#king august everybody !! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

simp4konig · 7 months

Text

"Can't sleep?" König x Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3704

Having flashbacks about the battlefield and unable to fall asleep after an exceptionally draining mission, you go seek the comfort of your Colonel in the middle of the night.

*Slow burn

*ANGST!!💔... dw it gets wholesome at the end i promise ❤️

*Thanj you to Azzy!! (My No.1 Fan...🥹🫂💘) for this request !!!🙋🏼‍♀️💫💞💞✨Love u too🫶💕,, I kind of 🥺slightly🥺 maube a littke bit🥺🥺🥺went off prompt and König isnt affected by the mission per se BUT i have fulfilled the CUDDLING part!!! ☺️☺️pls dont show up to my fhome with pitchforks and torches im sry it just sorta happened ok😱

Also i rhink i have dementia bc I thought someone else rqsted König comfortinf rreader in a storm???😰😰Turns out nobody did so maybe i hallucinated it or smtj idk🤷🏼‍♀️Anyways I thought to merge these two ideas together so lmk what u think abt this lil (by "lil" i mean WAY too long🤪) drabble🙏💕

*Reader is pining for König

*Events loosely take place in the KönigxKing (as in, reader's call-sign is "King" storyline) mini-series. This serves as a slight backstory for King (reader). Again, this is by no means in any chronological order in relation to the series, so this can also be read as stand-alone! :)

*THANK YOU FOR 100+ FOLLOWERS!!!!!! 🥳🎉🎊✨🎇💖I SWEAR ONE IT LITERALLT FEELS LIKE MID-AUGUST WHEN I HAD LIKE 7 WHERE DID U ALL COME FEOM??????😰😰💘 IT MEANS SO MUCH FOR ME LIKE I CANR STRESS THIS ENOIGH BC IM SO HAPPG U GUYS THINK MEWORTHY ENOIGH OF YOUR PRECIOUS FOLLOW AND WANT TO READ MY WACK WORKS!!!!!!🤧🤧💖💖 LIKE??????? 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹THANK U THABK YOU RHABK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🫶🥰🥰💖💖💖❤️💞💞💕💖💕💕💞

...

You couldn't sleep.

It was raining relentlessly outside, the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting your window. Storm clouds boomed loudly outside, and despite the blinds being pulled tightly shut, lightning occasionally flashed through the cracks, elongated shadows of buildings forming on the walls.

Counting down the seconds until you'd hear the rumbling thunder, it would only be a few kilometres away, and you'd shudder at the sound, shivering.

While tossing and turning in bed, you had kicked off your covers and were staring at the ceiling, still wide awake. Normally, a storm like this would be like a lullaby to your ears, yet now it did nothing in helping lull you to sleep.

Even if you wanted to sleep, how could you when those corpses haunted your nightmares?

Laying in bed, your mind replayed the same scenes like a movie reel, the same screams like a broken record:

Lifeless, unblinking eyes with mouths agape and an expression of fear permanently engraved on their pale faces; flies swarming in hordes to harvest the soft tissues of the irises and tongue, eating the human mush; limbs contorted in unnatural positions, arms and legs crushed by the force of detonated mines, bones broken under the weight.

Rumbling roaring of machine guns and the deafening explosions from hand grenades meant that the high-pitched ringing would drown out everybody's yelling, muffle all noise from your surroundings, and you'd only be pulled out of your daze when you'd find yourself stumbling on unstable ground, on bricks and cheap concrete that had all crumbled.

Bodies would drop so fast it'd take at least seconds for you to register whether it had been an enemy or an ally.

You'd pull the trigger, but seeing a bullet go through someone's forehead and the exaggerated shock stamped on their face — a permanent expression in their final seconds remaining forever in death — left you wondering why you would ever sign up willingly to do this.

Disorientated, you'd struggle to pull yourself together, would enter far too many close calls for a soldier to count, and would only get a grip once you saw a familiar face, a reminder that you weren't alone in the warzone.

Even now, the sonorous sound kept echoing in your head, and, if you listened closely, it resembled hundreds of hoarse shouts, so many people screaming at once in collective agony.

You flinched as a bolt of lightning suddenly struck the sky.

Sparing an absentminded glance at your digital alarm clock, your eyes widened slightly at the time: 1:56am.

Damn... you thought. ...it's that late already?

Drills would begin at 7 o'clock, and you had to have woken up at 6 to brush your teeth, get dressed, eat, and mentally prepare yourself for the day, so you kissed a good night's sleep goodbye, and accepted the telling off from your superiors the following morning for under-performing.

...Still, how could you sleep after what you had experienced? What you experienced and would continue experiencing?

Accepting high-pressure missions and a demanding workload once you had enlisted, you thought that your ability to keep calm under pressure and stay composed would mean that you would have been unaffected by the shooting by now, and be taking everything in your stride. Calm, composed, and unaffected, is what you had thought you'd be. Surely you'd be able capable enough to cope with it all?

Yet, you weren't any of those things. Never getting used to the stress that would persist even while on supposedly "low-intensity" extractions. You'd always be on edge, always recoiling at hands that would reach over to tap your back as encouragement or hold your shoulder in reassurance on base.

You believed you could never familiarise yourself with the panic and unpredictability of missions and being hyper-aware of something, anything, everything going wrong, with the adrenaline that would course through your body and take over your senses in times of fight or flight, with the nerves that would keep you on edge hours after landing safely on base.

But, most of all, with the nights you'd lay in bed, unable to fall asleep: nights like these, when every time you closed your eyes, you saw the eyes of dying comrades; when every time you walked along the corridors, imagined yourself diving across the floor and felt shattered shrapnel breaking under your feet; when every time you sat in an empty room, heard ear-piercing blasts and the ricochet of discarded shells just missing your head.

Whereas the other operators seemed to be completed unmoved by any of their deployments and would shrug their shoulders off of the events, the anxiety for you lingered, trauma deep within your soul consuming you whole.

How could you ever get over the fact that you were shooting real people? Losing real soldiers?

...Losing yourself along the way?

All this work took a toll on your psyche, but comparing yourself to the other soldiers made you feel like such a coward, and second-guess ever enlisting in the first place.

...Well, you did so because it had been your only option all things considered, but looking back on it, you thought that maybe it would have been better if you hadn't chosen anything at all.

Accepted the grave nature of your failures in life, the same life that would have had inevitably ended with you pre-maturely in a grave.

After all, you had no job prospects to look forward to, no dreams to strive for, no aspirations to achieve.

Failing your school exams time and time again until you had finally achieved a result that was good enough didn't earn you any security, as you weren't exactly employable with grades you had just barely managed to claw to even pass.

Really, it was hopeless. You were hopeless.

To say your family was disappointed in you would have been an understatement. Out of three children, you were labelled the disappointment child, the underachiever and failure.

Your two siblings worked as a lawyer and an engineer respectively, while you had never even been able to grasp the basics in education, never spoke with your teachers of anything other than the worrying results of your exams, never came home to share a thing with your parents you had accomplished with a smile of pride stretched on your young face like your siblings did.

Never. Because you weren't ever good enough.

At the dinner table, your siblings boasted of promotions and of revolutionary research, of trials and of successes, of their brilliant breakthroughs, as you sat on the side of the table, listening from the sidelines, excluded from all of the grandeur that you couldn't relate to.

Still, it was always better to keep your mouth shut than to make a dent in the conversation, further embarass yourself and prove how lowly you were, than to have so many pairs of pitying eyes talking down on you in patronising tones, of the subtle condolences from your parents and their regret with triumphant smirks and condescending attitude from your siblings.

In a last ditch effort to make your parents proud, you made the decision of joining the military. You were young and impressionable, under the impression that your parents would finally be impressed.

...Of course, they weren't. In fact, your decision made them even more disappointed, shaking their heads sympathetically with strained smiles stretched on their lips.

Maybe that was the reason you couldn't handle the pressure of the military, you thought. You were weak, incompetent. Pathetic.

Although no one told you explicitly or made you feel that way directly, somehow, you always had felt inferior. Somehow, you felt that no matter what you did, how much you did, how well you thought you did, you wouldn't ever come close to the others's level.

That, despite your effort and dedication, you would never be good enough. Would always be inferior no matter what, because you always had been and would always be so.

...Your Colonel never made you feel that way, though, and you never quite understood why.

After all, your interactions were few-far-and-inbetween. It made you wonder what made you feel this way, and what spark ignited the warmth you'd feel when he was around.

Although a man of few words, the words that he did say to you would matter, though. His praise, his acknowledgement, his always being there made you want to keep going and prove your worth to him.

It started off as sporadic encouragement:

Your skin glistening with sweat, an accented voice would say "Gute Arbeit," over your crumpled body on the gym mat.

Offering you a gloved hand, you grasped it gratefully, and he pulled your tired body with ease. "Good job, King."

A lopsided smile from you as you'd wipe the sweat from your forehead and brows after sparring with someone else, limp limbs barely keeping you standing. His eyes were betrayed no emotion under his veil, yet a thin-lipped grin was behind it.

"Thank— you— sir!" You'd manage to breathe out, still panting for breath. "I did— my best, but— I didn't win."

"That does not matter," he'd say, speaking in a tone you couldn't quite recognize. "Very good job. Keep it going. Soon, you'll be able to pin even me down."

You'd laugh weakly at his words, yet would immediately feel a surge of motivation to keep working hard, and would train up to the point of exhaustion behind closed doors. Thinking you'd be alone, you'd punch a dufflebag with grunts of effort, missing the tall silhouette observing you with crossed arms in the corner, satisfied.

Then, those became casual greetings;

"Guten Morgen, soldier. Nice day, ja?"

Turning around, you'd see your Colonel walking towards you, frame visible even from a distance.

You smile broadly, eyes crinkling up in genuine joy, before you caught yourself and coughed. "Y-yeah!"

"Always a nice day whenever you're around, sir," you'd tease, playfully winking at him as he approached you, yet you were yet to master it without blinking both eyes.

He'd chuckle heartily, flattered, then shook his head to hide how his face flushed under his veil, and held up a hand.

"Thank Gott I have you here. My day would have been ruined."

"Have a good day, sir!" You'd call after him brightly, and he'd turn around for a final time with a two-fingered salute. Strange, since he was your superior, not the other way around, but you shrugged this off as a friendly gesture.

Until it developed into a sort of mutual connection.

In your eyes, at least.

You didn't want to assume that you two were friends, as the man was way out of your league. Strong, muscular, and a disciplined soldier — a Colonel, no less — a man of influence.

Besides, he, conversing with the only-recently-recruit-turned-soldier that was the slowest to understand a joke, did not comprehend complicated terms, and was the least bright out of the entire faction was not something you wanted him to be associated as, didn't want to tarnish his reputation.

You reasoned that you didn't want to bring down the Colonel down to your low level, so you kept your relationship as just that; associates. Aquaintances. Nothing more, out of respect for your Colonel.

Little did you know, the Colonel had developed a soft spot for you.

It seemed as though the storm had gotten worse, as the rain was unrelenting, and the tapping on the glass increased with force. Booming thunderclouds made your room shake.

A sigh as you turned to your side again. 2:07am.

Your thoughts moved back to your Colonel, and you started missing him, longing for him. The warmth that radiated off him made you wish he'd take you in his arms, hold you close to his chest, and you suddenly felt so cold. So lonely and cold.

Maybe it was childish of you to be feeling this way — he was your superior, after all, and you had no reason to be so attached — yet your daily encounters made you gain feelings for the man. Made you feel things when he was around.

Somehow, he brought you security. Made you feel protected. Safe. Like you could always count on him for having your back.

Made you forget that you were so useless, and was the reason for the fuzzyness within your chest, the buzzing feeling you'd feel as you'd be grinning from ear to ear after speaking to him.

Made you feel like you weren't pathetic. Weren't a wasted wishing star. Instead, you were appreciated, seen, even.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to be with him.

...Would he want you, though?

No. Of course he wouldn't. You weren't good enough.

A deep sigh. 2:15, the digital alarm clock displayed.

...What if he actually did want you? Not even as a partner, but just to be around him? Breathe the same air as him? You thought you weren't worthy of his time, but maybe, just maybe he wouldn't see it as such a waste.

Another crash of lightning brought you to your senses.

Finally making up your mind, you huffed in exertion as you pushed yourself off your stiff mattress, not bothering to organize the mess of blankets on the floor.

Walking with certainty, before you realised it, you were at König's bedroom door. Standing behind the door, hand hesitatingly reaching for the handle, you bit your lip, confidence wavering.

Should you really go through with this right now? What if he was asleep at that moment and all you'd do is disrupt his slumber? It wouldn't be fair of you to disturb him so late in the night, especially when he had so many responsibilities.

Still, you inhaled deeply, and, as quietly as you could, knocked twice.

You almost jumped out of your skin at the familiar accented voice of your Colonel.

"Come in," he said hoarsely. His tone was almost warm, inviting, yet you shook your head at the idea, and pulled the handle.

Entering inside, you slowly closed the door behind you. When you turned around, König was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, seemingly deep in thought. Wearing a tank top and cargo pants, his head was hung low, his veil hanging loosely over his head.

The blinds were drawn open to reveal the sky dominated by darkness, the grey curtain of monochrome on the nearest buildings cast down by the clouds, the raindrops that remained on the windows and the rhythmic echoes against the pavement as they dropped in syncopation.

The sight, his presence, were both so... relaxing. In a way, your anxiety was relieved by the tranquility of the scene, and it made you forget the internal turnoil you had been going through for the past few hours, made the tension in your body fade.

"Ah, King," his arms dropped to his sides and he raised his head to meet your eyes in the dark. "I had a feeling that it would be you."

You fidgeted nervously, not knowing what to do.

"Bitte, schön," he said, patting the empty space beside him on the mattress. "Please, sit down. I insist."

Slowly lowering yourself to his side, you sat at a reasonable distance away from him. With the both of you sat down, the size difference was still very noticable. His height made him hunch over you, and one of his thighs was like the two of yours combined.

So nervous, you didn't even notice how his back slumped so you'd be both at a similar level.

He cleared his throat. "What brings you here so late in the night?"

An awkward tug of your t-shirt collar.

"Can't sleep," you stated simply.

"I see." He was quiet for a few moments. Then: "And you decided that my room was the place to go?"

Your face heated up, and you averted your gaze. "Well, sir, it's j-ju—"

"—Nein," he cut you off, holding up a hand to stop you. "I have told you so many times not to call me that. Call me König."

"But— but you're my superior," you gasped, mouth agape. "You deserve to be addressed with respect! I couldn't possibly—"

The protest died on your lips again as the man shook his head, the loose material of his veil following his movements. "Nein. None of that matters. I want you to call me by my first name."

A heavy silence lingered over the two of you, words left unsaid by you both.

"So," König prompted, "what brings you here, King?"

Pausing to think over a pretence, the best you could come up with was: "The storm scared me."

"Ja?" Even with the fabric covering his face, you could almost see the skeptical smirk on his lips.

"A soldier like you afraid of loud clouds? Some rain?" He chuckled.

"Really, I'd have thought you better than that, King." If you didn't know him well enough, you'd have thought he was mocking you, yet despite the sarcasm his eyes held a genuine concern for you.

An bashful laugh escaped you as you rubbed your arm, nails slightly digging into your skin.

"Okay, tell me the truth, King," Leaning forward, his tone became serious. "I know for certain you aren't scared."

He searched for your eyes, yet you avoided his gaze.

"Something is troubling you. Is that it?" He cocked his head to the side, fabric falling loosely over his shoulder. "You can tell me, King. I am your superior, you know. You should tell me these things."

"Well... it's j-just—"

You bit your lip, willing the tears to stay in your eyes.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

König watched you, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, vulnerability showing in your eyes. "—This recent mission, it was— it was really, really difficult. And I just..."

König shuffled towards you until your knees were almost touching, watching you intently. As your body trembled, a hand hovered in uncertainty by your shoulder.

Sniffling, you wiped the wetness on your face with your arm, voice breaking.

"I-I just think that I'm not strong. That I'm... weak. Not— not good enough to be working with people that are so much better. So much stronger—"

Your breath hitched in your throat, voice coming out in a broken sob. "—I-I mean— I'm so pathetic. I shouldn't be so... weak. I should — I should be better. Wh-why—"

Tears flowed freely down your face. "—Why can't I be better, König? Why am I so— so useless?"

Without saying anything, König wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you against his chest, pulled you close so you could let it all out. For a few moments, he let you cry, ever-so-gently stroking the back of your head, fingers running through your hair. Weeping into his chest, his steady breathing soothed you.

Once you recovered enough from your emotions, you pulled away, downcast. Face red and blotchy with tears, eyes puffy and pink from crying, lips quivering and voice hoarse, you felt so pathetic. So, so pathetic.

"F-fuck, s-si— König—" Trembling. "I'm so so sorry. I'm too emotional, please, I'm sor—"

"Nein." His tone was soft, yet firm. Definitive. "You have nothing to apologise for, King."

Both hands cupped the sides of your face, tentatively tilting your face upwards. His expression was forlorn, and you felt tears brimming in your eyelids again.

"...You're not weak. You're not pathetic. You're not useless. I see you always trying so hard, King, always giving it your all..."

He paused for a few moments, deliberating over how best to put his thoughts into words. "...Maybe... maybe your best isn't the best out of anyone's bests, but it's the effort that counts." He rubbed the back of his neck, then let out a mono-syllabic laugh. "Scheiße, did that make sense? Sorry— I'm not good with words—"

You glanced away. "—Hey," his hand reached to hold to side of your face. "Look at me, King."

"You're not weak, not pathetic, not useless," he repeated, voice wavering.

"You're none of those. You're better than you think you are. Your inner strength," a finger pointed at your chest, "your heart, it's so full of goodness. So full of so many good things that don't define you, but instead changed you for the better."

"Maybe... maybe you aren't the aren't the best, haven't been the best, or never will be the best, but it's not your fault. You try so hard, and the odds... the odds are stacked against you. And, sometimes... sometimes it's okay to not be the best. You don't have to be fearless, the strongest, perfect. You can just be... you."

His eyes were pleading in the dark. "Please don't doubt yourself. You're so— so much better than you imagine."

A shaky breath. "So much stronger than you tell yourself. I can promise you, you are your own person. Other people's successes don't define you."

König turned around to glance at his alarm. 2:36.

When he turned back, your face had slowly regained the colour on your cheeks, eyes sparkled, chest rose and fall at a steady pace. You said nothing, yet König knew you listened to every one of his words.

"Looks like it's too late for you to fall asleep in your own room," he whispered, gently caressing your face. "Stay here with me, King."

