#i don't care if it would've never happened it's real to me

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Dear Rafal:

As some spirit swans shapeshifter angel possession thingy do you create souls and ship them off to the real world?

I have a case where I know someone very well and he just seems to be very similar to you. (cough cough)

Also if Rhian was a girl (or some genderbend AU) would you let me be her gf?

Rafal: [peers down at you from the sky through slitted eyes] I'm not a "thingy" as you claim. Nor am I possessed, and if you'd like to see a man possessed, turn no further than downwards, at my aging mirror image. He's bound to die eventually and I doubt he'll be joining me. [He grins.]

As for your query, the answer is no. Not currently. When I did involve myself in... low, earthly affairs, every mortal soul I had a part in creating was apparently deficient in some way or another. Always, it was: [said in a mocking tone] this one's imbued with an excess of "spite" or "hubris," that one is just plagued with "instability," and a third was impacted by a so-called "disregard for its own species" and a "malcontent temperament"—why should I care?

Amid those general issues, the few souls of mine that had been placed in the Woods were reported to be "cursed," what we call our failed projects, those who can't descend to the Woods and live "ordinary lives." They had to be reworked by my colleagues, who discovered that many of those restless mortals held unconscious, fully-formed vendettas against pirates, Seers, and blond men. Don't ask.

All of my creations have been scrapped thus far, including a potential distant relative I devised for my Stymphs: the razor-beaked, flesh-eating sparrow. It was marvelous, and I'm sure my living students would've found it just lovely. Unfortunately, Heaven didn't approve of my vision for a new and greater Woods, which is pointless, seeing as the Blue Forest is already populated with killer, puffball rabbits. My Woods would've been built upon cautionary tales, to whittle away at the simpletons who believe that as long as they're Good, they "deserve the world" as they're constantly told. The Evers were always entitled as they always received the benefit of the doubt automatically, a privilege my Nevers will never live to get for themselves. It's why they must take what the world deprives them of, which I can understand to an extent. [resentment creeps into his voice.] After all, I nearly got what I wanted, only for it to slip through my fingers. So, instead, my Nevers are trapped with a daft leader and just languish under a losing streak, as far as I can tell.

Besides, my title isn't "guardian angel." Heaven wanted to assign me to a post as a patron of travelers and physicians, but I declined, and took up record-keeping duties since, for the time being, I don't wish to see anyone. I'm not content with menial tasks, but there haven't been any other offerings worth my time, aside from staging a coup, whether it be a coup d'état or coup de grâce for a certain someone, well... I haven't decided yet.

However, I do hope that my brother's still around when the Second Coming rolls around. I'd be all too satisfied to see the dire look on his face as he trembles when I tap him on the shoulder. Then, I'd drag him to a punishment equal to his worldly crimes in whichever circle of Hell happens to be his final destination, all while the rest of the apocalypse roars around us... Something to look forward to, I suppose. The other angels tell me not to be so sure, or that I won't want justice by that point. But however long it takes, I'll be here. Waiting for my moment in that dying sun.

[Rafal likes to think he's moved past earthly proceedings, but in reality, he's still probably bitter, begrudging, and unforgiving (so far), and would prefer to think of himself as beyond trifles like mortal lives that aren't his. He probably just needs time to settle and accept his death. Eventually, he'll reform further though, and grow into his Goodness.]

Rafal: Who is this case of yours? [You don't have to elaborate if you don't want to.]

Do whatever you'd like with Rhian. I'm not his protector any longer, and he’s more than capable of "defending" himself. Just let me take his soul once he dies, and we'll have a deal. [He extends a hand pulsing with sorcery to you to shake.] A contractually-sealed deal.

[icarusbetide]

back on my bullshit y'all. implausible historical scenario: southern alexander hamilton (pt 1: lavien & laurens version)

Part 2: Washington's son dramatic-ass version

my favorite hobby is shoving historical figures into impossible scenarios so i can get them to do what i want. once again made up some convoluted series of events just to create a hamilton wildly out of character- god forbid, a southerner who might even get along with thomas jefferson. here's the first implausible scenario that make it possible.

Alexander goes to live with his half brother Peter Lavien.

Peter Lavien was the legitimate child of Rachel Hamilton’s first marriage. He moved to Beaufort, South Carolina in 1764 at eighteen and became a prominent merchant and member of the church. However, he returned to St. Croix in 1769 to settle his mother’s estate, aka get everything that she had wanted to go to James Jr. and Alexander. In 1769, the two boys were taken in by their cousin Peter Lytton (who died), and then Lytton’s father, who also died a month later. Probable that this happened after Lavien had once again left St. Croix, but let’s just imagine that he for some reason takes pity on the boys - and takes them with him. Nothing makes sense here, roll with it.

It would be even sadder and morbidly funny if he only took Alexander. I say this because in his 1778 last Will and Testament Lavien left “Alexander Hamilton and his brother Robert Hamilton” a fairly substantial amount of money. One brother must’ve left a greater impression on him and maybe poor James Jr. hears this half brother who took his inheritance say “Alex and Robert can come with me” and goes “Who tf is Robert, fuck this” and peaces out. 

Now, politically: Extrapolating since I’m not sure how prominent “prominent merchant” is, but maybe this means that Alex has the chance to meet prominent southerners early on, who like many others, are charmed by his energy and precocity. Does this mean he has more affection and allegiance for South Carolina than he did in real life for St. Croix? Does his politics and economic experience change? Assuming that like Washington, wartime experience is enough to make him a nationalist and he still had some experience at Cruger’s (and maybe helping Lavien) and thus does not have differing economic beliefs, his enemies would lose out on a major attack: perceived bias to the North. His connection to the Schuyler family would still serve, but maybe without as much weight, since he has those southern connections. 

I love the idea of a South Carolinian Alexander Hamilton who grows up in a fairly secure American home with a steady guardian. The personal implications! The family drama of being forced to rely on a half brother who resents you for taking his mom, and who you resent back for taking your inheritance! Does this give him more issues, less issues? No idea! Even worse, Lavien was apparently a Tory, so there’s that. Two brothers who perhaps got closer over the years, split apart again by political differences. “I take pity on a bastard brat and you repay me with this?” type shit. Lavien moved out to Georgia in 1777, and apparently died in 1780 or 1781 which means Hamilton would’ve been a prominent aide de camp to the commander in chief, and potentially married into a great New York family when it happens. How would he react to that?

And I can’t give up the idea of Colonel Alexander Hamilton of South Carolina meeting John Laurens of South Carolina. Maybe I push it further and say they meet early on and become childhood friends, even.

This is really stretching it but idc, they get to be childhood friends and Hamilton gains the favor of Henry Laurens. Maybe they even go to Europe together, wreak havoc on everything, and then disobey both Laurens' worried father and Alexander's Tory brother to join the army as aide de camps.

Maybe in this universe, Hamilton is chosen to go to South Carolina instead of John Laurens and their fates are switched. Maybe Henry Laurens who still wants to keep his kid out of danger asks Hamilton to go in his stead and pushes Washington about it, and Hamilton, wanting a command, readily agrees. Maybe that continues on after Yorktown, when Hamilton returns to South Carolina. Maybe Laurens has to learn that Hamilton died in a skirmish through a letter from his father and vows to continue on their shared dreams and Hamilton's plans, becoming the influential but even more abrasive leader of the federalist party. i want to see the switch, where it's the more idealistic laurens who isn't a good politician either (the two of them are a disaster) enters the public arena to be slandered and corrupted - laurens who is isolated from his fellow southerners and who seems to be mourning someone constantly and washington knowing exactly who it is. a laurens who looks back and yearns for a promising, brilliant young man who could've done so much more if he only had the chance WAIT WHO SAID THAT-

[frmisnow]

✧˖ ?! — TAKE CARE OF YOU! (SMUTTY)

summary. picking you up from your yoga class, for your weekly little weekend get-together (which mostly just consists of sex at his apartment), kook notices just how sore and exhausted you've been from this week, so what's left to do then to take care of his baby?

notes. ladys and gentlemen and they/thems of the universe... welcome to the iltly verse!!!! inspired by my last fic I LOVE TO LOVE YOU, the demand to see more of this couple/dynamic was most deff. there so here it is!!! 𐙚˙⋆.˚ i hope u enjoy!!!

warnings/includes. bf bf non idol? jungkook x f! reader, established relationship (they just don't live together), fluff, very SUGGESTIVE (masturbation mentioned, undressing, kissing yappa yappa), oc is HORNY & rly tired, bath-thub time together,

"you're real tired, aren't you?"

jungkooks voice cuts through the comfortable silence that has formed in the car and sure- if it weren't for his hand running tiny circles and patterns on your thigh you would've probably fallen asleep by now..

all you managed to do was nod, intertwining your hand with his, earning a small pleased smile from his side as he returned to ask, "how was yoga?"

you stayed silent for a bit, in a mix of trying to think about his question while your brain already felt so mushy, after a few more seconds of silence he squeezed your hand, "it's alright you don't have to think anymore," the tone almost mocking- in his usual loving way.

"no-" you protested almost like trying to prove you could talk and form thoughts properly, "at the end of the class we were thinking of what we are grateful for and..." your thoughts once again trailed of but this time to all of your previous weekends together, "i missed you"

"you can't just say things like that," he pulled your intertwined hands to his mouth, kissing yours incredibly gently, "it makes me feel things- things that make me want to crash this car into the nearest tree," his voice almost sounding like a threat.

you don't know if it was your barerly functioning brain or the general effects that horniness mixed with exhaustion caused, that pulled you to mumble the following words, "y'know- i've been touching myself to the thought of you since monday"

the sudden loud squeack noise of him hitting the brakes filled the car- barerly managing to stop at the red light but jungkook himself seemed oddly calm for the words that were about to follow (& the fact that you almost ended up in a car crash), "you're actually gonna make me kill us, we're gonna die- and i wouldn't even have fucked you beforewards, i'm telling you- that's not gonna happen."

his tone dead serious as you grinned at his words, honestly you should be a lot more scared at the fact that you almost just both died but for right now all you could think about where his large veiny hands on the steering wheel and all the other places where they could've been in this very moment, barerly surpassing a noise at your own sick and twisted mind.

he groaned out your name, taking another sharp turn, "i swear keep it together, we'll get home and i'm gonna take such good care of you, i promise," squezzing your thigh to highlight his point.

he said home, home. you swore you were close to jumping out of this car and killing yourself, "home sounds so good when you say it" you confessed as his hand continued to scroll up and down your clothed skin.

he stayed quiet but you were sure you had seen him smile from the side.

