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jollyhunter · 3 days ago

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Aight, let's get down to this. *cracks knuckles* (not in the riot starting kinda way).

Okay, I'm ready for the Angst.

Have you ever noticed that closing your eyes and counting to ten does little when you're talking to the most odious person alive?

Your intros always take me off guard in the most hilarious way 🤣 Just like this;

2. You brought a tuna fish sandwich from home and he could somehow smell it two floors down.

I mean. I can almost understand how that one can be annoying. But I don't want to agree with the Warden and therefore I'll let it slip 😂

At least on paper, the things you'd done in your head were a little more PG-13 than the Warden needed to know about. Hell, you still were trying your best not to let your mind go to those places.

LOL I love this reader so much. She's got that Golden Retriever / Sunshine personality but in her head she's just as naughty as all of us 🤭 ... Good thing the Warden can't read minds. The things he'd see there 😂

You briefly wonder if he's always been like this or if he's having marital problems that he projects on everyone else.

Bahaha - definitely the latter. My old highschool teacher was the same. Absolute ass. The day his wife dropped by, we all knew why 🤣 (didn't justify it though and neither did we feel sorry for him lol)

Looks like somebody has been talking to my mother.

LMAO - not me instantly imagining her mother and the Warden meeting up every Wednesday for a cuppa afternoon tea to gossip about her daughter

'the douchebag professor who thinks that he knows everything, but really just stares down your blouse and likes keeping you quiet and submissive.'

What an accurate way to describe a pose we all immediately recognize 😂 (and has us recoil and clench our jaws). You always manage to describe things in such unique ways which are either beautiful or have me crack up LOL!

This is much worse than someone stealing my chocolate, and that's saying something.

This reader is growing on me. She's got her priorities set right 😂 and her heart is in the right place 💗 She really is the perfect opposites-attract puzzle piece to Mark isn't she?

"I'm sure Walker will have a lot of fun getting his hands on a pretty little thing like you, with no one to stop him and no one to hear you scream. And for men like him," Something dark flickers in his eyes sending a shudder down your spine as he leans down towards you. "Hearing those screams makes them feel alive."

Okay I just wanted to throttle the Warden at this point. The fact that he says these things even though he knows that Walker's not a real criminal, just makes this ten times more disgusting. I hope he gets kicked in the family jewels in a riot or somebody knocks him over with his car!

Walker's eyes have gone dark, the playful gleam you'd grown to love vanishing, his mischievous smirk morphed into an angry scowl as he throws his fist into the other inmate's face. Blood flecks over his cheeks and across his knuckles, and despite the guards that try to pull him off the other man, Walker fights back hard.

HERE COMES THE MISUNDERSTANDIG - OH NO.

Also, very clever how you played with the canon scene here! I love how we all try to integrate those and give them a different twist or perspective 😄 (I've got something planned with that one as well 🤭)

Like when you switched to Mark's perspective and played the entire scene once more. Genius move!! And so effective!!

She wears crazy socks for fucks sake! A woman like her should be working in one of the top hospitals in the country, not here!

EXACTLY. And that's why she fits you so well, Mark! You're like a pair of mismatched socks! (I LOVE his internal monologues so much, overall his entire perspective was so intriguing and well done - I don't know about you but I felt like you nailed his character!!)

Because where could this go? He finally gets out of prison only to tell you that he's on death row? A dead man walking? Might as well just throw him right back in the fucking clink, he was already waiting out a death sentence and as long as he was making some kind of difference who cares?

NO - MARK STAHP IT. His final thoughts on this and with the misunderstanding on top?? Oh man, the next chapter is going to hit hard, I can already smell the angst. Why are you doing this to us! 😭 (jk, you know I love it)

He hated the days that he let another inmate land a punch only to find the buffoon with the duct taped Nikes waiting for him in the infirmary. Talk about disappointing.

Sorry but this had me snort, poor Mark! 🤣

What an awesome second chapter to this storyline, Lee! 🥰 It started out comedic and took an angsty turn real fast. I am kinda scared of the next one now lol! But I also want to know what's going to happen next. Will the misunderstanding lead to even more misunderstandings?? Will we get introduced to the duct taped Nikes buffoon? Will she be scared of Mark / Walker now and the Warden's going to be all like "Told you so." ? 😭

I Want To Be The One To Light Up The Dark In You

Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV, Mark Meachum POV

Summary: As much as you hate to admit it, the Warden might be right. This is the second fic in my Jailhouse Rock Series!

Tropes: Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, A Smidge Of Touch Her And Die Trope, Mutual Pining.

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: Manspreading 😒, Mentions of Sex/ Sexual Innuendo, Mentions of Blood and Prison Fights, Cursing, Angst, Inmate Says A Few *ahem* Unpleasant Things, Warden Also Says A Few Unpleasant Things, Reader trying not to be in love with a hot man in prison? Mark might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Listen While You Read 🚨: Light Up The Dark By Gabrielle Aplin title of fic is taken from this song!

Jailhouse Rock Playlist 🚨

Main Masterlist

Jailhouse Rock Masterlist

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much everyone for all the reblogs and the wonderful feedback on part one of this fic series! I'm so happy that so many of you have decided to strap in to this angsty ride! 😊

Reader POV

Have you ever noticed that closing your eyes and counting to ten does little when you're talking to the most odious person alive?

That by some miracle, closing your eyes and pretending that they aren't there standing in front of you, breathing the same air, chattering on and on in the most annoying and condescending voice about something that makes your teeth grind down together and your insides suddenly want to be your outsides will help you find some way to maintain your composure?

Right now you wished it did.

Black coffee steamed from the ancient chipped mug sitting on the tanker desk in front of you, curling and twisting in the mid-day sun that floated through the barred windows of the Warden's office.

It did little to obscure the man scowling at you from under his mustache, but you wished that by some miracle the steam would grow into a cloud to hide you from the judgmental gaze of your employer.

What you'd done, you had no idea, but you noticed that the warden was often pulling you into his office to discuss things that seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things.

Things like:

You forgot to clean off your desk before you went home.

You brought a tuna fish sandwich from home and he could somehow smell it two floors down.

Your socks were distracting and therefore counterproductive to the work environment.

Basically, the warden was the mean cheerleader who dated all the jocks and never grew up.

Lovely.

So when he called you into his office you knew you were in for another tongue lashing that would later make you roll your eyes so hard that they'd get stuck in the back of your head.

He sits across from you, hands entwined on the top of his desk, beady eyes skating across you as if he can sense your internal monologue.

"I hear that you had to patch up Walker again yesterday." He says it like an accusation, as if it isn't your job to take care of the inmates, to patch them up when things get a little too fight club for your taste.

No disrespect to Brad Pitt and Ed Norton of course.

"Yes sir."

You'd learned by now to call him anything other than Warden or Sir would earn you a taste of the famous anger (re temper tantrums) the Warden had.

You'd been on the receiving end of them far too many times and despite not caring if he was mad at you or not, you didn't have time to sit here in his office and wait around, not when you were trying to leave early because your sister Margo and you had your weekly book club meeting tonight at your apartment.

The Warden takes a sip of his coffee, mustache rippling over the curve of the chipped cup, not breaking eye contact with you as he does.

There's an odd energy in the room, something oppressive and faintly masculine. It's cloying presence pulls at your limbs, shifts over the dark wood cabinet behind the desk, and drags over the concrete slab floor that ran the length of the prison. It was the same kind of energy that you'd only found in your physics professor's office, the one who told you that you'd never be able to pass his course with your academic record and you then spent the semester proving him wrong.

The walls of his office are painted in the same dreary gray that ghosted along the infirmary. You supposed that it was to make the room look bigger, but it only made it feel small, choking.

Instead of closing your eyes and counting to ten, you busy yourself with reading the titles of the books that line the dark wooden cabinet behind the Warden's head.

Anything is better than looking into those creepy beady eyes.

Especially not when you knew that the Warden was fishing for something to hold over you. Even though the only thing you'd done with Walker was your job. At least on paper, the things you'd done in your head were a little more PG-13 than the Warden needed to know about. Hell, you still were trying your best not to let your mind go to those places.

The Warden's gaze shifts over your body again. It worms beneath your skin, oppressive, squirmy. It was the same look that he gave the rest of the inmates within the walls of the prison to keep them in submission. You briefly wonder if he's always been like this or if he's having marital problems that he projects on everyone else.

"I also hear that you've been-" He clears his throat, beady eyes on you. "a little more friendly with him." His lip curls up in distaste at the word "friendly."

Oh so that's what this is about.

You choose to let your face remain impassive, not giving the man across from you eyeing you like a predatory bird the satisfaction.

"Sir?"

The Warden stands from his desk. "Do you know what the most dangerous thing in our profession is?"

"Shanks?"

The word came out before you could stop it, slipping out with the ghost of a smile on your lips.

His frown deepens. "Now isn't the time for your exhaustive wit."

Looks like somebody has been talking to my mother.

He comes around the desk, every step measured, before finally he's leaning against the front in the ultimate form of man-spreading, the highest level, also known as 'the douchebag professor who thinks that he knows everything, but really just stares down your blouse and likes keeping you quiet and submissive.'

"It's getting comfortable, believing that they can be your friends, not seeing them for what they really are-"

"What they really are?"

"Inconveniences, nuisances, trash, rubbish- the undesirables." The Warden shrugs. "But what they can never be is your friends."

Your jaw tightens.

The truth was, you had heard all of this before from your mother, usually when she was trying to talk you out of keeping your job at the prison. She'd told you countless times how all of the inmates didn't deserve you as a doctor and therefore you should move on, but you couldn't. You took an oath to help people, to heal, to care, and you felt like you were where you needed to be.

The bigger problem, was hearing this kind of talk from someone who not only was supposed to oversee and run the prison, but also see the worth of his job, of seeing the positives as well as the negatives. He was not supposed to look down on the inmates.

Who does he think he is? The President of the United States?! He has no right to judge these men that way. Not when he's supposed to be the voice of reason, the leader, the one person in this damn prison who actually gives a fuck.

"Sir-" Anger flares in your chest, beating against your ribcage like the wings of a bird.

"Come on." He stands from the desk and walks to his office door behind him.

"What?"

"I want to show you something."

The Warden doesn't wait for you, in fact he continues to walk down the maze of hallways with you running to catch up with him. You had no idea why he couldn't just chew you out in his office for something that you didn't deserve to be chewed out for.

For actually giving a shit about his inmates... well maybe caring a little bit too much.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Walker as they always did whenever all went quiet in your mind and you couldn't think of anyone else.

There was a little part of you that you didn't want to heed, the rational part of your brain that said that Walker was playing you like a fiddle, that he didn't care about you and all he wanted was to charm you so it would be easier for him to use you.

That part usually warred with the other part, the part that kept letting the green-eyed man slip into your thoughts when you felt discouraged and disappointed by the other men in your life that never quite seemed to get you.

The Warden opens a door at the end of the hallway, the brilliant sunlight blinding you for a moment, before you realize that the two of you are standing in the inner gate looking out onto the yard.

Inmates mill around in groups while others move in a grayish blue blur through the crowds with the sun baking from above. Some play a game of basketball in the far corner while others lift weights.

Dust kicks up in twisted clouds around their feet with the wind that blows from the East, wicking the sweat that gathers on the back of your neck. Grass pushes up through the coarse earth in sporadic patches only to be stomped into submission by the white canvas prison regulation tennis shoes the inmates wore. The murmur of the prisoners, the heavy clink of weights, and bounce of a basketball against pavement is lost on the wind.

You find Walker almost immediately. It’s a compulsion, like magnets, as if you can’t help but look for the scruffy green-eyed man who’s entered your subconscious despite all the times you’ve told yourself that it can’t happen. Your mind automatically seeking him out for some relief, a bad habit you can't seem to break.

He's sitting on top of one of the concrete picnic tables on the far end of the yard, talking to a younger guy with hair so black it's almost the color of charcoal.

The breeze rustles through Walker's hair that blazes a honeyed chestnut in the mid-day sun, the same sun that paints his body in a golden glow. You know that if you were standing beside him you’d be able to see the flecks of gold like falling stars around his eyes, that crinkle with his boisterous laugh.

Walker laughs at something the dark-haired inmate says, his warm chuckle somehow finding the curve of your ear as if he's standing right next to you and even though you haven’t been able to hear anything else it comes across clear as day.

An alarm bell goes off in your head, because you know this is crazy. You knew better than to start thinking about an inmate the way you thought about Walker. Even if he was incredibly charming, funny, and had eyes that seemed to see through everything you were.

Damn it.

There was only one place that this could head, and it was already circling the drain, you just needed to pull the plug before you were in too deep.

Feels like it might be too late for that.

Walker's gaze flicks up from his companion to you, finding your eyes within seconds of you finding him, as if he sensed it. You hold his gaze, a smile twitching at the end of his mouth just for a moment, before he looks back at the man beside him. If you’d blinked you would have missed it.

Unfortunately, the Warden didn't miss it either.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." He says.

"What?"

"You give them too much leash."

"They're not dogs." You grumble under your breath.

"You're right. They're not. They're wolves." The Warden spits, eyes narrowed as he turns to look at you. He takes a step in your direction, backing you up against the chain link fence. "You can't tame them and the second you turn your back, they'll rip your throat out."

His eyes are two blackened pits, the sunlight no longer a soft glow, but a striking white that blinds you momentarily as you look up into his face. The planes of his face are sharpened in the dark shadow of his gray cowboy hat. He looks every bit the Warden role he'd chosen to play.

"You don't know that. Just because they're prisoners does not make them any less human than you and me!" You snap back.

Anger flared red hot beneath your skin, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach like a volcano ready to erupt. You hated the way that he spoke about the inmates, haughty, prideful, arrogant, as if they were below him somehow when all they were was just men. Men who maybe had made a few mistakes, but you were willing to believe that with the bad came the good, that not all of them could be psychos that were locked up for the "betterment of society."

"Yes I do. I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you. See this happen time and time again." He snarls taking another step towards you. The chain link cuts through the back of you scrubs, harsh and unyielding, meant to keep the inmates in but somehow now feel like it's trying to keep you out. "Let me guess, you think that life has been unkind to them. That not one of them deserves to be within these walls."

"That's not what I'm-"

"Did I say that I was done?" He barks.

Your jaw tenses so tightly together that you're sure you'll get TMJ.

He spoke to you like you were a little girl who'd done something wrong and was sent to the principal's office as if you were living in some imaginary world filled with rainbows and unicorns or still believed in Santa.

There were only a few moments in your life that you admitted to absolutely hating someone, and this would go right on the list as number five. Number one was Sally Caruthers in second grade who took your pudding cup at snack time.

This is much worse than someone stealing my chocolate, and that's saying something.

But worse still was that he was assuming you only saw the good in the world, but he was wrong. Your father had told you enough stories from his job growing up, things that were said to you in warning to prepare you for when you struck out on your own. You weren't naïve, far from it, but you didn't believe that everyone was rotten to the core, you wanted to believe that everyone had some good hidden somewhere.

It was that way with Walker. You'd seen his file, knew what he did, but there was a part of you that wanted to believe that he wasn't all bad.

The thought stutters to a halt.

Do I really believe that? Or do I think that just because of the way he's always nice to me… Only when he needs something.

You glance over your shoulder to look at where Walker is sitting with the other inmate, but instead of being locked in conversation, Walker's entire body has gone rigid.

He's staring at where the Warden has you cornered against the chain length fence, eyes dark, with his hand curled against the concrete slab that serves as the top of the table pulled so tight that his knuckles look white. Something dark dances in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d never seen him like that before. Easy smiles, windswept hair, green eyes so bright they seemed to dance yes. But this? Seeing Walker with something akin to murder in his eyes, never.

