#having to be caretaker of people that should been taking care of me??? like no wonder I don't fully trust mfers????

[aces-and-angels]

verification source: bees and watermelons no. 132 (instagram-based account) | linktree follow yousef: @yousefjehad0 | instagram *note: yousef's prev. account, @yousefjehad has been shadowbanned/suppressed

[ID: instagram video made by bees and watermelons; voiceover that says: hi there friends and family- it's sandy! today i'd like to talk about yousef. he's 19 years old- and during this rough time- he's been the sole caretaker of his family. just like you and i, he had a life before this atrocity. had lots of friends to hang out with, school, and dreams. but all those dreams came to a halt for this 19 year old, still so young and has so much life to live. a lot of people have lost their jobs because of what's been happening, but yousef has managed to work to make money to make sure his father gets his medicine and the family get what they need. sometimes he wouldn't have enough for himself to eat, so he'd go without food for days just to make sure his family is taken care of. so that is why yousef and his family need your help. at this young age, yousef should be having fun- going to school- not have to take the full responsibility of taking care of his whole family. so please donate what you can to him. let's come together as a community and save gaza. END ID]

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the cost of living in gaza is ridiculously high-- families must pay for tents (and continue to need to purchase one as they are continuously displaced), firewood, food, medicine, etc. anything you may consider a simple task requires hours of labor for palestinians currently under bombardment

yousef holds the weight of the world on his shoulders- he works very hard, yet earns very little. if you are able, please consider donating to his campaign 🖤multiple family members are ill and in need of medical care. please share his story so that others may come to his aid

current stats: $750 raised of $15,000 goal

[depvotee]

Vent dni

Man. It's insane when a family members are the ones that abuse you constantly that it becomes so normal at the point where you start to bite back they treat that as you begin the cunt.

[shanastoryteller]

i'm going to move on from supernatural posting, i swear to god, but first i'm going to talk about ep 9x07 bad boys

the episode itself is fine and good (i mean it's another example of dean having a support network while sam can't have anyone and dean keeping secrets while when sam does it it's the worst betrayal ever but that's not what this is about and sometimes i think about what this show did two earnest, loving traumatized characters by turning them into the most tragic versions of themselves and - ok, this really isn't what this post is about)

but fandom interpretation of this episode actually drives me up a wall because it does a disservice to literally every character

one, john did not leave them without enough money for food. dean gambled it and lost it. there's nothing in canon to say that john was taking longer than expected, that they were running out of money, none of that. dean gambled food money and lost it and then tried to steal to make up for it. he was 16 when this happened and it was a bad decision but i don't think he should be at all vilified for this. he made a dumb mistake and then tried to fix it with another dumb mistake. john was right to be mad and sam was also right to tell him that he shouldn't beat himself up about it. just like with shtriga - yeah, dean was climbing the walls stuck in that hotel room. but you know who else was stuck in that hotel room? sam. and he didn't get a break to go play at the arcade. again, i'm not blaming dean here, he shouldn't have been stuck taking care of his brother that young and he was a kid and john leaving his his children behind while hunting a child eater, whether he was using them for bait or not, is crazy. but dean stealing food wasn't about john's neglect and all the sacrifices dean had to make for sam. it was about him trying to fix his fuck up

two, and this is the one that really gets me, dean didn't go back with john because he had to take care of sam

listen. listen to me. i am speaking from experience when i say this

parentified siblings are still, first and foremost, siblings. especially with only 4 years between them. the show shameless i think did an absolutely excellent job with this and is why i love the first few seasons of it so much. fiona is without a doubt parentified, she is raising those kids, but she's also clearly their sister not their mother

i know later seasons dean and fandom like to make it seem like dean literally raised sam and john was just a background figure but like. that's not realistic, and frankly doesn't even make sense

the reason dean leaves sonny and goes with john isn't because he feels like he has to keep him sam safe. it's isn't because he feels like he has to raise him. it's because he loves him

you are reducing dean to the most pathetic woe is me archetype with this interpretation and ridding him of all his rich loyalty and care and love to saddle him instead with comparatively flat duty. dean is more than sam's caretaker. he's his brother

there's also no reason for dean to feel this way. he just massively fucked up in taking care of sam - that's why he's with sonny in the first place. john has alternate people to take care of sam when he can't do it himself, as he has just proven, and while i don't think we should turn a couple teenage mistakes into making dean incapable, dean absolutely would - and did! he carries every fuck up regarding sam with him! so right now he's really, really low when it comes to his own estimation to take care of sam and leaving sonny because of that doesn't make any sense

but he looks at his brother and is reminded how much he missed him and loves him and realizes staying means he loses his brother. the good and the bad. so he goes, because he loves sam more than anything else

this is also why sam leaving for stanford cuts him so deep. that's why this moment is a parallel to that rather than being unrelated. stanford isn't about sam leaving dean even though he has a duty to care of him, because he doesn't. dean's 22 and at this point is always hunting with their father so there's no reason for sam to believe his presence is necessary for either john or dean's safety

no, dean's mad because he chose his love for his brother over a normal life and sam didn't

(sam didn't want to choose at all but this isn't about him)

anyway. dean fucks up sometimes and john sucks but not quite in the ways fandom thinks and dean loves his brother past reason or sense

[save-the-villainous-cat]

So sidekick is like the protective younger sibling (or younger sibling figure) of hero and they find out their older sibling is having a thing with the villain so they go and confront the villain and is all like “you don’t deserve to date my big sibling you sick, nasty villain”

But then villain pulls out the reverse uno card and is all like “oh please as if i don’t know you’re secretly seeing my henchman at the club every Friday night 🤨” then sidekick is like “😦😦they’re your HENCHMAN?-“

“I swear, if you touch them—”

“Oh please, they beg me for it.” They took a sip of their drink and leaned back, satisfied by the entertainment the sidekick gave them.

They were a lot like the hero, the villain realised. An angrier and smaller version of their nemesis.

“Ugh. Ew. Argh— I mean it, if you hurt them, you’re done.” The sidekick raised their finger but the villain couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you gonna do? Uninvite me to your birthday party?”

“You—”

In a sense, it put the villain’s mind at ease. To know that someone was there who was just as worried, just as protective over the hero was comforting. The hero needed to be protected with all their hot-headedness and impulsive decisions.

They could get into a lot of trouble, into a lot of fights. The villain had seen the scars.

“Listen, kid. You’re worried. But I promise, I don’t have any ill intentions.” They tapped their fingers against their glass.

The villain couldn’t get their mind off the hero. It was an actual problem at this point. It was more than a crush, more than dating. The villain was so helplessly devoted they found themselves pathetic.

A few months prior, they would’ve loathed this. But it was easy to forget everything when the hero’s hand was on their arm. When their fingers intertwined. When the hero held onto them when they got scared.

“Sorry, but I don’t exactly trust a villain. Do you think I’m dumb?”

“No. You’re clever and that’s why you’re going to believe me,” the villain said. “If I wanted them dead, they would be. Instead, I am stitching them back together.”

“That’s my job.”

“It shouldn’t be. You’re a kid.”

“I’ve been taking care of them my entire life.”

The villain tilted their head, smiling sadly.

“And that’s rather sad, don’t you think? The amounts of blood you’ve seen, the variety of wounds someone can endure — no child should see something like that.”

This time, the sidekick didn’t say anything, they just stared at the villain’s desk rather angrily. It was frustrating, the villain was fully aware of that.

It must’ve been difficult for the sidekick to realise something was changing, that their role as a caretaker was shifting. It must’ve been difficult not to feel replaced.

“I know you don’t agree with my methods. Neither does my lover. But I can promise you to take care of them, whatever it takes. You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”

“It’s not a burden,” the sidekick snapped and the villain realised that the sidekick could’ve become a villain easily. They were angry and didn’t know how to handle that anger. They were frustrated and didn’t know how to express it. If they had been around the wrong people at the wrong time, they would’ve made a perfect victim of manipulation.

The villain wasn’t going to let that happen.

“They talk about you all the time,” the villain said. “Brag about your grades and awards.”

The sidekick looked up, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. You play the violin, don’t you? And you’ve been obsessed with this new video game, aren’t you?”

The sidekick nodded. Suddenly, they seemed a little embarrassed.

“But you also get into a lot of trouble at school. Can’t stand bullies?”

The sidekick shook their head.

“They couldn’t be more proud,” the villain said. For a second, all was quiet. The villain was reminded of a lost childhood, of tears and fear. Of feeling alone, of losing everything. “Listen. They love you more than anything and I cannot change that, even if I wanted to. And I don’t. I guess I am trying to say that there’s two people now who can protect them. Plus, they’re not completely helpless.”

Now, the sidekick smiled softly.

“They’re stupid, though.”

“Oh, totally,” the villain agreed.

“They need me.”

“You need them just as much. They can’t give you that when they’re exhausted and need stitches all the time.”

“…I guess you have a point.” The sidekick let out a big sigh and rubbed their face with their hands. And that was the moment the villain knew they had changed their mind. It wasn’t easy to let go of habits and the villain was fully aware that this wasn’t over, that the sidekick would try to slip back into their role every now and then.

But this was a great start. That kid needed more free time.

“I always do.” The villain grinned. “They’re in good hands, don’t worry. I’ll take over the bloody parts and the tears, you do the video games and laundry fights, alright?”

“Ugh. Fine. That doesn’t mean I like you,” the sidekick said. They stood up, false annoyance all over them.

“Mmm, don’t worry. That’ll kick in later. Now get lost, don’t you have a science project or something to take care of?”

“You’re so annoying.” They were heading for the door but the villain had one last sideswipe. They couldn’t help themselves.

“Oh, tell my henchman to do their work on time when you see them tomorrow, will you?” They tried not to smile when the sidekick turned around.

“Excuse me?” The villain stood up, walked around the table.

“Tomorrow at the club, I mean. I’ve heard you’re quite the wildcards together.”

“Hey, what do you mean, your henchman?”

“Just try not to devour each other in front of other people, I don’t want to hear anything about that.”

The villain gave them a smile and pushed them gently out of the room.

“Woah, wait, hey—”

“Bye bye.” They closed the door of their office with a cheery demeanour. They’d always been a sucker for a little drama.

pt. 2

[zzencat]

Why Am I So Hard On Myself? - Timeless ⏳

Breathe and choose. Left to right.

Kinda doing this one on a whim but figured it could help anyone who needs to be heard and have their doubts or feelings validated. You’re not alone. Does it say anything else about you?

TO ENHANCE ACCURACY BEFORE CHOOSING: Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush up against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out.

———————————————-

Pile 1 | “no matter how hard i try…”

somehow, something always goes wrong. you always try to salvage what you can, picking up the pieces and trying to make the most of the situation, but maybe the timing is shit, or it isn’t met up to standard. plans ruined, connections gone, opportunities lost. even when all you do is try and try. you might even think “why is this even happening? im only breathing”

small note: while shuffling, it was going pretty nicely then cards started flying out of my hands like fliers on a windy day. it’s a small thing, but to me, it has to do with having constant roadblocks and inconveniences, and that maybe you feel like you’re at your last straw sometimes

you want to be seen for your efforts. at least some acknowledgment that someone knows, sees, and understands that you’re trying. someone to hear you out for once and take you seriously, even if none of what you’d done or contributed has worked before. just acknowledgment would be enough. maybe you’re the only one who recognizes your efforts.

i think you struggle with maintaining career, friendships, or really anything, in general. the foundations laid out might’ve been risky or unstable to begin with so you could question why things don’t last for you. a part of you expects the heartbreak to happen.

it’s crazy bc in this pile, there’s so much…optimism and hope (that might be dying out or feels like it has already) that one day something will work out

your heart isn’t completely closed and you’ll still have it open to accept things, even when you think it shouldn’t. this is what makes you a stronger person. it opens a wide range of doors for you, whether you know it or not. don’t give up.

———————————————————————————————————————

Pile 2 | “look out!”

you’re so used to prioritizing others and putting yourself last. bc of this, you could’ve missed out on many things and lost opportunities

you have a big heart and hella good energy — an abundance of it — but for some reason, it’s rarely spent on yourself

you feel like it’s your responsibility, all of it — to run or lead things, as if it’s all in your hands. to take over when things are about to fall apart. who made it your responsibility to carry the burdens of others? what happens then if they don’t reciprocate or return the same generosity?

all of this energy is being redirected to the wrong places when you should be thinking about yourself too. how can you help others when you can’t even help yourself? how about your own dreams and goals? you’re human too, so you need the care and support as well. your energy doesn’t just grow on trees. put yourself high on your own list. make yourself a priority for once. book a spa day and have someone else take over for the day.

——————————————————————————————————-

Pile 3 | *whistling*

for this pile, it seems to be more family related, where your pursuits, outlooks, or the way you treat yourself is how you were treated growing up. there’s some connection to pile 2 as well, so there could be some messages in pile 2 for you if it caught your eye

parent(s)/caretakers put a lot of pressure on you with crazy expectations or nitpicking, sometimes maybe even emotional manipulation like guilt tripping

there’s a need to take more charge in your life, especially in the creative and emotional corners of it, and also to create more meaningful and deep connections

some people in this pile might be easily defensive as well too. in this lifetime, you’re gonna learn to put your guard down, bc perhaps you’d grown up feeling trapped and forced into a mold you didn’t belong in

you could struggle with emotional commitment or generally sticking to one thing. there are probably too many things you wanna do or end up trying at least once. relationships might not last too long. there could even be a subconscious fear that you won’t be able to meet someone else’s emotional needs or standards.

you’re very spontaneous and prob get bored easily. also prob struggled academically (ex: having a hard time understand in subjects, sticking to one thing/constantly changing interests or majors, feeling trapped, giving up)

you’re lowkey a perfectionist. perhaps you’re never satisfied bc you grew up with that kind of dissatisfaction on yourself, likely by adults or maybe just things you’d picked up from adolescence

at some point, you might reflect back and feel disappointed in yourself, even if you’d just had the time of your life. it seems like this pile indulges in more superficial activities/substances to fill in the void in that chest

—————————————————————————

ending teddy note: hey guys! been a while but here’s a pac for ya!! i think this is a great pac if you don’t have someone to acknowledge the potential issues going on in your life. thank you for taking the time to read this and i really hope you enjoy it! rmr to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. ciao!! :P

i would appreciate the feedback! lemme know what you got or think in the comments or reblogs 🦾

- The Tedster

[slowlydifferentbluebird]

The morning Shift - Hybrid AU

Hello there! Before the next part of the Aespa Au and the TripleS fic(still deciding which members), I wanted to drop this work of mine. I don't if the Hybrid AU is something my public is interested in, but I still wanted to give It a try. So let me know if you liked this and if you want more❤️

Can someone be employee of the month and the same time the biggest problem of the workplace? I know it sounds absurd, but it's the truth. One first hypothesis would be a case of nepotism: someone working there just because a parent or a friend is a top name of that agency; but no, it was not definitely your case. You really love this job and anything related to it. You always give all yourself, making the biggest effort to always execute your duty in the best and most correct way. But let's take one step at a time: what even is your job?

The answer is technically very easy: you work in a shelter, just not a normal one; the one where you are employeed takes care of hybrids, half-animal, half-human. Said in this way someone could believe we are talking about centaurs or mermaids, but they are not that mythical. Let's take in example the race you working with, the cat-hybrid race: they are basically normal people with few animals features like tails or cat ears. The rest of their "being hybrid" is really showed in their behaviour and antics, rather than in their body. I'm sure a description of a typical work shift of yours will be enough to make anyone understand.

