#the rest of the story is about coming back from the fallout

[ghirahimbo]

evil time loop escape conditions where you can't get out until you've fuucked up your life in the most spectacular way possible, confident that the next night will reset the slate as usual.

instead, the next day comes.

#that's the first chapter btw #the rest of the story is about coming back from the fallout #trying to make amends #something something the hubris of believing you were above consequences #coming to terms with the pain you were willing to cause in the moment because you never thought it would last (but it did) #actually maybe this is just undertale geno route #post cancelled undertale did it already #lol mostly i was trying to figure out if i could get to new york in a daily reset time loop #i probably could if i fucked up my life #and of COURSE that would be the day it didn't reset

[kamaluhkhan]

ours are the moments i play in the dark

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.

warnings: ANGST (im so sorry in advance...); flashback is from conrad's POV and the rest is from reader's perspective; mentions of sex + losing virginities (nothing too detailed/graphic); reader has an ex who's referred to with gender neutral pronouns; reader and other characters drink alcohol (pomegranate margaritas ;) ); hints of alcoholism (reader's mother); jealous reader who's trying her best; pining conrad who's a bit of a jerk; reader and conrad fight A Lot (they will make up eventually i promise!!)

tags: @stargirlsirius-recs, @ifilwtmfc, @qwertyb2577, @allnrsnz, @baconeggndcheez, @peanutbelley, @imogen-skye, @geekinthefuschiahair, @tvije, @drikawinchester, @maybankslover, @junnniiieee07, @elcpsstuff, @fangirl-kimora, @redbierd, @starkeylover

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my conrad series so far! i love these characters and writing their stories, and it means so much that others are enjoying reading my work. there is one more part left and i promise it will be happier so stay tuned :)) i haven't watched the last two episodes of season 2, but i'm planning on writing a bit for that, too!! thank you x infinity ♡

part one | part two

i lost a friend / like keys in a sofa / like a wallet in the backseat / like ice in the summer heat (finneas, "i lost a friend")

now — summer, age 18

“you know, you guys aren’t fooling anyone.”

“and what exactly do you mean by that, steven?” you challenge, taking another sip of your soda. 

it’s the fourth of july and susannah invited you over for her annual celebration. susannah always hosted fun parties, so you were more than happy to accept because it meant eating some good food, listening to an upbeat playlist, watching some fireworks, and just relaxing. essentially, susannah always delivered the best of summer, rolled into a carefully planned event. 

the sun was shining, and everyone was having a good time, including you — at least, until you saw conrad and nicole in the pool, engaging in some serious PDA. you immediately got out of the pool and went to sulk near the drink table, where you were happily alone until steven came over to join you.

“i’m just saying, man. you and con are definitely going out of your way to prove that you’re mad at each other,” steven explains. “but we all know how much you care about each other.”

steven is right about the first part: you and conrad had done your best to avoid each other since the incident at nicole’s party and its fallout. if you and jeremiah had planned to go surfing and he invited conrad, you would always back out at the last minute. if you were over at the fishers helping belly pick out an outfit for a date with cam, conrad would conveniently stay in his room. not to mention, any time the two of you did cross paths — which was rare, but jeremiah and belly were persistent in requesting that all five of you spend time together, like the old days, they would say — it resulted in meaningless, petty arguments. the two of you had always been competitive and very comfortable teasing each other, but the difference was that now, your interactions were no longer good-natured.

you thought steven, belly, and jeremiah hadn’t noticed, but you should have given them more credit. to anyone who knew you, it was pretty obvious that something was up between you and conrad, even if they didn’t know what exactly it was.

“there’s a thin line between love and hate. and right now you guys are that line.”

“thank you for your insight,” you say sarcastically. “be sure to include that in your college essay — i’m sure princeton would love to have you.”

steven rolls his eyes at you, just as nicole arrives at the drink table.

“hey guys,” she greets. she reaches over to grab two cans of peach iced tea before you stop her. 

“conrad’s allergic to peaches,” you say. “so you might wanna get him something else.”

nicole looks at you for a second before nodding and reaching for a can of sprite instead. 

“thanks,” she says as she walks away. 

once she’s gone, steven gives you a pointed look.

“what?” you scoff. 

steven just shakes his head. “love and hate,” he muses, leaving you to join his parents and shayla near the pool. 

you then decide to go inside briefly, where you find belly and jeremiah, pouring vodka into a blender.

“we’re making pomegranate margaritas!” belly exclaims, practically giddy. 

“well, you gotta use the good blender for that.” conrad seems to appear out of nowhere from behind you, instantly reaching for the aforementioned good blender and placing it on the counter.

you were already in a sour mood from seeing him with nicole earlier, but belly looks at you with hopeful eyes, and you remember what steven said earlier, so you mentally promise that you would play nice with conrad. you owe belly and the others that much after being absent for so long: a carefree summer, just like the ones you used to know. 

you imagine that jeremiah sent conrad a similar pleading look because, miraculously, you and conrad don’t argue with each other as you help mix pomegranate margaritas for everyone. you actually engage in playful banter and laugh at the other’s jokes. you even feel sorry for him when his father, who wasn’t supposed to be here, walks in. you can feel the good mood slipping, so you suggest heading to the beach for a change of scenery.

belly had invited cam and a few more girls who are doing the debutante thing with her, and with steven bringing shayla and conrad bringing nicole (which, you are totally fine with, of course, especially after a pomegranate margarita), you had a pretty solid party forming on the beach, away from the adults. 

of all people, belly suggests some drinking games. it’s all a blur of sand, laughter, and vodka spiked fruit juice. once you were all the perfect amount of tired and tipsy, the group settles down, and gigi suggests a different game.

“we should play truth or dare.”

“oh my gosh we should!” belly smiles, tapping your leg enthusiastically. “remember? we used to play it all the time!”

you smile back. “of course i do.” 

when you were kids, you, belly, steven, jeremiah, and conrad would play truth or dare any chance you got. it was never very serious, mostly goofy pranks and harmless questions. you had all grown up since then, and somewhere along the way, truth or dare had become less innocent than it used to be.

“y/n,” one of the debs — dara, if you remembered correctly — turns to you. it was the first time your name had been called, and in all honesty, you were perfectly happy just sitting back in the sun and sipping the rest of your drink. “truth or dare?” 

you choose truth, mostly to avoid having to get up from your very comfortable seat on the sand.

“are you a virgin?”

your mouth suddenly feels dry. you’re not ashamed of your answer, but it doesn’t help that you can see conrad glaring at you from the corner of your eye. you take another sip of your drink before answering. 

“um, not really.” 

“it’s yes or no question,” nicole says. 

“then my answer’s no,” you declare.

“what?” belly screeches. she sits up straighter to turn towards you, and in the process spills some pomegranate margarita on her dress. “i can’t believe you had sex and didn’t tell me? when? with who? what was it like?” her cheeks are slightly flushed. a sober belly would have likely asked you in private, or at the very least, not in front of people you barely knew. in that moment, you almost regret the pomegranate margaritas.

almost. because maybe it’s the silence and everyone’s expectant stares, or the adrenaline you feel from winning most of the drinking games, or the effects of the drinks themselves, but you convince yourself that it’s as good a time as any to tell the story. a sober you would have known to tread more carefully given the context; that would have been about three pomegranate margaritas ago, though. 

“it’s kind of a cliche story, honestly,” you start. “it happened last summer. it was raining that night, so we were hanging out in the back of my teammate’s van, just talking, and one thing led to another….we didn’t plan to do anything, but we got caught in the heat of the moment.” you choose your words carefully, deliberately avoiding eye contact with conrad.

“how was it though?” belly asks, leaning in closer.

you shrug. “a little awkward, i guess? neither of us had sex before then, and we were both figuring stuff out. like, he couldn’t open the condom wrapper because he was so flustered, so i had to help him. it was nice, though,” you admit. “when the rain cleared, we went out to stargaze and fell asleep on the beach.”

belly sighs. “so romantic.”

“you’re right about it being cliche,” steven laughs. he has an arm thrown around shayla, and uses the other to gesture towards conrad. “conrad, man, that sounds almost exactly like your first time.”

you feel your entire body heat up, and it's not because of the sun shining down on you. conrad’s gaze finally meets yours — for a split second only, but it’s enough for steven to notice. 

“holy shit! it all makes sense now!” steven exclaims, suddenly standing up.

jeremiah frowns, looking between you, conrad, and steven. “what makes sense?”

“i’ve been trying to figure out why y/n and conrad have been so weird around each other this summer, but it’s obvious now: they lost their virginities to each other. they had sex!”

nicole stiffens and narrows her eyes at conrad. “you told me you never hooked up with y/n.”

“well, that’s definitely not true.”

“belly,” you warn, looking over to conrad once more. his cheeks are turning red, and you imagine a storm brewing beneath his dark blue eyes. 

“i don’t know about last summer,” belly continues, completely oblivious to the tension building. “but i do know that they kissed at your party.”

“i knew it,” nicole scoffs, pushing away from conrad. “i knew it.” with one last poisonous glare towards conrad, she storms off.

conrad sends you an equally poisonous look before chasing after her. the party dissolves shortly after.

feeling defeated, you lie back in the sand, close your eyes, and let the sun shine down on you once more, taking deep breaths to slow down your heart rate.

call it karma or a cruel twist of fate or just a really shitty coincidence, but you’re finally the one left alone on the beach.

then — summer, age 17

conrad was more than a little surprised to see your name appear on his phone. it wasn't like you were completely off the grid — you texted, though infrequently, and followed each other on socials. he scrolled through his instagram feed and saw the occasional picture of you wearing a costume at a halloween party or sipping hot chocolate on a snowy day. photos that never quite fit the image he had of you in his mind: in cutoff denim shorts and a swimsuit and layers of sunscreen, with sand in your hair and popsicle stains on your lips.

“hey,” he answered after only three rings. 

"hey fisher, any friday night plans?"

he told you he was working on his college essay.

“homework on a friday night in the middle of summer,” you tsked. “i never realized how much of a nerd you are.”

conrad laughed. “i mean, that’s on you for just realizing that.”

 “fair enough,” you hummed, and conrad could practically hear your smile through the phone. “if you’re in the mood for something more fun, look out your window.”

conrad wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but you standing in the driveway of his summer house was pretty low on the list. you waved at him frantically, telling him to hurry up and open his window.

he was still in awe as you climbed through. conrad tried to memorize the image of you then and there, standing in front of him in his bedroom: wearing dolphin shorts and a light jacket, with chipped turquoise nail polish and a bright smile.

"you drove all the way here?" 

"well, they haven't cracked the science behind teleportation yet," you say playfully. "so i didn't have many options."

"i can't believe you're here," conrad smiled, and that’s when you finally hugged him. he held on tightly, afraid you would leave at any moment if he let go. you smelled the same, like chlorine and vanilla sugar.

once you broke away from the hug, you pointed towards something behind him, pinned to his bulletin board. conrad followed your gaze and felt his cheeks heat up.

“i missed you, too, connie,” you teased, eyes lingering on the newspaper clipping of your swim team making it to nationals thanks to your record time. 

“mom showed it to me,” he explained, the smile on your face making his heart beat out of his chest. “she’s so proud of her little mermaid.”

your smile fell, just a bit, but enough for conrad to notice a shift in your mood. you always did a good job at hiding the weight of the world on your shoulders, at least around the others. not so much around him.

you sighed and sat down on his bed. “you know, after that swim meet, my dad lectured me about not being fast enough,” you explained. “winning by only a millisecond apparently wasn’t enough to impress college scouts, at least according to him.”

“your dad’s a jerk,” conrad said instantly. he sat down next to you. “and an idiot, if he can’t see how amazing you are.”

“thanks, connie,” you whispered. it looked like you were going to say more; instead, you picked up his laptop. “wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were working on your college essay. you really are a nerd.”

“shut up,” conrad laughed, nudging you with his shoulder and trying to grab the laptop from you.

you nudged him back. “it’s a compliment! schools go crazy for trust fund nerds.”

“yeah, yeah.” conrad waved you off. “so, you’re in cousins for the summer?”

all you did was smile softly and close the laptop, finally handing it back to him.

conrad’s heart burst with joy. because not only were you there — finally there, after all that time away — but you were staying. his mom would always muse about summers in cousins being magical, but conrad didn’t quite believe her until you were gone and he felt that magic fade away. 

“do you wanna go downstairs? belly’s watching it happened one night with my mom and laurel.”

“as much as i love susannah’s favourite movie,” you started, and conrad’s heart soared again at you remembering his mom’s favourite movie. “i thought maybe it could just be the two of us tonight? maybe we could go for a drive.”

that’s how the two of you ended up at mermaid grove — a secluded stretch of beach about an hour away from your houses. it was near the mall your mothers sometimes went to, and during one of those excursions when you were young, all the kids wandered off and found it. the only time you’d been there was during the day and with jeremiah, belly, steven, and your siblings, so it felt different then, at night with just the two of you.

it started raining on the drive over — which only took 45 minutes without traffic — so you were hanging out in the back of your van. the van actually belonged to one of your teammate’s cousin who was somewhat of a hippie, you said, which explained the smell of weed and bohemian decor — battery powered rainbow fairy lights, colourful pillows, an elaborately patterned tapestry. the space was definitely intimate, or maybe it felt that way because you and conrad were sitting as close as possible to each other, shoulders touching and one of your legs tangled with his. he was scrolling through the pictures on your phone of your last swim meet in california, where you'd gotten the chance to visit stanford, while you were peeling an orange. 

"you would love it there, connie,” you gushed. you dug your fingers into the orange peel, and the smell of citrus started to fill the air. “the beaches are beautiful and the waves are amazing. it’s like, always summer.” 

conrad sometimes felt like summer was the only season of the year that he was truly awake, truly living. everything else felt like a dream, one that he would always describe to you in mundane detail; conrad even kept a small journal throughout the year, writing things down that he needed to tell you once you reunited every june. but one journal had turned to two, almost three, and conrad was trying really hard to not resent you for that.

“anyways, i think i’m going to apply in the fall.”

conrad stopped scrolling through your phone, pausing at a picture you had taken of a lemon tree. “doesn’t your dad have princeton lined up?”

“you make it sound like he bought my way in, when it was actually hours and hours and hours of training to get that scholarship. on the national best swim team.” you mimicked your father’s patronising tone for that last part; conrad hadn’t seen him in years, and he could still recognize it. 

“you’re right, though. my dad would flip his shit. even if i got in with a scholarship, it’s so far away and i have the twins to look after, but a girl can dream, right?”

“i feel that,” conrad assured. you gave him a sad smile, knowing that his dad was as intense about football as yours was about swimming. the worst part was that you both loved your respective sports, until they became a burden. you both had other burdens to deal with, too, when it came to your families. 

“in an ideal world, the two of us wouldn’t have to worry about anything else. we’d live in a place by the beach, surf every day, and hang out in the sun while sipping ice-cold, fresh lemonade.” just like we used to, conrad added in his head.

“in an ideal world,” you agreed. “we’d also adopt four dogs, each named after one of the beatles. you can teach them how to play the guitar.”

conrad laughed. “if i couldn’t teach you, there is no way i can teach one dog, let alone four.”

“well, they wouldn’t get distracted by your dreamy blue eyes like i did.” you winked at conrad, and handed him the freshly peeled orange before he even had time to blush.

“take it,” he protested. “you drove all this way — you should eat something.”

you shook your head and placed the orange in his hand before you pulled out another fruit from your bag. “i picked some of these up on the way here — best peaches on the east coast.” you took a big bite. “remember the summer we found out that you had a mild peach allergy?” you asked, juice dripping down your chin. you wiped it with the sleeve of the varsity jacket you wore.

conrad laughed at the memory. belly and steven had brought back candy from their trip to toronto. conrad practically inhaled an entire bag of fuzzy peaches, and didn’t realize that they weren’t supposed to make your mouth itchy — the “fuzzy” part wasn’t literal. that felt like so long ago, but there you and conrad were, settling back into each other like no time had passed.

as the night grew darker, you and conrad shifted closer to each other. conrad ate orange slice after orange slice as you devoured your peach, all while looking through the photos on your phone. you’d occasionally interject with a short story or comment, and there were still raindrops falling on the roof, but for the most part, there was nothing but a comfortable silence between you. 

you moved to wrap the orange peel and peach pit in a napkin, just as conrad swiped onto a photo of someone kissing your cheek.

“who’s that?”

you leaned over to check. “oh. that’s sam.”

“are you dating?” conrad asked, trying to seem casual about it. just a friend asking another friend about their romantic situation. as a friend. 

“we were,” you explained, sitting back next to him. “they broke up with me a few months ago.”

conrad sighed in relief, which he hoped you didn’t notice. “sorry.”

you shrugged. “it’s fine. apparently i’m emotionally distant.”

that wasn’t much of a surprise to conrad. sam might have been an idiot for breaking up with you, but they were spot on with the emotionally distant part. out of all the time you’d known each other, conrad had only seen you cry once, maybe twice. you were usually the one wiping away tears and putting on a brave face, inadvertently, or maybe purposefully, hiding your own vulnerability. 

still, that wasn’t something conrad was about to stir up.

“what? you?” he joked instead.

“shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes, but the wry smile on your face gave you away. “how about you? broke any hearts this past year?”

conrad thought for a moment. there was aubrey, who his football teammate said had a major crush on him. they had been texting for a while now, and were on the edge of maybe becoming something. but then, there you were, stirring up feelings conrad had long buried — or, at least, tried to. if part of his head was always in summer, then part of his heart always belonged to you. 

“no.”

“got your heart broken?”

he thought back to a few weeks ago, when he ran into your mom at the grocery store, and she said you wouldn’t be coming to cousins again that summer. you hadn’t spoken at all to each other for a month or two before that.

“no,” he lied.

you hummed, and took your phone away from him. 

“wanna hear something trippy?” you asked suddenly. you always had a knack for changing the course of a conversation to where you wanted it to go.

“what?”

“well, since it takes a while for light from space to reach us, when we stargaze, we’re actually looking back in time. like, the star that’s closest to earth — other than the sun — is four light years away. or is it five?” you paused. “anyways, if the sky was clear and we could see that star, it would mean we’d actually be looking at that star from summer, five years ago.”

“very trippy,” conrad agreed. “it’s like a cosmic time machine.”

you hummed. “do you ever wonder what our past selves back then, at like 12 or 13, would think of us now? i think about those summers and how magical they felt.” 

magical. you turned to smile at him softly, and conrad couldn't help but agree.

“i always thought you’d be my first kiss,” you whispered. 

that threw conrad off guard, and it took him a few seconds to regain balance. the van suddenly felt too small and the lingering scent of fruit shared between you two, mixed with the familiar smell of chlorine and vanilla from how close you were sitting to him, became overwhelming. his heart was beating out of his chest — not because he didn’t feel the same way, but because he did.

conrad knew what his 13 year old self would think of him now: he’d be up in arms over his awkward pause, screaming to finally tell you how he felt then, and how those feelings hadn’t really left. how you made him feel safe, excited, confused and angry. how there was a space in his heart just for you, and it was painfully empty when you left, but now that you’re there again —

“sorry,” you said, cutting through the silence. you subtly shifted away from conrad. “i didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“you didn’t,” conrad answered instantly. he registered how you were now slightly hunched over and brought your knees to your chest, how you bit your lip and avoided eye contact — a few hints that you felt uncomfortable, deflated even at his lack of response. 

so, he moved closer to you and gently placed a hand on your knee. 

“you didn’t make things weird,” conrad assured once more. you were brave, he decided: for a lot of things you did, but right then for being so honest, so vulnerable. it inspired him to do the same. “i mean, this might make things weird, but i always thought you’d be my first…you know. at least, ever since i knew what sex even was.”

you finally turned towards him, your lips slightly parted. 

“yeah,” you breathed. “me too.”

conrad’s eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“do you still want to —”

“yes. i - i mean, no pressure, but if you still want to —”

“i do.”

you smiled then and conrad felt himself do the same. 

when you kissed for the first time, it was like rainclouds parted and the stars came out, shining bright in infinite darkness. the two of you became tangled up in each other: you sat in his lap, legs on either side of his waist, your chests pressed together and your fingers tangled in his hair, which drove him crazy. conrad let his hands explore your body, gently grazing the skin under your shirt. his lips tingled from the remnants of peach juice on yours, but he kept kissing you. 

it was awkward and exhilarating at the same time. you asked each other if what you were doing felt good and right and were slightly embarrassed if the answer was no, but still adjusted if needed. at one point, conrad was fumbling with the condom wrapper and you had to open it with your teeth; he jokingly pointed out how you used to do the same with packs of sour patch kids and you giggled before kissing him again.

the two of you lay down on the floor once you were done. your head rested on conrad’s chest and he had his arm around you, idly tracing shapes on your skin with his fingertips. he craned his neck down to look at you.

even in the dim lighting and after years apart, you looked the same. even if you’d never been that close before, at least not in the same way you had just been, you felt familiar. 

you tilted you head towards him and smiled. 

“what?” 

there was something about the way you looked at him that still made him blush, and conrad hoped that with the lack of bright light, you wouldn’t notice. 

“sounds like the rain stopped,” he said. “wanna go stargazing?”

it was slightly chilly, so you let conrad borrow your varsity jacket, even if it didn’t fit perfectly. the sky was clear and full of stars. you spent the rest of the night there together, on the beach. 

in the morning, conrad woke up before you. he watched as you took slow, deep breaths with your eyes still closed. you looked so peaceful — until the sound of your alarm prompted you to wake up.

“shit,” you exhaled, your eyes wide once you noticed the sun had risen. “what time is it?” 

you searched frantically for your phone, only to find it right next to you.

“shit,” you repeated once you checked the time. you stood up right away, sand kicking from underneath your feet. “this is bad.”

“what —”

conrad didn’t have time to even ask you what was wrong because you bolted to the van. he followed you.

“what’s wrong?”

you looked at conrad, brows furrowed. “i have to go. i don’t want to leave you, but i have to go.”

“it’s okay,” conrad reassured. he stepped closer to you and placed a hand on your cheek. “i’ll be here when you get back.”

“i’m…” you step away from him. “i’m not coming back.”

“what do you mean?” he tried to steady his voice, but a dangerous mix of hurt and anger threatened to wash over him. conrad’s heart dropped, knowing all too well what was likely coming next, but he hoped, wished, that it wouldn’t be like before.

