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arkadijxpancakes · 2 days

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Yes. The Weasleys had too many kids. An analysis. (Part 2 of 2)

So, where were we? Right. The Weasleys have so many kids that it fucks with their family dynamic and with the mental health of everyone involved. Last time, we looked at Molly and Arthur during the war. We ended in 1981, which means that all kids are born, now. Molly is still nursing. (It’s common to nurse kids up to two or three years, while slowly weaning them, so I assume that this is what Molly does.) She’s finally done with becoming pregnant every other year, however. And it’s about time, because her workload is bigger, than any single person can handle. And while it will decrease over time, it will stay enormous for the next couple of years.

1982 – Bill (who will be 12 at the end of the year) starts Hogwarts. It’s his first lick of freedom. There is no babysitting-duty at Hogwarts. All he has to do is stay out of trouble and earn good grades. Other than that, he is free to do what he wants. He will be the only Weasley-sibling in Hogwarts for two years. Because of this, his parents probably have enough money in reserve to buy him a full Hogwarts-kit without resorting to second-hand-stuff too much. (He might get second-hand books, but his robes and wand are probably new.)

At home, life is still hard for Molly. She has one less kid to take care of, but the kids who are still in her care are a handful. She still needs to teach Charlie. Percy got 6 over the summer and is a little nerd, so she is likely teaching him, too. Fred and George are still chaos incarnate. (And they are just getting started, really.)

Bill’s duties (chores around the home and watching his younger brothers) get passed down to Charlie. Percy might try his hand on this, too, because he is still in direct competition with the twins and Mum gives him attention when he helps her.

The war is over and the Weasleys start to feel the effects of this. As Death Eaters are captured and sentenced, the Wizarding World starts to feel safe, again. The stress eases off (but Molly is probably still grieving.)

Arthur’s work schedule slowly goes back to more normal levels, allowing him to spend more time at home. However, he missed out on a big chunk of his children’s childhood. It’s also hard to return to his role as a parent, because at this point, the roles of the family are pretty much established: Molly is in charge and does most of the work. Some of the easier chores are passed down to her kids (first Bill, now Charlie, later Percy). This includes watching over his younger brothers while Molly takes care of her toddlers. It’s kind of hard for him to integrate himself into this dynamic. (Just imagine him doing the laundry or the dishes – it’s very likely that he has a different way for doing this, which could easily disrupt Molly’s workflow or simply just annoy her.)

I think he will mostly stick to the stuff he did when Bill and Charlie were little. So he’s taking his kids out for trips on the weekends. But this is difficult, too, because it’s not Bill and Charlie anymore, but Charlie, Percy, Fred and George. Their dynamic is entirely different, and it’s hard to keep an eye on all of them, while also satisfying their needs equally. (Especially because Percy, Fred and George start to clash.) As a result, the trips are probably not as frequent as they once were.

It’s also possible that Arthur picks up his Muggle-hobby at this point. (Picking up this hobby causes him to spend at least some evenings in his shed, tinkering with Muggle-stuff instead of helping his wife. I imagine him to fade into the background a little bit, while he leaves the household and child-rearing to his wife.)

1984 – Charlie starts Hogwarts.

There are now two Weasley-Siblings at Hogwarts, but things are still pretty chill for them. It’s still just Bill and Charlie, after all. Bill is probably considered trustworthy enough by his teachers to receive a time-turner, so he can take all electives Hogwarts has to offer. (I do wonder how much Molly’s expectations are playing into this. She clearly expects her children to do well at Hogwarts, both in terms of grades and behavior. At this point, he is either a massive nerd like Hermione, trying to perform well to fulfill his mother’s expectations, or both. He is also setting a standard for his siblings here, whether this is on his own accord or because of pressure he receives from Molly.)

At home, Percy (now 8) takes over Charlie’s duties. He tries to control Fred and George. It’s likely that he fails miserably. They are just too close age-wise for this to work.

Fred and George are 6 now and start to play rough. Last year, Fred turned Ron’s teddy bear into a giant spider (which probably caused Ron to develop arachnophobia). Next year, they will try to talk Ron into making an Unbreakable Vow with them. So keeping an eye on them is getting harder, not easier.

At this point in time, Scabbers exceeds the life span of his species. Rats can get up to two or three years old. (And Rowling knows this. This information is included in book 3, when Ron takes Scabbers to the pet store to have the witch there check on him.) This is Scabbers third year with the Weasleys, so his time is up. No one seems to notice, though. I don’t blame Percy (or the other kids) for this, but Molly and Arthur should notice that they don’t have to replace a rat or have a talk about how Scabbers is happier in the great rat heaven. They don’t and I wonder why. My suggestions are: a) They are either not paying any attention to Percy and his pet (which would suck) or b) Scabbers is turning into Peter and uses a wand (his own or Molly’s) to confund them as needed (which would suck even more).

1987 – Percy starts Hogwarts.

At the end of the 1986/87 school year, Bill (who is a prefect now) takes his OWL in all 12 courses Hogwarts has to offer. It’s possible he returns his time turner after this or keeps it until his graduation to deal with his NEWT-workload. He now starts his sixth year. Charlie is in his fourth year and is already on the Quidditch team. Molly is very, very proud of both of them.

Percy is a wee first year and doesn’t have to watch out for any younger siblings for once. He can focus on learning instead. He is probably the first boy in the family to end up with hand-me-down robes, as he has a similar build as Bill and Bill has probably outgrown his first set.

Scabbers is six, now. So he has lived twice as long as a normal rat would. Still, no one has caught up to the fact that he is awfully old for a rat. It’s very likely that he accompanies Percy to Hogwarts. (It should be noted that Hogwarts only allows cats, owls and toads as pets, so Percy probably got a permission to bring a rat instead. However, no one at the school notices Scabber’s age either.)

Life at home is still chaotic. Fred and George are 10, Ron is 8 and Ginny is 7. Molly is probably teaching all of them. Her workload is slowly going down to a more manageable level, but keeping the twins in check is still a challenge.

She probably doesn’t expect Fred and George to do chores and watch over their siblings. (At least not in the same way she expected from her older kids.) Mostly, because she can’t trust them to do it. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, that.) Additionally, Ron simply has no authority over them, so that’s not an option either.

1989 – Fred and George start Hogwarts.

In his seventh year, Bill was made Head Boy. By now, he took his NEWTs and left school. He probably returns home for a little while, before he takes the first chance he gets to fuck off to Egypt and play with cursed tombs. (We should probably talk about English wizards, Egyptian treasures and colonialism here, but that’s a completely different can of worms.)

Charlie took his OWL and is now in his sixth year. He’s still on the Quidditch team and should be Quidditch Captain by now. He’s also a prefect. So between them, they got all the big achievements Hogwarts has to offer: Prefect (both of them), Head Boy (Bill) and Quidditch Captain (Charlie). Bill also got 12 OWL, which is an achievement on its own. Molly will measure her other children against this later.

Speaking of Molly: While her home life is going to relax a lot this year, her expectations are still around. She is still expecting her kids to do well in school. Considering that Fred and George are now at Hogwarts, the old demand “Watch over your younger siblings!” is back and in full swing. I can’t see Charlie doing it – he has his head full of dragons and Quidditch and lived five blissful years in Hogwarts without the need to look after anyone all that much. Sure, Percy was at school, but he has already learned to look after himself. I don’t think Charlie will start with this now. Not unless the twins interfere with his prefect- or Quidditch-duties or are completely out of line.

Percy is a different story, however. He is in his third year and still taking after Bill. Just like Bill he takes all electives, so it is likely that he also gets a time turner for this. At this point, Percy has ingrained the idea that he needs to perform exceptionally well at school and Bill set an incredible high bar to reach, but he is willing to do just that. He also spent a lot more time at home dealing with the twins. Molly’s expectations for him to be a good boy and to look after his younger brothers will now put pressure on him again. He will probably try to control their chaotic behavior, but they are 11 now, and they will listen to him even less than before.

For Fred and George, this is heaven. They finally escaped the watchful eyes of their mother and have a whole new world to explore. So many secret passageways and even more victims to play pranks on. Percy is annoying, but they can play pranks on him, too. They will soon steal the Marauder’s Map from Filch’s office, which will open up even more possibilities. It’s great. 10/10, no notes.

Life at home is finally manageable. It’s just Molly, Ron and Ginny (and also Arthur and his Muggle-stuff). This is probably a nice time for Ron, because there are no older siblings around to steal his limelight. However, at this point he has the family dynamic internalized and his self-esteem is pretty low overall.

1991 – Ron starts Hogwarts.

By now, Charlie has left Hogwarts. It is unlikely that he actually finished his education, however. When Harry becomes a member of the Gryffindor team in Philosopher’s Stone, Fred says: “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant.” Had Charlie finished his education, he would have left in summer 1991. The quote is from autumn 1991. In this case, the quote would make no sense, because there were no matches for Gryffindor to lose between Charlie leaving and Harry becoming Gryffindor’s new seeker. So he must have left before then, probably sometime in his sixth or seventh year, after his seventeenth birthday.

It’s important to note that we don’t read about any fights over this. I can’t imagine Molly being happy with this, but he must have had her permission. (Otherwise we would know about it. Molly can’t shut up about the failures of the twins, she would not shut up about Charlie’s failures either.)

Percy is in his fifth year and a prefect. By now he is the career-driven rules lawyer we meet in canon. He will end this school year by taking all 12 OWL – just like Bill. (When Ron is made prefect in OotP, Molly makes sure to tell everyone that he is now a prefect, just like his older brothers, and she seems very comfortable doing so. I assume, Percy heard his fair share of this, when he was made prefect.)

The twins are in their third year and members of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. By now, they have earned themselves a reputation as pranksters.

Ron is the sixth Weasley-kid to enter Hogwarts. While his older siblings might have gotten some second-hand stuff, everything he owns was basically handed down to him: Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old pet rat. To be clear: none of those things make much sense to hand down (or at least not to Ron).

Bill’s old robes should have gone to Percy after Bill left Hogwarts. They should be of a similar height, while Ron (as an eleven-year-old) should be somewhat smaller. Instead of handling it that way, Percy got new robes as a reward and Bill’s robes were handed down to Ron. This is clear favoritism on Molly’s part. It’s no surprise that Ron (who already feels overlooked by his parents) feels upset about it.

Giving him Charlie’s old wand makes even less sense. We know, that the wand chooses its wizard. Charlie’s wand did not choose Ron, so it would not perform as well for him. In addition, in book 1 the wand is described as follows: “He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.”

That thing is basically falling apart. That was either a lot of wear and tear during Charlie’s time at Hogwarts (considering the fact that we have not heard anything about this with other wands, this is unlikely) or the wand was already a hand-me-down when Charlie got it. In either case, giving Ron a wand that has its core more or less poking out, doesn’t sound very safe. I wonder why Arthur and Molly decided to do this. Did they expect Ron to have a great learning experience with a damaged wand? Did they want Ron to use the wand until it eventually did break, saving them another year or two before they had to buy a new one? (And yes, they would indeed need to buy him a new one in his third year, but they had no way of knowing that. Unless there are prophecies for that kind of shit. And even then. The fuck?)

Money is tight, of course. But is it really that tight? They could afford to get Percy an owl, after all. And buying a wand for their son is an expense they've had 11 years to plan. I understand getting second-hand robes and cauldrons, as they see a lot of wear and tear. But this should not apply to a wand in the same way. This is just really, really odd.

And then there is the elephant – and with elephant I mean rat – in the room: Scabbers. Firstly, that rat should be dead for at least seven years by now. No one seems to notice. No one cares. What the fuck.

Secondly, why is Percy giving his pet to Ron? There just isn’t a great explanation for this. Scabbers has been his pet for ten years. TEN. Percy should be attached to his pet like glue. After all, he has Scabbers since he can remember. Why is he willing to part with his rat? The only reasons I can think of:

1) He does it because Molly asks him to. She is clearly playing favorites, here. Not only does he get new robes when he becomes prefect, but he also receives his very own owl as a gift. It’s possible that this owl comes with strings attached, and Percy is required to give Scabbers to Ron to get the owl. Which would be a pretty fucked up situation for every child involved and should’ve been handled differently.

