soft kiss to my forehead. "you'll figure it out. i know you will."
-
a loud laugh emerged from me as i booked it out of matt's car, holding myself. "stop tickling me!" i giggled.
matt left his car and followed after me with a bright smile, his arms opening. "what are you talking about?" he questioned innocently as he followed behind me.
i was so caught up in laughing that i didn't even realize his movements stop and his expression fall until i felt my body collide with a much larger one behind me.
i froze and slowly turned around, smiling softly. "hey dad!" i mumbled and chuckled nervously.
"who is this?"
i blinked a few times and turned to matt, then back to my dad. "this is matt!" i smiled.
"who's matt?"
my face fell. i realized that since my dad was hardly home, i never really got around to telling him much about matt.
"he's... my boyfriend," i trailed off, and carefully moved to matt to hold his hand softly. "we started dating a little bit ago, but i never really got around to telling you.."
matt looked like he had just seen a ghost, and my dad was examining the entirety of his features before a soft smile spread across his lips. "come in, matt." he stated softly before going inside.
we both followed closely behind him, matt shooting me an expression that i couldn't exactly read.
"take a seat, i'll make some tea." he stated softly as he gestured towards the dining room table and left towards the kitchen.
matt sat beside me and gently tugged on my hand in his lap, looking into my eyes. "you didn't tell me your dad was going to be home tonight," he stated quietly to me, and i shrugged softly back.
"i had no idea, matt," i defended, and he shot me a sarcastic smile.
"here you go, matt, and here, y/n." my dad placed two cups of tea down in front of us.
matt smiled warmly as he took a sip of the tea. there was an uncomfortable silence before my dad cleared his throat and decided to speak up.
"so matt, what're your intentions with my daughter?"
"dad-" i interrupted, and matt just chuckled softly, waving me off.
"i just want to make her happy, sir, nothing else." he stated.
i smiled softly at matt and he gently took my hand, squeezing it.
my dad let out a soft hum as he sipped his own cup of tea and shrugged. "i see." he stated.
i looked between the two as i blinked a few times, watching as the two seemed to have practically a stare-down. i didn't really get it.
"well i should probably get going," matt started as he stood up and held out his hand for my dad, a soft smile on his face. "it was great meeting you, sir."
i watched as my dad firmly shook his hand and smiled, waving him off.
i quickly stood up and walked matt out, smiling softly as him as i stepped out front. "sorry for the sudden meeting parents thing," i mumbled breathily, biting my lip as i looked at my feet.
matt shook his head and took me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head gently as he hummed and swayed us softly. "it's okay. it had to happen eventually." he gently rubbed my back as he closed his eyes. "i had fun with you today." he stated softly.
i nodded and smiled softly, leaning into his embrace and hugging his waist softly.
once pulling away, i pressed my lips to his softly. we both smiled against one another, and once i began to pull away, matt leaned closer to keep our lips attached for a little longer before finally pulling away. "text me before you sleep?" he asked, and i nodded eagerly in response.
"text me when you get home." i whispered, gently letting go of his hand.
i watched as matt went to his car and started it, driving off before i made my way back inside. i looked at my dad and sighed softly. "sorry that was so sudden. you just haven't been home." i mumbled, but stopped when i noticed him frantically looking for something. "what are you looking for?"
he didn't turn to me, but instead kept searching under things in the kitchen. "my ring." he stated.
i furrowed my eyebrows. "the really big one that i hate?" i questioned, and he turned to me with an annoyed expression, making my own expression falter. "sorry."
"yes, that one." he stated.
i blinked a few times as i looked around. "you probably just left it somewhere or dropped it. it's okay." i smiled reassuringly, but he just rubbed his forehead and sighed.
"i'm going to go to bed now. goodnight, y/n. your boyfriend was nice." he stated and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before he walked to his room.
i blinked as i stared at him, looking down. i was so confused. but instead of pushing further or pondering harder on it, i shrugged it off and went to my room.
-
"a ring?"
chris and nick looked at matt with a confused expression, but matt bit his lip and set it down on the counter.
it was a large black ring, a little uncomfortably large, and it resembled a woman in a veil. "he's the leader." he stated firmly.
"where did you get this, matt?" nick stated, carefully picking up the ring and inspecting it.
"y/n's dad. he's the leader of black veil operations." matt stated, biting his lip.
nick and chris seemed to connect the dots.
"they want us to kill y/n just to get under his skin," chris thought out loud, looking between the two.
matt just rubbed his forehead and nodded, looking at them with a determined expression. "i won't let anything happen to her, i don't care what i have to do." matt stated firmly. "i really like her."
nick and chris looked at each other with a bit of sympathy as they nodded.
"we'll make sure nothing bad happens to her too, matt." nick stated firmly, a soft smile on his face.
-
y/n - just now hey matt, just got in bed. did you get home safe?
i carefully covered myself in my blanket and smiled at the response that popped up on my screen.
matt - just now got home a little bit ago, sleep well ok?
i smiled softly and hearted the message before typing a response and going to bed.
y/n - just now you too <3
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taglist;; @star-saturn-xx @sturniolo-girl @p1xieswrld @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @sweetbabydoe @iloveneilperry @matty-bear @sillysillygyal (comment to be added !!)
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johnwickb1tsch · 2 days
Text
The Girl Next Door ~ 2
A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine. Part 1
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Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮 Note: I got Constantine on my brain, y'all! 😆 I write about vampire hunters all the time, but never from the vampire perspective. This was new. I hope you enjoy!🧡
2. whoever drinks my blood has eternal life
In the end, he was too late.
Oh, he killed them all, wiping out the entire coven with his magical holy shotgun, and a handy spell that basically burned the remaining undead to a crisp around you.
