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like they updated everyone’s bios in october of last year and imo just saying kuukou speaks vulgar as hell and doesn’t act at all like a monk does plenty to show he’s got an attitude problem in his old bio so why change it to something that can be transliterated as ‘violent criminal behaviour towards others’ if you weren’t about to focus on it 😭😭😭😭😭😭
#vee queued to fill the void#like idk lol!!!! kuukou is still a very violent baby lol but the violence has shifted from his middle school days to his nb/current era day#like he’s always smacked around people doing wrong lmao but there’s a difference between him beating someone senseless#while spitting the coldest bar ‘he begged you to stop but did you??’ to get him to see the error of his ways#versus chasing some hooligans down the street and threatening them with his training in order to get them to change lol#or even the rhyme anima way where he beat them up and then sat down with them to get them to change#like jyushi and hitoya are the forefront of bat’s stories dealing with bullying since bullying got people they loved killed#but what about kuukou???? kuukou with his first story about saving a kid from being bullied????#where kuukou sees the signs of bullying and looks a little uncomfortable to see it????#where kuukou solemnly stops ren from jumping off the building and brings up human sacrifice a little later?????#where he swears to help ren and tells him he needs to live his life without regrets and giving the most complicated smile i have ever seen#the very dark smiles in the fight whenever he chided them for their weaknesses#and the monstrous expression on his face when the bully tried to get him to stop ITS JUST—#it’s just kuukou’s gotta have a relationship with bullying as well 😭😭😭😭😭#there was a time in arb when jyushi lied to kuukou and i think it’s relevant to this particular thought but tbc lol
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Ngl, I honestly think that Jake Sully shouldn't make it to the end of the franchise.
Like...I understand WHY he's there but now we're out of the "audience needs to be shown all the things and introduced to them like babies" because now we have like...4+ of those types of characters now. We don't need the "white guy veteran" to lead a resistance forever.
I think his death could be REALLY neat for the story. Like...he's "the hero" and "the protector" so what do you do when that person dies? Someone else steps up to take his place, or MULTIPLE people do. It would also change the story from the antagonist standpoint. No more "we need to hunt Jake Sully because he is the leader of the resistance" and more focus on the pure and actual devastation that the invading colonial force is doing and how that impacts ALL the people being invaded.
Jake Sully as a vehicle for the audience isn't needed anymore. And his death could open SIGNIFICANTLY more impactful storylines than the one that leaving him alive leaves us with.
This is just my little rambling. I may add to it...
#protect the people#Mrs. Sully#avatar#avatar 2#avatar the way of water#jake sully#just some random thoughts#but i do genuinely think Jakes death would have more impact than his continued living in the story#like...we've already seen Neyteri is ready AND WILLING to fight#she is strong and capable#she felt sidelined as a character in this second movie and i think bringing her to the forefront would help TREMENDOUSLY#idk i just love the implications of her having to step forward as a leader#she would be fighting against the people who took her sister her father (now) her mate AND HER SON#we already saw what losing her first born son did to her now imagine all of it coming to a point#i could see her channeling her father's words#extending it to not just her own clan but to ALL the Na'vi#ALL of the clans#she and her children will never be rid of the scars that the sky people would leave them with but they would fight so furiously#GOSH if i was better at writting i would make this SO FAST#like...i want Neyteri to become the forefront#i want the colonel to say to her after he's dead and she just responds with how that isn't her name#that she had lost her life partner and she was going to make him pay for that#and then she does#maybe she doesn't kill him THEN but she should be the one who kills him again#ugh i want that so bad#she deserves more love
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We don't really ship SpookyGhost as much anymore (P.I.E Found Family has my heart) but it's still honestly kinda cute
#rambles#taleblr#i wll say thag spooker is one of those characters that got s havy redo w/ us#his story takes the sad elements already there w/ him in canon and brings them more to the forefront#bes a tragic character and k adore him
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I officially have a problem....
A clip-on earring problem! I can't stop buying them, especially since I've found a brand that has these really great clips that look so much like "real" pierced earrings and they have some really fantastic statement earrings. I have to figure out where I can buy the clips on their own because I just inherited my Mom's *extensive* jewelry collection (I come by my jewelry magpie tendencies AND my taste in jewelry honestly). But, I picked out a few earrings tonight that I know will go well with a few of Mom's necklaces that I especially love so I can start wearing them together now.
#I miss my Mommy#But I'm finding that when I'm wearing a piece of her jewelry#I think about the story of how she got it#Or times I remember her wearing it#Or I remember giving it to her as a present - especially around her birthday which was right after the Gem and Mineral Club's annual show#And I appreciate being able to bring those positive memories to the forefront#Just by wearing a necklace#Especially because I'm really dreading Christmas#Both because its our first Christmas without her#But also because I'm spending it with my in-laws - which means I'll just be spending the entire holiday chasing after a toddler#I know my in-laws will understand though#If I'm not exactly in the most festive spirit
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hmmm so the payoff on the arval storyline is. disappointing.
#feli speaks#just finished azure gleam babeyy#and i liked it! it was good#ironically i felt i understand more now of three houses than i did playing three houses#it's good at like. bringing background lore to the forefront or whatever#but three houses (at least blue lions) had a more emotional story#and both has its pros and cons#but the lategame arval stuff was. disappointing. was that seriously the resolution?#after you kill epimenides i honestly expected arval to show up again at some point but nah#they just turn on you and then you kill them. ok
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THIRTEEN OR SO MINUTES (2008)
Written and Directed By: William Branden Blinn
Synopsis: Two straight identifying men meet in a bar and become fast friends but can't believe how the night ends when their sudden attraction leads to...
Starring:
NICK SOPER (as Lawrence)
&
CARLOS F. SALAS (as Hugh)
#KISSABLE LIPS#DESIRE'S LURE#VOLUME 2#GAY MOVIE EDITION#SHORT FILM#STRAIGHT MEN AND THE MEN WHO LOVE THEM#ICONIC WRITER AND DIRECTOR#BRANDEN BLINN IS AMAZING#BRINGING GAY STORIES TO THE FOREFRONT#BL-BAM-BEYOND FAMILY OF BLOGS#My GIFS#MYGIFSET#MY-GIF-EDIT
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i know haymitch’s narration seems the most likely, but i think there’s a chance the new book could be from a gamemaker’s perspective, or at least a capitolite involved in the games. perhaps plutarch, who we know suzanne loves, or even caesar, if she wanted to be REALLY on the nose about media manipulation. we know suzanne has SO much experience in media production, and if the focus of the book is the dissemination of propaganda and misinformation, it makes sense to tell the story from the viewpoint of someone engaging with that aspect of the games.
a narrative consideration is that we only got the capitol cut of haymitch’s games, so there’s a decent amount he or other people did that wasn’t seen. snow forcing the gamemakers to navigate that minefield could be a FASCINATING view into a story that we already have quite a lot of detail about. especially if haymitch was snow’s first real in-game test of his authority. if haymitch was the first one to bring spectacle vs punishment to the forefront, it’d be a great way to avoid rehashing the details we already have of his story and providing an entirely different angle for us to understand the way the games work.
#the hunger games#thg#sunrise on the reaping#suzanne collins#haymitch#haymitch abernathy#coriolanus snow#plutarch heavensbee#caesar flickerman
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baby steps | lando norris
pairing: lando norris x wife!reader (plus their adorable lil kiddo)
genre: fluff
warnings: none
word count: 2.5k
summary: Lando needs a little bit of encouragement to head off to his first race after the birth of your daughter, so what better thing to do than surprise him on race day?
note: this fic can be read as a stand alone or as part of the racer girl series !
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When you first showed Lando the two lines on your positive pregnancy test, your entire world had changed. It felt like such a whirlwind of excitement, and before you knew it you were 9 months pregnant watching Lando’s races on television. It was pure luck that your water only broke the day after the season ended, which meant that Lando had a cherished couple of months with your baby girl, Piper, before heading back to racing.
The two of them had become quite the dynamic duo in your household. From the moment that Lando first looked at your daughter, he knew that he was in love. He was an amazing father and you told him exactly that at every moment you could. It was one of the biggest fears that Lando had, being an absent father or not knowing what to do. Before you met Lando he was fully in his bachelor lifestyle, not once even thinking of kids, but now he was the biggest girl dad you’ve ever seen, giving into your daughter’s every whim. It’s exactly why Lando says he wants to give up racing all together once he sees your daughter cry for the first time when he leaves to go to the MTC for the first time since she was born - he would do anything for Piper, he would give up everything he loved if it meant that his little girl would be happy. Luckily, he had you to keep him grounded, and after more than a couple of tearful conversations you had helped Lando make peace with continuing on with his career with you and your daughter there to support him in the background. This was the first week that this was truly going to be tested though, since it was finally time for him to fly to Bahrain.
“Say goodbye to daddy!” you say as you pick up your daughter’s hand to make her wave.
You can see the way the wheels are turning in Lando’s head as he stays frozen in the entryway. He’s not forgetting anything, there’s no way he could with your packing lists that he’s used for every single race since you started dating. Even if he did forget something, he knows he could easily get someone from the team to either shop for him or send it over.
“Y/N I - , I don’t know anymore about this,” Lando mutters with his grip on the door handle loosening.
“Lan, cmon now, I can’t have two babies in this house at once.” you joke as you pinch his cheek. “But seriously, you’re gonna be okay? Just do your best out there. I’m only a phone call away all the time if you need me. You’re going to be great and we’re cheering you on from here. I’ll send you all the pictures and videos and everything so it’ll feel like you’re still with us.”
While Piper can’t talk yet, she still reaches out to Lando to gently pat his shoulder - which only brings more tears to the forefront of Lando’s eyes. He always said his daughter was smart beyond her years, able to sense things even some adults don’t notice.
“What if Piper can’t fall asleep without me reading her story? What if she learns how to walk before I’m gone? Or what if she forgets that I even exist?”
“First off, I have memorized “the Rainbow Fish” perfectly from the 7 different times you taught me it. She’s not going to walk because she’s barely 8 months old. And lastly, she’s not going to forget you Lando, I promise you that. Do you trust me?”
Lando doesn’t miss a beat when he says “always.”
You hand your daughter off to Lando’s arms in exchange for the carry on that’s currently in his hands. You know that all he needs to do is hold her, to remember that feeling of being with her so he can keep that memory with him for the week ahead. You’re not the only one who’s noticed the way that Piper always immediately seems to calm down whenever she’s in her dad’s arms. There was something special between the two of them, something so unbreakable - which is exactly what you tell Lando.
“Plus I think she’s in that phase where she’s starting to like you better, so I could use some alone time with our little bug” you tease as you squish your daughter’s cheeks. When Lando sees you cracking jokes it makes him feel a little more at ease - if you were so comfortable with this then why shouldn’t he be too? With one last hug and kiss, Lando finally walks out the door with a promise to facetime you once he gets to the airport.
Piper starts crying the second she realizes that her dad is really gone, and honestly you shed a few tears too.
“Don’t worry Pipes, we’re going to see daddy sooner than you think,” you whisper to your daughter as you try to soothe her. Little did Lando know that you had a bag packed in your bedroom for you and your daughter to surprise him at the paddock on race day.
—
The expectations were low for Lando in Bahrain, both from the media and from himself. He had been very upfront about having different priorities this summer than just racing, so he had been a write-off in so many people’s minds. That’s what made it even sweeter when Lando saw the checkered flag first in Bahrain, marking the very first time he had ever won at the circuit. It’s no secret that Lando had become more sensitive since he had become a dad, but when he says “This one is for my girls, I love you Y/N and Piper” over the radio, it brings tears to everyone’s eyes.
Lando is already over the moon. He gives a big cheer to the roaring crowd before going to hug the rest of the team. It’s absolutely electric and it really seems like everyone, regardless of whether they are a McLaren fan or not, could appreciate how much this win meant to him.
But the sweetest moment is when he spots you. You’re a little bit off to the side, a couple of security guards standing around you to make sure that nobody would try and trample over you and Piper. Little Piper is wearing a pair of noise canceling McLaren branded headphones on her ears as she hangs out happily in your arms. It’s like she spots her dad at the same time too, since she starts waving her arms in Lando’s direction. Lando immediately stops everything he’s doing to run over to you two. You have a knowing look in your eye, like you were just waiting for him to finally spot you both.
“Oh my god, you’re here.” Lando lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Having you both here makes him finally feel complete, like his heart was finally whole again.
“There’s no way we were going to miss daddy’s first race of the season. Congratulations, babe”
Lando has questions of course - how you managed to pull this off without him noticing, whether Piper gave you trouble on the plane, and so much more. For now, though, he just wants to spend time with you two. He almost forgets that he’s at the race entirely, let alone that he won it until a team member comes up behind him to ask him if he’s ready to do his interview 5 minutes from now.
When Piper reaches over with her little grabby hands for Lando, you of course give into her whims as you pass her over to the sweaty driver. It also gives you a second to pull out your phone and capture the moment for yourself. Piper is playing with the visor on Lando’s helmet, learning a new form of peek a boo that you know that she’s going to want to keep playing when you get home. You’re the one who helps keep Lando on track, giving him one last kiss on his helmet before you tell him to head off towards the hoard of media personnel eagerly awaiting his appearance. When you go to take Piper back from him she refuses to budge, and with both Piper and Lando giving you their classic puppy dog eyes, you know you’re outnumbered.
“Keep her safe, Lan, okay?” It’s a rhetorical question. You know that Lando wouldn’t let anything happen to her - but it’s still a big crowd, the biggest you’ve ever been since you gave birth, and it’s a little scary to not hold onto her here.
You don’t think anyone has ever seen Will Buxton this happy as he pulls Lando aside for his post-race interview.
“I have to say, congratulations on an absolutely brilliant drive from you today, Lando - and would you like to introduce the special guest you’ve brought with you?” Will asks with a grin.
Lando can’t help the similar smile that is etched on his face as he looks at his little girl. “This is my daughter Piper, and she’s just the best thing that has ever happened to me. And I can’t share enough praise for my beautiful wife Y/N too - words can’t describe how much she means to me.I really wouldn’t be standing here in front of you today without her support.” Lando looks back at you with a smile and kisses Piper on the cheek to end off his sentence, but Piper seems to be more interested in the texture of the mic than her dad at the moment.
“What does it mean to you to have this be your first win as a father, Lando?”
“Oh man, this little girl is everything to me - I just want to do my best on the track so that Piper can look back and always be proud to have me as her dad.”
The moment is made extra sweet as Piper tosses and turns in Lando’s hold so that she can cling to him like a koala bear, pulling herself further into Lando’s chest. She is starting to like the microphone just as much as Lando, so she pulls her face right onto it before she says her very first word - “dada”.
At first Lando thinks he’s hallucinating - there’s so many people around and there’s so much noise that he can barely hear himself think. But then Piper says it again and he can’t help but start to cry.
“She -, she- called me dada, oh my god I can’t believe it,” Lando’s in pure disbelief as he stares in awe at his little girl and looks back at you watching in the crowd. For a minute he forgets that there’s a full corral of people watching him until he hears a collective “awww” from the crowd. “Sorry it’s just -, wow, she’s never done that before.” he says sincerely as he wipes the tears from his cheeks.
It’s now Piper’s turn to cry as she gets overwhelmed with all the eyes that are staring at her, pushing the microphone away from her as she buries her head into Lando’s shoulder. She is just a little kid, after all. Lando wraps up the interview as fast as he can, apologizing as he whisks Piper away to try and lift her spirits.
Luckily it’s time to head into the cooldown room, which proves to be the perfect place for Piper to calm down from her outburst. The antics continue there as Lando bounces Piper on her lap, pointing to the TV screen to show her all the highlights.
“Look at daddy about to overtake uncle Charles! And there’s uncle Alex, and uncle George...” Lando continues to retell the story of the last two hours as the other two podium sitters, Max and Oscar, chime in intermittently. Sometimes Piper’s gaze falls to Lando’s new hat instead of the screen, but he’s happy to have her in the room with him to share this moment.
You have to really bargain with Lando to get him to hand Piper back to you so he can head to the podium by himself - it’s only at the rational explanation of not wanting your baby covered in champagne that he finally gives in to reason. Piper loves seeing the celebrations on the podium, adding in some cheers of her own when she sees her dad jumping up and down with joy on the podium. The little girl is addicted to the shine of the Bahrain trophy in the sun and you and Lando both later joke that she likes the piece of metal better than the both of you combined.
It’s no surprise that Piper falls asleep on the car ride home - you do the same next to her as the jet lag catches up to you both. Piper still keeps one hand firmly on the trophy, having barely let it out of her sight since Lando brought it to her. Lando can’t help but feel so lucky as he looks through the rearview mirror at the both of you.
It never gets any easier - leaving. The next weekend Lando heads to the United States and Piper cries the whole day once she notices that he’s packing a suitcase. You’re honest with Lando when you tell him that you’ll see him once he gets back, there’s no way you and Piper would be able to handle all the time changes and long haul flights that would come with going to every race.
You still watch every race though, throwing sleep training to the wind as Piper often stays up at all odd hours to watch with you. There are so many moments where you wish that you could be there with Lando, especially with the season he’s having. As the journalists would say, Lando’s “dad powers” have brought him his best ever start to a Formula 1 season, as he has yet to finish outside the top 3 so far.