2) Percy wants to get rid of Scabbers. He doesn’t know about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret, of course (otherwise he would’ve reported this). But it is possible that he feels, on a subconscious level, that something about Scabbers is off. Not in a dangerous way (again, he would’ve reported this), just in an unpleasant way. (This would still be odd. Especially when we consider that no one noticed Scabbers age.)

3) Scabbers has decided that it’s time to jump ship. Percy just turned fifteen this year. He is old enough to grow suspicious of his seemingly immortal rat. It’s possible that he cozied up to Ron to manipulate both boys into making the switch. Or he turned into Peter and confunded some Weasleys. Who knows. He’s still a Death Eater and mass murderer on the run, after all.

1992 – Ginny starts Hogwarts.

The flock has left the nest. Molly’s work is mostly over. It’s just her and Arthur who stay at the burrow. She still takes care of the household, but the responsibility for her kids rest on other people’s shoulders, now. There is nothing left to do, except knitting, sending care packages, worrying about her kids careers and hexing the occasional howler. Molly could get a job now or pick up a hobby or two. I mean, she does read Gilderoy Lockhart’s shitty books. She is a fan of his, after all. But she doesn’t seem to enter any community over this (no fan club, no reading circle, no nothing. It’s just her). And there are no other hobbies outside of that.

Apropos community: We don’t really see her having a community. She is a pretty important side character, but the books never mention that she has friends or other contacts outside her family. It seems like she is focusing on her kids and only on her kids.

Which would explain her meddling. Because Molly meddles a lot, when it comes to her kids and their futures. She keeps putting pressure on Percy to look after his younger siblings – this will expand to Harry after she gets to know him. Percy (still a good boy) does as she wishes. It’s not healthy, neither for him nor for his relationship with his siblings (who are mostly annoyed by him), but Molly either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. In the future, she will be very cross with Hermione after reading Rita Skeeters articles about her. She will also be upset about the twins' career choice and Bill's choice of girlfriend…

And yeah, that’s basically it. At this point, the family dynamic is firmly established and ingrained in her children’s heads. Percy is already set up to explode in the near future. Being Molly’s Golden Child is neither good nor healthy, especially considering all the pressure that comes along with it. His relationship with his siblings isn’t all that great, either.

Fun fact: We don’t know if anyone ever told him about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret. If it did happen, it was probably pretty traumatic. That shit-show was his pet for ten fucking years and he handed it down to his younger brother. That’s nightmare fuel, even if Peter never hurt any of them.

The twins have firmly established themselves as troublemakers. At least some of their “jokes” really aren’t funny and border on cruel, neglectful and/or harmful. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, still not funny. In 1993, they also tried to lock Percy in a pyramid. Yes, I don’t think they wanted to hurt him, not really, but that thing was still a cursed tomb. Things could have gone wrong, and at that point they were old enough to know better. In their last year they tested their joke-sweets on younger students who were neither adequately informed nor old enough to consent for something like this. Yes, they tested the sweets on themselves first, but something could still have gone wrong because of allergies and all that stuff. And after they left Hogwarts and started their joke shop, they do sell love potions to students, complete with options to smuggle that shit into school. Additionally, instead of going bad/losing their potency, those love potions get stronger with age. This alone is a horror story waiting to happen.)

Ron is affected, too. His self-esteem is pretty low when he starts Hogwarts and it will stay that way throughout the series. This will inform a lot of his decisions (especially the bad ones) in the future.

We don’t know much about how all of this affected Bill, Charlie and Ginny. Bill and Charlie just aren’t as involved in the narrative, and Ginny stays kind of… bland and love interest-ish… throughout the story.

So… yeah?

Am I saying that the Weasleys did not love their kids? No, of course not. Especially Molly shows her love regularly. (Her love is more like a water hose than a watering can, however. Very intense and focussed on a single spot at a time, instead of reaching all her kids equally.)

What I am saying is that the Weasleys, as a family, are pretty dysfunctional. Many factors are playing into this – Molly’s and Arthur’s dynamic as a couple and as parents, the number of their kids, the war, etc. It’s impacting all of them negatively. Molly is stressed out, Arthur is out of touch and some of their kids lose their trust (either in their parents, in their siblings or in themselves.) It also makes their love feel conditional. The twins feel this whenever Molly is comparing them with their older (more well-behaved) brothers. Percy feels this when he comes home with that promotion and is demoted from Golden Child to family-traitor within a heartbeat. Ron has internalized it and desperately seeks attention and affection elsewhere.

They still love each other, but it’s a difficult position to be in for most of them.

And the worst thing: I don’t think Rowling notices any of this. She did not intend the family to be as dysfunctional as it is. She keeps portraying the Weasleys as this great, loving family who took Harry in when he needed it the most. And of course they did – but that’s not all there is to it. There are so many issues that go unresolved in the books. Molly never learns to back off. The responsibility for the conflict between Arthur and Percy is placed entirely on Percy, despite Arthur being at fault, too. The twins never really learn that a prank can go too far. Ron doesn’t really solve his self-esteem-issues. Rowling does start to give him some character development regarding his self-esteem-issues multiple times, but he always seems to revert back over the course of the summer holidays.

The family really deserved more effort to go into the writing.

Note: This analysis is not meant to say that stay-at-home parents are bad or that Molly should have gotten a job while having seven little kids at home. What I am criticizing is the way we treat care work. Because it is work, and a lot of work. A stay-at-home parent is often on call 24/7. A stay-at-home parent never really gets to take a break, never can take a day off, and never just can leave their work for another day. But they do deserve breaks and days off, just like any person with a day job. And that is where their partners and the rest of their families come in.

And this is the other thing I wanted to criticize here: The way we glorify living as a nuclear family. It’s said that you need a village to raise a kid and I do think this is true. Having more people involved in child-rearing (be it relatives, neighbors or professionals like teachers) is a boon. Families had access to this for millennia. Raising your kids with the help of your family and your village was normal, up until very recently. And it’s a shame that the Weasleys seemingly had no help like this. And yes, I do see the fault with Rowling, who wrote them that way. She basically took the concept of the nuclear families of the 1980s and 1990s and slapped it onto the family, without any world building at all.

(Please also note, that I consider stay-at-home parents to be different from tradwives. When I use the term “tradwife”, I am specifically referring to stay-at-home mothers who do not just take care of their household and their kids, but who also commit themselves to having as many kids as possible and who tend to take on other duties (like homeschooling) as well. The most common examples of this are probably families who belong to fundamentalist Christian churches or cults.)

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embrosegraves · 8 months

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𝔽𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 ℝ𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕪

(request) Fernando Alonso x Reader Fernando helps the reader’s daughter to be brave. “Booping noses” and “Hand kisses”

Warnings: Google translated Spanish (i'm trying to learn the language but for now, Google.)

Race day for most people would mean complete chaos, it was no different for the Alonsos.

Even before you had met Fernando all those years ago, your whole life had been chaos incarnate. From working your ass off, to dating a Formula One driver, and even introducing said driver to your family (which included introducing him to your young daughter, Marta). It was safe to say that you were very familiar with chaos.

Which is why you were so surprised to find that Marta, at a very grown up 7 years old, was being so calm. This wasn’t her first time at a race, but it was her first time not going berserk at everything around her. Usually she would be running this way and that, trying to get the attention of every driver that passed you both. Some of them tried to talk with her, but they usually struggled as no matter how much English you taught her, Marta always forgot that not everyone spoke Spanish.

But that wasn’t the case today. Not one bit. You would have been more worried about it if not for the strong grip she had on your hand. Walking over to the Aston Martin hospitality building, you gently guided her to a table near the back. You knew that children often got embarrassed when asked particular questions, so you did your best to find a table that had a bit of privacy.

“¿Qué pasa Pequeña? Do you feel okay?” You squeezed her hand gently, trying to give her a bit of comfort and encouragement. [What’s wrong Little One?]

“Estoy nerviosa para más tarde.” She whispered. Giving her a good look over, you could see on her face and in her eyes that she was a little anxious. A part of your heart broke because you hadn’t noticed sooner. [I’m nervous for later.]

“¿Se trata de estar en el garaje?” You were almost certain it was. Marta had never watched a race from inside the garage before, usually you would watch from the hospitality. Marta nodded, the charms on her pigtails jingling as they went. [Is this about being in the garage?]

“We can stay here for a bit if you want, but do you think it might help if we talk to Fernando? He might be able to help you be brave.” It was almost a sure fire way to get her to do anything. As soon as Fernando’s name was mentioned in any conversation, Marta would latch on and engage in whatever was being spoken about for hours.

“Mamá, ¿crees que Fernando alguna vez se asusta?” It broke your heart to hear her voice tremble. Normally, if you asked a question in English, you would encourage her to answer in English as well, but given the situation, you didn’t try to correct her. [Mummy, do you think Fernando ever gets scared?]

“I know he gets scared sometimes. Even Mamá gets scared. But you know what helps?” she shook her head. “Hugs from your favourite person. Getting a hug can help you feel brave enough to do the things you're scared about.”

“¿Puedo abrazar a Fernando?” [Can I hug Fernando?]

“Of course you can Mija. Should we go find him?”

Marta nodded and got up from her chair, still holding your hand tightly. You quickly made the short walk over to the garage, showing your passes to the security standing outside. Once inside, you made your way to Fernando’s side to see him sitting down with a book in his hands. You weren’t expecting him to notice you over all the noise of the garage, but as soon as you started walking towards him, he looked up and right at you both. He started smiling before seeing just how scared Marta looked to be in the garage.

Fernando didn’t even mark his page before he put the book down. He stood up and gave you a sweet kiss before crouching down to be the same height as Marta, who was now clutching tightly to your leg.

“What’s the matter, Mija?” Fernando had spoken the question to Marta but he was looking at you.

“She’s just a bit scared to be watching from the garage today.”

“Ah.” Fernando gently unlatched Marta’s hands from your leg and held them both in his. Now that she was facing him, he tugged her a little bit closer to him. “Do you know what helps me feel less scared?”

“Mamá said a hug helps.” You almost couldn’t hear her over the noise from the mechanics.

“Your Mamá is a very smart woman, Marta.” You couldn’t help a small smile from appearing. “Can I give you a hug?”

Marta didn’t answer. She just wrapped her arms around Fernando tightly and buried her face into his neck. Fernando wrapped his arms around her just as tight. He made sure he had a firm grip on her before he stood up. He started swaying and whispering to Marta in Spanish. You were forever thankful that you had met Fernando when you did. You had no idea how you would’ve raised Marta by yourself.

Fernando didn’t let go of Marta until he was told that he needed to start getting ready to be in the car. He gently nudged her and asked if she wanted to help him. Marta was feeling a lot better, if the way she enthusiastically nodded her head indicated anything. Fernando gently put Marta back on the ground and led her over to where his things were. She helped him put his gloves and balaclava on, quickly getting another hug before he put on his helmet.

“Do you think you can be brave enough to look after your Mamá?” Fernando asked her, his visor still up. Marta had a serious look on her face.

“I can do it.” Her serious look was gone the moment Fernando booped her nose. Right before Fernando moved to get in the car, Marta reached up and flicked down his visor and then booped the helmet where his nose would be. Fernando gave her a fist bump and then finally got into the car for the race.

Fernando had ended up finishing in P4, only just missing out on the podium. You were originally going to wait in the garage for him to come back after the race, but Marta had decided that it would be easier to look after you if you were in the hospitality. You had texted Fernando to go there after the debrief so he wouldn’t spend ages trying to find you. Soon enough, Fernando was walking towards you, no longer in his racing suit. Before he could even greet you, Marta had started barrelling towards him. Fernando had crouched down in his spot so that she could hug him easier.

“I did it! I did it! I was being brave like you and I took care of Mamá, just like you said!”

“You did an amazing job, Mija. I’m so proud of you!” Fernando’s arms were wrapped around her tightly.

Getting up from your seat, your heart swelled with love at your boyfriend and daughter. Walking over to them, you held your hand out for Fernando to take.

