#<- I guess? Not really. But just in case.

[simpforrooster]

i fucking knew it.

aaron hotchner x f!reader

summary: you and aaron have secretly been dating for a while—and the team is starting to suspect it.

t/w: 18+. MDNI. light smut (plz don’t come for me, it was my first time writing something like it), a mention of an age-gap, some cursing, mentions of criminals. i don’t think there is too much gender identifying language, but i did imagine a female while writing.

a/n: i had no idea where this one was gonna go. i hope you enjoy!!

aaron hotchner catches your gaze over the manila folder he’s holding. to the average person, they wouldn’t think twice about this action.

but, you know better.

his eyes hold yours for a few seconds longer, before he resumes reading the details of the case.

the lowlights of the jet’s interior mask the flush that’s appeared on your cheeks. hotch feigns a stretch, his shoe tapping yours slightly as he crosses his leg.

“sorry,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off the folder.

you wave him off, knowing your voice would betray you.

i saw that, your phone buzzes with a text from jj.

it was an accident, you reply.

yeah right, emily shares.

what! what’s happening? gosh, i hate that i’m stuck in the lair, penelope adds.

hotch smirks at his folder, affirming he knows exactly why your phone is blowing up.

the two of you have managed to keep your relationship under wraps for the past couple of months, but the girls have started to suspect something. rossi too, but you can’t be certain.

aaron caught your eye as soon as you started at the bau. you’d learn that you’d caught his almost instantly. but he was your boss, and there was the age difference.

several late nights of him helping you with your reports and chinese takeout, you fell for one another.

oh, nothing. just hotch thinking he’s being subtle, jj tells penelope.

~

“three rooms?” hotch asks the tired man behind the desk.

“take it or leave it, man. it’s 2 am,” the clerk says on a yawn.

“i call reid and rossi!” derek sticks his hand in the air. emily reaches out to jj’s arm and pulls her into her side.

rossi shakes his head and exchanges a look with aaron. “which one of you boys are sleeping on the floor?”

hotch looks at you apologetically, but you see the underlying want behind those brown eyes.

“i guess that leaves us,” hotch murmurs to his bag, trying to remain unbothered. he grabs your duffle and starts toward the elevator.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

one bedroom trope! emily sends to the group.

epee! penelope replies.

he grabbed her bag, pen! jj shares.

aaron has never once carried anyone’s bag to a hotel room. his gaze catches yours over his shoulder telling you he realizes the implications. his stoic expression returns as you all enter the elevator.

~

the girls, reid, morgan, and rossi get off at the third floor, leaving you and aaron in the elevator alone. not before jj shoots you a wink. hotch visibly relaxes, and gives you one of those smiles he reserves only for you and jack.

"we're on another floor? that's really going to set the girls off," you comment. aaron shrugs like the duffle bag gave it all away and yall should just fuck the secrecy. he takes a step closer to you. back-to-back cases have kept the two of you from any quality time that wasn't outside of a police precinct and the tension radiates off him.

aaron leads you down the hall once the elevator doors open on the fourth floor. his giant hand engulfs yours, and you can't wait to get into the room.

"this is us," he gestures toward the door. dropping your hand, he pulls the keycard from his pocket. swiping y'all in, he pulls you into the room.

as soon as the door closes behind you, you're being pushed against it.

"god, I've been dying to get my hands on your for days," hotch groans against your mouth. you answer him with a small moan you tried to keep in.

you push his suit jacket off his shoulders, then grip his tie. using his tie, you pull him completely flush against you. his tall body is all over you. there is no spot where his body isn't touching yours.

“tell the criminals to take a break,” you breathe. “you almost blew it at the precinct in the last case.”

aaron moves his kisses along the side of your neck. “that officer was getting a little too friendly with you.”

“but a couple hair flips had him on our side, yeah?” you’re breathless with the work aaron is making of your neck. at the mention of your harmless flirting, his arms tighten possessively around you. his mouth moves lower along your collarbone, sucking lightly. he’s learned where most of your shirt collars lie so he can hide the marks he leaves on you.

aaron pulls you from the door, kissing you like you’re his lifeline. he walks you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. “no more work talk, baby,” he says against your mouth. heat pulls in your lower belly at the pet name and a sigh escapes.

the first time aaron called you anything but your last name, you could have climbed him right then. he still uses your last name, or just agent, in the field, but it’s softer than it used to be.

as aaron pushes you back on the bed, you make quick work removing his tie and dress shirt. the white shirt he wears underneath pulls across his chest. your arms move over his biceps reveling in just how nice they are.

“you like what you see?” aaron smirks, his hand slipping under your top.

you answer him with a hand on his chin, guiding him to your lips. “always,” you breathe.

he smiles against your lips. “why don’t we get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling your top off and throwing it to the other side of the room. you’re pretty sure it lands on the lamp. this earns a laugh. aaron checks over his shoulder and chuckles along with you.

“i told you, i need to get my hands on you.” he reaches behind you, unclasping your bra. which follows the same trajectory as your shirt.

“hmm, this isn’t quite fair,” you murmur. you push aaron back until you’re sitting up in his lap. your thighs settle on either side of his, and his hands fall to them, giving them a light squeeze.

“tell me.”

“you still have your shirt on,” you tell him, running your hands along his chest. aaron reaches back with one hand and pulls the undershirt from his body. it’s so insanely sexy, your mouth drops open. how is this guy real?

aaron chuckles again. “you never cease to amaze me.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re practically an adonis.”

he rolls his eyes and pulls you flush against him. “you’re talkative tonight.” he presses a kiss under your ear. you crane your neck to give him more access.

“i always talk a lot when i’m nervous,” you admit. truthfully, there is nothing to be nervous about. you and aaron have slept together plenty of times since you’ve gotten together. this is, however, the first time while you’re on a case.

aaron pulls back and studies your face. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, baby.” his brown eyes search yours. the want in his is palpable. you’re certain the same is reflected in yours. your hands knot in his hair and you guide his mouth to yours.

“no, i want to. i need to,” you say, rolling your hips into his, his erection has your cheeks flushing. “i just still can’t believe it’s happening. you and me,” you admit.

aaron kisses you. it’s full of wanting and urgency, as if he’s afraid you’re going to disappear right beneath his fingertips.

“you and me were destined the moment i laid eyes on you,” he says, laying you back and settling between your legs.

~

the next morning, there is just enough time to grab some continental breakfast before meeting the local pd. normally, you don’t like to waste time on something as menial as breakfast, especially with a serial killer on the loose, but you and aaron had a lot of time to make up for and you’d built up quite the appetite.

you left aaron with a chaste kiss on his cheek in the room, before joining everyone in the lobby sans duffle.

“well, you’re glowing,” jj comments as you join her and emily at the table. derek turns from where he’s sitting with rossi and reid. “what’s that?”

emily points to you with her fork. “look at her. a literal ray of sunshine.”

“she looks normal to me,” reid comments. “if not a little worn down. are you feeling okay, y/l/n?” your eyes fall closed, trying to keep your emotions regulated.

“that, reid, is post-coital bliss,” derek says.

“yall have no idea what you’re talking about,” you tell them, praying your cheeks haven’t turned pink, because they’re exactly right.

rossi jumps in to save you. “come on boys and girls. let’s not make claims of our unit chief breaking fraternization rules on a case unless we’re sure,” he chides. he gives you a knowing look. aaron has definitely let rossi know what’s been going on. hell, if you didn’t know any better, rossi was probably the one who pushed aaron to finally make a move. you shoot him a grateful look.

“who’s breaking fraternization rules?” a deep voice sounds from behind you. just the sound of his voice has you wanting to drag him back up to the room. “baby, you’ve got to have more than that,” aaron comments on your lone piece of toast.

your face jerks towards him at baby. aaron curses lightly under his breath. a rare slip up from mr. professional himself. he stands there with both your duffels in his hands, his shoulder slumped in defeat.

derek smacks the table, cause the front desk workers to look over. “i fucking knew it!!”

your head falls into your hands. aaron’s laugh reverberates through the lobby. his real, earnest laugh. “well, i did good for a while there, huh, babe?” he says to you. leaning back in your chair, you tilt your head back to see him. the grin on his face could cause world peace. it’s not everyday the team gets to see aaron’s real emotions.

“you did,” you agree. he leans down and places a quick kiss on your lips before walking over to the desk to turn the room keys in.

as you reface the girls, their eyes are sparkling.

“i fucking knew it,” emily echos derek under her breath.

masterlist.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Lost and found 2

Part 2 of this storie.

Genre : request, fluff, oneshot

Pairing : Lando Norris x teacher!Y/N

The day after the Monaco Grand Prix, Y/N sat cross-legged on her tiny balcony, sipping lukewarm coffee and grading spelling quizzes from her students.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: You owe me one, remember? Still waiting for my “thank you” dinner, Miss Y/N.

Her eyebrows lifted.

Y/N: I’m sorry… who is this and how did you get my number?

Three dots blinked back almost instantly.

Unknown Number: A good magician never reveals his secrets. Let’s just say… you left quite an impression.

Y/N: Lando ? How did you get my number? Did Sara give it to you?

Lando : (Contact saved) You left so quickly yesterday, I didn’t get the chance to ask. And no, Sara didn’t give it to me, though I suspect she’d do just about anything to help my case It wasn’t that hard to find you. Monaco’s small. 😌

Y/N stared at her phone, heart doing a weird little skip in her chest.

Y/N: You could’ve just asked like a normal person. I guess I did already say yes to a date... No need to recruit a spy agency.

Lando : Well, Miss Y/N, I didn’t want to miss my shot. Besides, you disappeared into the crowd didn't have time to ask

Y/N: Sorry I ghosted. I had 20 kids to not lost again Which, by the way, went surprisingly okay. No one else wandered off. Not even Ella, and she’s usually one “Look! A butterfly!” away from vanishing.

Lando : Impressive. Gold star for you. ⭐ Also, congrats to me, I guess? For the race? Just wondering if you noticed I, you know… podiumed.

Y/N: Oh wow, did you race yesterday? I had no idea. It’s not like you had your face plastered across every surface within a 3-mile radius. 🙄 But seriously, congrats. That was epic.👏

Lando : Was waiting for you to say that. Thanks 😊 Felt good. Monaco wins always do. But you know what feels better?

Y/N: What? Your lap time? The smell of champagne on fireproof suits?

Lando : Having a date with a cute teacher.

Y/N: Smooth. Very smooth. Fine. I’m free Thursday night. But only if you promise not to bring any stickers.

Lando : Can’t promise that. Might be my signature move.

Thursday night in Monaco felt less like a date and more like something out of a movie. Warm golden streetlights cast long reflections over the marina, and the soft hum of distant music floated from open terraces. Y/N checked her phone for the fourth time, then shook her head and laughed at herself.

This is ridiculous, she thought. It’s just dinner.

But it wasn’t just dinner. It was a date. With Lando Norris. Race winner. Flirtatious chaos incarnate.

She was halfway through mentally rehearsing excuses just in case, when she spotted him.

He was already there, waiting outside the restaurant, dressed in a crisp white shirt and navy trousers, hands tucked into his pockets, curls slightly more tamed than usual.

And smiling at her like he wasn’t used to waiting, but would wait hours if she asked.

“Wow,” he said as she approached. “You’re… georgous. Really elegant tonight.”

She smirked. “You clean up okay too. No McLaren cap tonigh ?”

“I brought one,” he teased, patting his chest. “Emergency use only.,if a kid get lost again”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Let’s eat before you start handing them out.”

They were seated on a quiet terrace overlooking the water, the clink of glasses and the murmur of other diners providing just enough cover for nerves.

“So,” she began, folding her napkin, “when you’re not rescuing lost children and stealing phone numbers, how's is tour life like?”

Lando laughed. “Oh, just some light go-karting. On an international scale. No big deal.”

“I think I’ve heard of it,” she said dryly.

After a beat, he asked, “So what made you want to wrangle children for a living? Seems like you could do something far less… chaotic.”

She tilted her head. “Chaos is kind of my thing. Teaching’s exhausting, yeah, but it’s also... deeply rewarding. I love the curiosity, the little victories. And I love showing them something new. After the race, I had ten of them who wanted to do study downforce and tire compounds. Do you know how rare that is in a classroom?”

“Honestly?” he grinned. “Sounds like you’re raising the next generation of engineers.”

“I hope so. Or drivers. Or… I don’t know. Curious, kind humans.”

He watched her for a long second, then said, “You’re good at it, aren’t you?”

“I try,” she said, a little surprised by his tone.

“You are,” he said. “I saw how Sara looked at you. That wasn’t fear or just respect. She trusted you. And that doesn’t happen by accident.”

She felt her cheeks flush. “Careful, Norris. You’re starting to sound like a grown-up.”

He laughed, tilting his head. “Don’t get used to it. I’m usually a menace.”

“I figured,” she said. “Before I first met you, I honestly thought you were just some reckless, childish guy with too much confidence and not enough sense. I get enough of that during class.”

Lando clutched his chest, mock wounded. “Ouch. Harsh.”

“But fair,” she added.