"when are you getting in? i miss youuuuu," you yelled through the bathroom, hoping it'll be heard till the kitchen where jungkook was answering one of his work calls.

jungkook had spent the past ten minutes undressing you carefully, peeling off one clothing at a time, with each one gone kissing the following skin that got exposed, so delicately that you would never in a million years would've thought this was the same man who almost lost his shit and crashed a car at the slight mention of your masturbation.

as he entered the bathroom again, placing the phone on the counter, he admired the view ahead of him as you pouted, reaching your hands out to pull him in, failing to do so while he muttered, "you're so sexy" under his breath.

"you can't even see my body yet," you answered to which: "your face is enough" followed. he quickly undressed himself while you were tempted at just the naked sight of him, all for you.

god- you felt like a horny teenager, you silently begged your mind to behave and not act like a animal the second he entered the bath thub.

so there you were, getting massaged by the one and only jeon jungkook while you struggled to surprass moans, leaning your head back onto his shoulder, little 'tsk tsk's coming from his direction, "you got so much tension, how did you even survive this week?"

you know you would've asked him if he had been a massager in his past life but the way he was kissing all the spots on your back, you wouldn't think that was to professional.

"you're so good to me," you mumbeled, practically melting into his hands as he shook his head, "there's nobody i'd rather be massaging then you" for a while he continued his relentless but very pleasant moves on your back till returning to speak, "you don't have to surprass all the pretty little sounds too, i like em"

you chuckled at the words, faking a sarcastic pornstar-like moan, "what's next you gon massage my tits or ass cause i have a whole lot of tensi-"

you didn't expect him to instantly give in, his hands immediately wandering to your tits, kneading painfully slow while you actually did let out a real groan at the way his hands always managed to be so rough yet gentle in the way they loved your body.

"what did you think about while you touched yourself?"

you closed your eyes to solely focus on his touch and voice noticing that it sounded almost breathless, "thought about your hands, your face, your voice, your dick, your tong-"

he turned you around to face him in one swift motion causing some of the water to overflow and spill, resulting in little waves around you both, kissing you instantly. "nobody gets me like this, how do you do it?" the closer he got to you, the more did you lean over to the sharp end of the baththub that was most likely gonna result in a mark on your body but you did not care not at all, not when he was practically towering over you.

there were two possibilties and ways he could go about this: either he fucks you nice and slow just how you deserve since you had such a tiring week or he roughly fucks your brain out because of how bratty you've been this whole night.

"fuck me," you leaned forward just a little, to show your body just a bit better, tiny bits of soap on your bare tits, "please"

he seemed practically hipnotized while you took his hand, leading it to run over your upper body to your belly almost ending up at your core, "touch me, love me, i need you," the last words practically breathed out.

"i'm gonna love you how you deserve, in our bed" he stood up, getting out for towels to wrap you in.

there it was again, the way he had been talking the whole night: our bed, our home. you wondered if he was doing it on purpose but you were to scared to ask him.

so all you felt that you could do was hug his broad back, resting your head on it, sudden sleepiness washing over you as you yawned, he intertwined your hands that were resting on his stomach with his once again, looking into the mirror ahead.

"you make me all horny and then yawn like it's nothing," he grumbeled, turning around to look at your face, your eyes almost closed now, "let's get you to bed, missy"

"but-" he squezzed your hand, politely shutting you off, "you need sleep and we can always have sex... just when you wake up"

as you went up the stairs all you managed to mumble was a tiny, "sorry, i feel like i lead you on for nothing"

but all jungkook did was kiss the top of your head, resting his arm around your shoulder, pulling up the towel as to warm you up, "you don't own me anything, never- especially sex"

you fell asleep in his arms later that night, happier then ever to have somebody like him to call your own.

[keefechambers]

I wanna be blunt about this ongoing James somerton suicide threat issue but I don't want to connect it to my IRL Twitter to comment on the dogshit takes I'm seeing there or the good and well meaning but maybe too kind takes I'm seeing here.

Obviously, I hope that this is a false alarm cry for help fake threat. Yes, it would reinforce that Somerton is a self-centered egomaniac who can't handle consequences but that's preferable to dead.

But I work in local news and let me tell you something. I've covered half a dozen family annihilating murder suicides and heard hundreds of men making suicide threats over police scanners and a huge swath of these don't happen because they're depressed or because people are mean to them on the Internet. They're punishment. A person with an enormous amount of entitlement towards people around them gets backed into a corner and they punish the people closest to them by killing themselves or threatening to kill themselves.

No one wants to talk about this feature of suicide because...you want to help people who are struggling and guide them away from this path and being blunt about the fact that sometimes people die of suicide as a consequence of their own shittiness towards the world does not really help actively suicidal people. But suicide rates are higher in men not just because they have higher rates of untreated mental illness (a societal issue we must address for the sake of all) but because some people, often men, use suicide (but more often the threat of suicide) as a tool of abuse and control.

I'm not saying somerton is like, an icky abuser bad guy, he's just a run of the mill grifter scumbag, but his actions in the past show a clear pattern of escalating behavior that aligns with this.

Somerton gets called out -> somerton alleges physical threats of violence against himself and his fans rally around him supportively -> Harry calls somerton out in a bigger way -> Somerton says he's hospitalized but there are inconsistencies with the story but no one wants to talk about that because you wanna be nice-ish about a guy who just tried to kill himself and now he's trying to be framed as tragic but it doesn't really stick -> somerton apologizes again but his apology is rightly called out for lies and manipulative framing as well as his continuing attempts to profit off the community he betrayed -> James posts a suicide note publicly putting the onus of his own suicide on the loss of his friend Nick who he repeatedly threw under the bus and now everyone is rallying to say nice-ish shit and wring their hands in concern over poor james -> indefinitely repeat this vicious cycle forever until he actually does die or finally gives up and gets real, intensive therapy and a day job.

Thats not to say anyone's concern is misplaced, it's 100% better for him to be a living scumbag than a dead one. He deserves the chance to grow and learn and have a life outside of youtube.

But you don't have to portray this as the action of a sad depressed man who got bullied off the Internet. It's manipulation, whether he intended to go through with it or not and whether someone intervened or not. Not denying that internet bullying is a thing, I'm sure there were some people who were shitty directly to James but he made the choice to not unplug from this and to try and keep being a public figure rather than taking care of himself. He could have deleted Twitter, blocked anyone who was an asshole, gone to therapy and tried to move on with his life but if he'd deleted his channel he'd have lost monetization... Can't have that, right? So he posts some apology videos so his channel stays active and then complains about how ruinous this is while never trying to take real accountability.

But the reality is that people would have forgotten about him so quickly and maybe his job prospects would've been impacted but...that's on him, and that's for him to figure out but it's not actually life ruining. He chose to continue to engage knowing he'd get backlash and hate and he'd feel worse and worse and things would never get better without the time and space for people to forget.

He made the choice to make a public spectacle of his own alleged suicide. That is the action of someone who wants to put the weight of their suicide on someone else's shoulders and is morally wrong. He can be held to account for that, alive or dead.

[miniimight]

DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[bixels]

Splatoon 3: Side Order is good, but not great. I still highly recommend it, but if you care about the story, you're going to be disappointed. Quick review: spoilers ahead.

Side Order was the devs experimenting with Splatoon's gameplay loop. The campaign is a rogue-like, and it works amazingly well. Super fun, super challenging, building my deck and fighting through challenges with the stakes of resetting really scratched an itch in my brain. They did a great job with it.

Unfortunately, I feel like priority went to game design rather than story. Much of the mysterious artwork we saw in the first teaser trailer was completely unused; turns out, all of that was just concept art that never made it into the final product. Side Order failed to make me care about what was happening. I don't know why the protagonist had to be Agent 8; it could've been anyone else and the story would've worked the same.

Octo Expansion was the absolute peak of meshing story and gameplay. The campaign's hook is insanely strong; we immediately empathize with Agent 8 because we know from previous lore that octolings like her have been trapped underground for all their lives. We care about her fight to the surface because it's a fundamentally ideological fight for freedom. The plot stuff about Tartar and the Thangs is just nice set dressing; 8's fight for freedom is the real story.

There's none of that in Side Order. I don't particularly care about Marina's metaverse, even if it's tied to Octo Expansion's story. I don't know why Acht is there other than backstory stuff. It really feels like 8 is just told to do something and she does it because she's the protagonist; she has zero personal stakes or motivations in the conflict. This is a story blunder the devs did in Splatoon 3's default campaign––forgetting to give the protagonist a personal reason to fight––that I hoped would be fixed here, but alas.

What makes it worse is that the gameplay and story progression are completely out of sync. I beat the entire game on my third run in 4 hours. With each run, you get up to two keys to potentially unlock bits of story. That means you'll get about one piece of the story every two runs. There are twelve pieces of the story; I got the first and then beat the whole damn game. Now I have to go back and grind to see the remaining story when I've already beaten the final boss and resolved the conflict. I missed the entire story because I never had to reset because I blazed through the gameplay! It's just a real shame that I experienced everything without knowing... why it's happening. The final boss had me asking myself what the hell is going on because I don't know the backstory at all.