“You did so well, Mi Amor. You drove brilliantly.”

Fernando brought your hand to his lips and kissed it. That one kiss telling you everything you needed to know. That he loved you and your daughter. That no matter what happened he would always be there to help you with anything you needed.

He kissed your hand again before standing up. Settling Marta on his back, he began leading you to the car that would take you all to the hotel to finally rest after the busy day.

So to be completely honest, I had this basically all finished, but then some shit happened (non F1 related) and it may have taken me a while, but i finally got it done

Also, I'm sure you noticed that I took a bit of inspiration from KMag and his daughter. The clip of her helping her dad get ready for a race is just so cute!

I hope you enjoyed!

As usual likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated

#formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #formula one #fernando alonso x y/n #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #formula 1 #fernando alonso fluff #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso fic #f1 blurb #fa14

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ween-kitchens · 7 months

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we’re not bruised; they’re just party tattoos

2716 words CW: alcohol

scott is far too drunk to be making rational decisions. he knows this just as he knows that he probably should have switched from wine to water about an hour ago; as he knows that a game of spin the bottle is a very, very stupid idea right now. however, he knows all these things rationally, and scott has long since decided that he is going to ignore all rational thought and deeply regret everything tomorrow morning, hand in hand with whatever abysmal hangover is going to follow. so rather than acting logical or rational or like someone who wants to survive until the next morning, scott plonks himself down directly next to tango in the circle of his equally drunk friends, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush. it’s new years, okay, they’re allowed to be stupid; resolutions start tomorrow, not tonight.

this was meant to be posted on new year’s day. yeah I gotta stop expecting deadlines to work but hey we can pretend it’s a valentine’s day gift!

if you enjoyed, please reblog!

scott is far too drunk to be making good decisions.

he knows this just as he knows that he probably should have switched from wine to water about an hour ago; as he knows that a game of spin the bottle is a very, very stupid idea right now. however, he knows all these things rationally, and scott has long since decided that he is going to ignore all rational thought and deeply regret everything tomorrow morning, hand in hand with whatever abysmal hangover is going to follow.

so rather than acting logical or rational or like someone who wants to survive until the next morning, scott plonks himself down directly next to tango in the circle of his equally drunk friends, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush. it’s new years, okay, they’re allowed to be stupid; resolutions start tomorrow, not tonight.

the smart people in their group stopped drinking after they got tipsy, and so now they’re all being babysat by an amused pixl, a somewhat concerned xisuma and a deeply smug cleo. scott is fairly certain she only stopped drinking so they’d have a crystal clear memory of the fuckups they will all inevitably cause and so will be reminded of for the rest of their lives. the smart people, however, are the vast minority of the party, and so the world right now is chaos incarnate.

gem and scar have been giggling about the least humorous topics scott has ever heard—which includes the shape of the wine bottle that is positioned in the middle of the circle. grian has been extraordinarily bold for the entire night, and is actually flirting with mumbo, who seems equally enamoured and embarrassed by it all. scar whoops from across the circle each time grian manages to get mumbo to blush. lizzie has been flirting with joel idly, and seems to be entirely unaware of how flustered joel is getting—much to everyone’s amusement.

“are we spinning or what!” pearl yells over the commotion. unfortunately for scott, she is still leaning on his shoulder, and has very literally just yelled into his ear.

“yeah we are!” scott shouts back, and pearl shrieks with laughter, pushing him away. scott cackles and pushes her back.

the next few minutes is a blur of too-loud laughter and squeals through a haze of drunken grins. scott manages to make out joel and jimmy being overly dramatic about the smallest peck of the lips, the entire room screaming as mumbo and grian kiss for much longer than is strictly necessary—and then a very flustered mumbo and grian scurrying out of the room, presumably to finish making out in private—and cleo being eventually dragged in to kiss a grinning lizzie, to the mock-devastation of joel.

scott whoops along with everyone else as the bottle lands on him, watching with anticipation as the bottle spins a full three-sixty. except- it doesn’t spin a full 360, because it instead lands on.. tango.

and this is the second of the abysmal decisions scott makes. because instead of giving tango a brief peck on the lips and playing it off like a joke, scott’s idiotic, drunken brain decides that he may as well put some effort in. after all, if he’s only ever gonna kiss tango once, he wants it to be worth it.

“come on tango!” scott is laughing, watching for any minuscule sign of discomfort or apprehension from tango. there is none.

tango is grinning along, leaning forward into scott’s space. “well, I hope you live up to your reputation.” he winks, and it’s like he’s just set fire to scott’s brain.

scott grabs the collar of tango’s shirt, leaning in until their noses brush. “you’ll have to be the judge of that.”

the first thing scott registers is that tango’s lips are soft. like- really soft. he’d kind of assumed his lips would be almost harsh and rough, because of his netherborne roots, but void, he was mistaken. after this, scott is gonna ask what kind of skincare routine tango has.

except- he doesn’t really get a chance to, because tango nips a little at scott’s lower lip, and suddenly every intelligent thought is wiped from his mind. tango’s teeth, it seems, are just as sharp as they look. well, two can play at that game.

something in scott’s stomach ignites as he runs his own teeth over tango’s lip and hears the half-stifled gasp he elicits. scott suppresses the urge to smile, and instead slides his hand from tango’s cheek into his hair and grips it, relishing the heat that has begun to emanate from tango’s body.

scott is grinning when the whistles and shrieks from the group pulls the two apart, deeply satisfied to see the way tango’s catlike pupils have enlarged. “so? how’d I do?”

it takes tango a second to gather himself, and scott’s grin slips into a smirk. oh, he could get used to this.

“so-so.” tango shrugs, clearly attempting a nonchalant tone, but the way his eyes keep darting back to scott’s lips tells another story.

scott cackles regardless. “well then, I guess i’ll have to practice.”

with a rush of warmth through his chest, scott watches as tango budges closer to skizz and mutters to him, “I volunteer as tribute.”

“i’m not complaining.” scott says just loud enough for tango to hear, if only to watch the way tango’s eyes widen in panic as he realises scott overheard him. he winks teasingly, and turns back to the chaos, where grian and mumbo have just come back.

to his own surprise, scott finds himself zoning out, even as gem and pearl decide that they can’t be bothered to wait for the bottle to choose and instead make out in the middle of the circle. although, scott does make a mental note to make fun of pearl about this at any given opportunity—most likely after she makes fun of him for how intense his and tango’s kiss ended up being.

but- embarrassingly, all he can think of is tango’s lips. because- okay, seriously, tango is a good kisser—which- scott really should have thought about that—and it’d be one thing if scott was just enjoying the kiss, but- it definitely is not. the kiss was not so good that it warrants this level of thinking about it, and scott really doesn’t know why he even decided to actually kiss tango in the first place. like- does he even have any self restraint anymore?

wow, scott can’t believe he actually asked that when the answer is so obvious: no, he really doesn’t.

-—

unfortunately for tango, drinking is not doing one of its best jobs of making him forget everything about himself—more specifically, the kiss. in fact, he seems to be unable to focus on anything but, which is getting increasingly more embarrassing. if you couldn’t already tell, tango was absolutely lying when he said scott didn’t live up to his reputation. rather, he surpassed it by far, which is proving to be extraordinarily inconvenient if tango wants to get through this night without doing something stupid. again.

but of course, stupid is his middle name; literally (he lost a bet, don’t ask), so the plan of ‘don’t make an entire fool out of himself’ is going to be a lot harder to manage than it probably ought to be. especially if scott doesn’t stop looking at him like that.

“you thinking about something or just enjoying the view?” tango calls, foolishly, to scott. they’ve been out on the balcony of whoever’s house this is (he forgot sometime around when he kissed scott) for about ten minutes, intentionally avoiding each other’s eyes. scott, however, has apparently given up on this and has been gazing absentmindedly at tango for at least a minute.

scott gives a crooked grin, and tango so desperately wants to kiss it off his face. “why can’t I do both?”

tango scrambles for something equally witty to say as scott stands and moves over to him, something akin to curiosity in his eyes. “you know, you are unfairly pretty.”

if tango was speechless before, he’s entirely hopeless now. “you- I- I am?”

“wh- I mean come on,” scott brushes a loose hair out of tango’s eyes, tracing his fingers down his jaw. yeah, okay, tango has officially lost his mind. “you’re like a- a painting.”

well, if scott’s allowed to flirt with him, tango isn’t gonna take it lying down.

“there you go again.” tango takes scott’s hand in his own, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles. he watches with the utmost fascination as scott’s cheeks turn the faintest shade of red at the action. “i’ve never met anyone so much like a siren as you, scott.”

scott raises an eyebrow, and tango follows the action with his eyes. “a siren, huh?” he says, rubbing a thumb across tango’s hand. “why is that?”

tango gives the ghost of a smirk, watching as scott’s eyes flit to his lips. “you do this- this whole song and dance, you make me swoon, and then you’re gone.” he moves closer. “it’s like chasing wind with you.”

“come on.” scott gives a little breathy laugh, and tango’s mind reels as he realises he’s managed to fluster him. oh man, tango could get used to this. “you can catch me, if you try.”

“i’ve seen this all before.” tango tilts his head ever so slightly. “with jimmy, with pixl, with martyn.” he rests a hand on scott’s waist, heart leaping at the poorly stifled gasp scott gives as he does so. “I don’t know what to think with you.”

“i’ll tell you then,” scott says, and the flirtatious note in his voice is suddenly gone, replaced by an almost devastating honesty. “I have wanted you for a very long time, and i think this party might be the tipping point into insanity for me, because you look- you look like that, and you kissed me, and now you’re flirting back which is something i’ve never been able to handle.”

tango feels his mouth twitch into a grin. “well, i’ll tell you what, it’s amazing to be on the opposite end of all this.” he rubs his thumb against scott’s waist deliberately, smile widening ever so slightly as scott practically pouts at him. “don’t give me that look, I never get to be the flirty one.”

“it- it suits you.” scott says, and he’s breathless, and tango might also be going insane now he comes to think of it. “i’m- y’know, i’m perfectly happy to pretend this was all a series of drunken mistakes if-“

before scott can continue, tango once again lives up to his recently appointed middle name, and kisses him.

scott kisses back almost immediately, and tango finds himself leaning further into him as scott’s hands move to his hair and waist. tango, apparently, did not think this through, because last time his brain was reduced to mush without the insane knowledge that scott likes him back, which he’s still having a hard time processing. so when scott deepens the kiss, tango feels as if he may explode, and when scott nips ever so delicately at his bottom lip, tango melts.

it registers distantly in tango’s puddle of a brain that scott has managed to pin him against the wall as they’ve been kissing, and that at some point, he’s going to need some air. tango bites scott’s lip, relishing in the half stifled groan and shudder he elicits, and allows himself to forget about trivial things like breathing.

after a moment though, tango’s lungs begin to burn and they break apart, panting. tango is grinning, and scott’s bottom lip is bleeding, and tango probably should have remembered about his fangs.

“I would- I would very much appreciate if you didn’t pretend that was a mistake.” tango manages, and scott’s eyes glint.

“I wouldn’t dare.” he practically purrs, his breath hot against tango’s face.

there’s a explosion of noise from inside—loud enough for them to hear at a significant volume even outside. tango smirks at scott. “do you think they’ll miss us if we stay out here a little longer?”

scott’s lips twitch into a grin, leaning in so his nose brushes tango’s. “I think we have enough time for another round before they come looking.”

“let’s not waste it.” tango says, closing the gap.

—-

scott wakes up under an unfamiliar blanket, laying on what he’s fairly certain is not his own bed, where everything seems to smell like tango. he has no idea where he is and he doesn’t remember how he ended up here, which may not be the best sign. when he shifts in order to survey his surroundings, it takes a moment for him to realise that he hasn’t just been smashed in the head with an axe and that this is, in fact, the consequences of the far too much alcohol he had the night before.

he blinks against the faint light of the sun peeking through the cracks in the curtains and finds himself in a bedroom that is unmistakably tango’s. that explains why it smells like him, scott supposes.

before scott can fully take advantage of this (shoving his nose into the duvet for as long as he can get away with), a wonderfully familiar voice interrupts his train of thought.