He chuckled. “Okay, fine. You’re not wrong. I am childish sometimes. I like dumb jokes, fast things, and annoying my friends.” He paused, looking at her more seriously. “But tonight? I’m just trying to impress you.”

That stunned her into silence for a second.

She recovered with a soft smile. “Well. Consider me… mildly impressed.”

He grinned, but then she shifted the conversation again.

“You were so good with Sara. Not a lot of people know how to talk to kids. How are you so good at it?”

Something changed in his expression. He leaned back a little, fingers tapping lightly against his glass.

“I think…” he began slowly, “I think I just remember being that kid. The one who was obsessed with cars. Who lived and breathed racing. Who dreamt so big it didn’t even make sense. And if one of the drivers I admired had ever looked at me, really seen me and said something kind or just… paid attention? That would’ve meant everything.”

Y/N stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“So I try to be that guy now,” he said. “The one who makes space for those kids. Especially the little ones who look lost or overwhelmed. I don’t always get it right. But I try.”

She stared at him, moved. “That’s… honestly kind of beautiful.”

He shrugged, like brushing it off made it less vulnerable. “I mean, don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she whispered.

Their eyes met. Something shifted. The conversation slowed, deepened, turned into a soft current pulling them closer.

“So,” he said after a moment, playfully nudging her foot under the table, “how are we doing so far? Am I winning this date?”

She tilted her head, smirking. “You’ve avoided all major red flags. No chewing with your mouth open. No sticker bribes. A surprising amount of introspection.”

He grinned. “I’m saving the chewing-with-mouth-open for date three.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Date three? Already making plans?”

“Just saying,” he said, leaning closer, his voice a little lower, “if tonight ends with a yes, I’m definitely asking you out again.”

“And what makes you so confident I’ll say yes?”

“Because,” he murmured, eyes warm, “you’re smiling like you already have.”

She stared at him, this sweet, clever, chaotic, unexpectedly deep man and realized… he was right.

“Maybe I am,” she said quietly.

The restaurant’s terrace had long since emptied, the soft clink of cutlery replaced by the hush of late-night Monaco. Lando offered to walk her home before she even had to ask.

They stepped out onto the cobbled street, the glow from storefronts casting gentle halos on the sidewalk.

“So,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself more out of habit than chill, “do you always go full gentleman after a race win?”

Lando glanced sideways at her, hands tucked casually in his pockets. “Nope. This is strictly VIP treatment.”

“Oh? And what exactly did I do to earn such an upgrade?”

He grinned. “Didn’t tackle me when you found out I was famous. That alone deserves flowers.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I had a kid to chase. Didn’t have time for fangirling.”

“Exactly. You’re terrifyingly efficient. That’s very attractive.”

She smile and the space between them grow thiner, their hands brushing here and there.

They fell into step again, their pace unhurried, as if the night had conspired to slow down just for them.

Her apartment wasn’t far and when they reached her building’s steps, she turned to face him, one foot on the bottom stair.

“Well,” she said softly. “This is me.”

“I figured,” he said, glancing up toward the window with a small, almost boyish smile.

They stood there a moment, the silence between them full but not awkward. A good silence. A “neither of us wants to end this” kind of silence.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at her. “So… I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” she said, heart ticking faster now that it was just the two of them, the city dim behind them.

“You’re not what I expected,” he added, voice quieter now. “You’re smarter. Sharper. And a lot harder to impress.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a challenge?”

His smile was crooked. “Maybe.”

She took a step down, so they were on the same level now, barely inches apart.

“You’re not what I expected either,” she admitted. “I thought you’d be all ego and reckless charm.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “To be fair, that is most of my personality.”

She chuckled. “But tonight you were kind. Thoughtful. Gentle.”

His expression softened, like she’d touched something just under the surface.

“I told you,” he said. “I was trying to impress you.”

“You did,” she said quietly. “You really did.”

The air between them changed, warmer, slower, like the universe had just given them a moment to breathe.

Lando leaned forward slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would it be crazy if I kissed you right now?”

She blinked, heart now firmly lodged somewhere in her throat. “It might be.”

“But would it be wrong?”

Her answer came in the form of her hand reaching up to lightly touch his chest, steady, quiet confirmation.

He didn’t rush. He leaned in slow, his hand brushing gently along her jaw like he was still waiting for a sign to stop.

And when their lips finally met, soft, certain, and warm, the world around them faded entirely.

It wasn’t fireworks or a movie crescendo. It was better.

It was real.

He pulled back first, just slightly, lips still close, breath warm against her skin.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the paddock,” he murmured.

She smiled, eyes still closed for half a second longer. “And you did good not kissing me in front of one of my student.”

“Noted,” he said. “But I can’t promise anything.”

She laughed, then stepped back, just enough to let the space settle.

“Goodnight, Lando.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He waited until she slipped inside the building, still wearing that small, dreamy smile, then turned, hands in his pockets again, and walked into the Monaco night like the happiest man alive.

A month had passed since that night on the cobbled street outside her apartment, the night he’d kissed her like she was something fragile and electric all at once.

Since then, Lando and Y/N had slipped into something almost like a relationship. Late-night texts turned into coffee the next morning. Long FaceTime calls after his flights blurred into afternoons spent wrapped up on her couch, his head on her lap, her fingers brushing absentmindedly through his curls as they talked about things he didn’t usually let people hear.

He liked this quiet life with her. The slowness. The steadiness.

And though they hadn’t labeled anything, he was sure of what it was becoming.

He was falling for her.

Every time she laughed, every time she told a story about one of her kids with that glowing kind of fondness in her voice, he fell a little harder. It terrified him, in the best way.

Still, doubt crept in around the edges.

Would she really want him? The guy who lived out of suitcases, who flew to different time zones like it was just another grocery run? The one with microphones shoved in his face, rumors written in headlines, and fans who treated privacy like a joke?

Would she want to build something real with him, when her whole life was rooted in structure, patience, and carefully timed snack breaks?

Maybe.

And maybe not.

But today, he was going to find out.

He stood outside the school gate in Monaco, holding a slightly lopsided bouquet of tulips and daisies, the kind that looked somehow perfect for her. No reason, just because. Because she deserved flowers. Because he needed a little courage.

The plan had been simple: she’d told him she was free after class, and he offered to pick her up. But as the bell rang and parents trickled in, she still hadn’t appeared.

Inside, something colorful caught his eye through the half-open door to her classroom.

Ten kids remained.

Not in detention, in full, chaotic, unfiltered enthusiasm. They were gathered around her like she was a celebrity and a saint all at once, waving their drawings in her face with joyful urgency.

“Miss Y/N! Look! I drew your car with rocket boosters!”

“Miss, I made you getting married, look, I draw the dress!”

“I drew a giraffe. I like giraffes.”

Y/N knelt between them, laughing, holding each drawing like it was a museum piece.

“Oh wow, Maxime, that’s a very powerful rocket car. I’m not sure if it’s road-legal, but the shading is amazing.”

“Anna, this… is deeply concerning, but also? Very creative.”

“And Baptiste,” she smiled, holding up the giraffe. “Honestly? That’s the best one of the bunch.”

Lando leaned on the doorframe, still unseen, his heart punching hard against his ribs.

God, she was good at this.

He caught sight of Lara, the little girl from the paddock, now missing a front tooth and holding a drawing of what looked like a very abstract race car.

He smiled.

One day, he’d have to thank her properly.

Then one of the kids spotted him.

“MISS Y/N,” a small voice squealed. “LOOK! HE’S HERE! YOUR BOYFRIEND IS HERE!”

Y/N froze. All heads turned.

Lando straightened from the doorframe, holding the flowers like they might shield him from a stampede.

And it was a stampede.

“Oh my gosh, it’s the papaya driver!”

“Lando! Lando, do you drive to school?”

“Are you rich? How fast can you go? Do you have a yacht?!”

“Why are you here?”

“Can you sign my drawing?”

Amid the chaos, Y/N stood slowly, face bright red, one hand rising instinctively to her temple like she was bracing for impact.

She looked at Lando across the sea of tiny bodies.

He didn’t say anything. He just smiled.

And held out the flowers to her.

Her breath caught.

She took a step, then another, until she reached him. Her fingers closed around the stems.

“Hi,” she said, quiet and slightly breathless.

“Hi,” he replied, grinning like a complete idiot. “These are for you.”

She glanced down at them, then up again, some soft understanding blooming in her expression.

“Thanks,” she said. “They’re… really nice.”

One of the bolder kids shrieked, “IS HE YOUR BOYFRIEND OR WHAT?”

Silence fell.

Y/N looked at Lando.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Well,” he said, not loud enough for all ten kids to hear but she did, his eyes never left hers, “I’d like to be.”

She blinked, startled by the clarity of it.

He stepped closer, speaking now just for her.

“I know I travel a lot. I know my life’s a mess. But when I’m not racing, I want to be here. With you. Because this? Us? It’s the only thing lately that feels like home.”

Her eyes softened. A slow, unshakable smile curved her lips.

“Well,” she said, voice warm and amused. “I guess you are now, my boyfriend I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Behind them, the kids erupted.

“I KNEW IT!”

“I told you she liked him!”

“Wait, are they gonna kiss now?”

“EW, GROSS!”

Y/N turned, laughing. “Alright, okay, okay! Everyone, backpacks on, we’re leaving! If you behave, maybe he’ll sign your drawing next time!”

The kids squealed in delight.

Lando leaned in as she gently ushered them out the door. “Was that a threat or a promise?”

She turned to him, eyes glittering. “You’ll find out.”

And when the last child finally left and the hallway quieted, he looked at her again, still smiling like he couldn’t believe his luck.

She held the flowers a little tighter, leaned in, and kissed him, quick, certain, unmistakably his.

“That,” she whispered, “was definitely a promise.”

And this time, there were no more questions left to ask.

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[stephenleasheppard]

So I guess it's time for me to be a buzzkill and explain this one again

Pop culture is broadly aware of the idea that vampire myths exist. We, in real life, where vampires are not real and where we recognize vampires are not real, understand them to be folklore. However, it is fun to play with the idea that maybe they're not folklore. "Maybe, vampires exist!" And if vampires were to exist, then it would be plausible that the vampire folklore that exists in the real world does so because people in the past have had encounters with "real" vampires, and have passed that information along as best they can, and that information was not necessarily believed to be true, but was transmitted as folklore. Ergo, it makes sense that in a world where vampires are real, vampire folklore would exist. It is even plausible that in a world where vampires are real, vampire folklore could have lead to the explosion of popular vampire fiction following the publication of such novels as Dracula, Carmilla, and Varney the Vampire, leading up to the vampire-saturated pop-fictional environment we now inhabit. In other words, there's nothing particularly silly about your fictional "real" vampire inhabiting a world where Tom Cruise played Lestat in the 1994 Interview with the Vampire adaptation.

Same applies to werewolves. Werewolves are an interesting case because folkloric werewolves don't really resemble filmic werewolves, but pop culture isn't broadly aware of that. So, even though silver was not a traditional werewolf weakness prior to the release of 1941's The Wolf Man starring Lon Chaney Jr., enough of the public doesn't know that, and assumes that folkloric werewolves must be vulnerable to silver, that it's plausible for your werewolf story where werewolves are vulnerable to silver to exist in a fictionalized version of "real" Earth where wolfman's got nards.

Ghost? Demons? Same thing. The folklore exists, and for the purposes of fiction, that folklore dismisses the inherent silliness of telling a story about a monster in a fictionalized version of the "real" world where there are all sorts of movies and Saturday morning cartoons and breakfast cereals about that moster.

Then there's zombies. The pop culture zombie was invented by George Romero for 1968's Night of the Living Dead. It has no folkloric precedent. There were zombie stories before this, about innocent victims enslaved in a walking death by evil wizards, where the horror was the prospect of being enslaved rather than the slaves themselves (or, okay, in some of the pre-NotLD shlock zombie movies the horror was just racist "scary foreign magic bad"), but zombies as they appeared in Night of the Living Dead have no history. They popped out of that one guy's mind for that one horror flick. (The script doesn't even call them zombies; it calls them ghouls.)

So zombies don't get the folkloric escape from silliness that benefits vampires, werewolves, ghosts, demons, etc.. If you have a zombie movie, and call your zombies zombies in your zombie movie, and try to claim that movie is set in a fictionalized version of the "real" world, the question arises -- what, did George Romero predict the future or some shit? Why do his horror monsters with no folkloric precedent he invented in the sixties perfectly match the apocalypse consuming this setting?

It turns the story into a joke.

And this is in fact exactly what 1985's Return of the Living Dead did! In Return of the Living Dead, a sort of official sequel to Night of the Living Dead (it's complicated; the rights were split in half between George Romero and his Night of the Living Dead co-writer John Russo and Russo got the "Living Dead" part of it; that's why there's five Return of the Living Dead movies and all the Romero movies after the first one are just called "-of the Dead" with no "Living" in the title), the first movie exists and the events of the first movie really happened... sort of. In the Return bifurcation of the Night of the Living Dead continuity, the movie Night of the Living Dead was government propaganda to cover up a "real" outbreak of zombies that "really" happened; the events of the movie are a "fictionalized" portrayal of a "real" disaster, the idea being that if anyone claimed zombies were real, they'd be dismissed as kooks who believe a shlocky horror movie. The other major difference between the two splits in the continuity is that Romero ghouls eat flesh, while Russo zombies crave brains specifically and are vocal about it, which is very funny.