“i’ve got a swim meet in boston,” you exhaled. “but i can drive you home on my way there.”

“you’ll come back to cousins after,” conrad declared, as if saying it out could change what would happen next. “you said you’d be here for the summer.” 

you shrugged, stumbling over your words. “technically, i didn’t say that. you just assumed and — ”

“and you wanted me to believe it, right?”

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “just — let me drive you home, connie.”

the use of his childhood nickname — the one he secretly despised, except when it came from you — was what made him snap.

“i should have known,” he snarled. “god, i should have known. you don’t care about me, about us. swimming over everything, right?”

“that’s not true.” your eyes opened, but you still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “i do care, but you know the pressure i’m under —”

“fine. you want to talk about pressure?” conrad laughed, bitterly, all his frustration bleeding out and pooling at your feet. “my mom had cancer, and you couldn’t even be there for me. texts and phone calls only do so much when you’re watching the woman who raised you wither away to nothing.”

your eyes softened slightly, finally looking at him. you took a step forward, but conrad took another two back. 

“conrad —”

 “no. don’t,” he snapped, making you stop. “why did you even come here?”

“i was close by and…” you paused. “i guess i just needed to come back, even just for a bit.” 

"figures," conrad scoffed. “you only care when it’s convenient.” 

“that’s not true,” you repeated. 

conrad waited a second for you say something more, but you didn’t. 

“well, i’m really glad you got what you needed,” he mocked. “tell me, does nostalgia and sex help you swim faster? impress college scouts? make daddy proud of you?” 

you stiffened slightly. “don’t be an asshole.”

“no, no. congratulations!” he clapped to emphasize his point. “i’m so glad i could help you! guess you just needed a quick fuck before your big competition for some good luck. hope it works out in your favour.”

there was so much venom laced in his words, and he could tell you noticed. you looked at him like he was a stranger. 

“fuck you,” you finally said. your voice was shaking slightly and it looked like tears were forming in your eyes. “you can walk home, for all i care.” 

without another word, you got into the car and drove away. conrad watched your car become smaller in the distance as he stood alone at the beach, wearing your jacket and replaying every word he said.

now 

it’s hours after susannah’s fourth of july celebration. the adrenaline and alcohol from early wore off, and you’re sitting on your front porch, sipping tea from your favourite mug. you were hoping to relax, but the sight of conrad fisher storming up to you threatens that.

“where do you get off, saying what you did earlier?” 

even under the low light of the porch, you can see that his face is red with anger. he came here to argue, but you’re too tired to really care.

“well, shit, conrad,” you sigh. “don’t blame me. blame — blame truth or dare and pomegranate margaritas and steven for being so goddamn perceptive.” 

“you lied,” he accuses, crossing his arms. “you said you didn’t tell belly about us kissing at nicole’s party.”

“at least i didn’t lie to my girlfriend,” you point out, your voice dull from exhaustion. conrad is momentarily at a loss for words, furrowing his brow even further, so you decide to steer the conversation in another direction — away. “look, i just had to pick up my drunk mother from the bar, so i’m really not in the mood for this conversation.”

you move to leave, but conrad grabs your left wrist before you reach the door. the sudden action startles you, and you release the mug you were holding in your right hand. it falls to the ground, the break clean, and the rest of your tea spills onto the porch. you exhale sharply, turning back to face conrad.

“i don’t care,” he snaps. “you fucked up earlier today. you never should have mentioned that night. talking about it like it actually meant something to you.”

“you know what, conrad? maybe it’s hard for you to believe, but that night actually meant something to me.” you laugh bitterly, feeling more awake than before. “and, yeah, now i’ve spent so much time regretting it. because maybe i hoped that we’d start dating, but even if that didn’t happen, i never expected to lose my best friend.”

conrad rolls his eyes. “i don’t know how you can stand there and call me your best friend. best friends don’t leave each other —”

“fine, i did leave,” you interrupt. your voice is slightly raised, and you can’t help but feel a new rush of adrenaline flowing through your veins. the fact that conrad is standing in front of you, suggesting that you were the one to blame for the hostility between you — that made you frustrated, angry, even. 

“i had other shit going on,” you continue. “and maybe i didn’t handle the situation well at first — that’s on me, sure. but i wasn’t the one who ignored texts and sent calls straight to voicemails. i’m not the one who’s spending the summer avoiding everyone who knows them because they’re too scared of others finding out the truth. i don’t know who you are this summer, but i know the real you, conrad.”

“no, you don’t.”

by now, you’ve walked closer, standing only a few inches in front of him. if you reached out, you’d be able to brush the bangs away from his forehead, but you don’t. 

“i do know you,” you assert. “in fact, i hate how much i know you. i know that “yesterday” by the beatles is your favourite song, and the first one you learned on the guitar. i know that you’re crazy good at chess, but let jeremiah win sometimes when your dad is watching. i know that you love playing football, but hate that you’re expected to play it. i know that i hurt you last year, so you had to ignore me because that was easier than admitting how you really feel because — because you’re scared.” 

“you’re wrong.” conrad stares at you, his gaze heavy on yours. 

you shake your head. “i know that you didn’t tell anyone about what happened between us because it meant something to you. and that really scares you, too.” 

“you’re…you’re wrong.” conrad’s voice wavers a bit, his eyes soften ever so slightly, and you know you’ve struck a chord. 

“i’m not,” you say. “and, honestly? i’m so fucking tired of waiting for you to realize that. i don’t care anymore. whatever was between us during all those summers, it's obviously not here anymore."

“you’re wrong,” he’s like a broken record, stuck on the same lyric. 

"stop blaming me for fucking this up," you continue. "it's your mess, too, conrad. and i’m so fucking tired."

it’s late, and it’s dark, and you can’t bring yourself to stay here anymore. without saying anything else, you step over the broken porcelain of your favourite mug and into your house, leaving conrad alone on your poorly lit porch.

when the sun rises and you go outside in the morning, the pieces are gone. 

#the summer i turned pretty fic #tsitp season 2 #tsitp fanfic #tsitp #tsitp conrad #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x fem!reader #conrad fisher fluff #conrad fisher angst #the summer i turned pretty #saf writes

[fushiglow]

Gojō Satoru's rude awakening

I'm refusing to let myself seriously entertain the possibility that Gojō can come back after chapter 236. However, that's because I'm trying to protect my future self from disappointment, not because I think it's implausible — and I really want to talk about this image!

A couple of days ago, @runabout-river shared an interesting theory about what might happen next for Gojō. The post itself is well worth a read, but it was the choice of the above image that really set my mind alight. This scene is fresh in our minds after the anime adaptation of Hidden Inventory, and timing is clearly never an accident with Gege Akutami. So, why is it relevant now?

We see Gojō giving himself over to his past, lost in his happy dreams of his youth, only for Megumi — Gojō's first student and a symbol of the future that he envisions — to bring him back to the present by telling Gojō, "You're the one who called us here, please don't go dozing off."

In other words, "You're the one who dragged us into all of this, don't go pretending this isn't reality just because it's nicer in the past."

In my immediate reaction to 236, I said:

Gojō's dying bloody smile shows he's at least happy in his final moments. [...] Although, if Gojō actually is at peace in death, maybe that's the reason Gege will bring him back. He'll *never* let that man be happy, I swear.

It was just a joke, but seeing @runabout-river's post made me realise that Akutami has already set a precedent for 'punishing' Gojō for looking backwards. When he's dreaming about his past, Megumi scolds him and brings him back to the present. When he 'lets his mind wander' to his blue spring in Shibuya, he literally gets locked in a box where time doesn't pass, only to immediately find himself at the bottom of Japan's deepest ocean trench when his students bust him out to fix the problem he created.

As a side note, in both of these moments, the anime adaptation played a melancholy version of Gojō's Limitless theme — the audio representation of Gojō's youth. I'll eat my hat if it doesn't play again when chapter 236 is eventually adapted (I shared some more insights into some of the easter eggs hidden in the season 2 score in my mini review of the Hidden Inventory soundtrack if you wanna read).

If Gojō dies here, looking backwards to his youth, then he's taking the easy way out and that's what I find hardest to swallow about 236. Gojō leaves what is potentially the most difficult conversation he'll ever have — telling Megumi the truth about his father — to Shōko. He leaves his students to deal with the fallout of his failure to cremate Getō's body. He's saddling the people he loves with the responsibilities he leaves behind, and that's not fair.

However, we won't know if that's what's happened for sure until the whole story is told. Gojō doesn't mention his students in this chapter, and lots of people were bewildered that he seems unconcerned about their safety in a world without him. While that could simply be explained by his faith that they've "got it from here", there's a chance that he genuinely didn't think about it and he's about to get a rude awakening as his punishment — hence, "I pray that this isn't just a delusion".

I would *adore* it if Shōko dragged him back to life kicking and screaming, hauling him away from his pleasant fantasy of youth to tell him, 'No, you and Getō don't get to leave me behind to pick up the pieces again'. Because isn't that Shōko as a character? The one who's left to pick up the pieces in their wake? The one to heal the wounds and lay the bodies to rest while everyone forgets she's even there?

It would be the most character development she ever receives, and I'd love to see how Gojō and Shōko's dynamic changes when he's not the 'Strongest' anymore. So, in Shōko's own words:

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #呪術廻戦 #jjk 236 #jjk meta #jjk analysis #gojo satoru #ieiri shoko #jujutsu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen analysis #jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk leaks #i can't stop talking about this chapter #so i guess it might actually be really good??? #i'm literally drafting another post right now 💀

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 68 - Babel by R. F. Kuang

Overview

I came to Babel with extremely little knowledge about the actual contents of the book but a deep sense of all the vibes swirling around its reception – that it was robbed of a Hugo nomination (if the author didn’t outright refuse it), that it’s probably the single buzziest and most Important sf/f release of 2022, that it was stridently political, and plenty more besides. I also went in having mostly enjoyed The Poppy War series and being absolutely enamoured by the elevator pitch of an alternate history Industrial Revolution where translation is literally magic. And, well-

It is wrong to say I hated this book, but only because keeping track of my complaints and starting organize this review in my head was entertaining enough to keep me invested in the reading experience.

The story is set in an alternate 1830s, where the rise of the British Empire relies upon the dominance of its translators, as it is the mixture of translation and silverworking, the inscription of match-pairs in different languages on bars of worked silver and the leveraging of the ambiguity and loss of meaning between them that fuels the world’s magic. The protagonist is pluckted from his childhood home in Canton after his family dies in a cholera outbreak and whisked away to the estate of Professor Lowell, an Oxford translator he quickly realized is his unacknowledged father. He’s made to choose an English name (Robin Swift) and raised and tutored as a future translator in service to the Empire.

The meat of the story is focused on Robin’s education in Oxford, his relationship with the rest of his cohort, and his growing radicalization and entanglement with the revolutionary Hermes Society. Things come to a head when in his fourth year the cohort is sent back to Canton to, well, help provoke the first Opium War, though none of them aware of that. The final act follows the fallout of that, by which I mean it lives up to the full title of “Or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution”.

To be clear, this was technically a very accomplished book. The writing never dragged and the prose was, if not exactly lyrical, always clear and often evocative. Despite the breadth of space and time the story covers, I never had any complaints about the pacing – and honestly, the ending was, dramatically speaking, one of the more natural and well-executed ones I’ve read recently. It’s very well-constructed.

All that being said – allow me to apologize for how the rest of this is mostly just going to be a litany of complaints. But the book clearly believes itself to be an important and meaningful work of political art, which means I don’t feel particularly bad about holding it to high standards.

Narrative Voice

To start with, just, dear god the tone. This is a book with absolutely zero faith in its audience’s ability to reach their own conclusions, or even follow the symbolism and implication it lays down. Every important point is stated outright, repeated, and all but bolded and underlined. In this book set in 1830s England there are footnotes fact-checking the imperialists talking heads to, I guess, make sure we don’t accidentally become convinced by their apologia for the slave trade? Everything is just relentlessly didactic, in a way that ended up feeling rather insulting even when I agreed with the points Kuang was making.

More than that, and this is perhaps a more subjective complaint but – for an ostensible period piece, the narrative voice and perspective just felt intensely modern? This was theoretically an omniscient third person book, with the narrative voice being pretty distinct from any of the actual characters – with the result that the implicit narrator was instead the sort of person of spends six hours a day getting into arguments on twitter and for this effort calls themselves a progressive activist. The identities of all the characters – as delivered by the objective narration – were all very neat and legible from the perspective of someone at a 2022 HR department listing how diverse their team was, which was somewhere between a tragic lost opportunity to show how messy and historical racial/ethnic/national identities are and outright anachronistic, depending. (This was honestly one of the bigger disappointments, coming from Kuang’s earlier work. Say what you will of The Poppy War series, the narration is with Rin all the way down, and it trusts the reader enough not to blink.) More than that it was just distracting – the narration ended up feeling like an annoying obstacle between me and the story, and not in any fun postmodern way either.

Characters

Speaking of the cast – they simply do not sound or feel like they actually grew up in the 19th century. Now, some modernization of speech patterns and vocabulary and moral commensense is just the price of doing business with mass market period pieces, granted, but still – no 19th century Anglo-Indian revolutionary is going use the phrase ‘Narco-military state’ (if for no other reason than we’re something like a century early for ‘narco-state’ to be coined as a term at all). An even beyond feeling out of time most of the characters feel kind of thinly sketched?

Or no, it’s not that the characters are thinly sketched so much as their relationships are. We’re repeatedly, insistently told that these four students are fast friends and closer than family and would happily die for each other, but we’re very rarely actually shown it. This is partly just a causality of trying to skim over a four-year university education in the middle third of one book, I think, but still – the good times and happy moments are almost always sort of skimmed over, summarized in the course of a paragraph or two that usually talk in terms of memories and consequences more than the relationships themselves. The points of friction and the arguments, meanwhile, are usually played out entirely on the page, or at least described in much more detail. In the end you kind of have to just take it as read that any of these people actually love each other, given that at least two of them seem to be feuding at any given point for the entire time they know each other.

Letty deserves some special attention. She’s the only white member of Robin’s cohort at Babel and she honestly feels like less of acharacter and more a collection of tropes about white women in progressive spaces? Even more than the rest, it’s hard to believe the rest of the class views her as beloved ride-or-die found family when essentially every time she’s on screen it’s so she can do a microagression or a white fragility or something. Also, just – you know how relatively common it is to see just, blatantly misogynistic memes repackaged as anti-racist because it specifies ‘white women’? There’s a line in this that almost literally says ‘Letty wasn’t doing anything to disprove the stereotype of woman as uselessly emotional and hysteric’.

Also, she’s the one who ends up betraying the other three and trying to turn them in when they turn revolutionary. Which is probably inevitable given the book’s politics, but as it happened felt like less of the shocking betrayal that it was supposed to be and more just, checking off a box for a dramatic reverse. Of course she turned on them, none of them ever really seemed to even like each other.

As a Period Piece

So, the book is set in the 1830s, in the midst of the industrial revolution and its social fallout, and the leadup to the First Opium War (which is, through the magic of, well, magic ,but also mercantilist economics, make into a synecdoche for British global dominion more broadly). On the one hand, the setting is impeccably researched, recent and relevant historical events are referenced whenever they would come up, and the footnotes are full to bursting with quotes and explanations of texts or cultural ephemera that’s brought up in the narration.

On the other, the setting doesn’t feel authentic in the slightest, the portrayal of the British Empire is bizarrely inconsistent, and all that richly researched historical grounding ends up feeling less like a living world and more like a particularly well-down set for a Doctor Who episode.

The story is incredibly focused around Oxford as a city and a university. There’s a whole author’s note about the research and slight changes made into its geography and I absolutely believe its portrayal as a physical location and the laws about how women were treated and how the different colleges were organized and all that is exactly as accurate as Kuang wanted them to be. The issue is really the people. With the exception of a few cartoonish villains who barely get more than a couple pages apiece, no one feels, sounds like, or acts like they actually belong in the 19th century. The racism the protagonists struggle with all feels much more 21st century than Victorian, and the frame of mind everyone inhabits still comes across more as ‘unusually blatantly racist Englishman’ than 19th century scholars and polymaths.

This is especially blatant as far as religion goes. It’s occasionally mentioned, sure enough, but to the extent anyone actually believes in Christianity it’s of a very modern and disenchanted sort – this is a society that sends out missionaries as a conscious tool of colonial expansion, not because of anything as silly or absurd as actually wanting to spread their gospel. Also like, it’s Oxford, in the nineteenth century. For all the racism the protagonists have to deal with, they should be getting so much more shit from ‘well-meaning’ locals and students trying to save their (one Muslim, one atheist, one probably Christian but black and protective of Haitian Vodou on a cultural level which would be more than enough) souls.

Or, and this is more minor, it is a central conceit of the whole finale that if a few (like, two) determined revolutionaries can infiltrate Babel they’ll be able to take the entire place hostage with barely any trouble. This is because the students and professors there are, basically, whimpy bookworms who’ll faint at the sight of blood and have no stomach for the sort of violence their work actually supports and drives. Which – look, I really don’t want to defend the ruling class of Victorian Britain here, but I’m not sure physical cowardice is really one of their failings, as a group? I mean, there’s an entire system of institutionalized child abuse in the boarding schools they went to to get them used to taking and dealing out violence and abuse. Basically every upper-class sport is thinly disguised military drill or ritual combat (okay, or rowing). Half of them would graduate to immediately running off and invading places for the glory of the queen. I’m not sure two sleep-deprived nerds with knives would actually have been able to cow the crowd here, is what I’m saying. (This would stick out less if the text wasn’t so dripping with contempt for them on precisely these grounds.)

Much less minor are our heroic revolutionaries themselves. And okay, this is more a matter of taste than anything but like – the Hermes Society is an illegal conspiracy of renegade current and former Babel scholars dedicated to using their knowledge of magic and access to university resources to oppose and undermine the British Empire in general and the work of the school in particular. Think Metternich’s worse nightmare, but in Oxford instead of Paris and focused on colonial liberation (continental Europe barely exists for the purposes of the book, Britain is Empire.) So! A secret society of professional revolutionaries in the heydey of just that, with a name that just has to be Hermetic symbolism, who concern themselves with both high politics and metaphysics.

They are just so very, very boring. This is the age of the Conspiracy of the Equals, the Carbonari, the Seasons! The literal Illumanti are still within living memory! Where’s the pageantry, the ritual, the grandiosity? The elaborate initiation rituals and oaths of undying loyalty? They’re so pragmatic, so humble, so (and I know I keep coming back to this) modern. It’s just such an utter wasted opportunity. Even beyond the level of aesthetics, these are revolutionaries with remarkably little positive ideology – the oppose colonialism and racism for reasons they take as self-evident and so don’t feel the need to theorize about it (and talk about them with the vocabulary of a modern activist, because of course they do), but they’re pretty much consciously agnostic as to what world should look like instead. They vaguely end up supporting a sort of petty-bourgeois socialism (in the Marxist sense), but the alliance with Luddites is essentially political convenience – they really don’t seem to have any vision of the future at all, either in England or the various places they claim as homelands.

On Empire and Industrialization

The story is set during the early nineteenth century, so of course the Industrial Revolution is a pretty core part of the background. The Silver Industrial Revolution, technically, since the Babellers translation magic is in this world a key and load-bearing part of it. Despite the addition of miracle-working enhancers and supports to its fundamental technology, the industrial revolution plays out pretty identically to history – right down to the same cities becoming hubs of industry, despite steam engines using enchanted silver instead of coal and thus, presumably, the entire economic and logistical system that brought this particular cities to prominence being totally unrecognizable. This is not a book that’s in any way actually about tracing how something would change history – which isn’t a complaint, to be clear, that’s a perfectly valid creative choice.

It does, however, make it rather galling that the single actually significant difference to history is that the introduction of magic turns the industrial revolution into a Legend of Zelda boss with a giant glowing weak point you can hit to destroy the whole enterprise.

On a narrative level, I get it – it simplifies things and allows for a far happier and more dramatic ending if destroying Babel is not just a symbolic act but also literally sends London Bridge falling down and scuttles the entire royal navy and every mill and factory in Britain. It’s just that I think that by doing so it trades away any chance for actually making interesting commentary on anti-colonial and -capitalist resistance. A world where a single act of spectacular terrorism really can destroy a modern empire is frankly so detached from our world that it ceases to be able to really materially comment upon it.

Like, the principle reason to not take the Luddites as your role models is not that they were morally vicious but that they were doomed – capitalism’s ability to repair damage to infrastructure and fixed goods is legitimately very impressive! Trying to force an entire ruling class not to adopt a technology that makes whoever commits to it tremendous amounts of money (thus, power) is a herculean task even when you have a state apparatus and standing army – adding an ‘off’ button to the lot of it just trades all sense of relevance for a satisfyingly cathartic ending.

(This is leaving untouched how the book just takes it as a given that the industrial revolution was a strictly immiserating force that did nothing but redistribute money from artisans to capitalists. Which certainly tracks as something people at the time would have thought but given how resolutely modern all the other politics in the work are rings really weirdly.)

All of which is only my second biggest issue with how the book presents its successful resistance movement. It all pales in comparison to making the Empire a squeamish paper tiger.

Like, the book hates colonialism in general and the British Empire in particular, the narrative and footnotes are filled with little asides about various atrocities and injustices and just ways it was racist or complicit in some particular atrocity. But more than that it is contemptuous of it, it views the empire as (as the cliche goes) a perpetually rotting edifice that just needs one good kick; that it persists only through the myth of its own invincibility, and has no stomach for violent resistance from within. Which is absolutely absurd, and the book does seem to know it on occasion when it off-handedly mentions e.g. the Peterloo Massacre – but a character whose supposed to be the grizzled cynical pragmatic revolutionary still spouts off about how slave rebellions succeed because their masters aren’t willing to massacre their own property. Which is just so spectacularly wrong on every axis its actually almost offensive.

More importantly, the entire final act of the story relies upon the fact that the British Empire would allow a handful of foreign students seize control of a vital piece of infrastructure for weeks on end and do nothing but try to wait them out as the national physically falls apart around them. Like, c’mon, there would be siege artillery set up and taking shots by the end of week two. As with the Oxford students, the Victorian elite had all manner of flaws – take your pick, really – but squeamishness wasn’t really one of them.