Eyes immediately widening in surprise, you were about to protest. "B-but— I couldn't possibly, König—"

That protest died on your lips as König's arms engulfed you again, and brought you down against his mattress so you were laying on his chest. Cocooned like a protective blanket over you, you didn't need him to say anything more. You felt so... safe. Loved.

The storm outside seemed to calm down, and lightning no longer crashed against the window. Rain faltered, and some clouds were separating in the darkness of the sky.

Before you knew it, your eyelids became heavy with drowsiness, feeling a wave of calm wash over you, cleansing away your sorrows.

Just before you fell asleep, you heard König say something in German, barely above a whisper, but you did not understand:

"Schlaf gut Schatz. Ich liebe dich."

...

I don't know who needed to hear that, or if anyone even did, but I stand by the words I wrote. Although you are reading this, and are likely a stranger, and I'll never face you in real life, I want you to know that you *are* good enough. And if it takes a person on the internet using a fictional character to tell you so, then so be it. You are still valid. 🫂

...

Note: i rhink some of the ppl that read my previous fics will be able to tell that i went tryhard mode on this one 💀💀

Its mostly bc im back in school and were going over all the stupid fancy shmancy literative devices and figurstive language (god why cant u call it literallt anything else i swear why does it have ro be so unnecessarily overcomplicated just call it sentence structures or writing techniques istg.man😭)so i unconsciously chanelled all of thise boring technicalities into this 😬

With me writing as a hobby you'd think I'd have the highest grades in English? No💔I wish LMAO

I NOW HAVE 130+ FOLLOWERS!!! Which is unbelievable if u wsk me bc etf why wre eo mwnt people following me i don't deserve this qt ALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU ALL 🥹🥹🥹🫶🫶🫶💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

I still remember when @puff0o0⭐ began their self-aware au with König and Ghost qnd ive qlways veen cheerint for her from the sidelines ☺️☺️come to find out shes been mentioning ME in THEIR podts and writing on their blofs thwt my CoD blog is good and i.????😭😭😭cant????????😭😭😭😭😭 Literally -99999 damage and an ARROW 🏹 STRAIGHT thru the HEART 💘🥹 I LOVE U B (platonically ofc dw)😽💕💓💓❤️💞💞💕💞💕💞💞💞💕

380 notes · View notes

dangermousie · 8 months

Text

Top Dozen 2023 drama MLs so far

It's August, so not the end of the year, neither it is at halfway year mark, but why would I ever do anything like a normal person? Here my very very subjective list. I have limited myself to one dude per drama or LYF would be half the list. No order except alphabetical.

Chen Wende (Sun Yizhou in Gone With the Rain, China)

The epic troll lord stole the whole drama as competently as he stole the FL's heart. He was competent and adult and oh-so-amused by but also gone for the heroine.

Gu Jiusi (Bai Jing Ting in Chang Feng Du/Destined, China)

CFD lost steam for me halfway through but Jiusi's character remained a delight throughout and BJT gave a great performance as a golden boy who went through a bunch of hell and grew up but remained goodnatured at heart.

Han Dong Jin (Kim Young Kwang in Call It Love, Korea)

You know, he and Jing (from LYF1) really fit the same mold even if one is in a mellow realistic modern and another in xianxia - lovely traumatized people from monster families who win over heroine with a metric ton of baggage through sheer unswerving decency. I have a type.

Jang Uk (Lee Jae Wook in Alchemy of Souls s2, Korea)

I loved Uk in S1 and S2 continued that love - he's so intense, so grieving, so still in love with Naksu. LJW is always a good actor so it's such a pleasure to see him in a good role.

Kim Do Ha (Hwang Min Hyun, My Lovely Liar, Korea)

The year of surprises - Minhyun, who I found utterly wooden in AoS stole my heart here as this hopeful, traumatized sweetheart of a man.

Kim Moo Chan (Park Hae Jin, The Killing Vote, Korea)

Yeah, we are only one ep in but who said anything about this list was objective? PHJ brings his usual unsettling intensity to the role of a cop who breaks all the rules and teeters on the edge and now is set to catch a killer who really only differs from him in a matter of degree.

Lee Jang Hyun (Nam Goong Min in My Dearest, Korea)

If I had to pick a favorite ML from this list, it would be between him and Jing (LYF). This is basically if you took Rhett Butler and took out slavery and rape but gave him a sword. The character is complex and nuanced and NGM is giving his usual incredible performance.

Lee Rang (Kim Bum in Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938, Korea)

I was not a Rang fangirl for most of the original (even if he was well-acted; and he did win me over by the end) but I fell for him head over heels in this sequel/prequel/spin-off. I am so happy the man who believed he had nobody and was abandoned by everybody ends the story with his beloved brother and his beloved woman, both.

Moon Seo Ha (Ahn Bo Hyun in See You in My 19th Life, Korea)

A lot of MLs on this list have serious trauma and haunted by it and can't let go of their past love (I have a type) but even by those standards, Seo Ha was such a lovely, quiet person slowly healing.

Tantai Jin (Luo Yunxi in Till the End of the Moon, China)

Abuse victim/monster/praiseworthy king/xianxia saint/man on the brink - LYX portrayed a character in multiple timelines and many different complexities and did it amazingly. Tantai Jin may or may not win my favorite place on this list, but his performance was hands-down the most glorious thing this year.

Tushan Jing/Ye Shiqi (Deng Wei in Lost You Forever part 1, China)

If before LYF aired someone would have told me that a character played by Deng Wei, an actor I've always found eminently forgettable, would make it on this list and be in the running to win the whole thing actually, I'd have wondered what weird reality they came from. They somehow managed to make someone genuinely good and kind not in the least boring; I am ridiculously invested in the man who managed to keep his soul after all he's been through.

Yun Xiang (Chen Xiao in The Ingenuous One, China)

A schemer on a revenge quest, smarter than anyone else in the room but helpless in front of love. Yun Xiang was an adult in an adult story for adults and it was glorious.

314 notes · View notes

anonymous-dentist · 5 months

Note

fyi the monkey emoji thing about bbh's chat is fabricated from twitter and his mods have talked about it not being real. no one is doing that and if you talk to any of his fans at all, no one can actually corroborate having seen it. his chat is shit at times and rude, but it isn't saying slurs or racist emoji spamming. i honestly expected better from you as a popular figure in the community, i'm just disappointed you disliking a streamer is blinding your critical thinking about how falsified racism allegations obfuscates criticism of actual racism in the fandom.

Idk king I'm kinda more inclined to believe Literal Actual 6+ Months of Brazilian People Talking About This And Complaining About Feeling Unsafe In BBH's Chat than a bunch of Bad's mods and fans.

There's gonna be some bias there, man, you gotta understand that, right? Of course the mods aren't going to come out and say "Oh, yeah, we allow racist shit in our chat", and of course fans aren't gonna come out and say "Oh yeah we saw that definitely" considering overwhelming numbers of Bad's fans that I have personally seen have gone around demanding Pepito speak English and that everybody Bad talks to should speak English so he can understand and saying, quote, "Bad isn't racist! He lets Bagi speak Portuguese all the time!" and harassing Latin American and Brazilian accounts for MONTHS since the elections in July/August.

Does Bad get a ton of unwarranted hate? Sure, and it sucks. But the first step to acknowledging fandom racism is recognizing it within your own community and listening to the victims of said racism. Sure, this could all be a bunch of bullshit, but it's very very important to listen to actual victims rather than the people in your own echo chamber.

And I'm not saying this because I think Bad's a terrible person (which I don't think he is, btw, I think he's just a dumb privileged white guy), I'm saying this because there is legitimately six plus months of these claims being put forward by hundreds of Brazilian BadBoyHalo viewers who legitimately feel unsafe in his chat and watching him in general because of how his fans have a history of acting both in chat and on Twitter. This isn't a "All Bad Fans Are Xenophobic And So Is He" situation, it's a "Some People Are Acting Like Pieces Of Shit And Nobody Is Holding Them Accountable Except For The People They're Being Pieces Of Shit To" situation. There is a general lack of accountability among Bad's fans, especially when it comes to xenophobia and harassment, that fans from all over the world have noted in the past few weeks, and nobody is listening to these non-American fans at all. Nobody's listening to the French complaining about Bad's microaggressions towards Etoiles and Baghera, nobody's listening to Hispanic fans complaining about the fandom's microaggressions towards Pepito and Roier, and absolutely nobody listens to Brazilian fans complaining about the fandom's long history of actual, genuine aggressions towards Brazilian content creators and fans alike. Instead, the fandom attacks these people and acts like genuine goddamn assholes instead of taking any sort of accountability for their actions, perpetuating a nasty cycle that nobody will take seriously except for the people being attacked; just ask any Brazilian fan, they've experienced so much bullshit at the hands of Bad's fandom by now that they're genuinely hesitant to watch Bad's streams, and it's such a fucking shame that they can't enjoy something they actually love because of idiots.

Maybe I'm an idiot for believing in what you're calling fabrications, but believing potential victims of xenophobia over potential perpetuators of xenophobia saying it isn't real kinda just feels like the right thing to do, yk?

#asks!#anon!#discourse

80 notes · View notes

abisbookshelf · 12 days

Text

100+ songs that remind me of buddie: the ship between evan "buck" buckley + eddie diaz from 9-1-1 (tv show)

photograph - ed sheeran

sucker - jonas brothers

fix you - coldplay

clarity - zedd & foxes

everybody talks - neon trees

earned it (fifty shades of grey) - the weeknd

cardigan - taylor swift

august - taylor swift

the 30th - billie eilish

sunsetz - cigarettes after sex

sweet - cigarettes after sex

K. - cigarettes after sex

love of my life - harry styles

i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys

the way i loved you (taylor's version) - taylor swift

everything has changed (taylor's version) - taylor swift & ed sheeran

fine line - harry styles

watching him fade away - mac demarco

jealousy, jealousy - olivia rodrigo

apocalypse - cigarettes after sex

sofia - clairo

we fell in love in october - girl in red

ribs - lorde

i love you so - the walters

until i found you - stephen sanchez & em beihold

golden hour - JVKE

crush - cigarettes after sex

karma - taylor swift

bags - clairo

getaway car - taylor swift

don't blame me - taylor swift

issues - julia micheals

heavenly - cigarettes after sex

memories - conan gray

lay all your love on me - ABBA

head over heels - ABBA

ceilings - lizzy mcalpine

all i wanted - paramore

i love you - billie eilish

heather - conan gray

what a time - julia micheals & niall horan

make up your mind - florence + the machine

look after you - the fray

sparks - coldplay

king of my heart - taylor swift

false god - taylor swift

rumour has it - adele

the great war - taylor swift

maroon - taylor swift

gorgeous - taylor swift

lovers rock - TV girl

why'd you only call me when you're high? - arctic monkeys

beautiful boy (darling boy) remastered 2010 - john lennon

daylight - david kushner

halley's comet - billie eilish

can't feel my face - the weeknd

shameless - camila cabello

ME! - taylor swift & brendon urie of panic! at the disco

all too well (10 minute version - taylor's version) - taylor swift

this love (taylor's version) - taylor swift

enchanted (taylor's version) - taylor swift

midnight rain - taylor swift

the 1 - taylor swift

kiss me - ed sheeran

mine (taylor's version) - taylor swift

lavender haze - taylor swift

hits different - taylor swift

afterglow - taylor swift

lover - taylor swift

red (taylor's version) - taylor swift

i don't wanna live forever (fifty shades darker) - ZAYN & taylor swift

style (taylor's version) - taylor swift

"slut!" (taylor's version - from the vault) - taylor swift

daylight - taylor swift

wildest dreams (taylor's version) - taylor swift

how you get the girl (taylor's version) - taylor swift

you are in love (taylor's version) - taylor swift

golden - harry styles

say yes to heaven - lana del rey

lover (remix) - taylor swift & shawn mendes

training wheels - melanie martinez

scott screet - phoebe bridgers

glue song - beabadoobee

kiss me - sixpence none the richer

something just like this - the chainsmokers & coldplay

still into you - paramore

those eyes - new west

can't take my eyes off you - boys town gang

angeleyes - ABBA

because i liked a boy - sabrina carpenter

sleep it off - niki & gabi

never felt so alone - labrinth

chemtrails over the country club - lana del rey

only love can hurt like this - paloma faith

my love mine all mine - mitski

moment in the sun - sunflower bean

you're losing me (from the vault) - taylor swift

paris - taylor swift

the lucky one (taylor's version) - taylor swift

snap out of it - arctic monkeys

labyrinth - taylor swift

starlight (taylor's version) - taylor swift

company - justin bieber

never really over - katy perry

i lived - onerepublic

the night we met - lord huron

heart to heart - mac demarco

rises the moon - liana flores

about you - the 1975

fight or flight - conan gray

deja vu - olivia rodrigo

you found me - the fray

paris - the chainsmokers

murder on the dancefloor - sophie ellis-bextor

want to want me - jason derulo

hands to myself - selena gomez

late night talking - harry styles

astronomy - conan gray

the only exception - paramore

can't help falling in love - elvis presley

the boy is mine - brandy & monica

last dance - scratch massive & maud geffray

ur so pretty - wasia project

34+35 - ariana grande

good days - SZA

falling in love - cigarettes after sex

keep on loving you - cigarettes after sex

marry you - bruno mars

walk me home - p!nk

people help the people - birdy

now that we don't talk (taylor's version - from the vault) - taylor swift

suburban legends (taylor's version - from the vault) - taylor swift

open arms - SZA & travis scott

movies - conan gray

let the light in - lana del rey & father john misty

margaret - lana del rey & bleachers

need you now - lady A

i miss you, i'm sorry - gracie abrams

sex on fire - kings of leon

end of beginning - djo

21 - gracie abrams

only you - cheat codes & little mix

mr. loverman - ricky montgomery

lust for life - lana del rey & the weeknd

saturn - SZA

lover (live from paris) - taylor swift

dress - taylor swift

waiting room - phoebe bridgers

kiss you - one direction

someone to you - BANNERS

little freak - harry styles

i hear a symphony - cody fry

do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys

till forever falls apart - ashe & FINNEAS

1 step forward, 3 steps back - olivia rodrigo

like real people do - hozier

out of my league - fitz and the tantrums

somewhere only we know - keane

when we were young - adele

maps - maroon 5

young and beautiful - lana del rey

touch tank - quinnie

i found - amber run

invisible string - taylor swift

epiphany - taylor swift

daylight - taylor swift

ivy - taylor swift

sign of the times - harry styles

adore you - harry styles

sunflower, vol.6 - harry styles

let me love you (until you learn to love yourself) - glee cast (version)

somewhere only we know - glee cast (version)

yellow - coldplay

pretty boy - the neighbourhood

the beach - the neighbourhood

whatta man - salt n pepa & en vogue

endgame - taylor swift, ed sheeran & future

delicate - taylor swift

break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored - ariana grande

forever winter (taylor's version - from the vault) - taylor swift

wish you were gay - billie eilish

ivy - frank ocean

i like me better - lauv

toothbrush - DNCE

best friend - rex orange county

no control - one direction

here is the link to the playlist on spofity: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mpIWOTplXGR7vR4gT34Yi

if you have any other recommendations for songs please let me know and they will go straight into the playlist. also, please don't be disrespectful and this is a reminder that these are my opinions, i hope that you enjoy the playlist!! 💌🤍💋

35 notes · View notes

morendodifame · 5 months

Text

his family loved parties, and party themes even more. midnight summers dream for felix made sense, everybody was dressed up and already intoxicated. matteo loved the summers here, he hadn't always, but he'd grown to understand how much fun they could be if he loosened up. he donned a crown of horns and flowers on his shoulders-- the king of fairies seemed appropriate. the man ventured out into the lawn, scanning those nearby, hoping to come across somebody, anybody that would be fun to play with tonight. his lips curved when he spotted a familiar face, and gradually made his way over, " august, I was wondering if you would come. " @scvdycat

#matteo : threads #feat : august

56 notes · View notes

jungle-angel · 2 years

Text

Restless (Bob x Reader)

Summary: After the bird strike during training, Bob’s mind keeps him up at night

You blinked your eyes open in the darkened bedroom, your eyes trailing to the empty side of the bed and up to the clock, the red digital numbers reading 2:05 AM.

Where the hell was Bob?

You tossed aside the covers and padded quietly down the halls towards Auggie’s little nursery room. You found Bob sitting with him in the rocker by the dim light of the little table lamp, the tiny little baby tucked against his bare chest under his little blue blanket that Irene, Bob’s mother, had made him as Auggie quietly sucked away on his pacifier. You couldn’t help but notice the thousand yard stare in your husband’s eyes and the glassy look they had to them, a glassiness that made him look like he would cry.

“Bob?” you whispered.

No answer.

“Bob?”

He turned towards you, your eyes meeting as his chest began to tighten. “Baby I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Sorry for what?”

“For what happened.”

“The bird strike?” you asked him.

Bob bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, the tears already beginning to run down his cheeks.

You hugged his shoulders tightly, pressing a kiss to his bicep. “Baby I understand,” you told him. “I was exactly where you are when they told me what happened.”

“I just.....I can’t,” Bob choked. “I love you both so much. I need to.....I need to be here. For you and for August.”

You were trying not to cry yourself. Next week, Bob would be heading for the Uranium Plant mission and would be gone for a week and a half. It didn’t sound like much, but you quickly realized how much you desperately needed each other.

“You’ll come back,” You told him. “I know you will.”

Bob leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “I know you don’t want to hear it,” he said. “But I’m scared.”

“Me too,” you said.

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

You waited outside at The Hard Deck, the ocean waves crashing close to the beach and the dusky blue sky above. You held Auggie close to your chest, the newborn snuggled inside the baby blanket while the rowdier patrons inside were making as much noise as they could possibly make.

You felt your heart leap into your throat when you saw several vehicles pulling into the parking lot with Rooster’s old Bronco in the lead. As soon as everybody had parked and left the vehicles, you feared that Auggie would slip from your grasp, your arms tightening. But when you saw the smiles plastered on everyone’s faces and a familiar one amongst the group, you felt the relief wash right over you.

“Oh if it isn’t Momma and her little bird!!” Hangman cheerfully announced. “Queen, your King has returned.”

A sob escaped your throat when you saw Bob approaching, your feet bringing you to him with the space closing quickly between you both. He took your face in his hands, kissing you passionately as a few wolf whistles were heard amongst the others.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’d all come back?” you told him.

Bob was caught somewhere between laughing and crying as he held you in his arms. You could feel his hot tears in the curve of your neck and Auggie trying to push himself off your chest. He let out a loud cry as he beat at your breasts with his tiny little fists, his pink face scrunching up as he cried.

