#there's more scans in the rbs
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I HATE PRINTING I HATE PAPER JAMS I HATE INK CARTRIDGES JERMA HAS BEEN TORN ASUNDER
[ID: a printed image of the “sparkle on its Wednesday!” Jerma image with visible scan lines and a noticeable white crack down the middle. End ID]
#there's more scans in the rbs#and styx was like 'you should put him back in he's not done yet'#and then he got stuck and i had to tear the sad beast in half as not to destroy my printer#thank you to @sugargliders-s for the image id!
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Thank u sm @yael-things for the script!! ^w^
#survivale au jjba comic 2#survival AU jjba#Haha... this took so long i dont even know what to say#I hope this looks cool#took me more than a week#and also a long time for the pictures cuz i decided to try scanning it#i think it looks really good as scans!#I hope ppl actually see this one lmao#so pls like and rb it!!#jjba#jojos bizarre adventure#jjba fanart#jjba au#jjba fan comic#jjba part 3#stardust crusaders#everyone survives au#stardust crusader AU#jjba stardust crusaders#jjba kakyoin#kakyoin survives au#kakyoin noriaki#jjba jotaro#jotaro kujo#kakyoin#jotaro#doodle#comic#art#okay i think those r all the tags
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I hate how like. There was / is so much pushback against the idea that periods make women overemotional and irrational, and while that was 100% all in good faith and the people who said so originally were using it as an excuse to be misogynists…. it’s completely true for some people including me.
Sometimes I’ll just feel like absolute shit for a number of days, get super delusional and convince myself ‘everyone hates me and I’m terrible’ then it ticks me off: oh my period must be coming! The problem with the amount of not only men who said that originally was that it was an invalidation of what are completely valid symptoms and emotions (often indicative of a literal disorder) that should be sympathized with, instead of made fun of for and used against a class of people.
Anyway it sucks. And I can’t “positive think” much out of it, it’s literally a biological phenomenon and makes me feel a foggy pressure in my head. Okay fun fact I can sometimes feel physically or hear strong emotions happening in my brain. But. Yeah. I kinda feel like ass and sometimes I do have the desire to be ‘validated’ for what happens to me and probably a lot of other people
#I don’t have pmdd in any other sense it’s just the mentally feels like shit stuff#also yes if I get angry only irl at another person i hear an airy puff noise in my head and then my eyes roll back#I physically cannot get more than irritated at a person. my brain literally short circuits#and it’s like. a seizure!! For one second! I have lots of neurological issues unfortunately I live in Canada#and they will never give me scans for symptoms ive had since a child. anyway#rbs are off Im not fucking discoursing about this#personal
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spilled tea and hot gossip - f1 grid
+summary: there's nothing she loves more than spilled tea and hot gossip.
+pairing: f1 grid x female!driver
+warnings: cheating, mentions pregnancy, gossip.
a/n: this is just an idea that popped into my head.
I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.
Any drama, gossip, or tea that is spilled on a formula one paddock, you best believe she's going to know about it because she's got eyes and ears everywhere. Like for example, the whole situation with Oscar, Daniel and Mclaren. Or how Fernando signed with Aston Martin and didn't tell anyone much less Alpine. Pierre wonders where, or who she's getting this information from, but she'd never reveal her source for they wish to remain anonymous.
"Thanks so much for helping, y/n. You've made our job a lot easier," Jon, a member of her pit crew, smiled and tapped her shoulder.
"I'm always happy to help!" she said. " Do you guys need anything else? If not, I'm going to head out."
"We should be all good to go. Again, thanks for the help."
"You guys have a good day!" she left out the back of the garage and walked down a relatively empty paddock with the exception of other teams' staff here and there.
She was almost at the entrance when from the corner of her eye; she spotted a man wearing a black and red Haas shirt. Whoever he was talking to she didn't know, and it wasn't her business. But what he told to said person on the phone shocked her.
"I messed up, man. I shouldn't have even slept with her," the man paused, running his hand down his face. "Oh, the girlfriend of a mechanic over at Alpha Tauri. But that's not even the worst part of it. She's pregnant and doesn't know who the father is."
The sound that came out of her mouth wasn't human, and she quickly had to pretend she saw something shocking on her phone because the man looked in her direction. Man, she couldn't wait to tell the boys.
The following day after scanning her id, she strutted down the paddock like a woman on a mission.
Spotting the dutchman, who conveniently was standing with Daniel, Charles and Pierre outside the redbull garage, she excitedly walked right over. "You'll never guess what I heard yesterday."
"Judging by your excitement, I assume it's something juicy." Pierre replied. Just by the excitement alone, he knew that whatever she was about to say was going to be good.
"Yesterday, I stayed back after qualifying to help my pit crew clean up and put things away. When I was done, I left and walked down a relatively empty paddock, but stopped when I overheard somebody from Haas talking on the phone. I don't know who he was talking to, because it's not relevant, but what is, is what he told them."
"Get to the point, y/n."
"I was getting there, Max," she paused. "He told them he slept with a girlfriend of a mechanic over at Alpha Tauri. That alone is pretty juicy, but what he followed it up with had my jaw on the floor. And he followed it up with and she's pregnant and doesn't know who the father is."
Gasps leave their mouth as their jaws drop just like hers did from the day before. Behind Charles, her pr manager, Tracy, waved her over.
"Enjoy the tea, boys." she smirked, patted Charles on the shoulder as she walked away.
---
I know Visa Cash App RB team name isn't Alpha Tauri anymore, but I hate the name Visa Cash App RB with a passion.
tagging:
@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @patzammit @tinycyber @keenmarvellover @mrspeacem1nusone @lendeluxe @alexxavicry @allenajade-ite @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @wcnorris @bibissparkles @cherry-piee @khaylin27 @evie-119
#formula one x driver!reader#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula one imagine#formula one x you#formula 1 x y/n#f1 x reader#f1 x female reader
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you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)
masterlist
pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader)
synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation (based off right where you left me by miss tswift)
wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)
warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.
A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3
AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)
This is not a date.
On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin.
For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.
You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.
No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects.
The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.”
“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders.
“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose.
“What? Blood?”
“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger.
You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic.
“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?”
“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate.
You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face.
“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?”
“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question.
The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile.
Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?”
You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?”
“If they’re better questions, yeah.”
You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.”
“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?”
You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-”
“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.”
“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.”
Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.”
A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.
“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?”
It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”
Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?”
At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?”
You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say.
It’s nice.
“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites.
“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”
His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.
Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.”
“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help.
He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.”
You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly.
He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”
“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.
But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.”
--
By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game.
On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?”
Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice.
“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.”
“He gonna let you write that other thing?”
“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly.
“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”
“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend - into the late hours of the night.
AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)
Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.
After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.
Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.”
You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes.
“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.”
“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”
Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”
You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?”
Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.”
He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well.
So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask.
Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ”
“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ”
“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you.
You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?”
“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”
“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down.
“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.”
You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now.
“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.”
He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.”
“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.”
“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.
“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -”
“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -”
“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?”
“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.”
“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?”
“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”
“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?”
“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling.
“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?”
“I’m a ten, thank you very much.”
“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.”
He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?”
“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.”
“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home.
Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?”
“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster.
“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.”
“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.”
You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?”
“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?”
AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)
The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers.
“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes.
“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”
You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?”
You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -”
“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!”
Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements.
“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake.
“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?”
“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -”
“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?”
Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.”
“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse.
“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response.
“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.
“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes.
“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.
She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour.
Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.
Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.”
They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls. He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it.
There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.
The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more.
All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless.
“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus.
Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.”
Ah, and the dream lives on.
AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)
“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything.
“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare.
It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other.
You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks.
After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant.
The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him.
And figure out how the hell you’re getting home.
“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal.
“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe.
And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.
“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with.
The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard.
Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to.
This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue.
But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes.
Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.”
You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.”
“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff.
“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?”
“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes.
“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?”
Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?”
“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ”
“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.”
“I’ll make it,” you insist.
--
“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern.
“Yeah?”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?”
A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.”
You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back.
“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight.
You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily.
Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all.
Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word.
AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)
“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one.
It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji.
At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you.
“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -”
“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?”
You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.”
He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.
“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?”
You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?”
“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”
“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking.
He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in.
“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.”
You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”
He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily?
“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.”
He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.”
You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?”
Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.”
You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this?
He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”
His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words.
Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air.
“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”
His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.”
The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit.
You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you.
As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating.
“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold.
“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back.
“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now.
“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!”
He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”
“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth.
Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone.
“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin.
He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground.
You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.”
Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.”
You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground.
“Yeah.”
”…How long?”
He swallows. “Since New York.”
You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -
“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?”
Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”
His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart.
You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to?
For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him.
After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin.
“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.”
“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern.
“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can.
“Sweetheart -”
“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened.
He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets.
From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind.
“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.”
Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control.
Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.
---
Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.”
“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward.
Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around.
If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem.
They’re not Jake.
And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories.
One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you.
Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake.
Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream.
“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”
Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky.
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”
Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add.
“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face.
Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”
AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)
These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out.
In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).
All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out.
Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.”
In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with.
You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated.
You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart.
“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”
After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.”
You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you.
“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?”
Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly.
“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar.
You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.”
Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.”
It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.
“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today.
“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.”
AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)
You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase.
But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row.
It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path.
That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be.
Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him.
--
In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.
“Hello?” you answer cautiously.
“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush.
“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?”
“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.”
“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...”
But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.”
And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last.
“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body.
“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - "
“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink.
You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”
“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.”
He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.”
“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person.
“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.”
The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out.
Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks.
Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence.
Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway.
Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.
Asshole.
“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen.
“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment.
It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat.
He’s really here.
Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch.
He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.”
Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice.
“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.”
You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further..
“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming.
It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him. “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?”
“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic.
“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?”
His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?”
All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms.
“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.”
As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "
“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.”
You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend.
Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?”
You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "
You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”
Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets?
People change indeed. In more ways than one.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?”
You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can.
“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, two Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ”
“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.”
“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully.
“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...”
“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.”
He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.”
It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.
“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.”
Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “
The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest.
“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”
“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.
--
Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.