But you were already half dead, drained and forced to drink their blood in kind.
You were well on your way to becoming one of the Damned.
John knew this, as he cradled your cold body in his arms, carrying you like a bride to the cab outside the warehouse. He knew it as he held you close in the backseat, reciting ancient prayers over your fevered brow, hoping just this once God might grant him a good miracle, and not forsake one of his children just because of an unlucky twist of fate.
Your only crime, as far as he knew, had been extending the mercy of your kindness towards him, and that should not have earned you this.
He barely thanked Chas for a job well done, carrying you bridal style up the stairs of your apartment building. Rather than return you to your bed, he brings you to his. He doesn’t know if the vampire who you must have inadvertently invited into your home died that night, and all his holy weapons are at hand in his own space.
He lays you down in his bed, wishing he’d washed his sheets more recently for you. He wishes a lot of things, in the interim hours that follow.
He can tell that his incantations are not touching the dark magic that is taking hold of you, and he knows that he should just put an end to it here and now. You are damned, and there’s no going back, and who knows what chaos you will reap with your new thirst when you wake?
He can’t bring himself to do it.
Looking down at you, huddled in a ball, trembling as your body is dying and remaking itself anew—he falls to his knees to talk to God, though his words aren’t exactly a prayer. “Our father, who art in heaven…fuck you. I hope you're happy, asshole. Another innocent who you should have protected, fucked over by your stupid games. Why? Why is it always the good ones? I hate you. Amen.”
He takes your hand in his, and only because you are practically unconscious in the fever-pitch of your transformation, does he let his eyes fill with silent tears.
One more soul he was too late to save.
One more weight upon his conscience.
He cries for you. For himself. For the impossible odds God and the Devil pit against humans, then punish them when they're just not up to the task. Flesh is weak, but They made you this way. None of it is fair.
Constantine has never actually been present at a Turning. He doesn’t know how long it will take, or how you’ll act when you come out of it. He has crosses and holy water to keep you in line if he has to…or maybe you’ll rip out his throat, and he will absolutely deserve it after what he let happen to you.
He wonders how the vampires knew about you. Did they watch through the window from some impossible perch, as you made love? Maybe he would never admit it out loud, but that was what that merciful night together had felt like, with you.
This was a hell of a reminder, as to why he couldn’t ever let anyone get close.
It never ended well.
Fully clothed, shoes and all, he spoons your smaller body with his arm around your waist, and waits.
***
When at last you wake, the first thing you are aware of is a heartbeat, right next to you. Behind you. Pressed against you. You hear it like a drum, thundering in your ears. There is a grinding pain in your belly. You are so hungry.
You do not recognize your surroundings, or the bed you lay in. A heavy arm is draped over your waist. You study the large hand upon the sheets, long fingered, veiny. Maybe you know that hand.
Slowly you turn, to find John Constantine beside you. He looks up at your through hooded dark eyes. He was dozing, but no longer.
“Y/n?”
You take a deep breath, and the smells that hit you: his aftershave, sweat, deodorant, dirty sheets, scotch whisky in the kitchen. Old Chinese food. But most of all, you can smell his blood, and it is the sweetest thing you’ve ever smelled.
You lean towards him, mouth open, hands reaching.
You don’t know that your incisors have lengthened to deadly little points.
Casually, John holds up a little crucifix between you. You feel it like a hand pressing back against you, and instinctively you flinch.
What is going on with you?
“John?”
You feel something long brush your lip, and you reach up to touch your teeth, finding the sharp points. Your eyes go half-dollar round as you nearly cut yourself with the tip of one.
“What happened to me?”
He sighs, and there is so much weight and sorrow in that one exhalation of air.
“I’m sorry, y/n.”
“John?” The panic in your voice starts to rise.
“Shh. Don’t get excited. It won’t be good.”
A rampaging new vampire was the last thing he needed on his hands.
“Those things took me,” you whisper, your hand covering your mouth. You start to remember what happened, those creeps who snatched you from your apartment, the impossible things you saw. They were monsters. Vampires. Things you only thought existed in folklore, books, bad B movies. And they’d told you a little about John Constantine too. That he was some sort of demon hunter, crazy as that fucking sounded, who clearly they wished to do harm to.
“Yeah.” 
“They took me,” you repeat with emphasis, still trying to understand.  
A longer pause, pregnant with lots of words you sense he doesn’t quite know how to say.
Again, he settles for, “Yeah.” 
“Why?” 
“I guess…they thought that you mean something to me.” 
After everything that happened, this hits you like a knife between the ribs, a long sharp blade aimed right for your heart.
“Do I not?” 
“Come on, I didn't mean it like that.” 
Yes he did, and you realize... that maybe he's just like all the others. 
At least he'd warned you. 
You just...had hoped, anyway, like the stupid little romantic you are. 
You look down, unable to meet his eyes. 
You kind of want to cry, but you're not even sure you can anymore. 
“I came for you as soon as I knew,” he says quietly, not liking this at all.
You nod, your lip quivering.
“What's going to happen to me?” 
The haunted way he looks at you rends your heart in two.
“We'll…figure it out.” 
“I'm hungry...I think.”
He nods gravely. 
“I was afraid of that.”
“What am I going to do?” 
“I'll...try to help you.”
Your eyes go to his throat again. The thought should be gross, but...you just feel hunger pangs, instead—and a confusing wave of desire.
He notices the focus of your attention, and looks uneasy about it. Your eyes have started to glow.
“Why don't we start with the wrist?” he deadpans, not enthused about your untried razor-sharp fangs in his throat.
You nod shakily, tears in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you say. 
