#this has genuinely baffled me for years and had left me wondering if I genuinely just have an awful sense if smell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pin-k-ink · 5 days

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synergy // ushijima wakatoshi

tw ⇢ mild sexual content/suggestive themes, non-sexual nudity, ushijima and the reader being oblivious to their own feelings, this whole story is an emotional rollercoaster, reader is written in third person since its easier for me

wc ⇢ 3.7k

a/n: i actually enjoyed writing this one. has to be one of my favorites

Ushijima sat up against the headboard, his mind weighed down by a nagging sense that something was amiss. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the constant questioning from his friends had begun to seep into his thoughts, making him second-guess the nature of his relationship with the woman sleeping peacefully by his side.

For nearly an hour, he had been sitting there, dressed only in a pair of boxers, while she wore the shirt he usually slept in. Her cheek rested on his meaty thigh, a small pool of drool forming on his skin, but he paid it no mind. This was their normal, a comforting routine that he had grown accustomed to over the years. Waking up on a weekend to an empty bed would be far more unsettling than finding her there, wrapped in his clothes and seeking solace in his presence.

Without realizing it, Ushijima's world had long since begun to revolve around her. Every aspect of his life was intertwined with hers, and he had never once questioned it. Sharing everything with his best friend seemed as natural as breathing. But now, with the seeds of doubt planted by his teammates, he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to their bond than he had initially believed.

A soft sigh escaped his nose as his phone buzzed with a message from Tendou, inquiring about the keys to the gym. Tendou... he was the one who had first sparked this internal conflict, causing Ushijima to question the depth of his friendship with her. With a snap, he closed his phone and placed it back on the nightstand, settling against the headboard once more. As if sensing his unease, she stirred, and Ushijima instinctively reached out to card his fingers through her luscious locks, gently lulling her back to sleep.

This was their normal, and he couldn't understand why his friends couldn't see that.

His mind drifted back to their first year of high school, when he had initially introduced her to Tendou and Semi. Ushijima had breezed through the practice match set by his seniors, even though he had forgotten his application form. His reputation preceded him, and they already knew who he was.

"Woah, who's that chick?" one of his seniors had whistled lowly, his gaze fixed on the gym entrance. Ushijima followed his line of sight, curious as to what had captured the attention of his teammates. His eyes widened slightly as he spotted her peeking out cautiously from behind the door. Without a second thought, he abandoned the ball and jogged over to her, oblivious to the questioning stares of his teammates.

She held out his forgotten application form, explaining that he had left it in her classroom that morning. Ushijima nodded appreciatively, his expression unchanging. What baffled his teammates, however, was the way he leaned down to peck her lips, just as she instinctively tilted her head up to meet his. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was far too long to be considered purely platonic.

"Ushi-waka, is that your girlfriend?" Tendou teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He seemed almost proud that the seemingly robotic Ushijima had managed to catch the attention of such a cute girl.

To everyone's surprise, Ushijima appeared genuinely confused by the question. "No, she's my best friend," he stated simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

As time went on, the team struggled to wrap their heads around the nature of Ushijima and her relationship. She would often drop by the gym, delivering small items that the seemingly scatterbrained Ushijima had left behind. Each interaction followed the same pattern: Ushijima standing too close for comfort, though she never seemed bothered by it, and the two sharing a kiss that lingered just a bit too long to be considered friendly.

The team eventually came to the conclusion that Ushijima was simply shy and unable to admit his true feelings. They reasoned that, given his stoic nature, this must be his first relationship, and he was struggling to come to terms with it.

"I'm not in a relationship. She's my childhood friend. We're neighbors too," Ushijima insisted, his tone firm and unwavering. The team decided to drop the subject, realizing that he was far too stubborn to convince otherwise.

It became clear that Ushijima spent his lunches in another classroom, never appearing in the cafeteria or his own classroom. Semi deduced that he must be visiting her, and so he and Tendou decided to investigate. They weren't surprised to find Ushijima sitting across from her, engrossed in reading something while she occasionally fed him small bites of food. When he failed to pay attention, she would lean in and gently wipe away stray rice from the corner of his mouth. The intimate moments they shared seemed far too personal for mere friends, yet Ushijima remained steadfast in his assertion that she was nothing more than his best friend.

The final straw came when Ushijima, with genuine curiosity, asked Tendou if he liked her. His sincerity was enough to make Tendou reluctantly agree that perhaps Ushijima truly did see her as just a friend. But what about her feelings?

Semi took it upon himself to approach her, befriending her and welcoming her into the club as an unofficial manager. Once she seemed comfortable enough, he finally asked the burning question: "Are you and Ushijima-san dating?"

She blinked, confusion evident in her expression as she tilted her head to the side. "No, he's my best friend. We've been together since we were kids since our parents are also friends."

It dawned on the team that perhaps both Ushijima and she were equally dense when it came to matters of the heart. From that point on, they found themselves more invested in the pair's relationship than in volleyball practice itself.

One evening, they stumbled upon Ushijima and her in the gym after practice. She was helping him perfect his spikes, tossing the ball up for him to slam down onto the other side of the court. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until Ushijima accidentally sent a ball straight into the net, which then bounced off and hit her square in the face. She let out a soft yelp, crouching down and clutching her bleeding nose.

Ushijima was by her side in an instant, kneeling mere inches away and gently prying her hands away from her face. He clicked his tongue as he watched the crimson blood cascade from her nose and over her lips. With an apologetic look, he scooped her up like one would a toddler and carried her to the bench. Kneeling between her legs, he tore a piece of cloth and tenderly wiped away the blood, his palms smoothing up her thighs in a comforting gesture. Once the bleeding had stopped, he remained in his position, seemingly unwilling to move away. When she assured him that she was okay, he kissed her lips once more before standing up, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The team confronted Ushijima about the incident later. "I like kissing her. Is it wrong to?" he asked, genuinely perplexed.

Tendou and Semi exchanged a knowing look. "No, it's not wrong. But it is something that people who are dating do," Semi explained gently.

"Dating? But she's my best friend," Ushijima countered, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well, yeah, but haven't you ever felt like you wanted something more with her?" Tendou pressed.

"Why would I want something more? It has always been like this between her and me." Ushijima's bewilderment was palpable, and Semi and Tendou decided to let the matter drop, realizing that he was not yet ready to confront the depth of his feelings.

The team's suspicions were further confirmed when they witnessed Ushijima and her saying goodbye before he left for a two-week training camp that coincided with her birthday. Ushijima pulled her aside, apologizing for missing the special day they usually spent together. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close and nuzzling his nose into her hair. They stood mere inches apart, gazing at each other with a look that the team could only describe as love, even if the two were too oblivious to recognize it themselves.

Throughout the training camp, Ushijima spent every free moment texting or calling her. When he couldn't do either, he would prop his phone up on the bench, leaving her on a video call so she could watch him play. It became increasingly clear to the team that the two were emotionally dependent on each other, their bond so deep that they struggled to spend even a moment apart.

Their theory was proven correct when Ushijima fell into a state of depression after she stopped answering his calls. Her grandmother had passed away, and she had retreated into her room, shutting out the world in her grief.

As soon as the training camp ended, Ushijima raced to her house, desperate to be by her side. He arrived to find the house empty and dark, the only light filtering through the curtains coming from the moon above. He made his way upstairs, his heart heavy with worry, only to discover her bedroom vacant. A soft sound coming from the bathroom caught his attention, and he gently pushed open the creaky door.

There, in the darkness she so feared, he found her lying in the bathtub, staring blankly at the moldy ceiling as tears streamed down her face. The water was frigid, but Ushijima paid it no mind as he knelt beside her, brushing her wet bangs away from her forehead. Without a word, he reached into the water and gathered her into his arms, cradling her close and not caring that her bare, wet body was soaking his clothes.

He wrapped a towel around her shivering form, holding her tightly and rocking back and forth in a subconscious attempt to soothe her pain. Gently, he removed the towel and dressed her in one of his shirts before slipping under the covers with her, holding her close throughout the night.

When Ushijima recounted this story to Tendou, the redhead was left speechless. Not only was it the most emotion he had ever seen Ushijima display, but it was also a testament to the profound love and connection the two shared, even if they couldn't put a name to it.

During their third year, the arrival of new first-year players brought about a shift in the team's dynamic. Coach Washijo had specifically requested her presence to take notes, and she had obliged, her keen eye for detail and understanding of the game making her an invaluable asset.

Among the fresh faces was Goshiki, a boisterous and attention-seeking young man who seemed to gravitate towards her warm and nurturing demeanor. She found his enthusiasm and charm endearing, and she readily showered him with compliments, knowing that it was exactly what he craved.

The rest of the team, however, could only watch in trepidation as they noticed the darkening expression on Ushijima's face. It was a look they had never seen before, a mixture of jealousy and possessiveness that seemed to radiate from his very being. Tendou, ever the opportunist, seized the chance to probe Ushijima about his feelings, but the stoic captain remained tight-lipped, refusing to acknowledge the green-eyed monster that had taken hold of him.

It came as no surprise to the team when Ushijima, in a display of his newfound authority as captain, suddenly banned her from entering the gym. The self-satisfied look on his face was unmistakable as he watched Goshiki's crestfallen expression upon realizing that the object of his affections was nowhere to be found.

The crushing defeat against Karasuno had been a blow to the entire team, but none felt it more keenly than Ushijima. He had maintained his composure in front of his teammates, his stoic mask never slipping, but she knew better. She had been there, watching from the sidelines, her heart aching for him as he shouldered the weight of their loss.

That day, Ushijima had actively avoided her, and she had returned home with a heavy heart, wondering how she could ease his pain. It wasn't until the middle of the night that she was roused from her sleep by the sound of her window sliding open. She watched as Ushijima's familiar form slipped into her room, his shoulders hunched and his eyes downcast.

Without a word, she lifted the covers, inviting him into the warmth and comfort of her bed. As he settled beside her, she wound her arms around his neck, holding him close as he nestled his cheek against her breast, inhaling the soothing scent that was so uniquely her. His hand found its way to her waist, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her soft skin as they both drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other's embrace.

Ushijima had never given much thought to the nature of their relationship, content in the knowledge that she was his best friend, his constant companion. But that all changed the day he received a confession letter from a girl in his class. Unlike the countless anonymous notes that flooded his locker, this girl had mustered the courage to approach him directly, her handwritten letter trembling slightly in her grasp.

As he stood there, the delicate paper in his hands, Ushijima found himself at a loss. His eyes remained fixed on the letter, but his mind was elsewhere, filled with thoughts of her—his best friend. He couldn't understand why, in this moment, when faced with the prospect of a romantic entanglement, all he could think about was her.

The girl before him was undeniably pretty, but she paled in comparison to the one who had captured his heart so completely. He couldn't fathom a future where he devoted his time and attention to anyone else, where he shared the same intimate moments and unspoken understanding with another woman. The very idea felt like a betrayal, a violation of the bond they had spent a lifetime cultivating.

With a heavy heart, Ushijima had rejected the girl's confession, his words gentle but firm. To her credit, she took the rejection in stride, as if she had already prepared herself for this outcome. As he walked away, Ushijima found himself inexplicably drawn to her, his best friend, his other half.

That night, he had taken her home with him, and they had fallen into their familiar routine, laying side by side in his bed as they had done countless times before. But sleep eluded him, his mind racing with questions and doubts that he had never before entertained.

As the first light of dawn crept into the room, Ushijima found himself propped up against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the woman slumbering peacefully beside him. In the stillness of the early morning, he allowed himself to imagine a future where he woke up to her every day, not just on weekends. A future where he could kiss her for as long as he desired, hold her close and never let go. A future where their outings were no longer just hanging out, but proper dates, filled with romance and intention.

His mind wandered further, to visions of making love to her, of joining their bodies and souls in the ultimate expression of their devotion. He pictured marrying her, watching her walk down the aisle towards him, radiant and resplendent in white. He imagined her round with his child, her belly swelling with the life they had created together. He saw them growing old side by side, their love only deepening with each passing year until they took their final breaths, forever entwined.

With sudden clarity, Ushijima understood why Tendou and Semi had been so persistent in their questioning of his relationship with her. He had always known that he loved her, but he had never fully grasped the depth and magnitude of that love. It was a love that transcended friendship, a love that encompassed every aspect of his being.

He realized that if he were to wake her now and ask for her hand in marriage, she would say yes without hesitation. Their love had become so ingrained, so fundamental to their existence, that the idea of marriage, which held such significance for others, seemed almost trivial in comparison. It was simply the next logical step in a journey they had been on since the very beginning.

And if he were to express his desire to make love to her, would she react with the same easy acceptance as she did to his kisses? Would she welcome him into her body just as readily as she welcomed him into her heart?

Ushijima's heart swelled with the weight of his realization, the full extent of his love for her crashing over him like a tidal wave. He knew, with unshakable certainty, that she was his past, his present, and his future. She was the one constant in his life, the one person who understood him better than he understood himself.

As he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, her face serene in the golden light of dawn, Ushijima made a silent vow. He would cherish her, protect her, and love her with every fiber of his being, for as long as he drew breath. And when the time was right, he would make his intentions known, laying bare the depths of his devotion and asking her to be his, now and forever.

Until then, he would continue to hold her close, to bask in the warmth of her presence and the unbreakable bond they shared. In the end, it had always been her, and it would always be her, his best friend, his soulmate, his one true love.

bonus:

As the morning sun began to filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, Ushijima remained lost in his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the woman who had captured his heart so completely. The revelation of his true feelings had left him both exhilarated and terrified, the weight of his love for her settling deep within his chest.

Suddenly, he felt her stir beside him, her eyelids fluttering open as she slowly emerged from the depths of sleep. Her gaze, still hazy with the remnants of her dreams, met his, and a sleepy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Good morning, Toshi," she murmured, her voice soft and slightly raspy from sleep. The sound of his name on her lips, spoken with such tenderness and familiarity, sent a shiver down his spine.

"Good morning," he replied, his own voice thick with emotion. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting shut once more as she savored the gentle caress. "What time is it?" she asked, her words slightly muffled as she nuzzled into his palm.

"Early," he answered, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her cheekbone. "The sun's just coming up."

She hummed in acknowledgment, her body shifting closer to his, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence. "Why are you awake?" she questioned, her eyes opening once more to meet his gaze.

Ushijima hesitated, the words he longed to say dancing on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell her everything, to pour out his heart and lay bare the depths of his love for her. But something held him back, a flicker of uncertainty that whispered in the back of his mind.

"I was just thinking," he said instead, his voice low and hushed in the stillness of the morning.

She tilted her head, a curious expression on her face. "About what?"

"About us," he admitted, his heart hammering in his chest. "About our relationship."

Her brow furrowed slightly, a hint of confusion clouding her features. "What about it?"

Ushijima took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come. "I've been wondering if maybe... maybe there's more to us than just friendship."

Her eyes widened, a flicker of surprise dancing within their depths. "More?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "I love you," he said, the words tumbling from his lips with a fierce intensity. "I've always loved you, but I'm starting to realize that it's more than just the love of a friend."

She remained silent, her expression unreadable as she processed his words. Ushijima felt his heart constrict, fear and uncertainty gripping him as he waited for her response.

"Toshi," she breathed, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, mirroring his earlier gesture. "I love you too. I have for as long as I can remember."

Relief and joy surged through him, a small smile breaking across his face as he pulled her closer, their foreheads touching as they shared the same breath. "So, what does this mean for us?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of his emotions.

She smiled, her eyes shining with a love that matched his own. "It means that we've always been more than just friends," she said softly. "It means that our love has been there all along, waiting for us to recognize it for what it is."

Ushijima felt his heart swell, the warmth of her words washing over him like a soothing balm. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both familiar and new.

As they parted, their eyes locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, Ushijima knew that this was just the beginning. Their love, which had been the foundation of their lives for so long, had finally been given a name, a purpose, and a promise.

With a contented sigh, he gathered her into his arms, holding her close as the morning light bathed them in its golden glow. They had a lifetime ahead of them, a future filled with love, laughter, and the unbreakable bond they had forged through years of friendship and devotion.

And as they lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Ushijima knew that he had found his home, his haven, and his forever in the woman who had always been by his side.

#haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima smut #wakatoshi x reader

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fatuismooches · 8 months

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HIII OH MY GOD im sorry for sending another one but i was just in the bathroom cleaning up and an idea fucking struck me. (yeah, bright ideas always hit me while i shower)

im thoroughly convinced that zandik, at some point, genuinely believed that you didn't love him. it was probably a year into your relationship after hitting on him for too long in the akademiya.

then, zandik got his hands on a book about manipulation tactics and shit, and he read a portion about pretending to be nice and loving just to gain something from him.

and hence him kicking you out and screaming profanities at you, saying that you don't truly love him. yeah, i know, brash decision by zandik. his older self truly regrets it and doesn't know what he would do in his life if you weren't persistent enough to keep reaching out to him. but to younger zandik, it just made sense.

how could someone like you could ever love him? he knows that sometimes you think he's going a bit too far with his experiments, you call him crazy (in an adoring way ofc), you sometimes look at him in fear as well. you have to be pretending, it just can't be. he has spent all his life unloved, outcasted, hated and feared- he can't comprehend such a wonderful thing such as love would ever be something he'd truly experience, deserve.

zandik stood his ground with his decision, glaring at the wall as you knock on the door repeatedly, asking what was wrong. then when he hears you curse under your breath, sounding mad, his heart fucking breaks.

and it just sinks in that he did something incredibly stupid and probably hurt your feelings for acting out. he's just so not used to being loved, and even if a year has passed, he still can't wrap his head around it.

really, you only got mad from the other side of the door is because your groupmates saw you and began walking towards you after you escaped to hang out with zandik...

dw you make up eventually if you're determined enough to prove that you genuinely love him!! (i mean cmon, it's not that hard. just point out that you literally cook him, wrestle him from his desk and onto his bed to sleep, go on illegal expeditions with him and all you wanted from him was kisses, hugs and affirmations of his love for you)

IM LITERALLY COMBUSTING FROM THIS BECAUSE IT'S LITERALLY SO TRUE AND I LOVEEE THE WAY YOU DESCRIBED IT,, WHY HAVE U DONE THIS TO ME.

I'm thoroughly convinced that as well, and from his perspective it makes sense considering he went his whole life without receiving any kind of genuine love (which he grew not to care about anyway) and any kind of sweet words directed at him would usually have some kind of ulterior motive or to get on his good side... He's a very cynical person and even after a while the whole situation just baffles him. Not to mention sometimes Zandik himself has trouble understanding that he truly loves someone else and that this isn't just one big lie... it's hard for him to process it all.

Ugh you just know he'll be researching relationships and shit just so he can justify thinking this way and then he gets to a portion to be wary of your partner possibly being fake and manipulating you. And then he just goes haywire on you and you're just like "wtf are you even talking about" and Zandik's literally just going off on you without letting you get in a word. (I bet the clones cringe whenever they remember this moment too 💀 just bring up this moment in an argument and dramatically walk away and he'll feel a bit bad which is more than he should be capable of)

Zandik tries his best to ignore your heartbroken and confused expression - surely you must be faking it, he thinks as he slams the door in your face. This just must be one of your games again, and now that you've been called out you don't know what to do, he tries to convince himself. Your frantic knocks were just a scheme to play with whatever heart he had left. Because in no world, no universe, would you ever love someone like him. He knows he shouldn't be considered human anymore, he's a monster, and surely you see that too. The one who had been with him for ages, the closest one to him. Zandik doesn't understand - you have nothing to gain from being with him. It was 99% an act. Yes, 99%, because he was secretly clinging onto the 1% chance it was real.

And the 1% chance beat all odds when he heard how genuinely pissed and upset you were from behind the door, which was both a fortunate and unfortunate thing - the former because he knew you really loved him, the latter because even he realized that he fucked up big time. But Archons Zandik, out of all possible times, you had to do this when it was the time you were trying to avoid your annoying classmates 😔

On a more angsty note, you might start cursing back at him about all the reasons you love him and why you stay with him and just end it with the fact you're going to be staying somewhere else now, and it's up to him if he wants to see you again, because you ain't doing this again without some kind of apology. A few days later you come back with a whole fucking research paper about every little thing you've ever done for him and why you love him with a whole-ass explanation and just chuck it right at him and dip.