“What do you think is going to happen when I don’t come home from a trip with one of those?” Lando jokes as he sees your daughter absolutely enamored with the newest addition to her trophy collection. It’s the Australian GP trophy, which proves to be the perfect vessel for Piper to put her cereal pieces into. The little girl has taken to yelling as her new favorite hobby, and she shows it off every time she squeals with joy when Lando walks through the door after a race.
“I don’t want to find out, so you’ll just have to keep getting podiums, Lan” you joke back as you lean your head onto his shoulder.
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author's note: oh man, this has been sitting in my drafts FOREVER as i tried to perfect it but i really wanted to share it with you all. Thanks for all the love - asks are open if you want to say hello or make a request! Until next time! - Em 🤍
#lando norris#f1 imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#ln4#f1 fluff#f1 fic#formula 1#f1 x reader#lando norris fluff#lando norris x y/n#lando norris imagine#ln4 imagine#f1 fanfic#mclaren f1#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando fluff#formula one#ln4 x reader
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could we get benji with reader and he’s jealous of the braken boys liking you
There was no mistaking the fact that Aeron Bracken had taken somewhat of a liking to you, much to Benjicot’s dismay.
Perhaps it was because you were with him so the brunette was eager to get under his skin by getting close to you? Poison your mind into thinking him as a better choice as he smiled sweetly at you, bringing your hand to his lips all the while keeping his eyes on your every expression.
Regardless of the motive Benji didn’t like it, the Bracken bastard thought himself slick with his honeyed words, but Benjicot could see through Aeron as well one could see through clear glass. The man was brazen with his actions, even more so when he was aware of Benjicot’s presence, and would even glance over at him from time to time to gauge his reaction towards every move he made towards you as though goading him into acting out.
The mousey faced prick brought Benji’s blood to a boil quicker than most but it was made even worse when you were being used to bait him into snapping. Even now as he, Kermit and Oscar came back from training, laughing and joking with one another as they playfully pushed and shoved each other as brothers do despite the ache in their muscles.
‘I bet you’re more than eager to see y/n aren’t you Benji?’ Oscar asked teasingly as he nudged his friend in the side, chuckling at the sight of his friend’s cherry red blush that stretched up towards the tips of his ears. ‘Oh look at him Kermit, our precious little Benji boy is blushing about his spouse, how sweet.’ He adds as Kermit smiled at the sight.
‘Oh you’re right Oscar! The man’s cheeks are about as ripe as freshly picked cherries!’ Kermit exclaims, unfazed when Benjicot smacked him in the chest, if anything it made the Tully want to tease his lovesick friend even more. ‘I bet you thought about them the entire time you were with us, wishing that you’d be where with them, probably under the Weirwood tree trading kisses and words of love.’
‘Oh piss off the pair of you.’ Benji said under his breath as he tried to hide how accurate their words were, he did indeed think of you often when he was away with the lads, growing impatient the longer he was void of your comforting presence. However something must’ve caught his friend’s attention as Oscar and Kermit stopped, looking at something in front of them and just as Benjicot was about to question them, the smile on his face drops. Ahead of them standing far too close to you for his liking was Aeron Bracken, who looked as though he was in the midst of telling you a story that you didn’t believe in the slightest was true.
Benjicot has grown sick and tired of Aeron constantly being near you, it was obviously that the Bracken cunt was intentionally ignoring that you were his, that you were taken and happily so in hopes that he could somehow worm his way between the two of you. Benjicot could feel the fire within his chest become an raging inferno, everything with him burned with the need to pummel the mouse faced Bracken into a pulp, bruised knuckles be damaged if it were to get you away from him.
He had held back for much longer then he intended, so the anger and frustration from the past times that Aeron tried making a move towards you, whether it be by brushing a stray strand of hair from your face or not so subtle glances towards your lips, were resurfacing to the forefront of Benji’s mind as he felt his breath become more ragged and his hands clenched tight until his knuckles were white as bone. The lack of action taken must’ve given Aeron Bracken the impression that he could try to move in on you whenever he was out of reach to do anything about it.
However that was all going to change rather quickly as Benjicot was picking up his pace with Oscar and Kermit struggling to keep up with him, but Benji was seeing red and seething with unbridled anger that only seem to threaten to burn him alive if he didn’t find an outlet soon. ‘Bracken!’ He yells with the anger of a man channeling his entire houses distain as he closes the distance between himself and Aeron, practically all up in his face as Oscar and Kermit stood by your side.
‘Blackwood.’ Aeron said back with equal disdain as he tried to stand tall, hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘Don’t you think you’ve overstayed your welcome?’ Benjicot asked as he made sure you were well and truly hidden behind him from Aeron’s eyes, even going so far as to move in tandem of the brackens dark eyes as they shifted, keeping himself in his line of view and nobody else. ‘For I’m certain my spouse has had their fill of your face to last an entire lifetime, consisting with how often you keep trying to make them see reason by being with you like the conniving cunt that you are.’ Benjicot adds in a low growl.
‘They need someone devoted to them.’ Aeron spat back as he stepped up in Benjicot’s face, ‘not someone who’s fucking off to play knights with his mates.’ The Bracken then gestures to Oscar and Kermit who glared back at him
‘And you think you are?’ Benji asked rhetorically, he wanted to laugh, truly he did as he ran his tongue over his teeth because who the fuck did Aeron think he was to say such pure shit and believe it to be truth? Whether it was taught by his rat of an uncle Benji couldn’t care in the slightest, for it only further proved to him that Brackens would gladly further themselves through lies and altering historical events to better suit their own image in the eyes of greater houses.
‘I know i am, I-‘
‘Stop!’ You exclaimed, pushing both Benji and Aeron away from one another, causing them to look at you in bewilderment. ‘I’ve forced myself for listen for long enough to be now at my wits end.’ You looked to Aeron and crossed your arms over your chest. ‘Aeron, I have made it abundantly clear on multiple occasions that my heart lies with lord Blackwood from now until my last breath, and yet you still persist in chasing something that has no need nor want for you. It makes you look desperate.’ Oscar and Kermit snorted at Aeron’s expense, but were silenced when you looked at them with a stern glare as you looked to Benjicot with a soft expression.
‘Benji,’ you uttered softly as you reached up to hold his face, to which he was quick to melt into, ‘I need you to put more trust in me for I am not someone in constant need of saving, I can hold my own with or without you.’ You tell him and while he wanted to say something, Benji decided against it and let you speak the rest of your mind to him. ‘You hold my heart, is that not enough to reassure you that I’d never look into the eyes of another man when my head is filled with thoughts of you and only you?’ You add as you looked deeply into his stormy eyes that have now became a calm ocean under your touch and words.
Jealously still flowed through him but at a rate of which he could barely feel the influence of the green eyed monster, no more as more as he could the gentle fluttering of a butterflies wings, and yet he felt a sense of guilt settle in his stomach upon realising that you thought that he didn’t trust you in the presence of another man, Bracken or otherwise without feeling a tinge of jealously.
‘I trust you wholeheartedly.’ Benjicot tells you softly as he holds your waist, pulling you in close, completely disregarding everybody else as his eyes remained on yours. ‘And I apologise for ever making you think that I didn’t when I should’ve just said something instead so that doubt would’ve have been able to grow in your heart.’ The young lord then rested his forehead against your own, breathing you in as he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer until you were flushed against his chest. ‘I shall learn to do better by you and for you from this day forth, I swear it upon the old gods and I swear it upon to you, my heart. I may become jealous but that does not reflect my distrust in you but more so in others who seek your heart.’ Benjicot finishes as he looking deeply into your eyes.
You sighed, knowing that you could never truly be angry at Benjicot, not when he looked at you they way he did now, as though you were the only one worth looking at for the rest of his life however long that maybe. ‘This is still up for discussion.’ You told him as you went to bid Aeron farewell, only to see that he had already left in a strope, shrugging your shoulders as you Oscar, Kermit and Benjicot left to head back to Raventree hall; Only to tug Benjicot to stop once Ocar and Kermit were out of earshot to whisper to him, ‘you’re quite handsome when you’re jealous.’ Before pressing a kiss to his lips quickly as you ran to catch up to the Tully brothers with Benjicot following shortly after with a smile on his face.
#hotd imagines#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#hotd#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagines#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon x you#benjicot blackwood#bloody ben x reader#ben blackwood x reader#benjicot blackwood x reader#Benjicot Blackwood imagine#Benjicot Blackwood imagines
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Basement Apartment - Part 1 of 2
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader - 4.8K
+18 ONLY - Minors DNI
Summary - It's 2001, and you've just moved into this new basement apartment. It's not so bad, except for the neighbor directly above your bedroom.
Contains a mean reader (kinda). Both parts have their smutty stuff, but part 2 will go a lot harder. Reader is bisexual. This is kind of an enemies to lovers deal. Sorta. Alcohol. Use of derogatory language against Eddie.
A/N: Thank you @jo-harrington for loving this story, and thank you for editing this at a moment's notice. Love you forever.
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No. No. No. Not again. It’s 2:07 on Wednesday morning, and it’s happening again. You know it’s going to be at least an hour, probably longer, before it’s quiet enough for you to sleep. You know the routine at this point. Different partners, but the play-by-play appears to be the same. You could set your clock by it at this point. You don’t begrudge your neighbor his fun, lord knows you like having a good time, but fucking hell - can he remember he’s in a building with thin walls and neighbors that have to wake up early for work in the morning?
The anger’s been building inside since that first night. Tonight, you’re pushed over the limit. His stamina is impressive. The knock, knock, knocking of the headboard against the outer wall of both of your bedrooms is a familiar sound that alone wouldn’t keep you up. It’s the moaning, the occasional *SLAP* that makes your eyes pop open. An unpleasant surprise scream of, “Daddy!” sets your teeth on edge. You can hear his rhythm falter at the word, and it makes you huff a laugh under your breath. She won’t be coming back tomorrow night. Must not be his thing - you try hard not to think about why you care, and still make the mental note. It’s not your thing either.
Your current thing is getting at least 6 consecutive hours of sleep when you have to wake up at 7:00 am and be able to function in the office. You’re absolutely done and ready to make a scene. It’s been almost a month in your new place, and it’s clear that Mr. Upstairs is not slowing down. Mary, your roomie, has been begging you to be cool, begging you to let it go, but her room isn’t directly beneath a fucking brothel. See, Mary has already met one of the guys in the apartment upstairs, and she’s smitten. “He’s tall, gorgeous green eyes, and his hair. Oh my god, his hair.” Oh, his hair, oh my god. Vomit. If you hear any more about this guy’s hair, you’re going to light it on fire. Plus, what if he’s the one that’s been fucking the entire city’s worth of girls right above your own bed? Mary refuses to believe it.
Your clock reads 3:30 when the noises stop, and you’re able to sleep. Your alarm is set for 6:30, giving you plenty of time to get ready for work and still have time to hike up the stairs and meet the dickhead of a neighbor. You have no idea what you expect him to do about his noise issue, but you’re sure as hell going to give him a piece of your mind. He can get his rocks off in his living room as long as you don’t have to listen to him saying, “oh, fuck. Your pussy is so good, I’m gonna cum,” one more time. It’s the same script with every person he brings home. As you drift off, your brain scrolls through ideas - things you could do to make this man lose enough brain function to be able to form speech.
*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*
You shower. You brush your teeth. You fix your hair. You put on your (warpaint) makeup. You pour your coffee into a travel mug. You pack your briefcase. You feed the cat. You do all of your morning things while seething with anger. You make sure to keep it at the forefront of your mind. The fucking noises. You’re so tired, and your day hasn’t even started yet. You march your ass up the stairs in your heels and wool pencil skirt and knock. Loudly. You kept knocking. You aren’t leaving until you have some satisfaction. You check your watch. Shit. You start pounding.
You hear noises behind the door marked 2A, a grumbling. “Hold on!” An angry shout directed at the person pounding on the door. You. The door jerks open. Grey sweats, bare feet, bare chest, oh god the tattoos, long curly hair, and brown eyes. Not green. Not Mary’s guy. Mr. Brown Eyes is smiling at you, annoyance forgotten. “Good morning, Sweetheart. What can I help you with.”
Oh, no. It’s him. You scoff and frown. Your eyebrows are drawn together while you take in the sight of him in the new context. The grin spread across his full lips infuriates you, his charms are lost on you. Maybe it would work better if you weren’t currently surviving on less than 4 hours of sleep. You can feel heat creeping up your neck and down the line of your jaw.
“Hi, yeah. So, I live downstairs. You can absolutely do me a favor.” You smile at him with teeth, and he thinks his charms are working on you. He’s so wrong. That cocky bullshit never works with you. He returns your wide grin with one of his own. “I’m hoping that in the future you could take a moment to remember the fact that you have a neighbor downstairs that can hear you fucking the night away and keep it down.” His smile fathers - you go in for the kill, “Or at least maybe up your game. I’m getting really fucking tired of hearing the same shit with every girl you bring home.” You drop your voice to imitate his, “Oh, fuck. Your pussy’s so good, I’m gonna cum.”
You take a quick look at your watch while the half naked man in front of you flounders. His chest and neck are flushed red by the time you turn on your heel and stomp towards the back door of the building. You’re going to be late, you add it to the list of reasons to hate that fucking guy. Selfish dick.
You turn back to push open the door and call back, “Thanks so much, Daddy.”
–
The office is quiet when you let yourself in, but it doesn’t fool you. The stack of papers you left Friday afternoon are still waiting for you after you drop your lunch in the fridge and sit down. On cue, the phone rings, and you’re still pulling out a pen and legal pad when you answer it. Fucking Mondays. Everyone needs something from you, and you provide. It’s what you do. You think some day you’ll wake up empty, but it hasn’t happened yet.
You bite back a yawn and take a scalding gulp of the coffee from your Garfield mug. You hiss a little and wonder if there are scars on your esophagus from the acid and burning liquid. The taste of the weak Maxwell House brew is a reminder to get to work. No time to worry about the possible deterioration of your body, you put a rubber thimble on your thumb and get to the stack of mail sitting expectantly on the edge of your desk.
“Morning, Sunshine.” Mr. Misny comes through the door like a hurricane force wind, just like every morning. Even the smile he wears is meant to intimidate, but you know that and let it feed the anger inside. “What’s my morning look like?”
“Carrington and Hodges at 9:15,” you put your hand up to stop the protest you can see rising up your boss’s throat, “it was the only time they could both make it. You’ll have to eat your pastry while you talk about their case. I saved a couple of hours for brief writing before your early afternoon meetings.”
“Well, aren’t you a peach?” Mr. Misny’s comically expressive eyebrows shoot up and his lips curl with a smile that has an edge. “What would I do without you, hm?”
You’d hire someone else for less than they’re worth and condescendingly thank them while never actually respecting the hard work they perform.
“You’d probably be late for every meeting.” You answer coolly. You can’t help but add, “Checks speak louder than words, Tim.”
He laughs at your “joke” and heads into his office, shaking his head all the way. He won’t be laughing when you finally turn in your resignation letter, but that won’t be today. Today you need to do this job that pays measly wages so you can afford your shitty little apartment. Your shitty little apartment where you can only sleep a couple of nights a week because of the son of a bitch that lives upstairs.
But he’s gorgeous. You slam the stapler down on the stack of papers in front of you at the thought. He’s gorgeous, and it only makes you angrier to have that visual frame of reference when you hear his headboard knocking on your shared wall.
—
The day passes in front of you, and it’s not until your wristwatch chirps to remind you that it’s 4:30 that you realize you forgot to eat your lunch. Again. The alarm seems to have awoken your stomach, it growls angrily while you shove half finished work items into the drawers at your side and power down your word processing machine. When you leave your desk, it’s in perfect order, all the clutter is hidden away. Your inbox is empty, your outbox is half full, and your pens are all put away. You were able to spend several hours transcribing today, and your head was pounding from having to listen to your boss’s voice over the headset for so long. Your mood is, as it was this morning, on the very edge of quiet rage. Your car coughs to life, and you think it’s as annoyed as you are today. That seems appropriate.
The drive is easy and quiet, a small blessing, the icy patches on the road are covered with fresh salt that crunches under your tires. You can’t find it in yourself to be grateful for it, your mind too fogged over with hunger and exhaustion. You’re sleeping tonight, and it doesn’t matter if you have to knock your neighbor unconscious to achieve a quiet night.
Your luck runs out when you find the lock to the front of your apartment building frozen, and you lose your balance. You curse your impractical footwear and march angrily, and cautiously, to the back entrance and let yourself in. FInally. You scowl at apartment 1 and make your way down to the darker hallway where the laundry room, and your apartment, are located. There’s a brown paper bag taped to the door just under the number 2. There’s a note attached. You pull it down to read while you fiddle with your keys to unlock the last door between you and your refrigerator.
Pretty Neighbor Lady,
I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe these will help with our little problem. Consider it a gift. Stop by any time, I’d love to see you again.