Ever since, there have been basically two strains of zombie media.

"Serious" zombie media, which, in order to maintain its seriousness, it has to take place in a fictionalized version of the real world without zombie media, in order to avoid raising the question of how Romero predicted zombies in a shlock horror movie in the 60s so exactly. In The Walking Dead, nobody calls zombies zombies because nobody has ever heard the word "zombie" because in the fictionalized version of the "real" world portrayed in The Walking Dead, Romero never made Night of the Living Dead. In serious zombie media, zombies eat flesh and nobody calls them zombies.

Comedy zombie media, which does not care about this, in which zombies are usually called zombies and usually eat brains.

The exception to this split is media that has zombies different enough from George Romero's zombies that the question of how he predicted the zombie apocalypse doesn't arise. Like, if you're doing a zombie apocalypse movie where the "zombies" are just living people infected with rapid-onset rabies, and shooting them in the head is in fact a terrible idea because inhaling aerosolized brain tissue causes infection, then having this fictionalized Earth also have movies by George Romero about slow-moving animated corpses who can be put down with headshots doesn't strain any disbelief.

(And then there's the book World War Z, which is formatted as a series of interviews of survivors of the zombie apocalypse years after it's been put down, which actually lampshades it by having one of the narrators speculate on how George Romero could have predicted it, but avoids having to answer the question by establishing that he vanished during the zombie apocalypse, presumably one of its billions of casualties, so no one will ever know the answer.)

All in all it's kind of like how you can assume that Godzilla movies take place in fictionalized versions of the real world where there aren't any Godzilla movies, or how Transformers movies take place in fictionalized versions of the real world where there aren't Transformers cartoons. It's not that difficult to grasp. The difference, of course, is that there's only one Godzilla, and part of the conceit of a Godzilla movie is that the people in the Godzilla movie will name Godzilla "Godzilla," which is plausible because after all they have to name him something and he is a titanic god-like lizard; likewise, it's pretty plausible that someone would watch Optimus Prime transform from a truck to a robot and say "Hey, it's some kind of transformer." If the conceit of your zombie movie is that it takes place in a world without zombie media, it's not super plausible that people would look at shambling cannibalistic corpses and decide to call them zombies, so they don't. (Romero didn't even call them that!) And that's why zombie movies don't call their zombies zombies.

can u imagine if other pieces of media were as scared of calling their monsters what they are as zombie media is about calling zombies zombies

[lilirae00]

Hard Launch - Part 1

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 3k

Warnings: just fluff, enjoy :)

a/n & update: decided to make this a two-parter because I loved the idea of how they handle the launch, so part 2 coming up soon.

——

The Dallas Wings had just closed out one of their biggest wins of the season. The energy in the arena buzzed like electricity still trapped in the rafters. Paige was riding high off the adrenaline and her first career triple-double—twenty-two points, ten assists, eleven rebounds, and three steals—and now she was heading straight into the post-game press conference.

She should’ve been focused on the game breakdown. But all she could think about was the girl in the front row wearing her jersey.

Azzi.

Azzi had flown in earlier that morning, slipping into town just in time for tipoff. And now there she was—sitting courtside like a secret Paige couldn’t keep much longer. Her long legs crossed, curls pulled back in a half-ponytail, and Paige’s blue #5 jersey hanging oversized on her frame like it belonged there.

Which it did.

Paige had tried not to look too much during the game. Had tried not to stare. Had tried to stay composed when Azzi smiled at her after a tough finish at the rim. She didn’t want to give anything away.

But she was already too far gone.

Now, seated at the table with the mic in front of her, bright lights overhead and cameras rolling, Paige took a sip from her water bottle and shifted in her chair. Reporters peppered her with the usual questions—game strategy, her chemistry with her teammates, how she feels about her triple-double.

And then a different voice cut through.

“Paige, there’s been some buzz online recently—not just about Azzi Fudd sitting courtside again tonight in your jersey, but about a photo she posted a few weeks ago. Fans noticed the phone case she was holding said ‘Paige Bueckers’ girlfriend.’ Do you want to comment on your relationship with her?”

It hit like a full-body static shock.

Paige blinked. The words came before she could stop them.

“I mean… it’s not a secret,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual. “She’s… she’s someone really important to me.”

A few reporters smiled knowingly. Some just raised their brows and started typing.

“I guess if you’re asking if we’re together… yeah. We are,” Paige added with a nervous laugh. “And I’m lucky as hell.”

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable—just charged. And then came the next question, and the conference moved on like nothing happened.

But Paige’s heart was pounding like it had just sprinted a full-court press.

—-

She slipped out of the press room five minutes later, ditching the rest of her team’s entourage to head back toward the tunnel. Her hands were jammed in her pockets, and her hoodie was pulled up over her bun like a kid trying not to get caught skipping school.

When she rounded the corner and spotted Azzi waiting near the bench, that nervous beat inside her exploded.

Azzi was standing casually, still wearing the jersey, arms crossed and eyes locked right on her. Paige stopped short a few feet away.

“Hey,” she said.

Azzi tilted her head, lips curling into something equal parts amused and affectionate. “Hey.”

“Sooo… I might’ve… hard launched us.”

“In the press conference?” Azzi asked with a hint of surprise.

Paige nodded slowly. “Like… national media hard launched.”

Azzi walked forward, closing the distance between them. “What’d you say?”

“That you’re important to me.” Paige looked down, then back up. “That we’re together. And that I’m lucky.”

Azzi’s smile deepened. “You are.”

Paige let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t gas me up right now, I’m freaking out.”

“You’re fine.” Azzi reached up, gently pulling Paige’s hoodie back. “You looked hot tonight, by the way.”

“I scored twenty-two points,” Paige said, mostly to hide how much her cheeks were burning.

“And you still couldn’t stop looking at me,” Azzi teased.

“Not my fault you looked like a walking fantasy in my jersey.”

Azzi leaned in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you.”

Paige stilled. Not because it was the first time—it wasn’t—but because it always landed with the same quiet force.

“I love you too,” she said. “Even when you make me sweat bullets in front of a dozen reporters.”

Azzi laughed and took her hand. “Let ‘em sweat. You’ve got nothing to hide anymore.”

—-

They kicked off their shoes the second they walked into the apartment. Paige dropped her bag by the door and tugged off her hoodie, the post-game haze finally catching up to her. Azzi didn’t say much—just beelined to the couch, where she threw herself down, still wearing Paige’s Wings jersey and looking completely at home.

Paige walked past the kitchen. “You want tea?”

“Nope,” Azzi called, already pulling out her phone. “I want the internet.”

Paige groaned, spinning on her heel. “Please tell me you’re not checking Twitter.”

“I am absolutely checking Twitter,” Azzi said, already scrolling. “We’re trending.”

“Kill me.”

Azzi grinned. “Okay wait—listen to this one. ‘Paige Bueckers dropping “she’s someone really important to me” like she wasn’t about to break every sapphic heart in America.’ And—wait—‘Hard launched like a NASA rocket and I’m here for it.’”

Paige flopped down next to her and let her head fall into Azzi’s lap. “Why do I sound like I was about to propose?”

“Because you kind of did,” Azzi said, brushing fingers through her hair. “You were nervous. But it was adorable.”

“I was losing my mind,” Paige muttered into her thigh. “I think I blacked out after I said ‘important.’”

Azzi laughed. “You said you were ‘lucky as hell’”

“God.”

“You want a massage? I feel like that level of emotional panic requires some kind of body work.”

Paige grinned into her lap. “Maybe. But only if I can pretend I’m not seeing every post about us.”

Azzi kept scrolling with one hand while the other gently worked at the knots in Paige’s shoulders.

She continued to read the tweets out loud so Paige could hear.

@wnbafanatic: UMMM PAIGE BUECKERS JUST CASUALLY CAME OUT AND SAID AZZI IS HER GIRLFRIEND???

@wingsupdates: Paige saying she’s “lucky as hell” re: Azzi has me kicking my feet.

@queerhoops: We finally got the #Pazzi confirmation we needed and DESERVED. 🥹🏀💙

@barstoolcollege: Paige & Azzi might be the power couple of the decade.

@pazzi4life: Yeah okay, fork found in kitchen. We been known, Paige. 🥹

Paige sighed and turned over to sit up beside her. “Okay. Real talk?”

Azzi nodded, instantly setting her phone aside.

“I wasn’t scared to tell our parents when we did. Or our friends. Or the team. I mean, they already knew,” Paige said, pulling the blanket up over both their legs. “I was scared to tell… them.”

“The world?”

“Yeah. The internet. The fans. The media. All of it.”

Azzi watched her, quiet.

“I’ve spent my whole life being ‘Paige Bueckers,’ you know? This brand, this idea, this… golden girl. I didn’t know how people would take it if I let them see you. Us.”

“You didn’t want to break the illusion,” Azzi said gently.

“I didn’t want to give them something to tear apart.”

Azzi leaned closer. “I get it. It’s not nothing, coming out publicly. Especially in our position.”

Paige looked down at their hands. “I didn’t want anyone to ruin this.”

Azzi squeezed her fingers. “Then don’t let them. They don’t get to touch this unless we let them.”

Paige exhaled. “You’re so sure.”

“I am,” Azzi said. “Because I love you. And I’m not scared of people seeing that.”

Paige was quiet for a beat. “I think I am… but I’m done hiding more than I’m scared of being seen.”

Azzi smiled. “Then we’re good.”

They leaned into each other, kissing slowly, wrapped up in warmth and familiarity. The rest of the world faded out with each soft brush of lips, each lazy laugh between kisses. Eventually, Azzi tugged Paige down with her, their bodies curling together beneath the blanket.

Paige shifted so her hand brushed under the hem of the jersey Azzi was wearing. Azzi responded instantly, deepening the kiss, hands moving to Paige’s waist.

“I meant what I said,” Paige whispered into her mouth. “You’re mine.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. “Then show me.”

—-

Paige stirred awake to sunlight leaking through her bedroom curtains, warm and golden across the sheets. For a minute, she didn’t move—just let herself feel the weight of Azzi’s arm across her stomach, the soft rise and fall of her girlfriend’s breath at her shoulder.

Everything was still. Quiet. Safe.

And then it hit her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes widening.

Azzi blinked awake beside her. “Mmm?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Paige turned her head slowly. “I said it. Out loud. On record. In a press conference. That we’re together.”

Azzi smiled into the pillow, eyes still mostly closed. “You did.”

Paige groaned and rolled onto her back, covering her face with both hands. “I hard launched us in front of the national media.”

Azzi laughed now, fully awake. “And it was kind of perfect.”

Paige peeked through her fingers. “Was it?”

Azzi propped herself up on one elbow. “Yeah. You were honest. Sweet. Brave.”

Paige went quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to be brave. It just slipped out. But then afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the people who are gonna have opinions about it.”

Azzi’s smile softened. “You wanna talk about it?”

Paige exhaled, turning onto her side to face her. “It’s not that I didn’t want people to know. I just… we’re already so visible, you know? Everything we do gets watched, commented on, judged. Coming out—publicly—it feels like giving people even more to pick apart.”

Azzi nodded slowly, eyes full of understanding. “I get it. I felt the same way.”

“When you asked me if you could post the phone case selfie, you were so sure. Were you not worried?” Paige asked.

Azzi smiled. “I was, but I wanted you to know I was ready, even if you weren’t yet.”

Paige’s heart clenched a little at that. “You weren’t trying to speed up the launch?”

“No,” Azzi said immediately. “I just didn’t want you to think I was ashamed or hiding.”

“I never thought that,” Paige said softly. “I’ve just been scared. Not of being with you—never that. Just scared of what people might say. The fallout. The attention.”

Azzi reached out and laced their fingers together. “The people who love us already know. The rest will catch up or get over it.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we still have us,” Azzi said. “And I think that’s enough.”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I think it is too.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve got practice soon, rookie. Better get moving.”

Paige groaned again. “Think if I fake a sprained ankle, Coach’ll let me skip it?”

“Not a chance.”

—-

Practice was in full swing when Paige jogged into the gym, hair still damp from her shower and a faint flush clinging to her cheeks that had nothing to do with running drills.

Arike was the first to greet her.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Paige ‘lucky as hell’ Bueckers,” she teased, grinning from across the court.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Oh god. Not you too.”

“Rook, the entire internet is quoting you.”

Dijonai walked by and bumped her shoulder. “That was a hell of a hard launch.”

Lyss followed, looping her arm around Paige. “More like a detonation.”

Paige groaned. “Y’all are relentless.”

“Hey,” Arike said, smirking. “We’ve known about you two forever. You just made it public. We’ve been sitting on our hands not tagging Azzi in thirst tweets out of respect.”

“You’re welcome,” Dijonai added with a wink.

Lyss leaned in. “But for real… we’re proud of you.”

Paige looked around at her teammates—all smirking, playful, and totally in her corner.

“Thanks,” she said, meaning it.