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romantic epiphany
↳ ft. haitham, thoma, kazuha
synopsis when it suddenly hits them — “oh my god, i’m in love with you”
note i feel so single. not proofread. lmk what characters i should put for part 2 (maybe ideas aswell). rbs + notes are greatly appreciated !
haitham — when he comes home and sees you asleep on the couch waiting for him
after being recently promoted as the akademiya’s acting grand sage, he’s had sleepless nights and an irritable temper. dealing with all of the akademiya’s affairs rendered him exhausted and tired. of course, he couldn’t turn down the opportunity given by their one and only archon, nahida. but that meant spending less time with you and getting to see your smile less.
every night, you’d wait for his arrival. for the doors of your home to creak open and see your lover walk inside. you’d wait, and wait, and wait. but no alhaitham. you began to yawn as time passed—your eyes felt heavy and your body began to ache; you slowly slumped onto the couch. you fought your drowsiness, what if i fall asleep right when he arrives? you’d tell yourself and slap both of your hands on your cheeks, trying to wake yourself up, but it was no use.
eventually you gave in and fell asleep. after a minute or two, your worries came true. alhaitham got his keys out, but when he turned the door knob, he realized the door was already open. he worried, what if someone broke in? he looked at you, sleeping on the couch. putting the pieces together, oh, you'd been waiting for him, for so long at that, you’d even kept the door unlocked and slapped yourself in the cheeks.
he went into your bedroom to grab a blanket and placed it on top of you. he figured you'd be more comfortable on your mattress, but it was at the top of his concerns to not disturb or wake you up. he sat down in front of the couch, in front of you. he stared at your face, scanning all your features. he listened to your soft snores and mumbles, and watched as your hair became such a mess.
he simply sat there watching you sleep so peacefully. he tucks the strands of hair covering your face behind your ears. you mumble his name in your sleep, “haitham…”
that’s when he got the epiphany. that’s when he knew he wanted to spend his life loving you, that it was not a dream anymore, it was something he wanted in reality. he’d caught himself just… mesmerized by you. by doing something everyone does, but it’s special if it’s you. he had a smile on his face. he was tired, but all he wanted to do was stay up and be by your side.
a few hours later, you wake up to the sight of alhaitham’s messy hair against the arms of the couch. despite sleeping in an uncomfortable position, it was one of the best nights he’s ever had recently.
thoma — when you were being yourself, you rambled on about some weird topic.
“i hate tcg! ugh, i swear i had the best strategy ever! how did ayato just—just beat me so easily!?” you got frustrated when you challenged the head of the kamisato clan to a tcg game, as he beat you with minimal effort. “i don’t quite understand the mechanics of this game, he said!” you ranted to thoma.
all he did was stay quiet and nod. it was his break– the two of you sat at a small table inside the estate. he rested his face on his palm, watching as you rambled on and on about your recent game. he admires how passionate you are, how cute you look as your eyebrows furrow, and how you talk quickly before immediately slowing down.
he thinks it's cute how you get frustrated— you ruffle your hair and stomp your feet, it's childish, but something about it tugs at his heartstrings. he's completely lost, only watching how your face heats up and how you frown.
in the past, when he hadn't yet met you, he'd spend his breaks berating himself, saying that he wasn't enough and maybe he'd never be enough. all that changed when you came along. he couldn't remember how life was before you. all he knows is that everything has been better with you. the food tastes tastier, the air is clearer, and the skies are as beautiful as always.
your eyes now meet with his, and fuuuck, did he forget how to breathe.
"[name]?"
"yeah?"
"i think i'm… in love with you."
kazuha — when you're his muse, but his feelings turn into something he can't put into words.
you make him feel things he's never felt before. when he met you, every single one of his poems suddenly were all about you.
you are the first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last at night. before he does to sleep, his mind and heart is filled with you. he'll look back and reflect on the day. he'll recall the words you said. how you styled your hair and fixed your outfit. the way you called his name with a smile on your face, you were happy to see him.
he listens ever so dearly to your voice, the way it rasps sometimes, and how groggy it gets when you're tired. he listens ever so dearly to your heartbeat, and for his amusement, he'd tease you and stay silent to hear you heartbeat race a gazillion miles per hour.
it was when you were on the crux with him, bathing in the moonlight. you both watched the moonlight reflect on the ocean. when the waves clash with the boat, so violently yet so peacefully. you looked into the sky, tracing the constellations with your finger.
kazuha, on the other hand, was looking at you. he looked at how the moonlight reflected against your cheeks and nose and how you just looked so beautiful under the moonlit night. the way the cold, ocean breeze made your hair sway in its presence.
you were hypnotized by how calming and captivating the ocean was that night, and you rested both of your hands on the ships upper edge (gunwale).
you took a deep breath, that night felt so… magical.
“the moon’s beautiful, isn’t it?” kazuha’s sweet, angelic voice was verbatim to a melody. he puts his hand over yours, his hands were warm albeit the temperature being cold.
“i love you to the moon and back.” he says, “no— that’s not true. i love you more than that.”
#genshin x reader#alhaitham x reader#al haitham x reader#thoma x reader#kazuha x reader#genshin impact x reader#haitham x reader#haitham genshin#al haitham x y/n#al haitham x you#alhaitham#al haitham#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x y/n#kazuha x you#genshin fluff#genshin fics#genshin fanfic#genshin impact#genshin x y/n#genshin x you#kaedehara kazuha#kazuha#thoma fluff#thoma x y/n#thoma x you#thoma hcs#kazuha fluff#alhaitham fluff#al haitham fluff
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Stop The Pain
Pairings: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader
Summary: Even though you weren’t supposed to be on the field, you were. And you weren’t alone. You got a rookie under your wing, and that was fine until you got shot.
Categories: Angst/ Fluff, happy ending
Warnings: Graphic language, blood, wound, military stuff, sexual themes. Also, Medic!Reader.
The reader’s call sign is Pearl. I don’t know why.
A/N: This is my second fic and i’m over the moon with my first one aaaaggggh!! Anyway, happy reading lol, don’t forget to rb to support me :) still waiting for the day when someone’s gonna request something-but no complaining-
“Keep your eyes open, kid!”
You yelled over the storm, one hand pressing on his wound and the other trying to pull him by his arm. He was trying so hard not to close his eyes, but you knew it. You knew he was dying soon.
“C’mon, kid. Just a little, ugh, longer,” You huffed as the storm got stronger.
The mission was the hardest mission you’ve ever been to. And it was the first mission you had to use a knife to kill someone. A fucking knife. You were a medical professional after all, why would you need or use a knife to kill someone?
“I swear to God or whatever is above there-“ Your breath hitched and you stopped talking as a bullet pierced through your thigh. You pulled the rookie with you to somewhere safe, then looked at your thigh. It was bleeding.
Thankfully it wasn’t something fatal, but it still hurt. You looked at the kid, you were still holding him with one hand. You quickly retreated your other hand to his wound.
“Deep breaths, kiddo. You got this, I know you do.”
You checked your comm, but it wasn’t there. You suddenly started to feel helpless, useless.
“Shit, okay- you’re okay. We’re okay-“
He coughed blood, making you feel a lot worse.
“C’mon kid, just a little more, stay with me.”
He nodded his head but his eyes were blurring. You wanted to stop the war. It wasn’t fair.
“Talk to me. How old are you?” You said while trying so hard to stop the bleeding. You ripped your shirt, which was under your vest, and started pressing on his wound with it.
“I’m twenty two- this my first…” You nearly cried. this was his first mission, and he was dying. No, you said to yourself. You weren’t going to let him die, he had to live.
“You’re not going anywhere, buddy.” You tried so hard to reassure him, to let him know that he wasn’t dying soon. But he was.
“What the fuck?! “ You yelled when another bullet landed on the tree behind you. You wanted them dead, all of them. Fuckin’ terorists, you mumbled. Killing and torturing people, that’s what they fuckin’ do.
“Stay here, yeah? I’ll find a comm.” You told the kid. He nodded his head, trying not to drift away. You took his gun.
You stood up carefully, walked around the secure area that you found surprisingly. The area before you was almost empty. The keyword is almost.
You placed the sound suppressor on your gun, the rookie’s gun, and shot the enemy who was kneeling before a dead body. He didn’t even have a chance to look at you.
You quickly scanned the area and carefully kneeled down next to a dead body, which was wearing a balaclava. You figured it was someone on your team. You took the little piece and put it on your ear.
“Hello, is anyone there? It’s Pearl, I need immediate help. Please is anyone there?”
You were shaking now. You gripped your thigh, the pain making you more stressed than ever.
“Is anyone fuckin’ there! God damn it!” You yelled and stood up, going back to the rookie.
“Hey rookie, you good?” You swallowed the shakiness.
“Not- not a rookie. Soldier-“ He flinched and gave a shaky breath.
“Of course, just stay with me a little more, hm? ”
You were on the verge of tears now. No one was there. No one could help the kid. No one. You pressed your com.
“Please, I need help-“
A static voice came suddenly from the other line. You held your breath.
“Pearl, where are you?”
You relaxed a bit after hearing your lieutenant’s voice. He spoke in a cold manner, but you knew him. He was worried.
“S- Ghost, I don’t know I- We- The kid is dying- I-“
Your hands started shaking, your breath was limited. You tried to think about different things, but it was hard to do that in your situation right now.
“Are you hurt?”
“My t-thigh-“
“We’re comin’ , stay where you are ‘kay?“
You nodded your head stupidly. You looked down, the rookie was barely breathing.
“Hey kid, c’mon they’re coming!” You yelled and started tapping his cheek to wake him up.
He groaned but still didn’t open his eyes.
You were fully crying now. You didn’t know why were you crying. You’ve lost many many people in your life, some young some old, but this has never happened. Yes, you’ve shed a few tears but you’ve never felt like this.
“What’s your name, kid?” You wiped your nose on your sleeve.
He didn’t answer. You closed your eyes for a moment and when you looked at him, you checked his pulse with trembling hands.
He was gone.
Your shoulders dropped. Your eyes started producing more tears, if that was possible.
You gripped his dog tags and pulled them out. You looked at his name.
Theodore Moreau
You wipes your eyes then got up. No, you tried to, because there was a sudden pain that made you whimper and fall down again.
You had forgotten about your thigh.
You held your thigh, but your head was pounding. You weren’t sure if that was because of the shot. It was because of your panic attack.
You needed your Simon.
You cried harder at that thought, feeling selfish. But you needed him. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about you like that, but after that night you were sure you would talk to him about your feelings. Because losing someone was so easy at this point.
You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth and holding your wound.
You tried thinking about something else, something that would take you away.
You drifted away.
-
Simon was nauseous.
He was panicking inside, but didn’t show a single emotion on the outside.
Were you shot? Were you wounded? Did you need him?
He was angry.
Angry at Price for making you fight with the enemy. Angry at Soap for leaving your side to fight someone.
Angry at himself because you probably needed him and he wasn’t there.
Gaz looked at Price.
“Where are they? What if they’re both dead-“
“What? No way, yer aff yer heid.”
Simon shuddered at the thought.
“She’s not dead, Kyle.” Simon’s cold voice was heard. He had an authority, making Gaz shut up.
“We’ll look this way, and you’ll look thay way, got it?” Price spoke suddenly. Everyone agreed and went down the paths.
Simon thought about the first time he felt a thing towards you. It was three months ago.
-
You were cleaning Simon’s wound.
He was super close, you were super close. He was looking at your eyes while you were looking at his bicep. It was a sight.
You were a sight.
“You’re staring, Simon.”
His heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. It suited you.
How sweet would his name be if you moaned it. Just for him-
“Simon.”
He cleared his throat.
“Sorry, had a rough day.”
You smiled at him. That sweet innocent smile.
Fuck, he thought.
“It’s okay.” You continued working on him, your touch gentle.
“Am I hurting you?” You asked him with genuine concern.
He gulped.
“No, you’re not.”
You smiled again. He was feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.
“Well, that’s it. Come again if it starts to bleed, Simon.”
He sighed and nodded. You stood up from the medical bed, and washed your hands.
Simon wasn’t sure if he was okay.
“Simon are you sure you’re okay?” You asked him while removing your white uniform, which was something like an apron.
“I’m, yeah. I’m okay. I’ll just leave,” He stood up quickly.
Your face fall. Did you want him to stay?
“Okay, uhm…” You cleared your throat.
“Do you mind me coming to your room tonight?” You asked him innocently. His pants were tightening.