Again, I still really recommend. The devs did a great job, but Side Order remains in the shadow of Octo Expansion's incredible success. Like the default singleplayer campaign, there's just a lot of lost story potential here that, while not necessary, would have really elevated this DLC into something amazing.

[periprose]

Hi! :)

I’m craving some Logan Howlett angsty fluff and I really like your writing style… Do you think you could maybe do a fic where either Logan and reader are in the heat of the moment and his claws come out and he scratches her. Or where Logan has a nightmare and the same thing happens. Either way the reader ends up comforting him.

Thank you! 🩷 :)

Hi!! So sorry for getting to this so late 🥹 loved the idea btw :) ended up doing a bit of a mix of both? If that makes sense.

/

"Out with it."

Your voice rings out clearly among the X-Men, the throng of battle no longer around you all. It was a more exhausting battle than you would've thought, but nothing irks you more than knowing that Logan has been apparently thinking of you as someone to play babysitter to. He hadn't trusted you to make your final blow to the enemy, and instead scooped you away to safety before lashing out with his own claws.

Logan clearly has something to say to you, and you want to hear it. You're not going to let him escape again- the way he always does, nonchalantly, refusing to acknowledge how he treats you.

Charles stiffens next to you in the helicarrier. Watching the tension, feeling the palpable heart-wrenching sensation between you and Logan. He doesn't know how you got to this point.

"Listen. Just because you didn't have it doesn't mean you're not a good X-Man-" Logan starts dismissively.

"But I did! I did have it!" You shout back at him, and then inhale carefully. "Nobody told you to rescue me, Logan. If I was about to die, then I was. I wanted that to be on my own terms."

"Don't talk like you're a fucking martyr when you've never had the privilege, kid." Logan's unnecessarily harsh tone has you flinching. "Do you know how many people I've seen die, for no good reason? Do you really want a bunch of Pentagon psychos to be your last memory?"

"Shut up." You shift in your seat, feeling small. "We don't get to choose when we die. Not like you."

Logan becomes visibly angered with that, the little taunt you've made towards his immortality. "That doesn't mean you have to go seek it out, dumbass."

"Oh really? Don't tell me you're getting soft, Logan." You glare at him, and Charles and Jean and Scott look at each other uncertainly. "Just because your life is so long doesn't mean the rest of us have forgotten what it means to be alive."

There's an unspoken, sudden charge in the air, now that you've mentioned what everyone else has the good sense to shut up about- Logan having lived so long and not caring about the consequences of his actions. Logan's eyes narrow until you feel sure that you've pushed him too far this time- he looks more animal than human, more Wolverine than ever- and you feel yourself inching forward, letting the anger of not being understood push you to fighting him- and Charles suddenly raises his hand in protest.

"Please, you two. I'm not sure what has transpired today, but I know you are better than choosing to have a physical altercation on a helicarrier flight." His calm, soothing tone makes you feel a little disappointed in yourself, and you settle back in your seat, refusing to meet his or Jean's glances of concern.

/

All you really wanted was an apology. A "Sorry, I won't do that again." Or even an explanation for why Logan keeps tabs on you all the time, never letting you be a real part of the X-Men, always safely on the sidelines. Were you just too weak?

Should you even be here?

You feel guilty for what you said to him. It's not a bad thing, you know, that Logan doesn't want you to get hurt- it's just that you want to do your job. You're not a kid.

It almost, almost justifies how you treated him, but even you know that was too far. You can't act as if you know Logan's life story- not even Charles or Jean would claim to do that, and they've searched his mind for memories several times.

Like it or not, the man was mysterious. He kept to himself on a lot of things, citing past hurt as his reason why- and you should've respected that.

"Maybe I am weak." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you can't restrain your emotions around Logan.

You're practicing shooting small, psionic blasts towards the target in your room- it's a great way to pass the time when you can't sleep- when you hear a groan, a shudder, an angry, deep growl-

It sounds like Logan. His room is right above yours, and the sounds are definitely coming from there- you hear him yell, and before you can stop yourself, you're bounding up the stairs to the third floor of the X-Mansion, bursting through his room's door with a ready hand, in case you need to fight.

/

Logan watches as you berate him in his dream.

Actually, it's not quite you- it's some venomous, evil, witch wearing your face. You giggle at him- you call him old- you don't take him seriously.

With every taunt, you fire another bright purple blast at him- and for once, his body doesn't heal instantaneously. He is getting old, getting hurt, watching as blood pools out of him. It's agonizingly painful.

He's going to die this time, without making it right with you- he's afraid that you're right about him, that he's a washed up sad old man who can't ever let people in.

"We don't need you anymore, Logan..." The not-you whispers softly, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Logan can't help but believe it.

His self preservation instincts kick in, and he launches forward, snarling, claws out with a sharp snikt sound. He feels that even though he'll regret your death, he'll miss you immensely, it's just one more tally mark to several others.

/

"Logan. Logan!"

You're leaning over Logan's sweaty, clammy body in his bed. You watch as his hands fist in the sheets, and he tosses and turns in agony- you breathe in hesitation, in fear that he's not going to be okay- he grunts suddenly, and you're reminded of how Rogue tells you about his nightmares. They're frequent.

How out of touch could you have been today?

You gently-yet-firmly grab Logan's arm, shaking, and his arms move forward in a self-defense mechanism that seems practiced, as if he's been attacked in his sleep before, and before you can move away, there's a sharp snikt sound, a quick wave of claws, and a searing pain in your side.

It all happens before you can even blink. You fall off to the side, on the floor, writhing in pain. Logan's claws just nicked your side, it's essentially a scratch- but the pain is so much worse than you're expecting, and you fall to the floor again as you try to get up.

You breathe in harshly, holding back a sob, as you feel wet blood pooling through the side of your night dress.

"Jesus Christ." Logan pounces off the bed, waking to blood all over his claws, and he's leaning over your body, as you blink up at him hesitantly. He immediately panics, lifting you up and resting you on his squatted thighs. "Kid! Hey, kid, don't close your eyes-"

"..." You're just barely hanging on, but you listen.

And Logan feels that same sense of shame he felt when he attacked Rogue, when Jean "died", every single time he had accidentally unsheathed his claws towards someone who didn't deserve it.

Doubly so, considering it's like his terrible nightmare has come to life. But you absolutely didn't do anything wrong- he can't believe he was so angry with you.

He calls for help, in a slightly broken tone, and no one seems to be coming.

"Just a scratch." You try, but Logan shakes his head.

"No, no, no." Logan spits out. "How could I- I never meant to-"

"I'm sorry, Logan." You cough, and Logan feels awful that you're apologizing while bleeding out due to his actions. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not some unreliable old man who doesn't care..."

You flinch at a sudden, sharp pain, and Logan motions for you to stop talking, but you keep going.

"If anything, you're the opposite. You're there for me. And I'm sorry that I got so... so angry at you for that." You mutter to yourself, not aware of how Logan hangs onto your words. "You're protecting me from making mistakes, and I'm grateful."

"No, kid. You had a point before." Logan interjects, but you shake your head.

"Did I? Or was I being a brat?" You grimace at yourself.

"You did have a point. I was being selfish," Logan shakes his head and then swallows that urge to push you away. "I don't always know how to leave people well enough alone. Sometimes I'm too much."

He hesitates, and then continues on. "Like, I treat you as if you're a nuisance, right? But I always... I always want you next to me. And I know I should just sort my shit out like an adult. But I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Of what happens. What always happens." Logan sighs in defeat. "I fall in love, and they die. I find my people, and they leave me because I'm such a jackass. There's too much surrounding me that just... ruins everything."

"No, no. I won't leave." You tighten your hand around Logan's, and he, despite wanting to say that you're wounded because of him, believes you. He's so grateful to hear you say it- he had no idea that's what was weighing on him so badly.

He loves you, he knows he does. Logan has never been the best with feelings, but for once, he's glad he was honest.

The first thing Scott sees when he finally makes his way to Logan's room, from all the way across the X-Mansion, is Logan whispering "I'm sorry," and... he thinks (he's not 100% sure), "I love you," to your very forlorn, softly curved-around-him body.

It's a very tender moment, and Scott feels he should leave.

Then Logan presses a firm, shaky kiss on your forehead, and then your lips, and you, with your limited reserve of energy, kiss him back, and then Scott interjects with:

"Hey!...?"

He seems taken aback as you both look at him. "I heard screaming? What is this, some sort of weird cult sacrificial scenario?"

"Logan... had a... nightmare..." You wince, and Scott sees the red on your night gown. "I need... medical attention."

"On it." Scott glances at Logan for permission, and he's currently trying to push all these mushy feelings back into his chest where they belong, and he wants to be there to help you in the clinic, but he's flustered with everything that's happened and he can only hand you to Scott without looking at him.

Scott smirks to himself as he runs you to the clinic of the X-Mansion.

"You and Logan, huh? I knew there was something in that fight today." Scott remarks as you cling to him.

"It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to figure it out, but yeah." You blush. "Has everyone else...?"

"Jean's been running a bet for the last year." Scott laughs. "She says you both are two sides of the same coin."

You can't help but agree.

[brainrotfm]

the world put you in front of me and we aligned

pairing: ryomen sukuna x reader

word count: ~1.5k

short description: the king of curses has never been asked for comfort before, but that doesn't mean he won't indulge you.

notes: no beta barely edited probably ooc; no content warnings just the fluffiest lil thing you'll ever get from me, mwah! manga credit used for header image [nsfw, 18+]!

"Tell me what you need, little one, while I still feel patient."

"Well I-I... I don't know how to ask for that," you reply sheepishly, ducking your head to hide the flush that was starting to prickle across your cheeks at your own discomfort. Two fingers caught your chin, evading your retreat into yourself, tilting doe eyes back into the intense, scarlet-hot gaze of the man towering over you still, not one to back away from an uncomfortable situation so easily.

