#might scrap this into an oc if i can’t get it to work

[renthedevil]

eua have some pearl design concept too

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (07)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of oc's mother because we know girlie is hella traumatized, mentions of drinking, mentions of an almost physical fight, abandonment issues, jk forgets to practice safe driving for 2 seconds, and uhmmm kissing 🤫, anddd that cliffhanger? 👀 rating: 18+ (minors dni) word count: 10.8k note (1): this is the longest it has taken me to update obs and i do feel pretty guilty about that. but it's finally here now and this is one of the chapters that i'm the most nervous about posting. massive thanks to @daechwitatamic and @/wintaerbaer (edited 2024: crossed out but not removed bc even tho she plagiarized obs afterward, she did beta this for me so i guess i still gotta give her that lmfao) for beta-ing this for me or else i would've screamed cried thrown up and scrapped the whole thing, and to @jeonwiixard for being a wonderful cheerleader as i was writing this, and to everyone in my beloved obs discord server for always being so sweet and kind and putting a smile on my smile every day since the server was created. also to my sunshine ☀︎ for introducing me to the song mentioned below bc HELLO is it not just one of the most obs coded songs ever. love you all my babies <3

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist join our OBS discord server ✨

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Somewhere in the multiverse There's a me and you that works We never fuck it up We're out there still in love Somewhere in the multiverse Maybe that's enough

multiverse - Maya Manuele ft. PEMRBOKE

Sometimes, whenever you look up at the moon at night, you wonder if Jungkook is doing the same thing.

Even when you fall out of love with someone, it still hurts. It hurts because you once loved them so much it felt like the sky would collapse if you couldn’t be with them. It hurts because the love wasn’t taken from you, but rather it started slipping away on its own, more and more each day until you realize you’re holding onto nothing when there once was everything.

You can’t say that you’re too familiar with that kind of hurt though. You’ve never fallen out of love before.

You don’t think Jungkook is too familiar with it either, at least not when he left you.

You wonder if he thinks about you from time to time and gets sad. You think he does, because you know that he loved you. Something ended for him too. The memories that you shared were his memories too.

You hope that it’s painful for him whenever thoughts of you cross his mind, because that would mean that he cares. That a part of him still cares.

And if he still cares, then he might come back.

Despite the front that you try to parade around, there is a part of you that will always leave your heart vacant for him, regardless of whether or not he would return. It’s a scary thought, one that you would rather avoid at all costs, one that says there will be no one that you love more than you loved Jungkook. Maybe there can’t be another person that you will love at all.

You can come back quietly, like the wind slipping through the crack I leave in the window at night; or you can announce your return resoundingly like a sudden downpour quenching the summer heat. I don’t care. I kept your side of the bed empty and warm, waiting for you to come back. Hoping that you would come home.

[08:47] Yoongi: sure you don’t want me to drive you there? [08:48] Yoongi: i can pick you up in 30 [08:52] You: positive 🤧 i told you i already booked the train. it’s only 4 hours away [08:53] You: i’ll survive, yoongs [08:55] Yoongi: did you not watch Train To Busan? [08:56] You: ? [08:57] Yoongi: what if there’s a zombie apocalypse [09:00] You: yoongi if there’s a zombie apocalypse, how is your CONVERTIBLE supposed to keep me safe [09:01] Yoongi: i’ll put the roof up [09:02] You: stop talking [09:02] You: please stop talking. [09:03] Yoongi: 😡😡😡 [09:03] You: 😇 [09:03] You: gotta get dressed now though. i’ll see u when i get back? :) [09:05] Yoongi: fine [09:06] Yoongi: safe travels. text me when you get there :)

You plop onto your bed with a sigh, glancing at the bag that’s already packed and sitting near your wardrobe, lonely. You stay like that for a while, contemplating whether or not you should bail at the very last minute.

It was not on your bingo card that you’d be here, agonizing over your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding. Nope. Absolutely no one saw it coming.

For fuck’s sake, why would they invite you to a wedding? A celebration of love? It feels like you’re being forced onto a prank show, just waiting for someone to jump out and scream in your face.

You learned that the wedding was for close friends and family only, so it would be a relatively small event, which makes it even more confusing why you were also asked to join. Maybe the world is changing too rapidly and you’re just a little old-fashioned for it, but you really don’t understand why your ex-boyfriend’s family would want you there.

Taehyung and Jimin were invited too; they’re Jungkook’s best friends after all. They’re practically an extension of the family, Jungkook’s brothers by choice. But Taehyung doesn’t come back from his work trip until the day of the wedding, and Jimin… Well, he just doesn’t want to go to a Busan wedding in the middle of winter.

So why are you even going?

You could’ve declined. Said you couldn’t attend because the invitation came in so late. Made up a work trip or a family emergency. There’s a plethora of excuses you could’ve used.

Or you could’ve simply said no. That would’ve been perfectly fine too. No one would even need to ask why.

But maybe it was because his mother had customized the invite with her own handwriting in the back. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t spent hours meticulously studying the card like someone was going to quiz you. It wasn’t anything special - just We hope to see you there - but you think you’d feel really bad to decline after she’d made the extra effort to ask you to come.

When you told Yoongi that you would be attending Jungkook’s brother’s wedding, he didn’t seem upset. Still cool as a cucumber. Although if he was bothered by the announcement, you don’t think he would’ve let it show. It did take him a minute to take it in, but then he just pecked your cheek and asked if you could bring a plus-one. You both knew that you wouldn’t even if that was an option.

Pushing your body off the bed, you drag yourself to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. Then sunscreen. Then change into the clothes you’d already picked out last night. Your train doesn’t leave for another hour and fifteen minutes, but you want to be there at least twenty minutes early just in case. This is one of your only good habits.

You rub your eyes when you finally haul yourself outside, thinking you must still be dreaming because what is Jungkook’s car doing here?

You blink a few times, expecting the vehicle to disappear in a puff of white smoke.

Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

The car is in front of you, but the man is nowhere to be found.

You stand there dumbfoundedly, contemplating whether you should wait it out for a little bit to see if he’s actually here. He comes running up to you a couple minutes later, holding two paper cups in his hands, one of them a chai latte. A memory you’d buried long ago comes rushing to the surface. It’s too early for you to be feeling.

“Hi,” he says, his warm breath coming out in a huff of smoke in the crisp morning air.

“Hi?” you mutter dumbly when he trades the bag in your hand for the drink. There’s a moment where you’re genuinely baffled, wondering if this is a memory reel playing right before your eyes. This is your Jungkook, wearing that same old smile whenever he used to come bounding up your dorm building so you could walk to the library together, where he would hang out with you during your shift if he didn’t have classes. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t remember telling him what time your train was, so he’d probably badgered it out of Taehyung or Jimin somehow.

“I thought I could drive us there,” he says. “I texted you about it.”

Well, that explains it. You don’t bother with his dozens of messages anymore. “Oh, uhm, I already booked the train.”

This doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Free cancellation up to 15 minutes before departure.” Jungkook grins, clearly eager despite your obvious reluctance. It’s too early for this, whatever the hell this is.

When you told him that you had RSVP’d yes to the invitation, he was surprised that you even knew about the wedding. He even seemed nervous that day.

“What if I’d already left?” you ask.

He blinks, then stammers like a confused child. It’s cute, and you have to mentally slap yourself over the head for even thinking that.

“Then I’d go after you.”

How? you scoff internally. Unrealistic.

Regardless, not even an hour ago, you were declining Yoongi’s offer to drive you there. Now, you’re standing here, in front of your ex-boyfriend, contemplating whether or not you should go with him.

“Let’s go,” he says after a minute. “We don’t wanna be stuck in traffic.”

“I haven’t said yes.” Yet. “It’s a 4-hour drive.”

You don’t have to clarify what you mean. He understands it.

You both just stare at each other for a moment, the tension suddenly thickening with every passing second. Four hours on the road. Four hours alone in a car with Jungkook. That’s about two hundred minutes more than you think you can handle.

It’s like he can see right through you. “Don’t think about it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “It’s just a weekend. Everything will still be here for you to think about when we get back.”

In your head, it translates to: All of our shit will still be here when we get back. You can keep being mad at me then.

You hope that’s not true. You hope that when you get back, the things that keep you up at night will simply cease to exist. That in the two days you’ll be gone, a genie will materialize and solve all your problems for you.

Either way, it’s probably for the best that you aren’t mean to him this weekend. You’re stuck with him for the next 48 hours or so; it’ll only stress you out even more if you channel all of your energy into tormenting him. Besides, you’re already the ex girlfriend who has no place alongside his family. You don’t want to be the dark cloud raining on everyone’s parade too.

Maybe you’d already made up your mind when you let him take the bag from you.

For the first half of the drive, you were unconscious.

It’s a useless superpower that you have, the ability to fall asleep anywhere - literally anywhere, including in the passenger seat of your ex-boyfriend’s car while he escorts you to his hometown. Melatonin gummies manufacturers hate you.

You could’ve slept the whole drive, but around the second hour mark, you were startled awake when your body jostled forward, straining against your seatbelt uncomfortably. There was an arm trying to hold you back, despite the seatbelt having done its job well.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses before he turns toward you, worry written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You blink, still half asleep. “I’m okay,” you say. The minivan that Jungkook almost rear-ended continues on its merry way, carrying what seems to be a family of five. “What happened?”

He sighs, his outstretched arm retreating back to his side. “I got a bit distracted, that’s all.”

You take in your surroundings then. There’s barely any other cars in sight, no tacky billboard that sticks out like a sore thumb to catch your attention. There’s just the freeway, stretching on empty for all you can see.

“By what?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

See, you have the superpower of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere, but once you’ve been woken up, it’s not as easy to fall back asleep.

That, and the fact that you’re hungry as shit.

You open your mouth, about to say no, about to offer to drive the rest of the way if Jungkook is tired, but your stomach doesn’t let you get a word out. It growls, filling the space of the car, making you want to chuck yourself out the fucking window and run all the way back to the city. This wouldn’t have happened had you taken the train, because if you had, there would’ve been food services and no one would be subject to hearing your stomach sing like it’s chewing out a small puppy in there. Life is nothing but an endless pit of embarrassment and despair.

Your arms hold themselves tighter around your frame, practically squeezing into your abdomen as you will it to please, please, please be quiet. Jungkook stares at you, and you can tell by the teeny tiny quirk of his lips that he’s trying to bite back a smile. He’s relaxed, but there’s still something hesitant on his face. It takes him a minute before he finally throws the question out.

“Do you want to go to that guksu place that we used-” that we used to go to, “you know the place. The one that’s right off the freeway?”

The sun is out today. The sky unfolds endlessly just outside the window, coloring blue everything your eyes land on. There are strips of clouds scattered here and there, like delicate strokes of white paint on an azure canvas. Even the winter cold has to soften.You bite into your cheek. Don’t think, that’s what he had told you.

Not much about this quaint restaurant has changed. The quirky decorations are still where they used to be, the windows still the same unique stained glass that you never came across anywhere else. You remember the elderly woman who runs the place, even if she doesn’t have a single clue who you are. The golden retriever you used to fawn over every time you stopped by, sits quietly by the door and watches the cars pass by, his fur now graying as weariness begins to settle into those old bones.

You would’ve been displeased if the place had changed, because, well, you don’t like change. But then again, this familiarity is dangerous. It tricks you into thinking that everything is still the same, even you and him. Deludes you into believing that you’re still in love and that he’ll walk out of here holding your hand.

Regardless, the first spoonful has you biting back a smile.

���How is it?” Jungkook asks.

It makes you feel all warm inside, and then a little sad, nostalgic.

“Tastes just the same,” you tell him simply.

“Hmm.”

He lets you satisfy your hunger in peace. It’s the least he can do anyway.

There’s a wall near the back of the restaurant, where people could hang polaroids of themselves and cute handwritten notes. You think if you dig through the hundreds of photos scattered across the space, you might be able to find you and Jungkook there, if you two haven’t already been thrown out long ago to make room for new memories.

He pays for your food after you’re both finished, despite some protesting on your side. As you leave, you’re busy thinking that if you could have a moment to marvel at that far-back wall of memories, if you could find a photo of you and him there, you would probably sneak it into your coat pocket.

It’d be another thing to add to your pile of Jungkook memorabilia - the old clothes in the back of your closet, the stack of dusty polaroids at the bottom of your drawer. You wonder if he keeps anything of yours, maybe an old t-shirt that you forgot to take back. It’s probably unlikely, but a girl can hope.

You miss the way Jungkook glances back, thinking the exact same thing.

You survive the rest of the drive with more ease, probably because of the food. You spend most of the remaining 2 hours leaning against the window, humming to the radio, closing your eyes but not really sleeping. You even forget to be nervous about what is to come.

That is, until the car pulls up to the venue.

It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a lot bigger than you imagined - a modern beach house overlooking the waters. It’s not as extravagant as one would expect to see when they come to a wedding, but considering the small crowd in attendance, this is more than enough. You see people rush in and out of the place even from far away - planners, caterers, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, probably.

You feel a bit comforted just watching this. His family seems to be doing a lot better than before. It’s nice to know.

You barely make it out of the car before someone calls your name, and pulls you into a hug that knocks the wind out of you. Although, when you catch the scent of her hair, you instantly know who it is.

Parents usually have a scent that’s distinct to only their kids, a scent so cozy and homely that no perfume can ever mask. You can only describe your mom’s scent with a feeling, specifically the feeling of your chest tightening, tingling with a bittersweetness that you never found elsewhere. 

Strangely enough, Jungkook’s mother has always made you feel the opposite. She makes you feel relieved to be in her embrace, like she accepts you for who you are even if all you are to her, at the end of the day, is a stranger.

You hug her back awkwardly, hesitantly, in front of Jungkook’s dad, his brother Junghyun, and a girl you don’t know. You assume that she’s the bride-to-be, the main character whom this weekend revolves around. Sooji, you remember that was the name on the wedding invitation.

You get choked up suddenly, eyes turning glassy though you quickly blink it away. You’re not sure if you’ve had someone be so happy to see you. Bypassers might even think that you just found the cure for cancer.

For a second there, you wonder if your mere presence has ever made your mother this overjoyed.

You look at Jungkook for help, silently asking him to rescue you. Who else are you supposed to turn to if not him?

He understands that look. “Okay, mom,” he says, entangling her arms from you with ease, “Y/N’s tired from the drive. Let’s let her rest, yeah? I’ll show her the room.”

She ignores her son. “Honey,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face so she could see you better. “Thank you for coming.” She used to insist that you call her “mom”, or at least by her first name because “Mrs. Jeon” was too formal for someone she considered family.

You now have to opt for the latter, because “mom” isn’t an option for you anymore.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her with a smile. You’re not really sure what else to say, but it makes you a little sad just calling her that.

She opens her mouth before closing it again, seemingly about to jokingly scold you for the formality before she recognizes the bittersweet look in your eyes. She just smiles at you then. There’s not much to be done about it.

You don’t know if anyone else sees how the moment is weighed down. Probably not. Maybe it’s just you and her who share this sentiment.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for his mom anymore. Sons, typical. He wedges himself between the two of you like a bulldozer and leads you inside the house. 

Even though all you have is an overnight bag, Jungkook carries it for you all the way up to your room, which is only down the hall from his. Then he disappears pretty quickly afterward, saying something about his best man duties and putting out fires. He seems apologetic as he tells you this, but it’s not like you’re expecting him to babysit you all weekend.

You bore yourself to death in your room for a while, before you remember you have to text Yoongi to let him know you got here safely. Though, you stop short of telling him that it was Jungkook who drove you here. It’s trivial enough, right? You don’t want Yoongi to feel bad over nothing. You do, however, inform Taehyung and Jimin when you text them about it, to which Jimin only responds with a preemptively disapproving ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

When you get too stir-crazy, you wander outside, hoping to explore the beach before it gets dark and colder. You try to stay out of everyone’s way, because a good guest is a quiet guest. You seem to be doing a good job. No one notices you, not even Jungkook’s mom but that’s because she’s the person you actively want to avoid the most. You don’t know what you’d even say to her if she gets you alone.

Everything is hectic, as one can probably imagine when it comes to wedding preparations. You haven’t had anyone close to you get married yet, so it’s safe to say that you’re pretty much clueless about all of this. You wonder what it’ll be like when your big day comes around, if you even ever get married. You haven’t thought about it in a long time. Why would you? You don’t really have a reason to think about this. It’s much easier to picture Taehyung’s or Jimin’s wedding day than your own.

Your opinion on having kids still remains the same, and you were never one of those girls who daydreamed about having a big and extravagant wedding, but it’s not such a bad idea to ponder about. You still think marriage is a scary thing - it’s one of the biggest commitments a person could ever make - but you’re not entirely opposed to getting married. 

Why are you even mulling over this? Your time might never even come.

When you round the corner to get the steps that would lead you down to the beach, you run into Sooji and a woman holding a thick binder - must be a wedding planner. You give Jungkook’s future sister-in-law an awkward smile in greeting, which she returns much more gracefully before she tells the woman that she’ll be with her in a minute.

So now you’re stuck here, about to make small talk with a person you have never met before, and will likely never see again. Great. 

“Hi,” you say, extending a hand. “I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Sooji,” she replies warmly as she shakes your hand, and you have to stop yourself from being a little weirdo and thinking about how silky her hair looks up close. “You’re Jungkook’s… friend, right?”

You purse your lips before nodding with a chuckle. The pause tells you that she knows, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s uncomfortable having you here. 

“I’m sorry if this is weird. You probably don’t want a complete stranger at your wedding.”

Sooji shakes her head instantly, waving her hands around to dismiss your apology. “Please, it’s totally fine. Junghyun’s mom talked to me about it before we sent out the invites. I wouldn’t have agreed if I was really bothered. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Why did you agree?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I guess I was curious.” She shrugs, before laughing lightly as she says, “I used to think you weren’t real.”

“Huh?”

“She talks about you constantly. Never in front of Jungkook, of course. But she’s really fond of you, and you probably already know that doesn’t happen very often. She really does see you like a daughter. She made you sound too good to be true.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. His mom still thinks about you, still talks about you after all this time. You’re just his ex-girlfriend, but she considers you her family. You don’t know what to do with this information nor the way it pinches your heart.

“I-” You purse your lips, fumbling with the responses in your head. You settle on a light laugh, because Sooji can probably tell that you’re struggling with the words too. “I have to be honest. I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know that you’re still very much loved here.” She gives you a kind smile, and it looks like she wants to tell you something else but decides against it in the end. Sooji’s eyes land somewhere behind you before she points in that general direction. “I have to go take care of an issue with the flowers, but look, Jungkook is here. Why don’t you ask him to show you around?”

And then she’s already off. Overall, what a… strange interaction.

You turn around to see Jungkook standing near one of the entrances to the house. As you watch him talk to someone - a bridesmaid, you assume, or just one of the other guests - you try not to think about the fact that there’s a stirring sensation in your stomach, and that it only intensifies when she throws her head back in a pretty laugh, a perfectly manicured hand landing on his arm like he’s the most charming person she’s ever met. 

You don’t give it a name, don’t label it green in color even though you’re blue and he’s golden sunshine. You don’t acknowledge that it’s a feeling, because doing so would make it real and there are certain truths that you’d rather delude yourself into thinking are lies.

When Jungkook’s eyes catch yours and he cuts off the woman mid-sentence with a curt excuse me, you don’t acknowledge that feeling either, but it’s warm and it blooms in your chest as he makes his way to you. It’s something victorious, something that tickles your ribs.

He comes to you like you’re a destination he’s been waiting all his life to reach, and you certainly, adamantly don’t acknowledge the spectacularly dizzying feeling that swallows you whole when he places a gentle hand on your arm, his voice soft as he says, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

The familiarity, it’s catastrophic.

“I was just walking around,” you tell him. “There’s not a lot to do here. I was bored.”

“You have me,” he says. Probably not in that way, but you’d like to think that’s how he means it. “I don’t have any more fires to put out. What do you want to do now?”

You glance over your surroundings, still set on your original plans. You wanted to go alone, but you suppose you can let him accompany you. You check the time on your phone before asking, “Can we go down to the beach? I wanna see if we can catch the sunset.”

You used to do this whenever you came here to visit - walk along the beach, hand in hand, sunlight in your hair and the cool breeze holding you tight in the afterglow.

The keyword here is “used to”. Now, you have to stuff your hands in your pockets just so you don’t reach for him every time you shiver.

It’s late enough in the afternoon for you to see the moon faintly shine against a blue and orange backdrop. Sun and moon, together in the same frame. It feels symbolic somehow. You’re not really sure.

“The moon looks like an egg,” Jungkook observes astutely, taking casual strides next to you. It makes you burst into easy laughter, which makes him laugh with you too. You stop walking when you reach what you think is a good spot to watch the sky. 

“Let’s sit here for a bit,” you say. It’s not the greatest idea - sitting idly by would only make you colder - but you just want to stop and look at the sunset. Once you’re seated in the sand, you respond to his moon remark, “That’s true, y’know. NASA said so.”

“Yeah,” he says, settling down beside you, “you made me read that.”

You’d forgotten about it, and you didn’t think that he’d remember. It’s freezing cold and the moon looks like an egg, but you’re not thinking, and you feel safe. Nothing can hurt you here, or at least that’s what you’d like to tell yourself.

You wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering, but you still shiver anyways.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit. “I should’ve worn a thicker sweater. But it’s o-”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, just smoothly takes off his jacket to put it around your shoulders.

You put your hands atop his to stop him. When you touch him, there’s an electric tingle that almost makes you flinch. He feels warm, still resembling a human furnace. 

“No, you don’t have t-”

“Take the jacket, Y/N,” he says. “It’s just a jacket.”

The jacket smells like him. It only makes you want to crawl further into the warmth.

He seems more self-assured here, that’s what you notice. More like the version of himself that he used to be. Confident, sometimes borderline cocky. Annoying but oddly endearing, you came to love that about him.

His relaxed demeanor is understandable. You’re merely a visitor here, while this is his homeground. 

“I’m curious about something,” he says after a while.

“Okay.”

“What’s the deal with Wednesdays?” he asks. 

“You know how they say bad things come in threes?” You purse your lips, thinking it over, feeling something bitter in your mouth as you recall the events that led to this. “My parents got divorced on a Wednesday. I moved out of mom’s house on a Wednesday. And…” You hold your knees close to your chest as you hesitate to utter this last part, “we broke up on a Wednesday.”

You see the exact moment Jungkook mentally slaps himself, paling a couple shades as he tongues his cheek, not expecting his question to inadvertently lead back to this. It wasn’t your intention to guilt trip him. It was true that he dumped you on a Wednesday, but you don’t want the mood to turn sour, to have to mull over this again. Like he said, it will still be there for you to worry about when you get back. You’re not looking forward to returning to a shitshow, but what you’d hate even more is to tarnish the memories of this place just because you can’t keep from being vindictive for not even a weekend.

“I was born on a Wednesday too, so I guess bad things come in fours sometimes,” you continue, chuckling to yourself humorlessly.

A frown appears on his face almost instantaneously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. Jungkook turns his body toward you, which makes you spare him a glance before you return your gaze to the horizon. His face is so serious that it’s almost funny. “Y/N,” he presses. “Why would you say that?”

“C’mon, it’s a joke. I was just being self-deprecating. Lighten up.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t walk around with a thundercloud over my head all the time,” you laugh lightly. “I figured if there was a day to be nice to you, it should be today. And tomorrow, I guess.”

“This is you being nice?”

Funny how just a few weeks ago, you were fighting with him and calling him a hypocrite. Now, you’re sitting together, watching the sun set, trying not to be mean to him.

“I’m not picking a fight with you,” you say. “This is nice enough.”

“It’s not even my wedding.”

“Okay.” You glance at him again, letting words flow without a single thought. “I’ll be even nicer to you on your wedding day then.”

You don’t know where that even came from, but something aches the very second the words leave your mouth. The thought of him getting married one day makes you just nauseous, even though you always knew that it was a possibility. It might even be inevitable.

You clear your throat, waving the sullen feeling away. Your body shivers then, even after the added warmth of his jacket. Maybe you’re not shivering because of the cold anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes linger on the side of your face. The both of you keep tiptoeing around an elephant that follows you wherever you go. 

You hug your knees close to your chest, watching the blue sky melt into the golden horizon, splattered with ribbons of cotton candy clouds.

You want to scooch closer to him and have him wrap his arm around your shoulders. This isn’t the spot where you used to draw your names in the sand, enveloped in a giant heart like two lovesick kids, but wouldn’t it be nice to imagine that it is?

“I was always really happy here,” you mumble to yourself.

You were, truly. This city was your pocket of hope, your piece of peace.

Being here brings back so many memories.

It’s the same feeling you get every time you pass by somewhere you used to live. The nostalgia of walking down the same road you used to walk every day until your shoes wore out. The familiarity of your surroundings. The bittersweetness of looking into a past you cannot hold anymore, of remembering the person you were at a certain period in your life, of knowing the things you do now that you didn’t back then.

You long for things you cannot change.

Nostalgia only grows stronger with time, you can always count on that.

He hums in agreement, before admitting quietly, “I miss you.” One pulls, the other pushes. The water wavers, like it’s touched by his words, simple but earnest. You’re touched too, somewhere in your heart, where you know you should be writing someone else’s name now.

Should?

“You’re pushing it,” you say softly.

“I know.”