Your routine starts kinda early in the morning: at 7 a.m. you arrive at the shelter, still kinda sleepy and groggy. Luckily you are immediately welcomed by one of the guests of the building. Two long arms takes you in a soft embrace, keeping you close from snuggling against your chest. "Good morning, Sakura, already out of your room today?", you asked, giggling, while kindly stroking her hair, making her cat hair move in response out of excitement. "Mmh, good morning. Yes, I felt like I had sleep enough tonight", she mumbled against your body, eyes closed in relax. You knew very well that she was lying: Sakura was very affectionate towards you and she had nightmares when you were not there for the night shift. You kinda solved the problem spraying her cushion with your perfume, but still her sleep was not the best; so her way to compensate that was literally waiting for you behind the entrance door. She had a very calm personality overall, so the staff of the place just let her be. "I see. Should we go wake up your roommate?", you proposed patting her head. Kkura just nooded and let you, starting to follow you really close from behind.

Despite this initial moment, Sakura was very mature and she rarely let herself go to these affectionate moments, especially in front of other guests. She often help you with your duties and kinda keeps everyone in check, so it's not easy to see her softer side, maybe the only one, except you, who know the japanese so well was her roommate and best friend. "Goooood morning, babyyyyyy", a loud and high voice shouted, someone jumping with so much strenght at you to send you on the floor. "Chae, be careful, you're hurting our caretaker", Sakura scolded her younger friend, crossing her arms. "Don't worry, she didn't hurt me, she just needs her morning cuddles", you reassured, hiding the pain with a big smile and focusing on scratching the forehead of Chae, making her cutely growls in satisfaction, her tail moving quickly. Chaewon story was particular: in fact despite she arrived in your shelter by mistake, because she was not a cat hybrid like all the others, but a cheetah hybrid. It was kinda a common mistake when they are young, but she was in fact different. At the start she was very aggressive and she didn't trust anyone, so she was about to be sent away...then you tried to get closer. You have always been kind and sweet, even when she was showing her worst behaviour, even hurting you, but you already knew that she was not bad, just very scared. And you were right: in no time she got very affectionate to you and also kinda protective. Not a single scratch would have appeared on your body under sight...well, except the ones caused by her cuddles.

After being held down by the blondie until her her cuddles hunger was satisfied, you slowly got up, helped by Sakura."Well, you already know at this point, I have to go to check the others", you explained, trying to go out of the door; however a pouting Chae was helding your hand to not let you go, her cheetah ears down. Even the mature Sakura was not completely enthusiast of the idea of you not being with them. "Oh, come on, don't make those faces, you're gonna break my heart. We're gonna see again in like 15 minutes. Breakfast, do you remember?", you reassured them, instantly bringing their smiles back and their ears up. You don't get how this scene repeats itself at every morning shift, but you could tell the separation anxiety was real for them, probably later they would asked for more of your attentions. However this sounded like a problem for your future self. You directed towards the next room, you knocked, asking for the permission to go inside. A soft "come in" was received as answer.

Opening the door, such a mesmerizing sight was waiting for you: this long figure was sat under the window, reading a book in silence. Her pale skin shining under the light of the sun, her long black hair almost covering her cat ears and falling on her shoulder, her black tail hidden between her legs. "Here you are, you are some minutes late today", she made you notice smiling elegantly, before closing her book and and shift her gaze towards your face. She gently patted the spot next to her, signaling that she wanted you close to her. Mina is not the biggest yapper between the guest, but you know her well enough to always understand perfectly her body language and her intentions. "You don't miss a thing, uh? I feel like I'm the one under your control", you joke, sitting next to her, your arm brushing against your skin. "I'm just very careful with things I like", she smirked before placing her head on your shoulder and humming softly. Yeah, Mina thought about you as her stuff, it was not rare for cat hybrids to be possessive, but it was quite surprising from the most introverted between the guest. You two just stayed her, enjoying each other company and the fresh wind entering from the window.

"Where's the baby?", you asked suddendly after few minutes. The cozy atmposhere created thanks to Mina almost made you forget that it was also the room of someone else with a very different vibe. "Oh, probably right now she's playing with Ka-", Mina' sentence was interrupted when someone thrown herself over you two, squeezing both of you in a pressing hug. "Oof-, I wish I could have your energies in the morning, Kyujin", you sighed, gently patting the back of the youngest guest, that was being lively and energetic as her usual. "But you have the whole me instead, isn't it even better?", the young girl replied, affectionately rubbing her head against your neck, enjoying the warmth feeling. Mina gave you an apologetic look, but you just shrugged and shaked your head to reassure her that everything was fine. It was your idea to put the calmest and the most chaotic catgirls together in the same room, and so far Mina had made a great job in taking care of Kyujin; and on the contrary, the youngest was the right person to energize the soft girl, given that often she would just lay and don't socialize at all. "You're lucky you're a cutie or I would have scolded you", you said, sitting up and caressing the ears of a purring Kyujin. "I don't believe you a tiny bit: you're too kind to scold me", she chuckled, making you roll your eyes back playfully. But she wasn't wrong tho, you rarely get mad at them and maybe that was the reason you go along with all of them.

"Come on, baby, let the caretaker go: we have to get ready for breakfast too", Mina said softly, caressing the hair of the younger girl. "Oow, fine. See you later then", she nodded, listening well to Mina words. You gave both of them few more pats before heading out. The positive side of the morning shift is that there are only few guests to take care of, just six to be precise; many others are going to wake up just for lunch and even after. At this point there are just two girls missing to check up and to call for eating all together; however even before reaching their room, you met one of them in the hallway: she was at the exact center of the passage, standing and staring at you, her tail moving left and right uncontrollably. "Karina, what are you doing here?", you asked, walking towards her, stopping just at few steps away from her. "I smelled your scent, so I just ran in your direction", she explained proudly, a silly smile printed on her face, her pupils basically taking the shape of a heart while looking at you; Karina was with no doubts the worst at hiding her feelings. "Good job, I was coming to you anyway, so you made my life more simple in this way, good girl", you praised her, scratching her chin, making her melt in your touch. If before her tail was already moving without control, now it was going totally crazy. She was so lost in the moment that she didn't even realize when she let out a loud meow, that echoed in the hallway. "I love when you call me a good girl", she admitted, beaming in your vision. "Then keep being one and wait for me and the others in the kitchen, alright?", you winked at her, making her heartbeat rise. She quickly nodded and then ran as fast as she can towards the kitchen, leaving you amused.

After seeing Karina disappear at the end of the corridor, you kept going your way, till reaching the final room: the door was open but you still need to get prepared for it. "I'm coming in, Irene", you warned from outside, but you got no response. You stretched your neck, took a big breath and finally went in. The moment you put your foot inside the room, you could feel her gaze penetrating your soul, a cold smile used like a mask. She silently got up and started walking in a circle around you. "Why am I always the last that you greet at morning?", she inquired, her eyes judging you. "Always is a big word, it's just something that happens sometimes", you chuckled nervously, trying to not fold under her gaze. "Mmh, is that so? Are you not avoiding me?", she shoot her next question, this time stopping and taking your hand in yours. You were not lying honestly, it simply was that her room was the most distant from the entrance of the building. "Yes, Irene, I assure you. You know that I care about you", you tried to convince her about your sincerity. Irene cold smile seemed to turn into a softer one...and yet, she still decided to take a bite of your hand. It was nothing too strong or dangerous, just painful enough to remind you she was not fooling around. "Ouch, why? I'm being honest", you yelped in pain, confused by her act. "I know, but I'm still pissed at you for being the last", a hint of cuteness in her voice, before licking the spot where she bit you.

You waited until Irene finished to medicate the wound that she made herself. Irene was the oldest of the bunch, she was also older than you, so for her it was natural to see you as someone to take care of, even if her jealousy attacks were the biggest threats for you at work. Being on Irene bad side meant to have an hard time everyday, luckily it was not your case: she seemed interested into you since your first day of work. Your kind ways to interact with everyone quickly made Irene have a soft spot for you. "All done, you're like new. Now let's go eat or I'll take another chomp from you", she teased you playfully, licking her own lips. "Alright, let's go, I bet they are waiting for us in th-", you tried to lead the way, but you felt Irene body remaining still; you looked at her, once more confused. "Today I don't feel like walking", she said with a sly smile. You knew exactly what she had in mind, being the oldest didn't mean acting like it in Irene vocabulary. You gave her your back and squatted: immediately Irene got up on your back, putting her arms around your neck to keep her balance and using your body as a pillow for her head. With Irene on your back, you finally went for kitchen, ready to give a start to the day of the shelter.

Now, as everyone can see, you are perfect for this job: you're kind and understanding, you know how to behave with every girl, and the guests love you and listen to you well. Of course you are the employee of the month...since months. Then what is the deal? Why are you the biggest problem of your workplace? Well, the girls love you too much! They are so affectionate towards you that they don't want to get adopted and leave the place. But honestly in a world where the hybrids are not accepted by everyone being so different from "normal people", the boss is just satisfied of how happy the guests are in the shelter. And maybe a promotion will arrive soon...

[shuenkio]

I only need you | 💕 chulso.

Paring: Ni-ki x male!reader

Genre: Fluff, enemies (not really) to lover trope.

Cw: brat word.

Summary: He wants you but he is denying when you are there for him.

Non proof read/wc:1.0k

Eng is not my 1st lang.

A|N: I know I have written a lot of school tropes but I'm still writing here with him, also I wrote this in my sleep so... It's a lil cringe.

Befriending the bad boy, Ni-ki, was your worst mistake. But that wasn't the end of it. The universe seemed to conspire to keep the two of you together, making it impossible to escape each other.Was it fate or coincidence? It didn’t matter, because wherever you went, Ni-ki was always there too.

Not only have you been classmates with him for five years, but even in 12th grade, he’s still there. Your name and his always seem to be side by side for a reason. It’s a good thing neither of you are the top students vying for the top spot on the board, but that doesn’t mean your friendship with him is all sweet and nice.

Behind it all, you hate his aura and the way he acts towards you. Some days, he annoys you non-stop, never letting you breathe or relax. Other days, he's unexpectedly nice, giving you free snacks or leaving his lunch under your desk. Mixed signals. Despite all the things you hate about Ni-ki, he's the opposite of you.

He might act all tough and come across as an annoying loser toward you, but deep down, he craves your attention. Yet, did he have the courage to confess that to you? Who would be foolish enough to reveal their true feelings to their one and only friend and crush, especially someone they are so close to? Such a confession could change everything. He prefers to keep things low-key, which is why he sometimes does things that send those strange, fluttering sensations through your stomach. Instead of words, he leaves his feelings in the little gestures—a snack here, a lunchbox there, or a fleeting touch that lingers longer than it should.

One day, he accidentally fell down the stairs, sustaining minor injuries to his leg and nose. Ni-ki was swiftly sent to the nurse's office, and the news spread through the classroom like wildfire. You dismissed it as just another instance of his clumsiness, thinking there was nothing to worry about. However, when a friend told you that Ni-ki needed you and was refusing treatment from the nurse, you quickly denied any involvement and refused to be his caretaker.

Before you know it, you're standing in front of the nurse's office, having been dragged there by your friends after a few stern lectures from them. You can't fathom why they care so much about him that they would go to such lengths to pull you out of class and deposit you here. All you get from them is a simple, "He needs you." Out of all people, it had to be you? You sigh, feeling the weight of their expectations. With a resigned breath, you push yourself to go in, deciding to repay him for all the small kindnesses he's shown you—the snacks, obviously.

You reluctantly step inside, fearing your friends' teasing if you don’t. As you approach Ni-ki, you see him lying on the bed with an ice bag on his leg, stubbornly refusing treatment. Standing face to face with him, you can't hide your disbelief as you question why he’s acting like a child. He avoids your gaze, his cheeks flushing a soft red. It feels like you've hit a nerve. Taking a deep breath, you hop onto the bed and sit beside his waist, folding your hands together like an exasperated parent.

"Yo, what's this all about?" you ask, avoiding his eyes, knowing you'd be mortified if you did.

"I didn't call you an idiot; those students made it up," Ni-ki mumbles, his lips tight, refusing to admit the truth. An uncomfortable silence fills the room. As you glance around for the nurse, your eyes land on a male nurse, and suddenly, everything clicks.

"You should’ve told me sooner; why are you acting all tough?" you say, leaving the bed to discuss the situation with the nurse. Ni-ki strains to eavesdrop, but all he hears is unintelligible murmuring, as if he were listening to white noise. He furrows his brows, trying to process what’s happening, replaying memories in his mind, but finding no clue about your next move.

With a cold smirk and an evil gaze, you roll up your sleeves and approach him. A chill runs down his spine as he gulps, attempting to muster rage, but failing miserably. He's speechless as you wrap your arms around his torso, cupping his face to keep his focus on you. Distracting him, you allow the nurse to examine and treat his leg without any tantrums from this ungrateful brat.

"Look at me, Ni-ki. Don’t you see? I'm right here. Don’t you like it?" you say, cringing internally, but knowing it's the quickest way to get through this. Ni-ki's world seems to stop as he looks into your eyes, captivated by your face. He acts cool and bratty to avoid being babied, but with you, it’s different.Since childhood, he’s been terrified of male doctors and nurses after a wrong injection left him bedridden for a month.

You witnessed it, and your memory clicks, understanding his behavior.

"*Sigh, if you're scared, just hug me or squeeze my hand, Chulso. Don’t think twice," you reassure. His tongue tied, your use of his old nickname makes him choke up even more. Without a word, his eyes widen, and he buries his face in your chest, pulling you closer in a swift motion, hugging your waistband affectionately.

"Ashh, you know too much about me."

"We're more than friends, Chulso; I’ve even seen you naked before," you tease.

"Don’t even start. And yes, I could make our friendship more than that."

"You switch quickly, I see. But what else do you have? Nothing surprises me."

"I'm going to make everyone believe you're my boyfriend from now on."

"What are you saying?"

"You two should get a room, you kids"

the nurse interjects.

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ crd to the owner of dividers: Anitalenia

🗣️ I admit I use chat gpt for more visualize (my idea is purely mine, only add small visualize&better words) because... I'm suck, (sorry not sorry)

[echoingalaxies]

cw: hospital/medical stuff mentions, unspecified illness or injury

“You wanna pick up some food on the way?” Caretaker asked, steering her car out of the parking garage and to the intersection.

Whumpee, sitting under a blanket on the passenger seat, watched the hospital disappear as they drove away on the mostly empty highway. He rubbed the pit of his elbow where a small bandage remained to stop the slight bleeding from a cannula.

It had been a long day. New bottles of medicine rattled in the pockets of his jacket when he shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned their head against the headrest. They had sat in the waiting room the whole evening before finally being admitted, and discharged only a couple of hours after. Caretaker hadn’t even tried to argue with the staff anymore. It always ended like this. Not enough beds and not enough people to take care of the ones lying on them.

Whumpee knew he was lucky. He knew he’d be safe going home with Caretaker. But it didn’t mean he didn’t keep dreaming about the day he’d be taken seriously. He’d receive proper care. Otherwise he’d just have to keep going back, over and over again. More pills, more bills, more wasted hours.

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh,” Whumpee blinked, realizing he hadn’t actually given Caretaker a response. “No, I… we should just head home. You’ve got work in the morning, and it’s already way past midnight.”

His stomach let out a loud rumbling sound just then, and Caretaker gave him a quiet look, which Whumpee pretended to not see. He could fix himself a bowl of yogurt at home. Caretaker needed sleep. She deserved it, after putting aside her own responsibilities just to stay with him again.

“What if I told you I already took tomorrow off?”

"What?" Whumpee turned to her, shaking his head. “Caretaker, no. You shouldn’t have.”