It made your throat tighten.

"You think they hate being in here? That it’s some dark twist of fate that they’re imprisoned here?” The Warden asks with a sneer. "They aren’t. In here they think they're kings, gods, who assert their power however they see fit. Because out there they are nothing, but in here they think they're untouchable, and Walker is the worst of them all."

"You don't know that-" Your voice comes out in a whisper, heart sinking.

"I do." The Warden towers over you, placing one of his hands against the unyielding metal of the chain-length fence. His fingers curl into the space to cage you in. The warmth of his breath wafts across your face, bringing the distinct smell of coffee.

It made your stomach feel like it was flopping around, a fish out of water.

"He doesn't give a shit about you, none of the prisoners do. It might be all smiles and jokes now, but the second the status quo changes, the exact moment there aren't any guards looking, no one to stop him, well-" The Warden smiles cruelly. "I'm sure Walker will have a lot of fun getting his hands on a pretty little thing like you, with no one to stop him and no one to hear you scream. And for men like him," Something dark flickers in his eyes sending a shudder down your spine as he leans down towards you. "Hearing those screams makes them feel alive."

The sunlight soaking into your bones has suddenly gone cold, fear tracing along the curve of your spine with a chilled fingertip.

Memories of the stories your father told you from years in this world come whispering against your ear, stories that used to keep your sister up at night and made her the kind of woman that had a bright pink keychain loaded with every self-defense tool known to man.

When you'd taken this job your father had issued the same warning, told you about the dangers of desperate men who had nothing to lose.

"They're wrong," He'd said one night while the two of you watched an episode of the Walking Dead, sighing at the screen. "Men like that don't come around when everything falls apart. They already exist and the dangerous ones aren't the ones that wear it proudly on their sleeves. The dangerous ones are the men who hide in plain sight with easy smiles and gentle touches, because when they flip the switch, you don't see it coming."

On some level you knew that the Warden was right, men like that existed everywhere, but you didn't want to believe that Walker was one of them. Just as you didn't want to believe that everyone was out to get you all the time, that would lead to a very lonely existence, a sad and somewhat dark existence.

A flash of Walker's dark eyes comes roaring back through your subconscious before you can stop it. In his gaze you hadn't seen the Walker you knew, you'd seen someone else. And the longer you thought about it, the more it snagged in your chest that maybe Walker wasn't as charming as he let on and maybe he was getting you exactly where he wanted before the façade dropped.

An alarm sounds from across the yard, shattering through the sounds of mid-day and sending the crows that gathered on the top of the barbed wire fences flocking across the sun.

"Look at him." The Warden grabs your shoulder and turns you around so fast that you feel dizzy for a moment. "You think that man is a puppy? He's a damn wolf in sheep's clothing sweetheart and the second you turn your back they'll be nothing you can do."

Your gaze focuses on Walker, who sits atop another inmate splayed out beneath him on the ground. Walker's eyes have gone dark, the playful gleam you'd grown to love vanishing, his mischievous smirk morphed into an angry scowl as he throws his fist into the other inmate's face. Blood flecks over his cheeks and across his knuckles, and despite the guards that try to pull him off the other man, Walker fights back hard.

His eyes flicker across the yard once again finding you, but this time it doesn't bring the same warmth that it usually does, all it does is bring the chill scuttling down the length of your spine. Because the man staring back at you, has not one shred of the Walker you know, and it brings the doubt surging back up to swallow you whole.

Mark POV

*Five Minutes Ago*

It was moments like this that Mark hated being undercover.

He wasn't one to complain, and truthfully he liked a lot of things about being undercover: the improv as he slipped into character, the bravado he exuded, the rush of adrenaline that snapped and crackled through his veins when things were going his way and also the same lightning bolt that energized him when things weren't…

But not right now.

Especially not now.

It wasn't the sun that baked against his freckled skin, it wasn't the inmates that whispered death threats under their breath whenever they passed or the ones that actually had the balls to act on, it wasn't the chill that came in the dead of night creeping beneath the metal doors and seeped through the cinderblock when he tried to tug the hole riddled blanket up over his body, and it wasn't the headache that pinched between his eyebrows, the same headaches that came at the most inopportune times and reminded him of the thing he was trying to forget.

The axe that hung over the chopping block, the ticking time bomb in his head with a nuclear level countdown sequence that no one could stop.

But he wasn't thinking about any of that, all he was thinking about was you.

Mark knew the second you appeared on the edge of the chain length fence enclosing the yard following after the Warden something was wrong.

Because you weren't smiling.

There was never one moment that Mark had seen you with a frown on your face, not when each time you smiled he felt something deep down inside of him break open and flood the cavity in his chest with warmth. Which only made him feel a hell of a lot of guilt. He was undercover for fucks sake, he needed to focus on what he was doing not get distracted by someone like you…

But he was.

You were so unlike any person he'd ever met, someone who shouldn't exist somewhere like this. Not with your sincere smiles, warm personality, and genuine caring attitude that you carried with you through the dismal halls of the prison. It was almost like there was this one bright light that flickered and shone despite the thick mortar and cinderblock that enclosed the rest of the inmates, a light that could so easily be blown out at a moment's notice.

She wears crazy socks for fucks sake! A woman like her should be working in one of the top hospitals in the country, not here!

And Mark knew that he shouldn't care about you as much as he did, not when he was undercover and especially not because his days were numbered.

What was the point if he couldn't give you what you deserved?

But that did nothing to stop you from slipping into his subconscious. The sound of your laugh a soothing melody, the brief glimpse of your smile like a star falling from heaven, and the gentle touch of your fingers over his skin a calming balm whenever you patched him up.

Mark had to keep reminding himself that you were nothing but a distraction, not to mention a complication that he never saw coming, blindsided by your kindness and gentle demeanor.

I'm a fucking professional not some cockeyed rookie. I've done this multiple times why is she different!? Why now?

Mark tried his hardest not to think about you, not when he was supposed to be focused on the job, but he couldn't help it, he worried about you constantly.

Worried that some other inmate or even one of the guards here would catch you alone unaware. Worried that you wouldn't pick up on the signals until it was too late and there was nowhere for you to go and Mark couldn't get to you in time.

Anything could happen in this prison, hell, Mark had seen quite a few things happen already and he couldn't bear the thought of you being involved in any of them.

Mark saw the way the others watched you when they noticed you walking down the hallways, saw the way that even the guards gazes lingered on your form whenever they brought Mark to the infirmary.

And as much as it hurt to get into fights, it was the only way that Mark could ensure seeing that you were okay, that you were still here. He hated the days that he let another inmate land a punch only to find the buffoon with the duct taped Nikes waiting for him in the infirmary.

Talk about disappointing.

Mark also tried not to think too hard that the other reason he went to see you was that it felt so damn good, that he couldn't go without seeing you at least once per week. He felt like an addict of the worst kind, but if this was an addiction he wasn't sure he ever wanted to quit, not when seeing you smile made Mark forget everything wrong in his fucked up life.

The sun kissed your skin giving it a brilliant glow and framing the curves of your body so well that Mark was sure if he closed his eyes the imprint would be stamped across the inside of his eyelids, the wind rustled through the strands of your hair pulling it freely into your face, and Mark dropped his eyes to your ankles barely catching a glimpse of the cactus socks hidden in your pair of signature converse, but still you don't smile.

An ugly feeling swarmed in the pit of Mark's stomach when his gaze drifted to the Warden. He was standing a little too close for Mark's comfort, towering over you, and Mark didn't like the way you seemed to curl slightly in on yourself, folding beneath the Warden's gaze.

He couldn't hear what you two were talking about, but he could sure as hell guess.

Mark's hand curls around the concrete table top of the picnic table when the Warden takes another step in your direction, pressing you further against the fence.

White hot rage begins to flood through his body, the urge to protect you breaking through the little voice inside that was telling him to let you go, let it go, that he's about to blow his cover for all the wrong reasons.

Fuck.

Mark hated the Warden, knew how much of an asshole he was the second Mark met with him before he went undercover, and Mark hated the way you looked.

You looked small.

Mark had never seen you look anything but happy, your laugh always making something inside of Mark feel like he was slowly sliding into a sun soaked beach chair on a remote island.

But not now. Now Mark wanted to stride over there, throw it all away, and nail the Warden once in face for saying whatever the hell it was that he was saying to you, because Mark knew that it wasn't good. It couldn't be, not when the look on your face was something between anger and hurt.

"Yo Walker!" An inmate cat-calls, but Mark ignores him.

Mark is in too deep and he knows it, but he can't look away from you. He's too busy trying to read the Warden's lips to care what someone else says to him.

"Looks like the Warden's got his eye on your little bitch." The inmate continues.

Mark's head snaps in the direction of said inmate, Luis, the man that had come to see you after him yesterday. He was at least three times Mark's size, his mouth splitting in a wide toothless smile on his goon-like face, the snake tattoo that curves up over his left eye flashing in the sunlight, offsetting the black and blue marks around his nose that mirrored the black eye on Mark's face.

"Fuck off."

"Ooo, touchy." Luis continues, rubbing one hand over his bald, sweaty forehead. Mark watches his gaze flick back in your direction, raking over your body without your knowledge. You were far too focused on the Warden who had cornered you against the chain-length fence like you were some kind of animal. "I'll say this, she's cute. Got that kind of body I wouldn't mind having all to myself. Bet she'd moan my name real pretty."

Mark's teeth grit together so hard he can hear the grinding in his ears, but he doesn't give in.

Don't play his game. Don't blow this because of her-

Chen looks from Mark to Luis, eyes wide. He had just started to trust Mark, and Mark didn't want to throw that all away so he ignores the man egging him on and instead watches where you are with the Warden.

"Fuck, I got a semi the other day when she was patching me up." Luis continues, taking another step towards Mark with two of his goons flanking him. "Her hands are so soft, I can't imagine what it'd feel like if she put those hands all over my co-"

The rest of his sentence is lost in the haze of red that washes over Mark's mind. He doesn't remember rising from the picnic table, doesn’t remember tackling Luis to the ground, and doesn't remember the first punch he throws into his face or the second or the third.

All he knows is that the moment the guards pull him off of Luis, whose nose is now broken for the second time, and his eyes find yours across the yard, and he sees the look of horror that crosses your face is that he messed up. Because Mark can lie to himself all day long, tell himself that he doesn't care about you, but seeing you look at him like that makes him want to throw all of this away.

And that's what scares him the most, because he can't, not when this is all he is and ever can be and you're everything else.

A/N: Just a tinsy bit of angst, a sprinkle if you will... Yes I know canonically that the Warden knows that Mark is undercover, I just wanted to make the Warden an even bigger jerk for warning her about Mark.

Taglist:

@jollyhunter @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @roseblue373 @angrydragon90

@kmc1989 @lunaleah @megara0224 @globetrotter98 @ladykitana90

@youroldfashioned @wonderland2022 @hellsbratonthet @moosewithabackstory @wvffles

@beakaleak32 @caroline-brooks @agentorange9595 @spxideyver

@hobby27 @anna-reid23 @britt217 @ralilda @lori19 @iamasimpingh0e

#jolly's recs #mark meachum #jailhouse rock #mark meachum x you #mark meachum x reader #mark meachum x fem!reader #mark meachum angst #mark meachum fanfiction #mark meachum fic #countdown x reader #countdown fanfiction #lamentationsofalonelypotato #lovely moots 💕

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nixalba · 2 days ago

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just another girl on the subway | KA12

featuring: kimi antonelli x reader in which: he chose his dream over you once- and he's regretted it ever since. includes: angst, right person wrong time, unresolved conflict, open ending. english is not my first language! wc: 1.9k. notes: happy f1 summer break! apologies for the inactivity, school has started again for me and i've been focusing more on it; that, and my breakup has been eating me alive, so i wrote this self-indulgent piece to try and vent my emotions out because i love writing and its my coping mechanism teehee. title is from subway - chappell roan (we finally got it released im so happy), enjoy! my masterlist

HE DOESN'T SEE you immediately. He’s too busy talking to his friend about the next race to notice your familiar silhouette pass by him— and when he does, you’re already halfway out the door.

Kimi had the choice. He could have chosen to watch you walk away again; watch as two entire years of silent yearning culminate into an anticlimactic ending where he just sees you go and never return. He could have quietly sent you off in his mind without a word and continue on with his night, maybe actually pay attention to what his friend was talking about.

But he didn’t. He chose his dreams over you once, and your absence was a brutal price to pay. He doesn’t want to make that choice again. Two years ago, he made the difficult decision to prioritize his dream of racing over you, and he’s never forgiven himself; the memory of you and what could have been has haunted him in all of his waking moments. Each victory was sweet, but he knew that deep down that it would be sweeter with you watching.

And so, when you’re fully out the door, Kimi doesn’t even hesitate. He doesn’t need lightning-fast reflexes to make this choice, not when he’s been agonizing about it for so long.

He mutters something under his breath — towards his friend, although it probably wasn’t obvious since he was in such a rush — before rushing out of the restaurant.

It was practically like instinct, the way he spotted you in the crowded streets immediately. His eyes were meant to always find you in every place he was in, constantly yearning for that familiar face. You were the light he was constantly running towards, and now that you’re back, he wasn’t going to let you go again.

As Kimi pushed past several walking bodies, he felt the weight of the past begin to press down on him. Memories of bygone moments that were all stolen away by time resurfaced in his mind like twisted reckoning; arguments about the future, how you felt unsure and out of place with him as he pursued his dream— and how he failed to reassure you. The picture of your face is still clear in his mind: there was such clear uncertainty creeping into your eyes that day, and you were trying so hard to fight it back because you trusted him— but he broke that, along with the future you were building together. He threw it all out of the window back then, and he’s been trying to collect its broken pieces ever since.

He chased you all throughout the city— through the streets the both of you would sneak into to escape meetups, sidewalks he could swear you knew by heart, alleys where you shared more secrets to him than in any other place. Somewhere in between crossing the third avenue and squinting past the thick crowd to spot you, Kimi was hit with a daunting revelation: this entire place, the asphalt these cars were rolling on, the smooth concrete of the pavement he was standing on— they were all proof of his story with you.

Despite the time that passed, the metropolis in which you built your love story remained standing, resilient and unmoving amidst the all-consuming tide of change. It continued to tell the story of you and him, even after you both left the pages behind. You closed the book because Kimi chose to write a new tale— now that you’re back, he’s not letting the pen go.

This odd, one-sided chase soon met its culmination in the bustling underground of the subway. It was almost 5:00 PM; rush hour for most workers and students, which meant that terminals would be overloaded soon as people from all walks of life begin to flood the trains. The city was going to move on again in its usual routine, but Kimi didn’t want it to yet— he needs to get you back first.

When Kimi finally caught up to you, he was too busy catching his breath to notice that you weren’t even waiting for a train— you were just… standing there, near the benches, stuck in the boundary between where one would wait for the cars and people who’d wait in the sidelines. There was a look in your eyes, something that was familiar to Kimi all those years ago but was eroded by his time apart from you.

You looked… sad. Lost, even, which was odd because you knew this entire city like the back of your hand. There was an emotion in your eyes that Kimi had seen only once in your time together before— it was the same look you had on your face when he broke your heart.

He doesn’t want to make the same mistake again. He knows he can’t turn back time and go back to the moment when he took your future together with him and shattered it. But if that truly marked the end of your story together, then why are you here standing in front of him again? Was this just some cruel trick from the heavens to remind him of what he lost, or is this fate bringing you both back together?