There's a flicker in John's soulful brown eyes, and though he says nothing, you feel his guilt as though it's your own. You feel it crawling over your skin, and it scares you. 
What is happening to you? 
“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Let's get this over with.” 
You've seen the movies, and you’re not a total idiot. But the thought of actually...biting him? And drinking his blood? It freaks you out, ok, even if every cell in your body is singing out for you to swallow him down. The smell of him. You'd thought it was intoxicating before. Aftershave, spice, and cigarette smoke. The smoke was good only because it ticked some deep buried memory box in your subconscious. But now...it’s like you can sense the strength of his very soul, in the smell of his blood, and you know he will nourish you. 
These thoughts come to you unbidden, and you don't even really know what they mean. Just... that they are unequivocally true.
You take his wrist, the blue veins there seeming to dance for your new improved vampire vision, as though you can see the blood pumping within them.
This is so fucking weird.
“You’re going to be really strong now,” he cautions you. Then, the corner of his mouth ticks. “So be gentle with me.”
Your eyebrows raise at the thought that you could actually hurt him. This big, strong man who threw you around not so long ago like you were just a doll. You’d loved that, truth be told. The memory is so sweet that it almost makes you want to cry again.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You should do it now,” he says. “Because you’re just going to get hungrier, and young vampires when they’re hungry are at their most dangerous. I’d hate to have to—”
He cuts himself off before finishing that thought. Your eyes drift to his nightstand, the holy water, crucifixes, and a broom handle piece that has been sharpened into a nice neat stake. Just in case he has to shove it through your heart.
“Could you do that to me?” you ask quietly before you can stop yourself, still staring at the stake.
“I don’t want to find out,” he deflects. “So come on. Pull up your big girl panties.”
You glare at him, taking his wrist again. “I think I have a right to be freaked out about this.”
“Sure, but it is what it is,” he fires back unkindly. “You’re a vampire now. You have to drink blood to survive, and you’re Damned. Welcome to the club.”
You frown at him, your eyes flashing dangerously. You notice him tense, his attention flicking over to the stake on the bedside.
“You’re afraid of me now,” you marvel. 
“A little, yeah.”
“And I should be afraid of you? They told me what you are.”
“Let’s agree to have a healthy respect of one another, alright?”
You sit quietly, contemplating him. With his wrist in your grasp you can feel the thump thump of his pulse through your entire body, like bumping bass out of a speaker. It is distracting, and as you think about what you must do a warmth rises in you, a tingling rush of power that spreads from your fingers into his arm. It makes him shudder, his pupils suddenly blown wide with desire.
This feels good. Better than the fear, although you’re ashamed to admit, that had been delicious too.
You don’t know how you’re doing any of this. It’s just happening, and you let your new instinct take you, straddling his narrow hips to find his burgeoning erection straining against his slacks. You are still wearing the sundress those creatures took you in, and nothing but the thin cotton of your panties barricades the space between you and him.
He is so handsome, and strong. His blood smells so strong, and it fills you with an aching desire, wetness flooding between your legs. Suddenly the desire to bite him while he is inside you grips you like an iron fist, some ancient knowledge of arcane pleasure pulsing through your veins. You blink, the urge receding only slightly, and you do not know it but your eyes glow like coals. It’s strange, how your body feels cold, except where your skin is touching his. Your points of contact are almost searing, in comparison.
“Y/n…”
“What?” you taunt him. “You don’t want me now that I’m a monster?”
You can still hardly believe this is really happening to you.
“I think you can feel that’s not the case.”
Again, you sense his fear, cloyingly sweet upon your tongue. You like it, and that is the thing that brings you back to yourself. Wanting anyone to be afraid of you is so opposite your true nature that it shocks you.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you apologize again, squeezing your eyes closed.
“It’s alright,” he says in that deep voice of his.
It’s not. It’s really not.
“Just…can we get this over with, please?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“He’s not going to help you now, believe me. Just…go slow, ok? Don’t bite me too hard. I need use of my hand still, if you don’t mind.”
You let out a shuddering breath. It feels weird, and you realize…you don’t need to breathe? Taking in air is a reflex, but there’s no effect of your body processing oxygen.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Okay. I’m going to do it.”
“Any day now.”
“Shut up.”
This is the thing that actually makes him smile, that slight curl of lips that is like a full-on grin for most people. Maybe it’s stupid—but it gives you courage.
You graze his skin with your new sharp teeth, and like a beachcomber searching for treasure with a metal detector, you just sense the sweet spot. You move as carefully as you can, pressing down into his flesh to make two neat little holes.
The spill of blood is divine, and you don’t have time to think that it’s gross. It fills your mouth and it is good, and you are so hungry, and you can’t get enough. The magic in this bloodletting rises like a tide, desire crashing over the both of you in a tingling, intoxicating rush. You feel everything, and there is no extricating the sexual pleasure from the gustatory. They are one and the same with this man, his delicious, powerful blood filling your mouth, his strapping body beneath yours, his hips bucking against you.
You feel his hand slide up your thigh, his thumb seeking the molten center of you. When he makes himself stop just short of your panty line you whine in protest, straining for his touch, but he resists your goading, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh. Perhaps you should be grateful, that he is strong enough to resist the pull of this magic between you, trying not to debauch you while you feed for the first time and everything is new and you have no idea what is happening. And yet, you can hardly think past how wonderful it would be to have his teeming erection buried inside you to the hilt while you drink him down.
You would tell him all this, but you can’t bring yourself to separate your mouth from the font of his delectable lifeblood. In fact, you don’t know how you’re going to stop, period.
It’s just so good.
John watches you through heavy lidded eyes, seemingly enjoying this as much as you are. Yet he has more sense of the situation as well, and when he tells you, “That’s enough, y/n,” an inhuman keening of protest escapes from deep in your throat.