"Use your words, brat," Sukuna purrs cheekily in return, gravelly and low but warm like molasses, trying to lure you out of whatever self-conscious spiral he was watching you fall into - it wouldn't work. Not when he was willing and able to catch you.

The way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you: it would sound silly if you tried to say it out loud, but there was no other word that came to mind but reverence. Utter devotion or nothing at all, there was no in between with someone like him. Were you projecting? Did the passion between you two feel too good to be true, not because of him, but because of you?

Because you couldn't handle being seen by him, could you?

It wasn't easy, but it was familiar; you didn't, couldn't, ask for help, because you didn't have the vocabulary to explain what you needed help with, exactly. No one could snap their fingers and make all your problems go away; if they could, you wouldn't ask for that, because a charmed life had no real value. And yet... no matter what you said, there was an unflappable feeling in your gut that Sukuna would scorch the earth to give you whatever you desired, the closest thing to a god you may ever see.

"I just want you to hold me," and the words sounded silly as soon as they left your mouth. He was a CURSE for god's sake, or at least, he was one. By all accounts, he was a monster, a being of the lowest morale, and there was nothing that would make him to succumb to the petty whims of the human he just so happened to have a dalliance with. A blip on his cosmic radar, a temporary satisfaction in an endless lifetime. He didn't have the time to waste, the capacity to care, the attachment to give --

Except as soon as the words left your mouth, the smallest of smirks twitched the sides of his lips. As always, you yielded when given a command, and he was always filled with a silent pride by your willingness to succumb for him. Without a word, Sukuna scooped you from the couch bridal-style, earning him a startled yip that turned his smile wider. You felt the echo of his chuckle rumble deep in his chest as he carried you into the bedroom, a protest on your lips that this isn't what you meant, not everything was a code for sex... "Sukuna, I..."

The complaint died in your throat though, not having time to manifest as you squeaked instead; Sukuna had kneed his way onto the bed, still not dropping you as he set his back against the headboard and gingerly, with all the tenderness in the world, set you down across his lap. It would've brought tears to your eyes, if you hadn't been so bewildered by this side of your lover, one who got you both off thanks to his penchant for sadism, but this time...

This time, he used his immense reach to grab the comforter, pulling it over your bodies. This time, he used the hand still wrapped around your back, propping you up, to begin tucking in the seams of the blanket, bounding you tightly against him. This time, the heat of your combined body warmth overpowered your cyclone spin of anxiety. This time, his free hand came up to cup your cheek for a moment, looking into your watery, hazy hues before placing the most delicate kiss against your forehead. This time, you would even call him chaste, not a word you ever imagined using in reference to Sukuna. This time, he looked for nothing more, wordlessly pulling your face into his chest as the arm around your back tightened its hold. This time, he really did just... just hold you.

It was too much.

By the time your cheek had pressed against heat of his skin, you were a goner. Maybe you were just that obvious - maybe he saw how pathetic and hopeless you felt, and knew that no amount of his usual teasing would cajole you out of your reverie. You're not sure he could feel sadness; you're not really sure he ever had, but you appreciated this act of softness from him. (He could, though rarely, and he did, though oftentimes only because of you, or in this case, for you). Shaking like a leaf in the wind, you curled as far into him as you possibly could, and with a heave, an onslaught of tears began to leave your body like the damn had broken at the end of a wet summer.

Where did he learn comfort like this? A large palm rested against your lower back, splayed open and anchoring you to his lap, not letting you budge an inch, even if you wanted to. His other hand had curled around the side of your neck to its nape, pressing you against him, silently insisting you stay as near to him as possible, to ride out whatever anxiety had taken you so far from him tonight. He would wait. You had only asked to be held, so he remained silently, trying not to focus on the way your pathetic little hiccups would make his heart squeeze, or why the white-hot lick of anger curled beneath his skin at seeing you in this state.

The more you succumbed to your sadness, though, the worse it seemed to get; the riptide of emotion had grabbed you by the ankle and sought to drown you in its depths tonight. Sukuna noticed immediately when your breaths had grown panicked and short, hiccups faltering into staccato sobs, and your heart began hammering out of rhythm with his own.

No, no, that would not do. You were supposed to be soothed. You couldn't see his brow furrow sullenly, confusion flickering behind maroon eyes, a sound akin to a growl unfurling in his chest. His exasperation with your befuddling human emotions was short-lived. The growing rumble in his chest had finally moored all your senses to the same shore, grounding you in tandem with the anchor points of physical touch.

Once he realized you liked it - and he should've realized you'd like it, you often enjoyed his primal sounds in other scenarios, too - well, of course he continued, your emotional fulfillment his main concern at the moment.

You must be dreaming. That was the only thought in your head as your hiccups waned into pitiful sniffles, doe eyes sore and half-lidded in the shelter of Sukuna's chest. "R-ryo...?" you managed to bleat, softer than he'd ever heard his name on your lips before, and the use of his first name had your lover purring again with a low timbre hum, giving your entire form an encouraging squeeze to signify his attention.

"Don't go... please, don't go," you whined, barely above a whisper, and something in chest shattered at your unwillingness to be without him, now that you had let him in to that tightly locked room he'd call your heart. If he had thought dominating your physical body had been pleasurable, there was an absolute intoxication that came from you being this kind of vulnerable with him; where he had always assumed he'd feel disgust, he felt a dizzying delight in pacifying you this way, still a dance of your bodies, just with different choreography than he'd ever known before.

"Oh, little one," the king of curses assuaged in a tone of equal measure, his whisper husked as he ducked to kiss your forehead again, reveling in the enchanting sigh he earned from you at such a simple affection. With that, he began to rustle you into place for sleep, more delicately than he'd ever handled you before; though, it could be noted that he was still a selfish man, and didn't give you any room to move or curl away from him, intent to keep you tucked against his chest for the rest of time if it meant witnessing you like this, at your most docile.

Your pretty face was folded into the juncture where his chest met his neck, and he could feel your breathing settle into dreamy sighs, comforted and cared for exactly the way you'd asked, so trustful that you would dare to sleep in his presence, the sweetest of lambs curled up and comfortable in the middle of the lion's den. He could kill you, right there. He would kill for you, right then.

"There is nowhere I could go that I could not take you," Sukuna promised softly into the darkness of your room, hoping you'd hear his promise in your dreams. Now that he knew this, he never wanted to know anything again.

taglist: @hercskid @sinlillith @marusatonanhin @kentohours @tzuyuswife @yuujispinkhair @luckyracco @forresway @briannafdez10 @vadersassistant @maximumcherryblossomface

disclaimer: i do not consent to my original writing being fed to ai. please do not repost/redistribute. reblogs help original writing reach a wider audience.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

My Found Family

I never grew up with the luxury of family. As an orphan, my childhood was lacking to say the least, and it left me jealous of any kid with caring fathers and siblings. That's why I had to find my family. Nobody's perfect, but with a little reconditioning, I've trained them to be exactly what I was looking for.

This guy is now my father...

"Breakfast is ready, boys!" I call, using my lower register like I'm supposed to, "Whoops! I mean bacon-fest!"

Guttural laughter comes from my stomach even though I don't find my joke that funny. Bad jokes like this have sort of become my personality lately. In fact, my whole life has transformed over the last couple days. A week ago, I would've never imagined myself strolling around my house in nothing but underwear and a robe! My standards for style seem to have vanished along with pretty much every other part of my old way of being.

It happened three days ago at a grocery store, when I ran into this guy in the produce section. He caught me examining avocados for ripeness and walked right up, beginning to talk like we'd known each other for years.

It was all a bit bizarre, but I found myself unable to turn away. He was explaining my life to myself. Well, not my life, but the one he wanted me to live, the one I was meant to live, and I hung on his every word. He was maybe six years younger than myself, but I was to be his new daddy. It was a role I was proud to fill.

"Here you are, son," I grin widely, unable to contain the feelings of pride I have as he walks into the room.

"Thanks, old man," he answers and grabs the plate gratefully.

For a moment, I stand there and stare. My heart beats for my boy as he tears apart the food I made for him. My paternal instincts have been working overtime lately. I can't help but love that boy with every fatherly fiber of my being.

It doesn't matter that I never wanted kids before. Previously, I'd wanted to remain a bachelor forever, but I have them now, and it couldn't feel more perfect.

With a content grin, I turn back to the sizzling bacon and think about my day. Things I used to hate were now what I looked forward to; mowing the lawn, washing the car, cleaning the gutters. I have a full day of work ahead of me to keep this house in tip top shape. Of course, I'll do it all with an ice cold beer in my hand. I never had a taste for the stuff, but my boy thinks I should grow a bit more of a gut.

I know what I say goes around here, but I could never say no to my favorite son...

I obviously have dad wrapped around my finger, but he's not the only member of this family. This next dude is my new big bro...

"Fuck yeah," I grunt and sniff up the ripe stench under my arm, "Smells like a real fuckin' man!"

I toss the barbell down, finishing a new personal record on the bench press and I couldn't feel more pumped. My tank top and sweat pants are drenched with sweat, but I love bein' a nasty gym rat: at least, I do now.

A week ago I was waiting tables at this fancy restaurant, when one of the customers got to talking with me. He was sitting alone and looked kinda sad, so I tried to be friendly and I'm sure glad I did! I got a whole new family out of it. He made me quit my job and move into this sweet place. Now I'm his big brother!

Of course, like all big bro's, I'm supposed to work out in the garage all day. I was never one for weights, but I couldn't imagine my life without them anymore. I like to push my limits and get all hot and sweaty. Then I march around the house flexing and farting all over the place. It's not the most refined thing in the world, but my bro explained to me how much I don't care about hygiene and all that crap.

"Wassup, little man," I call as he saunters in.

"Nothing much," he answers, staring at my arms while I show off my biceps.