Kimi doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He’s haunted himself with enough thoughts about how he could’ve done things differently to learn that no amount of reflection could bring back what was once there. What’s important to him now is the fact that even after everything, you’re somehow back and a mere arm’s length away from him— and he wasn’t going to lose you to some pipe dream or shot at the future anymore.

You don’t even look up when he approaches. To you, it could have been anyone; some random stranger that got too close by chance, or another lost soul that was trying to find its way back home. It’s only when he speaks that you look up— and when you do, you’re suddenly looking at your past and the future you thought you left behind.

“I don’t want to ask anything from you,” Kimi began. He’s suddenly made aware of how the station became increasingly more crowded with each word he spoke— as if the flood of people were a way of counting down on the time he had left. “I just want you to know that I missed you— I miss you. Even now.”

You furrowed your brows. Your silence was heartbreakingly deafening, but he didn’t care. “I never stopped thinking about you. Every time I won, it was nice, yeah, but I always thought about how much better it would be if you were there celebrating with me.” He thought about all the times he was on the top step of the podium, raising the trophy high with a proud smile on his face. It was always a fleeting yet fulfilling moment for Kimi— but deep down, he knew that if you were there somewhere in the crowd cheering for him, it wouldn’t be as momentary as it was.

“I shouldn’t have had to make that dumb choice all those years ago,” he said. “I didn’t need to pick between you or my dreams. It was always going to be both— because you were my dream, too.”

His next words aren’t practiced. It didn’t have to be. “You always have been. And you still are.”

From the corner of your eye, you see the conductor raise the megaphone to his mouth; he mutters something about a train approaching. Kimi hears it too, but he doesn’t care.

“I don’t know why you were here today,” he said, and you blinked back tears. Something about how he knew you were here for a reason made your chest ache, because it felt like he was waiting for you. And it didn’t matter why— just the fact that he cared. After all these years, he still did. “Hell, for all I know, this is probably the last time I’ll ever see you again for the next two years—”

“Kimi,”

“And honestly? That’s okay, because I’ve accepted the fact that I fucked up back then and I get it if you don’t want to talk to me ever again but at least give me the chance to—”

“Kimi.”

He looked at you. All this time he spent chasing you across the city, he only ever looked at your hair, your nose, your mouth— never your eyes. He only saw the sadness in them from afar and never up close, because he knew that he didn’t have the courage to face you fully.

You opened your mouth to speak, but only a few words come out. “I get it. I do,” you said, smiling. “I’m glad you came. I saw you at the restaurant, actually,” you recalled how you spotted him with his friend earlier. “I wanted to tap you then.”

You shook your head and chuckled. “I didn’t, and I guess that’s why we’re here.”

Kimi sighed. “You almost did.”

“Almost,” you nodded, “but I didn’t.”

And that was the thing. It’s always almost, almost, almost. You almost went up to him then, he almost let you go again. He almost watched you leave silently; you almost left without seeing him again. You and Kimi were always caught up in this state of limbo where it’s either now or never— but since you both can’t choose, you opt to just… stay. These two years weren’t one-sided at all— you were there, too, hoping and wishing the exact same. Just on the other side, where he couldn’t see you.

Somehow, even after so many promises, you both never find a compromise. At the end of the day, even after fleeting moments of seeing one another in the same city again to rushed conversations in the middle of a crowded subway, nothing can ever amount to either of you saying yes to one another. Because despite everything— the truth was never going to change. Kimi made his choice then, and in turn, you paid the price. Even if there was a chance to continue what you both believed was unfinished, would you want to? Does he want to?

Kimi wants to. He knows that; he sees his choice in the past as a grave mistake— and despite his inability to fix it, he wants to redeem himself, at the very least. That’s why he was here.

But did you want to? In your heart, you did; but there was something that was holding you back. Was it the uncertainty of the future again? Or something new entirely?

Whatever it was, it kept you from crossing that boundary you’ve been stuck in. It held you back from taking Kimi’s outstretched hand, and even if it broke your heart to reject it, you knew you had to.

There was always going to be something. It was always going to be just almost. You were near him, just close enough to be with him in the heart of this bustling city— but far enough to be unable to live the kind of future you both wanted for yourselves.

You were almost there. He was waiting for you, always was— you just needed to meet him halfway.

Would you be able to?

#kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli angst #kimi antonelli x you #kimi antonelli imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #ka12 #noia verse !! ✉ ୨୧

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omgfangirlland · 13 hours ago

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The Shadows That Nurture 33

Ch 34 was so painful to complete- but we'll be back to the invincible timeline (for now) and soon-ish the multi-mark war and the bad end(I'll make sure to be one chapter and then we'll go back to our main timeline).

I'll also probably have dedicated chapters in between the main plot so the ship endings wouldn't be like- out of place.

On a different note- man, are gaming PCs a lot of money... I just want to play my silly 60+ gb games without my poor laptop turning into a plane 😭

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 33 >>next(TBC)

Bruce stared silently at Clark, taking in his anger with a blank face. “Don’t even try to lie to me.” Clark interrupted Bruce before the man could even speak. “I had an interesting… conversation tonight with your youngest daughter. Why couldn’t I hear her while she lived here?” Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed. “I used Luthor’s soundproofing-“

“I just asked you not to lie to me.” Clark’s hands shook. He didn’t want to believe his friend would neglect you and interfere with your childish hopes of a hero coming to rescue you. “I can hear your heartbeat- I always did, I used it to check and see if you’re still alive when you went too long with no Brucie appearance and unanswered texts- I hear Alfred’s, the kids’, the animals’, but hers- for the longest time I thought you just got another pet. And then it stopped. I heard it stop, and come back, but it was wrong-“

“I could hear you talk, whisper, groan in pain, but I couldn’t hear her pleas for help- she said she specifically asked me for help, Bruce. Prayed to take her away from you.” The Kryptonian’s voice shook as he finally landed, taking a deep breath. “So I’ll ask again, what did you do?” Bruce couldn’t answer him. He couldn’t because it didn’t make sense.

As soon as he knew Superman could hear everything everywhere, he made sure to find ways against it, even stealing from Lex once the other billionaire succeeded. Clark shouldn’t have heard anything at all.

Stephanie met Duke’s eyes, both sharing a similar look of shame and worry. The blonde was ashamed to acknowledge that she didn’t think it was that serious, kids get ignored all the time- she sure did- but she found people who gave a damn about her… You didn’t find them until you left. Until you did what she did. While she found a home in Batman as Cluemaster neglected her, Bruce neglected you. Despite that, you didn’t want his attention anymore, you just wanted to be left alone, just wanted them to carry on ignoring you. You only bit back when they wouldn’t listen anymore.

Duke, on the other hand, was more worried about how the shadow in the corner grew antsy, angry even. His eyes moved back to the two men arguing. “… Is this a bad time to ask if you know you’re being haunted?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After what happened last night, you woke up early and started preparing, not like you had slept much. After talking to Lady Gotham back then, the sleepless nights returned, nightmares worse than ever.

You didn’t need sleep. It came with the immortality shtick or whatever Death said- but you couldn’t just lie in your bed with your own thoughts, and leaving to do something else isn’t an option. Besides your mom having a sixth sense for what her kids are doing at any point, you’re sure your luck will bring you face-to-face with Superman, or worse, his son.

Morgan has been watching you make sandwiches and pack fruit for a few minutes now. He didn’t sleep much either, much more used to the quiet buzzing of their ships, the scream of others, than the pleasant sound of the animals, of others feeling safe to sleep in such close proximity. When he heard your footstep, he took it as a good time to also “wake up”.

He cleared his throat, and you flinched at the sound. “Sorry…” But you just waved him off. “It’s fine, I should have been paying a bit more attention to my surroundings. Do you need anything?” As you turned to face him, watching as he closed the door behind him, he just nodded. “Just want to talk.”

“I seem to be doing that a lot lately.” You snort and move to sit down at the table. Morgan followed suit. “Nolan used you as an example for...” The balding Viltrumite got right into it, but cleared his throat on the word. He didn’t want to associate it with something that could happen to you. “It was a complete hunch on his part, I saw it on his face, throwing out everything that may stick- it worked.”

Morgan shrugged, not quite looking at you as he played with the lace tabletop. “Maybe he didn’t see it on Thragg, but I’ve seen that boy grow since he was a babe- you affect him. You affect me… We looked up on that internet stuff you kids can’t stop talking about, case studies and documentaries, and things like that- Markus helped. I-… Thank you for trusting me to be such a close part of your life. You didn’t have to- but you did. You had every right not to. You and your family gave me what I’ve always wanted, even more than that.”

“Before the plague, I knew many who, after mating, the ones who were raped, changed. More paranoid, quicker to anger, refusing to leave their houses… Some left. Sometimes we’ll find their bodies just floating through space.” He sighs and finally looks at you. “I thought they were weak. Didn’t realize how it actually affected them- how bad it can destroy the body and mind.”

“Have you ever-“ He shakes his head. “Never been interested in adding to the population… Never wanted it to be just having children, but we don’t date or have romances like you humans.” Your fingers tap the table as you take everything in, a sigh escaping you as you lean back. “You’re on earth now. It’s never too late.”

“… Did you think that would distract me?” Morgan sighs. “Usually works.” You shrug. “I’m trying to be serious.” You get up from your chair, going back to packing food with a huff. “I know- there’s just no need for- whatever this is. You were raised-“

“This isn’t about how or what we were made to believe. My loyalty was never to the Empire. It’s about my selfish want for you to not see me as they do- just a dangerous machine to be avoided.” You pouted, slowing down your movements. “I’m not-“

“You are. And I don’t like it. You’re tense. I’m not- I don’t want you to think of me like that, and I don’t want you to trust Thragg because he apologized…” Morgan rubbed his face, grumbling into the palms of his hands. This was a mess- asking you to trust him while telling you not to trust Thragg, but he knew that the prince wasn’t mentally sound about you, and he couldn’t have you added to the blood on his hands. Not when you gave him a better choice, not when your family let him in, maybe not with open arms, but the weary smiles were more than he’s ever had.

He raised his head to look at you, scooting the chair you sat in closer. “I don’t hate you- nor am I scared of you. It’s just… People here already tend to blame the victim and believe the abuser, or give them more compassion. If it’s a male victim, you’ll hear that he should have wanted it, that he’s lucky- if it’s a woman, they’ll call her a whore, that she wanted it, that she asked for it. It hit a bit too close to home to hear you both talk about rape as if it were just another Tuesday. I felt- disappointed. And angry.”

Your knee bumped his. “But why do you not want me to be trusting of our little princess?” Morgan looked dead in your eyes as he muttered his answer. “…Because he looks at me?” You couldn’t help the way your lip twitched. “That’s hardly grounds for distrust, gramps-“ Morgan just groans, almost whining. “He looks at you like that Kent boy and Luthor do.” You stumbled over your words at the implication. “Luthor and Kon don’t- I’m changing the subject- go change, we’re going out.”

Morgan huffs, knees creaking as he gets up. “You’re in denial.” It’s the last thing he says as he walks out. “No- I am not in denial!”

Now, since Kon woke up, he was spying on you- eavesdropping, really. He just wanted to make sure you’re okay- or at least, that is how he rationalized his behavior… It also kept him occupied from listening to Damian and Jon whine.

And you can’t possibly be mad at him forever- Lex probably has the house bugged out to hell and back, hell, littlest Wayne would probably bug it too when he gets the chance, Kon’s just doing it in an environmentally friendly way.

So, when he heard you were planning an outing with the old man, he took it upon himself to invite himself. He needed to get friendly with his future lover’s family, after all, and he was sure Nolan already hated him- but Morgan and Debbie could be swayed over, he was sure.

He kept close to the low fence, the tight tank top he was wearing a deliberate choice to show off his muscles - chicks liked that, right?- and when you walked out, followed by Morgan, his breath hitched, panic settling in as he checked himself over. When you two lifted off the ground, he did too, launching himself in your direction before you could leave.

Something appeared in his way, and Kon stopped before he could crash into the figure that blocked his path. He frowned at Thragg, trying to move away from him, just for the Grand Regent to block his path again. “Dude, what’s your problem?” The young man hisses, and the older Viltrumite gets closer. “You.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Why are you showing me all of this?” The gravel crunched as Morgan walked closer to the altar, his eye moving from the greenery to you. “It’s quiet. A safe place. When you get a bit more freedom, you can come here whenever you want and nobody will find you… besides me.” You shrug, fixing the flowers and plants. “...When?”

“I believe in you.” Your turn to face him. “But this isn’t your only stop. I believe I promised you a dog.” Morgan's eyes trace your face. He’s seen his fellow Viltrumites act like nothing was wrong, like they were beyond feeling anything. You’d beat them, in his opinion. “And I believe I told you, I don’t need it.”

But when you smiled at him, one that reached your eyes, he couldn’t argue anymore.

The voices of the assistant and yours are mixing with the dogs barking- he regrets letting you boss him around, letting you get him here with all these yapping mutts. His eyes went down to the dog, which tried to ram into him, watching as the animal took hold of the hem of his jeans and tried to rip them off, growling all the while.

Well, maybe one wouldn’t hurt.

Morgan crouches down, watches as the mut stops trying to take a bite of his pants, and he picks it up. As the dog is nibbling on his fingers, he makes his way back to you, towering over you and the desk lady. “I want this one.” As you turn to look at him, you can’t help but do a double-take at the dog he is holding. “Damn, gramps, didn’t take you for the chihuahua type-“

“Language. And he’s small, but fierce. Like you.” The lady watched the interaction with a smile, biting her cheeks as his jabs made you sputter through your words before you quickly gave up, shaking your head before turning back to her. As you took care of the papers and payment, Morgan looked at the shaking dog. It was ugly. His eyes are too far apart, looking at you and him at the same time, while his tongue is sticking out and his little mug scarred, probably from the other dogs. The old Viltrumite smiled at his new puppy, doing his best to gently pet it. “Alright-“ You tap the desk, putting the papers inside your bag. “Let’s go-“

“Home?” He asks, and you sigh and whine. “No- there’s still so much to see-“

“I’m old, my bones hurt-“ He jests, smirking as he knows you’re not eating any of the shit he’s presenting. “Let’s go home.” But you just roll your eyes. “We still need to buy stuff for the pup-“

“More money spent. And if it is such a necessity, can’t we get that stuff from your phone?” The old Viltrumite almost whines, following you out the door as the shelter assistant goes to help somebody else. “It’ll take too long, I don’t want to get home yet, and it’s fine, it’s Bruce’s money!”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Clark Kent trusts easily, and he loves even more easily. He loves his parents, the ones who gave up on their chance so that he could live, and the ones who raised him and made him the man he is today. He loves the family he created, and the son Lex created while he was “dead”, even if it took a bit of healing. He loves his friends, because that’s what the league is to him- friends. Diana, Queen, Barry, Arthur, Dinah- all of them he holds dear.

Above all, he thought he and Bruce were on better terms, closer. He should have known better- a paranoid man like Bruce didn’t have friends, he barely had children he actually cared for.

Clark’s face soured at the thought. That was a petty thing for him to think, but what else could he believe? He understood privacy, he understood that Bruce wouldn’t want him to check up on him with the possibility of hearing something he shouldn’t- but how much of Bruce going out of his way to build anti-him fields was for privacy and how much was it for hiding stuff from those who could do something to stop him Clark didn’t know.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why you? Why take you in if he’s just going to lock you away, hide you like some shameful secret? Lex and Lois always gushed over your achievements, or just plain stuff, not that he was speaking with his nemesis, but it was hard not to get the man to ramble if your name came up in the conversation. It was so easy for others to love you. It was easy for him to like you even if you hated him.

He didn’t get it. Because even if you were a failure, the worst of the worst, every child deserves to be loved. If Bruce could care about Joker, he could care about you. He just chose not to.