-Eddie in apartment 2
You don’t even wait until you get inside the apartment before you tear open the bag to see what could possibly be hiding inside. A small cardboard box that contains - are you fucking kidding me - foam earplugs. The same kind your father used to wear when he worked at the warehouse. You write the name “Eddie” at the top of your mental scorecard. “Eddie”, a real piece of work.
—
Merciful silence. That’s the only way to describe the way the rest of the week goes. You don’t hear a sound from the man that lives above you. You almost wonder if he’s unwell, but you’ve caught sight of him in the parking lot a couple of times and he seems perfectly fine. You hadn’t expected it to work, but you’re glad you confronted him when you did.
By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, you’re full of happy thoughts of napping with Henry, your orange tabby, before getting properly wasted and finding someone to pass the time with. It’s been too long, and you deserve this.
Your apartment is dark when you get home, no Mary to be found. Henry has already assumed his nap position in your bed. You scratch behind his ear, and he chirps in response. Sweet boy. The shirt you want to wear out tonight, a red deep v-neck sweater, is on the top of your dirty laundry pile. It’s a sign, so you grab the basket and make your way across the hall to the laundry room. You can sleep once you start a load, you’ll thank yourself later. Last minute, you decide to throw in the outfit you’re wearing, and slip into a tank top and shorts. Ridiculous choice for this time of year, but the basement stays nice and warm - actually uncomfortably warm most of the time - laundry room included.
You’re relieved to find the washer and dryer silent. You count it as a small win until you open the washer and find it full of wet clothes. You’re tempted to throw the clothes onto the counter beside you, but decide against it. No need to make enemies, or any more enemies, in the building. Fine, asshole. I’ll dry your clothes. You’re lucky you have 2 rolls of quarters on you. 50 cents is worth keeping the peace.
What you find in the washer are - 2 pairs of black jeans, several black button ups, a couple of band t-shirts, black boxers, and grey sweatpants. You should have known that this is the kind person he is - leaving his wet boxers in a communal washing machine with no thought about the person that would have to stick their hands in to fish them out. With delicate fingers, you pull out each article of clothing with the tips of your fingers, and you fling them into the open dryer. You’re not aware of the audible grumbling coming from your mouth while you do the unpleasant task.
“Well, howdy neighbor! You’re an absolute sweetheart for switching my laundry for me.” The voice from the entryway makes you jump. You immediately straighten your back and ignore him. You ignore the steps you hear moving, sauntering, towards you, and keep focused on the job at hand. “You should stop by tonight,” he’s much closer now, his low voice and heavy presence at your back, “your roommate’s upstairs with Stevie right now. We could all get to know each other, all friendly neighbors.”
You slam the top of the washing down and spin to face him. He’s directly behind you, close enough to smell him. Cologne - Brut maybe? - cigarette smoke, and faintly of weed. He stands over you like a tower, but you don’t step back. You hold his gaze and wait. You, in your too short shorts and paint speckled tank top wearing an armor of barely suppressed rage. He breaks eye contact to look at you. You watch his eyes widen at the sight of the tattoos. His lips twitch when he sees the barbells poking through the thin fabric of your shirt. All of these things are so well hidden under the blazers and dress pants Monday through Friday.
“I would really like to take you out for a drink,” Eddie’s eyes are locked on yours again, only this time he seems to have shrunk down a little. He seems smaller than he did just a moment ago. It stirs a strange feeling in your stomach that you ignore.
“Thanks so much for the offer, neighbor, but I have plans tonight. Please, get your shit out of the dryer when it’s done. I’d hate for you to find it all over the concrete if you forget.” You push past him, heading towards your apartment door and hear him groan behind you.
“Come on, Sweetheart. You need to loosen up, get that stick out of your ass. I bet I could help with that.”
You turn around and press your back against the metal door of your apartment and crook a finger at him. He’s so cocky, you’re thinking while the smile spreads across his lips and he makes his way closer to you, I’d love to bend him over my knee right here in this hallway.
“Come here.” You crook your finger at him. Eddie’s giving you a dopey smile as he sashays close, bringing his ear down closer to your mouth. He smells like shampoo and Irish Spring, clean with a hint of something - probably his skin - that makes you want to stick your tongue out and taste him. Instead, you rest your fingers at the base of his neck. You keep your tone soft, and put on the best sultry voice you can muster outside of a bedroom, “Don’t you worry about what’s up my ass, Sweetheart. I don’t let cocky little whores anywhere near it.”
Eddie is a statue. You’d think him made of stone if not for the quickening pulse you feel under your fingertips. You stand up on the balls of your feet to give yourself a couple extra inches, angling your mouth even closer to his ear, and whisper, “What about your ass, Baby?”
You give Eddie an exaggerated frown and push him away from you, moving the hand from his neck down to his chest. You leave him there, mouth open but no words coming from it, and slam your apartment door behind you. There’s a fire in your gut, and you need to remove yourself from the presence of that menace of a man before it begins to spread from under your skin and into the open.
You make a beeline straight for your bedroom. That fire continues to grow through your anger and irritation. How dare he? It’s not a thing you can control, the way your body reacts to the sight of him with those low slung grey sweatpants. The pretty curve of his lips. Those brown eyes. In your mind you can envision him here with you. His arms are stretched up high, wrists strung up to your headboard. He’s moaning at the sight of you with your little bullet vibrator placed firmly to ease your ache.
Except, the noises you’re hearing are not in your mind at this moment, they’re drifting down that open vent. You bite your lip and press the vibrator harder at the realization. The taste of coppery blood hits your tongue, you can’t let him hear you. He doesn’t deserve it. You listen to him cry out in pleasure, pretty noises that push you right to the edge of your own cliff. A soft whimper is what causes you to stumble. Your release is a flood, and you have to turn your face to let your own cries die in the safety of your pillow.
He’s loud, even when he’s fucking his own fist, and you’re done for. You’re biting your lip so hard, not wanting him to hear you. He doesn’t deserve it. He needs to earn it. Your teeth clamped so hard you taste blood by the time the pleasure is done rippling through your body. He’s still moaning like a bitch, and you fall asleep to the sound, only waking when your watch alerts you that it’s time to switch your laundry.
The washroom light is on, and your laundry is already tumbling in the dryer. Your sweaters, bras, and underwear are spread along the table in the corner to air dry. There’s a note sitting on the dryer 1A written on the outside.
I hope this makes your life easier,
Your cocky little whore,
Eddie
You close your eyes and imagine him holding your delicates in his hands, gently placing them flat to dry. This is bad, very bad.
—
Makeup first. Black eyeliner thick around your eyes, Mary always says it’s too much. She once introduced you as “her roommate that wears too much black eyeliner”, but it makes you feel so sexy. A red lip. You fish around your jewelry box to find your favorite choker and the cute bat earrings that were a gift from an ex-boyfriend. It’s been too long since you were able to dress this way - the way you like. Sheer black pantyhose, black boots, black mini skirt, and a red deep v sweater.
You’re going out, even if Mary stays in with Mr. Green Eyes and Mr. Grey Sweatpants - Eddie.
You’ll find someone tonight, maybe you’ll even bring them back here. It’s fun to imagine Eddie in his bed listening to the sounds of you and someone else. You imagine him reaching a hand under the waistband of his sweats. You think of him with his mouth hanging open while trying to hold back the sounds that you know like to escape while he’s touching himself. You clear your throat and shake the image out of your mind.
It was yesterday evening that you realized the heating vent in your room must lead directly up to his own room. It’s the only explanation for how clearly you can hear him. You could make him jealous if you really wanted. Jealous of you or your hypothetical partner. Man, woman…it doesn’t matter, and he wasn’t the only one that knew how to make a woman scream, although you prefer when they listen and keep quiet. It’s rude to be too loud when you live in an apartment building. You dick.
You make a detour to 2A to give Mary a chance to come with you before you head downtown. The guy that answers the door is a little taller than Eddie and very pretty. He’s wearing a polo shirt and tight jeans, his hair is so stupidly gorgeous. His eyes bug out a bit when he sees you at his door but recovers with a friendly smile. “Hey, I’m your neighbor in 1A, I was looking for- oh there she is.”
Mary is sitting on the couch with a beer in her hand, and she gives you a wave. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. Don’t be mad!” You shake your head and point your finger at your roommate. “You owe me. I take it I’m flying solo tonight?” Her eyes are squinting and she’s giving you a pained smile.
“I would say you could stay and hang out with us, but you look like you’re ready for more of a party than I can offer.” The guy, Stevie, you remember Eddie calling him that, is giving you a genuine smile. You’re returning it with ease, because he really does seem like a nice guy. “Yeah, next time? Have fun you two.” You’re wearing your best smile so they know there’s no hard feelings and head out into the night.
The walk is chilly, but your building is only a half a mile from the bars downtown. It was one of the reasons you were willing to move into the shitty basement apartment. That and the easy access to the laundry room. Your purse has the essentials. Wallet, mace, lipstick, condoms, collapsible baton, and camels. Your keys sit on your hip attached to your wallet chain. You know there would be at least a couple of bars that had bands playing tonight. Musicians are reliably horny, even though most of the time you end up regretting letting them into your bed.
The bright lights in the first bar, along with the house music, are an absolute no for you. You walk in, look around the room, and immediately head back out. The next bar has pool tables lined up in the back room. Lots of dudes turn to look at you when you enter, and you grip the handle of your purse. Leers sweeping from your hair to your boots. You smoothly turn and leave before anyone can talk to you. Bar number 3, however, is smokey and you can hear someone performing a mic check. A mix of leather clad men, women, and everything in between. The bartender has a flannel tied around her waist and an undercut. Winner.
“Hey sweetie, what can I get for you.” The bartender is very pretty up close, and openly scanning your chest. You’re giving her a wolfish grin and looking up to the ceiling with a finger on your lips, as if thinking hard.
“Oh, I think I’d like a double Jameson straight up.” You blink your eyes at her and she’s laughing at your antics while she gets your drink. “What can you tell me about the band tonight?”
“Metal. The guys play here pretty often. Corroded Coffin. The crowd is pretty fun, even if you’re not into the music.” Definitely not your typical scene, but you like this place, and you’re willing to let the music work magic on the crowd.
You’re reaching into your wallet for a card to hand over to start a tab. You’re thinking about suggesting the bartender keep you in mind at the end of the night, you’re sure she’d be up for passing some time with you, when you feel a familiar presence at your side.
“Jeannie, how are you tonight?” A hand is on your own, halting its movement. You know this voice. Are you kidding me? “Whatever this pretty lady wants is on our tab tonight, ok?” Jeannie’s eyebrows are high enough that they’re almost lost in her microbangs. She looks to you for confirmation, and you shake your head.
“She’s saying no, Ed.” Jeannie shrugs a little and accepts your card. “Shocking, I know.” She’s laughing at him a little, and you’re loving it. His eyes finally find your own, and he’s frowning. Sad puppy eyes. They sparkle. An effective weapon.
“Come on, you gotta give me something here. You’re killing me.” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. Butterflies beat their wings in your gut at the thought of disappointing him.
“Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m paying for myself tonight.” You place your hand on his neck and pull him close to your face while his eyes stay on your cherry red lips. “Think I might have a shot with Jeannie tonight?”
His mouth lets out a little noise that you’d swear was a whimper. It’s then that the music changes from the metal that’s been blaring over the speakers to Peaches. Fuck the Pain Away. Jeannie is laughing behind the counter, she must have put the song on while you and Eddie were sparring.
Eddie is glaring at you with eyes that are not shiny and sweet - they’re black pools. The grin creeping on his lips is sinister. He leans into your ear to make sure you can hear what he’s got to say over the thumping music. “Do me a favor, yeah? Bring Jeannie out on the dance floor when she’s on her break. I want to see you move.”
He’s gone now, and you knock back your drink. Of course, he’s heading to the stage just as Peaches is chanting for the crowd to fuck the pain away, and Jeannie is refilling your glass. “This one’s on me, Sugar. I like watching someone put Eddie in his place.” Yeah, well he just did a good job of keeping me sitting firmly on this stool, you don’t say. You can feel heat in your chest that’s creeping up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and lust hot on your skin.
And it’s no surprise to you that he is sex on fire on the stage. You fully understand it now. You see the fuller picture of him while he’s at center stage, everything else fades to black. All of the girls that he brings into his bed. His leather jacket is tossed to the side and he’s wearing a crop top sleeveless shirt. His fingers move on his guitar, a fucking Warlock, and your eyes are glued to him. When he starts to sing, you feel like you can’t breathe. You’re warm all over, and it’s not because of the crowd. No, it’s because he’s watching you watch him. You can’t stop yourself. It’s like you two are the only ones in this crowded bar, and he’s hypnotizing you.
You have no idea how long it’s been when Jeannie is coming around the bar to tell you her break is starting. You grab her hand and drag her to the floor. It’s in between songs, and you see Eddie yell back to the rest of the band. The next song is a major departure from the rest of the band’s set, and you know it’s for you, so you make it count. The guitar riff starts, and you circle around Jeannie eyes on Eddie. The drums start and you’re moving your hips to the rhythm. The crowd is moving as one and the energy is palpable. Jeannie is laughing, you made sure to whisper to her about the show you’re putting on for Eddie. You both dance together, your hands never leaving the bartender once during Thunderstruck. When the song ends, you see Eddie adjust his (very tight) jeans, and you leave the floor, dragging Jeannie out the back door and into the alley.
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always be my baby 𖦹 CS55
PAIRINGS: carlos sainz x singer!reader
SUMMARY: It was seven years ago when you last saw each other, it was also seven years ago that you had made a mutual decision that it is best if you both go your own ways. But in those seven years, you never expected that he’ll be leaving you half of him, making it harder for you to completely move on, but jokes on you, you’re still pretty much in love with him. Seven years later, you never expected you’ll be meeting him again, bringing back unresolved feelings and repercussions of the past decisions back to the forefront.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my first time writing an f1 imagine, so I hope you guys will like it. this is just a product of brainrot at 3am. i’m sorry if there will be a typo and I also used mariah carey’s (which whom I love so much) song heh
TERMS: solntse - sunshine/ray of sunshine ; schast’ye - happiness ; dyadya - uncle
REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.
WORD COUNT: 4.2k
WARNINGS: typos and angst
LAS VEGAS
The place where you had been residing for the past seven years, and where you had decided to raise your lovely twins, Thiago and Gabriela, after you and Carlos had parted ways.
Seven years ago, you had been in love with the Carlos Sainz. During that time, he was already starting his F1 journey, with his dreams as big as the tracks he conquered. Though your passion for each other was certainly undeniable, but so were both of your ambitions. So when you had discovered that you were pregnant, you had hoped that it would further cement the bond that you both had. But instead, it shattered your dreams. Carlos had flat out rejected the thought of you being pregnant, and admitted that he wasn’t ready for fatherhood, not now that his racing career is starting to take off. The heart-wrenching decision to part ways had been mutual, yet very agonizing for you.
After your split, you had cut off everyone that is connected with Carlos, even his family—Carlos Sr., Reyes, Blanca, and Ana, whom that had loved you very dearly. They had always been teasing both you and Carlos on how you two would certainly end up marrying each other, but apparently the opposite had happened. Leaving you all alone to navigate the challenges of single parenthood. But you didn’t have to worry of being alone your entire life, your parents, brother, and your sister-in-law had been there for you, helping you every step of the way.
The pregnancy had also prompted you to have a seven year hiatus from the music industry, leaving your fans to wonder when you’ll be coming back. You had focused all of your energy in being a hands on parent to Thiago and Gabriela, but not forgetting to write a new song in your free time when you got a new inspiration for a new album that you had been setting aside. This routine has been going on for seven years, until you had finally released your comeback album last month, where it had taken over the world by storm and had an incredible amount of success that peaked number one in different countries. No one had expected you to drop an album out of nowhere, not when you had been radio silent for over seven years, with a little bit of life update on your instagram account.
Not a week later after your comeback album had been released, you had been offered to a concert residency at Caesar’s Palace, which you had gladly accepted. The prospect of touring scares you as of the moment, so you had decided that doing a show every weekend in the same place and time would much suit you better for the time being. You prefer to have an intimate time with your fans right after your seven year hiatus—which they rightfully deserve of not seeing you for how many years, instead of diving head first at the thought of touring.
So here you are now, it’s the opening night of your concert residency in Las Vegas. You are waiting at the backstage of the Colosseum, watching the dimmed lights of the Colosseum glistened off of the opulent decor. You can hear the buzz of excitement of the eager fans that are excited to see you perform live again after seven years had filled the air. Your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. It has been years since you had last performed on stage again, you’re praying to the gods that you don’t embarrass yourself, like forgetting the lyrics and tripping on stage.
As you took the stage, your powerful voice that you had always been known for had filled the colosseum, captivating everyone that is present. Your eyes had scanned the crowd, reconnecting with your fans that had waited for you in so long to see you again. For a fleeting moment, your eyes locked with with those familiar eyes that you would never forget in your life. Your heart skipped a bit, but you quickly regained your composure, acting like it did not affect you at all, telling yourself that it’s just your pure imagination, simply a ghost of christmas past, that it’s a different person and not him, and continued your performance, pouring all of your emotions. Singing songs from your new album, where it entails what you had been through for the last seven years, and performing a few songs from your old releases. Which had been a real treat for your fans.