“What?” He found himself asking.
“Y’know, to- to look at your wound. If that’s okay for you?”
He was sweating now, wanting nothing more than taking off his mask.
“Yeah, yeah that would be okay.”
You licked your lips. He sighed. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t do that.
Your gaze fell to his pants, making him more uncomfortable. Your breath hitched and you gulped.
Your eyes met again.
“I’ll come tonight.” You said breathlessly. He nodded.
And he couldn’t wait for the night.
He was right to feel that way. Because he felt like he was born again that night.
-
“Ghost?”
He turned to Soap, shaking the images of you from his mind.
“Yes sergeant?”
Soap pressed his lips tighter than before.
“I know you care about her.” Simon felt claustrophobic all of a sudden.
“I-“
Soap held a hand for him to shut up.
“I know. And I know you’re my superior and I have to respect you, but you were super loud, Simon.”
Simon gave a slow breath. Soap cracked a smile.
“And I know she cares about you too. I saw how her breath hitched when she saw you on the treadmill.”
Simon smirked. But his smirk fell when he realized you weren’t with him. You were in God knows where, and he was talking about you and him and your relationship with Soap. He gulped.
“Focus, Soap. We have to find her.”
Soap nodded.
“We will.”
-
“Pearl!”
You immediately opened your eyes and looked around frantically.
“Oh my God! You’re alive.”
Price sighed and looked at your form.
“Price, I’m sorry. Couldn’t save him.” You said while trying so hard not to sob. He gave you a reassuring smile.
“It’s okay, he knew it was going to be a hard mission. He was a real soldier.”
You smiled weakly.
“Let’s get your wound cleaned up, yeah?” You nodded and let them take you to the truck.
“We’ll meet the helicopter in a second, Pearl.”
You nodded and clenched your jaw. The pain was starting to feel unbearable.
“Where is Simon?” You asked Gaz, who was holding you at the back. He scratched his neck.
“I’ll inform them.”
He held his comm.
“We found her, meet us in front of the heli.”
“Roger that.” Came Soap’s voice in a second.
You closed your eyes, finally feeling relaxed. You weren’t sure if you’d be mentally relaxed though.
-
-
-
You felt like an absolute shit when you woke up. You didn’t wake up because of the beeping or anything, you woke up out of nothing.
“Simon.”
Simon shifted his mask, you assumed, and turned around.
“Y’good?”
You nodded and swallowed.
It was pitch black other than the little lamp near you on the nightstand and it was comforting.
“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been on the field in the first place. It’s our fault, and I’m sorry.”
You furrowed your eyebrows.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Simon.” You smiled reassuringly at him.
“It’s not gonna happen again, don’t worry.” Simon said while looking at the floor.
You put your hand on his, which was on your side.
“It’s okay, I got shot. Accidents happen.” He clenched his jaw.
“Not to you,” He said your real name in the end. It made you shiver.
“We lost that kid, sadly. What if that was you? I would’ve never forgiven myself.”
Your expression fell after the mention of the kid. You suddenly felt disappointed again, at yourself.
“I want to give his dog tags to his family.”
He reached out for your face, gloves already off. He stroked your cheek and you suddenly felt touch starved.
“Okay,” He mumbled, words vibrating his chest. You blushed.
“Don’t do that.” His hand found your lips, caressing them softly.
“What?” You said, meaning it.
“Don’t blame yourself.” You sighed.
He moved his hand to your chin and caressed there softly too. He was making you forget things, and you weren’t complaining.
“Can I see you?” He stopped caressing your face and took a deep breath.
“You don’t have to!” You suddenly said.
He took his mask off in a second. Your mouth was hung open.
“You’re really pretty, Simon.” You bit your lip, tilted your head. He felt his heart beat faster.
“Knock knock knock!! Pearl!”
A sudden voice was heard and Simon quickly put on his mask.
“How is our little Pearl?” Soap’s sickly sweet voice came in, behind him was Captain Price.
“I’m really good, actually .” You smiled at them softly then made eye contact with Simon.
“I’ll need assisting for a while, though.” You said mischievously. Soap laughed at that.
“Well, you sure need it.” Price said looking at Simon.
“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Simon rolled his eyes then got up.
“I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight?”
“You will.”
Simon got out, smacking Soap’s head on his way out. Gaz came in a second later, making you stop your chit chat.
“Well, that was disgusting. But I guess I won the bet!”
You rolled your eyes while laughing at their antics.
You couldn’t wait for the night.
Just like 3 months ago.
That was so rushed. I hate it tbh but this is my second fic and I’ll improve. I just feel like I can’t sum up my fics? Whatever, please like and rb if you liked it!!
#call of duty#simon riley angst#simon riley x you#cod mwf2#ghost x you#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#call of dooty#johhny soap mactavish#john price#angst fluff#call of duty x reader#modern warfare x you#modern warfare ii
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Yuki Tsunoda: 10 Things I Love for GP RACING MAGAZINE APRIL 2024 ISSUE
scanned by me (please credit if you repost lmao these took so loooong)
text under the cut
10 THINGS I LOVE
RB's Japanese racer on his love of saunas, good coffee and - well, food, of course
Fashion
I like fashion. I like to choose my outfit according to my mood or where I'm going. And I like to show my colours, if you like. In short, it feels good to look good.
Food
There's no particular cuisine I like, but for me a good meal is a kind of tool to reduce stress and feel happier. It doesn't matter what kind of food it is - if it's good, I enjoy it, whether it's tacos or sushi. I really like pasta. When I'm in Italy that's what I usually eat. But it's important for me, wherever we go, to find a good restaurant so I can enjoy the food. Because in a way, as strange as it may sound, it gives me the same feeling as driving a Formula 1 car. When I drive, I just concentrate on that. It's not that I don't think - of course I do, especially during the race - but when it comes to driving, it's more about the senses than thoughts. When I'm driving I don't think about anything else. And it's almost the same with food. You just enjoy the taste and flavour - and I really like that!
Nature
We travel a lot and are surrounded by electronics and computers, Laptops, telemetry, data is our world - and sometimes it's just too much. So I like to get away from it all, to go hiking, for example, or just get out into nature and experience a different environment to Formula 1.
Jason Statham
Definitely my favourite actor, especially after meeting him in Abu Dhabi last year. I've always liked his films and Transporter is my favourite - but sometimes when you meet your hero and get to know the person better, you can be disappointed, can't you? It wasn't like that with Jason. He is such a great guy, really nice, talkative, very respectful and really, really strong! He's got everything you need. He's strong, he looks cool, he's bald. I might go bald in the future to look more like him...
Singing
I'm not the one who sings in the shower, but I do sing in the car. I just feel like it, to feel the rhythm, to have fun. And when I'm singing, I feel like a real singer.
Saunas
It's something I like to use to reset. 20 minutes in the sauna, then a cold shower and lying down - at that moment I feel like I'm in space. And it is an incredible feeling. It feels like your body is resetting itself. It feels like all the stress I have, it just comes out with the sweat, so after the sauna I feel fresh. Like a brand new me. It's funny, I didn't really like it before, but my friends kept telling me how great it was. So one day I just decided to give it another try and finally understood what they were talking about. Now it's one of my favourite things to do: just go to the sauna and relax.
Coffee
I have a good coffee machine at home. I like to grind coffee beans in the morning and make myself a good cup of coffee. Good coffee makes my day.
Wine
I don't drink alcohol very often, to be honest. And I'm not a guy who knows a lot about wine, about different types and varieties of wine. I'm not an expert, if you like. But it's nice to have a glass of wine with good food. It helps you enjoy it even more
Apex Legends
I used to play a lot more when I moved to Europe from Japan - and Apex Legends was my favourite game. I don't play as much now, but during my junior career it was a way to keep in touch with my friends in Japan because we were so far apart. Of course you can call and chat, but doing something together, playing and talking at the same time, is a lot more fun.
Football
I sometimes play football with the mechanics, engineers and other guys from the team in Faenza. And I love it. Because first of all I like the game itself, but then it's also good to hang out with the guys from the team - especially considering that it's usually the guys who don't go to races and stay at the factory, so it's also a good opportunity to bond with them.
#phew! my first time doing something like this hope it's good lol#my work#my scans#yuki tsunoda#vcarb#rb racing#yt22#formula 1#f1#for my friends who enjoy him here's for you#also for bella for egging me on#角田 裕毅#tsunoda yuki
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What hit me about that version of Max is… in the Clío the photographer ask him to smile, and he looked over and gave the tiniest smile.
And is just, you know, ok I feel like I’m going crazy here, but is just, they way he look over, and the most dismissive attitude with the way his eyes scanned across the room, and it felt like he’s paying hard to get lol, he’s like ‘oh you want this? You can have it SIKE’ and is also a bit like ‘you are asking me to smile a bit more? Well you are asking a lot. Stop asking’ WHAT A TOP HE IS A TOP
Ok I now need to go meditate 🧘♀️
that exact part on dts was soo cinematic (s2e5 02:00). it was right after daniel left rb and they were discussing who they could put into the seat next to max that could possibly be remotely on par with him. and the way they layered the discussion and the music on top of this clip that makes you feel like max was a calm storm incoming. 😩😩😩😩😩
also the gifs do not show it but he was also soooo broad here see:
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정윤아 … … ( I HAVE KNOWN. )
❝If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.❞
― Tennessee Williams, Conversations With Tennessee Williams
CHARACTERS : JUNG YOONAH … KANG JUWON … SON JINHWA
WORDS : 3.7K
WARNINGS / NOTES : Therapy. Mentions of Murder, Depression, and PTSD. Abusive and weird obsessive boss. Discussions of an abusive relationship. If I missed something let me know! This piece is old, I've reworked it, and am really pleased with how it turned out! I believe this would take place in either 2019/2020 but this is set in the past! I just wanted to put it back into the universe :) Thank you so much for reading! rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡
“Do you want to be here, Yoonah?”
Yoonah looks around the therapist’s office, sighing through her button nose before nodding.
“Yeah.”
Doah’s pen skates across her notepad, causing Yoonah’s eyes to fall down to it. She barely said anything, why is she writing?
“Are you in a relationship right now?”
Yoonah has to think about it. She thinks about it for a few beats, eyes scanning over the door as she waits for the words to come to her. Doah waits. Even if Yoonah doesn’t speak, she gets paid. She’ll let her take her time.
“Yeah, I’m seeing…men.”
“How many men?”
A pause.
“One,” Yoonah looks towards the window now, “And a half.”
“And a half?”
Yoonah smiles towards the door where outside sits a man, waiting for his appointment to start. He’s different from the boys she usually talks to. When they were in the waiting room, he talked to her passionately about the book he was reading, she doesn’t remember what book but she remembers the beaming smile on his face when talking about it. His name is Juwon. He’s in a band. He’s a vocalist and plays bass. Yoonah likes him. She wants to spend more time with him.
“I’m working on one.” Her words make Doah chuckle through her nose, writing that down before looking up and at Yoonah.
“And the one you’re not working on?”
“Jinhwa.” It’s a simple answer, causing Doah to nod. She writes the names down but never looks away from Yoonah.
“And would you consider that a healthy relationship?”
Yoonah opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. It takes her a second, staring out the window, counting the droplets of rain that hit it. She gets to fifteen before she finally has an answer.