"Alright, get out of my space. I'm tryin' to work out," I snarl, acting as tough as possible, "Do I need to wrestle you again to prove my point?"

I definitely didn't used to be like this. I used to be the most polite and approachable guy in the world, always chatting random people up, but that guy's gone. My bro got rid of him and his old family. This new family is the only one I'm interested in now, even if I'm not supposed to show it. I'm supposed to be muscular, rude, and gross. It's who I am now.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," he replies, "You can wrestle me though."

"I will," I frown, flexing even harder, "And this time, I'll win!"

Whenever we wrestle, I always end up with the urge to let him win. It sucks because I could easily beat him, and I should put him in his place, but for some reason, I just know I have to let him win. He just deserves it I guess.

I give him an intense glare and then return to my weights. These arms aren't going to pump themselves...

My big bro always makes my legs quiver, but I love seeing how cocky he can get. Of course, he'll never out wrestle me no matter how big he gets. I programmed him to let me win. Just like I programmed the breadwinner of the bunch...

A short groan rumbles from my lips. For some reason, everything has been disappointing me lately: my sons, my husband, my job has all been leaving me grumpy and frustrated. Even the channels on the TV aggravate the living hell out of me. I have to fight the urge to chuck the remote across the room.

"How was your day, honey," my husband asks, walking into the room and handing me a beer.

"Great," I moan without any emotion.

Everything's been changing so fast lately, and I couldn't be more over it. I was married to my work, busting ass for years to get promotion after promotion, and I had a job I loved that paid extremely well. I couldn't be more happy, even if I was the only unmarried guy in the office. I didn't mind. I loved my bowling league and my solo trips to Vegas too much to settle down.

Then I met him, my son. Well, he wasn't my son at the time, but after talking, I quickly realized who he was and who I was to him. I'm the head of the household, the disciplinarian, the breadwinner. At least, that's who I've become.

"What's for dinner?" I grunt, peeling my eyes away from the TV.

Looking at my husband, odd feelings bubble up. I used to know him as my neighbor, a nice enough guy, but now I'm married to him. It all happened so fast. He's changed too recently, I think. The guy I knew a week ago would've never walked around all day in a robe and underwear.

His hand reaches out and holds my own, "Steak and potatoes if that's alright with you."

I grunt in agreement, turning back to the TV. My husband's presence stirs my cock to life, straining my member against my work slacks.

This is another new development.

Until now, I'd never had a gay bone in my body. In some ways, I still don't, but my son explained how I should feel about my husband. I should love him, I should be turned on by him, and I should get it on with him. He's right, I suppose.

"Hey, I could use a blow job before you get cooking," I gesture to the thick tent in my pants.

My husband pauses for a moment like he's unsure of what to do, but then it comes to him, "Of course, babe, but we need to be quiet. Both of our boys are home right now."

"Don't worry about it. If they walk in without knocking they'll get the belt," I snort as my husband gets on his knees in front of me.

"You shouldn't be so hard on-" before he can finish, I've shoved his face into my crotch.

Somehow, I know I can be rough with him, just like I can be rough with our sons. I'm the man of the house after all. Within seconds I'm grunting in pleasure while staring at the evening news broadcast. For some reason, I always find myself watching it and complaining about current events. It's just who I am now..

I grin, sneaking a peak at my two dad's going at it in the living room like the good little couple they are. My new family couldn't be more perfect, but no family is complete without the dog...

"Ruff!" I bark, gleefully scampering over to the bowl of food that was just placed on the floor.

Without hesitating, I shove my face into the bowl, sending the little pellets flying everywhere. They taste like cardboard, but for some reason, I can't get enough of them! I've done nothing but drool and whine for the last hour while the real humans eat their dinner at the table.

"That's a good boy," a voice coos, and I feel fingers running through the hair on my head.

I can barely acknowledge being petted. I know I'm supposed to act like a hungry animal right now, so that's what I do.

I would've never thought I'd find myself as a house pet, but a couple days ago, this guy just walked up to me and talked me into it. It'd just been a normal day for me, working at the car garage when he became my master. I knew right there and then that I had to drop to my hands and knees and follow him home with my tongue out.

My new life has been great ever since. My masters play ball with me outside, they hose me down when I get muddy, and they snuggle with me on the couch at night. I barely even miss my old work and fiance!

"Alright, boy," one of my master's commands, "That's enough. Get in here!"

It's the mean one. The one who used to own this house, but is now just a working dad. He's always the one who hits me with a newspaper when I drink from the toilet. I don't know why, but I just feel compelled to do it!

Licking the bowl clean, I abandon it and crawl into the living room. There, the entire family is gathered around the television.

I stop by the smelly one and sneak in a few licks. I love licking him because he's always salty with sweat and smells funny. After licking his feet for too long, he kicks me away, "Leave me alone, mutt!"

"Oh don't talk to him that way," the nice one adds.

I climb on the couch and curl up beside him. His belly is always the perfect cushion for my head to rest on, and he always lets me lick his beer bottle when he's done. Within a couple minutes, I'm drifting off as his hands absently play with my hair...

...sitting with my family at night is always my favorite part. Watching TV with my two dads, brother, and dog heals the child in me that had always yearned for this. Sure, it might be easier to just go to therapy, but this is sure as hell a lot more fun!

[mikareo]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ midnight love ⠀ ꒰ . . geto suguru x gn reader ꒱ . . . word count; 0.7k

⊹ ⠀⠀ heartbreak is a cycle. over, and over, and over again.

contains; geto suguru x gn reader, angst, geto dumped you and you can't get over it, mentions abandonment and attachment issues, lots of reader insecurities, womp womp author's note; hey ! XD

"you really can't be calling me at this hour anymore." suguru's voice is faint. he's likely just woken up from a deep slumber, probably dreaming of something far more interesting and attractive than you are, but that isn't a dream that you'd like to picture. he did this to you.

sometimes, he needs to see what your nightmares look like.

"i'm sorry, it's just that i've been thinking about everything again." clearing your throat, you can't help but notice that your voice can't stop shaking. get a grip of yourself. you're embarrassing. "i feel like we made a mistake. it's not crazy to try things again; we know what went wrong so let's just fix it this time. right? we can be even better this time around."

you know the hopefulness slipping from your tongue is something that suguru has grown to hate. he hates the guilt that it makes him feel. he hates the reminders of a time where he was so madly in love with you that he couldn't imagine sleeping through one of your sporadic phone calls in the middle of the night. he hates how it reminds him how hard you sobbed when he said those three little words. not 'i love you'...but 'let's break up'.

he hates that it makes him regret things.

so instead, he forces you to bottle it all up.

"i'm not interested anymore, i've told you that." the sound of your poorly mended heart shattering once more is far too familiar. "seriously, we crashed and burned so let's just leave it at that."

this is the third time he's said these words. the first being an hour after he dumped you over the phone, when you called him back amidst uncontrollable sobs and he didn't seem to care all that much. the second being a month after what would've been your first anniversary together, to which he was careless with your heart as you poured it out to him on his doorstep. now, the third, where it's been a whole three months since your untimely break up and your sleep has been lost to you for yet another night.

...and he still doesn't care.

he doesn't care about you.

he doesn't care at all.

why doesn't he care?

"suguru, please." it's pathetic to beg, but what else can you do? "i love you. i want to be with you and i'm willing to do anything to make it work. c'mon, work with me, here." just say yes. just say yes and maybe you'll smile again.

he takes a deep breath. you can count down the seconds until he exhales.

three.

you envision a scenario where he bolts from his bed, frantically grabs his jacket, and drives straight to your house. his hand hovers over the front door, ready to knock, when you fling it open and then fling yourself into his arms. suguru laughs at your eagerness, gently gripping your face beneath your jaw and kissing you tenderly. god, it's been so long since you felt his kisses. you could cry from the overwhelming happiness in your heart. the overwhelming joy that he never fails to make you feel when he's truly and completely in love with you, too.

two.

you recall one of your favorite dreams, one just a few nights ago, where suguru had never broken up with you in the first place. in fact, he thinks the mere thought is comically funny. he'd never ends things. you're the best thing that's ever happened to him and he never fails to tell you that at every hour of the day. he's the perfect boyfriend. he's the ideal husband. he's the man that you've been wishing for for your entire life...but he really is just that. he's a dream.

one.

"i don't love you anymore."

oh...

oh.

you wish this were a scenario. you wish you were sleeping. you wish he could've said anything other than those awful words, but this is reality. dreams don't reflect reality. dreams aren't real. his love for you isn't real. he doesn't love you. he doesn't want you. he doesn't need you. give up. give up. stop making a fool of yourself.

"but i love you."

pathetic.

you're pathetic.

the sigh he exhales is pitiful.

he's so obviously aware of how clingy you've become in your lonesome life that he's not even surprised by your behavior. he's not surprised by your confession. it's almost as if he expected it. he knows your flaws. he knows your stance on abandonment...on attachment...on absence. he knows you can't possibly function in a world without him...

...and he hangs up.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[codenamesazanka]

more Deku bashing, if you'll forgive me

Seeing lots of shocked tweets and posts that Deku seems so cold and distant about Shigaraki dying in front of him; that Deku doesn't seem to care much at all; that Deku isn't devastated he wasn't able to save that little boy.

I have to point out that Deku never cared in the first place. He really didn't! It's why he needed to see The Crying Child to feel any bit of empathy for Shigaraki, and why ever since then, he only yammers on about saving the Crying Child and only the little boy. He never gave a shit about the Shigaraki in front of him. Never treated Shigaraki like someone real to engage with. That Shigaraki is unforgivable; and it was impossible to have ever bring the Crying Child into reality because the Crying Child was a memory, it happened 15 years in the past that cannot be changed, so all Deku can do is comfort the Crying Child then beat the shit out of Shigaraki.