“Oh boy,” you said. “I know who he wants.”

You handed Auggie off to Bob, his hands trembling and shaking as he held the baby in his arms, holding him close to his chest as his lips brushed against the delicate little tufts of dark blonde hair. Auggie let out another little cry as his fingers wrapped around Bob’s dog tags.

“Oh baby, shhh,” Bob murmured. “It’s alright. Daddy’s home now.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as everybody snapped pictures and took short little videos on their phones, especially as Bob rocked August back to sleep, his hushed murmurs of “don’t cry, Daddy’s here” and “I love you” reaching their ears like crickets.

No one wanted to leave the stretch of beach that night with Penny and Maverick opting to camp out on the beach with everybody. Tents were set up, sleeping bags were piled in and everyone soon went to sleep with the sound of the ocean crashing on the shore outside.

You unzipped the flap on the tent, moving in next to Bob who was trying to get Auggie to go back to sleep. “Sorry honey,” he said sheepishly. “He woke up while you were outside.”

“Baby it’s fine,” you told him. “He’s just excited to have you back.”

A quiet little coo came from Auggie as Bob gently rubbed his son’s little belly, trying to get him to go back to sleep so he could put him in the wicker sleeping basket close by.

“I know I was scared,” he said. “But I’m glad to be home.”

You pressed a firm kiss to his lips with Bob giving in and returning it fully. “Same here baby,” you told him.

“Would it shock you too if I told you the squad will all be civilian instructors from here on out?”

“Wait what?”

Bob nodded. “I’m not missing a thing,” he said. “I made it back three days before Auggie was born and got lucky. I’m not taking another chance like that again. I wanna be there when he starts taking his first steps and says his first word.”

“You will baby,” you said. “And you’re gonna be the best instructor Top Gun has ever seen.”

Bob kissed you again before the three of you settled in and snuggled close to each other. There was no doubt in your mind, that you would be one of the closest families that Miramar had ever seen.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun short fics

565 notes · View notes

yyh4ever · 5 months

Text

Toguro Brothers 30th Anniversary DXF Figure

Official Site: bsp-prize

Size: approx. 20cm tall

Scheduled to be released on November 21 2023, the "Toguro Brothers" will finally appear as crane game prizes! Based on the 30th Anniversary Illustrations, Elder Toguro comes with replacement parts, and can be placed on his younger brother's shoulders!

Since those figures are based on the 30th anniversary illustrations, I wonder if Sensui, Itsuki, Youko Kurama, Genkai, Botan, Yukina, and the 3 Kings + Enki will have any chance to be released next year.

In the year of 2023, we had Yusuke (March), Kuwabara (April), Kurama (May), Hiei (June), Koenma (August) and The Toguro Brothers (November). I wanna display everybody together!

#Toguro Brothers 30th Anniversary DXF Figure #Elder Toguro #Younger Toguro #Bandai #Yu Yu hakusho 30th Anniversary #Banpresto

65 notes · View notes

hooked-on-elvis · 6 months

Text

MY EYES... MY TEARY EYES! 🥹

ABOUT ELVIS AND GLADYS' BOND. ♥

"Watching the snow reminded me of Elvis' mother. She used to say that if snowed in Memphis when Elvis was gone, she always went outside and gathered up enough in a pan to make snowballs for Elvis to see when he came back. She put them in the freezer of the refrigerator to keep. Elvis loved to see it snow at Graceland." Excerpts from "Elvis: This One's For You" by Arlene Cogan.

No wonder why EP missed his mother dearly. There's many types of moms but the Gladys type of mommy is a true blessing - the ones which heart's that almost burst while trying to make you feel their love for you. It's almost a physical need to pour love in their children every way they can. Towards their children, they have all love languages at once: words of encouragement, sound advice, physical touch/cuddles, actions… It's suffocating, but in a wonderful way. Gladys Love Presley was the sweetest mom anyone could wish for. EP was fortunate in many ways - starting from his family - but what a misfortune was to lose Gladys so early in his life. Love is a dangerous splendid thing anyway. It's best to have it and lose it than never being touched by it. Gladys' love for her son was bigger than life anyway. ♥ -- Note: The excerpt from that book reminded me this footage below, where Gladys is playing with the snow with Vernon (C. January, 1958). There's also another book that mentions her saving some snow so that Elvis could see it later when he came back home (i don't remember what book, unfortunately, but I've read this before).

Above, pictures takes in 1957, during "Loving You" movie production. Gladys actually appears on the big screen for a few seconds in this Presley early movie. EP dances next to her while singing "Got A Lot O' Livin' To Do" by the end of the movie… It's so cute!

youtube

Photo 5-13: March 23-24th, 1958

Elvis was about to be inducted in the US Army. The photos showing the Presley's alone were taken March 23rd, a day before Elvis' army induction day. On the actual induction day, on March 24th (pictures 11-13), there's footage where EP's hopping a bus together with other fellow guys, heading to the army camp to the beginning of the basic trainning and his 2-year epic journey as Private Presley in the U.S. Army. Gladys was visibly shaken and heartbroken to see her beloved son go away and the reason why. Some family members and friends said Gladys was terrified thinking about the horrors of World War II that she seriously feared for Elvis' life and well-being as a soldier. She never got over it, even though Elvis and everybody else tried to convince her nothing was going to happen, after all they were living at the Cold War period, therefore there wasn't reasonable reasons in being anxiously alarmed. Nothing seemed to comfort Gladys. We know she sadly passed away on August, 1958, a few months after Elvis was inducted in the army. Years later, EP would say to one of his intimate acquaintances "my mommy really worried to death." It's so sad... in a poetic way. IDK what I'm talking about right now… It's like she couldn't live without her little boy, literally. Gladys was so close to her son! The reciprocity is true. She was the only person EP trusted blindfolded, with all his heart, body, mind and soul. Gladys only had the best intentions for her son. She didn't care about the money or fame. She actually asked him many time if it wouldn't be better/safer if he gave up his career and just became a business man, a owner of some local company in Memphis/TN, got married, had his own family, and lived a nice, calm, Southern life. EP used to get upset with that "nonsense" talk, because he loved his career greatly and everything was working out just fine for him... he was in love with his music and his fans. He was born to be the King of Rock and Roll and he worked very hard for it every single day. It wasn't right to chicken up. He wouldn't give it up his career, even for his beloved mommy. Yet, Gladys couldn't help herself but to worry something bad could happen if she was not by his side 24/7. A typical loving mom behavior. Even when she acted overprotective like that and drove Elvis insane sometimes, it was all out of the purest heavenly true love... and he knew it.

Although she was uneasy most of the time, thinking about Elvis' well being, the constant travelling on the road all the time, having tabloids badmouthing him, a portion of American society threatening to put him in jail, crazy passionate fans scratching the hell out of him, trying to touch him to the point they'd tear his clothes off his body, even so Gladys supported Elvis' career and was by his side whatever he decided to do. He knew how blessed he was having her for his mother, and Elvis did his best to protect his mommy's heart - even by hiding some of the bad happenings in his life from her. He wouldn't let anything break her heart... even himself.

Yet, so soon the day came when she was gone. Elvis never ceased missing his mommy.

Shantay Perrish, a dedicated fan shared the following story: "We arrived about 7:00 pm that following evening and were shocked to see Elvis leaving on his Harley with a blue flower arrangement strapped to the rear. I quickly went to the guard house shack and asked Harold Lloyd, "Is that who I think it was?" Harold said, "Yes that was Elvis, but don't follow him." We waited there and he returned to Graceland within the hour. Earlier that day we had gone to pay our respect to his mother at Forest Hill, never thinking of Elvis possibly showing up. The next morning we again went to Forest Hill Cemetery and there on Gladys grave was the arrangement of blue flowers we had seen the night before on the motorcycle. Elvis had been to visit his mother in a quiet personal moment."

Photos and excerpt from the book "Elvis Behind the Image."

This event possibly took place circa August 11th, 1977. A few days before Elvis Presley sadly passed away on August 16th. The photo 1 shows Elvis leaving Graceland that day and the photo 2 is Gladys' grave site with the blue flower arrangement he placed there for his mommy for one last time. Elvis assured to send flowers there often over the years since Gladys' passing, but this time he delivered it there himself. Isn't intriguing, to say the least?

Oh, mama liked the roses but most of all she cared About the way we learned to live And if we said our prayers Oh, mama liked the roses in such a special way We bring them every Mother's Day And put them on her grave Oh, mama liked the roses Mmmm Mama liked the roses

In loving memory of Gladys Love Presley ♥

#gladys presley #mom love #elvis presley #elvis #elvis the king #50s elvis #ep #army elvis #privatepresley #elvis fandom #elvis fans #Youtube

61 notes · View notes

augustsprincess · 2 years

Text

August Walker x reader drabble

Warnings: nudity, shouting, August being intimidating

It's a quiet Sunday morning at a friend's big Manor house. August Walker was his name, you had met through a friend of a friend. Eventually you had all become a close group and would spend holidays at Augusts place when you could.

Walker was a retired spy you were led to believe. That's was all you and your friends knew, you assume it's all you'll ever know. You don't, however, realize just what that meant.

You weren't aware of the guns under every table and you certainly weren't aware of the knives he had hidden in every plant plot.

Perhaps August Walker was what you could call paranoid. He hated that word.

Everybody except August is awake. Some sit in the living room watching the television and some are in the kitchen eating breakfast. Dan, Augusts closest friend, asks you to go and wake him up. You don't know August that well besides the few times he's made you squeak just by throwing a lewd joke your way, so you're a little uneasy waking him. But you agree anyway.

You initially knock on the door. He was a spy right? He can't sleep that heavy, you thought. You'd be wrong of course. Retirement suited August and that meant he slept like a log. No, the whole damn forest.

After a few knocks you notice he isn't budging so you walk in. The room is massive and decorated with ornate, dark oak and gold details.

You stifle a moan at the sight you finally see. Huge, tree trunk thighs spread across the bed. One leg up, bent at the knee and the other bent to the side. Tousled curls framed his forehead, his head facing away from you. He was leaning on his right arm and you were entranced by the way his bicep bulged. How it didn't explode you'd never understand.

His other hand lay gently across his stomach and that was where you struggled to stay standing.

Dark hair covered his abdomen, a river running down towards his crotch before meeting the one tiny part of the bed sheets covering him. You cursed the sheet's existence to the high heavens, heartbroken that you didn't get to catch a glimpse of that particular area of August.

Snapping out of your daze you remembered why you stood in the middle of his room and it wasn't to perve at his wonderful body.

"August?" You all but whisper.

Nothing.

"Au-" you clear your throat and speak louder. "August?"

Not. A. Stir.

There was no other option, you'd have to give him a nudge.

Stepping over to his large, king size bed (that he somehow managed to fill), you took a deep breath.

"August!" You spoke louder again. With a frustrated sigh you lifted your knee to climb onto his bed, the mattress sinking slightly below you. When you finally reached his sleeping form you stopped, kneeling beside him. Reaching out to the forearm over his stomach, you shook the man firmly. "August!" You cried, but within seconds your vision was flipped upside down as you came crashing down onto the mattress in a quick and terrifying turn of events. You let out a screech as you were pinned to the bed, eyes wide with panic as two large, calloused hands clasped your neck.

Instinctively you grab at his hands in an attempt to breathe, but as soon as your fingers touch his he releases you, resting his flat palms either side of your body.

If not for being strangled moments ago you might be turned on by the way you were trapped between two huge thighs, with a bear-like man hovering above you.

Gasping for air for a few moments you stare up at the bewildered, blue eyes of August. He looked as though he hadn't realized what he'd just done, a deep sleeper indeed.

"Hello…" The ex-spy finally says, a smile breaking free from his lips. Your chest heaves and your breathing evens out, all the while he stays in that same position, stopping you from escaping. What on earth is he grinning at? And why are you so distracted by that long, chocolate brown curl that's cascading down from his head?

"You look a little flushed. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not used to people waking me…" He admits, a smile still spread across his face.

"I'm sorry, I- Dan told me to wake you and I tried knocking but you wouldn't budge." You explained, trying with all your might to not look at the other asset hanging above a lower part of you.

"Hmm" He purred. "No harm done, sweet girl." His brows wiggled and you laughed.

"Can- can I go now?" You asked, words catching in your throat. He rose an eyebrow at you before dragging his eyes down your body as you lay beneath him. His tongue peaked from behind his teeth as his eyes continued to rake over you. Realization flashed across his features and his eyes shot up to yours.

"Ah!" He retorted. "I'm naked!" He stated, matter of factly. A cackle follows shortly after and you notice the hint of a blush.

"Yeaaah, you really are…" You pretend to look away, feigning disgust but as your head turns your jaw is clasped tightly between his right hand. He practically rips your head to face him and you're faced with a sinister and stern expression.

Your heavy breathing breaks the silence as you wait for him to do something. To speak, to move. Anything. He begins to lean in close, tongue between his teeth. The coarse hairs of his mustache scratch against your jaw as he reaches towards your ear and finally with a dark whisper, he speaks.

"....I caught you looking at it….whore." abruptly he releases your chin and with a hard peck on the cheek he jumps from the bed.

You lay, chest heaving with arms lay strewn across the mattress, your panties wet and your sanity destroyed.

You watch as he walks into the bathroom, throwing a hand towel over his shoulder as he leaves. You watch as his firm ass moves before flinching at his loud, booming voice.

"Stop staring at my ass!" The door slams.

"Fuck." You mutter, leaping from the bed and running out of there as fast as your legs could carry you.

Passing Dan on the stairs you gave him the glare of the century and as your suspicions led you to believe, he began to cackle. He did that on purpose.

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker x reader #henry cavill x reader #twicksterwrites

409 notes · View notes

mask131 · 1 month

Text

French fantasy review: Les flammes de la nuit

I do wonder why I make these posts – about French novels that I do not think were translated in English, reviewing them in English on an English-speaking website… I do know that some French people are lurking around under a mask of Englishness, but still, most people here are those that I guess will never have access to the novels I review… But oh well, I’ll do what I’ll do, as bizarre as it may sound: and what I’ll do is talk about the French fantasy.

I already translated a long time ago some articles written about the French fantasy literature, but here I will share my personal thoughts and favorites when it comes to this genre of fantasy that is considered “foreign” and “exotic” by the simple virtue of… not being written in English. France is the land of literature, and has already bred, nursed and thoroughly exploited and theorized the two genres that gave birth to the fantasy and yet are so hard to translate in English: the merveilleux of fables and epics, the fantastique of 19th century supernatural tales… Why wouldn’t France have fantasy too? The name of the genre stays English, unfortunately, but it has enough echoes and roots within our own féeries and surnaturel to find a place prepared for it since centuries…

Anyway, enough lyrical: let’s get into the meat of the subject, let’s dig to the bone, and I want to begin with “Les flammes de la nuit” (The flames of the night) by Michel Pagel.

When I picked up this book I was not expecting anything precisely from it, I was just curious. I had only ever heard of Michel Pagel through a huge and dark series of his called “La Comédie Inhumaine” that everybody loved and that was renowned as a dark and violent fantastique, but I never read it. The reason I picked up this book was due to its relationship with fairytales. If you do not know I am REALLY into fairytale stuff, I even have an entire sideblog just to talk about fairytales ( @adarkrainbow ). And this novel was advertised as being a fairytale subversion, so I thought, let’s get into it! [EDIT: I actually also had heard of Michel Pagel through another work of his that now I will definitively read, Le Roi d’Août, a supernatural historical novel that faithfully retells the biography of the king Philippe Auguste… While filling some historical blanks in his life by the intervention and encounter of the supernatural folks hiding within the French landscape.]

Most notably, when I checked briefly online reviews to see if I should get the book, all agreed on a same thing: all said that the book was absolutely great, with wonderful ideas and powerful characters… until the very end which had disappointed everybody (at least at the time the reviews were made, so by the 2000s/early 2010s). As a result I went into this novel saying to myself “Okay, the beginning and middle will be great, the end will be bad, get ready”. And… what a surprise! The ending was not bad at all. A bit confused and rushed but… it was a good ending. Or rather a fitting ending (because it is not a happy or positive one, nor is it a negative one – it is a grandiose, tragic, bittersweet but hopeful ending perfect for the tone of the novel and the project the author set upon himself). If you ask me, all the reviews were wrong – and I had been deceived for the best, since the novel surpassed what I was expecting. Now, I won’t throw the stone, I actually understand why these readers were disappointed with the ending and I’ll explain why (spoiler: it is a question of context and point of view). For now, I’ll simply say that I greatly love this novel which definitively goes into my top French fantasy novels.

In terms of editions and publications, a few indications… This is one of those typical edition thingies that are so peculiar to France. The novel was originally published as a series of novellas. Four in total, between 1985 and 1987, in the “Anticipations” collection of the Fleuve Noir publishing house (it was still in this era where in France fantasy and sci-fi were sold together as one and the same). Later, the four novellas were collected into one full volume, one novel divided into four parts. This complete volume was published in 2000 (in a small format by the J’ai Lu Poche Fantasy, in a large format by Denoël collection Lunes d'encre), and it is both the version I read and the one most people refer to when talking about “Les flammes de la nuit”. I do not know if the text was edited or slightly rewritten for this new format – I don’t think so, but I have to admit the text felt so much like an early 2000s story I was quite surprised it came from the mid-80s… There’s quite notably the fact the main character is openly bisexual, but hey, the 80s in France were quite a time too… More recently in 2014 Les Moutons Electrique republished the integral in a large format, and then in 2022 in a middle format, proving this novel’s great and enduring success.

[Note: As I am writing this post I made a quick checklist and I just discovered that Michel Pagel actually was the French translator of Neil Gaiman’s Anansi Boys and American Gods, as well as of Gary Gygax’s Monster Manual for D&D… Wow, that was a total surprise – and it does explain some things, I notably see how Neil Gaiman’s writing could have had an influence over this novel…]

Let me briefly set you in the mood the very first pages plunge the reader into… We follow an old man who is travelling on a pilgrimage to a great lake at the center of a medieval kingdom name Fuinör. He isn’t just any old man: it is but one of his masks. He is the Enchanter, a great and powerful wizard as old as the universe itself, a supernatural being known to take many forms, and who can be as much a wild animal of omens as a seducing woman luring knights to an uncertain doom… Once he reaches the great lake, called the Mirror for its still waters form the perfect reflection of the sky and the sun above it, in a great burst of light, the sun disappears… and reappears. But the sun is not golden anymore: it is green. And with the sun everything changed color within Fuinör: the sky is not blue but indigo, the sea is the color of emerald, the trees have blue leaves, human skin is orange… And this is perfectly normal, for in the world of Fuinör, every seven years the sun is reborn above the lake, turning into a different color, and with it everything in the world also changes its hue. And as such, seven year by seven year, the light goes through all the seven colors of the rainbow…

This sets the stage for what “Les flammes de la nuit” is. And it is many, many things, a story which likes the sun of Fuinör undergoes different stages and tones (the serial publication helps this feeling of slow transition and evolution throughout the novel).