You look at him. Maybe it’s because you’re back in the city that holds only good memories of you two. Maybe you’re hypnotized by the way the pink and purple hues kiss his side profile, making him feel like a fever dream and not someone you loved. Maybe it’s the cold, making you yearn for any source of warmth. But instead of returning his sentiment, you say, “It’ll pass.”

He meets your eyes. There’s something pleading in his gaze. All things pass eventually. Time moves forward, people move on. Bad things will pass sooner or later. Your worst heartbreak, your most arduous trials, your saddest moments, they will all pass.

And good things… good things will have to pass too, whether you like it or not.

Your fingers twitch from where they’re still holding onto your body. You itch to reach for his hand. You don’t tell him what he wants to hear, even though here’s a part of you that wants to say it back. In a better world, you would be telling him I love you too, instead of having to suppress an I miss you too.

“All things have to pass eventually. This will too.”

[20:05] Taebear 🐻: we could go to that bar near the gallery. Y/N likes the cocktails there [20:06] Mimi 🐥: kay kay [20:06] Mimi 🐥: soooooo next friday? [20:09] Mimi 🐥: why is y/n reading our messages. shouldn’t she be at dinner [20:09] You: i approve of the bar choice [20:11] You: if you didn’t want me reading your messages, you shouldn’t have sent them to the gc [20:11] You: and if you must know, i’m skipping dinner. i’m avoiding Jungkook’s mom [20:12] Mimi 🐥: understandable. i figured you would do that [20:13] Mimi 🐥: how’s it going? are we regretting going yet? i told you to just stay home and we could binge watch the office together [20:15] You: and EYE told you that you could be a good friend and go to this wedding with me but nooooo baby doesn’t like the cold [20:16] You: you could’ve visited your parents while you’re here you know. two birds with one stone [20:18] Mimi 🐥: babes my parents stayed with me for a whole month last month. i reached my quota for family face time  [20:19] You: son and friend of the year 👏 [20:20] Mimi 🐥: 😎😎😎😘

[20:22] Taebear 🐻: hey [20:23] You: uh oh. am i in trouble? why is this not in the gc? [20:25] Taebear 🐻: lol shut up [20:26] Taebear 🐻: you okay? [20:28] You: feels like that could’ve been a perfectly good question to ask in the gc [20:29] Taebear 🐻: because it’s a serious question and we both know Jimin can’t be serious for one minute to save his life [20:32] You: why does it have to be a serious question? 🤪 [20:32] Taebear 🐻: 😕 [20:33] You: stop pouting. i’m fine [20:35] Taebear 🐻: are you? [20:36] You: i am! you don’t have to go all mama bear on me [20:39] Taebear 🐻: ha ha ha. you’re so funny [20:40] Taebear 🐻: want me to call you? [20:42] You: i said i’m fiiiiiine 🙄 [20:43] You: but also no because i told everyone i was tired and i’m pretending to be asleep in my room right now [20:43] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:43] Taebear 🐻: did you eat something at least? [20:44] You: i have a cup ramen in my room [20:45] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:46] Taebear 🐻: how was today? did JK make you wanna strangle him? [20:48] You: okay Kim Taehyung at least act like you have some faith in your friend lol [20:50] You: but mmmmmm it was ok. he was mostly behaving himself [20:51] Taebear 🐻: mostly? [20:54] You: we were down at the beach and he just told me he missed me out of the blue [20:55] You: Mimi is asking why no one is replying to him  [20:57] Taebear 🐻: i can see that [20:58] Taebear 🐻: what did you tell JK? [21:01] You: i quoted fleabag to him [21:09] Taebear 🐻: i had to google that [21:10] Taebear 🐻: i still don’t know what that means [21:11] You: i know you don’t lol. you’re adorable [21:11] You: i’ll tell you when i get back.  [21:13] You: ok bye i have to sleep early or i’ll look like ass in the morning [21:14] Taebear 🐻: oh. okay [21:15] Taebear 🐻: sleep tight. remember not to gorge yourself on booze tomorrow [21:17] You: thanks for the reminder. love you mom 🙄💕 [21:17] Taebear 🐻: :) [21:20] Taebear 🐻: you won’t look like ass btw

You clocked out right after you told Taehyung that you would. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep though. The anxiety simmering in your belly woke you up a few times throughout the night. You don’t even know why you were anxious. It’s not like you were the one who was about to walk down the aisle.

When morning finally came and you managed to untangle yourself from the surprising comfort of your familiar bed, you practically dragged your feet for the subsequent two hours, trying to get ready. As if that would actually slow down the passage of time.

You had to compartmentalize the things you needed to do in a mental checklist. Makeup. Hair. Dress. Stare at yourself in the mirror for half an hour and internally freak out while waiting for Jungkook to come get you from your room.

Now you’re sitting in the wedding hall, watching people filter into the room. It’s not even a lot of people, but you’re still overwhelmed regardless.

You feel so exposed, even though he’s the only one looking at you in this room of strangers. He’s been looking at you like that ever since he first saw you this morning, in a dress that you got just days before the wedding. You still don’t know if it’s entirely appropriate for your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding - maybe a bit revealing - but it was the only one you could find on such short notice.

When you tried on the dress for Taehyung and Jimin a few days ago, Taehyung said you looked beautiful. Jimin said you looked decent, “six point five out of ten,” which translated to “pretty nice” in Jimin-lingo. That would’ve been enough if you were going to any other wedding, not one where Jungkook would also be attending.

You had wanted him to see you and regret ever leaving you.

It was a silly thought, just a tad adolescent.

You had wanted him to see you in your dress and be consumed with thoughts of you until he couldn’t even see straight. To be the only thing on his mind, you didn’t think it was a lot to ask for.

That was before he told you not to think about it and you’d been convinced to just go with the flow just for two days. It was before he actually did see you earlier today in your dress - a simple midnight blue satin cowl neck with a slit in the thigh - but you were the one rendered helpless and speechless. He had stared at you for a minute when he came to walk you down from your room, then he’d said, all breathless even though both of you were just standing there, “You’re beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, not You look beautiful.

You don’t know why, but you appreciated it.

It made your cheeks burn underneath your artificial rosy blush. Stupid, you thought to yourself when you two made your way to the main hall. Stupid for letting yourself get dizzy because of a single compliment from him.

You’re seated with his parents, which makes sense because you don’t know anybody here except for them. Well, maybe you know one of his cousins whose kid you and Jungkook used to babysit whenever their family was in the city, but you doubt that he even remembers you anymore.

When the ceremony begins, your heart instantly feels like it’s about to drop to the pit of your stomach.

You can’t lie to yourself. It stings.

It stings just sitting here next to his parents like a daughter-in-law, like a member of their family, watching his brother solidify his happy ending.

It stings that Jungkook is standing up there, looking as handsome as ever, but his eyes aren’t on the couple. They keep flickering to you no matter how much you try to pretend that they don’t.

It stings that even though you don’t think about marriage often - or maybe you just don’t allow yourself to - you can’t deny that the thought does cross your mind from time to time. Any time that you’d wander the corridors inside your head, you’d pass the doors that you keep unopened on purpose but there’s always that one door marked with a bright red X that you can never sidestep.

You watch Junghyun and Sooji with their teary smiles and shaky hands, shaky but happy. There’s a sudden clarity that this could’ve been you and him in another life. Forever is a lie, but you would’ve perjured yourself a thousand times for him. I do - you would’ve meant it.

You imagine yourself in Sooji’s place, and Jungkook, standing right on the other side, holding both your hands in his. A beautiful and radiant bride terrified of the altar. A dashing groom with a smile that could rival the sun and shoulders weighing heavier than he lets on.

It would’ve looked clumsy, but it could’ve been right.

You wonder if he’s wondering the same thing. Maybe he is. You hope he is.

When the ceremony ends with a kiss shared between the newlyweds, you wipe away the tears that well up in your eyes. The people around you do the same thing, but they’re doing it for the right reason, out of genuine joy for the happy couple. You don’t think you can say the same for yourself.

Some of the bridesmaids fawn over him. It’s reasonable, you suppose. One tends to do that in the presence of Jeon Jungkook.

You watch as they come up to him one by one to ask him to dance, watch as he politely declines until they’re all stalking away with similar pouts on their faces. You watch him until his eyes lock on you, sitting at a table near the back, nursing a glass of champagne.

He weaves himself with ease through the people making their way to the dance floor. When he’s in front of you, he holds out a hand.

“Dance with me?” he asks, his doe eyes working overtime to lure you in with their sparkles, though you’d rather stay here where you can easily go unnoticed until the night ends. “One song?”

“I don’t know how,” you say, even as you’re taking his hand and standing up.

“I showed you how, remember?”

“That was a long time ago.”

He squeezes you reassuringly. “Just follow my lead,” he says, walking the both of you to the floor. “C’mon.”

Once the music starts, your heels stomp on his feet at least three times before you start finding the beat to move along to. Muscle memory, or whatever, is bullshit. You remember absolutely nothing of what he showed you.

You’re grateful that the song is slow, because it makes it easier for you to follow the beat with your two left feet. He takes one of your hands in his, the other settling on the small of your back, guiding you to move in a steady rhythm.

You feel his mother’s eyes on the two of you, because she must be somewhere nearby, watching you like a hawk. You feel his gaze on your face while you keep yours on the knot of his tie, just trying to keep your composure and to not step on his feet with your heels.

The blur of white that you catch from the periphery of your vision makes you turn your head. Sooji and Junghyun are close by, swaying together slowly to the soft music, both of them glowing with happiness. She must sense your eyes on her, because she lifts her gaze up to meet yours. She smiles at the sight of you and Jungkook, and you smile back, because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

You don’t say it, but you do think it. Your fingers tighten around his hand ever so slightly.

Could that have been us?

If the answer is yes, then it would hurt.

If the answer is no, then it would hurt.

The point of your story is that it’s painful however you choose to look at it. There’s no other way to frame it. It’s just painful, because you’re never going to get any of it back.

You bite your lip, then turn away from the happy couple but you still don’t look at Jungkook. You look at your hand in his, and that’s when you see it.

“How’d you get that?” you ask, gently tracing the inch of slightly raised skin on his knuckles. You never noticed the scar until now.

“It was four years ago, I think? After Taehyung and I almost got into a fight, I went outside and… punched a wall,” he says, wincing as he recalls the memory.

His answer takes you aback. “You and Taehyung got into a fight?”

“Almost,” he corrects. “It was a long time ago. Didn’t they tell you?”

“No, they didn’t say anything. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“If it was really nothing, you wouldn’t have punched a wall.” You frown. It makes you miss a few beats, but the song isn’t what’s important now, even if Jungkook is still trying to steer you back into the dance. “Taehyung isn’t violent. You aren’t violent.”

“I’m serious,” he says finally. “It’s nothing. We were just drunk and stupid.”

You know there must be more to it, that something must have happened or been said to trigger such a reaction from both of them. But you also know that you won’t probably get anything out of Jungkook if he doesn’t want to tell you.

You give up, for now. “Fine. If you say so.”  You’ll just have to weasel it out of Jimin later.

The song comes to an end, before another one comes on. If Jungkook remembers that he only asked for one song, maybe he’s counting his blessings that you’re still here and dancing with him, because he doesn’t mention it.

For some reason, you pull your hand away from his, only to slide up his shoulder to lock both of your hands behind his neck. He seems surprised, but he does the same around your waist.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to your lips briefly, then back to your eyes again. You find yourself doing the same and wonder what he tastes like after all the time you’ve been apart. Is he still as sweet as you remember? You used to tease that it was because of the excessive sugar he put in everything, but you knew it was really just him. The few inches between you are so inviting that it’s practically tempting you to close the gap. You could, easily in fact. Blame it on one too many glasses of champagne later if you want.

He looks younger like this, like the boy you loved, starry eyes and dimpled smile. His shoulders are always the most comfortable resting place, the crook of his neck your long lost home. This is nice, you think, to see him again even though it feels like a fever dream. Memories of your first date, your first kiss, come to life before your eyes so realistically that you could almost touch them.

Loved? That sounds funny to you.

The people you used to be, souls wrapped in innocence, when the world was nothing but the arms of the person you loved. You reach out, and the memories quickly fade from view. The only trace they leave behind is a speck of gold on your fingertips, a memento of charming naiveté for you to tuck neatly away in the corner of your mind, but also a reminder that ah, they only exist in the locket of your heart now. Because he has changed, and you think you must have too. Life, as they say, goes on.

“We made it. Kind of. That’s crazy,” you find yourself saying.

“Did we?”

“You don’t think so?” you chuckle. “We’re in a group chat with the Kim Seokjin who spams it with bad jokes on a daily basis. I’d call that a win.”

That makes him laugh. “If you put it like that, yeah, maybe. Sure.”

Other people might be fooled, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing to you. The light doesn’t really reach his eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking of how to translate the sudden poignant turn of the moment.

“It isn’t everything you hoped it’d be?” you ask.

His shoulders rise then fall quickly in a second-long shrug. “I thought it would make me feel more… fulfilled. But it doesn’t. Not really.”

The way he says it and the way he’s looking at you makes your heart dive. You understand what he means. You’re good at what you do, and you don’t need reassurance from anyone to recognize that. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Doesn’t feel like it’s real, like it’s validated.

When you landed your first big project, even before Yoongi, you were so proud of yourself. You were bursting with excitement but you weren’t happy, and you knew what the reason was. Something was missing that couldn’t be filled, not even with all your friends’ hundreds of messages of encouragement. 

It’s beyond stupid, this feeling like your wins amount to nothing at all just because of one person. You wanted him there to celebrate every achievement with you and he wasn’t, and the milestones seemed incomplete without the presence of him. It doesn’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything because this always used to be a dream you thought you’d make come true together.

“It’s lonely,” he concludes.

It sounds like he feels the same way, like he wanted you to be there too.

He suddenly holds you tighter than you think he needs to, like he’s afraid to let go of you. You imagine that he doesn’t want to let go of you, and it makes you feel better for a second. But it doesn’t change the fact that he still did in the end. And he will have to when this ends.

What was the point of this? Why did he bring this upon yourselves when he seems to be as hurt as you are? All of this time, all of these years, lost to what? You could’ve been happy together but instead, you were both lost and miserable.

When the music stops - you lost count of how many songs it’s been - you pull away from him. He looks disappointed, maybe even a little hurt for some reason.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say, already turning away from him.

“Y/N-”

“I need some air.” Then you’re weaving through the dancing couples despite Jungkook calling your name. How did he manage it? How did he not look back when you called out for him?

You hastily grab your coat on the way out. It’s not going to keep you warm, but that’s not something you’re even remotely concerned with.

It’s everywhere, you feel it down to your bones.

The wind wraps itself tightly around you, intertwining in your hair, slipping through the cracks of your fingers, caressing your face in a chilling touch. You greet the cold like a long lost sister, shivering violently with nostalgia. It was there for you more than your own flesh and blood.

Is that why you like the sea at night? Because it reminds you of mom?

It’s dark out here, barely anything is visible except for a lighthouse sending out light in the quiet of the night. You can’t see much, but you can certainly hear it. You’re not sure if the music is coming from inside the venue, or if it’s still ringing in your ears. It’s probably the latter; you’re too far away to be able to catch the music anyway. But regardless, the tune is quickly drowned out by the sea.

The waves crash violently against the shore like it’s out for blood. There’s a magnetic pull, as if it’s calling out for you. You want to go to it, to reach out and feel the cold outside of your body for once, but you stay there despite your legs itching to stand up and run straight ahead. Into the water and down under.

You could lie down and close your eyes for a moment. The sound of the water, as sharp and brutal as it is, nurtures a part of you somehow.

You just want to be alone. You don’t want to talk to Taehyung, or Jimin, or even Yoongi.

Oh.

Yoongi.

It’s a terrible feeling, knowing that you’re going to hurt Yoongi. Knowing that you’re going to kill this even before it has a chance to truly begin.

Truth be told, you can’t envision a future with Yoongi. There isn’t anything wrong with him, because he’s not the problem here. Yoongi is fun, he’s considerate, he keeps things light on purpose for you, until you’re ready to initiate something more serious. He’s good for you, even Taehyung thinks so.

But you can’t love Yoongi, not in the way that he wants you to. Not more than you love Jungkook.

There you go. Ruining things again.

Did you ruin Jungkook? Is that what happened?

The layers on you are no match for the sea at night. The wind hisses relentlessly, biting at any part of your skin that’s exposed.

It takes you back to that night. Almost everything does, actually.

Maybe that’s why you never even stopped to consider starting anything with anyone, because it always ends. If there’s a beginning, then there will be an inevitable ending. Love isn’t made to last and you aren’t meant to carry love with you. You’ve been abandoned twice. If it happens a third time, it’s a pattern, and then your hypothesis will only be proven. That the problem here is you.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered when it’ll finally be Taehyung’s turn to leave. He eventually will, right? That one’s gonna hurt.

Then, you’re startled when someone calls your name.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks. The wind and the waves masked the sound of his footsteps walking up to you. When you turn around to face him, his eyes grow worried, almost panicked. “Why are you crying?”

You breathe out irritatedly before you hastily wipe at your cheeks. You didn’t even realize that you’d been crying. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie. “I’m just tired. I’m going up to my room.”

He catches your wrist in a firm grip when you try to walk away. You wish he’d just leave you alone, but you knew he wouldn’t drop it just like that.

“I said I’m fine,” you insist.

“You were crying,” he says. “Did I do something wrong?”

He didn’t, at least not tonight.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

“Jungkook,” you warn. “Let go of me.”

You try to free yourself from his grip, hoping that he’ll get the hint and back off for now. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, where you struggle to escape from his hold until you realize your efforts are futile. He takes the wind’s place, wound tightly around you, so tightly that it’s nearly impossible for you to move.

You hiss out his name, but he doesn’t budge. 

“Jungkook, can you just- Fuck!”

Damn him.

You realize he’s not giving up, which in turn makes you give up struggling, hoping that if you let this be a moment, then it’ll be something that can pass.

You’re just standing there, letting him hold you, letting yourself be held by the person who broke you in the first place. This feels exactly like where you’re supposed to be - in his arms, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, his gentle fingers stroking your hair. There’s not a lot that you could do but lean into that feeling the same way you lean into him. One foot in the sand, one foot in the past. A hand on the doorknob of time, wondering if you should look back or look forward.

You want to be alone, but that never used to apply with him.

The wind stills, the sea calms. You remain unmoving too, locked in his embrace. You feel the faint rhythm of his heart, beating faster than you think it should. If you could, you would bottle this moment up and live there forever.

I miss you, you think.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

Then your arms are around him too. It only makes him hold you tighter, and all you can think about is how much you miss him, how painful it is to miss him, how you feel like you’re being pulled apart at the seams from the weight of missing him. 

Fuck.

Can you pretend that the last few years never happened? Is there a higher power that would allow you to go back to the night before that wretched Wednesday, when everything was still perfect? Hundreds of days of your life, can you pretend that it was just one long nightmare? When you wake up, you’ll be back in his humble apartment, tangled up together in his bed. Warm sunlight, your silken youth, and him. It was all you ever needed.

Again with the devastating familiarity. The city, the beach. His mother’s warmth that always made you reminisce about your own mother’s coldness. How Jungkook used to find you in moments like this and just stayed by your side until the dejection passed. He understood that he could never understand it the way you did.

You hear yourself sniffle, then you feel him press a kiss into your hair. Home is comforting.

Oh, you never want to leave.

You don’t want to leave, and that’s terrifying.

You allow yourself to stay there for one more second - one endless second - so you could commit to memory what it’s like to be with him. Back and forth. It’s always so easy to fall into him.

Jungkook releases you when he feels you loosen after a while, and you reluctantly meet his eyes as he tilts your head to face him.  His fingers cradling your jaw, how warm and delicate they feel on your skin.

You swallow thickly, your mind going blank. He’s the only person you see, the only one that matters. His eyes flicker south, and even then you don’t make any move to run away, despite his loose grip on your waist telling you that you can if you want to.

You told him that it would pass, and maybe for him, it will. For him, it’s the city and the moment, making him feel like he’s caught up in a page that he’s turned over a long time ago. He was fine with leaving, and he’s been fine without you. It will pass for him, as much as it hurts you to admit it.

But not for you. For you, there’s only him. There’s nobody else but him. It’s always been him, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that there will be another person you can love as much as you love Jungkook. You might only be a page, perhaps even a chapter, in the story of his life, but he’s your entire book. He’s volume after volume after volume, until he takes up the whole shelf and leaves no room for anything else, not even for yourself.

And now here he is - at the biggest turn in your career.

He’s a bad blood cell you can’t ever get rid of.

You’ll never be able to truly let go of him. How could you? When you truly love someone, those feelings will carry on forever. They’ll always have a piece of your heart despite an ending. When you look back on a certain period in your life, you’ll think to yourself, You’ll always be a part of me. I loved you then.

But Jungkook is a force of nature. He has your whole heart.

Years and years from now, when you look back on your life, you know you’ll see him everywhere. Even when you’re old and gray, and when faces all just blur together in a mosaic of broken memories and long lost youth, you know you’ll still remember him - the person you loved, the one whom you let slip through your fingers. The great love of your life when you were young.

Sometimes, you regret that day. You can’t help feeling like it was your fault too. Maybe you should’ve tried harder to keep him. You should’ve fought harder, should’ve held onto him instead of standing there and watching him leave.

He lit the match, and you let the house burn. It takes two to tango, two to break a heart.

You’re quick to let people leave. Oh, how you wish it could be that easy to let them go too.

It isn’t until your eyes mimic the flicker of his gaze that he leans in. You meet him halfway. For the first time in years, you feel like you could breathe, truly breathe. It’s achingly slow, like neither of you can believe that this is happening. 

You sigh against his mouth when his tongue brushes your bottom lip, slips past the seal to devour you. It feels like a perfect dream. You could stay in this bubble with him forever, pretend that you’re the only two people who exist in the world and there’s nothing else, no one else, waiting for you in a city that seems so far away right now. The thought of him never left you, not even for a second. He’s always been with you everywhere you go, no matter what you do, always in the back of your mind.

He tastes like your youth, like remembrance. He kisses you like he’s still yours when deep down you know that you’re still his. The hand on your jaw is gentle but firm, and it makes you repeat a thought, I miss you.

Then a feeling, I love you.

Not then. Now.

I love you now.

I love you even when I shouldn’t. Even when it hurts. Even when you leave me. Even when you don’t love me more than I love you. If there comes a day where you love somebody else, I will still love you then. There will never be another person for me but you. My first and only love.

When he pulls away, you think it’s too quick, even though your lungs are grateful for the breath that you instantly inhale. You stare at his lips like you’re in a daze, mesmerized, wanting to chase them again. You don’t even know how you have it in yourself to utter these next words, but you hear your own voice saying them anyway.

You’re holding onto him now. Doesn’t that count?

“Let’s…” Your fingers tighten on the collar of his dress shirt. “Let’s go up to your room.”

note (2): so... what do we think?? will they?? won't they?? 😵 stay tuned for obs7.5 which will be dropping 29.09.2023! also i'm gonna pause obs muse asks for a little bit! 😬

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted september 24, 2023]

[bangaveragewhitewine]

such a flirt!

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

May 1992

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do. To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Feeling secure in your relationship, you don't let it bother you too much - you know that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you. 

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up. 

A follow-up to crazy-mad for you & I'm yours, all yours. (part of the Happy Hours series)

Word count: 7.9k

Content / Warnings: Jealous!Reader, feeling insecure & spiralling, comparing yourself to another person, mention of being cheated on in the past. A tiny fight (kinda). Female OC. Flirting, turned all the way up to eleven. Bi-panic 😈. This is 18+ if you are not 18 please read something else; semi-public sex, fingering, a hefty helping of dirty talk, slight perv!Eddie and mention of bruises left after sex. Eddie ‘Motormouth’ Munson, a certified menace.

This one is quite introspective, a look into Bartender-reader’s self-doubt and insecurities. 

Author’s note: Well girls, we’re back. I really can’t get these two out of my head. Thank you to bestie @specialagentmonkey for proofreading ♥️ 

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do.

To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Perfected and fine-tuned over time, Eddie was smooth-talking, honey-tongued and could undress you with a simple glance - all things that had drawn you to your co-worker-turned-boyfriend. To bear witness to his talent (one of many, to be fair) had helped you to up your own flirt-game; figuring out how he liked to be flirted with, what made his pupils blow wide, or his tongue dart out to wet his lip. Flirtation was part of the very foundation of your relationship with the curly-haired rocker. 

Working together made your flirtation extra fun, a tool for extended foreplay while you poured shots and beers, while Eddie checked IDs and did his rounds to make sure no one was bumping coke in the bathroom (again). 

It also meant that you both had seen your other half be flirted with by strangers more times than you could even quantify. It was part of the job, a grin-and-bear-it part that sent Eddie home with more than one feather boa or a smeared lipstick mark on his cheek from a bachelorette party (bachelorettes loved your boyfriend, and you understood why). It also often meant you could make a few extra dollars on tips if and when you allowed it, extra dollars to buy a book or new tape you wanted or pay for takeout on your next night off together. 

You felt secure enough in your relationship to not let it bother you too much, knowing that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you. 

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up. 

It had started off as a usual shift; a Friday night in early May; the weather was warming up and the new cocktail menu you had put together was already proving popular. You and Eddie arrive together after an afternoon of lazy sex, reading together in bed and taking turns to make coffee before hauling yourselves up for a shared shower and a pre-shift diner dinner. 