“Y/n…” he warns again, his words thick with desire. “You have to stop.”
You close your eyes, telling yourself just one last mouthful.
That was two long sucking draughts ago.
Suddenly you feel a searing heat very near your face. Startled, your eyes fly open to find the crucifix there before you, and you hiss in answer, scrabbling back on the bed away from the holy item. With John Constantine’s blood on your lips you cower, shielding your eyes with a hand.
With a shuddering sigh he lowers the cross, sitting back against the headboard of his bed. He presses a tissue against his wrist, and your eyes are drawn to the crimson stains flowering on the wad of paper beneath his fingers.
What a waste, you think, before shaking the thought away.
Then the horror of what could have happened dawns on you.
You could have drank him dry, and in the heat of the moment you would have done it gladly.
Oh God. What have you become?
“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “Are you ok?”
He actually has the gall to smirk at you, as though any of this could be funny. “Yeah. Not the first time I’ve lost a little blood.”
There’s some inside joke in that statement you don’t understand, though you sense the darkness of self-deprecation in it.
Somehow, you feel simultaneously sated, and horrible. With a whimper you curl up at the foot of his bed, closing your eyes against the world. You can feel everything. You sense the people in the building, the fragile sound of their juicy little hearts beating. Even outside, the life on the street, men and women going about their lives with no idea what lurks in the shadows, wanting to eat them up…
But most distracting of all, the sheets beneath you smell like John, and the lust in your blood has yet to abate, even if the feeding is over. You feel it marching across your skin like red-hot ants. The desire to crawl up the bed and press your bloody lips to his is real, and you fight it with everything you have, because you don’t imagine he’d appreciate that very much after what he’s done for you. The sour expression on his face did not match the size of the tent in his pants, that is for sure.  
You wonder, is it going to be like this every time you eat from now on? The thought does not thrill you.
“Hey,” he goads softly, and your eyes fly open to regard him. Again, your irises shine like lanterns, fueled by the roil of emotions warring in your heart. “Come here.” He holds out one of those beautiful hands to you. Hands that you had so relished upon your body, on your flesh, in your hair…hands with such thick, beautiful blue veins…
You’re not sure how he knows that you want to be held, but now you fear it too. You fear what you are, and your ability to control yourself around him. Because the truth is you still want him very much, and he’d basically told you point blank that you mean nothing to him. The thought weighs on your heart now like a thousand stinging needles, and you feel your eyes fill with moisture of some kind.
So, vampires can cry after all.
You touch a finger to the corner of your eye, and see it comes away tinted red.
You kind of want to throw up.
“Maybe…I should go,” you say sadly, sitting up. You’re certain you look as disheveled as you feel. Your hair is a bird’s nest. Your once pretty floral sundress is dirty and torn. No wonder he doesn’t want you.
“If…you want.” Why does he sound sad about it? Shouldn’t he be glad to see the backside of you? Constantine the Demon Hunter? If you’d been nothing but a one-night fuck as a human, he certainly didn’t want to spend time with you now.
 “You know you’re going to need a dark place to rest for the day?”
Is he actually worried about where you’re going to sleep?
“Okay.” You think you can manage that, in your apartment next door. Or maybe…you’ll see what happens, if you watch the sun rise. Maybe it would just be better that way. Are vampire suicides double damned? You’ve never really been a religious person, but he’d said it like it was A Thing.
It reminds you of what John had said earlier. “What did you mean before? When you said join the club?”
He sighs, reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the night stand. “I’ll tell you some other time.”
Feeling like you’ve now been dismissed, you slide from the bed, standing on bare feet. You should be sore, but your movements are lithe, liquid as a cat’s.
Something else to get used to.
You can feel Constantine’s eyes glued to you, and you dare to take one last look back, waiting to turn to a pillar of salt. He’s so handsome it hurts, even in his rumpled state, his cuffs rolled up his forearms and his tie loose around his neck. How do his soulful dark eyes seem to hold all the sorrow of the world right now?
“Bye, John.”
He just nods, and you let yourself out.
***
Much to your surprise, ten minutes before dawn, you hear a knock on your door. You know it's John. You can tell by the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heart beat. You can smell him, and it is a heady thing in your nostrils. When you do not answer he just lets himself in, the cheeky bastard. 
He finds you sitting in one of your thrift store chairs by the window, one of the only ones not broken in the mess the vampires who took you left behind. He does not like this, you can tell, by his hairline frown. 
“Hey.” 
“Hi.”
“Hate to tell you, but you're going to have to find a new way to get your vitamin D.”
“Ha ha,” you say, turning back to the window. A few people are out and about below. This city never really sleeps. 
“Hey,” he says again, crouching down by your chair. “I know this is a lot...”
The look you pay him is not exactly kind. He plows forward anyway.
“But take it from someone who's been there. Hell isn't a place you should be in a hurry to go.” 
You blink at that. He says it like it's so black and white, not a hint of uncertainty. Not faith. Fact. Once upon a time, you might have questioned his sanity. Not anymore. 
“Sounds like you've been.” 
“For about two minutes. It was enough.” 
“What was it like?” you whisper. 
“Pure agony.” 
Your eyes go wide at hearing that. 
“So...want to show me your bolt hole?” he asks.
Once upon a time you would have capitalized on the opportunity for inuendo with such comedic gold just handed to you for free, but you’re not in the mood. You just stare at him.
“John...You're a demon hunter. Why do you care?”
He tries to meet your eyes, but in the end can only look away. “Come on, y/n. Just…don’t give up yet, ok?”