Thankfully present-day Dottore doesn't pull these kinds of stunts anymore and is much, much more secure and confident in the relationship (which is good cuz sometimes you wanted to slap him for being an idiot) Both of you are just glad you can look back on it and laugh (mostly you because Dottore hates thinking about the times he acted completely braindead)

#smooches talks #moots: kai <3 #dottore love notes <3 #felt i too have revelations in the shower #writing akademiya dottore is always a treat #THANK U MOOT I LOVE WHEN UR IN MY INBOX <333

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zalia · 3 months

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The Continuing Adventures of a D2 Player in D1

I am partway through the Taken King expansion now! I have comitted Regicide, explored the Dreadnaught, and even bribed Shaxx to make me a sword. And I have more thoughts about it!

The Bad

Killing Oryx was... kind of anticlimactic tbh? I know the real death is in the raid, but it genuinely felt like just one more mission. There's no real feeling of completion like there is in D2's DLCs, at least partly because D1 is very sparse on cut scenes and character interactions. It feels like you kill Oryx and no-one gives a damn because there's so few character moments to round it off. 'Oh, killed a Hive god? Must be Tuesday.'

The trend of not explaining anything continues. Several of TTK missions leading up to killing Oryx involve Eris shouting at us repeatedly that 'you must become ascendant to follow Oryx!'. No, she will not be explaining what it means to be Ascendant or why it is so important (I mean, I know because it's been nearly 10 years and I have read the lore, but if I hadn't it would be utterly baffling)

There are these patrols you can randomly get where you pick up a mysterious signal. They have several steps and require you to do random things to progress them - the patrol text is (deliberately) glitched and resolves as you get closer. For example, I had one where one of the steps was to do an emote, another step was to kill hobgoblins etc. I love this idea, do not get me wrong! I like the idea of picking up this random signal. But as far as I can tell, these patrols don't lead anywhere. At the end, Ghost says 'At least we know what the message says, even if we don't know who its from'. AND THEN NEVER TELLS YOU WHAT THE MESSAGE SAYS. I have to wonder if this was something that was meant to lead to content that got cut, or was a hook left that could be used for something in future. Possibly something to do with the Nine would have worked, given the random nature of the messages.

*sob* Getting good armour is such a pain. And confusing.

The jump down to the area with the first secret chest in VoG is *horrendous* especially since you can't mantle. There's no ledge to jump from opposie the entrance. (I have not run the whole D1 VoG, but you can break in by doing certain things without having to do the plates).

Who the hell decided that the destination material for Mars, a planet which is predominantly a red-brown colour, should be a RED-BROWN ROCK?!

The Good

One of the missions in the lead up to killing Oryx involves you having to stealth through Crota's End raid area to steal a piece of his soul. The enemies have a red ring around them you need to avoid or you'll be seen. It's actually pretty cool! very atmospheric too, and nice to have a mission which isn't about brute forcing your way through enemies. I think the stealth system would need some tweaking to make it genuinely fun for more than a one-off thing, but it was a nice change of pace!

The Dreadnaught is a really awesome patrol area. It feels huge, there are lots of nooks and crannies to explore, hidden bridges you need Ghost to see, tunnels to crawl through. Plenty of secrets. Gloriously creepy. I am not even close to finishing exploring (at least partly because I keep getting lost - my sense of direction is garbage in games)

There are different Vanguard Strike playlists available: Legacy, Taken King, and SIVA crisis. Vanguard strikes are different depending on where you are in the story!!! I did not know this going in. There's one strike I've done a few times on the Legacy playlist, where a Fallen Archon escapes from the Prison of Elders. I got it yesterday on the Taken King playlist. Starts out the same, then partway through you go into a cave system. Previously, those caves have involved fighting Vex. Went in last night and it's full of Taken! That was a shock. And progressing, the rest of the strike is full of blights and when you reach the Archon fight, the Archon has been taken! It was a really cool thing to experience, especially going in without knowing beforehand. Doing something I thought I was familiar with and having it change up on me was great. Similarly, the Omnigul strike (the one the Disgraced strike is based off). The dialogue has changed up to kind of move the timeline and have it set after Oryx's fall, and the first room, which has previously contained only Eliksni... now you get ambushed by Hive too! I really love the idea of Vanguard strikes evolving with the storyline - it makes them feel more connected to the world state. I know we've had updates for Lake of Shadows and Arms Dealer in a similar way, but god i would love more!

The vault is split into sections so you can see just your armour, just your weapons, just your other assorted junk, instead of one 600 space mess.

I am getting so much practice using Golden Gun. In D2 I have used Blade Barrage almost exclusively, but since starting D1, where Blade Barrage does not exist, I've started using Deadshot in D2 as well and I'm having fun with it! I even got into a crucible match in D2 and got several golden gun kills which was nice!

I'm more willing now to use supers in D2 instead of always saving them for the boss XD It is a space magic game and I should use the space magic more.

Other Thoughts

I cannot decide how I feel about the currencies+destination materials On the one hand, I am constantly running out of glimmer. It's much more scarce and hard to get and the amount you can carry is much much lower (25K I believe) and you need it for levelling up weapons and armour just to get the perks. Collecting destination materials is necessary and can be kind of a slog (also you need different Ghost Shells to get the trackers for different materials). I know getting the exotic swords later is gonna be painful because you need to get a material that has a low drop rate. Legendary Marks are random drops from doing activities too, and you need them to buy any legendary gear. You can hold 200 of them at a time, and some of the stuff costs 175 Marks. On the other hand, it makes acquiring weapons and armour something a bit more special and valuable. In D2 I can just go to Banshee and buy whatever I want, and make that glimmer back in approximately ten seconds on any destination. I currently have max engrams with all the seasonal vendors, and a whole lot with the ritual vendors and I decode them just to junk whatever comes up a lot of the time. Destination materials... exist. And have no real use. I feel like the ease of acquiring weapons in D2 means I don't appreciate them. And I don't branch out and try new weapons much. I junk the majority of the random drops I get without even bothering to look. In D1 I end up trying out pretty much any purple weapon that comes my way because I don't have that many to choose from. Needing to acquire destination materials means that I spend more time exploring and poking into places I wouldn't normally bother to in D2. Will that side room on the dreadnaught have Hadium flakes for me? IDK, better check it out because I need them! So my rate of play feels more leisurely - wandering a patrol zone without any real purpose feels more rewarding, even when I'm returning to places like the Cosmodrome. So yeah, conflicted about this. We'll see how I feel later on when I have played many more hours of D1

y'know, I would love it if they brought the Dreadnaught back as a destination, maybe for Episode Heresy (the Hive one) after Final Shape. But not the Dreadnaught as it is in D1 - the Dreadnaught after 10 years of being derelict, picked over by scavengers, fought over by different Hive factions, slowly rotting after the death of its master. I think there's a lot that could be done with it - new Hive cults forming in the depths? Taken monstrosities? Some of the descriptions of areas on the Dreadnaught also talk about how Oryx kept specimens from conquered/destroyed species there, and tortured and experimented on them. Ghost at one point comments that there are things even the Hive fear and have yet to be able to weaponise. So... what else is still trapped on the Dreadnaught?

Shaxx has a line when you bring him Oryx's sword Shaxx: That sword shard you carry... is that the dreaded Willbreaker, Sword of Oryx? I have not seen such a blade in many years, Guardians.' I know it doubtless means 'hey, I was on the moon during the Great Disaster. I saw some shit', but the way it's phrased is so specific that it's a great jumping off point for fic ideas XD

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny 1 #meta #gaming #video games #the taken king #ttk #my thoughts

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irl · 3 months

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like i been thnkn abt that anon n tht poem n stuff n lik idk man

its jus a culmination of my life n my choices n i honestly n truly n jus?? genuinely believe its how ppl shld behave n its actually rly baffling to me whn people dont and its hard to wrap my head arnd the justifications. and even then im learning more and more every day. like it never stops ykno?? im gonna look back at todays me a year from now n b like man.. im glad i grew from those things

ive been treated in my life with such. despairing inhumanity. from people i loved and from people i didnt even know. ive seen and experienced so many horrible awful things that if i wrote a book, people might want to toss it in the fiction section, ykno?? like. its just been a lot, and its been deeply wounding, literally all my life almost. it wasnt until the past couple yrs that i even started to get to more stable situations and learn how to breathe and exist as a human

and when i was trying to learn how to be an actual real human? as a 24 year old adult? basing myself off of all of my life experience? i was left with basically 2 options

1. wallow, the world has hurt me for a quarter of a century, i cant find it in me to trust anything or anyone, and im going to make it everyone elses problem because why shouldnt i, i deserve it. this is what a lot of people do when they get to this place. it started when i found out my dad died because of government and capital greed, and hell, just last year i had lit cigarette butts thrown at my face constantly and was hatecrimed twice in less than 8 months along with everything else. i deserve to reflect that back

2. learn how to live and be kind. the world hurt me for a quarter of a century, but also i survived it and it wasnt without help. even if i was in the trenches, i still met wonderful people who helped to lift me out sometimes. why not become that person for everyone else? humanity is at our core, and there are people worth fighting for because my love for them is worth fighting for. i deserve to reflect that back

my fight to be better for myself and be better for the people around me has been an ongoing one! its always filled with learning and figuring things out! and i will ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS!! make mistakes. and so will you. ive been fighting for this since i realized i deserved to be treated better when i was like 20 or smth n started the actual work to try and get better

i wasnt always a good person, and even good people have bad moments. but you learn, youll always be learning. im always learning how to be kinder and gentler to the world, and fighting for what i believe in

my aim will always be to fight to help, i want to help, i want to be able to support.

#txt #uslly id put smth lik this all n th tags cos im jus ramblin n reflectin #but it was 2 long 4 th tags #n idk how to do readmore on mobile #whoopsie #sorry

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damnredthing · 2 years

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A lot of ramblings – SNW S1E06

This post – naturally – contains spoilers. If you haven’t seen the episode yet and do not want to read spoilers, please do not read any further.

This is not an episode review but rather just a bunch of ramblings which I’ve tried to at least sort a little bit into categories.

Season 1 – Episode 6 – Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach

Okay, there is so much to say about this episode. SO MUCH. I don’t even know where to start, ugh.

I have so much to say that this is going to be long, apologies. Also, apologies for me being even more scatterbrained than usual and being a grammar kamikaze. My mind is constantly wandering elsewhere these days and I have trouble to concentrate. I hope I still make sense to you.

Heart pain

This episode really left my heart in a lot of pain. Until the very last second, I hoped Pike could rescue the boy (who didn’t even get a name!). Especially when Pike went into berserk mode and clobbered the guards to get free from them, I cheered for him and expected a heartwarming rescue scene, followed by a heated discussion or an emergency beam out because Una and Spock somehow found a way to bypass the barrier.

But no! They did kill the kid! Okay, the boy didn’t die, but he will die, and he cannot be disconnected from the wires anymore. The moment Pike was knocked out I screamed, and I mean literally. I was even throwing a little tantrum. This felt so much like Hell on Wheels.

HoW-spoiler warning!

There are so many characters in HoW who die, some of them horribly, who Cullen cannot safe. And there were also situations when I fully expected him to rescue the person just in time, but then they died anyways.

This episode was just like that. And that it was a kid that had to die makes my stomach turn. Did you also see all the other wires in the background? Just how many kids did they have plugged in at the same time? Ugh!!!!

It is no wonder Pike was disgusted with Alora when he came to. Her comparison with kids suffering in the Federation was a weak excuse. There might be kids who suffer in the Federation, but not to such a degree that they have their lives sucked out of them in constant bodily suffering!

And they tried to find another solution for centuries? Give me a break. How about just colonizing another planet? I am sure the Federation would have gladly helped with that, without even demanding Majalan to join them.

Pike’s inner demons - continued

Pike talking about his fate to Alora came out of the blue for me. At first, I felt it didn’t fit into the scene at all. Sure, I get it why the writers added it here, just so that Alora has another very convincing argument to keep the man for herself, if not now then maybe in 10 years.

But then I watched the episode again (yes I am that masochistic!), and my opinion about Alora changed. When I watched the episode the first time, I thought she was manipulating and playing Pike from the moment she appeared on the transporter platform. But when I watched it the second time, I realized her feelings towards Pike are genuine and she truly believes in the ways of her people. If she was anything like this 10 years ago when Lieutenant Pike met her, I can see why he confided his fate to her.

Around Alora Pike felt like he could let go and just enjoy life for a moment. He felt safe around her. There was trust (that was unintentionally betrayed… why unintentionally I explain later). He didn’t in the slightest assume Alora would be capable of doing anything bad, neither to him nor to anyone else.

Pike only has confided to people he trusts: Admiral Cornwell (a longtime friend AND counselor), Una and Spock. And now also Alora.

I think he also told her about his fate to be fair to her right from the start. By telling her, he let her know they have no future together.

What surprised me was how fast he came up with this. Sure, by now I got it that he carries his feelings on his sleeves, but it came out so unstrained and direct that it baffled me a bit. But then when the scene ended and he was holding up his hand for Alora, and she took it, I think at that moment he really considered whether Alora maybe was THE right woman for him. I think at that moment he really considered staying with her, or at least returning to her after his accident. Maybe that’s why he opened up to her, to see how she’d react, whether her love was real or whether she’d turn away from him if she knew what drama was coming and that he wouldn’t look as dashing anymore.

Or maybe it was just a moment of melancholia and it just spurt out of him. If you have nothing to lose anymore and your future is written, what purpose would it have to keep it a secret? Why would it matter if people knew or not? And also, does it really matter anymore what people think about you?

I’ve read criticisms that Pike tells too many people about his fate and that it makes him look a bit wimpy. But that to me is a stereotypical perception of masculinity. Always stay strong, never show your feelings yadda yadda. SNW already established that Pike is not like that. I think it is healthy to free your mind and thoughts and get it out of your system. It’s not like he’s telling strangers about it (in detail, yes I do remember episode 1), or people he just barely knows. He confides in people he trusts and considers friends. And it’s good that he does that because I’d hate for him getting eaten alive from the inside because he just keeps it all for himself.

What the fuck were the doctors thinking?

Okay, warning. This is going to contain a rant because it really makes me angry.

But first of all, how much did Pike see (or experience) through the time crystal? We know that he saw a lot more than we did in Discovery – Through the Valley of Shadows. He told Spock in episode 1 that he experienced the entire time, every agonizing second of it. He knows what will cause the accident and how it will affect his body. He knows the names of all cadets he’s going to save. And now he told Alora that Federation medicine is insufficient to help him. So how far does his vision go?

It seems it goes as far as his time in the rehab center on Starbase 11, because at that time Pike was already in the chair and had gotten treatment, but before Spock took him from the base. If Pike knows there isn’t a cure, at least none that is known to the Federation, one can assume that the doctors told him that on Starbase 11.

Here is where my rant starts. WHY IN THE FUCKING HELL did the doctors not let him die when his time was up? Why did they have to give him an artificial heart to prolong his suffering?

I am not ableist here (or it’s not my intention if people understand it as such). He already HAD DIED or would have when his heart stopped working which is why they gave him an artificial one. More so, they put him in a chair with lung support. Without the chair, he’d likely die. If Federation medicine had nothing else to offer to help him ease his constant pain (and he will feel constant pain from how I understood Pike) and free his mind, what exactly was the purpose to bring him back from the dead?

I don’t know how it is in other countries nowadays, but over here where I live you have the last say if you want your life prolonged with artificial help or not. Why can other people make this decision for you in the future and force you to live in constant pain and suffering without having the means to really, REALLY help you?

I always hoped the writers would explain why Pike was put in a chair that only could do beeping sounds for yes and no. I hoped they would come up with a story that this was just a provisional chair they could create relatively fast to give him a minimum level of conversation, and a more advanced version was in the making that would grant him the ability to speak using a mind reading device or some such.

I always hoped they would explain why the doctors kept Pike alive. I hoped they would explain that it was just a minor step of many for Pike’s recovery and many more would follow. That the process of the delta radiation poisoning would have to come to a halt first before the doctors could start to work on proper aids and scar removal surgeries.

The fact that Spock came in the way and brought Pike to Talos IV doesn’t even mean this process has to stop. I don’t see why a medical delegation shouldn’t visit Pike on Talos IV after he lived a while there in the Talosian illusion. It would give the doctors the time to find a cure, or proper aids. They could work on quality and not rush things. Pike would then get the choice to stay on Talos IV with Vina or return to Earth with her. At least he could leave Talos IV again if he wanted, if only for a trip, and wouldn’t be exiled anymore.

When Pike told Alora that the Federation has no means to help him, it sounded so final and it shattered my hope that the series (or maybe a movie after the series ended) would develop Pike’s story further after he was brought to Talos IV. I said it a couple of times already. To me the Menagerie is not a happy end, just a compromise which is dependent on the goodwill of the Talosians.

Some people are too good for this world (or rather universe)

Pike is such a person, which this episode showed clearly to me. I am reluctant to call Pike naive for not seeing Alora’s true intentions and for having been manipulated by her.

Whenever I tell a person he or she is too good for this world, it is a mix of a compliment because they are amazing, caring, wonderful people, but also a warning, because they are in great danger of being taken advantage of.

Pike always assumes in the good in people. He can only be convinced otherwise if a person actually acts in a bad way. When he met Alora 10 years ago, he sure as hell had no idea about her society and how they kept their cities floating. She was probably very much the same towards him as she was in the episode: Gentle, caring, alluring, loving, flirting. We don’t know how much time they spent together when he was Lieutenant, but judging from the trust he has in her, it was probably some time. Although, I understand they did not have a love affair back then. But they probably already shared stories of their lives back then.

So, when she showed up again, there was no reason for Pike to think she would play or betray him. He trusted her, even confided his future fate to her. He felt comfortable around her and wanted nothing but her well-being. Was he blinded? Yes, but he wasn’t completely blind. When Uhura and La’an told him about the colony being originated of Majalan people, Pike did question Alora during the ascension ceremony about it. He didn’t press her to answer the question at that moment though, probably out of respect for the ongoing ceremony and because all the time the boy did play along with the whole ceremony willingly. When he asked Alora in the throne room how one child could save the entire civilization, it was too late.

The fact that he didn’t realize the guards at his sides were there for him, to keep him from interfering, also shows how he is unsuspecting of people. That in fact was maybe naive. If I had been in the same situations and I had 2 armed guards flanking me, all my alarm bells would go off.

The trailer was maybe too revealing for the audience in this case, because we as audience knew what was coming. Maybe not exactly how it happened, but that the boy was to be sacrificed somehow. But from Pike’s point of view, how could he know that?

The boy’s biological father missed his chance to put his cards on the table. Probably because he noticed right away how Alora had such a huge influence on Pike that he feared he couldn’t confide in the Captain. But he could have talked to La’an or Una instead. Yes, he did talk to Una, but WAY WAY too late.

The boy himself did not ask even once for help or to be relieved of his duty (which turned out to be a sacrifice). He even begged Pike on the Enterprise to be brought to the surface, so the ascension could start. Even down in the throne room, he still agreed to give himself freely.

Alora appeared to Pike as being in danger herself from separatists. I don’t think she played him knowingly. She truly believes in the ways of her people, and she truly fell in love with Pike and hoped to convince him to stay. In the end she didn’t understand how he cannot see things as she does, she was shattered when she saw how disgusted he was.

But all in all, she did manipulate Pike, knowingly or not. And that was also because Pike was too unsuspecting of her, the guards and yes, also the boy.

The betrayal

When I watched the trailer, I already had the feeling this episode would break Pike’s heart. And it did. Not only did he have to watch 2 kids being sacrificed, which must have been like a dagger right through his heart, but he also learned in a shocking way that the woman he just shared very intimate moments with is a leading figure in this scheme.

Pike’s disgust was very visible when he woke up on the bed after he was knocked out by the guard. He just barely came to and the first thing he sees is Alora smiling down on him. His reaction was so swift, he tried to get away from her as fast as he could. He was probably also creeped the hell out (I know I was!). Not only was he carried and laid on the same bed he and Alora were intimate in before, but Alora was also watching him the whole time. When I saw that I was literally shivering with disgust, ugh how creepy!

In the following argument with Alora he was always so close to losing it. I could see the helplessness in his eyes and the realization that he brought the kid back down on the planet to be sacrificed. This was a very hard lesson for Pike. I am curious to see whether this will change him and make him more suspicious of people.

Are the writers hinting at an addiction?

We have seen in I think 3 episodes how Pike is drinking Saurian Brandy. I don’t think at that time Starfleet already discovered synthehol, so I think it is real alcohol. He also drank Brandy in Discovery. So far it didn’t bother me at all. It always appeared to me like he was just enjoying a drink after his shift. Nothing wrong with that.