By now you had all but officially moved into Eddie’s little apartment. You spent the odd night apart if you were meeting friends, or if Eddie had a gig, but oftentimes he would come crash at your place instead of going two more blocks home. His little one-bed apartment had begun to feel very much like home. You felt the question might be coming soon after he was a little too interested in your lease agreement and when it was up for renewal. If you had paid a little more attention, you might have noticed the dogeared YellowPages bookmarked with a scrap of paper on a page of addresses of key-cutting places on your side of the city.

You walked in the back door of Jackie’s, Eddie hot on your heels with his fingers dipping into the back pocket of your denim skirt to poke the mouth-shaped bruise he had bestowed upon your asscheek. It was in the tender purple-black stage, and he loved to rile you up by pawing at it.

“Quit it!” you hiss at him, scowling over your shoulder. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, Munson.” 

Eddie’s clever comeback is cut off by a roar of laughter from the bar. The bar doesn’t open for another hour so it’s only the other staff in before you.  

“Weird.” Eddie double-checks his watch to make sure he didn’t keep you late making out in the car or lose an hour somewhere. 

“Definitely weird,” you agree. “Is it someone’s birthday? Shit…” You think through the calendar in your head. Frank’s birthday isn’t for another two weeks… 

Eddie shrugs and cranes his neck as you turn the handle of the staff room door. “Go ahead out, nosy. Be there soon.”

Eddie pauses, makes sure you’re alone, and takes advantage of the distraction in the bar to press you against the doorframe. With an almost predatory grin, he leans in for a slow filthy kiss. Taking your surprised little gasp for an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, he pulls that little gasping moan that he loves right from your throat. 

“Love you,” he murmurs before grazing your lip with his teeth. “Don’t miss me too much.”

He smacks a final kiss to your warm cheek and gives your achy butt one more squeeze before hot-footing it to the bar to see what’s going on. 

You hear his throaty laugh as he leaves you close to panting against the wall. “Asshole.” 

The staff room door muffles the noise as you scowl to yourself, left throbbing between your legs in more ways than one. As you swipe on some lipstick and tie your apron with a bow, you contemplate just how to get Eddie back for kissing you like something straight out of a smutty romance novel. After a final once-over in the mirror, you head out to join in on whatever is going on. 

Sitting on the bar, holding court, is the most stunning woman you have ever seen. She’s got these shiny green siren-eyes that command attention with hypnotic power. She reminds you of a copper-haired Kelly Bundy with deep red lips and the perkiest tits you have ever seen. 

She’s hot. 

She’s also got her hand on Eddie’s shoulder, toying with the freshly trimmed ends of his hair and twisting the coils around her long manicured nails. 

It makes something acidic unfurl and burn in your chest. 

He doesn’t even look over when you step out from the back, too busy nodding along to whatever the reincarnated Birth of Venus is saying. 

Through the sheer black of her blouse, you can spy ink that will have taken hours to press into creamy blemish-free skin, black and sharp and perfect. She carries an air of ‘your friend's cool older sister’, something utterly unattainable that makes you feel like an awkward teen again. 

Michelle beckons you over, flashing a smile when she sees you. “Hi sweetie,” she squeezes your hand with a little whisper. 

“Who’s -?” you mouth silently, not wanting to interrupt when this siren-woman has everyone hanging on every word. 

Before she can even answer, the goddess has everyone laughing again and she turns her attention on the late-comer to her one-woman show. You. 

“Oh hi! You’re new!” Her voice is sultry and smoky-smooth. “I’m Crystal, used to work here way back. You’re…?”

New? In a couple of months, it will be two whole years since you first stepped foot inside Jackie’s and scored a job the same night. 

You plaster on a smile, feeling tiny as you gaze up at the goddess on her plinth. You tell her your name, eyes darting to Eddie briefly but Frank has his ear while Crystal questions you. 

Michelle wraps her arm around your shoulders. “She’s a superstar. Our cocktail queen! Designed the new menu and everything,” she squeezes you against her and leans her blonde head against yours. 

“Oh, cute! You have to make me something later, okay?” Crystal insists, glancing at the board behind the bar where your carefully curated creations have been colourfully chalked up by Eddie’s artistic hand, complete with little illustrations of cocktail glasses - you had teared up when they surprised you with it. 

Crystal taps Eddie’s shoulder. “Ed, what’s good on the menu? Is there anything better than my Long Islands? You know, I used to make him drinks after every shift.” 

You watch your boyfriend smirk before he catches your eye. “Those were lethal, Crys. There’s not one bad drink on the menu. She worked super hard on it, best sellers all round.” Eddie winks at you, smiling proudly. It should settle then twisting discomfort in your chest but it barely touches the sides. 

“You’re such a flirt, Ed. My god.” Crystal laughs and shoves his shoulder gently before hopping down with her graceful long legs. “You got a cigarette? We better let them get the bar prepped. Friday nights are always so crazy here.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Crystal flashes a smile your way, something playful. “See ya later for that drink.”

Warm-cheeked and grey-matter scrambled, you watch Eddie pat down his pockets as Frank and the other bar staff tell Crystal how good it is to see her again. Jeff is already walking ahead toward the door, playing it smooth and cool though his eyes are hearts on stalks like a cartoon character. 

“Inside left, Ed,” you say, pointing out where his battered pack of smokes were hidden. You had slipped them in there after all. 

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, a grin on his face - he plans on quitting or at least cutting down but right now, a shift without smokes doesn’t bear thinking about. He’s about to say thanks but you have already turned your back to hide your pink cheeks, ashamed of the jealousy coursing through you. 

It pisses you off more when he doesn’t come over anyway for one more kiss. Your lips still buzz from the swoon-worthy smooch he had laid on you but it turns to a sting as he turns and follows Crystal instead. 

You distract yourself with your to-do list before the bar opens and ponder over the history your boyfriend may or may not have with Jessica fucking Rabbit. 

You’re lucky not to lose a finger with how furiously you chop wedges and slices of lemons and limes, feeling totally on edge when you think about Crystal and Eddie laughing and smoking together. The last time you had seen another girl touch his hair he had very kindly moved her hand and directed her to the bar to buy a drink from you, ‘the hottie bartender, she’s my girlfriend - tell her Eddie says hi’.

Michelle lets you stew a bit as she checks the taps and restocks the straws and napkins. She catches you swearing at an unopenable jar of maraschinos, fearing you may smash the jar and slice your hand if you don’t quit knocking it on the counter. 

“Okay, what’s going on? Did those cherries kill your grandma?” she asks, taking the jar from your lime-juice-sticky hands. 

“Nothing's going on. I’m fine.” 

Liar. You’re actively thinking about how good Eddie and Crystal looked side-by-side and you hate it. Red and black, his favourite colours.

“Do you have cramps? Are you and Eddie fighting or somethin’?” she asks, hand on her hips. 

“No, and no. Just… Ugh.” You know Michelle doesn’t give up until she gets an answer. You love and hate her for it, she’s definitely one of your best friends for life now - especially when she opens the cherries without breaking a sweat. 

“Spill, babe.” She spears four cherries with two toothpicks; one for you and one for her. 

You accept it with a little smile that fades quickly and use the distraction to figure out how to say what you want to ask without sounding like a crazy person. 

“Crystal… Did she and Eddie…?” You brace for impact. 

Michelle raises one thin brow as she chews the sticky red fruit. “Go out? Fuck? Nuh-uh, don’t think so. You’d have to ask him though, babe. She’s just… super flirty. They were friendly, and I think she had a little crush on him.” She shrugs, “He left for tour before she quit, she moved out west.”

You nod, chewing the second cherry without really tasting it. “Yeah,” you sigh. “I guess… I just thought he might’ve told her I was his girlfriend or something.” 

Michelle watches your shoulder slump and pulls you in for a one-armed hug. “Maybe he should’ve. He did hype up your cocktails - he does that when he’s checking IDs y’know, gives out recommendations and everything. Totally whipped, huh?” 

She kisses your head and squeezes you to her side. “Don’t let it get to you. Crys will get bored soon, especially if he’s not flirting back. She’s a Vegas gal now, I doubt we’re to her standards anymore.”

You lean your head against your friend and fold yourself into a hug. “Thank you. You’re the best.” After a few moments, you speak again. “She’s so pretty.” 

“Ugh, I know. Makes my piss boil, she’s so hot.” 

You both break into giggles as you squeeze each other extra tight, pinky-swearing to have a girls’ night the next time you both have the same night off. 

With a little boost from Michelle, you finish setting up the bar and write up the night’s drink specials on the menu boards. You turn the music up to cover the sound of Eddie’s throaty laugh as it carries from inside the door, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in your gut. 

It’s busy from the off tonight and though you had plenty to distract you as you poured and mixed drinks, tendrils of jealousy crept in and coiled around you like boa constrictors. You half-watched Crystal flit and flirt around, distracting the other bartenders when she wasn’t lingering far too close to the door for your liking. 

Why hadn’t he ever mentioned her before? Had he flirted with her like had with you before you got together? Was she going to take her job back and take your boyfriend too? 

If she didn’t seem so fond of your boyfriend, you might just be in awe of her and want to be her best friend. Alas, your hang-ups don’t extend such kindness and instead make you bitterly territorial as you shrink into yourself, feeling like a toe in comparison to her. 

You want to take your overloaded brain out and shake the stupid thoughts out in a chilled silver shaker, strain them away before screwing your head back on so you could be normal about the woman who might have no ulterior motive for hanging around your boyfriend. 

Around nine thirty you step away from the bar to take your turn collecting empties from tables; the crowd is cheerful and you move around them with ease. Crystal isn’t anywhere and you see Eddie chatting to Frank by the door before the big boss heads home for the night. Your shoulders relax a little, hoping that Michelle is right and the redhead had decided to find somewhere a bit more salubrious for the rest of her night. 

It’s almost time for your first break; you need a stone-cold Diet Coke and ideally a joint - but that’s a post-shift treat, so fresh air will have to do. 

The catchy part of En Vogue’s My Lovin’ plays on a loop in your head as you drag yourself to the back door with your fizzing pint glass of Coke and lime. The ice clinks out of tune with your hum-singing. 

You’re almost at the door when you realise there’s someone else out there before you. The rest of the staff is behind the bar and Eddie doesn’t take his five minutes this early (not when the door is peak-busy). You try to spy through the gap in the door where it’s propped open with a crate and see a flash of shiny copper, perched on your stool. 

The click of ice against glass gives you away and Crystal turns her head, spotting you peeking. She’s not even supposed to be out here, but at least she’s not haunting Eddie - small mercies, you guess. You give her a tight smile and step outside.

“Oh, hi. Is it your break?” 

“Yeah. Just my five.” You shrug and sip your drink, leaning against the cool bricks as Crystal eyes you from behind the smoke of her menthol cigarette. 

“Want one?” she asks, offering the packet out. 

You do. You miss the menthol burn from high school parties. “Sure. Thanks.” 

She gives you a little smile and passes you the packet, a new Bic lighter under her thumb to light you up. 

“Is it nice to be back?” you ask, filling the silence after your thank you as Crystal looks at her nails. Up close you can see a few of her tattoos beneath her sheer blouse; a rose on her shoulder, a fierce trad style leopard on her inner arm.

“Oh yeah. Missed the guys, they’re such sweethearts.” She smiles and watches you sip your drink. You feel like a lamb next to her, an elegant lioness. “You like working here?” 

“I really do. They’re kinda like family now.” It’s no word of a lie. 

“Cute. It was one of the best places I worked.” She stubs her smoke under the block of her heel. “You work with Eddie much?” 

And there it is. 

You take a long minty drag. “Yeah, pretty often. We’re usually scheduled on the same shifts.”

Crystal nods her head. “Super hot right? Somethin’ nice to look at to make the night go faster huh?” You watch her lips curve into a coy grin.

Your own smile is a little at her expense. 

“Oh for sure.” You double-fist your drink and cigarette, tapping the ash off carefully. “That’s why we don’t let him behind the bar, leave him by the door to draw in the girls.” You echo Frank and Michelle’s teasing of your boyfriend; his heavy pours and clumsiness with glasses are the main reasons he stays stationed on security, but it’s fun to tease him. 

Crystal laughs at that, head thrown back. “Right?! And such a flirt!”

It’s the second time she mentioned that tonight. It wasn’t a lie - you’re simply used to being the only subject of Eddie’s well-practised flirtation after seven months of being his girlfriend. 

It rattles around your head, clanging like a bell. Such a flirt! There are a few beats of silence before she speaks again.

“Hey, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?” Crystal asks. “I’m flying back out on Sunday. The rockstar thing really does it for me.”

You feel a stone - nay, a boulder - sink in your belly and take another drink as she continues. God, you wish you had spiked this for yourself, smoky-sweet rum or clean sharp vodka. The chill of the ice and menthol can’t dampen the burn in your chest, a heady mix of jealousy and rage. 

“I was going to try and link up with him when he was on tour, I was in L.A. for a bit before the move to Las Vegas. I thought he might stick around out there a while,” Crystal digs around in her purse for her compact and lipstick as she speaks, prettying her already stunning self up for your boyfriend. “Maybe tonight’s my night,” she says, touching up her powder before looking at you for an answer.

You blink a few times, bathing your sticky tongue with cold Coke before you can speak. 

“Sorry, Crystal.” Your voice is surprisingly steady for how all over the place you feel. “Yeah, he’s definitely got a girlfriend. Together almost a year.” You blow menthol smoke into the air, feeling it turn your mouth acrid in a way that can’t be balanced by your sweet drink. You crush the half-smoked cig under your boot and push off the wall to head back inside.

“Guess tonight’s not your night,” you say, shrugging.

It’s a little bitchy and mean when you could just put her out of her misery. Instead, you just turn and head back inside, cutting your short break even shorter. You shut the door behind you, slamming it just hard enough to make a point.

You should have just told her, acted like a grown-up instead of a jealous teenager with a chip on your shoulder. The anxious little worm in your brain had decided for you, calling out ‘don’t tell her, she won’t believe that Eddie would want a girl like you when goddess-women like her walk the earth!’

As you rest your back to the door, you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. 

In for four, hold for four, out for four. 

Eddie isn’t like Connor. He’s not like Eric either. 

Years of hurt and heartbreak, being someone’s number one until someone better, prettier, funnier came along, had made you wary of dating when you boxed up your life and moved to Chicago. You had gone on a few really crappy dates last summer before getting together with Eddie, before he showed you the real him (unexpectedly sweet-hearted, willing to get a bloody nose in a fight for you). 

His flirty nature had made you wary of having your heart broken by a charming ladies' man all over again. But that’s not your Eddie. He had promised you that wasn’t him, showered you with love and promised you were it for him. He never seemed frustrated with affirming his feelings for you, promising you it was the real deal. He loved the heartbroken girl inside you just as much as he adored the woman you are now.

Having a borderline existential crisis on your five-minute break wasn’t the respite you had planned from the busy bar. As you splash cool water on your wrists and spritz your warm cheeks with rose water, you just hope that Crystal isn’t one of the girls who sees a man with a girlfriend as a fun challenge rather than off-limits. 

When you feel a little less shaky - or steady enough to not drop every glass you pick up - you tag one of the other barmen to go on his five and slot back into your pit of self-loathing, hidden behind a smile and the beer taps. By the time you shake up six Appletinis and a tray of Blowjob shots for a table of girls celebrating a birthday, you have convinced yourself that Eddie would probably be better off with Crystal instead of your petty jealous ass. 

You’re so deep in your wallowing that you miss Eddie darting from the door to your side of the bar. His hand is tapping the drink-slick bar top to get your attention before you even see him. 

“Psst. Hey, c’mere. Need to talk to you.”

Are you in trouble? Had Crystal told him about your less-than-friendly behaviour? You plaster a smile on, one that he sees right through. 

“Ed, I’m working. What’s wrong?” you ask, stepping away from your station to hear him better over the music. 

“M’working too, it’ll just take a sec.” Eddie leans forward, smiling cheekily. “You’re my girlfriend, right?” 

Your cheeks heat up. Shit. He knows. 

You nod. “Yeah…”

“Lemme hear you say it?” he tilts his head, batting his lashes a little playfully.

You sigh and roll your eyes, pretending that your heart isn’t beating out of your chest, even though it feels a little bruised. “I’m your girlfriend.”

He looks triumphant and amused and pulls your hand in between his own, holding it like a treasure. “Okay, good. Why didn’t you just tell Crys that?”

The rolling boil of hurt that had been bubbling in your chest all evening and into the night doesn’t evaporate with Eddie’s loving little touch. 

“Why didn’t you tell her, Ed? You could’ve told her fuckin’ hours ago that I was your girl.”

Your heads are close together as Eddie leans in to hear you over Alannah Myles crooning Black Velvet.

Expecting you to be a little more playful, matching his energy, he sobers and frowns, studying the hurt marring your pretty face. “Oh shit. Honey…” 

“It hurt, Ed. You had like two chances right off the bat... How many more did you miss, huh?” 

Eddie’s brows disappear under his bangs. “Fuck, it’s not like that. I didn’t realise… Didn’t even think. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Good.” You squeeze his hand anyway, proud of yourself for not minimising your feelings to just go back to normal. 

“Baby…” “Eddie…”

His Bambi eyes aren’t enough this time. But you know he’s going to feel like shit because he hurt you, which makes you feel crappy for ever doubting him. 

“Can I kiss it better?” Eddie’s pouted lower lip is obscenely kissable. 

A mid-shift kiss is usually Eddie’s reason for waylaying you at the bar, though he can usually hold off until your break together. He leaves Jeff to man the door when it’s quiet so he can claim his sugar tax or borrow your lip balm (he really has an impressive collection of euphemisms for begging a kiss from you). 

You’re usually very forthcoming, and right now you would love a kiss but the opportunity to fuck with him and get a little payback for his romance novella bullshit earlier (getting you worked up before the longest shift of your life) feels too good to miss. Your scheming lifts your mood from the doom spiral, just a little.

Yeah, flirting with Eddie was core to the foundation of your relationship, but so was fucking around with him. 

You meet his baby cow eyes with your own gaze, looking through your black-coated lashes. 

“You love me?”  “To the death.” “Then you can wait.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. One hand clutches his heart as the other holds your hand even tighter. “Baby… You’re really withholding a kiss right now? I said sorry! And I meant it!” 

You roll your eyes, classic drama queen Munson. You fucking love him. 

“I am.” “You’re killing me.”

You smile and lift his hand to kiss the back of it. “Then suffer. I’ve got customers to serve, Ed. See you at twelve - maybe you’ll get a kiss then.” 

You pat his cheek and turn away, hearing the thud of skull versus countertop as he groans like a wounded man. 

He’s going to be insufferably lovely for the rest of the weekend to make it up to you.

Your re-found spring in your step has you back in your usual flow as you pour beers side by side with Michelle. Eddie has dragged himself back to the door to sulk, but not before tossing scowling puppy eyes over his shoulder at you. 

“I should be pissed you’re slacking off to talk to your boyfriend but whatever that was made you actually smile, so I’m here for it.” She grins and bumps your hip with her own, your signature move together as you work in tandem. 

“Just a wee bit of payback. I’ll tell you on girls’ night,” you promise, hearing her laugh as you ring up your customer. 

Spirits lifted, albeit at your boyfriend’s expense, you make it through the peak of the night without spiralling any further. In fact, your distraction is all Eddie Eddie Eddie.

At least until the scent of freshly spritzed Dior Poison wafts over the bar as you catch sight of copper and red next in line for you. Crystal. 

She looks just as gorgeous when she’s a little bashful, giving you a warm smile - a promise that she comes in peace. 

You’re cringing, wishing you could duck behind the bar, but you definitely owe her an apology. 

“Hi.”

“Hey, Crystal. I think I owe you a cocktail…”

She smiles, her creamy cheeks blushing in the dim light of the bar. “What do you recommend? I’ve heard you’re like, the queen of mixology and know exactly what drink people will like.” 

You can hear Eddie’s praise of you in her words; his little alchemist, his sexy potion-mistress. He took his role of taste-tester in chief with the utmost seriousness. 

“Mm, I do my best. You like cherries?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I do.” 

She lifts her arm to show you a stick and poke cherry tattoo on her wrist. 

“Tequila?”

“Girl… Are you in my brain right now?” 

You grin and shake up a mix of cherry liquor, ginger syrup, tequila and lime juice with ice - adding a little extra cherry syrup just because. You pour the mixed margarita into a chilled glass with salt and sugar rim and a cherry garnish. 

“Don’t even think of getting your purse out,” you say as you slide it across the bar. “I’m sorry for being weird.”

Crystal accepts the proffered straw and slides it into her drink, taking a slow sip. Her eyes blow wide as the flavours of cherry and earthy tequila bathe her tongue, zinging sharp with bright lime. “This is amazing.”

You smile and shrug. “It’s my personal favourite, and… Well, you strike me as a woman with excellent taste too.” 

The thick tension and coiling vines of envy from before are totally gone now as you both share a knowing smile. 

“Sorry for flirting with your boyfriend. I definitely wouldn’t have if I knew…” Crystal squeezes your forearm where it rests on the bar. “Nothing ever happened between us, just friends when I worked here. We flirted back and forth, just for fun. That’s all.” 

You nod, feeling more at peace now. “He’s fun to flirt with, I don’t blame you. We started off just flirting too. And bitching at each other. Just for fun.” 

Crystal smiles and sips her drink again. “He’s crazy about you. You know that right? Only has eyes for you. He’s got it bad.” 

Feeling your cheeks and chest heat up, you nod again. “I do, I’m kinda crazy about him too. Literally crazy tonight, apparently. I’m really sorry I was a total weirdo with you earlier.” 

Crystal extends one hand, long red nails pointed at you, and you take it to shake. “Water under the bridge, babe.”

You wish you hadn’t wasted your time spiralling when you could have been making a friend.

She squeezes your hand, making sure you’re looking at her. “Y’know, I was gonna ask earlier if you were single even if Eddie wasn’t… The hot bartender thing also does it for me.”

Oh, she was good. 

So good that your brain goes static for a few moments. 

The hot girl thinks you’re hot. She’s totally flirting right now. It feels…good?

Crystal fixes you with that siren stare, black lashes sweeping her cheeks when she blinks slowly. Your face and chest flame hot as you become the focus of her flirtation.

“Uh… I… Wow. Really? Sorry… We kinda ruined your night, huh?” Your voice is shakier than you would like, your tongue thick in your mouth, but she finds it endearingly sweet.

“Nah, you made me this yummy drink. And hey, if you two are ever planning a trip, Vegas can be lots of fun. Come find me maybe?” 

Crystal drops you a wink before disappearing into the crowd like a breath of cherry smoke, a napkin with her number left on the bar for you - for you and Eddie. You fold it into your back pocket, another little thing to tease Eddie with when you get on your break with him.

Being flirted with and propositioned while you were working had never been quite so fun or exhilarating. Usually, it made you feel icky, but now you feel like you’re zinging with electricity that helps you power through the thirsty queuing customers cleaning spills and collecting glasses until you’re tagged to go on break again.

You uncap a beer for yourself, shoving lime in the tall neck, and take one for Eddie with you when you head out back to meet him. You pause to swipe more rosy lipstick on before shouldering past the heavy exit door. 

Your brain hurts from the tornado of different emotions you have experienced on your shift so far, but the chill of brick against the back of your head and the cool beer on your tongue helps. 

As always, you hear your boyfriend before you see him. Tonight is heavy boots pounding on stone as he rushes back to you, unable to stand another second of being un-kissed. 

“Medic? We have an emergency!”

For a moment you think he might not be fucking around, but the way his eyes glint when he sees you proves otherwise. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit outta me,” you tut. 

“Thank god you’re here! It’s life or death.” His breath comes quick as he stops in front of you, holding your face in his hands. “There’s a dying man, he needs urgent mouth-to-mouth.”

Your brow rises as you fight the urge to grin. “Oh yeah? Poor guy. Sounds fatal.” 

“It is. He was a total idiot and now he’s not got long left.” 

Those baby cow eyes shine with genuine regret, sparkling with a sprinkle of mischief that is so innate to Eddie Munson. 

“Well, maybe I can help. But I don’t think he’s totally in the wrong.” Your hand slips over his shoulder, touching butter-soft leather. “There’s also a crazy woman on the loose - you might have seen her… I think it might be all my fault.”

“Nah. Only saw this crazy-beautiful woman. She looked kinda sad though… Broke my heart a little.” 

You look up into Eddie’s eyes, feeling more than in love as you close the gap between you. Pillow-soft lips press against your rose-tinted mouth, kissing away any remnants of worry and sadness as he wraps you up in his arms. 

“I fuckin’ love you, baby,” he murmurs, barely breaking away to remind you of what is true. “M’sorry.”

“I love you.” Your palm curves, moulding against his neck and you can feel his pulse hammering beneath. You move back slightly, so you can tell him what was bugging you without being waylaid by the need to kiss him. “I got so in my head. It just…”

Eddie’s head rests against yours as he listens. 

“I got really jealous.” It’s barely a whisper when you speak it out loud. “It was stupid because it was all in my head.” 

Eddie runs his nose against yours, lips tracing its path until they press your forehead. 