“y’know, you’re even beautiful when you’re asleep. are you like- magic or something?”

scott sits up with great effort, smiling sleepily as he sees tango with two trays of what looks like cooked breakfast. “hey darling.”

tango blushes, laughing softly. “void, i’m never gonna get used to that.” he slides into bed next to scott, handing him his tray as he does.

“well, get used to it.” scott budges closer, pressing a kiss to tango’s cheek before tucking into his breakfast. “oh, you’re an angel.” he says through a mouthful of eggs.

tango is leaning against him. “did we talk about what we are now and I forgot, or did we just make out?”

scott snorts. “I think the latter.” he admits, gesturing to a distinctly bruise-ish looking mark on tango’s neck with his fork. “I did good work.” he says absentmindedly, laughing as a flustered tango elbows him.

“shut up, you look like you got attacked by a horny vampire.” tango says, and scott cackles. “oh- don’t make fun of me, i made you breakfast.”

“I think you just called yourself a horny vampire, love.” scott grins. “but do you wanna talk about what we are?”

tango shrugs in a way that very clearly means ‘yes but I don’t want to come off as clingy’. wow, scott can read him better than he thought. “I mean, what do you want us to be?”

“I personally want you to be my husband, but we gotta do the middle step before we can get there.” scott says simply, and tango looks like he’s just almost choked on his toast. “see, i’m far more clingy than you could ever be, dear.” he winks.

“I want you to be my partner.” tango says, a little nervous, as if scott was ever gonna say anything other than yes.

“then i’m yours.” scott presses a kiss to the corner of tango’s mouth. “I mean, I was yours the second you started wanting me, but I may as well make it official.” he grins at tango’s bewildered expression. “listen, i’ve loved you for a long time.”

tango gives a flustered little huff, grinning almost shyly. “you’re a fuckin’ siren, I was right about that.”

“i’m just being honest.” scott teases, but he can’t quite stop the blush rising on his cheeks. “besides, i’ve been wanting to say all this for a while now, so i’m not gonna shut up anytime soon.” a smirk slips onto his face. “unless you find a way to make me.”

tango rolls his eyes, but he looks extremely tempted. “it’s too early to make out with you. at least give me time to brush my teeth.”

“i’ll grant you that.” scott smiles, leaning closer to tango in order to press a kiss to his cheek. “but only because I love you.”

tango smiles, looking completely smitten. “I love you too.”

#tumblr formatting is hell #the staff really said ‘how do we make this the most ergonomic’ and then did the opposite #emberfrost #snowbugs #scott x tango #trafficblr #trafficshipping #scott smajor #tangotek #wren writes #alcohol mention

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greentrickster · 5 months

Text

@caspertheloudassghost In this universe the old peak lords all ascended right? I imagine the only reason SQH’s vacation lasted this long was due to his officials, finally giving up on understanding SQH’s organized chaos, desperately try to get his Shizun to decode it to not ruin SQH’s first vacation in two millennia. “You re-raised him right? You should know his filing system right? Right?!” (His filing system is entirely based around a version of Microsoft excel that only he can run. He knew this when he left)

XD XD XD Okay, canon on the Microsoft excel idea! But, unfortunately for the Heavenly Officials, they were not brought into being by a particularly lawful god. Meaning that, while they know that their Lord is incarnated somewhere in the world... they have no idea who, where, or even exactly why, because he told them exactly None Of That, specifically so they couldn't interfere.

Not even because they're busybodies or obnoxious coworkers, but because the Heavenly Officials are the original assistants that Airplane made for himself in this world once it got more complicated than he wanted to deal with on his own. As a result, while they're quite good at their jobs (and can manage a very respectable amount of Heaven's filing, just not anything in Airplane's personal system) and very pleasing to look at, they're also a bit clingy. Because they were made by a lonely young man who was mostly ignored by everyone around him in his first life, so who can blame him for wanting to be around people who also wanted to be around him?

Thinking about it, in a way this trip to the mortal world to be Shang Qinghua was probably at least partially for the sake of these original, highest-ranked Heavenly Officials alongside Airplane wanting to take a vacation and experience the Plot firsthand. The celestial equivalent of parents leaving their older kids in charge of the younger kids, the pets, and the house for a week while they go off on a vacation or business trip or what-have-you. A chance to test themselves a little without the person/people in charge on hand, to grow as an individual and an adult. And the Heavenly Official coming down to beg Airplane for help was the equivalent of said teens having to phone their parents five days in because the dog got into something it probably shouldn't have, and it'll probably be fine, but there is also the sudden and very real fear of "Oh gods, what if we accidentally kill the dog?" Basically a chance for them to exert some independence and grow on their own for a little, with an unexpected 'I need an adultier adult' situation popping up a decent way in.

As for SQH's ascended master, you're right, he would probably have been able to help with the filing system at least a little... if anyone had thought to show it to him. As it was, cultivators have been ascending for centuries, the Heavenly Officials have no reason to believe that this latest batch from Cang Qiong know anything more about their vacationing boss than any other human. Heck, the only reason Shang Qinghua gets found is because Shen Qingqiu sees some notes in pinyin during his ten-year check-in as to how he's settling into his new role of God of the Ninth Road (full AU here if you haven't tripped over that segment yet), and he comments on it (on the grounds that he'd been under the impression that it was just some made-up writing system his shidi had invented).

In an amusing twist, the issue that necessitated the Heavenly Officials to crack and call upon Airplane for help? Turning off Binghe's Protagonist Halo. Because the 'story' is over now, so no need for a protagonist, and it's not going to particularly nerf him or anything, just make him less center-of-attention-the-world-literally-revolves-around-me. Long term it's even going to be a good thing, because it'll allow Binghe and Shen Yuan to settle into a life together without having to deal with a new Plot Arc starting every month or two. It's for the best for everyone.

Except all the upper Officials have been through everything over a dozen times, and no one can figure out how to make it stop, Airplane left at least some instructions before he left and all the signs point to it being time to turn off the halo and he forgot to include instructions on how to do that, please don't leave out key information, your excellency-!!!

#svsss #shang qinghua #shen jiu #great god airplane #caspertheloudassghost

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quixotical-lymbo · 2 months

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Hey there! I love your writing and especially with Mk, and so I'm just here to drop by and ask you if I could have some Mk angst, preferably with a female!reader, but if you want, go with a gn!reader. I don't really mind which format, do whatever's easiest for you!

What I have in mind is where reader realizes that Mk is literally- in figuratively way- destroying himself with work, hero duties, and romance. Not wanting that, reader is trying to break up with the chaos incarnate to lessen his load.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I understand if you don't want to do this, just wanted to drop by!

Pairing: MK x fem!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: Being in a relationship with the world's hero isn't all sunshine and rainbows. There are many responsibilities that come with it. So, making a decision like this would help you two in the long run…right? Warnings/Tags: Post s5 spoilers YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, angst, hurt/no comfort, and breakup. Word Count: 1300+ words 🍜 - I like the way you think anon...ur evil >:)/pos

"Can…can you repeat that for me? I don't think I heard you right."

"I'm breaking up with you."

"Ha..haha, hehe, you're funny! That was a good one, cutie! Really got me there," MK wiped a tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced around the park you two were sitting in. "Now, what vendor are we gonna hit today? Y'know I think I wanna try that-"

"MK."

MK grimaced before turning his gaze onto you. You took in a deep breath before letting it out and with one hand stretched to rest on his arm.

"Did I…did I do something wrong?" MK's voice trembled as he spoke, his own hand reaching up to land on top of yours.

"Oh goodness, no-" You reassured as you took his hand in yours. "-nothing like that."

"Then why?"

Exactly. Why were you ruining an almost picture perfect relationship for no apparent reason? And so out of the blue? I mean, your boyfriend just got back from his nth time saving-the-world expedition and that meant he had a lot more time to spend the peaceful days with you. So…why?

—🍜—-

You stirred the remaining noodles in your bowl, the lukewarm soup brought an unexplainable comfort to your cold palms. With a few glances toward the door, your unease grew as the seconds ticked by.

"He's supposed tah be 'ere twenty minutes ago," Pigsy's voice grumbled from within the kitchen. "I got way too many orders for him to be messin' around wit my time-"

"-I'M HERE, I'M HERE-...Oh! Pookie!?" MK's gaze landed on you as he staggered from the door he slammed open. You called out his name with the same amount of adoration as he walked up to your side and planted a wet kiss on your forehead.

"I'll be right back after I finish up here," MK promised as his smile trembled from the strain of keeping it up. You merely raised a brow at the state of his messy hair, gloomy vibes, and overall…stressed look?

"Oh, we don't have to do anything tonight if you're not up for it-"

"-NO, ahem, no worries, my love, I'm A-okay! Just be ready for your feet to be swept when your prince charming comes back!" MK blew a few kisses and winked in your direction before collecting the orders from Pigsy and hightailing it out of the shop. You and Pigsy watched as MK almost tripped out of the door.

"Is…he always like this…?" You glanced at your boyfriend's father. Pigsy sighed as he ran a hand down his face, his brow creased from a multitude of things causing him headaches; his son being a major contributor.

"You don't know the half of it, kid."

There were a few more instances where you felt like MK was speed-running for the entire duration you two were supposed to be spending time together. Whether it was on dates, hanging with Mei, or even just bumping into each other. Your interactions were sweet, short, and to the point. Sometimes, MK's love bombing was downright suffocating. One time you could barely get out of bed with how hard he hugged you during movie night.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of craziness that you were, unfortunately, caught up in. Watching your boyfriend hop in a truck and run away from a confrontation between a celestial and…was that the monkey king?

Whoever that was, you were already sprinting back home to avoid getting yourself in harm's way.

That was the last time you saw MK for a while until two weeks or so later. By the time MK and co had returned, you had already decided what you were going to do moving forward. The answer was clear as day in your mind and made the most sense. After all, MK didn't need anything else added onto his plate of responsibilities and he certainly didn't need you.

Sadly, your heart was still (and still is) conflicted.

—🍜—-

Your gaze wandered away from him and MK hated how he couldn't see your face. He disliked it as much as the anticipation eating away at him, making his hands sweat way more than he was comfortable with. You struggled to properly find the words and when that failed you, the only thing you could muster was a few choppy sentences that probably didn't make much sense.

"I just think it's for the best," Your voice wavered as the irritating sting in your eyes meant the waterworks weren't far behind. MK didn't seem like he could hold his back for long as he cleared his throat and nodded along with what you said.

"Right, right, uh-...then," MK stood up from the bench and offered his hand to you. "Can I at least walk you home? It's getting late and I…" don't want to say goodbye.

A smile broke out on your face as you sniffed, happily placing your hand in his and the two of you began trekking back to your home. The stillness that surrounded you both was…oddly cathartic, cozy, and made you feel lighter than air. That heavy weight that had been sitting on your chest was finally lifted. In its place there was a giant abyss left where your heart would be. You ignored this seeping feeling of dread, at least you managed to lighten your—MK's load.

The sight of your neighborhood caused MK to squeeze your hand from time to time with each step taken, corner rounded, and familiar sights leading to the end of the both of you.

MK wished in the back of his mind for you to say something, to let him know that this was all an elaborate prank, a joke that you would surely confess the punchline as soon as he led you to the door of your home.

None of that happened.

Instead, MK was standing in front of your door with you standing before him. The dim light from the nearby lamp post illuminated your skin beautifully under the moonlight.

"Thank you for walking me back..I'll..um."

"It's no worries, I.."

The two young adults awkwardly glanced elsewhere as the uneasiness from earlier lingered. You shook your head and opened your arms, "Hug?"

MK looked up from where he kicked at the floor and grinned, "Hug."

One step and the two of you were wrapped in each other's confining, warm embrace.

"I'm gonna miss you," MK admitted through choked tears that escaped him.

"I'll be here if you need me, but we need this…you need this," You rubbed a comforting hand on MK's back, frowning at the sight of his shoulders shuddering and the sound of his feeble sniffles. After a few more seconds, MK was the first to pull out of the hug. His face was damp with tears and what appeared to be snot, the corners of his eyes already looked puffy as he quickly wiped at his face.