His trust in Bruce is not gone- it hurts to think that it could be gone- but he can’t trust him like he once did. Bruce may be willing to put himself and those he cares about at risk, but Clark wasn’t, not anymore. There was always another option, and if he couldn’t find one… You always seemed to be fine with saving your loved ones first and foremost. He’ll live with that, too.

Clark filtered out Damian arguing on the phone with Richard as he walked inside his own house, sighing as the night and day spent with Bruce drained him worse than Kryptonite does. Arguing always exhausted him, arguing with thick-headed billionaires was even more tiring. He stops in the middle of the hall and does a double-take as his eyes catch Kon’s pouting, battered figure as Lois helps disinfect his wounds. “What happened to you?”

“You should see the other guy- aw! Mom!” Kon whines, rubbing the spot his mom slapped, but Lois just looks at Clark. “I take it you did a bit of a detour?” The man has the gall to look ashamed at leaving without announcement, and for a whole night and day at that. “Sorry…” Clark mutters, getting closer and sitting next to her, slumping on the old couch. Lois’ eyes trace his tired figure. “… That bad, huh?”

You were having a familiar experience as you and Morgan finally reached home, the dog running amok as he decided the bags were more fun than the actual toys.

“I leave for one day and you get into a fight-“ Thragg huffs at your words, not even flinching as you took over and started helping him clean his broken nose. “That child can’t keep to his own business.” You ignore his whining. “Child? Did you fight Jon?! Thragg, he’s just a kid-“

“Not the baby.” Thragg rolls his eyes, and yet, his face softened as he looked at you. “The other one with jewelry all over his face. He was trying to go after you and Con-…” His brows twitch as he corrects himself. “After you and Morgan.” You groan. “Ok… well, I’d still rather you not fight anyone without them being- I don’t know, an active threat to the average human.”

“I don’t want the boy around you.” You roll your eyes at him. “You can’t tell me what to do, you’re not my husband or my father.” Thragg gives you a blank look, raising one eyebrow. “…You listen to Nolan?” And you just cackle.

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Sneak peek ch 34:

“Don’t forget to tell your other dad, he’s still the adult.” You yell before closing the door. “Will do! Even though I’m an adult too. So… What do you do?” Kon asked Morgan, squinting at him. “Eat hearts.” The young man squeaked at the blank face the old Viltrumite had. “That’s… nice. Maybe we can show you some other hobbies?” Jon gave a shaky smile.

#fem!reader #dc crossover #neglected reader #female!reader #dc x invincible #invincible crossover #yandere batfam x neglected reader

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tenochconamor · 1 day ago

Note

(obligatory alleged alleged alleged hypotheticals speculation we shouldn't assume things everyone is obviously straight & just friends warning for some people)

ok now that those people are warned, i'm sorry if you don't wanna talk about this on here but as someone who's not really up to date on wsjj lore but tried to keep an eye on them regardless (i've been a fan of another k-ent couple currently in a glass closet so it was interesting to compare things), didn't jws already have a kid as of last year?

i'll be honest, i was reluctant to believe in wsjj as a couple, mostly because of things unrelated to that (since i don't think kids/marriages mean much when it comes to possibly queer people in the industry but there were other things that threw me off that belief), regardless i'm curious as to why is (from a wsjj believer) perspective having a kid on the side is fine but getting married is a dealbreaker?

As someone who already jumped in head first into the vat of radioactive wsjj shipping goo, I need you to understand a few things:

1. Ws scandal + having a kid was NOT okay and it essentially demolished the wsjj fandom in ways I can't begin to quantify. Entire wsjj archive accounts on twt deleted overnight, many fans left. im relatively new and discovering wsjj after the initial scandal was like being a scavenger after a nuclear apocalypse. Finding bits and pieces scattered around but knowing there used to be more here

2. 90% of those that stayed (and those that joined post scandal) only did because of JJ who is really the sweetest angel and was very gracious and forgiving about the whole thing. When it happened, the Korean press hounded him for his reaction (funnily enough k-media acted like jj was the wife who got cheated on), jj was sweet, he didn't make light of the situation but he didn't speak negatively about ws either. A diplomatic king but I truly applaud him for his measured responses

3. It was never the same after that. I think all wsjj fans could see that. Let's get one key fact straight (ha), both of them sporadically "dated" through the years but wsjj bond always remained strong throughout.

In the BEFORE, Even when they rarely uploaded social media, they were regularly spotted together. They would vacation together and come back tanned and practically unable to keep hands off each other. They lived in the same building which JJ participated in doing the interior decor for. In interviews they would inadvertently give away subtle details that implied that the spent time in each other's apartment a lot. WS would travel on squid game promos overseas with JJ when he had absolutely no business being there. JJ is not a kid he doesn't need an escort, the ✨ implications ✨ were obvious

In the AFTER, I personally started noticing that JJ never mentioned ws in his interviews anymore. The only kind of personal stories we got from JJ anymore concerned his family. There were spotted in China for a trip but maybe because ws was hiding from the media or something but it wasn't the same. Even if JJ was forgiving as fuck, the facts are facts and ws clearly didn't want to handle the scrutiny that came with the scandal. I can't imagine the strain it would put on their relationship. Later there were some unconfirmed rumors that ws moved from their famous Cheongdam building (I didn't want to believe it then but now I think I do).

A lot of wsjj fandom was kept alive by finding old lost wsjj media we could uncover after the great exodus post scandal.

4. I am still 100% convinced they were more than friends and they were a quintessential example of a glass closet situation in an homophobic patriarchal society. Why? Because of the sheer quantity of content that exists to prove they were. Let's be real here, wsjj weren't doing all that to promote city of the rising sun for 20 years. They didn't have to start almost 10 different businesses together. They didn't have to describe each other in the most questionable way. They didn't have to say they wanted to die holding each other's hands. None of that was necessary. Mind you, JJ has suffered so much homophobic vitriol from media and the public alike because he doesn't even try presenting as traditionally masculine and being honest about his eyebrow raisingly close relationship with WS definitely didn't help. So I am still a wsjj truther but I have to admit that this is the real world and in the real world, relationships don't end perfectly. Things get messy. Minds change. People don't fulfill their promises. Hearts get broken. It's all part of life.

Time still crawls forward, more will be revealed but one thing is sure, I'll always love and support JJ no matter what. I really just want him to be happy.

Sorry for such a long response.

#asks #answered asks #lee jungjae #wsjj

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boopieluvsyou · 2 days ago

Text

sarcastic loser boy and sarcastic loser girl

PART 2 - part 1 here

travis martinez x !femreader headcanons

mondays, wednesdays, fridays. games on thursdays and drills every second weekend. still the same routine. but now, there was him.

you weren’t just looking up at the bleachers anymore with a sour look, you were watching for him, this time with a smile on your face. hoodie pulled over messy hair. laces never tied right. he was yours. though he was still travis martinez, still smug, still a little too good at pretending he didn’t care. but he did. you knew that now.

after the night in the car, things became… not different, exactly. just known. he was yours. and you were his. not loudly. not in a hand-holding-down-the-hallway kind of way. but in the little things.

like the way he’d nod at you from the bleachers before a game. the way he always seemed to show up when you needed him. the way his hoodie ended up in your locker after a cold morning practice with a sticky note in the pocket:

"you left your attitude on the field. figured you’d want a backup."

no one ever asked again if you were dating. they didn’t have to. the hallway stares turned into whispers. some eye-rolls. some jealous grins. a few girls who definitely side-eyed you in the locker room. you didn’t care. he was at your games. and there for at at the times and places were it meant the most. and then he kissed you behind the visitor stands like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

things fell into place. until they didn’t.

one monday, you waited behind the science wing. he didn’t show. tuesday, you passed him in the hallway, but he didn’t stop. didn’t even smirk. wednesday, you showed up anyway. just in case. nothing.

you spent the next two practices kicking harder. running faster. not talking. your teammates left you alone. coach barely looked your way. everything felt off-balance.

thursday after the game, you were headed to the locker room, cleats caked in mud and mood black as tar, when you saw him. leaning against the wall like he’d been there for hours. hoodie up. hands in pockets.

you didn’t say anything. just stared.

finally: “i didn’t mean to disappear,” he muttered.“but you did.” he paused “i know.” he exhaled. looked away. “shit with my dad got bad. i didn’t want to put it on you.”

you crossed your arms. “you’re not putting anything on me. you’re just… in it with me. that’s how this works. or is supposed to.” he winced. “i didn’t think you wanted that part.”

“well,” you said, stepping closer, “i do.” he nodded. slowly. “okay.” you kissed him. not the usual rushed, half-sarcastic hallway kind. slower. solid. he pulled back first. “this mean you forgive me?”

“of course.”

friday morning, he was leaning against your locker before first bell. holding your favorite flavour gatorade like a peace offering. “what’s this?” you asked, taking it. “official relationship beverage,” he said, totally straight-faced. “to sooth your aggression.”

“my what?”

“you heard me.”

you shoved his shoulder. he caught your hand. laced his fingers with yours. just for a second. before pulling you in for a quick kiss before class.

---

A/N- I know this is a little short but I have lots of other ideas and was very distracted lol. thanks for loving this it means so much that you all wanted a part 2!

#bleh #yellowjackets #boopiejackets #travis martinez #travis martinez x reader #travis martinez fanfic #travis martinez fanfiction #fluff #angst #yellowjackets fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #travis martinez headcanons #yellowjackets headcanons #headcanons #part 2 #sigh

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rise-abxve · 13 hours ago

Note

Rocket giggles at the mention of a snake hug. Feeling those thick coils curled under his legs right now, he wonders how it'd feel to be be so tightly wrapped in them. Unbidden, a much more salacious thought of what all that powerful muscle could do in other scenarios flashes through his mind. He focuses on the moment, trying not to get distracted. He's not going to ruin the moment with his whore behavior. Besides Raz thinks Rockets looking forward to meeting up with Ixion again.

But he can't deny that Raz being determined to keep Rocket whole and alive and close is doing things to his insides. Every person he's ever been with has just....accepted their time as temporary. He has to tell himself it's not like that. You do a few jobs together and are comfortable enough around each other to just....not part ways.

They hadn't even talked about it. Rocket just doesn't have interplanetary transportation, though he'd been saving for it. But there's more than enough room and Raz isn't telling him when he wants him gone. Rocket swallows at the thought of being wanted, not just as a body but.....something. Someone. A person in Raz's life.

Hearing Raz admit, even indirectly, that he'd like to have more moments like these makes the funny feelings in his gut stronger. A weird giddiness. "I will never say no to a good cuddle. Especially with how comfy you are. Seriously."

Rocket sighs, recalling his earliest ventures beyond the frontiers of the empire. "I had to get very far out before I stopped encountering people who had done business in Empire space. A lot of them wanted the chance to get a pound of flesh out of a galra, some were creeps, most wanted to swindle or backstab. One was charming enough to trick me onto his ship but stupidly thought he could overpower me. Barely got his dick out before I had shoved my hand under his sternum." Any revulsion Rocket had felt at the time had been covered over with a bloodlust he hadn't recognized as his own and still doubts it came from him.

[ BANDAGE ] : sender bandages a wound on receiver.

Rocket wheezes out a whine as Raz secures the bandages around his ribs, limbs shaking from where he's holding himself up against the back of a chair on Raz's ship. He's knelt on the cushion of the chair, his back to Raz as the Draimian patches him up.

Going on one job together eventually turned into another and they found they work well together. Of course this job had gotten dangerous in more ways than one. Rocket getting buried under rubble at some point.

"That's gonna be a bitch to heal. Nothing's broken, right? Gods, healing bones naturally sounds like a nightmare."

#~living relic~ raz #~a step beyond~ rocket

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taexual · 12 hours ago

Text

. . . e q u i l i b r i u m | 3

i’m burnt out, shit, i need some rest. but how can i escape you if you’re in my head? /// chase atlantic, uncomfortable

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

summary: it takes a long time to fully explore the thin line between love and hate. but seven minutes is a good start.

genre: academic rival!yeonjun / college au / enemies to lovers au

warnings: slow burn, mutual pining & reader’s attempted resistance, strong language, suggestive themes, angst, fluff, crackhead behaviour bc beomgyu is here a lot and he’s a cute idiot, alcohol consumption, biased professors

words: 11k

masterlist / read from the beginning

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 11, 2025. 12:45 AM

You and Yeonjun finally wrapped up your review session just before 1 AM. To preserve your sanity, you tried not to dwell on all the hours you’d lost to his complaints and criticism.

“You still live on Vineyard?” he asked, slipping on his jacket. He was, true to his word, about to drive you home.

You glanced up from the table in his kitchen, slightly wary. “I do. How—”

“I’ve picked up Soobin from your place at least five times now,” he said. His GPS already had 124 Vineyard Lane starred as a favourite.

That explained it.

You’d tried to be out whenever Reina had dates with Soobin at your flat, and now you knew that’d been the right decision.

“Right,” you said. “Well, you don’t need to drive me the whole way anyway. Just drop me off at—”

“It’s 1 AM,” he interrupted. “I’m taking you to your door, not to a corner across the street.”

You scoffed, bending to lace your boots. “Why? Scared I’ll sneak back here?”

“Yes,” he said, deadpan. “Terrified you’ll return to a house that I own and have two spare bedrooms in.”

You paused, more distracted by his casual mention of owning the house than the idea of staying in one of his spare bedrooms.

“How come you live in a house this big,” you asked, accepting your coat from him as you stood, “but haven’t started a frat?”

“Bin and I don’t like people we don’t know,” he replied with practised ease, like he’d considered this before. “We pay the bills ourselves, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You paused on the porch while he locked up, a cold breeze slithering through the trees around his house.

“Not worried,” you said. “Just curious.”

He glanced back. “About the size of my house?”

“Mhmm.” You pulled gloves from your pockets. “In a house this big, you could afford bigger wardrobes.”

Yeonjun laughed—caught off guard by the mention—and the sound skittered like static across your nerves. You turned without a word and climbed down the porch steps.

“No, no,” he said, unlocking his Mercedes with a satisfying beep. “I think the wardrobes are exactly the right size.”

You ignored him, which he expected, then paused at the car. He stopped, too, waiting to see if you’d actually get in or bolt into the woods at the last minute instead.

You got in.

He held the door while you settled, then circled the car to the driver’s side. As you waited, you spotted his blue Nissan parked in the garage—a separate car just for racing—and tried not to scowl at his noisy wealth.

“Shouldn’t take long,” Yeonjun said, climbing in and fastening his seatbelt. “Usually I’m there in about half an hour.”

“You don’t have to bother,” you said as the car surprised you once more by purring to life—absurdly quiet for how expensive it clearly was. “It’s five minutes from the library to my fla—”

“No. Can’t have it on my conscience if you get mauled by a stray dog. Or kidnapped off the street.” He met your eyeroll with a smirk. “Not to mention, I’d have to talk to the police as the last person to see you alive.”

You turned away with a click of your tongue.

“Good point,” you said. “Wouldn’t want everyone to know that you were the last person to see me alive. Take me home, then.”

He opened the GPS on his phone. You watched, not quite in horror, as it suggested your address before he even typed it in.

Then he pulled out of the driveway, took a left past the line of trees, and headed downhill. The streetlights blurred behind the windows as the car seamlessly switched gears.

There was no one else on the road. Still, Yeonjun caught you sneaking glances at the map on his phone and let out a soft laugh.

“Scared I’m taking you the wrong way?”

You shifted your gaze. “Just making sure you don’t get lost.”

“Where?” He nodded at the windshield. “The streets are empty.”

“I’m sure you’d still manage.”