“S’not stupid if it’s real to you, princess.” Eddie holds you against him, pressing kiss after kiss to your busy head. “I wish I could’ve made it better sooner. It’s not nice to hear that I made you doubt me. I’m not going to hold it against you, I promise.” 

You direct him back to your lips, kissing him when words fail you. 

“M’sorry,” you whisper against his mouth. “I never doubted you, Eddie. I just.. it was me. I didn’t get why you’d want me when Crystal was right there. She’s the hottest woman ever.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Are you jokin’ with me? Baby, you are the hottest woman ever.” 

“Eddie, it’s fine. We both have eyes - she’s hot,” you admit, smiling a little. “Wanna hear something funny?” 

He nods and presses one more kiss to your mouth. 

“She was trying to flirt with me too. I was just too up in my head to realise…” 

Eddie grins, shaking his head. “As she should, you’re smokin’.” 

Your arms wrap around him, hugging tight. “We’re all good now. I made her a drink, she prepositioned me…” you say, totally offhand. 

You brace for Eddie’s reaction. 

A ten thousand-watt grin almost blinds you when Eddie peels himself back. “Oh yeah? That is kinda hot…” 

“Shut up.” Your voice wobbles with laughter. “Don’t worry, babe. She said you’re invited too. If we’re ever in Vegas, that is…” 

Brown eyes blow wide - Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. “H-whaa?”

Pressing your face against the soft black cotton of his t-shirt, you giggle against his chest. “You heard me. She was crushing on both of us tonight.” 

“That… I… My brain has stopped working…” “Stop imagining it, Edward.” “I’m not.” “You are! I can feel your dick on my leg, dude!”

Eddie takes two steps back, hands on his head as he spins in a circle. “I’m in some parallel realm. Did I die? Oh, I did die… See? This is why you should’ve kissed me earlier! I’m flatlining here! Medic!”

His dramatic ass has you cackling, cheeks hurting as the no-game nerd inside him fails to comprehend what you just told him. You were both interested in exploring with each other in the bedroom and had already broadened your tastes with him, but neither of you had anticipated stumbling across this unopened door…

“So I’ll throw her number in the trash?” you ask, sipping your beer with a pointed raise of your brow. 

The nonsensical goblin-yelp that comes from Eddie’s mouth makes the bubbles fizz up the back of your throat, making you cough and splutter. He’s an absolute dork and you adore him.

He presses pause on the dramatics to check on you, making sure you’re not going to choke on lime-spiked beer.

“Hot.” Eddie laughs as he wipes the fizz from your lip, then pats you hard on the back. He pouts as you pinch your brows at the sting of beer in your nose. “Poor baby.”

“Dick.”

“Yeah, your dick.” His cheeky grin softens. “You’re the only woman for me,” Eddie says, cupping your face again. “I mean it. It’s hot as fuck that we were kinda prepositioned like that, but you’re it. I only want you.” 

You pull him in for a kiss again, deeper this time as his tongue licks against yours. The zing of electricity that runs the length of your spine pushes you closer to Eddie.

“Yeah? Even if Elvira rocks up?”  “She’s my hall pass, baby. Just like you and Keanu.” “Mmmm...okay.” 

Eddie drags you in for another smiling kiss. You feel small in comparison to the breadth of his shoulders, the subtle bulk he carries - you love it. His hand rests on your neck as he presses up close to you, thigh slotted between yours where your skirt pulls tight across the plush part of your legs. The well-loved denim bunches and slips higher as Eddie crowds you against the brickwork - he’s amped up and wound tight too many kiss-less hours and the revelations of the last few minutes. It’s easy to match him, mirror the needy grasp of hands on denim to pull him close.

His kisses soothe any whisper of doubt or fear that haunted you since your shift started.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, princess. S’hot that you’re crazy for me,” he murmurs against the side of your mouth before diving in again for another filthier kiss. 

Your nails graze the back of his head, fingers twisting and tugging in dark brown curls to draw that pleasured little noise from the back of Eddie’s throat and swallow it all for yourself. Hips shift against the meat of his thigh; silky lace on denim dark enough to mask the damp mark you’re bound to leave there. 

Eddie’s mouth moves down to your neck, seeking out that spot that makes your jaw drop open and your lashes flutter. One big ringed hand dips lower to encourage your hips to roll and rock against him, propped against the wall with his lean strength holding you up. “That’s it, baby. I gotcha.”

It’s easy to forget you’re at work, where any one of your co-workers could come looking for you or Eddie, but when he’s touching you like this and making you burn for him you can’t spare the space in your brain to care. You’re sure that you should both be on some sort of formal warning by now after how many times you have been caught making out and groping each other on your breaks. You had given him a hand (and head) more than once on the clock; some nights were slow and called for a distraction. 

And nights like this? When you need each other so desperately, they were something else entirely. 

“Ed..” Your voice sounds whiny and pathetic in your own ears as you clutch at his shoulders. 

“That’s me, doll,” he murmurs, “M’gonna make it up to you okay? Say sorry for making you jealous’n’sad.” His fingers slip up beneath the bunched hem of your skirt, touching the warm spot on the front of your underwear as his forehead presses against yours. “Can I? Just a little somethin’? Promise I’ll make your head all empty when we get home. Yeah?”   

You’re a weak woman, rendered boneless and speechless as Eddie’s fingertips press there. With a lazy nod, dragging him back for a kiss, you roll your pelvis against his hand. 

“That’s it.”

You feel his smile against your mouth as he pushes your underwear to the side, enough to feel how wet you are as his fingers press and dip and stroke. Eddie drags your slick gloss up, easing the friction as he circles his thumb.

“Oh Jesus,” you gasp, a shuddering breath as he pushes two fingers inside with ease. You hold him to you, clutching the back of his neck.

Eddie spares you a cocky comment in favour of kissing you again, stroking up inside you before beginning to fuck into you. He doesn’t stop his kisses when your jaw slackens, tongue meeting his with lazy strokes as blood rushes in your ears. 

“That’s it, just let me take care of my girl.”

My girl. It gets you every time. 

He feels the pulse and gush, a Pavlovian reaction, and presses deeper. 

A slow pleasured smile spreads on your face as his fingers fill you. Eddie watches, eyes heavy-lidded, before moving back to kiss your neck. 

Motormouth Munson keeps his title as he murmurs filth against your neck, punctuating praise and promises with sucking kisses and scrapes of teeth, soothed by his slick tongue. 

“That��s my girl, I know what she likes. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ soaked for me. Can feel you pullin’ me in, princess.”

“You been so worked up all night, huh? I’m gonna take such good care of you. Not leavin’ our bed tomorrow until you forget your own name. Gonna show you just how much I love you, baby.”

You choke down your moans, quietening yourself to breathy gasps and pleas in Eddie’s name. The fear of interruption, of getting caught, gets you both going. 

Eddie hoists your thigh up to his hip, widening you more more more as his fingers find, then curl and press on your spongy spot. 

Your moan is muffled against his shoulder, still too loud to be decent and louder still in Eddie’s ears. 

“Fuck, there we go. Oh, you’re so fuckin’ close already, huh? Gonna come for me right here?” His voice is low and rough, words ground out as you feel him hard against your leg.

“Yeah,” you whimper, already shaking. “G-uh.. Oh god.” Your back arches away from the brick as his fingers speed up, thumb pressing hard circles in tandem. “Eddie… Fuck, fuckkk!” 

He nods, speeding up just enough, just like he knows you need. Eddie squares his jaw as he listens to the sloppy wet sound of his fingers between your legs. Your jaw drops, brow creases; blissful agony. Eddie steals another kiss, soaking up the little noises you make when you’re close, the noises that make him throb in his jeans. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.” 

You leave the marks of your teeth on his leather-clad shoulder, biting back your moan as you obey. Eddie makes you come hard, making you drip over his silver rings. Eddie has to hold you up, keep you steady as your body convulses with absolute bliss. You hold on like he’s your life raft; he is your life raft - steady and sure when you falter or fall.

Eddie keeps you close, basking in your glow as you catch your breath. The hand on your thigh moves, cups and cradles the back of your head so you don’t bust it too hard against the wall. 

“Fuck, baby. That was a big one.” He smiles when you smile, pliant and lazy, brushing kisses and praise against your hot cheek. He reaches to prop the stool beneath you to take your leaden weight. 

“There she is, my pretty princess.” When you open your eyes, you can see the flush on his cheeks and the pulse of the vein in his neck. 

You’re so utterly spoiled by this man. You kiss his lips, softer now as you come back to life, to earth. You’re shaky, breathless but you feel alive. You feel loved. 

“That was… Full marks, no notes.” 

Eddie raises a fist, triumphant like John Bender. “I know what my baby needs.”

He makes you giggle and bite your lip as he licks the taste of you from his fingers. “Sweet.”

You pass him your open beer to down as his prize, as you put yourself back together, sliding your ruined underwear off over your boots to use in lieu of a rag. 

Eddie snatches them just as you consider trashing them (not that you were going to, they weren’t cheap). “Mine.” He’s breathless from sucking down the fizzy beer as tucks them into his pocket.

Your laugh is shaky but you don’t even fight him on it. It’s not the first pair he has pocketed mid-shift, nor will it be the last. 

“Pervert.”

He shoves them against his nose for good measure, living up to the accusation. “Oh yeah. That’s the good shit.” He winks before shoving them back inside his leather jacket, right by his heart. A romantic pervert at least. 

“That keep you going for the rest of the night? Until I get you home?” Eddie asks, before starting on the second beer; he shares a few sips with you.

“Mm, just about. You have promises to keep, rockstar,” you say, pulling him in with fingers hooked in his belt loops. “I wanna return the favour but ‘Chelle will kill both of us if we disappear again…”

“I’ll survive. Be strong.” He musters up faux courage as you press kisses to his face. 

“My brave boy.”

Your arms wind around each other, hugging and holding your other half close. 

“Y’feeling a bit better than earlier?” Eddie runs his hands up and down your back; his voice is sincere and sober.

“Mmhm. Much better. Not just ‘coz you made me come. But that did help.” You smile and tuck your head under his chin. 

He hums a happy noise and presses his lips to your head. “Glad to be of cervix. I mean, service.” 

“Ugh. Really?” You can feel him laughing, shaking with it. 

“It’s a good one!”  “Eddie, my love - what’s a cervix?” “It’s like…womb-adjacent.” You can hear his smugness. “Hmm, don’t need to know how you know that.” “Did biology three times.” “Oh. Okay.” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You tilt your head to look up at him and smile when he kisses you again. 

“If I help you clean up later we can get fries on the way home. You’re going to need your strength, baby.” 

His eyes glint with that look that makes your tummy flutter. 

“Deal.”

Eddie cups your face and kisses you with a soft sweetness, something like a peach, that contrasts with his filthy promises of taking you apart and putting you back together later. 

He helps you up from the stool, making sure your knees don’t buckle and your skirt is pulled down properly to cover up your lack of underwear. 

Eddie makes you spin for him, admiring you with his kiss-bitten lip between his teeth. “Mm, one more time for me?” 

You roll your eyes at him before tucking yourself under his arm.

“Love you.” Eddie pulls you in for one more peck before opening the back door for you. 

“Love you more, rockstar.” You feel like a girl being walked to homeroom as he smooches one more kiss against your cheek. 

As he backs away, not wanting to be the first to turn, Eddie points a finger at you, “Love you most.” 

You roll your eyes, grinning anyway as he backs around the corner with the Bender-fist raised in the air again. 

Eddie Munson might be a flirt, such a flirt, but he is all yours.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

Tags: @oneforthemunny @munsonmecrazy @parmawiolets

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: Two ✦

John “Bucky” Egan x OC Gale “Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mention of death, suicidal ideations.

● If you would like to be tagged, just comment below ●

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“You need to eat something, Carolina – “ My mother’s voice straining. “You’re withering away to that of a corpse.”  

The thought of eating anything at this point, especially the pickled beetroot, was enough to make me want to vomit. I moved the spoon around in the liquid, playing with it as if I were still a child. You really don’t feel like eating after watching the love of your life be lowered into the hard, cold ground.

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not hungry.” Mother darting her gaze in my direction. “Thank you anyway, Mother.”

I knew her patience with me was starting to wane, her emotions taking a direct hit as well. I didn’t want to do anything – eat, bathe, talk – I just wanted to be left alone and that was killing her to see. My father on the other hand just pushed everything to the side, whispering to mother that this too shall pass. He had fought in the Great War – seeing many of his fellow colleagues and friends shot down right in front of him. He knew the tolls of war and what they could do to someone’s psyche, especially the wives of the soldiers that never made it home. To him, this was a natural part of life. To my father, Gale was taken for a reason that we didn’t have any business knowing. It was his time to go and there was nothing that any of us could do about it.

She took a seat at the table across from me, pushing her greying hair from her face. The air was silent between us, neither her nor I making direct eye contact. She finally broke the ice, clearing her throat before speaking,

“Carolina –“She took a short pause as she gathered her words. “I won’t tell you that I know how you’re feeling right now because I’ve never had to deal with such tragedy, but I can’t stand seeing you act this way, darling.” Tears brimming her lined eyes. “You're love for Gale is something that I admire greatly and I know he was your everything if not more –“I narrow my eyes as she speaks. “But you can’t keep pushing yourself down this rabbit hole of self-neglect and mourning.”

I was appalled – dumbfounded that she would even say such a thing.

“He was you're first love – and while that is important – you are still young, and I don’t want to see your beauty go to waste.”

“I just buried my husband less than four hours ago and you’re telling me that I need to suck it up and go find another man?” My voice low. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?”

She was taken back by my question – her eyes squinting at my argument. “I just want what’s best for you, Ca-“

“No-“ I cut her off. “I’m not gonna sit here and be lectured by someone who’s never been through what I’m going through at this moment.” My voice quivering with anger. “Gale was the love of my life – and I’m sorry if you’ve never felt that way towards Daddy, but there’s no man on this planet that could ever fill Gale’s shoes and there never will be.”

My chair scrapped against the hardwood floor as I jump up to leave. I could hear her calls as I marched back to the bedroom, slamming the door with all my might. The sobs that I had held back escaped as I slid to the floor – my knees curling into my chest as the tears streamed down my face.

I didn’t even cry when they lowered his casket into the ground.

The shock of that being the last image of Gale that I would ever see again sending my body into a hypnotic state. My mother’s words finally breaking the damn open – my anger allowing the floodgates to open…

“You see that soldier over there – “Her painted finger pointing in the man’s direction. “I bet you I can get him to ask me to dance during the next song.”

I rolled my eyes as I sipped on my coke, watching as Brenda and the other girls at the table laughed and flirted with the man in question. He was tall and dark headed – not really that handsome – but that was for her to worry about. Brenda Cogsworth was a girl that my mother forced me to be around. Her mother and my mother had grown up together, becoming friends while our fathers were fighting in the First World War. The Cogsworth family had money, but class was missed with their precious Brenda. She was wild as a stallion, kissing ever boy that looked in her direction. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up knocked up or infected by a disease that Penicillin couldn’t cure.

“Why aren’t you putting yourself out there, Carolina?”

Brenda smirked to her friends as she waited for my reply. It was obvious they were teasing - knowing that I hadn’t spoken to a single fella since I arrived. My mother had forced me to come to the dance – telling me that I needed to be cordial – silently demanding that I find a future husband. Initially, I was a very shy person, but I opened like a flower in the Spring once I got to know someone. By coming to dances such as these, I didn’t think I was up to par with the other ladies, such as Brenda and her gaggle of friends. They had bright blonde hair and smooth skin – I had dirty blonde hair and chastity pustules that would pop up during my flow. My mother always made sure I was well dressed but you must have a pretty face, not just a nice dress to get a soldier to notice you these days.

I kept quiet as I watched the man in question smile to his friends before sauntering towards our table. He removed his cap, tucking it under his arm, as he slicked back his already oiled hair. He introduced himself, taking Brenda’s hand in his, pressing a kiss against her skin. The table swooned as they watched the events they had just discussed unfold, quietly celebrating as the solider lifted Brenda was from the table and onto the dance floor. I guess you would call them good friends for being happy for her, but these girls were calculative. They would be happy for you to your front, but their bodies were raging with envy. They all wished they could be Brenda at that moment – dancing away with a soldier that you’d be lucky to see again once the war was over.

“Now he’s a looker.”

I followed the glances of the girls as they watched the man walk towards the bar. He was dressed in slacks and a collared shirt – his blonde hair positioned in a tousled fashion.

They were right – he was very attractive – too attractive to be from around here. I watched as he spoke with another male – his smile big and bright – as he laughed at their words. The girls continued to whisper about him, telling each other to make the first move before someone else decides too.

“If you ladies will excuse me.” I took one last sip before standing up, smoothing down my dress before turning towards the gentleman. I don’t know what had gotten into me – the fact that I was tired of being the butt of their jokes – or the gumption of just trying to find out if I could confront someone of the opposite sex. My mother always told me it was the man’s place to approach for the first time. Make him do the work as you sit back and bask in the attention.

Mother’s rule went flying out the window that night.

I let out a deep breath, my hand reaching out to tap his shoulder. His friends were the first to notice me, grinning at me as the man I had sought out slowly turned around. He was about a foot taller than me – his blue eyes connected with mine.

“Hello –“My cheeks blushing. “I’m Carolina Davies.”

His eyes trailed down my body – his friends snickering as they nursed their drinks. “Carolina?” His voice deep. “Like North Carolina?”

The tone of his voice having a hint of tease, “Yeah.” My confidence starting to slowly deflate as he looked at his friends, knocking into each other as they laughed.

“Not to be a drag or anything, Carolina-“He paused as he stood a little straighter. “But your looks aren’t doing it for me, sweetheart.” He spoke matter of fact. “Sorry if me looking over at the table you were sitting at made you think that I was interested in you –“Another pause. “But I was looking at the girl you were sitting next to – the pretty one.”

I could feel tears welling in my eyes as the shame and embarrassment draped over me. I had just made a complete fool of myself – knowing damn well that I should’ve just kept my butt in that chair.

I didn’t bother saying anything else to him – there was nothing to say to be honest. I just gave him a small smile before excusing myself. The girls I had been sitting with watching the interaction, hiding their smiles as I walked by.

My stride grew faster as I pushed past the dancing couples, needing the immediate feel of fresh air on my skin. I felt like an utter fool – a reject – ugly.

The cool autumn air provided me a sense of relief as my body pressed against the brick wall of the hall. I ignored the glances of those that were entering, wiping away the stale tear that would occasionally drop from my lashes.

“Carolina?”

My eyes darting over to the man standing to the right of me. “Carolina, right?” His smile growing as I looked at him confused.

I nodded, “Yeah?” My voice weary.

He took a step closer – his facial features coming to light as he stood under the singular bulb. His smile started to fall slightly as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He shuffled his feet. “Saw what those guys did back there – should’ve never happened.”

Silence struck me – my brain trying to wrap around the words he was saying.

“I’m Gale Cleven.” A twinkle showing in his blue eyes.

“Carolina Davies.” My voice cracking.

His charming smile reappeared causing the theoretical butterflies to migrate around my stomach. He was very handsome – much more attractive than the guy at the bar. “Beautiful name for a gorgeous girl.”

I watched as the birds hopped around the yard – pulling the early worm from the soggy ground. The weather mimicked my mood – dark and grey – the sun disappearing the morning of Gale’s funeral. It had been over a week – a long week – full of sympathetic gestures and “I’m so sorry for your loss” sentiments. I had sent my parents away two days ago – no longer able to take their constant supervision – hiding sharp objects and medications so I wouldn’t harm myself in anyway.

I constantly thought about it though.

Just a flick of the blade one right way or a handful of the right pills – Gale and I would be reunited, and the worries of the world would dissipate. I could never get the gumption to do it. I was positive that Gale was looking down on me – just the way the wind would blow a certain way – or a red cardinal sitting on the fence that sat in front of the kitchen window. He wouldn’t want me to reach that level of despair. He would want me to go one and be happy, but it’s hard to do so when your heart is breaking into a million pieces. It’s hard to remain happy when lying in bed, reaching across to the spot where he once slept – the sheets cold – the empty void of waking up alone every morning.

The distant sound of a truck pulled me away from my thoughts – the familiar black Ford kicking up dust as it came closer. I let out a sigh, pulling Gale’s shirt tighter around my body, hiding the thin lace of my nightgown from John’s view.

“Morning, Carolina.” His gruff voice sounding as he removed himself from the driver’s side.

I stayed silent – rolling my eyes at the sight of him. I had gotten rid of everyone except him – John was like a piece of lint that just kept popping up – no matter how many times you swept – he still lingered long after.

My eyes glanced over as he walked to the back of the truck, pulling two suitcases from the bed. Worn leather and seeing better days, he placed them on the wooden steps. “Good to see you getting some fresh air.”

Pushing out of the rocker, I retreated into the house, the screen door slamming against the frame. Muttered words slipped past his lips; his boots heavy as he followed my direction. I had made myself a pot of coffee earlier, forgetting about it until reaching the kitchen. Pouring the dark liquid into my cup and the rest down the drain, not up to sharing with the likes of John Egan. I took a seat at the table – our eyes connecting over the coffee cup as he entered the room. Silence blanketed the room as he leaned against the counter, his gaze focused on the backyard.

“Why are you still coming around?”

His neck turning – our eyes meeting once again. “Pardon?”

Sitting up a little straighter, Gale’s shirt opening slightly as I moved. “I said –“My tone low. “Why are you still coming around? He’s dead and gone – your services around here are no longer warranted.”

“And what services might those be?” His jaw clenching.

A loud sigh blew through my nose, “Those of the mighty hero – the devoted friend – the courageous major who led his team out of the trenches. Only thing –“ I paused. “You weren’t brave enough to take the bullet yourself, letting your dear friend, Buck, take the lead instead. That’s a real heroic act if you ask me, Mr. Egan.”

The words dripped with venom – John’s eyes burning with utter rage as the room acquired a deafening silence. His diaphragm moving at a rapid rate as the anger coursed through his body – his fist balled together as he resisted the temptation to start swinging.

I struck a nerve – Gale’s death was the nail that was hammered into John’s figurative coffin on the daily. The thoughts of seeing his friend being shot down – only following his commands to go over the wall to a hopeful escape. Seeing Gale’s lifeless body lying on the snow-covered ground as blood seeped from the open wounds – John deserved to see that every time he closed his eyes.

“I never claimed to be a fucking hero, Lina.” His voice thick with emotion.

I rolled my eyes at the mention of the nickname he had given me. Crossing my arms in a defensive motion as he stepped close to where I sat.

His knees cracking as he crouched down, his blues level with mine.

“You think hiding behind this hateful wall is gonna make you feel better? Sayin hateful things to the people who are just trying to help you?”

My eyes narrowed.

“Get off your high horse, little girl. Your husband was my best friend – the only person that kept me going during those God-awful days at that fucking camp. You think you’re the only one hurting – honey, you don’t even know the half of it.”  

Our faces were centimeters away – his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

Kicking my leg out as I stood, I bumped purposely into his body as I retreated to the front entrance. His bags still sitting by the door – no reason at all why they should even be in the house to begin with.

Taking each case in my hands, kicking open the screen door, I haphazardly tossed them into the muddy yard – a smile forming as they landed with a splash in the dirty water.

The thunderous sound of his footsteps met my ears, his jaw slacked at the sight of his things lying in the yard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I couldn’t help but laugh, watching as he raced down the steps, pulling the leather out of the puddle, water dripping as he held it away from himself.