The story opens as an open, cynical and dark parody of fairytales – for the world of Fuinör is a world of stock fairytales. It is a world in which, when the king has a daughter, seven fairies, each for each color of the rainbow, arrive to bless her with all the usual gifts – beauty, grace, singing – while carefully avoiding anything like strength or intelligence, for these are male gifts for those destined to rule. It is a world in which, when the queen gives an heir to her king (and there is always only one king and one queen), she must die in labor – and if she happens to survive… then the royal doctor must prepare a certain powder to make sure the queen respects the tradition. It is a world where barons often declare themselves vile rebels and wicked usurpers and try to overthrow the high king… but they are always defeated because the law claims there can only be one rebellion at a time, and each baron must warn in advance the king and let him decide how, when and where he wants to do the battle. It is a world where there is a land for each thing – quite literally. Fuinör is divided into different “countries” each dedicated to a specific area: there is a land of Hunting, where the hunts take place, and any hunting elsewhere is outlawed. There is a land for War, and nobody would ever think of waging war elsewhere than there. There is a land for Love, and all love and romance and sex can only take place within its boundaries. Such as the laws, and the customs, and the traditions, and they have always been since the beginning of time…

Fuinör is a mix of all the classical fairytales and the traditional medieval romance and Arthurian tales – but all taken to an extreme. Fuinör is a world stuck in an endless cycle of loops, where the events all repeat themselves in the same way with predictable end, where everyone is given a specific role and fate since birth, where everything is stuck under an order that has been decided by ominous gods a long time ago, and where no surprise and no disorder can ever happen. The brave knights in shining armor always win the heart of princesses, the high king is always victorious of anyone that tries to take his throne – and if someone ever does, THEY are the rightful high king and the other is the usurper – and the peasants… well who cares, they don’t count, they’re not even considered human, they are just here to work and be background props.

But things will change… Things will change thanks to the Enchanter, who decides that when the new princess of the kingdom is born, little Rowena, she shall receive a gift no other princess ever received… the gift of intelligence. An intelligence that will allow her to understand the absurd logic of her world, and use the sclerosis of archetypes and the rigidity of millennia-old customs to her advantage. An intelligence that will make her greater and more powerful than anyone – an intelligence that will threaten the very existence of Fuinör… Thus is the beginning of “Les Flammes de la Nuit”.

The beginning of the novel, Rowena’s own youth and story, is clearly designed to deconstruct all the archetypes, stereotypes and point out all the bad side of both the generic fairytale (especially Disney’s version of fairytales – the novel is filled with jabs at Disney and the “Americanized” fairytale, the seven fairies being basically Disney’s fairy godmothers mixed with Glinda from The Wizard of Oz MGM movie) and of the Arthurian romance as we know it today. It does not mean Michel Pagel hates those genres, quite the contrary! This book heavily pays homage to both domain, in which Pagel has clearly a great interest. In fact, this book is much more “medieval romance/Arthurian epic” than fairytale in tone, and while anybody who saw the Disney movies or read Perrault will get the fairytale references, I do believe someone with zero knowledge of the Arthuriana will miss a LOT of cultural jokes and clever references in this text. From the get go the Enchanter is clearly supposed to be inspired by Merlin from the Arthurian myth – but not the Disneyified, Americanized Merlin. The original Merlin, Myrddinn, the mythical, legendary, ambiguous and terrifying entity that exists beyond shapes and times and manipulates fate as he pleases… In a similar way, if you haven’t done any research on the evolution of the legend of Avalon you won’t get how twisted and cool the climax within the domain of the Fairies is… But I won’t reveal too much spoilers.

But loving doesn’t mean being uncritical, and this book is clearly the result of Michel Pagel thinking about what he adores, and highlighting in an entertaining way all that is wrong with those classical tales. The first part of the story is centered around Rowena, this intelligent and daring girl born within a world of the worst fairytale stereotypes and outdated medieval chivalry. And as she grows up she gets to explore what others were too afraid to explore, she understands what nobody understood, she gains power nobody had access to before… all the while suffering from what her world really is: unfair, classicist, sexist, misogynistic and abusive. And this begins already the bittersweet tone of the novel. At the same time we have a very funny parody that enjoys dark humor and plays all the code of the traditional “fractured fairytale”, and yet it alternates with very sad and dark moments where Rowena is confronted with the cruelties of such a universe and understands why being an intelligent girl in a world where women are to be submissive and stupid can be dangerous. But all is in fact set and prepared for her own fate, prepared by the Enchanter in person: for Rowena will become… the Witch.

And of course I love this, because who doesn’t get to love a dark retelling of fairytales, who doesn’t like a faithful retelling of medieval epics with an acute sense of modern values clashing with outdated morals, who doesn’t get to love the story of how a girl became a witch-queen? But… I think this is where the “fracture” with a certain part of the audience happened. I will return to the reviews I talked about above: many people thought the ending was worthless or were betrayed by it. Having read the novel I understand why they felt that: in their own words, they were sold and expected a feminist retelling of fairytales about breaking conventions and stereotypes. They were sold the story of a girl being a hero, and the old fairytale clichés being mercilessly mocked and denounced and beaten upon. And that was it for them. As such, yes, the ending probably disappointed them… Because it isn’t what the story is about.

It is made clear in the beginning of the story: being a Witch is not a pleasant thing. It is not a power fantasy. It might look like it, and Rowena uses it as such, but we are clearly warned that a Witch is still an unpleasant, dangerous and sometimes disgusting existence which will require suffering, both inflicted by the Witch and received by her. It is in such a path Rowena sets herself upon – and this is part of a greater scope of things. Rowena is the main character of the novel, but she is part of a wider plot by the Enchanter. The Enchanter wants to break the endless, frozen cycle of Fuinör. He wants to destroy those paralyzing traditions and this unnatural order. He wants to plunge back the world into chaos – a benevolent, needed, positive chaos, but a chaos still. And one of the very strong messages of this tale is: a need to go beyond Manicheism. To go beyond simplistic duality or archetypal characters. What Rowena, and the Enchanter, and others later, bring is complexity. The entire point of the novel is to go beyond the idea that there is all good and all bad, clear cut good and evil, black and white. As such, slowly as the cosmic battle wages on, as the Tradition and the Divine Law unravel, the characters grow into shades of gray as all their values, their positions and their allegiances are redefined, put to test or exposed, as the very machine of the universe starts to be pulled apart. Characters that start out as nice and lovable heroes turn into selfish villains. Characters that appear as flawed jerks and unsympathetic narrators learn from their mistake and grow heroic and wise. Courageous warriors grow into cowards, figures of sanity become mad, and this entire novel is the story of one huge revolution where everything changes: moralities, social hierarchies, laws of justice, and even genders! (The novel notably features an exploration of non-binary genders through one specific character – or three depending on how you count it – not including the various shapeshifting of the supernatural entities, which again helps make it resonate with a modern audience despite being around for quite a long time)

As such, no, this story is not a feminist power fantasy, and those that go in expecting this will be disappointed. It is a much, much larger and complex story about an entire world, about this fictional place born out of the classic fairytales and the medieval romances and the Arthuriana, and how this thing is confronted with its own choice of “evolve or die”. And this is still a very powerful and admirable story, which at the same plays subverts tropes, while also playing many clichés and stereotypes straight, but with a clear knowledge of this. Some people in the reviews said they were disappointed that ultimately, it seemed that Michel Pagel, in trying to break down and denounce clichés, ended up himself reasserting those same clichés. And I honestly do not think it is the case – as the novel is rather a strong defense of “We should get rid of all clichés and stereotypes, because they’re always going to trap us, no matter on which side they are”. But again, I can’t reveal too much without spoiling this long modern epic.

A good example of why for example this novel isn’t a pure “feminist fantasy” as many believed: Rowena is not the only main character. There’s another one, a “male counterpart” so to speak of the Witch-Queen in training. A character who doesn’t really have a name (well he has one but it is kind of a spoiler domain), and whose own backstory forms the second part of the novel (or the second novella of the series). A character who lives in a different part of Fuinör, and also should have been trapped in a cycle of millennia-old rituals and binding traditions and unfair customs, but whose fate changes completely due to the interventions of the Witch and the Enchanter… Except that, whereas with Rowena we had a bittersweet parody of Disney movies and traditional fairytales, with this second character we rather explore a deconstruction and attack of a different type of folktales. There is notably a brutal takedown of the whole “Journey of the Hero” system and the “Monomyth” idea. And I don’t say “brutal” lightly: this part of the novel is very, very brutal, physically speaking. Because this second main character is the helpful companion on the road in fairytales that helps the hero get the girl while himself having nothing. He is also the stock archetype of the Fool doomed to make mistakes and be ridiculed or punished. And he is the False Pretender, the False Hero of fairytales here to put in value the True Hero… Except we are told the story through his point of view. Except he is not evil, he is a guy who is trying his best but is put in an unfair position and only gets endless bullying. Except the True Hero doesn’t seem to be deserving of his position, and the question is raised of “Maybe the other guy should have been the Hero”… But here we shift into a fantasy version of what Terry Gilliam’s “Brazil” was and we fully explore the magical dystopia that is Fuinör.

Overall I do have to say… I think so far the closest thing I have seen in terms of overall tone and ambiance, in the English-speaking world, to compare these works… would be Dimension 20’s season “Neverafter”. Both works deal with a very funny parody but also very dark twisting of fairytales and folktales. Both deal with characters being abused and going through horrors at the end of great cosmic powers and otherworldly narrators. Both tread between comedy and horror ; and both deal with the protagonists’ attempt at breaking endless cycles set upon by fairies (because, in both Pagel’s novel and Dimension 20, the fairies are one of the numerous antagonists as the ruthless and terrifying enforcers of the “laws of fairytales” that get everybody stuck in their roles and functions). Of course, the two works are very different beyond that… But there is a common bone.

A final element I need to add so that you get a full understanding of this novel: Michel Pagel placed his book under the patronage of Shakespeare. And if the fact every part opens with a quote from one of Shakespeare’s play, from Hamlet to Macbeth passing by Romeo and Juliet, King Lear and more, wasn’t enough, anyone versed in Shakespearian studies will see how among the many archetypes and stock tropes of the novel, those of Shakespeare also regularly pop up. Someone once wrote that this novel started out as a fairytale parody, but slowly evolved into a Shakespearian tragedy, and I cannot agree more. It does start out as a dark and morbid but entertaining parody – and then things get really brutal, really violent, really sad, really serious, and we enter a terrible and dreary fantasy, but still very poetic and very human, that moves towards a universe where all of Shakespeare’s greatest cruelties fit right at home. The novel most notably has a lot, a LOT of fun exploring the Shakespearian archetype of the “Fool”. There’s almost two handfuls of characters that each is meant to explore a different aspect of the Shakespearian Fool, each expressing a difference nuance of it (the famous non-binary character is one of them, paying homage to the typical gender-plays and gender-questioning within Shakespeare’s plays) – and I am glad to be a Shakespeare enjoyer when reading this novel because again, a random person with zero Shakespeare knowledge would miss a lot of things. (Which again is I believe the reason the Internet reviews attacked this novel, there is a certain degree of medieval and literary knowledge needed to get the parts of this novel that pay homage to the older texts and more ancient roots of the clichéd, Disneyified myths we have today… Without it the novel can still be read, but it might seem much weirder and bleaker than it truly is)

Finally a flaw, because there needs to be a flaw in every review, it can’t all be glowing: I do admit that of the four parts composing this novel, the fourth one did felt unbalanced. Notably the author seemed to spend too much time, description and effort on characters barely introduced (which at the ending climax of a story is not good), and not enough on the characters we were following since the very beginning… But I will blame that on the fact the fourth part was originally meant to be an independent novella read one year after the last part was published. I do believe that, while putting the full series in one volume is quite convenient if you want to buy something to read over holidays, it does make one feel a bit tired by the end since you literally absorb four years of writing into one go… So, my advice would be to enjoy this book by making pauses between each part, to not do an “overdose” that would be too abrupt.

Or two flaw, I feel generous: when it comes to the second part, it felt a tad bit repetitive. A tad bit too much repetitive. I get that we are supposed to have a hopeful character that is trying his best to make things work and obtain what he wishes for, and we are supposed to fully get the injustice of the situation and the hardness of this world… But precisely because of how it explores casual violence and vicious brutality, the repetitiveness is felt more. It’s a type of “break the cutie” (who isn’t here so much a “cutie” as a morally neutral human being) scenario, and I am not well placed to say if the author did just enough or too much.

[Edit: I do love how the original covers for the 80s series tried their best to make it seem like a full horror series... when it is not]

#fantasy novel #fantasy #book review #fantasy book #french literature #french novel #michel pagel #les flammes de la nuit #french fantasy #medieval romance #dark fairytale #neverafter #fairytale parody #deconstruction #subversion #shakespearian #shakespeare

16 notes · View notes

foxes-that-run · 6 months

Text

Labyrinth

Labyrinth tells of pain of a past relationship, combined with the realisation of falling back in love with them. Similar to bejewelled, I think there is an element of looking at a current relationship ending through the lens of a past one. It references a 1D song Harry wrote, Half the world away, which was leaked August 2020, 5 months before Midnights was started. HTWA also refers to the tension over Harry saying 'I love you' in Say don't go on 1989TV. It was played at the 9 November Eras show with The Very First Night.

Labyrinth starring David Bowie

The title makes me think of David Bowie's 80's film. The green vinyl also had similar image to background to the cover art. Bowie is a key influence for Harry. In Labyrinth, Bowie is a Goblin King, Jareth, who gives Sarah 13 hours to solve his labyrinth in a misguided attempt win her love. Sarah and Jareth are temperamental and wistfully invested in dreams... not unlike certain popstars.

As well as the Bowie reference this is related to the theme of being trapped or unable to get over this love.

Lyrics

It only hurts this much right now Was what I was thinking the whole time Breathe in, breathe through Breathe deep, breathe out I'll be getting over you my whole life You know how scared I am of elevators Never trust it if it rises fast It can't last

The first verse is reflecting on the emotional turmoil during the relationship (1989) and is rich in references:

Half the World Away "deep in, I'm scared I'll stop breathing"

OOTW "Are we in the clear yet? / In the clear yet, good / Are we out of the woods yet?" When discussing OOTW Taylor said she constantly felt like she needed to overcome the next step.

Suburban Legends "It's ruined my life"

Gorgeous "you've ruined by life by not being mine"

I Wish You Would: "I’ll never forget you as long as I live"

Taylor also referred to this lyric in her NYU speech (27 mins) 4 months before it's release "Hard things will happen to us. We will recover, we will learn from it. We will grow more resilient because of it. And as long as we are fortunate enough to be breathing we will breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out. And I am a doctor now, so I know how breathing works."

Also Getaway Car includes a line from Hilary Duff's Breathe in. Breath Out. (X marks the spot where we fell apart) Taylor also 'referenced' this song musically for Paper Rings.

Harry also sings Breathe me in, Breathe me out in Watermelon Sugar.

Uh oh, I'm falling in love Oh no, I'm falling in love again Oh, I'm falling in love I thought the plane was going down How'd you turn it right around

The chorus tells of realising that a love she thought was gone has come back. It references a leaked One Direction song that

Say don't go has a similar 'oh no' to this 'uh oh' meaning realisation, there it is that is is ending, here it is that it has come back.

On One Direction's Half the world away Harry wrote “I want you around, 'round, 'round / Are we going down, down, down?”

It only feels this raw right now Lost in the labyrinth of my mind Break up, break free, break through, break down You would break your back to make me break a smile You know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back Just like that

The bounce back line is to me where we can see the similarities drawn between a past relationship (Harry) and most recent (Joe). The announcement Harry and Taylor split (for the boat time) was in real time. With paparazzi photos of them both over the next days. She learnt from that and stopped sharing at all when she dated Harry again and with CH and Joe the announcement came months after.

As in many songs, Taylor's mind is a labyrinth and she can't get past this love. She tells herself if only feels so raw, but the chorus speaks to the 'built to fall apart and get back together' nature. The pain is her anxiety as described in Gold Rush, Slut! and Say Don't Go, and focus in I know places.

Harry has sung about Taylors smile and sacrifice to have her:

Someday (sung by Michael Buble) "I love seeing you happy / I miss seeing you smile" and "For her I bend, for you I break / And if I can't be yours now / I'll wait here on this ground / 'Til you come, 'til you take me away / Maybe someday"

Half the World Away: "Now I walk to you 'til my feet hurt / So tell me that's not good enough"

If I could Fly: "I think I might / Give up everything, just ask me to"

Half the World Away also has a similar structure, both repeat the chorus about a plane/relationship going down many times at the end.

#haylor #labyrinth #midnights

25 notes · View notes

enidtwd · 8 months

Text

albums i think the alexandria teens would enjoy

+ specific songs!

— ron:

august and everything after by counting crows (songs: "perfect blue buildings" and "rain king")

insomniac by green day (songs: "brain stew" and "westbound sign")

— carl:

american beauty/american psycho by fall out boy (songs: "twin skeletons", "the kids aren't alright", and "centuries")

teen dream by beach house (songs: "better times", "take care", and "zebra")

after by lady lamb (songs: "sunday shoes" and "dear arkansas daughter")

— enid:

rose by the front bottoms (song: "be nice to me")

the stranger by billy joel (songs: "vienna" and "everybody has a dream")

— mikey:

good & evil by tally hall (songs: "hymn for a scarecrow", "&", and "turn the lights off")

#oc #twd #ch: ron #ch: carl #ch: enid #ch: mikey #ron anderson #carl grimes #enid rhee #mikey twd #the walking dead #twd hcs #twd headcanons

26 notes · View notes

kittyball23 · 9 months

Text

Branch Has Feelings (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: As Poppy helps Bridget out with with her wedding outfits, Branch explores his old home, and experiences some emotions…

A/N: I tried giving Trailer 2 a chance to release, but I mean, we’re already about to get into August and there’s still nothing out online… But, like I’m sure a number of us have, I saw it on leak back around the 21st of July, therefore, my oneshots continue :3

Already as I’m sure you know from the new info and stuff that has been released in the past month, some of my theories have already been debunked – the fact that Spruce is married, the fact that Velvet and Veneer do not seem to be Bergens (unless they are a different kind of Bergens), the usage of ‘I Want You Back’ by NSYNC, the fact that the argument seemed to happen because of ONE wrong thing that occurred versus a culmination of stuff over time.