“Not really.”
Doah nods, jotting that down.
“Let’s start there,” Doah hums, finally, putting her pen down. Yoonah feels like a weight is lifted when the pen is put down. She swallows, looking towards the door again, shifting in her seat. She hates talking about herself, her problems, her relationships, all she’s been through, she hates it all. It feels so selfish.
“Why don’t you think that relationships is healthy, Yoonah?”
Yoonah takes a deep breath through her nose, looking up now before back at the gold doorknob.
“Jinhwa…is my boss,” Doah’s writing again, it’s making Yoonah’s fingers twitch, picking at her ripped jeans. “But he loves me. I love him too. I’m not dumb though. I know, like, fucking your boss won’t have, like, the best relationship dynamic.” She’s talking more but it’s to defend herself, to defend Jinhwa. She’s fighting a one-sided battle because Doah doesn’t say anything, just nods.
“But I’m a grown woman. I can make my own choices and I want to be with him even if it is inappropriate. I don’t care,” Yoonah continues, still fighting a battle with no competitor. It’s like she’s arguing with herself but not really. Doah nods, tilting her head at Yoonah.
Doah nods, hooded eyes scanning over Yoonah’s appearance, motioning to her own hair with her pen.
“Is that why you cut your hair? Because of something he did?”
Yoonah looks down at the now decent-sized hole in her jeans, swallowing when she thinks of what she deems the first domino. It wasn’t all Jinhwa’s fault, she had been spiraling for a while at that point, sure, they were getting bad again but there were other things that contributed to her tipping point.
“No,” She sounds uncertain because she is. Did she chop her hair off because truly hated her reflection or did she chop her hair off because she wanted Jinhwa’s attention? As she thinks harder about it, she doesn’t know. “I don’t know.”
“Yoonah, do you feel safe around Jinhwa?”
“Sometimes,” She hates how fast she answers and she hates how uncertain she sounds. She’s a good liar, she knows she is, but she’s never been so backed into a corner in her life.
“And when do you not feel safe?”
Silence. Longer than normal.
“Does he hits you?” Doah prods. Yoonah crosses her arms across her chest.
“I don’t care if he hits me.”
“So he does hit you?”
“No,” Yoonah pauses, “He’ll grab me sometimes.”
“Is that when you feel unsafe?”
“Sometimes.” She’s answering quickly now, out of spite. She’s mad. She doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t want to talk about her life or relationships with a stranger, she doesn’t want to do it.
“What does he do when he grabs you?” Doah asks, raising her brows. Yoonah decides she’s talking too much, giving Doah too much ammo like this is some war and not a therapy appointment but she keeps going. This is the one place she feels like she could keep going and never face any repercussions.
“He yells at me.”
“What does he say when he yells at you?” There’s a silence between them where the women just stare at each other, one tapping her pen while the other digs her nails into her own sides.
Jinhwa only yells at her when she “goes off the deep end” or whatever he calls it when Yoonah starts expressing her emotions to him. She’s never been good at expressing her emotions even when she was a child her mother would tell her stories of the hour-long fits Yoonah would have because she didn’t get what she want or because she didn’t understand something.
“He…He just yells at me. I don’t know.” Yoonah sounds smaller, looking down at the ugly grey carpet.
“When does he yell at you? What leads up to that?” Doah asks, her brows softening, giving her a more compassionate look.
Beneath the facade she’s built, Yoonah’s heart is gentle. She is kind and cares for others even when their best interest is to her detriment.
Yoonah shrugs. She doesn’t want to do this anymore. She doesn’t feel say talking about Jinhwa like this. It feels like he’ll find out what she’s saying and use it against her. The silence is thick and long between the pair. Doah looks up at the clock with a sigh
“I’ll see you next week.” They still have 30 minutes left in their session but Yoonah always left early. It’s not her dime this is on. She doesn’t care. She leaves without a second thought. Doah knows she’ll be back, she always comes back, this is mandated by her company, Yoonah has to come back if she wants to keep doing her job.
Yoonah walks down the hallway and into the waiting room where she hopes to maybe see Juwon before she leaves but it’s an empty room. It makes her sigh, pressing the back of her hand against her teary eyes as she quickly walks out of the office and towards the black car that waits out front for her.
SESSION 002
Juwon is a beautiful boy. He had big black eyes and short black hair that looked silky to the touch. He has a famous face she’s seen before, she knows he’s in that group with that boy in it. Juwon hasn’t spoken much about his group or his friends for that matter, she doesn’t even know if he’s friends with the boys in his group.
He mainly talks about his family. His father more specifically and how he wasn’t a nice man before he passed. Yoonah tells him that he can meet her dad one day, her dad is nice to everyone and would love to meet Juwon.
Yoonah likes Juwon. She likes him a lot.
“He sounds…insufferable,” Junwo laughs, shaking his head as Yoonah nods.
“He is.”
Juwon looks amused but bewildered, brows furrowing at her response.
“And you’re still with him?” Juwon asks, causing Yoonah to think for a few beats, looking up before shrugging.
“We’re, like, still together. We sleep with other people a lot.” She doesn't mention that Jinhwa doesn't know about most of them.
“Who have you slept with?” Juwon asks, genuinely curious. His curiosity makes her laugh again.
"A couple of people..." Yoonah sings jokingly, laughing to herself as flashes of people she's slept with appear in her head. She can't remember their names, but she remembers how their lips tasted.
Juwon makes an amused sound at that, laughing softly as he looks down at the book in his lap.
“You’re very interesting, Yoonah,” Juwon tells her, making her smile sweetly. Interesting. She can’t remember the last time she’s been called interesting. It makes her chest warm.
“You’re wasting your time with that guy, Jihan?”
“Jinhwa.”
“Ah,” Juwon doesn’t seem interested in his name, “Men like that don’t change. Don’t waste your time.”
Yoonah learns more and more she hates when anyone who aren’t herself talks about Jinhwa. They never have anything good to say, they just tell her to leave. She gets it. She’s just tired of hearing it.
“I know,” Yoonah answers dryly, causing Juwon to look up at meet her gaze. They lock eyes for a few beats before Yoonah raises her brows, unimpressed. “All men are like that though.”
Juwon shrugs, not moved.
“Yeah, maybe, but not all men will have you mother their child,” Juwon says simply, brows raising as well as if he’s mimicking her. It makes Yoonah laugh through her nose, looking down at her hands, and sighing softly. She hates it when people are right about Jinhwa. She hates being wrong in general.
“Got me there,” Yoonah says as she kicks the agergous looking carpet under her feet. She looks up at Juwon once again. Neither of their therapists had come out yet. It makes her brain spark to life, biting the inside of her cheek as she smiles.
“We should leave.”
“Leave?” Juwon repeats. Yoonah nods.
“Yeah, we can walk somewhere.”
“But our managers–”
“We come back before they come,” Yoonah shrugs. It’s clear she lives more on the edge that Juwon does. She stands, putting her hands out to him, smiling sweetly. “It’ll be fun! We can be each other’s therapists.”
Juwon laughs up at her, smiling. He’s beautiful when he smiles, Yoonah thinks as she fights the urge to take his face into her palms.
Juwon hesitantly takes her hands into his, standing up.
“Let’s go.”
SESSION 003
“Tell me about your childhood,” Yoonah says as she and Juwon sit in a meadow adjacent to the park that's a few blocks away from their therapists’ building. Juwon laid his jacket down for her to sit on. He’s a true gentleman in Yoonah’s opinion.
Juwon’s eyes widen as his brows go up, sighing and shaking his head.
“Um, not great,” Juwon starts, laughing softly as he picks at a blade of grass. He tears the blade of grass to shreds. “I had a sister. She died when I was four. That’s when my mom said my dad started,” he twirls his finger next to his head, shaking his head, “Losing it. She thinks he blames himself for her death. It was a car crash and he was driving, so, I bet he did but he never talked about it. He was just…fucking mean,” Juwon shrugs, plucking another green blade of grass. Yoonah rubs her lips together as he speaks, watching his fingers nimbly move against the blade of grass, shredding it to pieces.
“Is he why you’re going to therapy?” Yoonah wonders, causing Juwon to scoff, shaking his head.
“No. My company said I needed to after what I saw,” Juwon says like she should know what he’s seen. She does know. All of Korea knows. It’s tragic and she can’t imagine going through what Juwon went through. Juwon shrugs. “And they’re right. That’s not a…Not a normal thing to see.”
A pause.
“It really does mess with your brain. ‘Seeing someone die,” Juwon adds, like he’s acknowledged his own trauma for the first time. “I honestly thought I was doing fine until my company stepped in.”
“What were you doing to make them step in?” Yoonah wonders, still watching his hands. She wants to hold them but she doesn’t reach towards him, not yet.
Juwon shrugs.
“I just…slept all day. I just laid there like I was in a coma or something,” She looks up when he speaks, looking at his face to see his sad gaze. He has naturally sad eyes, she thinks. It makes her reach over, taking his hand into hers, offering him a smile when he looks up at her.
“Now look at you,” Yoonah beams, causing him to smile lightly, looking over her soft features. “You’re sitting in a meadow with a pretty girl, talking about your life,” Juwon laughs softly at her words, head dropping as he squeezes her hand, nodding.
“‘Making great progress,” Juwon jokes, plucking one of those little white weed flowers, and putting it out to her. Yoonah smiles at the flower and then at Juwon, taking it in and putting it behind her ear still smiling.
She feels good.
SESSION 006
“You haven’t made any moves on me.”
Juwon looks up from his book and out into the endless dancing sea of grass they sat in before looking down at Yoonah, who lay in his lap.
“Do you want me to make moves on you?” The man asks, moving his hands out and to the sides so nothing is obstructing his view of her. Yoonah looks up at him with those soft round eyes she whips out every once in a while to keep men on their toes. It does the trick every time, making Juwon smile down at her softly.
Yoonah shrugs.
“Yeah.”
Juwon chuckles at the simplicity of her answer, folding the corner of the page before shutting his book and setting it down next to him, tapping her shoulders. She pushes herself up to where she’s sitting in a similar criss-crossed position as him, turning herself around to face the boy with the soft brown eyes.
Now Juwon is the one with the soft gaze, staring at Yoonah like she’s some goddess sent from above. It makes her smile brighter, putting her hands out in the space between them for him to take. It takes him a second but he slowly reaches out, slotting his fingers between hers’.
“Feels like forever since I’ve held a girl’s hand,” Juwon tells her which makes her giggle softly, looking at their hands then back at his face.
“Really?”
“Yeah, we used to be…really busy so I just,” His thumb runs over the back of her hand, smiling fondly as he squeezes her smaller hands, “Never had the time.”
“Oh my god,” Yoonah leans forward, causing Juwon to raise his brows curiously, “Are you a virgin?” She whispers, half joking half serious. It makes Juwon’s jaw drop, scoffing then laughing at her, looking minorly offended.
“No! Oh my god––Yoonah, I went to college, you know?” His eyes are wide and he’s talking passionately, smile clear as she giggles at nearly every word he says. “I’ve had sex. God, I’m twenty-six. That’d be embarrassing.”
“You’re twenty-six?” Yoonah asks in shock. She thought he was her age. He isn’t far off but still, he looks young for his age. Juwon nods, humming.