It was the first time I had laughed since the news of Gale’s death – coming at the misery and expense of John Egan.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

crimzon ruze dating an artist

i’m gonna be real the hate mail stream changed me as a person

yhis one is about ruze and a reader that likes to make visual art, but if this gets some reception might be interested in writing more headcanons for writers, musicians, programmers, dancers…

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, headcanons

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

let’s get it out of the way: ruze isn’t just a viciously violent mercenary menace, he’s also a viciously violent mercenary menace that ✨ loves creativity ✨

he respects people that can use their imagination, like inventing new horrific ways to kill a corruption beast, or making someone’s day worse in a way that can’t be replicated

so naturally he gravitates to people who put their imagination to use through their own art medium. he has a type for creators

one of the best feelings ever is being able to watch an artist in their element, focused on their vision

there’s always so much to admire. their hands wrapped around the pencil, the way they squint and stare at the lines… he could go on

if he’s really lucky maybe the artist will move around while drawing a character, just so they can use their own body as reference. it’s so cute seeing them lift a hand and compare it to the one they were drawing, even the pout they do when they erase the last few strokes, all frustrated but ready to try again. especially the pout

he doesn’t do the whole “talking about your feelings” thing so when he sees a well-done drawing, well, that just makes admitting it all the more redundant. who needs words when a picture is worth a thousand of them?

ruze himself isn’t exactly an artist, but he’s tried before. it’s tough work. anyone that can control their pen that well deserves respect

if you’re an artist and your love language is quality time then dating ruze is a dream. he’ll do work in the same room as you while you’re preoccupied with your latest piece

it’s just the right amount of togetherness, but you’re able to do your own thing, and so is he. this feeling gets even better with banter, music, anything

he doesn’t mention it often but ruze also likes to work with his hands too. his favorite is papercrafting

you’re the only one in the world that knows he has a diy scrapbook full of photos and embellishments and, yes, some of your doodles and scrapped art you let him keep

always wants to display your art in some way. it’s personal and makes him feel like his house is a little livelier

if you need more space or expensive supplies for your art like a firing kiln, large canvases, pressure pots, or other equipment, then he’ll drop off the face of the earth for, like, a week, then come back with a bounty collected and a cut of it for your art fund

ruze likes the challenge of hunting down and fighting a fearsome monster, and how you brighten up as you plan a visit to a local craft store

he likes to ask questions about what you’re working on. this can be anything from art history to oc lore to symbolism to techniques

it makes especially good conversation at night when he’s about to go to bed with you

…there have definitely been times ruze was the first to sleep because you got hit with inspiration at 1 am though

it would be hypocritical if he were to make you rest, but just don’t overdo it and wake up cranky past your alarm, alright?

and do some stretches, including your hands, and your back. you’re literally dating someone who uses his muscle to make money. you better be treating your body nicely while you’re making art

you should be getting accidental paper cuts, not carpal tunnel because SOMEONE didn’t stick their arms straight out and bend their wrists back while keeping their fingers straight for 10 seconds, then bend their wrists down to the floor for another 10 seconds. not naming names

the type of mf that will sneak up and make some form of sudden physical contact (a kiss? bite? lick? annoying poke to your side?) so your back straightens and then tells you to keep it straight instead of giving you more affection

would NEVER respond to someone talking about their art with “can you draw me?”

that’s probably his greenest flag actually

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[atinylittlepain]

Part One | The Hero

gator tillman x f!oc

series masterlist || series playlist

I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth. - Anne Carson, An Oresteia

wordcount | 5.2K

content warnings | 18+ this is a work of fiction exploring dark themes related to domestic abuse, corrupt government, physical/religious/psychological trauma, murder, canon-typical violence | dark smut, violent smut, verbal degradation, brief mention of sex work | gator is gross and toxic and what goes on in this fic is a depiction of a toxic, unhealthy dynamic | THESE ARE BAD PEOPLE DOING WRETCHED THINGS

a/n | been having fun working on this one. I can't emphasize enough that this is outside of canon, this is my construction of gator and what I think you'd find in a deeper exploration of him. This is, in part, a work of domestic and psychological horror which will become clearer as the story continues. special thanks to @pr0ximamidnight who is basically the only reason this idea didn't get scrapped.

..........................................................................

Towns like these aren’t hard to come by. Throw a dart in any direction in the midwest and you’ll hit a town like this one. She didn’t bother with the name, something home-baked and wholesome, without a doubt. No, when she was given this assignment, the only name she bothered with was Tillman. 

“So you’re his favorite dancer, huh?” 

“That depends on who’s asking, hon.”

“Someone who can offer you a little more than he can.”

“That’s a tall order, offering me more than he can.”

“Oh yeah? Can I ask how much he’s paying you?” 

“Hmm, lemme paint a picture for you. I’m naked, and Roy Tillman is rubbing bundles of hundreds on my tits. Does that answer your question?”

“You ever wonder where he gets all that money?” 

“So long as he keeps throwing it my way, I don’t really care. I know you’re new in town, sweetie, but a word of advice? It’s best not to question Roy Tillman. Now, do you want a dance? You’re so pretty I might just give you a deal on it.” Cherry red nails flickering like neon gods, but not touching, just grazing the side of her jaw as she tries for a polite curl to her lips when all she’d like to do is scream a few choice curses into the dim, dank smoke of the club. This isn’t the first time she’s been given that advice since she came to Stark County.

“That’s alright, thank you for your time.” The quick recoil of cherry red nails, and her friendly little companion is already flouncing away with a slumped sigh, sequins and skin shimmering beneath the fish-scale flicker of a depressing disco ball. She takes a sharp gulp of her drink, resigning herself to crossing another potential in off her list. 

The problem with men like Roy Tillman is they have a way of rallying a town into troops around them. He brings money, and brawn, and revived religion into the withered veins of a community, and the community in turn suckles on the gleaming mouth of his gun, fed and full and content to allow him to do whatever he wants. And so he does. And so someone like her has to come in and put a stop to it, though that is particularly difficult when no one seems too concerned with letting their bloated king continue his salacious sate. 

“Hi, ladies, you got some for me tonight, huh?” And for every king there is, of course, a prince. A painfully, stupid, inept and inane prince, drunk on power that isn’t even his, and probably will never be his. As far as she knows, Gator Tillman is something of a dress-up doll for his father to move and manipulate around the county, about as harmless as a fly without wings, fondling that gun he keeps in his thigh holster like a second dick and working a fine cloud of smoke around his head wherever he goes, something juvenile about that bright green vape of his. Prince, court jester, whatever way you slice it, the only attention she has paid to him since she got to town has been without a choice when he blusters into a place, so loud you can’t help but turn head and stare. 

“Hey there, Miss Lanie. Surprised to see a fine woman of the law such as yourself at an establishment like this. You lost?” Gator, she has found, has taken a particular shine to making his personal space her personal space. Ever since that first week she was out here and took a trip out to the Tillman compound, father and son in fine figure on the porch, son tucked into the long shadow of his father, telling her in no uncertain terms that her presence was unwelcomed, unneeded, and Gator had made a point of walking toe to her heel back to her car, ducking his head down to wish her a mighty fine day, ma’am, before she drove off. She thinks that he’s trying to fluster her, make her sway in some meaningful way with his schoolboy teasing. At best, it’s amusing. At worst, it’s another something, somebody, getting in her way. 

“I could say the same to you, deputy Tillman. And you know that’s not my name now, be a little smarter than that, else I might get bored.” He has the common sense to blow that sickly sweet vape cloud out of the side of his mouth where he has sidled up next to her at the bar, his face cast in mottled shadows from the thick throb of lights in the club, grin turned red. 

“Mel, that’s what your partner calls you, isn’t it? I’d say we’re on a first name basis by now. Or would you prefer agent Harris? Dad says the only fitting title for a woman is missus, but I have to say, I think I’m a little more open-minded about such things.” At the very least, a laugh over the rim of her glass, concealed by another bitter sip because she knows a boy like Gator collects his wins where he can, and isn’t soon to let go of them. 

“Uh-huh, how progressive of you.” It would be about now in this familiar routine that she would usually leave, an elbow placed pointedly in some soft part of him as she breezed by. She finds people like Gator to not even be worth repugnant, let alone evil. People like Gator are small, used air, sound and motion somewhere in the periphery of what really matters. But tonight, she’s tired, and frankly, she’s failing, and he’s a harmless pantomime of a tyrant. So she lets him play his part, head propped in hand propped on elbow propped on bar. 

“You have a man back in DC, huh? I bet he’s wondering where you’ve been for so long.” Blink, blink, she gives him no answer, just squints a little and keeps her lips pressed in a thin line, waiting to see how else he can flail when given the chance. And he doesn’t disappoint, a little bit of frenetic flair to it, takes another drag on his vape and turns cheek over his shoulder, bolstering morale with a glance at his pack who have all set their sights on the present display of skin and sequins on stage. When he faces her again, she thinks he might try to reach for her, something grasping in his face the dip and bob of his throat. But he knows better. He had put a hand on her back one day at the station, hadn’t even gotten out a Miss Lainie before she was turning heel and jamming her forearm into his windpipe. Yes, he knows better than to touch, but he does lean in, trying for meanness that just makes him look younger with the way it rounds his eyes. 

“Tell me this then, where is your partner? Been a while since I’ve seen him sticking his nose where it don’t belong. He didn’t abandon ship, did he?” Still fresh, still sore, he wins that one, and she knows that he knows he wins because she can’t hide her grimace at the mention of her partner. Well, the mention of the man who was her partner. The man who was called back to DC last week, a sure sign that the powers that be are coming to the end of their rope with this project. They had been out here, grasping at scraps of a paper trail going nowhere, trying to pin down the ghost of the ghost of Roy Tillman for two months, and nothing. She wouldn’t be surprised if she gets a phone call next week calling her back, tail between her legs and an I told you so waiting for her on her desk. 

She offers him no response, taking a deeper drink from her glass so she can have an excuse to pinch her face bitter. He laughs, clicks his tongue, a slick strand of hair bobbing loose with the shake of his head. 

“Well, that’s just not right, leaving you out here all by yourself. Some folks would take advantage of that, you know.”

“Hmm, and here I am wondering where all that midwestern nice everyone talks about is. I guess the time’s are changing.” She makes her grin match his, all fang, all sharps and brights. And she’s had enough, a headache starting to creep in around the edges and make everything a little fuzzy. The cool reality that she will most likely leave this place as she found it, with a man playing God, and the people letting him. She presses a palm into Gator’s  chest, enough of a shove to make him stumble a bit as she gets up from her stool, a clipped command to get away, don’t you have tits to look at? But he still follows her out through the sparse crowd and into the quick snap of cold air that fall in North Dakota seems made up of. Soon, snow, but for now, everything dying and freezing up in anticipation. 

She makes it to her car without paying much mind to his hemming and hawing, though he catches her door before she can close it. For a brief moment, she considers how hard she’d have to slam it to snap his dip-stained fingers clean off. 

“Now, Miss Lainey, just wait a minute. Sadly, I’m not just looking to flirt, I’ve been sent with some business to discuss with you.” The prince sent by the king, glowing and boldening under his father’s trust, she can see the little puff of pride in the way he wedges himself between her car door and where she’s sitting in the driver’s seat, taking up all the space, all the air, that pungent sweet sting of whatever vape flavor he’s sucking on this evening. He plays it up, enjoys that little smack of false power, close-lipped grin and leaning down with his forearm resting on the hood of her car. She remains still, unblinking, unphased, looking up at an overgrown boy. 

“You see, me and mine haven’t been too pleased with how you’ve been bothering folks around here. Asking all kinds of questions and such. It ain’t very polite, and we don’t care much for, uh, not politeness.” Curling her lips back into a snarl of a smile, tilt of her head, she settles the sole of her shoe on top of the toe of his boot, small warning, small something that makes him swallow thick when she presses down a little. 

“You and yours?” Little more pressure, little pinch, the muscle in her leg tensing and tightening with the force of it.

“That’s right.” Wavering prince, weakening prince, a little whimpering prince and she swears she can feel his toes squirming beneath the ball of her foot, pressing down hard now. What she’d like to do is change the angle so the thin point of her heel is what’s digging in sharp. But this will have to do, her smile spreading to show the whites of her teeth.

“Oh honey, the last time I checked, they weren’t yours at all. You were theirs.” She digs down a little more, small twist of the ball of her foot to get that grimace, that grunt of pain she was hoping for. In the cool wash of neon from the bar, his face has gone blotchy, burning up to the mottling tips of his ears. Not difficult now, he’s already stumbling back when she lets up the pressure of her foot, a simple point of her finger in the middle of his chest enough to get him out of her orbit. Slam of her car door and roll of her shoulders because, not that she’d admit it, but that felt a little good, little lick of pleasure in causing a bit of childish pain. 

She hates that it startles her, a little jump in her ribcage. But really, she should have expected nothing less from him. A fine streak of spit on her window, darkened and clouded by dip and punctuated by a slap of his palm on the hood of her car. She catches his grin, distorted by the dribbling splatter, bright white sliver tinged red in neon. A herculean effort, not to run over his foot when she drives away. 

They, the proverbial they, have her set up in a new development of condos twenty minutes away from the heart of Tillman’s domain. It’s white, and square, and sterile, and three stories up. She leans her forehead against the wall of windows and lets it feel like falling while she listens to a voicemail from her boss. Her boss, back in DC, and wondering what the fuck he did sending her out here, no doubt. He tells her as much. Tells her that she has until the end of November to get some real evidence in her hands, or else he’s pulling the plug. That or else looks like going back to DC with her tail between her legs. It looks like a cubicle, looks like clerical work, drowning in the archives until her boss decides that she’s learned her lesson, to keep her mouth shut, and her head down, to not get creative, to not get bold. 

Until the end of November, two weeks to get something, anything, on Roy Tillman, or else. Or else looks like a man playing god, being allowed to continue his game, allowed to keep a whole town on its knees. And his son, his ridiculous, willful, repugnant dog of a son settled at his father’s feet, fed scraps of power and happy for it. 

Bad people, turned sideways people. She knows what they are. And her badge and her gun and even her cubicle back in DC make her good, one of the good ones, the ones that are supposed to get the bad people, turned sideways people. And she intends to. She needs to, really. Needs something she can hang onto like a trophy. Young blood, fresh in the department, fresh out of school, and trying to make something for herself, something she can point to when the rest of the suits raise their brows at her presence. She needs a win, and she’s going to get it, and it’s going to be Roy Tillman’s head framed in a mugshot. 

…

“Are these the records from 2019?”

“That should be all of them, yes ma’am.” Desperate times and all, she’s resorted to drastic measures, nodding a thank you to the officer who dredged up these boxes of arrest records for her. Roy has been known to arrest his own to teach them lessons when they’re starting to shake ranks, and she’s hoping to find old wounds, potential traitors turned informants. 

She hasn’t slept much in the last week. A week since her boss gave her that ultimatum. A week of scrambling for whatever loose ends she could find, threads fraying to film wherever she turned. She hasn’t found a thing. No trail to follow, no willing witness to speak, no evidence of anything. And the most frustrating part of all, the need for evidence seems foolish given how obvious it is. It is campaign season, after all, and Roy Tillman has been out with his crew in fine flare lately. 

Here is what makes up a king and his kingdom. In the past week, five bodies found between here and Fargo. Accidents, they ruled them. So many accidents making up a king and his kingdom. In the past week, six traffic jams caused by Tillman and his thronging brigade of DIY armored cars, the mouths of guns winking out of the windows, American flag bleeding blue and red in a blaze behind them. So much artifice, so much brute force making up a king and his kingdom. One wife, Roy’s wife, sent to the hospital with a popped eye socket. She had tried to go speak to her, and his wife, gruesome blue and black sneer, had kept her busted lips pressed in a thin line. So much brute force indeed. A king and his kingdom. And she is scrambling to find any crack, any slippage to stick her fingers into and make bleed. And now, she only has two weeks left.

The local station hasn’t exactly been welcoming to her, most of the officers knit tight and quiet in Tillman’s ranks, weary glances and outright snarls when she first came in. Most have become tiredly used to her presence in that empty office space, broom closet more like it. Only a few, however, have been cooperative, let alone friendly. Officer Peters happens to be one of those few. 

“You really don’t have to help, you know. I’m probably going to be here all day looking through these.” He hikes the two boxes of records he’s hefting up a little higher in his arms, shrug and smile, and it’s a relief everytime he does that for her. 

“No, no, I’m happy to help. Not much to do around here with, well, you know.” Well, you know. The police in Stark county are something of an empty promise. All the power lies with Roy’s quasi-militia anyways. 

“Well thank you, Dave, I appreciate it, really.” A little bit of kindness, of decency, she is finding, goes a long way for her in a town where she is clearly not welcomed, though that feeling is short-lived, their progress toward that office space halted when another set of hands grab a hold of the box of records she’s carrying.

“Where you going with all this, Miss Lainey? A lady like yourself shouldn't be doing such heavy lifting. Pussy Peters, you really couldn’t manage hauling one more box there? C’mon now.” She smells him before she gets a good look at him, synthetic strawberry haze that churns her stomach. 

On a good day, she would shove the box forward hard enough to make him stumble out of her way, not sparing him another look. This is not a good day. This is a tired day, a failing day, an at the end of a frayed rope day. She stops long enough for him to take it as an invitation to continue running his mouth, all garish grins as his eyes shift between her and Officer Peters, still holding onto the box of records, enough for it to be a tug on her own arms.

“Say, Dave, saw your wife at church last Sunday. She sure looks pretty on her knees. Oh wait, that was after church.” It’s plainly embarrassing for everyone, an awful, stupid and shameless thing to say. Dave scoffs, a quiet alright, Gator before he shoulders past them while at the same time, something is beginning to snap inside of her, a silent snarl. Gator’s smile falters when all she does is stare at him, lips pressed in a thin line. Tough boy turned a fool under her gaze, he shrinks and smalls, clearing his throat and loosening his grip on the box of records enough that she can wrench them away from him. The only sound is the hard click of her heels as she shoulders past him to join Officer Peters in their makeshift office. 

That something snapped starts to shimmer into anger. Sick with it, with all of it. With this town, and these people that speak like this, act like this, carry on like this. As if watching herself from over her shoulder, she’s excusing herself from the office just as soon as she sets the box down, a strange look on Dave’s face, though she’s already turned heel and made her way out into the hall. 

He’s leaning up against the wall, smoking that vile thing, and he shouldn’t be, and it just makes her angrier, shoulders squared as she comes to stand in front of him. Silent for a moment, a puzzled pull to his brows, the quick dip and rise of his eyes, and though he opens his mouth to speak, the only sound that comes out is a high-pitched yelp when she uses the sharp point of her heel this time to drive her foot down over his until she hears something crunch, a little dig back and forth and it makes him keen.

Perfect posture of pain, he keels over with a groan, easy enough to grab him by the nape of his neck and haul him in his hunch down the hallway to the office. Dave looks up, stricken and shocked from where he had already started to sort through the records and she brings Gator right to his feet. She gets a better grip in the back of Gators’ slicked hair to pull him upright. His eyes are scrunched shut, still grimacing in the shock of pain, little whimpers puffing out on each of his exhales. And she likes it, feels good about it. The first thing she’s felt good about in a while, if she’s being honest, a smile threatening as she leans in to speak into his ear. 

“You’re going to apologize to Officer Peters, do you understand?” Little tug, little sharp pull of his neck when he doesn’t answer, and then Gator’s breathing out a yes, yes, ma’am and she likes that too, drinks that down and lets it simmer somewhere sickening inside her.

“Now.”

“I’m sorry.” Not good enough, said with a whine. She tugs a little harder at his hair, pulling his spine into a strung, snapping line while he winces.

“Mean it.”

“Fucking– I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please!” She likes please, didn’t even know she was looking for please, but it almost feels better than the apology she was originally looking for. She would like more please from him. But for now it’s catch and release, he’s limping out of the office the instant she lets go of his hair, and she’s left simpering under Dave’s bewildered stare, fear of god widened eyes and jaw dropped in wonder, or horror, or both. 

Quick shake of her shoulders, shaking something sick and simmering out, and quick heat between her palms with a clap, away from whatever that was and back into these interminable boxes of records. Ready to get to work? Yes. Yes.

By the time they’re finished it’s already mottling blue outside and her eyes are starting to blur and sting. Nothing, no one that hadn’t turned up dead in the last two years, at least. Stiff joints that stay curled into themselves, she hobbles with Dave down into the basement to put the boxes back, blinking hard in the fluorescent light. Not a clue where to go or what to do next and she’s too tired to care much about it, thanking Dave and shrugging into her coat and pressing her fingers into her eyes to rub out the blur before she steps out into the fading light. 

“Hey.”

“No.”

“Hey.”

“No. Go home, Gator. Get some new marching orders from daddy, why don’t you?” She’s satisfied to see that he’s still limping a little, though that squelches and squirms into frustration when he continues to limp toward her. It’s a little slapdash routine she has no interest in being a part of, she opens her car door an inch only for him to slap his palm against it to slam it shut again, back and forth once, twice, three times before she starts to really consider pulling her gun on him, settling instead for another planned assault on his foot. Maybe she’ll break something this time, if she’s lucky. But before she can make contact he’s jerking back, palms up in a shrinking surrender. 

“You’re not gonna find anything, you know, not in there. He keeps things clean.” It’s perhaps the most earnest she’s ever seen him, words said quick on a single exhale like he’s getting away with something by saying them. It makes her pause, makes something slacken, watching the nervous pinch between his brows deepen.

“Uh-huh, and you’re telling me this why exactly?” Whatever that was, it’s already gone, he’s already settling back into the muzzle  his father stitched for him, shift of his eyes and shrug, working his jaw like he has to chew on his words. 

“Just trying to save you some time, Miss Lainey. Not as pretty when you’re tired.” That slick grin, slimed grin of his, and something is pulling sharp and snarling inside her again, a quick flood of anger that she tries to tamp down with a thin smile of her own. He’s not worth all the paperwork it would cause. 

“Right, you have a good night, Gator.” 

“Now just wait a minute–” And that simmering thing, snarling thing, finally bursts. Two months of shoveling through cow shit and coming up with nothing. Two months of people like this, men like this, who won’t even look her in the eye, who have been waiting for the day she leaves just as soon as she showed up. Some foolish part of her thought she’d arrive and play the hero. She knows better now.

 She’s just tired enough, failing enough, that she lets that anger curdle and break inside her. When he reaches for her car door this time, she doesn’t stop herself from grabbing his wrist, using an unsuspecting amount of strength to twist him around until he’s pressed up against the side of her car and she’s pulling on his arm behind his back enough to make his breath pitch and fail. 

“I’ve had enough of you, and your father, and this fucking town that’s too stupid to see that they’re getting fucked every which way you bastards can think of.” He squirms in her grip and she just bears down more, pressing the line of her body up against the back of his to keep him still, twisting his arm a little further, waiting for the pop and squelch of his loosening shoulder socket should he try anything else. His breath comes out as opaque puffs in the cold air, broken whines, eyes pinched shut from what she can see. And she likes it. This, something she can control, cause and effect, pain made real in her palms. Somewhere in the back of her mind, this is wrong, wretched, but the anger and the sheer force of it feels too good. 

“Do you know what you are, Sheriff Tillman?” A little more pull, a little more pinch, pressing him further up the side of her car and he shakes his head, frantic, no, no, no. Crystalline tears threatening along his dark lashes, shaking loose to smear down his cheeks, pale blue in the oncoming night. 

“You’re a dog. You’re worse than a dog. You’re a dog’s dog. You’re a fucking mutt begging for scraps. You think you’re something, don’t you? A fucking nuisance wherever I go since the day I showed up. You’re nothing, is what you are. Nothing. You’re–” At first, she isn’t sure what he’s doing. Strange enough to give her pause, his hips stuttering and jerking against the car and those broken grunts of pain preening out into something else entirely. And just as suddenly she realizes the terrible reality of what she has done, and what he is now doing, ruinous and wretched and so very wrong. 

Her hands tremble where they slacken, letting go of him and taking a stuttering step away. She feels like she’s going to be sick, like some hot shame is pumping and contracting in her muscles, making her weak and sideways, swaying where she stands. He turns around the instant she lets go, leaning back against her car, a doll slumped, no longer being played with, his eyes wide and shimmering wet, lips parted in a voiceless wonder. 

“Why’d you stop?” His voice pitches and breaks. It’s a boy’s voice, young voice, and it makes her stomach churn awful, acrid. Awful, because he means it, because he wanted that pain, that fear, whatever that was that she just did. She doesn’t say anything because she can’t, because something has turned to ice inside her, numb and unfeeling, barely managing to take a jerked step back when he steps toward her. And the parking lot is empty except for them, and the night has come on like a heavy fog, and the world turns into a blue smear when her heel catches on chipped asphalt and she’s falling, and she’s falling, and there’s stinging grit in her palms and an ache in her body and she’s on the ground looking up into the face of a frightened boy, a fallen, foolish prince, pathetic. 

She lets out a garbled shriek when he reaches for her again, willing muscle and sound into a singular command of don’t, do not that stops him in his tracks, his palms wide and stark white, surrender. Unblinking, she keeps her eyes on him, held frozen in a gaze as she rights herself, a little hunched, a little curled snarl through her body when she stands. 

He looks bewildered, no regret or remorse, just that pall of confusion, of uncertainty. And it clicks for her because of course. Of course, that felt right to him. That pain felt right to him. She knows what he is, what he comes from. She’s seen the ex-wive's files, murals of pain inflicted on their bodies, broken birds in a broken cage. Mercy that they escaped. But the prince was not so lucky. Something maybe even worse for the prince. He likes the cage. So of course, the pain and the words and the tears. He was raised on poison milk. Of course, the pain feels good.

“Go home, Gator.” 

“I–”

“I said go home. I’m done.” For perhaps the first time, he listens to her, shrinks back, face washed in shadows with the tuck of his chin, a boy again. She doesn’t look at him, she can’t. Heat floods behind her eyes, washing everything in a weary haze, streaks of light and dark when she finally drives away. 

The seams hold long enough for her to drive back to her all cold, all white apartment, all sharp and all lines and all sterile, stark. And when she does get home, but not really home, not even house, but when she does, she splits into pieces. She cries, and she shakes, and she curls over herself, head in hands. She is failing. 

Awful, all this filth, this king and his wretched domain, cobbled together with lies and guns and a bible. Built upon broken bodies. And awful, the people like it. Awful, she isn’t the savior. She’s a thorn in the belly of this terrible beast of a town, and nothing more. 

But what is perhaps most awful is that for a moment, for a breath, in that parking lot with that foolish, flimsy prince, she was a part of it too. She liked it too. Filth, too.

[fluxedbuds]

apparently y'all Are desperate enough for my Lomadia Oc so uh. hope you're in the mood for [checks notes] ~13 paragraphs, half of which is just description!

allow me to introduce Villom!

She doesn't have an actual name or in-universe nickname, I just call her Villom. Because she was originally a Villain Version of Lomadia from a sci-fi world for some comic idea I totally scrapped bc it sucked. Except for Villom!