"..." You wanted nothing more than to comfort him further, but you had to draw a line somewhere if this was going to work. You turned to unlock your door and stepped inside, peeking out to wish the noodle boy one final goodnight. MK simply waved as the door closed, your face disappearing from sight but it was the only thing he could see in his mind.

No one else was there to witness MK on autopilot. The dark-haired male shuffled out of your neighborhood and somehow ended up halfway up the stairs to his apartment. MK stepped inside his room, yet he couldn't even make it to his bed before he completely crashed on the carpet. Fat blobs of water spilt from his eyes, his frown opening to release the storm of emotions that have been festering the whole interaction.

Only after his tears dried and the sun began peaking over the horizon did MK manage to fall asleep.

🍜 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight !!

#lmk x reader #lego monkie kid #thanks anon!#anon ask #anon request #lmk mk x reader #lmk mk #angst #lmk season 5 #lmk season 5 spoilers #lmk spoilers #hurt/no comfort #I genuinely love this request I got #I eat angst for breakfast lunch and dinner #hehehehehehe

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adracat · 3 months

Text

Law of Casuality Write-Up (Pt.1?)

Warning!!: the following contains self-indulgence to the likes you’ve never seen before

Law of Causality: The proposition that everything in the universe has a cause and is thus an effect of that cause

Happy Sulemio week! Since it’s Fantasy Day, I decided to finally get cracking on this freeform analysis of my G-Witch series— Law of Causality. I’ve mentioned before this may be my favorite thing I’ve ever written. I was in a manic ADHD-fixation trance while writing this series. If you want the literary version of a triple-layer myth cake, this may be for you. I was considering an essay-style dissection but that’s taking too long. So here are my loose insights into this series as a whole!

Art by my friend Tay, or @TaruhtQarineXiV on Twitter

As Above, So Below: Where it all began. I’ve mentioned in the A/Ns that this was spawned from my deep looks into what the show was taking inspiration from (imo). It’s my little love letter to Sulemio and gwitch, which quickly grew into something more.

Queen in White/King in Red—Beyond the alchemy, I wanted titles that sounded fairytale-esque while also hinting toward another mythos. Hastur or the King in Yellow (Signalis and True Detective enjoyers know that name) The initial King in Yellow appears in Haïta the Shepherd as the benevolent god of shepherds; a domain Hastur shares with Mercury. The short story is about the impermanence of happiness and how it can only be found once you stop seeking it. It’s a theme I ran with for the entirety of LoC, particularly Elnora. The later incarnations of Hastur are malicious eldritch figures. Suletta vs Prospera 😊

On Faerytales: LoC is obsessed with cycles and the rhyming of history. To me, fairytales embody that perfectly. The oral traditions of them are never the exact same, flavored with variations throughout the years. It’s how we got mythology to local folklore to Brothers Grimm to Disney renditions. That’s why I used Eros and Psyche and Sleeping Beauty for Suletta and Miorine (I’m convinced the show does this too but ymmv)

The latter is inspired by the former with Psyche placed under a sleeping torpor Eros breaks. In Sleeping Beauty, the offending curse is a spindle and she’s barricaded by a witch in the form of a dragon. The Hawthorn serves as Mio’s ‘spindle’ as she suffers depression and isolation in the wake of her mother’s vanishing. Prospera (coded as witch Satan) is the dragon. Notrette is the fairies bearing gifts. In a twist, Suletta wakes her with Love as Anteros in the place of Eros. Yes I layered this cake excessively. It’s probably still confusing; I’m sorry.

Tldr; I used Sleeping Beauty alongside Greek myth.

Chaos and Night: Paradise Lost twisted into a toxic witch romance. One of the most insane ideas I’ve had, but I adore it to bits. Both Prospera and Notrette are vested to the teeth with mythology and theology.

Notrette: Besides Thelema’s Nuit/Babalon and cuing her as ‘God’, as a being of creation, opposed to the Devil, I fit so much into her character. She’s Lilith, Pandora, Circe, Ceres, Virgin Mary, the Morrigan, Ariadne, a deconstruction of the Mother Goddess from neopaganism, and the capricious Queen of Elphame from folklore.

Another figure I styled her after is White Boann, the Dagda’s mistress and wife to Nechtan (cognate with Nuada or the silver-hand) which is where you get the hazel tree link. Boann names her son Aengus because the Dagda was her ‘one desire’.

Circling back to Paradise Lost, she also plays the willing Eve who falls to Satan’s temptation in place of Miorine. There’s likely things I’m forgetting; I was so normal plotting her character.

Elnora: What can I say about this glorious wreck that wasn’t in the text? Venus, The red dragon Satan, the Beast from revelation, pagan Horned God, Neptune to Ceres, Theseus and Bacchus to Ariadne, Prometheus to Pandora, every Phosphoros, etc I’d be here all day. She’s coded as Orion the hunter who’s undone by Gaia and also the Teumessian fox to Suletta’s Laelaps. I mentioned she’s the riders of the apocalypse at the end too. White Rider is Suletta but her mom fulfills the rest; ‘Riding’ Vim as War, Riding Belmeria as Famine while wielding the ‘scales’ (Notrette as Libra) Finally, she wears the visage of death to bring Pestilence to the kingdom. I squeezed in the other omens of revelation with symbolism such as the crown of wormwood (Revelation 8:11)

When it comes to her role as Prometheus, I coded both Delling and Mio as birds of Venus (swallow and dove respectfully.) It’s meant to symbolize the ‘eagle’ devouring her was primarily herself all along. She was the architect of her ruin, lampshaded by Notrette from the beginning.

Remember Haïta the Shepherd? In the story, there is a maiden whom embodies the ephemeral nature of happiness. Notrette is Elnora’s transformative destruction into cathartic acceptance/happiness. In Paradise Lost, Satan succeeds at banishing Eve and Adam from the garden but similarly fails when he’s turned into a snake. She’s lucky I was more metaphorical.

I liberally used Revelation 12, the woman and the dragon, as well. Look at me shipping crackships from the Bible. This is mostly self-explanatory, ofc Christ is genderbent and a role shared by Sulemio. Mio’s allergy to iron doubles as a nod to this, since she doesn’t take her father’s kingdom in this universe.

There is more, such as Dionysis/Bacchus being a many-faced god with younger and older versions paralleling the Horned God’s dual aspects and the Dagda’s relationship to Aengus which led to me pitting Suletta as a lighter mirror of Elnora. But I’ll leave it here for now.

Writing this all out has me questioning what I was on, and how I can reproduce it. If you got this far, thank you for humoring my unabahed love for this world. Happy Fantasy Day, Sulemios! ❤️

#g witch #where Adra gushes over her own nonsense #gundam witch from mercury #adracatwrites #suletta mercury #miorine rembran #sulemio #as above so below #the witch from mercury #prospera mercury #notrette rembran #sulemioweek24

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flamewillowspn · 1 year

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Why is everyone changing their profile picture to that one guy please who is he or what did he do

10 years ago in 2013 fandom collectively got together to take over the whole of tumblr.

We all changed our icons to this particular photo of misha (who played Cas in the CW show Supernatural) it didn't matter what fandom you were from BTVS, doctor who, sherlock, we all took part.

It was called the Mishapocalypse and was absolute chaos incarnate 🤡 and in my opinion the best of times on tumblr!

#mishapocalypse #mishamigos #misha collins #spnfandom #supernatural

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stargazostli · 5 months

Text

Right so solargeist's really fleshed out watcher headcannons/ au got me thinking

and an idea that's been floating in my head for a while now is 'Grian was always a watcher'. Honestly it was probably originally inspired by the "He was only ever meant to watch", obviously it's about Grian being a watcher as of the end of Evo but also "only ever" made me think.

So we know the watchers thrive off of entertainment and bad emotions, and probably also chaos (aka Grian incarnate). So in my headcanon they 'recruit' young players to go onto servers and worlds and inspire chaos or entertainment that would please the watchers to, well, watch. These recruits would be taught skills/ powers like shapeshifting and other typical fanon watcher abilities to help them stay under the radar on the servers they go to.

So what if Grian was one of these recruits and was sent to worlds like yhs and any other worlds he was on before Evo to create entertainment for the watchers. He enjoys the chaos, likes having the friends and storylines he makes on these servers, and definitely likes the powers that come with the job. Soon Grian's one of their best recruits and possibly one of their most powerful, mastering shapeshifting almost immediately.

And Evo is the big one. Grian is properly undercover, pretending to not know who the watchers are and adding more people to the server (Taurtis and Pearl who both joined late) for them to feed off of. It's also Grian's world, which adds a lot of responsibility but also alot of power. The watchers originally just watched and kept an eye on Grian but started meddling when they realised "Hey, the admin isn't going to stop us or look into it, we're his boss!" and when they realised the entertainment that would come with players dealing with god-like beings they don't quite understand.

Grian's all up for this, he of course knows what the watchers are. And while he's a bit miffed whenever they punish him for something (see putting obsidian on his chests and making a clay statue he isn't allowed to mine), He plays along and enjoys being able to do his own thing on a world for the most part.

Then Grian joins Hermitcraft. Maybe the watchers sent him there too, or maybe it was him trying to get away from the responsibilities of his job. Either way, Grian being on two servers at once means the chaos is more spread out and less noticeable, so the watchers recall him, pretending to the other evolutioners that they are making G one of them (end dragon fight on evo). Evo sort of fizzles out and the watchers become bored of it. Most people escape to other worlds or servers, Martyn gets plucked out by the listeners, and the world is forgotten and overgrows again.

Grian continues to make chaos on Hermitcraft. Again, either the watchers telling him to, old habits dying hard, or just because he wants to.

Anyways, from then it's basically what you actually see happens, plus Martyn's lore, and anything that makes more entertainment or chaos is either the watchers or Grian. Grian if it seems harmless just fun and interesting, ans the watchers if it seems a bit more extreme (boogeyman and red bloodlust) or is obviously watcher-y (secret keeper)

I might flesh this out further, but yeah this is basically what I've been thinking about for the past few days

#text #stargazostli #grian #life series #hermitcraft #hermitblr #trafficblr #watcher grian #watchers #evo watchers #evo smp #martyn littlewood #grian headcannon #watcher headcannon #if anyone has anything to add please do!

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featherandferns · 1 year

Text

hurricanes (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | angst central

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of sex; arguments and fights; unhealthy relationship

word count: 7k.

blurb: for so many of your memories, bad and good, it feels as if hurricanes are at the forefront. One night, during the midst of a storm, JJ comes to your house, seemingly to bring you one last memory of him.

You hate hurricanes.

They’re unruly and unpredictable; thrashing and destroying anything in their path. Chaos incarnated.

From inside your house, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind. Sighing, you leave the comfort of your bedroom to go to the kitchen. There’s no chance you’re getting to sleep anyway. Better brew a pot of coffee and maybe get some homework done throughout the night. As you stand over the machine, waiting for it to brew, you look out the window. It’s dark. Rain is splattered across the glass, droplets chasing after one another in an undisclosed race. You manage to make out your reflection. Bags under your eyes. Clothes hanging sadly on your body. Only recently had you managed to start eating well again, putting on weight and getting through more than one meal a day. So, knowing the effort that you’ve been making, you manage a smile.

The t-shirt you’re wearing is one of your favourites. It holds memories: the fit of laugher that had you in tears one night at a bonfire; the day you got your first A on an exam; a date with JJ. Your finger comes to tease at the collar, fingering the fabric, your smile growing from the memories. It felt nice to finally reminisce about your ex-boyfriend without wanting to crumble. Without the thought feeling like someone was twisting the knife that had yet to be eased out of your chest.