Meanwhile, in the midst of the audience, an F1 racer sat among with his friends, his face showing admiration and a touch of nostalgia. Carlos had come to your show out of respect and curiosity, also because his friends are a fan of yours. When the first notes of one of the song in your setlist played, Carlos had felt a strange sense of familiarity. His mind took him back to a memory of you playing the same song on the piano for him, where you had just began drafting the lyrics for your supposed to be new album that time. But he shook it off and convinced himself that it can’t be you. His memories of yours had been a blur to him, especially when he had lost contact with you. Seven years has been a lot of years for him, and he was sure that you had changed a lot during those years.
During the interlude, before you perform the next song, you had decided to connect with the audience. Entertaining them a little bit. Since it was your opening night, your family came with you in full support, including the twins. They are currently in the private area of the venue, and not forgetting that you had planned something special for your opening night. Hoping that everyone in the audience will like it.
“Las Vegas, how are you doing tonight!” You asked, causing the audience to cheer. “Wow. A whole seven years, huh.” You laughed as the rest of the audience laughed with you as well.
“It feels really good to be back again and performing in front of you all. To be honest, I was so nervous of performing again with a live audience. But once I stepped onto the stage, everything had flowed in naturally, like a muscle memory.” You smiled.
“I must admit though, the past seven years had never been really easy for me. During those years, I can say that there was a LOT going on at that time.”
It was indeed a never easy seven years for you. The entire world had gotten a whiff of your pregnancy, and you had been a cover of various gossip magazines and topic of various podcasts. You and your family had been trying to fight off paparazzis that were following you around and wanted to get some scoop. When it was time for the twins to come out into the world, you and your family made sure that no media or paparazzis will profit off of it. You are very strict and serious when it comes to your twins’ privacy, and not letting the world know of their identity. It’s also a lie when you say that those gossip headlines does not hurt or affect you at all, headlines like—
‘greatest female powerhouse singer of this generation had been knocked up?! No wedding ring visible…could it be a one night stand?!’
It really hurt and pissed you off.
Your pregnancy was never a secret to the world. It was private, but never a secret. But you cannot say the same in your and Carlos’ past relationship, your whole relationship had been a secret from the start, you both don’t want the media nor the paparazzis to meddle in your relationship, and it was a mutual decision. So when you got pregnant, the media couldn’t link you to anyone that could’ve gotten you pregnant. Up until now, the media doesn’t have any clue as to who the twins’ father is, and you inted to keep it that way.
But you know very well that you can’t hide the fact that Thiago is slightly starting to look like his dad, Carlos. While Gabriela took on your features, that there is completely nothing denying that Thiago and Gabriela are both you and Carlos’ mini me. For sure the media is bound to form a speculation as the twins grow up, but you intend to keep the obvious fact hidden for as long as you can. This exposure of the twins in your concert will be a really big one. Hoping that you’ll be able to contain the aftermath of it.
“This next song is from the new album, and as you all know, if you listen to the whole album, it’s basically all about my journey, of what everything that had happened during those years.” You smiled at the crowd.
“I know that there are a lot of people that has different interpretations of the song, which I really loved reading, by the way! I had read some of it and it was all really nice, thank you!” You chuckled.
“I intentionally did not want to include this one on the setlist, because its a personal one. I know what you’re all thinking, why put it on album if it’s a personal song. For me it’s okay to be included in the album, but performing the song…it really hits home.” You explained, “but I had changed my mind and added it the last minute, and thought about how I wanted to just turn it into a positive one.” the crowd cheered.
“I also have a special guests with me, that will help me sing this song because I’m dedicating this to them. This is their song.”
You had turned back your attention towards the backstage and check if the twins are all ready to make their special appearance, but the crew had signaled you that the twins will be joining you in two minutes top since they are still getting ready.
“I want to make this opening night of my concert residency a bit special, so that’s why I’m having a very very very special guests with me.” You smiled widely.
“They had been really begging me to join on this one, which even caught me by surprise because they had already practiced for it even before they could ask if they could join me! Can you guys believe it? They are actually really prepared for it!” You said in disbelief, as the audience laughed.
“Then they explained to me why they want to do it, they said that it’s because I will be performing again for the first time after seven years, and they wanted to make it feel more special.” You put your hands over your heart, with a soft expression showing in your face. So touched on what the twins had told you the reason they wanted to perform with you live on stage.
You turned your attention again backstage to see if the twins are already, and they already are, they are just waiting for your queue for them to enter the stage. You had signaled the band to start playing the song and your fabulous four, which is what you call your backup singers, started harmonizing the intro of the song.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” you announced, “I’d like to introduce my two very special guests tonight. My twins, Thiago and Gabriela!”
Everyone in the Colosseum cheered very loudly, they couldn’t believe that your twins would make an appearance in your opening night. It is the first time that your fans, rather the world have seen your twins, considering that you are a very private person and you wouldn’t want your twins be exposed, you wanted them to grow up and have a normal childhood. But considering your status, you are making triple efforts to safeguard your twins.
The twins bounded onto the stage, being guided by your mom, jumping up and down, their overall energy just being so infectious as they joined you for a rendition of your song. You looked at your twins in awe, pure happiness radiating off from the twins, their eyes sparking as the audience cheers loudly for them.
“Thank you so much, momma!” You thanked your mom as you gently grabbed each of their hand and guiding them to the center stage.
“Mommy, there’s so many people!” Gabriela whispered cutely onto the mic, and the audience awed.
“Woah!” Followed by Thiago, completely fascinated.
“There are indeed a lot of people, isn’t it schast’ye?” You said, “They are really excited to see you both tonight!”
The twins squealed in excitement, the thought of people wanting to see them had made them jump again out of excitement.
“Theo, we’re famous!” Gabriela shouted happily, causing the audience to have another laugh.
“When can we sing mommy?” Thiago asked, as the audience cheered.
“We’ll be singing now, solntse.” You laughed, as the band started to play the music a bit louder. “This next song is called Always Be My Baby, and I dedicate this song to my wonderful angels that is with me here tonight on the stage. Solntse, schast’ye, this is your song. I dedicated this to both of you, mommy loves you so much.”
“We were as one, babe, for a moment in time,” you began singing, looking at the twins lovingly, “and it seemed everlasting, that you would always be mine. Now you want to be free, so I’m lettin’ you fly.” You looked at the audience.
“‘Cause I know in my heart babe, our love will never die—okay my loves, here comes your part!”
“You’ll always be a part of me,” Gabriela started, “I’m part of you indefinitely.” Thiago followed.
You are looking at them lovingly, with a proud smile etched on your face.
“Boy don’t you know you can’t escape me, oh darlin’ ‘cause you’ll always be my baby.” They both sang together.
Truth be told, you had written this song for Carlos, an ode to your relationship. It would be a lie if you said that you had completely moved on from him, but you truly did not, it still pains you every time you see him with another partner, and knowing how you both had children out of wedlock. How can you even move on when he left you half of him, he blessed you with two beautiful angels that you would never trade anything for the world, and would always choose to be their mother in every lifetime. Though for you, it doesn’t matter if you had already split up, Carlos will always own your heart.
“I ain’t gonna cry, no, and I won’t beg you to stay. If you’re determined to leave boy, I will not stand in your way,” at some point, you had made an eye contact again with those familiar eyes, but quickly avert your attention to the audience, “but inevitably, you’ll be back again, ‘cause you know in my heart, babe, our love will never end no.”
The twins sang the whole chorus, and you let them. They really love the chorus of your song, so it’s fitting that they are ones who sing it, but sometimes you harmonize with them. As the end of the song is approaching, you and the twins had sang it altogether.
“‘Cause you’ll always be my baby.” Spreading out an arm to the twins, as the twins rushed to give you a tight hug.
Your and the twins’ giggles had been heard from the mic, you gave both them a kiss om their foreheads, and the whole audience errupted in cheers and stood up for a standing ovation.
“Give it up once again for the twins, ladies and gentlemen!” After the twins’ performance, they were guided back by the crew backstage.
“Bye mommy!” The twins said in unison.
“Bye my babies!” You said, as both of the twins blew a flying kiss at you, and you returned back the sweet gesture.
You continued on performing, and you finally reached the last song of your setlist before you conclude your opening night.
“Okay, the last song I’d like to sing for you, it’s called Dreamlover,” you smiled, “and I just would like to thank everyone for being here with me, and tell you that I love each and everyone of you! You can all stand up and dance if you’d like!”
As the band started playing the notes to your song, everyone stood up and danced. You decided to go down the stage and interact with your fans. A security guided you to get around the venue, once you are comfortable, you walked around the venue and hugging some fans, and taking selfies with you. You also shook hands with some of them.
“Hello there!” You said into the mic as you looked up to the people that are seated in the balcony area of the venue, “yes, I see you all up there and you all are looking very lovely tonight!”
You continued interacting with your fans, when a little girl come up to you and gave you a hug. Touched from the little girl’s action, you immediately hugged her back, and she gave you a cute little bear.
“Is this for me?” She nodded, “thank you so much! This is a very lovely gift!” She then went back to her parents and you waved at them.
As you continued walking and singing, handshaking fans and hugging them—you did not recognize that you’re getting closer at the section where Carlos and his friends were seated. There was a brief panic in your eyes, when you saw Carlos—literally there standing, flesh and blood, the father of your children, standing and enjoying the show with his friends. Simply you cannot ignore Carlos, as the media can conjure a bunch of speculations with the interactions and can use it against you. Media people can be ruthless if they want to and create unnecessary drama if you choose to try and ignore Carlos.
So you continued singing and decided to interact with his friends by giving them a smile and each of them a handshake, Carlos will be the last one you’ll interact with since he’s seated at the last seat of their row. Some of his friends are familiar faces with you, since your brother is a huge F1 fan and had been to many grand prix before. You can identify some his friends—Charles, Lando, Max, Lewis, and Daniel. You also just noticed that they also brought their girlfriends with them, since they had took a photo with you.
Then you had finally reached Carlos. It felt like everything was in slow motion and your heart was beating rapidly, felt like it’s gonna leap our of your chest anytime, but you kept your cool. You smiled at him and briefly shook his hand. Apparently he’s the last one you’ll interact with before going back to the stage. As you went back up to the stage, a fan had called out for you, wanting to give you a rose, the fan is a bit far from you and you wanted to accept the rose from the fan, you went back down of the stage again, but you had never expected that Carlos will be the one that will give you the fan’s rose, he had helped the fan get the rose to reach you. You never got to thank him, since the security is already ushering you back to the stage.
At this very moment, Carlos was internally scolding himself, telling himself why the hell did he just do that. In his defense, he just acted out of impulse, and wanted to help a fan. Charles slightly slapped his back and wiggled his eyebrows at Carlos, and Carlos just rolled his eyes at him. His action did not go unnoticed by his friends and everyone in their section.
“Smooth operator, huh.” Charles teased him.
“Shut up.”
“Thank you so much for the rose.” You said to the fan and wave at them. As the song ended, you thanked everyone again for coming.
“Thank you once again for coming, see you again next weekend. Good night!” You said and had exited the stage.
After the show, celebrity and personal friends of yours that had attended your show was invited backstage, as a special privilege for them now that you’re now back in the music industry. In which Carlos and his friends were also invited backstage. You began talking to everyone, and how they congratulated you for a successful opening night of your concert residency.
“We are really glad that you are now back in the industry, and here’s to many more successful concert residency!” A celebrity friend of yours said, followed by cheering from others.
You had excused yourself to look for the twins. The twins are sitting on the couch with your mother, playing on their ipads as your mother watches over them. As you make your way towards them, a hand had stopped you, a soft grip on your wrist. Turning back and looking at the hand that grabbed you, you saw that it was Carlos. He never fails to make your heart skip, at any given moment, you’ll have a heart attack because of him.
“(Y/N),” he breathed out, “it’s really you.”
“Carlos…hi.” Your reply came more of a whisper, but he still heard it. “What are you doing here?” There’s a surprise, mixed with wariness in your eyes.
Seeing and interacting with Carlos out there is one thing, but him in backstage and talking to you right now is a whole different thing. The gods have not fully prepared you with this encounter, you know that sooner or later you’ll face him, but not when you had just came back from your hiatus.
“I came to see the show, with my friends. They’re a fan of yours,” he said, his eyes shifting to the twins. “They were incredible…you’re incredible.”
“Thank you,” you replied, your voice becoming steady, but your heart still pounding.
Carlos took a deep breath, he noticed that he’s still gripping your wrist, so he softly detached his hands on your wrist.
“(Y/N), the twins…they look so much like you. There’s something…” he breathed, “I can’t help but feel there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Your gaze hardened slightly, but before you could respond, you felt small hands tugging your gown. As you looked behind, you saw Thiago staring at Carlos intently.
“Mommy, who is this man?” You put a hand behind your son’s back and caressed his back softly.
“This is uncle Carlos, solntse. Mommy’s old friend.” You smiled.
“Hey there, bud.” Carlos crouched down to Thiago’s level and greeted him.
“I know you!” Thiago blurted out, “you drive a fast car! My dyadya dislikes you!” He looked at Carlos with eye wide of fascination, but very blunt as ever.
“O-oh, yeah, I drive a fast car.” Carlos chuckled, dismissing what the other thing Thiago had said.
“Solntse, why don’t you go back to schast’ye for a while? Mommy will be right with you in a minute.” Thiago nodded.
“Bye uncle Carlos!”
“How old are they?” Carlos asked.
“Seven. They’re turning eight in a few months.”
Carlos’ heart skipped a beat, looking into your eyes, the weight of seven years of secrets and decisions hanging between them. You wanted to tell him so bad, but it is not the time yet, but you are sure that by now, just looking at Thiago, he has an idea that the twins are his.
“Never knew that you got married.” He blurted out, just for the sake of talking to you a little bit longer.
“I never married. It’s just me and the twins, marriage is not really in my roster at the moment, having the twins is already enough for me. I have a lot of things going on…yeah.”
“They must be a handful.”
“They are,” you said with a chuckle, looking back at the twins, “but they’re worth every second. They are my life, they’re the ones that saved me from losing myself.”
There was a long pause, the air thick with unspoken words. Carlos wanted to ask more, to understand the life that you had built, but something held him back.
“I wish you all the best.” He finally said, his voice tinged with sadness he couldn’t quite place.
“Thank you, Carlos.” You replied, her eyes searching his, “likewise.”
Just in time, one of his friends, Charles, informed Carlos that they’ll about to leave.
“Thank you so much for inviting us backstage of your show, we really had a great time tonight.” Charles thanked you.
“The pleasure is all mine.” You smiled as you shook his hands.
As they both walk away, Carlos couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. That something does not sit right with him. You watched him go, a single tear escaping your eye. The truth, and the twins’ parentage had been remained unspoken of. Hoping that one day both of you would get to sit down and have a proper talk, and when time permits, Carlos formally meets the twins.
#f1#f1 imagine#formula 1#carlos sainz#carlos sainz imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 reaction#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#carlos sainz x reader#formula one#carlos sainz smau#formula one imagine#cs55#cs55 x reader#f1 fic#Spotify
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Update. — 3rd October 2024
Well, helloo. If you're following me and reading this then...you must really hate me for my lack of activity on this blog. I apologise for that. Doing a masters degree really kicks my ass, and leaves me with no time to write. But Golden has never been dead or abandoned, it's very much always at the forefront of my mind.
And, for that pure reason, I know it's a story I haven't been 1,000% happy with so the story is going through some major changes. Probably, the first is that it's being rewritten. A (somewhat) new plot written with whole new software—we're making the move to Twine.
My reasoning; I've spent over a year learning the coding which makes me want to rip my hair out. I get to have a lot more ownership over my work, the customisation options are stellar, and you guys will get to read it for free.
The reasons for rewriting has been because I want to fix the cringey writing from when the story's first demo was released. It's mostly from the earlier chapters, but then the thought of plot changes came to me and I wanted to implement those. Realistically, the majority of what's being rewritten is what I had planned for book two—so I'm just bringing that forward. I'll update the synopsis closer to the release of this rewrite.
The changes (which can be subject to change): I'm getting rid of the university idea (though you can still choose careers that are related to those degrees from the options that'll be given) (e.g., if you liked the nursing student option, then your MC can work as a nurse). I'm thinking that the MC will already know about the supernatural world to some extent—there'll still be a lot of suspense and mystery and things to unravel, that was always going to remain. And, in this rewrite, my thought is that the MC and the gang will be working at a multi-agency organisation — called The Everbrook — where the aim is to bridge the gap between humans and supernaturals. To make the world run smoothly, so to speak.
The ROs are the exact same! No changes to that—the only change is that them and the mc will somewhat know of each other already. The genre is the same. MC is still as they are, a Lehsian socialite with a pretty (yet peculiar) birthmark. The parents will have much, much less of a role, but they'll still be mentioned here and there.
This seems like a load of word vomit, but I feel like these changes will improve the story. I'm hoping that it'll make MC less of a spare part in the story, allowing them to have more autonomy in the supernatural universe, especially with their enhanced skillset.