And just like that, they were back to business. But Paige felt different. Lighter. Stronger. Seen.

And lucky as hell.

—-

Later that week, Paige and Azzi were getting ready for a charity gala. The apartment smelled like curling iron heat and perfume. Music played low in the background, a chill playlist on shuffle while the girls moved around each other—Azzi perched at the vanity in a silk champagne dress, Paige pacing near the closet in a deep navy suit that clung to her frame in all the right places.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the floor,” Azzi teased, watching Paige pace.

Paige paused mid-step and met her eyes in the mirror. “You look so good it’s actually stressful.”

Azzi smirked as she added a dab of highlighter to her cheekbones. “We’re just going to a gala.”

“We’re going to a gala sponsored by my team, where we’ll walk a red carpet together, as a couple, for the first time,” Paige countered, adjusting her cuff links. “I think stress is valid.”

Azzi stood and walked over, smoothing down Paige’s lapel with practiced ease. “Then let me help you chill out.”

She leaned in and kissed her—softly, just a breath of pressure—and Paige visibly relaxed.

“You ready now?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Let’s blow up the internet.”

—-

The car rolled up to the venue entrance, where a navy carpet stretched out under bright lights and a flurry of camera flashes. Other players and VIPs were already arriving in designer fits and sparkling gowns, but the energy shifted the moment Paige stepped out in her suit.

A few cameras flicked toward her—then froze when Azzi followed, hand sliding into Paige’s as they walked.

There was no hiding it tonight.

Photographers lit up like fireworks.

“Paige! Over here!”

“Azzi, give us a smile!”

“Ladies, together, please—look this way!”

Azzi felt Paige squeeze her hand.

“You okay?” she whispered.

Paige looked at her and smiled, “yeah let’s do this.”

Paige kept Azzi close, one hand securely on her waist as they posed together in front of the Dallas Wings media wall. When Azzi leaned in to say something, a photo caught Paige mid-laugh, head tilted, entirely smitten.

“Y’all are trending already,” muttered one of the Wings’ PR staff with a grin, holding up her phone.

As they made their way inside, Paige felt the nerves start to dissipate—not because the cameras stopped, but because Azzi was calm. Confident. Like this was just another date night. Like it was safe.

The event buzzed with Dallas media, corporate sponsors, and familiar WNBA faces. Paige and Azzi moved from group to group—greeting Wings staff, chatting with teammates and partners, posing for a few more photos inside.

“Paige, wow,” said the team’s marketing director as she shook her hand. “You clean up nice. And Azzi—so great to finally meet you in person. We’ve seen you at games, of course, but it’s nice to put a name to the face.”

Azzi smiled graciously. “Likewise.”

“You two look amazing together,” the woman added, almost in a hushed tone, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say it.

“Thanks,” Paige said, squeezing Azzi’s hand. “We feel amazing together.”

A few feet away, one of the event’s older donors—a man in a crisp gray suit—caught sight of them and leaned in toward a colleague. “Oh, that’s Bueckers’ friend. The UConn kid.”

Paige heard it.

Azzi did too.

And while Azzi gave the man a gracious nod as they walked past, Paige didn’t let it slide.

She slowed, turned slightly, and said loud enough to be heard: “Actually, this is my girlfriend. Not just a friend. I know the difference.”

The man stammered—something about meaning no offense—but Paige was already walking away, Azzi’s hand tucked tightly in hers.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Azzi said quietly.

“I wanted to,” Paige replied. “I’m not letting anyone downplay what we are. Not anymore.”

—-

They collapsed into the Uber like they were finally exhaling after holding it in all night. Paige tugged her tie loose while Azzi kicked off her heels and tucked them beside her on the seat, her bare feet sliding over the leather.

Azzi leaned back, dress pooled around her thighs, and opened her phone. The screen lit up instantly.

“Oh my god. We’re everywhere,” she said, scrolling through mentions. “Twitter. TikTok. WNBA Reddit. There’s a clip of you calling me your girlfriend with this dramatic music under it. The lesbians are unwell.”

Paige grinned and rested her head against the cool window, one arm casually draped across Azzi’s lap. “Good. Let ’em spiral.”

Azzi clicked over to her camera roll and scrolled until she landed on the photo—the one from the carpet where Paige had her arm wrapped tight around Azzi’s waist, both of them looking at each other instead of the camera, smiling like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She held it up. “What about this one?”

Paige glanced over and immediately nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“We posting it?”

“Together?”

Azzi smiled. “Hardest of hard launches. No going back.”

Paige sat up and reached for her phone too. “Let’s do it.”

They sat side by side in the dark Uber, phones glowing between them as they each uploaded the photo.

Azzi typed first:

“Couldn’t be prouder to stand beside you, on and off the court 💙 #HardLaunch”

Paige stared at her screen for a beat, then typed:

“Took my shot & she said yes 🥹 #LuckyAsHell”

They looked at each other and tapped post at the same time.

Seconds later, their phones lit up in tandem—likes, comments, reposts already flowing in like a tidal wave. But for once, Paige didn’t care what any of them said.

Azzi leaned into her side. “How do you feel?”

Paige turned toward her and answered without hesitation. “Like I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life.”

Azzi’s lips curled. “Not even your triple double last week?”

“Not even close.”

She took Azzi’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“Tonight,” Paige said, eyes locked on her, voice low and warm, “you made me feel like the most complete version of myself. And it’s not because of the cameras or the suits or the headlines. It’s just… you. You make me feel like I don’t have to hide any part of me.”

Azzi swallowed, visibly moved.

Paige leaned in and kissed her—soft, but certain.

They pulled back only when the driver cleared his throat and announced, “You’re home.”

But in Paige’s head, the word didn’t mean the apartment.

It meant the girl sitting next to her.

[existence-is-a-pain87]

You guys hear that? It's the sound of my original writing plans flying away because I got an AU idea. Mmmmm I love ADHD.

Oh well, this AU should be pretty cool and I hope you'll like it! This isn't a series I'm gonna be solely focusing on like the Eyes series. If yall wanna see more from this AU sooner rather than later, send in an ask.

To Die is to Live

Yandere!Monster!Forsaken x Reader; Yandere!Monster!Block Tales x Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors

Note: This is an AU heavily based on/directly inspired by Homicipher. @allimili 's CRK x Homicipher AU was also an inspiration (your work is so peak btw, never change). It's also gonna get really dark since it's basically a Homicipher AU of Forsaken and Block Tales.

Furthermore, I wanna say that this MC is akin to another alternate version of the Eyes MC. Teehee.

I love experimenting with my writing :D

And don't worry, I'll still fufill requests. I just wanted to write this. Enjoy!

--☆☆☆☆☆--

You didn't know how you got here.

Your memories felt like a jumbled mess, as if your head had been plucked off your body, shaken around like a maraca, and then placed back on your neck with no cares in the world.

Bruises litered your body, and you tasted something metallic in your mouth, as if you had bit your cheek. But you didn't feel any injuries inside your mouth, so you ignored it after spitting out what looked like normal saliva.

You rubbed your eyes, before your vision cleared a bit and you processed... uh.

You could only describe this place as... a mess. Mold stained the walls, cobwebs nestled in each corner, and stains covered the tile floor. This place felt like what you could only describe as a giant indoor mall as you scanned the area, wondering where you were and what was going on.

You searched in your brain, desperate for any hint of knowledge you weild to help you piece together where you were.

Then you recall the rumors online about an alternate world that can trap others within it if they enter a damaged room with no windows when it rains. You never really believed in them despite all the warnings older folk online gave you about them.

But... what if you got there?

You remember someone attacking you and you desperately fighting them off, before stumbling into a random room in the abandoned mall- soon to be torn down- to try to hide after you...

...

...

...

You don't remember what you did to that person. You can guess they beat you pretty badly, though, and you fled to avoid them killing you or worse, judging from all your wounds and how you've never been someone super strong.

You just stand up, looking for any exit and trying to recall all the information you knew about this place.

A lot of people, around your age at least, called the Other World a copy of the Backrooms. But this place, while giant, wasn't infinite. And there had to be a clear way out.

Of course, no one who went in came out according to the stories, but you could always change that.

You opened the only door and peered out, seeing no signs of life as you stared out into what looked like a giant abandoned mall. Like an alternate, larger, and more warped version of what you walked into to get here. But there were other things too, and made this place feel like a giant mashpit of so many different abandoned and damaged places.

You just walked out and wandered around, regretting that all you had on you was a black raincoat and your usual clothes. You didn't even have an umbrella.

You had no weapons in case there was anything dangerous here. And you were injured and had no clue how to fight. If there were any monsters like this was the Backrooms, you're as good as dead.

And being dead doesn't work well with your goal to go home.

Your feet pad across the dusty and dirty ground, and you look around for anything that seems familiar.

Maybe if you found the exit to the mall, that'd be the exit to this world. Maybe then you'd get home.

You weren't sure. You just hoped. And what more could you do?

You looked around as you went, trying to see anything that caught your attention. You noted what looked like green buds with leaves that you occasionally found nestled in an upper corner, but they didn't seem to special so you didn't pay them too much mind.

You did think you saw one close back into a bud when you looked at it, and you swore there was an eye at its center. You just looked away, not wanting to fuck around with the ominous plant things.

Though, after that, you tried to stay out in the open less. Hanging out near the walls and searching more intently for a weapon while hoping nothing showed up to attack you.

Unfortunately, you weren't that lucky.

A thumping sound approaching made you flinch and duck into an abandoned store-like area while peaking out slightly through the window to see whatever is wandering past.

Whatever it was, it looked like a fucked up human. It wore a hardhat that covered the entirely of its upper face, but you saw blood leaking down from the inside of the hat and staining the gray skin on his face. He seemed to be wearing a gray hoodie of sorts, but the blood that stained it made you uncomfortable.

He seemed to be looking around for something (you had no idea if he could see with no visible eyes) and you noted the hammer he held in one of his hands.

You just stayed still, hoping he would leave as you panicked over the fact there were monsters here. You just stayed quiet, not even daring to breathe.

Then his head turned to look over in your direction, then angled to stare directly at you. You didn't move, didn't breathe. Just stared at where his eyes would be while silently praying to whatever god was out there.

Your prayers were ignored.

Immediately, the creature moved, approaching the glass as it stared down at you, before raising its hammer.

You screamed, turned around, and ran through the store, hearing the shattering of glass behind you as you narrowly avoided the shards from hitting you, weaving through bare clothing racks and through aisles as you desperately sped away.

From the thumps you heard, it was following you. You just fled into the backrooms of the store and scurried into a box the moment you got space between you and the monster.

As you hoped your violent shaking wouldn't disturb the box to not give your location away, you felt tears stinging your eyes as you heard the thumps of the monster get closer happened, some unintelligible noises you didn't understand that sounded like it came from between two different beings, before the thumps faded away.

You didn't dare exit the box. Especially when you heard thumps again, these ones sounding different than the original monster's. Then you heard them pause, and the sound of boxes being opened nearby you.

Your breathing hitched as you quickly tried to bury yourself more in the box and hoped the monster would stay away.

Then some thumps got uncomfortably close, and the box you were in opened.

You stared up at this new monster, and screamed again.

--☆☆☆--

Whatever it was, it was definitely not human. Sure, this one had normal skin and was wearing glasses, but from the spider-like mandibles jutting out from the corners of its lips and the pupil-less and iris-less eyes with two smaller eyes above it, you knew this was a monster.

Its hands- with short claws on the end of each finger- rested on the sides of the box, keeping it open, as the monster stared down at you. Its mouth was open very slightly and you could see the fact it seemed to have stubble and was wearing... a burger-like hat. It also seemed to be wearing a blue sweater of sorts.

Then, another pair of near identical arms- separate from the ones holding the box open- reach into the box and pull your panicking and struggling form out. He held you out in front of him and only winced when you punched him in the head. He didn't seem too mad, though.

He just sighed and used his other pair of arms to pin your own to your sides. You squirmed, hoping he wouldn't eat you before,

"hxd xtjh? hxd dwqjavnm?"

You froze at the weird noises that emerged from his mouth, staring at him in confusion.

"...what?"

He stared at you, before speaking again.

"mxwc dwmnabcjwm. hxd bljanm. r fxwc qdac hxd. hxd bjon."

You stared at him blankly, trying to process whatever he was saying.

"hxd dwmnabcjwm vn? wx?"

You just slowly nodded, not understanding a word.

"...r cnjlq." He suddenly said, before using one of his extra limbs to point at himself, "vn." Then he pointed at you, "hxd."

Was he trying to teach you the language? Was he... friendly?

He repeated the words again and gave you an expectant look.

You hesitantly repeated the words, and he nodded and said them with the motions as if he was trying to get it into your head.

...

You decided to call him Mr. Spider, especially considering how his legs were what you could describe as four spider legs.

And god, you were relieved he wasn't eating you. But he wasn't putting you down either.

You hesitate, before motioning him to set you down. He gives you a confused look before... sitting?

You raise an eyebrow and try to pry yourself away, and he seems to finally process you don't want to be held onto and lets you go.

You back away as he stands up, looming over you. God, he's huge.

But as you start to walk away, he follows. His spidery feet tap against the ground as he easily keeps up with you.