Caretaker shrugged. “It’s Friday, we get to have a head start for the weekend. Won’t that be fun?” Her smile faltered slightly and her voice shifted lower, to more serious. “The nurse said someone should keep an eye on you — and I wouldn’t want to leave you, anyway. You still need help.”

Whumpee knew that. He looked down, fidgeting with the hospital wristband. If he’d kept every one of those he’d got even during the past year, he could probably sew them together to make full sleeves for both arms. Money was already tight, as Caretaker worked to support the both of them, and Caretaker missing work because of Whumpee’s various appointments and frequent trips to the ER had had their effect on their income.

“Yes, but…” he said, the familiar tearing feeling of shame finding its place. “I thought we would call Friend or Sibling to stay with me while you’re at work. We have before.”

“Now we don’t have to.” Caretaker glanced at him, frowning. “Do you not… want me to stay?”

“Didn’t they say you can’t keep doing this anymore if you plan to keep your position?” Whumpee asked. “You like your job. I don’t want you to risk losing it because of me.”

“They will understand. I told them it is a family matter.”

Whumpee’s cheeks got hot and he moved his focus away from Caretaker again, watching out of the window instead. They were passing by shops, parks, and pubs, taking many turns in the little streets of their labyrinth of a hometown. Whumpee hadn’t even noticed they had left the main road, but he definitely recognised where Caretaker was heading.

“You didn’t have to lie because of me,” he mumbled, as Caretaker pulled into the parking lot of a local, 24-hour barbeque restaurant they both loved. “About it being a… a family thing.”

Caretaker turned to Whumpee, finally being able to give him her undivided attention as she turned off the engine, smiling softly.

“I didn’t.”

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

midnight sun by merils

Who would win: four men with guns who just happened to get Red Robin to walk into a trap, or one royally-pissed Kryptonian juggernaut?

Yeah, it's not even a contest.

reasons are better than rules by destiny919

"No one will actually explain Father's rules to me," Damian blurts out. "They tell me we don't kill, and killing is wrong, and Father would never do it, but no one ever actually says why! As if repeating the rule is the same as explaining it! As if I am supposed to just know, when I do not!"

Drake is quiet, eyes on something in the distance that Damian cannot see. "Damian, may I tell you a secret?"

Marvel

Thirty Hours by polaroid15

The sun sets. Peter breaks three toes and hits his head hard against concrete. There’s a steadily bleeding wound in his side that he’s staunched with his webbing and tries not to acknowledge it when it burns. He can still walk in a straight line, which is good. He’s starving and tired and cold. It’s been fifteen hours.

Or, Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Clone Wars

An Hourglass In Hand by ecarian

“I thought daemons didn’t eat,” Rex noted once, during a celebration feast, as he and Cody watched Boga devour her meal with some fascination. Varactyl she may be, but she was a tiny one. There wasn't much interior space for the truly momentous amount of meat she was ripping into.

Boga daintily rubbed her beak against a folded serviette that looked kind of like a bird, and said, prim, “I can do anything a human can do.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan said mildly, from where he’d been tapping at a datapad. “Shall I save you a portion of these reports then?”

Set My Mind at Ease by Eightbitpale

Marshal Commander Cody - clone commanding officer of the 7th Sky Corps, second in command of the 212th attack battalion and, currently, the proud caretaker of one still-warm lightsaber - was having a very long day.

Actually, fuck that. It had been more than a long day. Long days were Cody’s bread and butter, practically his comfort zone. Marshall Commander Cody ate stim shots for breakfast and every shiny this side of Coruscant knew it. Long days were his bitch.

No, this had been more than a long day. Today had been a bad day.

———

The one where Cody and his general try their best to tell each other that they care. At least they’re trying.

Your Smile In Stone by ecarian

Wooley: can we arrest people for yelling this early?

There were two figures standing at the foot of General Kenobi's statue with their backs to Wooley, an adult with a hood, and a child with light hair. The child was pointing at a puddle of Temple tookas who were curled up in General Kenobi’s lap, lounging in the stone folds of his robes, the bend of his knee.

Wooley: belay that. Child nuisance.

The Goblin Emperor

Sweet Hope by baladric

Maia Drazhar arranges a festival, meets his gay aunt, falls in love with his secretary, and misses his mom through it all.

"In the way of true stories, there was no discernible beginning. Perhaps it had begun that first day, in the shabby receiving room at Edonomee; in the cockpit of the Radiance of Cairado; at the mooring mast of the Untheileneise Court, with that first smile.

The pith of the matter was that Maia Drazhar was wildly, tremulously in love, and love had made fools of much wiser men than he."

In All Its Forms by Anonymous

Before his father ruined everything, Nurevis Chavar only thought to introduce the new emperor to all the most beautiful things life could offer.

When he found himself free from relegation again after his father's death, would the emperor whose friendship he had sought so long ago wish his presence at court? And, if he could return to court, would his emperor wish his friendship again?

[selfinsertmadness]

i have a really cool prompt

hope you like my idea,

could you perhaps write a story about the current logan situation with loganxy/n ??

i love your blog soooo muchhhh

Logie and the Australian car incident

pairing: AstonMartin!y/n x Logan Sargeant (can be read platonically or romantically)

author's note: I haven't written any fanfic stuff in literal years (middle school me is quacking) but I tried my best with that one. Looking forward to any suggestions or critiques you may have :) (insert obligatory English is not my native language here) (please send promts!!!!)

The day starts off as any other day on a busy race weekend would and you are busy running around the Aston Martin garage making sure everything is in order before you return to your place at the back of the garage. You let your gaze sweep over the garage one last time before getting out your work phone and texting your boss, Lawrence, that everything is in order. The cars seem good, the mechanics had no complaints and Lance and Fernando were reasonably happy with everything. A satisfied smile washes over your face, your job was busy but reasonably easy, as the team caretaker your sole mission was to make sure the team was happy, the drivers taken care of, and the PR supervisors were not losing their minds running after their drivers while also texting Lawrence even the most minute details about his son and the other driver.

It seems quite redundant to you, but Lawrence Stroll pays well and who are you to turn down a job as a glorified team nanny.

You take a seat at the back and watch the first practice session absentmindedly, letting your gaze wander down to your phone occasionally, and scrolling through Twitter, scoffing at all the hate towards the current grid. It never ceases to amaze you how people can be so hateful, but then again, some people are just unhappy about their own lives. Looking up at the screen you watch a Williams car hit the wall on the right before sliding across the track and grinding its way to a stop on the left barrier. You gasp as you jump up, the rest of the garage wincing in sympathy as the car finally stops. You quickly turn to a mechanic nearby. “Who was that?”, you ask a little panicked as you watch the red flag fly and a driver in a Williams race suit climb out of the cockpit. “Albon, I think”, the mechanic replies helpfully as you try and suppress a relieved sigh. You still feel sorry for Alex but simultaneously thanking your lucky stars that Logan was not the one in an accident this time.

When Logan first got signed by Williams you both were ecstatic, you had met years ago when your parents had taken you on a vacation to Florida where you met Logan and you’ve kept in touch ever since. You had already been working for Aston Martin when Logan started in F1 and the fact that you could spend a lot more time together now served as further motivation to both of you to give it your best. You quickly shoot him a text, knowing he won’t be responding until later, before sending your boss a quick update and making sure the crash had not affected your team.

You honestly had forgotten you texted Logan in the first place as you watch the cars head out for the second practice session, Alex staying back in the pits, watching his teammate drive. You smile as you send Logan some memes you had found on twitter, knowing he would have a laugh once he got back to his room after the strenuous practice sessions of the day. Aston Martin, for once, had no major issues you had attend to and you could lean back and relax, as much as one in a Formula 1 garage can relax, in your seat while harassing the Aston Martin Instagram Admin with Memes you think they should be posting asap.

As the second practice session ends you help the team pack up and prepare for the next day as the drivers attend to their media duties and you stretch in relief as the first day of the Australian Grand Prix comes to an end.  After having everything sorted you get out your work phone and sign off for the day before taking out your personal phone and responding to some texts before checking your chat with Logan, seeing that he had read your messages but not responded. ‘You ok?’, you send him before shrugging off any worry you might have. Surely, he was just busy, after all, he was the only Williams driver that would be starting on Sunday. You really wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, the weight of the entire team and all the fans’ expectations resting on your shoulders. You might have a lot of responsibility but at least you were free of the expectations fans place on the drivers, mechanics and team principals.

You quickly slip into the shower of your private hotel room, a perk you were eternally grateful for, and put on some pajamas before order room service. You had earned it after all and looking after your figure was thankfully not a concern you had. ‘Ignoring your bestie? That’s not how I know you Loggie!’ you text Logan as you open the door for the food you had ordered and sit down before digging into the pepperoni pizza you had been craving for a week.

You startle as you hear a knock from your hotel room door. You shoot a quick glance at your phone, 11pm. You quietly approach the door and look through the peephole cautiously. Who would disturb you that late on a race weekend? Looking through the hole you see Logan at the door, his face unusually pale and his expression unnervingly neutral. Quickly you reach for the doorhandle, pulling the door open. “Logie? What got you a-knocking that late?”, you ask jokingly but the lighthearted smile on your face quickly fades as he stands on the swell of your door like a man lost, his eyes suspiciously watery. “Oh dear”, you mumble as you quickly pull him into your room and heard him towards your bed, letting him sit down before standing before him and looking at him with a stern expression. “What’s wrong?”, you ask, concern written all over your face.

He sighs, falling back onto the bed. “They’re taking my car.”, his voice sounds wobbly as he explains. “Who is taking your car?”, you ask, your voice confused.

“James. He said Alex has a higher chance of scoring and I get it, but I tried so hard, you know? They said they trusted me, and I was ready to proof how much I have improved and now I can’t drive at all. I didn’t crash the car! It’s not my fault! I didn’t do anything…”, he rambles, his voice flowing between sadness, anger and betrayal before ending in defeat. You look at him, he still has his upper body lying on your bed, his feet dangling off the side as he continues explaining what had happened. Quietly you sit down next to him on the bed and gently stroke through his hair as you let him talk out his frustrations. “y/n? What do I do now?”, Logan asks as he looks up at you, his eyes still wet but trying his hardest to not shed a tear.

“I will put the fear of God into that good-for-nothing son of a bitch.”, you explain very matter of factly. “I’m gonna walk down to the Williams hospitality and I’m gonna scream at your team principal!”, you declare with a huff as you get off of your bed and towards where you kicked off your shoes when you came back from the paddock earlier that night.

“Y/N, do NOT do that.”, Logan warns as he gets up and grabs your hand. “That is just going to make it worse.” “Okay but it’s also gonna make me feel a lot better ‘cause who does he think he is? Taking your car and giving it away. I’m gonna make him regret this entire week” you say angrily as you look up at him with determination and the wrath of someone who’s best friend was just wronged in your eyes.

“Please don’t”, Logan asks with sad eyes, gripping your hand even tighter. “Please just stay with me tonight, I feel sick. I just want to cry.”, he admits to you as you feel your resolve break. “But- “, you trail off as you watch him stand before you, his hand still tightly gripping yours. You sigh in defeat before squeezing his hand. “Right but only ‘cause you asked me to, if it was up to me…”, you stop, leaving the threat hang in the air of your hotel room as you head towards the small desk. “Pizza”, you declare as you shove the leftovers of your pizza into Logans hands. “My TV has Netflix, what do you want to watch?”, you ask as you throw yourself into the hotel room bed and turn on the flatscreen TV hanging opposite it.

Logan lets out a surprised laugh and sits down next to you, the pizza carton still tightly in his hands as he gets out a slice and lets you choose whatever show you find on the homepage. The evening continues in relative silence as Logan finishes the pizza and you sit in the bed, leaning onto each other. “I’m still sending him negative vibes, like spiritually”, you grumble as he giggles before slipping off to sleep for the night.

[respectthepetty]

*walks back into the room after saying I was going to let it go*

I got beef with episode eleven of Last Twilight.

NO! YOU DID THE OPPOSITE OF THE RIGHT THING! YOU SUCK!

Your man stood in front of you and said he was afraid to leave you because the last time he wasn't there for someone HE LOVES, she died. He said in front of everyone that he blames himself for his sister's death because he didn't answer her call, and what did you do?!

You made this about YOU! And it makes sense. You have been on this "everyone pities me" tour since the beginning because it was true and accurate; HOWEVER, Mork has never pitied you, and he has shown that for ELEVEN DAMN EPISODES! He has shown you that you are capable of doing things on your own. He has shown you that he loves you regardless of your sight, but that he will be there for you no matter what.

But you know what we haven't seen for eleven episodes? Mork's grief over his sister's death AND YOU HELPING HIM THROUGH IT! But it makes sense because Mork hasn't fully shared that grief, but the second he mentioned it, YOU FIRED HIM AS YOUR BOYFRIEND THE SAME WAY YOU FIRED HIM AS YOUR CARETAKER IN EPISODE TWO when he freaked out thinking you were harming yourself, and why? Because he lied!

And you know what? YES! Yes, he would have lied to you even if you weren't blind because he JUST told you that this isn't about YOU being blind; this is about HIM being terrified that he is the deciding factor between someone's life and death, and he feels solely responsible for his loved one's lives. But you didn't hear any of that because we are still focused on YOU and your issues surrounding the way you think people see you.

Because if this were really about lying and pity, then you know when would have been the perfect place to express that?

The moment Mork didn't tell you that August was standing *right* there hearing you confess how much you liked him should have been the moment for this whole breakdown about pity, lies, and communication. Mork pitied you there. He omitted telling you that August was there. His pity for you is what stopped him from telling you the truth. He liked you then, but this was still an upsetting moment.

But the end of episode 11 after y'all done said "I love you" and you told Mork to not disappear was the moment you decided to come for Mork while your mama sits there with her armchair philosophy about taking care of someone when HER ASS DONE BEEN M.I.A.

There was no conversation. There was no communication. There was Day making decisions, and Mork abiding.

Night is the only one I respect up in that house right now, and that's on God.

Apologize to my boy, Day!

RIGHT NOW!

[abiiors]

cruel summer - ross x reader ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🔆:✧˚.🍉⋆𖧧🐚

a/n: sufjan stevens summer?? maybe?? slightly, if you squint. cw: CHEATING (if you have problems with it, this one's really not for you), brief mentions of the death of a parent, one extremely brief mention of a slap, SMUT wc: 12.6k (wtf!)

the first day of summer is always dull at the villa. 

it’s the summer solstice—something the owner used to believe in, and so you keep the tradition, moving all your belongings to the little caretaker’s cottage for the next three months. it’s hard work, taking care of the guests, taking care of the villa, but it’s fun. there’s your seventy year old fisherman aldo who greets you with all the grandfatherly warmth in the world. he promises help should you need it. (you suspect you do, it’s your first year doing this alone after all) 

there’s marta, the cook who’s worked here since before you were even born, excited to get back to work and try out some of the new recipes she’s perfected over the course of the rest of the year. her son helps out too. enzo helps with the cleaning and the more manual tasks, helps you make sure the place is spotless. then there's the more seasonal staff, people who want to spend a summer abroad doing menial jobs and traveling. they never stay long but they're good help.

all in all by the time the villa is open for business, you’re confident that it’s going to be the perfect getaway for any couple that chooses to rent it, specifically the one who has chosen to rent it—for four whole weeks. not that you don’t get long stays from people, it’s an absolutely gorgeous property after all. but four weeks is rare. 

you suspect it’s someone on their honeymoon—high on newlywed bliss and disgustingly in love. 

mr and mrs macdonald.