The coffee machine stops buzzing. You look down, coming back to yourself, and pour yourself a cup of coffee from the glass mug. Moving to sit on the sitting room sofa, reaching for the remote, you decide to try and distract yourself with a show. Your parents aren’t home and brother’s at college, granting an empty, quiet house. As you flick through the options on Netflix, you hesitate on one. Narcos. JJ loved that series. Had you watch some of the episodes with him – explaining the characters’ motives and filling in the plot-points from whatever you’d missed. A part of you deliberates watching it and letting yourself slip into some fantasy that JJ is sat by your side on the sofa, his hand comfortably on your knee, eyes glued to the screen. But you don’t. There’re new shows to watch, so why go back on the old? Settling on some Netflix-own drama, you sigh and have a sip of your coffee.

“No way, John B actually thinks he’s found the Royal Merchant,” you snort.

JJ shrugs. “That’s what he says.”

“Where?”

“At the bottom of the ocean,” JJ replies.

“No doy, idiot. I mean where abouts at the bottom of the ocean?” You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Oh! Somewhere off the continental drift,” JJ tells you.

He’s opened a bottle of beer for you and is passing it over. The two of you are lounging on your dad’s fishing boat, taking advantage of the nice weather.

“Bullshit,” you say, taking a swig.

“I’m telling you; he’s found it. The stuff in that motel room safe was fucking insane. The cops just pocketing the cash, too?”

“Cops are dirty: shock horror,” you sarcastically return.

JJ laughs with a nod. Then, smiling at you, he says, "well, all I know is when we find the Merchant-”

“-If-”

“When!” he corrects loudly, making you laugh. Then he’s shuffling up so he’s sat right next to you, hooking an arm comfortably around your waist. “When we find it, I’m using my share of gold to spoil my girl rotten.”

“Oh?” You prompt, raising a brow at him with a grin. He nods down at you.

“Mhm. I’m talking fancy dinners and expensive jewellery and that perfume you always check out whenever we’re at the mall but never buy.”

“It’s overpriced,” you brush off, rolling your eyes.

“It’d smell perfect on you,” JJ affirms. Makes your cheeks go warm.

Nudging him with your elbow, the bone digging softly into the flesh of his abs, you say, “well, I guess I could get on board with that then.”

“Just you wait until we find it,” JJ promises, raising his bottle in a silent toast.

Rolling your eyes lovingly at his ways, you lift yours to clink the neck of your bottle against his. JJ leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, sweet and summer-filled, with the lingering taste of beer. You gladly kiss him back, sinking into the familiar feel of your boyfriend. This is going to be the best summer yet.

About ten minutes into the second episode, you think you hear a knock at the door. No; it’ll be a branch having blown away in the breeze. Sighing, you go back to the show, coffee nearly finished and luke-warm. Then, it comes again. Two short raps. Pausing the show, you turn and frown at the door. You can see it from the sofa. There’s a pause, maybe a minute, and then three knocks. You get up and make your way to the door, deliberating who in the hell could be coming to your house in the middle of a hurricane at (you glance to the clock on the hallway as you go) ten to midnight?

As you undo the latch on the door and twist the key to unlock it, you feel your gut twist. It’s as if it knows something you don’t. Then, pulling the door open, wincing against the cold and the wind and the rain from outside as it fights its way in, you come face to face with JJ. The sight of him makes you colder than the weather ever could.

“JJ?”

“Can I come in?”

“Wh—”

Your voice trials off, throat running dry, and you glance back into the house for some reason, as if the coat-stand might have the answers. Looking back to him, brain muddled, you see how he’s leaning against the wall of the entryway. How he’s holding his flask in his hand, the lid unscrewed, and you close your eyes with a sigh.

The rational part of you screams to close the door on him. Do the right thing, the hard thing, and turn him away as if you have barely acknowledged him being there. But it’s not that simple. Nothing is, the moment any sort of feeling has been involved, and you find yourself looking into his red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if he’s high or he’s been crying.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet as if defeated. “I just wanna talk.”

He’s dripping from head to toe, drenched from the rain. Hair sticking to his forehead, leaking water down the back of his neck. Hands shaking from the cold and the booze. Wordlessly, you open the door fully and step to the side, making space for him to walk in. After he catches on and enters, you catch a whiff of his cologne. Musky yet fresh; so wonderfully him. It makes one of the scabbed cuts on your heart crack open. Closing the door, fighting to keep in the warmth, you sigh and face JJ. He’s standing there awkwardly, unsure of where you want him to go. He’s barely able to keep his balance right, fumbling from leaning his weight on one leg to the other.

You gesture to the kitchen. “Go sit down. I’m gonna grab you a towel.”

JJ nods and does as you say, heading into the kitchen. You try not to spiral in your thoughts as you go to the boiler closet, fishing out a fresh bath towel. There’s only one thought that you can’t seem to silence. What is he doing here?

A part of you still feels as though you can hear the wind of the storm beating against the thin walls of the police tent. The sirens and the chatter and the panic. The chaos of trying to help John B and Sarah escape, and the never-ending torture of waiting for any news. That they escaped. That they were caught. That they were even alive.

That was a week ago now.

JJ’s not answering his phone. You haven’t been sleeping well. Your nights are nothing but restless, nightmares plaguing you about all the ‘what ifs’ and the guilt of waving them off in the boat, practically sending them off to their grave. It’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old to burden. Your parents tried their best to help you. They brought you breakfast the first morning that you stayed back at your house (they’d let you crash at the Chateau with the others for a couple of days at first, understanding that all your friends needed one another at that time), and never forced you to come down for dinner. Wallowing felt about the best you could do. You just wished it wasn’t so lonely.

Sighing, ending the call that never stopped ringing, you glance over to your trainers. Since coming back from the Chateau, you haven’t left your house once. Hell, you’d barely left your bed. Then you’re staring at your phone again. At the string of missed calls and ignored texts from JJ. You knew him well and knew how easily he could slip when things changed for the worse. John B was like a brother to JJ. Their bond was so close that it sometimes challenged your own and JJ’s, though never in a malicious way.

Getting up, you put on your trainers and lace them up. You had to check that JJ’s okay.

The air feels fresh on your skin, like a plant gulping down water after days in a drought. You bask in the rays of sun that push through the cloudy overhead. Walking to JJ’s was familiar and quick. Soon enough, you’re trudging up his front lawn and walking around to his window. He’d always told you to come in via there. You never knew where his dad was and what state he might be in, but the odds were low on his being passed out in JJ’s room. The windows always unlocked and you force it up and open with a grunt. Then, you’re climbing on JJ’s desk and glancing around his room. He’s not in there.

What is in there is countless empty beer cans and bottles. The useless ends of joints and cigarettes. It smells musty and sad, like nobody had cracked a window in days. You sigh and kick some stuff out of the way (used clothing and trash) so you can reach his bedroom door. Gently easing it open, you glance into the hallway and through to the sitting room. On the coffee table, you can make out the toes of JJ’s boots. Taking your chances that his dad isn’t home, you walk down the hall to the sitting room.

JJ’s passed out on the sofa. His head is leant back, mouth parted in silent snores, and in his hand is an empty beer bottle. The sitting room is just as bad as his bedroom, maybe even worse. It stinks of weed and alcohol and mould. Everything about all of it terrifies you. You didn’t think he’d sunk this low, so fast. Why hadn’t he reached out to you?

He gets an email and his phone pings, making you glance to it. It’s on the coffee table. There on the home screen are the several missed call notifications and ignored texts from you. If it were any other situation, you’d label yourself as psycho. But you knew something was wrong. Could feel it in your gut.

“JJ,” you say. Clearing your throat, louder, you repeat, “JJ.”

He doesn’t stir.

You reach out a hand to shake his boot.

“JJ, wake up.”

Nothing.

Sighing, you walk around so you’re stood at his side and lean down to shake his shoulders gently, hoping to ease him awake.

“Wake up, JJ.”

He jolts awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. His hands come to your forearms in a tight grip, reflexively, and you try to pull away. The moment he registers it’s you, he let’s go. He mumbles your name, voice still thick with sleep.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

JJ frowns. He rubs at his face and pushes some of his uncombed hair back. His breath smells like stale liquor; it half makes you want to cringe.

“Why?”

“Because I’m worried about you. And, I guess I was right,” you say, looking to the pandemonium of the room.

JJ gets to his feet and shakes his head. He’s walking towards the kitchen and you follow.

“You didn’t need to, alright? I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, JJ,” you tell him.

He pulls open the fridge. His back is to you. The shirt he wears looks creased and well-worn, as if he hadn’t taken it off for days. It reminds you of everything that happened and just how raw the wounds must be for JJ. How much deeper they are, too.

“Look, I know this is hard for you,” you tell him gently.

JJ grabs a beer and closes the fridge. Cracking open the can, he turns and rests his back against it, taking a swig. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not ‘fine’, JJ,” you say.

JJ shrugs and has another gulp.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” you ask. Gesturing to him, you add, “you look like you haven’t slept in days, JJ.”

“What’re you gonna do? Sing me to sleep?” he snorts. He’s drunk.

“That’s not the point, JayJ. My parents would’ve let you stay over. I don’t like the thought of you here by yourself.”

“I’m not something that needs fixing, alright? I can take care of myself,” JJ tells you, his voice becoming tighter.

“I’m not saying you need fixing—”

“Are you sure? Cause it sounds like you’re pitying me pretty bad right now,” JJ cuts in. His eyes are narrowed at you as if accusing you of some conspiracy.

Trying to remind yourself of the abundance of emotions he must be feeling right now, alongside the fact that he’s drunk and possibly high, you do your best to keep your calm.

“Of course I’m pitying you, JJ. In the way that a girlfriend would pity her boyfriend who’s dealing with some fucking awful loss,” you tell him.

“He’s not dead, alright? Don’t talk about him like he is,” JJ bitterly mumbles, looking down at his boots.

“We don’t know that, JJ—”

“Well, you don’t know that he is dead, alright? So stop talking about it like you want it to be true!” he explodes. He stalks towards you, angry. “Do you want him to be dead, huh? So you have a little project to work on? So you can come visit your scum of a boyfriend and do your charity work, to make yourself feel better. To distract you from your own shitty insecurities?”

“Why are you saying this, JJ?” you whisper, taken aback. He’s never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not even when the two of you argue. In truth, you don’t argue. Merely bicker, with it all resolved within the day. Nothing malicious and intentional, with words sharpened to cut. The way he’s looking at you right now – as he stands over you, shoulders rigid as if preparing for a scrap – is terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“I don’t want you here, okay? I didn’t ask for you to come here.”

“You want me to leave then?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yes. That’s what I fucking said,” JJ seethes. You find yourself pushing back, getting in his face just as much.

“Fine. Drink yourself fucking blind for all I care,” you spit back.

It’s only been a week, and already a chip has been chiselled into the sculpture that was your relationship. The first crack in the mausoleum.

JJ’s sat at the round kitchen table, shivering like an orphan, and you have to keep yourself from instinctively wrapping the towel around his shoulders. Instead, you place it in front of him. He’s put the flask away, it seems.

“Thanks,” JJ mumbles, taking it.

As he rubs his hair dry, you head to the coffee machine. He needs to sober up and you’d found that coffee always worked for him. Hell, you could do with another cup too, perhaps just to keep your hands busy.

“It’s crazy out there,” JJ eventually says, hesitant to start a conversation. You close your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Brian’s throwing a tantrum.”

You’re half-tuned in, mostly lost in the droning of the coffee machine as it brews. You look down at your hands to find that you’ve been messing with the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you had, and one that hadn’t shone through in a couple of months. Not since you and JJ had ended things.

The coffee is done all too soon. Pouring two mugs worth, you brace yourself as if preparing for a slap as you turn to face JJ at the table. His hair is now damp, no longer dripping down his face. Wet clothes are still stuck to his skin, outlining the perfection of his body, and you have to force your eyes away. It’s hard to think that only two months ago you would be blessed enough to be able to run your hands under his shirt, along the smooth, salt-scrubbed skin of his stomach. What once brought you pleasure in thought now only brought pain.

Taking the seat opposite him, you slide his mug over and take a shaking sip of your own. Your eyes are down, focused on the table-top, tracing the scratch marks in the wood, but you somehow know JJ’s watching you. Can feel his eyes following you.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“You said you wanted to talk,” you reply.