You stare at him, face scrunched up in confusion.

"hxdan bljanm. r yaxcnlc. r oxuuxf jwm yaxcnlc." He casually tells you, staying close.

...you aren't fighting the giant spider man unarmed and when he's twice your size. You don't have a deathwish.

Though, Mr. Spider seemed to want to protect you, and you were not going to complain at all about having a giant man spider thing protecting you if anything else here was super dangerous.

...

"hxd" probably meant "you" and "vn" meant either "me" or "I". You weren't sure. All you knew is apparently this world has a whole different language compared to anything you heard.

And how Mr. Spider seemed more than willing to help teach you some of the language when you didn't understand.

You glance up at him, and he looks back at you with lidded eyes. You point at the shattered window, giving him a confused look.

"frwmxf." He notes, squinting a bit, "kaxtnw frwmxf."

...you're guessing "frwmxf" means window. No clue what "kaztnw" means, though.

As you and he went along, you continued pointing at things so he'd state what they are in his language so you'd understand it better.

It honestly was pretty helpful having a surprisingly friendly monster teaching you the language bit by bit. You didn't expect there to be friendly monsters here... at all. But at least there was Mr. Spider.

...

...

...

Loud stomps suddenly echoed through the halls, and you flinch and look around as Mr. Spider's eyes widen. Quickly, he grabs onto you and drags you close to him, and you see...

...

Oh god.

You stare up at whatever just crept out of the darkness. It's huge, looming over Mr. Spider and completely dwarfing you. It's skin was practically a neon red, with giant and demon-like horns sticking out of his forehead. A red hood and cape that matches it's skin color hangs off its body, and it seems to be emitting a glitch or fire effect of sorts, with visible and external ribs and an uncomfortably wide smile.

Black symbols are inscribed on its chest that you can't understand.

It stares directly at you and Mr. Spider, before making an excited noise and darting closer.

You flinch as it crouches down, it's demon-like tail seeming to wag as it speaks. It's black hands press against the walls, similarly-colored claws digging into the concrete, and you realize this thing is very, very powerful.

"mjm! mjm! hxd vjmn oarnwm?" It asks, it's voice loud and echoing, "mxnb oarnwm fjwc cx yujh? r fjwc cx yujh!"

You shake as it leans in close, intently staring at you. Mr. Spider shields you with his arms, before talking back at the new monster so quickly you can't even hear the words said.

A rapid conversation between the two happens, before the monster makes a happy noise and darts off, before making sounds like it's... counting?

Then Mr. Spider suddenly lifts you up and looks around, before placing you up in a gap in the ceiling and motioning you back into the dusty and dark space.

You have no idea what's happening as you creep back, barely able to see what's going on below you as Mr. Spider suddenly runs out of the room.

It's all quiet for a moment, your mind reeling as you try to process what just happened.

Then the red monster bursts back into the room, loudly giggling and toss around and open everything on the floor, as if... searching for something.

...does it think you're playing Hide and Seek with it?

As you see it throw aside a box and rip it open, you realize that if Mr. Spider didn't hide you up here, you'd probably be dead or injured enough you'd wish you were dead.

You shrink back slightly as the monster looks around before running out of the room, giggling.

...it acts a lot like a giant child. Hm...

You'll call it "Red Child".

You hear more sounds, more crashing and thuds, and eventually, you see Red Child excitedly scamper back into the room, and Mr. Spider follows after him, looking a little winded if not... slightly injured.

Red Child resumes searching for you, before Mr. Spider approaches your hiding space and gently pulls you out.

"oxdwm cqnv." He tells Red Child, who immediately perks up and bounds over.

"(You) qrmn fnuu! yujh jpjrw!" He says, trying to grab you. You flinch, and Mr. Spider thankfully pulls you away.

"fjrc. cqnhan fnjt. kn pnwcun. cqnh qdac njbh." Mr. Spider instructs, as Red Child seems disappointed for a moment before nodding and holding you like you were a misbehaving cat.

You sweat slightly as you stare at this giant, demonic monster child, who opens their mouth and shows rows of razor-sharp teeth. "r urtn hxd. (You) oarnwm."

You just frantically nod, not wanting to die.

"mjm! mjm! ljw fn tnny cqnv?" Red Child asks Mr. Spider, shaking you slightly. "cqnh odw! cqnh ldcn! r urtn!"

Mr. Spider just nods. "hnb."

Okay, judging from the nod that is clearly a version of "yes"...

Red Child makes a series of happy noises, shaking you a bit as they excitedly talk. "oarnwm! oarnwm! (You) bcjh qnan! fn yujh!"

...you're so screwed, aren't you?

--☆☆☆--

Being practically carried throughout the Other World by Red Child, who was fucking huge, while Mr. Spider stayed close was a fucking fever dream. And being brought to what you could only describe as someone who took a large closet and set some things up to make what you figured were makeshift beds with other things scattered about.

Being dropped into what was a mess of random clothes, towels, and even some blankets and pillows stunned you too.

Red Child giggles and begins to point around at thing. He starts with where you're sitting, which is the much larger one of the piles of clothes and other things.

"vh knm." Then he points at the smaller pile (which is still pretty big), "mjm knm."

"mjm"... he uses that word to refer to Mr. Spider. You wonder what it means.

Though, "knm" probably means "bed".

Red Child looks around, before his smile twitches, looking like he wants to frown and... can't.

"mjm!" He calls over to Mr. Spider, who looks up from where he was grabbing some things. "oarnwm mxnbw'c qjen (bed)! fn wnnm (bed) oxa oarnwm!"

What does "oarnwm" mean? It clearly refers to you, though. You're so confused.

"fnuu pnc oarnwm (bed). oxxm orabc." Mr. Spider says, picking up what looks like... uh... a bucket?

"dwmnabcxxm!" Red Child chirps out, "(you) cjtn oarnwm?"

"(You) fjwc (me) cjtn oarnwm?"

"(Yes)! cjtn oarnwm! oarnwm ldarxdb! bnn?" Red Child pokes your cheek, accidentally scraping your cheek slightly with his claw. You don't mention it, just staring blankly ahead. Then Red Child leans in close, tilting his head, "(you) fjwc px?"

You nod slightly, hesitant.

"bnn! oarnwm fjxc px!"

Mr. Spider stares at you, his expression calm, before he nods. Then he approaches you and picks you up, and you squirm a bit as you get carried out, Red Child waving at you until you're brought out and set down on the ground.

Are they... trying to keep you as a pet or something? They were talking about a bed for... you?

You glance up at Mr. Spider, who stares down at you before motioning you to follow him. He starts walking, and you stay still until he's a good bit away, and you book it.

So what if he's friendly? If he's trying to keep you as a pet with Red Child, that's a hell no from you.

You speed through the place, hoping your shoes are enough to muffle the sound of you running as you try your best to lose Mr. Spider as you hear him make a sound of confusion and follow after.

And somehow, you manage to do it.

You collapse on the ground, wheezing and shaking as sweat oozes off your brow and tears sting your eyes. But as the thuds fade away, you figure you're safe.

You sit there, processing everything for a long moment before you hear what sounds like digitized laughter.

"Q4Q4Q4Q4Q4Q4!" You look around in a panic, as the voice continues, "U0U. H0DAN VXA3 BL4A3M CQ4W K1AM."

Your eyes then lock with what looks like some kinda fucked up plant nestled in a corner of the wall, this one unfurled with an eye in the center staring right at you as a venus flytrap-like mouth talks.

"H0DA3 BV4UU. C1WH. URCCU3." You think it... snickers? "QXF 4A3 (you) WXC M3JM?"

"...better than you, you bitchless creepy ass plant." You mutter back, grimacing.

"FQ4C?"

"..." You just stand up and back away from the plant.

"(Y0u) BLJANM? P0XM. K3 BLJA3M." The plant tells you, "L4WC FJ1C CX F4CLQ (y0u) MR3. XA L0V3 C0 (me) BX 1 L4W T1UU (you)."

You just flip it off and run for dear life, ignoring the plant's cackles as you go.

Great, sentient plants. What's next? Headless horseman clone?

As you slow down, shaking and wheezing as you cower in an abandoned bathroom, you flinch as you hear a voice. A different and unfamilar voice.

"yvccf."

You look around, and notice something... glowing in the stalls. Something yellow.

You look around frantically and see a crowbar laying on the floor. You immediately grab it, and hold it in front of you with shaking hands as you approach the stall. You shove it open and look around, holding the crowbar above you as you're ready to swing it and...

...

You don't see anything directly in front of you...

"cffb ufne."

You flinch at the voice again and look all around, looking down and seeing the source of the yellow glow. It's a blue jack-o-lantern emitting a yellow glow, with black antlers, that seem to curl into each other like thorn vines, sticking out of it.

Then it talks.

"yvccf."

You scream and drop the crowbar.

--☆☆☆--

Somehow, despite the language barrier, you were convinced to carry around the pumpkin.

You aren't sure how. It's just when you picked up the crowbar and tried to run the pumpkin started talking loudly and quickly until you picked it up and it calmed down.

And now, you're taking it some place as it sort of teaches you the language.

"(Left)." It instructs you, and you go that way, "(forward)."

You now know "left", "right", "forward", "go back", and "no" in this language due to the instructions you kept getting. You just hoped wherever you were going wasn't a death trap.

...at least you still had the crowbar with you.

As you approached a hallway with a blank front door at the end of it, you hesitated as the pumpkin instructed you to go forward.

In the end though, you go forward and open the door with shaky hands, and you hold your breath.

The room you walk into almost bears a resemblance to a living room, with furniture that looked like it used to be display, and a table littered with...

...

Bones. And a headless, giant, robed body sat nearby.

You freeze as the body stands up suddenly, white arms outstretched towards you as you shove the pumpkin into its hands and back up, fumbling with the door in a panic.

"kyreb pfl, bzeu jkirexvi." The pumpkin tells you as it is placed upon the stump of the body's neck. It uses a hand to hold the pumpkin in place as it walks across the room.

A lump on the couch moves, and a large, humanoid shape sits up. Losely draped on its body is a black cloak of sorts, and you see dozens of yellow and white wings sticking out of its body. Its skin is feathery and yellow, and there's messy brown hair on its head.

It turns to look at you, and you don't see its eyes. But it seems to smile as it lets out a laugh-like sound.

"yr! nyf kyzj tlkv jkirexvi?" It says, and it sits up as it seems to stare at you.

You hate how sweaty your palms are as you try to open the door, too scared to turn your back out of fear one of them will attack.

"ufek befn. kyvp yvcg (me)." The pumpkin man says (you're just gonna call him Mr. Pumpkin), and you see him now holding what looks like a needle. "z evvu yvcg kyivruzex evvucv."

"z xfk zk." A new voice says, as another door in this room opens and...

...that monster wearing the hard hat walks in.

It freezes when it notices you, and you two stare with locked eyes (ignoring his lack of eyes) for too long.

You manage to open the door and stumble out.

"nrzk!" The winged one suddenly says, and quickly gets up. Before you know it, you're picked up and carried back into the room by the winged man. "nyp (you) ileezex? pfliv xfeer xvk vrkve flk kyviv."

You quake as the winged man looks at the one in the hard hat, who's helping Mr. Pumpkin stitch the pumpkin on. "nyrk uzu (you) uf kf jtriv kyvd jf sru?"

The one in the hard hat hums, before speaking. "z jrn kyvd svyzeu (window). z kizvu kf xirs kyvd kf drbv jliv kyvp uzuek uzv, jf z sifbv kyv nzeufn. kyvp jtivrdvu reu ire. kyvp jtriv vrjp."

You squirm as you're unceremoniously dumped on the couch, and the winged man (you're calling him Mr. Bird since he looks like a weird bird) looms over you, smiling as it sounds weirdly cheerful. "ufek sv jtrivu, tlkv! ef fev nzcc vrk (you). (You) jrwv."

Tears drip out of your eyes as Mr. Bird pets you on the head. "grk, grk. ef tipzex, (you) jrwv."

Why does this keep happening to you..?

[rhythmroute]

original video, shout out to my mutual @kingcatnine for the inspo :o)

[julessuretries]

Seeing people call Ragatha an "abuser" post episode 5 is actually insane to me because for me, episode 5 singlehandedly sold me on her character, whereas before I was kind of apathetic.

She's not "toxically positive" - she's just got some sort of fawn response given her mommy issues and feels like she needs to be "well-behaved and proper" in order for people to like her.

One of my closest friends from college was exactly like this and it was hard to see them go through the recurring issue of being unable to break past surface-level acquaintanceships with people precisely because they were "too nice". Like, do you know how uncomfortable it is to have to explain to someone they'd probably have an easier time connecting with people if they, just, stopped being overly helpful? It's a really weird conversation to have: like, am I actually encouraging this person to be worse? I kid you not at one point I think I actually said "you'd be better of if you were meaner", but, like, no one else was willing to say it and he was desperate so I guess I had to.

But unfortunately the only person who'd ever be bold enough to do that in the show is Jax (because he's literally already done it) but it's hard for Ragatha, or anyone, for that matter, to take any advice he gives sincerely even if he's kind of right because he's already such a jerk (and might be projecting some of his own mommy issues if we're being honest).