Note that I will not make changes to what I’ve already written, but I may rewrite some stuff as separate oneshots. I feel that making changes to what I’ve already written would kinda mess up the point of this collection of stories, which is, that they are supposed to be predictions and wild guesses before seeing the movie :)

__________________________________________

“We are family!

Get up everybody and sing!”

Troll voices from all six of the musical tribes rose up, loud and strong, mixing in with Bergen voices who were also singing along and causing a lovely melody to fill the air all around Bergen Town. How could anyone not be in a good mood? This was a time to celebrate – it was King Gristle and Bridget’s wedding day! Needless to say, there was much to do, from decorations to food to the seating arrangements and such. But it was not a matter to be worried over. There were more than enough helping hands to go around, and with music to help them groove along, the job was getting done pretty quickly and entertainingly. Attendees of the wedding were dressed down in their fanciest formal attire – tuxes, and gowns, and ribbons, and bows, and glitter were as far as the eye could see! There wasn’t one single individual who was not impressively adorned – at least this is how Queen Poppy of Pop Village saw it.

Poppy herself was looking quite nice that day as well, sporting a lovely green-and-pink glittered dress that had a fluffy, cotton train that ran from the skirt down. Extensions of various colors had been placed in her hair, and she’d even had a light layer of glittery makeup around her eyes. She knew she looked decent, but what made her feel exceptionally pretty was how much Branch had liked it. The way he’d told her she was beautiful, so cute and flustered, was replaying over and over in her head. She of course had immediately told him how handsome he looked, with his iridescent-fishscaled vest and glittery-green shorts. She wished she was looking at him now again, having her pink hand in his larger, warm teal one, but for the time being, the two of them had parted, seeing to different sections of the wedding prep and ensuring that it was coming along. Poppy’s glowbug had helped her fly along towards the castle, where she knew her dear friend Bridget was getting ready. Satin and Chenille were there, too, along with Smidge and Legsly. But all five girls were met with an unexpected sight inside the dressing room.

Rather than a song filling the air here, there was a wail, and that wail was coming from the bride herself!

“Oh my gah!” Smidge squeaked, her hands over her mouth as Bridget sat there, slumped at the vanity in her slip and crying, some of the makeup she had been attempting to apply running down her cheeks in dark streaks.

Poppy sprinted up to the Bergen. “Oh no, Bridget! What’s wrong?”

The twins gasped. “King Gristle didn’t cancel on you – “ Satin started asking.

“- Did he?” Chenille finished.

“Aw, no, that would be awful!” Legsly said, tugging at her orange pigtails in concern.

“You can just leave it to me to talk some sense into him,” Smidge said darkly, her voice deep, a frown on her eyebrows, and her hands busy at cracking her knuckles.

“No,” Bridget sniffled, trying to calm down some. “I… it’s just… I don’t know what to wear!” she blurted out. “This is the most important day of me and Grizzy’s life and… I just want to him to think I look nice!”

Poppy and the girls exchanged a glance of pity among one another. To anyone else it probably wouldn’t seem like a big deal, but in truth it was. They knew just how stressful a wedding could be, as they’d helped out plenty of times before for weddings in Pop Village. To add onto the matter, Poppy knew her friend was probably having doubts with the way she used to be the castle’s scullery maid for such a long time, ignored, with Gristle having been nearly oblivious to her existence. It was obvious to her and the other Trolls that Gristle would not go back to that, but still, her friend probably needed that extra reassurance.

Poppy made her up the vanity and patted Bridget on the arm. “Bridget, King Gristle loves you and thinks you’re beautiful no matter what. He really, really wants to marry you, because you make him happy!”

Bridget looked down at Poppy, like an epiphany had hit her. “I guess I do make him happy, don’t I?” she asked in a soft voice, then blushed.

“Uh, yeah! Totally!” Poppy said. “So even if you go out there with your maiden outfit, he’s still gonna marry you, because he loves you for you!”

The words were getting through to Bridget, and she smiled. Poppy really did know just what to say sometimes!

The twins, however, were having different sentiments. They exchanged a glance with one another and then piped up.

“Uh Poppy, she’s, um, not going to go out there with that outfit though, right?” Satin asked while her sister Chenille peered up worriedly.

“No way!” Bridget and Poppy exclaimed at the same time, and then laughed at the image that it put in their heads.

The twins breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! It would have been a certain fashion disaster. They turned their attention to the plain, white wedding dress that was laid out on the bed.

“Hmmm,” they both hummed at the same time, mirroring each other with their hands on their chins and sharing the same squinted look at the apparel. “How far can we take this?”

Bridget perked up. “Oh, however far you want! Please! I want everything – ribbons, bows, frills, lace – whatever you wanna do!” She clasped her hands excitedly.

Satin and Chenille liked that answer. They pumped their fists in the air. “All right! Then let’s do this!”

With the help of the four Trolls, Bridget was transformed into a gorgeous diva. The dress was adorned with various colorful bows at the skirt, and was very frilly at the train. Bridget looked at herself in the mirror and gushed, absolutely loving it so far. “Oh, it’s great! But… maybe it needs more.” She paused and thought for a second, and then snapped her fingers. “Ooo! How about flowers!”

The twins gave her a thumbs up. “Flowers – we’re on it!” Soon enough, Bridget’s dress had been modified to include a gorgeous array of colorful flowers, just as vibrant as the bows were, that were stitched onto the blouse portion of the dress.

“Wow!” Legsly said, stretching herself up on her legs to get a better look all around Bridget. “That’s so cool!”

“I know!” Bridget squealed. “Oh! But how about we add little rainbows and glitter and stuff? Oh oh! And can you make my hair bigger?”

Once again, Satin and Chenille hopped in to help. “You got it, girl!” they said, giving her a thumbs up.

Bridget was once more changed, and this time, she looked super extra glamourous!

Well, maybe a little TOO extra glamorous…

Her hair had indeed been puffed up huge with extensions galore – it looked almost big enough to live inside of! Her makeup had been done heavily, with dark, navy-blue eyeshadow, a brilliant scarlet-red lipstick, and deep pink blush coating her cheeks. Her dress indeed had the rainbow designs she wanted – on top of the bows and flowers that were already there. It all was shiny-fied with a layer of glitter, making everything about her glimmer like diamonds. And that was not mentioning the large, hoop earrings that had little gem-like crystals hanging from the ends.

“Oh my gah!” Smidge said again, and this time she recoiled a little.

Bridget gave a little shout of fright when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, also. “AH! Oops… too much, huh?”

Poppy grimaced a little. “Err… maybe juuust a tad,” she admitted. “But you guys keep working on that, alright? You’ll figure something out, and it’s gonna be fabulous!” The Pop Queen gave her friend a reassuring thumbs up and then began to mount on the glowbug that she’d used to ride over to the castle. “I’ll come back in a little bit, I’m gonna just check on a few things in the town!”

“Okay, Poppy!” all five of the girls called back to her.

Poppy shook her head fondly, chuckling as she was brought back to the main town square. Bridget was so excited – so she could only imagine what it would be like to know that you were going to be united with your one true love, to be bound for life in a union that was stronger than the glitter glue that was sold at Sky Toronto’s Fun Factory! Secretly, Poppy hoped to have that experience someday, with the one Troll that had her heart captive, though she wouldn’t admit to him just yet. She knew that said Troll was still probably getting used to the whole idea of even being in a relationship, let alone with the Queen of Pop.

Hmmm… where IS he? she suddenly thought. Poppy flew her bug over to where she saw Prince D and Cooper helping out on the banquet table for the grand feast that was to take place right after the wedding. She grinned, watching the brothers pal around and groove with each other, and, not for the first time, wishing that she, too, had a sibling that she could sing with.

“Hi, Cooper! Hi, D!” she greeted cheerily, waving her hand.

“Hey, Poppy!” Prince D said. “How’s it goin’?”

“Totally amazing!” Poppy replied with a giggle. “Have you guys seen Branch?”

“No, I haven’t,” Prince D said. He then nudged Cooper. “Have you, bro?”

“Uh-huh!” Cooper nodded, helpfully gesturing his long neck over to where the altar was set. “I think I saw him head over for the Troll Tree!”

“Oh!” Poppy said, wondering what her boyfriend was up to. “Well, okay! Thanks!” She gave Cooper a high-five, and Cooper gave his signature goofball laugh as he watched the Pop Queen head off.

“Any time, Poppy!” he called.

__________________________________________

As it turned out, Branch was in fact at the Troll Tree.

Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he’d gone up exploring the Pop Trolls’ old home. Many pods were, surprisingly, still as intact as they had been before King Peppy had evacuated the town. He could see the old schoolpod, and the large one that was the one for the royal family. Which made him wonder…

Branch scaled the tree, guiding his glowbug to the right places to go, around certain familiar bends, mushrooms, and vines that were there, until he finally reached the spot, stopping short and gaping. There it was. Still in the same spot that it had always been, as timeless as ever.

His old pod.

Well, it had been his grandmother’s old pod, but it had been his home all the same.

The nostalgia hit him hard as soon as he’d dismounted the bug and set foot inside. Not much had changed, really at all. It was the same old carpet, the same old decorations, the same old walls and halls. He remembered how his grandmother would sing to him and play games out there in their living room, and how they’d both snack on delicious treats of all kinds in the dining area. He remembered his grandmother letting him help out in the kitchen making cookies, and when she’d tuck him into bed at night, planting a sweet kiss on his forehead and always reminding him that he was loved. He remembered being thankful for it, having needed that reminder to keep him planted in reality. But most of all, he remembered something else…

His eyes darted to the gramophone at the farther end of the pod, and he remembered how much his grandmother would love to play music on there. He could remember how she would dance with him, letting him stand atop her feet while she toddled them about, the two of them enjoying themselves thoroughly and laughing. They’d had plenty of music to dance with and plenty of records to show for. Though, of that collection, there had been a significant amount of them had not been played. Those particular records caused too much pain for the two of them, yet, it would have been even more painful to simply discard them, and make pretend that they didn’t exist. That’s why they were always right there, tucked behind the gramophone, where it was an arms distance away, but never dared to be played out loud.

On automatic, Branch felt himself move toward the gramophone. He swallowed hard when he did in fact see records still there, tucked neatly behind it. He itched to reach for them, to see the cover of the albums he had so wanted to forget existed. But he wasn’t so sure.

Get a hold of yourself, Branch scolded himself. You got used to the other song, didn’t you?

That ‘other song,’ as he called it in his head, was in fact Total Eclipse of the Heart, the song he’d so gladly belted out when he was a young boy, singing into his flower microphone…

… Providing the soundtrack to his grandmother’s death.

Branch shook his head. True to how that voice in his head had reminded him, he indeed had learned to accustom himself to the song once again. He wouldn’t willingly go out of his way to play it, but he wouldn’t find himself tearing up and feeling lightheaded after hearing it, either. He had learned to keep those emotions in check. Could he keep these in line, too?

Before he could help himself, he tugged the albums out from behind the gramophone. They were a little dusty, but not too bad to where he couldn’t tell what was on it. Because he most certainly could. They were four faces he still had yet to see again, after over twenty years and still counting. The faces of John Dory, Spruce, Clay, and Floyd. Also known as the hit boyband BroZone.

Also known as his brothers.

Branch felt angry at himself for already starting to feel a pang in his chest. This wasn’t even an actual photo of them! The album covers were just little felt, scrapbook-like figures that looked a little silly in their appearance, each brother identifiable by their bright-colored hair – JD a brilliant turquoise, Spruce a rich purple, Clay a bright yellow, and Floyd a serene magenta. Then there was himself – pictured with his crop of blue hair right there with the rest of them, side by side, together.

If only it had been that way in real life…

Branch frowned. What was the use in dwelling on alternative scenarios? He wouldn’t call himself as much of a pessimist as he was in his gray days, but there were still some bits of mottos and self-advice that he’d acquired then that he still used to that day. One of those was the fact that sometimes, bad things happened, and nothing could be done to change them. His poor grandmother, for example. She had been taken by Bergens, suffering a horrible fate. He couldn’t do anything about it now. There was no time machine to take him back to that moment and fix what had occurred. Just like there wasn’t one to help take him back to that other awful day, one that had happened a few years beforehand, and fix the mistake that had happened…

Branch glared at one of the album covers. A few silly songs were not going to get the better of him. He tugged the record out of the case and placed it on the gramophone, adjusting the needle so that it lay on top of it. The gramophone was old, but worked without so much as a hitch, and, slowly, a tune began to warble its way out of it, a little low at first, but then louder, clear enough so he could hear the song that was playing and clear enough so he could pick out just who was singing what part. Branch felt himself freeze when he recognized what song it was, and inwardly groaned. Of all songs, it had to be this one. The one that they’d done right before everything got decimated. He wanted to tear the record out of the gramophone right there and then, but it was too late. He was being taken back to that memory, still feeling so fresh on his mind even after so long…

__________________________________________

There was a packed house that night.

The five boys could hear the loud whoops and cheers from the Trolls that had gathered there to see the show, impatiently hooting and hollering with uncontained joy. They knew it was so much fun to perform, but they also knew how critical it was to get their performance as perfect as possible. That was, if they wanted to win the award.

It was going to be difficult, but John Dory, the leader of their pack, welcomed it. Finally, a chance to share the stage with the greats – like the Sugar Gals and the Chillin' JillyNs, who had already gone on and performed before them – and outshine them! There had been not one single doubt in John Dory's mind that BroZone was the most band-tastic musical group out there. What more, if they'd managed to pull this off, they'd be the youngest talent to ever have won. John Dory was starry-eyed, already imagining just how many pictures he and his brothers would take with the wonderful trophy. He had already cleared a space in their room on the wall, and also made room on one of their shelves for where the trophy would be placed.

He quickly polished down his goggles and then snapped them on his head carefully, checking in the mirror to make sure that they looked extra fly. His other brothers were also getting ready for their performance – Spruce was sprucin' up with a little bit of hair gel and spray, Clay was warming up with a plié of sorts, and Floyd was clipping on the one pearl earring he liked to wear.

John Dory took a deep breath and clapped his hands together once to garner their attention.

"All right, listen up!" he said. "I don't think you really need me to tell ya how important this night is, but, heh, I still kinda am going to." Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and he placed his hands on his hips in a way that made him look very determined. "We are going to make boy band history tonight..." His voice was deep and serious, and the others could get the gist of how critical everything was. Everything had to be flawless, and, luckily, it all was practiced to perfection, so Spruce, Clay, and Floyd didn't really feel so concerned.

Still, though, there was one bro who wasn't feeling up to that particular level of confidence. John Dory didn't notice, but Floyd did, and he wanted to say something about it.

"Bro," he said, approaching JD's side. "You're making Baby Branch nervous."

John Dory peered over to where Floyd was gesturing at. Their youngest brother of the bunch was a few paces outside of the dressing room, standing near the curtain where just beyond it was the large mushroom stage on which they would be performing on that night in just a few short moments. Branch shuffled from side to side on his small blue feet, and had his eyebrows creased with slight worry.

JD dismissed the matter. “Ah, it’s just the usual pre-performance jitters. He’ll get over it!”

“I don’t know, JD…” Floyd said.

“Want me to go talk to him?”

The magenta Troll glanced at his eldest brother. John Dory meant well, yes, but Floyd noticed that sometimes he could be a little oblivious to how his words affected someone. A pep talk that was good for some teens who’ve already put on several shows before might not be so good for a small baby who’d just barely gotten his singing voice. But Floyd didn’t want to go through the trouble of trying to explain this to JD at that moment. “Maybe I’d better go talk to him,” he said.

JD looked slightly confused for a second, before recovering. “Huh? Well, alright, but make it snappy, ‘kay?”

Floyd gave him a quick thumbs up and then walked over to where their youngest brother still stood, perhaps looking even a smidge more nervous than he had a second or two ago. Floyd felt pity for him. Baby Branch was the smallest one of their group, but he looked even smaller now, with how fearful he was being.

“Hey, bro,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

Branch didn’t turn around just yet. His eyes were still fixed on the curtain. “No,” he responded, his voice small, meek, and of course, babyish in its nature. “I feel like I’m gonna barf.” He turned around to look at Floyd, pressing his little hands together.

“Branch, it’s just another show,” Floyd said, keeping his tone light. “It’s just like our rehearsals.”

“But there’s so many people…” Branch worried. He stole another glance from behind the curtain, and whimpered a little.

“Yeah, there is,” Floyd agreed, “but that’s because they wanna see just how great you are on stage. You, and me, and all our brothers.”

Branch’s eyes lit up some. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” Floyd responded, glad to see that his little brother was showing signs of feeling better.

“B-but… what if I mess up?” Branch asked, worry still pricking at him. “They’re gonna be mad…” The blue Trolling peeked over to where John Dory, Spruce, and Clay were at in the dressing room.

“They might be a little disappointed if we don’t win,” Floyd admitted. He knew he would probably feel slightly disappointed, too. “But, hey, remember our motto?”

Branch scrunched his small face as he tried to remember. “A prankster never reveals his tricks?”

“No, I think you’re thinking about Clay’s motto,” Floyd chuckled. “I’m talking about the BroZone motto, the one John Dory came up with?”

Branch thought again and then seemed to get it. “Bros before shows?” he asked, tentatively.

Floyd nodded. “Exactly! And you do know what that means, right?”

Branch squinched up his nose. “I think…”

Floyd kneeled down, and placed a hand on Branch’s shoulder. “It means that being brothers is always gonna be more important than any performance that we do. Okay?”

“Well… okay!” Branch replied chirpily, and then snuggled into Floyd when the magenta-haired Trolling scooped the baby in for a warm hug. Branch was still a little skeptical about their band’s motto. He constantly heard John Dory remind them any time before they performed that that show was “very important.” Oh well, he could get clarification later. At that moment, Floyd had released him and was taking his hand in his.

“Come on, now,” he said, “let’s go back to the others.”

Branch let himself be guided along back into the dressing room, where, sure enough, John Dory huddled the whole team together for one final bout of pep-talking.

“We’re gonna be entering this as band-tastic boys, but we’re gonna be leaving it as bro-dacious superstars!”

The boys cheered, excited and eager, exchanging rounds of high-fives, fist-bumps, and even a playful smack in the rear (specifically John Dory on Baby Branch).

If only the positive attitude had remained with them for the rest of that night.