JJ nods: you catch it in your peripheral. “I do.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Us,” JJ says. You close your eyes. You were worried he’d say that.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about, JJ. There isn’t an ‘us’, anymore, okay?” you sigh. JJ’s already shaking his head.

“There is. You know there is,” he returns in a pleading tone. “Things can go back to how they were again.”

“What?” you almost whisper, brows furrowing in confusion.

“John B and Sarah are back now and…And everything can go back to how it was,” JJ tells you, almost hopeful.

You shake your head, lips pressed in a deep frown. Your fingers press against the hot porcelain of the mug.

“JJ. That’s not how this works.”

“I know things got messed up. That it’s my fault that they did, alright? That everything got messed up after John B…”

Died.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. There’re fresh tears gathering in the waterline. It’s weird seeing JJ cry so openly. He only did it once or twice in your relationship, in front of you. He never seemed willing to let you see that side of him, as if it might make him weak. You notice how his hand twitches away from the mug, as if he might reach out for yours, but something in him decides not to. Instead, the two of you keep your distance; a formal width of space, sat on either side of the table, not daring to cross into the others’.

“We can go back to how we were,” JJ privately says.

Your purse your lips, eyes slipping shut a moment to gather your thoughts. Perhaps this is how Eve felt, when the serpent tried to tempt her with the fruit. Here sits the only guy you’ve ever loved, extending an invitation back into the past, of a time when you were happy, and breathing didn’t hurt, and the thought of romance wasn’t something you shunned. But you can’t go back to the past. Time is forever moving forward, continuous and unchanging, and the sooner you make peace with that, the sooner it can start to heal your wounds.

You never spoke about that first fight. Never acknowledged it, really. JJ just showed up at your house, a couple days later, seemingly sober, and you both decided to move forward. You brushed it under the rug as a slip-up. That he needed to reel out of control a little in order to let himself recover, like the way the earth needs a good thunderstorm during summer to replenish the plants. I mean, how were you to know that it was the beginning of the end?

It was the day after you'd made the memorial at the chateau. Yourself and JJ had slept over at the house, after making love on the pull-out. The moment his hands were on your body, it felt like a silent apology for the fight, and you'd let yourself forget all about it. Waking up tangled in his hold, legs a knotted mess and arm tingling with pins-and-needles from his weight, you can't help but smile. It was the nearest thing to normalcy you'd felt in a long time, since Sarah and John B went missing at sea.

"Morning," you mumble sleepily the moment you feel JJ stir. He presses a kiss to your forehead. His skin smells of dry sweat.

"Hey," JJ rasps.

"You want breakfast?"

"What's on the menu?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the teasing grin to his words, and it makes you chuckle tiredly. This was the JJ you missed. As one of his hands moves to grope at your ass, you're laughing, gently pushing him off you.

"Perv," you mutter as you get up. Steal his t-shirt from the floor and pull it on.

You trudge to the kitchen, shoving your messed up hair out of your face, and open the cupboards to search for something good. There's no point looking in the fridge; majority of the things in there will be spoiled. This is the first time any of you have been back at the chateau since a couple of days after the incident.

Grabbing a can of soup, you decide it's better than nothing (though far from a classic breakfast). The drawers and counters are a mess. You sigh as you search for a can opener, coming up empty.

"You got your pocket knife with you?" you ask JJ.

He's lounging on the pull-out, scrolling through his phone. The only thing keeping him decent is the blanket that's half-arsedly flung over his waist. You missed seeing him like this, and the sight has you smiling.

"Should be in the left pocket of my shorts," he mumbles in reply, absentmindedly.

You wander over and drop to a squat, digging through his cargo shorts. Nothing, nothing...Your fingers feel something plastic and tactile. Frowning, you pull it out. It's a small plastic baggy containing a white powder. You're not stupid. It's either coke or ketamine. Your frown seems to deepen. Standing up, you hold it up.

"What's this?"

JJ looks up. Spots the bag. Takes in your expression. "Nothing."

"JJ," you say, tone nothing short of serious.

He sighs and rubs at his face, as if finding an excuse to avoid eye contact. "Look, it's fine, alright? I just need a little pick me up, now and then."

"This isn't a pick-me-up, JJ," you say. You know you sound angry, but why shouldn't you be? JJ having an addictive personality was no secret to anyone. His drinking was bad enough. Adding drugs like cocaine to the mix, and your worry trebled.

“What? Are you telling me what I can and can’t do now?” JJ asks. His voice borders on a scoff.

“This is dangerous, JJ.”

“I’m scared straight, hun. Thanks,” he mutters. Leaning forward, he snatches the baggy from you.

“I don’t like the thought of you taking that stuff, JayJ. It’s a slippery slope,” you slowly reply, trying to level your temper.

JJ sighs impatiently, rolling his eyes. It doesn’t help calm the storm brewing inside of you.

“Why’d you always have to ruin everything, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Things were finally starting to go back to normal and you have to fucking fixate on another thing. I swear to God, I never do anything right by you. I mean, I’d just gotten over you losing your shit at me the other day—”

“Gotten over it? I’m sorry, let me just check I’m hearing this right?” you interrupt, shifting your weight. “You got over the fact that your girlfriend had to track you down in person to check you were okay, to find you drunk and passed out? Then you yell at me for coming and tell me to leave, several times. And you remember me being the villain in all of that?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t do some fucking FBI work to find me; I was in my own Goddamn house.”

“Not the point, JJ,” you loudly counter.

JJ rolls his eyes at you and moves to stand, pulling on a pair of boxers. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

You stare at him. Did you just hear him right? Before you can ask or even respond, JJ’s walking out onto the porch as if you’re not in the midst of an argument.

You watch as he grabs a leftover vape that’s laying on the window ledge. There still seems to be some power left in it. He takes a couple of hits. You simply stare after him. It seems useless to follow. Useless to keep chipping away at this fight that you’re bound to lose. So, instead, you turn back to the kitchen and let the distance between the two of you gape. Another argument unresolved.

Opening your eyes again, meeting his that shimmer blue in the low light of your kitchen, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but frown, your expression the image of sympathy. 'We can go back to how we were.'

“We can’t, JJ,” you whisper.

“Who says we can’t?”

“I say we can’t,” you reply.

“You don’t understand,” JJ tells you, as if ignoring your words entirely. You’re shaking your head, staring down into your coffee, but it doesn’t seem to deter him from continuing. “I can’t picture my life without you in it. These past couple months have felt like there’s a lack there or something. Like something’s missing. And something is missing. You are. You’ve always been there for me, even before we were together. I don’t…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on with my life without you in it.”

You’re crying now. Silent tears fall down your face. Muffled pain.

The touch of his hand on yours feels electric, but not in a good way. Not in the way it used to. It’s like the shock that it thrills inside of you, which once was excitement, is now merely pain. You half want to jolt your hand back, but that would be too dramatic. Too much.

“Please. Please,” JJ’s begging, crying too. “I just need you in my life.”

“I don’t understand how,” you tell him, voice wet. You meet his gaze again. It feels almost too painful to maintain it for too long. “I can’t be your friend again, JJ. And I definitely can’t be your girlfriend again. So how am I meant to be in your life?”

“You just can! You just have to be there! You have to be there for me!”

Your lip quivers.

He gathers himself, exhaling slowly. “You just…Have to.”

Have to. Like there wasn’t any other way. Like his planet doesn’t spin without you and his universe is empty of planets and stars. Like his world is void of life and you’re the water that can make his plants bloom again. But it doesn’t bring you joy like it would’ve months ago, to hear him say that. It’s too much, too late. Antique coins lose their value.

“I mean…Don’t you miss me?”

Your vision focuses on his tear-streaked face again. Hair still damp. Cheeks pink and nose red.

“Of course I miss you,” you whisper, half-insulted that he’d even ask that. Can’t he see how much this is tearing you apart? “I miss all of it.”

“You don’t have to though,” JJ says. “We can go back to how it was.”

You finally look back down to see his hand still atop of yours. Touch gentle and kind. He used to be kind to you, all the time. Never would raise his voice at you and would never make you cry. But after John B and Sarah vanished, their deaths presumed, it was like something in him snapped. It’s easier to destroy a sandcastle than to build it, and JJ seemed hellbent on destroying whatever bond the two of you had - the love the both of you shared - rather than trying to protect it.

Your relationship with JJ was delipidating. Like a temple built on an eroding cliff, what was once beautiful and serene is now crumbling away, brick by brick. Pope and Kiara and even a stranger in the Goddamn street can see how dysfunctional it is. What was once affection and care is now venom and pain. And yet, underneath all the animosity, there’s still a love that keeps the two of you in place, fighting for things to stay together. After every blowout, one of you ends up in tears and the other is ironically the only person who can comfort them. Then comes the kisses and the apologies and the make-up sex, and the promises to not fight again, and to do better, and to fix what you have. But it’s all a fiction. The next fight comes and it’s uglier still.

JJ seems almost unrecognisable to you most days. The drinking and the drugs and the recklessness is hideous. Brings a pain to your heart that can only be rivalled by the one that comes when you fight. Pope and Kiara don’t see it as much as you do. It’s like he tapers it down for them, only giving them a glimpse. But you’ve always had the honour of seeing every part of JJ, including this. When you beg for him to stop drinking, to try and get himself under control, he goes on the defence. JJ’s words shoot to kill when he’s mad. And it’s like the venom in his words brings out an ugly side of you, too. Infects you with his anger until you're lashing out. When you’re in blind fury, you don’t care what you say, so long as it’s painful. Words that you’d never think come flying out of your mouth. Things you’d never mean are said with nothing short of conviction. About him. About his dad. About him being like his dad. About John B too, sometimes. About it being JJ’s fault. But he doesn’t hold back either. About you. About you and your parents. About you and your exes. About you and John B too, sometimes. It’s ugly and painful and evil.

But it was always words. Sticks and stones, right? You can sooth any cut from a slander with an apology said through soft kisses and softer caresses. Overlay the memory of an insult with sweet-nothings and moans of affirmation. Only words. So, when the next inevitable fight comes with the two of you at his house, after JJ does something particularly stupid at a kegger after flirting with a girl right in front of you to make you jealous, all because you’d said something the other night, you prepare for the hurl of abuse.

“I was just fucking talking to her!” JJ shouts.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “You were practically drooling all over her.”

“Drooling!?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re fucking delusional, you know that?” he chuckles darkly.

“I’m delusional?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Are you seriously calling your own girlfriend crazy, right now? Do you know how Goddamn sexist that is?” you snap.

JJ shakes his head and does that all-too-familiar walk to his kitchen. You follow as per. It’s like the two of you follow a script when you fight. Insult, jab, insult, jab, drink, jab, insult, cry, silence, drink, comfort, kiss, sex, apologies, promises, sleep. It’s tiresome and it’s pathetic but you don’t want to leave it, because if you do, then you have to face the alternative. You have to face having nothing. No arguments and no JJ. Somehow, arguing with JJ is better than not having him to talk to at all.

But with every fight comes the fading hope that this rough patch will pass, and you’ll be out of the woods, stronger than before.

“Don’t walk away from me, JJ!”

“Stop screaming at me like a psycho bitch!” he shouts back, slamming the fridge door shut. Beer bottle now in hand.

“Don’t call me a bitch, you asshole!” you scream. "Don't you dare drink that!"

JJ laughs at you. "God, it is adorable how you think I give a shit about anything you say to me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I actually give a shit about your health! Clearly you don't, snorting any fucking thing you can get your hands-on like some deadbeat junkie."

JJ isn't replying. Won't fight back. Drinking from his bottle like he can't even hear you. Makes you angrier. Say something, do something.

"Guess you're just living up to the family-traits though, huh? Like father like Goddamn son. No wonder your mom left you."

It takes you a moment to realise what made you stop shouting. What made your breath get caught halfway in your throat, heart thumping loudly in your ears. Then, your eyes are slowly drifting down to the floor, to the side of your feet.

Shards of the broken bottle are scattered on the floor. Beer drips down the wall, spills onto the floorboards, pools around the pieces of glass. The sound of shattering was so loud when it hit the wall. No wonder; it happened right by your ear. It was practically inches from your face.