On Magic

So the magical system underlying the whole story is – you know how Machinaries of Empire makes imperial ideology and metaphysics literally magical, giving expert technicians the ability to create superweapons and destroy worlds provided that the Hexarchate’s subjects observe the imperial calendar of rites and celebrate its triumphs/participate in rituals glorying in the torture of its ‘heretics’? It’s not exactly a subtle metaphor, but it works.

Babel does something similar, except the foundational atrocity fueling the engine of empire on a metaphysical level is, like, cultural appropriation. As an organizing metaphor, I find this less compelling.

Leaving that aside, the story makes translation literally capable of miracle-working – which of necessity requires making ‘languages’ distinct natural categories with observable metaphysical boundaries. It then sets the story in the 19th century – the era of newborn nation states and education systems and national literatures, where the concept of the national-linguistic community was the obsession of the entire European intelligentsia. Now this is not a book concerned with how the presence of magic would actually have changed history, in the slightest, but like – given how fascinated it is by translation and linguistics you’d think the whole ‘a language is a dialect with a navy’ cliché would at least get a light mention (but then the book doesn’t really treat language as any more inherent or natural than it does any other modern identity category, I suppose.)

As an Allegory

Okay, so having now spent an embarrassing number of words establishing to my own satisfaction that the book really doesn’t work at all as a period piece, let us consider; what if it wasn’t trying to be?

A great many things about the book just fit much better if you take it as a commentary on the modern university with Victorian window-dressing. Certainly the driving resentment of Oxford as an institution that sustains itself and grows rich off the exploitation of international students it considers second-class seems far more apt applied to contemporary elite western schools than 19th century ones. Likewise the racism the heroes face all seems like the kind you’d expect in a modern English town rather than a Victorian one. I’m not well-versed enough on the economics of the city to know for sure, but I would wager that the gleeful characterization of Oxford as a city that literally starts falling to ruin without the university to support it was also less accurate in the 1830s than it is today.

Read like this, everything coheres much better – but the most striking thing becomes the incredible vanity of the book. This is a morality tale where the natural revolutionary vanguard with the power to bring global hegemony to its knees through nothing but witholding their labour are..students at elite western universities (not, I must say, a class I’d consider in dire need of having their egos boosted). The emotions underlying everything make much more sense, but the plot itself becomes positively myopic.

Beyond that – if this is a story about international students at elite universities, it does a terrible job of actually portraying them. Or, properly, it only shows a certain type; just about every foreign-born student or professor we meet is some level of revolutionary, deeply opposed in principle to the empire they work within. No one is actually convinced by the carrot of a life as an exploited but exceedingly comfortable and well-compensated technician in the imperial core, and there’s not really acknowledgement at all of just how much of the apparatus of international institutions and governments in the global south – including positions with quite a bit of real power – end up being staffed by exactly that demographic who just sincerely agree with the various ideological projects employing them. Kuang makes it far too easy on herself by making just about every person of colour in the books one of the good guys, and totally undersells how convincing hegemonic ideology can be, basically.

The Necessity of Violence

This is a pet peeve and it’s a very minor thing that I really wouldn’t bring it up if that wasn’t literally part of the title. But it is, so – it’s a plot point that’s given a decent amount of attention that Griffin (Robin’s secret older brother, grizzled professional revolutionary, his introduction to anti-colonialism) is blamed for murdering one of his classmates who had the bad luck to be studying while he was sneaking in to steal some silver – a student that was quite well-loved by the faculty and her very successful classmates, who have never forgiven him. Later on, it’s revealed that this is an utter rewriting of history, and she’d been a double agent pretending to let herself be recruited into the Hermes Society who’d been luring Griffin into an ambush when he killed her and escaped.

This is – well, the most predictable not-even-a-twist imaginable, for one, but also – just rank cowardice. You titled the book ‘the necessity of violence’, the least you can do is actually own it and show that violent resistance means people (with faces, and names, not just abstractions only ever talked about in general terms) who are essentially personally innocent are going to end up collateral damage, and people are going to hold grudges about it. Have some courage in your convictions!

Translation

Okay, all of that said, this isn’t a book that’s wholly bad, or anything. In particular, you can really tell how much of a passion Kuang has for the art and science of translation. The depth of knowledge and eagerness to share just about overflows from the page whenever the book finds an excuse to talk about it at length, and it’s really very endearing. The philosophizing about translation was also as a rule much more interesting and nuanced then whenever the book tried to opine about high politics or revolutionary tactics.

Anyways, I really can’t recommend the book in any real way, but it did stick in my head for long enough that I’ve now written 4,000 words about it. So at the very least it’s the interesting sort of bad book, y’know?

#book review #babel #r. f. kuang #sff #lesbian space atrocities #-ish #hatermode

[demonslayedher]

Things that ran through my head while watching this episode:

--Not as much to say in my write-up today, because I would really just like to bask in this episode. The way that flashback of the Tokito Twins unfolds is an example of why I am so hooked on anime. That is some good angst, and it's made even better with that lighting, pacing, and vocal direction. I love the subtle changes in expressions, and the pause as Muichiro and Yuichiro just find themselves looking at each other in the silence of the night before the violence explodes. Ufotable was on their A-game. But also, none of this is original--they just read all the elements of the manga panels very mindfully, right down to all the ginkgo leaves.

--Like, seriously, seeing this episode animated just got me so much more emotionally invested in this back story than just seeing it unfold in manga panels. It took Yuichiro from "background character" to "character I feel deep regret for." He's not just crabby, he's a grieving kid who rightfully feels abandoned and desperate to hang on to what he has left, and that desperation leaves him no room to be kind or gentle--despite how deeply he cares.

--Irony time! Muichiro's favorite food is furofuki daikon--it's usually made with daikon cut into rounds like Yuichiro cut at that angry moment, and they already had a pot simmering in the background. Despite his irritated exterior, was Yuichiro nonetheless making a dish he knows Muichiro likes? In the way he talks about Amane just being out to use them because they're helpless children, it feels like a protective parent forbidding a child who dreams of being an actor from being targeted by talent scouts. It's heartbreaking that the fallout in their relationship comes from a place of love.

--I said after watching this episode before that I want an AU in which Muichiro grows up to be a sushi chef. Nah. Gyokko can the sushi artisan, and Muichiro can open a dinky takoyaki cart right outside his fancy restaurant and be way more popular.

--I love how Muichiro, powered by the desire to save Kotetsu and therefore able to free himself from the water pot, suddenly sounds more like his old little-brother self. Part of that--a lot of that--is due to being in a bad state due to the attacks he's endured. Of course you don't feel good, little dude, that's a bunch of Upper Moon Five poison in you. Not to mention you're severely injured. Still, it's so sweet to hear him sound more like little Muichiro instead of Yuichiro in his tone and cadence, especially as he recalls more about his dad.

--Another shout out to Kotetsu and Kanamori for being such troopers. Once again, I am confounded by Kanamori's timeline of when Tanjiro would have asked him to be understanding of Muichiro, Kanamori looking up Tetsuido's way of smithing Muichiro's sword because Tanjiro asked him this, and Kanamori having started and completed Muichiro's sword. The only way it works is if Kanamori works at the speed of sound and somehow the steel keeps pace with him as he smiths, or if Tanjiro for whatever reason asked him very far in advance to be understanding of Muichiro (well before Tanjiro and Muichiro had the Yoriichi Type Zero incident), or if Kanamori did not present the order of events or the cause and effect exactly as they happened. Perhaps he looked at Tetsuido's records first, and was finishing the sword when he mentioned being nervous about it to Tanjiro, and then with Tanjiro's encouragement, he got deeper inspiration from Tetsuido's notes while making the extra effort to understanding Muichiro. Whatever case, it's heartwarming that even though Muichiro & Kotetsu friendship gets more attention, Kanamori was indeed laying the foundation to be a very supportive part of Muichiro's life--this not only would put Tetsuido at rest, but it would cement how reliant swordsmen are on their swordsmiths. Also, it would simply be very nice and sweet to see Kanamori being a caring, sturdy presence in Muichiro's life.

--Also worth noting again, Kotetsu pleads with Muichiro to save Haganezuka, in order to save that sword.

--RIP for now, Kotetsu

--Gyokko is actually fun and I love how expressive he is with this unique body language, like how his little hands go to his neck once he's been cut. He acts like his pants have fallen down.

--Haganezuka is indeed very cool and handsome and no I don't think he'd have noticed if Kanamori got killed.

--This was an episode with no Tanjiro. I think the last time this happened was... the Rengoku special???

--He's there in the Taisho Secret, though, because this aired around Mitsuroi-chan's birthday! The Kamado siblings are so star-struck they really do just spend all these Taisho Secret time they can get with her. (Meanwhile, Tanjiro's only impressions of Muichiro are "He's right but he's a meanie! Though maybe he doesn't mean to be mean? Also, wow, he's impressive. Haha, he grabbed my nose! ...Uh, did he notice Chachamaru or something... is he... okay? Oh, he's flying----" so of course Tanjiro is going to be confused when Muichiro is suddenly a huge fan of him and thanking him for stuff he didn't even do.) Anyway, I happened to have just finishing eating omuraisu (omelette rice) when I watched this Taisho Secret, so tee hee, ya~y

--As usual, I had a lot to say.

--I'll just state again, THAT FLASHBACK IS SO GOOD. LIKE, DANG.

#KnY Rewatch #my art #tokito muichiro #tokitou muichirou #tokito yuichiro #tokitou yuichirou #my recap art has been suffering for these last few episodes #I am starting the drawing too late at night #but it was nice with those last few self-reblogs to be like HEY LOOK #I CAN DRAW NICE THINGS when I bother

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Story of Us

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

genre: fluff

el's thoughts: this is apart of my speak now event! requested by @cheezydarling

Y/N walked into the great hall, eyes scanning over the Gryffindor table looking for Remus. She skipped to him with a smile and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Hi, darling.”

“Hey.” Remus didn’t turn around and smile up at her, he just kept his focus on his plate.

“I thought we were going to the Black Lake for lunch?”

“I changed my mind.”

Y/N’s smile faltered but she composed herself quickly. Not quick enough for the other boys not to notice. “Okay, no worries. I’ll go sit with the girls then. See you at the library?”

Remus hummed and went back to eating.

Y/N walked to sit with the girls and sighed.

“What was that?” Lily asked.

“I don’t know… He’s been acting weird for a while. I don’t know if I did something wrong or what.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, “He’s being a jerk. You two are the lucky ones. You’re supposed to be in love and get married and have little Lupins running around the place.”

“Marls, shut up,” Mary sighed, “please.”

Lily placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s. “Just, take it one step at a time… I’m sure it will work itself out.”

~

Y/N stood in the back of the class, her face a canvas of emotions. Her usual seat next to Remus was taken by Peter. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her shoulders back and walked to the front where Marlene sat.

“What happened-”

“Don’t even ask right now. I’ll tell you later,” Y/N muttered and rested her chin in her hand.

Slughorn droned on and on about amortentia and assigned each pair seated together to make the potion before class ended. Marlene stood up to get the ingredients and Y/N turned a few pages in her book to the instructions.

Marlene came back with her arms full, she placed everything down and asked for the instructions.

The pair got to work, adding and crushing ingredients in turn. They knew they were done once the liquid turned pink and started steaming.

"You go first, you have the problems."

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Thanks, Marls." She leaned closer to take a deep breath of the potion. The strong, overwhelming scent of chocolate, parchment, and a distinct aroma she could only describe as Remus. "Yeah, as I expected."

"Well, we know nothing has changed on your end."

"That was my concern, to begin with. I wonder what his potion smells like." Y/N sighed and turned back to look at the boy in question. Remus was already looking at her but quickly looked away once she turned around. She felt frustration bubble up inside her.

Marlene placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and gave her a warm, sympathetic smile. "Your story will play out the way it needs to be. And I have a feeling it's meant to include him."

Y/N smiled, "I don't know, relationships will come and go I guess. I just don't know what went wrong or what page he's on anymore."

"Have you tried talking to him?" Marlene asked.

"Yes… No. Kinda," the y/e/c-eyed girl sighed and rested her head on the desk next to the cauldron. “He just keeps avoiding me.”

“Talk to him. That’s all I can recommend. Miscommunication will lead to a fallout. Don’t let it get that far.”

~

Y/N walked towards the Black Lake and smiled softly at the sight of the marauders all sitting together, laughing at some, probably stupid, joke. Once she got close enough to the group she called out for Remus. He turned back to look at her and his bright smile dimmed slightly causing James to smack him over the head. “Mate, just go.”

She smiled at the bespectacled boy in thanks as Remus stood slowly, dusting his pant legs off from the grass. The pair walked further away from the group with a heavy silence over them.

“So…” Remus said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Let’s not beat around the bush, Rem. What’s going on?” Y/N chuckled slightly to ease her question. “‘Cause I miss you like hell and it hurts not having you around. You trying your hardest to avoid me like that… Wasn’t a very cool move. Did it hurt you as much as it hurt me?”

“Yes,” he blurted out. “Yes it hurt, and I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a complete twat.”

She snorted, “That’s an understatement.”

“I know, I know. Forgive me, Y/N/N. Please.”

“You know I will, but I need to know what caused you to do such a stupid thing in the first place.”

Remus stared down at her intensely, his mind racing at the thought of telling her his secret. Before he could convince himself otherwise, the words tumbled out of his mouth nearly unintelligible. “I’m a werewolf.”

Y/N stared blankly at him for a moment before smacking his arm. “You idiot. That’s why you were avoiding me?” His voice was raised and loud enough for the other marauders to barely make out what she said.

“Well, I didn’t know how to tell you… It’s not every day someone finds out their boyfriend is a monster.”

“First off, werewolves are not monsters. Secondly, I already knew you were a werewolf, my love.”

Remus’ eyes widened, “What?”

“It wasn’t hard to put together in all honesty. We’ve been dating for a year and we’ve been friends even longer. I pieced it together quick enough.”

“You knew and still said yes to dating me?”

“No, you actually misunderstood me. I said no, but you dated me anyway.” Y/N gave him a dead stare and rolled her eyes with a smile. “Yes, Rem. I knew and said yes to being your girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“Because you, Remus Lupin, are the kindest most bravest person I know and there isn’t anyone else I’d want to call my boyfriend. There isn’t anyone else who I’d listen to as they talk about the latest book they’ve read. There isn’t anyone else who’d I like to get piggyback rides through the halls.” She leaned closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, causing him to bring his head closer to hers. “I love you, Remus, for you. And being a werewolf doesn’t change that.”

He sighed in contentment and brought his lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

“I love you,” Y/N hummed against his lips.

Remus smiled, “I love you.” He pulled back and groaned, “I owe James five galleons now.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #ellora.writes

[palms-upturned]

The horror of disco elysium and pjõl is distinction as separation I think… the way that everything in the story hinges on how well Harry can understand others and make himself understood, the theme of partners who are separated from one another, physically or emotionally or both. Harry conceptualizing Dora as a religious figure with the power to absolve or condemn him, to give him permission to live or take it away, to make sense of his pain and the apocalyptic fallout of their breakup when the truth is that it was a very common, mundane story of a failed relationship. People who tried and failed to understand each other, care for each other, create a future where they could comfortably exist together.

And it just didn’t work. That’s all. It just didn’t.

Because people grow and change in unpredictable ways, and they live through entirely different experiences that are difficult for others to understand, and histories and ideologies that we don’t even entirely understand shape the ways we perceive the world and each other and even ourselves from the moment we’re born.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "You asked that question because you're still under the influence of ideology. That's natural. You're like a fish that's only now discovering that her whole life has been dictated by the movements of sea currents."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "That's what ideology is. It's like there are these invisible forces everywhere, pushing and tugging you this way and that, and you don't even know they're *there*."

YOU - "What does this have to do with communism?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Everything, man. That is part of the communist project, to destroy the ideological structures that reduce men and women to these hollow shells of identity."

YOU - "Is it even *possible* to imagine a world without ideology?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Of course it's possible. Just extremely difficult. You practically have to be a world-historical individual to do it."

The appeal of the pale is that there is no distinction, no separation, not between people and not between times. No longing for the past, no pain in the present, no fear of the future. No misunderstandings between people. No loneliness. Everything becomes vapor and intermingles. But this is, essentially, a suicidal fantasy. Entropolism is portrayed as a kind of nihilist acceleration. If this world is doomed, then let’s hurry it the hell up and end all our fruitless suffering! It’s a position that doesn’t believe that there’s anything about the human experience worth holding onto. True love is possible ONLY in the next world for new people. It is too late for us.

And yet, it doesn’t seem to hold true at the end of the day, not even for someone like Tiago, who is one of the most extreme entropolists in the game.

TIAGO - "Might even be nice to have some company..."

EMPATHY - He said that in spite of himself. He's more attached to the human than he'd like to think.

Harry drives that car into the sea because he feels like it’s too late for him. He doesn’t believe he’ll ever be loved again. He feels a painful disconnect from the world around him, as someone straddling the line of living in the margins while also perpetuating the same marginalization that estranges him from others. But he survives the wreck and climbs out of the water and is immediately consoled by kind strangers who acknowledged his humanity and cared about him. For the rest of the game, we see him attempt to understand others and make himself understood to varying degrees of success. He is distinct and separate from others, but he is never alone.

To become vapor is to be alone. To be human is to be able to come together. Un jour je serai de retour près de toi.

ACELE - "Egg came with us. He made this wheezing puppy dog sound all the way back. Couldn't even speak."

ACELE - "It was definitely Coal City, because it took us two days to walk back to the Fau. He just wheezed the whole way, we never really asked him why he came with us. Or who he was. I think his name is Germaine..."

ACELE - "People are sweet," she says quietly.

EMPATHY - You can see it must have been a great night. The memory causes her to go silent for a moment or two.

#meg talks #disco elysium #suicide mention #coughs anyway.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Title: Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Word Count: 5.7K

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. THIS IS THE DIRECTOR’S CUT OF THIS STORY.

Warnings: voyeurism, cheating, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it before you tap it), dubcon, creampie, breeding kink, impregnation, spit kink, choking, slapping, dacryphilia, adult breastfeeding, August is an asshole, Mike deserves better 

A/N: Original story is here, Make That Kitty Purr. I decided to share what the story was before I cut it down, based on this ask from @geralts-yenn. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

“You must be Michael’s girlfriend, right?” The velvety voice slides over you like warm honey. As your name rolls off of his tongue, you turn around in the small space of the open fridge door and are face-to-chest with a mountain of a man.

Everything about him was perfect. A tall frame with a muscular build was easy to spot at first glance. On closer inspection, you stare into aquamarine eyes that have a brownish-gold spot in the left iris. And that ‘70s porn stache oddly worked well on his face. Fresh sweat slid down his neck, the heat from outside still radiating off of his body. You feel his breath on your face before you realize he’s speaking to you.

“I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head slightly and smile up at him as he smirks at you.

“I said, I’m August. I’m Michael’s Uncle, Walt’s brother,” He reaches over you to grab a beer off of the door of the fridge, “Not surprised he didn’t introduce us.” At your confused expression, he only shakes his head and sips from his beer. He watches you watching him as he lowers the beer from his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Like what you see, Princess?”

The noise that comes out of your mouth is a mix between a gulp, a yelp, and a moan. And it seems to echo in the kitchen of Mike’s parent’s house. Everyone is still outside, Mike asked you to come in and get…something. You’d forgotten when you were suddenly in the presence of a god among men. You would have to watch yourself around this one. He had the power to make you misbehave.

“There you are, Sweetcheeks,” Thank goodness Mike comes into the kitchen when he does, “Thought you got lost in here. Hey, Uncle August.” They exchange looks with one another, looking back at you at the same time.

“I just got talking with your Uncle and forgot what I came in here for.” You decided to tell the truth, although you left out eye-fucking his Uncle. He didn’t need to hear that.

“You were coming in to grab us a couple of beers, but now Mom asked for a couple more things.” Mike moves you out of the cool haven of the fridge and grabs a few things from inside. With his back turned, he can’t see August looking into your eyes as he adjusts himself.

Fuck.

“Hey, Uncle August, was that invitation to come up to the cabin still good? I may have a free weekend coming up.” Mike closing the refrigerator door saves you from the intense draw of August’s fixation. 

“Of course. Anytime you wanna come up, just let me know in advance so I can make sure everything is good for you.” August looks to Mike like he hadn’t been touching his dick and looking at his girlfriend.

“Alright, awesome. Come on, Sweetcheeks.” Mike leads the way, holding the potato salad. You pick up the beers and chanced a glance back at August who is licking his lips and following behind you. You feel his presence behind you as you exit the porch. The unmistakable feeling of a hand ghosting over your hip almost makes you squeal but you school yourself, catching up the Mike.

The rest of the barbecue goes off without a hitch. The interaction between you and August is forgotten until you go in to help clean the dishes. You tell Mike’s Mom to go back outside and that you’ll take care of the rest of the washing. That is, until August comes in and has you all to himself again. 

“Need some help, Princess?” That voice goes straight to your pussy and you instantly tense up at the pet name.

“No, I, uh…I got it. Thank you, Uncle Aug–” You start, but he cuts you off.

“No, Princess. I’m not your Uncle. You call me August.” His hand on your hip as he spoke had you trembling.

“Yes, August.” You don’t know how you were able to speak, but you did it and that’s all that matters.

“Good girl.” The praise has you squeezing your thighs together and accidentally pressing back into August who has moved closer to you. Your ass had been pressed against his clothed cock and it sent shockwaves to your brain.

The groan that escapes August’s mouth vibrates through you. Before you know it, August is putting down his empty beer bottle and putting both hands underneath your dress. Your protests die on your tongue as his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties. With a tug, the underwear is coming down your legs and you’re stepping out of them. August brings them to his face to inhale your aroma before pocketing your thong.

“I’ll see you soon, Princess,” August says, leaning down to kiss your shoulder in an almost sweet albeit possessive gesture, “Give Michael my best.”

You’re left gobsmacked in the kitchen, only coming out of your reverie when you hear the door to the kitchen opening. You finish up the washing as the family files in. 

If you ride Mike into the mattress that night, that’s your business. Mike was none the wiser as you thought of a velvety voice, a mustache, and your taken undies. Thoughts of August go away soon enough and are but a distant memory when Mike brings up needing a break from school for a while. 