Because what was once seeming to be a dream come true on that stage rapidly turned into a Nightmare on Elm Tree. With the fall. And then the vines. And then the humiliation. And then the argument…

If they had been puffalo, they would have certainly careened their way back inside the safety of their pod with their tails between their legs. But they were not puffalo, they were Trollings, who all had a variation of negative emotions radiating from them.

Spruce’s cheeks burned red with a mix of embarrassment and anger. He stormed into the center of the pod and whirled on his brothers. “My rock-hard abs and I quit!” he growled, making a show of tearing his purple vest from his body and ripping it clean in two.

Clay was quick to second that. “I quit too!” he said, despising the way that folks had laughed at him, and not with him.

Floyd was about to speak up, hoping to turn the heat down, but John Dory didn’t want to bother even hearing what he had to say. In less than a minute, they were already two brothers down in their band. He didn’t see a point – Floyd was probably just going to say that he quit, too! He stormed over to the entrance of the pod. “This bro bro’s goin’ solo… YOLO!” JD called over his shoulder, still trying to bust a rhyme even as he headed off, glaring at his brothers and then departing.

Branch stood on wobbly little legs beside Floyd, barely registering his older brother’s presence, his head in a whirl. He felt tears pooling in his large blue eyes, and a whimper in his throat.

“I ruined everything…”

In his eyes, he really did. If he had just practiced more, if he had just been as great as John Dory, and Spruce, and Clay, and Floyd had wanted him to be, then this wouldn’t have happened. Then he wouldn’t have been standing there, watching his family fall apart before his very eyes, watching the band break up, watching their dream be crushed.

This is all my fault. MINE.

I’m the one to blame. Nobody but me.

I ruined our band. I ruined our family.

I wasn’t good enough.

They hate me.

This is MY fault…

__________________________________________

“Branch?”

The Troll gasped, and he jumped right into action as soon as he’d heard the voice of his girlfriend pipe up from behind him. His fingers flew to the gramophone, and quickly removed the needle from the record. Then he turned around, plastering a large, toothy grin on his face in hopes of remaining inconspicuous.

Poppy was standing tentatively at the doorway of the room, a little uncertain, and some concern shining in her fuchsia eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re crying and smiling at the same time. It kinda looks like it hurts.”

“It does kinda hurt,” Branch admitted, feeling up his face with his hands. Then he sighed, letting the smile drop and hurriedly wiping away the remainder of the tears that had streaked his face.

Poppy approached him. “Branch? Please tell me what’s the matter…”

Branch rubbed his arm. “It’s nothing, really… it’s just that this place brings back a lot of memories, that’s all,” he said, trying not to let his voice waver.

Poppy nodded in understanding. “This was your grandmother’s pod, wasn’t it?” she asked, though she knew the answer already. A small portrait of Grandma Rosiepuff was on one of the walls near the door, and the types of antiques and such that were leftover in the pod also gave her a clue.

“Yes, actually,” Branch said. “This was where I grew up.” He gestured around the space and felt another lump grow in his throat thinking about his beloved grandparent. “I miss her.”

“Oh, sweetie, I know you do,” Poppy cooed, taking it as her cue to bestow a much-needed hug onto him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. Branch returned the hug, extremely grateful for the comfort.

After a moment, Branch allowed himself to speak again. “Grandma and I did lots of stuff here. We loved to sing and listen to music together before, um…” He trailed off, and Poppy already knew what it was that he was getting at, though she did not force him to have to say it out loud.

Instead, the Pop Queen’s gaze drifted to the gramophone, and the albums next to it. She raised an eyebrow curiously. “Can I take a look?” she asked, gently releasing their embrace and peering up at him with question in her eyes.

Branch felt himself go stiff. NO! he wanted to blurt. But he knew his hard refusal over something so trivial would meet Poppy with confusion, and then have her raise suspicion. She’ll wonder what I’m hiding, he thought. He’d managed to keep his secret under wraps for this long, much to his surprise, and he did not want her to put two and two together and figure it out. But if I show her the album, maybe she WILL figure it out! Branch argued with himself. His blue face was plastered on the cover of the album just as prominent as his other brothers. But then again, I was a baby back then, he reasoned. I mean, I’ve grown up since then. I don’t look THAT much the same now than I did back then… do I?

Branch didn’t want to keep going on this back-and-forth, so he found himself slowly nodding to Poppy in reply. Poppy smiled and went right for the albums, carefully picking them up. Her reaction was just as he’d pictured it. Confusion, and then pleasant surprise.

“BroZone?!” she exclaimed. “Oh my gosh… and they’re original records!” Poppy ran her hand over the cover, her fingers grazing over the felted cover and the little figures of the boys that were featured. Poppy gushed some more. “Wow! I can’t believe it! I mean, I had no idea your Grandma was a fan!”

“Yeah… um… I guess they had universal appeal,” Branch said, very carefully choosing his words.

Poppy sighed, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Yeah, you’re telling me.” Her pupils dilated, and there was a sudden lovestruck quality to her gaze, one that made Branch feel a twang of jealousy. “They’re my favorite band!” she blurted.

“Oh… really?” Branch asked, maintaining his voice to a calm level.

“Yeah!” Poppy said. “Oh, can I please play one song? Please?”

“Err…” Branch swallowed. He’d just tried to listen to ‘one song,’ believing that after so long of being apart from his disbanded family, it wouldn’t have much of an effect on him. But he’d been wrong – very wrong. Heck, he hadn’t even remembered when he’d started crying!

Poppy saw his hesitance, and quickly added, “I don’t have to, it’s okay, you know…” She was saying the words, but Branch could tell she wasn’t fully ready to take on that option. At least not with the way her fingers twitched excitedly on the record, more than ready to place it in to be played. He didn’t want to disappoint his girlfriend… or have her ask any questions out of suspicion.

“No, no, it’s all right! G-go ahead,” Branch said, coughing afterwards to not have her pay any mind to his brief stutter.

Poppy didn’t pay mind. She squealed happily, bouncing twice on the spot, and then placing the record in. The opening notes to “The Right Stuff” began to play, making her bop her head up and down.

“First time was a great time Second time was a blast Third time I fell in love Now I hope it lasts I can see it in your walk Tell 'em when you talk See it in everything you do Even in your thoughts

You got the right stuff, baby Love the way you turn me on You got the right stuff, baby You're the reason why I sing this song!”

Poppy giggled as she sang along, removing the record when the song was done and looking at Branch. “Ahhh, I just love this song! It’s my favorite! How about you? What’s your favorite song of theirs?”

“Well, you see, um, I don’t actually have a favorite song,” Branch said, in a way telling the truth. He hated hearing the songs now, as they only brought him bad memories.

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean! I mean, how can you pick a favorite when they’re all so awesome!” Poppy exclaimed, unaware of his thoughts. Then she paused. “No wait, scratch that, not awesome, but uh, what’s that other word they used… oh! Oh wait, I remember! Bro-dacious!” She snapped her fingers, happy to have recollected correctly. “Yeah! The leader of the band used to say it all the time. Oh, he was sooo cute!”

John Dory! Cute?! Branch frowned. He could think up an hour-long speech with over hundreds of reasons for how NOT ‘cute’ that airhead of a brother of his was, starting with the fact that he abandoned him. But what Poppy said next distracted him.

“Oh who am I kidding – they were all cute! Especially the baby, he was my favorite!”

Branch blinked. “The baby?” he echoed.

“Uh-huh!” Poppy said. “I can’t tell you how many times I wished I coulda pinched his cute little fat cheeks – like this!” She squealed and demonstrated by pinching Branch’s blue cheek between her pink fingers. Now that he had to chuckle at. Boy, if only she knew the irony, Branch thought.

“Oh, but Branch,” she said, suddenly reeling herself back, “None of them are cuter, or sweeter, or more handsome than you are.” She blushed, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry if I made you think so… I kinda go a little bonkers about BroZone.” Poppy let out a flustered little laugh and looked down at the ground, like a child that had been caught swiping from the cookie jar.

Branch suppressed the sigh that wanted to escape him. He felt bad for feeling jealous before. It wasn’t her fault. Poppy didn’t know. Poppy wouldn’t ever come to know. She was just like much of their fans when the band was in their prime, fangirling and overly ecstatic at the mere mention of BroZone’s name. And part of him really did wish he could tell her. He didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from his girlfriend, the one Troll who loved him and understood him so well. She wouldn’t keep secrets from him. And, she would also understand about his past if he explained it, wouldn’t she? But then again, at the same time it would open the floodgates for a whole bunch of other questions. She would never look at him the same way again, that’s for sure. She wouldn’t see ‘Branch,’ she would see ‘Bitty B,’ the small, diaper-clad youngest performer of BroZone. Not only that, but she would want to know every single little miniscule detail about his brothers. She’d wanna know their whereabouts and how she could get a chance to meet them and get their autographs. Those were things he didn’t have answers to, and even if he did, he most certainly wouldn’t want to tell her so that he’ll have to deal with them again. Was telling her worth it? Was what he’d envisioned happening afterwards something that he really wanted?

No.

Branch had to go with his default answer this time around, despite, deep down, his gut feeling telling him otherwise.

What does it matter! Branch argued with himself. There’s plenty of time to tell her. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen to require the explanation to be given. If there was, he figured, it would have happened by now. If his brothers really and truly cared, if they felt remorse in any way for the wrong that had happened, matters should’ve been resolved by now. Long resolved. If they wanted to pretend he didn’t exist, then he’d do the same – he would go on with the illusion that he had no siblings to speak of. A family didn’t abandon one another, so in a way, it was sort of true. He had no brothers.

Branch’s decision settled, he approached Poppy and gently took her hands. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I still love you, Poppifer,” he cooed, using her fun little nickname that he’d invented even before they’d officially sealed their relationship.

Poppy’s blush of embarrassment turned to one of bashfulness, and a sweet little giggle escaped her at once again hearing that this wonderful Troll loved her. She was still swooning when she heard Branch suddenly gasp, looking down at the watch in his Hug Time bracelet.

“Poppy! We’re gonna be late for the royal wedding!” he cried, grabbing her arm in haste. “Let’s go get married!”

The Pop Queen gasped. “Branch!”

Branch glanced at her in confusion, seeing the shocked look she now wore. “What?” Then it had hit him what he’d said. “OH! I – I mean, let’s get Bridget and Gristle married,” he corrected himself, chuckling awkwardly.

Poppy looked relieved. “Oh, okay! Because that would be weird if we got married.”

Branch quickly agreed. “Yes, very weird. Yeah.”

They awkwardly looked away as they continued to bounce agreement off one another, Branch finalizing the point with a seemingly disgusted “bleh” which Poppy copied. By then, the awkwardness had lifted some, and they were ready to make their way over. But Branch still had a lingering thought in mind.

Would it really be that weird if they got married? They had already reached the status of being boyfriend-and-girlfriend, so, logically, if things went well in their relationship, marriage would be the next step. And Branch couldn’t foresee anything going wrong in their relationship. Sure, they’d had a little tiff back when they had only been best friends, after he’d pointed out that she hadn’t been listening very well and that in turn was making her not be as great of a queen as she’d wanted to be. But even that was resolved fairly easily enough, and their relationship only continued to blossom from there.

Does Poppy really think it’s weird, though? Branch wasn’t sure, but right now, he didn’t want to go through the trouble of finding out. This day was not about him and Poppy – it was about their friends, Bridget and Gristle and their marriage. One day, perhaps, it could be about him and Poppy. And boy did he look forward to that day. By that point though, if they were lucky enough to reach that cherished husband-and-wife status, Branch knew that one thing was for certain, and that one thing was making his stomach churn with foreboding, making him think back to the albums that were in his grandmother’s old pod, the way Poppy had glanced at the Trollings on the cover and then at Branch and having not made the correlation.

There CAN’T be any secrets between us.

__________________________________________

A/N: I had to write this after seeing the way the new trailer started 😭 Bridget's wedding outfits scene was an idea used from the leaked pages of The Art of Trolls Band Together. Song used is "The Right Stuff" by New Kids on the Block

Oh yeah, and I had to include the "let's go get married" bit again, because it is one of my favorite things ^_^

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #branch trolls #poppy trolls #broppy #fanfiction #dreamworks #kittyball writes

46 notes · View notes

youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 2 years

Text

So in Love that We Acted Insane | Jake Seresin

✦ pairing — Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x civilian!female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 9.6k

✦ request — i have this idea where hangman and plus size reader are just friends but with a lot of tension. they basically used to act like a couple and would fight all the time and used to make out when drunk and thinks like that but she doesn't think she's his type for an actual relationship and so she has a boyfriend and something happens with him (your choice) that makes her see jake is it for her and there's a lot of drama and feels and fluffy smut. i imagine this based on the way i loved you by taylor swift but i don't know if it fits

✦ warnings — nsfw, light angst, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, idealization of romantic partners, loving two people romantically, parental issues, allusions to fatphobia (very light, don't worry), drinking alcohol, smut, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, protected sex, mentions of blowjobs, soft sex, fluff.

✦ author's note — this is the first of a series of one shots inspired on quotes from 'Essays in Love' by Alain de Botton.

"We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone as ideal as we are corrupt. But what if such being were one day to turn around and love us back? We can only be shocked. How could they be divine as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us? If in order to love, we must believe that the beloved surpasses us in some way, does not a cruel paradox emerge when we witness this love returned? 'If he really is so wonderful, how could he love someone like me?'" — Alain de Botton.

════════════════════════

The french doors leading to the balcony were open. Faint light entered along with the summer night wind, dwarfed by the glow of the indirect lighting around the room.

You stood in the doorway, admiring the bedroom. Your mother helped with decoration, to choose the right bedsheets and the perfect task lamps framing the king-size bed.

You weren't interested in those. The man who sat on the floor had your entire attention, with his head tilted, brown eyes glued to a book.

He often read poem anthologies on the floor, sat with his back to the bedframe, bare feet crossed at the ankles as he extended his legs.

You found him so pretty like that, dark hair tousled to the side, eyes drinking the ink on the paper and throat swallowing the lump the words he just drank formed.

Sam was golden, like august. And just like august, the lingering sense that things could go both ways. Sam saw the beauty in everything, in everybody, in the little things you swore didn't matter.

Your mother loved him, perhaps more than she loved you; blaming her would be useless, you were past it, you understood what he evoked in people.

Sam was perfect. Handsome, smart, chivalrous, kind.

He always knew what to say and how to say it. Words loved him, followed him around in desperate attempts to latch onto him.

"I didn't hear you arrive, love."

You smiled at him. "Just got home."

Sam closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. In a swift motion, he stood up.

You remained in your spot, letting him approach you. His eyes clouded as he frowned.

"What's the matter?" The crease of his brow deepened. "Your eyes look sad."

You smiled again, this time with less conviction. "I had a long day."

"Hey." He rested a hand on the back of your head. "Cheer up, you'll see your father soon."

"Yeah, you're right." You moved off his touch, just enough to enter the room. "Did you have a good day?" you asked as you removed your jewelry.

Sam let out a soft, happy, hum. "I even had dinner with my mom."

"That's great, honey."

You hated Sam's mom. Every time you were in her presence was an interrogation as though she deemed you unworthy of his son.

Maybe you were.

Sam kept his distance as you changed in front of him, only staring at your figure. Intimacy came easy with him, there wasn't a part of you he didn't accept. "How did dinner with your friends go?"

Your friends were included in the parts he accepted without complaints, not even when your best friend gave him reasons to hate him.

Contrary to Sam, Jake was hard to read. Jake wasn't interested in being open or available. They couldn't have been more different from each other and yet you loved them both.

"It was good."

"Tell me about it."

You wondered where to start. The sinking feeling that you would be forgotten by your best friend wasn't exactly the best description for what the night was supposed to be.

'Jake left the table early to flirt with somebody at the bar, he's probably fucking them right now' was simple, and the truth, but your throat constricted at the mere reminder of it.

Clearing your throat, you put a sweatshirt over your sleeping tee. "We just talked about work and the like."

His eyes dulled at your reply. Sam gave you a small smile. "Are you watching your show tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll come to bed once the episode is over."

He kissed your temple. "Good night, love."

"Good night."

You closed the door on your way out of the bedroom and padded your way to the living area.

The blue couch fit perfectly in the living room. Sam had taken measurements before buying any furniture, insisting your safe haven needed to be perfect.

Opening the box on the coffee table, you withdrew the TV remote and turned the framed flatscreen on.

You sometimes wished you didn't have to curl up by yourself on the sofa to watch your favorite show. Sam had tried to like it, he really did, but it wasn't his thing. He wasn't a comedy guy, he often reminded you of it.

Comparing him to Jake in moments like these was inevitable. Jake watched anything you put on the TV, he didn't always pay complete attention and he complained a lot, but he never let you switch to something else. 'You want to watch it,' he would say, 'I don't mind.'

His green eyes always showed that he minded, that he was sick of watching the same two shows. But his smile? His smile assured you he would watch those two shows for the rest of his life with you.

If only that was it. If only all it took for him to suddenly start to love you was the disposition to watch the same two stupid shows you loved almost as much as you loved him.

Loving Jake Seresin wasn't easy. He came with baggage, with a shell hard to crack, and with the stupid idea that settling down was not for him.

You knew he wouldn't choose you even if it was on the cards. Jake's type was the opposite of you, if it weren't, he would have told you so one of those many times you made out when you were single.

The next time you saw Jake was at your apartment. Friday nights were boring without him, but you didn't want to go out. August had brought rain and you had almost forgotten how to drive.

His strong arms wrapped you in a warm hug. His leather jacket was barely damp, and unlike his voice, slippery. "Hey, you."

You smiled at him in greeting as you parted from him. He shed his jacket, showing his blue button-up shirt. The white buttons almost popped open as he moved, a reminder that he would go find somebody to rip it off just after having dinner with you.

"How's Mr. Perfect?"

"He's out on a business trip."

"Who's 'business' code for?"

"Jake," you warned.

He lifted his hands in surrender. "Truce?"

"Truce."

Truce never lasted with Jake, not many things did. It was a miracle you had been friends for over a decade now, that you had crossed paths more than once.

Jake was more constant in your life than anything. More constant than your favorite color, or your favorite food; more constant than your circle of friends that changed every once in a while. He was even more constant than your father, you had spent more birthdays in his company, you had shared more fears with him.

Sam didn't understand your resentment towards your father, but Jake did. Jake wasn't welcome at your childhood home anymore after defending your honor when your father insinuated you were wasting your life away at a job he deemed embarrassing.

Ever the businessman, your father wanted you to follow his steps. He wanted you to trade stock and run numbers for your entire life.