I mean, just look at the imagery and the word choices:

Are those the words and expressions of someone who's trying to be careful about not hurting Shigaraki? Actually trying to help someone in pain? I remember when people were excited that Danger Sense would tell Shigaraki that Deku doesn't want to hurt him - turns out nah. He was so ready to make Shigaraki throw up blood.

Deku never tried to talk to Shigaraki. He never asked any questions during the whole time they were fighting. Mirio asked a question and got a response; but Deku? Nothing. Even in the memory-realm, when Shigaraki via memory-villains ask Deku what his plan was, Deku just shouted 'No!' and that was that.

When Deku said 'Somewhere inside of you is a person' he literally meant that. Inside of Shigaraki is the Crying Child, who is the actual person. Did he catch Shigaraki saying 'Spinner will be looking forward to this' and think, 'huh, Shigaraki has someone he cares about, I think? Then he wouldn't want to destroy Spinner, would he?' No. The fan-translation got everyone's hopes up that Deku wants to 'shred the rug' of societal failures, but the official translation was correct - Deku wanted to pry the lid off Shigaraki's trauma, accusing Shigaraki of repressing himself.

If he cared about Shigaraki at all, he would've protested when Gran told him he might have to kill Shigaraki. Instead:

He would've opposed the construction of something called a SKY COFFIN DEATH ARENA. He would've spoken up when Heroes talked strategy about how AFO is the better opponent to fight, implying that it's better if AFO had taken over Shigaraki, despite Shigaraki being the victim of AFO here.

Even when he ends up saving Tenko from Decaying the Shimuras, he's utterly lackluster there. Tenko's in tears, saying that he must have wanted to kill his family, he was born with a quirk like Decay, who could ever validate his existence the way he is??? And Deku's response? "Well. Holding my hand might make you feel better. So here." Saying something like, 'No, you're a child! It's not your fault!' or 'Your quirk isn't meant for harm, it can be useful too' or 'It's okay. You're not an evil existence' seems obvious, but Deku doesn't.

and really, all this has been obvious since the Mall Encounter in Chapter 69. Remember when Shigaraki point blank told him that All Might's smile is stupid because he acts like there's no one he can't save? And it's clearly full of resentment? And Deku picked up on this, which is why next chapter he asks All Might if it's true there are times where All Might couldn't save someone.

But once Tsukauchi said, don't worry about it, Deku did just that. When he does think about it one time, it's this absolutely nothing of a reflection

"I guess we just have to agree to disagree!" Come on. And this kid has a 'drive to save that eclipses all common understanding'??? for real?????

Deku has never given a crap about Shigaraki or Villains. Honestly, him wanting to save that sad little boy might as well be just Horikoshi putting lines in his mouth to move the story along.

If Deku really did care, I think he would've wanted to save the entire person that is Shigaraki. The Crying Child is a phantom - Shigaraki is real and solid and there. The Crying Child is innocent and easy to care about because it's a cute baby and it's openly weepy; saving hand-monster junji ito twink Shigaraki who laughs and talks about destroying everything Deku loves would've been an actual challenge. But clearly we couldn't have that because even the Crying Child was too far gone for Deku to save.

[sanguineterrain]

I'm BEGGING for a continuation of the drabble where Reader breaks up with Jason

Thinking of him injured and alone after almost dying is killing me 😭

this got more serious than i intended lol but i hope you like it anon! finally there is resolution!

jason todd x gn!reader. tw jason almost dies, hints of self destructive behavior, guilt, communication (i am forcing the batboys to be good communicators!!!), injured jason, dick being the bestest goodest big brother.

pt 2 to this

****

It's extremely stupid for you to be out this late, but if you hadn't left tonight, you'd probably never leave. And you needed to leave. You can't sustain whatever you and Jason had.

Asking him to quit would've been unfair, and you know he won't do it. This city pulls him back in every time.

"Where ya headed?" the cab driver asks. He doesn't look too shady. He'll definitely overcharge you, but at this point, you don't care. You just want to go home.

"Gotham Heights." You don't give him the exact address, but someplace close enough.

It's begun to rain. You try not to think about how you just left Jason. You turned off your phone as soon as you closed the door; you know he's probably calling like crazy, but as soon as you answer, you'll go back.

And you can't.

You blink back tears. You can't keep watching him throw himself into worse and worse danger. Jason fights crime like he'd sooner let it kill him. One day, it will.

The car pulls up to a stoplight. You're dozing; it's nearly eleven o'clock after all.

Suddenly, something lands on the hood. You jump, heart dropping.

"What the fuck?!" the driver squawks.

Nightwing perches on the hood of the cab. He lightly taps the windshield.

"Evening. Mind pulling over?" he asks pleasantly. "I'm actually their designated driver tonight."

"Nightwing!" you snap, hot with anger. "Get off the car!"

"You shut off your phone and left," Dick says, those white lenses zeroed in on you. His tone is cutting. "He's losing his mind. You know we don't go dark."

You close your eyes briefly. "We almost lost him, 'Wing," you croak.

"So your instinct was to leave?"

"Alright, that's it! Get outta the car," the driver says, unlocking the doors. "Fuckin' crazies..."

Dick opens the door for you and tosses a roll of twenties on the seat. The cab speeds off. You wrap your arms around yourself as he guides you to the sidewalk.

Several emotions cross Dick's face, before he lands on one. Sympathy.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

Your face crumples. "He died, Dick."

"I know," he says, holding your elbow. "I was scared too. But he's okay. He's the toughest guy I know."

"How am I supposed to keep him alive?" you ask desperately. "I can't."

Dick frowns. "That's not your job. I wouldn't expect that of you, and I know Jason doesn't either. None of us do."

You press your palms to your eyes and start to cry for real.

"I just want him to be okay. Every time he goes out, I think it'll be the last time I see him. I love him too much to lose him, Dick."

Dick hums. "Have you told him this?"

You shrug, wiping your eyes with your hand. "Some of it. I-" You wince. "I yelled before I left. He was being so nonchalant about it, and I know it was so I wouldn't worry, but..."

"I know. He can be a real pinhead about some things, but Jason's on it when it counts. He loves you a lot, and I think he'd want to know you're feeling this way."

You rub your eyes so hard you see shapes. "I don't know, Dick. I don't know if I can tonight."

Dick sighs sadly. "Alright. Look, I'll take you home. But can you at least tell him you're okay? He called me up, terrified. Said he dreamt you were in an accident."

Nightmares. The guilt triples.

You turn on your phone. Ten missed calls and fifteen unread texts pop up.

[10:38pm] Baby please come back

At least text me you're okay

I messed up, and you can leave, but at least tell me you're safe

[10:42pm] I'm calling Dick

Sweetheart don't get into a car

[10:43pm] Please don't I have a bad feeling about it

Call me please

You sniffle and tap on Jason's contact. The phone rings once before he picks up.

"Baby? Hi, hi. God, fuck. Are you okay? Is Dick there?"

Jason sounds wrecked. His voice is raw like he's been crying. Tears start to build up in your own eyes.

"H-hey, Jay. Yeah, I'm okay. Dick is here."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have scared you. Shouldn't have been reckless. I won't do that again. I won't patrol alone anymore. I'll-I'll work with Batman again. I called him just now. Told him I'd be at the Cave next week."

"Jay, don't force yourself to work with Batman for me," you say, your stomach a pit. "I don't want you to do something that'll make you miserable."

It's been better, lately, Jason's relationship with his family. It's not perfect, but then again, you wouldn't expect a family that dresses up in Halloween costumes every night to fight crime to be perfect.

"It won't!" Jason says. "Look, B and I have our differences. That's for damn sure. But I'm not so mad about it these days. And I should be safer. You were right. I want to come home to you, sweetheart, I do. If that means working in a team, then I'll do it. I'll do whatever will make us both happy and safe."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner, Jay. I should've been."

"Oh." Jason sounds heartbroken. You can imagine him running a rough hand through his hair right now, tearing through the strands. "No, no, no. Baby, my love, listen. I don't blame you for any of this. That's not your responsibility. It's my job to keep myself alive. And Leslie's, once in a while. But I don't expect that from you. Never from you."

It's quiet for several moments. Then Jason speaks again, tone timid.

"Have I... did I make you feel that way?"

"No, you didn't," you say, opening your eyes. "Not directly. But... I don't know, Jay, I've just felt like there's nothing holding you back some days. You fight like you're fighting something inside of you." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I don't want it to burn you out for good."

Not again, you don't say.

Dick bows his head, and suddenly, you're there, watching them lower Jason Todd's body into the ground.

"I won't let it," Jason whispers. "I won't. I'm sorry I did this to you. Made you feel like this. I only ever wanna be good for you. I'm-I'm trying to be good."

Your lip trembles. "I wanna come home, Jay."

Jason makes a desperate sound, like a wounded animal. "Please come home, baby. I don't want you to leave. Wanna hold you so bad."

"Okay." You nod at the phone and look at Dick. "Can you take me home?"

He smiles, small and hopeful. "Of course."

****

Jason nearly tears the door off of its hinges before you can knock. He's probably been listening for your footsteps all evening. Your throat tightens.

"Hi, baby, hi, hi," Jason says, bracing himself against the doorframe as he pulls you into a hug. "Missed you so much. Love you so much. I'll be better, it'll be better. I promise."

You kiss his shoulder and bury your face in his warm chest, listening to his heartbeat. A-live, a-live, a-live, it says.

"Thanks, Dickie," Jason murmurs into your skin.

"Sure thing, Little Wing," Dick says, and you think he might sound a little misty-eyed. Sentimental sap.

"Thanks, D," you say softly, and Dick squeezes your shoulder.

"Get some sleep, both of you."

"You first," Jason says, and Dick laughs on his way out.

You help Jason inside, tucked under his arm, and this time, he lets you guide him to the bed. He allows you removal of your shoes and jeans before tugging you in with him.

"I'll be better," he vows, and rolls you over so you're face-to-face. "I promise."