You casually ask if August will be there while you are at the cabin, Mike says it will just be the two of you and you relax. At least you won’t have to worry about those little moments you and his Uncle shared.

When Mike invites you up to his Uncle’s cabin for the weekend, you are beyond excited. You’ve never been away with him and this is the perfect opportunity to have a little fun away from your college roommates. You love them, but it’s so hard to get some alone time with two other girls breathing down your neck.

You pull up to the cabin on Friday afternoon and notice another car already in the driveway, a tall man dressed rather sharply grabbing a suitcase out of the trunk. As he turns around, you recognize Mikey’s Uncle August. I guess we’re not going to be alone this weekend after all.

Mikey puts the car in park and jumps out before you can even unbuckle yourself. “Uncle August, what are you doing here?”

“My schedule changed so I figured I would come and check on the cabin while you were up here,” August put down his luggage and rolls his sleeves up before running a hand over his mustache.

“Well, we were kinda thinking we would have the place to ourselves, actually,” Mike says, walking around the car after turning it off.

“We?” August’s head tilts as his eyes land on the passenger window.

You watch the exchange from the car, seeing that August has finally noticed you. Exiting the car, you close the door behind you and join Mike who puts a possessive arm around your waist.

“Uncle August, this is my girl. You remember her, right?” 

August nods and correctly remembers your name, slowly letting it pass over his tongue. While Mike is smiling down at you, August lets his eye rake over you from head to toe. If Mike had seen, he would not have been happy. Damnit, August, be cool!

“Michael, why don’t you get the bags while I take your girl inside out of the cold? You can handle that, right?” Before you know it, your hand is taken by a large paw and you are led inside the cabin. August walks close to you and you can smell his aftershave up close, the scent intoxicating.

You’re surprised when it takes Mike as long as it does to get all of the bags into the cabin. You packed pretty light, but August had him take everything to the rooms instead of leaving them by the hallway. You notice August is staying on the bottom floor of the cabin while you and Mike are staying in another room on the second floor.

While Mike is upstairs, August goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. He pours two glasses and offers you the other. You don’t miss how his fingers linger on yours.

“What shall we toast to, Princess?” You don’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine at the pet name.

“Um, to…a hot tub and time away from annoyances,” You lift your glass over to connect with August’s. He holds your gaze as he takes a sip. 

“And to these, maybe?” August holds up a pink lacy pair of underwear, your thong from the barbecue months ago. He still has them, smiling down at you before pocketing them again when you reach out to try and take them.

Mike’s voice startles you as it booms through the cabin, “Sweetcheeks, you wanna get in the hot tub now or later?” Sometimes you wish Mike had a chill mode, but you loved the adorable goofball.

“I’ll get started on dinner while you two have some time alone,” August takes your wine glass and tops it off, and sends you up to find Mike. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, but you don’t dare look back.

As you get in the hot tub after getting changed into your bathing suit, the sun is setting over the mountains. Mike’s hands and mouth are over you in an instant, not caring what his Uncle may be seeing. He pulls you into his lap and attacks your neck. Your eyes close at the sensation and when they open, a gorgeous set of oceanic blues lock on you.

August is watching you as Mike slides a hand into your suit bottoms. You know you should tell Mike to stop but the idea of putting on a show for August is a temptation you can’t ignore. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as Mike’s fingers circle your clit before sliding into your entrance. Clutching a hand in his hair, you bite your lip as you ride Mike’s fingers.

As August watches you, he grips and strokes his cock through his pants. You reason with yourself that since you aren’t touching each other, this isn’t cheating. This is just slightly inappropriate, nothing to truly worry about.

Mike’s attention to finger-fucking you is gone as he pulls out his cock, pulling your bottoms to the side. He swiftly enters you and pulls you down onto him fully. Within seconds, you adjust to Mike’s cock and start to ride him while maintaining eye contact with August.

Mike pulls out your tits from your suit top and gives attention to your nipples. The man loves your boobies and it keeps him occupied as you continue your impromptu sex show for August. The older man unzips himself and for a moment, you think you’re going to be graced with the sight of his cock, but he only reaches in to stroke himself. Watching him watching you is enough to send you over the edge. Mike follows after you shortly, pulling out of you to jerk his cock as you didn’t exactly bring condoms to the hot tub.

You watch as August pulls his hand out of his pants, zips himself up, and walks out of your field of vision. It doesn’t look like he came and you instantly want to help him over the edge but hold yourself together. You move yourself to sit next to Mike and rest your head against his shoulder as you both catch your breath and readjust your clothing. A million thoughts run through your head, the most severe of which is gnawing at your soul.

You want August, and it’s obvious he wants you back. How could you want something like that? Mike isn’t perfect, but he’s yours. He adores you and you think the world of him. Yes, he can be a bit aloof, but he’s genuinely interested in your happiness. He doesn’t deserve to be fucked over by your selfish desires.

You are broken out of your reverie minutes later as August beckons you both to come in for dinner. You both towel off and put on robes. August already has the table set with three plates and he sits at the head of the table with you and Mike sitting across from each other. 

The conversation comes easily enough, August mostly focuses on asking you about what you are studying and what your future plans are. Mike seems to be none the wiser that August is paying you so much attention as he shovels pasta in his face. August refills your wine glass, handing it to you, his fingers lingering again. August finally turns his gaze to Mike and asks what you all have planned for the weekend. 

Mike mentions you are scheduled to go to a beer garden tomorrow and you would be meeting some friends afterward. You don’t remember making plans to meet up with friends but you go with it anyway. Mike’s friends were pretty cool, at least the ones you’ve met. Well, Derrick could be annoying and could make Mike completely miserable to be around but hopefully, he wouldn’t be there tomorrow.

You all finish dinner shortly thereafter, a few glasses of wine in your system. August gets up, and you assume he is going to start clearing the table. “August, you cooked, we can clear the table.”

“Nonsense. You’re a guest here,” he says, waving you off, “Michael can clean up the kitchen while I give you a quick tour.” He holds out his hand to lead you through the living room, and that same hand ends up on your lower back. 

Your bare feet pad softly on the hardwood while his shiny shoes clack next to you. Your robe is the only thing preventing August from touching your skin directly. The heat coming off of his hand is enough to elicit a shiver from you. Instead of mentioning it, he just smiles down at you and walks you into the spacious entertainment room.

A large television screen is in front of a sectional couch. Two vintage full-height arcade game systems stand against either side wall. A pool table sits on the right, while a poker table is to the left. You’re impressed with the setup and you say as much.

“Yeah, I like to entertain sometimes. You’re welcome to this room whenever you want. Most of the streaming apps are already set up and there’s a Playstation and XBOX as well if you’re interested,” August points over to the tv, leaning in as he speaks.

“I can already see Mike getting lost in here for a few hours,” you snort, trying to hide your obvious annoyance.

“I’m sure you can keep him occupied, Princess.” There goes that pet name again. You look up at August and he grins like the Cheshire cat down at you.

If Mike hadn’t walked in when he did, you would have leaned into that smile. “I was looking for you guys. Sweetcheeks, are you ready for bed? I’m exhausted.”

“You’re tired from cleaning the kitchen?” August teased, knowing full well that wasn’t what tired the younger man out.

“Yeah…well, it’s a big…kitchen, so,” Nice save, Mike.

“Sounds like a good idea, baby. Let’s go,” you grab Mike’s hand and turn toward August, “Night, August.”

“Goodnight, you two,” August hums, looking from you to his nephew.

The two of you head to bed upstairs, arm in arm. It takes everything out of you not to turn around and look at August once more.

In the middle of the night, you pull yourself out of Mike’s grip and head to the bathroom. You notice your throat is dry and decide to go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. August is already in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. As he picks up the lowball of amber liquid, he turns to greet you.

“You alright, Princess?” The genuine concern in his voice almost overshadows the fact that he is only clad in a tight pair of boxer briefs. Almost. 

Instead of answering, you are entranced by his hairy chest and defined abdominals. Muscular arms and thick thighs are on full display. You’re sure you’re staring but he doesn’t seem to mind as he makes his way over to you. It seems like he moves in slow motion and your brain doesn’t fully comprehend when he reaches out to you.

His warm hand on your arm reminds you that you forgot to put on a robe before coming downstairs. Your crop top and cheeky underwear leave little to the imagination and you look down at yourself before looking from his hand back up at him. As if seeing your thoughts across your face, August removes his hand from your shoulder.

“I just came down for some water.” You’re surprised that you were able to get those words out, as whiny as they were. Your dry throat returns after you speak.

August nods and turns around to go back to the fridge. The ass on this man is ridiculous too, that’s just unfair. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and brings it back to you. He holds it out to you, and you take it shakily before opening it and taking a sip. You cap it again and hold it up to your suddenly warm neck. You let out a sigh and close your eyes for a beat. When you open them, August is standing closer to you. You didn’t even hear him take a step.

You slowly lower the water bottle from your skin and August takes it, putting your bottle and his whiskey down on the nearby dining table. When he turns back to you, he reaches up and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He takes his time leaning in, giving you an out to easily lean back.

But you don’t lean back, you lean into him as he slots your mouths together. You whimper into his mouth and it is all over from there. He drops your chin, his hands sliding from your face to your neck and down your back until they settle under your ass as he lifts you into his arms.

“Tell me you want me, Princess,” August whispers, the heat coming off his clothed cock blazing into your core, “You want me to take care of you?”

Fuck.

“Yes,” you whimper, carding a hand through his thick head of hair. 

“That’s my good girl,” he groans, walking to his bedroom. He kisses your neck, nipping at it as he settles you back upon his bed. He hovers over you for a moment, rubbing your covered sexes together. Letting you have ample time to change your mind while making sure you won’t.

“Please,” you whine, no longer able to hide your desire to have him inside you.

“Please what? Say it,” he grunts, pressing his groin harder into you.

“Fuck me, August.” is all he needs to hear before he’s pulling your underwear down and off. He doesn’t remove his own, only tucks them under his balls as he runs the head of his dick through your sopping folds. He enters slowly and gradually, letting you adjust to his girth and length.

Once he is fully seated inside you, he begins a punishing rhythm that has your cervix screaming. Your legs wrap around his waist and his hand finds your throat, placing slight pressure on the sides. The older man has you in a daze soon enough, filthy words leaving his mouth.

“Fuck, it’s just like I imagined it,” August grunts, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you, “I jerked my cock so many times with your panties. They barely smell like you anymore. I’m gonna change that.” With that, he pulls out. Getting off the bed, he reaches into the pocket of the slacks he was wearing earlier and finds your thong.

He gets back on the bed and starts to stuff the underwear into your wet snatch. You squirm under his touch as he pushes the material inside you. Once you are full, his finger circles your clit.

“I’m gonna get you to cum all over your panties so I can have that smell back in my life. You’re so perfect, Princess.” Between his words and his finger working you over, it doesn’t take long until you're coating your underwear in sweet nectar and moaning August’s name.

“Mmm, that’s my good girl. Now, let’s get this out, shall we?” That’s all the warning you get. August inserts one thick digit inside you and pulls out the wet lace. He sets them aside and slides his dick back inside you. He sets a slow pace, wanting you to beg for more. It’s not long before he is granted his wish.

“August, harder, please?” Your whimpers go straight to his dick and you feel him involuntarily twitch.

“Yes, Princess. Anything for my good girl.” August lands two soft slaps on your face, his hand then moves back to your throat as you toss your head back into the pillow underneath you. “Is Princess gonna come all over my cock?”

You nod, this time when he lands a slap, you feel a sting. The shock of it mixed with his thrusting has you so close.

“Come for me, Princess. Then I’ll breed this tight little cunt.” 

“No, August. I’m not on birth control. Please don’t…come inside me…” Your words are trailing off as your orgasm catches up with you. The sound of wet squelching echoes in your ears.

“I’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum. You’re mine now, Princess. And I will keep you full of me, giving me strong children one after the other. Tell me to come inside you, Princess. Now!”

“Come inside me, August.” If his hand wasn’t around your throat and his body against yours holding you down, you think you might not have said it. But you did say it. You can’t take it back.

His hips stutter in their movement and you are soon flooded with his spend. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you come again, some of his seed leaking out past his cock as he pulls himself out. He looks down and smiles watching you leak with his spunk, before laying next to you. He draws you closer to rest your head on his chest.

He kisses your forehead in a sweet gesture. Juxtaposed with the filthy act you’ve just committed, you suddenly feel nauseous. You bite back bile as you rest against August. You wish the Earth would open up and swallow you whole. You stay like that for a minute more, feeling your legs get wet with his cum as it leaks from you. 

“You’re going to break up with Michael. I don’t care if you love him and he loves you. You’ll be pregnant with my children soon enough and I’ll be the one taking care of you. He won’t want you because I’m going to ruin you for all other men, Princess.” His words hit you hard followed by his hand around your throat, “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” You sniffle.

“Yes, what?” You feel his body tense.

“Yes, Sir.” 

“That’s my good girl. You’re mine, remember that. Now, open your mouth,” He still holds onto your throat while he turns to you.

You open your mouth and he spits, half of it landing on your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust as you hear him laugh at your discomfort. He wipes his saliva into your mouth, “Swallow it, Princess. I would hate to think you don’t want my gift.”

Your world implodes as you swallow, the gravity of cheating on Mike suddenly screaming its way into the forefront of your mind. You hate yourself and you hate August for enticing you.

“Now, be a good girl and end it with Michael. And make yourself useful and bring me my whiskey on your way back, Princess.” 

You get up quickly, finding and putting on your underwear before all but running out of August’s room, you can still taste him on your tongue. You reach the upstairs bathroom connected to your bedroom and make it to the toilet in the nick of time. Your dinner comes back up so harshly that you end up waking Mike up with your gagging.

He comes to hold your hair out of the way and rub a soothing hand on your back. As you finish, you spit, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You close the lid, sitting down on the floor next to Mike as he looks at you concerned.

“Mike, baby, I’m so sorry.” 

“Sweetcheeks, what are you sorry for? You just got sick is all.”

“Not saying sorry for that, I have to tell you something.”

“Babe, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Mike’s voice quivers and it is all you can do to stop yourself from kissing his frown away because you’re about to break his heart.

“I…slept with August,” you blurt out, and you start to cry before you can help it, “He told me to come to break it off with you and I don’t want that, Mikey. I don’t want him.” You stop your rambling and sit in silence.

Mike isn’t saying anything and you wonder what is even going through his head. You hazard a look over to his face. His jaw is working in anger and he pulls his knees up to his chest.

“Mike, I’m so sor-”

“We’re leaving. Get dressed.” Mike cuts you off and gets up from the floor. You get up and follow him to the bedroom, pulling on your jeans and hoodie quickly as he begins to pack your suitcases quietly.

You watch him move about the room mechanically. You wish he would talk to you. But, you know you don’t deserve to be comforted. He needs and deserves better than you. As he finishes, he pulls on his clothes and takes your things downstairs.

You follow him down, pausing when you both see August now wearing just pajama bottoms. He actually looks surprised to see you both dressed and holding your luggage.

“Go to the car, I’ll be out in a sec, ok?” Mike’s voice is eerily calm as he hands you the car keys and ushers you outside.

“Mike, let’s just lea-”

“I said, go to the car. I’ll be right there,” he barely raises his voice, but he pushes slightly on your shoulder to get you outside. Like he doesn’t want you to witness something.

You grab your luggage and head outside, closing the door behind you. You try and block out the sounds of a struggle in the cabin as you walk across the gravel driveway. You put your suitcase in the trunk and get in the car. You’re putting on your seatbelt as August comes out to the car. Opening the car door, he reaches in and pulls you out. 

“August, what are you doing? Where is Mike?” Your questions are left unanswered as you are pulled inside. The cabin is eerily quiet and you notice Mike sitting on the staircase, his hair and clothing a mess, staring daggers at you.

“So you gave him my favorite thong of yours, let him fuck you and come inside you, and what? I’m just supposed to let that go and forgive you?” Mike practically spits fire at you, his words scalding you.

“Mikey, please. Let’s just leave like we were going to. I want you, Mikey, I’m so sorry I made a mistake. Please don’t leave me.” You beg at his feet, groveling for him not to quit on you.

“It wasn’t me that left. Remember that. I never wanna see either of you ever again,” Mike grabs his suitcase and moves to pass you, “And you can find another way back to school. I’ll leave your stuff outside. You two deserve each other.”

“Mikey, please–”

Mike pushes past you and walks out of the door. You can hear the gravel crunching under his feet. The unmistakable sound of your luggage and bookbag hitting the driveway. You run out in time to see him driving away. Your entire world shifts around you as the weight of your actions consumes you.

The last thing you remember is your legs feeling wobbly as you are caught by strong arms.

You haven’t seen Mike in almost a year when you bump into him in the supermarket. You’re walking down the frozen food section, perusing the ice cream flavors when you hear someone’s throat clear behind you. You turn around and are met with a messy head of curls peering into your cart, the baby carrier in his line of sight.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you had his baby. You always wanted kids, guess just not my kids.” Mike shakes his head, looking away from you. 

“Mikey, I’m–”

“Save it, you’re wasting your time. I got someplace I gotta be.” Mike rolls his eyes and leaves you where you stand. The coldness of the aisle hits you more harshly than before.

You broke a good man’s heart and you deserved the life you have now. 

You grab August’s fave, mint chocolate chip, and then head to checkout. Loading the car, you head home. August made you drop out of school to begin your new life as his incubator.

He comes out of the house as you pull into the driveway, grabbing the baby carrier and cooing to his son. You’re left to bring in the rest of the groceries.

Since you gave birth, August has been relentless in his attempts to get you pregnant again. Once upon a time, sex all day long would have aroused you. Now, it’s become your least favorite activity. You can’t get wet for August. 

To have any kind of arousal, you’re forced to think of Mikey. The way he would kiss you in the middle of laughing, or the sounds he made while going down on you. That part of your life is gone. Now, you are a mother against your will. And August won’t let you forget what you’re here for.

“My son is hungry, can you handle that, Princess?” He waits until you nod, opening your blouse and unlatching your nursing bra before he gently hands you August Jr. As the baby suckles at you, your mind wanders.

“Yes, Sir.” You start to believe August likes the robotic way you speak now. Whenever you did express emotion, it was to show sadness and he hated that.

While you hold your son, August grabs your chin gently between his forefinger and thumb. “Smile for me, Princess,” You look up at August and follow his command, “That’s my good girl. After he’s done feeding, meet me upstairs. You’re ovulating and I am so attracted to this view of you. Just think of it, Princess. AJ sitting atop your pregnant belly while you feed him. It’s so perfect.” He sweetly caresses your face, never is he as sweet as when he wanted you.

After your son falls asleep while eating, you put him on your shoulder and burp him. You walk to his nursery and lay him down, caressing his curls before kissing his tiny face. It’s not his fault that his father is terrible to his mother.

It’s your fault for letting yourself fall into the arms of a man that wasn’t your boyfriend. You had everything you needed with Mikey. And now you had nothing you wanted with August. Plastering the smile that August loved so much on your face, you walk into your bedroom.

August sits on your bed, waiting for you while he strokes himself. You walk up to him, the sickly sweet smile still on your face, and begin to undress slowly. He reaches up to play with a swollen, wet nipple and you can’t help but enjoy the relief it brings when he latches onto your breast. While he drinks from you, he pulls you into his lap. Without pulling free of your nipple, he uses a hand to slide his cock inside you.

You groan as he breaches you, whimpering as he guides your hips to ride him. August pulls away from your breast to switch to the other, working to drain you while he fucks you. You want to hate him, you wish your milk was poison to kill him. But, instead, all you do is cradle his head and grind down on him.

When he has had his fill of you, he leans back wiping his mouth before maneuvering you to lay on your back as he fucks into you. 

“I love you so much, Princess.” His words are a surprise and they confuse you.

“Why?”

“You’re the mother of my children, of course, I love you…You give us everything we need…You make me so happy…You’re my Princess, I’m your King…And we have our little Prince.” His words are all coming out in short breaths as he tries to hold back his orgasm until after yours. He reaches down to play with your clit as he sucks hickeys into your neck. “Tell me you love me, Princess.”

“I love you, August,” You actually sound like you mean it as your orgasm rushes through you.

“That’s my good girl!” August thrusts into you one last time, releasing his fertile seed inside you. You feel every twitch and squirt inside of you, and you swear you could feel yourself being impregnated at that moment. He stays inside you for a moment longer, pulling out to hold your legs up and rock you side to side as he heard that helps to aid in conception.

This is your life, an endless sea of pregnancy. A hollow promise of love from a man who took everything from you. And the worst part is, you’ve given up fighting because you know you deserve it.

A/N: Welp, that’s something. I’ll be in my bunk, rethinking my life’s choices.

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[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: If This Is Love, You Need To Mean It {3}

Title: If This Is Love, You Need To Mean It {3}

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: Heavy Angst, Plot Heavy, LOTS OF WORDS, Heartbreak, Cursing, 

Words: 6.3k

Summary: The fallout of Lewis’ actions is real, as is the freeze-out. You’re fuming but brokenhearted. Not only do you feel like a fool, but you also feel used. Was any of it real? Making sense of this mess is the first thing you have to do.

Note: Part 3 is here! The plot thickens, as does the tension and angst. LOL. Part 4 is coming because it was too long.

Note II: Italicized text is a flashback/memory or someone’s words all from some time in the past.

As always, thank you all so much for reading. I truly appreciate it!

