#i have a kid the poor soul is going to change school next year to be attended by the psychiatrist hospital

[sainz]

its monday and i already had enough

[myseungsunglove]

Don’t Mess with a Good Thing | Hjs

Pairing: Jisung x Reader

Warnings: All the fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You’ve loved your best friend Han Jisung for as long as you can remember. Really there has only ever been him, but neither of you have ever owned up to it. Until one morning when everything changes.

A/N: I adapted this fic from many years ago when I used to write very regularly. Hope it works okay and that you enjoy it as much as I do.

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

Feedback Welcome

「© July 31, 2023 by mysweethannie」

You sat on the balcony of the condo you shared with Jisung, Changbin, Chan, and Hyunjin watching the sun rise. Han Jisung had been your best friend since you were fourteen. The last nine years had been some of the best times of your life as well as some of the most trying and confusing.

When you first moved to Seoul to train at JYP, you didn’t really know anyone. At least not anyone training. Your family had moved away from South Korea to the States when you were five. You’d spent most of your formal school years there but always went to Seoul to visit grandparents. You spent every summer in Seoul and every summer your grandparents made sure your music lessons were always a priority and continued while you were with them.

Fast forward and it was 2014. You impulsively auditioned for JYP over the summer and got accepted into the training program. The entire trajectory of your life shifted in that moment. On the first day of training, you met Han Jisung. Somehow, over the course of the next three years you’d find yourself friends with Jisung, Chan, and Changbin, helping them produce music and lyrics for songs as you all trained together at JYP. It got even crazier when JYP himself allowed Chan to form a group of self selected members for trial debut and Chan pulled the biggest surprise on JYP he could have managed. He picked you along with 8 other guys. 1 girl, 9 guys. It was something JYP had never even thought to try. He made it pretty clear from the beginning he thought it’d never work when he decided to allow your group to compete on the Survival Show Stray Kids. He even eliminated members from your tight knit group in effort to derail your hopes of debuting as a unit, but you were dumbfounded that you were never in danger. When Minho and Felix had both been eliminated, you’d all been floored. Devastated. When they came back in the end, it was like you were whole again and gave one of the best performances of the show with all of you together. The rest was history. you’d all go on to debut as Stray Kids in 2018. During all of that, 3Racha1 was a constant and important pillar in your life. They had added the one to 3Racha when it was clear that you were an extremely important part of their unit and they wanted to move forward with you, whatever the cost may be. And of course the other members of what would become known as Stray Kids became like family as Chan intently and purposefully picked each one.

Han Jisung was the best friend you had ever had, though. You shared things with him that you wouldn’t dare tell another living, breathing soul. You were fairly certain that door swung both ways. You knew secrets about Jisung that you didn’t think any of the boys knew about him. That only seemed to strengthen your relationship and bond with Jisung. He was the most important person in your life. You lived with the boys so that you weren’t excluded from bonding with the group simply for being a girl. It worked out better than anyone really could have expected. When the one dorm was just too cramped for the nine of you after four years and it was time to split into two groups, the natural order suggested that 3Racha1 stay together. You guys would drag poor Hyunjin along for the ride, but you knew he secretly loved the chaos. Deep down. Maybe way deep down but it was there.

You sighed contentedly as you sipped your coffee, reminiscing about the last nine years and how the hell you had gotten to where you were in 2023, two days shy of leaving for fucking Paris to headline at Lollapalloza. It really all felt like a dream, but with the boys and especially Jisung by your side, you know it was all worth it.

You realized that you were in love with Jisung about a year and a half ago while prepping for the Oddinary comeback . You were always stubborn about admitting your feelings and letting yourself actually feel. If truth were to be told, you’d probably been in love with him most of your friendship. Who could blame you, really. The two of you acted like a married couple. You did everything that couples did short of making out and making love. Some days you desperately longed for that element of your relationship to blossom, but you were never sure if Jisung saw you as more than a friend or not. So you kept it strictly platonic. Ish.

He took you out on surprise date nights to quite corners where no one could find or bother you, you cuddled up together in bed and watched anime and Kdramas for hours on end on your days off hiding away from the world. He’d occasionally make you breakfast in bed which was always entertaining because he wasn’t the best cook, but he still liked to spoil you all the same. He’d often surprise you with plane tickets home when you had longer hiatuses, always insisting that he come along too. All of your friends at home would joke with him about when he was going to get you a ring and make it official. He’d laugh and say that you would never see it coming, winking at you as he pulled you into his side right where you belonged. It was the running joke every time you brought him home with you.

You weren’t really sure you were ever going to get the chance to tell him how you felt. You worried about the dynamics of the group and the viability of 3Racha1 if he didn’t return your feelings. Your mom always told you, “Don’t mess with a good thing, Y/N.” And who were you to screw up nine years of friendship? You cared about Jisung too much.

You took another sip of your coffee, pulling it close to you for warmth. A smile broke out across your face as the sun peeked out over the horizon. The warm golden yellow filled the air suddenly, taking your breath away.

“Beautiful,” Jisung said from the door behind you.

“It is, isn’t it?” you replied, turning and expecting to see him looking out at the gorgeous sunrise. Instead, his eyes were trained on you. He smiled at you as you cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “What are you up to, Han Jisung?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, but you cut him off.

“Uh oh. Stop the press. Ji is thinking. We’re all in trouble!” you laughed as he sat down beside you.

“Seriously,” he chuckled, stealing your coffee from your hands and setting it on the coffee table, but not before taking a long drink from your cup and sighing contentedly.

“Hey! If I don’t drink that, I’ll be falling asleep on any surface I set foot on in the studio this morning. Give it back,” you whined, jutting your bottom lip out in a pout.

“God, I love you,” Jisung laughed, pulling you close into the crook of his side, right where you belonged.

“Damn straight you do,” you giggled as you wrapped your arms around his waist and snuggled into him, your face pressing close to his neck, your head resting gently on his broad shoulder. The air suddenly felt a little chilly and you burrowed closer to him, thankful that, for such a small person, he radiated heat like the sun.

Jisung kissed your temple, lingering longer than usual, inhaling deeply. You sighed. You really could stay like this forever. He spoke aloud what you were thinking.

“I could stay here just like this forever,” he said, pulling you closer, the tips of his fingers ghosting your skin where your shirt was riding up slightly. You shivered in response and his fingers dug into your bare skin lightly. “Only one thing would make it better,” he mumbled.

You placed your hand on his chest and pushed yourself up, so that you could look into his beautiful brown eyes.

“What could possibly make this better, dude?” you glared, pretending to be insulted that you weren’t enough to make the moment perfect. In truth, you were a little disappointed.

“This,” Jisung answered, his free hand landing on the base of your neck, pulling your lips to his. A jolt of electricity shot through you. You had only dreamt of this moment. Was this a dream?

His lips moved against yours with reverence, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip and daring into your mouth.

You pulled away, breathless. “Ji,” you whispered, your fingers running along the base of his hairline, the muscles in his neck responding to your touch.

He reached for his pocket, pulling something small from it. “That and this,” he said with a smile, holding the most beautiful ring you had ever seen.

You were speechless. Tears pooled in your eyes as you tried to process what was happening. Jisung spoke before you could form a sentence.

“I love you. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. You are the person I spend 99% of my time thinking about. I think about how I can make you laugh. How I can make you smile. God, I think about what your lips would feel like against mine and damn if I wasn’t right. I’m cursing myself for not acting sooner,” he said, kissing you deeply once more. The connection was real and intense and you’d never felt anything like it before. The way his lips moved against yours, it’s like they were meant to be yours and yours alone.

He pulled away hesitantly, you chasing after his now kiss swollen lips. He chuckled softly.

“I think about how I’ve been madly in love with you for years, and how I think you love me too. I think about how you are the person I want to come home to everyday for the rest of my life. I think about what it would be like to make love to you, and I lose my mind. You make me lose my mind in the best way possible. That’s when I realized I wanted you to be my wife. What we have right now is a thousand times better than most couples I know, and we aren’t even dating. We’re better. I finally figured out the only thing we were missing was you having my last name and me knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are mine and I am yours. From the moment I met you, I knew there wouldn’t be anyone else baby,” Jisung finished, smiling at you, wiping away the tears that were steadily falling down your cheeks.

“Ji,” you whispered, pulling his lips to yours with passion. Once you were both rendered breathless again, Jisung pulled away hesitantly, not wanting to let you go now that he really had you for the first time.

“Y/N, will you marry me? I know we’re skipping a few steps and the boys will have to adjust, but this couldn’t feel more right,” he said, taking your hand and holding the ring in his other hand, looking at you like you held his entire world in your answer. In truth, the guys all treated you like you were together anyway. This wouldn’t really change anything except making it official. Sure you’d have hoops to jump through with the company, but you knew Chan would help you guys navigate those waters. Since he was like a big brother to you and Jisung, he was more than aware of your feelings for each other, both of you having confided in him over the years.

“Jisung, I love you. Yes. I’ll marry you. It’s always been you. It will always be you,” you said through tears as he slid the perfect ring onto your finger. You were marrying your best friend. The love of your life all without the pressures of dating.

“I told you you’d never see it coming,” Jisung smiled, kissing your temple.

“I always thought you were joking,” you grinned, beaming from ear to ear.

“I’m glad. If you thought that I was serious it would have ruined my plan. I could not have been more serious, baby.”

“My family is gonna to be shocked,” you laughed, staring at the ring as it sparkled in the morning light.

“I don’t think so,” Jisung smiled. “They saw the way I looked at you when you weren’t looking. Your dad told me the last time we were there that I better take good care of you. That he knew where to find me. Said he would be proud to have a son like me. Someone who loved his daughter so unconditionally,” Han confessed.

Your hand flew to your mouth. “He didn’t,” you gasped with a giggle.

“He did, but Y/N he couldn’t have been more right. I had the ring then. I’ve had it for almost a year,” Jisung revealed.

“Wow,” you managed as Jisung’s lips fell on yours again, his hand roaming your sides hungrily, slowly pushing the fabric of your night shirt up. His lips traveled down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The way his touch set you on fire only served to confirm that being with him was always meant to be. You were on a collision course to this moment and neither of you had known.

Jisung was your best friend. Now fiance. You couldn’t wait to call him your husband, you thought as his lips traveled your body, showing you just how much he loved every inch of you.

“Is it done?” A chorus of voices rang out onto the patio, startling you and Jisung apart.

“Oh god!” Hyunjin cried when he saw Jisung’s hand up your shirt, laying across you on the bench.

“My eyes!” Chan mocked, covering his eyes.

“I think it’s done,” Changbin laughed.

You sat up, straightening your clothes and easing a very reluctant Han off of you as he settled down by your side.

“You’re looking at the future Mrs. Han Jisung,” he boasted, his hand holding yours as he showed the boys your ring.

“Bout fucking time,” Chan laughed which made all of you laugh in turn. “We should all get moving along. I’m pretty sure the early bird house is probably all already ready for the celebration breakfast. They actually sleep at night, unlike us,” he chortled with a yawn.

“Celebration breakfast?” you questioned, looking at Jisung. “Did everyone know about this?”

He smiled mischievously. “Maybe,” he admitted.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “How did Jeongin not spill the beans?” You laughed. “Hell, how did you all keep this locked down so long?”

“Chan, Minho, and Seungmin are the only ones that have known longer than a week,” Jisung laughed. “The rest of these knuckleheads couldn’t have been trusted to keep their mouths shut.” He glanced at Hyunjin.

“Hey! I resent that,” Hyunjin pouted.

“You know he’s right,” Changbin laughed, clapping Hyunjin on the back.

You smiled fondly at them, leaning in to kiss Han once more. His hand came to rest on your cheek as he pressed closer to you once more.

“Alrighty,” Chan said, clapping his hands together and walking back inside, dragging the other two with him. “Don’t get too handsy, you two. We should probably leave within the hour before Minho shows up at our doorstep,” he warned with a chuckle.

“Shit,” you mumbled against Jisung’s mouth. “Can’t have that. Between him and Seungmin, we will never hear the end of being late even if this is all about us,” you laughed.

Jisung tossed his head back, a belly laugh emitting from him at the thought.

“You’re so right. Better get moving,” he agreed, jumping up and offering you his hand, the most beautiful smile on his face. You took it, the stupidest, happiest smile plastered on your own. He pulled you close, kissing you slowly once more. “Damn,” he sighed. “Why haven’t we been doing this all along? I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he admitted with a low growl against your lips.

“I’m all yours, Han Jisung. Tonight I’ll show you just what that means,” you promised, running your hand along his chest as you walked past him back into the house, heading for the shower.

“Fuck,” he whispered, watching you walk away, daring a glance back at him with a wink. “How about you show me now,” he teased, chasing after you which caused you to take off toward the bathroom. You reached it before he could catch you and closing the door and locking it behind you. “Sorry, babe. Guess you’ll have to wait,” you teased. You heard him sigh and moan, slumping against the door momentarily.

“Just you wait, y/n,” he warned. “Just you wait,” he repeated as he trudged down the hall to his own room to get ready.

You leaned against the door with a happy sigh. You couldn’t believe how much your life had changed in the last hour and you couldn’t be more excited for the changes it meant for the future. You were engaged to Han Jisung. You were the luckiest girl in the world.

[hils79]

Hils Watches Lovely Runner - Ep 15

Wait, what? She was totally fine at the end of the last episode

Ah, it's so he can be the hero and carry her to safety. Where did this crowd come from, though? The amusement park was deserted when they got on the ferris wheel

Of course he took her to his place instead of the hospital. Not sure where the IV came from though.

Aww it's a reversal of the time he was passed out in her brother's bed and grabbed hold of her hand

Good old drama medicine. One IV and some sleep and you're totally fine the next day

See! She's asking the same questions as me. This is why I love her.

Oh well that explains the IV

Is he seriously going to suggest that to thank him for 'saving her life' she should let him be in her movie?

Wait, they didn't immediately claim their prize money???