I've done the customisation in terms of the UI layout for Twine already, and it should be mobile friendly too. With that done, I've started writing and I'm a few thousand words in. A lot of what I've written in the ChoiceScript version can still be used, but also getting back into writing a story from scratch is something I'm looking forward to.
I feel like this is a bittersweet thing because yay to a new and better story, but also the time it's going to take to get it out. I'll debate whether to release the whole ten chapters, or do a few chapters at a time, like splitting it up into chunks (releasing three chapters now, and three chapters later on).
Another reason as to why I've taken so long to mention this, other than learning code and the rewrite, is just the whole process of this being a little nerve-wracking. The whole thought of a rewrite of something I've put so much effort into is scary, but it'll be worth it.
I'll accept any questions you've got, and I'll create an FAQ regarding all of this too. But, most importantly, you're in the loop of how this is progressing. I really appreciate everyone's kind words about this story: loving the ros, re-reading it, still sticking by my writing—it means a lot. So, thank you and I hope the future of this story is what you want and more.
PLANS.
Finish introductory scenes.
Finish chapter one.
WORD COUNT.
2.2k (rewrite)
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party time!
featuring: CEO!Satoru Gojo x trophy wife!reader
genre: fluff, drabble
word count: 1.2k
synopsis: You, the trophy wife of the infamous Satoru Gojo, decide to spend your October planning a no expenses spared party to celebrate the holiday. What could go wrong?
part one of spooky section, my 2024 Halloween event!
“We’re throwing a party.” You declared over dinner on a dreary mid-September day. Your husband, the notorious CEO Satoru Gojo looked up from his meal (made from scratch, by you) at the sound of your voice.
“Hm?” He asked, cocking his head to one side, blue eyes as bright as ever.
“We’re throwing a party. For Halloween.” You continued, “I want something to do whilst you’re at the office all day. So, I’m throwing a Halloween party. It’ll be the talk of the town.”
“I’d expect nothing less from my darling wife.”
“I’ll handle everything - down to your costume. We’ll be doing a couple’s costume-”
“I would hope so-”
“I want it to be extravagant. The type of party that ends up like an urban legend.”
“You know I love when you have a passion project, baby. Why are you asking mee for my permission on this?”
“Oh, I’m not asking for permission.” You grinned at your husband, “I’m asking for a budget.”
By the time All Hallows Eve fell, everything had miraculously fallen into place. It had taken you the full month and a half to plan everything, but seeing it all pull together had made it all worth it. You had decided to throw it at your multi-story penthouse, deciding it made the party feel more personal, more exclusive. But gone was the chic home you and Satoru were used to, and instead, when Satoru returned home from a half day at the office (to leave plenty of time to get ready, by your demand) it was like walking into a whole new universe. Candelabras lined the walls, the melted wax dripping red against the white exterior of the candles, giving a blood-like effect. Cobwebs were strung from the ceiling, littered with faux bats and fairy lights. You had turned one of your corridors into the iconic tunnel from Coraline, your kitchen into a witches’ lair, full of ‘potions’ to drink and ‘charms’ to eat. Even your windows were decorated - full of decals that made them look like the stained glass one would find in an ancient church. There were pumpkins everywhere, some carved, some warty - in any placed you looked there was something seasonal.
“Baby?” He had called out once his awe had worn off.
“In the bedroom! Get your ass in here!” You yelled back. He let out a chuckle at that, before heading up the stairs two at a time. To say he was excited to finally found out what he would be dressed as this evening would be an understatement - if he was being perfectly honest, he would say it had been at the forefront of his mind since he slid you that black card after you had asked for a budget, telling you to go crazy. He had been stalking your various Pinterest boards dedicated to this party, to no avail (you knew he would do this, so purposefully made a private board for costume ideas, it was a surprise, after all).
He burst into your bedroom, giving the poor woman currently doing your make up a fright. “Blue? You’re being painted blue… please don’t tell me you’re making me be Papa Smurf all night.” His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that would tip him off as to what you had planned. You giggled at his antics, forcing yourself not to shake your head at him so you didn’t disturb your make-up artists.
“And parade around as Smurfette all night? No, it’s something much better.” You couldn’t help the grin that overtook your face. “Your costume is hanging up in the white bag in my closet - bring it in here before you open it. I want to see your reaction.” Satoru all but sprinted to your closet. Halloween had always been one of his favourite times of year, so when you had told him you had wanted to throw a kick-ass party for the holiday, he wanted to jump with joy.
He found the bag immediately and raced back to your side, shaking in anticipation.
“Go ahead, Toru, open it.” He was like a child at Christmas with how quickly he tore the zip of the garment bag open, his glee lighting up the room. He took the costume in - a pinstripe suit. Was he Gomez Addams? But you were being painted blue, so you certainly weren’t in the middle of a transformation into Morticia. The tails of the suit jacket were thin and pointy, and there was five of them instead of the usual two. It wasn’t until he set his eyes on the iconic, large bowtie, or rather bat-tie that it all clicked into place.
“Jack Skellington!” He gasped. “Right? And you’re blue because you’re going to be my Sally?”
“Bingo.” You smiled fondly at him.
“Babe, this is- this is amazing. Your decorations are like - oh my God, they’re brilliant, and this is such a good costume idea-” Your face warmed as he sung your praises, glad he approved.
A few hours later and the party was in full swing. Everyone you had invited showed up, all dressed to the nines in their various costumes. Drinks flowed, the band you hired kept the vibe up and the dance floor full practically all night. At points, that included you and Satoru, who couldn’t resist a dance (or two or three) with his lovely wife.
In the wee hours of the morning, as people filtered out, after thanking you for a brilliant night, some even enquiring if you’d do the whole thing again a year later, Satoru forced you onto the dance floor one last time. This one much slower, much more intimate, as he held you close, tucked against his chest and under his chin, one of his hands around your waist and the other holding yours against him.
“You’ve done amazing.” He whispered into your hair, deciding that speaking at a normal volume would ruin the moment. “I mean, I knew you would, especially after seeing you plan our wedding.”
“Oh shush.” Your words implied annoyance, but your tone said something else entirely as you hid your face in his chest.
“I’m serious - you’re brilliant at this kind of stuff.” He kissed the top of your head, “did you have fun?”
“I did, actually. It kept me nice and busy.”
“Is it too early to ask you for a Christmas one?” You pulled back slightly, looking at him with your brow furrowed.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously! I can see it now - the living room a Santa’s grotto, you in a sexy Mrs Claus costume.” You scoffed at that.
“I’ll think about it.” You answered him, tucking yourself back under his chin. Truly, you didn’t want the moment to end. Sure, you loved organising an event like this or your wedding. But really, your favourite thing about the entire ordeal was this - the moment with your lover after a success, calming down after a vivacious evening, ready to climb into bed and spent the rest of the night cuddled tightly in each other’s arms.
Like this? You can find my smaus here and my drabbles and other fiics here!
Do you have a request? You can find my rules for requesting here!
#libraryofolive#olive writes#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#geto suguru#satosugu#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk drabbles#jjk gojo#libraryofolive - drabble#gojo fluff#libraryofolive spooky section
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On Wuk Lamat's Role in the Back Half of Dawntrail
(Note: You do not have to like Wuk Lamat, you do not have to like any character, that is your business; however this post is not an invitation to expound to me on why you hate her, so if you aren't open to discussing her positively, please move along.)
Wuk Lamat is vital to the back half of Dawntrail. Her presence in the story there is both narratively and thematically important and its lack would render her character arc incomplete.
For context, I have seen some comments that there should have been less Wuk Lamat in the back half of Dawntrail. I truly don't see how that would have been possible or made sense without throwing out most of what was set up in the first half, or simply writing an entirely different story. Regardless of whether you personally vibe with her, Wuk Lamat is the main character of Dawntrail; this is her story, and it's themes and narrative beats are inextricably interwoven with her character arc.
First of all, can you imagine what people (in-universe and out) would say about her if after the attack on her people and the appearance of the dome she just... stayed in Tuliyollal with Koana and let other people do all the work? She's the Vow of Resolve. Of course she's going to be at the forefront of the action. The whole point of her choosing Koana to rule with her in a new interpretation of the tradition of blessed siblings is that they have complementary strengths, and they have a benefit that blessed siblings don't: they can be in two places at once!
Second, a big part of Wuk Lamat's journey is learning about the cultures of Tural so that she can fairly preside over them all, and in Alexandria we get to see her bring that lesson to bear in a big way when she learns about the regulators and the processing of souls. She's rattled by it but pushes past that personal reaction to say, as the Dawnservant, "Please teach me of your history and culture so that I can understand the importance of this practice." In doing so she learns critical information about the situation. This is a culture so far removed from the Turali peoples Wuk Lamat knows, and they're also a separate kingdom not technically under her rule at all, but that doesn't actually change her response. She still reaches out with curiosity and compassion, always seeking to learn and understand.
As she comes to understand Alexandria's history, she also learns the context she'll need to understand Sphene when her true motivations are revealed later. Moreover, Sphene is a very clear foil for Wuk Lamat. The Dawnservant characterized by her love for her people and her desire for their peace and happiness vs. the Endless Queen whose love for her people has been twisted into something destructive and terrible.
And then there's the narrative beats about family, and particularly the loss of parents in different ways: Wuk Lamat earning the trust of her brother's abandoned son and taking him in as family, and her being there for Erenville as he struggles to come to terms with the death of a parent (something Wuk Lamat has also experienced very recently).
And that's to say nothing of how personal Zoraal Ja's betrayal is to Wuk Lamat; of course she has confront him personally. It couldn't be anyone else (except maybe Koana, and they both seem to agree that it should be her).
The Rite of Succession is not Wuk Lamat's whole character arc; it's only the first half. It's after Wuk Lamat comes into her own as Dawnservant alongside her brother that she truly shines. It is in the back half of the story, when the stakes are dramatically raised, that all the lessons she's learned in her journey will be tested, when the peace she seeks to preserve is so brutally disrupted. We get to see her struggle emotionally with the shock of that in Tuliyollal, then rise to the challenge of leadership. How she responds to all of that is her character. It is the culmination of everything the first half of the story has set up. This is still her story.
And personally, I think it's wonderful to see a female character not only featured so prominently in the story but getting so much character development and such a complete character arc.
#wuk lamat#in this house we love wuk lamat#dawntrail spoilers#ffxiv meta#dawntrail#afk by the aetheryte
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IN EARNEST; J.WW
―PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader, yoon jeonghan x fem!reader ―GENRE: regency au, romance, fluff, angst, love triangle, childhood friends to lovers ―WORD COUNT: 13k ―WARNINGS: rigid gender roles, historical setting, angst & family in-fighting
―AUTHOR'S NOTE: this fic was rewritten from one on my old blog. it was majorly overhauled and i added around 1k worth of words. its one of my favourites, so i would appreciate hearing any thoughts you might have on it. please enjoy
The long, warm rays of the sun stretch over the fields of your childhood as you sit on the stone fence at the edge of your family’s estate, legs swinging in a manner unbefitting a young woman soon to be engaged. A gentle spring breeze stirs at your hair, blowing over you as it moves westward across the countryside on its journey as you sit, book in hand, wrapped in the warmth of the afternoon light. Words dance on the page before your eyes as you try and focus on the story, pulling your attention into the narrative only to have it drawn back out towards the horizon over the golden fields of wheat and rye. With a sigh, you snap the book shut and slip from atop the rock wall, landing on the soft earth below.
Skirts dragging against the long grass as you walk, you make your way through the field--wheat stalks brush against your bare arms, parting for you as you stride forward past the cows and sheep and towards an old grove of trees tucked back at the edge of the property by the meandering creek where you spent so many of your days in childlike rapture and leisure. Amongst the flurry of balls, social gatherings, and visits expected of you these days, you’ve hardly had a spare moment to come and sit among the trees for the past few years. Social propriety and demands have all but replaced the imagination of your youth and yet the trees welcome you in as an old friend–beckoning you forth into their shade and kissing your cheeks with the morning dew.
One old tree, of gnarled roots and rough bark, sits chief among them in the center of the grove. Images of your sister and you swinging from its long branches and knotted limbs spring to mind as you stride closer. Days long past spent nestled amongst its jutting roots for a midday picnic without a care for the mud on the hems of your dresses. With a smile you walk towards the tree, hand outstretched in greeting, and feel your way across the trunk. The knots and rough bark ripple under your fingers--a map of the tree's life spread out under your touch, and you move around it until you meet a familiar dip in the bark. A carving of a memory long forgotten.
Your fingers trace the loops of the heart, the curves of the letters, and a face swims into your vision to join your childhood self as she runs through the fields and trees. A boy of honey brown hair and an even sweeter voice with whom the days seemed to stretch onwards into infinity. A boy you had made promise you at 11 years old that he would marry you when you were both older so that you could live together until eternity. A boy with the spark of love buried in the dark browns of his eyes, obscured by the frames of his wire glasses, waiting for age and maturity to bring it to the forefront. A boy who just smiled, laughed, and chased you through the dawn soaked fields until you both collapsed from exhaustion by the river. A boy who leaned over with a soft smile some long hours later and whispered “I promise.”
The promises of youth are delicate. They are made in the heat of summer, under the swell of the sun and the naive feelings that blossom in the hearts of every young person as they grow and change with daily discoveries. They are a glass vase, thin and ready to be broken–or simply tucked away on a high shelf to be left forgotten and collecting dust as time obscures them.
Now, standing in the dawning of your adulthood in the place of your youth, that promise is but a lingering nudge at the edge of your mind–a loose thread dangling free in the wind, waiting to be tugged on and unraveled. The boy stands with it, a denizen of the memory of a time when the sun shone down on you in smiles and in hope, lighting up your world with the wide-eyed exhilaration of young love.
You smile down at the carved imprint of a heart, transported back for a moment to that time, before someone clears their throat behind you, “what are you doing out here?” You spin on your heels, body moving unconsciously to shield the glyph from prying eyes, and see Jeonghan standing at the edge of the grove–sunlight filtering down through the tree tops and sprinkling him in flecks of golden light. He stands with a wry grin, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you regain your composure after the sudden interruption of your daydreams.
“Nothing,” you reply after a moment with a light laugh, returning his smile–closing the lid on your memories as you take a step towards him. “Just out for a walk.”
“Well, don’t wander too far,” he extends his arms for you to take and you accept, looping your arm through his and walking side by side out of the shade of the tree grove and into the sunlight. “You might not be able to find your way back.”
“I think I know my own family’s grounds, thank you,” you counter, peeking up at him as he stares ahead towards the estate in the distance, sprawling out over the field in a mass of grey stone. The wry smile has softened slightly, but still remains pulling gently at the corners of his lips.
You hadn’t known what to make of Jeonghan the first time he stood off to the side of the village ball. New to the community by way of both work and friends, he was a source of fascination and aversion in equal measure by everyone in town. A community where everyone had known everyone and everyone was in everyone’s business made a newcomer stick out like the sorest of thumbs. You watched as he stood, making polite yet stiff conversation with the men of the village and keeping largely to himself until your mother, not one to ever waste an opportunity, strong-armed your father into introducing the entire family to him.
He seemed to sense in you a kindred spirit–someone there in a similar situation, bemused but disconnected from the gossip and frivolity of the ball. Placed at the center of it all regardless by mere social expectation and family ties. You spoke for a while, easing minute by minute from fateful acquaintances to fast friends, until you both succumbed to decorum and he asked for a dance; after which your mother adopted him immediately as a friend of the family and he has not known a moment of peace since.
A fact which you love to tease him about at any given opportunity.
“What are you doing out here today, Jeonghan?” You ask as you walk past the cows grazing in the field, arm still tucked securely into the crook of his elbow.
“Your father asked me round to discuss the merger of the mill in town,” he shakes his head and you laugh at what you can only imagine was an incredibly dry conversation. “Dreadfully boring. Then your mother noticed you wander off into the woods and sent me to fetch you.”
“Scandalous,” you tease, nudging your elbow into his side and eliciting a brief laugh. “A young man and woman out to pasture together? Unchaperoned and unmarried? My mother must really trust you.”
“Yes, well if only she knew that the only reason I agree to come and talk to your father about all of this nonsense is to have the chance to speak with you,” the teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed; you can tell it’s meant as a joke, but there is an air of truth to it as well and the comment sinks under your skin, stilling the air around you. Suddenly, his arm against yours feels too real, too solid. You feel altogether too close to him and yet not close enough. You glance up and see his gaze still fixated forward towards your home, the sunlight gleaming over him and bathing him in the golden light of its rays.
“When do you return to town?” you shift the conversation, eager for a reprieve from the constricting of your heart in your chest.
“In three days time,” he replies, releasing your arm to step through the gate into the gardens–holding it open for you to pass through behind him.
“So soon?” you glance at him in surprise. In the month he had been here, visiting in the afternoons and attending dinner parties, he had not made mention of the date of his inevitable return to town, so hearing the answer now was a slight shock.
Jeonghan nods, and you loop your arm through his once more as you ascend the stone pathway towards the front of the house. “Unfortunately,” he sighs, “it was meant to be next month but I’ve been called away sooner than I had planned.”