“Almost twenty-seven,” He adds, looking her over before nodding, squeezing their hands again. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three,” Yoonah answers simply, tilting her head at him before her eyes drop to their hands as she pulls them to her chest, over her heartbeat. Juwon watches her move their hands with a small smile before his eyes go back to her face. “I turn twenty-four in July though.”
Juwon nods, humming.
“We’ll have to celebrate.”
“Yeah?” Yoonah quips, making Juwon chuckle softly, nodding.
“I’ll take you out. Get you a balloon.”
“Just one?”
Juwon laughs again, deciding to be a bit bold and pulling her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Yoonah smiles at the sweet action, her heart beating a bit faster when he holds their hands to his chest now. She can feel his heart beating. It’s beating fast but the rhythm is relaxing.
“I’ll get you twenty-four of them,” Juwon says, making Yoonah bat her lashes at him. He’s so sweet, so pure, Yoonah can’t stop herself from thinking she’s in love with him.
Maybe she is. She isn’t sure yet.
THE OFFICE.
Jinhwa clears his throat as Yoonah sits across his desk, looking down at her phone in her lap. She looks up a few seconds later, smiling at him before raising her brows at him. Jinhwa looks her over, a soft smile on his face before he looks down with a sigh.
“You haven’t gone to the last three of your sessions.”
Doah is such a bitch, Yoonah thinks but her face doesn’t falter, she just keeps smiling at him. She looks like he hand-picked the stars and put them in the sky himself. It works on every man she’s involved herself with.
“I don’t–”
“I’m not stupid, Yoonah. I know you’re leaving with that boy,” He taps the side of his head, “the disturbed one.”
“Don’t talk about him like that.” Yoonah snaps. There’s a defensiveness she carries for Juwon. He isn’t disturbed. He’s just depressed. She wonders if it’s their age difference or if Jinhwa thinks he’s a psycho. Jinhwa’s from a different time, she gets it, but she doesn’t care. The man sighs, putting up his hands in faux surrender.
“Whatever. Either way, he’s interfering with your treatment–”
“He’s not. I make him leave with me.”
A silence. Jinhwa sighs.
“I’m switching your appointments from five to three,” Jinhwa dismisses simply. Yoonah doesn’t argue, just sighs through her nose. There’s no use in arguing, just grin and bear it, Yoonah thinks, scratching the side of her wrists.
“And I’m…” Hesitation is never good, it makes Yoonah tense and look up from her hands.
“I’m putting you on a dating ban. Effective immediately. You’re getting too reckless with the men you pick up.” Jinhwa says as he slides over a piece of paper, dropping a pen in front of her as well. Yoonah looks over the paper with wide, almost frantic eyes, then back at him, her scratching getting harder.
“What?” Yoonah whispers, “What is this?”
Jinhwa sighs again.
“It’s a legal document that says you acknowledge–”
“A contact. You want me to sign a contract?”
Jinhwa clears his throat at being interrupted, it's clear he’s getting agitated but keeps his composure. He knows Yoonah all too well at this point. Her reaction was to be expected.
“–that says you acknowledge you are under a dating ban until you complete your treatments and if you break this agreement,” he points to a block of text that Yoonah doesn’t look at, her hard gaze staying on him and him only, “you and your group will suffer the consequences.”
Yoonah swallows, shaking her head––A soft gasp leaves her lips when she feels a prick on her wrist. Her eyes look down to see a small portion of skin scratched raw, skin pink and shiny. It makes her stomach twist, putting her hand under her thigh with a sigh. She finally shakes her head.
“I don’t want to sign it.” Yoonah says sternly. Jinhwa grunts, he sees that coming. He reaches down, pulling a thick pile of papers out and dropping them in front of her. He flips through them until he’s on at least page twenty, pointing to a highlighted block of text.
“This? Right here?” He’s speaking to her like she’s dumb, voice condescending yet kind. She hates it, the look of content on her face only growing. “Says if you don’t sign anything I want you to sign, you’re in breach of your contract. I’ve been really leanate with you, Yoonah. Because I love you,” His hand is on her cheek now, making her bottom lip tremble slightly, gaze still hard and angry, “And I want what’s best for you. Anyone with a brain would’ve dropped you by now but I haven’t and I won’t. You owe me this one small thing, don’t you think?”
Yoonah turned her head away, sniffling before looking down at the papers that sat on his desk, shaking her head.
“It’s not fair, Jinhwa.” She says quietly, keeping her gaze down. Jinhwa coos at her, petting her black hair softly before taking her cheek back into his hand, stroking her full cheek softly.
“Nothing is, Yoonah.”
He leans back in his chair, taking her original contract off the table and back in his drawer before nodding towards the contact and pen in front of her.
“Just finish your therapy and you go back to seeing your mentally ill boyfriends,” Jinhwa dismisses, waving his hand as Yoonah takes the pen in her hand, sighing. She reads over the contract slowly, really reading over the conditions. She points to the fourth paragraph of text, lips twitching.
“Does this say I can still have relationships just with people inside the company?” Yoonah asks, looking up at Jinhwa. He’s smiling, nodding, hands crossed in his lap.
“Yes. Yeah, it does. It only makes sense.”
“Makes sense?”
“Yeah,” Jinhwa shrugs, “No one knows what happens inside the neighborhood or company building. It’s just easier if you keep your relationships within the company.”
Yoonah stares at him. The gears are turning, making her brows pinch and her head tilt slightly.
“Is…Did you just put that there so we can keep seeing each other?”
Jinhwa shrugs. His intentions are clear in Yoonah’s eyes, leaving an uneasy seed in her stomach. She hates the idea that Jinhwa feels the need to take such measures to control her. She hates that he can take such measures and she just has to go along with it.
She promised her group wouldn’t suffer for her mistakes ever again. She isn’t going to hurt their careers over something so small and trivial. She loves and cares for her girls too much to let that happen––She loves her team too much.
With a deep breath, she puts the pen on the dotted line and lets it glide across the paper in the shape of her name.
#╰ * VENUS : scenarios ⧽ burn it to the ground .#ficnetfairy#fictional idol group#fictional idol community#kpop fanfic#idol oc#kpop oc#fake kpop oc#kpop au#idol au#kpop addition#idolverse#oc girl group#bts addition#fake kpop girl group#fake kpop idol#oc kpop group#stray kids addition
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Today Was A Fairytale | Austin x fem!reader
You decide to surprise your boyfriend in Australia on Valentine’s Day! ❤️
a/n: Happy (belated, oops) Valentine’s Day! This is a week late, I know, and I’m so sorry y’all! But thank you guys so, so much for your patience 🫶 I do have plenty more WIPs that I’m working on, and I hope to have those out sooner rather than later for y'all. And my requests are open if y'all want to send anything in! ☺️ For this fic, covid doesn’t exist for Plot purposes lmao
Word count: 2k (technically 1,999 but shhhh)
Warnings: some allusion to sex towards the end (might qualify as fade-to-black smut??), I think that’s it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!
Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍
Masterlist | add yourself to my taglist!
As you stand on the escalator, hands firmly gripping your carry-on to keep yourself from shaking with excitement, you scan the area near baggage claim as it appears bit by bit, keeping your eyes peeled for a sign with your name on it.
Your sweeping gaze finally snags on your name, the flimsy paper in the hands of an older, very fashionable woman, with a bright smile and cheerful eyes peering through cat-eye glasses. Your smile widens, and you wave to get her attention as you step off the escalator onto the polished concrete floor. You still can’t quite believe that Catherine Martin herself was the one meeting you here.
You greet her, a little starstruck, before she sweeps you into a hug.
“Darling! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She smiles, “You know Austin honestly hasn’t stopped talking about you since we started filming,” she teases as you made your way over to get the rest of your things.
You laugh shyly, “Well, that’s very sweet to hear, and I apologize on his behalf.” Laughter fading, you continue in a more sincere tone, “And thank you so much for letting me come on set for a couple days, I can only imagine how complicated it must be to organize that.”
Catherine waves the compliment away, helping you get your suitcase off the carousel with ease.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart! It’s very sweet that you want to surprise him, and I’m so glad we could help.”
Catherine explains the plan in the Uber on the way to your hotel: take a few days to recover from the jet lag from the 19-hour flight, and on Friday — Valentine’s Day — you’d be taken to set to surprise your boyfriend.
After Catherine makes sure you’re safely in your room and assures you that you can call her if you needed anything — “absolutely anything, darling!” — before tomorrow, you finally allow a grin to overtake your face as you collapse onto the bed. As Valentine’s Day gifts go, you were fairly certain this wasn’t a bad choice.
You and Austin had been dating for almost a year, since March of 2019. Originally just your childhood friend, a friendship born of proximity when your family moved next door to his, your feelings for each other had blossomed into what was honestly the healthiest relationship you had ever been in. You had been with him when he was auditioning, when he was cast as Elvis, you had watched as he practically lived and breathed Elvis in the months leading up to the moment he left for principal photography in Australia. He was crushed that your first Valentine’s Day together was doomed to be long-distance, and as he kept saying how much he wished the two of you could celebrate together, the idea dawned on you.
And now here you were in Australia, on the opposite side of the world from your home in Anaheim, getting ready to surprise your boyfriend who was currently playing one of the most famous men in history.
-
You spend most of the first couple days of your trip sleeping, your body insisting on ten-hour naps to recover from the flight through seven time zones. You’re able to pencil in some sightseeing, too, though by the time Valentine’s Day rolls around you’re even more anxious to see Austin; you’re the closest you’ve been to seeing him in a month but the distance between your hotel and his set seems impossibly far.
Catherine is your escort once again, and on the way to set she explains the plan to you, detailing the scenes they’ll be filming and where you could fit in, and making it incredibly clear that pretty much everything you’re about to see is strictly for your eyes only; they couldn’t risk a leak only a month into filming.
Admittedly, you’re a little starstruck being on a movie set, and it’s all a bit of a blur as Catherine rushes you over to hair & makeup to get you ready for the scene. The crew slips you into one of their many spare dresses, and they get to work making your hair and makeup era-appropriate. As one of the hair stylists — a kind woman whose name you learned was Gail — is in the process of getting your hair into pincurls, the door to the hair and makeup trailer sweeps open. Every eye in the room swings towards the motion as Baz steps inside.
As in, Baz Luhrmann.
Legendary, acclaimed director.
In the hair and makeup trailer.
And he walks right over and gives you a hug (as best he could with you in the makeup chair trying to stay as still as possible, at least).
“Y/N! Happy Valentine’s Day, we’re so glad you’re here.”
“Thank you so much for helping organize this, Baz!” You smiled. “I really hope I’m not disrupting the schedule or anything too much.” You had gotten to meet Baz a handful of times as Austin was prepping for the role, and he was one of the sweetest people you knew.
“Oh, it was nothing.” He waves away the compliment, “I love a good surprise, and I’m glad I’ll get to see you two crazy kids back together. I just wanted to say hello and make sure you were doing okay. You guys take care of her, alright?” He directs the last part to the crew, and bids you farewell with a “See you on set!”
Soon enough, your hair and makeup are the best they’ve ever been, and you’re almost afraid to move for fear of ruining the gorgeous blue gingham dress they’ve given you as you’re escorted to set by an assistant.