So basically what if we put Lomadia in space and gave her every problem and no normal coping mechanisms

The base universe is Completely Impossible sci-fi space stuff, involving solar systems being relatively close together and having tons of habitable planets, with star trek 'convergent evolution' making everybody a Weird Human Basically. Part of these choices is that I. Don't actually like sci-fi lol. I don't think its bad I just can't Get Into It, so I did the lazy version. HOWEVER I do also use the fact that its extremely artificial and story-focused as part of the plot so its FINE There IS also magic, but it’s generally less used, as tech is more accessible and less complicated from a user standpoint. That doesn’t mean it isn’t powerful, if you know what to look for. Thats foreshadowing!

Compared to base Lomadia, Villom is.. very immature. She has trouble identifying and controlling emotions, she's quick to anger and holds grudges. She's also more impulsive and tends towards insults and crude jokes. She's actually pretty fun to hang out with as a result, but responsibility is a role she's crushed into, and it never truly fits. She's trying her best ok

Villom starts out her story as a young adult, training to be a pilot. She does some hero shit, but breaks so many rules in the process and gets kicked out. She’s enraged by this betrayal of what was supposed to be her life, and steals a ship to go rogue and try to pursue her dreams anyways. She doesn’t exactly know what she’s doing, though, and eventually a chase causes her to crash on an unfamiliar planet, where she meets Rythian. He’s steampunk now, don’t question it

Anyways, they end up teaming up, and form the first of her crew. Later additions are Martyn, who is a mouse guy who has So Fucking Many People Who Want Him Dead, and Zoeya! Who ended up separated from Fionn following partially the plot of Mushbury, and works as the ship’s engineer. Their ship (that lasts long enough to get a name…) is called the Ask, and Villom occasionally (and jokingly) calls her crew the Answers. (Its called the Ask because originally I gave the characters nicknames based on Norse mythology for Pretentious Reasons, those might come back later)

So everything’s all fine and poggers for a while, with the Ask’s crew causing mischief and undercutting evil empires across the worlds- and then Villom’s home planet is destroyed. And she sees it happen.

See, one of the tropes of sci-fi that bugs me, is how understated the death of an entire planet tends to go. This is the first step of Villom realizing how truly fucked up the world they live in is- and the first step of her wondering why it has to be this way, and how to stop it.

It only gets worse from here.

No matter how many evil empires they topple, no matter how many massive threats they thwart, there’s always another one. And no matter how fast they are, they can’t stop every world-ending crisis. Villom starts learning magic, wondering if theres some kind of solution there. When she doesn’t find one, she just looks harder. Brushing so close with forces she’s alone in experiencing wears on her, compounding with their futile mission.

The breaking point is when Rythian dies. Raiding an enemy ship goes wrong, they’re outnumbered, they’re trying to retreat. Surrenders are not accepted, there.

It’s another thing she sees happen, another thing she was inches away from but unable to stop. And she can’t take it. She can’t take losing another part of her, another of the few things she could call home in this cold void.

She takes some of the things she learned looking where she shouldn’t- and kills the nearest member of the enemy team, trading a life for a life. And part of her soul as tax, of course. Just a small bit, this time. She never tells him. Pretends it was instead an incredibly close call. He probably knows she’s lying, on some level, but he never says it.

Villom is desperate, now. There’s more and more things she’s hiding from her crew, more and more boundaries of safety she’s pushing. She trades one of her eyes for the ability to see the functions of the world itself- maybe it’s a mistake, there’s some gear stuck, and if she fixes it this infinite loop of wars will stop.

There is no mistake. This is how the universe is intended to function.

She can’t give up. Because if she stops, she’s never going to get up again.

Maybe there’s other worlds where it’s better, where it’s safe. Maybe there’s a way to make this world like them.

Maybe there’s a way to leave.

She’s barely human anymore, even though she looks perfectly fine. Her hair is white, her eye replaced, but that’s all. She’s replaced the things she’s traded away. She’s barely even a part of the world, anymore. Unstuck from the threads of it, floating as a constant point, unchanging and undying, snapping back into place when moved.

A lot of universes are visited by a strange woman with white hair, who never stays. Sometimes she’s a savior, or a tyrant, or merely another passerby.

One of them, somewhere, has to have an answer. The way to break the cycle. And Villom will find it- even if she has to take every one of them apart.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 12: Congratulations and Conflicts

“Morning, Verena,” Ada announces as she joins me in the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

The memory of talking with Thomas last night replays in my mind yet again. Ever since I woke up I can’t stop thinking about it for some odd reason.

“As good as I can, I suppose. How are you feeling?” I gesture to her stomach.

Ada bites her lip as she spreads mustard on a bagel. “Um, alright I guess. I just- I never expected to be pregnant. I kept hoping it would pass but when the doctor confirmed it my whole life changed. One moment I’m my own self without any burdens and the next I’m carrying Freddie’s child.”

Freddie. That must be her lover. With a little luck he’ll keep his love for Ada and stand by her through this journey.

“I don’t have any experience of what you’re going through Ada, but it’s completely natural to fear the unknown.”

Ada squeezes her eyes shut and plays with the hand towel. “It’s not just that. It’s what people are going to say that I’m afraid of. That’s why I’m hiding it.”

Something about the way she says that makes my stomach churn. She couldn’t- Could she? Polly might have mentioned it to her…

“God have mercy.” I look up at her with petrified eyes. “You’re going to kill it, aren’t you?”

Ada’s face hardens. “It’s not your decision.”

“I know. But I’m still a Christian. It doesn’t mean my morals are turned off just so I can agree with you.” I take a deep breath. Not everyone sees what they’ve been blessed with right away. Ada’s right. In this harsh society rumors of her pregnancy will spread like wildfire. 

“I won’t fight you, Ada.” She continues to avoid my gaze. “I still disagree, but letting that tear apart an acquaintanceship with you isn’t worth it.”

The Shelby woman turns and squeezes my shoulder. “That’s all I’ll ever ask for.” Before I know it she pulls me into a hug. “It’s not easy being one of the only two women around here. Thanks for getting lost, Verena.”

I playfully scoff at her dark joke. “I never meant to get stuck here, Ada. I’m in your debt, remember?”

“Oh please!” Ada huffs and goes on to eat the disgusting bagel. “You’ve practically got everyone wrapped around your little finger.”

She wanders off to her room before I can ask further. She’s joking, right? There’s no way I’ve done that much here-

“What’s in the books for today?”

Except that.

“Morning, Finn. Don’t you want a day off? We’ve been doing lectures for the past week!”

The young Shelby slouches and grabs an apple. “What else can I do? If Aunt Polly sees me lounging about she’ll make me do chores.”

Realization hits me in the head and I smirk. “Ah, I see. You use me to cheat out of chores. Well Finn, sometimes the simplest tasks can teach us hidden lessons.” What else can… Ah-ha! “Finn, I do have something for you to do.” He immediately looks up. “I need you to complete what’s on this list in the next hour.”

I hand Finn a scrap piece of paper and he scrunches his face as he reads it. “These are chores.”

“Exactly. When you’re done we can discuss what you learn.”

“I don’t get it-”

“Chop chop!” 

I clap my hands and shoo him off. When he’s out I slump against the wall and sigh. Maybe now I can have some quiet time- Nope. The always-revolving door opens yet again and I hear heavy footsteps slump into the kitchen. I don’t even need to look up to know it’s Thomas. He sits down at the table and makes quick work to pour himself a glass of Irish whiskey.

“You’re in a bad mood,” I observe.

Thomas sees me slouched on the floor and grunts. “Monaghan Boy lost.”

“And you think drowning yourself in alcohol will fix that? What about the new horse?”

“Had to kill him. He was cursed.”

My jaw drops. “You- You killed…? God, all you Shelbys ever do is kill! You surround yourself with death and then wonder why you’re so unhappy!”

Bam!

Thomas bangs a fist on the table. “I don’t need this bloody argument, Steenstra!” 

He stands up and heads back to the door, slamming it shut. I think that’s the first time Thomas has ever yelled at me. And it’s kind of scary. I make a mental note never to get on his bad side and get up to walk down the hall to Ada’s room. I knock twice but there’s no answer. Either she’s ignoring me, she’s sleeping, or she snuck out the window. More than likely it’s the last scenario. 

“Done!” Finn sprints into the room waving the list like he just won a war. “All done!”

His bright smile almost makes me forget Thomas’ outburst. “Good job, Finn.”

“What’s wrong?”

Smile, Verena. You can’t just blurt out that his brother yelled at you. He does that to everyone. Why should you be any different?

“Too much thinking, Finn.” I shake the dark thoughts away. “Did you learn anything?”

Finn lets out an exasperated groan. “What can I learn from sweeping? Or beating the rug?”

“You took thirty minutes, half the time I gave you. And now that you have some extra time we can do a quick lesson.”

A few seconds go by and then Finn slowly gets a cheeky smirk on his face. “I see what you did there.”

“See? The lesson was time management!” I laugh and pull out my bookbag. “Now what’s today’s topic going to be?”

The rest of the day goes on much more smoothly. Yes I’m still dreading my next run-in with Thomas but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Right now I’m prepping an afternoon snack-

“I’m back,” Polly calls as she comes through the front door.

“Do you know where Ada is? She’s not in her room.”

Polly sets her bag down and grabs an apple. “She’s gone. Off to marry Freddie.”

So she’s keeping the baby! I’m so glad to hear it! Call it womanly instinct, but the death of a child can be much more traumatic and emotional compared to an adult because a child hasn’t gotten to live out their life yet. I haven’t gone through parenthood yet but I deeply sympathize with parents who have lost a child. Having a child is the greatest blessing in life and to have that taken away is devastating.

As for Ada running off, I can’t say I’m surprised. That sounds like something she’d do. 

“If you can, please pass on my congratulations to them,” I say with a wide smile. “Does Thomas know?”

“No.” Polly holds up a hand. “I’ll tell him so you won’t get the full blast of his tantrum.”

I bite my lip and avoid her gaze by busying myself with wiping down the counter. “Bit late for that, I’m afraid. He lashed out this morning and left, no doubt to go get drunk somewhere.”

Just then the door opens again and John walks in with a fit of tipsy laughter.

“Afternoon, ladies! How goes it?”

“Cut the chatter, John. Where’s Tommy?” Polly asks.

“Ath the Garrison. You should've seen the look on Tom’s face! A love-struck sucker if I ever saw one.”

Polly scoffs. “For who?”

“That barmaid, Grace. It’d be nice if at least one Shelby could keep a steady family,” John says as he takes a drink from the whiskey bottle on the table.

Polly huffs and walks down the hall to her room, leaving me flabbergasted to John’s words.

“None of you are married?” My jaw drops.

John takes another drink. “Arthur always puts business first. Tommy’s never even heard of love. Finn’s too young. And I’m a widower.”

Interesting. For all the glamor and excitement the Shelbys flaunt they’ve never settled for a simple family life.

“I’m so sorry. What was her name?”

“Martha,” John sighs. “She gave me 4 beautiful kids.”

I grab the cookie jar and plop down next to him. John immediately reaches for a biscuit.

“I can tell you really love your kids, John.”

“I do. Just wish I could find them a suitable mother,” John slurs. “If it’s any comfort, if you didn’t already love Tommy I’d take you.”

Obviously his drunk words hold little meaning. John’s looking for anyone and I just happen to be the woman sitting next to him. Yet somehow his words leave me questioning just how deep my feelings for Thomas go.

“I don’t love him. At least, not in the way people might expect me to. He’s a good friend. I love all you Shelbys. But thank you, John. I know that means a lot.”

“No problem love…” John murmurs as he drifts off with his head on the table.

Once again another Shelby brother has left me deep in thought about what my purpose here is. The Lord works in mysterious ways, as Polly would say. Whatever’s in store for me, I know it’s going to be a wild ride if it’s anything like the past few weeks.

[littleladymab]

OC Kiss Week - Reach

This one goes out to @bottlingsound and @laprismaluna thank u for being the #1 fans of my blorbos 8')

I went through several different ideas of how to convey 'reaching' and who I wanted to be the narrator, and then recently, completely unrelated to writing oc kiss week, I thought about Rhys selling the family house and moving in with Kaito. So I decided to roll with that!

+++ 

Kaito places the mug down in front of Rhys. “You’re distracted.”

As if in testament to his distraction, Rhys actually jumps at the sudden sound. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” He nudges the mug with his elbow. “For you.”

Rhys’ gaze drops to the mug, and then he tucks the stylus back into his tablet and pushes the work aside. It is like watching him move in imperfect stop motion, the hands moving to the mug, fingers wrapping around ceramic, lifting it to his nose.

Then Rhys frowns. “Whiskey?” he accuses.

Kaito grins and shrugs as he returns to dicing the vegetables. “I didn’t think you were going to get back to work any time soon, so I figured I might as well make you a drink.”

“Hmm,” Rhys says into the depths of his mug as he takes a sip, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the statement.

“What’s wrong?” Kaito pops a piece of carrot into his mouth, then hands one out to Rhys.

Still distracted, Rhys leans across the counter and eats it directly from Kaito’s fingers. Then he shrugs, as if to say, oh no I have a mouthful of carrot, I cannot answer.

“It can’t be that bad.”

Rhys gives another shrug and fiddles with his mug. “I’m just… thinking about selling the house.”

Kaito freezes, knife poised over the cutting board. “The one in Derry?”

This, at least, gets the glare he was aiming for and Kaito holds up his hands in defense. “I’m kidding!”

“Yeah yeah,” Rhys grumbles, rolling his eyes — but it’s not enough to hide the hint of a smirk at the worn joke. “Precious derriere, sure, I’ve heard it all before.” He spins the mug between his fingers before leaning back in the chair and running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been spending more time here now that the twins have moved out, but the nice thing was that I own the house.”

“Well I own this building,” Kaito challenges. “And my offer still stands.”

Rhys, to his surprise, flushes. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Rhys. Love. We’ve been dating for three years. Isn’t there some kind of rule where if I ask you to move in more than five times, you’re obligated to do so?” Kaito is rewarded with Rhys’ expression doing something complicated between frustrated and embarrassed. “I mean, I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m sure Ayn can help you find something in New Ox if you’d prefer—”

“No,” Rhys says a little sharply, then again, softer, “No.” He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew. “I would love to move in with you. It’s just… Everything.”

“Have you talked to the twins?”

“Liala’s called, but it’s hard to tell with Lionel. He has a terrible sleep cycle and the time zones don’t make it easy.”

Kaito is about to offer to call Lio, but quickly dismisses the idea. This is something the Darcy siblings need to talk about without his intervention. “If you need help with the property listing or anything, I’ve got some friends that can help.”

A smile softens the worry lines permanently etched into Rhys’ face. “I’ve got a realtor lined up, but if you know any buff guys that can help me move, then—”

Kaito scoffs and tosses the vegetable scraps into the compost bin with a bit more force than absolutely necessary.

Rhys laughs and reaches across the counter. “Come here.”

Kaito does, leaning in just enough that Rhys’ mug-warmed fingers can curve around his jaw and reel him in for a kiss.

“You smell like onions,” Rhys murmurs against his lips.

“I was in the middle of making curry.” Kaito kisses him again. “And you taste like whiskey and honey.”

He can feel the way Rhys’ smile takes over, and Kaito immediately regrets having to reach across the counter instead of moving around it before accepting the kiss.

[yuckyfucky]

⋆｡ﾟ(??????? // ?????????) 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑.𝖿𝗍.𝐄𝐋𝐋𝚰𝐄 𝐖𝚰𝐋𝐋𝚰𝐀𝐌𝐒 remix

author’s scribbles: my s!lly as$ was in an incredibly s!lly mood. i wanna laughᵎᵎ i wanna have fun, a bch can hardly sit stillᵎᵎ

summary: ♡ ellie goes out on a date with friend ♡

uhhh w⚠︎rnings(??)..mm 2 b aware of..(???): honestly self insert, alllll oc’s r blk(coded) ☆, a lvl of unserious-ness, these bchs r str8 (no) up CLOWNS, “cuz u gay n’ stuff,” fwb 2 lovers, fluff + suggestive, not proofread @ all (SAWRY), loosely based on a story i have in mind, i have a visionᵎᵎ

l: v (very), wld (would), 2 (to), cld (could), bk (back), @ (at), nvr (never), 4 (for) // my slang is jus foolishness buh i can’t stop! update: im reading this thinking..damn this might give y’all a HEADACHE geezus, lemme make it make sense a bit fr 😭💀

╔═══　　

•..0..*AND

NOW..$..#..%ᵎᵎ

═══╝

✎ “come.on. there’s gotta be fucking something..SOMETHING!” the last time ellie went shopping was almost half a yr ago. she wore her shit til the seams unraveled

✎ cue 2 a night when she tried 2 send an “accidentally on purpose” thirst trap but the second she pulled @ her shirt 2 flash a lil sumthin’, it came undone by the sides she still sent a pic

✎ wearing SCRAPS 4 clothing @ this point. “fffuuuuUUUUCCC—!” just a mess!

✎ n’ her excuse reasoning 4 STILL not going 2 damn store despite actually looking very forward 2 her night-out “it was in the spur of the moment!” (sheee literally had three whole days 2 go buh was all heart eyes n’ wobbly knees simply bcuz she had finally asked. oh, n’ bcuz her date said “yes,” obvi ♡)

✎ her hands shuffled robotically in front of her face before settling them on the back of her neck. terrible, TERRIBLE tics; she knew better than 2 bite @ her fingers

✎ especially after oc had made a comment that if she didn’t stop she’d end up with “frog fingers.” completely brushing over the countless vids of ppl they’ve seen wound up in the hospital bcuz of that that n’ a few other ridiculous warnings were thrown @ ellie if she didn’t want 2 end up accidentally leaving herself disfigured in the later future

✎ lightly being scared—or as she would call it, “bullied” out of her bad nervous habits

< from: my silly rabbit💋💋 > (tots didn’t personally put that in as their contact 030)

nobody:

u:

✎ but it was working. her lips also recovering from the excessive biting and lack of lip balm

LOL&;$:8:8.&IMFKNGONE ↴

✎ disgustingly dragging/typing out their laughter 4 emphasis on how funny they thought sumthin’ was, ranging from pure gibberish or (a personal fave) “AAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHA” 4 obnoxiousness

✎ oc was as silly as they come: nvr failing 2 make an interrobang form above ellie’s head or getting a smile out of her

1) from a fucksesh that lasted nearly 3hrs, the both of them clocked out almost immediately right after. tho ellie’s slumber was cut short when she heard giggling in the middle of night. going thru emotions of confusion 2 anxiousness then annoyance n’ fearfulness. it was that she was being robbed or her place was haunted, n’ who tf had the time 4 either?? she leaned over, ready 2 shake oc awake n’ grab a bat she kept neatly stashed from underneath her bed buh paused when she saw them comfortably asleep with a fkn smile on their face. another giggle escaping their lips before they unconsciously stuffed their hand into their underwear

2) ellie could practically see the gears turning in their head from her peripheral. cocking their head 2 the side while they noisily slurped down a sweet tea they had gotten earlier from a lil donut shop right off of campus. a mischievous twinkle in their eyes. “..ellie,” they started ooh so casually “you know how to dance?” she squinted her eyes before rolling them. failing 2 suppress a smile which only grew bigger when oc surpassed hers with a cheshire-like grin “…no.” “So if I throw ass, how you gonna catch it?”

✎ dina shared that ellie was only working herself up. especially considering that they’d b out n’ around in such (inconsistent) humid + hot weather. with a pat on her shoulder n’ a “you’ll figure it out” 4 extra support, along with a promise to take her shopping next week. n’ ellie did. same way she let out a sigh of relief when she figured out which carnival 2 go 2 instead. this one being 30mins away. ellie didn’t want them to cross any paths with old habits. it was lowkey much 4 her that she still went 2 the same university

✎ oki, now ellie wasn’t exaaactly a player persay. tho she did happen 2 get around..often.. (unintentionally) leaving behind a lil more than a handful of broken hearts affiliated with either jesse or dina having 2 suffer n’ fend off awkward run-ins from “have you seen Ellie”’s. playing confused like they don’t practically live with her not like that’s their business anyway. blowing em’ off wit a neck scratch n’ a tired “she’s in jackson for the next two weeks.” followed up by a ray of annoyed texts sent her way: bro, call them already! x next time im giving them the keys to ur room buh-buh ntm on her! she’s a changed person now!

✎ tho she did met oc @ a time despite claiming she was done with hookups, happily welcomed them into her life with open arms, and open legs and an open mouth. but it was a treat 4 herself! had absolutely no expectations other than a lil summer fling @ best buh overtime she found herself wanting them 2 stay a lil longer (tho it took her awhile 2 admit it)

✎ she crossed her fingers n’ hoped, damn near got on her knees n’ PRAYED that they didn’t know about her promiscuities. like she didn’t spend her first 2yrs n’ sum change walking round campus with “community strap” practically stamped on her forehead—like that wasn’t exactly how n’ y they even met! (womp womp)

✎ ◁◁: oc knew of ellie best from a conversation they shamelessly eavesdropped on during composition. a girl n’ assumingely a fren, were trying 2 ever so quietly (buh failing) 2 talk about her. her n’ another one apparently. called them a “cock carousel,” tho admittedly confessing she’d like 2 get on that ride all dreamily. it made them curious

✎ damn her hypnotic green orbs n’ those scruffy ass shoes!

✎ dina ain’t give a shit fr lol. FINALLY an opportunity 2 give ellie a lil makeover after all those years she turned her down when they were younger, cuz apparently she was jus too cool 4 that shi n’ dina was willing 2 take whatever she cld get. ellie knew it was coming too

✎ “you know—“ “no.” “..?..you don’t even—“ “no.” “why are saying ‘no’, you don’t even—“ “no.” “you didn’t even—” “no!” “fine, be late to your date!”

✎ either ellie wasted more time tryna puzzle piece whatever was left of her wardrobe n’ b late or her clothes would come apart before she even left the damn house, making her even more late

✎ she knew she gave herself the short end of the stick. ellie didn’t even have 2 utter a “yes.” dina was already down the hall happily humming 2 herself, that deep exasperated sigh of defeat from ellie was more than enough. she could hear the clatter of doors opening. it’ll just have 2 do

╔═══　　

(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ OC’S POV

“Okay, look up again real quick!” “Oou put this on ‘nstead!” “Lemme add another strip!” Excited squeals circled the living room. I stood tall and balanced on the foot stool. Theatrically posing like a Zara Model (a.k.a unserious). I basked in my friends buzzing energy like a damn mannequin while they beautified me for my little adventure—oh! Sorry, DATE, of the night. Lightly..floating away.. back.. — .t

.

。

o

o

　　 o

　　　　　 o

　 o

　 。

ₒₐa

a late convo in the middle of July.

< from: ew!..♡ >

then the beeeest fucking part

ending the night with elephant ears

or funnel-cake

u know, something like that

“Something like that..” I read her text aloud to myself. Geeked up in bed like she was a high-school crush: a finger pinched between my teeth and feet kicked up into the air. This was serious!

I motioned my hand in slow circles as I watched the three dot speech bubble appear then disappear for the next minute.

Mhmm..Oki!..Oki!

Then two.

..Oki!..Oki!…….Oki? My smile faltered and I stopped my movements.

It’s been five minutes.

I lulled my head to side and scoffed. My dazed smile turned agape.

< to: ew!..♡ >

…..i know this ain’t ur way of asking me out

…

ellie😭

i was working my up to it!

talking bout something like that

b a fkn lady!

damn! i won’t ask then!

ooooomfg, i was jus playing

it was funny.LAUGH!!!

elliiiieeeugh

We started spamming each other. Her pretending to be chicken shit while I demanded for an official proposal. I loved, fuckin’ DESERVED to be courted dammit!

fine! sorry!

..[redacted]

uuuugh

???

do u NOT want 2 take me out or sumthin?!?

bro, STOP

just let me do my thing!

“Just let me do my thing!” I mocked.

“Hmph!,” I let out a squeak as I hugged squeezed the shit out of my pillow. Growing silent while I waited. My heart racing.

can u go out with me?

What the..? I deadpanned and kissed my teeth.

i mean…..ig i CAN

u know, since that’s wha ur asking me

Giggling myself, I imagined her combing a hand through her hair while yelling out “oooooooh my gooooooo—!” I don’t care! This isn’t middle school!

toooots not w8g 2 b swept up off of my feet by prince charming or sumthin..

I dramatically pouted into the phone. Just sitting here! Waiting and waiting aaaanD WAIT—

O’ [redacted], O’ [redacted], wouldst thee liketh to wend out on a date with me to the

fuck it

carnival this saturday at 7??

Oh how dramatic!

WOAH?!

not even a “let down your hair” remix?? u went deep into the wenches wit it. u sure u nvr been 2 a renaissance fair b4🤨 bet they had ur freaky ass greet ppl by the s🚫x dungeons

u got that shi str8 from google anyway!!

Immediately a speech bubble popped up.

LOL

STOP, JUS LEMME HAVE A LAUGH OMGG

EHEM, EHEM!!

i wouldst v’ry much like—th..uhh that

^-^

and u said I got my shit from google

took u 10mins just to look something up and put together that scrambled egg of a sentence

lmaooo

ANYWAYS!!

@ 7

T’is a date!

it’s a date

:)

*　　　　　　　　

　　 . ⊹ ⁺

☾　˚₊‧꒰ა It’s a date! It’s a date! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚　　. 　　

✦⠀　,　

˚ . I threw my phone onto the bed and screamed into the pillow. Excitedly kicking my legs. ⋆ ⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　　,　“Wait, oh my gosh!”—I grabbed back my phone—“I gotta tell the others. Imma need help with this!” .