Look at him sitting in his car rehearsing what to say like a nerd (affectionate)

How does an only child who has no kids of his own know so much about how to take care of a baby, but Im Sol who has multiple neices and nephews has no clue?

Ehehe! That's what you get for being so smug about your childcare abilities

Oh hello

Aww and this is like the time he made her hide in his closet. Everything is in reverse in this timeline.

I feel like I recognise those posters behind him but not sure what they are

Oh sweetie...

You know, 15 episodes in and he still really looks like someone I know but I can't put my finger on who. I think maybe it's an amalgam of a few different idols. Like a bit of Jin and a bit of Taemin

I love that the two of them are literally idols and Inhyuk is like 'remember that super hot and popular boy we went to school with'

Ooh he's having flashbacks again. I'm curious which version of events he's remembering. Because she travelled back 3 times and changed different things each time before the 4th time where she made it so that they never met

I mean I have no idea how much houses cost in Korea but even if you blow it all on a house you still have your incomes and no mortgage or rent to pay

LMAO the reason they got such a low prize (it's just over £200k for me) is because he got drunk and told everyone in line the numbers so 50 people won the jackpot

Dude as been begging to do this movie for ages and as soon as he signs on he immediately wants to change the ending. Like I know we, as the audience, understand why. But to anyone else this just makes him look like a diva

Oh no it's sad Jongho song time

Poor Im Sol. Two confessions in one day. One from a person she can't be with, and one from a person she doesn't want to be with

Ooh is he starting to remember the previous timelines too?

Okay, I love this idea. I'm getting all emotional.

Aww he wrote the song about her again even though he doesn't have the experience of meeting her in the rain. Because his memories are part of his soul.

6 years for attempted murder seems very low. Now I'm looking up the average sentence time for attempted murder and I'm probably on some sort of watch list now. Obv I don't know what it's like in Korea but in the UK you would only get 6 years if it was something like self-defence

Well that was very dramatic. I was so invested in what was happening I forgot to pause and liveblog

Ah, he does remember everything. All versions of events. Well, no wonder he fainted. That's a lot to take in.

[mechalily]

fir branches, tied with red cord.

hello everyone! this writing is a secret santa present for precious @lovely-rubeum, who's works are a must-read for Thoma fans.

(🍂) tags: fluff (flashbacks), angst (currently), small age gap (2 years), fem!reader.

(⭐) spoiler tags: abandoment.

„ ♪ Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but you gave it away the very next day..“ New Year songs could've been heard everywhere. Layers of snowy crystals covered roofs and columns, fences and street lamps, making the light fuzzy. It's been six months since you left your homeland and went to university in another city. Yes, unlike your quiet little town with no kind of gaities and very few inhabitants who all knew each other, the city had much more to offer: wild parties every night, tons of cafes and restaurants, huge 20-floor shopping centers and different varieties of professional paths to follow. But your heart belonged to the calm peace of the town, soft sunbeams in the mornings, endless pinkish sky with plum-colored fluffy clouds — such dear memories were engraved in your soul. And, of course, your constant source of warmth whenever loneliness of an outsider hit you too hard was your childhood friendship with Thoma.

Thoma, who's hair reminded you of straws, who's green eyes shined brightly, who's genuine smile painted your cheeks with a prominent blush. Although you never communicated since he moved, reminiscence of your innocent tender bonds was still precious to you. 

"Does he even remember me?" you wondered at times, looking up at the sky, gazing upon stars, so close yet so far, just like Thoma himself.

You were 7, he was 9. He was a "big boy" with responsibilities much bigger than yours. His family wasn't very financially stable: the father went missing two years ago, the mother worked two jobs so she appeared at home just to sleep and to cook something for her son, who also worked hard everyday, mowing lawns and walking dogs in order to get some money.

Your family was totally opposite. Huge inheritance allowed your parents to live as they pleased, going on trips every year and spoiling their beloved daughter — you — with tons of clothes, toys and sweets. At times, when you acted capriciously, your mom scoldingly reminded you of poor Thoma.

"Honey, you shouldn't take everything for granted. You are living a very comfortable life, unlike some people who weren't born that lucky. Think of the neighbor’s boy! Only two years older yet already working. Behave and take an example"

You sobbed yet didn't start crying in rage like you always did. After all, mom was right. Sometimes, on snowy winter evenings, you could see Thoma from your balcony. He cleared snow with a shovel twice his size. You never saw him playing with other kids or doing silly things natural for his age. Actually, he didn't have friends at all due to being constantly busy.

Christmas arrived, and your parents showered you with gifts on this occasion. Wearing new boots, cute hat and a coat, you went out into the yard to build a snowman. You saw a glimpse similar to a dark spot on a pure white snow. It turned out to be Thoma, dressed in some rags — the boy carried heavy packages, which was visibly difficult for him. 

"Lemme help ya," you volunteered out of nowhere, grabbing a package's strap. 

"You sure? It's heavy..." he hesitantly mumbled.

"I'm billion percent sure. Let's be friends!" you blurted out, steam curling out of your mouth. 

Thoma froze in place. It was the first time ever anyone suggested to befriend him. You two were breathing heavily, dragging bundle along the street in quietness. You started feeling worried due to him keeping silent, but suddenly cheery voice interrupted the hush:

"Sure, let's be friends! What's your name?" Thoma smiled widely, exposing teeth. 

You introduced yourself, and that was the day your life has entirely changed.

You were 11, he was 13. Even after enrolling into middle school and making friends with his peers Thoma still valued you the most. He picked you up after classes, treated to home-made meals, played games with you and helped when it came to studying. School wasn't easy for him. Working part-time and taking care of his mother in a hangover took all of his free time. Thoma expected you to dump him: after all, he was unable to go to cafes and amusement parks, buy you gifts and share candies. He couldn't endure your saddened face and pouty cheeks without heart ache whenever he told you he wouldn't have time to go play with you.

But what Thoma did not expect was you acting on the contrary. 

"Oh, you are such a good boy!" your mother giggled, patting his head. You invited him to a sleepover in your house every week, and he finally gained an opportunity to shower in warm water, eat a proper dinner and not some semi-finished products thrown in one plate, sleep for full 8 hours..Your parents were incredibly kind and caring, considerate yet never intrusive. Here, in your place, Thoma felt loved, loved unconditionally. You two enjoyed your cocoa with marshmallow, cooked slightly crooked gingerbread and decorated the Christmas Tree all together. 

“Who do you think you will be in the future, Thoma?” you asked one evening, when two of you were busy with baking a pie. 

“Uh, wait, wait a second! One last thing… Here,” he spread out dough strips, “closing” the pie. “Who will I be in the future, you said? Ha-ha, to be honest.. I don’t really know. I hope I’ll work with kids or manage domestic stuff, cuz I enjoy doing it,” he chuckled, fixing his apron. “Hey, you are all in flour! Give me a second, I’ll wipe it off,” the boy reached out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and swiped the flour away. His touch sent shivers down your spine, as if you got hit with electricity. 

“And who do you think you’ll be?” Thoma questioned.

“Hm… I want to become a teacher one day. Or a doctor,” «or your significant other», you added mentally. 

“You are so hard-working, I’m sure you’ll succeed!” he smiled encouragely and patted you on the shoulder. 

You were 14, he was 16. From shy and ordinary guy Thoma became popular, quick-witted and got admired for his nice sunny personality. You, on the other hand, had grown up reserved and quiet. That, whatsoever, didn’t break your friendship. 

“Hey, pumpkin, forgetting your lunch box becomes a habit!” 

Of course you recognized this upbeat voice. Who else would’ve called you a pumpkin? 

When you turned your gaze up to your desk, there was a cute box in sight and widely smiling blond. 

“Aww, come on, Thoma, you didn’t have to!” you sighed dramatically, although internally you were screaming, feeling flattered from such solicitude. 

“I have to, because I care about your health, silly,” he gently ruffled your hair, avoiding ruining your hairstyle. “Let’s have a meal before lunch break ends, okay? I’ll stay here with you, no worries, we won’t go to the cafeteria,” he added immediately after noticing barely evident hints of your anxiety.

“...thanks, Thoma. Let’s see what you’ve prepared for me,” with that, you opened the box.. and your heart started pulsing like you have run a marathon.

Absolutely adorable salad with different vegetables, cut in some cute shapes. The dedication and efforts, invested in this dish, were obvious. You nearly teared up. No one has ever did something like that for you. 

“H-hey, is everything alright? You’ve turned pale…” Thoma asked in concerned tone.

“No, no, not at all! It’s just so sweet of you.. Thank you so much. I can’t make myself eat such masterpiece..”

“Hold on, kid! You need to eat, otherwise I might spoon feed you,” once in a while Thoma acted mischievously, and you couldn’t predict this behavior. He was never mean, of course, but teasing certainly had a place in moments like this. 

“And how about feeding me from mouth to mouth, huh?” you teased him back with a sly grin.

Thoma reddened: the color of his face was similar to the color of his jacket.

“Ah-ha-ha… You are quite naughty, aren’t you?” you could feel the heat emanating from his body. 

“And what if so?” you cheekily raised your eyebrow.

“I assume a kiss will be able to erase this smirk from your face,” the boy tried to get his composure back, but failed miserably, stumbling his words and awkwardly fidgeting.

“Try it, so we could discuss the truthfulness of your statement”

“Um… maybe next time, ha-ha…”

To Thoma’s luck, the bell rang, so he ran out of the classroom, leaving you alone and flustered.

“Don’t forget to eat, pumpkin!”

Since that day you two have never brought up this accident, even though having lunch with Thoma became a daily routine. 

You were 16, he was 18. He was embracing you tightly, despite the uncomfortable proximity under the boiling sun. 

“I’ll miss you, pumpkin,” he mumbled, and you could tell he was being honest — every wrinkle, every muscle of his face depicted the dreary sorrow of parting. Even though his 12 years old Nokia phone still worked, you heavily doubted it would function properly. Yet you still hoped for the best.

“Thoma, dear.. Please, call or text me as soon as possible. It’s dull without you,” tears flowed on their own, and you couldn’t help it.

Suddenly you sensed some soft sensation against your skin. There was no need to look up to understand what was it. You closed your eyes and indulged in bubbly pleasure.

Thoma was your first best friend.

Thoma was your first Valentine, though you both considered it to be a friendly one.

Thoma was the first person apart of your family to cook for you.

Everything important in your life was about him.

And now, he granted you your first kiss.

“I love you,” his green eyes watered just like yours. “When I graduate, I’ll come back for you. Do you agree?”, you grabbed his calloused hands and squeezed them.

“Yes. Yes, of course”

Two years have passed since then. There were no news from Thoma nor texts or calls. He simply disappeared from the world. Both of his parents rested in peace, and they didn’t have any relatives, so wondering about his fate was all you’ve got to do. Your messages never got delivered. 

“Sorry, the number you dialed does not exist,” you heard this voice line so many times it annoyed you to no end. You cried out of frustration, you felt numbness and anger, and finally, you accepted the entire situation. 

Maybe he dumped you.

Maybe something happened to him.

You won’t know until his studying finishes. 

Graduating from high school, passing exams, enrolling into university — you went through everything all by yourself with support from your parents.

Sipping coffee and sinking in your unhappy thoughts, you didn’t pay attention to any of the cafe visitors — after all, it was way too far from yor home, there was no chance to meet your countryman.

With the bell tickle, which announced the emergence of new client, loud fast speech could have been heard:

“Yoimiya, I’m so sorry! I left my place on time, it’s just that traffic accident with a mongrel dog occured, I had to take poor animal to the vet-”

This voice.

You stared upon the guest in disbelief. 

Blond hair. Red coat. Black bandana which looked like horns. Pitiful smile. Green eyes.

“Oh, dear God, Thoma! Is everything okay? Is the doggie alright?! Ugh, how could this be?..” fair-headed young lady came out of the stall and jumped forward the man.

“Wait,” he shook his head as if he was trying to get rid of weird delusions. But that was not a delusion. 

“Is this…” his voice lowered to husky whisper, eyes widened in shock.

“...Thoma?” you stood up on shaking legs.

[imagineanime2022]

Just Like Our School Days

Franken Stein X Reader

Word Count: 796

You had always been a timid person, you never really made yourself the center of attention, you never wanted people to be looking at you, you just wanted to get through school and move on with your life. Some would think it was funny but you never made it out of the school building you were now a teacher, you helped many children since you started teaching but you still as you did in childhood kept yourself to yourself.

Over the years there were a few kids that stuck in your head but there was one that always sought you out, Black Star, he tested all of his ninja moves on you and you were happy to give poor Tsubaki a break. People were often reminded of why you were such a feared and respected meister whenever they saw Black Star make a move, you easily dodged or blocked an attack most of the time you weren’t even looking in the direction that had come from. Before long Maka came seeking your advice on battle techniques and you were more than happy to help her and Soul. You were happy in the life that you had, while your soul itself molded well with any other soul that it came into contact with, you became the place holder for most weapons when training until they found their ideal meister.

You enjoyed the way that your life was working out but it was about to change drastically because of one new teacher Frankien Stein. You had known him when you were in school and he played with you then, teased you because you were too timid to fight back. This had changed since then but the sight of the man still elicited the same feeling because when it all came down to it the problem was that you thought he was attractive and apparently that hadn’t changed.

You were sitting in your office marking work and your door opened, you glanced up and saw Stein was standing there “I was told that you were working here but I thought you wanted to get out of here the first chance you got.” He said as he walked around the office. “Turns out teaching was the way to go.” You mumbled as you moved to the next paper. “Mm.” He hummed as he walked around the back of the desk, you tried to ignore the imposing presence but that only lasted so long. “Do you need something?” You asked. “You're more talkative than when you were younger.” He smirked as he leaned over your shoulder. “You're being too lenient, they only have half the explanation there.” “Will you go and find someone else to bother?” You asked. “That would be no fun.” He said as he leaned closer to your ear. “Do you not have a job to do?” You asked. “That’s why I’m here actually, I need your help for my next demonstration.” “Why is that?” You mumbled. “I hear you are the best meister around and you used to be able to hold your own against me and my soul wavelength.” His hands caging you in on either side of the desk, his chest almost touching your back. “When?” You asked. “Tomorrow morning.” He answered. “Fine. Now will you leave?” You asked. “Of course Chameleon.” He smiled as he walked out of the office leaving you with the memory of the first time that he had called you that.