You take your seat in the front row, trying your hardest to hide your excitement as you catch a glimpse of Austin talking with Baz just offstage.Your breath catchesin your throat as you take him in. After not seeing him for a month, seeing him in person is in itself a bit of a shock, but underneath the slightly baggy pink suit and effortlessly disheveled hair, you see the sharp focus in his eyes that's something entirely Austin. Time is a blur as the rest of the scene is set up, and the last thing you hear before Baz calls “action!” is his suggestion to Austin to find someone in the audience to focus on.
You holdyour breath as he, Xavier, and Adam walk onto the stage, the smudged eyeliner bringing out the blue of his eyes as he scans the crowd. You fight to keep the smile from your face in anticipation as his gaze sweeps past you, then snaps back as he does a double take. The Elvis facade fades, the anxious fidgeting and nervous manner he’s put on entirely forgotten as he freezes, his eyes locked on yours.
“Y/N?”
You nod, unable to hide your grin any longer as you give him a playful wave, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Aus.”
In a flash, the guitar that had been looped around his shoulders is set carefully on the stage and he jumps down to the floor to greet you, the cast and crew cheering him on.
You let out a breathless laugh as you’re swept up in his arms and spun around in a circle, his grip strong and secure and safe as always. As your feet finally hit the ground, Austin’s gaze sweeps over you, taking in your light blue gingham dress and 50s pin curls, before his eyes meet yours again and you’re finally, finally pulled in for a kiss.
It’s a sign of how much you missed each other that by the time you pull away your carefully-applied, no doubt expensive, movie-star-quality lipstick is smudged beyond repair, and Austin’s artfully disheveled hair is a mess. Some part of you cringes slightly at the thought of messing up the hair and makeup crew’s hard work, but a much larger, much louder part of you — the part that had been missing him since the second he’d left — couldn’t care less.
“I— Sweetheart,” Austin laughs with a tinge of disbelief, still holding you tight as though you might slip away at any second, “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.” You say simply, grinning. “And I knew how upset you were that we’d be missing our first Valentine’s together, so I thought I’d surprise you.”
“You flew all the way to Australia to surprise me?” He asks, as if to make sure he was hearing you right.
You nod, cheerfully humming an affirmative.
He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You’re ridiculous,” is all he says before pulling you in for another warm hug, lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “I love you.”
“I love you, too” you whisper back, tucking your face into the crook of his neck to hide your growing smile, toes curling at the familiar smell of his cologne — something warm and woody that you had gotten him for Christmas last year.
After what seems like not enough time at all, your very professional boyfriend regretfully pulls away — after all, he is here for a job. Baz is kind enough to let you stay and watch them film several scenes, but after seeing how distracted Austin is (he’s trying to stay professional, he really is, but you’re here and he’s missed you so much) he cuts the day short, offering everyone a chance to celebrate their Valentine’s Day properly.
You’re glad you brought one of your nicer dresses with you, because that night Austin takes you out on the first non-Skype date you’ve had in a while. The two of you end up at a fairly nice restaurant, talking for hours as if you haven’t been apart at all. In lieu of the typical red roses, he gives you a paper rose to add to your collection back home; a tradition that began with your very first date, and one that you hope continues for as long as possible.
You spend a romantic evening together, followed by an even more romantic night, and the contentment you feel waking up the next morning in Austin’s arms is incomparable to anything else on earth. You don’t open your eyes at first, content with the feeling of your head on his chest, legs tangled together, his arms pulling you in closer, but you can’t help but smile up at him as you feel his eyes on you, and the softness in his gaze as you meet his eyes nearly takes your breath away.
Your hand, from its resting place on Austin’s chest, works its way up his neck to cup his cheek, almost as if you need to confirm that he’s really there, solid and warm next to you. You bite your lip to hide a smirk as your eyes catch on the marks scattered across his skin — proof of your, er, very enthusiastic reunion the previous night. He leans into your touch as you whisper a soft “good morning” to him, and he returns the greeting, mumbling it against your lips as you’re pulled in for a kiss.
He glances quickly at the alarm clock on the nightstand, making a note of the time: barely 9am. “What time is your flight, again?”
You mentally file through your sleep-scattered brain for your flight information. “My flight leaves at 1, but I wanna try to be at the airport around 11, maybe 11:30ish?”
He nods, seemingly incorporating that information into whatever idea he has brewing in his head. “I don’t have to be on set until noon,” he says, taking on a suggestive tone as he moves to hover over you, “Any ideas on how we could spend all this time?”
Grinning, you pull him down into a bruising kiss, making a mental note to send flowers to the hair and makeup crew as an apology for the marks they’re going to have to cover on him after this morning.
All in all, not a bad Valentine’s Day.
Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper @hallecarey1 @adoreyouusugar @iheartcbe @nora-nexus-34 @finelineskies @dontbesussis @fangirl-imagines
#austin butler#austin butler x reader#austin butler imagine#austin butler fic#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler x fem!reader#austin butler fluff#elvis (2022)#elvis 2022#elvis baz luhrmann#elvis biopic#valentine’s day fic#valentine’s day#my writing
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The Worker and The Protestor
I finally finished my notebook *victory screech*. This is what ended off my notebook. I see this being revamped a bit to fit in with my actual Robots & Gardens not just a side off thing. Here we get a dive on Digits' work life and her little crush on Peace. I have so much shit to do XD But I have chosen instead to drink and type this out then get back to work. Me and this Jeager got me through this so I apologize for fuck ups now.
Tag list: @outpost51 @nanashi23 @winterandwords @jezifster @kk7-rbs @aether-wasteland-s @dumbthunder @manathen @the-void-writes @liv-is (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!)
Digits grumbled beneath her breath. Lumber over either shoulder that should have been loaded onto one of the transport machines. Shitty little bots that had a variety of bed sizes. Most of the workers just referred to them as “luggers”. They were kinda like trucks with brains but way harder to love. At least you could camp out in a truck bed. These little fucks would toss you into the nearest pit, thinking you were just the next load of building material.
Just as their name foretold. The damn thing busted. Go fucking figure. Some dumbass probably loading too much on a lugger with too small of a bed size.
“Do you even think they tried to get decent ones? Swear this is the fifth lugger to bust this week. They don’t even get a pair at a time no more.” Brian, her roommate and favorite coworker said.
Both grimaced at the lumber added to their stacks. The weight making their feet sink lower into the padding of their shoes. Arguably neither of them had much of that to begin with. Digits’ voice deepened, wavering as she took a step forward. Refusing for any more weight to be added to her bad shoulders. Still aching from a seize up in her arms that had happened a few days prior.
“Only the best for our bitch ass employees.” Digits mocked, pursing her lips and sounding off with a kiss far more enthusiastic than she felt.
Brian’s laughs left in huffs. Carrying his own load over broad shoulders. Uncovered at that, and yes everyone thought he was a weirdo for it.
“Better be cautious.”
Digits scoffed, “Or what they’ll find a way to fuck me up worse?”
“I guess. Carrying around all this isn’t gonna bust some hydraulics or something right?” Brian gave her that concerned look.
That one that was hilarious when he had his bright green emotional support vape hanging from his mouth. Fruity clouds slowly seep from the cracks in his mouth. Slow, unmotivated puffs from his nose too. Headache-inducing, Fruit Loop scented, probably flavored too, clouds forming a field of fumes. It was amazing the man’s eyes never teared up from it. Instead, they drooped to focus intently on Digits. Urgently drifting back to the game.
Arguably Digits still found his concern in her right now hilarious.
“I don’t even know if my prosthetics have hydraulics,” Digits said.
“Haven’t you busted them like a dozen times?”
“Doesn’t mean I know what’s inside of them.”
“I really think that’s part of the problem.”
“You’re really siding with the shit prosthetics. That are probably cooking some nerves in my arms?”
With a quiet arrangement of grunts, she lowered herself to her knee. Muscles flexing beneath her clothing. She slowly leaned aside sliding the stacks into one of the feeders for bulk cuts. She rolled her eyes. Cursing when a stack had briefly tugged her by her high-vis vest. Brian forced the lumber into a tarped bed that would have been attached to a lugger.
“We can’t afford to get them fixed if you bust them Digits,” Brian said breathless.
“We can’t afford. It’s that simple.” Digits stated forcing her way free.
Digits flexed her fingers individually, forcibly straightening out one. She rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie tugging the work issued phone from her back pocket. Arms burning from the strain. Artificial skin unhappily passing over the cracked screen.
She tapped around blankly, eyes scanning the plans for the build and the objectives for the day. Eyes darting back to the time.
“Looks like we need to have the general framework up. Can’t tell if they want a factory or a home though.” Digits joked a bit.
“So we’ve been carting stuff around without any bot help for a fucking private home?” Brian silently fumed.
“An estate,” Digits corrected holding back a laugh at the look on Brain’s face.
He pulled down a pair of safety glasses, running his finger along the top of the lens. A yellow light flickering on in the corner, indicating he was viewing the plans. His fingers tapped absentmindedly at his tool belt. His high-vis vest hung limply from his back pocket. Brian grunted to himself. His eyes darting behind the glasses as he looked at the same schematics Digits was looking at.
Charging feet of other construction members rushed past them. Some hoisting lumber. Some bullying the growing collection of busted machinery.
“I’d start prepping the cuts but I think the gaggle needs some help.”
“You can always set the cuts for the bulk sets. Hold out though.” Digits lifted her head suddenly far more interested in her surroundings, “The protestors will be around soon.”
“Makes sense why those goofs are running then. Trying to look busy on the cameras.” Brian sounded like he was almost scolding them but he did linger around the cutter longer than usual.
Digits laughed softly. She unbuckled her vest, rolling her sleeves back down.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna go see if the lasers on the cutters are actually working.”
Brian laughed, “Uh huh. Might as well check if the machine is working.”
“That’ll take up so much time,” Digits grinned enjoying their banter.
“Enough time to have a personal moment with the red-headed deviant?”
“No such thing as enough time for that.” Digits crossed her arms, face going redder than it currently was from the labor.
The redheaded protestor had approached the grounds. Most of the workers slowing to look over in her direction. A dozen or so of her followers having filtered through to block cameras with signs. Probably advising against this land usage or maybe the waste of money this was. Digits wasn’t really sure. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the mood by asking.
The redhead had paint staining her jersey and hands. Meaning she had probably made those signs. And had probably caused some other destruction on the way.
Digits wondered if she should hate the protestors. Sometimes they did make their lives harder. But even Digits realized it was the company that forced them to deal with it at the end of the day. So the workers can only be mad at the people who hired them. Since the company they worked for had loved to totter the line of giving enough fucks for their workers. It was nice to have the company leads mad at additional people. Almost healing.
The redhead's eyes found Digits. Digits grinned at the silent recognition, her eyes already on the protestor. Peace walked over to the woman, tapping Digits with her foot. The battered shoe knocked dirt off of Digits’ jeans.
“Cameras aren’t watching. Think you’ve worked hard enough?” Peace asked leaning down some in attempts to minimize the distance between them.
“Hey, Peace,” Digits grinned shoving her hands in her hoodie pockets, “Definitely.”
Peace and Digits wandered off to a spray painted curb nearby. Digits sat first sighing content, even though she was resting weary muscles on cement. Peace followed shortly after sitting beside her. She placed both of her arms behind her, stretching her legs out.