But the way it was shown in the last episode felt like they put an extra emphasis on it this time around. The scene could have just ended with Pike looking out of the window or looking at the coin and then tossing it in the recycler or anything like that. But it ended with the camera zooming out, so the half empty bottle became visible, and then showing Pike drinking a glass. To me it felt like they are hinting at Pike losing his control over his alcohol consumption and it might even lead to an addiction.

It's very possible that I am imagining things here though, as alcohol addiction is a very sensitive topic in my family, but I cannot shake the feeling off.

The elephant in the room

Yes, I do have eyes in my head! Yes, I did see THE bed scene and yes, I also noticed how amazing and fit Pike looked. I already noticed in Doctor Strange 2 that Anson was in excellent shape at the time of shooting, and I was pleased to see he was also for SNW. 😇

(WTF, are those arms even real?)

I wouldn’t like him any less if he wasn’t tho (as I am sure most here wouldn’t). I am also still a huge fan of Russell Crowe for example, I don’t care for the weight, really. Awesome people are awesome because they are awesome, not because they have a specific weight or are fit. 😛

However, I must say kudos to Anson for staying so fit, and I mean that in all honesty! His workout plan must be very ambitious. Combine that with the insane shooting hours each day and a little baby at home and I cannot say enough how impressed I am that he doesn’t fall asleep in the middle of his lines (I must say he does look tired in some scenes though, and I heard stories about him falling asleep on set when he’s given the chance).

I’ve already read and seen a lot of posts about THAT scene on Tumblr and all the discussions that just had to come from that. I am sure the writers giggle when they write such scripts because they just KNOW what they kick off in the fanfiction world. 😂

I am not sure I should get myself on the slippery slope of discussing Pike’s sexual orientation and preferences, but I am beginning to get an idea in my head. But I keep that for myself… for now.

The entire route that led to the bed scene was initiated by Alora. She is the one who took matters in her hands and flirted with Pike to the point where she jump kissed him and flat out asked him to stay with her overnight. If she hadn’t done that, I think nothing would have happened except some friendly, maybe even a little bit flirty hanging around each other.

The whole after sex scene felt very gentle and soft, and as a woman I must admit I felt like the scene was tended towards my desires and likes. I can at least speak for myself that I like to see a guy being soft every now and then and allowing the woman to take the lead. This doesn’t emasculate a guy at all. It also shows how much trust Pike has in Alora, and how much he sees women as equals. I actually think Pike sees everyone as equal, which is why he doesn’t force a situation. The after sex scene could very well be the other way around with Alora snuggling up in Pike’s lap, and that would have been just as fine. It just so happened it was the other way round this time, and that is no big deal for him. I have to admit I love that.

In yo face!

Here is a message to all the people who whine that Star Trek is too woke and that the white guy is always the baddie or weakling.

The guard with the broken coin was a white guy. He was neither weak nor the baddie. He was a separatist who opposed using kids as batteries and who fought the selfish civilization of Majalan.

So there, your theory stinks.

*drops mic*

Some Randoms

Finally we got a Pike centered episode! (sorry for being a bit salty here, but his screentime in some episodes were just meh)

Minor nitpick, but how did Una beam Pike up so fast? She had no idea what was going on planet side. And if she noticed that the barrier was removed, she would have called Pike already long ago, or beam him up when she didn’t get an answer. Or beam a team down to look for him. But she beamed Pike up almost instantly after he called her through his communicator.

No Robert April and again no Hemmer. 😕

I guess Captain Batel is a friend with benefits, which makes sense. When she left in episode 1, she told Pike she hopes she won’t see him when she returns in one month, meaning she hopes he overcomes his crisis and goes back to his own ship. A relationship between two Starfleet Captains is very difficult to maintain I suppose. Both are married to their ships and duties, both know the risks, both might not return. If Pike had retired, it might have worked out. But not if both remain on duty. So, I guess I am fine with this.

I still hope Pike won’t turn into a second (or first?) Kirk as in fooling around with too many women. I get it that he needs some relief, too. He’s not a monk. The issue is that with just 10 episodes per season, you cannot squeeze in too many affairs without turning Pike a bit into a slut (there, I said it!). I think I’d rather have him in a relationship on the enterprise with someone than having him sleep around. We’re just 6 episodes into season 1 and he already had 2 different sex partners. Dayum!

Also, where is Vina? 🤔

The guards were sloppy. They vowed to protect the first servant. But when they were in the chamber guarding Pike, the two guards weren’t able to restrain him. Pike got himself loose and would have gotten to the boy if not for the last guard who was pretty much the last line of defense (at least that guard wasn’t sloppy). I am glad it worked out this way though in a weird, twisted way which requires some explanation. I hate it when in the movies or tv shows people are being restrained in a way that it is so obvious for the audience that the captive can escape, but for some weird reason (bad writing, bad acting, low budget maybe so the director doesn’t want to do another take) they don’t and instead act all helpless as if the restraints were inescapable *big groan here*. For example, every normal person would wiggle out of sloppy tied rope, especially when the knot is at mouth’s reach. When I saw how the guards were holding Pike, I was facepalming inwardly because it looked like Pike could wiggle himself out easily. To my surprise he did just that! This pays into the kind of realism I prefer in productions and I really appreciated that.

Okay here is a funny one, but I noticed that Anson’s stunt double is a little bit too slim, especially around the shoulders. I can clearly see when it’s Anson and when it’s his stunt double. 🤭

Why was Pike not bruised when he came to in Alora’s chamber? He got a hefty blow in his face with the lance weapon. My guess is that Alora’s words were true, that the least she wanted was for him to be hurt. So, I guess his wound was treated while he was still unconscious, and with the Majalan’s medicine being that advanced, the healing was done within minutes, if not seconds. It would also explain how Pike could get up so fast without falling flat on his nose from nausea.

Also, Pike can take a beating! Notice how he didn’t pass out right away? He was still there for a moment. After that blow that’s quite an impressive thick skull material!

My OCD was going apeshit when I saw Alora’s headdress not being exactly centred…

On a funny side note, I wait for the first fanfiction story that has the following lines “What did you do to that boy?” – “The last thing I wanted to do is hurt you.” – “So, I am your prisoner now?” – “YES!” 🤭😈

I know I keep repeating myself, but Anson’s acting was amazing. The repertoire of facial expressions he can pull off is stunning. When he asks Alora whether the boy will suffer and she answers with yes, the sheer hurt and horror in his expression was heart wrecking.

#strange new worlds spoilers #snw spoilers #christopher pike #anson mount #lindy booth #this was a crass episode #which was hard to watch #it was still well made don't get me wrong #but it was just so heartbreaking #and for the protocol: I love Anson's hair!#but I still laughed at all the hair memes on Twitter 🤣#oh and Anson is one naughty fish 😋#(I accidently posted this on my other blog because I'm stupid... gah!)

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thesinglesjukebox · 3 months

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NOAH KAHAN - "STICK SEASON"

youtube

Just to be clear, this post was *not* sponsored by the Vermont Tourism Board... [5.10]

Hannah Jocelyn: Noah Kahan snuck up on me -- I first wondered why Ruston Kelly was opening for this guy who I'd never heard of before. I heard a couple of his songs, they were fine! So I ignored him. Suddenly, last year, a friend (a songwriter herself) was complaining about him, asking "What does the 'season of the sticks' even MEAN?" And from then on, he was everywhere, the same way Ed Sheeran was genuinely grassroots a decade ago before he became the eldritch pop horror he is now. Sheeran and Mumford & Sons ultimately gave us the indie folk of Boygenius and co., as well as Taylor Swift's own forays into indie, all of which I either love or respect. I go to open mics and concerts often, and it's a lot of empowered non-men leading the charge; even the guys I see make more interesting music than "I'm so sad, I'm so fucked up." And now the pendulum's swinging, so now we are back at WGWAGs, and they don't even have the slick production of the Mumfords. I am not afraid of Noah Kahan; this song just sounds like the banality of fuckboys. I am more afraid of everyone following in his footsteps. Bonus point for actually mentioning COVID, though. [5]

Jacob Satter: Back when they were riding the wave of stardom for the first time, I bought tickets to see Counting Crows and a pre-dreadlocked Adam Duritz was going through it. He spent most of the show baffling the audience by lying flat on his back at center stage, talk-singing his way through August and Everything After, genuinely unable to look success in the eye. I take this trip down memory lane to clarify that when I say that every generation gets the self-actualizing folk dorkery it deserves, I'm not exculpating X while side-eying any COVID-worn millennials who embrace Mr. More-Mumford-Than-Mumford here for their mental balm. [3]

Dave Moore: I can google "is Noah Kahan related to Marcus Mumford" (no) but I can't google "do I hate Mumford and Sons" because despite remembering making fun of and claiming I hated Mumford and Sons at the time, I never wrote anything about them. Now that nothing else really sounds like this, I don't mind it so much. [6]

Leah Isobel: At least Mumford & Sons had the showmanship to drop an f-bomb in the midst of their self-regarding self-flagellation. What does Noah have? The word al-co-hol, leaden and imprecise and sung like it's an unbelievable blasphemy? Grow some balls, dude. [3]

Alfred Soto: He's so earnest that he acknowledges a drinkin' problem and the existence of COVID-19 and must sing as if he wants Mike Posner to sell him a pill to take in Vermont. [3]

Thomas Inskeep: His voice just oozes earnestness, and no, that's not a good thing. But strummy guitar guys never entirely go out of style, do they? If his success makes a Lumineers comeback happen, I swear to God… [3]

Lauren Gilbert: Yes, I could write a snarky review that this is a song for girls who haven't yet left their Folklore era. And that's true enough; it's a pretty standard folk pop, with too many words pressed into too few lines, the murmurings of someone who spends entirely too much time in their head. But it's also a pretty good instance of the form. It has more of a hook than Bridgers, and it's less likely to put me to sleep than Clairo. And it does feel like the season of the sticks -- like driving my parents' car through the hills of Virginia, dark, leafless trees silhouetted against a grey, featureless sky, thinking only of the person not sitting in the passenger seat. [7]

Mark Sinker: What if “season of the sticks” but it’s good not bad? (It’s such a gorgeous phrase to attempt to use as a negative… ) Plus Noah’s breath control seems kind of terrible -- the snatch at air plus his kinda squeaky voice makes him seem way younger than he even is (which is already way young), and sorry teens but that really dilutes the resigned agony he’s going for here. [6]

Taylor Alatorre: "I've been called the Jewish Ed Sheeran," says Noah Kahan on stage, with apparent regularity. Cheap heat, sure, but it's also self-deprecation as brand-building, aimed at propping up a certain persona by playfully prodding at the weaker and more exposed parts of it -- and suddenly I'm not just describing the stage banter but also the music itself. Kahan spent much of the last year collecting enough guest artist remixes for an unplugged No.6 Collaborations Project, but one of the few Stick Season songs to remain untouched by this process was the title track, which says something about it. It says that this is the anthem, the legacy definer; this is his own private Vermont, and no one but him (and a sold-out arena crowd, inshallah) can ever do it justice. With some reservations, it's deserving of this pedestal. And no, those reservations have not the slightest to do with Mumford & Sons, who are overdue to be treated as a normal, middling rock band and not a portentous class enemy. When teenage Mumford fans were listening to "Hopeless Wanderer" back in 2012, I imagine many of them were playing in their heads the kind of diaristic scenarios that Kahan sings about here, replacing grandiose Biblical allusions with only slightly less grandiose relationship angst. That was always the correct reading, and one can't fault Kahan for opting to cut out the middleman between his and his audience's experiences. "COVID on the planes" is the line that most loudly announces this isn't your father's indie folk, and it's the kind of lyric whose currency will only grow with time, like the transistor radio in "Brown Eyed Girl" or the satellite radio in "Sequestered in Memphis." At the other end of the realist-romantic spectrum, there's "might not have but I did not lose," a waist-deep k?an that's perfectly befitting of a future dorm room staple. Also fitting the dorm room vibe, less fortunately, is the way the phrasing in the chorus is awkwardly chopped up so as to min-max its drunk singalong value, with the line about alcohol of course being the worst offender. It's a testament to Kahan's affability that I want to forgive his more sophomoric tics -- I mean, who wants to be the one to interrupt a drunk singalong? [7]

Nortey Dowuona: When did Noah Kahan develop talent, and why wasn't it with Joel Little? [9]

Joshua Lu: "Stick Season" starts off as a earnestly mopey torch song, with a steady stream of metaphors and rhymes about his post-breakup blues. The causes and effects of this despair are presented straightforwardly, earning an almost comical feeling: the mom forgetting about him entirely, the excessive drug and alcohol use, his victim complex. It's in the second verse, though, that the song takes an interesting turn into self-reflection: "So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad / That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from Dad." That same chorus rings differently in this new light, creating an image of a once-fixed man who has returned to his broken default nature, and whose internal sadness was only buried, not cured, by being with the one he loved. There's something quietly devastating about how resigned he is to his fate -- how he knows that he can't heal his pain, only dampen it with the memory of a time when he couldn't feel it. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: A [2] or an [8] depending on how much this alerts your anti-Mumford and Sons or anti-Lewis Capaldi radar, and whether or not you have a soft spot for self-deprecating white men telling jokes and making confessions at their own expense. We’ll skew higher since this has aged surprisingly well. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: I’ve heard this around seven times and I’m not exactly sure what he’s singing about, but I like the texture of his words as they spill out of his mouth. Kahan will let a syllable last just a bit longer or shorter than I expect, all while singing fast enough that he feels like he’s uninterested in easy signifiers of the contemplative. The banjo feels like a cheap way to keep the song interesting; he doesn’t need it when every guitar strum is so propulsive. [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Loses me after that banjo riff comes in two thirds of the way through. Everything before that is charmingly middling, everything after makes me want to place the entirety of New England under cordon sanitaire. [2]

Will Rivitz: I also love Vermont, having grown up just outside of Boston, and have to admit Kahan's bitter and self-deprecating narcissism quite poignantly encapsulates the sense of drifting listlessly and peevishly through New England's dreary December, mired in one's own solitude and the inexorably self-centered trappings that accompany it. His lyrical acumen is, however, not quite sharp enough to justify exhuming the stomp clap hey brouhaha previously left to rot alongside the word "hipster" a decade ago. If he thinks it appropriate to hire a mandolinist, maybe you were right to break up with him. [4]

Rachel Saywitz: “Stick Season” is a haunting masterpiece, and a triumph for Noah Kahan -- with just a folkloric guitar, illuminating banjo, and a steady kick drum, he traces a love lost with a traveler’s bent and a timeless seasonal metaphor. Wait, this song takes place in Vermont? Wait, he’s American? I can feel the spell breaking, the cloudy haze over my eyes that always appears when I’m listening to mediocre folk-pop by European singers is dissipating. Okay, sorry. Back to normal now. Going to review this again. “Stick Season” is some Lumineers-ass sounding shit. Grow up, stop being a whiny lovesick boy, and pick up an English accent! [4]

Ian Mathers: I'm so pissed that 1. "stick season" is not a reference to hockey which part of my brain irrationally insisted it was; 2. this tweet no longer applies to me. I gave that up for something that's just deeply mediocre, not even entertainingly bad. That the Olivia Rodrigo cover is… fine indicates my problem is less with the song (not bad, kinda standard) and more with Kahan's excruciating indie folk dude presentation. [4]

Will Adams: Outside of a terribly dull EDM feature, I had not heard a single note of Noah Kahan's music until now, so every time I saw his name I would think, "Oh, he does that one song, like 'lady, running down to the riptide, da-da-da'" before correcting myself. Listening to "Stick Season," I wasn't far off: anodyne stomp-clap folk complete with banjo. Instead of a rousing singalong, however, we get a winter doldrum mope-fest where the more a clever line is repeated, the less clever it seems. [4]

Katherine St. Asaph: Big junior-year busker energy. I hope the quad found "once you called me forever, now you still can't call me back" as clever as he does. [4]

Isabel Cole: Mumford-lite, nasal whine, uninspired lyrics: sure. And I, who tend towards particular indifference in the face of men with their guitars, should of all people be somewhere between immune and repelled. But this one fucking got me, I don’t know. There’s something about the unrelenting quickness of the verses, the way it slips heedlessly along axes of register and mood and scope: from the mannered poetry of “all the miles combined” to the indignantly conversational “like halfway through the drive,” from self-pity to self-recrimination, from daddy issues to drinking the pain away. It plunges into melodrama -- “I’m terrified of weather” -- and pivots to a gag, funny enough and also true, about air travel in the era of COVID. He says he’s stuck, and I believe him not because of that line but precisely because the song refuses to alight on any particular complaint for long.

That’s what it’s like sometimes, when you’re in the long process of reconfiguring your life around an absence you never planned for. You scrabble for purchase amidst the concrete and specific, saying all the useless sayable things because the whole truth defies articulation. Your petty irritations and psychological fault lines alike draw you right back into the vortex. You do see him in the weather, which is a way of saying you see him everywhere, and also that you never realized your block had a particular smell in spring until one April morning you found yourself thinking of him and realized it had been a year. You dream a version of him and wake up unnerved and you don’t know if what disturbed you was what the dream got wrong or what the dream got right. You can’t believe you can't talk to him when your uncle dies and when #FreeBritney goes mainstream and every time Marvel puts out a new terrible movie, and in the peculiar gravity of loss these things feel somehow equally consequential.

You wash the dishes and listen to a song that rattles off all these different ways to miss someone and you wonder how long he’ll be the person this type of song makes you think of, and you think about how much he would hate it, how mean he would be about Noah Kahan’s hair, how you have to look up every time if it’s Noah or Noel but you’re still crying at the kitchen sink, how much of your taste was his taste first, how you lost two people, really, because he took with him the person you were when he was here. I am no longer funny, ‘cause I miss the way you laugh. Your head says this is a generous [5], that it’s neither special nor smart enough to quit while it’s ahead, that while the line about being half a heart is trite but serviceable, the clarification of “the other half was you” is unforgivable, truly, taking you out of the song every time. Your heart thinks that so many of the funniest things you’ve ever said were things you only said because he was listening. Noah, not Noel, drops the strumming to sing that line about Vermont one more time and in the emptiness around him you can almost hear the whistling northern wind, the sound of a world turned brittle and cold. Stupid. These fucking songs always do that. It’ll be four years come April. You put the dish in the rack and wipe your eyes with your wrist and before you pick up another dirty plate you hit play one more time. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#noah kahan #music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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twistednuns · 8 months

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April 2023

Breaking mauna/noble silence. Hearing about other people's experiences during the silent meditation retreat. I cried, mostly laughed, related a lot. Shared my story as well.

Actually getting to know the people I had invented stories about (pure projections of course). Realising that the person who triggered me most was THE ONE I connected with most. The one person I needed to meet, who made me feel all warm inside, seen. I instantly developed a crush of course. My heart is very impressionable once it's open.

Observing my thoughts. Challenging my beliefs. Learning.

Antoaneta's cat randomly showing up in Shakti Hall after the sharing. What a beautiful animal.

Finding four-leaved clover right in front of my door when I left my room at Hridaya on the last day of the retreat.

Lunch with Mark and Tom at a shopping mall in Lyon. This precious honesty, gentleness with each other. Mirroring and cycling impressions, giving advice, sharing our experiences and issues. Talking about feelings with men still feels more special somehow. I felt seen. Mark bought me coffee. Telling Tom I liked him, just as an example for a story I was telling but he felt the need to say it too. Why does a conversation like this feel so exceptional when it should be the norm?

Effortless mindfulness. Seeing the signs everywhere. Graffiti hearts stating peur de rien. The white Madonna watching over the doors to the monastery. Looking at the city with fresh eyes.

Spending an evening in Lyon with Jessica and Aaron. Delicious pizza and amazing conversation. Learning about shamanism and plant medicine. Archetypes. The Aghori and a cannibal cult in Varanasi. Sharing insights, stories, learnings and questions. Bending my mind, expanding my horizon.

It's absolutely baffling how people reacted to me in the last few days. I suppose I must have had a much more positive energy - less protective layers necessary in a safe environment. Good vibrations after learning so many new things, a sense of wonder and disbelief. Some of the feedback I received: I'm in love with your voice. / Thank you for sharing your story, I can relate so much to you. / People genuinely grieving, feeling sorry for me. Heartfelt hugs from strangers. Compliments for my yoga pants and my CMMC pullover, handwriting, drawings, knack for languages. / Kathi just sitting down right next to me like it was no question at all, being drawn to my presence. / Genuine interest in my opinion and perception. Reassurance. Being taken seriously. / Jessica calling me an old soul - at least older than our teachers'. Said that I act younger than I am. / You seemed very open, and like a person who has a strong belief that there's more out there. Something really good waiting to be seen. A positive outlook behind all your negativity. A secret hope. //

Taking the long and winding road up the hill instead of the staircase. Accidentally kicking a snail across the path. Apologising. Carefully avoiding stepping on any of its many friends along the way.