Looking back at the pilot, Ragatha's behavior towards Pomni seems all the more depressing. She literally pounced on the opportunity to befriend Pomni from minute one because newcomers are rare and I imagine she's been lonely for a very long time. Which is why seeing Jax do a better job bonding with Pomni gets under her skin because from her perspective she's put in way more effort and therefore deserves her friendship more. That's obviously a very transactional and problematic way of viewing relationships, but isn't surprising given what we've learned about her upbringing. She's likely been taught that love is something that can be earned with enough effort and is now reaching her limit having to come to terms with that not being the case.

The best things in life come free. Genuine connections have to form naturally. While I'm not totally convinced that Jax is being fully honest in his attempts to befriend Pomni, I do think he understands something that Ragatha doesn't. People want to be friends with people they can relate to and trust. And even if Pomni isn't a jerk like Jax, she at the least can rest assured she's seen the worst of him, whereas Ragatha could reveal her "real self" at any time. It's about taking a calculated risk - even if Ragatha deep down is still a nice person (which I personally think she is), there's no way for anyone else to know that for sure. It's less risky to be friends with people who are more open about their flaws than with someone who feels like they could crack at any moment and you'd have no idea what would spill out.

Ragatha is a really tragic character but also so incredibly real. Unfortunately even if she did decide to be more "genuine" with who she was as a person she'd still have a long journey ahead of her, since I'm not very convinced she even knows who she is.

Wow this episode was good.

“We need more complex female characters”

YALL COULDNT HANDLE HER

It’s crazy that her character flaw is thinking that if she ever expresses a negative emotion everyone will dislike her and yall immediately proved her right. Goddamn.

[malereadermaniac]

(;¬_¬) "Maniac" - Bryce Callahan x Male Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Plot: Bryce will proudly say he dated you "for laughs" and call you a "psycho", a "stalker", or a "maniac". But it's the ginger who shows up at your door drunk and spam texts you; not the other way around...

Note: Inspired by Conan Gray's 'Maniac' AND 'Wish You Were Sober' ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ Also sorry if he's ooc - game isn't out yet and I haven't played the demo!

Warnings: m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI Some nsfw mentions but no smut!

You and Bryce started out as friends. All in all, he was pretty chill with you being gay, but he still had his homophobic tendencies and would always make comments. You put up with it, though. You could see through the wrestler's act; you knew that deep down he was having some sort of internal conflict and displacing it onto you.

Your friendship got to the point where Bryce would invite you out to parties. It wasn't that you weren't ever invited before; you just never really had a reason or a desire to hang around a bunch of your drunk classmates in a dirty frat house. You were quite content chilling with your small group of friends. But nonetheless, now that Bryce was inviting you, you were given a reason to go. Could be fun... Right?

Slowly but surely, over a couple months' worth of frat parties, you noticed a pattern in Bryce's behaviour. Your theories and guesses of what made the ginger so insecure and homophobic were answered. The night would always start with Bryce picking you up in his car and pulling up to the function. Sure, near the start of each night, the two of you would hang out, but it took very little to separate the two of you; you would mingle with whoever came up to you, and as soon as Bryce had a drink in hand, he would try to get with girls. Of course, you noticed this. And yeah, it irked you a little, but you didn't really have the right to get annoyed or angry with Bryce; it's not like he was your boyfriend. Bryce, on the other hand, usually didn't even wanna get with whatever girl he was flirting with that night. The insecure man would never admit that he never really felt some sort of spark or even attraction, but he felt obligated to flirt and get 'bitches'.

'trade drinks, but you don't even know her'

The next thing that you were certain would happen is Bryce getting absolutely plastered. For him, that is. You could tell from your first look at the massive hunk that he could handle his drink. So, though the amount Bryce drinks at every party would be enough to put someone into a coma, it just gets the wrestler to a comfortable drunk. Words slurring and knees buckling. You can always tell when Bryce is drunk, and you always notice it. He gets nicer, more honest, and he starts to lose that 'alpha-male' act he always puts on.

'knees weak but you talk pretty fly, wow'

Then, without a doubt, once Bryce spots you in his drunken state, he's all over you. He's slurring every couple of words, he's complimenting you a lot, and he always gets way too close for comfort. You always end up in the corner of some busy room, music quietly playing amongst other people's chatter, as Bryce keeps sipping on his beer and talking to you as if he's trying to chat you up. "Bryce... I think you've drunk a bit too much haha..." You always try to laugh it off. The first few times he did this, you gave Bryce the benefit of the doubt. You assumed he was too drunk to even know it was you, or that he was just being a dick n joking around. But the more he did this, the more he slurred your name specifically, the more he drunkenly mumbled about how shitty he feels and how he feels fake, you realised that wasn't the case. Over time, Bryce would get more confident; his attempts at wooing girls would get shorter and shorter, he'd get drunk quicker and quicker, and he'd flirt with you for bigger chunks of the night. His confidence could also be seen in the moments he shared with you; he'd start to try kissing you (successfully most of the time), and you could swear that one time he was stone-cold sober and just acted drunk so that he could remember everything the next morning. You felt bad, though, like you were taking advantage of the ginger, or even that he was taking advantage of your kind-hearted nature and the way you'd bend to his will whenever you pitied him or took care of him.

'Don't take a hit, don't kiss my lips, and please don't drink more beer'

After most people had cleared out, you would have to peel Bryce off of you and take him to his car to sober up a little. As more parties passed, you noticed that Bryce would drink more and more. You didn't know why he was doing this, and Bryce didn't either, at least consciously; subconsciously, he was drinking more to be drunk for longer, so that he could have an excuse to spend time with you and be himself. But this meant that you would have to deal with a very drunk Bryce; it also didn't help that you were also quite drunk by the end of the night. What would start as lying down in the backseat and drinking water to sober up would always, without a doubt, quickly turn into making out in Bryce's car. He was always the one to initiate it; overpowering you and lying you down beneath him in the backseat, though you never really fought against it. And though you enjoyed every second of it, enjoyed what felt like an answer to the unspoken chemistry between you and Bryce, enjoyed what felt like genuine flirtations and romance, you couldn't help but wish that Bryce was sober during all of this. You could feel that Bryce was letting the mask of his douche personality slip whenever he was drunk, but you knew that he would never do this when sober; he'd never fully take the mask off.

'Save me 'til the part is over, kiss me in the seat of your Rover - real sweet, but I wish you were sober...'

Eventually, after at least an hour of making out and even going a little further, you would pull Bryce off of you and emphasise that you two had to get going. Obviously, the man couldn't drive in his state, so it was always up to you to walk Bryce home. And it was no easy feat. You'd trip and stumble down the road, Bryce's massive arm swung 'round your shoulder as you practically lugged the hunk down the street. Once you'd get to his place, like clockwork, Bryce would always kiss you again, pulling you in close and begging you to stay over. You always felt that it was too late in the night for Bryce to still be drunk enough to be saying stuff like that, but you never questioned him about it.

'trip down the road, walking you home, you kiss me at your door. Pulling me close, beg me "stay over"'

Yet by the next morning, Bryce is always back to how he was before. Acting as if he hadn't flirted with you for hours and let little things about himself slip. Acting as if you two hadn't shared your most intimate selves with each other. Acting as if he doesn't live for and crave your touch. It was a constant loop. And you were getting bored of it. Though, bored's not exactly the right word. Maybe you were tired of it? Exhausted even? Sad? It doesn't really matter. You were done.

'But I'm over this rollercoaster. Honestly, you always let me down. And I know we're not just "Hanging out"'

You stopped putting up with Bryce's shit. Originally, you tried talking to him; you went 'round his place and confronted him about his very polarising behaviour. Bryce, of course, got defensive very quick. He started out by trying to play off his advances and the intimate moments between the two of you as friendly gestures. But when you wouldn't have it, he started shouting and accusing you of being weird. He, of course, threw out a couple of homophobic comments. He called you gross. The man even told you to 'fuck off, don't wanna see your face, scared I'll catch fag-atitis or something'. That really did it for you. You could handle Bryce's obvious displacement and refusal to confront his own emotions and sexuality, but outright insulting you? Oh yeah, that ginger can fuck off.

So, you put some distance between you and Bryce. Well, more like a lot of distance. You stopped texting him back. You stopped talking to him and seeing him in person. And you stopped going to parties with him; you didn't stop going altogether, you just made a point of not going with him or talking to him throughout the night. As you'd expect, Bryce didn't like this. Though they were buried deep, deep down, the wrestler most certainly had some strong feelings for you. But instead of working through his own shit, Bryce of course kept displacing his turmoil and anger at himself, towards you.

The pattern you had noticed and become accustomed to with Bryce had slightly changed. He'd still try to get with girls at the start of the night, but as he drank, instead of going over to you and flirting with you, he starts shit-talking you to all of his guys. He calls you 'crazy', 'some gay guy [he] was nice to and then [you] fell for him', calls you a 'stalker' that he always catches staring at him and says he 'wants you dead' for that.

'You were with your friends, partyin', when the alcohol kicked in. Said you wanted me dead.'

But for all the smack that Bryce would talk to his friends about you, calling you 'desperate' and many other things, you weren't the one yearningly and achingly trying to get back with him. You weren't the one spam texting, you weren't the one drunk-calling, you weren't the one showing up with roses at Bryce's front door. He was. He was doin' all that to you.

When sober, Bryce would go through moments of spam-texting you under the guise of being stressed that you'd 'expose' him for being gay; though in reality, he just needed you to talk to him, to stop ignoring him, to stop treating him like he was nothing. If it were late at night, the texts would get a lot less agitated and a lot more pathetic; mainly single-word texts of 'sorry' that would be deleted by the morning, or if he got real desperate, Bryce would literally beg you to respond. Again, when drunk, Bryce would constantly shit on you around his friends. But once the party's over? He's at your front door, holding a single rose. It's too late to slam the door on the wrestler; his foot already in the door. You listen to his drunken words, apologies, excuses; really, he's just digging his own grave deeper and deeper.

'But you show up at my home, all alone, with a shovel and a rose. Do you think I'm a joke?'

Whilst you do listen to him, you never actually care for Bryce's desperation. He was drunk when he would tell you he loved you, and would take it back the next morning. What's stopping him from doing the same now? You were also well aware of the amount of shit he was chatting on your name, and that didn't really help his case. After every drunken apology and profession of love, you would send Bryce on his way. It hurt you just seeing him around. Having to hear all this? It was killing you. So you would always just tell him to fuck off back to his friends and to keep up his 'alpha-male' shit. It was the truth, after all.

'cause people like you always want back what they can't have. But I'm past that, and you know that, so you should turn back to your rat-pack, tell 'em I'm trash.'

So he does go back to his friends. And the cycle continues. Bryce keeps calling you 'crazy', says that you 'drive [him] mad', calls you a 'psychopathic watcher ', and says that he 'fucked with you just for laughs'. The polar opposite of what he was saying to you the night before. And the polar opposite of what he'll be telling you later that very night, and the night after that.

'Tell all of your friends that I'm crazy and drive you mad. That I'm such a stalker, a watcher, a psychopath. And tell them you hate me and dated me just for laughs.'

'So why do you call me and tell me you want me back? You maniac.'

This wretched cycle went on for a while. But it came to a very abrupt stop when you got a call late one night. The sound of your ringer and the light of your phone screen woke you up. You saw the caller ID and sighed, but you answered anyway; you had already woken up, and Bryce never called this late; he at least had some sense.

He'd wrecked his car. Crashed it into a tree. He sounded really panicked, hyperventilating and sounding like he'd been crying. Bryce discombobulatingly explained that he didn't know who to call, and that he's sorry if he woke you up, and that he gets it if you don't wanna help him, etcetera, etcetera... You felt bad for him; you couldn't deny that. So, against your better judgment, you drove over and picked him up.

You took Bryce home and thought that would be it. Oh, how wrong you were. The ginger begged you to come in, arguing that he was still shaken up; and though you knew you shouldn't, his strong grip on your wrist and the way he looked with desperate eyes into your, it convinced you. You wiped the tears off of Bryce's face and calmly rubbed your thumbs across his pudgy cheeks. You brewed the man a tea and stroked his auburn hair. It was domestic. It was sweet. It didn't last very long.

'You just went too far, wrecked your car, called me cryin' in the dark - now you're breakin' my heart. So I show up at your place right away, wipe the tears off your face; while you beg me to stay'

The sweet moment slowly escalated into an argument. One in which Bryce was calling you 'crazy and dramatic', arguing that you're reading too deep into things.

'psychopathic, don't be so dramatic'

But you argued back. Like usual; you weren't one to take Bryce's shit.

"I thought we had something, Bryce. You told me that it was nothing, and I STUCK BY THAT! I left you the fuck alone. Like you asked! You're the one whose gone fucking manic now. You're the one who keeps coming back!"

That struck a cord. Mostly 'cause it was true, and Bryce really didn't... no, he couldn't hear it right now.

"Oh just fuck off, (name). I'm so done with your gay shit." Bryce mumbled.

You couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Fine. I'll do as you ask. Again. You need to deal with all that internalised homophobia, Bryce. No one gives a shit if you're gay. It's not the fucking 80s!" You get another jab in before you slam the door shut and head back to your place.

Damn. Why did you always say exactly what Bryce couldn't bear hearing, like you could see right through him?

'We had magic, but you made it tragic. Now you're manic, honestly, I've had it.' 'Listen to yourself, think you need to get some help'

And that was it for a while. Like before, you kept your distance, but this time, Bryce also kept his distance. You were honestly shocked. You expected him to at least go back to his desperate self when he got drunk, but no dice. Radio Silence. And you hated it.

Did that make you toxic? Maybe. You didn't exactly care. You hated that Bryce wasn't spam-texting you. You hated that he wasn't desperately trying to get your attention again. But at the same time, you had to be glad; at least this way, he wouldn't use you like some sort of experiment and then pretend like nothing happened the next day.

But after another month or so, a knock at your door grabbed your attention as you were getting ready for bed. The thought of it being Bryce flashed through your head as you unlocked the door. Why were you hoping it was that dickhead? You rolled your eyes at yourself as you swung the door open, but then ate your words when your wide eyes locked with Bryce's sad ones.

"............ugh" You broke the silence with a scoff. "Lemme guess: you're drunk, you hate me, oh but wait you wanna kiss me, oh wait you're not gay. Did I get it right? Can we just skip all that?" It was snarky. Sure. But by this point, Bryce's behaviour pattern was ingrained into your brain.

"I'm totally sober... Please. I wanna talk." Bryce's eyes remained sad and tired.

The sincerity in his voice was jarring. He wasn't slurring. He was looking you in the eyes. It felt totally different to the song and dance you were used to. So you let him in. You let Bryce talk. And holy shit were you left speechless. It was like a completely different person had taken Bryce's body over. He'd grown, or more like he'd self-reflect, so much in the time you two hadn't spoken.

Bryce explained himself. He didn't make any excuses; in fact, he told you that he didn't want to make excuses for himself and that he didn't deserve your benefit of the doubt. He told you how he felt a pressure to conform, to be what his parents and friends and everyone in general expected him to be. He apologised a lot, and told you many times that you didn't desrve all the shit he put you through and how much he regrets playing with your feelings. But what shocked you most was that at the end of Bryce's mini-speech, he came out to you. Sure, it was reluctant. And it was the way he said it with an upwards inflexion near the end that made it sound like a question, as if Bryce was still unsure. But it was still a massive step forward.

This little chat lasted most of the night. Bryce talked a lot, and then listened a lot when you said your part. But all in all, it was definitely productive; Bryce had fully put down the mask and just spoke to you without any sort of act; it was refreshing. It was 4am by the time the ginger left your place. You allowed him a hug before he left, one hug which lasted at least two whole minutes and was incredibly tight. Seriously, you felt like you were being suffocated... in a good way. The way Bryce's massive, muscular body wrapped around you, you felt cozy, safe. You told him that you couldn't move past all his shitty behaviour just because of one apology, and he completely understood; told you that no matter how desperate he was to make things right, he didn't wanna rush you at all. And honestly? That made your heart pitter-patter just a little faster.

[pseudophan]

wait can you remind what avatar in 3d glasses is referencing?

when phil went "remember when you went to see avatar and you got those 3d glasses?" as i think just a way to say something looked like it was being viewed through 3d glasses? i don't really remember the context. anyway he said that and dan looked like he'd seen a ghost. and i know this is an asshole move but if you don't already know why he reacted that way i don't think i'm legally allowed to tell you

i can't find the clip itself but i do have this edit i made once https://pseudophan.tumblr.com/post/158683807664

[barleyo]

Acceptable in the 80's.

Bodhi Windbreaker X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i know bodhi isn't the most popular dateable, but he is one of my absolute favorites. even if this is totally self-indulgent, i hope somebody else enjoys it too.

Tags: mentions of porn, fingering, handjobs, making out/kissing

Wordcount: ~0.8k

Learning about the modern era was interesting, sure, but Bodhi definitely had a preference for his time. This new, strange world made him feel behind, like he was being left out on a joke, and he was, in a way. Everything moved so quickly, despite how long he had been in his time capsule.  Things were just so different now. Not for the better. 

He told you about it all the time, ranting and raving about the 80s and how much he missed it. 

Movies, he claimed, were so much more entertaining. The actors were talented, the actresses were bombshells, and the special effects were "radical." 

Music was hip and catchy. He didn't mind newer tunes, he could admit that there was definitely more diversity now, but it just didn't hit the same. 

He thought today's fashion was clunky and cheap, that the food was overly processed and strange, and that technology was too advanced for his tastes. Social media? God, it hurt his head. Why did everything have to have an algorithm? And what the hell was A.I.? Living robots—like Johnny Five, right?

When he discovered the less wholesome side of modern internet, he found that he preferred the older alternative to it as well.

Bodhi brought you into the living room, carrying a large box of tapes and magazines. 

"I know, I tell you this all the time, babe, but the 80s was something special," he said, beaming down at you as he dropped the box on the floor. "You just had to be there. Or, in your case, you didn't have to be, because I'm gonna catch you up."

You watched him dig through the box and explain the decade's pop culture. It was interesting, but you mainly just stared at his adorably excited face the whole time. 

Bodhi bounced from topic to topic, clueing you in on his unique world of retro nostalgia. It was sweet, seeing him trip down memory lane.

"Right, and nobody knew George Michael was gay?" you asked, listening to him as he moved onto music of the 80s. 

He shook his head, giving a shrug. "I guess we were all too caught up with Hands Across America to notice." 

He dug at the bottom of the box, scooping up a final VHS. 

"What's that?"

"Last thing for today," he answered, blowing the dust out of the cartridge. "Films."

As he loaded the tape into the VHS player he had managed to find, you raised an eyebrow. 

"Didn't we already watch old movies?"

"Yeah, but this isn't a movie," Bodhi smirked, turning to face you as his finger traced over the play button. "It's a film. You know," he shrugged, "an adult film."

"Oh."

He clicked play and took a seat next to you on the floor. "Pornos were much better in the 80s too," he said, tossing an arm over your shoulders. 

You didn't realize how the video was making you feel until your hand was slowly pumping at Bodhi's cock, eyes flicking back and forth from the screen to him to make sure your movements matched. 

You kissed him softly, your arm crossing his as you both went to work on each other. The position wasn't nearly as awkward as you thought it might have been. Really, sitting so close to him while his needy hands trailed over you, going exactly where you needed him, was heaven. 

You slipped your tongue into his mouth and explored for a bit, nipping his lips when his thumb ran over your clit.

"Careful," he warned through gritted teeth, sucking in a breath, "it's still got five minutes left. Don't wanna cum before that."

You hummed and slowed your pace. It killed you to do so, but the idea of cumming with the actors was too hot to pass up. If Bodhi kept curling his fingers into you the way he was, you'd be on track to do just that. 

You mumbled a bit, making meaningless observations about the video, trying to distract yourself from how close you were. 

"The music in the back is nice," you said, face flushed.

"Yeah, porn doesn't set the mood with background music anymore."

You felt his hand grip onto your hip impatiently. You were sucking his fingers into your cunt deeper and deeper—how could he not get hasty? 

His cock kicked in your hand before it spurted thin, milky cum, but with your own orgasm crashing over you, you could hardly focus on that. 

The porno faded to black shortly after you both finished, the tape ejecting with a click. Sex with Bodhi was always fun, but this time was especially interesting. You wiped his cum off of your palm and shot him a devious smile.

"The guy had a cute mustache."

Bodhi chuckled softly. "Y'like 'staches?" He ran his fingers over his top lip. "Maybe I'll grow one for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That is, if you grow your bush out for me," he said, eyeing your mound, "in true 80s fashion."

[ninjakittenarmy]

“Oh I have. Mostly about whether it technically makes them insects.”

The cat-girl cocked her head. “Eh?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was an understandable reaction, but the actual subject matter was so dumb that I was dreading explaining it.

“Since insects have six limbs, and so do centaurs, and these people were only ever taught that six legs equals insect, they ask centaurs if they count as insects.”

She was silent for a moment, staring at me in disbelief.

“But that’s so DUMB!”

“I know, right? A buddy of mine I’ve known since high school’s a centaur and he actually gets asked that a lot.”

“They don’t even have exoskeletons!”

“Yeah, and you have to have evolved in the class Insecta. It’s not just looks.”

She sighed. “I thought it was just us but I guess everyone gets dumb questions.”

“Sorry I brought it up” I said. “Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”

She shrugged. “It’s not too big a deal, I’m just not sure why so many people fixate on it. It’s really not that strange. The amount of times I’ve been asked why I have four sets of ears instead of big cat ears wrapped around the side of my head is mind boggling.”

I’ll admit I was having a hard time imagining that.

“In any case, the reason we were engineered like that is because cat ears and human ears don’t hear the same auditory spectrum, yeah? I don’t really know the details but the ear shape has a lot to do with it. With eyes, it’s easy, you just add all the color cones from cats and humans. With ears it’s tricky to make one that hears all the sounds cats and humans can pick up.”

“So they just give you a set of each.”

“Exactly!” she said, glad I was getting it so easily.

The waiter briefly interrupted us to bring our sushi platters. Her eyes turned into saucers.

“Oh my God that looks so good!”

“Right? This place has amazing sushi.”

She ate the platter with astonishing speed. She was done before I could even finish half of mine.

“Wow. You must’ve been starving.”

She nodded enthusiastically, then swallowed the last California roll.

“Oh yeah. Haven’t eaten in a few hours at least! We felinids gotta eat lots of meat.”

“For the eyesight, right?”

“Among lots and lots of other stuff yeah but our eyes need a type of protein that you can only get from meat. There’s a lot of stuff we can only get from meat actually. Having to explain that to the vegetarians is NOT fun.”

“Oof” I winced, already being familiar with the sort of vegetarian she was talking about.

“I think most of them get that we can’t eat like them, but some of them are just nuts. Complete zealots. Like, no, Makeighlyn, I can’t just eat soy. I know there’s protein in soy. It’s not the right kind.”

I chuckled at her name suggestion.

“There’s this one vegan lady who’s still mad at me for ah, ‘stealing’ her cat.”

She grinned mischievously.

“Ooh, do tell!”

“Right so I was cat sitting for her and I realized that Mittens wasn’t looking so hot. I couldn’t find any cat food around so I asked if she was out.”

“Oh brother” she said, already seeing where this was going.

“She says that she eats this veggie and tofu purée in the fridge. Now I already knew that this was bad. But I looked at this Tupperware and it was full of just, the foulest slop I have ever seen in my life. Like if you fed this to inmates in Texas, YOU would get the death penalty.”

She snorted, choking on laughter.

“So then you stole the cat?”

“Well here’s the thing, I didn’t steal anything! I called the police to see if the city’s animal cruelty laws covered this and wouldn’t you know it, they did. So we have this whole court battle and she throws a fit right in the courtroom about how the government was only punishing her because they were in the pocket of the meat industry.”

“Oh God.”

I laughed. “Yeah she said some of the wildest conspiracy theory bullshit I ever heard. She thinks that all animals-“ I cut myself off laughing” “That ALL animals naturally only eat plants and that we humans taught carnivores to eat meat.”

“Did ‘em a favor” she said.

I chuckled. “Does time for animal cruelty AND contempt of court. And obviously loses the cat. So I took her in and got her some actual, edible food. Edible for her I mean. Though it’s probably safer for human consumption than whatever that puree was.”

We continued talking for a while about various things. Biology, videogames, the anime that lead to her species’ creation, that sort of thing. A couple hours, a few orders of seafood dishes, and an expensive bill later, and we were ready to go. As we were packing up, she said something that caught me off guard.

“So… if you’re not busy later tonight, could I maybe drop by your place?”

I was taken aback and immediately flustered. I could feel the heat rising on my face.

“O-oh! I uh-I don’t really do that sort of thing” I said. I’m asexual you see.

Her face turned beet red at the implication she apparently just realized. “Oh no, I know! I saw you wearing that pride pin aways back! I ah, don’t really like that stuff either, truth be told.”

“Oh” I said, relieved. “So why ah, why this all of a sudden?”

She smiled bashfully, averting her eyes.

“I was kinda hoping I could… maybe meet your cat? I love cats.”

"Why do people find the 'four ears' thing to be so weird?" The cat-girl flicked her top pair back in annoyance. "Centaurs have six limbs and I've never seen anyone ask one of them about it."