The shock subsides enough to let tears come. You let out a shuddering breath as the reality hits that it could’ve hit you in the face. That could’ve been your face.

When your eyes come to focus again, moving to glance up into JJ’s, he looks just as shocked as you. Just as horrified.

“Baby…”

He starts towards you.

You hold up a hand, prompting him to stop, and take a wobbly step backwards.

“Don’t,” you rasp. You sound terrified. Half don't recognise your own voice.

That could’ve been your face.

“Baby, I didn’t mean to,” JJ whispers, his voice breaking. “I didn’t…I don’t know why I did that. I…”

Your eyes lower to the ground as your hand gradually falls limp by your side. You look to the glass and beer on the floor. How ironically poetic.

“What are we doing, JJ?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he hopelessly replies.

You shake your head. Eyes still fixated on the broken bottle. “I don’t…I don’t think this is love anymore, JJ.”

“Don’t say that,” JJ says.

“It can’t be,” you continue, ignorant to his pleas. JJ comes towards you once more and you shake your head, turning away from him before he can make a grab for your hands. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says.

His arms wrap around your waist. He hugs you against him, nestles his face in your hair, presses some kisses against your scalp. There’s the inconsistent drip of his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he’s mumbling into your hair. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to, okay? I’m so sorry, baby.”

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

Before it was words and that was torturous enough. It was painful when he’d say things to you that he knew would hurt, sure, but you’ve never been afraid of him before. But this, now…You can’t go back. You can’t ever go back from that. It’s with a terrifying thought and a fresh wave of tears that you come to the realisation that you’re scared of JJ. You’re scared of the only person who you’re supposed to find comfort and love in. How does that even happen to someone?

“I know you are,” you eventually say in reply to all his apologies.

JJ pauses, settling on pressing more kisses to your head, squeezing his arms around you tighter, closer, as if trying to stop you from slipping away. But a vase covered in cracks can’t hold water in. You push his arms off you and break yourself free from his hold.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

He mumbles your name. When you don’t turn, heading to grab your jacket from the sofa, he says it again, loud and desperate. You know he’s crying. He’s sobbing. So are you.

“Please, please don't leave me.”

It hurts. It all just fucking hurts. You head for the door. Shake off his hand as it clasps around your wrist.

“Please, baby. We can make this right, okay? We can fix it. I can fix this. Just don't leave me.”

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, walking out his door. In fact, you think a part of your soul dies a little as you do. Left haunting his house is the ghost of your past self that you’ll spend forever trying to find again.

You carefully inch your hand out of his touch and get up, walking to the sink, mug in hand. JJ’s sighing. You catch in the reflection of the window as he hangs his head, palms covering his face. Pouring the leftover coffee down the drain, you try and gather your thoughts and feelings. They all conclude into one.

“I think you should leave now, JJ,” you weakly announce.

Your eyes glance at the window's reflection in time to catch his head lift. Then, you’re looking back down into the sink. Remnants of coffee sit stagnant in the basin. More tears fall.

“What?”

“I really think you need to leave,” you repeat.

“Baby,” JJ says, getting up. He’s walking over to you and your heart sinks.

“Don’t call me that, JJ,” you tell him. But there’s no conviction in your tone. How can there be, when all you are is a crying, fragile mess.

“Baby, please,” he repeats, ignoring you once more. His arms are wrapping around your waist, hugging you against him. It's painful deja vu. You shake your hand and put down the coffee mug, moving to try and push his arms off you. It feels claustrophobic.

“Stop calling me that,” you whimper.

This all hurts so much. The knife is twisting and turning and driving deeper and deeper.

“I don’t want you to call me that anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” JJ says. “If we both miss each other then why can’t we just go back to how it was? I can make it up to you. I can be better, this time. I can get clean. I'll be sober for you. I'll do anything.”

Finally, you managed to break free from his hold. You turn around, placing an arm on his chest to maintain some distance. His hands are still open, as if waiting to catch you.

“That’s not that point, JJ,” you tell him.

“Then what is the point? Why is this so easy for you? I mean, did you ever love me at all? Why aren’t you as torn up about all of this like I am? Did you ever care?”

His tone is turning sour, just the way it used to during your fights. It all comes screaming back to you. The desperation and the battles and the pure exhaustion of trying to hold onto a handful of sand, that only will inevitably slip through your fingers. But it makes the emotions catch fire. Searing hot pain.

“Of course I did!” you burst, eyes wet and voice fire. JJ takes a small step back, startled. “Of course I loved you and of course I miss you! I miss all of it, okay? I miss the way we were and the way you used to look at me. I miss you when I go to sleep and I miss you when I wake up. But I can’t have you in my life anymore, JJ. All the shit that happened between us leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I can’t erase the past like it didn’t happen. Even if we did move forward, the past is always going to be there. There’s no way to get rid of that!”

JJ’s sobbing, looking away from you. You realise that you’re crying too. Hard and heavy and can barely catch your breath.

“I mean, God, JJ. Do you know how selfish it is for you to be here right now?”

His head darts back to face you. Emotions a mess, you feel your forlorn expression morph into a demented smile. Through a tearful, self-deprecating laugh, you manage out:

“I was barely just holding it together. Barely just surviving, and then you come here and say all these things to me and have this assumption that what you want is what’s right. But it isn’t, for either of us.”

“But we could just—"

“No! We can’t be together again, JJ!”

Letting out a shuddering breath, you hear your words almost echo around the room. JJ’s staring at you. Both of you are heartbroken. What a pitiful, pathetic mess it has all become.

“We can’t, okay?” you repeat, voice softer. Anger gone.

JJ purses his lips and looks down at the floor. You watch as he nods, closing his eyes as he does, as if he’s admitted something to himself.

“Okay,” he whispers. Sniffs harshly. Wipes at his face. You do the same. “Okay.”

This isn’t how you want it to end. You don’t want him to walk out the door with this as his last memory of you. You can’t keep letting the season end on a bad episode. So, slowly, you reach out a hand to grab for one of his. His arms are hanging by his side, defeated. At the touch of your fingers, his instinctively wrap around yours, and he raises his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. The tears have now subsided, for the most part.

He gives a quivering smile. Bitter-sweet and painful. “Me too.”

He squeezes your hand in his. Now, there’s almost nothing. No zip of excitement or sooth of comfort, and no jolt of pain. Just…JJ.

“I don’t want you to hate me for—”

“I could never hate you,” you say, cutting him off. Smiling yourself, the expression a mirror-reflection of his, you nod. “There’s gonna be a part of me that’s always gonna love you, JayJ. You were my first everything, and that doesn’t go away. Ever. I’ll always be rooting for you and I’m always gonna care for you. But…I have to do it from a distance now, okay? It’s the only way either of us can move on with our lives.”

JJ swallows your words like one might swallow medicine. Unpleasant at the time but affirms a healthy future.

"I know," he nods. "I'm always gonna love you too."

You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck. Holding him in a hug, tight and secure. His arms coil around your waist and he squeezes you back. The two of you know this will probably be the last time you ever embrace. Ever get to hold him, and him hold you. Neither of you wants to waste it, but neither of you wants to drag it out, in fear that they may never let go. As you pull away, JJ presses a brief, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

Standing in front of one another, once more, you remember the hurricane. The windows are rattling in their frames, rain battering down on them. It’s intense out there.

“You want me to stay?” JJ wonders softly.

You frown.

“I mean-” He gesture to the hurricane-induced storm outside. “I know how you hate them.”

You smile, eyes flitting down. Shaking your head, you sigh. “I need to face them on my own now, I think.”

JJ chuckles soberly. Nodding in understanding, he takes a step or two back. His hands slip into his pockets.

“Then…I guess I should leave.”

“Are you gonna be okay walking home?” you ask. You meant what you said: you’ll always care for him.

JJ nods, smiling brighter still. There’s still the shadow of pain that haunts the expression though.

“Yeah. You know me, I live on the edge.”

With his wink to accompany his sardonic words, you give a soggy laugh. JJ grants you a small wave and another smile. Your favourite smile. Your favourite person. Then, he’s turning around and walking himself to the front door. You hear the gust of wind battle into the house as he opens it, and the hearty slam as he forces it closed.

Standing stoic in the kitchen as if stupefied, you stare after him.

It’s done.

No more new memories. Only the old, to have and to hold, to care for and to cherish. Right now, they’re painful and visceral, but give it time, and they’ll be digestible. You can comb through them and smile and reminisce. Beneath almost every emotion is a tinge of happiness, be it grief or anger. Heartbreak will simply be the same.

Walking back to the living room, you cuddle up under a blanket on the sofa and snuggle against the cushions. Flicking the television back on, you sigh, sit, and continue watching your new show.

From inside the chateau, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind.

“What are you doing?” JJ snorts. His voice sounds like it’s come from the doorway.

You look up from the spot you’ve claimed on the floor, cocooned in a blanket. Your cheeks are wet from tears and JJ’s face becomes void of humour, instead morphing into concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he worries, quickly coming over to you.

“It’s dumb,” you sniffle.

JJ shakes his head as he lowers to his knees, wrapping you into his arms. “It's not dumb.”

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“Well, even if it is dumb, I won’t love you any less. Just might judge you a little, is all.”

You gently batt at his stomach at his stupid joke, making him chuckle.

“What is it?” he asks again, shifting so he can look you in the eyes.

Your rolling your eyes at your ways when you answer. “I hate hurricanes. I guess I have a fear of them or whatever you wanna call it.”

“A fear?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, wiping your wet face.

JJ nods, humming in understanding. He glances around the room a moment and you find yourself inching closer to him for shelter. A flash of lightning shoots a dart of light in the room and you can’t withhold your pathetic, childlike whimper, closing your eyes. Then comes the doomsday thunder. It’s a short pause between the two; means it’s getting closer.

“Here,” JJ says, getting to his feet. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. “I got an idea.”

“You do?” You say.

You tug the blanket around your shoulders like a shawl. JJ starts moving the sofas and furniture into a weird arrangement. You simply stand back and watch.

“My mamma used to do this for me,” JJ says through a grunt. “Whenever I was scared.”

“JJ Maybank? Scared?” You jest.

He rolls his eyes as he perfects the formation of the armchair, smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Hard to believe, I know.”

“What were you scared of?”

“The dark. And the monsters in my dad’s closet,” JJ replies. He’s now grabbing any blanket he can find.

“The monsters?” you repeat, humour clear in your voice.

“Hey, I didn’t make fun of your current fear of hurricanes, did I?” JJ warns, pointing at you.

You nod and hold your hands up in surrender. That’s fair. “So, what did your mamma used to do then?”

“She’d make me blanket forts,” he says. “To hide from the monsters and the dark.”

“A blanket fort?” you check, smiling.

He’s dragging a blanket over the sofas to make a shelter. You catch on and start to gather some of the throw pillows and couch cushions to make it cosy on the floor, whilst JJ finishes on the structure.

“Yeah. It’s like one of my favourite memories I have of her. She’d make them real cosy and then we’d watch a movie, and I’d be safe.”

When it’s all finished, JJ turns to you and grins. Gesturing proudly to his creation – bumpy as it is – you grin, giggling a little. “Ta da!”

“A Maybank tradition,” you say.

He climbs into the fort and settles on the cushions. The light from the lamp casts through the blanket to give the faintest glow. Holding out his hand, you take it with a laugh and move to sit beside him. He shifts you so you can lay with your head resting on his chest. His arm loops around your waist and you place a hand on his side. It’s quiet in here. The rainfall is barely audible and the thunder is muffled. It feels like its own world, safe from anything else. Safe with JJ.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“So, what’d ya think?”

“I think this might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done, Maybank,” you reply, looking up at him.

JJ grins. “Just wait ‘til we get that gold. The blanket forts are gonna be insane.”

You laugh and shake your head. JJ falls into an extravagant daydream of the forts he’ll build for you: with drawbridges and dragons and all sorts of ridiculous crap, that you know he’s only spewing because it’ll get a laugh out of you. Settling against his chest, feeling the rumble of his voice and shaking of his laughs through his t-shirt, you smile. What a sweetly clandestine memory to share.

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