You had been sitting in the back of the class hoping that no one noticed you, you never needed a weapon to keep up but people still teased you sometimes, you were writing notes “What are you doing up in the back?” You glanced up at Stein, the kid that everyone was afraid of, he was dangerous in more ways than one but you were able to withstand his most dangerous attack and steal his weapon so he was very intrigued by you. “Staying out of everyone else's way.” You answered as you continued to write your notes, eye down on the table and voice small. “You know you're supposed to leave the classroom at lunch, little chameleon.” He teased as your eyes shifted to him for a second, you wanted to ask about the nickname but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your mouth. “You're cute when your speechless.” “W-what?” You asked. “You’ll be on my table one day…” He smirked as he looked down at you “one way or another.”

You never found out what he meant by that sentence, you weren’t even sure he’d remember that he said it but now that you have to work with him and he didn’t seem to have changed, maybe you’d found out what he meant all those years ago.

Request Here!!

[coachtfd]

Oh maaaan please lemme tell you: I’ve been a United fan more than 20 years and been through thick and thin with the club and it will always be like this. I will always support United and no one else. But at the same time I genuinely DO NOT enjoy watching United for a VERY long time. It’s not the lack of trophies for me personally but the fact that our football is so fucking ugly it physically hurts to watch. We are so poor at footballing activities it boggles the mind! Even against dead last Southampton we were poor as fuck but I wasn’t even surprised because that’s been our standard for a while. Our football is outright unwatchable and if I was a little kid right now I sure as hell would not fall in love with this sorry excuse of a football club. I had huge hopes for Ten Hag but I’m so fed up with him now I can’t stand to look at him nor listen to his bullshit interviews anymore. He has been here for 2 years and he’s done fuck all in my book. And I swear to god I didn’t expect him to win the fucking prem in his first 3 years but I very much HOPED to see good fucking football and he couldn’t deliver! In 2 years we had like 5 good games when I thought this is it! This is how Manchester United football club should play! The rest? Abysmal performances one after another. One season going down the drain like dirty bath water after another.

Oh and not to mention the moral decay the club is in.. they almost brought Greenw**d back no problem! Like my beloved club that I have been supporting with my heart and soul and my money was on the cusp of reintegrating that pos and only changed plans in the last second when they saw that the reaction to that possibility was far from kind and understanding. Then we have another scandal involving Antony who’s still here and playing despite the allegations against him. Should be out the fucking door ffs but the club didn’t even try to get rid of him. Fuck that!

I’m massively disappointed in this club for several reasons so no I can’t even celebrate a win at this point. Win or lose I just acknowledge it and move on. I think in the last 10 years they managed to kill my love and passion I used to have for football itself. I used to miss events and outings just to catch the famous Man United play but now? Sometimes I even forget to check when we play and if I miss a game I just don’t care. Am I plastic now? Am I fake? Guess I’m just disillusioned and bitter. Oh well.

Ah fuck, this got extremely long, feel free to delete it’s whatever x

There it is, that’s what I wanted to get to. I feel you on all of this, I totally get it. And I don’t blame you for thinking or feeling this way, United has put all of us through the wringer. Some of us way more than others because it’s more than just a sports team to them. It is for me.

I remember when glimpses of United was all I could hope for because they didn’t start showing full games on the regular in the US until I was out of high school. My dad would literally interrupt whatever I was doing if he found out that a game was on. We weren’t very close and didn’t get along very well as I got older, but we had football in common, we had United. I don’t take it for granted that a team named United pulled us together when it felt like just about everything else pushed us apart. He loved their resilience, their never quit attitude. As a West Indian, he loved Dwight York and Andy Cole. So I get your passion, and I understand your anger.

I made a promise to the United fans on here that when I truly felt better times were ahead I would let them know, and I’m doing that now for a reason. I was right when I predicted this dark time we’ve been in and I believe I’m right about it coming to an end. It won’t be this season or the next, but it’s coming. I encourage you to keep hoping and to try to rekindle your love for this incredible club. I once said that every United fan is a winner and winners love supporting each other. You’re a winner, and if our club is going to win the league again it needs your support right now. It’s honestly not about me at all, we’re Manchester United, winning is our way. You can’t keep a winner down forever. 🙂

My inbox is always open. If you ever need to vent about United or life, or just need a shot of encouragement, please feel free to write me…that goes for all of my followers. ❤️ #ggmu

[sweetest--melody]

tell us about shion!!

HOW DID I KEEP FORGETTING ABOUT THIS IM SO SORRY!!!

so Shion Ayame is a Final Fantasy XIV oc! i made her a few years ago and have played her in a couple of ttrpg's and an rp server alongside my baby Cota who i also might do a writeup for? idk. bear with me there'll be some terms here.

tl;dr she's a revolutionary biker bitch from the heart of the evil empire and the boss of a gang / rebel group. also she's trans 🏳️‍⚧️

she's an Au Ra (race of humans with scales on parts of their bodies, horns in place of ears, and a scaled tail) Raen (subrace with cream-y peach-y white scales and horns that hail from Thavnair (south Asian / Indian inspired region) or Hingashi (east Asian / Japanese inspired region)) born in Garlemald (the capital city of what is essentially the game's evil empire, located in a scenic snowy mountain wasteland) to immigrant parents, of course in a space that wasn't very kind to them.

she didn't have the best childhood in the empire, her family was poor and the empire isn't a very welcoming space for "savages" like them. it took everything they had to keep a roof over their heads and fuel in their heater. her dad worked a grueling job as a ceruleum miner (oil but blue, fuels magitech which is Garlemald's whole thing) and her mom did clerical work for the Legion, all while raising Shion and giving her the best education they can at home - she wasn't allowed into any schooling there.

she learned her basic math, reading, and writing in a common tongue, along with some amount of history of her homeland including old tales of auspices and yo-kai and kami and those who worshiped them. they lived together like this for a number of years - surviving and as happy as they could be - until her father was taken from her in a mining accident, where the brutal working conditions took his life.

following that, her mother was conscripted into the Legion, and Shion was left alone - soon after with no home.

she was around her early teens at that time, forced to live and survive on the street under the heel of an oppressive government and culture. stealing, getting into fights, run-ins with the Legion, doing all that she could to live to see the next day. learning just how clear the divide in Garlean society is first-hand, and coming to the conclusion that any civilization that could treat a child like this didn't deserve to exist - or at the very least needed to change.

a few years later, after gaining a reputation as a thorn in the Legion's side and someone that other unfortunate souls living under the yoke of the Empire don't want to fuck with... she finds herself in prison after getting caught trying to steal a gun from a Legionaire. oops! anyway, that's where she actually met two other women being kept there - a couple of disgraced legionnaires named Ophelle (conscientious objector) and Alaqa (friendly fire) who turned out to be very like-minded individuals.

They - along with a very sympathetic fourth person on the outside going by the name of Zarara - all break out together and go on to form an alliance that eventually blossoms into a whole organization!

they called themselves Suzaku's Angels - inspired by the stories Shion was told as a child, with each of the four representing an aspect of one of the Four Lords at the group's head - Suzaku specifically being a scarlet phoenix, a symbol of rebirth, a burning passion, and warmth to run counter to the cold of their mountain home. the Angels started small, but quickly grew to be about 100 in number, as an organized crime ring that was more of a combination of that and local mutual aid and community organizing / a sort of grassroots resistance movement.

basically think of them like a modernized Robin Hood troupe, stealing from the rich and powerful primarily to give to the underrepresented members of the community - homeless kids, poor people, immigrants and other racial minorities, those who oppose the Legion and who have been punished for it, abuse survivors, disabled people. they would do their best to do right by them by any means necessary.

at some point though, during one of their raids, Shion just so happens to kill a high ranking member of the Legion and she's forced to run away - with the help of her Angels, she's able to take her bike through the mountain pass and into neighboring nations where she becomes a roving bandit.. and still a hero to the downtrodden. the Legion's hands are everywhere, and everyone is at the mercy at that point in time (this was pre ARR)

as far as her personality goes, she's a bit abrasive but overall cheerful and welcoming! she greets everyone with a smile and a punch on the shoulder or a fist bump, a slightly gravely "heyyyyy!" and some crude nickname. she loves animals, kids, learning about people and their cultures, loves a good drink, can play bass, but the thing she loves doing most is mechanic work! she's a grease monkey, picked it up during her time in the magitech-centric capital and took to it like a fish to water - even devising an alternative fuel source for her bike!

though she's a ranger in combat, she's also known to be very light on her feet and to have a NASTY right hook, but aside from those she's a rather wise individual and an inspiring leader - though she doesn't ever really see herself as a leader. all of her sisters are equal in her eyes, they all lean on one another, and she thinks the same in any ither group she finds herself in.

she's also VERY anti-authoritarian, and unfortunately she can be quick to anger if you push her buttons in just the wrong order, and she can be quite headstrong in her beliefs. which is why she got in trouble a number of times in the servers where i played her - and other people decided to play a legionnaire and a cop lmao

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

Okay, I've got a few sketches and with them, it's time for some headcanons! 💕

I think Mesmeroth's childhood wasn't the best in family terms, but he's not a kid to easily get very sad or be hopeless. He's been very patient even back then and thought he'd just have to wait until he's older for things to be different.

He lost his mother through unfortunate events (but only learned that later from Corbin, when he was much older) when he was around 8 or 9

His father was around but after the death of his wife, he turned to drink and in the end, drove his kid out of the house and onto the streets. Just too much shouting or being kicked out of the house anyway. His dad dies soon after he leaves for the White City, too. Mesmeroth doesn't miss him.

So he moved into his self-made shack behind his house full-time.

Mesmeroth is rather interested in knowledge and books and would rather read in peace than go play with the other kids. He sometimes asks to or has played with them, but somehow he's a bit on the socially awkward side and couldn't quite connect to them.

He always built things and through books found out that robots can be imbued with a soul artificially through magic. He felt magically inclined anyway and tried to make himself a robot friend, failing constantly. They'd just went rogue sooner or later and had to be destroyed by the one knight in town keeping up the peace within, Pierre Corbin (not yet granted the honours title of his family).

This caused his social connections to weaken more, as the kids didn't want to play with him any longer. One more reason for him to run around the woods and caves, sinking deep into history and technology.

Kids had to go to school. Meth often doesn't enjoy school, because the teachers could, way too often, NOT answer his questions, so he thought it was pointless to go. He mostly goes because he gets free school lunch there (because he's so poor, but he isn't the only one so considers it kinda normal). When he doesn't show up, it is often Corbin who goes to fetch him.

Pierre Corbin became a knight trained mostly in Faroah and then was stationed there as well. Since there aren't any (many) enemies to defend the place from, he focuses on simply being a peacekeeper. He would be called on when there are problems in the pub, he'd get drunkards into the cell till the next morning, and he would help out with all sorts of stuff like people being stuck on their roofs because the ladder fell, or kittens in trees, or rogue robots (usually Meth's fault), or kids that don't go to school and so on and so forth... and Corbin LOVES IT. 😆

Meth studies much on his own, and he usually scores 100% on his exams at school. He wouldn't get good participation or attitude grades, though, because he can be a bit snobby about his superior knowledge and be rude about other people's ignorance. This continues even after he comes to the Twin Towers. He sure is only begrudgingly granted the title Warlock as the youngest candidate ever. 😆

When Mesmeroth is around 10, Corbin loses his wife and child during childbirth. Meth gifts him a little keepsake of his: an adjusted radio, that would replay a recorded lullaby from his mother. He thinks he is now old enough to not cry anymore when he misses her and believes it would help Corbin as much as it did help him to deal with the loss. Of course, it wouldn't really, but it did cause one change: Corbin, who has always been an enthusiastic cook, invites Meth over every single evening to dine with him. That way, Corbin isn't alone and can still cook for two, and Meth also gets a proper dinner and not just the scrap left overs from his dad's meal. And so, the two begin to form a close relationship.

Meth had discovered the tunnels and the Beacon remains for years, but at some point when he was 13, the weather blocked a path back outside. So he needed to call for help and thus the ruins were reported to Archimedes.

Calliope and Meth meet. He reminds her of Archimedes, sharing the same passion for literature and knowledge and all new ideas and questions about life and existence. She enjoys it, too, and they have some great conversations while the examination of the tunnels continues.

Excited Meth shows Calliope his recently completed servant robot Gen. She absolutely loves him and so proceeds to introduce Meth to Archimedes and Master Mayfair.

Archimedes shows admiration for Meth's skills... but remains reserved in going into full and open discussions about things. Much to Mesmeroth's disappointment for he admires Archimedes a lot. Instead, he continues to actually converse with Calliope, always hoping through her, he'd still find some connection to the Grand Regent. (Of course, he really likes her but he still hopes that somehow through her he could connect with Archimedes, it's his dream to work with him on cool technology and stuff!)

Through Calliope and Master Mayfair he learns more about making a career as a knight or mage (his preferred discipline would be the warlock one (which I think describes the focus of a mage in warfare rather than academic or medical interests)) and it is only a few months later, that he does begin his studies at the Mages Guild.

Of course, when Pierre is stationed in the White City soon after (I think it is possible that he missed Mesmeroth so much that he asked to be moved xD) he drags Meth out into the pubs and social life of the White City, with varying success. He's really looking after the kid. So naturally, when Mesmeroth graduates as the youngest warlock he's so proud that really the whole city knows about it. xD

Losing Corbin during the fight with Shadowmaga hits Mesmeroth hard. It was desperation that made him hold on to his soul. Meth could see that Corbin's soul inhabited the robot, but during the few days when Meth still remained with the army, no matter how often he talked to Gen, there was no reaction. Still, he could not bring himself to let Corbin's soul go free. It took him 20 years of distancing himself AND the need of Gen as a servant, to be able to finally let Corbin die.