He just feels guilty, you tell yourself, and you pry yourself from your chair with a sigh. You’re not sure what the point of anything will be, anymore. But maybe you’ll make an effort to go on, because he asked you to.
Sometimes, that’s all it takes.
“Fine.”
You figure the closet will be the darkest place in the apartment for you to hide.
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i4oba · 5 hours
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nct dream as… / fanfiction aus 𓈒✳︎🏡
[take the quiz here to see which one you get!]
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✰ MARK — childhood friends to lovers!au
ever since you've basically known your name, mark has been the boy next door. there was the cheeky, red letters of "lee" painted on the mailbox, the windows were adorned with the same coloured curtains, and the same doormat has been sitting in front of their door for ages. you have loved mark ever since you two have met. there wasn't a day where you wouldn't think of him, and there hasn't been a day when you haven't loved him. it was like a vicious circle which you couldn't get out of, because those stupid feelings would destroy the oh so precious friendship of yours, and you cannot let that happen, right? i mean, that's what you've thought for far too long, since this friendship meant more to you, than the fragile feeling of love - you didn't want it to get to the point where you would rather spit on each other, than talk it out. maybe that's why you pushed him away from yourself? maybe you just did that because you weren't too sure of your own peace of mind? no matter what, you knew the decision itself was wrong, only to realize it way too late. damaging the friendship and crying yourself to sleep was all your fault, after all, being way too proud and scared, stupid even; when you came back to the town where you two grew up, the least thing you wanted was to meet mark lee, mainly because you wouldn't have been able to look him in the eyes after all these happened. but you had to, so soon you even got a little surprised. it's been a while since the last time you have been home, your bedroom seemed way too unfamiliar at that point, just like the vhs tape placed directly in the middle of your bed. one which you haven't seen yet. it didn't have a title, the white label completely empty as you picked it up. you were a little bit cautious when placing it in the system, waiting for it to play whatever is on it, not having such large imagination to expect anything. it was a home video montage, full of videos of you and mark: playing together, getting ready for the first day of school, going to the movies, the way you two got engaged in middle school as a joke, and the omnious day of prom... you got teary eyed, with one thing on your mind - you have to go and save whatever's left now. maybe you're not too late.
✰ RENJUN — soulmate!au
life had been pretty much grey and dreary until you found The One. the other half everyone had been so obsessed to find. you were never big on all this stuff, because you were convinced you'd be able to live as a single half for you whole life, and don't need anyone else to feel complete. deep inside you knew that all of this is bullshit, truly, and all that was coming out of you was true bitterness and constantly ongoing unsuccessful confessions, making you believe in your delusions. with every passing second, you had to see people find their other half, while you were left to deal with the grey world you were left in, not as a choice but as fate instead. you felt like a loser, a big zero, who doesn't even deserve a soulmate. you thought you were destined to die alone, maybe compensate with something of brilliance: be a composer or a singer, write or paint something extraordinary, lord knows what, just something of importance! you were looking for yourself in every corner of the world, not for a lover or a fling, not for an other half, fully ignoring the law of attraction. it might have been some reverse psychological trick, effecting it all. and this may have been the reason behind why you had to leave that horribly boring theatre play, sneaking out and bumping into The One, who handed back your accidentally dropped bag, slowly looking into your eyes. he might have worked at the theater as he was wearing a name tag on his elegant shirt - huang renjun, it said. but it doesn't even matter, because his eyes were brown! brown! not grey, brown! everything cleared up. you did find the half - with brown eyes and a smile so bright.
✰ JENO — coffee shop!au
it was pretty much bittersweet to step foot in your favourite café: it was getting dark out there, and although the rain has stopped pouring, you got absolutley soaked to the core along the way there, rain replacing the tears on your face by then. your hair was sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, your body trembling without stopping, as you entered. the bell placed above the entrance was ringing lightly, gathering everyone's attention to you, although there wasn't too much people there except for the baristas, maybe two wandering souls, working on their laptops or reading in a cozy corner. well, maybe if it wasn't for getting dumped literal minutes ago, you wouldn't be here either, but it was still the most reasonable choice compared to going to a club or a ruin bar, gettig incredibly drunk, Plus! a good espresso might be able to clear the fog in your head, which you were in need of during this stupidly stressing period of life. you expected hyuck to greet you by the coffee machine, grinning ear to ear, as he always does when you visit between two lectures, but there was a completely new face behind the counter. it's been a long time since you've last seen a new employee here. his smile was sweet and rather warm, eyes conveying a sense of concern as you took one step closer, rubbing your eyes while getting your purse out of your pocket - you discreetly looked at his name tag, right on his black apron: lee jeno. whatta name... by then, you were way to hopeless to try and guess how the day would go, but life had to surprise you, fate deciding funnily against all odds: next to your cup of coffee, there was a napkin, hiding a telephone number on it, messily written down with a short message as well: "would you go out on a date with me, darling? :)"
✰ HAECHAN — rivals to lovers!au
lee donghyuck's name rushed through the hallways of your music academy just as quietly as a whisper, and you never knew why was it all like that ever since you've stepped foot into the school. you couldn't even hide the way too obvious rolls of your eyes every time you heard it. lee donghyuck was one of the biggest prodigies at the academy, no one could even be considered as a rival for him, this is mainly why he was such a big living legend amongst the students - you couldn't even hide how annoyed this made you, especially because he made sure you knew this ever since you two were little. music played a huge part in both of your lives, and somehow, you two always seemed to be at each other's throat, the first place at being the best always changing between the two of you. you could never get rid of each other either; your dad, always being so positive, once said, on your way to the academy sometime between sophomore and junior year, that the only reason behind this is that you two are equally good at what you're doing. you were pretty much skeptic for the longest of time, and felt as if you were destined to be the forever second next to him. you've had enough of always bumping into walls, since hyuck was the one who could stand at the first place ever so proudly. in kindergarten, in middle school, and even in high school, every. god damn. time. and that infuriating smile was plastered all upon his face even when you two were asked to not perform alone on the annual charity gala of your academy - you two had to perform something phenomenal, putting the childish jarring aside, growing out of the silly phase of hating each other, which was all made up by you, and you only, pushing the poor boy away from you. the boy who had always been so obsessed with you, utterly and completely. he won this time again, isn't it right?