"I believe you," you say, thumb brushing over his salt-streaked cheek. "I'm sorry I went dark, sweetie."

He shakes his head. "'S okay. Well, I mean, it's not, but I understand. I just want you safe. And here. But only if you wanna be here. I won't force you."

"Of course I want to be here, Jay," you say, kissing his cheek. "There's no place I'd rather be. I just... I want us to live."

Jason swallows and nods.

"I'll live. I will. For both of us."

[rwrbmovie]

BTS of #RWRBMovie: Storming Kensington

From HELLO:

For Matthew, this scene was an important one, but one that he felt needed a different energy than what is on the page. "It is very similar and it's also simultaneously very different to the book which I think is just one way of describing this entire movie," he says. "Casey said to me after watching it for the second or third time, 'It's like there's my book, and then there's your movie and the two are very, very similar and also very different,' which is good because if the movie was so faithful to the book, it, I don't even think it would please the fans of the book.  "I know that's probably a controversial thing to say but it wouldn't have served the story very well." He continues: "I needed to observe the logic of a film and trust that I had internalized the emotional truths of the book and the Storming of Kensington in the book is a lot more chaotic and Alex is highly charged.  "When we were in rehearsals, and Taylor and Nick and I began to really delve into that scene, we realized quickly that if Alex came on that strong then Henry, given where he is mentally, would simply say, 'well, get out,' and kick Alex out. So we knew implicitly that we needed to do a different version of that scene, one in which Alex isn't at all certain of success.  "In the book, Alex is willing to burn down the castle in order to get what he wants, and although the scene actually uses a lot of dialogue from the book, our Alex in the film knows that if this doesn't work, their relationship is over. So he's a little more careful with Henry, more fearful, and Henry is more heartbroken, and those decisions really determined everything else that followed in the scene." 

From Glamour:

Galitzine, meanwhile, says his most rewarding time on set came during the film's emotional climax, when Alex and Henry must decide if—and how—they're going to move forward in their relationship. “It's the emotional height of the movie in a lot of ways, and sometimes as an actor, you can very much get in your head about that,” he says. “But Taylor really was just so emotionally present that it helped me. We got to a vulnerable, beautiful space. Those kinds of moments are where you drift into a level of truth and sincerity that feels very real. That's what we're always aiming for.”

From I’ve Never Said this Before With Tommy DiDario:

ML: We had to break for lunch, and we haven't finished the scene and I was really, really worried that we were gonna come back from lunch and I would've lost them and never re-captured what was happening on set before lunch. And it was the pivotal part of the scene, the end where Alex makes an ultimatum to Henry. We got back on set and we started filming again and instantly in the first take, after lunch, Taylor started crying and Nick was facing away from him and he heard Taylor, and Nick started crying. The back half of that scene is so beautiful because they're doing such great work and I really had a difficult time cutting it because there was such beautiful, nuanced work from both of them. What's so remarkable about it is they had just had lunch, and they came right back into it and they were more dialled in, more in touch with each other than before. It was pretty remarkable. I have to say that was the moment I knew that whatever happened with this movie, those two actors would be fine in their careers.

[newroseanna]

"I don't love you."

A/n: sorry if this is bad!! and please comment down more genshin characters I should write for. I was thinking Ayato and Xiao next!

Characters included: Scaramouche and Childe.

Warnings: Yandere themes, forced marriage, mentions of killing. Use of wife and honey. GN!reader (?).

Scaramouche:

When you weren't at the door to greet scaramouche, he knew something was wrong. Maybe you were just asleep, but you and the maids knew better than that. Scaramouche swiftly made his way up to your shared room. Opening the door with a little bit more force than he anticipated. He was met the sight of you sitting down on the edge of the bed back facing him. You were you looking at the window, not saying a word. "Did you not know when I got back? I expected you at the door to greet me like a good little wife." He said, his voice dripping with venom. But when you didn't answer, he walked closer. "Did you go deaf or something?" Scaramouche grabbed roughly your shoulder, effectively turning you around, and he was met with an empty looking face. Your usually alive eyes were soulless. Almost as soulless as his. He wasn't surprised, but he also didn't like this change. But he doesn't feel any remorse what so ever. "I don't love you. Please let me go and find someone who actually will." You whispered.

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at you, his hand trailing to your hair, twisting his fingers around it and tugging it violently towards himself. "What bullshit are you spewing from your cute little lips. You don't know what you're talking about. I don't care if you don't love me. If I did, I wouldn't have kidnapped you. I love you, and that's all that matters." He paused, using his other hand to run his finger over your lips. "Say something as idiotic as that again, and I will sew your lips shut."

Childe:

You and Childe were currently eating out in a restaurant to celebrate your birthday. He originally asked you what you wanted, and you replied with seeing your family. But obviously childe make that happen. So a restaurant was the next best thing. But he booked out the whole restaurant for just the two of you. Again, he couldn't have cause a scene in front of other people and escaping, can he now? You should be grateful that you're actually getting out of the house.

Childe, for the whole time, was yapping about random things while you just sat there and thought about your old life. The life that was taken away from. Your family, your friends, heck even the people you didn't like too much. You took it all for granted. But it's not every day that someone gets kidnapped and forced to be a fatui harbingers wife. That thought would've never crossed your mind in a million years. Yet here you are. Your feet shackled to the chair while you were made to listen to your "husband" talk about his work. "(Name) honey, I love you." He said with a huge smile. This broke you out of your little trance. "Do you love me too?" He asked, examining your face and waiting for an answer.

You looked up at him. Then, I looked back down at your untouched food. "No, I don't love you. I never will." You said firmly. You're probably going to get punished for this, but you're tired of pretending. Childe smile didn't falter he ocean blue eyes stared straight into your soul. "You love your family and your friends, though? It would be a real shame if they were to die. Then maybe you would realise that I'm the only one you need. Now eat your honey your food is getting cold."

[norrisleclercf1]

Letter 1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader x Lando Norris

Part. 6 to Our Boy Series

Rating: PG

Words: 1.1K

Warnings: Angst, maybe fluff?

Our Boy Series / Previous It's All a Lie / Next Broken Hearts and Duct Tape >

Synopsis: After leaving, you left all your letter behind. The ones you wrote and the ones he wrote. Elijah finally reads Letter 1, maybe it brings comfort? But sometimes comfort can hurt.

Elijah, you must hate me for what I did. Rightfully so, but first, you should know the story. The real story. This is how your father and I met.........

We met in 2016; I was 19 and he was 31. How do I even begin to explain this to you, the significant age gap and much less how we even got together. Well, I can thank Lewis for that one. 

Lewis introduced us when there was a massive party at the beginning of the year, kicking off the new F1 season. I went with my father. He was invited and brought me along, wanting me to mingle. Father introduced me to Lewis when I was young. McLaren boys stick together. 

Lewis was, is, an older brother to me and someone I've always admired. When he introduced me to Nico, I highly doubt he expected Nico and me to fall in love. I didn't even plan on falling in love with him. Sometimes, I regret it. Other times, I don't because you came from that love. 

Stupid and young, I got drunk, and Lewis was panicking. My father would've killed him if he knew the state I was in. Nico offered to take me, but he never once made a move on me. Laid me in his bed and slept on the couch. Nico wasn't always the monster. I made him out to be. If I was older and got pregnant...things would be different. 

Nico was so good to me. We didn't get together until Barcelona, god he was so angry, and we became close, almost friends. He regretted it. I know he did. After it happened, he left that night, already back in Monaco, and I was still in Spain. Hurt was the understatement of the century. I was devastated. 

I don't know what it was about Nico, but he trapped me in a way I couldn't understand. Nico was the first person I ever truly loved, and it was something Nico knew. He loved me; I know he did. After Spain, I returned to Monaco and ran into him; he said nothing, just kissed me. 

To say the least, we weren't safe, literally and metaphorically. Whenever we were together, it was either fighting or completely wrapped into one another. We didn't care what people said, those who knew and those who didn't. Dad wasn't aware of the relationship until I called him crying one night. 

Japan, 2016. I still remember sitting in the hotel room holding the test. I was furious, distraught, happy, and scared. I only told Nico in Abu Dhabi. I figured he'd be so happy. Winning the World Championship and now having a baby? He'd be on top of the world. Anyway, I called my Dad 4 weeks after Japan. 

He flew out immediately and went straight to Nico. Told him how he knew of the relationship, Nico was happy. He wanted Mika to know and confess how he loved and respected me. Fast forward to Abu Dhabi, and there we were in the middle of his hotel room. When I told him, he cried, hugged me, and said he'd marry me when we got to Monaco. 

Waking the next morning, I was sure Nico loved me. Only to roll over and see him gone. Everything was gone. I should've known right then, and there he left me, but I thought maybe he was talking to my Dad or Toto. Instead, I went around the entire city only to be told he went back to Monaco and was retiring and moving back to Germany. 

Dad didn't say a word when I told him. He simply nodded and helped me back to Monaco. Getting to our apartment, it was empty. It was all gone, the pictures, trophies, his stuff. Only my belongings remained. 

And a letter, a letter I still need to open. It's in this box. You should read it before me. Nico left me, not you. I was so blinded by rage and heartbreak that anytime he reached out, the first part wasn't that my son would know his father. No, it was; I could finally get back at him for all the pain he left me in. 

4 months pregnant, I met you, Papa. I knew of him, but he didn't know of me. I hid in the shadows at the races so no one would know of Nico and me. Upfront with me being pregnant, he just smiled. At 19, your Papa didn't care. We became friends. He knew I was heartbroken and wasn't ready for a relationship. 

Yet when I was with him, he was different. Touches, words, feelings, everything with him was different. The kind of love I only wish you can find one day, Ducky. Charles loved you the first moment we met. He taught you how to walk; Cha was your first word. Elijah, our rock, kept us together and refused to let me waste away. 