I even think Gen and Mesmeroth may have had the opportunity to discuss this beforehand. I may or may not get back to this situation in form of a comic.

And that's it for now! xD

[theliterateape]

[Worth Revisiting] Trusting Hope Over Experience: The Shedding of the Old

By Don Hall

“Everything I had built in the past 15 years just went up in smoke. It’s gone. I mean, what the fuck do I do now?”

My friend had gone through one of those tribulations that involved losing status within the community of artists he was a part of, losing his job on top of that and flailing his now beaten down limbs in search of what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to be, after the dust had settled.

I understood the feeling.

As a kid, I went to a lot of elementary schools. We moved around quite a bit, leaving me with the moniker “The New Kid” on the regular. Each grade became its own lesson in how to start from scratch—new teachers to navigate, new social games to learn, a reinvention from year to year.

By the time I graduated from the University of Arkansas, I had become pretty adept at it. So it was nothing for me to discard most of my college relationships and community and drive randomly to live in Chicago. Starting from scratch again, I didn’t even have enough money to get a hotel room let alone an apartment.

When I left teaching after nearly a decade, I left my community of teachers and colleagues at the classroom door and jumped into the Off Loop theater world. When I was wrongfully accused of forging a theater license a decade or so later and was hired by the local public radio station, I walked away and forged new relationships, created new social status, broke new ground.

I find myself, once again, a freshman in the High School of Life, with a brand new slate, new relationships to create, effectively an entirely new identity.

Where things get complicated is that, unlike when I was a kid or fresh out of college, I’m still in Chicago and plan to stay. Which means that as the upbeat misanthrope there are aspects of who I was that are inescapable.

In some ways shedding the skin of the former is a bit like Groundhog Day in that social media is a constant reminder of those earlier alliances, colleagues, statuses and on and on. It certainly makes it more of a challenge to change things up unless you discard all of it, which involves a complete and total reboot. Given I didn’t go into the Witness Protection Program, I gotta contend with shedding some of the dead skin and managing the parts that won’t shed.

The plus to this is that Live, Die, Repeat movie theme wherein each time you die and come back, you have just a bit more information on how to proceed within the next iteration. Each time I find myself here, reinventing myself, shedding off the husk of the former, I know more than I did last time. So, the skin is all pink and fresh but the soul is more wise. At least that's the idea.

It gets dicey when one goes from the full-time gig and all its perks—health insurance, bills paid on time with almost a casual disregard to the basics, a comfortable structure to one's day, the status of the job—and it disappears, the shock to the system is palpable. All of the things that were negatives to that corporate enslavement—required conformity, working within the politics of the Dog Eat Dog, the inability to control one's schedule and a general lack of time to be creative—slowly seem more bearable. Panic desperately wants to set in. Poor choices are made in pursuit of that benign but secure existence.

“Everything I had built in the past 15 years just went up in smoke. It’s gone. I mean, what the fuck do I do now?”

"Well, first remember all the things you hated about that specific daily grind. 

"Remember the hours of labor you put in for little or no recognition, the late nights and early mornings, the having to deal with people you wouldn't spend five minutes with otherwise, the soul crunching feeling of knowing that you are no more than a cog in that particular machine. Set that aside for a moment.

"Then recall how you got that job and know that all of those reasons—your drive, your talent, your curiosity and creativity—you still have those things. Those things are you, not your title. You still possess all of those qualities unless you give them away.

"You will always be a cog in some sort of machine. The difference is that you have a reset button on that Tetris game you're playing. You have the opportunity to remake your machine and figure out how to scramble for a buck on your terms. If life is a video game, you get a second life. If you're me, you have many more than two.

No one is going to give you a leg up. You may have people in your past version who you keep and who will step up and give you a hand but don't count on it. This is your path to walk and it is entirely up to you to step your shit up, decide who you're going to be, and go for it.

You need to trust hope over your experience. Deny yourself the bitter anger of loss and look forward. Your experience will inform you that the only road is the road laid out for you but that's the indoctrination of a consumerist society that values cogs over mercenaries. Businessman over Pirates. Your road is in the direction that you plant your feet, so follow that and don't worry so much about whether its been paved or not.

You won't have overnight success because you are now rebuilding your place in the world. It will, however, be worth it if you refuse to concede."

Yeah. I understood the feeling.

[rhettabbotts]

may i give the premise of girl!dad rhett when she starts dating..... lord help that poor persons soul bc YIIIIKES

OH MY GOSH BLESS THE SOUL SHE STARTS DATING!!! this makes me think of she’s in love with the boy by trisha yearwood <3 (i’m naming the abbott daughter addison, addie for short)

addie was sitting in front of you at your vanity while you fixed her hair. she was going on her first date tonight and you couldn’t believe how grown up your little girl was. she was so nervous and you could tell she really liked this boy.

“thank you, mama.” she said as you finished up, going to her room to change.

rhett was sitting on the front porch, his face set in a deep scowl. you sat down next to him on the porch swing and rest your hand on his knee.

“what on earth is that face, mister?” you asked him, laughing as he just grunted. “he’s a good kid, you need to stop worrying.”

“he’s a boy, honey. i don’t trust him.” rhett didn’t face you as he spoke, just kept looking down the driveway. he tensed up when he heard the tires of a pickup truck on the gravel road.

addie came out the front door and you nearly cried because she looked so beautiful. henry parked his truck and hopped out, grabbing a bouquet of flowers that looked like he just picked them and took his cowboy hat off. you had a sudden feeling of deja vu, taken back several years to the first date you and rhett had in high school.

henry was ever the gentleman, shaking both yours and rhett’s hands and said “yes, sir” “yes ma’am”. he helped addie in the truck and they were off.

rhett still had a scowl on his face and said “she’s too good for him.” you smacked him on his chest and ignored his wince. “damn, woman. what was that for?”

“you aren’t giving him a chance. you know my daddy said the same thing about you, right? addie looks at him like i look at you.”

“yeah, and your daddy was right. you are too good for me.”

“shut up and get inside.” you said as you kissed him on the cheek. “she’ll always be your little girl, rhett. but she’s gonna have to grow up at some point.”

“i know, it’s just hard.”

i love girl!dad rhett with everything in me😭

[eveefrost19]

The Deal

Ok i tried my hand at a fic with Demon Sans. Please don’t hate if I got this wrong. Thank you again @seirindono for the permission to do this. Sorry again if it sucks.

The Deal

           When you had turned 18 your parents decided to surprise you by leaving in the dead of night. They left you with two things. The debt they had collected over the years and your 11 year old brother to raise. There were no relatives that would take you and your brother in and no friends to turn to. It was just you and your brother. Three years later, your brother was diagnosed with and inoperable tumor that was growing on his brain. The doctors gave him 7 years to live.        

           The doctors had decided to keep him overnight for treatment plans and testing the next day, but they would not let you stay with him. Feeling lonely at home and so overwhelmed you thought drinking a beer would help you feel better. One beer turned to two, two became three, and after the fourth you had lost count and were thoroughly drunk. It was only then that you finally let yourself break down.

           It just wasn’t fair. Wasn’t it enough that your parents left you two on your own with debt that you were still struggling to pay? Was Life so cruel that it would add more debt and bills that you had no hope in paying? Is the God that people say is merciful so sadistic that he would have you watch the one person you care about and work so hard for die right before your eyes? What the hell was the point of all this? What lesson was there to be learned? ISN’T THERE ANYONE LISTENING TO YOUR PRAYERS?

           “relax kid, i heard ya.”

           Hearing someone respond to your break down was not what you were expecting. Let alone some skeletal demon standing in front of you holding out his hand like he wanted you to shake it. You think he is a demon anyway, with the bone horns that curl around to the back of his skull and dark blue tail that ends with an arrow tip swaying in a lazy like matter behind him. “names sans. im the demon of sloth. let’s make a deal.”

           This must be some drunken hallucination. Your poor broken and drunk mind is trying to cope by making up a demon of all things as a savoir. There is just no way this was really happening. Might as well go with it. What’s the harm in finding some hope no matter how false it was? So you tell ‘Sans’ everything. The debt, the upcoming bills, and your brother’s tumor. It honestly was a relief to finally tell someone what was going on. Imaginary or not.

           Through it all Sans said nothing. He listened to everything you had to say with a bored, if somewhat, sleepy expression. When you spilled out everything he had a thoughtful look to his eye lights. Then with a knowing and sadistic smirk, not that you noticed in your state, he made you an offer.

           “you poor soul, having to shoulder all that responsibility all on your own. only then to be told that it is all in vain. such is life i suppose. how about i help you out a little? not much really. hard work is something i strive to avoid. i will cure your brother of his illness. it’s a simple matter to do really. i will also ensure financial stability for seven years. i promise that you and your brother will be able to live more than comfortably for seven years. in return, you give me your sou. not right now. i will collect your soul in seven years. this is not something i offer to anyone, but it seems like you could use a bit of a break. so, do we have a deal?”

           Sans offers his hand again. Do you shake it? Do you accept the deal of a demon? Seven years isn’t long. But if it means saving your brother and clearing the debt that he won’t be saddle with then it is worth it. Besides, this isn’t really happening anyway. There is nothing wrong in entertaining your drunken hallucination. Convinced that there were no real harm you took the demon’s smooth boney hand and shook it. The deal has been made.

           The morning of you are awoken to your phone ringing. You don’t even remember getting into bed. It’s your brother’s doctor calling and he needs you to the hospital right away. A miracle has happened. Your brother’s tumor was gone. He had made a full recovery overnight.

           A week later, a lawyer came to your home. Your parents had died in a plane crash. They left you half a million dollars. More than enough money to pay off all debts, bills, and to live a comfortable life. You are starting to think that Sans was real after all. However, you can’t feel like making that deal was a bad choice. You and your brother are alive and can finally be happy. Seven years is not a long time. So you are going to live your life to the fullest with your brother.

           And for seven years you did. You taught your brother how to drive and helped him get his driver’s license at 16. You were there when he received the highest honors in graduating high school at 18. You supported him when he told you that he was dating a boy that he feel in love with at work. You were there to witness his proposal to that same boy when he was 20.  

           And now seven years since you sold your soul, you are once again home alone and drunk. (Hey it’s your last night alive you didn’t expect to be sober did you?) Your brother is at his finance’s house, he practically lives there now. You realize that you actually don’t want to die in the house. There is a spot that you and your brother go to see the stars. It is a nice, quiet, and beautiful place. Why not go there to die?

           After your fourth (or was it fifth) beer you find your keys and head to the car. It is late enough in the evening that no cars should be out. And the spot is only 15 minuets away. What is the harm in a small road trip while drunk? There is a lot of harm in a short drive while drunk.

           You don’t remember seeing the car. You certainly don’t remember the impact. What you do remember is how familiar the car looked. The dread you felt as you got out of your car to check on the other driver. The horror you felt as you recognize the driver. You remember how the asphalt felt as you fell to your knees while wailing as you look at the dead empty eyes of your brother.

           “i kept my promises. you and your bro lived happily and he was cured. but, even i can’t change his fate. he was destined to die tonight one way or the other. it has been seven years, it is time for you to hold up your end of the deal.”

______________________________________________________________

Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed, Sorry if it was too long, and I’m sorry if you hated it. But thank you all the same. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

* * * *

NYT OP-ED

I Don’t Want to See a High School Football Coach Praying at the 50-Yard Line

by Anne Lamott

Many of us who believe in a reality beyond the visible realms, who believe in a soul that survives death, and who are hoping for seats in heaven near the dessert table, also recoil from the image of a high school football coach praying at the 50-yard line.

It offends me to see sanctimonious public prayer in any circumstance — but a coach holding his players hostage while an audience watches his piety makes my skin crawl.

We are fighting furiously for women’s rights and the planet, and we mean business. We believers march, rally and agitate, putting feet to our prayers. And in our private lives, we pray.

Isn’t praying a bit Teletubbies as we face off with the urgent darkness?Nah.

Prayer means talking to God, or to the great universal spirit, a.k.a. Gus, or to Not Me. Prayer connects us umbilically to a spirit both outside and within us, who hears and answers. Is it like the comedian Flip Wilson saying, “I’m gonna pray now; anyone want anything?”

Kind of.

I do not understand much about string theory, but I do know we are vibrations, all the time. Between the tiny strings is space in which change can happen. The strings are infinitesimal; the space between nearly limitless. Prayer says to that space, I am tiny, helpless, needy, worried, but there’s nothing I can do except send my love into that which is so much bigger than me.

How do people like me who believe entirely in science and reason also believe that prayer can heal and restore? Well, I’ve seen it happen a thousand times in my own inconsequential life. God seems like a total showoff to me, if perhaps unnecessarily cryptic.

When I pray for all the places where we see Christ crucified — Ukraine, India, the refugee camps — I see in my heart and in the newspaper that goodness draws near, through UNICEF, Doctors Without Borders, volunteers, through motley old us.

I wake up praying. I say a prayer some sober people told me to pray 36 years ago, because when all else fails, follow instructions. It helps me to not fixate on who I am, but on whose. I am God’s adorable, aging, self-centered, spaced-out beloved. One man in early sobriety told me that he had come into recovery as a hotshot but that other sober men helped him work his way up to servant. I pray to be a good servant because I’ve learned that this is the path of happiness. I pray for my family and all my sick friends that they have days of grace and healing, and I end my prayers, “Make me ever mindful of the needs of the poor.”

Then I put on my glasses, let the dog out to pee and start my day. I will have horrible thoughts about others, typically the Christian right or the Supreme Court, or someone who has seriously crossed me, whose hair I pray falls out or whose book fails. I say to God, as I do every Sunday in confession: “Look — I think we can both see what we have on our hands here. Help me not be such a pill.”