✰ JAEMIN — photographer!au
when jaemin brought up the idea of making the last parts of his portfolio with you (which basically means about you), you were a little bit skeptic at first. you loved jaemin dearly, since he was a really understanding friend, but... you were simply terrified of cameras. you didn't really like the idea of being captured at all, you hated looking back at yourself on pictures taken of you, and you couldn't even think about how high quality his pictures would be with that hyper super machine, focused on all the little flawed details of your face that you absolutely despised. no, you couldn't even bear the idea of this whole project, and you stood by this decision of yours, jaemin waiting patiently the whole time, not pushing it too hard. since he wanted to work with you no matter what, giving up on his plan wouldn't be too typical of him - the fight didn't last long but it was pretty heated, him highlighting so many known things that needed to be said finally: it's childish how you reflect on yourself, and your delusions stop you from way too many things. the way he said straight into your face how beautiful he thinks you are, inside and outside, and that he wants the whole world to know how ethereal you are, made you tear up a little - especially when he said his heart breaks every time you speak so lowly of yourself. he truly thinks you're the modern manifestation of aphrodite, that you are his own venus, the muse of him, someone he can adore... that he's way too in love with you to let go of this, and-; the kiss you gave him was short, yet gave him exact answers. answers to hundreds and thousand of unsaid questions he kept hidden in himself for years and years on end.
✰ CHENLE — blind date!au
you clearly didn’t brace yourself for this whole fiasco proposed by donghyuck himself, foolishly believing his reasonings behind how perfect of a matchmaker he is. of course you knew that what he way saying was partly stupid, plus you were like a seventy percent sure he wasn't even sober when he set up a blind date during that omnious frat party he wasn't invited to. you didn't have to worry or anything, that's just how you were - overly anxious of such things, even if you weren't meeting a psychopath. you were only a bit vary of the awkwardness this whole new experience would bring, both of you rushing home way too soon from the date, trying to forget about it as soon as possible. these misconceptions about how the night would go stayed straight until you stopped in front of the restaurant to wait for your - then late already - date. you were a little nervous he stood you up, and you got yourself into the most beautiful piece of clothing from you wardrobe for nothing, but it was worth it, looking back at it, as zhong chenle arrived and you two simply just... clicked? automatically? not to mention you two decided to leave the place after the hors d'oeuvre, since you both found the place a little too fancy at that moment, going to a simple ice cream parlor instead, taking a walk in the park after, talking about anything and everything that came to mind: family, politics, movies and the most embarrassing memories from your childhood came up too, as you couldn't help but laugh at how chenle dropped his ice cream cone on the ground, while he simultaneously promised you that he wouldn't drop the cone on the next date - and you smiled, so happily.
✰ JISUNG — secret admirer!au
you were head over heels for jisung and his undying love for dancing. but, thinking a bit deeper about it, while writing that foolish, teenager like love letter for him, forced into the role of his secret admirer, there were much more of those things that made you feel head over heels for the boy: he showed you what persistence was, he spent the whole of his youth with you, and he wasn't afraid to spend the rest of his life with you, helping you out anytime you're in need of it, since he couldn't not do that as you "best friend". he couldn't be evil with you, he was never able to leave you and he couldn't even envision a future in which you weren't by his side. but the border he made up between the two of you, was never crossed - you two were friends, not more, not less. you were so torn deep inside, as you were helpless, being in the never ending limbo you would rather push forward, but he kept on tugging it backwards; the idea of writing letters was originally from your mother, who had enough of your obvious agony. she was positive you would write every feeling of yours out, making it easier as time goes by. their number kept growing, however, one letter becoming a dozen soon enough, maybe even more in the meantime, while not writing a name on any of them, referring to yourself only as a mere secret admirer. they suddenly disappeared from the bottom of your drawer one day, though, realizing way too late that the ringing phone in your pocket was in fact park jisung, the picture of him taking up the screen of your mobile - did he know?
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ravensmadreads · 1 day
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The Mess of Us
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A/N: i have no excuse honestly. I've imprinted on David York for reasons unfathomable to my own brain. This is my attempt at giving him a redemption arc? A softer backstory? My heart and soul? Who knows.
Warnings: uhhhh lots of angst (i mean i tried), almost entirely canon compliant, vague-ish attempt at smut, mild cursing, insane use of italics. (Also: english is not my first language and im faking being a writer but i think this came out okay??? Pls be kind he's my lil babie!!)
Summary: I gave david york my heart and then proceeded to bash it with a sledgehammer - forgive me :p this is the same universe as What Love Means
Taglist: @fuckyeahdindjarin cause i wouldn't be writing without you; @chronically-ghosted thank u to listening to me cry about Dave, and my writing, and myself - i owe u my life; @wannab-urs you absolute maniac i adore u; @timelordfreya u were so kind on the accompanying piece for this i hope you like this too <3
David York
You've known that name for a long time. Stayed with the man that inhabits it even longer. He goes by Dave now. Lives in a suburban home. Has two daughters. An "office job". A respectable man. A good man. A little misguided perhaps. A little bit more jaded than he used to be. More broken than you remember. The light in his eyes all but snuffed out. But a good man.