When you said Charles and Lando weren't your fathers, my world crumbled underneath my feet. My hatred and pain fueled your pain of not knowing Nico. But, Ducky, he's not your father. Charles and Lando are. They raised you. 

Charles is the one who encouraged you to start karting and protected you. Lando is the one who holds you when you're crumbling. You're their first child and greatest love. No love is more vital than that of a parent and their child. Hate, curse, never speak to me again if you have to, but Elijah, never say they aren't your fathers. 

Love, 

Your Mama 

Blinking, Elijah folds the letter. Standing up from his bed, he creaks open the door, seeing the house pitched in black. Elijah could still hear Cece crying and his Dad's soft words. Walking past, he heads to the main bedroom. Pushing open the door, it creaks. 

"Lando? Did she finally fall asleep?" Elijah cringes, hearing his Pa's raw and scratchy voice. "Papa? It's me." A light clicks on, Elijah blinking as he takes in the sight of his real father. "Duc-Elijah? Something wrong?" Charles rubs his eyes, so red that Elijah's throat clamps shut. "I'm," Shuffling his feet, he gathers himself, but looking up, it all breaks. 

"I'm so sorry, oh god." Elijah sobs. Charles moves quick off the bed. Without hesitation, Charles crushes him into his chest, cradling him like when Elijah was a toddler. "You're my," He gasps for air, arms squeezing so tight Charles couldn't breathe, but he doesn't care. "You're my father. You've always been my father. Oh god, what did I do?" Elijah sobs, shattering in Charles's arms. 

"Breath, breathe for me," Charles whispers, but Elijah shakes his head, moving closer into his Papa's arms. Charles doesn't think twice as he moves Elijah to his bed, laying them down. "I don't hate you," Sobs rattle Elijah's chest as he hides away. "I, I," "Don't, don't say anything," Charles whispers, pinching his eyes as he tries to stop his own tears. 

Charles just holds Elijah, unable to let him go as he lets his silent tears fall. "You're my boy, always my baby boy," Charles whispers. 

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[blingblong55]

This town -Simon "Ghost" Riley

pic credits: @ave661 (middle and right)

Based on a request: (Its a long as so I'll link it so you can read the anons idea) Link here ---- F!Reader, childhood!friends, hidden feelings, angst, friends to strangers ---- A/N: Songs that also fit: Too Young- Louis Tomlinson, This Town- Niall Horan, Back to the Old House- The Smiths, Always you-Louis Tomlinson

It's a story to tell over at the old pub you and he used to hang around on the weekends. But how can a man begin to tell the sorrowful story? How can he explain in his bruised hands he holds the locket you gave him when you two were kids? He will maybe ask if this was a curse, the only curse an old soul like his has. 

It could've been something, it would've been something, it should've been beautiful. 

In this world, it was always he and you. Scraping your knees when jumping off the rocks near his home. Playing tag in the street until the moon greeted you and his mother would call his name. It's the kind of beginning all beautiful loves start with. Friends since childhood, went through life together and by 28, he would have proposed to the girl he had loved his whole life, 40s would be of dropping the kids at school, 50s of early retirement and 60s were for the potential grandkids, 70s would've been the stories shared of their early lives.

Would've...what a shit word that became in his life. 

In the teenage years, after you had some glow-up, you became the girl everyone knew. The pretty, popular and funny girl the school knew of. He was the friend of the popular girl, the one people barely noticed or cared for. Simon was the same kid who always had a scar or bruise on his face, compliments from his father. One thing Simon hated more than the bastard of his father was the guy you were with. Bloke knows nothing but how to wank and fuck any living thing, he recalls.

Why were you with such a guy? It was a must. Like those cheesy movies where the pretty girl stays with the popular guy, all for the status of each other. Your feelings weren't real for that guy. He wasn't funny, wasn't smart and he wasn't Simon. The boy you shared a kiss with at age 7 because of an accidental bump whilst running through the grass. 

It was during a small break between classes that you found him drinking water. You smile. He always did look good, even the stupid bruise on his jaw made him look so good. 

"Y/N," he straightens up. "Simon," you smile cheekily. "Oh no, what's that smile for?" He crosses his arms over his chest and you can't help but get lost in his honey eyes. "Well...I was wondering if maybe we can...talk?" You say, unsure of how to word this confession. "Did my mum put you up to this?" 

"No, this is...me just wanting to talk." 

"Go on," his voice softens. Does he always do this for you?

You hesitate, but what is life without words? You breathe in and say, "I like you...there I said it and... don't stay quiet because you know I get nervous and I will continue to just talk and talk and talk and-"

He cuts you off by saying, "I'm sorry, Y/N, I... don't..think..this..well I just don't feel that way for you. We're friends, nothing more," he ends his part of the conversation, pats your back as he walks away and you are left in the corridor of the school alone. 

As Simon walks to his classroom, his heart and mind fight the words that he had just said to you. Why was that mean? Did I even mean to say them? He thinks. 

Graduation happens. You and he never talked after that day. Not even a congrats or a hug, life went on without him in your life. Throughout those last months in school, he felt a feeling of regret when he'd see you with that guys arm around you. He would occasionally walk around the old park just to see if you would still go on your daily walks. 

By the time he was about to leave town, he found himself at the old house. He heard your parents moved to a new part of town, so if this was the last time he heard of you, it better be on his terms. And as he walks through the pavement, he finds himself looking at your window. He leans over a car, lights a cigarette and just waits to see if maybe you or some ghost roamed the home. 

Was it the feeling of losing a friend that hurt or losing his one chance to feel something other than pain and hatred? Maybe it's just nervous, after all, he leaves tomorrow. 

You were both just 16, it was puppy love, nothing would've lasted if he reciprocated those feelings, right?

And if it was, why does he feel some kind of hurt as he packs his bags? Why does he want to run to your new home and call your name? Is there a reason why? It's not love, it can't be love, he thinks. I'm not worthy of that, you've heard my dad, he says out loud. "Simon?" Tommy opens the door. "Tommy, not today," he looks back at his bag. "...Fuck" he whispers. 

It's been a long nineteen years since he last saw you and heard your precious voice laugh at a cheesy joke of his. Nineteen years and the feeling in his chest is still there when he arrives home. Manchester was always home for him, it was the only place he knew best when he came back. 

One day, as he was cleaning his closet, looking for his dog's leash, something fell and hit his head. "What the fu-" he looked down and there it was. 

"Why give me this?" A thirteen-year-old Simon asked you. You smile, "You said you wish you could always be near me so you can feel safe...and since I'm going to my nans for the week, have this locket on you, and I swear I'll be there. Keep it safe, okay?" you kiss his forehead before entering the car. He nods and waves, "Call me, Y/N, please!" he calls out and you nod. "Every day!" you scream out as the car drives further away. 

A smile falls on his silent lips, "...Y/N..." his thumb caresses the design. Once he opens it, he feels as if he is that young again. "Are you still there, Y/N?" He whispers and then, realisation hits. It was never nerves or whatever bullshit he told himself back then, it was love, always has. 

All the dots are connecting. For the past nineteen years, he always had some love or whatever all those hookups and awful relationships were, but never did they stick around. Never did he feel more for them than what he has always felt for you. His cold heart still beating warm when he thinks of you. You are all he has ever known, the smiles, the late-night confessions, stories, the silly inside jokes, the feeling in his chest today. 

He hasn't seen you in years, what if you don't remember him? What if when you see him, your heart doesn't call his name when he screams yours? Will you ever even forgive him? Will you wrap your arms around him and call him home like he has called you? 

He must find you, so he calls and looks for you in every corner of this place. He finds nothing, just more lost hope at every corner he looks into. His heart and mind excited each other at the thought this would be some sappy romance moment. His mind creating a script, all truths, just finding better words to tell you he loves you, loved you the moment you kissed the similar scar on the knee at the park when he cried over the pain. He's loved you from the day he learned to say your name. 

Why does he miss you so much today?

Why must you be the drug his body needs? God does he miss you and your addictive heart. 

He has been around the world, where he could've found a good woman who made him happy but no, his heart has always belonged to one girl. You. 

By the time he gets the street right, he finds you sitting down and as he smiles and nearly runs to you, he stops when he sees this image of you. 

Sitting by the fountain, he sees you and a man. His arms wrap around your body, giving you darling kisses as you chuckle. It was then that Simon Riley knew this was it. He will spend his entire life wandering earth, looking for another soul like yours. You didn't see him of course, your fiance capturing all your attention. Simon was close to not caring and pulling you away from that man, but that would be cruel. And as he tries to make up excuses for this man being near you, he sees the ring. 

Oh...oh you fool, he thinks. 

His heart is near death. It screams your name, trying to find you so it can keep beating but when you don't whisper, Simon nods and lets his heart die. Let it rot, so it can learn its lesson, he thinks. 

It would've never bloomed, Simon and you...right?

It's no use to even go and say hi. The locket that contained your picture was still in his fist. It'll be the last reminder of what was meant to be a life romancing in dark streets through town. 

In his head, the home you dreamed of will forever be just a dream. No four kids, no library, no big kitchen so you and he can dance around at midnight. No you...no him...it'll all be stuck and dead in this town. 

He crossed rivers, mountains, and enemies and survived wounds soldiers like him get, all to come home to you. And all this was for nothing. In his world, he would've married you, given you chubby babies and late Saturday mornings. No gun, no bomb and no other man would've kept him away from you. 

In his mind, he is with you. In his dead heart, he sits by and watches that chubby baby learn to walk. He would've adored seeing you in a white dress, walking to him as he wiped tears away when he d his dream of a perfect life was minutes away from being real. 

What a mess he is as he asks for another drink. A mess he never should have been if he had told you that your name is carved all over his body. 

It was this town that saw him live and it'll be this town that sees him die because if he can't have you, at least he has this place. 

A/N: Remember, I collect tears for potions, so please drop them by for collection, thank you. - The place of tears co.

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