“Anything special you want to talk about?” Peace asked curiously, tilting her head in Digits’ direction.
Digits tugged at her fingers inside of her hoodie pocket. Not knowing if there was something big to mention. They had been getting closer as of late. But she refused to give too much away too soon. Arguably it might be too late for that anyway.
Her eyes focused on Peace’s face. Glistening from the sweat, sun seeming to hit her skin just right. She noticed that she could spot Peace’s freckles more easily than usual. She blinked softly seeing the shimmer.
“Not really. Thanks for the paid break though.” Digits laughed trying and failing to get herself to look anywhere else.
“I’d do it for you anytime. It’s kinda fun pissing off the people that put money into being in charge of y’all.” Peace responded, flashing teeth as she grinned.
Digits skinned flushed. She tapped her fingers anxiously on the curb now. Gawking at the beauty beside her. It felt nice not being surrounded by her coworkers all day. Even if her heartbeat was pounding at her temples.
“Appreciated.” Digits spoke, struggling to keep her voice level, proceeding to ask, “Is that makeup?”
Peace beamed now. All teeth, all excitement. She grabbed Digits’ hand dusting it off on the knee of her far less dirty pants. Fully unaware of the widening of Digits’ eyes. Peace guided her hand to her cheek.
“Touch. It doesn’t even smear.” Peace’s joy radiated like the sun on them right now, damn there killer, “Green got it for me.”
Digits tried to speak. Her words nothing more than off pitch babbles. Glad that nodding starstruck was taken as an acceptable answer. Sweat sliding down her forehead and almost into her eye as she tried to memorize the feeling of Peace’s skin. Face reddening as she trailed her hand along Peace’s jaw. Wishing the protestor would just kiss her hand.
Peace quickly tapped the edge of her forehead to Digits’s.
“See told you. Doesn’t even smear.”
Peace grabbed Digits’s hand, holding it out. Her hand remained as unremarkable as before. But her busted hands got to touch the woman of dreams.
Digits sighed, damn there dreamily, smiling with a little more teeth than usual “Yeah. She got you good shit.”
#writeblr#random writes#the gays are gaying#Digits is down bad#Still working out technology shit and Digit's job#Long post
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ES21 japanese volumes part 2/??
<< part 1
Thanks for the warm reception on part 1! Honestly wasn't expecting anyone other than me and maybe a couple of friends to read, so it's nice to know that people enjoyed it! Also @blaka-smoko provided me with a link to scans of the VIS translation here-- it has up to volume 29 I believe for anyone interested (you'll have to make an account on the site to borrow the volumes though! but it's all free)
Now, to pick up where we left off--
Sena has just managed to escape the bullies, but they're in pursuit. He ends up running into a busy shopping street, where Hiruma, Sena's demonic upperclassman, happens to witness the following...
(First page -> Kuroki: "Alright! I caught...")
I love these pages sm, they're SO silly. This is the beginning of 'these kids might as well have superpowers', and I love that for them. And to be perfectly honest, I think the extra dramatic action scenes make for a really engaging sports manga, which is a genre where I tend get very bored of the whole, you know, Sports™ of it all. But ES21 always keeps me really engaged during the matches, and the super dynamic art is definitely one of the reasons.
Putting the rest under a cut!
I think I'm just gonna go ahead and post the next few pages because I love this bit lol
(Panel 3 -> Juumonji: "Shit-!" Kuroki: "I SAID MOVE!!!" Old Man: "That hurts you BRAT"
Panel 4 -> Hiruma: "That cut...." (note that the kanji here is 走り方 which is pronounced ha-shi-ri-ka-ta and means 'way of running' or 'running style', but the romaji says カット (ka-tto) which is just the English 'cut' as a loanword. I told you Hiruma does this a lot!))
Love how they somehow make Sena navigating a crowd really well into something so cool lol. But I love this entire segment.
(Panel 2 -> Togano: "Aaallright, now sto--"
Panel 4 -> Togano: "--p??"
Panel 5 -> Hiruma: "Whoa, a spin!"
Panel 6 -> The Bullies: *sounds of struggle and pain*)
(Panel 1 -> Sena: "Hiieeee-- (this is just a sound of anxiety he makes a lot) It's no good--!!"
Panel 2 -> Hiruma: "No, you can make it"
Panel 4 -> Hiruma: "With your legs, you can make it!"
Panel 6 -> Hiruma: "FLY!" (also means 'jump', but fly feels more apt))
TOUCHDOWN!!! (of getting on the train yayyy!)
I just love this whole segment-- how good the art is, how intense and dynamic and fun they managed to make a simple chase scene, how it works so well with the football visuals that Hiruma is laying over Sena's movements in his mind, Hiruma's weird omniscient presence cementing itself into the narrative lol. Properly introducing the One Thing™ that Sena is crazy good at to the audience, and that is running (usually away from something lmao).
(Panel 2 -> Juumonji: "GUHO!?" (sound of surprised pain)
Panel 3 -> Hiruma: "Toooouchdooooown! Ya-ha--!")
I love him your honor.
ANYWAY onto the next day!
(Panel 1 & 2 -> Kurita: "Oh that's right! Yesterday, a new member joined the club!" Hiruma: "Ooohhh, I actually found someone too."
Panel 3 -> Hiruma: "Truly a golden-legged Running Back. He was so full of spirit that he approached me directly, saying that he wanted to join."
Panel 4 -> Kurita: "Wow-- amazing! Good job finding him, Hiruma!"
Panel 5 -> Hiruma: "He should be here already"
Panel 6 -> Hiruma: "K, now fill out the application form~" Kurita: "S-SENA-KUN!!?")
The audacity of Hiruma casually and blatantly lying that Sena joined of his own volition lol. He just lies because it's fun, why not? 😂 Also, when Hiruma says 'running back', it just says "RB" with furigana that says ランニングバック, which is 'running back' as a loan word lol.
(2nd pic -> Kurita: "Whoa number 21! The eyeshield is so cool!" Hiruma: "If we don't hide his face like this during matches, it'll start an all-out-war among the other sports teams.")
Lol I love how shrimpy Sena is <3 In the fan-scans, the idea that the other sports clubs would try to get at Sena wasn't really mentioned until the Cupids match, so I figured I'd include it. Also Hiruma looks SO NORMAL in the first couple of chapters lol, he just increasingly gets more spiky and demonic as the story progresses, and I love that for him, but seeing little babyfaced Hiruma is fun too.
(Panel 1 -> Sena: "But I'm the manager~~!!" Hiruma: "Then, player-and-manager. do both"
Panel 2 -> the posters say: "Stay away from him -- Or the mosaic comes off")
Mosaic meaning the blurred out bits, obv. I feel like there's certain lines from Hiruma where the translation doens't quite capture the like... cavalier command with implicit threat he has in Japanese lol.
Also I get this slight vibe from his Japanese dialogue that Hiruma is like, funny lol. There's more of a deliberate sense of set up and pay off when he talks, which I get a kick out of.
Finally, end of chapter one 😂 the fuck is brevity?
Bit of an aside, but something I never noticed before about this pic of Sena's room is that he seems to collect figures of some kind? And he has a lot of games (or possibly anime) in the tv cabinet. I know in the pilot chapter (which I might post about separately sometime), Sena was characterized as A Gamer™, but that seems to have largely been abandoned in the actual series. It's fun to see the lingering remnants of that aspect of Past-Sena lol.
Moving on to chapter 2!
(Mamori: "The American Football Club!?")
(Panel 1 -> Mamori: "But American Football is... You shouldn't pick something so dangerous!")
Regarding panel 2, there isn't a mistranslation really, but I wanted to point out-- because it's fucking hilarious-- that Mamori uses four separate words that all essentially mean weak and feeble to describe Sena 😭 She's like "--because Sena is (physically) weak, insubstantial, fragile, and The Weakest™!"
Sena: "Y, you don't have to go that far...."
She really didn't 😔 how's a bitch supposed to come back from that...
Then of course Sena reassures her that he's just the shumu/manager (whatever), and won't actually be playing in matches, which she is very relieved to hear.
(Mamori: "Huh? But then why are you here so early in the morning?
Sena: "A meeting about club management!!")
Oh Sena :')
Cut to:
(Hiruma: "Come now, it's morning practice!!!"
Sena: "ALL LIES~~!!")
Soon, soon Sena, you will learn. But man look at the unbridled joy on our demon spawn captain's face <3 we love a chaotic gremlin.
Just wanted to gush a little about how much I love Murata's establishing shots, especially this one. Gives such an excellent vibe of early morning at a school before most students are present-- plus over the course of the series you end up getting such a good sense of the overall layout of the school!
(Panel 1 -> Kurita: "Well-- you know how we haven't had three people since the formation of the club? I was just so happy that I had to wake up early"
Panel 2 -> Kurita: "I was so amped up that I've been at it since 2am!" Hiruma: "An idiot, there's an idiot here.")
All told basically the same as the fan-scans, but I think the Japanese version slyly implies the existence of Musashi a little better. I always wonder with these things just how much of the back stories were hashed out-- like was Musashi's design already established? When we see him for the first time later (unbeknownst to us) did the creators already know That Guy was Musashi? Questions, questions...
(Panel 1 -> Sena: "That was close! I was about to join in on practice without realizing!" Hiruma: "Right, guess we should go through everything once, starting with the ladder."
Panel 2 -> Hiruma: "Since we've got newbies present and all." Sena: "Hiiieeeee!" (he's like a small dog, he whimpers when he's scared)
Panel 3 -> Kurita: "Ah wait. Actually my neck kind of hurts. I think I might call it quits after doing a 40 yard dash or something."
Panel 4 -> Hiruma: "40 yard dash, huh? It's been a while. Alright, let's measure our times.")
K-Kurita.... your head looks like it's gonna pop off.....
(Panel 2 -> Hiruma: "Time?"
Panel 3 -> "Kurita Ryokan: 40 yard run: 6.5 seconds"
Panel 5 -> Hiruma: "This fucking fatty!! What morning practice, you've gotten slower than before!!" Kurita: "I can't help it, I'm already tired--!!")
@blaka-smoko mentioned this in their reblog on the last post, but Hiruma preludes all his nicknames with 糞 (ku-so) which means like, shitty, but the furigana says ファッキン which is just "fucking" as a loan word lol. So all his nicknames canonically and literally start with the English word "fucking". Fucking chibi, Fucking monkey, Fucking manager, etc, etc. The official VIS version changed this to 'damn', which is nothing but a damn shame lol. Let Hiruma say fuck!! He's literally already saying it!!
(Panel 1 -> Hiruma: "Alright, watch how it's done!" Sena: "!? So fast!!"
Panel 4 -> "Hiruma Yoichi: 40 yard run: 5.1 seconds"
Panel 5 -> Hiruma: "Ya-ha-! That's my best time!!" Sena & Kurita: "Whoa--!!")
He's so fucking spiky!! And I love how expressive their physical movements are, like Hiruma's little twist in the last panel is so fun.
The first three panels are basically accurate, (though in panel two, Hiruma is like "What's that? You want to run so bad you can barely contain it?" which made me chuckle) but panels 4 & 5 are different.
(Panel 4 -> Kurita: "But, isn't it weird? If he's that fast (and he uses 爆速 (ba-ku-so-ku) which means like, explosive speed) I think he would have been famous in middle school."