You were never good at calculating anything. If you had misjudged your own father when you assumed he would be happy you had the job you always wanted to have, how badly would you fuck up trading stock with people who shared his mentality?

Sam offered to teach you all about it, to ask a friend to give you private classes if needed. You always told him it could wait for when you were retired, for when you had run out of things to learn; only then.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Jake asked after dinner.

You frowned. "In the rain?"

"Why not?"

"Your hair will get ruined."

"So?" He kinked an eyebrow. "Who cares? I'll fix it later."

"Who are you and what did you do with Jake Seresin?"

"Come on, just a short walk." Gently pushing you to the side with his hip, he admitted, "I'm getting dizzy with so many blue and white trinkets around here."

According to Sam, repetition was key to coherent interior design. Who were you to contradict the artist?

"I'll get my jacket.”

Jake gave you his million-dollar smile, nodding.

You walked with your hands in your pockets, humming as Jake told you another story. You liked hearing him talk about flying, no matter how worried you were when he was deployed. He sounded so happy when he talked about it, as though nothing else existed but Jake Seresin and the sky.

And perhaps nothing else existed. Perhaps the rain falling on your heads was a sign that the sky understood what it was like not to have him all for itself.

What would your artist boyfriend think of you if he knew you felt so akin to the sky? And how heartbreaking would it be for him to learn it wasn't because of him?

You loved Sam, so much you would do anything for him, but you would always love Jake more.

"You're quiet tonight."

"Just thinking."

"You do that a lot lately."

You slowed your steps down. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jake shrugged, looking up. At the sky, the damned sky that would never share him — much less with you. "You're lost in your head most of the time," he explained, "it's like you're not here anymore."

"Don't call me a ghost," you softly pleaded.

He knew what the implications were, he knew he was comparing you to your father. You weren't supposed to be absent, or distant, or cold. You were supposed to be bright, loving, present — you had to be there, you couldn't be your father's daughter.

"I'm not—" Jake sighed, bringing his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue lingered on his upper lip as he found the words to say. "You're not a ghost." Your name rolled off his tongue, lovingly, in the warmth that Jake rarely let other people hear. "I'm just saying you're not entirely here."

"Work has been—"

"Don't." He kicked a can that stood in his way, then stopped his steps altogether. You did the same, expecting another comment. Jake had something else to say, but first, he bent over and picked up the can he had just kicked, held it in his right hand and motioned for you to continue walking.

You did, looking around for a trash can. He silently did the same, letting the rain speak for him in the meantime.

Once he found the trash can and threw the squashed can in its designated place, he finished his comment, "I hate when you give me the same excuses you give him."

"It's not an excuse."

"See, that's a reflex." He pointed at you with his index finger. "Next you're going to say you take your job seriously and that I don't understand how important it is to you."

"And you're going to get offended because you haven't gotten it through your head," you answered. It, too, was a reflex.

"My head knows perfectly well you like your job," he defended himself. "But why lie?"

He hated when you rolled your eyes at him. So you did. "I'm not lying."

He snapped his fingers on your face. "Don't do that."

You slapped his hand off your face. "Don't tell me what to do, Jacob."

"Just tell me the fucking truth!"

His loud exclamation prompted you to look around. There was nobody in the park, probably because the fucking rain the sky insisted to bestow upon you hadn't ceased. "I am telling you the truth!"

"I don't believe you. Is it your dad again? Do I have to have another talk with him?"

"Jake, come on..."

His gaze was heavy on you, eyes expectant. He believed his assertion to be the truth, he thought he had cracked the code, that he would solve the riddle.

"I applied for a promotion," you blurted the first factual thing that came to your mind.

His shoulders relaxed. "You'll get it."

"I'm not the only candidate."

Jake slung his arm around you, drawing you against his side by wrapping his arm around your neck. "You will."

Instinctively, you leaned your head against him. "You think so?"

He hummed. "And we'll celebrate whether your boring boyfriend wants to or not."

You should have defended him, Sam wasn't boring. But you didn't want to fight with Jake over Sam, there were better battles to pick.

════════════════════════

You pressed your back against the tiled wall of the bathroom, gnawing on your lip. You dialed a number by memory, then deleted it. Going through your contacts, you called Sam instead.

"Hi, honey," he greeted you. The line shuffled as he presumably moved the phone to his other ear. "I'm about to head home."

"I got the promotion," you announced.

"Baby, that's wonderful! Does your mom know?"

"Uh, no. I wanted you to be the first to know," you lied. It was supposed to be Jake.

"Call her, call her. I'll see if I can get a reservation in that restaurant you like so much for tomorrow."

"Thank you, honey. I'll see you later at home."

"I love you."

"Love you too, Sam."

Your mother was elated with the news. She swooned when you told her Sam would get the reservation, reminding you that Sam was the better part of your relationship.

He was, you would never deny it.

So you put on a fancy dress, ditching the monochrome business-wear for red. You were showered in compliments by Sam, your mother gave you a proud smile, and your father for once didn't complain about your job.

Sam had mentioned he would make the occasion even more meaningful that evening, and you couldn't stop butterflies from erupting in your stomach.

His hand held yours, he looked at you with so much love that you could have gotten lost in the constellations in his dark eyes.

And then he clinked his glass with a knife and stood up. Sam asked for everybody's attention, making you look up at him in question.

He smiled at you. He didn't have anything but words of praise for you, calling you the love of his life. You smiled at him, touched by his devotion, hoping you could fully reciprocate one day.

It wasn't hard to imagine, to fantasize becoming devoted to him. Oh, but he made it so with his actions not more than a second later.

Sam got on one knee in the middle of a two Michelin star restaurant, with everybody's attention on your table as he asked you to marry him.

You gazed into his eyes; they were bright, loving, hopeful.

The chair scratched against the floor as you stood up. "I need air."

The sky mocked you by rumbling. Would it cry for Jake this time too or for somebody else? Had it become fond of Sam? Had it found it in itself to pity you?

You would have said yes in another moment, you would have put your doubts and fears to the side to be with the man who fully loved you and whom you loved too.

When he mentioned making the occasion more meaningful you imagined your favorite flowers, perhaps a gift, maybe hot sex. Not a proposal that came out of nowhere.

The topic of marriage had been avoided for the past two years. He tried to bring it up once, you stopped him, and he dropped it — you assumed that would be it.

You took a cab home, scared you would find your mother already there. It never crossed your mind to watch for your parents’ reactions to the question or your own reaction, but one didn't have to be a genius to assume they were happy for Sam and furious at you.

Jake was right about the blue and white shit all over the apartment. You chose the couch thinking that would be it, that it would be a focal point in the living room.

Sam collected anything he found in blue and white. Vases, ornaments, plates, clothes... it was endearing at first.

Kicking your shoes off, you wandered around the apartment in search of something to do. Calling your other best friend was always an option, there was a high chance she was still up.

When the voice you truly wanted to hear didn't answer, though, you told her you had tapped on her contact by mistake. She laughed, asking if you were still up for brunch the next day.

You would be up for anything that meant being away from the apartment, safe from a confrontation that would end in nothing.

Sam wasn't one for fighting. He liked to talk things through calmly, to take time to cool off before yelling.

You laughed out loud in the middle of the kitchen at the thought of Jake doing that. Jake never shut up, it was like the switch that kept him quiet had broken long ago and he didn't bother to fix it. He would have run after you and yelled in the middle of the street earlier if he was Sam.

Both of you had gotten kicked out of many places because Jake and you wouldn't stop fighting. It was petty most of the time — a fact he got wrong, a song you didn't like, the awful horror movie he made you see in the cinema because he was bored at the bar.

You didn't know how you were going to explain this to him when he was back from deployment.

Fiddling at the front door let you know Sam was home. You opened the fridge and took the half-empty bottle of red wine, only to drop it when you heard your mother's voice.

"Oh, you are here."

Turning around, you came face to face with her. Sam walked past you, wanting to see what the clashing sound had been. He softly closed the fridge door and rested a hand on your lower back.

You craned your neck to look at him.

"Let me clean this up," he said, avoiding your eyes. "Just be careful."

You looked down at the floor as you stepped away from the broken glass and the crimson liquid. The angry glare your mother gave you didn't deter you from sitting on the sofa.

The remote was in the box again even though you had left it on the sofa in the morning. You didn't get to turn the screen on, your mother snatched the remote from your grasp and threw it onto one of the white accent chairs.

"I'm surprised you are here."

You looked up at her. "Where else would I be?"

"With Jake."

"He's deployed. You would know if you listened to what I say."

Sighing, your mother sat beside you. She grabbed your hands, gripping them a little too tightly. "I was just telling Sam you often panic when you get a lot of attention."

You looked away from her, searching for Sam's eyes. He smiled at you trying to assure you everything would be okay.

You had never panicked in public, much less because you had attracted attention. Your mother would have liked you to be a meek fat girl, but you were never that, you wouldn't start now.

Your cellphone rang on the counter, prompting you to jump off the couch. Sam lowered his eyes to see the screen, then turned around and opened the fridge.

Jake's face almost blinded you. The cocky smile in the photo took you back to that day on the beach when he pushed you into the water not even two minutes after you had dropped your cellphone onto the towel.

With a deep sigh, you unclogged your nose as best as you could and swiped your finger against the screen to take the call. "Hey, you," you greeted him.

"Hey, you." He sounded tired. "How did it go?"

"How did what go?"

"Did you get the promotion or not?"

Your heart skipped a beat. He remembered. "Oh! I— I did, yeah."

His voice livened up as he said, "See? I fucking told you!"

You sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, holding your head in one hand as you gripped your cellphone with the other. "I know, bub, I know. I should have believed you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You just agreed that I was right."

Jake was right about many things, you just rarely mentioned it out loud. His ego didn't need you to.

"Because you were."

"No, that's not it," he insisted. After a pause, he asked, "Were you crying?"

"Jake, come on," you almost pleaded, "this is silly."

You had to hold the phone away from your ear as sound interfered with the familiar rhythm of his breathing. A door closed on the other side of the line and he gritted, "What happened?"

"Nothing." You drew in a shaky breath, pressing the device back to your cheek. "I got the promotion, I just told you."

"I know you were crying."

He would make you cry some more if he didn't stop.

"Fuck, Jacob, can you learn to drop things for once in your life?"

He mimicked your exasperated tone, "I'm not dropping it."

"Please?" Uttering that word had never been so difficult. "Until you come back?" you offered a truce, praying he would take it. "Then we'll go to that stupid Chinese buffet you say you hate and we'll talk about it and you'll overreact and get us kicked out like we're teenagers."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Take care."

You bit your bottom lip, hard. "I should be the one saying that."

He huffed a laugh. It sounded wrong. "Say it, then."

"Come back to me in one piece, Seresin, or I'll kick your ass."

"I'm soooo scared."

"You should be."

"Hey." He softly said your name. "I'm proud of you."

"That makes two of us."

"I'll call you soon, okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Be safe."

"You too."

You felt empty as the line clicked. Resting your cellphone on the granite, you stayed in the same position for a few seconds as you caught your breath.

Your mother's heels clicked against the wooden floors as she approached you. "You need to fix things with Sam."

"There's nothing to fix," you assured her. "We're fine."

She shook her head. "You embarrassed him in front of all those people."

"He proposed in a public place."

Ignoring your answer, she told you, "He's in your bedroom. Can I trust you will fix everything or do I have to do it for you?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Just go. Tell dad I'm sorry."

You watched her say goodbye to Sam, hugging him tightly. You didn't move from your seat as she left, not even to lock the door. Sam hurried to join her, to walk her to her car.

He locked the door as you looked for another bottle of wine, for anything to keep your hands busy at this point.

"It's okay if you don't want to," he spoke, making you jump as he stood near you.

"Why are you like this?" you genuinely asked, grasping a bottle of vodka from the cart.

He watched you pull two glasses and fill them with vodka. He then shrugged. "Like what?"

"You always agree with me," you explained before taking a gulp of alcohol.

Sam tilted his head, squinting. "We're a couple, we compromise."

Wincing, you shook your head. "You just give up." Lifting a hand so he wouldn't speak, you added, "The couch is blue because I said so."

"It's your apartment too."

"You wanted the yellow one, Sam."

"Yeah," he admitted as though it was nothing, "but the blue one looks good too."

"Compromise would have been choosing another color. Green was right there, it was gorgeous too."

He ran his hand through his perfectly trimmed hair. "I don't understand."

"I want you to fight me on something. There, I said it."

He stuttered, "W—wh... what? You want to fight?"

"Yes. Choose something, anything, I like and you don't and fight me on it."

"Like that show you watch?"

"Sure."

"Uhm... the main character is loud."

"He's probably neurodivergent and can't control the volume of his voice when he speaks."

"Oh. I should read up on that."

"No!" you yelled. "You are supposed to fight me on this."

"But his neurodivergency isn't his fault."

"I just pulled that out of my ass, Sam!"

"I don't understand why you want to fight."

"Because it's fun! It means you give a shit." You grabbed his hands, intertwining your fingers with his. "I just want you to fight me on something and still love me by the end of it. But I don't think you can."

"Baby," he sighed, "fighting isn't my style."

"I don't trust that."

"Why?"

"Everybody gets angry. We all fuck up and say things we don't mean."

"I watch my words."

"I'm sick of you doing that." You dropped his hands, shaking your head as you put the bottle of vodka back in its place. Not even drinking was fun right now. "Jake wouldn't, you know? Jake would have called me a dumbass for breaking the bottle of wine and he would have fucking cleaned it because he isn't that big of an asshole and then..." Rinsing the glass you had used, you continued, "He would have told me to pay attention and he would have told my mom not to talk to me like that. But you just stand there and take it and let me take it and then smile like it's nothing."

"Jake isn't here."

You froze. Wetting your lips, you hummed and turned around, briefly facing Sam before adverting your gaze to the cupboard where you stored the now dry glass. "It was an example."

"Are you sure? Because your mother said you get nervous around crowds and then you told Jake you would fight him in a crowded place."

"My mother isn't a good judge of character."

"So you humiliated me on purpose?"

Oh, so he was the humiliated one. Funny.

"You are the one who proposed on the day I was supposed to celebrate my promotion. You think that isn't humiliating? Am I even something other than your partner?"

"You are the love of my life."

"And what else, Sam?"

Taken aback, he stepped closer to you and asked, "Isn't that enough?"

"No! I'm a person, a professional, a friend, a... I don't know, a fucking asshole sometimes."

"But you're not those things to me, honey." He made a motion to pull you into a hug.

You moved away from him, going back to the living room. "I should be."

════════════════════════

Jake glowered at you, arms crossed as he stood outside the coffee shop you were meeting at. "You're late."

He didn't need to tell you. "My uber was late."

"You have a car."

"I..." You gave him a sheepish smile. "What if I told you I forgot how to drive?"

Jake gave you a scowl in return. "You're not funny, you know?"

"I wish I was trying to be funny." You walked past him, entering the little café you had been wanting to visit for a while.

You rarely visited new places without him, it was your thing to go around the city in search of new places to visit and different food and drinks to try.

Jake chose the table, still angry that you were late. Placing an order took you a while, but you settled on your favorite which made him laugh and comment he knew you would do just that.

You analyzed the table while Jake did the same to you. His phone was facing up on the table while yours faced down. Did that mean anything? Should you even bother reading into it?

"I was never a great driver, you said it yourself a few times. And Sam likes driving so..."

"How nice of him to drive his girlfriend around like she's his little sister."

You wished he hadn't said it like that. Every sneering comment Jake made about Sam made sense now, not because he was a bad person or because you hated him — no, your opinion of Sam hadn't changed, he had a particular way of seeing things, a lovely one, one that would have made you swoon if you were in your early twenties. Or not in love with your best friend.

Jake's comments made sense now because after all, Sam wasn't what you wanted, because Sam couldn't help but treat you like you would explode at any given moment. You would explode, you wanted to explode, and only the man in front of you had ever been okay with it.

"Why didn't he drive you here anyway?"

"We, uh... I'm moving out."

"You broke up?" At your nod, he twisted his mouth upward. "I'm sorry."

"That doesn't sound like you."

Jake tilted his head, suppressing a smile. "I'm trying to be nice here."

"You don't have to."

"What did he do?"

"Maybe I'm the one who did something."

Jake gave you a skeptical look. "You can do no wrong."

Fuck, if only that were true.

You tasted your beverage and told him the story of how your ex-boyfriend made your promotion all about himself. Jake listened attentively, not showing any emotion at first. Everything changed when you told him how shitty it made you feel.

You were still trying to understand Sam's logic. Upstaging you was one thing, he often did that without realizing, but actively and purposely minimizing your professional career was something you never expected from him.

"I expected my favorite flowers, not a proposal. And he didn't understand why it bothered me." You bit the tip of your tongue, wondering if telling him about everything else was a good idea.

You decided that it wasn't.

Jake placed his hand on top of yours. "My sweet girl..."

Looking down at his hand enveloping yours, you tried to smile. He was taking your hand now and later that night he would leave a bar with somebody else.

That was your life. Everything always circled back to Jake Seresin and your unrequited feelings for him, the agony of wishing to be somebody else just so he would look at you as a woman and not as a friend.

"I found a place closer to the office so I guess not everything is bad."

Jake pried your fingers apart, slipping his in between. He almost crushed your fingers by giving them a squeeze. "Hey. Look at me."

You did, you would do anything he asked you to. "What is it?"

"You're gonna be okay."

You pursed your lips, nodding. "Painfully single, though."

It was Jake's turn to look down. You lost him for a while, he swam in his thoughts as the warmth of his hand seeped into yours.

He finished his coffee in a gulp and asked, "Wanna take a walk?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

His hand left yours, leaving you cold.

You walked side by side. Jake dictated the way, moved around the city like he owned it, like he would give it to you if you asked.

It was a perfect day to be outside, sunny yet not too hot. The sky was unbelievably clear as you examined it.

"You think it will rain today?"

Jake looked up too. "Nah."

"Are you sure?"

"The sky is bluer than my underwear."

"Out of everything blue in the world..." you said between laughter.

"First thing that came to mind."

You asked him to tell you a story, to feed his ego and help you keep yours. Jake did, he talked your ear off for so long that you were back at the coffee shop and he wasn't done yet.

You stood on the sidewalk, listening to him, laughing at his exaggerated hand movements.

He guided you to his truck, insisting he would drive you. Many things died in your throat that evening, the question of whether he saw you as a little sister included.

"Wanna come to mine and watch a movie?" he offered.

You looked at the time. Did that mean he wouldn't go pick up somebody at the bar? "You're not busy later?"

"For you? Never."