He was always a good man.
Even when he was no longer yours.
Even when he was no longer David.
****
David York and his sunshine. Neighbours. Best friends. Light of each others lives.
You're two halves of one whole in a way that makes no sense from the outside, but when you tread close enough you can pinpoint the exact strands that join your soul to his. The way his heart is an exact mirror to yours. The way your smile reflects the sun in his eyes and his warmth leaves you feeling more loved than any being in the entire universe. You'd stumbled across him, buried between the pages of a book twice the size of his head, and you thought: Oh God. It's you. It's going to be you. And you decided you'd never let him go.
Until he decided to leave.
He's so excited when he gets the call. When he makes his plans and packs his bags. When he tells you all about the good he's going to do, the hero he's going to become.
"I'll be back soon sunshine. You won't even know I'm gone."
You try to convince him to stay. With everything you've got in you. All your jokes, all your warmth, all your schemes. When that fails you give him your heart. Your tears. Explain that you can't live without him. That he can't expect you to live without him and not fall apart at the seams because he's the thread that holds you together. And when you see the anguish on his face at your confession, you revel a little because you think you've won. He's going to stay for you because of course he is. He's your David. He cups your cheeks in his hands. Lips meet your forehead as his words break your heart:
"I'm sorry sunshine. You know I have to go. I have to do this. You know."
So you wipe off your tears and you smile. Because that's what you're supposed to do for a friend and that's what you do for him. Give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Tell him to be safe.
"Don't get your butt kicked too much David. I need you back in one piece."
And that's the first time David York turns his back on your smile.
****
You wait for him. Like the inexplicable fool you are. Wander aimlessly in the streets around your childhood home like a spirit too tired to haunt anyone but itself. Waiting for him to come back and spark you alive again. Awakening for the few weeks of leave he has before reverting to your state of nothingness the minute the door closes behind him. Flitting like a ghost of yourself, nothing tethering you to this place, but still incapable of moving on without him.
Because he was David York. Your best friend.
Your good man. Your solid rock.
Until he wasn't.
Until he left.
****
You learn to make your way without him. Stumble, fall and scrape your knees more than once, without him by your side clucking and fussing like the mother hen he was. Without him to hold you up and bring you close:
"You’ve got to be careful honey. I can't be losing my sunshine."
You find a purpose and make your stand into the big bad world but all of it feels hollow without him by your side. You learn to stitch people up, bandage their wounds, hold bleeding skin in place and snap broken bones back together again. He laughs when he finds out, equal parts amused and proud.
"Looks like you became the anti-Dave sunshine."
And you smile for him, because of course you do. You don't tell him that everything you're learning, you're learning because of him. Because of the sheer wall of terror that's settled in your spine since the moment he walked away. Because of the David that comes to you in your dreams. The one that crumbles in front of you; broken and damaged and begging for help. The one you're trying so hard to save.
You may be his sunshine, but he was always your sun, and you'll protect him, even if he doesn't want you to.
****
The David that comes to you now is not yours. He's an off brand version of himself. A cheap copy. An imposter that calls himself Dave and smirks in a way that makes your skin crawl. He wears Davids skin but has none of his warmth. The sunshine in his smile is replaced by an ice cold sharpness and you hate that shivers it sends down your spine. His eyes have lost most of the humour they used to have, and when he hugs you he lets go a little too soon. A little too fractured, a little too cold. You hold on; assessing, caring, and wondering. Go to ask but he shakes his head; the look in his eyes silencing your questions before the words can form on your lips. The worry in your heart worsens.
When he walks you home you try again but he anticipates it. Like the predator he is now, he sees your strike coming, and retaliates in the one way he knows will force your silence. He kisses you. Hot and deep. Steals the air from your lungs and the words from your brain. Renders you shocked. When you open your eyes it's your David staring back again and your relieved smile has him pushing into you again. He kisses you until you're breathless. Again, and again, and again, until all your worries are dripping unvoiced at your feet and all your questions have been sucked into the air in his lungs.
You don't fall into each other as much as you attack. The culmination of years of circling each other and it all comes down to this. Mouths open, teeth clashing like you're trying to make your way into each others souls. His hands grab you so desperately, so fervently, that you wonder how he hasn't moulded you into his own chest yet. Your nails scratching at him like you're trying to carve a home in his bones. You’re trying to tear pieces of each other apart. Him, so he may take you with him and you, so you never have to watch him leave again. You devour every inch of him so reverently that the taste of him may remain embedded in your tongue forever. And he carves his way into you, soothing an emptiness that only ever craved him. Pounding in like he's trying to break you open and consume the light within. You cling to each other in the aftermath, breathless, sated and smiling, and you remember placing a kiss on his heart right before you drift off in his embrace.
You should've known, in retrospect, that that was as good as it was ever going to get.
He leaves you in an empty bed. Runs away before the dawn breaks like the consequences of what you both did are too ugly to be faced in the light of day. You turn the apartment upside down looking for one note, one glimpse, one hint of him that's not mottled on your skin and going to be torn away by the cruel hands of time.
You take the dismissal for what it is when you don't find one.
****
He comes back broken. Purple shadows under his eyes, a split lip and a wince that breaks you when you go to hug him. The storm breaks and you lunge. Too strung out to keep going like this any longer and too frazzled by thoughts of "what if it was worse" to think about the consequences of breaking your silence.
Your fists pound against the rock hard of his chest. The place that used to be your solace, your comfort, your home. Where you'd set your head too many times to count and where all your dreams ever went to rest. And they've turned it to stone, moulded him into a machine, changed him into something he's not.