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Previous: If This Is Love, I Don’t Want It {1} | If This Is Love, You Need To Prove It {2} |

~~~~~~~~

-Lewis-

“Y/N.”

You didn’t respond. Hell for the last fifteen minutes, you’d been unresponsive and the longer you remained this way the more he panicked.

“Y/N?”

He gently shook you not wanting to be too rough. He was already in such deep shit that he didn’t want to make things worse. He always felt like he was one step away from just catastrophic failure. He had failed, he thought.

“Y/N.”

“Should we call 911?”

“No. The paps will be here in seconds. I don’t think she’d want even more stories about her out there,” Daniel replied ending Miles’ panic.

“Fam, just—let me—shit.”

He gripped his head and tried to think. Daniel was right. After the last week and change the stories running wild about your hospitalization had only increased and the longer you went without making a statement it only made them more brazen to make things up. He cringed feeling renewed guilt over the situation. It was his fault. It was all his fault. To think he’d only wanted to defuse a situation and keep you safe this entire time, but he hadn’t kept you safe.

“Lew,” Anthony began placing his hand on his shoulder.

“What do we do?”

He began to dig in his pocket ready to call your father. He’d have a lot to explain as to why you were there let alone passed out, but he didn’t see any other way. In the back of his mind he himself thought about the reason why you were there.

“Why was she here? How?”

“She was hiding behind the bar when you told us to hide,” Miles said.

“Hiding?”

“Yeah, with bags. Maybe she came to clear her stuff out.”

His chest tightened at the thought of that. Had you been there to get your stuff making this breakup final? He didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t want this break up; he never did. Renewed hatred for Aleeza sparked within him but part of him felt like he too held blame.

“She’s not waking up. What if she needs a hospital?”

Andrew sounded panicked now. Normally he and Daniel were the calmer ones. Their panic made him panic more. Maybe you were still suffering from whatever had landed you in the hospital. He pulled his phone then to dial your father, but a soft moan filled the room. All four of them hovered closer watching you closely. Again you moaned, then groaned as you shifted on the leather couch.

“Oh thank god,” Miles said dropping into one of the other couches.

“Angel Eyes?”

Your eyes opened and slowly focused. He couldn’t read you at all but after several moments your brows knitted together and you sprang up.

“Oh my god,” you groaned gripping your head.

“Are you all right, Y/N?”

“Should we call 911?”

Daniel and Andrew’s questions blended together.

“No,” you croaked out as your hands framed your face.

“Are you sure? You passed out just now. You were out for almost 30 minutes,” Miles inquired.

“And you were just in the hospital,” he said.

You looked at him then and if looks could kill, he would have been ten times over. Flinching, he looked away from you.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, swinging your legs over to rest on the floor.

“Can you guys give me some space—please?”

Getting the hint, they backed up. Daniel and Andrew joined Miles on the couch while he took a few steps back never taking his eyes off of you. He watched as you rubbed your temples with circular motions. It was an action you did often usually when you were trying to stave off a headache or trying to relieve stress or when you were trying to make sense of something.

“What the fuck is going on?”

It was an expected question at an unexpected time. Glancing at his boys, they exchanged looks of various levels of panic and confusion. When no one spoke you looked at them expectantly. You didn’t look at him, he noted.

“Hello?”

“We don’t fucking know. She shows up here and he tells us to hide then we see you hiding already and then we hear the biggest villain masterplan I’ve ever heard,” Miles recounted.

“What are you doing here?”

It shouldn’t have been his question but he wanted to hear the words from your mouth. You glanced at him but dropped your eyes after a few short seconds. You bit your bottom lip and then shook your head.

“That’s not important. I’m asking the questions. Why was Aleeza here waltzing in here like it’s not her first time and what the fuck were you talking about because—what the fuck!?”

“Fellas,” he began, ready to ask them to leave. “Maybe y’all can give us--.”

“No. They’re staying. Now explain.”

Your eyes were cold, and it broke his heart. You’d never looked at him like this before until that day in Monaco. The day he’d set all this in motion. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed the back of his neck and then began pacing. If you’d been behind the bar from the beginning then you’d heard everything. There was no point in trying to keep the details from you now. still, he hesitated not wanting to put you in any more danger or hurt you more.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, angel eyes.”

“Don’t call me that! And you don’t want me to get hurt!? That’s fucking rich, you’ve already fucking hurt me!”

You bolted to your feet, and he felt the heat of the flames of your anger. As if something inside him snapped he darted up seconds after you shouted.

“Do you think you’re the only fucking person hurting right now, Y/N?!”

He knew he probably shouldn’t have said it because you had every right to be furious with him right now, but he couldn’t stop the words. He was hurt too. You had no idea what it took of him and from him to put on that fiasco and live with the fallout. You had no idea what he’d been through, you had no idea how he felt during all this. Was it fair for him to be this angry at you, no, but in truth, he wasn’t angry at you at all. He was angry with himself, angry with the entire situation.

You stepped closer to him and threw up your middle finger at him, “Oh fuck you, Lewis! Don’t you fucking dare throw that at me. This was you! This was your doing!”

“Ehm,” Daniel cautiously began stepping forward and wedging himself between the both of you.

“Let’s all calm down.”

You spun around sharply then paced back and forth. He was very familiar with your anger, but this was different. He hadn’t ever seen you this angry before.

Daniel sighed, “Man, I think you should just tell her everything.”

“I second that,” Andrew added.

“Me too, cause I’m lost as fuck,” Miles finished.

He sighed then gripped his head. The slight force of his squeeze helped alleviate some of the pounding in his head but not much. Now that it had come to this, he had no choice so he conceded. Dropping down to the couch, he rested his elbows on his knees and then took a deep breath.

“Aleeza’s been blackmailing me for weeks.”

“Why?”

He dropped his head backward then steepled his fingers under his chin. “She found out we were together and has been using that to--.”

“From the beginning Lewis,” you hissed.

If he were a weaker man he would have flinched from the pure rage and venom in your tone.

“About a month ago Aleeza came over here with an envelope filled with pictures of you and me.”

“What pictures?”

He walked across the floor then into his office and unlocked the safe to pull out the dark yellow envelope then walked back out to you. He placed it on the table and waited for you to take it. You stared at it like it was an untrustworthy foe that could strike at any moment. He could guess what you were thinking. Rather than talking more, he waited for you to take up the envelope. A full minute passed before you did. Once you’d dipped your hand inside and came away with the stack of pictures, he watched your face closely.

He knew the photos well. They were of you coming over, leaving days later, you guys making out in the car, jogging together, a few of you having sex that he still didn’t know how she’d gotten. It still made his skin crawl from the level of the breach to his privacy he’d been victim to. However it wasn’t only his privacy, it was yours too.

“Shit,” you whispered.

He knew it was the picture of you on your knees in front of him with his dick in your mouth.

“How did she get these?”

“I don’t know,” he replied somberly. He knew what you felt. Violated.

After a few moments of silence, you slipped the pictures back into the envelope and then looked at him.

“Then?”

Your eyes were cold once again, he couldn’t decipher anything inside them, and it hurt more than knowing he’d fucked up. You were so, so far from him. He couldn’t reach out to you, but you were right across the room, close enough to touch. Only he didn’t dare try to.

“She said she’d show them to your father, so he knew that I breached my contract in a way that warranted immediate dismissal. She knew the specific details of my contract, she knew shit she wasn’t supposed to, shit only Toto and your dad should know. She said she would blow up my entire life and move on to Wednesday like Tuesday was nothing. I asked her why and what she wanted, and she said she wanted me to end things with you.”

“And you agreed,” you spat at him as if the words tasted like chewing tobacco.

“What! No! I told her no that there was no chance in hell. I told her I’d take my chances with your father and my contract. I told her I wouldn’t. I even went as far as to call your father then and there, but she snatched my phone away. I must have pissed her off with that because she saw she couldn’t control me, and I was ready to drop napalm on my life and career for you.”

He chanced a glance at you hoping his words were making it through the hard shell of your anger, but you gave nothing away. You still looked at him like he was a stranger you didn’t trust. Again he sighed, then shook his head.  

“So her threat turned lethal. She said she would see to it that you had another accident that was worse than the one outside the gala that night. It didn’t make any sense to me how she worded it, but I didn’t put it together then. I didn’t think it was possible, that someone would be able to do something like that, especially to her husband's daughter. I just—I didn’t think. I did see that she was serious though and I didn’t want to risk you.”

“Why didn’t you tell my dad?”

“With what proof, angel eyes?”

“Stop!”

Clenching his jaw, he took a few calming breaths, “I had no proof. It was my word against hers. What reason would your father have to believe me? I couldn’t take the chance of that setting her off and her actually doing something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep this as far from you as possible. I thought fine I’ll just end things in a way that I knew we’d find our way back to each other, a way that I knew wouldn’t mean anything because of what we felt for each other.”

Your eyes softened then but within seconds they hardened again. Had he really lost you?

“I thought I could handle it,” he said, his voice low.

You scoffed. “And handle it you did. Con-fucking-gratulations!”

“Y/N,” Miles cautiously said as if he was trying to cut through the aggression you were charging the air with.

You sat, crossed your legs and arms then glared at him.

“And then?”

He hated this part. “She said she wanted it done in a way that—that--.”

“Spit it the fuck out you’ve already done the deed, own it.”

“That’s not really fair,” Andrew piped up.

Your glare slid to him. “You can get the fuck out if you want Andrew.”

He lowered his eyes but didn’t speak again. You then brought your razor blade glare back to him.

“She wanted it done in a way that what?”

“That broke your heart, a way that you wouldn’t recover from.”

“Wow. I guess all those actors in Hollywood don’t have shit on you. Lewis Hamilton for best actor, best screenplay, and best heartbreaker,” you said in a condescending voice as you clapped loudly.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whose idea was it?”

Shifting his eyes to the ceiling, he tried to buy himself some time, however, your disgusted laugh filled the room. It went from disgusted to hysterical, almost like the Joker’s unhinged one. When he looked at you he could see your eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Tell me? Who came up with the plan?”

This was harder than actually following through with the plan. Sitting across from you seeing the pain in your eyes, hearing the betrayal in your voice he wanted to do anything to take it away.

“Y/N,” he began on a whisper.

“Tell me!”

“Mine. I knew there was no way you’d believe anything less, no way you’d accept it, no way it would feel real unless it was this.”

“And how did you know that?”

Your eyes remained on his and you waited.

“Because of how you felt for me.”

It was then your tears fell and those droplets felt like ice shards embedding themselves in his chest. Daniel held out a box of tissues for you, but you ignored them and opted for the backs of your hands.

“Eh-em, so you planned that day in Monaco, planned it to perfection and had her there watching?”

“It was her idea. She wanted to see it to be sure it happened.”

You nodded.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It was hands down the second hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I could barely get through it, could barely breathe saying the words to you. I—I didn’t fuck them though. I couldn’t do that to you—I wouldn’t.”

You looked dazed now and everything in him screamed to go to you. He stood and took a step to you.

“Don’t you fucking dare come near me!”

Just like that, he stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t your words, but the hatred in your eyes.

“And tonight she came to collect the rest.”

You snorted then wiped your cheeks again. “All of this for your overly used dick. All of this to be one of the many in a long, long line.”

“Okay look that’s not fair,” Andrew said standing.

“It’s all right,” he said trying to stave Andrew off.

“No, it’s not. Look, Y/N, I get this is a lot and fucked up on so many levels and you’re hurt—a lot--.”

“Hurt.”

You giggled. “Hurt?” More giggles came until they turned unhinged again. “Hurt? Stubbing your bare toe is hurt. Hearing someone you trusted telling the secrets you trusted them with hurts. Hearing the person you’d been spending the last 18 months with didn’t feel inclined to share something important with you hurts. Hearing that the man you’ve spent the last 18 months with may not be who you thought hurts. This? What he did, doesn’t hurt. It destroys. I am fucking destroyed. I’m gutted! You gutted me, Lewis!”

“He didn’t have a--,” Andrew began but he cut him off.

“No, she’s right Andrew. I fucked up. I’m to blame, no matter why I did what I did or my intentions, I fucked up. My actions—I’m sorry angel eyes.”



~~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

You sprang up again and began pacing. It was then you flipped your switch. It was one of the many skills you’d developed being the daughter of Jordan Y-L-N. One of the skills you’d been trained in to prep you for living life in the public eye and being a constant target for any and everything. It was a skill you’d perfected when your mother passed. Each and every time you did it, you found it easier to separate yourself from your current reality to focus and dull every useless emotion.

All the pain, hurt, sadness, anger, and feelings regarding what Lewis had done were blocked off as you sequestered yourself far away from them. You knew you couldn’t handle them now, there was no scenario you made it through this without sealing yourself off. There was a bigger problem. Aleeza.

“She knew my mother and had a rivalry with her. A rivalry she lost. She made a plan to ruin my life using you to do it, the only person who probably had to power to do it. She watched me crumble, laughed at me in the hospital, then tried to convince my father I was at fault the whole time it was her doing. She was behind the accident at the gala. She wanted to kill me so she could be the sole inheritor of daddy’s estate when he died. Now she wants to fuck Lewis as a married woman and she’s sure he’ll give in because he’d lose his career if he didn’t, making him have lost me and his career—everything.”

Wow, you thought to yourself. This truly was insane. She was insane. You turned to the four faces on the other side of the room but blocked Lewis out completely.

“She tried to kill me.”

“That’s fucked up,” Miles said standing again.

“She almost succeeded,” you muttered.

“Well, we all heard her. She won’t get away with it,” Daniel said.

“Damn right she won’t,” Andrew said holding up his phone.

He pressed a few buttons and then placed his phone on the table. After a few seconds, Aleeza’s voice came on. Your eyes widened.

“Andrew, you--.”

“Recorded everything from when Lewis said hide. It was weird she was here. Something felt off.”

He took his phone up and stopped the recording. “I can text it to you.”

A wicked plan unfurled in your head, a plan that she deserved. She thought your mother was her rival. Your mother had never mentioned her, never dwelled on her a day in her happy life with you and your father. She was a speck of nothing in our lives. If only you’d been such a speck for hers.

“She wanted to destroy me. This bitch is going to finally understand the definition of destroy,” you said.

“What’s the plan?”

You looked over Miles, Andrew, and Daniel. They looked ready and eager to be a part of this like they planned on being involved no matter what.

“Look, y’all don’t have to be part of this any longer,” you began.

“Fuck that,” Daniel said.

“She came after the fam, and she tried to kill you,” Miles declared.

“She’s the one at fault for all of this. The way she hurt you—you didn’t deserve that. We’re in,” Andrew finished.

You clenched your jaw trying to fight off the barrier that was trying to drop so you were overwhelmed with everything again. You couldn’t afford that right now. If it did you’d be crippled with the pain, you’d be down for the count and right now you had a bitch to pay back.

“Andrew text me and email me that recording.”

“Got it.”

“What do you need from us?”

“I need the footage from the gala and the accident, I need to get the plates and anything I can so I can trace it. I can’t use my family’s investigator because there’s a chance it could get back to her.”

“I’m on that,” Miles said. “I know a cop who knows a detective.”

“Thank you, Miles.”

He nodded and took a few steps away pulling out his phone.

“I can use my company to dig into her some more,” Daniel offered.

His tech, cyber security, protection, and information agency would be good to handle that.

“Thank you Daniel.”

He reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. Again the barrier threatened to drop. You yanked your hand away and gave him a tight smile. Nodding, he quietly told you he understood. He stepped away and you watched as these three guys who didn’t owe you anything went above and beyond to help you. Three guys who owed all their loyalties to someone else were showing they were also loyal to you.

Emotion bubbled within you making you turn your back.

“Y/N,” Lewis began softly.

You froze, back tensing and heart pounding. You were not strong enough to do this right now. The only thing fueling you right now was the need for vengeance.

“What can I do? I want to—I need to help.”

You fought the sneer, but you couldn’t fight the words. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Just bask in the glory of my virginity.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and without needing to look at him you knew you wounded him. The part of you behind that barrier cared, the you with that switch flipped couldn’t. You stepped away and grabbed the bags you’d packed earlier then walked out the door without giving him a backward glance.

On the drive home, you took the long way passing it a few times driving clear to the countryside. Movement helped you think, movement helped you suppress the thing inside of you that was simmering. Every moment of inactivity made it reach a bubbling boil and you did not want to find out what would happen when it bubbled over. You knew yourself well enough that you knew it would be catastrophic.

So that was how you’d driven your tank empty three times and didn’t arrive back home until one in the morning. You couldn’t even stop to eat though you felt the hunger pains. Instead, you used the pains to fuel a workout. What was supposed to be maybe a thirty- or forty-minute run on the treadmill turned into a marathon sport event. Forty minutes at the punching bag, Thirty on the cycle machine, thirty on the rowing machine, twenty pumping weights, then an hour and a half on the treadmill.

By the time you made it to the shower, you were dead on your feet. Matter of fact so dead you dropped into your bed still wet and instantly fell asleep. The thing with the switch was, when you were awake it was easy to maintain, however, when asleep it was a bitch and a half. The nightmares were the worst because they never ended. They turned into terrors where you jumped up time after time after time only to realize that you’d done so in a dream and were still asleep and unable to actually wake yourself. Sleep paralysis. It was something you hadn’t experienced in years, and it was something you wouldn’t wish on anyone, except Aleeza.

So as you were paralyzed in this dream and unable to wake, you remained trapped in the nightmare of the day you’d walked in on Lewis. It played over and over and over. You would think the more times it played the more desensitized you were to it but no, it only intensified the pain you felt. No matter how you tried to run away from the scene or hide, it never worked. You were forced to live it again and again.

“Come out of it, angel eyes. Come on.”

You gasped loudly then sprang up panting for oxygen against the awful cotton mouth you were experiencing.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Lewis said.

You looked around the room, realizing you were awake. The sky was black, and the city lights twinkled around your condo.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your head to him, and everything flooded you again. Before you could stop yourself you wailed out as your body shook uncontrollably.

“I know you don’t want me to touch you, but I have to.”

Lewis wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tightly to his body. He’d seen you like this before. You’d gone through this after the accident and during those long weeks he didn’t let you out of his sight, you slept beside him, so he was near when you had an episode. He even got trained in how to take care of you during one.

The soothing circles he rubbed into your back barely registered, but the effect was nearly instantaneous. So very slowly the shaking lessened, and your breathing evened but the tears continued.

“Tighter,” you whimpered hating that you needed his help.

How twisted was it that the person you triggered this sleep paralysis was the person you needed to help soothe them? Lewis’ arms tightened around you feeling more like being Shibari bound than hugged.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you angel eyes.”

You wept louder though you were biting your tongue trying to hold it back.

“I’m sorry, I swear I am. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you in any way. It breaks me, straight kills me to know this is my fault.”

With every word, his hold on you remained tight. With every word, his warmth seeped into your pores and rushed off the cold chill that had taken over your body. Slowly your body relaxed, releasing you for the after-terror. Your body wanted to stay wrapped in his arms so badly. It wanted to forget everything that had transpired but your brain didn’t know how, your heart refused to.

“Get off of me,” you said on a shaky breath.

Lewis sighed before he complied. When he had you realized then you were naked. Snatching the comforter away, you wrapped yourself in it and dashed to the other side of your bedroom.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Daniel, Miles, and Andrew have tried to get in contact with you for almost two days, but you haven’t been answering.”

You spun around to face him. “Two days? I’ve been here for--.”

You turned back around and tried not to panic. You’d been in a sleep paralysis episode for nearly two days. Fuck you said to yourself.

“When did your sleep paralysis come back?”

“None of your business.”

“Y/N. Come on I just want to help. Please let me.”

Spinning around to glance at him you lashed out, “I don’t want your help Lewis! I can barely fucking look at you!”

To prove your point, you turned away from him again, your mouth turned up in disgust. A few tense moments passed in silence where you fought the dizziness overtaking you until you lost your balance and went tumbling to the floor. Before you hit the hard marble surface, Lewis’ arms cocooned you in safety lowering you gently to the floor.

Three of his heads danced around the air making it confusing for you to figure out which was the real him and which were the illusions. Lewis sighed then spoke again.

“You may not want it, but you need it. When was the last time you took your medication?”

You tried to figure that out for yourself but after several long seconds with no answer Lewis sighed again, this one disappointed. “How about eaten? When did you last eat?”

You knew this answer, “Two days ago.”

The three heads drifted into one and you saw the look of horror on Lewis’ face. “Please tell me you haven’t been in sleep paralysis for two days.”

You didn’t bother lying, you felt too weak.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

With that, Lewis hoisted you into his arms and stood bringing you back to your bed. He tucked a few pillows behind your head.

“I don’t need you Lewis. Just go.”

“I’m not leaving you like this. I’ll get your meds and make you some food then after you eat and take your meds only then will I leave.”

You kissed your teeth annoyed with this chivalrous show he was putting on. At this point, you didn’t know what was the real him and what was a fabricated illusion made up by you or forced onto you him. Without waiting for you to object, Lewis walked over to the mini fridge you kept in the bedroom and took out a bottle of water.

“Here, hydrate. Two days of no water, your body needs it.”

You glared at him but snatched the bottle from him and took a few gulps. He remained there clearly unsatisfied with the small gulps you’d taken. You took a few more and only stopped when you drank half the bottle.

“Wait here,” Lewis instructed before he walked out of your bedroom.

You were so annoyed right now it was crazy. He had no right to be here, no right to want to take care of you, no right to even try to pretend like nothing had happened and he hadn’t completely gutted you in two flawless moves. That barrier you’d forced up was slowly cracking and you were more than terrified of when it crumbled altogether. Taking some calming breaths, you tried to focus on what needed to be done and the fact that you needed to be in the right state of mind to pull it off.

Before you realized it, Lewis walked back into your bedroom with a trey. The scent of tomato soup filled the room and your stomach rumbled.

“Garlic and basil tomato soup with a grilled cheese, a cup of chamomile tea, a little cantaloupe, honeydew, and strawberry salad. I was going to add a salad but maybe keeping it lite is best.”

He placed the trey at the foot of the bed and then bent to grab the portable table you kept under your bed. After unfolding it he put it over your lap then the tray on the table. It boiled your blood knowing that he still knew where everything was and was moving around like he owned the place like he was still welcomed.

When he came back and put your medicine beside the bowl of tomato soup you snapped again.