It is miserable to be a hater. I pray to be more like Jesus with his crazy compassion and reckless love. Some days go better than others. I pray to remember that God loves Marjorie Taylor Greene exactly the same as God loves my grandson, because God loves, period. God does not have an app for Not Love. God sees beyond each person’s awfulness to each person’s needs. God loves them, as is. God is better at this than I am.

I lift up one of my grown Sunday school kids who is in the I.C.U. with anorexia. I beseech God to intervene, and she does, through finding my girl a great nurse later that day. (Nurses are God’s answer 35 percent of the time). My prayer says to whoever might be listening, “I care about her and have no idea what to do, but to hold her in my heart and turn her over to something that might do better than me.” And I hear what to do next — make her one of my world-famous care packages — overpriced socks, a journal, and needless to say, communion elements tailored to her: almonds and sugar-free gum. It’s love inside wrapping paper.

Especially when I travel, I talk to so many people who are absolutely undone by all the miseries of the world, and I can’t do anything for them but listen, commiserate and offer to pray. I can’t turn politics around, or war, or the climate, but in listening, by opening my heart to someone in trouble, I create with them more love, less of a grippy clench in our little corner of the universe.

When I get onstage for a talk or an interview, I pray to say words that will help the people in the audience who feel most defeated. When I got to interview Hillary Clinton in Seattle a few years ago, we prayed this prayer huddled in a corner backstage — to bring hope to the hopeless.

Do I honestly think these kinds of prayers were heard, and helpful?

Definitely.

On good days, I feel (slightly) more neutral toward Ginni Thomas and the high school coach praying after games. I pray the great prayer of “Thanks” all day, for my glorious messy family, husband and life; for my faith, my sobriety; for nature; for all that is still here and still works after so much has been taken from us.

When I am at my most rattled or in victimized self-righteousness, I go for walks, another way to put my feet to prayer. I pray for help, and in some dimension outside of my mind or language, I relax. I can breathe again. I say, “Thank you.” I say, “Thank you for the same flowers and trees and ferns and cactuses I pass every day.” I say, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.

A walk is a great prayer. To make eye contact and smile is a kind of prayer, and it changes you. Fields and woods are the kingdom. You don’t say, “Oh, there’s a dark-eyed junco flitting around that same old pine tree; whatever,” or: “Look at those purple wildflowers. I’ve seen those a dozen times.” You are silent. There may be no one around you and the forest will speak to you in the way it will speak to an animal. And that changes you.

At bedtime I pray again for my sick friends, and the refugees. I beg for sleep. I give thanks for the blessings of the day. I rest into the vision of the pearly moon outside my window that looks like a porthole to a bigger reality, sigh and close my tired eyes.

I have the theological understanding of a bright 8-year-old, but Jesus says we need to approach life like children, not like cranky know-it-alls, crazily busy, clutching our to-do lists. One of my daily prayers is, “Slow me down, Girlfriend.” The prayer changes me. It breaks the toxic trance. God says to Moses the first time they meet, “Take off your shoes.” Be on the earth. Breathe with me a moment.

[NY Times]

[sapphomosa]

Old Souls (sukuna x reader) pt.1 ________________________________________________

You’d no notion of what to expect when you joined Tokyo Jujutsu High. Possessing no metaphysical “curse” abilities, you predicted life on the school grounds to be normal. Although you knew about Jujutsu sorcery and harbored a slight crush on Gojo Satoru, you weren’t a sorcerer. You learned they under-appreciated your teaching abilities in the natural realm. As Kento Nanami once said: “Work is shit!” followed by drunken babble: “(Y/N), your potential at that shady university is being wasted. You’re incredibly capable and the staff doesn’t appreciate you. At least go somewhere where you can pretend to feel valued”. 

Epic origin story aside, you braced yourself for the high-paced non-stop talking at the behest of one Gojo Satoru. Said Grade 1 sorcerer had come bounding into your bedroom late this evening (not that you minded), shouting about how the new student Yuji had become ingrained with an infamous curse by the name of “Sukuna”. Sukuna was the king of all curses, from the lowest level fly-heads to special grades alike. “Holy shit…” you murmur to yourself. While you were no Yuuta or Gojo in the making, you knew just how mighty the infamous four-armed monstrosity of cursed energy was. 

 “Uh I don’t know if exciting is the right word, but it’s…. something,” you respond quietly. 

“It’s incredible, the utmost power move on our side. The higher-ups wanted him taken care of, but I scored him some leeway. He won’t die until he’s consumed all 20 of Sukuna’s fingers, thus eradicating the curse as well once Yuji dies,” your tall companion explains, leaning nonchalantly against your doorframe in typical Satoru-like fashion. “This is a lot to take in. I feel like there’s more you’re not telling me, but I’ll save that for later. Why are you here telling me this now at-” you study your watch: ‘2:30 A.M.’”?

Though they’re covered with a black blindfold, you can feel Gojo roll his eyes. “Because… when else is a better time to give such life-changing news? Don’t be so boring, (Y/N)”. You scoff, turning your gaze away from him with a flick of your wrist, “That doesn’t answer the other part of the question, why are you here? Surely such news could have waited ‘till morning’”. Gojo huffs and straightens his jacket, correcting his posture as if he abruptly remembered the real reason he was interrupting your nightly routine of insomnia and staring at the ceiling. 

“I need you to speak to him,” The skilled sorcerer says softly.

“Who?” 

“Sukuna”

“The hell, why?” You exclaim excitedly. Though you’ve submerged into the realm of sorcery and fantasy-like creatures, you still have your limits. “He’s an entity who’s laid dormant for a thousand plus years (Y/N)-” Gojo takes in a sharp breath as if bracing himself for what he was to say next: “he’s ancient and hasn’t seen the world in near eons. He might not even speak Japanese, at least not in a form modern enough that we can understand it”

“Makes sense,” you reply. Still pondering, you rest a balled-up fist under your hand- “but why do you need me? Surely one of the ‘higher-ups’ can talk to him. They’re pretty ancient themselves”.

Gojo laughs. “Glad to see you still have that sense of humor from when you first joined! I suggested you be the one to talk to him. You’re an old soul, (Y/N). He may not have human emotions as we do, but you’re more likely to relate to him on a level that no one else can”.

“An old soul?” you repeat quietly.

“ Yeah, you know. Someone who’s in touch with things, mature; someone wise beyond their years. We think someone like you can attempt to placate Sukuna, at least for the time being. He’s been doing a number on Yuji’s psyche, poor kid.” Gojo makes his way to your side, crouching to make eye contact with you nestled in your sheets. “This is serious (Y/N). Not only is he showing warning signs of going haywire and screwing Yuji over as a vessel, but he could also be detrimental, if not contained properly.” Reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your eyes, your handsome friend whispers low “please. For me. Yuji. All of us.” Flustered, you shake your head slowly. “Alright, I’ll do it. When do I start?”

Gojo grins, looking relieved.

“Now”.

[stephreynaart]

Gravity Falls - “Waiting”

Pop-Pop AU

Stan sits in a hospital waiting room, thinking about his life and the people he loves.

- - - -

This is kinda old, but I realized I never posted it on tumblr. Hope ya like it!

Lots of fluff, the only ships are Soos and Melody.

AO3 LINK

- - - -

It had a square aspect ratio. Ink pen and watercolor on white heat pressed cotton paper in a bland white frame. One single blue flower in a red vase with what looks like a yellowish shadow. One shadow going left, the other going right. The lack of confidence and inexperience was obvious, the lines were unfocused and jagged, the color plainly filled the shapes and gave no other visual interest to the image.

Below the frame was a small white card that read “Painting donated by Jessica Blaise from Gravity Falls Elementary School”

Stan scanned the painting at least 20 times while sitting in that chair. The too rough and too soft at the same time chair that had similar copies populating the almost white room he sat in. The wallpaper bouncing off light pinks and blues with tiny ducklings as a makeshift wainscoting was starting to irritate the old man. It was too bright, and the consistent buzz of the fluorescent lights seemed so loud. Stan adjusted himself in his chair, switching his crossed legs to a wider spread and leaned his head against the wall.

The only other stimulus in the room were a few posters promoting proper hand washing techniques, the play area with a small table and chairs with large blocks, crayons and that weird “game” with the metal wiring and wooden beads that’s in every waiting room Stan’s ever sat in. He played with the toys to give himself something to do after he read all the magazines. The novelty wore off fast.

The television mounted on the wall was airing some cooking channel with no sound and no subtitles. Looking at food when you haven’t eaten in a few hours was practically torture, so Stan had been averting his eyes.

There were other paintings on the wall, one was less of a painting, but instead a print of a painting. He doubted that the artist got any compensation from it, if they were still alive. The other was a charcoal drawing done by a student from the community college a town away. Another square, but the entire image was black, the brightest thing on the page was an intruding infant hand coming from the left with the arm fading into the dark background. The fingers seemingly mid-twitch and grabbing at something. The lighting was dynamic and interesting. Stan swore it was a drawing of a penis the first time he glanced at it, which resulted in his brother’s laughter. Stanley smiled at the memory, it was only a few hours ago, but he relishes any time he can make Stanford laugh.

Stan’s eyes darted at the door in the far corner when it opened suddenly. He eased back into his chair when the nurse crossed the room to talk with the receptionist. He couldn’t hear the conversation very well, but could tell they were just gossiping and making jokes. Nothing that was of his interest. So he looked back to the elementary school child’s painting and analyzed it again. His eyes were dry and he was tired. He wished he could sleep, the chair wasn’t comfortable enough and when he did managed to sleep, his neck was sore when he woke up. He was only lucky Ford let him use his shoulder as a pillow for a while. He looked to his left and noted the book his brother placed in the seat. It seemed thick and in what looked like Hebrew. Stan wasn’t very surprised Ford was fluent in the language they were acquainted with as children. Their grandparents on their father’s side were the last to be fully fluent in Hebrew. It was like his brother to be curious of their heritage, but Stan only remembered a few phrases and words he learned from holidays and special event when he had to recite anything in Temple.

Stan crossed his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall and let out an exasperated sigh. It had only been 10 minutes since he last checked the time. He wanted to be at home, be in his soft warm bed and getting ready to eat pancakes at this time in the morning.

He and Ford were on the porch of The Mystery Shack when Soos rushed them off to the hospital the yesterday afternoon. What he originally thought would be a couple of hours of waiting turned into almost twelve. Apparently labour can last a long time.

Stan wished he could be a witness for Soos and Melody like he was when Dipper and Mabel were born, but Melody wanted her privacy, which Stan could respect, but Soos wanted him there…..so he and Ford waited in this bright, annoyingly pastel waiting room, twiddling his thumbs awaiting the arrival of the new member of the mystery family. He was glad he was in at least comfortable clothes, some gray sweatpants and a sweater Mabel knitted for him that read “godfather”.

He was never clear on what the title entailed, but it was mentioned a few times by Soos’ grandmother and the kids insisted that Soos was intending to ask him. He hadn’t, but he didn’t protest Stan wearing the sweater. Whatever job godfathers had, he was willing to play the part if Soos were to ask him.

Stan looked at the double doors a few feet away that lead out of the waiting room and into the halls. His brother left to find something for them to eat, but was taking his sweet time. The turkey being basted on the television was no help in aiding his growling stomach.

He distracted himself by returning his thoughts to Soos and Melody. Just down the hall they were experiencing the strange and beautiful phenomenon that was witnessing the arrival of a brand new person. Stan remembered the feeling so clearly. His entire life he’s felt the presence of human beings. It’s inherent in most people to feel when someone is in the room with you, the other soul sharing the same space as you. Imagine being in a room with a set amount of people and someone else comes in, but imagine they came in without using a doorway. Just appearing seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly another person is with you, and they’re brand new to the world, a life full of potential and power. Yes, today is indeed a happy day, but no amount of positive thinking would ease Stan’s nerves. His foot began to bounce and his hands unconsciously began to fiddle with each other. He didn’t want to think anything would go wrong with Soos’ baby, but anything can happen and life is so fragile, especially at the start of it.

He recalled his nephew’s nervousness the day Dipper and Mabel were born. His hands were shaking and he was constantly checking on his wife and asking the doctors loads of questions. He didn’t fully understand the twins’ father’s behavior until the end of that day.

Mabel’s birth was swift and easy. Her mother only needed to push one and a half times before she was here. It was as if she was eager to meet everyone waiting for her. She cried like most babies do, but Stan could’ve sworn they were tears of joy. While Mabel was greeted with, “hello, beautiful”, “hi, sweetie” and “she’s perfect”, Her brother’s introduction to world started with, “what’s wrong?”, “wait, let me hold him”, and “he’s not moving”. Dipper was rushed out of the room before his mother got a chance to look at him. Stan managed to catch a glimpse of the horrifyingly blue tint on his great nephew’s tiny face. The memory still gave him chills. He remembered how much he wanted to hold Mabel, who began to fuss and cry, obviously missing her brother. He was terrified at the prospect of another incomplete set of twins in their family. After the longest 30 minute of his life, Stan’s great-nephew returned with a bright pink face, wailing with all the power his little lungs could produce. Once the twins were reunited in their mother’s arms, they settled down almost instantly. The doctors told their parents Dipper was significantly lighter in weight than his sister, but both were very strong and healthy. Every so often Stan thinks about Dipper and how much he has impacted his life. His thoughts lead to darker places and he questions if Ford would be here if Dipper wasn’t there to find the third journal. He shook his head as a cold shiver went up his spine.

Stan did his best to distract himself from revisiting the scare that Dipper caused him 16 years ago.

16 years…..17 in August

Stan blinked. The squishy, bright faces that stayed with him that first summer had changed significantly. They stayed in contact all year round and visited every summer since they were 12. But every in-person meeting was always a shock. Dipper was developing the square jaw Stan, both his brothers and nephew shared. He started to regularly wear glasses their second summer with the Stans. Poor kid will grow up looking like Filbrick like the rest of the Pines men. He reminded Stan of Ford at that age.