He snorted but didn’t respond—although he wanted to. He wondered why you thought there was a chance he’d take you anywhere other than your house.

Then, he wondered where else he could take you.

Then, he shook the thought away and gripped the wheel tighter.

You pulled out your phone, checking if Reina had texted back. You’d told her you’d be late, but figured she might still wait up.

There was no reply. Just the faint glow of your screen as your battery reached its last percentiles.

Twenty minutes later, Yeonjun’s Mercedes coasted onto your street, its headlights catching the row of buildings and scaring a black cat into the sharp branches of a dead hydrangea bush.

“This one, yeah?” Yeonjun asked, his voice on the edge of a yawn, as he nodded at the building closest to the parking lot.

You looked up from your phone. “Yeah. Thanks. What’s your fare?”

He raised an eyebrow while you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“I’m not a taxi,” he said.

“Obviously,” you replied, gathering all your belongings so you wouldn’t have to beg him to return them later. “But you didn’t have to drive me and I don’t want to owe you anything, so—”

“I don’t take money.”

You let go of your bag to look at him. “Okay… Is that supposed to imply you take something else, or—?”

He looked like he was about to say—or suggest—something, but the late hour caught up to him. He waved it off and turned back to the windshield.

“Just go,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything. Consider it goodwill.”

This was almost the nicest thing he’s ever said to you—then he added the last part.

You opened the door with a noncomittal groan. “Thanks. You’re so kind.”

“That I am,” he agreed, the teasing in his words dull with fatigue.

“Don’t be late tomorrow,” you warned, stepping out. “Or I’ll start without you.”

“You wish,” he returned. “Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight.”

You watched his car pull away, the taillights shrinking at the end of the street. Then you turned toward your building.

It pained you to admit it—and you’d never imagined you’d be admitting it in the first place—but you felt grateful. Yeonjun ranked bottom-tier for people you’d feel comfortable with, but he’d taken you to his place, and now he’d taken you back. And it hadn’t been awful.

By the time you reached the fifth floor and slipped your keys into the lock of your flat, you realised you dreaded tomorrow’s workshop a little less.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 11, 2025. 9 AM

It would’ve been hard to believe had you not been there yourself, but your first workshop kicked off remarkably smoothly.

Sure, Yeonjun reflexively assumed centre stage and spent half the class rattling off things that weren’t relevant or important, but other than that, it wasn’t terrible. The students—some your age, most only a few years younger—actually participated. They made jokes, laughed at yours, and even high-fived you and Yeonjun at the end.

It wasn’t exactly conventional, but you were twenty-five; you hardly strived to be professors.

Still, being close in age to your students had its downsides, too.

Yeonjun was collecting the exercise papers when he looked up to see one of your students loitering by your desk and grinning outrageously widely, radiating the kind of shameless confidence that begged for a kick in a place better not named.

“If I had your number,” the student—Joel? Chad?—was saying, “I could reach out anytime I had questions. You know? I’m really into this class.”

You smiled politely, but, even from across the room, Yeonjun could see your fight-or-flight instincts gearing up. You kept glancing at the door, fiddling with your phone, and stretching your smile tighter with every word the guy uttered, as though you could scare him off by turning into Joker.

Yeonjun set the papers down and leaned his hip against the desk at the back row, waiting for his cue.

“You’ve got my email for emergencies, Eric,” you said.

Eric, Yeonjun thought. Shit name. He’s never met an Eric he liked.

“I know,” Eric said. “But what if it’s urgent and I can’t reach you quickly enough through email? Having your number would, like—it would really help.”

“How about we cross that bridge when we get there?” you suggested. Yeonjun crossed the auditorium towards you. “You can email either me or Yeonjun. If neither of us replies, call the admin office. They’ll put you through.”

“Probably to me, though,” Yeonjun interjected, settling beside your desk. “I live for emergencies. And I’m always available.”

“Oh—” Eric’s eyes flickered between your brittle smile and the unspoken warning in Yeonjun’s gaze. He seemed to come to a conclusion that forced his ears to flush several shades of pink. “Okay, cool! Yeah. I’ll do that.”

He grabbed his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and made a graceful—hurried—exit.

You watched him go, wondering briefly whether this exchange would sour the workshop for him. You felt a flicker of guilt for being so dismissive—then stopped yourself. You didn’t owe anyone your phone number simply because that might make them like your class more.

Yeonjun, for his part, didn’t look remotely concerned about Eric’s future attendance. He didn’t really have to worry, you supposed. He could do whatever he wanted at the workshop—including all that you couldn’t—without it costing him a thing. Not respect, not recognition, not his actual safety.

Blissfully clueless, Yeonjun shuffled the papers into a neat pile and glanced up at you. “Weren’t interested?”

You shot him a glare for an answer. He nodded, chuckling.

“Got it,” he said. “Looks like I showed up right on time.”

You cleared your throat and handed over the rest of the papers for him to sort.

“Appreciate it,” you said. “But I had it under control.”

“Did you, love?” He tilted his head, amused. “That why you dropped my name in there?”

You hadn’t meant that as a rescue flare.

It was an old, reliable defence tactic – mentioning a man usually acted as a proper repellent for other men. You had no doubt this would work here as well; men only ever respected other men.

And that, you realised suddenly, might’ve been precisely why Professor Myers had brought Yeonjun into your workshop.

Clenching your jaw, you turned to close the browser tabs on your laptop.

“Just reminded him that there were two teachers in this workshop,” you said.

“Oh, sure.” Smirking, Yeonjun handed you the sorted stack. “You’re welcome, in any case.”

You took the papers back from him without meeting his eye.

“Thanks,” you said. “But I don’t need protecting. I said I had it.”

He caught the edge in your voice—it was hard not to—and straightened.

“I wasn’t protecting you,” he said. “Just had your back. And, for your information, I fully expect the same from you when someone flirts with me after class.”

His absolute certainty—as though it was inevitable that someone would eventually hit on him (it probably was)—made you snort.

“Yeah? And what if you like them?”

“I don’t mess around with students.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But teachers aren’t off-limits?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the teacher.”

Scoffing at the meaningful glint in his eyes, you pulled your laptop sleeve from under the desk.

“Alright, then,” you played along. “Guess I’ll make sure to have your back, too, partner.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, but wondered, nonetheless, what was the matter with his heart regarding the nickname. “Thanks, love.”

He located his phone in his pocket while you slipped the papers into the sleeve next to your laptop.

“Well,” he said, “we’ve got time for lunch before our next class.”

You looked up. “You—you’re actually going to class?”

Your reaction forced him to pause and replay what he’d just said to you.

“You’re more shocked about that,” he asked, “than about my suggestion we get lunch together?”

You stared at him for a full five seconds, then remembered how to blink and looked away.

“Didn’t think you meant we have lunch together.”

“Why would I bring it up, then?”

There was this obviousness in his tone that you’d heard before. As though getting lunch together, and driving you home—or, God, having each other’s backs—was nothing strange for the two of you.

It forced confused goosebumps to set up camp at the back of your neck.

“Thought that’s a segue to end the conversation,” you replied, “and go our separate ways.”

Yeonjun nodded slowly, arriving at a conclusion he chose not to vocalise.

He knew you disliked him—or tried to, anyway; he was in the process of analysing that—but he was still surprised about how terrible you were at picking up his social cues.

It seemed like all you expected from him was a spit in the mouth and a knife to the chest. And while he would’ve complied with the former, he’d never had a wish to follow through on the latter.

“It was supposed to be a subtle—never mind.” He waved a dismissive hand. “D’you need the invitation in writing, or is mentioning it going to be enough?”

You pursed your lips. “Mentioning’s enough. But maybe send an email next time.”

He grinned. “But what if it’s urgent? Having your number would, like, really help.”

Your smile slipped out of your restraints. And then, in a shocked realisation, you glanced at the door to make sure Eric hadn’t lingered.

“Oh, wow,” Yeonjun remarked right away. “Scared he’ll hear us making fun of him, and change his opinion of you?”

You stiffened slightly, but covered it up by looking down and zipping your bag.

“I don’t care about his opinion,” you said.

“Sure,” he replied, strolling out of the auditorium. He paused while you turned off the lights. “S’probably why you didn’t reject him outright.”

Scowling at his volume, you joined him in the hall. Groups of students darted past, chatting amongst themselves, oblivious to everything else.

“I did reject him,” you said, shutting the door and double-checking if the lock clicked. “But I kept it civil. He’s our student.”

Wordlessly, you both turned for the stairs.

“He was being sleazy and pushy,” Yeonjun said, taking note of your taut expression. “Thought that wasn’t your type.”

You turned to meet his gaze, and he saw something on your face relax.

“No,” you said. “That’s just you.”

From the look in your eyes, he’d almost expected a confession. But this was significantly better.

You’d relaxed, then, because arguing with him had become comfortable by now. A second nature, almost—especially compared to some blockhead hitting on you.

Yeonjun suspected this would go straight to his head.

“Yeah?” He was grinning again. “D’you really mean it?”

Groaning—how he thrived at the sound—you gave him a nudge towards the staircase. “Keep walking.”

“M’walking, love.” He deliberately slowed down, resisting your push. “Let me take my time.”

“Take your time faster.”

Laughing, he stopped at the top of the stairwell to let you pass. He watched you glance around before you jogged down, as though trying to avoid someone—or everyone—you knew. Then he came down after you.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 11, 2025. 12 PM

Right after you and Yeonjun arrived at the canteen, you considered messaging Reina and Soobin—just to have someone else here with you.

But before you could, Beomgyu plonked himself at your table. He took a seat next to you, opposite Yeonjun, and placed a pleading hand on your shoulder before you even had a chance to taste your salad. He didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you and Yeonjun were here together.

“Listen,” he said, flicking his eyes between the two of you. “Kai and I are throwing a party this weekend, right? After the race.”

Yeonjun nodded. “Right.”

“Of course,” you agreed, finally taking a bite.

“Well,” Beomgyu continued, “I want to invite certain people. But I don’t know how.”

You turned to Yeonjun, who appeared just as confused by the problem.

There wasn’t anything new about Beomgyu cornering random people with urgent questions that most people did not consider urgent (“Should I have prawns for dinner? Because I had a tuna sandwich for lunch.”). But talking to someone had never seemed to rank among his struggles. If nerves ever showed up, he just drowned them in alcohol.

“Have you considered, uh, texting?” you offered.

Beomgyu shot you a fiery glare.

“No,” he said. “Figured I’d try owl mail first.”

You hid your grin behind another bite.

He really was sensitive about this. You wondered if it had anything to do with his crush on Nara.

“Owls this time of year…” Yeonjun mused. “Not trustworthy.”

You nodded. “Maybe consider sending a letter the traditional way.”

Beomgyu shut his eyes and exhaled like you and Yeonjun were testing what little was left of his patience.

“Alright, you two comedians, you quirky little clowns,” he mumbled, placing his feet on the bench and drawing his knees to his chest. “I need real help.”

“I don’t understand,” Yeonjun said, pausing to chew a stubborn slice of asparagus. “What’s wrong with texting this person?”

“That’s too obvious,” Beomgyu replied.

Silence followed as the rest of the table tried to process that.

“How—what’s so obvious about a text invite to a party?” Yeonjun asked.

Beomgyu groaned, curling further into himself.

“Well, it—” He grimaced. “It’s needy. Isn’t it?”

Yeonjun blinked twice, then turned to you. “Is he an idiot?”

You pursed your lips. “I think that might be an accurate diagnosis.”

Beomgyu slumped dramatically.

“You guys are no help,” he complained. You patted his hand to stop his groaning; it was beginning to attract curious looks from others in the canteen.

“We don’t understand, Gyu,” you said. Yeonjun smirked at the pronoun (you were a unit now—a proper ‘we.’ How amusing). “What’s the matter with you?”

“I just told you,” Beomgyu mumbled, voice softer in response to your quiet tone, “we’re having a party and I want to invite—”

“—your crush,” Yeonjun finished for him. “We got that part, love. Why are you being such a wimp about it?”

Beomgyu turned to him, the previous hostility returning to his eyes.

“It’s not my crush,” he stated firmly, the word almost a slur. “It’s just some people who are cool.”

Oh, this was absolutely about Nara.

You coughed into your fist. “Sounds like a crush.”

Beomgyu directed his rage towards you, a hint of betrayal in his gaze. He thought you were on his side, and his side did not mention the C-word.

“Whatever,” he said with a demonstrative roll of his eyes. “Call it what you want. I don’t care. How do I—oh, maybe you could do it?”

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

“Invite her.”

“It’s your party.”

“Right, but—”

“And it’s your crush.”

“Fuck.” He groaned again, slapping his palms against the table. Yeonjun quietly pulled his plate out of range.

Despite claiming he didn’t care, Beomgyu needed a full minute to accept that everyone at this table—and in this canteen, at this point—knew he had a crush. And if the embarrassment of this didn’t kill him, then the party might.

“Well, how do I invite her without, you know…” he waved his hands about, “without coming off like I’ll die if she doesn’t show up?”

You and Yeonjun exchanged another glance. Beomgyu was watching you both with eyes so wide and desperate that an old lady, faced with this look, would have immediately adopted him in place of a kitten.

“What would you do?” Beomgyu asked, fidgeting, when neither of you replied. “If you wanted someone at your party?”

Yeonjun made the mistake of glancing back at him and making eye contact. He sighed.

“I’d ask her,” he said. “I’d say, ‘are you going to be at the party?’ You know, using words. As normal people do.”

Beomgyu glowered at the condescension and considered making a mocking comment about Yeonjun’s methods clearly not working if he and Amy were no longer together.

He decided not to waste time and turned to you for reassurance instead.

“So I just text her that we’re having a party?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied, deciding that taking him seriously would resolve his big problem the fastest. “You can say, ‘Kai and I are—’”

“No, no, no,” he cut in, shaking his head wildly. “I don’t want to bring Kai into this. That sends the wrong message.”

You looked at Yeonjun. He shrugged, not understanding, either.

“What, uh—what message would it send?” you asked Beomgyu.

“Well, that Kai’s going to be there, too.”

You felt even more lost. “Won’t he be?”

“He will,” Beomgyu said. “But that shouldn’t be the main focus.”

“How would it be the main—okay.” You took a deep breath and turned to Yeonjun again. “I give up. He’s yours.”

You returned to your plate, and Yeonjun set his glass of water back down on the table.

“You’re a weird dude,” he told Beomgyu, “you know that?”

Chewing, you braced yourself for Beomgyu’s frustrated groan, but still flinched when he nearly growled over the canteen.

“I came to you guys for help,” he snapped. “You’re not helping.”

“We’re trying!” Yeonjun replied, unable to contain his laughter any longer. “But you’re acting like you just landed on Earth a few days ago.”

“Like I—” Beomgyu paused, then turned to you. “Did he just indirectly call me a lunatic?”

You did not meet his gaze. “That was quite direct.”

Beomgyu groaned again. People at nearby tables looked at you like they thought you should have performed an exorcism on him, and the sooner, the better.

“So I just text her, then?” he finally asked, desperate. “That’s it?”

You looked at his wide eyes for a moment, and that was enough to stir sympathy in you once more. He must have really had feelings for Nara to lose his head so completely.

“Yes,” you said patiently.

“And if she says no?”

“Then she’s not at the party,” Yeonjun joined in.

Beomgyu made a noise like he’d been stabbed in the heart. “But I will die if she doesn’t come.”

Yeonjun turned to you with a final, defeated expression on his face.

“See, I thought he was joking,” he said. “But he’ll die if she doesn’t come.”

“He will die,” you echoed, gravely, “if she doesn’t come.”

Beomgyu sprang to his feet.