“You can go now. Don’t you have a deadline looming in a matter of hours? You should go prepare for your pussy appointment.”

Lewis sucked in a sharp breath, but he didn’t move. “You really think I’d sleep with her? You really think that’s who I am?”

You snorted, “I don’t know who you are,” you spat.

“Bullshit. You know exactly who I am. You’ve seen who I am over the last 18 months. You know everything about me. You know you are the most important person to me next to my family. You know you mean everything to me.”

Lewis reached for your hand, but you yanked it back before he could touch you. A defeated look crossed his face and a small part of you felt guilty for it. A very small part, but no matter how small, that part was wreaking havoc and prompting the fall of your barrier at a breakneck speed.

He pulled over a chair and then sat. “What can I do? Tell me what I need to do to make this right.”

“Nothing. There is nothing you can do. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know if I can ever believe anything out of your mouth again. I don’t know if I can ever trust you or rely on you. I just--.”

Shaking your head you took a deep breath and began eating.

“Please, angel eyes.”

You sighed. closed your eyes and squeezed the spoon. “Please stop calling me that.”

“No. You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? You think I don’t know that you’re trying to push me away and compartmentalize the shit out of this situation so you can numb yourself toward me? I’m not stupid, Y/N.”

“You should have told me!”

You loud shout went everywhere. Lewis didn’t speak for a while but when he did his voice was low.

“I see that now. I swear Y/N, I was trying to protect you. I was trying to--.”

“Do what you always do, try to control everything and handle it all by yourself.”

He sighed then dropped his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What does sorry do now? The damage is done. Like I have never allowed any man in and here I let you in and you shattered me, ruined me, broke me. You did to me what I didn’t think any man had to power to do because I never allowed it, but I see now though it’s too late. I’d given you something no one had ever gotten.”

He looked guilty now. “Your virginity. I didn’t know before; I didn’t know fully until you said the words. I suspected but—.”

“You took more than that Lewis. You took all of me—everything.”

“Please, Y/N, let’s start over, let’s try again.”

“I don’t have anything else to give.”

“Then let me do the giving. Let me give everything to you. Let me love you because I do. I love you.”

You stared at him with your head cocked to the side. They were words you wanted to hear a month or two ago. They were words you were so sure he wanted to say one of the last times you’d had sex. They were words you swore he’d said in so many different ways but now he was saying the actual words.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you more than anything, I love you so fucking much I can’t breathe, so much I can’t do anything without thinking of you, thinking of keeping you safe, happy, and carefree. I love you so much that I can’t do anything without you in my life. I love you. Y/N. I love you.”

He clasped your hand between his large ones, and you sat there searching his eyes. Could you believe these words? Were they also lies to get you to forgive him? Could this be real? Uncertainty swarmed within you making it impossible to decipher what was real or fake.

“I don’t know what’s real and what’s fake,” you whispered.

He held your hand tighter. “This is real, I’m real, how I feel about you is real. The last 18 months were real, the depth of how sorry I am is real. Me being willing to end my career for you is real. Loving you more than my love of the sport—that’s real. Believe me.”

You pulled your hands free from his then averted your eyes to the food before you. After you focused for a few moments you went back to eating as if he’d said nothing. Your mother taught you that love was an action, not a word, and if the action was authentic the words wouldn’t be needed and if the love was genuine then it would be forever something you could bet on without hesitation. You didn’t know if you could bet on his “love.”

After about thirty minutes, you’d finished most of the food and taken the medication. You then looked at Lewis ready to tell him to leave. He held his hand up.

“You don’t have to say it. I’ll go.”

He stood, dug in his pocket, and held out a zip drive. “Daniel and Miles came through. They said if you need anything else call them.”

You took the zip drive and nodded. “Thank you.”

He nodded then somberly walked to the door. You watched him move. Before, he always had a pep in his step no matter what he was going through, now he looked just as broken as you felt. Fighting the urge to feel sympathy for him, you closed your eyes.

“Angel eyes.”

Your belly quivered at the sound of his nickname for you. It always quivered no matter if you were alone or in the middle of a crowd. You heard the name and your body reacted. He knew it very well and it was knowledge he capitalized on. It was a nickname he refused to give up on. You met his eyes cautiously.

“I could never and would never sleep with anyone but you. No matter what, from this day on there will be no one else. Just you. Even if you decide that you want nothing else to do with me, I will love you from afar, but it will still forever and always till my last breath, just be you.”

That was a bold ass declaration you thought. It came with a shit ton of implications and a shit ton of silent promises. The look on his face said he knew each and every single one of those implications and promises. Your body began to shake all over again only this wasn’t the aftereffects of the paralysis. This was the weight of his words seeping into your very being and attacking the barrier. You opened your mouth to speak but in a matter of seconds he was gone, and you were left with too much to think about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #if this is love you need to mean it 3

[sugarycandies]

Spirits Blossom [Jimin x Reader]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Jimin x Sub Fem!Reader

Genre: 18+ MINORS DNI Smut, Porn with some plot, worship, orgasm denial, praise kink

Synopsis: Jimin is a spirit of desire. The story of "The Legend of Florere Pond" is a folktale passed down for generations about a desire-granting spirit that lived in a peach blossom pond. (Y/N), who has been having a rough time, seeks out this spirit in hope of release. He is more than happy to help with those desires in any way he can.

Word Count: 3.6k

AO3 Link

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She was desperate.

The Legend of Florere Pond is the passed-down town tale in (Y/N)’s town. If you walked far enough into the forest, you’d find its entrance close to a sycamore tree. People say very few people have come across it, as only those deemed worthy by the spirit guarding it are allowed to pass into its domain. Those who have claimed to see it described it as a tranquil icy blue pond with the most transparent, beautiful water. Peach trees in perpetual bloom cascaded their blossoms decorating the lake in a light pink layer. Speckling the pink lay differing greens of lilypads. Most importantly: when you touch down upon the water, blooming ripples would sprout from your fingertips and reflect a gentle finger mirroring yours from the depths below. If you managed to coax the spirit out, he would be able to see into your deepest desires.

(Y/N) needed some sort of escape, the world had gotten too fast. Work had been a nightmare, her co-workers only harassed her more due to her being a new employee, and her boss only fed into it. Her family had cut her out recently due to a fallout over her choice to leave law school. On top of all of that? Her best friend had recently stopped talking to her. The last solace of her day was her pet cat that she could come home and talk to, but no one ever gave her full accompaniment. Everything had felt empty, gray.

God, what would she do for a bit of color? And, my, did Florere Pound sound radiant.

She kissed her cat on top of the forehead between the ears, giving one last scratch after feeding him. Then, she slung a bag over her shoulders and head out. The sun rained upon her, covering her in a blanket of summertime warmth. Yet, that warmth did little to reach near her bones, only touching the surface of the tension that gnawed like frostbite inside of her. She found herself at the edge of tall trees looming above her, blocking out the sun from her once more. With one foot, she stepped inside and began to roam through.

It was much chillier within the walls of the forest. The trees were too thick to truly see anything through them, and she had turned too many times to find which way she had begun. Her heart beat faster as she got more committed to the forest, and the realization set in. Everything had looked the same, growing dizzier and dizzier, tree, upon the grass, upon another tree, upon a puddle. Everything was the same over and over, nothing defining enough use as a landmark. No sycamore tree was in sight, and (Y/N) grew desperate. 

“Shit!” She yelled as she looked at what she could only assume was the same tree she had usually been looking at, and kicked a rock in her frustration. It batted against the bark of the tree, doing little to hurt it.

(Y/N) took out her phone- no signal. She’d have to wander until she was close enough to get at least a bar. That way she could look up on maps some routes to get back.

She turned around for what she could only assume was the seventeenth time she had decided to ‘turn around’ to find her way back, and began to walk again. How naive did she have to be to believe in some ‘spirit’ anyway?

Looming above her was a tree that contrasted beyond the rest. It was a striking white, with crawling limbs touching the sky, and patches of leaves dwindling off it. A sycamore tree.

‘Come closer, I want to see you.’

The whispery voice shimmered in her ears, she could almost feel the light tease of lips against her ear with how intimately close the voice was to her. A light breeze brought goosebumps across her neck, feeling like nails tickling down her back, carving the arch within it. Her eyes widened, and she felt the pull to the sycamore tree in front of her.

All doubts began to slowly flood her mind, and that simple touch released the tension that was in her shoulders. She turned back sharply, to see nothing behind her as if she had imagined it all in her head. Once more she looked at the sycamore tree, every second that she wasn’t getting closer to it felt like reigning in a pulling force. So, she gave in, allowing herself to be pushed in front of it.

Yet, beyond the tree there was nothing, so she lightly touched it, running her fingers against the rough bark. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and she tried to keep upright, holding onto the tree to keep herself up. She swung around to rest her back against it, her breath growing into heaves as she fought against the darkness that was swallowing her.

‘It’s okay.’ The same voice reassured lightly, ‘You’ll be here soon.’

Her head felt heavy as she raised it, feeling her whole world turned upside down. She was curled up into herself on the ground, the sun glistening upon her once more. Her vision slowly adjusted, and she saw herself, slightly distorted below her. Slowly raising up in confusion, she looked down to see her reflection, rippling against light ripples within a body of water. Adorned in the water floated by soft pink blossoms- peach blossoms. It was real all along? 

There was only one way to test that theory. She reached her hand into the water, dipping the very tip of her index finger into the water, and reflecting upon it: another finger similar to hers.

“(Y/N),” the voice whispered, “(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N).”

“What?” She responded a bit confused, she could tell the voice was one of a male.

“Such a pretty name, (Y/N).” He said again, his voice was airy and bright, almost in a teasing tone.

“Thank you?” she responded in confusion, “Is this…”

“Florere Pond? Yes.” He said.

(Y/N) looked around, seeing everything around her, it was truly as colorful as all the tales told it to be. Peach trees completely surrounded the pond, fog lingering between them, and the lake was such a vibrant aqua.

“Look,” the voice called, “Look into the water.”

She looked down, and gently swiped her arm across the water, pushing away the petals that covered the surface. There, lingering in the reflection showed a boy, reflecting as if he was right above the pond as she was. He had beautiful pink hair, and plump lips to match his soft face. His smile reached into his eyes as he laughed a bit, wearing a silky white shirt that near translucent, and tight black dress pants that wrapped around high-waisted. 

“Let’s get acquainted, shall we? It’s only fair you get to know me if I grant you your deepest desires,” he said, slowly his reflection got close to yours, the volume raising as he did. Yet, when she looked above the water next to her, there was nothing.

“My name is Jimin,” He whispered, “and all I am here to do is help you, take care of you, please you.”

“... Jimin?” She whispered looking at his reflection, and he nodded as he smiled, his hand slowly reaching over to her face, yet all she felt was heat against the area.

“It sounds prettier from you,” he laughed teasingly into her ear as he stroked his thumb on her cheek.

She felt herself get warmer from the attention, and tried to collect the words as they scattered in her mind.

“I, just, didn’t want to be alone.” she finally stammered out, looking at the spirit.

“I know,” he whispered, “You just need some time to relax, to get away from the ‘real world’ for a moment.” 

“It’s been all too much,” she whispered, tears beginning to glisten, as did the surface of the water, her eyes.

Jimin smiled lightly again and leaned closer to her ear again. The same tingly sensation rose within her stomach as he did.

“It’s okay, here we’re alone, and we can do whatever you want.” he said quietly, “I know you’re thinking of so many ways I could help you relax right now. Every single touch is sending you into overdrive, I see it, I feel it.”

He wasn’t even corporal, and this spirit had managed to make her stomach erupt. Every inch of her skin was begging to feel the same sensations as her neck and ear had to the mere existence of a breeze that she took to be his breath.

“Please,” she finally released, this spirit had managed to gain trust through mere subtleties.

He laughed a bit, “Whatever you so desire, my dear.”

The reflection disappeared, and for a moment she felt alone once more. The air grew thick as she looked down, confused. The water began to ripple a bit, and slowly the ends of pink hair peaked through the blossoms, a head raising out of the water, soon following the soaked shirt of Jimin, clinging tightly against his skin as he pulled himself out. He was lean, but muscular through and through. Seeing him outside of a reflection set it for her, and the comforting smile he gave once his eyes opened to meet hers.

“I’ll give you the best night of your life,” he said, moving closer to her as the peach blossoms moved against his path, “You’ll go back to your world feeling more relaxed than you ever have if you so let me.”

He leaned forward and coyishly moved to rest his head in the cranny of her neck, looking innocently up into her eyes. Yet, beyond it was a devilish smirk. He was an enigma to anything you had ever seen before, a toying playful spirit, a helpful hand, and a sinner wrapped up into one being.

“Yes,” she let out lightly, looking down at the spirit beneath her. He laughed lightly, sending shivers once more down her body as he did right against the skin of her neck.

Slowly his lips connected to the skin, his hand slowly trailing to the arch of her back again, resting in it as she pushed herself forward into his touch. He kissed lightly against it, his lips exploring every inch of the area, moving up to her jaw, and cheek, and then slowly meeting with half-lidded eyes into hers.

“Oh (Y/N),” he whispered, “I’ve had my eyes on you for a while. It took you so long just to come to wander into my domain so that I could see you for myself.”

So he had known her? She gulped against his words and opened her eyes.

“I caught your attention?” she whispered.

“Of course, you did, dear.” he smirked, “And I could only hope you’d welcome me in.”

Once more he resumed what he was doing, connecting his lips against hers in a gentle romantic kiss. The mere touch sent sparks throughout the entirety of (Y/N)’s body, his kiss served as a miracle giver, a blessing upon her. Every stroke and touch took every worry and pulled it out upon release. It was magical. He got growingly more curious as his lips trailed down to the edge of her shirt, looking up at her once more with eyes growing in his own sinful desire.

“Would you like me to remove this for you, dear?” he asked, leaving her just to breathlessly nod.

Slowly his fingers hooked around the edges of her shirt, lifting it up, his hands holding her hips as he reached down and kissed upon the edges of her breasts that showed beyond the bra that was still covering them. Soon, he grew a tiny bit rougher as he sucked, leaving purple blooms to begin to grow. He grew greedier upon each one, and she only grew more desperate against the teasing.

Soon her own hand began to explore, running fingers through his pink hair, which was awfully soft. Her hand trailed against his back and ran up his shirt, running nails down his back lightly.

“You’re getting needier,” he laughed a bit as he still kept low, “it’s cute.”

The praise only sent her into more desire as she nodded.

He ran his lips down to the base of her stomach, looking at her shorts, hooking around them as well as he pulled them down, hooking around the panties as he basked in her full glory.

“Ah, my apologies, it must be so rude for me not even to give back.” He smiled as he pulled back for a moment, and she gasped out at the lack of touch. The cold kiss of air against her clit made her shiver. Slowly he pulled off his own shirt, revealing abs that glistened against the surface of the water. He removed his pants, to reveal his true desires as well, hiding as he too was awfully aroused, shown in the tent in his boxers. Soon, those were off too as he sprung out, hitting his stomach. He gave off a show as he removed his clothes, turning, making sure each article took as long as possible to take off.

“Please,” she pleaded, “Jimin-”

“You’re so impatient darling” he whispered as he looked at her, watching as she was practically squirming.

Her own finger slowly lowered down to her clit, rubbing against it as she was desperate. The finger glided along perfectly as the arousal slicked her already.

“Shh” he reached forward and grabbed her wrist, stopping her movement and making her whine, “I’m supposed to be the one pleasuring you darling, don’t you remember?”

Biting her lip she nodded, this spirit singlehandedly was the most caring, and pleasurable being.

“I want to worship and bask in your beauty” he whispered, “In hopes that you’d see the same reflection I see of you in front of me, the you I’ve wanted for so so long, darling.”

Slowly he kissed down lower and lower against her, his lips grazing her folds, pulling her forward so that her legs dangled into the pond he stood in.

“Jimin please just touch me,” she whispered.

He licked his lips as he looked up at her, “I want to savor every single taste of you darling, you have to be patient with me.” 

Slowly he reached forward and pressed deeper into her, lips connecting with her clit as he began to lick, lips connecting his spit with her own wetness against her. She felt a wave of pleasure rack over her as his tongue worked against her, everything so smooth. She leaned herself back, bucking her hips up into his mouth as her head tilted back, moans falling out of her mouth as he worked against her.

He rested his hands against her hips, helping her hold herself up as he did just as he promised- savoring every single bit of her he got on his tongue, working perfectly as he licked stripes running up and down her, stimulating her clit with a flick. He kissed her again as his fingers tightened on her hips. Her own hands found his hair and tightened, pushing him further down on her. He didn’t mind it in the slightest.

“So sweet” he whispered as he pulled away for a second, just for her to push him back in, and he hummed against her pleased despite the forcefulness.

Her stomach tightened a bit as she felt herself getting close, Jimin slowly pulled away as he looked up at her, making her whine.

“Not yet, darling, there’s still so much we have to do,” he said, “I can’t have you releasing this early.” 

He raised himself a bit more out of the water, his dick fresh out against the air. (Y/N) leaned up and looked down at it, her hand reaching down and wrapping around the base as she began to pump it.

“Ah- now you don’t have to please me,” Jimin insisted as he leaned his head back, the smirk still coming onto his face as he watched her practically fall apart in desperation, crawling to him. It lit up a fire within him that he made the cool facade.

“I want to” she whispered, “God, I really want to.”

Jimin couldn’t argue with that as he bit his lip, nodding, letting her pump him for a bit, his own moans coming out.

“(Y/N), you’re so pretty like this,” he said smiling as he looked down.

“You do too,” She said quietly as she looked up at him.

His own hand trailed down as she pumped, and head down to her entrance, slowly teasing it with his finger, before smoothly plunging into her, beginning to move. She moaned and her hand fell back, not stopping her movements on him as he pumped him. Slowly he added a second, moving faster as she gasped, spreading her legs.

“More,” she whispered breathlessly, making Jimin tease a smile against his lips, which were agape.

“Anything for you,” he whispered, “Your begging would make me want to do anything.”

He moved to line himself up with her entrance, before slowly pushing in. She felt full as he did, and all of her worries completely drained at that point, leaving her just to focus on the pleasure he gave.

He thrusted into her, rocking his hips slowly as he wrapped his arms around her, pushing her closer to the edge of the pond. All (Y/N) could do was wrap her arms around him as well, holding him as she dug her nails into his back. She held her head into his neck, moaning into the skin.

“Jimin” she moaned, “God, Jimin.”

The way she said his name sent him into overdrive, feeling himself shiver.

“Oh (Y/N),” he whispered into her ear again, making the goosebumps raise again, his hips rocked rhythmically, skillful and graceful. The water rippled in time with his thrusts below him.

Slowly he pulled her deeper into the water, making her gasp, but the water was warm around her. Blossoms floated around her as they tingled against her back, surrounding the both of them as Jimin didn’t even stutter in his thrusts, getting only faster as he did. His mouth roamed once more and found her neck, kissing hickies right into the skin again.

She felt herself getting close, “Jimin-” she whispered, “Jimin-”

Jimin picked her up and pulled out of the water again, stopping his movements for a moment, and making her gasp.

“No-” she sobbed out at the sudden loss of buildup. Jimin fully removed himself from the water, pining her down underneath him.

“Not yet,” he whispered into her ear, “Not yet, not yet”

He reached his thumb down and teased her clit again, still deep inside of her. Once more he rocked slowly, now on top of her as she lay on her back in the soft grass. Jimin was beautiful with the sun reflecting on top of him, and he was glowing. His thrusts once more resumed at a normal pace, making her grow more desperate.

“Please, please let me come!” she cried out, feeling her orgasms get closer and closer each time they were denied.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he whispered, his thrusts suddenly gaining in pace as he got even faster against her, rocking her chest up and down. He took the opportunity to take one in his hand, kneading it and teasing against the nipple, his mouth going to work at the other one.

“I'm coming!” She yelled as Jimin moved out, and she felt her whole world rock around her as her hips spasmed, sharp squirts falling out, and Jimin smirked as he squirted all over him, feeling proud as he did, still rubbing her clit harshly to pull her through the orgasm. Once she was done, he pumped himself a couple of times, moaning as he too came on her stomach.

(Y/N), as she lay on the floor, felt lighter than she ever had, looking up into Jimin’s eyes, which had lost the arousal and were replaced with the same innocence she saw earlier.

“Oh, (Y/N),” he whispered, “we made such a mess,” he said leaning down and resting his head on the middle of her chest.

Her eyes widened at the two sides of this man and nodded. 

“How do you feel?” he asked, hand reaching to stroke her cheek once more, caringly.

“So, much lighter,” was all she could get out, she felt like she wanted to lie there forever, in the midst of the peach blossom-covered grass with the man who just made all of her worries go away.

“Good,” he whispered, “Then your desire is fulfilled?”

“No, replaced,” she responded, “I want you.”

He laughed, “That’s a hard bargain,” he whispered, “But anything for you.”

She had fallen asleep soon after.

Ring. Ring.

She groggily turned her head, looking next to her, 7:00 A.M, her alarm for work was going off. Part of her wished that she could close her eyes and go back to that pond, return to that dream state once more. Yet, she had duties. The eyes of that man lingered in her mind, feeling disappointed as she had to go brush her teeth. She got into her work clothes and was prepared to start another god-forsaken day.

She head out of her apartment and opened the door to look to see the apartment next to her was fully sold, with boxes adorning the outside of it.

“Hello!” that voice.

She looked down the hall to see the same man from her dreams walk forward, carrying a box.

“My name is Jimin. I think you live in room 130, right? I’m moving into 131! I hope we can be good friends!” he bowed politely to you. A teasing smirk though ghosted beyond that bow.

#jimin x reader #smut #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts smut #bts x reader #park jimin x reader #park jimin x reader smut #praise #park jimin praise #soft dom jimin #soft jimin #fluff #smut with plot #jimin x reader smut

[bullet-prooflove]

TheWall! Series Part Three: Risk - Bishop Losa x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @wakeama @fanfic-n-tabulous @dreamlandcreations @anime-weeb-4-life @keyweegirlie @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @purrrrfect @adaydreamaway08 @stressed-chas @spookyboogyuniverse @librarian1002 @msjava1972 @thanossexual @kishie8 @saltyunicorn079 @nessamc @thebaileybugle @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @justreblogginfics @beccabarba @legally-a-bastard @trublu2u @irishavengersassemble

Companion Series to:

Complicated - Bishop already knows your secret.

The Wall - Bishop comes home to find you covered in blood.

TheWall! Series:

Part One: Poker Night

Part Two: Ambush

The tang of copper hits Bishop as soon as he opens the bedroom door. It’s a bad sign, a really bad fucking sign. It means that Coco hasn’t been able to stop the bleeding, he sees it in the overwrought expression on the sniper’s features as he sits alongside of the bed with his hands clasped together as if in prayer. You’re fading he can see it. Your breathing is laboured, your pallor pale and clammy.