“we have a booking under macdonald?” is the first thing he says to you. 

hastily you look up from your phone (which you shouldn’t have been on in the first place, but the only people you’ve seen here today are a few tourists dining at the restaurant adjacent to the villa and the locals dropping by for a catch up) and nod.

macdonald. yes. that’s a name you know. 

you stand up to your full height and come up to about his chest, craning until you can meet his eyes…or well, the sunglasses, in his case. he looks like every other tourist you’ve seen—a white linen shirt, sunglasses, suitcases, slightly pink in the face. but that’s not all. 

a chain peeks from under his collar, resting delicately around his neck. his sleeves are folded up to the elbows, forearms littered with tattoos, and you suspect there’s more of them that you can’t see. the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, giving you a generous view of his chest. 

not that you should be noticing any of that. 

he is holding hands with his wife right in front of you after all… a wife that has her eyebrow raised at you at the moment. 

“right!” you clap, putting on your best customer service voice, “the honeymoon couple.”

she makes a sound at the back of her throat, something that’s almost like an incredulous laugh. the man, however, smiles and shakes his head. 

“not honeymoon, no. just a vacation.”

inwardly you cringe. the owner would have never outright assumed something like that. the owner, incidentally, would have also had the perfect comeback. you awkwardly toe the rug under your feet.

“oh, sorry about that. let me just, uh, let me get you checked in.”

mercifully they say nothing after that. they wait, holding hands and looking around the lobby of the villa, making little comments about the decor and the vibe. from the corner of your eye you see him rub his thumb on the back of her hand, then you see her put her thumb on his, stopping his motion entirely. he doesn’t try again after that. 

“leave your bags here, i’ll send enzo to get them. he’s our helper, by the way.” you look around for any sign of enzo and find him gone, probably helping around with other things. quickly you explain some general things, let them know where to find stuff they might possibly need. 

“and do you live here?” the man asks, catching you off guard. it clearly catches his wife off guard too because she stops looking around and stares right at you. you suspect if it weren’t for her sunglasses, she’d be openly glaring daggers at you. 

“not here,” you laugh, slightly awkward, “the cottage adjacent. it’s right by the edge of the property if you take the back entrance.”

“ah! we’re neighbours.” it’s the first time the wife speaks directly to you, startling you a little. you nod dumbly. 

“i guess we are. have a good stay mr and mrs macdonald!”

the wife is about to thank you when the man waves his hand, “please! it’s ross and ava. we’re staying in your house, after all.”

“ross and ava,” you repeat weakly. any other time you would have quickly corrected him, not my house, but with all his attention on you it’s like you’re tongue-tied and on auto-pilot. only capable of nodding and smiling. 

“thank you,” the wife—ava—says softly, and then she holds her husband’s hand, pulling him along with her. ross gives you one last nod and follows her inside. 

you make your way outside, trying to find enzo, and ignore the “seriously?!” that echoes from inside. 

“handsome man,” marta side eyes you while making a breakfast spread the next morning. you sit on the counter next to her, legs swinging, swiping a fresh muffin while you wait for the coffee to brew. 

“handsome married man,” you deadpan. 

she tuts. “they don’t seem that much in love.”

“nonna!” you jump off the counter, a little flabbergasted, but she only shrugs. “none of our business, okay?”

flustered, you gather the breakfast trays, balancing one in each hand and pushing the door open with your hip. the villa has old servant's passageways, still functional albeit dimly lit, but it’s faster to use the main hallways. 

besides, it’s seven in the morning, you doubt either of them is awake. 

quickly, you make your way to the dining hall, balancing the trays at each turn and making sure to dodge furniture and other decor until you take one more turn and feel your foot getting caught up in the rug. 

fuck how did you not see that?! your eyes widen, body struggling to not flail and drop the trays—the muffins and frittatas can’t fall, there’s no time to replace them if they fall. 

panic surges in your body as you lose your balance entirely until—

“careful!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. an equally unfamiliar arm wraps around your waist, his other hand coming up to stop the trays from falling. somehow you manage to salvage the other, and quickly set it down. he follows suit and sets the other down next to it. 

“fuck, you alright?” his voice comes from right next to your ear—ross. here. with his arm around your waist. 

and like a starstruck idiot you do absolutely nothing to step away. 

“sorry! yeah, yes!” you mumble quickly, scrunching your eyes shut and taking in gulps of air. a moment later, he’s the one to step away. 

you open your eyes and smile tightly at him but the moment you look at him properly, it’s like all the air in the room vanishes. suddenly, it’s a million degrees hotter. his hair is in the same bun they were yesterday, but now there are a couple flyaways, plastered to his sweaty forehead. his t-shirt sticks to his body, damp with sweat and perfectly moulded to the contours of his chest. it’s not hard to make out the precise shape of his arms and shoulders and chest. 

the gold chain is only half visible, resting comfortably on his collarbone. 

he looks like a statue carved out of marble. 

“th-thanks,” you stutter, belatedly kicking yourself for checking him out so blatantly, something that’s definitely not gone unnoticed. his mouth curls up into a smirk, his dark eyes that you hadn’t seen yesterday, stare at you with a kind of intensity that makes you want to melt away right there on the floor. 

“you’re welcome. it would’ve been a shame to let all that go to waste.”

“it would have.”

ross points at the muffins. “you made them?”

“me? oh no, i can hardly cook much less bake. marta, our cook…”

“ah…” he nods an wipes the bead of sweat from his forehead. an errant thought enters your head—one that contains your tongue and his chest and sweaty bodies moving against each other. you cough and bite your tongue. hard. 

“i’m sure you’re hungry after…”

“my run? yeah,” he smiles, “starving. have you had breakfast yet?”

“what?”

“have you had breakfast? or do you not…?”

“no no,” you take another step back, wondering if it’s wise to stand that close to him, “i mean yes, fuck. sorry.”

he snickers, “‘s alright, love. breathe. i was only asking if you’d like to have breakfast with me if you haven’t already had it yet.”

if your jaw hadn’t dropped before, it sure does now, eyes wide and trained on him to make sure he’s not making fun of you for some reason. he wants to have breakfast with…you. 

“mrs macdonald—”

“ava won’t be up for another two hours.” his voice is firm, it leaves no room for argument. “besides, she doesn’t really have breakfast. and i think… if it’s okay with you, that is, i’d like to have company while eating.”

the cacophony of thoughts rages on in your head. this is so improper! god, what would the owner say?! but then again your job is to keep the guests happy, isn’t it? it’s not like you’re inserting yourself in other people’s businesses. he asked—

“well?”

his expectant gaze makes you realise you’ve been staring at him absently for the last minute. he’s clearly waiting for an answer.

and it should be no, you should say no. 

but when you look at his dark eyes and alluring smile somehow the ‘no’ gets lost on your tongue. all you can manage is to pick the trays back up and murmur a quiet ‘yes’.

“rome? that’s your favourite?”

“yeah, what’s wrong with that?” he crosses his arms in front of him, playfully defensive. you observe more keenly than you should. the black tee stretches over his arms, emphasising the precise shape of them. satisfaction runs through you when you see the tattoos on his arms—the ones you hadn’t seen yesterday. you were right, there are so many more…

“it’s just so…cliché,” you giggle and take a sip of your coffee. it’s lukewarm now, that’s how long you’ve been sitting together. “so touristy!”

“i am a tourist!” he retorts. 

“you’re right, you’re right. i just… there’s better places, y’know? smaller, hidden gems that get overlooked so often, it’s unfair. and rome’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, there’s a reason it’s such a tourist destination but…”

“but?”

“it feels…synthetic? i think that’s the case with a lot of big cities though, so i can’t blame rome solely.”

ross leans forward and rests his chin on his palm. his coffee cup sits on the table, long forgotten, and his gaze is focussed solely on you, studying, curious. 

“so what feels like home then? if not rome… don’t get me wrong, i don’t mean it in a bad way but you don’t sound…italian?”

you take another sip of your coffee and set the mug aside, a little further away from his. this is not a conversation you were prepared to have, not with someone who’s virtually a stranger. not with someone you’ve known for a grand total of one day. 

“i am…italian,” you pause, feeling your way around the words you’ve just spoken. “but also not really? i have grown up all around the world essentially, whatever struck my mum’s fancy. but i’ve always spent my summers here in the villa. with her.”

“did she work here?”

you trace the rim of the mug, nodding slowly. “something like that…”

“and your dad?”

“not in the picture. never knew him really,” you interject quickly before ross can assume. “bit of a mamma mia situation. my mum had her fun, i suppose. good for her.”

he’s quiet for a bit, letting his eyes roam all over your face—not in a way that would suggest anything, but you suspect he’s thinking, ruminating over the information you just gave him. 

“you didn’t answer my question. what feels like home?”

“that’s a bit personal,” you scoff and immediately go red in the face. he’s a guest not your friend. “i’m sorry, i didn’t…that’s not…”

“‘s alright, love,” he laughs and leans back once again. “it was a bit personal. someone needs to call me out on my nosiness every once in a while.”

still, you sputter out a couple more apologies until ross places his hand on top of yours, startling you into silence. “stop with the apologies, will you? you haven’t said—”

“ross?” 

if you weren’t mortified before, you certainly feel it now. your face, red just a moment ago, pales quickly, as ava—mrs macdonald—comes into the dining room. 

her hair is in the same loose curls it was yesterday, perhaps slightly messy, and even then it looks effortless and gorgeous. her pyjamas are monogrammed with her initials. and her platinum band glints on her finger when the sunlight hits it directly. 

worst on all, she’s staring at you, at your hand under her husband’s—who looks barely fazed at the moment. all calm and collected. 

“good morning, sweetheart,” he gets up from his chair and walks up to her. your skin buzzes where his hand just was, and you look away as they kiss, mortified of intruding on them like this. she’s the first to pull away. 

“you had breakfast,” she says, her tone flat and matter of fact. 

quickly, you scramble off your seat. “let me get you something to eat, mrs macdonald.”

“no need,” she smiles at you, but it’s almost as icy as her glare—mechanical and devoid of any warmth. “i don't have any appetite.”

you nod and smile, keeping your eyes locked on a vague spot on the wall behind her. it’s only when you’re about to leave that you see him from the corner of your eye, grinding his jaw and looking nothing like he was just a few moments ago. 

“i have a favour to ask of you.” it’s ava who approaches you a week later. 

the entire week you’ve stayed away, only talking to them in the capacity of a host—making sure they’ve had all the meals they requested and given them any and all information about the town they might need. you’ve even made sure to speak directly to ava when you can help it. ross, for his part hasn’t made it any easier. 

every morning you run into him in the hallway—some days he’s in the same black tee, others he’s in a tank top that shows off his toned and (now) tanned arms. it’s the same time every day, and yet you do nothing to change your route and take the servants’ passages for once. this is easier, you tell yourself. it’s the faster route. 

fortunately, you don’t trip on the rug again. rather, you make it a point not to. 

he asks you to be his breakfast companion again, and once again the next day. you waffle off some excuse and hurry away before he can protest. on the third day he stops asking. when he passes you in the hallway, he greets you with a polite smile and a nod and then keeps walking towards his balcony. 

“a favour?” you ask, and ava nods. 

this close, she’s absolutely gorgeous, like a face straight out of a magazine. “i wanted to plan something special for ross. a nice dinner perhaps?”

“that’s…” you swallow a strange emotion, “that’s a great idea. how can i help?”

“is there a way i can rent a boat for the day?”

“for…dinner?”

“yeah, i’ve, um, i think the ocean looks quite nice out here. peaceful. ross would love to have a romantic dinner out on the ocean instead of just on the beach.”

“right, yeah.”

“oh, and money’s not an object,” she interjects quickly. “i’m willing to pay well for it.”

money is the last thing on your mind, but you nod and smile at her. 

“i’ll get you the details by tomorrow.”

she nods and smiles too, much more excited that you, granted. but you expect her to thank you and leave it at at. what you don’t expect is for her to grab your hand in hers and hold it tight. 

“thank you. this…this holiday is important to us, to me…” her smile turns mechanical once again and she nods some more. like she’s trying to convince you and herself. “i need this to be perfect.”

“it will be, mrs macdonald. i’ll make sure of it.” 

it’s only when she leaves that you have to resist the urge to bash your head through the wall. who the fuck promises something like that to a stranger, to a guest?! without even bothering to make sure you have the resources you just promised. 

there’s only one person you know who even has access to a boat. (even though it’s nowhere near the right type of boat but at this point what’s the harm?)

aldo is laughing along with the other fishermen when you reach the dock. the sky is darkening, almost dark blue with just a tinge of red and orange. aldo greets you with open arms. 

“i need a boat!” you pant, panicked and half out of breath. 

he laughs wholeheartedly. “take your pick!”

“no, not that! i need…i need a romantic boat.”

the gaggle of seventy-odd-year-old fishermen giggle like a bunch of teenagers. “we romanced our wives plenty on these boats,” one of them pipes up, another round of raucous laughter follows suit. 

you wait for it to die down before you practically beg aldo. “it’s for the guests at the villa, please. i don’t know anyone else—”

“carissima…” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “i was joking. i know what you mean and yes, i can ask a few friends if they have something available. i’m sure they do.”

relief floods through your veins, and you practically sink to your knees onto the cobblestones. instead you pull the old man into a tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you…”

“you’re handling it well,” he declares in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “your mother would be proud.”

you pull away at the mention of her, giving him one last tight smile. “thank you, aldo. call me with the details please.”

once he nods you leave, trying not to dwell too much on what he said. 

that night you lie in bed, staring up at the same plain ceiling you’ve stared at every summer and you think. 

you think about ross and his wife. 

you think about ava and what this holiday means to her. 

and you think about the owner, wonder if she ever slept in this exact bed and thought of things she shouldn’t, thought of people she really shouldn’t. 

and when you do eventually fall asleep, much past your bedtime, you dream of him—on a boat in the middle of the ocean, kissing you by the candlelight. 

it’s a beautiful summer evening, perhaps the best one of the season, when you wait for the macdonalds at the beach. it’s warm but not unbearably so, the light is still golden, almost angelic, and the boat looks perfect. you hope it’s exactly what ava had imagined, hope that it won’t leave her wanting for anything. 

you check your watch. 6:37 pm…

it’s fine, really, it’s not super uncommon for guests to be running a bit behind. they’re on a holiday after all, but you would have hoped for a call or a text or something. besides, you’ve been busy enough today to not know whether ross and ava went out or stayed in—not that you should be dwelling on it too much. and yet, here you are, checking your watch once again, wondering where he—they—got caught up. 

you look out at the ocean, calm and quiet for tonight, and then up at the golden horizon. it should be beautiful, everything should be perfect. 

exactly nine minutes later there are footsteps. 

one set of them. 

eagerly, you turn, your face ready with the polite yet friendly customer service smile, but it drops the moment you see ross. 

he’s alone. the sleeves of his linen shirt are rolled up to his elbow, his hair is down too—it comes up to about his shoulders. it—

something’s wrong. you realise it about two seconds before he comes to a stop right in front of you. too close, he’s so close. and yet you don’t take a step back. you simply crane your neck up to stare at him and part your mouth, about to say something but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.

his eyes are cold, flat. his mouth is pressed into a straight, unimpressed line. his hair is all over the place too—messy and tangled like he’s almost been pulling at them out of frustration. 

this is not the time to let your mind wander, but for once you let yourself imagine what he might do to get rid of his anger, his frustration. how he might…take care of things. 

“you’re alone,” you blurt out, voice barely above a whisper.

“ava’s not coming,” he swallows roughly. for one insane moment you think his gaze dips to your lips, but that’s a desperate thought. one that is strictly not real. “i want to use the boat.”