“Alright.” He glared at you, then at Yeonjun. “You know, I’m not sure I like the two of you together that much.”

You didn’t know whether it was your teasing or his own spiralling that finally pushed him over the edge. Instead, you were thinking about how, apparently, you and Yeonjun had become a ‘together’ in this.

“No, you’ve come to the right people,” Yeonjun said, casting you a sidelong glance. “We’ve recently learned that we’re both great at relationship advice.”

He waited for you to meet his gaze and winked, to let you know he hadn’t forgotten—and therefore, wouldn’t let you forget, either—any words that you’d exchanged in his wardrobe. You rolled your eyes and ignored him.

“Mhmm,” Beomgyu muttered, turning away. “Unlearn that.”

You bit your lip as he strode out of the canteen without another word, but with a scowl over his shoulder at your table.

He’d get over this, of course. Probably at the bar later tonight. Maybe he’d even realise that texting his crush didn’t have to be that serious.

And still, you and Yeonjun both watched him go—just in case he returned to deliver his final moan.

“Are you going to be at his party?” Yeonjun asked once the canteen doors swung shut behind Beomgyu.

“Oh, definitely not,” you said, finishing the last few bites on your plate. “Not my crowd.”

“What’s your crowd, then? Aside from librarians.”

You watched the satisfied smirk on his lips while you finished eating.

“If you think that’s offensive to me,” you said, “I have disappointing news. A lot of great people work at the library.”

“Doubt it,” he said. “Since they hired you.”

You flashed him a sneer and chose not to play into his game. Instead, you picked up your bag and rummaged in it for your phone.

“You’re coming to the bar tonight, though, right?” he asked again.

You didn’t look up. “Have I got a choice?”

Professor Myers was hosting her monthly catch-up tonight, and no one in your cohort dared skip it. Unlike Kai and Beomgyu’s party this weekend, tonight’s gathering was semi-official. If you missed one, you likely wouldn’t understand any of the references made in class throughout the upcoming month.

Yeonjun grinned. You did, technically, have a choice. But you’d sooner cut off both arms than disappoint a professor.

“I’m heading to class,” you decided after checking the time. “Let me know if Nara comes to Beomgyu’s party or if he died.”

Your request implied that the two of you wouldn’t see each other until after the party. That was not true, of course. Yeonjun had plenty more plans to see you again until then—all throughout today, for example.

“Oh, come on.” He leaned back on the bench. “You’re really going to miss him moping about for three hours?”

You raised your eyes to his again. “You think it’ll only take him three?”

“He usually passes out after.”

You snorted and felt your phone vibrate against the side of your bag. Reina’s text was informing you that she and Soobin had arrived for your next class, and they’d brought coffee for you.

“Alright, well,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Can’t be around you for three hours straight, though, so I’ll pass. Cheers.”

Yeonjun looked entirely unsurprised by this—although you had, technically, been around him for three hours straight last night.

“Your loss,” he said. “Kai’s house has some very spacious wardrobes, I’m hearing.”

Again, he was testing whether the memory still made you flinch.

Disappointingly, it did not.

You stacked your cutlery on the empty plate without looking up, letting the warmth in your stomach settle.

“That what you do, then?” you asked. “Lurk in people’s wardrobes in your free time? No wonder no one invites you over.”

He snorted. “Plenty of people invite me over. I’m just selective about where I go.”

“Right. Well, you have to be.” You nodded in feigned sympathy. “Imagine showing up to a party and not being the centre of attention. S’just tragic.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed. “And I’d know right away that you’re not at that party, because you wouldn’t be standing in the middle of the room, talking shit about me to anyone who’d listen.”

“Mhmm.” You gave him a dry look as you stood from your seat. “And why would you stay at a party if I wasn’t there for you to annoy?”

“Right,” he said, his grin widening. “Exactly.”

“Right,” you echoed flatly. But your lips curled without your permission. “See you in class.”

He caught your smile as you stepped over the bench, and fought with himself to resist lobbing another quip just to make you argue with him longer.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 11, 2025. 1 PM

When you arrived for class, the auditorium had already been rearranged into seminar groups. The Mediation and Conflict Resolution elective was very straightforward: two teams of students “negotiated” over a problem—usually another pair of students acting out specific roles—and extra points were awarded for compelling arguments, which later fed into your final grade.

The elective was infamous for these ‘simulations,’ as Professor Lee called them. Everyone else called them ‘psychological warfare.’

You and Reina had chosen the course because it had no final exam, but you still dreaded it every week. The fight for that extra point was intense and, often, just plain ugly. Beomgyu had once stopped speaking to Soobin for a week after Soobin’s team won, and he got the point.

Before the seminar began, you found Reina and Soobin at the back of the room. They were both eager to hear how your workshop had gone. Reina, in particular, looked like she was waiting for news of a prize fight. It almost made you wonder if she had money riding on you.

And when Soobin asked about your review session last night—he’d come home just as Yeonjun was returning ‘from somewhere’—you decided to keep your response brief and not answer where Yeonjun was returning from.

It was better not to dwell on that anyway.

Not that there was much to dwell on.

Not that you wanted there to be much to dwell on—

God.

As if on cue, Yeonjun entered the auditorium with Nara in tow.

Beomgyu, sitting across the room, visibly stiffened at the sight of them together. Yeonjun gave him a wave and a shake of his head—signalling that he hadn’t told Nara about the party, or about Beomgyu’s very calm and totally dignified attempt to seek advice on how to ask her out.

Then, Yeonjun’s gaze shifted to you. You were already bracing yourself for his usual smirk, but he surprised you with a familiar nod instead.

You tried to nod back, but didn’t entirely dismiss the chance that you merely stared at him in a stunned silence. His broadening smile suggested that that was indeed the case.

“Look,” Reina whispered, distracting you by gesturing her coffee cup towards the side of the room.

You turned to look at Beomgyu accosting Nara with enough enthusiasm to be heard across the building. He looked like he belonged in an energy drink ad.

“He’s so obvious,” you whispered back, chuckling.

Reina was about to say something else, but you were both startled by a chair scraping beside you.

“Hi again,” Yeonjun said. “We’re in the same group today.”

You hadn’t checked the group list that Professor Lee had printed out and glued to the blackboard, but this was clearly splendid news – and you and Reina both exchanged flat smiles to confirm your mutual delight.

The door opened at the front before you could speak, and Professor Lee swept in, wearing his traditional red jacket with a bright blue tie. Right away, he handed out the case briefs for the day.

This time, the defendant (played by Soobin, slouched at the front of the class like a man halfway through a midlife crisis) was the company manager. And the female claimant (played by an exhilarated Beomgyu, who almost never got called to the front) was an employee, alleging she’d been unfairly denied a promotion.

It became clear very quickly that the defence team—led by Nara—would shred you.

Their opening statement landed hard: the defendant had no discriminatory intentions. He had simply followed company policy, which stated that the claimant wasn’t eligible for a promotion.

You cast a hopeful glance at the professor. The validity of the argument was his call.

He nodded.

“Fantastic,” Reina remarked, furiously scribbling a lemon on her notepad—a coping strategy, you’d observed. “He followed policy. She’s not eligible. Case closed, we’ve lost.”

“No—but when Beomgyu cited the brief,” you argued, “he said others had been promoted with less time at the company. That’s against policy, then.”

“Then maybe the claimant’s in a different role,” Reina supplied. “Different criteria for a promotio—”

“One minute,” Professor Lee announced, surveying the class like an omniscient hawk. “I need to hear your counter-argument.”

Agitated by the time limit, you glanced at Yeonjun. He was sprawled in his chair, fingers laced over his stomach, eyes on the ceiling. He hadn’t contributed to the group discussion once.

“She’s a woman,” you contemplated out loud, turning back to Reina. “That might be the only real difference.”

“But if the company policy—”

“Could be sexist,” you offered, guessing what her point was. “Not explicitly, but in effect. Like… if the policy rewards uninterrupted years of service in a way that disadvantages those who are eligible for longer leave—such as pregnant women and mothers.”

Reina squinted at you. “And what’s our argument? If that’s the policy, how’s that Soobin’s fault?”

You rested your chin on your palm, tapping your lower lip with your fingers. You weren’t sure how to make this Soobin’s fault in academic language.

Suddenly, like a half-bored prophet emerging from the ashes, Yeonjun raised his hand on behalf of your group without any prior warning.

“Aha!” the professor exclaimed, pointing an excited hand at him. “Your group’s found the argument?”

“Yes,” he said. “Their defence reinforces institutional bias.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Yeonjun met your gaze and gave you a nod, agreeing, clearly, with the point you’d been developing.

“Oh!” Professor Lee lit up—even his tie seemed to brighten—and clapped his hands together right behind you. You jumped at the sound and turned. “Yes! I like that! Very good. And what does that mean for Soobin, our defendant?”

Yeonjun exhaled and leaned back in his chair as though he’d done his job. He turned to you with a wordless nudge. He didn’t clarify whether he didn’t know how to explain it himself, or if he was just letting you do it.

Blinking, you began to speak before your thoughts fully formed.

“It, uh—it means that the defendant—Soobin—doesn’t need to have had malicious intent,” you said. “But, uh, he’s in a position of authority within a biased system that favours men. The system sort of does the harm in his name, but by choosing to follow the policy without questioning it, he ends up consciously perpetuating that inequality. Reinforces it, actually, by being complicit.”

“Yes! Yes!” the professor’s victorious shout—accompanied by a triumphant finger pointing your way—felt blissful. You caught a glimpse of Yeonjun smirking at the corner of your vision. “That’s a brilliant articulation. Defence, what’s your response?”

Nara’s group floundered.

On a high from being acknowledged, you settled back into your chair and tuned out their whispered discussion. You nearly missed Yeonjun leaning over with an outstretched hand.

It took you a moment to understand he was expecting a high-five.

Bemused, you obliged.

“Nice,” he whispered as your palm touched his. It was uncanny, the way this word gave you a rush as big as the professor’s approval.

You turned back to Reina’s newest lemon—this one suspiciously similar to a crooked eye—and did a double-take when you realised Reina was staring at you.

What the fuck was that? her gaze was asking.

You felt the corners of your lips twitch, but you shook your head in answer: don’t know.

Five minutes later, Chaeyoung, one of Nara’s teammates, mustered a tentative, “can we get a hint?”

Professor Lee, not known for his patience, tilted his head in contemplation.

“Alright,” he said. “Think outside the mediation-based framework. Consider what Yeonjun had just kindly explained: ‘the system does the harm’ versus ‘consciously perpetuating the inequality.’”

You froze.

Then—slowly—you saw Yeonjun glance over at you, as though even he was startled to have your words attributed to him.

Reina jabbed your side so hard that you nearly dropped your pen.

“What—” she began to say, but then locked eyes with Yeonjun. She redirected her ire straight at him. “You said—you said one thing. You didn’t explain shit.”

Yeonjun didn’t argue. He pressed his lips together and turned back to the professor.

For a second, you thought he might say something.

He didn’t.

Perhaps, you thought hopefully—because hope, unlike your will to graduate, died last—the professor just mixed up your names. Yeonjun had started out the argument, after all.

But once the seminar ended, Professor Lee awarded the extra point to Yeonjun—for his “brilliant insight.”

It felt, you thought with irony, precisely like the institutional bias you’d taken the time to explain. You’d rescued Yeonjun’s argument from obscurity, and once again, that hadn’t mattered.

It had truly become tradition by now, the way he received praise for breathing—even if all he exhaled was other people’s ideas.

What made it worse today was that, for a while there, Yeonjun felt like an actual part of your team: all supportive nods, quiet smiles, and encouraging high-fives.

Never mind, then.

You shouldn’t have let your guard down. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and all that.

After you finished packing your bag, you saw Yeonjun lingering in the doorway. He looked like he was waiting for you.

He was.

“That was good,” he said when you approached. There seemed to be no teasing in his voice—likely because of Reina’s sinister presence right behind you. “You were quick on your feet.”

You tried to keep the sarcasm at the back of your throat and managed a strained smile.

“Could’ve explained it yourself,” you forced out.

“Sure. But would’ve taken me a minute.” He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head to return the strands into place. “Thanks for having my back.”

Your jaw clenched. “Did it for the team.”

Behind you, Soobin laughed—a little nervously. He’d overheard the conversation and correctly concluded from the tension in Reina’s back that this could escalate. Immediately, he turned into his usual role of peacemaker.

“I never like playing the defendant,” he said, throwing a hand around Yeonjun’s shoulders. “But nice work today. Guess you got me fired from the company.”

You said nothing, gaze locked on Yeonjun.

Soobin couldn’t decide if he was more perturbed by the vacant darkness in your eyes or the lethal brand of malice in Reina’s. He decided it’d be best to extract Yeonjun out of the room in any case.

“Come on,” he said, steering him out. “I’ll need to borrow your car for groceries before we hit the bar.”

As they left, Reina looped her arm through yours. You finally exhaled the tension in your lungs. Her gestures were the only ones that never felt performative.

“S’got to be his parents,” she said. “The way he gets away with this shit. Zero effort, all credit. Typical.”

“Yeah, well.” You swallowed thickly. “We already knew that about him.”

“Let’s go home,” she said as the two of you made your way out of the room, “get changed. Then get drunk.”

She’d said it, and that was the plan.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 11, 2025. 9:30 PM

The bar was warm when you arrived. Reina and Soobin immediately peeled off their scarves and hats, and you offered to hang the coats while they went to find seats among your classmates.

Nara, the self-appointed hostess, directed you to the coat rack, then led you back to the table where debates were already brewing. You were mildly surprised to see Yeonjun already here—he was usually the last to arrive—but you looked away the second your eyes met.

You’d already had enough of him for one day.

Unfortunately, Reina and Soobin had claimed seats on Yeonjun’s side of the table. Reina exchanged a quick hello with Taehyun, who sat to Yeonjun’s right, then beckoned you over.

Tipsy as he was, Yeonjun clocked the empty spot between Taehyun and Reina as you approached. Without a word, he nudged Taehyun further down the bench until his hip bumped into Reina’s. It took them a moment to register what was happening, and by the time Taehyun voiced his protest about his relocation, Yeonjun was already patting the now-vacant spot beside himself and grinning at you.

You considered just standing.

Reina looked fully in favour of that plan, but Soobin gave a subtle shake of his head.

It’d be a scene, he was saying. It wasn’t worth it.

With a huff, you sat beside Yeonjun, tossing your bag across the bench to limit his expansive manspreading.

He waited for your comment, and you tortured him by not giving him one.

Then, just as you took your first sip of wine, Nara leapt to her feet again: Professor Myers had arrived.

The chatter at the rest of the table didn’t falter; most of you had shared enough drinks with the professor to skip the formalities. And soon, Yeonjun launched into a one-sided discussion with a half-drunk Kai, who was probably only catching every fourth word, and a very drunk Taehyun, who caught every word but ceased to care.

“You don’t get it,” Yeonjun declared, wagging a finger at Kai like a disapproving uncle. “You only think this is decent wine because you associate it with sophistication. You walk into a restaurant, and you see it on the tables of people who look refined. Instantly, you assume that this wine must be refined, too. But it’s not. It’s a nouveau riche vulgarity. S’ostentatious. Performative.”

“Right,” Kai agreed, finishing his glass of vulgarity. “S’what this is.”

“A proper connoisseur,” Yeonjun went on, “always chooses biodynamics. Old terroir. Generational craft. Like a Bourgogne, for example.”

“Right!” Kai said again. “A Bur—Burghonee.”

You wondered if Yeonjun realised he sounded like Remy from Ratatouille, and that he was speaking to Kai, who transformed into the human equivalent of Emile after a few drinks.