.

< to: we r lightskin, n’ we can help you >

guess who’s goin on a date with a certain sum1 2 the carnival this Saturday, @ 7??!

I laid sprawled out. Waiting for my phone to blow up—bzzt! bzzt!.. BZZTBZZTBZZTBZZTBZZT! Oh, never mind.

What will we even do? Oki, I mean..yeah! It’s the literally the fair. Just get up on a damn ride, ‘woohoo’ n’ whatever, but like..it’s been a little minute since I’ve went out-out…especially on a date.

My smile fell and settled into a deep frown.

What if I embarrass myself? What if I don’t even get to do that? . What if she flakes out last minute? Or worse! What if—

“BOOOOORRRIIING!” I yelled. Wiping my face to swipe all of that negativity into the trash.

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

. “Yeah, enough entertaining that shit..” ,

　 *　　 ⠀.★

　　　　　.　　　　“It’s a date,” I reassured myself. Lightly brushing my fingertips over my lips. That dopey smile making its way back on my face. “It’s a date.” ⠀✦

　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　*　���　　　

It’s a

ₒₐa

。

o

O

○

🅳. Ⓘ ᗡ ๏ ˎˊ˗

П. 𝗚

ˏˋ. Ͷ【G】

═══╝

✎ the house stood still. then came the hushed shrieks

✎ oc was suddenly pulled into a whirlpool of 21 questions n’ inspection: “text—no, CALL me when you guys get there! and give me updates every four hours.” “do you have your keys? what about your lipgloss?” “ur location still on?” their friend, brandy, patted n’ smoothed down the crop top she had picked out 4 them 2 wear (along with some shorts). “okay..okay..” reassuringly murmuring more 2 herself than them. making sure the 10 strips of boob tape was wrapped securely (they REFUSED 2 wear a bra again!..unless it was rly cute ofc)

✎ n’ right before they knew it , n’ could answer a damn question, they were shoved out the house with a slam behind them

✎ staring @ the puzzled freckled faced girl (who quickly collected themselves from tripping up the steps from the porch n’ almost crushing the gifts she had bought them)

✎ she was dressed in a plain black wife beater top, dark green lounge shorts n’ those damn converses. she scrunched up her face n’ scoffed @ nearly everything dina originally had picked out. hyping herself up in the bathroom “damn i look good” while dina stared @ her thru the mirror bored n’ rolled her eyes before walking away

✎ does that shit where she uses her spit 2 slick her eyebrows instead of buying eyebrow gel

✎ all of that just 4 her 2 hide in her car 4 almost 10mins outside of oc’s place bcuz she was doubtful n’ regretting her outfit choice

✎ oc ooooobviously thought she looked hot af (regardless/always) ♡

✎ “oh uh, sorry about that. my friends are uh..” oc’s hands flailed around as they tried 2 collect their words. pointing n’ looking back towards the front door, but paused when they didn’t see any light from the other side of the peephole. “the fuck..?” were they..seriously watching them?! looking 2 the window, immediately the curtains shuffled bk. NOSEY PERVERTED AS—

✎“like that isn’t you..” ellie let out a chuckle from behind them. “here.” she handed them an overly stuffed gift basket full of pop up confetti cards, candy n’ sum other things. knowing how much they love 2 b spoiled with all the lil silly things that makes their world go round. beaming like a child on halloween night

✎ ▷▷: engulfed by the shrill screams of kids n’ the aroma of overly sweetened treats in the air battling the occasional MUSK from ppl that refused 2 wear/carry deodorant. the two of them spent the first half an hr pushing thru the crowd 2 find one of those expensive air sprayed shirt displays. bought sets of two: coordinating n’ individuals. oc settled picked a stencil 4 their shirt 2 say heaven sent in bubble font with a hot babe on the side where ellie’s said hell bound in block font with a big headed styled chibi drawing of her

✎ individuals: oc’s got a bunny blowing hubba bubba n’ ellie’s was of the moon of course (she’s never taking it off btw)

✎ oc tots failed 2 b keep their frens posted buh @ least they turned on their location. it counts 4 sumthin!

✎ oc has a major sweettooth: practically inhaled a diabolical sugar rush of strawberry milkshake topped with giant lollipops, cotton candy, sprinkles n’ gummy bears. ellie felt sick jus looking @ it. they were getting caramel popcorn next

✎ all the rides were old n’ rusty as hell. went on the lil spooky merry go-round n’ not even a jump scare or sum flashing lights, jus riding in the dark 💀 wasted 3tickets 4 that shi

✎ they shared a liking 2 fast, spinning rides. jus another n’ a much more fun excuse 2 b up against each other (…in public)

✎ not silly, jus a menace: “put ur foot here” ellie bent down 2 show oc a cool trick, “now lift,” already walking away. pleased n’ laughing 2 herself. “UUUUGH!” leaving behind oc 2 grimace @ the glob of gum stuck beneath their shoe. yeah, cuz that’ll show em’ 4 putting a fkn ZIP TIE who tf just carry’s those??! on ellie’s car handle attached 2 a shopping cart 2 beat her in a (mini n’ SAFE) race back to her place

✎ “it was funny. laugh!” ellie mocked. circling oc as they pretended to b annoyed. “y’all hear sumthin?” literally jus talking 2 themselves, per usual. ellie kissed her teeth “such a baby, here I’ll make it up to you” she stride towards one of the many gaming booths where workers who looked like they had better things 2 do boringly resisted lines along “step right up…” (disappointingly looking nothing like nor holding the same enthusiasm like that one guy from that carnival video game) “which one you want?” oc pointed at a Kai-Lan plushie

✎ ooh, she cheated. it was either that or she was gonna (somehow) steal the plushie. the both of them coming 2 an agreeable justification: all the games were rigged

✎ hanging out 4 a bit, ellie ate two corndogs n’ oc stuffed their face full of fries (that were no different—literally bought from the grocery store, not they cared anyways. their argument being “it’s tastes better!”) while they complained n’ expressed their delight 4 the “architecture” of fairs. rambling on n’ on about how lame most places r now 4 taking down all the weird whacky shi: the giant objects on the walls @ in malls 4 advertisement, the fake homes above the deli/vegetable section in grocery stores, fuckin’ fast food restaurants n’ movies theaters losing wha made them movie theaters in the first place. “whyyy do i have to drive out of the state just to find a movie theater that still uses mothafuckin’ cutouts?!” all the things that made life a little more enjoyable. “look, look!!” holding up their phone 2 ellie’s face “i know what im talking about!!”

✎ completely bypassed the ferris wheel or a causal walk right after eating n’ excitedly got in line 2 the fkn GRAVITRON🧍🏽‍♀️learned absolutely NOTHING from the last time they went 2 the fair n’ ate a shit ton of food before going on a ride. literally has it set as a “rule” in their notes app

✎“shit, i think im gonna—“ ellie held her hand against her stomach as she hunched over the exit railing, covering her mouth. “im walking away from you” oc hurried down the ramp “you better not! stop!!” screaming @ ellie as she chased them around acting as if she was gonna vomit on them

✎ she actually did puke. making a frantic beeline to the bathrooms. oc gave them the french fry bucket they were gonna keep as a souvenir , incase she felt nauseous again buh the toilet wasn’t close by. they’ll jus get another one before they leave

✎ eventually the musky crowd dispersed, children’s screams were replaced by light squeals n’ the pitter patter of shoes against the grass mixed with unintelligible conversations

✎ the two of them made their way towards the back of the fair. headed str8 4 the funhouse that was freakishly empty. the glow from the red lights created a spooky ambiance. just walked right in cuz whoever was supposed 2 stand outside was nowhere 2 b found

✎ “this kinda reminds me of this music video..ca—mm..don’t know a lick of belig..em??..belginguam??” “Are you serious..” “Wait hush, hush, HUSH! uhh..belgium—YEAH, belgium!!”

✎ they started shuffling their body awkwardly, trying 2 replicate the dances in the mv. “lemme stop before something actually happens” it was supposed 2 b like a ritual/possession

✎ “uh uh, back up!” “what i thought you liked me?” ellie corned them tryna get a kiss. “yeah once u brushed n’ rinsed out your mouth! im not kissing no—stop, get off of me, FREAK!” they giggled. pushing her out of the way n’ running back outside

✎ ellie’s ego was satiated from showing off her gaming skills at a mini arcade (since when did they have those??), adding another plushy to the mountain oc was carrying beside her. tho their mood was a bit sour bcuz the photo-booth was out of order , all those pinterest reference photos they were so ready 2 recreate

✎ greedy as$ bought more fries, a burger n’ two extra corndogs. choosing 2 believe the money was being well spent . no real care 4 cost effectiveness , “it made me happy that’s all that matters!!”

✎ n’ ofc, ended the night wit elephant ears AND funnel cake ♡ (n oc’s phone blowing up 4 not giving the dets 2 their nosey frens)

damn that ending was FLAT!! lol 😭😭 tell me if i used hcs properly tho , literally jus told a whole story thru it cuz i couldn’t do it the other way (yet). was fighting 4 my life fr // thanks lot 2: [ @s-4pphics n’ @seattlesellie ] 4 encouraging me 2 write ^-^

[archangelsunited]

G, S, and X for the Fanfic Ask game if you wouldn't mind. ^_^ (or just one of the above).

G.) Do I write the story from start to finish or do I write the scenes out of order?

> Well, okay. If I am planning on publishing something, I start from the beginning and the write as far as I can before the brainwyrms need to be fed with something else. I circle back to that draft and start rewriting it from scrap- the 2nd draft- where I fill in holes and make adjustments and work on word choices. So there might be extra scenes thrown in or taken out. If I have an idea or a concept that I can’t get out of my head, then I will write that scene out until it leaves me alone- but it isn’t likely to be published.

S.) Is there any fanfic trope you can’t resist?

> Sentinel/Guide or Soulmates.

X.) A character you enjoy making suffer

> OOOO, toughy. I love making my OCs uncomfortable. Anyone who has read Modifier knows that I love psychological torment- actually, I don’t think I have written a fic where someone is not being tormented. But, probably Tyre and Vivi the most. I feel like the constant level of angst and agony is a perfect blend to start the day with.

Thank you for the asks!

[jonathanstims]

gonna talk about writing as an aro person and it might be a little long

I really like to write—specifically, world building is my favorite thing in this universe. But I feel like, a lot of the time, I could never get the actual story out. I’ve been getting back into the actual outlining of my book, and looking over my old outlines…a lot of them centered romance. I’ve been working on this book for years, so I barely remember what I was thinking about at first, but here’s how I feel now.

My most recent outline was after I knew I was aro and came out. I scrapped all romance for the mc, but actively made a new character to give the mc’s best friend a partner. This is what’s really annoying to me—I had written a crazy long outline, a ton of worldbuilding, symbolism, and had like four hundred catchphrases/snippets of dialogue/folk sayings to fall back on. I had gotten super into it. but this only happened before I made that new character.

after I put them in, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t give them a name, could barely scrape up a backstory, and stopped drawing my OCs.

I saw a comic recently about how an aro artist really struggled with figuring out how much romance they have to put into a story for people to care enough to hear it, and I reblogged it as usual and moved on. (I really don’t remember this person’s username I’m sorry)

but I was talking to my friend about my almost year-long distaste for the story I’ve been obsessed with for almost a decade, and how I tried to write a romance into it but I just couldn’t give them any chemistry, and they said maybe I should stop. And just not have romance in my book.

and for some reason, even though I’d read that comic and sat for hours agonizing over this side relationship, I didn’t realize that was an OPTION. I just thought there had to be at least SOME romance, yknow? But, after throwing away that clearly forced relationship, I have been able to write and DRAW again, which is absolutely insane for me. I can keep this character, whose backstory I’ve finished fleshing out, and not force them into romance with someone whose main relationship is the friendship he has with my protag. And I just feel so much more relaxed now that I’m not forcing myself to make my characters romantically love each other for allo queer points.

if my work ever gets published and popular enough to gain a fandom, I think it’d be lovely for people to make ships! I really have no problem with that at all, especially because the only character I consider to be aro is the mc, and aromaticism is a beautiful spectrum that absolutely allows for him to be in a qpr or other sort of relationship. I just can’t make myself write that stuff—it’s not something that I want in my canon. I think people can absolutely go wild in fandom! Make them kiss. I’m not a cop. I’m just not gonna do it for you.

[authortobenamedlater]

Oh, and even tho I know nothing about b5, Half baked B5Halo has me INTRIGUED.

(Hey @infinityactual you might find this interesting re: our conversation this morning.)

Send me WIP asks.

So. This got LONG. Sorry not sorry.

This not-story has the working title “For Such a Time As This” owing to a scene in my head where Delenn says “Perhaps the universe has brought us all together for such a time as this.”Appropriating Bible verses for the Minbari, oh yeah.

Right now this document is just a collection of ideas about how these universes might interact, and a few scenes/ideas. Such as:

- Infinity’s communications officer falls and breaks her nose when they crash out of slipspace. Lasky is shoving gauze at her when Babylon 5 makes contact. He shows up on the station with blood all over his uniform and his first conversation with Sheridan is something like “Do you have laundry around here? Also, what year is it?”

-Garibaldi and Palmer have to chase Halsey around the station. They bond over a shared love for Loony Toons. Palmer is a Roadrunner and Coyote girl, change my mind.

- Franklin is utterly furious when he finds out about the Spartan program. And that’s just the IVs. He doesn’t even know about the IIs.

- Lasky is insanely envious that B5’s computer can turn the attitude OFF and that cryo is not widely used in their world.

- Ivanova and Palmer become besties and give their respective captains a few headaches.

- Garibaldi wants to keep the Spartans because WOW are they useful for security.

- Various Halo characters grappling with the “who are you/what do you want” questions (I have ideas about this I will save for another post).

- What a fight with the Shadows might look like with Infinity in the mix. Seeing as Infinity is more powerful than anything in the B5 world. Sheridan and Lasky would make a fascinating team, too.

- How the Shadows would end up using Halsey, because even she couldn’t outwit them, and the trouble she could make in another universe.

- Lasky muses at some point how Babylon 5 gives him hope that one day humans and aliens can all work together peacefully; maybe the UEG should give something like this a shot. Palmer tells him, “You know they’d want you to run it” and Lasky is like F—- NO.

Now, all my reasons for why this epic will never make it out of my head:

Altering the B5 storyline (namely having to scrap the tensions with Earth for simplicity’s sake) would feel to me like sacking the Jerusalem temple.

I’d need to know even MORE about B5 lore than I already do, not like I’d have a problem with that research project, and a whole lot more about Halo than I do. On that last point, I am married to a walking Halopedia who would gladly tell me everything and then some.

There’s also the matter of having to make several OCs for the Halo side. Aside from Lasky, Palmer, and Roland, we don’t meet many of the Infinity crew. Does Lasky even have a first officer? I mean, he obviously does, but does he ever talk to this person? We got through all of Spartan Ops and Halo 5 with nary an XO in sight.

Finally, silly as this may sound, I’m no Straczynski and don’t trust myself with his characters and universe. I have no problem taking a sledgehammer to Halo because it’s great and fun and sometimes just mind-bogglingly stupid. But B5 is so brilliant I can’t bring myself to touch it. I would be scared of incurring the wrath of my fellow fans and also probably feel like I had to write JMS a letter of apology.

—

I WAS going to post a snippet from this mess of an AU but I’ll put it in a reblog later to keep this post from getting even longer.

[dangan-kagura]

Things I Wanted to Include for My V3 Rewrite - Part 5

So they determined that the two victims, Keebo and Korekiyo, killed each other. But there’s a problem. The rules say only one person can be the blackened, they can’t vote for two people. That’s when they realize something about Keebo’s death. As I said, Keebo got attacked by Korekiyo, but he died while logged in to the Virtual World via self-destruct. So what does self-destruct mean for a robot?

Keebo killed himself!

Yes, that’s another twist with this case. The two victims didn’t kill each other, Keebo killed them both, Korekiyo and himself. He used his laser arm to kill Korekiyo by blasting him away and Korekiyo was unsuccessful in finishing off Keebo. Wounded, Keebo realized what had happened in the real world and tried to kill himself in the Virtual World. As I said, if Keebo self-destructed in the real world, the explosion would’ve destroyed the computer room and everyone in it. To keep everyone alive, Keebo uses his self-destruct in the Virtual World. With this new theory, everyone casts their votes and everyone votes for Keebo. And the vote confirms that...

Keebo is the 4th blackened.

But because both Keebo and Korekiyo are dead, they’re stuck at figuring out what their motives were. That’s when my OC takes out from his pocket the flashdrive Keebo gave back to him. It lights up as a sign that now's the time to see what’s on it. And on the flashdrive is a video Keebo left.

Basically, I wanted to narrate this scene in a similar way to the post-4th trial in DR1 where Monokuma reads to everyone Sakura’s suicide note. Now, I’d rather not say the video is Keebo’s suicide note, but the video has Keebo explaining that after he decrypted what was originally on the flashdrive, he deleted it because he doesn’t want everyone to know the truth that he learned on it. I guess you can say the flashdrive explains the truth about the killing game and Keebo wanted to protect everyone from knowing that truth or something.

Korekiyo’s motive was a tough one. My original idea was for his sister to come back to life in Kiyo’s body and explain to everyone during the trial that Kiyo wanted revenge for not killing Tenko. Of course, I had to scrap this idea since I ended up writing that Angie did some spiritual thing to cause Kiyo’s sister to leave his body, setting him free. But it turns out that even with his sister gone, Korekiyo was unable to change.

The reason I chose Keebo to be his target has to do with the idea I had in mind for how Keebo would specially log in to the Virtual World. Korekiyo saw him as an easy target and I guess since Keebo was showing off his new robot equipment… I don’t know, it was a work in progress, and I don’t think I’m gonna come up with something to make it work out. If I could come up with something good, I’d say Keebo was suspicious that Korekiyo would commit murder again even though, in my fanfic, he failed to kill Tenko, and Keebo was willing to sacrifice himself to stop Kiyo.

But there’s a reason I thought it was fitting to kill-off Keebo in Chapter 4. It felt like I was calling back to the murders from the first two games, the murders of Sakura and Nekomaru. Sakura from the fact that she died from suicide and in my fanfic they determine that Keebo committed suicide, and Nekomaru from the fact he turned into a robot in Chapter 4 and Keebo is the Ultimate Robot. But another reason has to do with Miu being the original 4th victim, and if you ship Keebo x Miu, it just feels so fitting to have Keebo die in Miu’s place.

Now you might be thinking, “Wait, if Keebo’s dead, does that mean there’s not gonna be an execution?” Wrong! Just like in DR1, Monokuma uses a substitute for his execution that he doesn’t want to waste. Basically…

The Monokubs get executed!

In my fanfic, the Monokubs don’t die, but I felt like killing them off in the 4th execution. Monokuma gets pissed off from the fact that they didn’t die in the previous executions and decides to have them die in Keebo’s place.

I don’t really have any good details on how the execution plays out or even a good name for it. There’s an unused execution for Keebo entitled, “Garbage Collection Day'' which involves Keebo being eaten by a garbage truck with teeth, I guess. For my idea, I wanted his execution to involve getting smashed up into a cube shape and then dropped into a pool of hot molten metal and melted into nothing. I guess I could let the Monokubs die like that instead.

But this isn’t the end of Chapter 4, still more to come.

[fatecantstopme]

Remember Me (FP Jones x OC)

Chapter Summary: Direct continuation of Part one. Will Isabelle become a Serpent? What does the future look like for our favorite characters?

Summary: It’s been 4 years since Isabelle left Riverdale and it’s finally time to return…but what will she find? Are the people she loves the same people she used to know?

Characters: FP Jones, Fred Andrews, Tom Keller, Isabelle Keller (OC). For reference, FP/Fred/Tom are 23 in this and Isabelle is 21.

Warnings: cursing, family drama

Part 2 of 3

A/N: Read the series in order or it doesn’t make sense.

(Part 1)

I woke up the next morning to the smell of something burning. I was momentarily concerned until I heard FP swearing and the clatter of what sounded like a pan being thrown into the sink.

I yawned and stretched, before slowly venturing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. FP was standing in front of the sink scrapping something off a pan and cursing quietly under his breath.

“Good morning,” I said with a smirk.

He turned to face me, his cheeks bright red. “I burnt breakfast,” he mumbled.

I laughed and walked over to look in the sink. “Oh...damn, FP. Did that used to be an omelet?”

He groaned. “I think so.”

“I think we’ll add ‘cooking’ to the list of things you need to work on,” I said lightly. I nudged him with my hip and opened the fridge. It was almost empty. I looked up at him with a chuckle. “How does Pop’s sound?”

He smiled. “It sounds amazing.” He leaned in to kiss me. 

“Shower first,” I mumbled against his lips.

“Take one with me. It’ll conserve water.”

I laughed and let him lead me into the bathroom.

30 minutes later, we were dressed and ready to go. 

I climbed into the seat of his pickup truck and smiled. 

He climbed in and gave me a funny look. “What’s the smile about?”

“You don’t remember?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked confused.

My smiled widened. “You took me to the drive-in to see some action movie, except the only action I recall was us.”

He grinned as he remembered the night we’d made love for the first time. He turned to look at the bed of his truck and then back at me. “When you first left Riverdale, you were everywhere. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing a memory of us. It was so painful. Eventually, I got to the point where I actively tried to forget about any memory I had of you. It made life more bearable, but it also made it empty.”

“I’m sorry, FP. I can’t imagine what it was like for you still being in this town.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t tell you that to upset you. I just want you to know that’s why I won’t recall things as quickly as you do. I spent the last 4 years suppressing my memories of you.”

I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll remind you.”

He smiled and started the engine. When we arrived at Pop’s, I noticed a familiar truck parked out front.

“FP, that’s Fred’s truck.”

FP parked the vehicle and nodded. “I know.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“It’s been about a year.”

I looked at him in surprise. He and Fred used to be just as close as Fred and I were. Hell, Fred’s the only reason FP and I even met in the first place. After all, I’m two years younger than them. But Freddy wanted a female singer to join the band back in high school and I auditioned. He loved my voice, so I joined the Fred Heads for practice the next day. Over the next few years, Fred and I became best friends and FP and I fell in love.

“Well come on, you might as well face the music,” I said gently as I jumped down from the truck.

FP quietly followed me inside.

When the little bell rang as we entered, Pop Tate looked up and did a double-take. “Is that Isabelle Keller I see coming into my Chocklit Shop?”

I grinned ear to ear. “Hi, Pop. It’s been a while.”

He came around the counter and gave me a hug. “Four years, Isabelle. Four long years.” He looked up at FP and raised his eyebrows. “It’s been about a year since I’ve seen you either, FP.”

“I’ve been real busy, Pop.”

The old man nodded. “Mhm, I’m sure.” He squeezed my shoulders and said, “I’ll get to making your favorite breakfast. You just have a seat and I’ll get it to you in a jiffy.”

I grinned and thanked him.

“Izzy!”

I turned to see Fred waving at us from a booth across the room. I waved back and started to walk towards him. I noticed FP hadn’t moved, so I turned to grab his hand. “Come on,” I said gently.

“What if he’s mad at me?”

“It’s Fred. He’ll get over it.” FP still didn’t move. “What is it?” I asked softly.

“He’s with Mary.”

“So?”

“So she doesn’t like me.”

I sighed. “Babe, we’re going to at least say hi. Freddy wouldn’t have called my name if he wanted to be left alone.”

FP nodded and finally began following me to the booth where Fred and Mary sat.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great Isabelle Keller,” Mary said.

FP tensed up beside me, but I grinned ear to ear. A moment later, so did Mary. She jumped out of her seat and wrapped me in a hug. 

“It’s good to see you, Mary.”

“You too, Isabelle.” She turned to FP. “Hey, FP. It’s been a while.”

“Hey Mary,” he responded, his tone cautious.

Fred and I hugged and then he turned to FP. He pulled him into a hearty man hug and said, “It’s good to see you, man.”

FP’s face lit up in surprise. “It’s good to see you too, Fred. I’m sorry I’ve been distant.”

“It’s all good, man. You’ve been going through some stuff.” He gestured to the booth. “Sit down you two. Have breakfast with us!”

I smiled and gently touched FP’s arm. He simply nodded and sat beside me in the booth.

“So what have you been up to? Any juicy details from the big city?” Mary asked.

“Oh nothing too special. Just the usual big city bullshit. I actually missed the quiet of Riverdale.”

Mary scoffed. “Girl, you’re crazy. I’d love to live in a major city. Ohh, the shopping must be amazing!”

I laughed. “I’m not much of a shopper and even I thought it was incredible. And horrifyingly expensive.”

“Oh I can imagine!”

FP and Fred exchanged a glance that clearly said ‘kill me now’. 

I nudged FP. “Are we boring you?” I teased.

“Pfft. Never. You know I love fashion.”

I laughed. “If by love you mean you wear a variation of the same outfit every day, then yes. You’re clearly fashion’s number one fan!”

Everyone laughed.

Fred was about to say something when Pop Tate came over to the table with our food. A waitress came up behind him to deliver Fred and Mary’s food. We each thanked them and Pop smiled and shot me a wink before rushing back to the counter as another customer entered. 

We all dug in to our meals, silence enveloping the table.

“I forgot how delicious this was,” I said after a while.

“Food not as good in New York?” Fred teased. 