Panel 5 -> Hiruma: "Hmm... now that you mention it.... Well, we'll know for sure once we measure his time.")
I like that Kurita points out something to Hiruma that he didn't consider! These early chapters gives a bit more of a feel of Hiruma and Kurita's friendship imo, before there's more characters that the story needs to focus on, and the two of them solidly enter the Senpai™ realm among their teammates.
Of course, then Sena runs and gets 5.0 seconds, which is already fastest on their little team! But Hiruma isn't satisfied with that....
The fan-scans are aaaalmost right? But confused. It makes it sound like Hiruma is quoting something Sena said/wrote down in the past (that he somehow aquired as Hiruma is wont to do), and then the line in panel 3 just doesn't make sense. In Japanese, it comes across more as like, Hiruma looks up some records of Sena on his laptop, and the rest is him putting together an analysis based off of that.
(Panel 1 -> Hiruma: "In Kobayakawa Sena's middle school physical endurance records-- he came first only in Repetitive Sideways Hopping."
Panel 2 -> Hiruma: "Must be due to the explosive power that you built through your gopher-ing... which is how you have that rocket-start. But you immediately lose speed, which is why you never make any records in a footrace.
Panel 3 -> Hiruma: "So all we have to do is make sure you don't lose speed."
Panel 5 -> Hiruma: "CERBERUS!!!")
BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY!!!
This is basically correct, so I used the scans for visual clarity because taking good pics of a double page spread is hard :')
anyway RUN BOY RUN!! Also love Hiruma's little fist pump in the last panel. Murata being awesome with gestures as usual.
(Panel 1 -> Hiruma: "This is beyond high school records! It's the top speed in the NFL! Nobody can stop this!"
Panel 2 -> "The Golden Legs!!")
I don't know if it's true that 4.2 sec is the NFL record (at least at the time) or not, and frankly I don't care. Within the context of this series, 4.2 secs is the speed of light, and Sena's got it!
I've always liked that Sena's got this glass canon thing going on-- OP in terms of speed only, extremely weak in every other regard. It's funny and unexpected in a shounen protagonist, and it makes for a very satifying arc, even if there aren't any surprises. I actually in part got into B.N.H.A . waaay back in 2014 because Deku reminded me of Sena (well, I got into it because I'd read the artist's previous manga and was curious, but Deku reminding me of Sena is what made me stay (well, until I left again a couple years later lol)). Point is, I'm very fond of Sena, I think he's fun!
Oof I wanted to squeeze in one more pic but I'm at the limit already lol. But chapter 2 ends with excitement all around-- and Hiruma says that they'll be winning the Spring Tournament. (Sena imagines himself as the manager and boy, after all that you still think you're just gonna be the manager? 😭)
Of course this is when Hiruma informs them that the first match is tomorrow lol. A team with 3 players. Good luck!
That's all for part 2-- hope y'all enjoy my ramblings!
#eyeshield 21#es21#eyeshield 21 japanese readalong#this one mostly ended up being me just gushing abt eyeshield but eh#that's how it is sometimes!! sometimes I don't have intelligent thoughts only !!! wow!!! this is so great!!! wow!!!!
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Hello. Do you have any fanfic recs of Sam being hunted down by other hunters? Because holy shit that concept FUCKS and I need more of it in my life
Hi!! Sorry I didn't see this ask until now!
Yes, I do!! A lot of them are by the ao3 writer authoressjean, I highly recommend checking them out!!
Taken by authoressjean on ao3,
^ Steve Wandell, the hunter that meg killed while she was possessing sam, had friends. They kidnap Sam looking for revenge.
Lethal Dose Countdown by authoressnebula (authoressjean) on ao3, sam gets poisoned by hunters, but they meant to poison dean.
Arms Spread Wide by authoressnebula (authoressjean) on ao3, WARNING! THIS FIC HAS CRUCIFIED!SAM ^^
Out of the Cross by saintsurvivor on ao3
WARNING! THIS FIC HAS CRUCIFIED!SAM ^^
The Case of the Dissappearing Nephilim by mollrach13 on ao3, Sam gets hurt protecting Jack from hunters
The Sunlight in my Growing by remy (iamremy) on ao3, Sam and Dean get kidnapped by hunters who want to avenge the apocalypse, dean patches sam up afterwards (soft wincest)
Those are all I could find just from scanning my ao3 bookmarks, but I'll look more, and feel free to add on/rb this if anyone else has some fics to recommend!
#fic recs#sam winchester#hurt sam winchester#hurt!sam#fanfiction#recs#let me know if any of the links dont work - my tumblr is being iffy rn#sam and dean#spn#supernatural#samdean#dean winchester#only one fic has wincest - but its very soft and they only kiss#crucified!sam#tortured!sam#grays fanfic recs
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𝗞𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗔 || 𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨
snippet of a fic i will never write (probably). got a little inspired by violet evergarden. if you liked it, consider a rb or comment.
kalopsia. the delusion of things being more beautiful than they are.
pairing. pm! dazai x f! reader
warnings. mentioned deaths/blood/violence, implied abuse from mori
words. 886
summary. "Oh dear. A maiden wants to love and be loved. But people like us are not meant for such a lovely thing."
Rain pitter patters against the lone window of Ango's office, drenching the rust-colored leaves residing on the pavement and trickling down the glass. Inside the office, a jazz tune hums from the radio and books are being placed into their respective shelves.
Despite the less than pleasant weather, Dazai Osamu, feared Port Mafia Executive and his friend Oda Sakunosuke, a low-ranking mafioso, decide to visit their dear friend Ango. The two friends chatter about this and that. An umbrella, drenching wet and meant to dry, is neatly placed in the corner just before Ango's office.
"Are you sure we can visit him so spontaneously?," Odasaku asks in his usual deadpan voice.
Nonchalantly, Dazai waves his hand and barges into the office. "Don't worry! Ango's schedule is free today. I checked."
Barely a step in, his peripheral catches sight of the hem of a dress and gloved slender fingers shoving a book into place. The face of a doll greets Dazai and for a moment, the infamous Demon Prodigy, is surprised.
"You two must be Dazai Osamu and Oda Sakunosuke. Ango mentioned that you would come." A light nod of your head and a polite tone is laced in your voice. "He is currently taking a break, but he should be back soon."
Dazai knows you. The Soldier Maiden, the Port Mafia likes to call you ever since the last conflict came to pass. An ability that gifts its owner with strength and resilience that surpasses that of any normal human being.
He, too, had watched you disarm and kill men, clearing the path for the Mafia's groups. One moment was all it took for your face to be engraved in Dazai's mind. The awfully breathtaking sight of your gaze locking with his, flames licking at the sky behind you while keeping the face of a doll.
At that moment, Dazai had been awestruck just as he currently is.
"Is there anything on my face?" You tilt your head.
Dazai blinks once, snaps back into reality. He had been staring. "Oh, no. I was merely wondering what our pretty Soldier Maiden was doing here."
As Odasaku takes a seat, he sighs. Not for one holy minute could his dear friend resist flirting or complimenting a woman. Much like a child fishing for attention that it never ever got; a sad comparison, but it's the first thought that crosses Odasaku's mind.
A viper chases its teeth into your neck and injects its poison called fear. Blood vessels constrict, run cold and your fingertips twitch at Dazai's words. Is he planning on dragging you back to the Boss's side? No, impossible. You left the front lines with Mori's permission, so not even his trustworthy right-hand man could change that, right?
"..I am no longer under his direct command. You cannot take me back," you express.
"You misunderstand. This wasn't my intention at all. It's mere curiosity," Dazai assures you and it appears to bring peace to your troubled mind.
The tension in your shoulders loosens and you continue placing Ango's books back into the shelves. "This is my revenge on Mori," you confess while Dazai is clinging to your side like glue.
Hazel eyes curiously scan the books before they land on your face. No sign of malice rests upon your skin and yet he can sense your dislike towards the Boss. Dazai can't say that he is wholeheartedly devoted to Mori, either. The only reason why he is in the Mafia is to find a reason to live amongst death.
"Now, now. You're becoming quite interesting, aren't you? How does this," he points at the books in your arms, "qualify as revenge?"
Your lips press against each other. "My dissatisfaction lies in the way he treats his subordinates. No one is allowed to rob others of their hopes and dreams," then, your voice is nothing but a pained whisper, "not even the Boss."
How many nights had you spent under his heel, collared to this organization like a stray dog? You can't count them anymore. All you know is how to execute orders, how to kill people and use that gift of yours for bloodshed.
But those books carry the letters of the deceased members. Never had they found home in their loved one's hands and all of them told stories of bloodshed, fear and death. Despite all that, they ended in heartfelt, three words.
I love you.
Just what do these words mean, you wonder.
"I guess even a Soldier Maiden is just a maiden in the end." Dazai smiles with his eyes closed. He, of all people, understands best how you ended up with such a strong distaste towards the Boss.
"Dazai?" Perhaps he is the wrong person to ask such a thing. But in this wretched organization, you have no one else to turn to besides Ango and the last time you had asked him, the poor man had flushed a deep red and even stumbled over his own words.
"Yes?," he says softly, takes one of the books and places it back into a spot high up on the shelf. A spot you can't reach.
"What is it that a girl wants?"
"Oh dear. A maiden wants to love and be loved. But people like us are not meant for such a lovely thing."
#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai osamu#dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader#fic: kalopsia
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wait why is the desperate pleasures ask bait
ok so the lengthy context is that i tend to be fairly outspoken about people mischaracterizing amy--and, you know, Other Worm Characters, See Alec--but talking about amy specifically tends to get people heated sometimes. which i think is sometimes a result of people not wanting to confront the ideas i'm raising when i bring up shitty political connotations that i feel certain interpretations of her can run into (as is the risk with fan content about a predatory lesbian stereotype), and sometimes a result of people just being in the fandom so long that they convince themselves of very specific but not necessarily textually based reads of her, and because those reads are touching on sensitive topics like rape, homophobia, etc, people can take offense when they're not taken as universally true. (which also definitely applies to characters outside of amy too--i think a lot of the worm fandom has been so inundated in like...ward retcons and WoG retcons/insistence on the author's interpretation superseding the readers' and fandom discourse without actually going back to the original text for So Long that they end up with very strict but inaccurate fanon misinterpretations, and then assume that because they've been believing those misinterpretations for so long they must be true. shoutout to when i read the book and then went to r/parahumans to look at discussion threads and everyone was confidently saying Absolute Nonsense about all of the undersiders as if it was long-established fact.)
anyway: people getting heated about ameepy opinions i have does on (usually very rare!) occasion lead to me getting anon hate or smth that scans as bait + last night i was posting in a rb chain about a common amy joke i find 2 be in very poor taste + desperate times call 4 desperate pleasures is a super well known amy fic that's in the General Sphere of amy misconceptions i was talking about last night, so the "have you read it/i think you'd really enjoy it" + the explanation of what it was as if i'd never heard of it despite it being one of the most well known worm fics ever + "it really gets amy dallon" scanned to me as, like, fishing for anger over an interpretation i disagree with. i could've just been reading the tone wrong, u never know w/ anons, but it reminded me of some more obviously disingenuous asks i've gotten & never posted. that said if it wasn't bait and i just misread good news for original anon i'm about to reblog a post w my thoughts on it anyway
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