“This is wine for those who want to appear educated without actually getting the education,” Yeonjun concluded. “But most people lack the cultural capital to grasp that. They don’t see through the performance. It’s Plato’s cave wherever you look.”

Taehyun groaned on your other side, resting his head on the table.

“Oh, please tell us about the cave, Jun,” he mumbled. “How I love hearing you speak about the cave.”

You snorted. Yeonjun mumbled something unkind under his breath but finally shut up.

You’d all endured a fair few of Yeonjun’s drunken sermons over the years. There was a pattern to them: someone made an off-handed remark, something trivial, like “I got my paycheck today,” and Yeonjun would begin a three-hour lecture about the inevitable collapse of a capitalist society—perhaps even quoting from a book he’d been reading or a documentary he’d just seen. He loved Plato, too.

Luckily, he drank as fast as he talked and usually passed out before midnight.

To be fair, Yeonjun’s arguments were often strangely coherent, even as they grew more slurred. It was, rather, his smug tone and the relentless use of technical jargon that irritated you.

Tonight was no exception. The wine on the table wasn’t expensive or especially refined, but it tasted fine. Yeonjun himself, loud as he was about his disdain, had had two glasses.

Sometimes, he was pretentious for the sake of being pretentious.

Suddenly, the bar quieted as Professor Myers tapped her knife against her wine glass.

Taehyun opened one eye but didn’t move. Being a year below, he and Kai were here for the drinks and the company, not the discussion.

The professor’s eyes found yours, then shifted to Yeonjun.

“I wanted to thank you both for your work on the workshop today,” she said. You hadn’t expected that. “My colleagues and I spoke to a few of your undergrads. The feedback was glowing. You’re on a great path.”

“Yeah, my s-sister’s in your workshop,” Henry, another one of your classmates, chimed in a little drunkenly. You remembered Lissie, his sister—front row, bright eyes, long brown hair. “She said she loved it. Said Yeonjun’s grr—great at breaking things down.”

You’d noticed Lissie’s attentiveness earlier and had half-wondered if it wasn’t just a crush on Yeonjun. He hadn’t had that much stuff to break down today—not that he hadn’t tried anyway.

“I mean, makes sense,” Nara agreed across the table from you. “Jun always feels the need to educate everyone he meets.”

Taehyun snorted, the sound covering up Reina’s quiet chuckle beside him. You smiled, too, caught in the ripple.

“Yes, well,” the professor said. “You make writing your thesis seem effortless, Yeonjun. That’s rare. Don’t tell any of your supervisors I said that.”

A few polite snickers sounded around the table.

“It’s because he knows all this stuff,” Kai declared, slurring his words. “You should hear him talk about Burnoghee—this one wine.” He raised his glass. “This is cave wine, by the way.”

Inhaling sharply—as though in a hurry not to lose the moment—Taehyun sat up to give you a look. You met his gaze and nodded, grinning. Drunk Kai was the only Kai who actually listened to what Yeonjun was saying.

“I hope you’re not teaching undergrads about wine,” Professor Myers teased. “They know enough about that as it is.”

“He’s teaching them Plato,” Taehyun said. “Because one philosophy course is clearly not enough.”

“Well,” you said—more to Taehyun than anyone else, “he learned this one thing in undergrad. So he’s got to run with it now.”

Yeonjun shot you a partially indifferent look, while Taehyun snickered.

Professor Myers turned back to you.

“You’ve done solid work, too,” she said, her tone softening. “There’s a clear structure in the workshop. We’re very pleased with it so far. Have you thought about the next steps?”

You had—because she’d already asked you to. You knew you needed to collect the students’ early ideas for their theses and share them with faculty to tailor support and emphasis on the curriculum accordingly.

“I’m thinking about using questionnaires,” you said. “Open-ended questions, mostly.”

Her lips turned down.

“Hm,” she began, “it’s definitely been done before, but I feel like going open-ended always gives us surface-level responses. They’ll write ‘feminism’, or ‘Durkheim’s anomie’, but won’t explain what they mean to do with that.”

You hadn’t expected her to disagree, but you nodded and adjusted in your seat. Your bag slid and landed on Yeonjun’s thigh. He didn’t react.

“Okay, then we can ask them to explain,” you said. “Or we could add some curated prompts, specific subjects. Maybe ask what inspired them, which authors they’ve—”

Professor Myers began to shake her head before you finished.

“They’ll just parrot back the curriculum,” she said. You’d never heard her quite so cynical before. “We want to move your workshop forward—even ahead.”

You were practically bouncing on the bench, eager to suggest something she might accept, too aware that your friends were half-listening to you get shot down on repeat.

“What if we asked what they disagreed with?” you offered. “Maybe something frustrated them, even if it was technically right. Could show us their analytical thinking, too.”

The professor’s eyes brightened for a second.

“That could work—” she started, then stopped abruptly. “But we risk confusion. They’ll disagree with things they didn’t fully understand. All we’ll learn is just where in the curriculum they struggle.”

Her reasons made sense, really. But you were starting to feel like you were talking to a wall. And none of your ideas were bad; just not good enough.

Yeonjun leaned back from the table beside you, stretching.

“Let’s just do quizzes,” he said. “Multiple choice. A few open-ended. Always asking to explain their answers. Maybe throw in some themes, so they don’t ramble on about their love for basketball or some sh—something. That’s all. Not overcomplicating it.”

You shook your head. Quizzes were your initial idea, and Professor Myers hadn’t liked it.

“We can’t give them leading prompts, though,” you said, quoting what she’d said to you even before you started the workshop. “Even if it’s basketball, it needs to come from them.”

Yeonjun didn’t get to reply.

“Honestly,” Professor Myers said, “that sounded sensible enough. Let’s go with Yeonjun’s idea.”

You blinked. Then leaned back slowly.

Quizzes, then. Open-ended questions. Multiple choice. Specific themes.

Everything you’d just said.

Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.

Unless Yeonjun said it.

You dusted off your optimism and tried to look at the bright side: surely, unlike Professor Lee earlier, Professor Myers realised that this wasn’t, actually, Yeonjun’s idea. It was so obvious—

It was not. The professor returned to her wine without another word.

You turned to the rest of your classmates—Reina was unabashedly napping, her head on Soobin’s lap—and caught Nara watching you from across the table. Once she met your gaze, she turned back to the professor.

“Why’d you need two people for the workshop anyway?” she asked, rekindling your love for Drunk Nara. “You’ve nabbed our best students. Now we can’t even do group projects with them.”

“Because they complete each other,” Henry slurred before the professor could answer, gesturing sloppily at you and Yeonjun. He finished half a bottle while you were talking. “They—they’re like—well, like that. He does the teaching. She does the—the other stuff.”

Yeonjun did not appear to mind this. In fact, he looked vaguely pleased.

You, on the other hand, considered informing Henry just how much teaching you’d been doing in class.

Then you considered just socking him on the nose.

“I think you’re on the brink of a very good point, Henry,” Professor Myers said with a small, amused smile. “Someone’s got to lead. Someone’s got to organise. I also think they’ve found a great balance.”

You felt your hands begin to tremble as another ironic smile pulled at your mouth. Hyper-focused on her words, you didn’t even realise that she hadn’t, technically, answered Nara’s question.

The “great balance” you’d found with Yeonjun was, clearly, you doing all the work, and him taking all the credit.

You’d known this would happen the moment Professor Myers announced he’d be your co-host, but it still pissed you off.

“And it’s all about working smarter, not harder, anyway,” Nara added, shooting you a sympathetic look. “Right?”

She must have been trying to defend you from Henry’s point, but it ended up sounding like agreement. Like you didn’t work hard. Like you didn’t speak in class.

Apparently, you didn’t even need to. Why would you, when Yeonjun could do it for you, and do it better?

For most intents and purposes of the workshop, you were expendable.

Yeonjun, still basking in the attention, glanced your way. His expression didn’t shift, but his gaze lingered as the conversation around the table carried on.

The waitress arrived with the next round. As drinks were passed around, you imagined calling the professor out. Imagined asserting yourself.

But, in your imagination, these scenes always ended the same: in embarrassment, discomfort, and regret.

She wouldn’t care. Or she’d try to care, but automatically side with Yeonjun anyway, and all you’d do is just ruin your own reputation.

Yeonjun could have been the one to speak up, then, you supposed. He’d had that chance at the Mediation seminar earlier. But you’d never heard him object, never seen him even consider that the idea he’d been praised for wasn’t actually his.

It was a little hard to keep holding your smile.

Quietly, you slipped off the bench and walked past Taehyun to tap Reina’s shoulder.

She lifted her head from Soobin’s lap, blinking. Your classmates grew louder around you, and you needed to lean in closer so she’d hear you.

“I’m going to step out for a second,” you said.

“Yeah?” She blinked again. “You okay?”

“Too hot here.” You gave her a weak smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

As you turned, Soobin called out to grab your coat.

You ignored him in your rush and pushed the door open.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 11, 2025. 10:30 PM

The smoking area outside the bar was a welcome shift. The muffled noises from inside turned almost cosy once you shut the door and inhaled—for the first time in what felt like hours.

The only downside was the cold. You shivered, leaning against the side wall of the bar, but refused to go back inside.

You’d barely managed to close your eyes and focus on the chilly breeze when you heard the bell chime at the door and footsteps shuffle on the pavement.

Someone was coming.

“Hey,” a voice called. Yeonjun rounded the corner, immediately pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down. “You alright?”

You swallowed your discontent. You’d been tethered to him the whole day, and now he was here again.

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why are you here?” he asked, settling against the wall of the opposite building, directly in front of you.

You shot him a look.

He knew why you were here. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have followed.

“Doesn’t seem like the best idea to hang out here,” he said when you didn’t reply. “S’cold. Come back in?”

“Or,” you said, “you can do whatever you want, and I can do whatever I want.”

Yeonjun considered the hostility in your tone, and bit the corner of his lip.

“Okay,” he decided. “How about you get off your high horse so we can talk eye-to-eye?”

You gave him a passing glance and turned to the dumpster at the back wall. “Fuck off.”

He scoffed, facing the other way.

“I came out with good intentions,” he said. “Didn’t like what happened inside, either. But they’re drunk. They don’t hear themselves. And, anyway, maybe it’s time for you to stop getting upset when someone contributes, instead of leaving all the work to you.”

“Oh!” Your gaze snapped back to him. “You’re contributing, then, yeah? My bad. I forgot about your brilliant contributions of repeating what I said at a more convenient time with more volume and force. Stellar stuff.” You clapped your hands. “Bravo.”

His brows furrowed as he pushed himself off the wall. “You think I’m not adding anything? Just stealing your credit?”

“Not at all,” you replied. “You assume the credit is yours. And everyone thinks it is.”

He paused. He realised this wasn’t just about the workshop, but he didn’t think you were being entirely fair to him. He hadn’t asked for the professors’ approval.

“Right,” he said, defensive. “Forgot you’re the only person in the world capable of original thoughts.”

“It would seem so,” you said, “given how often you just fucking repeat them.”

His teeth ground together. “So we’re back to acting like I can’t do anything, yeah? Like I don’t work for anything, ever?”

“Do you?” you snapped back. “Because you sure pretend to work. But from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve already made a whole career out of stealing credit and sounding clever. Actually, no—no, the last part’s good. I adore how you assert your superiority with intentionally pretentious language. It’s so subtle that your audience doesn’t even catch how much better than them you think you are.”

Slowly, he flexed his hands.

He’d come out here with a very clear purpose. But now the only thing that was clear to him was that he was rubbish at support, apparently, because now he was in the middle of another argument with you.

“That’s bold,” he said, “coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re turning into a sycophant.” He watched you flinch at the word, but continued anyway. “Bending over backwards to be everyone’s favourite, but silently mocking anyone who disagrees with you.” He studied your scowl for another moment. “A sycophant is someone who kisses asses for personal gain, by the way. In case that word is too pretentious for you, too.”

You swallowed, your gaze sharpening. He’s already said this to you before, though not in these words.

“Back on the psychoanalysis, then,” you said, “are you?”

“You started it.”

“You still don’t know shit about me.”

An ironic smile spread on his face.

He didn’t really know you; that was true enough. But the seven minutes in his wardrobe had provided him with the first pieces of a bigger picture, and he’s gathered even more of those pieces since.

“I know you better than you think,” he said. “You clearly think I sit on my ass and don’t bother with anything. You hate that I get praise—because I’m not even trying, right? And you really hate that I don’t just let you take over. That I get under your skin. That I challenge you.”

You watched him, jaw set.

“That’s all?” you asked. “You think you’re some kind of a threat to me, then?”

“I think I’m the only threat to you.”

“And you’re proud of that?” You scoffed. “I’ve had shit classmates my whole life. Dealt with threats far worse than you when I was nine.”

“Sure,” he said. “But none that got to you like I do.”

Something snagged in your chest—but not deeply enough for you to focus on it. “How do you get to me?”

He didn’t realise he’d stepped closer until he could hear your uneven breathing.

“You’re scared,” he said. “You don’t know what to do with me, and it’s driving you insane.”

“I’m not scared.”

He leaned in just a touch closer. You could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek, could feel your own breathing cease.

“No?” he said. “Prove me wrong, then.”

You wondered if the late-night chill was really the reason why your legs felt numb.

“How exactly,” you said, voice low, “do you imagine I’d do that?”

Yeonjun had a few ideas. But he blinked, gaze drifting from your parted lips to the bricks behind you, and released a slow breath.

“Walk back in there,” he said, nodding to the door, “and tell everyone you’re fed up with the way they diminish you and your work. How they constantly overlook you. Tell them you’re better than me. Go on. Tell them the truth.”

You didn’t speak, your eyes still fixed firmly on his.

He knew what was coming.

“No,” you said.

His grin broke through. “Knew it. You want them to like you too much.”

You looked away toward the empty street.

He wasn’t wrong; you did want them to like you. But that wasn’t the whole of it.

You wanted to be reliable and easy to be around. You wanted credibility. Wanted to be taken seriously. Wanted your ideas to have weight without Yeonjun echoing them.

And you knew that if you ever let yourself show your frustration, all that warmth and reliability could vanish. You’d be entitled. Difficult. Jealous. Why would anyone take you seriously then?

And then you wondered if, perhaps, you already were all these things.

“You said you didn’t like what happened inside, either,” you said. Yeonjun lifted his gaze. “Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

He looked away.

He thought back on the way you’d bristled when he’d interrupted Eric hitting on you. He’d claimed he wasn’t protecting you from the guy’s flirting, but he supposed he had been. And you’d made it exceedingly clear that you didn’t want his protection.

Your status quo was, clearly, mutual contempt.

Where would that leave the both of you, if he’d defended you in front of everyone?

“Did you want me to?” he asked, meeting your gaze.

You questioned that, too. Was it even possible for him to use his voice without further diminishing yours?

“Would it matter?” you said. “You do what you want anyway.”

He didn’t, actually. There was a long list of things he wanted to do. So far, he’d only crossed one off last Thursday.

“It would matter,” he said. “Did you want me to say something?”

“Do I have to want it,” you replied, “for you to do it? Have you got no sense of fairness?”

Yeonjun exhaled. You’d been answering each other’s questions with more questions, and now he’s run out of them.

“I’ve got it,” he said. And he meant it—but not in the same way you did.

“You’re fine, then,” you said, “with having your ass kissed for minimal effort.”

His gaze drifted back to the dark red brick wall. Faint graffiti crawled across the surface, barely legible in the dark.

“I’m not fine,” he said. “I told you, I want my achievements to be mine. But what am I supposed to do? Tell our professors I don’t deserve their praise, and ask to be treated like shit instead?”