“w–what?”

“i want.” he stops between each word, “to use. the boat.”

“i thought it was—”

“a surprise? please!” he laughs, sardonic and borderline cruel. heat rises up your cheeks. “i want to go and have that dinner that was planned for me. i refuse to waste any more good evenings.”

“yeah,” you swallow roughly, “yes, of course. right this way, it’s all—”

“and i want you to join me.”

it’s like the sand beneath your feet shifts with one sentence. your jaw drops into a gape, eyebrows flying into your hairline. you imagine if ross weren’t so angry, he’d be laughing at you. still, this is wrong. on so many levels. 

“i can’t!”

“will you get in trouble for it?” he challenges, and you shake your head dumbly. no, nothing of that sort. not anymore really. “then i insist. i don’t like eating alone, love. don’t sentence me to that, not when it’s so gorgeous outside.”

the image sharpens in front of you then, ross out on the calm, peaceful ocean, watching the golden sunset, drinking straight from the bottle of champagne that’s on board. the food behind him would grow cold eventually. you don’t think he’d eat it if you sent him out there alone now. 

“your wife—”

“doesn’t care,” he says firmly. “she’d be here if she did.”

and that’s not something you can argue with really. so you nod. it’s just to keep him company, you tell yourself, it’s good service which is what you’re supposed to do. the owner would have done the same, she would have gone above and beyond.

“are you sure about this?” 

“yes.” the one word answer leaves no room for argument. 

you look down at yourself—a cotton t-shirt and a pair or breezy shorts, comfort over style for when you have to constantly run around. if ross notices this inner dilemma, he doesn’t let it on. he simply gestures for you to walk. 

“after you,” he says and gives you something that vaguely resembles a smile. on him, it’s still gorgeous, still makes his dimples appear and his eyes crinkle, and for a brief second you simply want to stand here and stare at him in the dying light of the sun. 

instead you nod and turn towards the boat, trying not to wring your hands together. 

it’s only a couple hours. it won’t change anything. 

it’s excruciatingly awkward in the beginning. 

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be up for a good conversation—and you’ve had those, at least once you have. a good conversation over food while he’s all sweaty and his t-shirt sticks to his body. 

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be here with his wife. 

“you won’t ask me what happened?” his question startles you. because of course, you want to ask! you just didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

“i didn’t want to pry…”

“you won’t,” he sighs. “you’d be doing me a favour.”

“so i’ll act as your therapist then?” you quirk and eyebrow and ross cracks a tiny smile. “breakfast companion, therapist, makeshift date, what’s next?”

you regret it as soon as the words tumble out of you. what were you fucking thinking?! this is not a date. you and ross, on a boat in the ocean, with fancy champagne and a candlelit table… it’s not a date. it’s two people having dinner so it won’t go to waste. you’ve worked too hard on it to throw it away like this. 

“i’m sorry i—” you sputter, shaking your head wildly, “that’s not what i meant, that’s—”

“we’re separating.” 

it shocks you so much that you gape at him. it’s a sudden confession, one that you would have never expected him to say out loud. not to you, a complete stranger. then again, maybe it’s better to talk to a stranger anyway. 

“but you seem so happy,” you hesitate, wondering if that’s something he’d even want to hear. 

it turns out not. ross rolls his eyes. “oh come on, darling, let’s not lie. we have been here two weeks and we’ve already fought thrice. this was supposed to be a last ditch effort, did you know that? this holiday. after this,” he swallows, looking off into the ocean, “when we go back to london… i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers.”

“oh…”

“yeah.” 

silence settles over you, uncomfortable and sticky. you wonder if he wants comfort, sympathy. if he wants you to agree with him or challenge him, if he wants you to be a sounding board and just let him vent, if he wants this to be a conversation. 

“sorry,” he shakes his head, “a lot to dump on you isn’t it?” 

“yes…” you turn to him, taking your time to look over his face. it’s so much more tanned than before, a bit more freckled too. there’s a hint of sunburn poking through his shirt collar and suddenly your mind flashes images of ross on the beach in front of you. ross, shirtless, lying in the sun with those annoyingly hot sunglasses covering his eyes, ross coming out of the water, dripping wet and fucking dreamy. “but i don’t mind.”

you clear your throat quickly, cursing in your head for sounding so breathy. 

ross raises an eyebrow. “you tell me something.” he turns and grabs a bottle of expensive champagne. you expect him to get the glasses next, instead he opens the bottle and takes a swig directly from it.

“a secret,” he winks, “for a secret.” then he extends his hand and offers you the bottle. 

at first, you hesitate. it isn’t for you, none of this is for you. but you’re here now, aren’t you? so you grab the bottle from him, trying your hardest not to dwell on the brush of his fingers, how you both linger for just a moment too long. 

you take a sip of the champagne and think, feeling the bubbles all the way down. 

“this is my first year running the villa alone…”

“is it?” ross sounds surprised. you wonders if he means it as a compliment. 

“it was, um, it was shut, last year. my mother used to run it. she’s not…alive anymore.”

his eyes widen. “oh, that’s–i’m sor—”

“no please,” you interrupt before he’s had the chance to finish it. “i’ve heard that far too much. i’d rather not be offered condolences ever again.”

for a moment he is quiet, then he nods like he understands something. “you’re a natural at it. everything has been so good for us so far. i mean look at this fucking boat, this food. you’ve planned everything so well.”

a wave of uncharacteristic shyness floods your brain. “it’s not just me,” you smile bashfully, “the entire staff she trained still works here. they do more than i ever could, honestly. i’m just…learning the ropes.”

“and do you like it?” ross takes a sip of the champagne and leans against the railing. you mimic his pose, looking off at the horizon. 

“honestly? yes! i never thought i would and now… it’s like i know why she loved doing this. growing up, i’d always feel like a ghost haunting a mansion, and now i finally get it.”

“a ghost haunting a mansion,” he smiles and hands you the bottle, “you were pretty dramatic as a child.”

a laugh bubbles up in your throat because he’s right, you were dramatic. perhaps you still are deep down under all the grief. ross must have sensed the sudden shift in your thoughts because he expertly changes the subject. 

“have you always had the villa in your family?”

“oh that’s a funny story, if my mum is to believe anyway.”

ross turns, his back pressed to the railing and his eyes focused entirely on you. he’s so close. golden light reflects on his skin, in the hollow of his throat and over every bit of exposed skin. with his hair tied up now, you can once again see that gold chain, dainty and pretty, and you wish you could trace it with your fingertips, feel it against you somehow. you watch ross swallow some of the champagne, how his adam’s apple bobs and a drop of it clings to his lips and suddenly it’s like your cheeks, no, your whole body is on fire. you look away and continue.

“so the story goes, and mind you i don’t know how true it is, she was travelling around england. my father was, turns out, some minor aristocrat with a useless title, no one important really. but he had an estate, a whole lot of money and an ego the size of britain. 

“his mother never liked that he was with a ‘filthy commoner’ like my mother and oh she made that very known…” ross makes a face and you laugh, feeling a bit lighter than before. 

“and then she fell pregnant, my mum. she was so happy, wondering how to tell him, getting scans to show him and whatnot. somehow his mother got the news first,” you wince and ross leans forward, his face rife with interest and so much closer than before. “that woman made her a deal—leave now and never contact my father again, they will set her up with a small house and some money in any country of her choice so she won’t have to worry, as long as she stays far far away.”

“generous,” he whistles low. 

“it is, isn’t it? she didn’t take it though, she fancied herself in love. that night she told him about me. turns out he was only ‘fucking around’ and ‘did not want a child’. he told her to get rid of it, she said no and they fought. and when she raised her voice, he slapped her. my father slapped my pregnant mother…”

ross gives you his rapt attention.

“she didn’t run though. she stayed there the night, shared a bed with him even though they stuck to their corners. in the morning she went back to his mother and accepted the offer.”

ross laughs, sharp and surprised, and then clamps his mouth shut. “sorry i–it’s not funny, i know, it’s just—”

“no, it is,” you interrupt quickly, “we used to laugh about it.”

“and the house…?”

“is the villa, yes. the small ‘house’ they promised her.”

“seems like his mother had more integrity than him.” ross extends you the bottle of champagne again. gratefully, you take it. 

it’s half-empty now, gone in the flow of the conversation. you feel it too, the bubbles flowing through your blood, buzzing through your head in a way that almost feels soothing. that, combined with the gentle rocking of the boat… you close your eyes and inhale the ocean breeze, take another swig of the champagne. 

“this is nice, isn’t it?” you speak, eyes still closed and tipping your head towards the champagne.

“‘s amazing,” he murmurs. his voice surrounds you like it’s floating on the breeze, like he’s so close and so far away at the same time. his cologne, too, is suddenly so much stronger. 

your heart beats in your throat. you know what you will find when you open your eyes—ross, so close and irresistible, in the dying light of the sun, more tempting than the damned apple. an involuntary gasp escapes you when you feel his breath on your face, feel the fabric of his trousers brushes against your leg. his breath quivers. 

“if i kiss you right now, would you kiss me back?”

you swallow, wondering if it’s a yes or a no. “why don’t you find out?” 

a moment later you feel his hand on your waist, holding you just tight enough to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. it’s slightly cold from holding the champagne bottle, not that you particularly care. a second later, ross crashes his lips against yours. 

it’s not soft like in the movies, it’s not a kiss of love or tenderness. 

it takes you precisely one second of hesitation to give into your instincts and kiss him back—you hand in his hair and the other fisting his shirt, wrinkling it, leaving your mark on him even if it’s insignificant and ephemeral. you kiss him back with just as much hunger—all tongue and teeth and roaming hands. 

ross’ hands moves from your waist and comes to rest on your ass, hitching your leg up, wrapping it around him. his hand spray across the back of your thigh, rough fingers trailing up smooth skin, it’s all too much, too much for you to hold back a moan. 

you moan into the kiss and somehow that undoes him completely. 

air whooshes out of your lungs as ross flips you both, trapping you between him and the railing. the bottle of champagne falls and rolls away, dripping the last of its contents on the floor, but it’s so insignificant, so inconsequential… not when you have this burning need coursing through you to feel him everywhere all at once. 

involuntarily your fingers fidget with his trousers just as his mouth moves to your jaw. he stops you though, lightly swats your hand away and pops open the buttons of your shorts instead. you let him, mostly because when they touch your stomach it’s like lightning exploding right under your skin, crackling, buzzing, you simply want to feel so much more of him, of his fingers. 

“ross…” you moan, not sure if you want to beg him or stop or let him take charge completely. 

“i know, darling,” he breathes, kissing you again. tentatively he dips a finger inside the waistband of your underwear, asking for permission.

“please, fuck, pl–please.”

you throw your head back, whimpering when his teeth graze your neck and his finger presses into your clit. it’s heady and intoxicating and all you want to do is be greedy and ask for more and more and more. you don’t have to ask though. his fingers work against your clit, creating a rhythm just perfect enough to weaken your knees, and you hold on to him tight, your nails digging into his back. 

would they leave crescent moon marks on his skin? just dark enough to stand out, just dark enough to be distinct. will his wife look at them and know what they are?

his wife…

and just like that all your ecstasy turns into nausea. 

you falter, a small hesitant movement. and that’s all it takes to shatter the moment entirely. 

“we can’t,” he pulls his hand away abruptly just as he’s about to push his fingers inside you. you stare at him in surprise, gripping the railing to stay upright. it’s hard not to pant and breathe hard, especially when he’s breathing heavily too, guilt written all over his face. 

his lips are swollen, wet. red enough to almost make you go back to him and kiss him all over again, thread your fingers through his hair—it looks so lovely and effortlessly messy. the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, gold chain fully on display, gleaming against tanned skin. you swallow. fuck. 

“we can’t…” he repeats, and steps away completely. 

you imagine what you must look like—t-shirt almost off your shoulder and the buttons of your shorts undone. not naked and yet so exposed and vulnerable. you wonder if his mouth left any marks against your neck. 

“what…” humiliation burns through you. what the fuck were you thinking, throwing yourself at him like this?!

ross looks like he’s trying hard not to lose control, jaw set, eyes firmly on you and pupils blown out so wide you resolve almost weakens. but the ring on his finger glints and just like that the nausea is back. the guilt, the self loathing, all of it is back with a vengeance.

“i’m married.”

and that shuts you up thoroughly. surely the captain of the boat heard everything that happened just now. surely…

you hurry as far away from ross as possible, turning around and fixing your clothes. ross stays where he is, his back towards you, hand trembling by his side.

the food stays untouched. 

the awkwardness from before is nothing compared to what you feel now, completely unable to meet his eyes or even turn around to look at him, not even to check if he’s still facing the other way. maybe throwing yourself into the ocean is the best course of action right now.

in a moment, you will gather strength again and tell the captain to take you back to the shore. in a moment you won’t have to share the space with him, you will finally be able to get a full breath into your lungs. for now you stay still, ignoring the fire still burning low under your skin and right in your belly, lust coiled like a snake. for now you simply look out into the ocean and will your body to stop shaking.

“enzo, would you set up breakfast today?” you find him in the gardens bright and early the next day. not that it matters how early it is anyway, not to you who hasn’t slept a wink the whole night. you’re sure there are dark circles under your eyes to give that away instantly. 

enzo looks down at his hands and then back up at you, slightly apologetic. they are covered in soil, of course. he’s been helping with repotting some plants. of course he can’t just leave all of that and do your job instead because you’ve fucked up and made a giant mess. of course not. 

“right…” you trail off and back away. 

“it’s okay, i can—”

“no,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended, “that’s alright. i’ll do it.”

and you will. you can act like a professional and do your fucking job. you will be in and out as quickly as possible and not look anyone in the eye. you will nod and smile and get the fuck out of there. 

absently, your hand trails over the faint hickeys on your neck. hopefully, they’re well covered by the concealer you slathered on at 5 in the morning, hopefully the collar of your shirt helps disguise it too. not like ava would be there to see it, she’s yet to be in the dining room for breakfast. and yet you don’t know what would be more mortifying, her seeing it or ross seeing it. 

“good morning,” a voice greets you the moment you step foot into the dining room. a pit opens in your stomach. 

ava sits at the head of the dining table, still in her night clothes with a dressing gown loosely wrapped around her body. it’s… she’s…

“i know i’m up early, and in here” she laughs, “not very much like me.”

her fingers are curled around a fork in a tight grip, knuckles almost white, tines digging into the place mat. it takes you a second to find your voice.

“morning, mrs macdonald.” the words burn like acid on their way out, and for the first time you look at her properly. she looks exactly how you feel—circles under her eyes, a sallowness to her face, like her skin is stretched thinly over her face. she looks like she’s been up all night, tossing and turning. “is r–mr macdonald joining you?”

“no,” her voice turns sharp. “he says he has a migraine. just me today.”

“ah…” you nod, rooted in the spot awkwardly. 

“champagne hangover, i suspect.” 

a quick hot and cold flash runs through you, like she’s caught you directly in a lie. and maybe she has…how much did ross tell her exactly? did he tell her? 

ava smiles, cold and hollow. “i’m starving, though.”