Creeper sits on the opposite side of the bed, his hand holding yours as he talks to you in low soothing tones. It’s in moments like this that he sees the kindness in his brothers, their unwavering support. You’re not just a part of his life, you’re a part of theirs too.

“We’ll give you some time.” Creeper says, his hand coming to rest upon Bishop’s shoulder before the two of them leave the room.

Bishop has a decision to make. If you don’t get medical attention soon, you’re going to die and the thought of that… He’d follow you into that grave, he knows he would. The problem is he knows that you would rather bleed out on this bed then let anyone else suffer the fallout from this whole situation.

He reaches out, his fingertips smoothing the hair back away from your face. It breaks his heart to see you like this, there’s a sinking in his chest because the choice it’s impossible. Either way he loses you.

“Hey baby,” He says quietly, his thumb trailing over the apple of your cheek. “We gotta get you to the hospital…”

You shake your head, and the gesture fucking kills him.

“You know what happens if we do.” You rasp, your eyes meeting his. “We can’t.”

“Carmen…” He tries, his voice breaking. “Carmen please…”

“Obispo…” You say softly, your hand covering his and clasping it to your cheek. “I can’t put them at risk.”

The breath rushes out of him, and he wishes that he fell in love with someone else, someone who wasn’t so fucking selfless. He knows the risks. Gunshot wounds get reported, that means an investigation into you, the community centre, the work you’re doing on the side...

It puts everyone in the firing line, him, the club, the people who help you. It’s a meticulous network and this has the potential to derail the whole system. If that happens no one’s safe, not the people you’ve already helped, or the people you intend to help.

He thinks of the alterative and he just fucking can’t because a world without you in it doesn’t bear thinking about. His eyes fucking sting as he presses his forehead to yours, his hand shaking as he grasps yours tightly.

You may be willing to die for this cause but is he going to let you?

Love Bishop? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#bishop losa #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa #obispo bishop losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa x you

[thefirst3chapters]

There is so much going on with the parallels in this gifset (Rory and Jess's first kiss and Jess's infamous "I love you"). This got long so it's under the cut.

Both of these scenes happen after Rory or Jess's parent(s) announce a new relationship: For Rory, she just talked with Christopher and is happy about the prospect of her parents being together. This family reunion is seconds away from being over, but Rory is hopeful that it will last. For Jess, he just met TJ, was not impressed, and does not want to be a part of the situation at all. He is jaded from seeing Liz repeatedly getting involved in destructive relationships and is frustrated that Luke thinks they can change her mind. It is interesting that both Rory and Jess's history of abandonment is highlighted as they abandon each other. (Similar to how Jimmy showed up and ran out on Jess in the same episode that Jess left.)

Both of these scenes happen at an event that commemorates love: The kiss is at Sookie and Jackson's wedding, and the "I love you" is at the Firelight Festival, which celebrates a star-crossed love story from Stars Hollow's history. The wedding is joyful and marks a beginning while the festival has a more bittersweet undertone. This holiday is when Dean breaks up with Rory in S1 and when Rory is heartbroken by Logan's disinterest in S5, but the scene with Jess is the only one of the three that happens at the festival itself. (Rory really can't catch a break with this holiday.)

Both of these scenes have surrounding events that contrast their aesthetic: The scenery of Rory and Jess's first kiss is of course beautiful and is fit for an Austen-esque drama. It's springtime, and Rory and Jess are both wearing blue. The beauty is undercut by the impending Lorelai/Christopher fallout, Rory’s inner turmoil and disloyalty to Dean, and Jess’s pain as he moved back for Rory only to see her run away; the seeds of communication problems and abandonment that will plague their relationship have been sown among the blossoming flowers. The "I love you" scene happens on a cold, dark winter night. Rory and Jess are both wearing neutral colors, and it's clear from their facial expressions that despite what they both told Lorelai, they are emotionally torn up by their estrangement. The darkness is undercut by the Firelight Festival’s faith that love will eventually conquer its obstacles; among the twinkle lights, Luke and Lorelai find each other (it’s not their time, yet) and Liz tells Luke she is hopeful that Jess will be okay and TJ will be a good partner for her (the rest of the show proves that this faith was well-placed). Rory and Jess's obstacles of failed communication and abandonment remain, but so does hope.

Rory and Jess respectively reveal what they did to their parental figure when they return to town months later. The aesthetic contrast is interesting. Lorelai and Rory have this conversation in public and in broad daylight. Lorelai and Rory's "default setting" is being best friends, but this is something significant that Rory kept from her. Lorelai, who is still upset over what happened with Christopher, tells Rory that the situation isn't fair to Dean but ends up focusing more on Dean's feelings than anything else. Luke and Jess have this conversation alone and in the dark. It's their breakthrough moment where they realize how much they really care about each other, and Jess divulging something so personal is a big deal. Luke just had the revelation that he loves Lorelai, and his advice is more focused on trying to help Jess. The dialogue is so similar:

Lorelai and Rory in S3 E1: "Well, I thought it was over. I mean, you haven't talked with him since..." / "Sookie's wedding." / .... / "Okay, so he crashed Sookie's wedding, and..." / "And nothing. He told me he was back in town, that he'd moved back, and..." / "What, Rory? Come on." / "And we kissed, okay?"

Luke and Jess in S4 E21: "No. Rory, still? That's ancient history. You haven't seen her in a year." / "I saw her when I was here a few months ago." / "I didn't know that. So, what happened?" / "Nothing... I told her, uh..." / "What?" / "I told her I loved her."

Both of these reunions bookend a third Literati reunion (of sorts) at the End of Summer Madness Festival: In S3 E1, Rory just told Lorelai that she is joining her in not speaking with Christopher, which contrasts her talking with him at the wedding. Rory was surprised to find Jess under a tree at the wedding, and here she is surprised to find him under a tree kissing Shane. The setting here is also a stark contrast to the other two scenes. It is late summer, the music is loud and irritating, red is a prominent color, and lots of people are present. The body language of Jess and Rory's first kiss was so affectionate, but Jess and Shane appear far less emotionally invested. These contrasts all enrich the comparison of Rory’s clandestine enchantment at the wedding to her disappointed jealousy at the summer festival.

Looking at all three of these scenes together, there is this poetic sequence of Rory and Jess's relationship from a beautiful spring day to an overbearing summer afternoon to a bleak (but not entirely so) winter night, and it's really compelling.

It is notable that all three of these reunions happen outside, and so do a lot of their other scenes together. The idea that Rory and Jess find freedom to be themselves when they are together is brought up often, and the fact that so many of their scenes are outside could be reflective of that. Being outside gives them space to breathe and grow away from the confines of what other people expect of them, but it also leaves them more exposed to the elements and more at risk of being left out in the cold, which makes vulnerability frightening for both of them. They don't quite have the emotional skills to weather those challenges (yet).

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls meta #rory gilmore #jess mariano #literati #rory x jess

[rosie-b]

Centuries Overdue

Chapter 2

The first thing Marinette noticed on opening the leather journals when she inevitably returned to the South room one week later was the grayed ink flowing across the pages. The second thing she noticed was that this particular journal was not written by Adrien Agreste, like the first one had been, but by his mother, Emilie Agreste.

There were perhaps twenty to thirty books on the shelf, with two-thirds of them being written by Adrien’s parents and the last third being written by Adrien himself. The time during which the journals were written spanned from the years just before the French Revolution to 1810, just before the end of the Napoleonic Wars. They all seemed to be travelogues detailing the Agrestes’ long journeys to various historical and legendary locations in Europe as they evaded the worst of the fighting, met different groups of people, and moved on to new adventures.

It all seemed normal enough until Marinette noticed a passage describing a magic ritual done under the full moon in striking detail. Even then, she assumed it was just some forgotten tradition, not an example of true belief in magic. But as she skimmed through the rest of Emilie and Gabriel’s journals, she realized that each of them truly believed in magic, and so did the people they met. Even the places the Agrestes journeyed to were all associated with magic through legend or myth.

And Adrien? He grew up going on these extended journeys; he was brought up on old stories and spell castings and the peace treaties of mages. For him, magic’s existence was a solid fact of life, not a hypothetical or something to be questioned.

The more she read, the more disappointed with Adrien’s parents Marinette grew.

The moment they realized they were having a child, they left France (it was in early 1789, which Marinette begrudgingly admitted made it kind of a smart move, since the Agrestes were part of the aristocracy). They went to Britain, heading straight for Glastonbury Abbey, and never looked back. They raised their son on legends and then, predictably, died during one of their more extreme displays of faith in the supernatural, leaving a twelve-year-old boy to deal with the fallout. It was hardly good parenting.

Even so, she found the story intriguing. Marinette began to sneak into the South room during breaks and read through the journals, one by one. She decided that Gabriel’s entries were all bland and didn’t add much to the story, while Emilie’s were too long and flowery most of the time. There were only so many times she could read about Adrien’s “golden, glowing locks and paper-pale skin” without wanting to throw the fragile book across the room, so eventually, Marinette decided that she would stick to reading Adrien’s journals instead. They were much more interesting, anyway.

But there was one thing that annoyed her about all of the journals: The nouns were capitalized (seemingly at Random!) throughout the entire series.

That haphazard style was something Marinette would have expected from old books written in English, not French, so she decided to blame the situation on Emilie, who, as her journals noted, had come to France from England when she was a child. She must have taught her family about the new style being developed across the channel, and when they moved to Glastonbury Abbey and then around the British Isles for the first years of their traveling, improper capitalization must have become habit for the Agrestes.

At least it wasn’t a problem when Adrien was writing in German. Most of the time.

His journals were really quite interesting, Marinette found as she pored through them day by day. Reading the books during her lunch break and even after her shift ended became something of a habit for her, and she found herself declining lunch invitations from her friends in favor of reading about the long-dead Agreste’s adventures throughout Europe.

Adrien, like his parents before, mostly stayed out of France on his journeys, which made some sense, but even as the Napoleonic empire expanded, he continued to make regular visits to occupied countries. He kept his trust in magic spells to keep him safe from enemy eyes as he traveled by foot or on horseback through the rapidly changing world.

Even if he was obviously exaggerating some parts of his tale and making up others (please, no amount of spell-casting could help him defeat an entire platoon of soldiers), Adrien Agreste was much more interesting than anyone Marinette had met in real life. And his writing style, for all its capital crimes, was masterful and compelling. She could tell he was in charge of every aspect of the story he wrote, because he came off as too good to be true, but in such a genuine way that she couldn’t help but sympathize with his struggles. If he was someone Marinette had met around modern Paris instead of just another dead guy in a book, she might have been tempted to date him.

She hoped that wasn’t too weird.

It probably was.

__*__*__*__*__

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written in Leipzig, Germany, on the sixteenth of January, 1810.

Leipzig is a good place to get a new Journal. They have many good publishing houses, and as such they must have good Bookbinders as well. I was able to purchase this particular Journal from a kindly man in Anger-Crottendorf with ease and no questions asked . . . But I am only somewhat put at ease by the City’s Peace, such as it seems.

There is talk of a Darkness in Venice. And again, a Darkness in the Dolomites, and in Scotland at the Loch Ness, and still more Talk about nearly every place I have visited in my years as a Mage and as a boy with my parents. Still no reported Darkness in the Harz, and none in Paris yet, and still it is clear that the Danger is not shrinking but burgeoning.

Time, like a Candle too well loved, is growing shorter, and soon it will run out entirely. I must make my Attack before it is too late.

I have gathered several like-minded, strong Mages, and a dozen Talents as well. They have agreed with me that Blå Jungfrun is the proper place for our Fight, partially because it is so isolated, meaning no Lives save our own will be risked, and partially because it seems to be the Home of the Darkness. It is its place of birth, and its Lair.

If Blå Jungfrun is truly the Heart of this dark Magic, then our Mission ought to see victory. For I do not see how any group of Mages of this size and Heart could ever fail in their Quest.

I did venture to the Cave to ask Plagg if he would join us, but the Kwami was not in the Cave. The Mages there told me that his Absence is more common than his Presence these past months, and he spends more time with Tikki than with his Mages. But this information has not broken my soul, for it was Plagg who taught me all I know of Magic. He will be with us in Spirit if not in body, and that gives me still greater hope.

Come this time next year, the Darkness will be vanquished. I have sworn it on my parents’ grave…

__*__*__*__*__

Marinette had never believed in magic, not past the age of seven, anyway, when she’d stumbled on her father peeling a fake Santa beard off of his face on Christmas Eve. That year’s holiday season wasn’t the best in her memory.

But some parts of the journals she’d found in the library made it seem almost like magic truly was real, like questioning its existence was something only fools did even though the opposite was true. (Some parts of the journals. Not all of them.)

Gabriel’s journals, for example, were too preachy about magic, proudly explaining the ‘gift’ from the ‘kwamis’ that let him sense magic even though he couldn’t wield it. He was a ‘Talent,’ not a ‘Mage,’ but the way he wrote made it clear that he thought he was above all the Mages he met. His writing made Marinette want to write an essay proving the dead man’s views on magic all wrong. It certainly didn’t convince her to give magic a chance.

Emilie’s journals were nice, but she wrote mostly about the people she met and the delicate peace treaties that allowed her and her family safe passage from country to country in the midst of a war that spread across most of the continent. For her, a Talent’s job was more similar to that of an ambassador’s than a magician’s. She was humble about her powers, and her belief in magic was quiet, not presented in a way that brought out the spells holding the world together, that could make Marinette reassess her own beliefs and take a chance on the impossible.

But Adrien’s journals…

Adrien’s journals were gripping, seizing Marinette’s attention in a way that popular published books might; they were as captivating as seeing a fashion design on the catwalk for the first time. They made her want to believe in magic. Want to, but Marinette lived in the real world, not the crumbling pages of a tantalizing, yet obviously fictional, journal. She couldn’t afford to start believing in magic, even if something about the way Adrien wrote made her ache with the desire to trust, to believe in its existence like she had long ago.

At one point in the journals, he’d written about discovering that he could wield magic. It was something that his parents had kept secret from him, even though they had known about his potential. It felt like seeing the world in color for the first time, he’d written about the first time he’d wielded the magic his gift gave him.

Gifts, according to Adrien’s journal, were something each Mage was given at birth. Sometimes, they seemed to be genetic, passing down from family member to family member over generations, but the gifts were actually random. The kwamis, the first holders of magic, determined who would be given a gift based on each baby’s character and situation. They knew the past, the present, and the future, and so they knew who deserved to be given a gift.

There were many kwamis, and so there were many gifts. From creation to destruction, each young Mage learned a different style of magic. When they were old enough, they joined a group of other Mages with the same gift, often leaving their home country behind to focus on their magic.

Talents, like Adrien’s parents, moved from group to group, bringing new Mages to the fold and serving as messengers while keeping magic a secret from those without a gift. Talents could not wield magic, but they could sense it, and they played a vital role in the Mage community. It was said that Talents, too, had a gift from the kwamis, just one that worked in a different way from most. They were responsible for finding new Mages who might not know about their gift and teaching them about it.

From the journals, it was clear that why Adrien’s parents hadn’t done this for him was beyond his understanding. And even though he didn’t want to be mad at the dead, he couldn’t help but be hurt by what seemed to be a lack of trust in his ability to handle his gift. Destruction could be dangerous, but only without training, and to its enemies, of course.

And if Adrien had been taught about his power, couldn’t he have even saved his parents from the death they had suffered? Fought off the Darkness together with his parents?

Marinette wondered these questions along with Adrien as she read his journals, and she doubted whether anyone would write something so open, so vulnerable, if there was not some truth to it. She kept reading, day after day, promising herself that she wouldn’t fall for Adrien’s lies but knowing that maybe, she already had.

Once he moved past his hurt, Adrien began taking lessons from a Mage in the city he was staying at. He wasn’t the best teacher, but Adrien learned a few good spells from him, so he wrote them down in the journal.

Marinette eagerly took a picture of the spells and uploaded them to Google to be translated, since they were written in a foreign language she didn’t understand.

It was a made-up foreign language, Marinette discovered when the search results were fruitless.

Maybe magic was fake, after all.

But Marinette kept reading.

Halfway through the third journal, Adrien moved on to another teacher, a Mage of Plagg in the Harz mountains. He learned how to use simple spells accessible to all Mages, called Universal Spells, as well as more specific ones that only Mages chosen by Plagg could use.

Then Plagg himself returned to the cave. And he decided to train Adrien, though according to Adrien, it had been in an almost condescending way, like he had no choice but to train Adrien or leave him “as defenseless as a newborn kitten.”

Marinette thought Plagg’s description of Adrien was hilarious and somewhat accurate.

Adrien went on to describe Plagg as being “monstrously tall and blacker than the night, with a glowing green aura, three eyes, and six arms.” So that was another strike to his story’s credibility, as far as she was concerned, because no one had six arms and three eyes, ‘kwami’ or not.

Maybe one of the ‘spells’ had included smoking some hallucinogenic plant, and Adrien had dreamed Plagg up while high. But he remembered everything in such detail, and wrote about the kwamis he met with such consistency, never mixing his story up. Could a drug-addicted man spreading lies really do that?

Maybe, just maybe, the magic Adrien wrote about was real.

There were more incomprehensible spells recorded in his journals, sometimes accompanied by descriptions in French, English, or German. Hoping to find one that could be translated (so she could check its veracity), Marinette flipped through one journal seemingly dedicated in full to the spells, landing on a page of one with a described purpose for it.

The title read, “A Spell for the Preservation of Leather Journals.” As Marinette looked at it, the tip of the dog-eared page fell off and landed on the floor.

The spine was threatening to crack in her hands, so despite the lies Adrien had been told, this spell clearly didn’t work.

Marinette set the book down, glanced at her reddened, dusty fingers, and scoffed.

Still, the next line of the description had said to replenish the spell’s strength every decade, so the evidence might not be as conclusive as she’d thought.

She kept returning to read the books and held off on judging them one way or the other.

By the time a week had passed, Marinette was determined to figure out once and for all if Adrien’s journals were just a fantastic tale or an actual record of powers beyond humanity’s ken. And she’d found a way to tell the truth from lies, assuming the Paris tavern Adrien described in one journal was still standing.

The tavern was, supposedly, a meeting spot for Mages as well as Talents. They met in the tavern every Wednesday at one hour past sundown.

Assuming it was real, Marinette planned to join one of their meetings, herself.

A few searches on the internet revealed that there was a restaurant by the same name as the one Adrien gave in roughly the same location as he described, so she headed there after work on Tuesday. It wasn’t a tavern, but the restaurant’s website had bragged about its long history in Paris, so she was willing to go out on a limb and say that it was the same place Adrien had described.

Marinette arrived at The Clockwise Fox precisely thirteen minutes after her shift finished. It was a very average-looking café; its cream brick walls and large glass windows were unassuming and woefully unmagical.

She walked inside anyway; discreetly took an average-looking wooden seat at a standard wooden table; and definitely-not-at-all-suspiciously glanced around for a secret magic symbol. If Adrien’s journals were trustworthy, it would be carved into at least one of the beige walls. If it wasn’t there, then Marinette would give up on magic once more and assume that Adrien Agreste was a bald-faced liar who should have gone into writing fiction. But if the symbol was there, she’d be coming back the next day for a longer visit.

Marinette scanned the wall near her, first, then the far one. Nothing yet. Maybe—

“Would you like something to order?”

Marinette blinked at the café worker, who’d seemingly popped out of nowhere to take her order.

“Uh,” she replied, slapping herself internally.

“See, normally people order at the desk before they sit down, but we’re not busy right now, so if you know what you want, I’ll take your order,” the worker continued in a bored manner.

Marinette stared blankly at them, taking in their white, orange and blue uniform and bubblegum pink hair. It should clash. It did clash, but it wasn’t like the café could expect their employees to color coordinate their hair to go with their uniforms.

Marinette shook herself and forced herself to focus.

“Uh, thanks! I’ll take a hot mocha, then.”

Marinette dimly realized that she did not want a hot mocha on this hot and humid summer afternoon.

The worker gave her an odd look, probably judging her for ordering caffeine this late in the day (hot caffeine at that), and went back to the desk.

Marinette cringed. All of this and she still hadn’t found the symbol, though who could tell if it had lasted through the past centuries? Hmm — come to think of it, the café looked as if it had been renovated not so long ago.

Marinette was on a wild goose chase.

A different worker called out Marinette’s order, and she got up to collect her unwanted mocha.

As she collected the still steaming cup from the obviously amused barista, she noticed something.

The barista was wearing an apron with a symbol, presumably the café’s logo, on it. And the symbol looked awfully familiar. It hadn’t been on the sign outside the café or carved into the walls, but still…

Marinette turned her coffee cup around as she slowly walked back to her seat. The same symbol rested there, in the middle of the mug! It was a white circle outlined in black, with two chevrons inside it. One was a red-orange chevron pointing to the top of the circle and an inverted, light blue chevron pointing to the bottom.

In Adrien’s faded drawing, the symbol had no color, but just like in the symbol on the cup, the chevrons met together and formed a diamond inside the circle. And just like in his descriptions, at the very center were two black dots like eyes.

With the café’s name and now this symbol’s appearance taken together, there was no doubt — Adrien had been telling the truth in his stories!

But just how much of what he’d written was true, or was he inventing fiction set in real locations?

Marinette would have to return to the cafe to find out, but in the meantime, she had an unwanted beverage to drink.

When she reached her seat, she set down the coffee cup and slid into the chair. Just then, a young girl slid out of her own seat; and she excitedly ran around until she bumped into Marinette’s table and fell down with a squawk.

The steaming cup of coffee fell over, spilling most of its contents on the table before Marinette could catch it.

She could only shrug and smile as the child’s mother ran over and started apologizing. It wasn’t as if she’d been looking forward to having the hot drink, after all!

Coming back to the café later and testing Adrien's claim that a group of mages used it as their base, though... that was an entirely different story, Marinette thought as she exited the building.

Written for @mlbigbang

#ao3 links are at the top #ml fanfic #centuries overdue #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #ml big bang 2023 #next week we get to see the first piece of art! #are you excited? i'm excited :D

[breithenua]

Probably gonna get some Sakura haters (probably including the misogynist troll variety, kill me now lmao) on this post but... here goes.