“I see.” Your voice trails off and you slip your arm free from his as you step through the doorway. A strange sense of melancholy takes over, sweeping the sunshine away from your thoughts and replacing them with the grey clouds that precipitate a sky before a storm. In barely two months time, you’ve come to enjoy Jeonghan’s company and his consistent appearances in your daily life. They became a comfort to you in a way you hadn’t felt from anyone’s company in a long time. Not since you were young, running wild and free without thought of propriety or the looming threat of your future.
“I was hoping, actually, to talk with you before I left,” he starts, breaking through the clouds in your mind. You can hear the hesitation clear in his voice as he talks, a small shy smile painting his handsome features.
“About what?” The heat of curiosity builds in your mind, swirling thoughts joining the fray. A buzzing excitement building as you watch him formulate the words–the wheels in his mind turning into place behind his soft brown eyes. He’s building to something, grasping onto a thread of courage and you silently pray that he manages to keep hold as you feel your heart rise into your throat. His fingers twitch at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach for your hand and you feel your skin prickle at the thought.
“I was hoping–” Jeonghan starts but is cut off just as quickly as your sister, Lydia, comes crashing through the parlour shouting your name, skirts billowing behind her. She skids to an abrupt halt as she sees you and Jeonghan both staring back at her.
“H-hello, Mr. Yoon, I didn’t–umm,” she thumbs the letter clutched in her hand, nerves plain on her face as she tries to regain some sense of calm after her frantic entrance, “I didn’t realise you were still here.” She offers an awkward curtsy in his direction and you can hear the stifled laughter as he bows back.
“Hello Ms. Lydia, I trust you are well?”
“Very, thank you,” she nods, swallowing, and you have to stifle your own laugh at the awkwardness seeping out of her and infecting the room. She turns towards you, eyes pleading, “may I speak with you a moment?”
You glance at Jeonghan and he smiles, “I should be going.” All hints of what he had been planning on saying before the interruption are wiped clear from his expression and you can’t help the slight bitterness towards your sister that rises in your stomach like bile as he turns to leave.
“Your mother invited me for dinner tomorrow evening before I take my leave,” he adds, hand on the brass knob of the door, “I hope we can finish talking then.” With a final nod and smile he closes the door behind him–you watch through the window as he walks down the stone pathway towards his horse before your sister calls your attention back to her with a pointed cough.
“Did he ask you?” she asks, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“Ask me what?” you move away from the entrance and flop down onto the plush cream settee at the side of the room–legs grateful for the relief after an afternoon spent traipsing through the fields outside.
“Don’t be daft, I know that you know full well he is planning on proposing to you,” she sits down next to you in a huff, splaying her skirts out below her and knocking you on the shoulder with a closed fist–envelope still clutched tight in her hand, but evidently forgotten for the moment.
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were in his confidence regarding the matter,” you tease, drawing a flustered expression from her as she pouts at you.
“I don’t need to be to know,” she grumbles, “everyone says. Especially Mama.”
The rumours had been circulating since that first ball and you were not oblivious to them. It would be impossible to be oblivious when the gossip that roamed through the village was as subtle as a bull. But rumours were just that: rumours. Unsubstantiated whisperings passed around by bored mamas and nosy servants at parties and in parlours, and you preferred to keep your hopes out of their baseless grasp as long as you were able to. You couldn’t deny, however, that the hope was there. That it had wound its way into your heart, filling your mind and soul with a buoyancy you hadn’t anticipated to feel.
The thought of Jeonghan in front of you, extending his hand for yours, and asking to keep it forever is a thought that you couldn’t deny having had more than once.
But you were not going to give your prying sister the satisfaction of knowing this. Instead you stare deadpan at her as she sits with a pout on her face, waiting for a reaction. The standoff continues for a moment in silence before she resigns and sighs, thrusting the letter she had been clutching in her hand towards you, “here, it’s for you.”
You pluck the paper from and examine the envelope–torn open already by prying fingertips and eyes. “You opened it?” The accusation is more tired than biting, but she cowers under it anyway–crossing her arms in defence.
“No,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in a decidedly unladylike manner–a habit of which your mother had tried to scold out of her for years now. “Mama opened it.”
“And then you read it,” you sigh, running your eyes over the script of the envelope. Handwriting both familiar and unfamiliar. A name you haven’t seen in years scrawled in the top left corner in looping cursive–Jeon Wonwoo. Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight, your sister's protestations fading into background noise, as you focus on the name written on the sheet of white before you–transfixed by memory and recognition.
“Are you listening to me?” Lydia’s voice bleeds through the swell in your mind as you slip the letter out of the envelope–delicately, as if it might crumble to dust at the barest whisper of a breath–and unfold it in your hands. You brush aside her attempts at getting your attention and fix your gaze on the words unfolding on the page.
Dearest ______,
Firstly, I hope you receive this letter in good health, and that your family is well. I am sorry we never kept up correspondence as we had promised when I first left for the city. I have so much to tell you and yet I feel that most of it is entirely pointless, so it might be better left unsaid for now; at least until we are able to speak in person.
I’m not sure when this letter will arrive, but my intention is for it to precede my own arrival by at least a day or so. I had been planning on visiting for quite some time, but it was a thought always pushed to the back of my mind as life and present matters took over, but receiving your letter resurfaced the desire to return.
I must say your letter was a slight shock, but certainly not an unwelcome one. Truthfully, there hasn’t been a day that has passed that I have not thought of you or of the time we spent together as children and adolescents. I hadn’t dared to hope that you remembered, or even returned the feelings that I had held close to my heart since those days, but reading your words brought that hope back to life.
I look forward to seeing you again at last,
Yours Truly,
Wonwoo
You sit in silence for a moment, staring blank faced down at the letter as your sister leans over your shoulder trying desperately to read the lines of ink scrawled delicately over the page. “Well,” she whines, giving up on the task, “what does it say?”
Without a glance spared in her direction, you stand up and race out of the parlour–brushing past your confused mother as you dart up the staircase towards your bedroom.
“Oh, did you get the letter?” your mother calls after you as you run, leaning over the bannister, but you staunchly ignore her as you careen into your room to tear into the trunk at the foot of your bed. No mind paid for the mess you’re creating as you pull out ribbons, books, and trinkets from the large, ornately carved wooden box. Buried at the bottom of the trunk lies a small box of letters, hidden from the prying eyes of your family–or at least you had thought it was hidden from the prying eyes of your family. Looking now, as you sit splayed out on the floor of your bedroom amongst a haphazard pile of items, it’s clear that it has been rifled through since the last time you had bothered to check it.
From amongst the pile of letters hidden away amongst your treasures and belongings, only one is missing. One tear-stained, hastily written piece of parchment snatched from the stack of otherwise inconsequential papers by the fingers of someone who was incapable of minding their own business or of leaving well enough alone.
“Don’t be mad,” your sister’s voice pleads from behind you as she stands in the doorway playing with her fingers, watching your back as you begin to gather up your things with a sigh–tossing them back into the trunk and closing the lid with a snap before turning to face her.
A slow seeping mixture of anger and embarrassment has overcome your thoughts and swells near to bursting as you glare at her through a fog of red. She opens her mouth to speak, fear dancing in her eyes as she scrambles for some words that might placate you. Tries to form some meagre explanation for her actions. You take advantage of her immobility and move towards her with a fury you didn’t know you possessed. A moment before you can catch her sleeves she turns and races down the hallway, leaping down the staircase, and hiding behind your bewildered mama–a desperate shield from your wrath.
A sliver of clarity leeches through the haze surrounding you, sounding out like a bell through your angered mind, and instead of reaching for her with clawing hands like you’re itching to, you push past them and stalk straight through the front door and out into the gardens. A light drizzle of rain has begun to fall in the time between your walk through the fields and now, but you pay it no mind–only too grateful for the company of the raindrops alongside the tears that begin to fall from your eyes.
You can hear the door open and close behind you, footsteps crunching along the dirt and gravel of the path you are currently trodding on towards no destination, but you don’t give them the satisfaction of turning. Instead you pick up your pace, hastening your already brisk gait until you’re nearly running towards the creek at the edge of the estate–searching for some escape, some reprieve, from the suffocating presence of your family to gather the frayed edges of your tormented mind.
Missing the hint as usual, they persist. Voices call out from behind you, entreating you to turn and face them but the pleas and demands only serve to heighten the flush of rage through your veins.
By the time you reach the edge of the water your body is shaking. Whether from the cold or the overwhelming emotions you’re not sure. You stand, staring out over the water as it rushes downstream, blinking away the tears stinging at your eyes. “Oh, will you stop being so dramatic,” your mother finally catches up with you–her curls and skirts soaked in water and mud, a fact of which you know you will never hear the end of. “Apologise to your sister.”
You baulk at her, mouth gaping with shock and horror, “me? Apologise to her?”
“Yes, you scared her,” she nods, arms crossed and eyes set in a determined stare, “besides, you shouldn’t be racing down the stairs like a child at your age. Not when you are so close to being engaged, just think; what would your fiance say about this behaviour?”
“I don’t have a fiance,” you shoot back, mirroring her stance, “and if I did, and if he were a man of any brains at all, he would say I have every right to wring her neck for what she’s done.”
“Mama,” Lydia whines, still hiding behind the impenetrable figure standing before you in rain-soaked linens. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I just sent out a letter.”
“A letter that was never yours to send,” you shout, earning yourself a withering glare from your mother. Thunder rumbles in the far distance and you sigh, feeling the rain as it falls against your tired limbs and a tired mind. The idyl of the morning feels so far away now. Jeonghan’s easy smile, the light filtering through the grove, the feeling of the rough bark under your fingertips. A morning of reminiscence scrubbed away so easily by the foolishness of one insolent sister. All the hope that had lifted in your chest now falling away from you with each raindrop and disappearing into the ground below.
You open your eyes to watch your mother standing in defence of the sister that might have ruined both your past and future. All life, all fight drains from your body, and you’re left now with the only question that matters hanging in the damp, cool air between you. “Why?”
She doesn’t answer. She stares back at you, an expression of haughty defiance painting her face, and after a minute of silence–a cold standoff at the edge of the river–you brush past them once more and stride back towards the house. Resigning yourself to never knowing; to life never being that same as it was mere hours ago when you were standing peacefully in the midday sun, unaware of the storm brewing for you in the shadows of the day.
Your mother hurries to catch up with you, “you’ll forgive her. She is your sister, after all, you’ve only got each other.”
You feel the urge to shout again, to admonish her for always taking the side of your younger sibling even when it was clear she was in the wrong, but the feeling dies in your throat before you can even think to act on it. You’re too tired. Instead you halt in your step and turn to face her, another question pressing at the forefront of your mind, “you read the letter?”
“I suppose we’ll be having two guests for dinner tomorrow night,” she muses, managing at least to look somewhat apologetic for your current state of affairs despite the obvious delight swimming behind her eyes. Two potential love matches for her daughter, and all the drama that a bored mama could possibly dream up, had finally planted itself in her lap and she was enjoying every second of it.
“Don’t you have any shame at all?” you ask, knowing how fruitless the question was but unable to refrain from voicing it. Enough anger was still lingering at the edges of your mind to give voice to the words.
“Oh, don’t pretend like you’re not excited to see the Jeon boy,” she says, trailing after you as you resume your brisk pace towards the house. “I always thought you two might get engaged when you were older, but then he left and well, Mr. Yoon seems an excellent second choice.”
You pointedly ignore her as she continues to monologue her fantasies for life, following behind you as you head up to your room in search of dry clothing and some reprieve from her aimless talking. “Mama,” you spin towards her, stopping her at the threshold of your bedroom, “I can tell you are gleaning some great joy from this situation, but please for once in your life have some pity and leave me alone.”
She opens her mouth to speak again but you close the door before she gets the chance, blocking out her protestations as you sink down onto the oak floor in a puddle of linen skirts and despair.
.
.
.
Dinner is suffocating. Your father relishes in the rare silence at the table while you coldly pass bowls of potatoes and vegetables to your sister, avoiding eye contact even as she nudges you under the table with her foot. You know your behaviour is childish–unbecoming of someone your age, as your mother would say, despite her own childish actions–but you can’t bring yourself to come to a place of peace and forgiveness quite yet. The letter still looms in your mind like a parchment monolith, a cloud hanging over all of your thoughts even as you try to distract yourself after dinner with a book by the fireplace. Even as your mother tries to entice you into friendly gossip about how you think Wonwoo might have changed over the years, how he might measure up to Jeonghan as a potential match.
The evening drags on into night, darkness swallowing the estate, and your sister sits staring at you over her untouched needlework from the other side of the parlour. You raise your eyes to meet hers for a moment before turning back to your novel, resuming the standoff and sinking back into the staunch silence you’re treating her with.
In truth it has been this way since childhood. The moment she was ushered into this world, the weight of responsibility settled onto your shoulders. The expectation of being the eldest sibling; of acting mature and setting an example for her to follow as she chased you through the fields, inserting herself in every possible situation with the carelessness of one who knows that they can get away with anything, should they so choose.
Your only reprieve from the insistent pressure of responsibility was when cousins and family would visit, capturing her wandering attention for long enough that you were able to slip out unnoticed and find solace outside, in a book, or with Wonwoo. Peace from her endless questioning and imitations–from following you around like a lost, unceasingly precocious child.
The heat of her unwavering gaze burns into the top of your head as you try to follow the narrative of your story in the dim light of the fire. Eventually you give up, slipping the book back into its place on the shelf, and dismissing yourself with a good night to your father–absorbed in his own book and entirely uninterested in the dramatics brewing within his home. Your sister scrambles up after you, following in your footsteps and rushing to say her own goodnights before chasing behind you up the stairs.
“Stop following me,” you spin around in the doorway to your room, arms crossed in defence–levelling her with a glare that you can only hope she takes seriously for once in her life.
“You have to forgive me eventually,” Lydia says, matching your posture and meeting your gaze with her own determined stare. “You can’t be upset about it forever.” It’s clear the silent treatment you’ve been giving her has wormed its way under her skin–plucking at the exact nerves that she tries so hard to ignore. Her disdain for being ignored–for being disliked, even momentarily–working against her now in the safety of her own home.
“Yes, I can,” you state flatly, half-turning away from her towards and moving to close the door before she stops you with a hand on your arm.
“That’s not fair,” she whines, “what are you so upset about anyway? That you have two men in love with you?” The truth seeps through her words and you find the answer to your question from earlier finally in the subtext of her complaints. “You’re jealous?”
“I’m not jealous,” she bites back, but the pout that accompanies the statement indicates the exact opposite. “I just think it’s unfair that you’re marrying someone without telling them that you’re in love with someone else.”
“I’m not marrying anyone,” you grit your teeth to keep from shouting and rousing your parent’s attention. The last thing you needed at this moment was the less than helpful advice of your mother. “I’m not even engaged. No one has asked me to marry them–no one.” You turn away from her, eager to shut her out for the night and sink into the comfort of sleep, “and I’m not in love with Wonwoo.”
She snorts, unconvinced, “that letter said otherwise.”
“That letter was written when I was fifteen and he was leaving,” you reply with a glare, “things have changed.”
“If you’re not still in love with him,” a small smile quirks up the corner of her lip, bringing another wave of rage crashing through you at the sight of it. Her smug expression lit low by the lanterns burning on the walls, “then why are you so mad?”
With a huff you close the door, blocking out any further comments she might deem necessary to add–anything further to provoke you to anger. You pause a moment, staring at the dark wood of the door, and breathe. The urge to scream floods your thoughts and you move to lie flat on your bed before it bursts free completely.
Sleep comes in fits and starts. Your dreams chase you through the labyrinth of night cloaked in signs and symbols–always beginning and ending in that grove of trees on your family's estate. Each time you stand at the entrance to the greenery, hopeful anticipation bubbling up in your chest, and take a step forward. Everything is silent–still. No chirping of birds, no rush of the wind, no sound at all save your own footsteps over the trodden soil as you walk towards the gnarled oak at the centre of the grove–your hand outstretched towards the bark.
The carved heart greets your fingers, initials swimming before your eyes. Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Lydia's, your own. They all traverse and coalesce on the expanse of broken brown wood, mingling with each other and transforming endlessly in front of your eyes. Before they have a chance to settle, a branch snaps behind you and you turn in anticipation to see who it is; a glimpse of muted fabric, a vaguely formed face, flashes in front of your vision before you are transported back to the field outside the trees–feet itching to carry you forward once again.
You repeat this process, over and over, until the light breaking through the window above your bed stirs you to consciousness. You sigh and squirm deeper into the blankets, desperate to sink back into the embrace of dreams and avoid the inevitable disaster of the day waiting for you outside your room.
A sharp knock on the door cuts off any hope that you had of delay. “Mama says to come down for breakfast," Lydia warns and you listen as her footsteps disappear down the staircase before slipping out of bed and preparing for the day.
.
.
.
The scent of eggs and ham greets you as you stumble down the stairs some time later; dressed in a simple frock belying the anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach in anticipation of the day. Your mother greets you with a cheerful “good morning”, the tone ignorant of the tension that underlay your last interactions with her. You offer her a tired smile in response–content with staying in silence for as long as possible this morning and avoiding any further bursts of anger she might provoke. It takes you a moment to notice the extra figure sitting at the table, one at the same time so familiar and unfamiliar. Wonwoo’s eyes, obscured as they are behind the glass of his spectacles, betray a similar mixture of delight and wariness at your presence. He offers you a hesitant smile over his plate of food and you feel your heart leap into your throat, mouth falling open in a silent gasp.