“yes, of course,” you avert your gaze, eyes firmly on the ground. fuck fuck fuck. she knows. bile churns in your stomach as you move on autopilot, doing the same thing you’ve done every day for the last three weeks. except this time there will be no joining ross for breakfast. 

through some miracle of fate, ava doesn’t bring up the boat or the dinner or the champagne again. she just thanks you and digs into her breakfast, eating like absolutely nothing is wrong. the ring on her finger is still there, just as shiny as before. 

you leave her be and get out of the dining room. there’s no air in there anymore, there’s no air in this entire villa anymore. your breaths turn into pants, footsteps echoing in your ears and the rush of blood almost drowning them out as you run run run through the corridors. you need to get out of here, out of this place but there’s nowhere private enough to go but back to your own cottage, and so that’s where you turn. 

soundlessly, you slip out of the back door and run on the little cobblestone path until you get to the door to your cottage. it’s unlocked, to your utter relief. silently, you thank your past self for forgetting to lock it because all you need right now is to shut the world out and rot in bed. 

the moment the door thuds shut, you feel your lungs filling with air again. it’s quiet here, it’s silent. 

and your bed looks cosy at least. 

you close your eyes and release a deep sigh once you settle on top of the covers. does ava know? you wonder if she’s somehow guessed it… if she somehow saw the marks you left behind… 

the memory comes back to haunt in full force—your thigh hitched around ross’ waist, your hand in his hair and his in your underwear, touching and teasing and making you taste insanity. against your better judgement you close your eyes and clench your thighs together, wondering if your hand can replicate the feel of his. it can’t, you know it can’t. nothing ever will. and yet…

slowly you hitch your dress up, bringing it up to your thigh and all the way past your hips until it’s bunched on your stomach. your pale pink underwear is next to go, discarded carelessly somewhere in the room. 

there’s not much ceremony to it, just your fingers gently pressing against the bundle of nerves as you close your eyes and think back to yesterday, to the roughness of his hand and the hardness of his body… fuck. it doesn’t feel the same, it feels nothing like it did, no matter how hard you try. the only thing you manage to do is get frustrated finding the right angle. 

fuck this, a pillow should work just fine if not your hand. 

and it does, it’s better once you have a white pillow clenched between your thighs, slowly moving your hips against it, feeling the friction, the familiar feeling. it’s a slow build, but it’s there, it’s something. 

inside your own bedroom, you barely hold back moans. unintelligible, lustful sounds, maybe his name slips out once or twice too. if anything, the thrill of it adds to the feeling. you’re sure there’s a wet spot on the pillow now, a slick little stain where you’ve been grinding onto it. your thighs tremble from the effort and it’s only just starting to feel good, feel so so good—

a sharp rap on the door scares a yelp out of you. 

shit shit shit, what were you thinking?! it’s probably enzo or marta coming to check on you, wondering why you weren’t in the villa. 

“coming!” you yell out, voice shaking, hands shaking even more. 

the person doesn’t go away. instead, another knock follows. 

cursing to yourself, you get off the bed, and smooth down your dress again. you’ll find the fucking underwear in a minute, the dress isn’t transparent. 

“what’s—” you stop abruptly, coming face to face with ross who looks like he hasn’t had a moment’s worth of peace all night. great, that’s all three of you then. 

“let me come in,” he breathes, almost urgent. “please.”

your heart's in your throat, thudding and thudding, fast enough that it might just leap out of you completely. and here you are in front of him, trying to stay cool like you weren’t just touching yourself to the thought of him mere seconds ago. 

ross’ eyes scan you, from your messy hair to your wrinkled dress. can he tell something’s wrong? 

wordlessly you step aside and he enters, closing the door behind him. 

“your wife knows.”

“she suspects.”

“and?”

“and what?” he whirls to look at you. “what if i said i no longer care if she does.”

“ross!” your voice rises. your back is pressed to the wall, as far away from his as possible even though the room feels like it’s a tiny cardboard box at the moment, “you can’t say things like that. not after–not…”

“after what i said yesterday?” he takes a steps towards you, you stay rooted in your spot. “what if i changed my mind?”

another step, he’s barely four steps away from you now. 

“what if i changed mine?” you challenge, which is perhaps not the wisest thing to do right now but…

“have you?” he asks, boldly taking two more steps.

if you had, you wouldn’t be standing there right now without any underwear on, desperately wishing he’d find out and fucking do something about it. use his hands again, use his mouth too maybe. 

you turn your face to the side, trying not to whimper as he finally closes the distance between you and stands close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his body again. 

“can i find out?”

saying no would be wise, you know it. and yet… it’s you who kisses him first. unlike last time he lets your hand roam wherever you wish. unlike last time his t-shirt is first to go—the only time you briefly break the kiss to get it off him and somewhere on the floor. his tanned skin is warm under your hands, freckled chest that you instantly touch all over. 

his kisses turn feverish as his lips move along the hollow of your throat, your collarbone. “you are so perfect, fuck.” 

his words, spoken in a low whisper, travel straight to your core. heat pools, or rather intensifies, as his hand comes to rest on the back of your neck. ross doesn’t need much strength to hold you in place, to stop you from squirming and firmly against him, tits brushing against his naked chest.

his mouth travels lower, ghostly kisses trailed to as much of your cleavage as the dress offers. 

“ross,” your fingers tighten on his shirt, “please, i need—fuck, need you.”

he can most definitely hear the blatant desperation in your voice, whiny and practically begging to be touched, to be fucked. 

“anything you want,” ross groans. “jump.”

it doesn’t take you another second before your legs are around his middle and his big hands are gripping your thighs, under your ass. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you tug at the hair at the nape of his neck and make him groan. he really is fucking beautiful, especially in the morning sunlight streaming into your room.

you kiss again, urgent and desperate. somewhere at the back of your mind you’re aware he’s walking, taking you to the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed with how his tongue feels inside your mouth. how his tongue might feel between your legs. 

but a foot inside the room and ross comes to a stop, his eyes widening. 

he takes the room in and you wonder what he sees, craning your neck to look around as well. and there it is, your pale pink underwear dangling carelessly from the bedpost, the pillow in the middle of the bed, sheets wrinkled. it’s not that hard to guess what happened in here…

that much is confirmed when you meet his eyes again and see pure lust in them. they look so much darker than before, so much dilated. ross all but throws you on the bed, climbing up after and practically on top of you. 

“what was happening here…before?”

“does it matter?” you raise an eyebrow, hoping he doesn’t see the flush growing rapidly on your cheeks. the chain dangles from his neck, so close now, practically touching your skin. you hook a finger in it and tug him closer. 

“did it feel good at least?” ross smirks, and you suspect he already knows the answer. 

“not even close.”

“and what do you want now?”

everything, really. 

you want to feel his fingers like yesterday and his mouth between your legs. you need him inside you and in your mouth and everything in between. 

“why don’t you get on your knees first?”

ross raises an eyebrow. so this is how it’s going to be then… 

the anticipation of it makes your pulse raise, makes goosebumps scatter all over your body. he can definitely see you trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, nipples peaking out from the thin cotton of the dress, hair a complete mess. the room burns a million degrees hotter now or maybe it’s just you, dying to be touched.

“let me take care of you then,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”

his words affect you immediately. your toes curls and hands fist the sheets in anticipation of the sounds you know he will draw out from you. 

“was thinking about you,” you confess as he trails a finger over your leg, starting from your ankles and up your shin and thigh until his fingers at your hip, resting where the band of your underwear should have been. 

involuntarily, you lift your hips up, making the fabric of your dress slide away a little more. 

“i could tell” ross teases, a cocky tinge to his voice. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to your stomach. "come on, darling," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”

something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and ross drags a finger through your slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing you and spreading you open while his mouth presses kisses all over. your lower stomach first, then your thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds your clit, and just like yesterday, he works it up in a lazy rhythm. 

“shit, ross,” you whimper as a jolt goes through your spine, skin burning wherever his hands touch. the build up is a sweet torture. 

you gasp when he sucks on your clit, unexpected and quick, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. your thighs tremble under his hands, your muscles shift and ross doesn’t stop you at all when you squeeze your thighs together trapping his head between them. his hair is already a mess, all over the place, and his beard tickles the inside of your thighs. 

“oh god,” you moan loudly. “fuck, just like that…” your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while you squirm and against his face and ross takes it all. his tongue laps at your folds, his nose pushing against your clit. 

his hand pushes under your dress, pinching and squeezing your nipples at almost a bruising pace, it’s all too much. and yet there’s no way in hell you’d stop him when he meets your eyes from between your legs—eyes dark and intense, beard glistening with your slick. 

you clench around nothing then and for a moment ross looks like he’s going to come undone right there, staring at your with his mouth parted. his eyes have a little glazed-over quality to them, like he’s in a trance. 

you’re so close now, rocking your hips against his face, and your thighs squeeze his head harder. you’re so close you can almost taste your release in the air.  

“so perfect,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over your clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”

“so, so close…” your trail off and ross places a kiss on your thigh, utterly out of place from everything he’s been doing so far. in the middle of everything filthy, that one soft kiss feels chaste—a request maybe or even a way to coax you. 

“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against your clit. his tongue thrusts inside you again and you mewl his name. louder than before.

“don’t stop, ross, don’t—” and you feel it then, feel yourself drenching his lips and his chin. feel the spasm of your thighs and your ragged breaths reverberating through your body. 

just like you requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop you have to over, fucks you with his tongue till you’re completely done riding out your orgasm. 

once ross straightens you’re met with the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen—his lips raw and red, his beard wet. his hair is almost out of his bun now and that damn gold chain around his neck. it’s all so beautiful, you almost beg him to come up to you. and ross obliges, his arms on either side of you and his body between your legs while he kisses you so thoroughly, you can taste all of you on his tongue—every want, every desire, down to the last drop of lust running through your blood. 

“i need to be inside you or i will die,” he says, his voice more like a growl. and yes it’s so full of want and desperation but that just eggs you on more, makes the heat in your belly flare up all over again. 

“there’s condoms in the drawer,” you moan, trying not to whine when ross gets off your for two seconds to find them, and comes back with the silver square. 

it doesn’t take another second before your legs are around his middle again and his big hands are gripping your thighs. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you run your hand through his hair and make him groan. 

“fuck, love” he breathes on your skin and lets you pull the trousers off him. “i couldn’t think of anything else all night. just you…”

“me too,” you confess, a shameful secret, but ross tilts your chin up and kisses you all over again, slow and gentle. 

your hands trace his spine and ross shivers

“want to be inside you,” he groans, letting you hook a finger in his boxers. he wraps his hand around yours too, getting rid of them completely. 

once they’re off him you can’t hold back the shameless gawking. he’s big, fucking huge and hard and leaking with precum already, you’d die to get a taste of him but that’s not what’s important right now. right now you need him to destroy your insides until you can’t remember your own name. 

“like what you see?” he sounds smug, tearing the foil with his teeth and spitting it aside. you blush, and pry your gaze back to his face. 

“let me,” you take the condom off his hands, dying to touch him first. and he reacts just the way you want him too—a hiss when you wrap your hand around base and a moan when you twist it, run it all the way to his tip and back down. 

“stop being a tease,” he grunts, and you decide it’s enough, decide to finally roll the condom down on him. 

there’s barely any words after that. the room is far from silent though—it echoes with moans and sighs and the sound of your laughter when ross nips at your skin. it’s like a little rhythm—he bites softly and chases away the sting with a kiss. he leaves a mark and rewards you with a kiss. he even sees the marks he left before, kisses over them like he’s appreciating his own art. 

his hand inches between your legs and finds your clit once again, fingers rubbing lazily over it, almost in circles, slow at first and growing faster until you’re squirming for more—more friction and more of him and this and ecstasy and ross definitely knows whatever he’s doing isn’t enough but just this once you aren’t opposed to begging. 

“stop being a tease,” you whine, repeating his words from before, and he laughs at your desperation.

finally, ross decides to end this misery. for you and for him. the need is probably driving him insane too. 

when the first thrust comes, hard and fast—and without warning—your eyes roll back in your head. you whimper something, curse softly and hold onto him, legs locking around him so you can take him in deeper.

“shit baby…” he moans too. 

he’s stretching you open with his cock, thrusting into you again and again until the buzz in your head grows so loud, it drowns out any other thought. all you can focus on is his breath and the chain brushing against your chest, cold metal against sweaty bodies. 

that errant image from that first day comes back to you, your tongue against his chest, and before you can over think you do exactly that—trail kisses against his collarbone, his neck, letting your tongue roam over his skin too. you don’t dare use teeth though, you don’t dare leave a mark. no matter how tempting it is. 

your eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open any longer as his hips slam into yours, his hands grip onto your waist tighter. ross tuts.

“open your eyes,” he nudges, “i want you to look at me when you cum.”

and so you oblige, looking him in the eye and moaning his name softly with each thrust, lifting your hips to meet his and grinding your clit on his pelvis. 

the pressure inside you builds with each thrust, your entire body feels charged and taut and a current runs right under your skin. on top of you, he’s as electric as a live wire. 

“look at what you do to me,” he breathes and you feel your thighs begin to tremble. 

he can probably tell you’re close now; you’re certainly acting like it—nails scratching his back, teeth softly sinking into his shoulder so you don't scream loud enough for everyone to hear. (if it weren’t mid morning, you would have liked to scream out his name though.)

your hips thrust upwards, trying and failing to match him. you’re erratic, almost manic. there’s no rhythm to any of your movements, only lust and desire and so much want for him that you feel a wave of it run between your bodies. 

you shudder and gasp, trying to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at him still “gonna cum, f-fuck!”

he opens his mouth to speak too, about to say something but you’re already there. your body goes tense as you squeeze around ross, so tight it practically sends him into a frenzy, fucking into you faster and faster, rougher, harsher. you take it all, trying and failing to keep your voice down to a minimum. ross thrusts into you as the orgasm hits you hard. a second later you hide your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and feeling him practically emptying himself into the condom. ross doesn’t stop you, he holds you just as close, for just as long as you want him to.

it’s almost 10 in the morning when you lift your head off his chest in a sleepy haze. ross tries to protest but you kiss him quickly until all his complaints die on his lips. 

“you should go,” you bite your lip, guilty, and thumb the chain around his neck again. if he’s noted this particular fascination with it, he doesn’t mention it. 

“i don’t want to.”

“but…”

“i have to, yes, i know,” he sighs, deep and almost sad. 

it’s a silly thought to want to stop him. the cottage might feel like it’s detached from reality entirely but it’s not. once you step foot outside of it, everything will come crashing down on you. you can easily explain your disappearance away—the farmers market in town, some other errand, whatever excuse that comes to mind. what does ross plan on saying?

you don’t ask, mostly because you don’t want to manufacture and discuss one more thing and make this more morally depraved than it already is. 

wordlessly he gets up and walks around the room in search of his clothes. his nudity doesn’t bother him in the slightest, doesn’t bother you either—for one, you finally know all the tattoos on his body, something you’ve been dying to find out since day one. you let your eyes roam over them for as long as you can, try to commit them to memory before they get covered by his clothes. 

he finds his t-shirt in the living room and comes back to the bedroom wearing it, fully clothed now while you’re naked under the sheets still. 

“right then…”

you smile, a little sad. is this the first and the last time? do you want there to be more?

“let’s just…” you clear your throat, “i’m going to go use the bathroom…”

“and i’ll be gone by the time you come back…”

you nod, already getting up. the sheets fall of your body too but what’s there to care about? he’s already seen all of it now. still his breath hitches in his throat and a jolt of satisfaction run through you. 