Breakfast in the chic modern hotel lounge. Biting into a buttery, crispy croissant (such a revelation) accompanied by Amy Winehouse's You Sent me Flying (from the album FRANK - of course...) A curious dog shuffling through the hall. Treating a kiwi like a breakfast egg. Feeling glamorous. At ease. Radiating good energy. Indulging in a guilty pleasure: butter under Nutella (it's special because I never have it at home - only in hotels).

Taking the funiculaire up the hill despite having nowhere to go. Finding a new route. Walking through a park, my head in a bright white-blossomed bush. A heavy floral smell, a bee hovering in the air right next to me, waiting for her meal. Lizards basking in the sun. The first tulips of the year.

The sage leaf I plucked felt as soft as my grandma's cheek.

I keep walking around high on presence and love. Honestly, it kinda feels like microdosing.

The girl who sang opera in an empty Roman theatre.

A white cat in the middle of the footpath allowing me hold her paw and even touch the toe beans.

Aaron laughing about my body count joke.

The Fallen Star thing happens so regularly by now that I feel stupid to keep mentioning it. But today they even increased in size along the way!

A long massage after 10 days of sitting.

Playing with an etch-a-sketch and a caleidoscope in a toy store.

Selling my grandma's house - super sad on the one hand because of all the memories I made in there, but on the other it's very liberating and I made a lot of money. I went through the basement and the upper floor with my brother and found a little table I liked and an old chair I'd forgotten about.

Spending the weekend in Munich. I saw my therapist who immediately noticed that my energy had changed. Then I went grocery shopping with Frank and told him about my experience. Dinner with Becky, catching up. Then I joined Frank's DnD group playing Catan. I loved talking to Carolina and Kevin from Mexico! Cool people. I'm actually planning on doing kundalini yoga with her and we're gonna start a language tandem! The next day I made pasta bake and Manu came over. We played board games and had philosophical discussions. And on Saturday Yanic and Sash picked us up and we had very fancy lunch with Lena at Lake Starnberg. We took a walk and met Christian who's currently in a pain clinic in the area.

On Easter Sunday, I had to go to the airport in the morning and walked past the parish garden. The whole lawn was covered with chocolate eggs. The egg hunt there after Easter service is a very happy childhood memory for me! Sweet nostalgia. I actually took photos and e-mailed them to my brother.

All the gorgeous wisteria in Lyon!

Upgrading my tea from artificial-tasting spearmint to raspberry and passion fruit flavoured green tea. Holding the tea glass with both hands. Feels wholesome.

Learning more about my issues with food. My hoarding tendencies (need for safety? scarcity mindset?) and the lack of self-control around processed food (even sugar-free like peanut butter).

How nice my "simple" breakfast is. Apples, raspberries, blueberries. Oats, nuts, flaxseed, almond milk. Still my favourite.

The nice community I'm currently living in. Finding my people. Emily, Lisa, Alexandra. Regitze and Jade (I anonymously sneaked a bliss ball into her food box the other day and seeing her happy gave me so much joy). Rosanna and Ashley. Emma. Okay I could probably keep writing. Seriously, pretty much everyone here is a lovely person.

Nerding out, making tons of notes, tables and charts. Writing in my notebook (only using three colours, so neat and tidy), adding drawings.

Remote fact-checking with Frank. Inspiring him to start meditating.

Antoaneta's cat Bella allowing me to play with her. And she showed up after a chanting session one morning. Meowing along, probably complaining that she hadn't been served breakfast yet.

Malou's "Mama" energy, her warmth. Feels so cosy and comfortable to be around her. * Coincidentally wearing the exact same pants as Robert. His were black and mine green but his shirt was green and mine black. The Yang to my Yin! (Side note: he's such a gorgeous human. Perfect nose, bright blue eyes and long brown hair.)

Singing at the Bhajan/Kirtan. I felt uncomfortable in the beginning but in the end I enjoyed it a lot and got more confident. My voice seems clearer and more stable - is that a result of all the Halasana? An open Vishudda chakra?

The clear night sky, seeing so many stars out here.

Pizza with REAL cheese on Sunday (such a blessing after a week of unseasoned, ayurvedic vegan food).

My first ecstatic dance class. Estelle explained dancing together like teaching each other a language, like a conversation. And I totally got that! I generally feel so much resistance around it though. I did pretty well on my own though and even enjoyed it! But when Robert, one of the Frenchies, tried to dance WITH me I made it awkward. Needs some practice.

Talking to people I felt resistance around like Agneta, Anja or Sara. Not regretting it. And I was dancing around the two women from the French group who trigger me so much and it was okay. Maybe I can let it go.

Sharing what I have. Abundance mindset.

Compliments for my art, my shirt and accessories. People are generally lovely around here.

Sunday night in the library with Emily, Marius, Emma and Trinity. Interpreting birth charts, Oracle card readings. Joking about organising a sex party (with Trinity and me hosting it). Talking about the important and interesting things in life. So inspiring.

Lenny Kravitz - Stillness of Heart

The fact that it's getting more and more challenging to keep up with this list because I experience so much more beauty and joy every single day. Truly grateful.

My face lit up by a sunbeam from a roof window during sun salutations. Closing my eyes. Seeing wavering, pulsating sunset colours. Tangerine. It looked like a Rothko painting.

Ombar/vegan chocolate with coconut milk. Lemon and poppy seed macarons. Mousse au chocolat from the bio supermarket. Marinara with tomatoes, capers and olives. Choosing candy with code #222 on the scale.

A shopping trip with Sara's van (canary). I love that the bus is big enough for six people plus bike and bed. I kinda want one now. And I realised I could actually afford to buy one. What a privilege.

My morning meditation is getting easier again. Am I finally becoming unstuck? We're getting somewhere! Also, Sama-Vritti Pranayama often makes me feel amazing. I love breathwork.

My two roommates left our dorm (Lisa needed alone time and Alexandra feel down the stairs and had to move to a room on the ground floor) so I accidentally ended up with the room all to myself. I truly cherish the alone time. Lying in bed naked after a shower, drawing, listening to music, manicure and snacks.

Out of the blue, after months without contact, Peter from my choir texted me. The night before, I'd had a dream about him. Spooky.

Bella has chosen me! Apparently the cat is super picky about people but there we were, basking in the sun together. She was super comfortable in my arms and even accepted kisses. I feel special now.

Making life a little bit easier for people. Helping. Sharing. Wordlessly handing them something they need.

Cutting an apple with the knife I'd bought the day before. So smooth and sharp.

The view of the morning mist hanging low in the valley. Sunlit hills in the background.

Actually listening to people. Learning. I'm impressed by how naturally a few people round here are using non-violent communication. Asking if they can share something. I'd really like to adopt this kind of mindfulness and respect around verbal expression. I usually talk too much and regret it afterwards, feeling awkward.

Hugging Rosanna after her lecture on Santosha. I told her she's the perfect person because she radiates happiness. Smelled her perfume on me for a while.

Walking down to the swing chairs after dinner. Sunshine. So many flowers. I was looking for Bella and eventually gave up my search but when I walked to the evening lecture she was there, waiting for me. I'm so grateful for this cat today!

The word glitterati.

How much I'm relating with Treya, the protagonist of Ken Wilber's Grace and Grit. I've got the feeling this book will teach me a lot.

A nap in Shiva Hall. Dreaming/visualising a paint brush dipped in liquid gold, distributing the colour over paper. The bells ringing at the same time.

How incredibly affectionate Rosanna and Stephen are with each other. It made me emotional when she announced his birthday after meditation and asked us all to send him love and blessings. Relationship goals.

The smell of the yoga cushions reminds me of my mum. And warm sourdough bread. The "Easter nests" we got as children. The cushions are probably filled with spelt husks. My mum usually had a spelt pillow in her bed so this is what her bedroom faintly smelled of.

An insight after observing the effect of emotional contagion on me: I only really feel something when my mind/the senses are involved. Is that my key to unlocking my emotions? I wonder how to release something without involving thoughts. But perhaps somatic therapy will provide answers.

I might have helped Frank to start walking the Upward Spiral. He told me he felt motivated and inspired after our conversations, even tried vulnerability with his best friend and loved the outcome, and meditation seems to have a positive effect as well!

Jade said I smelled of love at the bhajan. / Sleeping in the next morning. No alarm. Blissful meditation. Reading in bed. Alone time is such a gift! Another reminder: I definitely need to find a balance between solitude and company/being social.

A lovely Sunday afternoon watching a movie together, then going on a long forest walk. Talking to Sara, collection little ferns and leaves.

Taifun Black Forest tofu.

Good-natured gossip about crushes, fantasies and projections with Emma and Jade.

I've decided to follow my intuition and go to Plum Village instead of Israel! I'm excited.

A little nature immersion with Antonio. Shamanic drums and listening to Mother Earth's messages. I just sat in a swing, taking in my surroundings. Really looking. There are so many beautiful details in even the simplest plants. I saw lizards, spread dandelion seeds. Even Bella showed up! And I realised that I'm quite detached from nature in my daily life which is something I want to change.

Dark chocolate with fleur de sel.

Spending the morning in the garden on Seva day, planting lemon balm and tomato seedlings. It felt so good to have something practical to do. Getting your hands dirty, seeing direct results, the feeling that your work has purpose. Talking to Flavia who was busy saving the earthworms. Connecting with Pieter.

Evening lecture with open windows. The smell of rain blew in and a few minutes later, the thunderstorm arrived. Soft rumbling, raindrops, fascinating light show. Cosy.

Christina, who buffered my agitated mood when I arrived at Asana lab, imploring be not to be so hard on myself. She said I was already perfect the way I am and I just don't see my light and all the work I'm doing. Then she suggested doing a transfiguration together (the tantric eye-gazing). "To see the goddesses in each other that we really are." Perhaps she should be my spiritual sponsor.

Our graduation ceremony. Antoaneta applied a red tilaka on our forehead and whispered "May the sacred tremor of the heart enlighten your entire life." All the teachers wore white and sat down in a row, holding hands, sending a blessing of the heart. I really felt it.

Afterwards I ended up moderating the second part of the evening and introduced the game and the song we'd prepared. Everyone had a lot of fun and afterwards a lot of people came to me, complimenting my charm, eloquence and humour. Which feels so strange to me because I'm usually close to dissociating during public speaking and have no idea what they're talking about.

The bhajan after the ceremony felt magical. Verena's voice is incredibly beautiful and special. I fell in love with the Adi Shakti mantra - the last line really felt like an incantation. At one point I kinda expected the Goddess to materialise over the altar. Kundalini Mata Shakti, namo namo. I even danced, freely, unconcerned. Bella showed up again, looking for her parents (Sahaja was sitting at the back of the room, meditating). I found her in the hallway on my way to the bathroom and ended up holding her like a baby for twenty minutes. She was super relaxed and pretty close to purring! Later, Antoine played the Krishna Das version of I wanna know what love is and I felt safe enough to improvise with everyone who was still there because I know that song so well. It always takes a bit of courage to sing something different than all the others.

Robert calling everyone sweetie or sweetheart. Easing into a talk with him about his spiritual practice. Picking his and Maya's brains about karma, the soul, plant medicine. Just the three of us in the dimly lit library late at night. I'm so touched by all these beautiful people and conversations that tend to arise here. Same with Alexius who happens to be on very much the same path as me career-wise and basically confirmed what I'd already found out for myself. It's good to meet people like that to see that you're not alone in this.

Lunch with teachers and karma yogis, feeling much more like a part of the sanga now that the majority of people have left.

It is so beautiful to see that I have found my direction, started walking the long and winding road. Something really opened up there for me. My daily affirmation confirmed it: "I am excited to discover what is possible in my life."

All these insights. That I really need to be more gentle and patient with myself. Slowly slowly, gently gently. The impulse to work on my commitment issues. Learn how to trust, surrender, accept a truth even when I've only had a glimpse of it. But also: training the letting-go muscle. Not holding on to what doesn't serve me any more. Beliefs, habits, people...

#things i love #present perfect #personal #april #2023 #april 2023

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legendsmagazine · 1 year

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When looking at how ruthless the music industry can get, something that is often forgotten is the value of real, genuine friendship free of expectations of reciprocity. People pretend to like people they don’t, because they know that knowing the right people at the right time could save their careers if push ever came to shove. Because of circumstances like this, music-lovers of all kinds found themselves at least a little bit baffled when brooding alternative artist SAINT and UNDEAD’s very own Sebby Jones announced their US-wide „Holy Hell“-Tour. While fans of either artist were thrilled enough to sell out every venue within a few hours, people were still left wondering: How would Sebby Jones’ new age pop-punk mesh with SAINT’s ethereal laments? Is there a place for shows where Jones’ cheerful proclamation of nymphomania can be the pathway for SAINT mourning their perceived loss of innocence? I decided to investigate, making my way to the duo’s Chicago show on February 7th and can say: I came for business, but I stayed for pleasure.

If you’re over the age of 35 and/or don’t have children, I don’t blame you if you don’t know who either of these artists are, although they’ve both built up an impressive body of work over the last year or two:

SAINT is the chosen name of Saint Harper-Yamaguchi, a nineteen-year-old singer-songwriter from Walnut Park, known for their devastating path through life (seriously, it’s a crazy rabbit hole), culminating in an eventual adult adoption by Hollywod leading man Austin Harper (31) last year. The young artist managed to cement their way in the contemporary music industry with the release of their sophomore album „Perish“, which received universal acclaim from critics and audiences alike and allowed Harper-Yamaguchi to be awarded the Top Artist award at the 2022 Legends Awards, beating out industry titans like Madam Vivi and Elsa Bergström.

The other headliner, Sebby Jones has been actively releasing music a little longer than his counterpart - the twenty-two-year-old London-native is a member of controversial Gen-Z rock band „Undead“, mostly known by mainstream audiences for their controversial lyricism and cutthroat fanbase. Unlike the notoriously reclusive SAINT, a lot of Jones’ fans love him for his extroversion and boisterous personality: He first made headlines for his shotgun wedding to fellow scandal-prone teenie-rocker FOXIE, followed by the release of his solo-album „The Freak Show“ in April of last year, catapulting him into the level of celebrity required to be cast on the 2022-season of Dollhouse, where Jones yet again became a central character after pushing „Londylicious“-singer Londyn Pierce (26) off a balcony during a verbal altercation. After this, Jones went on to win the Top New Artist award to mirror Harper-Yamaguchi’s win from that same night.

The two unlikely collaborators met „around 5 or 6“ years ago while homeless, couchsurfing together and „building a bond that most people probably wouldn’t understand“, says SAINT. The night of last year’s Legends Awards incited the feeling of finally feeling like the two had won something after being handed nothing but losses in life, causing them to make the decision that if people liked to see them separately, their bond would only improve their individual talents.

The show lasted for about two hours and was jam-packed with music, crowd-interaction, fanservice and some genuinely touching moments - I don’t want to give everything away, of course, but here’s 5 of my favorite moments of the night:

#1 The „Golden Age“ Performance

With the crowd still on a high from Jones’ performance of „Parents“,SAINT stepped onto a completely dark stage before only the floor was illuminated in a warm white light. „And I don’t wanna talk about love anymore / Cause it’s getting too much for me“, they introduced their newest single „Golden Age“ - a very personal hymn of reflection and emptiness, wrapped in a translucent bow of eerie sentimentality: „I’m so beautiful and it’s wasted on me / Because the taste reminds me, I hate what love’s turned out to be.“ The young artist’s wistful performance though, was what really drove the point home. In light of her recent breakup with Undead frontman Axel Parrish (21), Harper-Yamaguchi’s mournfulness feels real and tangible. In its core, the performance was a raw declaration of uncertainty, a very common feeling within the artist’s generation, showcased through SAINT’s lens - deeply evocative and bleak, yet laced with a deep determination to set out and overcome.

#2 The “Don’t Feel Like Feeling Sad Today” Performance

“To be honest with all of you, I feel shit sometimes. Life can be fucking shit, ya know? Bad days, bad months, bad years. And sometimes I feel proper sad,” Jones’ stated almost solemnly, his English accent as thick as ever as he stood centre stage. All eyes were fixated on him as the microphone was secured to the stand, an impressive swig of a beer housed in a plastic cup was taken, and then the guitar resting across his back was swung to his front as a cheeky smile appeared on his face. “But ya know what? I don’t feel like feeling sad today.” The plastic cup was launched above the crowd. As beer rained upon us, Jones wielded the guitar and the beginning chords of the unreleased song caused a wail of screams from the crowd. “But I think I’m too late and I’m sinking now / And I need somebody to pull me out.” The energy displayed within the performance by Jones was addictive, eager and it pulled us all in. As the chorus hit and the Englishman paraded from either side of the stage with the guitar, the crowd came to life even more as the warm light bled into a multicoloured array of positivity over us. “While all the people are cruel, you’re an hour away / Don’t feel like feeling sad today.” Over all, the performance exuded positivity, an absolute eagerness for happiness to rule and for all signs of negativity to fade into the dark. The way he displayed himself on that stage, I could feel the intensity from him as well as subtle undertones of desperation. The want and need for everything to be okay with the world, and perhaps within himself too.

#3 Duet Debut

Avid fans and Twitter users already found out about the fact that one of the promised „surprises“ for tour was the debut of an as-of-now untitled track that Jones and Harper-Yamaguchi perform together. Heavy guitar riffs typical for Jones’ signature style meshed together with a dreamy, glossy production finish that’s commonly seen in SAINT’s most hard-hitting tracks provide the framework for the long-awaited official collaboration between the two artists and give fans what they were asking for. The lyrics tell a story of starcrossed love, giving fans sufficient reason to go crazy with their theories: „Wide awake all night thinking about you / Do you think of me too?“ SAINT belts, sometimes overpowered by the strong instrumental, but it comes off as purposeful, as if her insecurity is being drowned out by the noise of everyday life. „I keep on losing track of time / Cause what’s the point if you’re not by my side?“ Jones questions, and I’m sure after seeing this powerful display of compatibility, fans wonder the same thing.

#4 The Rainbow Flag Moment

Something a lot of people who don’t necessarily listen to SAINT’s music can attribute to them is a series of tweets they made around the time the Legends Awards nominations were announced. They expressed frustration about the gendered categories that barred them as a gender-nonconforming artist from being nominated in some categories, which heated the discussion of inclusion of nonbinary performers in an increasingly diverse industry and cemented the 19-year-old as an important figure in the LGBTQ+ community. On the other hand, Sebby Jones’ band, Undead, has just very recently come out of a controversy concerning the use of misogynistic and homophobic language. When a pride flag was thrown on stage during an interlude, Jones eagerly picked it up, presenting it to the audience, which led to mixed reactions in the audience, with some boos ensuing and several people gesturing for him to hand it over to SAINT, who reacted with irritation: „We’re not doing this.“, they stated, taking over the mic to remind the crowd that Jones, who is bisexual, was also a member of the community and „shows people a lot more kindness than I do“. Jones appeared slightly shaken by the crowd’s reaction, but seemed equally happy for his friend’s support.

#5 The Encore

By the time the crowd was begging for an encore, I was sold - the two artists had taken all of us into their two deeply distinct worlds: Jones’ sensations of anger, fear and perseverance in a world that is inherently against you, juxtaposed with Harper-Yamaguchi’s mindset of hazy sentimentality, regret and yearning, as well as the realisation that to her, the scary thing about the world isn’t its hostility, but its indifference. The two forces bleed into each other repeatedly over the course of the evening, allowing fans of one of the artists to get to know the other, giving them a chance to understand who they are and why their bond is self-described as invaluable. I had reached the end of the show, being sure that this was my takeaway; that this concert experience was crafted in a way that allows two very different camps of young people to gain appreciation for the other, because their idols have always held this appreciation. And then, both of them returned to give us one last encore - as a professional, I thought I knew what to expect: A final collaboration tying their styles together before sending the crowd off; yet what we good was so much more unique than that: A true-to-the-source-material cover of actress Lucia Hernandez’ (22) 2009-blunder „Friday“. The crowd went wild (partly, as I found out later, because of a viral video that showed the two partying to the notorious bop at a karaoke-club a few weeks ago) and I was completely transfixed, quietly cursing at myself because this completely messed with the holistic picture I had of the show. I wasn’t sure what to make of it - but I couldn’t help but cheer along with the crowd, because SAINT taught me that nothing matters, and Sebby Jones taught me that sometimes, Friday can happen on a Tuesday.