And Mabel…..

Stan will never get over how much she looks like his mother. It didn’t strike him until Soos and Melody’s wedding and she put her hair in a bun. She’s calmed her hyperactivity down a bit, but not by a lot, she still brightens his day with her wit and creativity. They’ve both matured physically, but not much has changed personality wise and they still acted like big children when they’re around each other. Stan loved them very much, and wished he could see them more often. He wondered what the future held for all of them. Would they still visit town after going to college? Would they move here? Or somewhere else?

He’s had several conversations with them to see how they’re managing the prospect of separating. They’re much better at communicating than he and Ford were and they seem actually excited to have some independence. It made Stan nervous, but he was sure their close relationship wouldn’t suffer.

Wendy chose to be elsewhere for the next few years. She and her friends booked a plane ticket and plan to backpack and hitchhike around Europe and the UK. Stan hopes they stay safe and watch out for each other. Lotta weirdos in Amsterdam. She was set to leave in the coming days, Wendy wanted to wait until today arrived so she could meet Soos and Melody’s kid before going away for who knows how long.

A tap on the shoulder woke Stan from his deep thoughts. His brother arrived with some warm sub sandwiches and coffee.

“Any word yet?, he asked Stan

“Nothin’ yet”, Stan felt helpless not having any clue how Soos and Melody were doing.

Stanford took his seat next to Stanley and they both silently enjoyed their late breakfast. Since arriving they’ve witnessed families reuniting and going past the door in the far corner to meet their children, grandchildren or siblings. Stan looked at the clock again. How has it only been another 5 minutes? He sighed, leaned back and finished the rest of his sub. One hand holding the sandwich, the other went back to gripping the arm rest, then a six fingered hand went down to rest on top of it. Stan let go of the armrest and tangled his fingers between Ford’s and held onto it with a, hopefully not too tight, grip. It was like an anchor to reality, much better at easing his anxieties than any words could. Over the past 4 years, Stan and Ford’s bond grew stronger. Stan still feared one day he would wake up and find himself still in that basement surrounded by broken machinery and languages he didn’t understand. He hasn’t yet, and was enjoying the time he had left with his twin. Stan took a moment to look at his brother again, Ford made eye contact and smiled then continued to read his book. Hands still intertwined

Stans thoughts went back to Soos…

It amazed Stan how much he had grown and it still baffled him that Soos idolized him as much as he does. Before Soos, Stan had no one. His brother was….gone, the rest of the family didn’t talk to him much outside of the holidays and special occasion. There hadn’t been any sense of consistency in Stan’s life for years, decades even, until he hired the chubby little kid he barely glanced at one random Saturday. Soos always arrived to work early, sometimes with breakfast for both of them. Stan didn’t know how much he needed a reliable companion until he had it and he enjoyed the 10 years he had with that kid… or man he should say. Here he was…a few rooms away, becoming a father.

Stan used to daydream a lot about the prospect of having kids when he was younger. He’s was always good with them when he had the chance to babysit his nephew, then later Dipper and Mabel when they were toddlers. He loved having kids in his house that first summer. He loved the energy and the sense of adventure the twins brought. They gave him a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He wished he was brave enough to have his own children. Not that he was ever with anyone long enough to want to have kids with him. He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t subject a child to homelessness or an unhappy marriage. He was also terrified at the idea. His dad used to say having kids ruined his life. He wondered who his father was before his older brother was born. Did they really ruin his life? Stan often wondered if he would be like his own dad if he has children of his own. Would he change and become that annoyed parent that resenting his children?

He thought about Soos again

That was probably the closest to parenthood he ever experienced. The first time he felt like one was when Soos asked him for homework help after closing. He initially told Soos no, he wasn’t exactly smart and didn’t think he would be any help. It apparently upset the kid, so Stan sighed and gave it a try. It was fairly simple middle school math, he didn’t remember everything, but helped Soos do more than half of it. Soos thanked him and went home happy. Stan felt weirdly proud, he was glad he made a small difference and managed to teach Soos something he didn’t even know he knew.

The second time was when Soos was a teenager. His grandmother wasn’t able to teach Soos to drive, since she had forgotten how and her late husband used to do the driving, she mostly walked everywhere. Soos offered to work for free so Stan could teach him. Stan loved driving and found teaching Soos cathartic. He was a fast and eager learner, he only bumped Stan’s car once while trying to figure out parallel parking. Little did Soos know that he was getting paid for his normal work hours. Stan just put it away long enough to help buy the kid some old used truck in the junkyard for getting his license. They fixed the truck up and in only a few weeks it was ready to be on the road. Soos has taken good care of it and it’s still his ride to this day

Stan was very proud of Soos. He taught the kid some basic self defense and managed to be a decent influence in his life. Soos at least has his priorities straight.

Stan was even glad to see that Soos was willing to question him. When the portal was reaching the final countdown, he didn’t hesitate to protect the kids from him when he thought Stan was dangerous. He didn’t know, none of them did, so he didn’t blame Soos for distrusting him. He hoped he never had to betray him again. They both had crappy dads, and Stan knew how Soos saw him. Stan was never really sure if he reciprocated those feelings. It felt natural to act the part, but to put a label as important as “dad” on Stan was daunting. Soos definitely deserves better than what he was given, Stan wasn’t sure if he was it.

Stan looked up at the familiar voices running towards him from the double doors.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Mabel waved to them

The two teenagers and Wendy walked in holding a balloon and various toys. They took some seats across from the Stans and asked how everyone was doing and if the baby arrived yet.

“Not yet, hopefully soon” Ford answered

Stan relaxed and silently enjoyed his family’s company. He laid his head back and leaned slightly on Ford to rest for a minute. His eyes shut as he listened to the kids joke around and talk amongst themselves. He squeezed Ford’s hand one more time before drifting off.

He knew he should’ve tried sleeping earlier, he wasn’t out for more than 15 minutes when Soos came into the waiting room. Stan’s eyes shot open and he was on his feet faster than he did when he was being chased by angry costumers as a door to door salesman. Soos’ red eyes sagged and he seemed exhausted, but carried a proud, wide smile across his face. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“It’s a boy”, he squeaked, “mom and baby are okay”

Dipper and Mabel were first to start the hugs, and the room filled with cheers of congratulations and love. Stan felt light as a feather giving Soos a hug and joking about child labor.

“Can we see him?”, Mabel bounced with anticipation

“Yeah, dudes!”, Soos gestured everyone past the corner door and into the suite. “But only for a little while, Melody has to sleep”

The room was small, dimly lit and warm. The Pines crew collectively lowered their voices as Melody came into view on the bedding holding a bundle of blankets decorated with small yellow ducklings. She was leaned back on a large pillow, covered in blankets and toted a soft smile on her face. Soos stroked her hair and picked up his little son to show to the Pines’. The younger twins got a look at him first,

Mabel squealed and cooed at the tiny infant. Then Wendy, who said hi to the baby and told Soos she’d make sure to send him gifts while she was away

“What’s his name?”, Mabel asked Melody

“I named him after my dad”, Melody replied, “Jacob”. She smiled sadly at the memory of the father she lost the year before.

Soos approached the Stans, Ford smiled and complimented the couple on a having such beautiful little boy, but shot Soos a look, who silently replied with another one. Something was up.

Finally Stan got a look at baby Jacob. “Wow” Stan smiled, patting Soos’ arm. “He looks exactly like you”

Soos laughed, “really? I think he looks like Melody”, there was a short silence before Soos spoke up again.

“Do you want to hold him, Mr Pines?”

Stan looked at Soos and smiled, “heh, sure”. He held his arms out. Soos lowered his arms to pass the baby to Stan, who scrunched his face up and started to fuss. Stan took the infant and managed to hold him with one arm. He bounced and shushed little Jacob until he calmed down. “Heya kid”, He’s held babies dozens of times, but something felt different about this one. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Stan felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. Jacob settled comfortably against Stan and continued his rest. Stan softly beamed at the tiny person in his arms.

“Hey, Stan?”

Stan lifted an eyebrow and looked at Soos, who was fidgeting with his hands and nervously smiling.

“Uh..”, he paused, taking in the sight of Stan holding his child. “You know about my dad”, Soos looked at Ford again, who shrugged and nodded. Stan studied Ford’s face, who’s eyes strayed away as he hid a small smile. Soos got his attention again.

“You uh…he wasn’t…”, Soos choked up, his voice strained a bit, “I met you when I was probably the loneliest I ever was in my entire life”. Stan pictured the little boy he hired on the spot, he didn’t remember him until Soos showed up at his door step the next day ready to work. He didn’t know how much that quick, thoughtless decision would change his life.

Soos perked up and walked across the room to a table and picked up the piece of paper sitting on it. Soos glanced at it, then at Stan and smiled, gaining some emotional strength it seemed.

“You mean a lot me”, Soos, “you were there when I really needed it, you gave me a job, taught me just about everything I know. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that”

Stan got a bit nervous, Was this him asking to be the godfather?Everyone was silent and curiously watching. Soos held his hand out and handed the paper to Stan. He adjusted his arm to properly hold Jacob in his arm and took it. Stan flipped the page and noticed it was the baby’s birth certificate. Stan eyes bounced off the page and read the various information: birthdate, weight, parents, but he froze when he read the full name. Stan’s wide eyes questioningly studied Soos’ face.

“Are you…”, Stan felt his own throat tightening, crap. Come on, not in front of everyone “really?”, he asked. Soos gave a genuine nod and sniffed.

“I uh” Soos cleared his throat, “I was wondering, since Jacob doesn’t have one…if you wanted to be…. his grandpa?

There it was

Stan felt dizzy and took a small step back before remembering who was in his hands and regained his balance. Ford came to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan decide not to look at his brother and chose to stare forward, then his eyes went back to Soos, who look deflated. Oh man. Stan was terrified, he didn’t want to say no and hurt Soos, but if he said yes….he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous. The entire concept sounded so alien to him, like he didn’t deserve the title. He always considered Soos, Melody and their son a part of his family. But to bare a title like “grandpa”, had to mean he had children that that children. That he was already a parent without his knowledge. It all felt so natural to want to lean into this and become part of this family like Soos wanted.

He heard something make a noise from beneath himself. Stan looked down at little Jacob, who was mid yawn. The baby’s mouth grew wide opens and inhaled, scrunching up his face and suddenly shut. Suddenly two tiny eyes opened for just a few seconds, enough time for Stan to make eye contact before Jacob shut them and got comfortable again

Everything was different now.

Stan didn’t notice how quiet the room had gotten nor the tears forming in his eyes. Stunned by beauty and overcome with pride and a sense of purpose. The pride he felt teaching Soos math, how to drive and attending his graduation all combined just looking at the perfect being in his arms. If he said yes, he would want everything that came with it. Stan lifted the birth certificate up to read the name again.

Jacob Stanley Ramirez

“Y-Yes”, he heard a shaken voice say, almost not realizing it was his own “of course”. He looked at Soos, tears in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if he deserved this, but Stan wanted it. He wanted it all. Why not indulge just this once? He gave the certificate to Ford and used his now free hand to pull Soos into a hug. Gently sandwiching his…..grandson in between him……and his son.

[irrelevantwriter]

White Flag

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, public sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, slightly vulnerable Rio, declaration of feelings (sorta?)

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Part 5. Two months without seeing or speaking to Rio has left a significant mark and feelings finally decide to show themselves. Kinda.

A/N: I hope everyone had a good holiday or at least a chill Friday. I come bearing gifts with the next part of our favorite toxic saga. More smut for my lovely readers. But first, some plot. We jump right into it and just like our favorite non-couple, we gloss over a lot of bullshit and get right to the filth. But as a Virgo I love communication so I have to make these two stubborn assholes talk about their issues a little. At least in a vague way. Also, Rio has his read receipts on bc he is a petty king. There’s one more part after this and it's all naughty fun from here. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

A/N dos: I’m thinking about making the next part strictly from Rio’s POV. I feel like it’ll give us a peek into what he’s thinking and a new take on the series thus far. I’m excited to explore that so let me know what you guys think!

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 6 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

*********************

“So you’re just gonna eye fuck the hot stranger at the bar all night?”

Your friend’s teasing cut through the haze, jolting you back to the dimly lit bar. The music boomed around you while people drank and danced, enjoying the Saturday night out in the same way you and your girlfriends were.

“I was not.” You insisted, though the coy smile you wore said otherwise.

The group of women scoffed and rolled their eyes, seeing right through your faux innocence.

“Besides,” You started, taking a sip of your drink as the song changed into a bass heavy melody. “He’s not even my type.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Kara interjected with a raised brow, shaking her head.

You opened your mouth in surprise, but bit back your response when the other women chimed in.

“She’s right.” Evelyn agreed, throwing her dark hair over one shoulder.

“We knew you in high school and college, remember?” Nikki threw in, pursing her lips knowingly in your direction.

“Okay, so?” You said with a poor attempt at nonchalance.

“You were all over guys like that when we were kids. Paul ended up being the black sheep of the bunch.” Kara reminded you with a laugh, Evelyn and Nikki joining in with their own drunken giggles.

“Yeah, we were convinced you’d marry a felon with tattoos and not a real estate broker who wore khakis.” Nikki quipped, causing another round of laughter and snorts.

“Okay, okay...I get it. So I had a type. I think I’ve grown out of it.” You cut in, sounding as if you were trying to convince them as much as yourself.

“Not if the hottie at the bar has anything to say about it.” Evelyn joked with a wink.

You shook your head as you took another sip of your drink, unwilling to let them see you flustered. Or that they were in fact correct. You definitely still had a thing for bad boys...bad men to be more specific.