“kiss me one last time?” you ask, and ross closes the distance between you, pulling you so close to him you’re almost crushed into his chest, held like he doesn’t want to let go. 

you try not to dwell too much on that kiss—it’s a fucking kiss, not your first and it won’t be your last, there’s no point in reading too much into it. it’s not a lovers kiss. it’s a kiss. because you asked for it. 

and yet his hands cradle your face and you can almost feel him smiling, almost, before he pulls away. then you turn around and practically beeline to the bathroom. 

by the time you’re out and ready to get dressed once again, the cottage is empty, silent. a silence that almost echoes with lingering sounds, but you stay in for the rest of the morning, only venturing out when you can’t ignore your growling stomach any longer. 

marta looks at you suspiciously before feeding you a bite of her orzo. it’s delicious; it always it, her food. but you still refuse when she offers to make you something. you just want to be alone, not in someone’s company and answer a million questions. 

to her credit marta lets you be. 

you don’t see the ross or ava at all for the rest of the day. or the day after.

it’s the end of their third week when ross finds you again, well… a handwritten note finds you, a crumpled piece of paper stuffed through the crack in the cottage door. 

meet me at the beach tomorrow at sunrise? 

the entire night you toss and turn, wondering if you should even go. you haven’t seen him in days, only glimpses of him and his wife. every time he’s in the room your eyes linger on him, stealing glances when he’s stealing them right back. it’s like an unspoken rule between you—no secret meetings. not again. 

and now he seems to want to break it. 

you know which beach he’s talking about—the one where you had a boat waiting for him. at 4 in the morning you give up on sleep completely. you should still have about an hour and a half till you’re supposed to meet him. and you still don’t have a decision. on autopilot you get up and brush your teeth, take a quick shower. no one’s awake yet. maybe marta, but she certainly won’t be out of bed this early. 

by 5, when the mug of coffee in your hands is almost empty, you decide you want to go after all. what’s the harm? it’s not like you’re going to end up fucking him again so publicly on the beach… 

and so you leave the cottage, strolling down to the ocean on the sandy path. the twilight is giving way to some light. the sun’s probably almost on the horizon. still, you reach the beach before ross, before the sun comes up. so you linger, sit in the sand and collect the little shells left there overnight. 

there’s no one here, just you and waves crashing on the beach. it’s peaceful—perhaps the first time you’ve truly felt any peace all summer. and yet somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t shake off the anticipation of meeting him. five minutes have already passed. maybe he changed his mind. 

maybe he’s not coming. 

just as the thought is about to solidify, you hear a set of footsteps. he’s here. and still you don’t turn until ross walks up all the way to you and sits next to you in the sand, his body pressed against yours, thighs touching. you lean your head onto his shoulder, taking in a deep breath. 

“is this a rendezvous?” you almost laugh. it’s a lame joke but ross cracks a smile anyway. it lasts about a second before his face falls again. 

“i’m leaving.”

“i know,” you close your eyes, “next week.”

“no. today.”

a pit opens up in your stomach and you bolt upright. “today?! what…?”

his smile turns sad, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not just because he’s leaving, it’s something else too. you look at his face, properly, at the deep lines etched onto his forehead and the hints of grey in his hair and his beard. his arms, just as gorgeous as usual. his hands, hands that you haven’t stopped thinking about, his fingers…

your eyes linger on them. there’s no ring. he’s not wearing a ring. it’s just pale skin where it used to be.

“our plans changed,” he shrugs like it’s the most normal thing to happen. you remember what he’d said to you all those days ago on the boat. when we go back to london, i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers. so that’s happening then. 

“what time?”

“around 10.”

around 10… five more hours. 

“okay,” you nod and go back to how you were, resting your head on his shoulder. this time ross rests his head on yours, both of your eyes trained on the horizon where the sun rises slowly and the beach turns golden. the water shimmers, gorgeous and like it’s out of a painting. you can’t bring yourself to move. 

“will you have breakfast with me one last time?” ross breaks the silence after a while, and you wonder if it’s a good idea. what’s the point? it won’t lead anywhere, will it? 

“i don’t think it’s such a good idea,” you swallow the lump in your throat, still unable to fully look at him. 

“i see…” more silence follows. you wonder when he will decide this is enough. you wonder when he will get up and leave you here to be rooted in this spot until the sun blazes high in the sky and you can no longer sit outside. instead ross presses his warm fingers to your cheek, and gently turns your face to him. 

“can i at least kiss you one last time then?”

now that… that you can’t say no to. and so you press your lips to his. just that, no movement, nothing—just your face cradled in his hands and your lips against his until you taste salt and realise you’re crying. maybe just a little teary. only then does he properly kiss you, moves his lips against yours until it feels like the sand beneath you is shifting. but it’s going to end anyway, it has to. and so you pull apart, take a deep breath to store his scent in your lungs for as long as you can. 

“i’m going to go stare at the ocean now,” you laugh, teary-eyed. his eyes are tinged a little pink too. 

ross chuckles. “and i’ll be gone by the time you look back.”

and that’s where you leave it. no goodbyes, no hugs and promises to come back. just you staring at the blue sky while his footsteps become quieter and quieter until you can’t hear him at all. 

enzo checks them out. you don’t know if they say anything to him, and he doesn’t mention anything out of the ordinary to you. just that he’ll send someone to clean the room, to which you protest, let him know that you’ll do it. 

the room isn’t unfamiliar, of course not, you’ve been in here a thousand times now and you will a thousand times more. still, something about it looks different. for one there’s a piece of paper folded on the bedside table. something that looks like a note. you hurry to it, not realising that there’s something inside in your eagerness to open it until a gold chain falls out. his gold chain… the one you’ve spent all of summer being fascinated by. and now it’s yours. then you unfold the note. 

thank you for the summer, it’s the best one i’ve had in years. 

ps: the chain is yours. don’t think i didn’t notice.

with trembling fingers, you put it around your neck. the metal is cold of course, and yet it reminds you of sun warmed skin and the sweat between your bodies. you clutch the note close, and sit on the bed. it has to be his side, it smells like him. maybe it won’t hurt to curl up there for just a moment. there’s no one to occupy it for another week after all. 

and so that’s what you do. 

a moment turns to an hour, to several hours until you decide you don’t want to strip the linen just yet. until you decide you want to sleep here for the night. for the rest of the week until you have to give up the villa again. marta raises her eyebrow when she finds out, but you wave her off. 

“it’s my house, nonna, i can sleep wherever i want to,” you say, confident in that statement even though it feels a little foreign. it is your house. it is. 

she just leaves it at that. 

the rest of the summer passes just as you’d planned. 

first there is an actual honeymoon couple—utterly in love and completely inseparable. you find them making out in all corners of the villa, in nooks and crannies like they can’t get enough of each other, like there’s no one else for them but each other. and maybe there isn’t. 

then there’s a week long bachelorette party. the girls convince you to get drunk with them too, to let loose a bit. it’s then that you’re most tempted to look up his number in his booking information and call him, wine drunk and slurring, in the middle of the night. 

what will you say?

what will he say?

it’s a terrible terrible idea. the worst one you’ve ever had. worse than sleeping with a married man and letting yourself feel something for him. maybe you even hate him a little then, just a little bit of resentment tinging the memories of your summer.

a summer that ends within the blink of an eye. 

three months gone just like that. 

and yet you stay. a ghost haunting a mansion like you’d told him all those months ago. now truly alone. none of the staff stay the rest of the year, just some locals who check up on you once in a while. aldo and his fisherman friends who call you over for dinner some days. other than that it’s just you. 

alone all over again. until…

six months later the villa’s phone rings on a cold morning. it’s rare, you think. almost as rare as it is for you to be still here this time of the year, but this year you haven’t felt the desire to go anywhere. this year it’s like you’re froze in summer, trying to chase that which is long gone. 

“hello?” you put on your best customer service voice, cheerful and vacant. 

“is this the villa?” 

the moment you hear it, your heart stops beating. the receiver almost falls. it’s one of those old-fashioned landlines, something you never thought you’d have to change. the chord wraps itself around your finger. a moment later your heart comes back to life, racing twice as fast. 

“yes…” you breathe, voice almost wobbly. 

“is it booked out for the summer yet?”

a smile blooms on your face, just as tears threaten to fall from your eyes. it’s ross. it’s his voice, it’s really his voice. all soft and lovely and already making its way around the insides of your skull. 

“not yet,” you laugh. it’s a watery sound. “you’re early. we don’t start taking reservations this early in the year.”

“oh?” the smile in his voice is clear. “i was hoping you’d make an exception for me. it’s only a party of one…”

you grab onto the chord of the receiver, tightly twisted around your fingers. 

party of one. party of one. party of one. 

“hello?”

“i’m here…”

for a few seconds, he doesn’t speak. but you imagine he’s smiling on the other end. you imagine his dimples on display and the crinkles around his eyes. “and will you let me come?”

involuntarily you clutch the gold chain around your neck, the one you wear every single day. the one you haven’t taken off since that very first day. it’s warm now, just as your skin is. just as his skin once felt under your hands. the tears you were barely holding in fall on your cheeks, and yet your face splits into a wide grin. 

“party of one, you say.”

“it could be two,” he laughs a small, secret laugh, “if you’ll allow it.”

you do a little jump in place, giddy and practically acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. then you clear your throat and clutch the receiver closer. “why don’t you come find out?”

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[oddly-casual]

Gaap Goemon appreciation post/ Character Analysis

because I need y'all to hype him up as much as I do.

I was a fan of the Mairimashita Iruma Kun anime many moons ago, and just recently I got back into it. Finished the manga. Walked away loving the entire Misfit class. Most of all, I see a criminal lack of Gaap content. So, here's why I love Gaap and why I think you should too.

By all accounts, there isnt a whole lot of focus or information about Gaap that goes beyond the depth of a kiddy pool. (It's like that for most of the misfits tbh...) Still, Gaap gets more focus than most.

Kindness and care:

The thing about Gaap that stands out the most, is how much of a natural caretaker this kid is.

He greets everyone he meets with respect. Often using the honorific "Dono" Which google tells me translates to "Lord" or "Master". Almost every time he greets somebody he always has an offer of Hell tea and onigiri. He always makes sure to take care of his guests and his friends. This kid has no shortage of manners. So polite.

In the Harvest Festival arc, Gaap is the one who goes out to save the other students even when Agares has valid points about why rescuing a bunch of demons they dont know wouldn't benefit them in any way. In the festival, where the entire point is to be a cut above the rest, what did Gaap do?

We see little examples of Gaap's kindness. How he defends his friends and is usually on the front lines whenever someone's well-being is cause for concern.

This boy is the mom friend who always had a painkiller and a stack of bandaids on hand. He's such a mom friend that he canonically fights with Jazz when it comes to taking care of their classmates. (They both have a caretaker complex.)

It's also the way Gaap responds to stress! In the Heartbreaker arc, Gaap is paired up with two first-years who won't stop fighting. This obviously stresses the boy out, because he had high expectations of getting along with his first years, but it didn't turn out that way.

The first thing Gaap does is try to offer them food, something we see Gap do to Agares when he snaps at him. When the offer of food doesnt work, he instead tries to assure the first years that everything will be fine. Even if Gaap isn't confident, his first instinct is to try to appeal to and take care of people. Even if that's not what they want.

It’s interesting, because Gaap doesn’t physically get in between them, like you would expect him to do. He avoids conflict when it gets physical, despite being such a capable fighter. (Though when it comes to saving others, he has no problem acting.)

Friends and Habits:

We get to know Gaap the most when he's around other people. Obviously, because he's a secondary character. I think another aspect of this is because Gaap is a social creature, he thrives around people. We rarely see Gaap standing alone and this makes sense because his goal is to have 100 allies.

In the demon world, we know that demons usually dont care about saving or helping others if it doesnt help them. Nor do they have the drive to see their efforts to the end, because they get bored rather quickly. Gaap breaks out of this status quo, along with the rest of the Misfits, by stubbornly pushing towards his goal even when the fruits of his labor dont bloom right away.

The biggest showcase of this drive is the person Gaap takes care of the most, that we know of.

Chapter 111 shows us that Gaap came to Agares' house every day. check it, every day. Gaap would go out of his way with breakfast and pick Agares up so he could make it to class.

Agares clearly doesnt want to go, but Gaap takes him anyway, refusing to leave him behind. From what we can guess, he's been doing it before they started training together. Which could mean Gaap didn't know this kid, but saw he wasn't going to class and went to go take care of him. (Classic extrovert adopting their introvert friend).

We see how that kindness affects Agares as a result. Agares feels guilty when he snaps at Gaap and goes out of his way to visit Gaap when he doesn't show up for class. (This could also mean Agares went to class on his own, without Gaap having to force him.)

Agares was also willing to help the people Gaap saved. Even when telling Gaap not to go out and save those people, Agares still houses them, keeps them safe, and even plans an escape route for the other students when things look bad. It's a lot of hassle for a character who hates being bothered. Gaap's kindness is contagious, even if it's not obvious at first glance.

Oh, Maybe He's Kinda Fucked Up?

No one escapes childhood unscathed.

Gaap is a caretaker, he does it happily. Even so, when you put yourself in the position to take care of others, there are parts of yourself that fall into neglect that you dont realize.

After the Heartbreaker arc (Chapter 272), Gaap is noticeably absent. We find out later, what happens when you fuck with the nice guy too much.

Maybe it was his crushed expectations, the stress of failing and losing, or maybe Gaap was just tired of being nice but he goes apeshit. Accidentally slipping into his Wicked cycle and nearly driving two students mad with his fucked up face.

We learn that showing your true face is a big no-no in the Gaap household. It's literally written on the walls, and Gaap feels immense shame and embarrassment that he broke a family rule.

He hides his face in his hands, and puts a bag over his face when Agares comes over. He's afraid of hurting someone again, even though the stress of those events have passed.

We dont know his parents' reaction, (because aint no way they dont know) Whether Gaap was disciplined by his parents or not, Gaap put this huge weight on his shoulders. Not blaming the stress of the situation, but blaming himself for losing control.

Gaap specifically said, “I panicked”. Which could mean that with all the stressors, he snapped and just lashed out. Gaap didn't willingly enter his wicked phase, I think he just gave in to his instincts. His bloodline originally started by warding off predators with their maddening appearance. What is panic if not your brain responding as if your body is in danger?

Despite Gaap reasonably getting upset, he still feels terrible for the trouble he caused and the students he hurt. The first thing he did after waking up was to ask if he could apologize to the first years for mentally scarring them.

Gaap’s ambition is to make 100 allies. It's pretty sweet. When a teenager says it(Gaap looks 17 yrs old), It just sounds like he wants to have friends. Pair this up with the fact that Gaap rarely asks for anything in return, and suddenly his wanting a ton of friends makes sense for someone who looks his age. Gaap takes care of people because he wants them to like him. (Even if he can drive them away with how much he cares.)

I have no idea where this desire comes from. If it's something his family drills into him, to be sociable and network, or if it's just a personal goal because of his ugly ahh face.

Regardless, this moment makes me want to lie down on the road while it rains:

Despite how much his ambition means to him, he is willing to isolate himself as long as it means no one else gets hurt. This speaks to his good intentions. It isn't just about the popularity or all the favors he could have from knowing so many demons. It's about forming genuine relationships with other demons and providing them a soft place to land and build community.

Look at my son, he tries so hard.

My final point:

Look at how cool he is. This is Chapter 76, my boy came out the gate swinging with powerful bloodline magic. He's got the position, he's got technique, he's got flare. What more could you ask for?

Gaap started out as rank 2, and since then has had no problem leveling himself up. Gaap always stays on his feet (Hence his nickname Busy Body), not letting himself fall behind his classmates. He aced his training and had since learned to use Wind as a companion and not as a tool. He even developed a full-range attack where he can pick which targets get hit by his swing and which dont. He is leveling up in the world. Dont hurt em now Gaap.

Conclusion:

I'm the equivalent of those parents who show off pictures of their kids from their wallet.

Gaap as a character, in the story he's in, isn't anything really new or groundbreaking. Even still, in a story like Mairimashita Iruma-Kun, the Misfit class are demons that are different. We get to learn why they're different, and how they learn to overcome these challenges despite how they threaten to hold them back.