#submission #saint #sebby jones

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hellsbellschime · 2 years

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I keep thinking about the inevitable possibility that somewhere up the road there will be another he tries to victimize. And after the hell AH has gone thru they won’t speak out for fear of what he and his cult following will do to them.

I think it’s very apparent how JD escalated to physical violence. Like he may not have pushed KM down the stairs like the rumors claimed, but he was literally arrested in the 90s for trashing a hotel room because they got into a screaming match and even a friend of JD’s (director john waters) mentioned how they would constantly be screaming at each other. Hmm… what is the common denominator between those 2 relationships 🤔

Speaking of KM she once said about the breakup “There’s nobody that’s ever really been able to take care of me. Johnny did for a bit. I believed what he said. Like if I said, ‘What do I do?,’ he’d tell me. And that’s what I missed when I left. I really lost that gauge of somebody I could trust.” Sorry, but looking from the outside this screams controlling to me. Maybe I’m reading too much into this? But the fact that she cried over him for years and felt completely lost once he left makes me feel like there was some emotional abuse and manipulation. Add that to the history of verbal abuse with them… yeah not buying the love story myself.

Idk I’m just genuinely baffled how someone with a history of violent outbursts, verbal abuse, and heavy drug use like JD somehow managed to paint the picture he was an innocent victim of AH. Like his PR campaign went super hard in bringing up her past of being arrested for allegedly assaulting her ex (which she was never formally charged and her ex spoke in support of AH), but everyone seems to conveniently forget that JD has had a much longer lineage of domestic violence/disturbance himself.

It's very strange and yet another bad precedent to set, like if you need someone else to have already been abused in order for people to believe that said person abused you, then you are requiring that multiple people be abused in order to have even a shot at being believed. I guess I just don't get why people are hearing hoofbeats and thinking zebras instead of horses, like people legitimately have an easier time believing that Gone Girl is a docudrama inspired by Amber Heard than they have believing that someone who has a record of violent outbursts and an obvious long-term substance abuse problem probably acted out violently when under the influence. I almost wonder if that is a mitigating factor though, like so many people have a history with substance abusers who are abusive while under the influence, and perhaps they're negating what JD did because to acknowledge that that's abuse would also mean they'd have to completely reexamine their own lives and think about terrible, unfair things that happened to them. Or worse, that they may have done themselves.

#celebrities for ts

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husky-twst-and-obeyme · 3 years

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Anon Asked : "You know how some twst fan artists like to draw Yuu with their face blocked out, usually by Grim? I have this headcanon that in the Twisted Wonderland universe, it’s impossible to get a picture of Yuu, there’s always someone standing in front of them, a piece of paper floating by, or they’re just out of frame, but no one noticed until after the picture was taken. No one knows why, Rook even tried to draw them once but a Pomefiore first year spilled nail polish on the picture when he finished. " I do like that idea! I did see one artist who just had a mickey shaped head with blank eyes and it really looked cool! Now as for the scenario or story i will only do Dorm leaders for this situation, if anyone wishes for more i will provide ! BUT i have a small twist :) Warnings: Cursing Riddle

Riddle wasn't sure why but he it really irritated him how whenever they did civil group pictures, you always end up blocked or something happens to you in your part of the picture

It's not your fault really but it bugs him

he made it a goal to get a perfect picture , such as asking for a selfie

He actually wasn't a fan of it but he wanted at least ONE good picture of you because he cherishes his friends

but EVERY. SINGLE . TIME . IT'S THE SAME-

He's frustrated to no end

He eventually gave up and just accepted fate

he even tried to draw you and it somehow got ruined which made his mood worst

At one point , you came to him with a strawberry tart to cheer him up but he was really pouty

You asked if he wanted to try the selfie again but you hold the phone , which he reluctantly agreed to

afterwards when you left , he went to see the picture and he couldn't believe his damn eyes

a perfect picture of you and him

" i don't know if i want to cry of joy or behead them . "

He stilled loved the photo and refused to show anyone else in case it somehow got ruined or deleted

Leona

He wasn't too interested in photos but in your case it caught his interest slightly

he noticed from school activity photos that your face was always somehow ruined.

he thought it was funny but rare

so he tasked ruggie to take a picture for a small amount , mainly because he thought it would be easy

plus it's not like he wants a photo of you for anything psssshh

but when ruggie returned , he was frustrated and tired

confused leona questioned him

"Leona san. i loved getting money from you but i might just not even try anymore ..."

he got baffled that Ruggie had given up money for any easy task. or so he thought was easy

So thinking ruggie was being lazy , he went to do it himself

as a predator, he knows how to be sneaky and hide well , so once he locked you in , he took a snap

he looks ats the photo completely ruined

he took another , ruined. once again , it was ruined

he repeats many tries after and it all ends the same

" ahh fuck it ... " and went for a nap

later on you wanted a selfie with leona

being smug he said " would you even get the picture right ?~"

with a pout " of course i can!" you posed for the picture and snapped

he took a glance and he'll be damned ,, it was perfect

" don't talk to me for the next few day, herbivore."

"huh-"

Azul

azul didn't like photos , much at least because of certain ones of his past

though he took note of a particular incident

(Event after chapter 3) when you all took a picture at the museum , he noticed that your part of the picture , floyd's arm covered your face

He thought nothing of it until he noticed it often

Ace took a photo of you and deuce and somehow grim flew in front of your face

Cater took a selfie but it ended up blurred

it was pointless but hard to ignore so he assigned Jade and floyd into getting the perfect picture of you

after a couple hours, jade and floyd came back frustrated

even jade looked visibly irritated which was VERY rare to the point it scared Azul

they showed him nothing but blurry pics, he knew something was up because even jade wouldn't fail this bad

He knew he couldn't stand the chance if the tweels failed

but later on , you wanted to take a selfie with him

he refused immediately but you promised to keep the photo private , then he did agree , reculantantly

His immediate thought was that the picture would of been ruined anyways but was shocked to see a cute selfie of him and you

"....send me that picture . " you turned to him "what???" "SEN ME THAT PICTURE"

Kalim

We all know this absolute dork would love to take pictures , possibly from Cater's influence , because he sees it as a fun thing to do

So you , being one of his favorite people, he obviously wants a good photo of you

but to his disappointment, when he wanted to take a pic of you while you were at the gardens, it turned out super blurry

he thought nothing of it , just might of moved a bit , until the next one came blurry

he was getting semi frustrated and you had already left , so for once, he was actually grumpy to the point where he just asked Jamil to take a good picture for him

he felt lowkey bad of course but he was a tiny bit frustrated

Jamil didn't care until he had the same issue

Jamil tried a it but gave up when he kept getting the same result

then kalim was just sad , he just wanted a cute picture of you

you visited one day and he was his usual self but you here reminded him of the picture incident

you offered to try again , he was hard for him to say no to you

but after looking..you took a perfect photo

he wanted to cry and you were just so confused

hug him he needs it

Vil

Vil is a perfectionist of course, which includes photos too

you , him and a few others went on a small trip , you wanting to take a photo to remember the trip

you're one of the only people he's allowed for a picture minus fans because he's aware you just want a genuine picture and knows you won't share/ brag about it

Rook offered to take the photo

you two posed and rook took the shot but Vil automatically saw Rook's confused face

"Rook?.. is there a problem?" "non non roi du poison! I must of moved a little fast, part of it came blurry

he didn't think on it , just a small mistake no biggy

that was until the problem kept repeating itself

Irrigated , he took the camera and looked at the photos , each and every one of them was blurred of were you were at while vil looked completely fine

he slowly looked at you while you just stood there worried that we weren't going to get a picture

"Vil senpai? maybe i can just take a selfie? Rook's camera's probably broken"

sighing in defeat , he agreed ,after getting in a cute pose , you snapped a photo

he took a look and he was legit about to burst

It was an absolute beautiful picture

He was stunned that you did an even better job then rook

might make you his photographer

Idia

we all know for a fact, he hates pictures , at least mainly of himself

though he doesn't mind pictures of you

of course , he doesn't take pics of you willy nilly , he asks you first because he'd be hypocrite to take a picture of someone who didn't want a photo

You often cosplayed as some of his favorite characters and of course he'd want a picture of it but he was in for a surprise

The first time you cosplayed in front of him , he asked and you agreed

he snapped the photo , it blurred

he got irritated but thought nothing of it and tried again

still failed

he has plenty of cameras ( I dunno it's for the story make up your own reason XD ) and used a different one to get a photo

it failed and he tried many times , it was too a point he built up the courage *cough*two hours*cough to ask rook to help

he was dumbfounded when rook couldn't do well

you later went home , while idia was sad , he really wnated to take a good pic

soon after, you sent him a text

"I'm sorry you couldn't get a cute picture earlier, so i took a shot at it with a selfie!"

and there he saw the perfect picture

"...what the f**k is this voodoo magic- "

he of course loved it but he was so confused

Malleus

oh boy here we go-

he was still confused on the idea of photos

but he thought it was similar to a painting but it's instant

so of course he wants one with you

he attempts to use an old style camera (hey be lucky he made it this far)

he sets it up to where it takes a picture with a timer and you both pose

After it was done, he looked at the photo and somehow it blurred

he just thought it was a small mistake and tried again

second time, same result

this is where his temper slowly rises and it's shown every time it fails

and after about the 20th time , he smashes the camera

you attempt to calm him down and offered to use your phone

he agrees because he trusts you more than a dumb camera

after you took the photo, he was very happy , it looked wonderful

he didn't care about the camera anymore, he just cared that he got a good photo

I hope you enjoyed!

#twst disney #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarbia #pomefoire #ignihyde #diasomnia

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 7

Summary: In order to win, she might have to lose.

Warnings: angst, swearing, bit of fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six

=================================

Waking up to skies lit by the wintry sun is what Y/N expected. In the back of her mind, she remembers opening her eyes. Perhaps it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but she could swear she heard Aleksander’s voice softly speaking to her.

Telling dreams from reality felt like an impossible task, but if it were a dream, would she really dream of him?

Death never crossed her mind. She was a soldier in an expendable army for most of her life, yet she never feared death. There was never a lingering sense of what if when they asked her if she believed in life after death, but she wondered now. Looking death in the eye had forced a realization upon her – she would die and achieve nothing. She married arguably the most powerful man in all of Ravka and she failed to utilize it. In the end, her name would be forgotten in history for her plans would all die with her.

Inhaling sharply, she wanted to open her eyes. A heaviness settles on her eyelids, making her groan. Her entire body felt dismantled, every nerve bare, inflicting pain.

“It’s alright”, a hand pressed to her forehead and Y/N frowns. Breathing heavily, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flutter open. With blurry vision, she looked up at the dark presence looming above her. Blinking fast, her lips part and before she can ask, cool liquid runs down her parched throat.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes closed again. She needed a moment to collect herself, to stop the world from spinning.

“It hurts”, she mumbles meekly.

“Shhh”, his voice reaches her. “I’m here”, she feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, “You’re safe.”

Resisting sleep, she opened her eyes once more. The sight of his tormented gaze leaves her nearly breathless. He’s still handsome, but it looks as if he’s aged ten years in just a few days.

“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse, still raspy from thirst and sleep.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a week”, his forehead wrinkles, “We’ve just made it back.”

Despite the little voice in his head, the Darkling held onto his wife throughout the night. He kept her close to his chest, running his fingers through her hair. She was exhausted, injured so badly he could hear the strain her body was under with every breath she took.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted and his pressed in a thin line. Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that – so delicate, so fragile, could have any power over him. It baffles him just how quickly he found himself attached to this woman who was unremarkable in every possible way – or so he told himself.

Truth be told, he couldn’t take his eyes off her since he first saw her. She radiates genuine beauty few possess, a confidence he’s never found in anyone in hundreds of years, and an air of mystery he couldn’t quite understand.

By the time morning light reached their tent, the Darkling just stared at her with care, studying every inch of her face as if it could be the last time he’ll ever be given a chance. He memorized the way she fit in his embrace, the rhythm of her beating heart in the dead of night and every labored breath as it threatened his sanity.

Anger was his best friend for so long, his shield against humanity, but his anger wasn’t all-consuming as it once was – it was directed to those who caused the swelling around her eyes and cuts across her cheekbones.

“General”, Ivan’s head peaked inside the tent only to swiftly disappear once he caught sight of a moment he was sure wasn’t meant for his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling gently laid her head down. Caressing her cheek, he let a heavy sigh pass his lips. It’s been too long since he last felt so defenseless and helpless as he did now. He promised himself he’d never feel that way again and yet he found himself in the same cursed whirlwind of emotions as he was in when the fold came to be.

Biting his lower lip, he pushed it all down. If he’s distraught, his people would know. He cannot be emotional and still lead an army. He has to be strong – for Grisha and for Y/N.

“Ivan, we’ll have to find a healer soon”, Kirigan spoke in a hushed tone. Glancing at the tent, he felt a lump growing at the back of his throat. “I believe she’s developed a fever too.”

“Fedyor can try to cool her temperature”, Ivan offers, “He’ll slow her heart and keep her breathing. I’ll trade with him if necessary.”

Nodding, the general was satisfied with Ivan’s solution. For once, Ivan didn’t question why he wanted to protect her. This time, he was offered aid rather than words of discouragement.

“I’ll have to leave some of our own here”, Kirigan looks at the direction they came from. “The Fjerdans came too close and I need to know why. Why would they take my wife?”

Ivan lowers his voice, making sure he doesn’t wake up Y/N, “Perhaps it was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when her safety is at stake.”

Nodding, Ivan glances at Fedyor. He’d be the same if anyone touched his beloved. Suppressing a smile, Ivan finally realized it – no matter how vehemently the general denies it, his heart is no longer his.

“What are the orders? I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Take back what they took, place their heads on a stake and wait. More should come soon and when they do, I want to know why they came so close to Little Palace and who ordered them to take my wife.”

Squinting, not in anger but to see him better, Y/N frowns, “A week?”

“Winter made it hard for us to move faster and you were in no shape to ride back.”

Letting out a shaky breath of air, she raised an eyebrow, “So you carried me?”

“Ivan and Fedyor kept you alive too.”

Wetting her chapped lips, she hesitated. Her fingers burned, itching to touch him, to intertwine with his.

“A healer should be here any minute now”, Aleksander informed, pulling his hand out of hers as if he could sense her inner battles and decided to help her by removing himself from it entirely.

“No”, she decided.

Standing abruptly, his jaw clenched. Despite his stern expression, his eyes hold all the sadness in the world, pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.

“No?” He repeats with disdain, “What do you mean by no?”

Holding her breath, she endures a sharp pain in her ribcage as she propped herself up on her elbows. Breathing heavily, she directed her determined gaze on him. “I’m human, am I not?”

Squinting at her, his lips part, “And?”

Struggling to prevent herself from laughing at the way he looked at her now, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Humans aren’t allowed aid of a healer. We go to the medics.”

“You’re my wife”, he remarks almost instantaneously, slightly wishing she remained unconscious for a while longer. If she slept, the healer would have done their job and there would be no argument. There was no doubt about it, their truce was over.

“But I’m still a human. The rest of my kind don’t have the privilege of being married to you.” Her voice is stern, low and frustratingly righteous.

“You need a healer or you might not survive”, Aleksander insisted.

“Then let me die.” She stared at him, no signs of crumbling and it made him feel like he’s drowning.

Rubbing his forehead, the Darkling shut his eyes in frustration. After all the sleepless nights, his head felt like it would implode. All he had on his mind was her safety and now when he brought her home, she refused help.

“What do you want?”

Knitting her eyebrows, she glanced at his jaw as it clenched. “What?”

Her voice is higher, almost confused but he knew better than that. “I’ve known you for almost two months.” Two months too long, he thought. “I know when you’re trying to extort me.”

Covering her mouth, Y/N suppressed a laugh. Truth be told, it’s exactly what she’s doing, she just didn’t expect him to cave so quickly.

“Healers for the First army”, her lips twitch. Pursing her lips, she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from smiling at all costs.

“No”, he spoke through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, she laid back down. “Alright then. I only regret I won’t be here to hear you explain my death to the Tsar and my father.”

Growling under his breath, he swipes his hand down his face. “One healer.”

“Two”, she argued, sitting up with a pained expression on her face.

“We can’t spare two”, the Darkling crosses his arms, his eyes darker than ever before.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Two healers or no deal.”

Releasing a long, heavy breath in frustration, the Darkling felt his insides turn. “Two healers but only for those who can’t get better with a week long rest on their own.”

“Two healers for those who can’t get better in a few days of rest AND the same amount of food and water for the First army.”

Running a hand through his hair, the general’s nostrils flare. Cracking his neck to the left, to the right, he turned his death glare back on his wife. “Food and water are limited for Grisha as well.”

“I saw them eat grapes”, Y/N deadpans. “You have enough, so share. If the First army dies out, who will protect your precious Grisha?”

Folding her hands in her lap, she maintained eye contact with the general who refused to blink. He stared back at her, aghast. The woman was impossible! She made every word that passed her lips a contest of wills.

His jaw set, he moved closer to stand before her. He looked formidable with the relentless, firm pools of black ink for eyes devouring her with intensity, too hard in comparison to what she had seen in the tent. He looked like he could kill her without even putting a hand on her…something she still expected him to do.

What was stopping him? She was far behind enemy lines, no reinforcements and she saw what he can do – he could kill everyone who stood in his way.

“Fine”, he huffs. “Under one condition.”

Rolling her eyes, she nods, “What is it?”

“I want a kiss.”

Her eyes flashed to his. Ringed with golden bruises, she was still alluring – like a wildfire or a storm. No…she is wildfire, a storm. She is deadly and uncontrollable and slightly out of her wits and he’s asking her to be his ruination. It isn’t love, he tells himself, it’s obsession.

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N didn’t bother hiding her surprise. A kiss? Of all the things he could have asked, the big bad general who can summon shadows is asking for a kiss?

A part of her trusted Aleksander and that trust demanded intimacy. She wanted his hands on her – in her hair, his lips on her neck. She longed to be vulnerable and that’s what worried her. Trusting him, needing him, it’s bound to breed love and self-inflicted madness. If it were anything else, she would outright refuse him, but she has so many lives dependent on her answer.

“Tonight”, she decided. If her own sanity is the price to pay, she will do what she has to do.

Nodding, the Darkling retreated. Leaving the room, he opened the door for the healer to enter. Sparing her a quick look, he swallowed thickly as the thought of her willingly kissing him made his heart slam into the rib cage. Even his heart wanted to escape him as it too longed for her hands’ touch.

He didn’t make more than two steps outside the room when a Grisha joined him - one of his many spies.

“What do you have for me?”

The spy beckons him to the side, looking around wildly. “This could change everything.”

“What is it?” The Darkling speaks through gritted teeth, demanding an answer.

“There is talk”, the spy pauses, “Of a Sun Summoner.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Healed, bathed and properly fed, Y/N had paced their room in anticipation of his arrival. She had seen the look in his eyes earlier that day – something between them has changed.

As the door opens, her breath halts inside her throat.

“I thought you were lost”, Genya admitted. “When they found your mare, I lost hope.”

Smiling, Y/N cupped her cheek. “I did too”, she sniffled.

The Darkling felt, more than saw, her presence as he entered the room. He turned slowly, his breath held. Her hair looked darker in the candlelight, its rich color gleaming against the green velvet of fresh sheets on the bed she leaned against. He could hardly speak. The nearness of her, the quiet room, the candlelight made him question the reality of what he was looking at.

“You look better”, Aleksander managed a curt smile, looking at Y/N and her attire. The sheer nightdress she wore was back, perfectly outlining her figure.

“Why did they take you?” Genya asked, unshead tears weighing heavily on her eyes. “Did they know?”

“No”, Y/N shakes her head, “But they found out.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kirigan killed them all.” Y/N glanced at the door where she expected her husband to appear later on.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N felt her heart flip. “It helped me realize something.”

Frowning, Genya waited for Y/N to explain.

“Your General does have a heart”, she states. His request for a kiss lingered in every thought her mind could concoct.

She stared at him then slowly untied the belt of her robe and it glided languidly over her smooth skin, falling to her feet.

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled.