“Wonwoo,” you exclaim, earning an admonishing tsk from your mother at the noise. He stands, bowing slightly in greeting–smile broadening marginally as he does so.
“Hello,” he replies. You can hear a million different restrained thoughts and questions in the greeting. So many unspoken words it makes your stomach knot. You remain, mouth agape, standing feet away while the force of it hits you while your sister, on the other hand, laughs aloud at the look of pure alarm on your face.
“Oh, sit down before you fall down,” she says, rolling her eyes and reaching for another roll from the centre of the table. “It’s only Wonwoo, you knew he was coming.”
You resist the temptation to openly glare at her and instead gather yourself into the seat across from Wonwoo–returning his smile, finally, with your own. “You’re here much sooner than expected,” you say, offering it as the only excuse for your astonishment at his presence during your family breakfast.
“I arrived rather early this morning,” he explains. The tension held in his shoulders ebbs away slowly, hesitation diminishing now that you’ve settled across from him. “Thankfully your father was awake and willing to sit down over a cup of tea.” You nod in acknowledgement. He and your father had always gotten along rather well, being of similar disposition. You would often find them sitting in silence together while your mama chased you around with her many complaints. “You look well,” he adds after a moment, a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
He’s older now than the last time you saw him–his jaw defined by the sharpness that comes with age, the loss of the soft roundness of youth–but he still looks exactly as you remember him. His brown eyes still hold that same kindness and quiet humour that you were so fond of. His smile, though grown hesitant with years of distance, is still as bright as it always was; a warm smile, both welcoming and genuine. A smile that makes you wish you had sent that letter out years ago. Maybe it would have kept him here, with you, at this table. Maybe you could have watched these transformations occur instead of seeing them all now. Maybe you would have had time to accustom yourself to the new angle of his jaw, to the mature slant of his cheekbone. Maybe…
“I am well, thank you,” you reply, cutting off your wandering thoughts and into your breakfast. Turning away from the warmth of his gaze for a moment’s reprieve. “And you? Have you been–” Hesitation stops you in your tracks as you form the question. Keen awareness of the curious eyes at the table fixed firmly on you, intruding on this reunion with their unceasing attention. The knowledge that both your mother and sister are highly aware of the undercurrent of feelings–whether present or past–running between you stalls your speech. “Are you well?” you finish lamely, clearing your throat and gathering yourself into a state of stoicism.
“Very well, thank you,” he replies with a nod, similarly reserved. Knowing your family as he does, you’re sure he senses the shift in the atmosphere. Sure he’s adjusting himself accordingly.
“Well,” your mother leans forward, towards Wonwoo, a conspiratorial glint in her eye as she begins speaking, “we are so glad to have you back with us after such a long time away. I can’t imagine why you didn’t visit sooner, but no matter. How long will you be staying?”
“Only a week,” he replies, “I return to town next Sunday.”
“And what brings you here so suddenly?” The brazenness of her question in light of everything she knows would shock you if you weren’t so used to her meddling. You bite your tongue, woefully resigned to allowing her to play out her machinations while you suffer under the brunt of them. A mere tool in her game of matchmaking and gossip-mongering. Lydia stifles a laugh next to you with a cough, drawing Wonwoo’s attention.
“Ah,” he starts, watching you closely for any hint of caution but you remain as neutral as possible. “I had been meaning to return for years now, I’ve been too long overdue for a visit. It has been years, even, since I’ve seen my own family’s estate.”
“I see,” your mother sighs, correcting her posture and sitting upright, disappointed by the lack of spectacle. Her desire for a dramatic breakfast proposal being thwarted, she changes topic and shifts to Wonwoo’s current business practices. How is he getting along as a barrister in town during these troubled times? He answers her inquiries, offering up tidbits of gossip from town that might interest her, and you feel a rush of gratitude towards him for so easily flowing with her changing moods and temperament. A feat not easily undertaken.
Conversation continues late into the morning, with even your father chiming in here and there; forgoing his usual habit of staying entirely silent until reproached by your mother and instead offering up comments entirely unprovoked to the surprise and delight of the same woman who is usually provoking him. You pick at the food on your plate, watching Wonwoo from across the table even as your sister silently teases you for it from her own seat. Finally, the plates are all cleared away and you stand, ready to stretch your stiff muscles outside of the house.
“Why don’t you three kids take a walk,” your mother prompts–taking notice of your fidgeting. “I have to make preparations for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, there’s no need to go to such trouble on my account,” Wonwoo holds his hands up as if to ward off the worst of your mother’s efforts.
“It’s not just for you,” Lydia sighs, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, “it’s for Mr. Yoon.”
“Who–” Wonwoo starts, glancing at you, a ripple of confusion passing over his face before your mother cuts him off.
“Don’t be rude, Lydia,” she admonishes her, “it’s for both of you, Mr. Jeon. Mr. Yoon has become a very welcome part of our family gatherings since he arrived not two months ago.” She moves behind you, hustling the three of you out of the dining room and towards the front door in a manner befitting a sheepdog rather than a mother. “The girls will tell you all about him, I’m sure.”
The door is closed on you before you have the chance to protest and you turn towards Wonwoo with a heavy sigh, “I guess we are taking a walk, then.”
“Your mother certainly has not changed over all these years,” he laughs, more relaxed now that you’re away from the presence of your parents. He offers his arm for you to take as you descend down the stone path leading through the gardens and out into the fields. The rain of the previous day is all but gone, leaving nothing but the odd puddle dotting the path as you walk along at an easy pace--grateful for the warm, golden sun as it streams down on you.
You slip your arm through Wonwoo’s and marvel at the naturalness of the gesture. Though it’s been years since your last exchange of letters, and even longer since you last saw each other in person, the ease with which you slip back into old comforts in his presence is nothing short of remarkable. You spend the first half of the walk catching up–exchanging stories of the goings-on around the village and in town since you last spoke. Lydia walks a ways ahead of you, constantly looking back as if desperate to invite herself into the conversation before inevitably thinking better of it and turning around to resume her striding.
The silence emanating from her is a worrisome gnat that wheedles its way into the back of your mind, but you brush it aside and focus on the feeling of your old friend back at your side. The feeling of his arm against yours, his voice no longer a mere echo in your mind, but a real sound to be heard and listened to. It feels as if he had never left; that despite the growth in each of you as a person, both physically and mentally, there had merely been a pause put on your relationship. A brief interlude that served only to bring you to this exact moment in time where you could be together again.
The comfort is at once welcome and disconcerting. The thought of Wonwoo’s letter, the implication of his feelings, presses at the forefront of your mind alongside the image of Jeonghan with his hand outstretched towards you in the sun of the grove. As much as you want to ignore these worries, they sit there staring at you, tugging at your attention as you try and focus on what should be a joyous reunion. And as Wonwoo talks, regaling you with tales from his time at college and in his current employment, you can see those same worries brewing behind his eyes. The same hesitation keeping him from broaching either topic. You’re each waiting, hearts held on the blade of a sword. Enjoying each other's company while expecting someone to slice into it and spill the blood at any moment.
“So,” your sister struts over to you as you sit in the grass by the river, knees tucked tight to your chest. She sits down in front of you, her skirts pooling around her in a puddle of blue and white. You brace yourself for whatever she had been planning during her extended silence on your walk. The tension built up from yesterday had still not eased and if you knew your sister as well as you thought you did, you knew she would not allow herself to be the first one to heal the rift.
You fix her with an even stare. Careful neutrality painted on your expression in an attempt to dissuade the worst of her plotting. “Yes, Lydia?”
“Did she tell you about Jeonghan yet?” she asks with a mirthful grin, and you feel the question jolt through your body. Wonwoo glances up at her, dropping the blade of grass he had been idly running between his fingers, and lifting a hand to adjust his glasses.
“Ah, no,” he admits. His eyes flicker to you briefly before returning to Lydia–so quickly you might not have noticed had your own eyes not been watching him from the corner of your vision. “I don’t believe so.”
“And you’ve never met him before?” Her grin widens slightly, glee shining bright in the depths of her coal dark eyes. She was truly her mother’s daughter.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, no,” he says, tolerating the leading questions with more patience than you would have ever been able to muster. But then, he always was more patient than you.
“So you don’t know?” she asks, smile widening even further.
“Lydia,” you warn, using every ounce of strength and resilience in your body to resist leaping forward and tackling her to the ground before she can spoil anything further.
The warning in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo. You can feel him stiffen next to you; the fear of whatever is being left unsaid creeping under his skin and nestling there like a slumbering bear at the cusp of spring.
“Know what?” he asks, curiosity overwhelming the fear. He plucks up the thread your sister has laid bare and you know there’s no going back once she’s said what she wants to say. You want to grab him by the hand and race away–towards the trees, to a place used as solace from her nearly everyday in your youth. To hide from her and from the realities of the situation you find yourself currently stranded in. To stay in this moment in between forever.
Lydia smiles again, pleased to command everyone’s attention so completely. You wait, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightening, and watch Wonwoo out of the corner of your eye. Waiting to see the regret over his return show itself plain on his face.
“They’re engaged,” she says finally, pulling the pin and leaning back on her arms to watch Wonwoo’s face fall. His mouth pulls to a thin line and you feel a cavern open up in the hollow of your chest, ready to swallow you whole.
“Lydia,” you all but shout her name, startling a bird resting on a nearby bush and sending it flying into the air with an alarmed chirp. “We are not engaged.”
“You might as well be,” she shouts back, balling her fists up in her skirts and fixing you with a glare, “I know that’s why he’s coming for dinner tonight.”
“You don’t know anything,” the cold anger seething in your voice surprises you, but the buttons have been pressed and you can do nothing now except ride the wave. “I don’t know what games you’re playing, Lydia–whether you’re bored or just jealous or what–and frankly, I don’t care. It’s not funny. Leave me alone.”
Whatever outcome she had hoped to garner from engineering this confrontation, this was not it. You watch as she picks herself up off the ground in a huff and stalks back towards the house–no doubt seeking the solace of your mother’s ever-forgiving arms. The rage subsides as she disappears from view, leaving in its wake a hollow in the pit of your stomach as you’re left staring out over the meandering creek as it carves its path through the fields.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing sideways at Wonwoo. He sits still, in a state of mild shock at the outburst, and makes no indication of either moving or speaking. Birds fly overhead, singing their soprano songs as they make their way towards some unknown destination–wings disturbing the otherwise still air surrounding you. Silence stretches onwards, and you sit with your head resting on your arms, wishing you could travel back in time to prevent this from ever happening.
But what time would you travel back to? To prevent Lydia from ever finding the letter in the first place, would you not have written it? Would you have instead bottled up those feelings that, at the time, were so overwhelming they demanded a two-page long letter to express?
Would you go back and refuse to meet Jeonghan at the ball? Spend your time against the wall and accepting dances from the unwed sons of families you rarely associated with?
Or would you travel back the span of a day and make peace with your sister. Approach her not from a well of anger but from a space of understanding and diplomacy–if only to smooth her ruffled feathers and prevent the fight that had been brewing in the pot of tension between you.
The answer never comes. All of the possibilities–of what could have been or what might have been–dangle before you, but you know there is no going back; you are left now simply to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of what is.
Wonwoo breaks the tense silence himself after a few minutes. “Is it true?” he asks, the potent mixture of hope and fear in his voice sends a pang of guilt through your heart–piercing the already bruised organ further at the sound.
“We’re not engaged,” you say, unsure of how else to phrase the inbetween state of being that exists between you and Jeonghan. That period of time when both of you know what the next step is but still have not moved a muscle to take it.
“Why did you send the letter?” He asks, twisting the knife of guilt and shame further and deeper into you with the tone of despair leaking out over every word. You turn to look at him, meeting his gaze head on to see the heartbreak glistening in his warm, brown eyes.
The threat of tears prick behind your own as you look at him, desperately searching your brain for an answer that will make all of this go away–but none surface. Instead you are left with nothing but a confused tangle of emotions churning inside of you, clouding your thoughts with the force of them. You brace yourself for his possible reaction to the truth, averting your eyes back towards the blue river, “I didn’t send it.” The confession rolls out of your mouth like a prayer for peace and you can hear Wonwoo’s sharp intake of air as he takes a steadying breath beside you.
“Do you love him?” The question hangs in the air between you, bringing you at once closer together with the weight of it and thrusting you further apart in the implication.
“I don’t know,” you had never been able to lie around Wonwoo. Not since you were children, forcing him to steal bread and cheese from the kitchens with you for your own tea parties in the garden. Not since you were youths of twelve telling each other your deepest secrets as you laid next to each other in the field watching the clouds pass overhead. The truth, however painful it may be, was always the only route you were ever able to take when held under the weight of his gaze–transfixed by the warmth in his honeydark eyes.
“Could you love him?”
“Yes,” you sigh, nodding. “I could.”
His next question comes out as a whisper, barely heard of the sound of the water below and the birds overhead--almost as if he was too afraid to ask it, “do you love me?”
What could you say? What answer was there to give? ‘Of course, Wonwoo, you’re my best friend.’ While it remains true, you know that it isn’t what he’s asking you; you can read the deeper meaning hidden in the question, you know the significance of the words he is choosing. You turn towards him, twisting the knife in your heart one final time, severing completely the hope he had sent by letter. “I don’t know.”
Another moment of silence passes. You stare unblinking over the horizon, waiting for the rain clouds to form in the blue expanse overhead–to match your mood with their dreary presence–but the sky remains unashamedly clear.
Wonwoo lets out a long sigh beside you. You keep your gaze forward as you feel him stand up until he reaches a hand out to help you up. You glance from his hand to his face in surprise at the gesture after your confession, but he just smiles down at you sadly. “Come on,” he prompts and you slip your hand into his hand.
“Where are we going?” you ask, unclear as to his intentions now that everything has been laid bare under the afternoon sun.
“I’m walking you home,” he says simply, before pulling you to your feet and heading back down the path away from the running water and golden fields of wheat.
.
.
.
The afternoon drags on, spent in the midst of an uncomfortable silence in the parlour with your sister and mother. Wonwoo excused himself to his family home shortly after returning back under the guise of getting ready for dinner. A part of you had been expecting him to feign illness and retire for the entirety of the evening, but no doubt the pressure of social graces–as well as his own unwavering politeness–entreated him to keep the engagement.
The book open between your hands may as well be blank for all the attention you’re paying it; your mind swims with thoughts of your fight with your sister, and of the subsequent conversation with Wonwoo–replaying it over and over relentlessly. His face, crestfallen and sad, lingers in the forefront of your mind–a portrait reminder of the sharp ache in the centre of your chest. Lydia sits across from you, puncturing the fabric of her needlework aimlessly as she switches between pouting and glaring in your direction while your mother pointedly ignores you both in favour of hemming the dress her own sister recently passed down to her.
Your father, attuned as usual to the shifting moods of the house, avoids the parlour entirely.
The silent contemplation brings you no sense of reprieve by the time Jeonghan arrives for the evening. Hours spent pondering your options–alternating back and forth between him and Wonwoo and your confused feelings for both men–have brought no clear conclusion forward. In the wake of the afternoon, you prepare yourself for what was sure to be a bizarre dinner party, begging your mother not to sit you next to Lydia at the table for everyone’s sake.
Thankfully she obliges, seating you instead between Wonwoo and Jeonghan for her own amusement–the latter of which being entirely unaware of the state of affairs he is about to enter into with this dinner. The table is set, the people are seated, and your mother begins with an overwhelmingly passionate monologue of gratitude towards the two young gentlemen joining your family that evening.
“Mr. Jeon,” she smiles, passing a bowl of potatoes towards him, “how happy we are to see you at long last back home, as I already said this morning.” You roll your eyes at the emphatic speech, catching the gaze of your sister in a similar state of reproach and almost laughing with her before you correct yourself and turn back towards your plate of food. “I do so hope you will be back to visit much more in the future.”
“Of course,” Wonwoo nods his gratitude towards her, a placating smile stretching over his lips as he passes the bowl towards his aunt who had invited herself over as soon as she heard about the occasion.
“I’ve already admonished him, Gloria,” she laughs, scooping a healthy serving of the starchy vegetable onto her own plate before handing it off down the line. “It has been far too long since I have seen my nephew and what does he do when he arrives? He comes to your estate for breakfast without even first saying hello to anyone in his own family.” She shakes her head and shares another laugh with your mother. They are, as always, two birds of a feather when in the company of each other–delighting in gossip and unwarranted comments as often as they can catch a breath to share them.
“Now, Mr. Yoon,” your mother shifts her attention towards the man at your right side, smiling at him as if he were a newborn baby, “I am saddened to hear that you have to leave us so soon, but we have very much enjoyed your company these past few months and do so hope you will be back again soon.”
“Of course,” he returns her smile with his own. You can feel the heat of his thigh next to your own under the table, the closeness of him on your one side and Wonwoo on the other nearly suffocating you in your seat. “There is a lot to come back for.”