"You're not a fucking hero David. You're not. And I'm asking you to stop trying to be one. I'm asking you to stop this self sacrificial bullshit and come back. Come home. You don't need to be a hero. You just need to be alive. I need you alive dammit! Why can't you see how much I need you?"
Your voice falters and cracks. It's out there now, the pieces of your heart; ugly, tattered and split open in front of him. Waiting for his judgement, for his grace. His face twists into a grimace, and you turn your head before he can see the tears fall. You don't need his apologies. His empty words and false promises of how nothing will ever happen to him, because it will, you know it will. So you hold up a hand before he can begin.
"It's okay. I get it. This is your life now, right? So will you forgive me then, if I can't stand around watching you try to kill yourself and wait for the day you inevitably succeed?"
Something in his eyes breaks at your words, and something in your heart does when he gathers you in his arms. The kiss on your temple feels like a goodbye. To your one solace, your one crutch and the only friend you ever had. And you know this goodbye will haunt you forever.
That's the one time you turn your back on David York.
****
He comes back with an extra sparkle in his eyes. Pleads and begs his way into your good graces and you indulge him because that's what you do for David. His smile has never been brighter. He may call you sunshine but he has always been your shining light, your beacon, the lighthouse you turn to.
But then he turns away. And in a split second, your world tilts on it's axis.
Carol.
Her name is Carol. Perfectly normal. Perfectly sweet. Perfectly perfect. He's got his hand in her hand and you don't understand. You can't. You refuse. Except.... David. He looks so happy. So content. Looks at her with all the devotion you've only ever given him, and all the love you wish he could've given you.
"What do think sunshine? I think she may be the one."
You smile. Because that's what you always do for David. You smile. It's an ugly thing. Fractured. Broken. He notices because of course he does. You've never been able to hide from him, ingrained as he is into your very soul. His smile falters and his eyes fill with sorrow and regret. Apologies for all he could never be and all the regret he has about it.
"You did good York. You'll be great together."
He flinches. He has only ever been David to you. He knows he has broken something irreparable. Opens his mouth to fix it. To swallow something back, say something else instead. Change the words, the letters, the combinations of decisions that led you both to this very moment. Something to keep you whole but the parts he shattered, however unwittingly, are already crumbling to dust in front of him. He closes his mouth. Swallows whatever lingered at the back of his throat. You smile at each other as you walk away. Him with her hand in his. You with the cloud of pain that comes from finally accepting the bitter truth for what it is.
He's not yours. Not anymore. Never will be again.
You never call him David again.
***
You miss him. Of course you do. Running from him was like running from a part of yourself; impossible, regretful and pointless. You were intwined into each other too thoroughly for there to ever be a clean cut through. You couldn't really walk away from him completely no matter what the distance on a map points out.
You know he'll call when he comes back again. He does. Shows up at the threshold of your sanity and the hardest thing you've ever done is ignore his voice when it calls to you. Voicemail, after voicemail, after voicemail. You listen to every single one but you can't call him back. His voice is your kryptonite. You'd walk back the distance if only you could but some tattered remnants of your self esteem hold you back. The last one comes with a letter in the mail. The glossy embellished card reminds you of the reason you walked away. The reason you could never go back. He pleads over static and tinny phone lines:
"Come on sunshine. I need you there. I'm sorry. I'm so s-. Please. I- "
Silence for a few minutes before the line cuts off. Typical of you both. To never say what you want and yet be assured the other knows exactly what you mean. He probably knows too. That you can't bear to see someone else's name next to his. The thought makes you nauseous; angry in a way that scares you, an evil coiling restless being inside of you, threatening to do as he asks. Go over there and scream in his face. The audactiy of this man to say he needs you when all you ever wanted was for him to pick you. Over the chip on his shoulder, the gun in his hand, the name on that card. Choose you. Love you. But you can't do any of that. You can't stand by his side and smile as he walks away with another either.
His only mercy is that he doesn't show up at your doorstep when you both know he could and you wouldn't be able to close the door in his face. Not him. Never him.
You throw the card away without opening it.
He forgives you.
But he never calls again.
***
Months turn to years and David York turns from a stabbing ache into a memory and then a ghost. He haunts you initially, at every turn, but slowly, over the years, the voice in your head softens down. He vanishes into the fog that lingers at the back of your mind and you stop looking over your shoulder for him to come back. You left him so suddenly, so abruptly, that you'd torn off pieces of yourself too. But time heals those wounds and you gradually learn to carry on as half of your bleeding heart slowly scabs and scars over.
You carve out a content little place for yourself, in a tiny corner of the world as you finally learn to love the reflection in your mirror. There's grey in your hair now. Wrinkles in your skin and hands hardened over from a life lived serving others. Saving who you can, when you can. A melody on your lips as you collect the parcels from your mailbox. Cocoa and bitter coffee long since mask the taste of his name on your breath.
There's a knock at your door and you flit to open it. Your smile, a pale imitation of what it used to be, plastered on, as you brace yourself to greet a well meaning neighbour or two. It falls quicker than lightning at the sight that greets you instead.
A man wavers at your doorstep. Unfamiliar in his familiarity. The ghost of a memory of a love never forgotten. Dripping crimson over the smiley face on your welcome mat. A haphazard bandage concealing half his face. One hand clearly broken. Arm bent at an angle too sharp to be natural. Angry streaks of purple and blue dancing around all visible patches of skin and he's trying to be nonchalant about the way he's favouring his right leg but failing miserably. Wheezing a breath that you know speaks of atleast one, if not several, broken ribs. And yet, despite all the damage and destruction and sheer agonizing pain he's no doubt in, the man smiles. Full and bright and warm.
"Hey sunshine."
And you reply.
A gasp. A plea. A promise.
David.
****
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