“Of course he does”, Genya chuckles, “He was most worried when you were taken. He promised he’d kill them all and bathe in their blood.”

“I think I can use that.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya’s frown deepened. “How?”

Pressing her lips, Y/N sighed. “In order for me to win”, she paused, “He needs to believe he did.”

“Husband”, she spoke clearly. She feigned confidence, but inside she quivered.

She had barely finished the syllable when she was in his arms, being carried to their bed, his lips already fastened to hers. She felt his lips hit hers like a tornado, his admission of burning the world in her name spinning in her head. It could have been a fever dream, but she would bet her life it wasn’t.

Holding her chin in place, he rested his forehead on hers, heaving from the kiss. She couldn’t open her eyes, clinging to him for dear life, but even with eyes closed, Y/N could hear the emotions thick in his voice.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not willing.” He whispered against his lips, all too prepared for his hands to roam her body now.

Y/N was afraid of herself as well as of him. He could sense it as he kissed her. He’d waited a long time for her to come to him and now it seems she was more than ready to give herself to him without his talk of her marital duty.

He expected anything but to find her with her arms wide open. But even now, as he held her, he felt no great sense of triumph.

Pulling the sheet over her, he stood. “I can wait.”

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken. Her lips were hard, as if carved of marble and he ached to part them into a smile.

Turning away, he began undressing himself for bed, wondering how he could survive a night beside her if she remains as she is now.

She averts her gaze, whispering under her breath in confusion, “Wait?”

He laid beside her, barely dressed at all. She found herself achingly aware of his presence. The only light in the room was from the flames of candles she placed across the room. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the arrangement their marriage was meant to be. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, one he never expected to claim. She seemed too headstrong to ever give into his charm, yet she bared herself before him and he couldn’t take advantage of her.

“Why don’t you want me?” She sat up, glaring at him. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze.

Rolling his eyes, he looks away. How can she torment him like this with no shame?

If anything, he felt like she’s attacking him. “I don’t want to hear about how a demon took you by force for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Aleksander is a general, a conqueror at heart and she saw the desire in his eyes. If there was any hope of her plan to work, she had to harness his desire to convince him he won.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Aleksander nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He wanted to possess her, to claim this difficult, headstrong woman for himself. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Aleksander chuckle into the kiss.

“Let me help you,” Aleksander purred and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress.

Wrapping his hand around Y/N’s neck, his grip was oddly weak, gentle even. She laid nude before him, his gaze fixed on her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

“You make me feel”, he pauses in anguish, “You make me feel”, he said quietly, fiercely, “And I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the ruthless general in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A general isn’t gentle at all, not like Aleksander could be. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Aleksander stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Your hands are bloody from murder”, she paused, “But I trust them completely.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the pace of her pulse.

With one thigh, Aleksander parted hers. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the intimate parts she never allowed another only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, he found if applied enough pressure a desperate moan escapes her without a fail. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when control escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Aleksander pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, he stops for a moment. Looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, he wonders if she even realizes what is about to happen.

“Do you want this?” He asks again, fearing she may change her mind.

Gripping his arm, she nods. “Yes”, she replies, breathless.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Aleksander starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for the nerve bundle between her folds. Every passing second draws louder moans from her until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, he finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to finish deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Aleksander decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants his embrace, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. It’s been so long since he truly slept – since the day they went for that ride.

He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

Waiting for a few minutes, Y/N pretended to sleep. After the hurricane of emotions he’d given her, Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to relax, to sleep in bliss, but a part of her ached. She ached for who she used to be. Would her father hate her for what she just did? Would her people denounce her for sleeping with the enemy?

Her eyes opened wide, finding his are still closed. Lips quivering, she felt herself crumble as tears fled her eyes. She watched his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself to stop crying. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her when he rescued her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the general.

=============================

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Part 8

#the darkling x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander x reader #shadown and bone

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oneoftheprettynerds · 3 years

Text

Middle Of The Night: Dark! Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 7 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 6: Don’t Let Me Down

Main Masterlist

Warning: Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Drugs, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, Mental breakdown, attempted murder. attempted assault, injury and blood mentions.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Word count: 7K

Chapter 7: Middle Of The Night

Steve stood horrified at the prospect of having his good friend and ex-girlfriend Sharon be the supreme villain here. He genuinely believed they ended their fling on good terms. He remembered them parting ways from the amazing casual sex they had and other steamy encounters because she wanted out, from the violence, from all the blood. She confessed that desire to him, of not wanting to take her family’s mantle in the mob and leave the illegal trade after her dad’s inevitable death hastened due to a chronic illness.

She had made the decision of letting her brothers be crowned and had walked away with the idea of a fashion boutique and establishment, her trust fund money and whatever she got from the will. From what Steve knew, she had left this life long ago; this was before Sarah, of course.

“That-that doesn’t make any sense Tony.” Steve stammered, his hand in his blond locks and eyes wide, darting between the screens open there, the documents showing transactions and all possible evidence Tony could have gathered to prove his point.

“Well, everything is right in front of you, Cap. From what I have gathered, she has been back in the scene since a few months. She sold half her company and has decided to retrace her steps behind to the family business. It was a surprise that even Pepper didn’t know about the sale, considering she put up the façade of being her best friend and Maid of Honor.” Tony shook his head in mock disappointment, taking a drink of his liquor and strolling about the space.

“But why would she go after her? And why, why would she not come to us all for support, instead go with Rumlow! That bastard of all?”

Steve look genuinely baffled, almost like a child who had been asked something out of his syllabus and has been left to his own wit for answering. He really prided himself on being well-versed about everything but these hard-hitting facts were something he couldn’t have conjured even in fiction.

“Wow, Capsicle, that oblivious, huh? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Tony snickered. He wouldn’t admit but Steve looked really hilarious on being caught off guard. He really did wonder if blondie didn’t know about Sharon’s wittle crush.

Steve on the other hand grew exasperated, every little revelation perplexed him and he couldn’t digest it. He would’ve been able to, if his friend, just for one minute, could stop with the sarcasm.

“Sharon was head over heels for you; Pepper told me all about her weird wet dreams involving you, honestly killed my mood for a few days there.”

Steve’s head snapped up and he reeled back.

“But on a serious note, I think she planted the bugs in my home just to get a head-start after missing out on a few years. The videos are from around the date the carnival bombing happened, so nobody knew of your lady back then, not even Pepper to babble and relay. In fact, Sharon even planned to confess to you on our wedding as you both would have been our best men and maids and stuff. I don’t think she was Rumlow’s accomplice when they attacked Sarah, but I’m sure she is involved now.”

Tony moved around and opened some bank statements, on the pop-up screen, the video minimizing as he went about the proof. “They used a series of intermediate accounts for the transition but I was able to track the entire path from Rumlow’s account. The source is Sharon so there most definitely is some arrangement between them now, and most likely seems against you. Not gonna lie, I’m a little hurt over how she tried to betray me for what I assume is her romantics but I’ll let this slide, your problem is sort of bigger.”

“Tony, what about her brothers? Are all the Carters against us now? I need to know what I’m up preparing for, just her or have we lost the support from the entire family?”

“I think they aren’t happy with her returning; I mean she up and left them, thinking she was above them and now that they had tripled their profits she came back for her share. That’s why she had a lot of money this time around, enough to sponsor Rumlow, they gave her the final one-third of the lineage and cut all ties with her from what I know. So, she does not have support from her brothers because her brothers would never risk losing our alliance if they are sensible.”

That was a relief; the Carter household was not one Steve would’ve wanted to go against. They had been around since his own lineage had started. It would’ve have been one of those battles whose outcome one couldn’t predict. The victory could’ve been either’s but the bloodshed would have been both’s.

“Now onto your dearie’s location, I wasn’t able to track the call either so I don’t know for sure. One more day is what I need for that. But from what my wit could deduce, since you’ve already scoured all of Rumlow’s properties and other shady places, is that it has to be one of Sharon’s places. Her family has sixteen houses in the city, and since we don’t know which ones she got after the partition, it’s a long shot. I know the one she is in but I hardly think your girl is being kept there.” Tony fingers worked magically as the city’s map opened up and sixteen red pins showed on the screen.

“I suggest you don’t go barging in all of them or even one of them until absolutely sure cause they might move her if you give away your edge about Sharon’s involvement. They think they have the lead since you last searched Rumlow’s properties in vain.”

Steve absorbed each of his words in, and he felt relief fill him for the first time in the past couple of days. He was thankful beyond what words could express; and he had no choice but to admire his friend for performing a better job than him and pulling through. Even though there was still a lot to figure out for now; when he’d get you back safe, the credit will go to Tony. This was a favor he could never repay, much like what you did for Sarah.

Steve’s cell brought him out of his reverie, he was a millisecond close to shedding a tear and hugging Tony. His gratitude turned to wonder as he saw the name, wondering why Sam was calling. He didn’t know the reason but it must have been important.

“It’s Rogers.” Steve spoke in his usual tone when dealing with matters of the mob, the tone that demanded respect and regard.

“It’s Sam. I have some news. So I was trying to find some clues and voila! I did. I have two conclusions.”

Steve perked at that, opting to listen to his friend’s deductions and then inform him of what he learnt.

“Go ahead.” His palm pressed on the table as he leaned forward, back still as straight as it could be.

“The place she was in, the dungeon or the cell, whatever, had a brick and cement, raw sort of a wall and I realized I have seen the same basements in yours and Bucky’s homes. Turns out it was a popular pattern for basements inside houses of the forties. Since out city has gone through a lot of recent modifications, there are only about seventy of those houses in the city radius, untouched from decades.”

Steve applauded Sam for the news and asked Tony, still on the call himself, “It is one of the antique family properties. Tony, eliminate all the apartments and the new ones.”

Tony worked wonders with his fingers and replied, “That leaves six. Better.”

Sam continued, “And from the calls, I was able to separate a sound of a ship, maybe a cruise ship, in the background so it has to be one of the waterfront properties.”

God had just blessed him.

On the map, that left only one red pin. “Tony it’s that one.” Steve pointed.

“Please don’t!” You swatted away Rumlow’s hand that had managed to tear away your grimy shirt from your neck to your navel. With more of your skin on display, you felt naked as his eyes appreciated the ways your bra clung to your torso, the soft curves just inviting him to squish them. Innocent and actually pretty women were few and far between in this life.

Sure, he could always get a prostitute, but there was something you had and all of them didn’t. He would love nothing more than to rip you of the only dignity you had here, the one that will leave you empty and hollow, in an endless abyss of obscurity. That high, of destroying someone’s life, was better than any drug honestly.

He was coming to get you back, just hold on precious.

Accepting death will be easier for you then, when broken and shattered completely down to your soul; so really, he was just doing you a favour.

The ruthless man in front of you just smirked, his hand coming at the speed of light and in a moment, he had your chest pressed to the uncomfortable metal desk. He had twisted your arm and as soon as you had fallen, he reunited your limbs in his grip. You shrieked involuntarily as your cheek flattened against the unforgiving metal and as he twisted your wrists to make you yield.

“C’mon, would it really be ‘The Brock Rumlow’ if I don’t have a taste of Roger’s pussy? Your eyes and ass are begging me to test that cunt.” He ugly snickered, his voice a baritone.

You felt pathetic; just a day ago you were planning of ‘buying Steve time’ and ‘figuring out a way’, and now you were bent over the desk, in the exact position this criminal wanted you. You felt degraded being labelled as someone’s property and about to be used as a toy, more so for a sick man’s pleasure.

Your tears blurred your vision as tried to breathe, trying to stay conscious. You didn’t want to lose your senses and leave your body to his rough, unkind hands but the question was, did you really want to stay awake to experience this? Your rape?

The index of his free hand slid down your spine and to the waist of your lowers, snapping the elastic there, the recoil of it stinging. His palm pressed there as he gripped your waist in an unrelenting grip; he didn’t care about your well-being and it showed in the way he handled you. His caress was not welcomed but it was there, his scent engulfed your senses just as snugly as his body had you.

You mumbled your God’s name, praying so that they might save you. Your faith had almost broken, you didn’t deserve this nor the ensuing chaotic death. Were you reaping this because you murdered a man, took away a life?

His belt buckle’s sound made you whimper harder, your tears racing down your cheeks, so unwavering as if eager to win the sprint. Your nails dug into your palms and you swallowed, trying to let the abyss claim your senses. Anything would be better than this, than having this etched in your memory forever.

The universe didn’t allow that reprieve but fortunately, came with a better offer, a loud banging interrupting him and his deed. The door opened and you saw a man, tattooed the same as him, buff but short.

Rumlow snarled, “Didn’t I say no interruptions?!” His joy and high from violating you had been replaced by imminent rage, being interrupted during his playtime with the new toy. Seemed like his idiot men couldn’t follow even simple orders. The man didn’t even flinch at his tone but you did, already alarmed and afraid of him and what all he could do to you.

“The Johnsons showed up early for the meet. I have them in the study.”

“Fuckers. I’ll be back soon, corpse-lady, for your last gift on Earth, some awesome sex.” Rumlow grumbled curses as he adjusted his belt and his hands left yours. You didn’t move from your position; you didn’t want to face him or look at him, ever again. You lifted your head slightly and turned to press your forehead instead of your cheek on the table. Gaining control of your breathing became easier when they left and you collapsed on your knees minutes later, leaning against the nearest wall.

You could still feel his body heat, how close he held you and how surreal it all was. You were seconds away from being assaulted; no matter how much you dried your tears, they kept their flow; no matter how much you rubbed your wrists, his bruising grip scarred its memory into your tissue with all the ache it left, you felt only broken and hollow.

You snapped your head up faster than a dog’s at the heavy sound of boots scraping against the floors. Guns firing off continuously and deafening explosions startled you. Your face was still wet from when you washed it seconds ago in the dingy bathroom.

Rumlow hadn’t returned since the molesting and the guard outside took it to himself to provide you your well-deserved bathroom break.

Please Steve, save me, you’re my only hope. Get out of this hell.

Your usual fifteen minutes were far from over but the ruckus and chaos ensuing from the floor above cut your peace short. You weren’t mad though, only pumped. This building under distress, might have endangered your life to some extent you’d admit, but, but the turbulence guaranteed disruption and their disruption was a distraction, so you could something to save your ass.

If anything, this was the moment your God granted you. Not what you had imagined, but you didn’t have a lot of choices.

You pressed your ear flat against the door to hear any clue of your personal body guard. You hoped he had been called away because it did look like the chaos above would demand that. You didn’t know what was happening but you knew gunfire meant a battle above, hopefully in need of more soldiers.

“A-3 unit, outside the cell, New Guy stay guard, other two, report upstairs, now!” Since you heard no movement of the guard just outside, you assumed, the newbie was the one already with you.

It’s okay, a small misfortune. You, you can improvise, right? You looked into your reflection, a light there for the first time in days. You had been given a second chance, at life, one you couldn’t afford to waste no matter how difficult proceeding from here was. Your fists clenched as adrenaline pumped through your body, pupils dilating and a hint of optimism shining through.

You brought your fist up and punched the mirror like you’ve been wanting to do from your first day in captivity, your large image immediately breaking into a million smaller reflections. It seemed that the guard outside did manage to hear you above all the ruckus upstairs as he opened the door swiftly. Luckily, your movements had more agility than his.

You grabbed a large chunk that fell in the porcelain sink and stabbed his neck. You didn’t know how you managed to catch the man off guard but you did. He collapsed with eyes wide in fear, his hands, clutching around his neck, trying to keep the glass piece in but you pulled it out hard and fast, so the bleeding would quicken and the enemy would weaken.

You really didn’t want to murder this guy, but you were just a mother trying to make it out to protect your kid. You would always do anything if it meant the safety of Grace, no questions and now it seemed no morals either.

After all, didn’t he just stand outside hearing your pleas when Rumlow put his filthy hands on you, a millisecond close to raping you? Scum like them deserved to die.

You knew your mind was just trying to justify this murder of yours because you needed to carry on, quick and now, but maybe you knew you would hate yourself for hurting this person if you made it out of here but you decided that was a worry for your future self. Right now, in this very moment, you just wanted to make it to your future self, a person that was alive, breathing and with Grace.

Was this really what you had come to? How can you even claim to be better than these criminals if you did the same? Didn’t you just contemplate being punished because of a deed like this?

You could blame the circumstances for now but you knew, the cost of surviving, getting out of here and into the arms of your precious child would be your peace of mind. Even if the epinephrin commanded your actions, you would have to take accountability if you made out of here.

The man’s eyes fluttered open and close as he pressed on his neck and you broke out of your reverie, hands quick to the grab the gun and the transceiver at his waist.

Your hands stung as you aimed it at him, realizing now that your palm was slashed from when you struck the man and knuckles broken and raw from when you punched the mirror. You threw the electronic device at him and he glared, eyes spiteful as he held on for life.

“Call emergency for you. Nothing about me.” You hissed loudly and he heard it as clear as a day, one of his hands pathetically lifting it up.

You stepped forward, in his personal bubble, your feet between his legs as he slumped against the wall, trying to apply pressure and at the same time, communicate.

“Not another peep except that.” You aimed right at his forehead, showing you would shoot if required. It was all a façade thought, you were feigning this entire thing, trying to portray an image of a stronger lady.

You would conceal all your emotions, mask all your agony if it meant being able to nurture your kid on your own. Your hands shook, despite all this, you knew you couldn’t go back from this if you did pull the trigger.

He muttered a pitiful ‘help’ and lost consciousness, failing to give his location even for himself. A few questions were asked through the receiver but sounds of explosions from above masked them. He wouldn’t make it if they delayed.

Your subconscious led you, your mind fearing his death. You knew you were stupid, wasting time here, but you couldn’t help it as you pressed a rag from the bathroom and knotted it, applying pressure that the woozy man could not. You did this out of your own judgement, hands just moving and helping.

You ducked swiftly and got out less than a minute later, not staying long enough for the guards to witness you liberated themselves. You knew that the ruckus above would keep them distracted and would buy you some time, hopefully enough for you to get some help.

The hallways were empty and looked alike, like a maze built to confuse test rats. You didn’t enter any room, just once when you heard the sound of heavy footsteps. The man disappeared as quick as he had appeared and you carried on, hoping he’d get to the newbie and save him. You preferred not to have another death on your hands.

You were able to retrace that’s guys steps and found the concrete staircase, heart beating like a drum as you made your way upward. Everything felt crazy and you were horrified at the clatters loudening, explosives and guns firing all alike.

You ran up the flight of stairs, the gun in your hand as you tried to not get overwhelmed, not by the blood, the bullet shells and the dead bodies. There were only few in your path, and it seemed like you were in a quite an inner area, the main war commencing outside.

You ran up the floors, not knowing where you started from at the sub-ground level. The concrete steps morphing in to marble stairs covered with pretty carpet. There were surprisingly no guards and it was a huge relief that all forces went to combat; you doubted

you would have been able to use the firearm you had on you. You stopped at the floor with the pristine carpet and immaculate pillars, not because of the architecture but because the racket below was muffled considerably.

You heard shouting that managed to mask even the riot down below, your mind wondering if you should run away from here too. You certainly couldn’t leave from the main gates or some back exit because you had no idea where either of them was and you were sure you’d only manage to run into more armed soldiers.

A gun shot rang through the air and you flinched, goosebumps arising at each and every part of your body. It was a surprise how you weren’t used to it even standing in the middle of a literal war. You heard crashing and banging of furniture and porcelain maybe, a sound akin to the breaking of the bathroom mirror earlier. You tiptoed, walking over the three bodies in the corridor, staring lifelessly into you, ingraining themselves in your brain as a memory you’d definitely need therapy for.

There were definitely less people here higher up, and Rumlow’s enemy meant an ally, right? You didn’t know what you were expecting but you certainly weren’t relying on your previous thought; you couldn’t place your trust in any criminal. Your hands shook with the gun, stance alert and eyes scouring the place behind you repeatedly.

“Where is she, you motherfucker?!” Your eyes watered on hearing that; your mind quick to register the booming voice and the realization hit you. Your brain short-circuited; was this real?

Steve came.

To save you.

You peeked and saw the blond man kicking Rumlow lying beside a dead body in what looked to be a top-tier study, his knuckles red and his rival’s face sore. You cried out a shout of his name and ran inside, hands abandoning the gun as you jumped on him, tears clouding your vision. He could save you, get you away!

You could see his emotions being displayed on his face, his expressions morphing from alarm to surprise to elation. He caught you and you buried your head in his chest, his cotton shirt underneath the bloody blazer a comfort after days of unease and agitation. His hands hugged you just as firmly, one of his palms pressing your head close and tight.