“Nothing is as good as Pop’s. Especially when it’s shared with people you love.”

“You’re such a sap,” Fred said with a laugh.

“And yet, you love me,” I teased back.

“That I do, Miss Keller. That I do.” Fred choked on his food and said quickly, “Izzy, your mo--”

“Isabelle Marian Keller!”

I winced as Fred was interrupted by none other than my mother screaming my name across the diner.

“--ther’s here,” Fred finished quietly.

My mother stomped up to the table with my dad and Tom following behind her. “You didn’t come home last night,” she said sternly.

“First off, hi mom, nice to see you. Second, I texted Tom to tell him I was staying at Fred’s.”

“And you couldn’t have included me in that message?”

“Well, it was late. I figured Tom would be able to let you know where I was if you started to worry.”

“Hmmpf,” she grumbled before suddenly zeroing in on FP as if she’d just noticed he was there. “And what are you doing here?” 

FP looked up at her slowly. “I’m eating breakfast with my friends, Mrs. Keller.”

“You forfeited the right to call my daughter ‘friend’ when you joined that gang,” she practically spit the last word.

I jumped in before FP could respond. “I choose who my friends are, mom. Not you. You’re making a scene and people are starting to stare. Why don’t you go have a nice breakfast with dad and Tom and we’ll talk about this at home.” My voice had a tone of finality to it that my mother didn’t like, but she also didn’t want to be the star of the town’s gossip mill. 

“Fine. We will be discussing this at home.” With that, she stormed off to a booth at the other end of the diner, my dad trailing after her as always. Tom mouthed ‘sorry’ to me before heading after them.

“Well that was embarrassing,” I mumbled.

“Sorry, Iz. I tried to warn you,” Fred said.

“It’s all good. I appreciate the attempt.” I turned to look at FP. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he mumbled. 

I touched his arm gently. “Ignore her, FP. She doesn't dictate my life and she doesn’t have the right to judge yours.”

To my surprise, Mary jumped in supportively. “Isabelle’s right. No one gets to judge your choices. And certainly no one gets to make our choices for us.”

FP looked up at her in surprise. “Thanks, Mary.”

She nodded sternly and looked at Fred expectantly. 

“What? He knows I think that was a load of horseshit. Besides, Mrs. Keller always hated FP. Now she feels like she’s found a valid excuse. Like I said, horseshit.”

I chuckled softly and FP smiled. “You’ve always had a way with words, Fred,” he said.

“I know. I’m eloquent as hell.”

We all laughed and I leaned into FP. He smiled and put his arm around my shoulders. A part of me hoped my mom was watching. I knew this would really ruffle her feathers. 

We continued to chit chat for a while before we decided to head out. Fred wanted to get some work done and Mary had homework to do for her summer class.

We said our goodbyes and headed out. I noticed that my family was still eating, so I figured we had some time to kill before I needed to deal with that. 

“FP? Wanna go for a walk?”

He smiled. “I’d love to.”

He took my hand and we headed toward the park. It was a beautiful day and the feeling of the sun hitting my face was wonderful. 

“Can I ask you something?”

I smiled up at him. “Of course.”

“What is this? I mean, what do you want this to be?”

I stopped and looked at him. “I don’t want to lose you again. So for me? This is it. This is forever. I love you, FP. I always will.”

He smiled at me. “Forever,” he said softly. “I like the sound of that.”

I smiled and slipped my hand back into his and we resumed our walk. 

“Your mom is gonna flip out.”

“Yeah, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m more than old enough to make my own choices.”

“I don’t wanna come between you, though.”

“If me being with you upsets her that much then the only person coming between us is her.”

He nodded. “Maybe she’ll understand.”

I chuckled mirthlessly. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, babe. You know how she can be.”

When I say my mother hates FP, I really mean it. She always thought he was beneath me. It never made sense. FP always treated me well, respected me, and was incredibly loyal. All admirable traits. In her mind, he was Southside trash and nothing would ever change that.

When FP and I broke up, my mom practically threw a party. Honestly, that hurt just as much as FP’s goodbye.

“So the future...” FP started, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Well, I’d like to get a job at Southside High, settle back in to town, get married, and I’d like to have a family.”

FP froze. “Did you say Southside High?”

“Yes I did.”

“Why the hell would you wanna work there?”

“Those are the kids that actually need my help. I can improve their education and hopefully their lives. Southside kids don’t get the same opportunities as Northsiders. I’m hoping I can change that. At least for some of them.”

He pulled me in close and kissed the top of my head. “They would be lucky to have you, Izzy. You’ve always made me want to be a better man. I have no doubt you can inspire kids to do the same.”

“Thanks, FP. Your support means so much to me. You’re actually the only one I’ve told.”

“Really? I’m flattered.”

I laughed. “Well you’re the least judgmental person I know. Plus, you’re a Southsider yourself, so if anyone gets it, it’s gonna be you.”

“You’re gonna be an amazing teacher, Isabelle. And an even more amazing mother.”

I froze. “So you heard that part.”

He laughed. “Yes, I did. Don’t worry. I want a family too. As long as it’s with you.”

I smiled at the sweetness of his words. I absolutely adored this man. Arguably more than I should, but that’s simply how it’s always been. And I knew he felt the same way.

“We should probably head back so I can get you home before your mom puts a bounty on my head.”

I sighed. “Dear God, don’t say that around her. We don’t need her getting any ideas.”

We headed back to Pop’s and I noticed the family car was gone. FP and I climbed into his truck and he drove me home. When we pulled into the drive, I sat in silence for a few moments.

“You okay, Iz?”

“Yeah. Just collecting my thoughts before I go in there.”

“I’d come with you if I didn���t think I’d make it worse.”

I smiled at him. “Don’t worry about me. I do appreciate the support though.” I opened the truck door and climbed out. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

He nodded, worry lining his handsome face. “I love you,” I said softly.

He gave me a small smile. “I love you too, Isabelle. Good luck.”

And with that, I closed the door and he pulled away. I walked to my front door and took a deep breath before walking inside. It was a good thing I did because I was sorely unprepared for what awaited me inside.

My entrance to the house did not go unnoticed. My mother was practically waiting by the door for my arrival. 

“I expected you to be home before us,” she said, annoyance obvious in her tone.

“I went for a walk with FP,” I responded. 

Her eyes widened. “Alone? He’s a gang-banger, Isabelle! You don’t know what he’s capable of!”

I desperately tried to suppress my anger. “He’s the same man I’ve always know, mom. The only difference is now he’s a Serpent.”

Her face flushed with anger. “How could you be so ignorant, Isabelle?” She turned to my father. “Help me out here, Harold.”

“Your mother is right, Isabelle. Serpents are dangerous. Never turn your back on a snake...that’s how you get bitten.”

I glared at both of my parents. “No offense, but neither of you have any idea what you’re talking about. You’ve never left Riverdale. You’ve never seen real danger. I have. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve lived in New York City for the past four years. I’ve seen what gangs are capable of--the drugs, murder, violence--all of it. So I can say with absolute certainty that the Serpents are not that kind of gang.”

My mother rolled her eyes. “Just because you’ve lived in a big city doesn’t mean you know better than us. We’re older and wiser. We know what’s best for you.”

I stared at her in shock. “Being older doesn’t make you wiser.”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” Just then, my brother appeared. “Tom, tell your sister she shouldn’t hang out with that Serpent boy!”

Tom looked at me, his face pale. I silently begged him to take my side. He turned his attention back to our mother. “I’m sorry, mom, but I can’t do that.”

My mother looked shocked. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t tell Isabelle not to see FP.”

“Why the hell not? You’re a Sheriff’s Deputy! You know better than most what those hoodlums are like.”

Tom nodded. “You’re right, I do know better than most. Which is why I can say with absolute certainty that FP poses no danger to Isabelle. All he’s ever done is love her. The last four years haven’t changed that.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. My brother’s words warmed my heart and I smiled at him. He shot a small smile my way before our mother flipped out.

“I can’t believe you condone this!”

“Mom, come on. Isabelle is more than capable of making her own decisions.”

“No, she’s clearly not! Certainly not while she’s living under my roof. I’m her mother and I know what’s best for her.”

Tom started to defend me, but I cut him off. “You may be my mother, but you clearly don’t know what’s best for me. I’ve loved FP for the better part of six years. I’ve never met anyone who even comes close to comparing to him. He is what’s best for me, Serpent or not.” I turned and walked towards the stairs. 

“Where are you going, young lady? We’re not finished yet.”

I stopped and looked at my mother. “Yes, mom, we are. I’m going to gather my things and then I’ll be out of your hair.” I ran up the stairs, ignoring the shouts of my name from below.

Once in my room, I quickly started packing up my things. I was almost finished when someone knocked on my door.

“Hey, Iz. It’s me.”

I opened the door and Tom came in. He didn’t say a word, just wrapped me in a hug. I leaned into him and hugged him back. “I’m sorry, Izzy,” he said softly.  

I pulled away and looked up at him. “Don’t be, Tommy. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, but still. It wasn’t right for mom to act like that.”

I shrugged. “It’s mom. I’ve come to expect it. But thanks for sticking up for me.”

He smiled. “I meant what I said. FP is a good man. As much as I don’t want my baby sister to get involved with the Serpents, I can’t deny that he makes you happy. And you deserve that.”

I returned his smile. “Thanks, Tommy. No one could ask for a better brother.”

“Give it some time. I’m sure I’ll do something to piss you off.”

We both laughed. He watched me throw the last couple items into my bag and zip it shut.

“Where will you go?”

“FP lives alone now, so I guess I’ll go there.”

Tom nodded and pulled me into another hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” I promised him.

We separated and he grabbed my bag before heading down the stairs. I followed after him and prayed my parents wouldn’t see me leave. My prayers were answered and I made it to my car without any altercations. My brother put my bag in the trunk and gave me one last hug. 

“Call me if you need anything,” he said. “I’ll try and work on mom too.”

“Good luck with that one,” I said sarcastically. “I’ll see you later, Tommy.”

I hopped in the car and pulled away, returning my brother’s wave. I headed towards Sunnyside Trailer Park and sighed loudly. My heart felt heavy and light all at the same time. Being rejected like that by my own mother hurt like hell. There was no denying it. I’d also hoped FP and I would move in together under better circumstances. 

I was a little worried he wouldn’t want to, but I pushed the thought out of my mind. We’d just talked this morning about how this was forever...so I had to hope he would be okay with this. 

I pulled into Sunnyside and parked beside FP’s trailer. I left my bag in the trunk and went to the front door. FP opened it almost instantly. “I thought you were gonna call,” he said. “What happened?”

I told him about my conversation with my mother and his frown deepened the more I talked. “So I gathered my things and left,” I concluded.

He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Izzy.”

“I’m okay with it, honestly,” I lied.

He knew me well enough to know that wasn’t true, but he let it go. “So...” he began. “Does that mean you’re moving in here?”

I bit my lip. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

He grinned ear to ear. “Of course I’m okay with it, babe.”

I relaxed and grinned back at him. “I was hoping you would say that.”

He went out to my car and grabbed my bag. We spent the afternoon rearranging and cleaning the trailer so it suited both of us.

**********

A few hours later, the two of us collapsed on the couch. 

“For such a small place, it really takes a long time to clean,” I grumbled.

FP laughed. “That may be because it’s never been cleaned by Isabelle Keller before.”

I laughed with him. “I am a little bit of an over-zealous cleaner.”

“A little?” he teased. 

I smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

He grinned and I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, you know...we should probably go grocery shopping. I think you only have beer, cheese, and a jar of pickles left in the fridge.”

He grimmaced. “Sorry, I’m not used to having company.”

“Well as far as I know, you’re a human too, which means you’ve gotta eat. So let’s go, handsome. Time to get shopping.”

He groaned. “Do we have to? You know I hate grocery shopping.”

I glared at him and put my hands on my hips.

“Got it. Not optional,” he said quickly as he got to his feet.

I let a small smile light up my face. I watched him start to put on his jacket, but then he hesitated.

“What’s wrong, FP?”

“I probably shouldn’t wear this. Especially when I’m with you. I don’t want anyone to be rude.”

I shook my head. “That jacket is part of your identity. You’re allowed to wear it anywhere you want. And I’m happy to be seen with you. Don’t let other people determine who you are.”

He stared at me quietly for a moment. “You’ve got a gift, Isabelle Keller. You have this way of making people feel good about themselves without even trying.” He shrugged his jacket on the rest of the way and stood tall.

“Maybe it’s just because I care.” I smiled. “Now come on. Those groceries aren’t gonna buy themselves.”

**********

The next few weeks passed by without any further issues. I put in an application at Southside High and was asked to come in for an interview. It seemed to be just a formality as they were in pretty dire need of teachers and I actually wanted to work there. The principal hired me on the spot and I would teach my first class that coming fall. 

FP spent a lot of his time during the day at the Wyrm, I assumed doing whatever Serpent business he actually did.

I’d been thinking a lot lately about joining them. I felt like I was missing out on a huge part of FP’s life. I decided that I at least wanted to know more...learn what they were about. 

So when FP came home that evening, I sprung it on him. “I wanna go to a Serpent meeting.”

His eyes widened. “Why would you wanna do that?”

“It’s pretty simple, FP. I wanna know more. I wanna know what this is all about.”

FP thought about it for a moment. “Alright. We have a meeting tomorrow night. Lemme just ask Tall Boy if he thinks it would be appropriate.”

I nodded. “That’s fair.” 

Tall Boy wasn’t much older than FP, but he’d been a serpent pretty much his whole life. He’d know if the King would allow an outsider to be there. 

Lucky for me, Tall Boy thought it would be fine for FP to bring me along to the meeting. I was beyond nervous as I climbed on the back of FP’s bike the following night. 

“Babe, you okay?”

“Mhmm,” I hummed, voice a little higher pitched than normal.

FP chuckled. “Sweetheart, your hands are shaking.” 

I sighed. “I’m just a little nervous,” I admitted.

“Don’t worry. They’ll love you.”

I nodded and laid my head against his back as he started the bike. He sped off a few seconds later, taking the fastest route to the Wyrm. 

He helped me off the bike and led me to the front door. When we walked in, FP received several ‘hellos’, but everyone’s eyes landed on me. It was clear they were wondering what the hell I was doing there. 

“People are staring,” I whispered.

“It’s because you’re so beautiful,” he whispered back. 

I laughed. “I don’t think that’s it.”

Tall Boy waved at the two of us from across the room and my body relaxed a little. At least I knew one other person. 

I went over to the bar and leaned against it, FP right behind me. “Hey Tall Boy. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Isabelle. FP.” 

“Hey, man.” They clapped hands before FP spoke again. “Did I tell you Izzy was a bartender?”

Tall Boy looked surprised. “No shit, really?”

I nodded. “It’s true.”

“Hmm,” he hummed appreciatively. “I think you’ll fit in just fine here.”

Suddenly, the room fell silent as a large, imposing man entered. I made the assumption that he was important and that was confirmed when FP leaned over to whisper, “That’s the King.”

I watched him with interest as he moved throughout the bar, greeting every person he passed by name. He was clearly charismatic and I was very intrigued by him. 

The King made his way towards the three of us and he smiled in my direction, despite not knowing me. When he reached us, he reached out a hand to me. “You must be Isabelle.” 

I was surprised he knew who I was and that was clearly evidenced by the look on my face. He picked up on my expression and smiled. “FP speaks very highly of you.”

I looked over at him and he smiled encouragingly. “He’s very sweet. Thank you for allowing me to be here.”

He smiled. “I hear you’re going to be teaching at Southside High in August.”

I nodded. “I’m excited to get started.” 

He nodded appreciatively. “I think the kids will be lucky to have you, Miss Keller, as are we.” He kissed my hand before making his way to the front of the room, taking everyone’s attention with him. 

“He’s quite lovely,” I whispered to FP. 

FP smiled. “Yeah, he’s a good man.”

I listened to the King as he spoke to the room. He was very inspiring, even to an outsider like me, so I could imagine just how much his words meant to the people in this room. 

By the time the meeting was over, I was really interested in joining the Serpents officially. When I said as much to FP, he took me upstairs to the King’s office, where we discussed my decision further. 

Two hours later, I was a full-fledged member of the Southside Serpents, with all that came along with that. 

**********

A few days later, I was sporting my very own Southside Serpents jacket. I knew there were going to be a lot of people in my life with a lot of questions and opinions, but if I was truly honest with myself, I really only cared about the opinions of three people. One of them was FP, so I knew I was safe there; the other two were Fred and Tom...Fred would get over it, but Tom? I couldn’t be sure. 

He was the law and his little sister had just joined a gang...it couldn’t be a good for him. I knew he wanted to be Sheriff some day and I hoped this wouldn’t have a negative impact on his future career. 

My parents, especially my mother, were like to hate me, perhaps never even speak to me again. While it hurt like hell to think about, I knew that I had made the right decision for me and my future.

I finally felt like I was fully a part of FP’s life--like I understood him completely. It was obvious to me that the King respected and liked FP very much and I got the feeling that he felt the same about me, which I was grateful for. 

“So when you gonna tell your family?” FP asked me softly at dinner one night. 

I looked up at him, discomfort evident on my face. “Soon, baby. It’s just hard.”

He nodded. “Are you gonna tell them about us?”

“They already know about us, FP. At least Tom does, and his is the only opinion that matters.”

“I mean, he saw us together--but does he know?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why are you being coy?”

He groaned. “Does he know that we’re in this for the long-haul? Like marriage and kids and all that?”

I laughed lightly. “’Marriage and kids and all that?’ He will soon enough, I can guarantee that much.” 

FP nodded and went back to eating his dinner, seemingly content with my response. 

Two days later, we were standing outside my parents’ house. 

“Are you sure you want me to be here?” FP asked quietly. 

“I can’t do this without you,” I whispered, slipping my hand into his.

“Okay, then.” He knocked on the door and gave my hand a tight squeeze, making sure I knew he was there.

Tom answered the door and I silently thanked God it was him. “Hey Izzy, FP. What’s going on?”

“Are mom and dad here?”

He nodded, looking wary. 

“Can we come in?” I prompted.

“Sure. You gonna tell me what’s going on?” He turned to let us enter and I heard his soft gasp as he got a look at our backs--and the Southside Serpents emblem emblazoned on both of our jackets. 

My parents were in the living room and they looked up when we entered. “What are you two doing here?” my mother asked coldly. 

“We were hoping to talk to you,” I answered softly, my voice more timid than I’d like it to be.

“We? So it’s ‘we’ now?” 

I nodded. “We.”

Before my mother could say another word, Tom cleared his throat. “I’d like to say something before you continue.”

All eyes turned to him. 

“Isabelle, no matter what you say or do, I’m always going to love you. You’re my sister and nothing will ever change that,” he paused. “That being said, it’s going to take me some time to be okay with this.”

I knew without having to ask for clarification what the ‘this’ was. My mother, however, was confused. 

“I’m certainly not okay with this,” she hissed. “My daughter dating a Southside gangster? Absolutely not.”

“That’s not what I was referring to, mother,” Tom said sternly. “FP and I have had our differences, but no one could ever love Isabelle like he does.”

Unshed tears burned in my eyes as my gaze met my brother’s. He looked sad, but I knew he loved me no matter what. I took a tentative step forward and he wrapped me in a tight hug. “I don’t like it--but I’ll find a way to get over it,” he whispered to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered back before we separated. 

My mother looked at the three of us in confusion and annoyance. 

I took a deep breath as I prepared to tell her the truth. I found my throat was too dry to speak and I’d simply lost the ability to form coherent sentences. Instead, I simply turned around, my back now facing my parents. 

I heard the sharp gasp, followed by an angry shout. I winced slightly and FP stepped forward protectively. 

“You joined them?” my mother shrieked. “You’re one of them?”

I turned back around to face her. “Yes.”

“Why?” she screamed.

“Because I love him,” I answered simply. 

That was clearly the absolute worst response I could've had, as evidenced by my mother’s screaming rant. A rant I couldn’t even understand because it so high-pitched and convoluted. 

After a couple minutes of this, FP stepped forward and said loudly, “Stop!”

My mother fell silent, if only out of shock.

“Thank you,” he said much more softly. “I know you don’t understand what’s happening and you don’t want your daughter to be a part of my world, but she made the choice herself. I would never force her to do something she didn’t want to do. As much as she loves me, I love her. I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with her.”

His words warmed my heart and I looked up at him with a small smile. His gaze flickered over to me and I saw the raw emotion in his eyes. If there had ever been any doubts about how he felt about me, they would have melted away with that single glance.

Both of my parents were completely dumbfounded by his words, neither of them speaking up as FP finished his thought. “I’m not asking you to accept me, but I do hope that you can come to respect your daughter. She loves you both very much and I’m sure you feel the same way.”

I stepped closer to him and grabbed his hand. I could see my mother was gearing up for another verbal assault, so I opted to head it off before she could start. “Goodbye, mom; dad. You know where to find me should you want to talk.”

I gave Tom one last look and he offered me a small smile in return. I faced the front door and FP and I left without looking back. 

Fred was so much more laidback about the whole thing than my parents were. I was beyond grateful for his love and his acceptance of me, no matter what. In his words, “what are friends for?”

Life continued on in much the same way for some time. I woke up every day next to the love of my life and fell asleep beside him every night. We laughed together, worked together, and did everything we could to really know one another again. 

When we weren’t at home, we were at the Wyrm. FP would handle Serpent business, while I would deal with the kids that I taught at school. It helped them to have a role model both at school and outside of it.

Everything was great. Tom was coming around to the idea of me being a Serpent, Fred came around as often as humanly possible, and FP and I were madly in love and doing very well. None of us had any idea what our future held, nor the darkness that would be a part of it.

**Stay Tuned for Part Three**

[fanfictionatic]

I’m sorry

This is probably going to make a lot of people upset, but I have pretty much been forced to use an AI for concept art of my OCs. I still want to commission someone eventually, but unfortunately after doing a lot of digging I just absolutely could not find anyone willing to do 3 character concept arts for a story as dark as mine and even if I could, I would probably have to scrap if I ever publish physical copies of my book since no one I have seen with slots open is willing to do art for that kind of thing at all (which would make me feel bad if I did publish my book as an actual book because if I like the artwork I would want to include it and give the person I commissioned a cut for every copy sold with the cool art). My plan is to use these images as place holders as long as Outcasts is completely free and there are no physical books/I find someone that I can actually commission for the art I need.

Money isn’t really the problem, I have a decent budget for this. But the fact is no human will draw my characters at the moment and stock images have their own issues so I have nowhere else to turn to. My first story was so unpleasing aesthetically with the stock image I picked that I’m worried it might sink any chance of people reading it if I continue like this. I have spent years writing up the plot and characters for this story and I can’t let it fail just because someone picked a more colorful header than me and the post with my story slipped through the cracks. I spent sooo long just working on writing that chapter alone and it was all for nothing because other horror writers can actually draw and I can’t because I am pretty much just a writer and nothing else. Having all of that work go to waste broke me after looking at the numbers my non original work gets, but no one is going to click on a boring grey post with a stuffy old stock image when there are pages and pages of OC sheets in the tags and incredible art that I could only ever dream of making.

I don’t blame people for not wanting to draw for something this dark, but at the same time I need to do something. I can’t just sit back and let my original work be hidden like this forever because I couldn’t make the posts visually appealing enough with what I have.

Let me make this clear, I do not like what the AI art industry is doing. I am not by any means a capitalist. I am aware that the AI can be used for theft and while I used to do a lot of AI art back when it was fun and memey, I have taken pretty much all of it down that I can remember posting. While I like the tech behind it, I am not going to dance around the fact that the creators of these programs are money hungry bastards that don’t care if actual art thieves use their programs and have no regard for the actual artists that got the programs there in the first place.

This is why I’m apologizing. Because I know that currently there is no ethical way to use these programs unless the people that make them start putting in safeguards against theft. This is a bad thing I am doing and I fully admit that. You are absolutely free to hate me and unfollow me for this because damn, I would probably do the same thing and I hate myself for doing this too.

But this story just means too much to me to let it die in a hole. At the end of the day I hate the people that ruined this tech for everyone because of capitalism and theft, but I do not hate them more than I love my characters and the world I built. They have kept me company when my real friends and family literally and figuratively left me to die. I feel like I owe it to them to do this so that their story can be shared the way it needs to be.

So I am sorry to everyone, but I am going to do what needs to be done for one of the few things that makes me want to live anymore even if it is a very horrible and ugly thing to do.

I really wish it hadn’t come to this. I don’t plan to make money off of these things and I can only hope to whatever god exists that someone comes along that I can commission eventually because I’m still not willing to publish a paper book with art made using programs run by these awful people. If I have to keep it free/virtual forever and never publish a physical book so be it. I wanted to eventually turn it into a physical book because physical books are another dying media that I enjoy that got ruined by tech, but I’m not in it for the money, I am in it to tell a story and to create my own art which is my writing.

I know I am still an absolutely awful person for doing this and refusing to make money off of this isn’t much of a protest, but it’s all I can really do when I’m backed into a corner like this.

Also I hope one day someone can train one of these programs and safeguard it the right way so that people like me aren’t strong armed into supporting people that hurt artists, because there are sadly probably more people like me out there with dark content that will run into the same problem. Artists shouldn’t be forced to draw things they are uncomfortable with and maybe in some brighter future, AI could be a more ethical substitute for that than it is now.