The evening had been going smoothly so far. It was a rare girl’s night out. An event that happened only once every five years when kids were shuttled off to babysitters or their fathers, and the women were able to enjoy an adult meal with adult beverages. Schedules between four busy women didn’t often align so when they did, you all jumped at the chance to indulge in the nightlife you’d left behind in your younger years.

You’d been the one to suggest the bar. It was a swanky, sophisticated space with an air of youth. The perfect mix for your outing. You’d been here only one other time.

With Rio.

Thinking of the man made heat pool low in your stomach, despite your lingering frustrations. It’d been two months since that shit show of a night at your house. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. After that debacle, you blocked his number. As childish as it may have been, you were angry. Still were. And rightfully so. He’d been a complete dick. He’d chosen the most inopportune moment to make adjustments to your arrangement. He’d been careless in his deliverance, harsh even. The entire exchange had you questioning everything. And instead of analyzing the situation and communicating like adults, you’d decided to stop all interactions with him. You’d wanted to send a message. Just as he had with you.

After the argument, you’d been an anxious mess in the days leading up to the next drop. But it was all for nothing because Rio wasn’t there. And neither was the new contact he’d told you about. Instead, Mick was waiting for you and offering up no other information. And it’d been that way for two long months.

In the days since, your mind wandered to Rio often. Your body lingered on his phantom presence constantly. You replayed the conversation you’d had a million times over and each time it made deep fury spill over and mix with the lust still raging like white water rapids through your veins. You missed his touch. Missed his desire for you. Missed the way he made you feel, so supremely sexual and wanton. All things you’d been lacking in your marriage. And now they were suddenly hitting you square in the face and begging you to pay attention. Begging you to not lose the source of your sudden awakening.

You missed the toxicity of your interactions. You were two twisted souls fighting for control over a situation that belonged to neither of you. And in truth, the basis of your relationship with Rio was denial and attraction. It would continue to thrive on that as long as you both refused the obvious.

So maybe, just maybe you’d come to the bar in hopes of seeing him in order to test that theory. It was a slim chance he’d even be here, but you were just buzzed enough that you were willing to roll the dice and find out. Plus, your desire for him felt like an extension of your body at this point. You had to satiate it. Had to feed the raw passion that grew stronger each day without him. It demanded it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. But your own hand didn’t ignite your body the same way his did, asshole or not.

“I’ll be back.” You called over the music, gesturing to the darkened hallway that predictably led to the bathrooms. Your friends nodded and went back to flirting with the handsome blue-eyed waiter.

You shot a meaningful glance in the direction of the bar. To the “hot stranger”. Whether or not he’d take the hint was on him.

You made it to the single-use bathroom easily. It wasn’t late enough for it to be crowded with the surge of a Saturday night crowd, but the place was still busy. You set your purse down on the sleek surface of the sink counter, admiring the emerald green tiles that paved the walls. The fixtures were brass and gleamed in the light of the vanity bulbs. It was a beautiful space. Carefully crafted for a magazine like Architectural Digest.

Your eyes swept over your reflection in the large mirror that sat over the sink. You made sure not a lash was out of place as you surveyed your appearance. You adjusted the low neckline of your yellow dress, the hue radiating more gold than you’d initially noticed. The silk material felt cool against your heated skin, the slit in the skirt offering some relief. The long sleeves of the garment added a sleekness to the otherwise risqué ensemble. You’d never worn the dress. But tonight seemed as good a time as any to debut it.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open made you pause, eyes watching in the mirror for who entered. You wondered if it’d be him. Wondered if he ended up following you like you’d hoped.

Your stomach knotted when Rio stepped in, closing the door and locking it with a resounding click. He was stoic. Shrouded in black and looking every bit as menacing as he truly was. A sight for your sore eyes.

You turned to face him, your chest both tightening and expanding at seeing him in the flesh. He made your heart stutter and your spine tingle, yet irritation slowly seeped into your pores, reminding you of the last interaction you’d had with him. It was a clash of sensations and feelings. It was utter chaos. And it's what you’d been missing.

Silence hung in the air as his gaze roamed your figure, appraising you hungrily. You shivered, careful to hide the gesture from his intense stare. You schooled your features and angled your chin up in confidence that you weren’t entirely sure you felt. But you weren’t going to budge. You were going to make him come to you.

He was leaning up against the door, a barely there smirk adorning his lips. His scent began to eclipse the smell of vanilla soap that permeated the air. Your eyes wanted to roll back at the familiarity of it. It was soothing. A comfort to your deprived senses.

“You miss me, mama?”

That deep rasp made your panties soak immediately. It was a question he’d asked you many times in the past, but you’d never felt it as much as you did now. Because yeah, you did fucking miss him.

You stayed silent.

He chucked at your refusal to answer. “Still mad at me?”

Again you said nothing.

He licked his lips, eyeing yours as he did. “I tried calling.”

“I blocked your number.” You finally responded, voice icy and detached.

“Damn, that’s cold.” He said with an amused shake of his head and a laugh, the sound making your nipples harden in traitorous lust.

“Why? Did you need something?” You questioned coolly, crossing your arms over your chest to hide your mounting arousal. Your thighs rubbed together, beginning to slid against each other as your arousal made itself known.

He stepped forward, heading in your direction with intent. You straightened your back, unwilling to let him get the upper hand on you. You knew what was going to happen. Knew where this was headed. So why not use it to your advantage? Why not toy with him for a change? He deserved it. 

You used the added height of your heels and eased yourself onto the countertop, parting your thighs slightly so that your dress fell between them. You leaned back on your hands, the chill of the marble countertop beneath you reminding you so much of that day in your kitchen.

Rio’s steps halted momentarily as he watched you, eyes zeroed in on the juncture between your thighs that was hidden behind the silk. Your pussy practically begged for his attention. Dared him to see your need through the fabric that shielded you.

You were still upset with him. Still displeased with the way he’d chosen to handle the situation and you. But more than anything you wanted him to succumb to you. You wanted to feel that thrill of having him at your mercy. So powerful, yet so fragile in the midst of his bliss. You wanted...no, needed him to wave his white flag first.

“Tell me then,” You began, slowly easing the hem of your dress up as you spoke. “Business or personal?” You questioned, wanting to know if he’d be truthful about why he’d tried to contact you.

He resumed his path towards you with a dangerous lick of his lips, but his gaze never faltered as it took in every new stretch of skin that was revealed. He tried to reach out and touch you, but you raised a heeled foot to his abdomen and stopped him, keeping him at a distance.

“Answer me.” You breathily demanded.

His face registered your words while his eyes took in the stretch of leg that kept him away. You eased the limb back down and waited for him to comply.

He decided to play along.

“Business.”

He continued walking when you didn’t stop him, standing between your legs and trailing his fingertips along the inside of them. His movements shifted your dress up even higher onto your thighs. The sensation would’ve tickled if you weren’t already deliriously turned on.

“Liar.” You accused, already feeling his warmth radiate onto you as he edged closer. His breath mingled with yours, mint and whiskey assaulting your nose.

“So are you.” He retorted, eyes planted firmly on your parted lips. He moved in until you were sure he could do nothing else but touch his mouth to yours. And yet you still weren’t going to meet him.

“So we’re both liars?” You asked, arching a brow up at him.

“Yeah.” He nodded and swallowed, the tattoo splashed across his throat pulling your focus. You fell captive to his spell as you got lost in memories of licking and sucking the inked flesh, remembering the way he tasted on your tongue. The recollection caused your legs to widen and your back to arch into him, pushing your chest against his. God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly that your pussy clenched around nothing, as if feeling him already deep inside you. It was a silent call to a lover. One he would never hear. But he’d feel it soon enough.

Your clit throbbed against your lace panties, aching to be assaulted by his talented fingers. With him so close you could feel just how badly you needed him inside you. It felt wrong for him not to be. Felt wrong to not have him share a pulse with you when he was this near. You were going to remedy that.

“Well then,” You whispered, leaning forward to hover over his lips. “I don’t want you to fuck me in this bathroom.”

His hands glided up your thighs while his nose skimmed along your cheek. His breath was hot against your ear as he maneuvered himself so that barely a sliver of air was left between you.

“So I won’t.” He lied in return, the words coating you like his cum had done numerous times before.

In an instant your lips were being pulled to his. His hands were suddenly everywhere and all at once, seeking out your flesh in desperation. It pleased you to know just how badly he needed you. How badly he craved you.

He slid you closer to him, letting your lace-covered lower half come into contact with his crotch. Ragged breaths and low hums filtered through the air as your bodies grinded against each other, seeking firm hands. You could feel him pressed against the zipper of his dark pants. He was hard. The notion made you moan into his mouth, scraping your nails over his scalp.

It was just like riding a bike. Except there was an added layer of intensity this time that hadn’t been there before. His touch burned hotter than usual. Your grew cunt wetter with every pass of his tongue along yours. They weren’t new sensations, but they felt different. Indescribable. Perhaps it was the public sex. Perhaps it was the underlying tension. Either way, it was remarkably explosive.

You pulled away from his insistent lips to take in air. He continued on, mouth moving over your neck and across your exposed cleavage. He nipped at the flesh, his lips sensuously soothing the area as he explored. You pushed into him in invitation, widening your legs so that he could press harder into you.

You waited for him to take the next step. Waited for him to escalate the moment into more than just heavy-petting and sloppy kisses. His hands, as if reading your mind, traveled up the skirt of your dress and found the edge of your panties. There was no hesitation or teasing in his movements as he roughly pulled them off, the elastic popping against your skin and making you cry out.

Rio licked at your neck in apology, his own hands now moving to his belt. You shifted closer to the ledge of the counter and followed the trail of heat that led to his pulsing cock. His flesh bumped against you, the feel of him hot and heavy along your soaked slit making you whimper.

Your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt as he pushed forward and sheathed himself inside of you in one hard thrust. You gasped and tightened your legs around him, your right hand in search of something solid. It landed on the mirror behind you, your palm sticking to its cool surface as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

His facial hair scratched at your skin as he buried himself into your neck. He held your hips steady as he retreated and then plunged back into your welcoming walls, stretching you with a burn that made you hiss. Your pussy massaged his length with fervor, seducing him further inside and begging him to claim you once again.

You reached for anything you could to stabilize yourself as he fucked you into the reflective glass at your back. Moans and groans intertwined as your bodies rocked against each other. The soap dispenser fell into the sink with a loud clatter as you accidentally made contact with it. The stack of towels folded neatly near the faucet became disheveled as your ass knocked them out of place with the momentum from Rio’s cock. The entire vanity shook with each intensely thorough thrust of his hips into your womb. It was animalistic. The very epitome of what bathroom  sex in a bar should be.

No words were said. None were needed. Your actions led the conversation.

You squeezed your inner muscles around him, daring him to surrender before you. He twitched, his hips stuttering at the feel of you so tight and wet around him. He growled into your ear, a sure sign that he loved the gesture a little too much.

So you did it again.

“Stop that shit.” He grunted, hips picking up their pace.

“Cum.” You whispered in response, the demand disguised as a request.

“Fuck…” He groaned when you held him to you and clenched around him once more. You trapped him, giving him no choice but to experience your deliberate enticement. His fingers dug into your thighs almost painfully so, forcing you to wince.

He was close.

You reached between your bodies and massaged your clit, feeling your pussy react immediately. Sporadic tremors vibrated your walls and his cock, making both of you moan. Rio’s palm slammed into the mirror at your back as he rutted his hips harder into yours. He was rough and unforgiving, the aggression heightened by your disobedience. It had never quite been like this. There had always been a touch of softness, a soothing placation or word of encouragement. Not tonight. Not as he fucked you so hard you were sure the mirror was going to crack and rain down luminescent crystals of glass over you both.

You showed no mercy as you forced him to submit to you and your body. The precipice was there. It was within reach. You could feel that tightly wound coil ready to unravel. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Your mind was a prisoner to your pleasure. You thought of nothing but the sweet release that you knew was waiting for you. And it was. It was waiting for you with open arms as Rio finally came, triggering your own climax as he filled you so deliciously full of himself. His entire body tensed within you as he held you firm and painted your shuttering walls.

The familiar sensation only added to your high as your limbs tensed and loosened with each wave of euphoria that washed over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and catapulted through space as your body struggled to ground itself once again. Rio had gone rigid, letting you ride out your orgasm in peace as you suffocated his cock. His cum was already leaking from your walls before you’d even finished, a trail of him decorating your swollen pussy.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him staring back at you, his lips pulled into a lazy smirk. You mirrored his expression, releasing a breathless chuckle. Your body still hummed in excitement, but this time it was punctuated by the deep satisfaction that radiated from between your thighs.

“You good?” You teased, hands resting on his chest and feeling the rapid beats of his heart beginning to slow.

He laughed, the sound low and tinged with fatigue. “Yeah.”

He licked his lips and took in your disheveled state, gaze catching a glimpse of the lace bra you wore underneath.

“Let me drive you home.” He said suddenly, his arrogance alive and well.

It was on the tip of your tongue to deny him, but you chose not to.

“Sure.”

**********

The car ride was silent.

After your impromptu coupling in the bathroom, you’d made up an excuse about not feeling well to your friends and explained you’d already called an Uber. They were hesitant to let you leave alone, but somehow you’d persuaded them to stay and not follow you. You were sure the alcohol they’d consumed had something to do with it.

With hugs and promises of texts that everyone made it home safe at the end of the night, you departed from the bar with Rio in his Mercedes. He’d been driving for about ten minutes, the air not as tense as it’d once been. He seemed content to let the quiet linger, but you weren’t.

“What happened to the new guy?” You asked, glimpsing his face to gauge his reaction. It was dark in the vehicle, but you could still make out his silhouette amongst the various street lights.

He furrowed his brow and pouted his lips, confusion reading easily across his features.

“What new guy?”

“My new contact. The one I was supposed to have.”

“Didn’t work out. Mick has it handled.” He replied simply, gaze still trained on the road in front of him.

“Okay.” You said with a nod, the dryness in your tone letting him know you didn’t quite believe him.