You forgot everything about your history with Steve. The only thing running through your mind was hope and delight.

For a long time, rotting away in the cell, you thought you’d explode on Steve if you ever got to see him, for dragging you into this; But being so close to death, on the verge of being raped, you forgot all about the past. You didn’t care who pushed you into the pit, you only heeded who got you out. Right now Steve was the only beacon of light you could see after being in the tunnel for days.

And him being here might be the only reason that you would get to see Grace again.

He leaned and kissed the top of your head and you wondered how he wasn’t repelled by the lack of hygiene. Well, blood and corpses were way worse than the lack of a few of showering.

“So glad you’re okay. I was so worried that I was late.” He mumbled in your head and you could hear the contentment and delight in his voice. And for the first time in weeks, strangely, you felt safe.

It was weird, considering the first few weeks of your torment were courtesy of this man himself. But you had come to realize in this span of time, that the only that mattered to you was Grace’s safety. And you had to stay alive for ensuring that, you deserved a future with her. Everything else felt so meaningless now, life felt too short and your time too untrustworthy and fickle.

This was definitely the life-changing experience people talked about, although yours was a little too harsh in its delivery.

“Is Grace safe?” You whispered looking up, the tears running down as you registered you do get to meet your child again. That she wouldn’t lose her mother and you wouldn’t lose her.

“As safe as safe could be.” Steve smiled and whispered genuinely. You didn’t know why you asked him that; Grace should be at your Mom’s, but you remembered he promised to keep her safe, and how he is rescuing you now. Weirdly enough, you were reassured with his words spoken sincerely.

Your moment of glee was ruined as his eyes flickered to behind you and he jumped, taking you to the side and falling on the spotless desk.

A pain worse than anything you’ve ever experienced pierced your body and you collapsed, your knees hitting the carpet and some limb of the dead body in a pristine suit. You clutched your arm and another shot ran through the air as you whipped your head up in worry, only to relax on finding Rumlow shot between his eyes, Steve unharmed.

Steve propped down beside you, his eyes widening at blood seeping through your arm. He gently shifted your shirt to peep the wound, “You’re gonna be okay sweetheart. Just a graze. Stay strong for me, will you?” You nodded as a whimper broke through, body already fatigued and malnourished since days. You didn’t know if you could afford to lose some blood.

He helped you stand up, keeping pressure there and only then noticed your torn shirt. His eyes darkened as he looked at you in wonder, his eyes asking the question he couldn’t bring himself to.

You hiccupped as shook your head, “Not too far.” He was pleased but not too happy about it. “He’s dead, he can’t hurt you anymore, okay?” You teared up even more at that, the cruel bastard couldn’t hurt you anymore.

Steve held you gently and told you to apply pressure on your wound with your other hand and draped his expensive blazer on you.

Your eye caught a shadow in its peripheral vision and you recoiled away only to see the silhouette of Bucky later. His arm glistened in the chandelier’s light, looking more intimidating than ever. He came marching in long strides and gave you a nod, you stood confused as fuck about that.

“Done downstairs. Using the river for covering.” He pointed to the bodies on the floor there, asking permission to take them.

Steve turned and kicked dead Rumlow’s face, a crack resonating in the air. You flinched, darting your eyes away from the disfiguring of the dead body.

“Take the two. This one is some guy he was meeting with, don’t know, don’t care, dump him.”

Steve led you out and took you outside and down the stairs as you wobbled. You may have been injured in the arm, but your entire body twinged with aches and pain everywhere.

The scenery around reminded you of the carnival with the dead bodies, except there were no kids this time around, nor any innocent people and that made it better for you to digest.

You could see men, obviously Steve’s, as they went about surveying the damage of their own and the dead bodies of the foe. He led you towards a car, seating you in the back seat but slightly out the door, your feet swinging by the side of the car and left you for a minute to fetch some medical assistant under his employment. He stood and watched while you got bandaged and you relaxed for the first time since forever, despite the pain and the prodding.

You could finally go home,

Home to Grace.

You went out of consciousness a few times, mind waking up frazzled from the small nightmares but relaxing at the sight of Steve and the medic.

“Can you take me to Grace after this, Steve? I just want to see her. Is she at my Mom’s?” You asked quietly, as you looked up with round eyes. Some miniscule part of you was bizarrely glad he kept tabs on your parents; he must know if she’s safe, right?

You hoped, prayed she was safe. You felt horrible not knowing about the well-being of your own daughter. It had been days; how would you even explain your disappearance? But those worries seemed insignificant. Yeah, you vanished but you fought tooth and nail to make it back. You were proud of you; she’d be proud of you.

“She’s at mine.” He could see your eyes widen at the news, not in anger or disgust but mostly in shock and wonder. “I promised to keep her the safest and the kids are being guarded twenty-four, seven by the best, okay? Don’t worry about that right now.” He smiled as he leaned forward to caress your cheek, you subconsciously leaned into his palm and dozed off.

“Rest, we just one last thing to get done with.”

At an abrupt halt, you woke up; your eyes blinking as you made out your surroundings. You were petrified due to the lack of light but soon relaxed on seeing Steve’s face in front of you. You gathered you were leaning against a car door, lying with your feet propped up and resting on Steve’s lap who sat beside you.

You remembered this being the car Steve dropped you home in on your date. That now seemed like a century ago. You tilted your head to see Bucky in the driver seat, checking his phone. “These is the address.”

Kissing your forehead, he went away.

“Hmm, doesn’t seem that guarded. I can make out like maybe three silhouettes?” Steve answered looking out the window, hands mindlessly massaging your feet.

“Tony says she is laying low. Pepper only saw two guards the day she visited.”

You sat up, bending your legs out of Steve’s lap. Your arm was still sore, it hurt more as you shifted. Steve’s head snapped at your movement just now realizing you were awake. You peeped out from the window behind him, not recognizing where you were at. The houses around were spaced and distant, quite unlike the part of the city both of you resided in.

“Where are we? Please take me home, I have no energy.” You mumbled quietly, not knowing what was happening.

“Soon, this is very important sweetheart. How is your arm though? Does it hurt still or are the med working? Can you walk?” Steve asked one after the other, face plastered with concern.

“It’s sort of numb, a little ache, I guess. My feet hurt though.” You shook your head, “um sorry, what are we doing again? I don’t understand-”

“You’ll soon see.” Steve cut you off as he opened the door and slid out. He kept it open, waiting for you. Confused, you scooted over, to his side and squealed loudly as he gathered you in his arms, hauling you up like a groom does a bride. You looked at him baffled and he seemed to relish in it. You wondered if you trusted him a bit too soon. You deemed him as your saviour but was he really one?

You couldn’t stepdown because your feet were bare and the road risky. You weren’t lying though; they did hurt and walking would have been hard.

Steve and Bucky, along with you in his arms, walked up the steps of the private property, a nice sized modern house. You heard a sound beside you, all too familiar, realizing late that Bucky cocked a gun and ran forward. You hid in Steve’s chest as two bangs ran through the air, your mind flooding all the memories back, from the carnival to the literal war you witnessed.

After a moment of silence, you opened your eyes and looked around to find two bodies on the ground beside the house’s door. You hadn’t even made out people standing near the house, even though they were buff and hard to miss.

Bucky led ahead as he shot the lock and broke the door and Steve followed. You couldn’t process anything; what could literally be more important than taking you home after what all happened?

The inside of the house was much richer and fleeker than the outside, everything digital and pricey. The floors were primeval and beautiful, the work on the walls amazing.

“What the fuck?” A woman’s voice came and a second later she appeared into view; you blanched.

Her eyes widened in shock and yours did too, in horror and disgust more than anything else. She had a gun in your hand, probably alarmed by the ruckus, her hair disheveled and eyes calculating.

“Steve?” She mumbled your name too but you didn’t care enough to hear. All you could see was red; you wanted to hurt this bitch, make her suffer.

“Oh my god, Is she okay?! Let me help her!” She stepped forward, seeing the bandages and the blood on them but Steve’s voice sent her back.

“You think you can just pretend now? You think we’re here for help?” Steve let out a mock chuckle. “I know everything. Why would you?” Steve looked genuinely hurt; you could hear the pain in his voice.

In your fatigue, you had failed to reveal the traitor to Steve. You passed out before you could have exposed her. Turns out, he knew though. Maybe he was smarter than you gave him credit for.

“What are you talking abo-”

“You bitch! How could you?” Your thoughts voiced themselves, leaving everyone surprised, even you. You had never lashed out but what better time than now?

“What have I ever done to you?” A sob broke through your throat, “You have ruined me. That man, he, he almost raped me! My child would have been orphaned, all because of your slutty desires! You’ll rot in hell.” Your dehydrated self produced salty tears that slid down, mind mushy and filled with rage. How could she act so innocent and non-chalant after everything? She put a price on your head and you didn’t even know her.

Sharon’s eyes widened and she looked at Steve. One look at him and she understood everything was out and she was caught. Her façade dropped in an instant. Her wide eyes that were trying to seem guiltless sharpened and the look on her face changed.

“No need pretending now, huh?” She bitterly laughed. “Steve, I did it for you; how can you be so blind to not see it? I hated this life, but I’m compromising, I’m back here for you! Only to find you’ve picked up another pathetic whore from the streets.”

“Don’t say another word about her!” At Steve’s loud voice, everyone in the room flinched. You could almost see the fumes over his head.

“She blows you that good, huh?”

“You partnered with the fucker who attacked Sarah. You must be fucked in the head to think that is acceptable in any way; you claimed to be my friend! And you risked her life, just cause I liked her? Get over your crush, you bitch, I have never felt anything for you and that would never change. You’ve always been worthless; I just took too long to realize that.”

“It was a one-time arrangement, never to harm Sarah. And would someone with a little crush go to this extent for you Stevie? I have given my heart to you and you’ve destroyed me. I have left everything behind, my aspirations and my family and you, you are calling me worthless?” She bitterly laughed, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to keep her voice even.

“I want to hurt you just as badly. Maybe even worse.” She quietly said.

A shot rang in the air and you flinched.

Everything after that happened in an instant, you were slow to register it all.

Sharon ended her line with the gun aimed at you. You couldn’t move as she flexed her fingers to shoot. You were caught off guard.

Luckily, Steve was not.

He anticipated her actions by her choice of words, cause he knew even Sharon was aware she was not getting out of here alive. He thought she would be attempting to kill him. But she didn’t; she wanted him to truly suffer. And when she couldn’t bring her to possibly harm him physically, she decided to him psychologically.

His time in the field and the army had made him more vigilant than the majority of people, certainly more than a woman who was an amateur compared to him.

So Steve had retrieved his gun from his waistband and shot her hand yielding the gun before she could have pulled the trigger. Sharon dropped her gun, her other hand shooting to press the to relieve the pain, much like you did earlier today to your wound. The wound she caused.

Your breathing quickened; you shook once again. It seemed like your trauma itinerary for today hadn’t ended. You had barely made it, barely escaped misfortune thrice today. Your rape once and your attempted murder twice.

Steve came beside and you looked down, sensing movement as he placed his gun in your hands. “Finish this.”

You couldn’t register anything, what did he mean, end this? Was he expecting you to-

“No, I can’t.” You reeled back but he held your wrist, clutching your fingers in his grip around the gun.

“I see it in your eyes, you want to hurt her. She deserves this.” He came behind you, helping you aim directly at her. Were you really about to do this?

He dropped his hands but stood close, your hands propped in the position he had left you.

You did want her to hurt, to suffer. She had traumatized you for life, preyed on your vulnerability, just out of jealousy. Even if you tried to somewhat empathize with her, it was all inexcusable. She was ready to cripple you, and by extension, your child too. How could she even think about doing that to your sweet Grace?

Did all her deeds warrant death though? Did she really deserve to die for this?

She had ordered your death without any hesitation though; she was just as bad as the other lot of mobsters, if not worse. Was a heartbreak really worth dying for though? It should be if it was worth killing for.

Your hands lowered slightly, a whimper escaping at the pain that shot through it. Your wound had started bleeding again, the meds not numbing it anymore. You looked at Sharon whose body was twisted in pain, as she looked at you wondering if you’d actually do it.

The gun at her feet was with Bucky now, so that she wouldn’t pull any more tricks on them.

Steve helped your hands again, propping them up, his warm chest hugging your back as his arms covered yours, supporting them. His face was close to yours as he whispered, “Think of everything you would have lost: Your life, your future, all because of this woman.” He spoke with utter disgust.

“You very nearly raped because of her. Got shot because of her. And even after all that, she pretends to be your ally, to help, thinking all of us were dumb. She planned to take away your future, a future with me.”

He was somehow saying everything you needed to hear, all facts with no fabrication. This all did happen, and all because of her. A sob broke through as your eyes blurred, and you were in a dilemma. You could never recover from this if you did shoot her, but you can never recover from the days of agony and misery either, the nightmares subscribed to you already.

Steve’s fingers now held the trigger with you, guiding you through it. Why did he have to make you do this? He could get this done with but no, he decided it was your kill for whatever reason. You couldn’t even kill the guard who watched you get assaulted for hell’s sake.

The longer you stared at her blurry form, the more it worsened her case. The part of you not wanting to kill was getting overpowered, a montage of everything going through your head. God, you could still fell Rumlow’s hands on your body and his crude compliments.

“But you would forgive her for that, I know you would. May take some time, a lot of it maybe, it’s how you are built, aren’t you?”

You were surprised at that, how he somehow read you. He wasn’t entirely right but not wrong either. Every sin was atonable, right?

“But realize you would have also lost Grace.” You froze, his hands holding the gun with you. Both of yours fingers so close to the trigger and yet neither pressed it.

“She took away your future with Grace. You would have lost Grace and she would have lost you, her mama.”

That did it. Through your blurry vision, you could see her silhouette fall on the floor, a puddle of rouge around.

You did really do it, didn’t you?

Steve guided you, helped you aim but who pressed the trigger? You collapsed on your knees, as Steve cradled you to his chest. Everything hurt so bad, your arm, your head, your chest. You felt suffocated and disgusted and torn. Where was the contentment your brain promised you?

The palette of emotions was too grueling for you to process, everything from shades of exhaustion to hues of torment attacked you. You had passed out, trying to forget what happened, to ignore it.

Your conscience still knows what happened that day, in that moment but the world will never know, if it was you who fired at her own will or the feared mobster who just wanted to stain your innocent hands to weave both your lives together, to get the angel with the devil.

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yeojaa · 3 years

Text

feed me, fight me.

pairing. boxer!jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!). wc. 3.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, always. 💖 author note. i’m really into comfort fics rn so...

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend? (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out. It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut. It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking. It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness. It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space.

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason? When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)? How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more?

“Cut it out,” he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare. A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright. It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension.

“Cut what out?” Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye.

“What’s your problem?” How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure. All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab. He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead.

(You probably are. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth. They wear you, rather than you it. A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.”

“Shut up.” It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand. He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way.

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you? When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion. You’re just mad. Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,” you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward. He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook.

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg.

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment. It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground. By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb.

“Are you serious?” You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable. (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.) “What’s your issue?” He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation. It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love. That you hate. That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst. That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out. That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary? Unbearable? Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.” It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff. It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need. (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.) Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.

You’re tired. Too tired. Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom. It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught). You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room. He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall.

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day. He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine. Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening. Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye.

“I’m sorry.” Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash. “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.” He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom. You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy. I’ve been stressed.” Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly. You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion. “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.” Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you. You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me. A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him. Never has, likely never will. He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away. He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you. Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless. Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first. Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you. It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest. Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on. There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour. He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together. “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too. His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight. Hates it, in fact. It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly. A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you. Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook. Push too hard, he’ll leave.

“Couldn’t sleep without you.” It’s true enough. Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear. (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up. That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light. “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things. What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way. You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up. Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one. He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away. It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground. Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”

“You were pissed earlier.” There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield. You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand. “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt. “But you know I hate going to bed angry.” Of course he knows. He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out.

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing. Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does. Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next.

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain. (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)

“Don’t.”

One blink. Another. Slow and confused - deliberately so. Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move. The ring might be his domain but home is yours; it’s the one place you hold the upper hand. “What?”

“Don’t leave.” It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink. It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.

“I need to shower.”

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win.

“Just wait.” Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love. He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh. The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,” he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away. Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder. “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.” Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does. (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for. You want communication, open and honest. You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering. It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.

“Do you wanna shower?” You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together. You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different. He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream. It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair.

“Babe?”

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes. You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do. When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.

“Can you wash my hair?” An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows. He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you.

It’s a sign if there ever was one.

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands. They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits. He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes.

When was the last time you’d done this? Weeks ago? Months, maybe? You honestly can’t recall. (Not that it matters now. You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night. Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you. You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation.

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands. Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise. He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.

You’d give it every single day if you could. Had, in fact.

That’s what’d brought you here, after all.

“‘m sorry,” he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad.

“For what?”

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with. Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.

You want to be let in. Need it.

“Being out of it, I guess.” It’s a lot for him - admitting this. “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“ The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.

“Forgot about me?” You don’t mean it meanly. It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would. But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller.

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.” Maybe more than some people. Maybe less than others. “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“No, I know.”

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin. He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,” he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his. “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.”

“On us,” you correct, not at all tactful.

“On us,” he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space.

“We’re a team, you know.”

(You know he knows. You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world. That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.”

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that. He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek. “Just give me some time.” For what, you’re not sure. You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair. Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.

“Is this better?” He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own.

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else. No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands. He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven. (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.)

“Yes,” you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort. It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true. Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind.

In all the ways he can, he loves you. And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out. Not if it means more of this.

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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shadowturtlesstuff · 3 years

Text

You belong with me

so i decided to post wadsworth first. modern au cressworth- you belong with me taylor swift

Thomas throws his phone down on the bed with frustration swirling around him as he paces. I set down my pen and wait till he turns and spots me. We often find ourselves talking via paper throughout the nights, from questions about our day to helping each other study. It is also often we watch each other be angry at something, yet I've not seen him this bad before. Finally Thomas turns and catches my eye. He stands there for a second before smiling and I quickly move around my various workbooks till I find my notebook I use to talk to him. I take my sharpie and write: ‘Are you okay?’

I watch him shake his head ever so slightly, seemingly baffled at it, but he walks to his window and opens it. The wind brushes his deep brown hair and I can't help but want to reach out and run my hand through it. I curse myself for it as he motions for me to open my window. Moving my books and pens off of me and cursing at my stiff leg as I go and open the window. Somehow I manage to hit my arm in the process and I curse, which makes Thomas laugh slightly so I forgive my body for hurting me.

“You have a wicked mouth Wadsworth. Did you not learn cursing is unlady-like?” he teases and I relax slightly because of it.

“Fuck you,” I scowl at his smirk and the frigid wind. His eyes light up at my temper. We live across from one another, if we were to reach out we could hold hands. Which we have done. When I got rejected from the specific school I was desperate to go to, Thomas had managed to climb into my room and hold me as I cried. He's only ever needed to climb over twice to cheer me up, the other times have been to study or watch some romance programme he thought was good. I hoped wherever was troubling was something that wouldn't resort to me having to climb over. As much as I would want to, my brain may have a hard time letting me attempt it.

“I assume dear Wadworth, you want to ask what has made me so irate?” he asks, eyes focused on behind me and fingers tapping his window sill as he sits. I watch as his cat, ridiculously named Sir Isaac Mewton, jumps off his bed and onto his seat next to him. He grabs the cat and kisses the top of his head before holding him in his lap.

“Perhaps,” I say, moving so I rest my head on the wall, “perhaps I merely wanted to ask if Sir Issac was okay.” his eyes shift to mine and despite him still being angry they soften at my attempt at humour. I am not as good as Thomas at using humour to help someone, but he always does it for me.

“Really? You always refer to him as a little pest, whereas as with me, I am your dearest person, of course you want to know how I am feeling. My son is good though, very energetic today.” he smiles down at his cat. I remember the day he brought him home, he made me go over to his house and we spent all night playing with him. Thomas did, I ended up studying and making notes for the both of us while he gave Sir Isaac a ‘grand tour’ of his new home. The smile vanishes off Thomas's face and once again his gaze goes past me. “I assume you saw the call, well that was William. Yes, awful. Apparently though, there is a rumour that I'm with Miss Whitehall. I don't even remember her first name, but he was convinced of our relation despite my protests. Madness.” I watch him scoff, anger once again taking over his features. His cat nuzzles into him and Thomas leans into his cat. If I wasn't also mad now I'd smile at the sight.