The comment doesn’t go unnoticed by either your sister, who has to feign a brief coughing fit to cover her laughter, or Wonwoo whose hand tenses around the fork in his grasp even as his expression remains impassive. The conversation is dissolved and dispersed amongst the table throughout the meal; your father catches Jeonghan’s attention and, unusually talkative, entreats him with a renewed discussion of the progress on the new mill’s construction. Both family matriarchs trade local gossip, as well as any anecdotes they can remember from the most recent ball, to keep each other entertained while you and Wonwoo sit in abject silence next to each other–eyes focused on the food on your plates in front of you.
Everyone retires to the parlour after dinner, mingling in small groups with you and your sister sitting in silence at the edge of room–watching as your mother’s laugh grows louder with the heat of wine and your father’s passionate discussions about the price of rye take on a life of their own, while Jeonghan just nods patiently and listens. Gravity and familiarity pull the two of you closer together, seeking some solace in each other as the only two outsiders in your own home.
“You were right,” she heaves a sigh, turning to you with a brief glance.
“What was I right about?” You keep your eyes trained towards the room, watching as Wonwoo and Jeonghan strike up a conversation with each other and desperately wishing you were close enough to be able to hear what they were discussing. Lydia calls your attention back to her with a dramatic sigh.
“I was jealous,” she admits and you look at her in surprise at the frank confession. “It was stupid, and I’m sorry. In my defence I didn’t know it was going to be so–” she pauses, waving a hand in a dramatic gesture towards the rest of the room, “dramatic.”
You choke back a bark of astonished laughter, completely at odds with how you had been feeling for the first portion of the evening; all fight had been entirely drained out of you and despite the desire to continue dragging her over the coals for her sin, you give in to the shared bond that exists between you as sisters. “Me either,” you say simply.
“Do you forgive me?” she asks, a spark of hope lighting up her voice at your acceptance of her excuse and you laugh.
“No,” you reply, grinning at her, “but I will.”
“I suppose I can accept that,” she nods once, smiling back at you before drifting towards your mother and inserting herself into a conversation around pregnancy rumours in the village–a topic that is sure to keep all three of them enraptured for the remainder of the evening, as nothing is more exciting than the threat of children to women who have none to worry over anymore.
Left alone, you wander towards Wonwoo and Jeonghan; buoyed by the reconciliation with your sister and resigned to swallowing the rest of your fate as it stands before you. “Are we still discussing mills and rye?” you ask, nodding towards your father who has taken it upon himself to sink into silence with a book in front of the fire, having exhausted all avenues of conversation that he is even remotely invested in.
Jeonghan laughs, shaking his head with a mock grimace, “no, actually. As it turns out, once you’ve already talked about the price of grain for well over an hour, there isn’t much left to be said.”
Wonwoo nods, laughing–all hint of earlier heartbreak has washed clean from his expression for the moment and you can see that he and Jeonghan are getting along despite themselves. The confusion returns anew, revitalised in your mind, and you can’t be sure whether this development is good or bad even as you stand by to watch it unfold.
“No,” Wonwoo says, “I was just asking him about his time in London.”
“A truly horrible place,” Jeonghan shudders at the thought of the city, drawing another laugh forward from Wonwoo and plucking another thread of nerves inside your throat. “No, I am quite happy to be away from there for the time being. The peace and quiet of the countryside suits me, I think.”
“It is certainly quiet,” Wonwoo nods just as a loud bout of laughter sounds out from the group of women on the settee near the fireplace, a wry smile dancing on his lips.
“And you are from here originally?” Jeonghan asks, glancing over at Wonwoo’s aunt as she stands to deliver her well practised imitation of one of the other mamas from the village.
“Yes, we grew up together,” he nods, gesturing towards you with the reply. Jeonghan glances between you, the new knowledge clicking into place in the wheels of his mind.
“You must have a lot of stories from that time,” he says, following the thought. You watch it spin behind the firelit brown of his eyes.
“Many, yes. We spent a lot of our time together,” Wonwoo affirms, and the truth of the statement sinks into you as he says it. Your past is filled with memories of him–painted with images of him splayed out in the fields, or leaping into the water, or simply falling asleep at the breakfast table after a sleepless night spent reading by candlelight. “If you want,” Wonwoo muses, lifting a hand to his chin with a sly grin, “I can tell you about the time she lost her shoe in the–”
“Stop,” you reach a hand out in panic, yanked unceremoniously out of your memories by the suggestion, and grab onto Wonwoo’s arm to cut off the story before it can begin. “No one wants to hear that story,” you let out a nervous laugh.
“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Jeonghan says, glancing down where your hand sits lingering on Wonwoo’s arm; you pull it back to your side and resign yourself to the embarrassment that is sure to follow. He turns his attention back towards Wonwoo as he begins the story–more than happy to offer up your pain as an anecdote for the evening.
“We were having a foot race through the fields after a particularly intense summer storm,” he begins with and you groan inwardly, already dreading the narrative that you know will follow, “of course her skirts were at least an inch deep in the mud and were weighing her down rather heavily,” the story continues and Jeonghan stands as a ready audience as Wonwoo weaves the image together for him. You can picture that day so clearly in your mind, the feeling of the mud sucking you down into the field, Wonwoo nearly tearing your sleeve off while trying to pull you out, and then diving in to rescue the shoe that you were sure your mother would kill you for if she knew you had lost it.
The rain beating down on you as Wonwoo carried you on his back towards the house–tears streaming down your face and the both of you covered head to toe in mud which earned you an, admittedly deserved, verbal lashing from your parents as soon as you tracked it inside.
“I must say,” Jeonghan looks towards you when the story comes to its conclusion, laughing softly at the thought, “I can’t quite picture it.”
“Why not?” you ask, curious as to the reason behind his statement.
“I suppose,” he pauses for a moment in thought, “you seem much more put together now. I can’t picture you as a wild child.”
Wonwoo snorts, as if some inside joke has been shared, and shoots you a conspiratorial glance, “she’s definitely much more put together now.”
“Well, I’m glad you two have had fun bonding over my embarrassment,” you sigh. The clock on the wall chimes the hour and you see from the corner of your eye your father yawning wide over his book. Even the laughter and chatter from the other women in the room has died down–everyone now sporting a tired, weary expression in the lateness of the evening.
Wonwoo’s aunt stands, thanking your parents profusely for the meal and the bed, before retiring upstairs to the guest rooms. Your mother and sister follow her in short order, with your father not too far behind, ushering the three of you towards bed as well. The wooden floors of the stairs creak under the weight as everyone files up towards their respective rooms for the evening; the house has not seen this many guests since the last time your cousins stayed with you, and despite the bizarre circumstances you were grateful for the company as a welcome change of pace from the everyday routine.
You slip into bed after saying your goodnights and feel the weight of the day sinking into you. Left in solitude finally after hours of entertaining company, your thoughts return to the circular confusion that had been clouding your mind before dinner. They flicker back and forth between faces–Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Jeonghan–both men swimming up to eclipse all your thoughts once again. You remember Jeonghan as he was the day you met him, cheerful and witty in the presence of a room full of strangers. The best company you had kept in months–more than willing to converse and joke with the ease of someone you could have known for years.
And you remember Wonwoo, as he was when you were children–bright, kind, and willing to go along with every place you could cook up despite his own shyness and reserve. And you remember him as he was today, beside the creek in the fields; bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, face fallen in the wake of your confession. He had come all this way on the wings of hope towards you after years of separation, and you had to be the one to ground him with reality. Not once, in all your years of knowing him had you seen that expression on his face until today.
Sleep consumes you after you exhaust your cyclical thoughts; you pray for a dreamless slumber–only too ready to sink into the relief of darkness–and for once, your prayers are granted.
.
.
.
The house is abuzz with activity in the morning. Everyone wakes for breakfast early, eager to continue last night’s conversations or to strike up new ones, and you feel renewed after a blessedly restful sleep. The weight of indecision still rests heavy on your heart, but it isn’t as cloying and suffocating as it had been the night before–trapped between Wonwoo and Jeonghan at the table all while wrestling with your own thoughts. Instead you find yourself smiling more easily, even laughing openly at your sister’s jokes over breakfast. Relief washes through you at the reprieve from your tortured feelings until the meal once again comes to an end and Jeonghan stands, turning towards you with a question. “If I may,” he begins, capturing the attention of everyone still seated despite the attempt at keeping his voice to a low volume. “Could I request the privilege of an audience with you,” uncharacteristic nervousness shimmers in his voice and you feel it similarly ripple through your body, “alone?”
In a rush your mother stands, abandoning her half-cut slice of ham and ushering everyone out of the dining room with glee and answers for you. “Of course, of course,” you sit paralyzed, your own nerves tying a knot inside your throat as you watch them leave the room. Wonwoo looks back at you, meeting your eyes with his own worried gaze before the door is closed and you are left in silence as Jeonghan gathers his thoughts to speak.
“It should come as no surprise,” he begins, and you stand to face him–eyes slightly averted from his own to avoid the intensity of the moment, “that I–” he pauses, hesitating. The nerves that were in his voice before have built to a fine point and you watch his hands as they clench and unclench into fists at his side.
“Jeonghan,” you start, hoping to offer some words to ease the palpable tension in the air but coming up entirely speechless.
“I return to town soon, and I was hoping you would also–” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration before giving up on whatever speech he had half-planned. “I love you,” he says, plainly, brown eyes seeking yours for any confirmation of the feelings he wishes to be returned, “quite a lot, actually, and I had to ask before I left if you feel the same, if–” he inhales, breath shaking with the force of his confession–with the fear of rejection or acceptance or both. “If you would do me the honour of marrying me?”
The question hangs between you–caught in limbo as you ponder it. You had expected it, as much as you had tried to ignore that expectancy, it was there. Standing here, in the centre of your family’s dining room facing him now–the buzzing excitement, the sweeping sense of anticipation, and warmth that you felt before–it’s all miles away. The hope you had previously held for this exact moment is racing away through the fields, running free and far from you. The feelings that bore the hope exist still, they sit nestled in your heart, but they aren’t attached to Jeonghan; here in the light of day you finally come to the realisation that you have known all along where your heart belongs.
It belongs in the fields of your childhood, running through the mud with your hand clasped tight in Wonwoo’s firm grip. It belongs at the feet of the boy who promised you at thirteen years old that he would never let you go. It belongs to someone on the other side of the door from you–whose heart you shattered only a day prior.
Jeonghan stands silent–waiting for your response–and you wish in this moment you could give him something other than the truth that has formed on your lips, but it has broken free into the air between you before you can catch it. “I’m sorry,” you say, “I wish I could. I really do, but–”
He smiles, the expression not quite meeting his eyes as he nods in understanding, “I know.” The resignation in his voice catches you off guard and he laughs at your surprise, “I knew last night that this was a losing game for me, but still,” he sighs, “I had to ask.”
“So,” you start, at a loss for what social decorum expects of you in this situation. Sinking into the relief of his acceptance of your rejection. “What will you do now?”
He pauses a moment in thought, fixing his gaze on the ceiling before turning back to you with a slight grin, “maybe I will invest in the new mill.”
Laughter cuts through the tension, dissolving the atmosphere of the room back into one of calm camaraderie, “I really am sorry, Jeonghan. For what it’s worth, if you had asked me five days ago I would have said yes.”
“Missed my chance, then,” he smiles sadly, turning towards the door only to have it swing open under the weight of your mother and sister pressing against it. “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,” he bows towards your mother and, before she has a chance to inquire, leaves through the front door and heads off into the morning sun.
“You rejected him?” your mother asks, surprise and astonishment colouring her voice. She glances between you and the door as it closes behind Jeonghan, mouth agape.
“Where’s Wonwoo?” you ask, taking note of the absence of him from the small group gathered at the door to the dining room. They all glance around at each other, matching bewildered expressions, until, with a roll of your eyes, you push through them and head out the front door–propriety be damned.
For a moment you hesitate; you have no idea where he might have gone in the span of time you spent talking to Jeonghan but a voice in the back of your mind directs you across the golden fields towards that old familiar grove of trees. Your mother and sister, accompanied by Wonwoo’s aunt, hover at the front step of the house, watching as you stride through the tall grass, through the stalks of wheat, past the cows and sheep, and towards the greenery beyond.
You pause at the entrance to the grove, framed by old willow trees and inhale a steadying breath. Your feet sink into the soft earth as you step into the shade of the trees and you see Wonwoo standing, as you half-expected he would be, next to the gnarled oak tree in the centre of the clearing. A small smile plays at the corners of your lips as you approach him in silence, startling him when you come to a stop beside him–eyes trained on the carved heart in the rough, brown bark.
“Do you remember when we did this?” he asks, tracing a finger over the old memory. You nod, waiting for him to continue the story, “a month before I left for town.”
“I remember.”
“You told me I wasn’t allowed to leave without first promising to come back when we were older,” he laughs–a light, breathless laugh. “Do you remember that?”
“I do,” you nod, turning towards him. “I remember you saying you would always come back for me.”
“Right,” he nods, removing his hand from the wood of the tree and straightening his posture. You stand for a moment, in the silence of the morning broken only by the chirping of nesting birds in the treetops above. The shared memory lingers between you–wrapping you together in a knot of knowing. A knowing of each other, unlike anyone else–shared history, shared memories, shared feelings.
“Are you going to marry him?” Wonwoo asks, breaking the silence first and glancing at you–fear of your unspoken answer, of what he imagines it might be, dancing in his brown eyes as he stands in the sun-dappled wood. You can’t help but feel strange in this moment, standing with the boy you’ve stood with so many times surrounded by these same trees. He looks the same–older, yes–but the same. The same brown eyes alight with hope and love, the same golden skin glistening in the light of the sun, the same tremor in his voice as he gives voice to a question that he fears the answer to.
You pause a moment in thought. “Jeonghan would make an excellent husband,” you say, consdiering the possibility out loud. Wonwoo's face falls; a subtle almost imperceptible shift in his expression. Fear of an unknown solidifying into fear of an almost certainty in his mind.
He clears his throat, nodding, "he would." The tremor in his voice remains even as he tries to hide it, speaking softly and trying to steel his gaze. "You would be," he stammers, averting his eyes back towards the bark of the tree, “you would be an excellent match."
"We would, but Wonwoo," you say, catching his attention again with the mention of his name. You capture his gaze once more as you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. Your fingers itch to reach out and take his hand in yours; standing here alone in the middle of a copse of trees you're already laughing in the face of all decency. All it would take is one of you to reach out–skin to skin–as you had when you were children. Without care, without worry. No thought to anything save the moment. Save the feeling that trembles in the space between you.
"Wonwoo," you begin again, steadying your hands at your side, "how could I marry him when I'm still in love with you?"
The dawn of realisation breaks over his face–clearing away the storm clouds that had been brewing behind his eyes–and his mouth falls open in silent shock. You stand there, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun as it filters through the tops of the trees overhead. Trees that have witnessed your growth together through life; running wild as children, escaping your parents as youths, and sharing your first, fumbling kiss at fourteen years old after racing each other through the rain to the solace of the grove. Trees that now stand witness as Wonwoo finally speaks, breaking the silence that had stretched taut between you for a moment–a silence filled with so many unspoken memories and words. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice a mere breath in the air; if you hadn’t been standing so close already you might not have heard him.
You reach forward, allowing your itching fingers to finally grasp onto his–the shock of his warm hands in your own sending a chill over your body. Slowly, you raise his hand to your lips and press a chaste kiss to the knuckles, murmuring a soft “yes,” into his skin there.
All the awkwardness of youth is gone; the stiff hands, the hesitation, all of it melts into the past as Wonwoo raises a gentle hand to your cheek, bringing you towards him. A sharp inhale in the wake of anticipation, and then your lips meet. His warmth sinks into you as you press forward into the kiss, deepening it as you feel the flood of feelings held back for years pour forth.
Wonwoo pulls back with a smile that lights up the browns of his irises as he looks at you. “What would your mother think of this?” he teases, entwining his fingers with yours.
“Don’t ruin this please,” you grimace, and he laughs–bright and clear before pulling you back to him. You feel his smile against your lips and sink into the warmth of it, wrapping your arms around him and allowing the world outside to melt away. No thoughts of your family, no thoughts of your past, no thoughts of the future–just here and now, in the arms of the one you’ve loved and waited for.
And it’s in this moment, as Wonwoo encircles you in his arms, that you know you’ve made the right choice.
© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.
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#svthub#caratlibrary#wonwoo x reader#svt x reader#jeonghan x reader#seventeen x reader#wonwoo scenarios#svt scenarios
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Triaina: Academy Update (9/15/2024)
Hello everyone! I'm pleased to announce the release of the beginning of chapter 6!
New revelations, new scenes, and a brand-new character joins the main cast! Alongside these, a couple special scenes per RO route and MC background were added.
This chapter will be mostly a debriefing and small break from the previous hectic festival chapter. I'll mostly be focusing on the MC for the majority of it, giving more focus to the MC specialization that has been running in the background for a bit and bringing it to a forefront with the primary decision on what the MC will become for the remainder of the story.
My next endeavor for the next update will be these specialization scenes, as well as an RO scene where the second key decision will be made that will determine their path.
I hope you enjoy!
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