He wordlessly turned onto your street and came to a stop alongside your driveway, putting the SUV in park. He angled his body to face you, trapping you in his stare.

“It was never about you.”

The question must’ve shown on your face because he continued.

“The switch. It wasn’t about you.”

“Wasn’t very convincing.” You deadpanned, scoffing as you played with the zipper of your clutch.

He didn’t react right away. Instead, he watched you. Watched you in that way that let you know his thoughts were as impure as the counterfeit money he produced.

“You look good in that dress.” He complimented, chin jutting out and gesturing to the fabric that adorned your body.

His praise made warmth bloom in your chest. The kind of warmth that was usually accompanied by butterflies in your stomach.

“Thanks.” You replied evenly, not letting him see just what his words did to you. Though you had a feeling he did, despite not bearing witness to it outright.

“Better without it.” He added with a slide of his wicked tongue across his bottom lip, his teeth following. The action was purposeful. Erotic. Blatant. It was all Rio.

You didn’t respond to his flirting. You only sighed, mirroring his position as you resigned yourself to have an honest conversation with the man.

“So,” You started, forcing your fingers to still. “What is it that you want?”

He eyed you for a long moment. Long enough that you started to feel self-conscious.

“You.”

You nodded, disappointed but not shocked by his reply. The word wasn’t new. Though it was lacking the hollow cockiness that usually accompanied it.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke up before you could.

“In whatever way you’ll let me have you.” He admitted.

The statement caught you off guard. He wasn’t trying to be cute or charming. He wasn’t being placating or condescending. He was being serious, the hardened intensity in his dark orbs softening to a tender resignation that you were sure matched yours.

“What about you? What do you want?” He repeated back to you, eyes narrowing as he waited.

You took a moment to observe him. Your eyes followed the arch of his brows and the sharp jut of his cheekbones. You studied the pout of his lower lip and his Adam's apple as it bobbed with his throat muscles. He was so many things to you. None of which you could put into words. You didn’t think a word had even been invented yet. It didn’t matter. You were both making your own rules. And it seemed, for once, that the both of you were on the same page and playing by the same rules.

“I want you to have me.” You confessed, meeting his gaze.

And there it was. He was resigned to having you in limited capacity. You were resigned to finally letting him have you. Two conclusions coming together at the same moment. You weren’t quite sure what that meant for you both, but it was a start. 

“Goodnight.” You whispered into the darkened cab, a small smile pulling at your lips.

You didn’t wait for him to react. You turned and opened the door, exiting the vehicle. He didn’t try to stop you. You rounded the front of the car, hearing the driver’s side window slide down.

“So I’ll see you next week?” Rio asked out the open window, chin resting in his hand.

“At the drop?”

He nodded.

You shook your head and laughed, though there was no real humor behind it.

“You wanna tell me again it wasn’t about me?” You challenged, a wide grin decorating your face.

He could deny it. He would probably try. But you knew the truth. And that was enough.

For now.

“Night.” He called, an amused upturn of his lips showing in the light of the full moon.

He turned to the street, starting the car as you walked up your driveway. His eyes followed you the whole way, ensuring you made it in safely.

You heard him drive away once you shut and locked the front door, your lungs releasing a long breath. You pulled out your cell phone and went to your blocked caller list. You selected Rio’s number and unblocked the listing, adrenaline releasing into your bloodstream as you did.

Almost immediately your screen lit up with a text.

Same time and place tomorrow?

You bit your lip, feelings akin to teenage infatuation bubbling to the surface. You hastily typed a response.

See you there.

The message was read immediately. 

Rio Tags:

@tomhardydallasstarsgirl​

[artsyhobi]

Cursed

Divine Gods!BTS x reader

series masterlist

Chapter one, Calico Cat.

characters: mortal!fem!reader, god of the moon!park jimin, god of the sun!jung hoseok, god of death and darkness!min yoongi, god of the four elements!kim namjoon, god of time!kim seokjin, god of nature and life!jeon jungkook, god of mischief!kim taehyung.

a/n: hello ! i hope you enjoy this first chapter, i actually took inspo from Goblin (which is a kdrama i absolutely loved ;;) and i'm sorry in advance for my poor writing, but english is not my first language ...

trigger warning: mentions of blood, violence and death, curse words.

tag-list: @greezenini, @fangirl125reader, @motherofbludgers

Min Yoongi sat on the throne, his legs elegantly crossed as he rested his forearms on the armrest. He slightly raised his left arm so that the tip of his index finger could lightly brush against his lower lip, his eyebrows mildly furrowed in a focused expression.

The black-haired man continued playing with his lip, then reached for something in the pocket of his silk pants and held the object in the palm of his hand: it was a vintage pocket watch entirely made out of gold, with a ruby located right at its center. The hands of the watch moved mechanically, producing a “tic” sound that resonated in his mind like an irritating echo.

Yoongi hated time. What was ironic, though, is that he had too much of it: he had an Eternity.

Yoongi glared at the antique object once more. A satisfied smirk appeared on the corner of his lips, depicting anything but an innocent smile. He stood up, adjusting his coat and grabbing his black bowler hat in a swift movement before taking some steps forward: as he walked, the dark throne room surrounding him became gradually more distant and, in a matter of seconds, the man was walking in the busy and snowy streets of Seoul. The snow crunched under the soles of his shoes, the snowflakes that landed on his coat immediately melted, and as he passed by, nobody seemed to notice his presence.

The street was crowded with people rushing to purchase the last Christmas presents, couples holding hands, and kids eating strawberry cotton candy. Disgusting, thought Yoongi as he curled his nose.

“One minute and thirty-three seconds.” He murmured to himself, turning into a deserted alley after checking the correct street name on a brick wall nearby. As he walked, the bright white snow became dirtier until there were just a few clusters of it on the side of the path. It started snowing heavier.

“Fifty-eight seconds.”

“I told you there were consequences!” A hoarse male voice shouted in the distance. Yoongi stopped hands into the pockets of his coat. “You’re a worthless bitch!”

There was a loud bang, followed by two others, and a feeble female voice asking for help. No one could hear her, and even if her cries reached someone’s ears, no one would help her since - according to Min Yoongi - humans were nothing but greedy mortal souls that enjoyed the sufferings of others. They were too occupied with spending their money on materialistic goods and developing toxic, violent, and possessive relationships. They were human beings but had no humanity left in their hearts.

He approached the poor woman laying on the ground, her hand resting on her stomach: blood was gushing out of her bullet wounds, dripping down in a pool of crimson absorbed by the snow. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered the same words over and over again, “Help me”.

He crouched down beside her and tilted his head, observing her like a detective inspected a victim. He knew that her time was up and that she was destined to die there, alone, desperately waiting for someone to find her.

“S-Sir…” She mumbled, some blood running down from the corner of her mouth. “P-please help me…” Her hand desperately clutched the hem of his coat, smearing it with her blood.

Yoongi sharply exhaled and rolled his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“Fancy seeing you follow me everywhere I go, Jungkook.” He stated, reluctantly standing up to face a man leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed.

“Did you miss me?” Jungkook grinned.

He seemed almost like an angel since the clothes he wore were entirely white. His blond hair brushed against his shoulders, and a pair of long crystal earrings hung from his ears, sparkling as soon as they moved. Yoongi, on the contrary, was his polar opposite: his short wavy locks were as black as pitch, and although his eyes were a dull brown, they almost felt like looking into two holes, black as a night without stars.

“Seokjin sent me here to stop you from reaping her soul,” he affirmed, playing with the many rings he wore on his fingers, “It’s not her time yet.”

Yoongi scoffed, slightly amused at his statement. “Don’t you see the three holes on her stomach… Or do you need a magnifying glass? I am the one who decides if she dies today, not that Doctor Strange wannabe.” He took some steps toward him until his face was a few inches away from his, “I don’t take orders from a teenager.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, the slight grin disappeared. “These are not my orders but his, and you know you must obey him.” He lightly shoved Yoongi’s shoulder without interrupting eye contact with him, trying to remain calm. He kneeled beside the woman and caressed her hair, a sad smile depicted on his pink lips, while Yoongi stared angrily at the two.

“Don’t even think about it, Jungkook, her soul is already mine.” He said through gritted teeth.

“It is, you’re right.” The blond whispered and delicately put his hand on the woman’s chest. “But not now, Yoongi, you will have to wait.”

“Wait!?” Yoongi exclaimed in disbelief, and then frantically ran a hand through his black locks, “This has to be a joke, is Taehyung with you?”

“He is not,” He responded as a gleam of light formed under the palm of his hand, turning brighter by the second, “I haven’t seen him in ages.” This time his tone was lower, and his expression had darkened. Yoongi nodded, having no interest in knowing what had happened between the two friends.

“I suppose you won’t tell me why Seokjin wants to spare her life.”

“He just told me to stop you, nothing more.”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lies,” he snarled, “you are his little obedient puppy, Jungkook, we all know it.”

Jungkook inhaled the sharp, cold air and smiled as the woman opened her dark eyes. “I’m not here to fight, Yoongi, so you can insult me how much you want.” The blond took the now conscious woman into his arms and glared directly at his former friend. “But nothing will change the fact that you’re on your own now.”

Yoongi turned around, ready to argue back, but there was no trace of Jungkook.

The black-haired man remained still as he watched the empty spot, sighing, a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach.

20 years later

“Chung-Ae, we’ve already talked about this!” You groaned in annoyance, sinking your face into your Pikachu plushie. “I’m happy here!”

Chung-Ae sat on the counter, her arms supporting her as she gave you a stern look. You peeked, escaping the protection of your plushie, noticing that she wore purple lenses - although her stare was as scary as it had always been -.

“You’re a twenty-two-year-old living in an old house, with your three cats, and working in a cat-café.” She emphasized the “and” as if working in such a wonderful place was something to be ashamed of.

“That’s the best life!” You exclaimed as you sat comfortably on your sofa. “I mean, why would I need to move to Seul with a bunch of horny people when I could just spend the rest of my life in peace?”

Chung-Ae sighed loudly.

“They’re not just a bunch of horny people. They are my friends.”

You parted your lips to respond, wanting to remind her about the last party you both had attended, but she cut you off.

“Y/N, you live alone in such an abandoned area, it’s dangerous; it even takes you more than an hour to reach the café.” She slid down from the counter and sat next to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, I know that you’re attached to this place, but it doesn’t work for you anymore.”

She was right, you loved that place. Your grandparent’s house was located in the countryside, in a small rural village that was scarcely populated. The few young people remaining had started moving to bigger cities such as Seul or Busan, but not you. You adored waking up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning and the gurgling of the river. You got used to being alone, and you didn’t mind it. You couldn’t understand why Chung-Ae tried to force you to move with her, but she was rather determined, and you knew she was going to insist.

“Chung-Ae,” you reached for her hand and squeezed it delicately, a small smile forming on your lips. “You know I can’t leave, I promised my mother I would take care of this house.”

“You have to stop living in the past, Y/N.” She firmly stated. “This house is falling apart, and so is your life. Moving to Seul with me is your best option.”

Her eyes stared into yours for a few seconds, and you felt unreasonably guilty. You knew how much she cared about you, and you were constantly giving her “no” as answers. She retracted her hand, reaching for her purse right beside her, before standing up. “You still have time to think about it. You know that, right?” Her hand was on the doorknob.

Your mind wanted to decline her offer, but your heart told you otherwise, so you just nodded.

“Take care, Y/N.” And with that, she closed the door behind her, leaving you alone once again.

You finally took a deep breath running your palms down your face in an exasperated manner. Chung-Ae was your childhood friend, and she had always been by your side. You had met her in elementary school: she was popular amongst your class since her father was a renowned lawyer who worked for big celebrities, but you - on the other hand - weren’t as popular. You weren’t a social butterfly and preferred spending your time playing with the stray cats in your neighborhood.

You stood up and walked toward the kitchen, deciding to make yourself a homemade chicken noodle soup. You put the ingredients on the counter and started to chop the carrots into strings. As you were about to grab something, you heard a strange noise coming from outside: you reminisced Chung-Ae’s words and felt a shiver run through your spine, but you shook your head, mentally reassuring yourself that it must have been a wild animal.

You grabbed the celery from the fridge, deciding that you would drink some strawberry milk while waiting for the soup to cook. However, when you closed it, you were taken aback by a calico cat sitting on the floor, right in front of you. Your eyes were wide open in surprise since your three cats were all black, and you crouched down. “Hello, little one,” you gently smiled as you observed the little creature staring at you with a pair of light blue eyes, “I wonder how you got in…”

You inspected the room looking for any open windows but soon discovered you had closed everything. When you turned your gaze back to the cat, it was gone. Puzzled, you stood back up, massaging your temples. Am I hallucinating? You asked yourself before resuming your dish.

After literally devouring your delicious meal and doing the dishes, you headed to your room, where you found the windows wide open. You didn’t remember leaving them like that, but you also didn’t mind the fresh breeze coming from outside. It was a quiet night of July, and the moon was shining vividly in the sky, its brightness being the only source of light in the room. As you approached your bed, you couldn’t help but notice the shape of a cat on the window ledge, but when you came near, it had mysteriously vanished.

"Okay, Y/N, you're probably tired." You told yourself while sitting on the bed. As you laid down, feeling the freshness of your newly washed sheets, you heard another sound and then a chorus of meows coming from the living room. You sighed, reluctantly standing up, wearing a hoodie before walking down the stairs.

"What is it, guys, did you hurt yourselves?" You asked as your three black cats, Luna, Mars, and Pluto, continued meowing toward the front door. You groaned, "Alright, I will check."

You weren't ready for what you were about to see: you expected nothing but pitch darkness or that calico cat that was apparently haunting you now. But as you opened the wooden door, you froze on the spot at the sight of a man leaning his arm on the doorframe.

Because of the darkness, you could only see his silver hair reflecting the moonlight and a pair of light blue eyes staring at you in curiosity.

"Hello, little one."