Gaap is a good kid that you watch succeed from the background. We see him struggle and fall apart, but he never stops caring about others in that process. He's that good-natured kid in your life that you hope succeeds because in a cruel world, they make the decision to be kind.

If anyone made it this far, slay. Even if you never noticed Gaap before, I hope you have a new appreciation for his character. Nishi took time and love to write him out, I think that deserves attention too.

[kandyzee]

The emotional incest aspect of Frank and Fionas relationship has been on my mind sm so imma talk about it.

I don't exclusively think that it's emotional. Frank makes a few creepy comments but I'm gonna talk about that after.

First here is a quick summary of what emotional incest is cause so far everyone I have tried to talk to about this didn't know what it was

I think the most noticeable example of Frank going to fiona for emotional support is how he makes her raise her siblings. Throughout the whole show, Frank talks about how his kids are a consistent cause of stress for him, even goes as far to blame them for his drinking. Part of the reason he's so good with franny is because there isn't as much responsibility and grandchild 'don't expect anything' from him. He willingly unloads that work onto fiona even when she is a young child. The burden/stress should have been passed onto Monica. Since she isn't around, a lot of the time Fiona steps up. This is why I think this aspect of their relationship goes unnoticed. People accept that fiona had no choice when really Frank could have found an adult to help him like fiona goes to kev & Vee. Frank had brothers, for example, but he wanted fiona, his young daughter, instead.

Something I think is almost just as significant is Fionas' willingness to help Frank despite her obvious hate for him. In season one, Fiona is the most determined out of all her siblings to get Frank back from Canada. That, to me, shows that bringing Frank home is normal. It's part of her job as the caretaker of the house. She isn't just taking care of her siblings but also Frank. Not only does fiona get Frank back, but she trusts he will. We see this in S3 ep1 when fiona tells Debbie that 'He always comes back'. During that same scene, we find out that Frank had left fiona for almost a year when she was 9. Frank isn't dumb. He knows fiona will worry about him. By leaving her for so long, Frank doesn't just put her siblings' lives in her hands but also puts the worry of his wellbeing on her, too. Although I don't think this is him directly him leaning on her emotionally. we know Frank is happiest when he knows someone is careing/worrying for him. I find it odd that he decides to find that feeling with fiona of all people.

A scene I think about a lot is when fiona goes to comfort Frank about his mother.

Frank doesn’t say anything. He leans into her slightly and accepts the comfort she is giving him. Typically, when Frank's parenting is criticised, he gets mad, especially if he is already emotional. Here tho when fiona says that her parents suck referring to him, he smiles. This is because it's fiona saying it to him. Frank knows he's being insulted, but there's a disconnect for him. Frank doesn't fully see himself as fionas dad. I also think it's interesting how he so easily let's fiona be motherly towards him (she's comforting in the same way she would with her younger siblings) when it's his real mum that has caused his pain to begin with. Fiona is a tool to fill different roles. In this example, it's the parental one.

A large part of what emotional incest is is the idea that the parents view the child as a like partner. This is 1000% Frank and Fiona. I've talked about how fiona takes the parental responsibility that should be Monica's, but it's Frank himself that compares the two in a different way.

Thinking of Frank being attracted to Fiona makes me deeply uncomfortable, but I think it's a real possibility and shouldn't be pushed aside. The 'wild and dangerous' natural of monica is something Frank fell in love with. At Monica's funeral, Frank tells the story of when he fell for her. The story summed up is Monica acting 'crazy' and being naked. Saying his daughter looks like her mum isn't inherently creepy. It's normal until the 'stripper on a bender dangerous'. It's a description of the 'wild and dangerous' Frank finds so attractive. It almost sounds like a reference to how Frank and Monica fell in love if Monica was a stripper ofc. Even still then you could argue that he doesn't mean it like that. If you think about instances like in s1 ep8 where Frank tells his daughter to be 'skins' meaning she would take her top off ,it clicks as something much more unsettling.

I think the shift in their relationship started when fiona was 9 yrs old. She often brings up this age, probably because it was the most traumatic. This is the age where Frank is away for most of the year.

The way I imagine it is that Frank comes home to find that Fiona has matured considerably. The fact that she says guys have been trying to sleep with her since she was 9 makes me think she was an early bloomer. Considering she had been solo raising her siblings for a large amount of time, she has developed emotionally, not just physically. This leads Frank to relying on her more than he would before. She's more capable, and her older appearance makes it's that little bit easier to start forming the previously mentioned disconnect with being her father.

The effects of covert incest (they could be caused by something else who knows) match up perfectly with Fiona. She has problems surrounding both physical and emotional intimacy, has a lack of self-esteem and identity, finds it hard to set and adhere to boundaries, and has a love/hate relationship with her parent. The way she leaves the show is a great example of these imo. It's her lack of identity that pushes her so deep into the caretaker role. Her desperation to look after everyone causes strain on her siblings' relationships because she can't handle boundaries. Her low self-esteem makes it easier for her to fall into alcoholism. When all these things come to a head, she leaves to find herself.

Another factor to why this lable fits their dynamic is Frank's favouritism towards Fiona. Fiona prefers Frank to Monica, and when Frank reveals he has a hidden daughter, she is upset. Nor just because Frank lied but also about that means her place is at risk of being taken. The special treatment she gets from being the favourite starts as something good but slowly fades into something more unpleasant. When she stops being daddies little girl like she's meant to Frank, he gets mad. He sabotages her relationships as if he's determined to be the only man in her life. The way Frank acts with Jimmy Steve feels more like a jealous ex than a concerned dad.

The last key thing i want to talk about is that Frank doesn't mention fiona at the end of the show. This might should be like a reach but stay with me. At the start of the show, Frank says,'Fiona, my rock, huge help. Has all the best qualities of her mother, except she's not a raging psycho bitch.' The first ever thing we find out about Fiona is that she is like her mother and has essentially taken her place. Its made to sound like they are a team. Fiona is the only one to be compared to someone else. When Frank gets over Monica's death, he gets over fiona, too. Frank has so deeply intertwined Monica and fiona that without fiona near him, she is simply forgettable. Even though fiona is Frank's favourite, he doesn't see her as her own person. She was a placeholder, and with no one to step in for, she isn't worth mentioning.

I still think I could say more about this, but I'm not risking getting everything deleted again, so I'm done. I do really fast wanna say that sometimes the parents don't realise they have such an unhealthy relationship with their kids, so for once, Frank might not know what he's doing wrong here.

[linkspooky]

Hi I really love ur metas your jjk ones really made me appreciate the story even more. I was curious about ur analysis on why Gojo is important to Geto.

It's obvious as to why Geto is important to Gojo and how Geto effected him but I don't think it's talked about enough of the reversal

That's a good observation anon, the story makes it less obvious what Geto needs Gojo for, while spending a long time lingering on the tragedy of Geto's loss and what the loss of his only real friend meant for Gojo.

I think part of this is because Geto is a character of deep self-reflection so a lot of his internal narration is about his feelings towards his self and thinking through his own ideals and what that means. Whereas Gojo doesn't really self reflect but he does observe other people. We don't know what Gojo's opinions on a lot of things are, but we know what Geto meant to him because he's much clearer on how he felt towards Geto. Geto's staring into himself trying to figure what he feels personally, Gojo is always staring at other people trying to figure out what they feel.

As for why Gojo means so much to Geto, it's important to remember that they are a duo. They're the same idiot in different fonts. Geto's a much more human character and we are inside his head more often so it's easy to forget that when they were young Geto had the same kind of god / superiority complex that Gojo did.

Geto is associated with religious imagery over and over again, the same way that Gojo is associated with budhist ideals of enlightenment and escaping karma. They are both people who were in their teenage years more powerful than everyone around them, and because of that looked down on everyone.

Even Geto's stated ideals of "protecting the weak" come from a place of superiority. He still divides people mentally into the weak and the strong. The special ones and the common rabble. He sees people the same way Gojo does, he just believes that the strong like him and Gojo have a moral obligation to use their powers responsibly in service of others.

Geto's not more humble than Gojo. Their moral disagreement comes from how they should use the power they've been given, but they both feel that the power they have puts them in a position above other people.

All of this to illustrate the fact that if Gojo felt isolated as a teenager because all the power he had made him feel lonely and unable to connect with others, then so Geto probably felt isolated in the same way too. They each found in each other someone they could finally call their equal. Because of it they gained someone they could be vulnerable around and someone they could trust to watch their back.

The things Geto does for Gojo (check on his feelings when no one else would, go out of his way to reassure him), Gojo does for Geto in return. It's not Geto always taking care of Goo it's a partnership between the two of them where they lean on each other.

When Kuroi is kindapped and Geto immediately falls into a funk and starts to blame himself for his mistake, it's Gojo who reassures him by hurrying him along and telling him they need to focus on planning what they should do next. Gojo knows Geto well enough to know his tendency to get trapped in his own thoughts and gives him the kick in the pants he needs.

In the same scene where Geto checks on Gojo's well-being to make sure he's not overusing his power, Gojo returns the sentiment by reassuring Geto not to worry about him because he won't push himself too hard and that he's not in this alone Geto's here too.

That's probably a big part of it for Geto. Yes, Geto tends to naturally slide into the caretaker role, watching out for Gojo and checking in on him but at the same time Geto probably likes that there is someone who needs him in that way. If Gojo's defined by his lack of connection with other people, Geto's defined by the way he goes out to make connections. It's nice to be needed as they say. The fact that someone as seemingly self-sufficient as Gojo not only relies on Geto a great deal, but lets Geto take care of him is probably a big part of their bond.

Which is probably why Gojo's awakening post Toji is a big part in why they started to grow apart from each other. If Geto likes to live in service to other people, and defines himself by his connection to others he probably interpreted Gojo no longer needing his support on missions and suddenly doing everything by himself as Gojo pulling away from him.

I think a big part in Geto's downfall was the hit he took when one he was defeated by Toji someone without Jujutsu and too, Gojo suddenly became out of his reach. Gojo himself never said that they were no longer the strongest duo, or that they were no longer the strongest together it's all Geto. As I said Geto has as much of a god complex as Gojo does.

He thought they were on the top together, and not only is he suddenly confronted with his own weakness at the exact same time Gojo's become so strong it appears on the surface that he no longer needs anyone's support, especially not Geto's.

Nanami says it out loud, but Geto probably echoes the sentiment. If Gojo is now strong enough to handle every mission on his own then what need does he have for other sorcerers - and Geto in particular? Geto goes from feeling needed in a lot of ways by Gojo who was just as important a friend to him as he was to Gojo to watch Gojo suddenly handle everything alone. In a lot of ways it probably felt like Geto lost Gojo far before the KFC breakup and his defection from Jujutsu High. From Geto's perspective their relationship was over, their partnership broken and Gojo just did not realize it until after the village massacre.

At first Geto had as big of an ego with Gojo, and connected in a special way with him because the two of them were on top together. However, he came to believe that the only reason their partnerhsip worked was because they were both the strongest. When Gojo became the strongest alone Geto believed incorrectly that what they once had was lost and Gojo no longer needed him when Gojo's emotional reaction to Geto's defection shows that's anything but true.

In Geto's mind it is though because he's kind of got the same messed up way of dividing people into strong and weak that Gojo does, he probably just realized that he was one of the weak ones and feared Gojo thinking the same way.

During Geto and Gojo's final confrontation he almost has an inferiority complex about it when he talks about how if he had the limitless he'd easily be able to accomplish what he set out to do.

Until that moment Geto always thought they were equals, but now Geto's suddenly talking like he covets Gojo's power. He suddenly wants to be Gojo, probably because he incorrectly believes that their partnership is base don being equals in power when it's really just a normal friendship.

Which is why the loss of Gojo's friendship affects Geto just as badly as the other way around. Everyone wants to be equals with their friends, especially to a friend as important as Gojo was to Geto.

There's almost a tragic irony in how when speaking of his friendship to Nanako and Mimiko, Geto acts like their friendship ended when Gojo left Jujutsu High. It's their in his death scene too, Geto is surprised by the fact that Gojo has any feelings left for him.

Geto's so insecure over his connection to Gojo he didn't understand that in Gojo's mind they were still friends right up until the very end, and perhaps if he were just a bit more secure they would have been able to reach one another instead of falling apart.

[nunalastor]

I have been struck by an idea for Angel Alastor AU

*Alastor's POV*

A couple months into his stay in Hell Alastor finds and figures out how deals work, as well as their roll they play in maintaining this realm. He is excited to try it out and finds out he is really good at it. BUT!! After awhile the people he takes under his care collapse into shows of light. He doesn't get it. What is he doing wrong! the only 2 thralls not leaving are Nifty and husker.

Let's see he takes in children and women who did what they had to do to survive. Check! Give them free housing in the forest he grew with his magic. Check!! Employ the women as either teachers/caretakers for the kids or writers for his radio shows. CHECK!!! Basically build and maintain a self sufficient community that doesn't have to worry about the stress of hell while he get to have his fun. Check fucking CHECK!!!!

No matter how many years pass in hell it keeps happening. It's confusing but that's ok, he only did it because all the most respected Overlords of hell run and maintain communities. His new bestie Rosie, Carmillia, Missi Zilla, Zestial and even that pathetic picture Box that got a lucky hit to his forehead with an angelic dagger ( thankfully Alastor bashed vox's face in before he could back up the memory) has one. Well the Princess is opening a hotel i hopes of rehabilitating sinners should be fun. He just hopes that the letters he wrote for Guy, Emily and his Mom and that they forgive him for his selfish acts.

*Heaven's/Micheal's POV*

It has been years since the one so loved by Heaven went missing because of Adam's carelessness when something miraculous starts happening. The souls of women and children damned to Hell start appearing before the high Seraphim Sera. Despite all the struggles the souls went through and endured, they had one thing in common.

Alastor

When Micheal is filled in on what's happening he doesn't rushes to the observation orb within Heavens Court house. With the help of the very souls Alastor redeemed he lays eyes upon his beloved for the first time in years. The sight is both comforting and devastating as Micheal watches Alastor rub at a nasty scar along his temple.

Of course. Everything makes sense now. His beloved wouldn't abandon everyone he loves on a whim. He didn't know it was possible for the love he has held for his deer to grow deeper because even when trapped in hell under the delusion that they're a demon Al still went out of his way to help others. After many apology's to Guy, Emily and Al's Mom for the deceit Sera decides the best course of action going forward is to call a meeting with Lucifer.....OH, Lucifer sent his daughter in his place. WAIT! She's starting up a redemption project that's perfect we can give her support through the search party now led by a talented exorcist by the name of Vagatha And his beloved's best friend Guy who's a detective turned therapist.

Charlie: "wait uncle, you know redemption is possible?"

Micheal: "Well yes, but not how because my boyfriend the saint who figured out how to do so, got trapped in Hell due to a tragic mistake some years ago suffering a horrible head wound. We were finally able to find him but we don't know how much he truly remembers."

*Lilith POV*

Lilith who has spent the last couple of years getting faded off champagne on a beach: "I feel like i'm forgetting something important" -the unopened letters Alastor asked her to deliver sitting at the bottom of her luggage- "If i can't remember, probably not a big deal."

-sleep deprived Anon-

P.S. the thought of Alastor finally finding joy in his after life only to have it be ripped out from under him because he is unintentionally being really helpful is funny and the growing unhinged perspective of Micheal as he searches for his beloved, is absolutely delightful for me

P.S.S. I had to write this down twice so it's a lot longer than it was originally so here's this wall of text-sorry not sorry

👀