“Is this the same William that had convinced everyone I was dating him?”

“Yes.”

“Bitch. Why on earth is he such a problem? Where on earth does he even make this assumptions about us?'' I find myself standing and pacing, trying to quell my own rising anger. A year ago, William had been my lab partner for a few weeks, he was friendly, but people had got it in their head that we were somehow together, and he went with it. Gossiped about me, even Thomas, and then was somehow enraged I dared to stop those rumours and be angry at him. I'd come home one day when it was particularly too much, when my father had found out and lectured me about it, as though I was in the wrong for standing up for myself. He'd cancel my lesson with my uncle out of spite, and I stormed upstairs. Thomas had been at the window, as if he was expecting me. One look at his face made me cry. I managed to open my window and he'd once again climbed in and held me as I cried. Then he made us watch this awful romance film together and held me still as I fell asleep on him.

“I have never once,” Thomas says, dragging me back from those awful memories, “shown interest in her, nor will I ever.” He drags a hand through his hair. “She's just- a lot.”

I huff a sigh. She is awful. Had been awful to Liza and I for years. With her short skirts, high heels and the most rotten attitude I have ever witnessed. It wasn't often that I'd hate someone like that, someone so different from me in nearly every way, but she has tried to make me feel that I don't belong because of my interest in science and not the traditional girl interests.. “That is the understatement of the year Cresswell. Beside, you wouldn't work, she's too- your,” I have no idea how to explain how excellent Thomas is, how wonderful his mind is and how kind he is. It's not a side he shows to most, yet if he was ever with someone like Whitehall, it would be disastrous. I take my seat again and find him looking at me, suppressing a smirk and raising an eyebrow at me. “What?” I ask. I shrink under his gaze, pulling my hoodie over my legs as I curl in on myself.

“I’m what? I'd be delighted to know your innermost thoughts of me, Wadsworth.”

“Your absurd but fine I'll elaborate,” I roll my eyes as he shifts so he is fully facing me, eyes completely focused, no sign of the anger he had only moments ago, “your too kind, too witty and clever and Whitehall wouldn’t appreciate you enough. You-” don’t belong with her.

Ever since he mentioned the idea of being with someone else, real or not, I have tried to ignore how much it pained me that he would be with someone else. I never expected to want to be with him, yet lately the premise of dating him has seemed very pleasing to me.

“You forgot to mention how handsome I look, or how charming I am, but I'll take it,” his voice is deeper than normal and his gaze travels over me even though his eyes are on my own. Thomas pats Sir Issac and his cat jumps off behind him with a whine. His hand reaches out for mine and I lean forward, wind making my loose strands of hair fly across my face. His hands are warm as I take them but his smile warms me more. It is small but genuine and filled with the normal Cresswell charm mixed with something I can't quite name.

“I don’t need to inflate your ego further Thomas.”

“I know but it would've been nice. I did say the inner most thoughts but we’ll get there. Audrey rose-” he looks down contemplating his words before he once again locks his gaze on mine, his dark brown eyes bright, “I dont belong with her, your right, my heart would never belong to her especially since it already belongs to someone else.”

I blink at the honesty. I want to scream that you belong with me; but if Thomas is in love with someone else then I suppose I will have to find a way to deal with it. I try to keep the hurt of my face even as he smiles at me.

“I-” Thomas lets go of my hand and stands. There's a silence between us until he motions for me to move. The idiot is going to climb into my house so he can tell me about his new found love. Like the fool I am, I'm going to let him talk about this girl who makes him look this happy. Even though it hurts that it's not me who is making him look like that. Even though I'm the one who makes him laugh when he is angry or upset. Even though I'm the one who knows his favourite songs, the books beside his bed and all his hopes and dreams.

He climbs over and sets himself on the window sill, giving me room to sit across from him. I do, even as I try to ignore the weight pressing down on my chest. “I hope you are happy with whomever has your heart Cresswell.” I say and mean it. I once again curl into myself, hoodie covering my legs as i watch him continue to smile at me,

“Of course I'll be happy. She's amazing. Let me tell you all about her. I met her many years back and was instantly smitten with her emerald eyes and her quick witted mind. How she sings to herself every morning and how her dark curls fall across her face whenever she sits on her bed and reads. I adore her curiosity for the dead and how wicked her mouth is and how delightful it is to watch your mind at work. I love when she shows me a note through the window to see if I'm doing okay and-”

“Wait,” I blurt out, my mind catching up, “Thomas, are you talking about me?”

“Yes, finally! I thought I'd have to keep speaking forever till you realized it was you.” He starts laughing at my gaping mouth until I collect myself enough to scowl at him slightly for laughing. Thomas reaches out for my hand, moving closer to me until my back is pressed against the wall, my hoodie no longer over my legs as he rests his other hand on my leg, warmth seeping through me. “Wadsworth, darling, I have been in love with you for some time now.”

Silence washes over us as we stare, trying to convince ourselves this is really happening. “I have something to show you.” My voice is barely about a whisper and I slide out of his grasp even though I don't want to. I walk to my bed where all my notebooks were left open and my notebooks sits. I open it out and let a piece of paper fall out. Facing Thomas I open the sheet slowly, watch him read the words. His eyes lit up at them.

I love you.

I take my place beside him again, his hands finding their way in mine once again. “I wrote that the night after you came here the second time. Something in me clicked that no matter what you'd find a way to comfort me. Not save me, but work alongside me. I wanted to tell you I just couldn't face it. But I needed to acknowledge it. So I wrote it down, and I look at it every time we use the note system; I try to convince myself to show you.” Thomas just stares at me, eyes flicking down to my lips every now and then. His hands are making circles on my leg, not entirely intentional. Thomas has always shown if he is excited or nervous by either tapping or making shapes on surfaces. The world slows completely as he leans in and presses his lips against mine. He pulls back ever so slightly, resting his head against mine and we are both smiling wildly at each other, pressing kisses until he leans further away. Thomas goes back to his side of the wall, which may as well be across the other side of the world, then he pulls me to him and I twist so that my back is against his. He holds me as we both look out the window, enjoying the freeing feeling of telling each other how we feel.

“Now would be a perfect time to tell me how handsome I am, my love.”

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @padfoot-sirius-black-blog @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @loveyatopluto @throneofsc @bookscressworth

#sjtr #hpd #efh #btdp #ctd #stalking jack the ripper #hunting prince dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil #thomas cresswell #cresswell #audrey rose #audrey rose wadsworth #wadsworth #cressworth #kerii maniscalco #you belong with me

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

home

part 10 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco (Frankie, Catfish) Morales x reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: so so soo much fluff. clouds and clouds worth. kissing, implications of sex (blink and you’ll miss it)

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier Baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, you and Frankie finish the season and the summer, and know it’s only the beginning.

notes: thank you all so much for supporting this little story of mine! I genuinely am blown away by how kind everyone has been! originally I planned on this series just being a couple of one-shots set in the same universe, but it got away form me, and I can’t believe so many of you came along for the ride. some of those stories will come in time, but thank you thank you thank you to everyone who stuck around this long! all the love for all of you!

It was a beautiful day for a baseball game.

The sun was shining and for once your bones weren’t shaking with the rumble of the stadium as people stomped and cheered. In fact, the majority of the noise was from Frankie’s momma as she chattered across your lap to your grandfather. The two of them were discussing gardening and how well season was played, how proud they were, the best of friends. It was peaceful, almost, and most of the flashing lights and roaring crowds were away – it was the final game, a charity fundraiser, all fun.

You could see your catcher as he turned, looking at your section like he couldn’t help but search for you, and you smiled, heart as full and as warm as the sun on your shoulders. His curls were sticking out from under his helmet haphazardly, the pads on his shoulders and thighs making him even more solid, and it was a sight that you’d never get tired of. Combined with the smells of warm pastries, jalapeños and melted cheese, contentment settled into your soul like a hand in a glove, a perfect fit.

It was the of the ninth and they were playing well, encouraged by the cause and playing for the love of of the game instead of a paycheck. Behind you, you heard someone mention just how well Frankie had batted this season, and you brushed pan dulce sugar from your lap.

The players had told you last week after all the big games were done why Santi had offered to pay for you and James to fly to see their final games. At the time, it had baffled you how intensely they insisted, how eagerly the pushed it, and how your boyfriend had looked equal parts embarrassed and hopeful, but eventually you agreed, assuming you could get the time off from work. When the secret came out you laughed, shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

They had exchanged smiles and shrugged and shared knowing glances as they let you explain away what they knew was true. You were their luck.

The thought was long gone from your mind now though, as Ben was doing weird poses on the field, and you heard chuckles ripple through the crowds. Fans of him and the team alike were endlessly charmed, and you knew you’d catch comments about it for months to come. His brother was just standing, and still you heard dreamy sighs of Will’s name, and made a mental note to tease him after the game about his “blonde halo”. Whatever that meant.

Santi threw a perfect curveball, and when it landed firmly in Frankie’s glove, you heard a girl swoon, “That’s my man!” and the laughter of her friends, as they called her “Mrs. Morales”.

“No!” his momma was glaring over her shoulder tugging on your elbow, as if physically fighting them was a viable option. You tugged back, making soothing noises as she protested, “Mi frijol.” The sweet lady muttered something else and before your heart could latch on to what you could’ve sworn was something about the future and tu marido you moved on.

“I know, I know,” you were saying, when James leaned over, glint in his sweet, aging eyes.

“She’s right, honey,” he said, only encouraging his friend, and you grinned.

“He’s my boy,” she said again with an air of finality, “and yours."

Looking at your grandfather sheepishly, you pointed at your shirt and shrugged as he said, “Right again.”

You were wearing his backup Jersey.

Cheesy as it was, it felt good to have the little claim of his over your skin, and while it wasn’t obvious to everyone, you wore it with pride. Comments from his fans slid off it like raindrops on a tin roof, and while you apricated her inclusion, you didn’t need it to know he was yours, as you were his.

Jimbo leaned towards the woman at your side and whispered conspiratorially in her ear, and she settled, and you left it, enjoying their friendship. The day was too lovely for anything else, anyway.

Catch, catch, walk, look for his girlfriend, sit, swing, hit, run, walk, sit. Repeat.

Nothing so eventful happened the last few minutes of the game, and as the Will went out for his final bat, you felt a surprising wave of bittersweet nostalgia for all that had passed since the opening game, cold as an evening breeze.

Then the ball cracked against the bat, and the sound snapped you back, and you felt a fire under your breastbone, reminding you the best was yet to come.

Frankie’s mom finished her final cheers enthusiastically, all annoyance long gone, and she pulled you into a hug.

“Nieta is calling. Hug Francisco for me, hija, and I’ll see you tomorrow?” You nodded, squeezing her back almost as hard. You and Frankie were using his first real day off to babysit and get some quality time, and both of you were well aware this was hardly goodbye. You gave a gentler hug to your grandfather, who was going with her, whispering “Bye Jimbo,” as you kissed his cheek. He had conspired to let you stay out for the evening, and while you’d miss driving him home, you were grateful for the opportunity.

Seeing them safely as far as you could, your feet danced with excitement. Like it had been more than handful of times, they knew the path to the locker rooms, carrying you so light you were almost floating. When you slid into the waiting room, Frankie was already clean and looking for you anxiously. Maybe you should’ve given him a little wave from across the room, but you could do better.

You ducked away from his line of sight, and snuck around behind him before say, “hey, batter, batter.” He whipped around and before you could even register the grin on his face, he was pulling you against his chest.

“Hey yourself,” he said, and the two of you got one sweet, slightly needy kiss before you heard good-natured groans.

“It’s been like month,” Santi said, ruffling your hair as you stepped back, “Aren’t you guys done flirting?” You stuck your tongue out at him, wondering if you were fast enough to flick him in the forehead.

“Don’t bother,” Will said, his tone resigned but playful as he hugged you too. “Be happy he got her to stick around.” You pulled a face, and Benny laughed. They all knew by now that it was more than a summer fling, even Tom, who you realized hadn’t come out yet.

When you asked, they winced, and you dropped the topic, knowing they would tell you in their own time. Frankie pulled you back to him, his warm fingers lacing with yours as you herded them towards the door.

They were still working on things, still trying to figure out what their next steps looked like.

For now, you owed your baseball boys a dinner.

It had taken you a couple of times cooking for them to get the portions right. The Miller boys ate like they were hollow, and after a game was a testament to that.

Thankfully, you had more than enough this time, having been preparing their favorites for days with the enthusiastic help from Frankie’s mom, and begrudging help from his sister as a thank you to her hermano. The piled into your little space and ate gratefully, telling you about the game like you knew what they were talking about.

“Benny, why were you –” his deep laughter cut you off, and your hand shot out to grab Will’s wrist mid-throw. You had a rule against projectile food to keep them from squabbling like children at your makeshift dinner table. The dinner roll fell to his plate as Benny tried to explain, and Santi deadpanned.

“I was stretching, and I got distracted –”

“You were flirting with the entire stadium, Ben.”

“No! Well –”

It was warm and bright, eating dinner with them like a family, teasing and laughter filling the space like clear broth in the cool of night.

Frankie’s hand found your knee under the table.

The best part about these replacement-parties was watching them all try to help clean up. You were lucky professional athletes had fast reflexes, or you would’ve lost more than a few dishes to their shenanigans. They insisted, wouldn’t let you help, and things probably would’ve been put back correctly if you had, but it was great, letting things play out however they may. Maybe years and years down the road, you would tell a younger generation that you had some of the world’s most desirable athletes fighting in your kitchen over where you kept your dish soap refills.

And after, they would collapse in your living room, unearthing all the games from your shelves. One of your favorite moments from the summer was coming through thrift stores for games, ignoring the stare of jealousy and making ridiculous bets.

All the while, Frankie kept as close to you as he could, too busy watching you with wrinkles in the corners of his eyes to be embarrassed of his rambunctious friends.

When you and Will won the first game of the evening, he accidentally hit you in the face with the back of his hand as he flung his arms open in triumph.

It hadn’t hurt as badly as it would’ve if his brother had been the one talking with his hands, but Frankie had still thumped him in the back of the head before he followed you to the kitchen.

“Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Frankie,” you laughed, but he was already taking the pack of frozen peas from your hand to press it against the lump forming on your temple. He was gentle, and the air shifted, like there was more on his mind than your minor injury. Brown eyes searching yours, you wished you knew what he was thinking.

“Francisco?” Your hands had settled on his chest but the moved around his neck when he moved the ice to ghost his lips over the spot. He didn’t answer for a moment, just setting the peas aside, and carefully trapping you against the counter.

There were noises of good-natured arguing coming from the living room, and you knew he was taking advantage of their distraction, carving a little pocket for the two of you in time.

“Te adoro,” his lips were almost hot as they pressed into yours. “I love you,” he said, so close you could feel the hairs on his upper lip still.

For the past month, your relationship had been fast, jumpstarting to serious and staying that was, but this was new. It was one thing, for him to tell you he wanted something real with you, wanted you to be a part of his life, and another to hear him say he loved you simply, without abandon. Still, you didn’t hesitate.

“I love you too.”

He kissed you again, unhurried, and you almost couldn’t return it, you were smiling so widely. Your bump was long forgotten.

When the two of you came out the kitchen, the others had barely noticed you were gone and Ben immediately was accusing you of cheating, but Santi shot you a knowing smile.

There was a gap of time when a season ended, when Molly’s inbox was mercifully void of emails. It was a time when the chaos of her job slowed, for a bit before she began her work for the off-season, and she relished it with every fiber of her being.

This particular gap began wrapped up in sheets with Tom, her Tom, kissing and wishing the world outside was a simple as this, in the little bubble of her room.

She could always tell though, when his mind was no longer filled with her, and the other sides of him began to leak through the cracks. His eyes moved with urgency instead of appreciation his hands moved a little slower and then in sudden jerks, and when he trailed off mid-sentence, she sighed.

“You told them, didn’t you?”

He rolled onto his back; his gaze pointed towards the ceiling.

“Right after the game,” he confessed, and she sighed again, sitting up. If nothing else, for him, she had endless patience.

“How’d that go?”

Her love was silent, thinking only of the embarrassment and defensiveness that had reared in his chest. The tilt of Santi’s head, Frankie’s slow nod. He wished Benny had been disappointed, wished Will had thought it was a joke.

“They understood,” Tom didn’t add that he hoped with all his considerable might that they had reacted stronger, hoped they had told him not to, said they needed him to stay, but they hadn’t. It wouldn’t have been true, anyway. They were growing, going somewhere he couldn’t follow.

Her hand ran over his chest as it filled with air, stilling over his heart.

“It’s time,” one of them said, and the other nodded.

Counseling. Rehab. Retirement.

Slowing down to coach at a local college.

He clenched his hand into a fist, and then relaxed, palm falling open, upwards.

The love of his life kissed his forehead.

It was time.

The first stop of the day was with James, spending the morning helping him around the house. Before this summer, you had thought you were his favorite grandchild, but he had essentially adopted Frankie months ago, and already liked him more than you.

The little old man talked excitedly about baseball and lectured your love on enjoying his off-season. He dragged him into the yard, talking his ear off about the benefits of different teas and the importance of volunteering with youth programs, and you settled inside, throwing away expired things from his fridge. Their absence was your only opportunity for the chore.

Honestly, the two of you needed to leave sooner than later and you weren’t sure how much time you had.

“Honey?” You dropped a can of whipped cream from a month ago guiltily.

“Yeah, Jimbo?”

He eyed you suspiciously but seemed too excited to be deterred by you.

“I put this together for you!” He said proudly, and you noticed a flash of the same mischief from yesterday in his eyes. Your grandfather handed you a box, and made you promise not to open in until you left. You hugged the sweet man, and smiled when Frankie did, too, before saying your goodbyes, thankful beyond words for him.

If it weren’t for him, you were sure you wouldn’t be climbing into the truck of your boyfriend, and certainly not having the catcher’s hand slide into yours. When you opened the box, the gratitude didn’t shrink, but your embarrassment rose.

Frankie laughed so hard you thought he was going to have to pull over.

It was full of Francisco Morales merchandise, signatures and memorabilia ranging from his very first baseball card to his most recent bobble head.

Frankie kissed your knuckles for the second time since you climbed into his truck, which was silly since it had only been three minutes since you left his mother’s house.

He could feel your look, answering before you even asked.

“I’m good, just… I love you,” he said, unable to keep his eyes on the road when he said it.

“I love you too, Frankie,” you said, wondering what prompted him.

“Could we… would you want to get dinner?” He looked thoughtful and you laughed.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Your hand was lifted to his lips again, sending electricity up your spine as he confirmed.

The two of you had a bag full of Anita’s best by the time you entered his home, and he still hadn’t told you what was on his mind. The two of you ate, sharing stories about the day’s adventures, helping his mother around the house and watching, Bianca, his sweet, tiny new niece. You had a great conversation with his mother, and despite her excitable nature, she surprised you by asking you about your boundaries and promising not to overstep.

Frankie told you about his hermana, and her slowly opening up to the idea of letting him help her out, not as charity but family, and letting him shoulder some of the responsibilities. You watched the warmth in his eyes as he talked and wondered how it was possible for a single person to feel so safe.

Eventually the talking slowed, and you found yourself half falling asleep against the stretch of his chest, is hands slowing their wandering paths.

“Love?” he murmured into your hair. You hummed in response.

When he didn’t say anything, your mind woke, and you pulled yourself up, and into his lap, straddling him.

He looked up at you for a moment before you felt him sigh against you.

“I have this baby,” he said, and you couldn’t help but smile at his phrasing. Santi always said it was melodramatic. “Do you… is this all too much?”

His expression mirrored that of your first date, and you told him the same thing as you had then.

That you would stay, as long as he would have you. That you would navigate alongside him, that you were happy to. This time, you added that you loved him, and you felt him shift under you, anxiety leaking out of him, allowing solid adoration to replace it.

Frankie said, “Thank you,” against your mouth, and like a prayer. In the dim evening light, you kissed him, and as his hands slipped under your shirt to hold your sides, he held you for the first time like you were real.

And you were, this was something that wasn’t going away.

For the first time in a long time, it was a perfect day for something new, and his heart was here, beating under his hands.

translations:

pan dulce: pastries

mi frijol: my bean

tu marido: your husband

nieta: granddaughter

hija: daughter

hermano/a: brother, sister

te adoro: I adore you

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @pbeatriz

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #triple frontier baseball au #hey batter batter #maybe i don't know people

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