[snowstormarts]

hiii can u write more hcs or whatever about cam… there’s literally nothing for him and i want that stinky man >:3

Holding your hand as we spin in a circle with Cam who's not impressed. All to say is I love this trash man, the only reason I didnt get his romance route is because of the Empathy Block...But enough of that and more to headcanons for him! [If anyone else has Cam stuff please let me know, I need this man on such a deep level]

Reblogs & Likes are appreciated and feel free to send Requests, Questions, ect to my Inbox ^^

🗑 Cam Headcanons 🗑

[Divider Credit]

- He can't & won't stand for anyone bullying someone for something they can't control. He had his own experiences with bullying for being born as a trashcan so he will often step in and scare the bullies away before leaving [he has to keep his reputation as the silent guy who hates everyone]

- He has a opossum plushy that he keeps hidden away, it's his support & vent buddy when days are especially hard and he just needs to let it out somehow

- Don't let his clothes trick you, he might not look the strongest but underneath it all he has some muscles. Carrying trash around and creating a home with it is going to take some strength, it's like a free work out for him

- If you're dating him get ready for him to be the sweetest guy ever, you can literally walk into a room and see him make someone cower in fear only to turn around and face you with a smile and a huff. Before walking like nothing happened up to you, cupping your cheek and letting your foreheads touch as he asks if you were looking for him. ["Did I keep you waiting my little opossum? Yeah? Then let's get out of here and I will make it up to you, how does cuddling and snacking sound while we bitch about your ex-boss?"]

- Knows a ton about "pest-animals" like pigeons, raccoons, opossums & different kinds of bugs, you ever need some background noises or need to be grounded? This man has your back!

- If you ever propose to him/ask when he's gonna tie the knot he will be shocked, he never expected to date anyone let alone get married to someone who truly loves him for who he is.

"Is this some kind of cruel joke, maybe one of those challenges online? Or are you serious about this? Just in case you've forgotten I'm a trashcan, you sure you can handle that? That also means having to deal with me and my shit dai-huh? Y-You're serious, you even got the ring...Well then, I guess I might have a ring here somewhere for you just let me go find it... Oh, and doll? I love you, I really do. Thanks for choosing to stick with me even when I have my shitty moments, you're the best future spouse anyone could have wished for."

[mona-risms]

Perchance…Mira with a gn!reader where reader is someone who is famous/if not more famous than huntrix, but they work in a different industry, like acting. (I looove her so much, it’s a tie between who is my favorite between the girls rn..)

◆ MAIN COURSE: Mira x famous actor!gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: Like. A single tiny mention of the making of intimacy scenes in movies

◆ NOTES: I love them all so much too IT'S SO HARD TO DECIDE WHEN THEY'RE ALL SO SILLY

Oh this is so cute insert that one track that plays with Rujinu meeting that's funny asf 😭

No one would even actually guess that the two of you were actually dating, especially considering idols mostly get matched up with other idols. Even more so during the middle of the movie, where Romirabby was RIFE in the shipping legion

I'd like to think that usually she doesn't really care otherwise, but when it comes to you she actually wants to keep things secret. The two of you both know full well just how fame kinda takes privacy away from the two of you—she just wants to go on dates w you without getting pissed tf off by of the amount of people that'd inevitably swarm the both of you

That DOES obv mean the two of you end up witnessing the multiple speculations in ships that Mira and maybe you too have

"Ro..mi..rabby?" You sounded out in amusement as you lowered your phone just to look down at your girlfriend, who was scrolling through her own phone while nestled into your side, "Sounds.. creative."

Mira snorted, and you could tell she rolled her eyes even if you couldn't see her face, "Sounds like a disease. Like rabies."

"Aww, don't be like that," you dropped your phone on the side of the bed to fully wrap your arms around her, pressing a kiss on the top of her head before watching her screen, "they seem nice."

"Right. 'Nice'."

"And your hair colours match! Like a pink poly trio. K-Pop news of the century."

"Are you seriously shipping your own girlfriend with two other people?"

"I mean.. the guy with the abs definitely seems like your type."

Mira turns her phone off before squirming to turn and look up at you, "You're my type."

A large grin stretched your lips, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." And she crawls up to press a kiss square on the lips, lingering long enough for you to draw random circles on her hips as her hand went up to lightly cup your cheek. When the two of you eventually pull away, she leans her forehead onto yours before murmuring against your lips, "So stop looking at them. And stop ego-feasting—you get that enough as is."

"Boo."

It'd definitely be mind-boggling for her, that she's managed to bag someone like you. Not just bc of your fame—she understands VERY well how it can eat at your time, but you two make it work frfr—but bc even with HUNTR/X, it's crazy to think that there's someone like you that makes her feel like she's home by just existing

The two of you would def be each other's hypeman trust. Like you support her with her idol stuff, and you'll have her binging every single thing you've acted on; she's gonna tease the living shit out of you if you've ever said/done smth embarrassing for a script, but she does it out of love trust. She'd also come watch you on-set too!! And make fun of you LMAO but it makes things much more fun. OH and since she knows how to choreograph, even as a dancer, it's still useful when it comes to shit like fight scenes for example. And with her experience as a Hunter fighter, it's genuinely really helpful

In a relationship with Mira, especially when you're someone famous, I think there's that cemented understanding that the both of you have your own lives and you're gonna be doing different things. You hang out with each other when you can, and you ALWAYS come home to each other in the end, but time can be sparse. So you two would often do whatever you can to stay connected—calling, texting, gifting, the works

This would prob be especially the case when it comes to you, considering you're an actor in this scenario. You'd be playing different characters and different scenes, and some scenes would be.. Something. Kiss scenes, intimate scenes, that kind of stuff. She's protective, hell yes she is, but she also knows that this is something you do in your job anyway 🤷‍♀️ to compromise, her request is that if you ever do an intimacy scene (which honestly the ideal case is to just lessen the amount you'd have to do, best case you do none at all), you let her know so that she can carve out time to watch you film and make sure that all the proper procedures are taken (intimacy coordinators doing their jobs, camerawork, etc). Unless you two have revealed your relationship, they'd just think you two are besties and she's protective of her bestie

HUNTR/X would be your biggest supporters. We know Zoey is an all-time fangirl of all things right. Like she is THE rep for us all. So her finding out that Mira's been dating this WORLDWIDE FAMOUS ACTOR THIS ENTIRE TIME ARE YOU JOKING???? AND SHE DIDN'T THINK TO SAY ANYTHING?!??!?!?! This girl would be freaking out, sobbing, asking for an autograph, EVERYTHING. Rumi's calmer, and would most likely be more impressed at the fact that you two kept it quiet, IF you keep your relationship a secret from them too at first (probably just at first when Mira's got no clue if it'll last or not, then she'd probably say something bc hellooooo they're HER FAMILY!!!!!!) BUT she's still sososo happy anyway and will also tease Mira to DEATH about it

Apart feom all that though? I don't think your dynamic would be any different to if somehow you two weren't famous whatsoever. She doesn't care about your fame!!! She genuinely just loves you and wants to support you as much as she can, not in the way a fan would with an idol or someone famous, but in the way that someone who loves someone so deeply would support her beloved. After being discarded and not loved in that way for most of her life, she refuses to let this relationship sour via treating it the same way her family treated her when it came to affection :(

[sh-teacup]

"My baby loves windows" is a reflection of both Claudia's life *audience gasps* AND Armand's human life *gets boo'd off stage*

[lastdefenseunit]

"Yes, i come from Futurum. Just like my mom. I guess you can call me an alien, this isn't my planet after all, it's interesting to see how i am an actual invader now."

----

"We never had any issues bringing Sirei back, i didn't know he legitemately needed his code in order to keep existing. Sirei never spoke about a code or how his whole thing worked but he could be chopped up in pieces, with his brain cut and we still have managed to recover him after that... Of course when we knew how to put his body back. Looks like we made his case worse without really meaning to."

"Here, AI's are made from string of codes. It's the way i was created, i was first created as a program on a strong pc that could handle running such a big program, he didn't plan on keeping me around therefore no backup, the moment it's overwritten, deleted... I go with it. I don't know if it's going to vanish if my AI chip were to be destroyed. I don't know... If my soul will remain and pop up in Hell or vanish entierly. Sirei most likely has a whole database stored somewhere. I don't."

"That's horrifying! No wonder you're pissed off. Or your family."

*A few days have passed since Monokuma's last visit to Earth. Kiko got a message from Mikado asking to meet up and talk about a group of teens that need jobs. Kiko arrives on Earth near MOnokuma's manor and spots Mikado along with Monokuma, MonoFizz, and a woman with a child by her side.*

"Hello, Mikado. Hello Monokuma. It's been a while. And who is the lady and child with you?" @for-ilirhia

"Hello, i'm Kamyuhn. And this is my mother Eva. Or well... She took me in after my parents died in the warn we're from a planet called Futurum. I was told i could come here and get her fixed." She seems to be too polite for a kid her age.

"It's been awhile Kiko. Ah yes, we have met a curious group of teens with no actual background so to speak. These two are also a part of that group... In a sense."

[francislangdon]

omg. if you have the time. we decide to play a game of chicken together which leads to one thing or another AU

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Samira turns from her charting, scanning Mel’s face before shaking her head and starting to type again.

“He’s not,” Samira says, “He’s married, Mel. He talks about his wife all the time.”

“Not to me,” Mel mutters. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

“You’re probably misreading the signals.”

“I…” Mel stutters. She has been known to do that. That’s why she wanted to bring it up to Samira. “…Guess you’re right.”

Married men don’t flirt with women who aren’t their wives. Mel knows this the same way she knows everyone waits until they’re twenty one to start drinking.

Langdon swings by their desks then, she can sense him coming. A weight hits her shoulders and it’s his hands gripping onto her, solid. Mel tilts her head up into his body, resting against his chest.

“Hey, babe, you wanna take a look at the guy in North 5 with me?”

“What happened to him?”

“Mandolin accident. Guess how many fingers he lost.”

“Most people just lose one.”

“Most people,” he agrees ruefully, “But guess how many this guy lost.”

“Three?”

“Cut the fingertips off of all five, sweetheart.”

Mel winces.

He pulls her up out of the chair. “Over under three that we can reattach?”

Samira pipes up, “Under.”

“Someone’s a pessimist. What do you think, baby?” He’s standing so close his chest is touching her back.

Mel tries to catch Samira’s eye, but she’s disinterested, focused on the computer. “Um, over? I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” he pushes her towards the hall.

“I know where North 5 is.”

His hand stays on her back. “I know.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Collins continues to stitch the laceration on their patient’s leg, but her eyebrows raise in a way that Mel can tell means she’s paying attention. “Why would you say that?”

“Um, he’s been calling me terms of endearment. And he touches me a lot? More than normal, I think. Oh, and he brought me breakfast this morning. It looked homemade.”

“Langdon’s pretty impulsive. He probably gave you his leftovers.”

“What about the touching?”

“Yes, he’s very tactile. Like a big puppy, really.”

“Is he tactile with you?”

“Ha! Not likely.”

Mel’s brow furrows.

“Dr. Langdon is married, anyway.”

“I know that.”

“You’re a great doctor, Mel, one of our best residents.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s just playing favorites. Robby does that too, sometimes.”

“…You don’t think there’s any reason I’m his favorite?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Mel says awkwardly.

The curtain to the room opens then, Langdon’s head popping up. He winks at her. “What do we have here?”

She shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he heard their conversation before he walked in.

“Belligerent drunk,” Collins says, “Had to knock him out so I could suture him.”

“And it seems like you’re doing a fine job. Can I steal Mel?”

Collins hands her over without a second thought. “Go ahead.”

“Great.” Langdon tugs Mel out of the room by the wrist.

“What did you need me for, Dr. Langdon?”

He shrugs, “Dunno yet. Let’s go find something interesting.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Robby slowly closes the drawer he’d been digging in, a packet of nicotine gum halfway to his mouth. Mel had caught him in between cases. He’s a good teacher, albeit very hands off. Mel’s spent a latent chunk of her shift trying to catch up to him.

“Okay…?” Robby trails off.

Mel’s hands flex. “Do you…”

This is embarrassing.

“Do you think that he is?”

“Flirting with you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Mel wants the ground to swallow her.

“Langdon’s been on his best behavior since coming back.”

It’s true. He’s sharper now than he was before, she thinks, more attuned to the needs of the ED. Robby has been trying to wrangle him back into his role as the heir apparent.

“I think he was smelling my hair the other day? It was hard to tell. We were talking by the lockers and he just leaned in.“

“Langdon would never be inappropriate with any of our residents. He knows better than that.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything I just—”

“Good. If he’s not bothering you then we have nothing further to discuss,” Robby houses a few pieces of gum and shoves the rest back in the drawer. “C’mon Dr. King, we’ve got patients waiting.”

Mel takes the dismissal.

She shuffles over by the board to see what needs done, but Langdon’s standing by the ambulance doors, waiting for something to come in.

“Mel! Motorcycle accident coming in five. You in?”

She can never refuse him.

“Attagirl,” Langdon grins. He slaps her ass and gestures to a trauma room, “Go get gowned up, baby.”

Mel jumps at the impact, blushing, stealing a few glances back at him as she goes to follow his directions.

“Dr. Langdon?”

He pulls himself away from her lips, “Yeah, Mel?”

“Have you been flirting with me?”

“Little bit.”

He retracts his thigh out from between her legs. There’s a wet spot where she’s been grinding on it.

“Honestly, I thought you’d chicken out before we got here.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Mel says, lips kiss-swollen. She glances at the obvious erection in his pants.

“I thought I was being pretty obvious.”

“I’m not good at social cues.”

“Ah,” Langdon says, “Alright, let me be more direct.”

He shoves her up against the wall again, kissing her intently, the press of his hard length into her thigh undeniable.