Rewatching the episodes where the majority of the Konoha 11 decide to "deal with" Sasuke and the fallout from that. And well, I think people's reaction to Sakura's "confession of love" to Naruto is unfair.

Yes, it was emotionally manipulative of her. Yes, if it had worked it would've resulted in a relationship based upon a lie. Yes, she hurt Naruto with that attempted manipulation. And yes, she's normally smarter than to think that's a good idea.

But y'all forget how emotionally broken she was at the time. She'd just gone through witnessing the entire village of Konoha being razed to the ground. People she had been treating at the time probably died in that Shinra Tensei attack (yes they were brought back afterwards but it was still traumatic). Her sensei and the 5th Hokage was in a coma that no one knew if she'd ever come out of. Danzo had just undermined and replaced Tsunade as Hokage, with her still being in a coma and being unable to defend herself from being deposed in any way, and then basically sent out a kill order on Sasuke. Sasuke, the man she's loved since she was a child, that she begged to not leave Konoha, had been directly involved in *two* different missions to bring him back, both failed, one of which was only a few weeks earlier and they had come *this* close to making it to him in time. Sasuke, the man she had only just found out had joined the Akatsuki and "kidnapped" Killer Bee, making Danzo's order all but justified. Sasuke, the man Naruto just willingly got the shit beat out of by Hidden Cloud ninja, in an attempt to appeal to their senses of mercy in regards for Sasuke. She has to be feeling absolutely powerless at this point. Afterall, she wasn't able to do much during Pain's assault (or probably at least perceived herself that way), can't do anything to help her comatose mentor, can't do anything to stop Danzo from taking over her mentor's position, and so far has been unable to bring back Sasuke. She feels powerless.

And then Sai comes up and tells her that she's part of the reason Naruto is in so much pain over Sasuke. That his promise to her to bring back Sasuke is causing Naruto even more pain and his shouldering of that burden is getting ever harder. And mind you, Naruto only recently lost his greatest mentor. And she's told that the rest of the Ninja of her generation (with the exception of her and Naruto obvs) have decided that they'll go and kill Sasuke themselves to avert war with the Hidden Cloud.

Sakura is incredibly fragile at this point in the story. And now she's told that she's causing one of her closest comrades and friends immense pain, and that said comrade's love for her is only intensifying that pain. She's feeling like a failure in *multiple* ways at this point, she's terrified she's going to lose her mentor, and her lifeling love interest, and she's struggling with the fact that her peers in the Konoha 11 *might actually have a point* in thinking everyone would be better off if Sasuke were dead. She's under so much emotional distress from so many sources, feeling guilty for not being able to bring her sensei put of her coma, not being able to stop Danzo from taking over as Hokage, not being able to stop Danzo from issuing an order to hunt down and kill Sasuke, etc etc. And there's nothing she can do about any of it. But she perceives that there is at least *one* thing she can do something about: The pain that Sai just told her she was putting Naruto through. And in her desperation and guilt, she decides she's going to sacrifice her own happiness and aid in killing Sasuke, and is willing to give Naruto what he's wanted from her for a large portion of their childhoods as extra insurance that he'll give up on aaving Sasuke.

No, her and Naruto probably would not have been happy in the long run in a relationship built upon a lie like that. But again, she's not in a stable emotional state right now. She's probably not thinking long-term consequences. She tries to put on an act to convince him of it.

My point being that yes, maybe normally she'd be smarter than that. But there were a lot of extenuating circumstances that affected her emotional stability and judgement in those few episodes.

Not only that, but something I neglected to mention earlier in this post is that *she is a child* at this point. A teenager yes, but still a child. Her emotional maturity (outside of moments of cartoon gag violence, which imo should be given a pass considering the medium and the genre) is incredible for someone of her age at this point, sure, but at the end of the day she is still a child soldier in a world without mental health professionals and therapists. Under the pressure of what she was going through at the time, just about anyone of any age would have likely snapped, much more so someone that's only 16.

I have my issues with how Kishimoto writes Sakura, but this particular incident is not one of them for me.

#sakura haruno #naruto #sasuke uchiha #naruto uzumaki #character analysis

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

in which buggy only ever overthinks or refuses to think—no middle sliders—to galdino's great frustration.

part... three? five? six? part three of the post-marineford portion of this story, anyway. (1, 2) if you have no idea what i'm talking about but would like to read a shanks/buggy story about kissing in disguise and then having to deal with the emotional fallout of doing that, click on this link, that's the tag for the whole thing in chronological order. (plus some complaining about writing, and one inspirational improvised musical number) if you do know what i'm talking about: the not-date doesn't begin until next time, sorry! buggy needed a few shanks-less scenes first.

Later, Buggy wouldn’t be able to recall anything that happened the rest of the day with meaningful detail.  He’d escaped from the mess and found the men eager to ask him more about his days on Roger’s crew—and he probably answered their questions?  Watched the crew of the Red Force go through the motions of navigating to an island and coming into dock?  Found himself a spot up and out of the way when it came time for the officers to disembark and start arranging for the resupply?  However it happened, he ended up in the rigging sometime that afternoon and once again stayed there until dark, staring out to sea and doing his best to think about nothing in particular.

He didn’t see Shanks once.  Buggy would have remembered that.  His whole head felt filled with cotton, but he had a feeling one glimpse of his specific shade of red would have turned that cotton to so much ash (and possibly set the rest of him on fire while he was at it).

A whole day alone with Shanks.

No need to wonder when that had last happened—that was the day Roger died.  Unless you counted Roger’s presence from way up on the execution platform against the descriptor “alone,” which Buggy didn’t.  He hadn’t exactly been able to sit down and talk with them that day.  Buggy wasn’t even sure, thinking back, if Roger had seen them in the crowd.  At the time he’d been convinced Roger was speaking to Shanks directly, conveying his final wishes in his last words, but that was absurd.  The square had been absolutely packed with people, and neither of them had been quite tall enough at that age to stand out, even with Shanks wearing that straw-yellow hat of his.

Anyway.  A bad day, to say the least.  And there weren’t many good ones leading up to it.  Crocus, the two of them, and a few others had decided to go east from Water 7, and pooled their money to buy a small boat for the trip.  Along the way everyone found an island they liked enough to live on, or at least to visit for an extended time, except for the two of them.  It hadn’t seemed to matter much, until they left Crocus at the mountain where they’d first met him and Buggy and Shanks had suddenly been alone.  Two boys on a boat that could comfortably hold eight.

Buggy, terrified of what would happen if someone with a grudge against Roger recognized them, had demanded (well, begged, but with a lot of cursing and threats involved) Shanks get them out of the Grand Line and into one of seas big name pirates didn’t bother with.  Looking back, Shanks had not been very confident in his ability to get a Sea King to tow their ship across the Calm Belt, but he’d managed it, and they spent a little time sailing the East Blue without a destination in mind.  Those days hadn’t been so bad.  A little dull, maybe, after being on the Grand Line so long, but Buggy had been happy to be bored.

Then, all too soon, the news had broke, and they sold the boat and raced to Roguetown.

Now those were stressful days.  Being so very aware of how little money they had, and how fast it was disappearing into the hands of Roguetown’s restaurateurs and hostel managers… but it wasn’t like they could leave, not when Roger was going to be there in a matter of days, come home to die.

So Buggy had fallen back on old pickpocket habits, and Shanks had offered himself up as bit of a sideshow, doing sword tricks on the street and having people place bets on whether he could beat them in a fight.  He’d fight a man one-handed, blindfolded, whatever got passersby to bet more.  It made him a little miserable, especially when people got mad they’d lost to a kid and tried to refuse to pay up, but what else could they do?  They were fifteen, and they didn’t have a lot of legally marketable skills.

There must have been good days, though.  Days they’d spent together without any stress or fear hanging over their heads… days when they had enough money to get a room with real beds, and slept with the certainty that they could afford to keep the room beyond the one night.  Days like that must have happened, but Buggy couldn’t think of any now.

Which meant he had no frame of reference for what tomorrow would be like.  He was going in totally blind.  And that look on Shanks’ face, that undeniably affectionate look… what the hell did that mean?

You’re overthinking this, a part of Buggy that had begun to sound a bit like Galdino said.  He looks at you like he likes you because he likes you.

But that was stupid.  Who liked Buggy?  The former prisoners admired him, sure—because they thought he was powerful.  So had the Buggy Pirates, and in East Blue it had even been true.  Alvida allied herself with him because of their common interests, and when they turned out to work well together it was simply convenient to continue to do so.  People associated with Buggy because he was useful to them, not because he was nice, or likable, or anything like that.

Well.  There were some people in this world who would be friendly to you regardless of your utility—but that didn’t make Shanks’ behavior make any more sense!  Buggy wasn’t a stranger to him the way he’d been to Ace.  Shanks knew him, all his worst behaviors and selfish, greedy impulses.  He was nothing like the kind of pirate Shanks was, and even less like the kind of pirate Shanks admired.  So what was there about Buggy for Shanks to like?

…maybe it was just a physical thing.  Shanks had once kissed a red nose-less Buggy, so he felt safe assuming there was something about his body that attracted Shanks.  Enough that Shanks wanted him even with the nose?

Buggy floated his way back to the room he was sharing with Galdino.  The mirror was still there, sitting on the bedside table.  He used it to inspect himself, head to toe, trying to look at his body with an objective eye.

Galdino came in while he was trying to get a good angle on his back and backside without chop-chopping himself.  “There you are,” he said, with a scolding undertone Silvers Rayleigh had often taken with Buggy, as if he was a student falling short of expectations no one had bothered to tell him about.  “Dinner’s being served in ten, and I hear it’s either fish the crew caught on our way into port or Sea King loin.”

Buggy made a face.  He was so tired of eating Sea King.  Every meal in Impel Down had involved the stuff, since it was easy for the guards to get their hands on during the Blue Gorillas’ daily swim.  All the briny, fishy stink of the ocean, but with a tough and gamy flesh when left uncured, truly the worst of both worlds.  And of course Blue Gorillas were no chefs, so the meat had always been served unseasoned and overcooked.

“Yeah,” Galdino said, “so we’d better get there fast.”  He took in Buggy’s posture and frowned.  “What are you doing?”

“I—” Buggy thought about trying to explain himself, but as ever Shanks was beyond explanation.  But Galdino would be a more objective judge, and it wasn’t like he didn’t already know—he’d been the one to put the idea in Buggy’s head in the first place!  Having to ask was so embarrassing, though.  Grimacing, Buggy asked, “Am I attractive?”

Galdino stared silently at Buggy for a long moment.

Face hot, Buggy gritted out, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Oh, no, of course not!  I just—” Galdino ran a hand over his face, wiping away a thin layer of wax.  “Isn’t it kind of late in the honeypot process for you to be worrying about something like that?”

Buggy squinted.  “The honeywhat process?”

“The.”  Galdino paused.  He looked very closely at Buggy, who flushed a little under such scrutiny.  Galdino pressed his hands together like someone about to start praying, took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly.  “Okay.  Let me tell you what I thought was happening, and then you can tell me what you think.”

Hm.  Ominous.  Buggy nodded agreement.

“Okay.”  Galdino gestured between himself and Buggy with his folded hands.  “Yesterday, I told you Red-Haired Shanks was interested in you, and warned you to not be so obvious about rejecting him, for all our sakes.  This morning, you spent breakfast together, behaving in a way I’ve heard described as friendly, companionable, and ‘weirdly nice, for that guy.’  This culminated in you… asking to spend the day with him tomorrow?”  Galdino gave Buggy a wide-eyed, nervous look.  “Have I gotten anything wrong so far?”

“No…?”

“Great.  So.  I take it by your confusion that this was not an attempt to take my advice a little too far in the other direction and get Red-Haired Shanks to do us some kind of favor in exchange for your affections?”

Buggy blinked.  “What?!”

“Yes, clearly not,” Galdino muttered to himself.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “But then what are you doing, encouraging him like this?”

“I’m not encouraging—it’s Shanks!”  When this did not seem to explain anything to Galdino, Buggy threw his hands out, searching for words.  “He’s not—I wouldn’t have to put myself on display like a carnival prize to get something from him, he’d just give it to me!  He’d give just about anything to just about anyone, that’s the kind of guy he is.”

“And you… don’t want anything from him,” Galdino concluded, eyes narrowed.

Buggy rolled his eyes.  “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to all the treasure hidden away on this ship, but even if Shanks was willing to give it to me I’m pretty sure he’d get outvoted by the rest of his crew.  He’s already given us safe passage.  He won’t rescind that offer.  What else is there?”

“…right.” Galdino stared at Buggy, expression calculating.  “Then why are you spending the day with him?”

“Do you have to say it like that?”  He made it sound so… suggestive, like two people couldn’t spend time together without it being inherently risqué. (Of course, Buggy had just been wondering whether Shanks was—he viciously shoved that thought down.  Not the time!) “Galdino, I asked Shanks to meet privately tomorrow because I want to talk to him about stuff that I don’t need other people overhearing.  He’s the one who turned it into a full day thing.”

“And you didn’t argue against it!”  Galdino sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.  “This is what I meant when I said you were encouraging him.  You ask for an hour, he offers a day, and you agree to the day?  You should have held your ground.  If you had more than an hour of things to talk about, you would have asked for more time to begin with.  What else is he supposed to think you want to do with that additional time, but…?” Galdino raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Heat slowly rose in Buggy’s cheeks as this sunk in.  “We—we could just spend that time… catching up,” he said weakly.  “It’s been a long time since we’ve really seen each other.  More than twenty years, a lot’s happened.”  Including things that it seemed like Shanks might want to happen again.  Buggy’s hand went to his mouth unconsciously.

“A lot you want him knowing about?  The man—the Emperor—you yelled at right after he stopped a war dead in its tracks, and then saw no problem with bluntly asking him to take all of us on his ship five minutes later?  The man you seem to alternate between hissing at and laughing with whenever people see you together?”  Galdino rubbed at his temple.  “I just don’t understand what—” Galdino froze, staring at Buggy.  “Oh.”

Buggy blinked, dropping his hand.  “What?”

Galdino turned to stare into the middle distance.  “Okay,” he said faintly.  “I can work with this.”

“Work with what?” Buggy said, starting to get annoyed.

“Yeah,” Galdino said, nodding to himself with increasing enthusiasm.  “This will work.  I mean, if anyone else did it I’d call them insane, but in your case—well, how often can you be this certain going in?  You know he’s interested, and you’re going to be alone with him for a full day.  If you want him, you’ve basically got him.”

Huh. Buggy must have traded devil fruit powers with that Marco guy, because he'd just burst into flames but was somehow still alive.  “I—” he croaked out.  ”What?”

Galdino’s eyes narrowed. “…you do want him, right?”

Nothing but static between his ears, Buggy threw open the door to their room.  “Hey, didn’t you say dinner was happening soon?  We should go!  I am so sick of Sea King, you have no idea—”

“Buggy!”

Buggy jogged down the stairs, wondering aloud how Lucky Roux might have prepared the fish his crew had caught—braised? roasted?  So many delicious possibilities!

Sticking his head out the door after Buggy, Galdino called out, “Do you even know what you want?”  He let out an exasperated sound when Buggy picked up his pace and started waxing rhapsodic about fried fish still hot from the oil.

It would’ve been nice if Buggy could forget that conversation along with the rest of the day, but no luck.  Long after Galdino fell asleep, an anticipatory pair of wax plugs in his ears, Buggy laid awake with those words running through his head.  Lined up next to the other things he’d said about Shanks, it sounded pretty damning.

They all say the two of you got up close and personal, and Red-Hair’s been red-faced ever since.

Fact is he’s an Emperor.  One who’s taken an interest in you.

If you want him, you’ve basically got him.

…you do want him, right?

Buggy muffled a frustrated groan into his pillow.

At least dinner had been delicious: perfectly fried whitefish in a delicate batter that tore at the slightest hint of pressure, letting steaming-hot juices burst free and burn your tongue, served with fried potatoes and vinegar and a creamy sour pickle sauce.  Messy, but well worth getting to the kitchen early for.

That showing up early meant he didn’t run into any of the still-busy senior officers of the Red Force… well, that was just good luck.

“‘Getting ahead in life requires either good luck or good planning, and Buggy, you’re not much of a planner.’”  Buggy grumbled to himself.  “Shows what you know, Mr. Rayleigh… my luck’s not much to speak of either, yet here I am, getting ahead.”  And who knew?  Maybe tomorrow, he’d get—

Face burning, Buggy refused to complete the thought.

He also refused to consider the question that thought brought to mind: was that all he wanted from Shanks?

Or its corollary: was that all Shanks wanted from him?

#notfic #the near miss fics #one piece #shuggy #buggy #i should probably also tag for mr. 3 but. not gonna. he deserves to be a more central focus in his tag.

[zingaplanet]

hi new tennis fan here, do you mind explaining the 2011 fedal fallout? I tried looking around but couldn't find much. Thanks in advance!

Oh ho ho mutual, thanks for the question altho I fear this might get too complicated too political too quickly hahaha I'll try to keep my answer neutral. Tennis politics is an underworld of nasty nasty business and as much as it is fascinating, it is unfortunately very different from the clean, elegant, prestigious look the sport is presented as at front, as is expected when big prize money is on the line. This is going to be quite long, as usual, so be prepared hahaha

There's a good NYT article about this whole Nadal-Federer-Djokovic council debacle which I highly reccommend (around their 2019 return to the council), but let me provide a bit of a back story to that as well.

Now this all started back in the early 2010s, Federer and Nadal were still world number 1 and 2 (oh the good old days), and they were also the leaders at the players' council (Nadal was Federer's VP). So the gist of it by end of 2011, there was a bit of a dispute, esentially about prize money, but quickly turned into a bit of everything.

Basically, after the ATP finals of that year, there was talk of changing ATP into a 2 year ranking system. This is a bit unconventional but it's actually related to how points are accumulated throughout the whole tour and the accessibility of the sports to newcomers.

Everyone kinda knows that tennis is one of the most difficult sports to break into, not only because tournament seedings are based on rankings (unlike in football for instance where it's random), meaning top players will always have preference to go all the way to the final, but also because prize money has also been reported as highly unequal. Players at the top level like Serena, Federer, Sharapova, Nadal etc earned a gazillion times more than even the top 20 players, this is because of sponsorship, but also because of the gap in prize money. More reports have been coming out on this recently, where the top 5 players in India and other countries can't even sustain themselves with prize money alone and has to take up side jobs.

The idea is that with a 2 year ranking, points will be distributed more evenly, rankings will be much more accessible and players in the top 50 will have access to better prize money. It's a bit complicated to explain technically but that's the gist of it as far as I understand.

Now the problem starts when in November that year, the players meeting saw all players (including Nadal) except Federer, the president, support the 2 year system. They were also planning to boycott the Australian Open, that they deemed were far too unfair in terms of prize money distribution as all other Grand Slams.

The dispute between the two of them also has another layer into it however. Unsurprisignly, the ranking debate is related to discussions about scheduling, in which Nadal has been strongly advocating for change since the beginning of his career.

I managed to dig up some quotes on this, it's pretty nasty (hmu if you want sources):

“"For him, it's good to say nothing, (His attitude is) "Everything is positive. It's all well and good for me, I look like a gentleman,' and the rest can burn themselves. He likes the circuit. I like the circuit. It's better than many other sports, but that doesn't mean that it couldn't be better.”

Rafa and some other players are protesting about the number of mandatory events a pro player is required to compete in during the year, arguing this is not actually sustainable for an athlete's physical condition which he himself has felt the brunt too many times.

"I love the game and there are a lot of things I'm grateful for,” Nadal said. “The game has allowed me to lead a fantastic lifestyle. But to finish your career with pain all over your body, is that a positive? No. Maybe (Federer) has got a super body and he'll finish his career like a rose. Neither myself, nor (Andy) Murray, nor (Novak) Djokovic are going to finish our careers like a rose. Tennis is an important part of my life, but it's a tough sport. We're not like him, where it's effortless to play. For all of us, it's a battle."

I believe this is the period Federer was referring to when he said "He used to follow me around with everything but then he grew to be his own person," etc.

Federer and Nadal before this period were strangely civil towards each other, even after those French Open and Wimbledon finals back to back - but this seemed to be the beginning of their souring relations. Federer handled it very discretely and only said he had “no hard feelings” toward Nadal for the comments, and Nadal also later admitted that his comments “must stay in the locker room.”

I'm not saying one player is right and the other is wrong, there is always 2 sides of the coin. A 2 year ranking system will mess a lot of things up in terms of the sport's competitiveness and spectatorship, but there is also a real pay gap problem in tennis, especially in Grand Slams, it's a very top heavy sport. It's very evident that Nadal and Federer's frustrations with each other relate a lot to their different career trajectories and playing style. Nadal said many times from the beginning that his style of play is too physicaly disruptive and I remember him saying he'd be very surprised if he's still playing in his 30s and it's obvious that Federer's injury-free career bothered him a bit, while Federer, I think is always the perfect middle-man between the players and the tournament organisers (he has very good relationship with all of them), and he understood nuances of the sports' politics and that it's never that simple to change everything, something a lot of young players don't really get I think (Nadal is a bit more politically diplomatic nowadays).

The story of the 2019 council dispute is a bit more complicated, and it actually shows how much they've built bridges over their differences as this time it was more the case of Novak vs the two of them, quite literally haha. Nadal and Federer were no longer part of the council then. I think it started with the firing of the ATP chief executive, Chris Kermode (Djokovic was the president at that time I think). Nadal and Federer were very unhappy about this and that they weren't consulted on the decision.

Federer said: “I tried to meet Novak on the deadline; unfortunately, he had no time, That’s hard to understand for me.” Nadal, who met with Federer at that tournament to discuss tour business, also echoed his displeasure.

Very spicy, huh? This actually ended up bringing both Nadal and Federer back together into the council. Federer agreed to rejoin, and he talked about it with Nadal: "I would only do it if you were going too. And he said: I also only participate if you are there too."

See his cute full interview here:

The sweetest cherry on top is actually Andy Murray, bless his little heart (he is unsurprisingly quite uninvolved with the drama hahaha). He also left the council recently and actually was really happy Federer and Nadal the duo managed to get back together into the fray. “Despite the sport’s current success we live in chaotic times,” Murray wrote on Twitter. “My biggest achievement on the council may well prove to be being part of the group of resignations that presented the opportunity for this to happen. Good luck!!!”

Anyhow, there you go, a few thousand? words on tennis politics that you clearly did not ask for but hey! nothing better to start saturday morning than some spicy drama between the world's top athletes, eh?

#was actually fun to look back and dig into the history books a bit #ooh this period was soo nasty #federer #nadal #fedal #tennis #novak djojovic #andy murray #politics #atp tour #australian open