Jake's place couldn't have been more different from the apartment you had shared with Sam. His couch was made of leather, he didn't have a particular organization system, and you were sure he hadn't bothered to paint the walls when he moved. It was clean and organized, but not to the obsessive extent Sam insisted on.

Guiding you to sit down, he handed you the remote and went to the kitchen to fetch a couple of beers.

Thanking him for the beer, you went through a streaming service's catalog. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything but horror."

That made you pause and shift to look at him. "Oh?"

"You hate them."

"I don't. And you like them."

"I want to watch something you like."

"Jake..."

"Don't 'Jake' me, just pick something, baby, come on."

You looked at him in shock. Jake had called you a few things in your life, 'sweetheart' was a common one. But 'baby' was out of the question, 'baby' had other connotations. It slipped, you understood, he was a natural flirt. But you needed to look away, to play it off as something you didn't hear.

"Sorry," he said the word for the second time that evening. "It slipped, I shouldn't have... shit."

You faked a laugh. "It's fine, bub, it happens."

"You don't get it."

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, shaking your head. You didn't understand why it mattered.

"I was going to tell you that night at the park. It would have been romantic, I think, in the rain." He pursed his lips, then twisted his mouth and added, "But you had everything with him, what can I offer in comparison? I'm fucked up, I'm never home, and I'm scared of all the things you make me feel."

In your hurry to react, you bit your tongue. Whining, you pressed the tip of your tongue against the roof of your mouth and exhaled through your parted lips. "What are we talking about?"

"Come on, you're not dumb."

"You're implying you have feelings for me," you explained in case he hadn't understood the way his words would sound.

"I'm telling you I'm in love with you."

"You're not funny."

"A, I am. B, I'm not trying to be this time."

You set the remote on the round coffee table. "I'm not your type."

"Who the fuck said that?"

"Life." Grasping your beer, you took a swig. "You're out of my league, everybody knows that."

"I am out of your league? Have you met yourself?"

"Jake..."

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. "I can't believe you're talking about yourself like this."

"I can't believe you're lowering your standards like this."

He frantically shook his head, eyes wild as they danced around your face. "You're insane. Are you hearing—"

"I've been in love with you for so long... of course I am hearing myself."

Jake blinked rapidly, shifting on his seat until he was kneeling on the couch. His eyes bore into yours as he asked, "Why did you start dating Sam if..."

"I thought I'd get over you. He was so different that it had to work, right?" You slanted your head, pressing your cheek to his palm. "And then it didn't."

"Well, I'm glad." He smiled at you and you entertained the ridiculous idea that he was nervous.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "So fucking glad, baby."

You extended your arm to set the beer back on the coaster. You lightly rested your hands on his arms, tentative. Jake looked down, directly at your lips.

"You’re gonna kiss me or what, Seresin?"

His lips were soft against yours, making you sigh in his mouth. He dropped a hand to your neck, angling your face while the other cupped your cheek. His touch became tender as he kissed you more firmly, a reminder that this was different from all those drunken times before.

Pulling away, hands still on your face, he teasingly asked, "Like that?"

"Maybe."

He smiled, big and bright. "You're impossible."

Before you could remind him he was one of the most infuriating people to ever walk the Earth, Jake kissed you again. You snaked your arms around his neck, bringing him closer whilst he lowered a hand to your middle.

His fingers barely tickled you as he brushed the bare skin at your lower torso, your breath still hitched. It was only then you remembered that shirt often rode up even though it generally fit you well.

Jake's hands were as warm as his mouth, but while his kiss had turned heavy, his touch remained light. His growing stubble scratched against your skin whilst he languidly kissed you.

Months, years to be honest, of longing brought you here and you couldn't believe they had paid off.

Your lips moved more firmly against his and you prodded his lips with your tongue so he would part them. Jake happily did, letting the kiss become all tongue and teeth.

Parting for air was out of the table, leaning into each other's touch felt like a necessity, one that both of you were too busy fulfilling to care if you were halfway off the sofa.

Jake caught his breath against you, barely detaching his lips from yours. His chest heaved, adoring eyes focused on you as he took you in too.

You ghosted his jaw with your fingers, inhaling sharply as he leaned into your touch.

Dipping his head to press his face into your neck, he placed a string of kisses along your neck. Jake inhaled your scent as he tasted your skin, humming.

You hummed too, overflowing with desire as his kisses became sloppy. His lips trailed from your neck to the exposed area of your chest and then back to your neck.

"We can stop," he assured you, lips hovering over your pulse point.

"Should we?" you asked, breath ragged.

"No." His kisses were open-mouthed now as he moved to the other side of your neck. "But I can wait."

"What if I can't?" you barely managed to breathe out.

"We don't." He planted more kisses over your throat, sucking to leave marks all over.

You whimpered — at the sensation, yes, but mostly at the idea of being marked by him in some way.

"Come with me, sweet girl," he gently said into your skin. His words seeped into your pores, making you want him even more.

You missed his touch and lips the moment he parted. Jake gave you a knowing look as you gazed up at him and he rested his hand on your lower back.

Adding a little pressure with his hand, he guided you to his room.

His cologne hit your nostrils the moment you stepped in. You filled your lungs with it, with the lingering smell of freshly made laundry too.

The plush bed you found yourself lowered onto welcomed you with open arms.

Every time you thought about this —and you did many times—, Jake acted differently, he backed you up against a door and trapped you like an animal, he manhandled you and pushed you harshly onto the bed.

But this wasn't a fantasy. Jake hovered over you on his bed, lips following the collar of your top as he scattered kisses at the base of your neck. His fingers traced your figure, up and down your sides.

In one of his upward motions, Jake featherly touched your breasts. He hesitated, mouth briefly stopping, before he continued.

The content sound that escaped you as he palmed your breasts made him smirk against your skin.

"I'm not going to break." You didn't care how needy you sounded as you implied you wanted him to be rougher.

One of his hands caressed your belly, tracing the dips and valleys of your sides. "I know," he assured you, giving your hip a territorial squeeze. "I'm just taking my time."

His hips jutted into yours, creating teasing friction. Your lips were back clashing in a hungry kiss — Jake’s tongue forced its way into your mouth and you happily accepted it.

He was confident as he kissed you, as he touched you, sure he would bring you the pleasure you deserved.

You slid a hand underneath his grey tee. His skin was soft under your fingertips as you traced his chiseled body, warm, inviting.

His muscles tensed as you grazed the tufts of hair around his belly button, his heavy kiss faltered, bringing the heated make-out session to a halt as he took a deep breath.

Dragging your hand up to his chest, you felt the quick rhythm of his heartbeat against your palm. You couldn't help but smile, a little too cocky over the fact that you were having such an effect on him.

"Take it off," you breathlessly urged him, mouth so close to his that your lips touched.

He grinned. "So demanding."

Jake gave you a small peck before completely pulling away from you. With his arms crossed, he grasped the edge of his shirt and pulled the item over his head.

You wished you wouldn't have stared. The teasing was coming, you could see it in his cocky grin, but you couldn't stop gawking at his chest and shoulders.

Of course you knew he had an amazing body, and you had seen him without a shirt before — but never like this, it had never been only for you or in the privacy of his bedroom.

He grabbed your legs, prying them open so he would fit between them. You propped your torso up with your elbows, gazing at him.

Jake bit his bottom lip. "Like what you see?" He tried his hardest not to laugh, you could see it in his eyes.

"What if I do?"

He squeezed your outer thigh. "You better do."

You saved yourself from the embarrassment and decided to keep in what you wanted to say. He was the most gorgeous person you had ever met, the funniest, the one who had the biggest effect on you.

His hand moved up to your hip, the other joined. It was the only encouragement you needed to put your hands on him again, to have his strong shoulders and the taut muscles of his back under your plush touch.

His palms moved up, fingers tickling your skin beneath your shirt, dancing over your belly. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, making you almost giggle as your breath got caught in the back of your throat.

Your heart thumped in your chest, vibrating in your ribcage. The effect Jake had on you wasn't normal and you were afraid you would stop having some sort of an effect on him the moment this was over.

Perhaps he just needed to get you out of his system. The gorgeous specimen with his hands all over you couldn't possibly harbor feelings for someone like you. He had to be mistaken, and you had to brace yourself for the sobering truth that would come after this.

You could only hope your friendship wouldn't be over.

His fingers roamed your torso, gliding up and down without a particular goal. His slight touch was enough to send you aflame, to put you in a trance.

You barely hummed in answer as he asked if he could take your top off, holding your breath as he tugged the material away from your body.

Before you could fully register what was happening, his lips were back on yours. His kiss was relentless as he pressed himself against you, casually pushing his warm tongue into your mouth.

It was like you belonged to him, like this was how things were supposed to go. His hot kiss was steady while your heartbeat scattered in all directions, all of which lead to mimicking his ragged breathing.

One of your hands found its way to the back of his head where you tugged at his scalp purely by mistake. A groan bloomed from his throat, making you clench around nothing.

You whimpered as his lips left yours, chasing his mouth as he slid his hands under your lower back. Jake kissed your neck, then your chest where he buried his face in the valley of your breasts — he gave pecks to the patches of skin your bra left uncovered, but didn't bother to take it off as his mouth continued a downward path.

He left open-mouthed kisses all over your stomach, humming to himself as though he was having an internal conversation. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting for something, you didn't know what.

"You want me to stop?" he asked, hands coming down to grasp your ass.

"No," you admitted.

He didn't need you to say anything else, he didn't make any other comment as he rid you of your pants, leaving you to lay on his bed only in underwear.

Jake stood before you, looking you up and down as he mindlessly took his dark jeans off too. You hated that you checked if his boxers were blue and you hated even more that he hadn't been joking earlier when he said it.

Reaching over, he grabbed a pillow. "Lift your hips."

You did so, curious as to what he would do. He set the pillow underneath you, your hips giving him the perfect angle to comfortably reach your pussy and your ass.

He leaned in, trailing kisses from your hip to your inner thigh. One of his hands rested on your stomach while the other hooked underneath your thigh to hold your legs open.

His mouth inched closer and closer to your center as he nuzzled his face against your skin.

"You don't have to." There was no need, you were overwhelmed by your arousal, by the way he made you feel like you had never experienced lust before.

"I want to," he said, determined, before confessing, "I've wanted to for years."

Fuck. Fuck him. How could he casually say things like that? His words only made the fire within you stronger, made it spread to every crevice of your being.

He pulled your panties to the side, bringing his fingertips to make contact with your folds. "Oh, baby," he sighed as he traced your slit.

You couldn't be wetter even if you tried. Exhaling harshly as his fingers brushed your clit, you tried to find the words to tell him you just needed him to fuck you.

The semi-coherent 'we can leave it for later' you were about to muster died in your throat, turning into a choked whimper as his tongue came in contact with your slit. It hadn't even registered to you that he took your panties off.

Instinctively, you tried to press your thighs together. At the feeling, Jake removed the hand keeping your legs open and let you trap his head between your thighs, instead fucking you open with his tongue and mouth.

Your mouth fell open. You placed your hand on top of his at the height of your belly button, squeezing his fingers just to have something to do, something to focus on.

He enthusiastically traced your folds with his tongue. He used his lips too, sucking and briefly hollowing his cheeks, enough to get more sounds out of you.

"That's it, honey," he spoke against your clit. It was barely audible, but you caught it. "Say my name, come on."

Moaning his name was relieving after many nights of pretending you wanted anybody but him between your legs, over you, above you.

Jake held you down as your hips bucked up, growling in warning as he continued his ministrations. A broken moan fell from your lips as his fingers joined his mouth, as he shifted to make room for them and pressed his hot mouth fully to your clit.

You pushed his face even deeper by holding the back of his head, allowing yourself to get what you wanted from whom you had lusted over for many years.

Jake gave it to you, making you clench around his fingers as his mouth closed around your clit. His teeth barely scraped you, just enough to make you jolt up in pleasure.

You came with his saccharine name on your lips, tasting every letter as you repeated it. He didn't move, his fingers fucked you through your orgasm and his mouth lapped at anything you gave him.

He rested his chin on one of your shaky legs, hands trailing up your sides as he soothed you into catching your breath.

"You taste so good," he giddily told you. It had your head spinning, you had never heard him speak in that voice.

"C'mere."

He immediately pulled his body up, lips finding yours in a swift motion. You caressed his hair between your fingers, accepting his intense kiss as he ground against you.

You broke the kiss. "Do you prefer slow blowjobs or fucking people's mouths?"

He laughed against your mouth, shaking his head. "Both and right now none of 'em. Just wanna be inside you."

A disappointed whine left your lips. You had always fantasized about going down on him — on his birthday, as a Christmas present, as a welcome back home gesture...

Jake kissed you again, briefly. "Later," he promised. "I'll let you do whatever you want to me later."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Anything."

"Okay," you whispered.

He traced the edge of your bra, blown out eyes on yours. "Take it off," he demanded, much like you had when you needed his shirt off.

His hands were on your chest the moment your bra fell to the side and both mounds were revealed, wrapping his hands around them. He even squished them together.

You brought your hand to his lower abdomen, fingers grazing the hem of his underwear. You palmed him through his blue boxers, barely able to wrap your fingers around his hard cock before he growled.

Jake rasped your name in warning, squeezing your breasts to get your attention, to distract you from what you were doing. "Behave."

You almost didn't want to. He was persuasive, though, his lips were red from all the kissing, so inviting you couldn't tell them no as his mouth loomed over yours.

Managing to push his boxers down, you only caressed his thighs as he kissed you. You still felt the twitch of his cock, excitement running through you as quick as it did through him.

He discarded his underwear, rummaging through a drawer. You watched, entranced, as he rolled a condom down his length.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

He prodded your entrance with his tip, making you grip his strong shoulders. You let out a sigh. "Go on."

Jake pushed into you inch by inch, slowly stretching you. It was uncomfortable for a moment and you found another thing at which Sam would never compare to him. He momentarily stopped his movements, reaching over to cup your cheek — his thumb ran circles on your skin.

"We've got time," he assured you.

His considerate comment brought a thrill down your spine, and your walls clenched. He hissed, causing you to quickly apologize.

"You can move," you softly told him, breathless.

You liked that he didn't doubt you, that he knew you trusted him so much you wouldn't have been ashamed to stop him if he was hurting you. Jake didn't press on the subject, he merely told you to let him know if you needed a break and pecked your lips a few times.

Still moving slowly, he fully pushed inside you, making you gasp. Again, you clenched around him, this time not only involuntarily but harder. It pulled a few curse words from him, a shaky breath too as he rested his forehead against yours.

His muscles contracted under your touch with every breath he took, with every thrust of his hips.

He wasn't loud. It wasn't like you had expected him to be, but a part of you wished he was — that he would moan openly, that he'd pant in your ear.

As though reading your mind, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, grunting as he repeatedly hit your cervix. The burn from the stretch of his cock was long gone, taken over by the warm lingering presence of an upcoming orgasm.

Jake squeezed your waist, holding you tight enough to leave marks. Once again, the idea thrilled you.

You hoped he would speed up the moment you told him you were close, but instead, he chose to keep a slow pace. He dragged it out, truly taking his time with you as he mentioned he wanted to earlier.

Whimpers escaped you, both in pleasure and frustration alike. He chuckled against your skin, leaving kisses all over your neck, dragging his lips down your chest.

"Jake," you groaned, begging he would take the hint, "come on, baby."

He hummed. His pace slightly began to quicken, just enough for the rhythm to be switched.

"My good girl... you're taking me so well," he sighed against your left breast. He ran his tongue around your nipple, making you arch your back.

The pistoning of his hips had your legs shaking. Jake dragged his hand down, holding your thighs. His bedroom grew hot as though your panting had swallowed the fresh air.

If it weren't for his cock filling you up, you would have complained about how hot you felt; your skin was on fire, and beads of sweat rolled down the side of your face as the drive of Jake's hips rocked you against the mattress.

"You look so pretty like this."

If only he knew how ethereal he looked with his lips parted as he panted above you.

You felt the need to warn him you would come and your body confirmed your warning by convulsing around his cock.

Jake cursed, humming in encouragement for you to let go. Your body tingled with warm ecstasy, arms flying to wrap around his neck as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Above you, he shuddered as his hips stilled. You felt the twitching of his cock inside you as he spilled in the condom.

You were chest to chest as both of you tried to recuperate your breath. Lulling your head to the side, you allowed Jake more room to breathe as he laid his head on your shoulder.

You found the afterglow wasn't sobering as you feared it would be. You felt like floating as Jake drew random patterns on your bare skin, letting silence linger.

Words weren't needed, you were sure they would come later when the daze wore off and the need to fill the air became too much.

And it did. For him, it did. Jake was never the quiet type, quiet with him only meant trouble. You would have been fine with it, with all the trouble and the clouded sight he bestowed upon people from time to time.

Jake couldn't help it, he needed to speak, always. He needed to be heard. And you would always hear him, for as long as he'd want you to.

It never bothered you, not even when he was loud and thunderous, when his somewhat feigned pomposity got the best of him. You saw through the cracks, he saw through your stained glass walls — that was how the two of you worked from the beginning.

The air between you settled, taking away the glow from his skin and the dampness from yours, replacing them with shuffling around and getting cleaned up between lingering glances and poorly hidden smiles.

"Your mom is going to hate this," he said, leaning on the doorframe as you washed your face.

You wiped your face with the clean towel he had lent you. "My dad too," you reminded him.

Jake huffed, smiling as you stood close to him, face to face. "Can you live with that?"

"I thought I already was."

Shrugging, he lifted his eyebrows. "Maybe I just want to hear you say it."

You took his hand in yours, tracing the scar he had in the juncture between his thumb and index. Gnawing at your bottom lip, you considered changing the subject. A question nagged at you, one you wouldn't be able to move past it even if you tried. "Can you?"

He withdrew his hand from your hold, choosing to wrap his arms around your waist. He held you with care, eyes finding yours, curious as to whether your question had been earnest. He nodded when he realized you needed him to assure you that your parents' attitude wouldn't come between you.

Pressing your forehead against his chest, you rested your hands on his sides. Jake held you closer, it was familiar, this was how things were supposed to be.

As though reminding you there was a part of him you would have to share, the sky rumbled. You smiled, then a laugh erupted from deep within you.

Jake didn't question it, not even fazed as you moved away from him and walked toward the window. The pitter-patter of tiny drops against concrete slowly filled your ears, briefly accompanied by Jake's barely audible steps as he followed you.

You watched as the pavement darkened. The soothing sound of the rain welcomed the change of season as Jake rested his chin on your shoulder from behind and observed.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader

330 notes · View notes