“That—no,” you said, frowning. “Of course not. When you deserve praise, you deserve praise. But that’s not usually the case. Usually, you get applauded without moving a finger, yet you refuse to acknowledge that.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He knew the system seemed to be rigged in his favour. It’s been that way his whole life.

“I don’t think it’d make a difference if I acknowledged it,” he said. “If I started correcting everyone. If I showed up with the, ‘um, actually, she said it first.’ No, they’d think I’m just putting on a show. Pretending to be humble. And what would be the difference, in the end? Everyone would still think I’m narcissistic. I’d still get those fucking points. Nothing would change.”

Your lips remained pressed tightly together, but your gaze softened.

He’d thought about this, then. He’d considered bringing it up.

And it was true that he couldn’t do much to change the blatant preferential treatment he received. He couldn’t stop being his parents’ son.

But, at the same time, he was saying that he, technically, could have called out the injustices benefiting him. He wouldn’t have lost his place at the table for that. He’d just chosen not to do it, because he thought speaking up would only reinforce his arrogant image.

Perhaps it would. But you weren’t asking for that. You were asking for accountability.

“Not everything is about systemic change,” you said. “You may still get the points, yeah. But calling things by their names would at least show that you see the problem. And that is already a huge change. Not what follows after it. Just the acknowledgement itself.”

Yeonjun watched you for a long moment.

“You want me to admit that you’re right,” he concluded. “That sometimes, I get rewarded for your ideas.”

You met his gaze head-on. “Do you think you do?”

He didn’t say anything for a long minute, and the silence stretched until it began to sound like an answer in itself. Then:

“Yes.”

You drew in a sharp, cold breath.

It had taken you a very long time to get here, past all the defences, all the pride and the ego.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “You said it would matter if I wanted you to speak up. So if I’d actually said that, yes, I want you to say something about this—would you really do it?”

Yeonjun felt his heart thud dangerously inside his chest, dull and dizzy as though it was falling down a well.

He knew what you were asking him; he’d just told you that he didn’t speak up, because he didn’t think there was a difference.

Were you the difference?

“Yes,” he said. You held your breath, not sure if you believed him. Not sure if he believed him. “But would you want me to?”

Blinking, you dropped your gaze to the glittering ice patch on the pavement.

He already knew the answer to that. And he was right.

You didn’t want him to swoop in as your saviour, proving once again that his voice rang louder than yours. You didn’t want him to grant you credibility like a favour. Like goodwill.

No – you didn’t want him to speak up for you.

You wanted him to stop speaking over you.

You wanted him to stop using your thoughts as his ladder. To stop playing along when he was propped up at your expense.

And, you supposed, his confession tonight was the closest you’d get to it.

“Could help your case,” you said, not replying to his question. “You wouldn’t seem so antagonistic if you recognised your privileges out loud.”

He gave a cynical shake of his head.

“No. I still would,” he said. “I hear what people say about me. You think I don’t? I know I’m the arrogant, rich dickhead. In love with myself. Never serious about anything. People I’ve never met in my life whisper that when I pass by. They don’t even have to know me.”

You squinted. “Do they do that?”

“They do,” he said. “They whisper shit, and then, when it’s convenient, they act like they’ve always been my friends.” He gave you an ironic smile. “You’re probably the only one who’s been consistent about your hate for me, love. And the only one who’s said it to my face.”

You shifted your gaze back to the pavement and did not reply.

“There’s nothing I can do to change what people think about me, or how they treat me,” he finished. “But so what? It’s not my life’s mission to plead my case to anyone who’s already decided I’m not worth the effort. Fuck it. Those who care to find out what I’m really like, will. And those who don’t, won’t. S’all.”

It occurred to you then that you might have been envying him a little for his ease. For his proud indifference.

Now you thought it might not have been indifference at all. It sounded like surrender.

You tugged your turtleneck up, fingers nearly frozen in the biting wind.

“Hard to find out,” you muttered, “when you’re naturally unapproachable.”

He met your eyes. A brief glint of relief passed through him when he saw the tension ease on your brow.

“Then they’re not worth approaching,” he said. “Got to risk getting bitten to learn I don’t even bite.”

You looked at him for a second. Then for a few more.

Finally, your lips twitched like a hiccup in your composure.

“That’s a really warped attitude,” you said.

He allowed himself a tentative smile. “Yeah, well. You had to know that already.”

You turned away, your breath rising in a smoke of air.

You did know that. Just like you knew that he was aware of how much he received, and how little he needed to work for it. And you knew that he did work for it—although, admittedly, you preferred to ignore his genuine effort (as intermittent as it was).

His pride would likely never allow him to apologise for accepting undue credit. It wouldn’t allow him to speak about this openly—not just to avoid playing your hero, but because he was still convinced it wouldn’t matter, or it’d only make it worse.

But tonight, at least, his pride allowed him to acknowledge you.

That was something.

As silence fell over you, Yeonjun lowered his gaze to your shadow on the pavement. Your arms were tucked tight, as though you were trying to hold in more than just body heat.

“Come on,” he said. “We don’t have to say anything to anyone inside. But it’s fucking freezing. Let’s go back.”

Your fingers curled deeper into the fabric of your turtleneck.

“Go,” you said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You’ll freeze in a minute.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t move and continued to stare at you.

Finally, you met his gaze. The harsh lines on his dry lips showed he was cold, too. You almost wondered if he’d left his coat inside out of solidarity.

“What?” you asked, no real fight in your tone. “Going to stay here, too, then?”

“Yes,” he said, matching your stubbornness word for word. “Not going without you.”

You sighed—half in despair, half in helpless amusement—and threw your head back against the wall.

“Do you have to try,” you said, “or does this annoying behaviour come naturally to you?”

”S’my talent,” he replied dryly. “You can go ahead and get mad at me for not wanting you to freeze, but do it inside.”

You gave him an even look. “Why not, then?”

“Why not what?”

“Why don’t you want me to freeze?”

He paused, unsure how to respond.

The question, at its core, seemed too big for an answer.

“Why would I?” he ended up saying. “You think just because I challenge you, I’d want you to actually suffer?”

You smiled for the first time in a while—and he realised what he’d just offered you, but couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“Well, if you don’t want me to suffer,” you said, “why do you keep making me suffer?”

He sighed. Something flickered in his eyes—raw and unfiltered—but your teeth had begun to chatter. You looked away before you could name it.

“I’m not making you suffer,” he decided.

You scoffed half-heartedly. “Can’t tell if you’re gaslighting me or yourself.”

He ignored that and nodded at the door.

“Go back in, love,” he said. “Come on.”

You hesitated for another moment, then finally pushed yourself off the wall and walked past him without another word.

“Oh, that’s it, then?” he called, following after you with mock astonishment. “No final comment about how much you loathe me and how unbearable I am?”

You shot him a glance over your shoulder. “You haven’t got it yet?”

“Not quite,” he said. “One more time might do it.”

“You’re unbearable.”

He grinned.

“There it is,” he said. “Spot on. Thank you, love.”

You shook your head as you walked ahead of him, shoulders hunched as if the night physically weighed on you, hands still stiff from the cold.

But as you reached the bar door, he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the window. There was a faint, uncertain smile on your lips.

And Yeonjun, proud as he was, found it rather interesting how he didn’t feel all that cold anymore.

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starberry-7 · 18 hours ago

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Lowk I should stop yapping about mom but I'm so tired man. She makes me consider suicide more than anything.

The way she gave up on me in 4-5 years. The way she only gave birth to me so I can serve her. Why does everything need to be about her? Why is she always the victim? If I'm so terrible then why does your own fucking family pity me for having you as a mother? Yet they're also jealous for the same reason. You're so inconsistent with how you raised me. Being showered in both love and hate. You made me hate myself and everyone around me. You isolated me. You blame me now for being isolated. You made me feel like I don't belong anywhere. Why? And why does your pain have to be my fault forever? And why does your injury have to be my responsibility when you got it before I was born. You did not leave dad for me. He neglected me for sure, but so did you. And you two were fighting years before you gave birth to me. You hate everything about me. You only realise little of it. You hate my race, you hate my bloodline, you hate the way I talk, you hate my interests, my friends, my whole identity if it doesn't align with yours. You tell me I'm evil for thinking what we have is abusive. You tell me I see you as an enemy. You tell me I am ruining you. You tell me I'm just the man you hate as a daughter. you tell me I'm the only one you have. And that you're the only one I have. You tell me that we can only rely on each other. You tell me I'm not really Moroccan. You only use my positive traits as ways to boast. You only love me to get your dose of affection. You only spoil me to seem generous. You tell me we're normal. And then you tell me we're better than everyone. If that is true, if that is a fact, then why do you stop me from telling anyone? About the marks, about the hateful words, about almost killing me more times than I can remember. Why do you try to make me forget? Make me feel insane if I recall what you did? Make me feel like nothing is real. Why do you treat me like I'm not human? Why do you make everything about us both? Why didn't you let me be my own person? Why didn't you let me get help? I will never understand. For the worse or the better, I will leave. Because anything is sweeter than instability. You claim my father leaving was the greatest gift, yet you blame me for it. Yet you tell me I should be kinder to him. Kinder to his aunt. Kinder to you. But never kinder to myself. You say and say that I have no problems. That billions of kids have divorced parents. As if that changes anything. As if that's the actual problem. You make me trust you and then you use it against me. You make me doubt my own memory. I will never forgive you. And I might be sinful for that. I don't care if you're second to god. I don't care if heaven is at your feet. I don't care if the orphan prophet cares about your position. I don't care if it's my destiny to help you. You saw me as an enemy, as a monster, as a demon, as a jinn. called me possessed, called me evil. I don't care if I am anymore. I don't want to be your son. I'm barely your daughter. You will never understand me. Maybe you'll love me someday. But I won't be there anymore. Alive or dead, I'll leave you. And I want that to be soon. I'm not sorry anymore. Isn't that what you wanted me to do? To finally admit my hate? I hate that I can't hate you fully. I can't love you either. I will miss your affection. I will miss my memories. I'll miss everything we were. But I also mourn the person I would've been if you just cared. I don't blame you though. I blame no one. I should've embraced death when you gave it to me on a silver plate. I should've killed myself when you encouraged me to do so. I should've welcomed your murderous rage with all my heart.

#sevi's attentionless #sevi's fvcked again #sevi's yapping ugh

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 1 day ago

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s8 episode 21 "existence" thoughts

it’s time……

wow. here we are.

i hope we get to see mulder beside himself and utterly sick with worry. i want to see that man freaking tf out over his girl. i wanna see reyes and scully having a mutual queening session. i wanna see doggett and skinner doing their best at whatever it is they are going to do. maybe that will be shoving more aliens in garbage trucks. maybe this is how we defeat the invasion: with the power of garbage trucks and friendship.

although, i do hope we don’t have to see too much on the giving birth front, because all i can think during those scenes is “damn... that must have been super uncomfortable to film”. i can’t imagine that is a good time for anyone involved unless you’re a real sick FREAK of a cameraperson!!

anyway. i do not want to delay any longer. i don’t really have any major predictions, but usually we end on a cliffhanger, which i am kinda dreading because i still have to start my end of season notes. LMAO. but how far we have come!! a few months ago i wanted to punch this doggett fellow’s lights out!! and now he is a real one!!!

okay. deep and steadying breath. let’s get going.

so, the episode says mulder will be on the hunt for answers… i still wanna see him crying. i wanna see him SCREAMING. WEEPING. SICK with worry. give me that man on his knees begging!! yes!! torture him!!

(post-episode thoughts: read all the way to the end to learn about how our agents live happily ever after 💕 and have a spooky family and love each other and take down the aliens yaaaay!!

jokes aside, this episode had its moments in both directions. i cringed at the jesus references, hollered at the multiple cases of gay undertones, screamed for victory when skinner did the thing, gasped and groaned over the weirdly unkillable aliens, and at the end, nearly fainted with the complete tenderness. you got the FULL RANGE with this one. while i certainly have my bones to pick, i also dread leaving behind the rare moment of happiness we concluded with 🥹)

previously on the x files… ah, in the week since i saw the last episode, i forgot that the rat king krycek was back in the picture. i doubt he will redeem himself. i’ll just sit and stare in disgust at his presence.

he reminds us of the alien replicants and the power of a billy miles karate chop.

once again, we see them racing to get scully away… and then the neck lumps… billy into the trash… and now we open today's action in a pathology lab in washington at 4 am. is someone going to wheel in billy?

yup, it seems this is so, because the assistant is describing a body mashed in with garbage. i would like to not see that. oh no, is he still going to be alive?? “how mashed up is it?” “basically, it’s hamburger” LMAO. well, maybe he's not alive, then??

the doctor looks at the hamburger body and declares him dead, and asks the assistant to fax him the paperwork. but then he notices something…. BLEUGH, i did not want to see that. he plucks out a metallic vertebrae that he thinks must be garbage. and the assistant boxes the billy meat up, turns the lights off. but the metal thing starts spinning… and multiplying??? it looks like a spine?? or a tail or something???

uh. okay!

intro time! don’t worry about that!! they WILL find a way to stop the aliens!!!

get so seated for the action of the day. and the creepy visuals. will there be new words??? nope, the truth is still out there.

hehehehehe... i am filled with excitement and also fear.

reyes is still driving!!! you better believe it!!! it is day now. i wonder where they are and what they have been talking about? and how often they have had to stop. scully is out cold. but she awakes!

“oh, god. i was hoping this was all a dream” AWWW, poor thing :( but i admire her ability to fall asleep under any circumstances.

AWW... she asks when the sun came up and reyes said “6 hours ago” she was SLEEPY!!!!!!

they are in georgia and scully picks up on the fact that reyes is… scared. AWWWW, SHE’S TERRIFIED TO DELIVER A BABY, LMAOOO. GIRL, I WOULD BE TOO!!! she said something about “where they’re going” so... there is a destination in mind???

oh my god, is scully gonna have to walk her through it?

“i’ve never delivered a baby” “well, i’ve never had one. that makes us both beginners” <- STOP, that’s kinda sweet :( scully may be in terrible danger and about to give birth, but she is gonna make her friend agent reyes feel better about helping her. and that is what i love about doctor scully.

reyes smiles at her. these two….

NO! cut to mulder, who has a picture of billy miles leaving the morgue!!! YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME 💔 how tf do you kill this guy?? if he doesn’t have the green blood, they can’t use the stuff that goes in his neck, can they?

he’s showing the picture to skinner and doggett, who can’t believe it, but here it is

and krycek is sitting on the couch saying “you can’t stop him” SHUT UP YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!! his emo looking ass…

oh, YELL at him, skinner!!!! get him!!!

krycek alleges that billy miles is a new kind of alien created to aid in repopulation of the planet. which scully is a threat to “if she has that baby” <- stop saying it like that?? like you have snipers on her and her not having the baby is a real possibility. FREAK! everyone point at krycek the freak!! 🫵🫵

it also makes no sense. can scully alone reproduce these special babies? possibly asexually? will she be tasked with creating and raising a baby army? uh. well. i don't want to think about that!

doggett tells him there is no WAY that billy miles will find scully and reyes.

wait, they’re going to georgia… doggett is from georgia… does he have a secret shack in the woods or something??? krycek replies that it doesn’t matter, because there are others just like billy.

uh oh, agent crane comes in… who we know to have aliens in him… he tells doggett someone is there to see him. it’s knowle!!! who also has the aliens in him!!! and knowle claims that what he has to say cannot wait!!

not this guy again… i do not want to deal with his trickery!!! he could be an interesting character in the vein of a deep throat for the non-believer, but with the aliens in him, how can we trust anything he has to say??

reyes and scully are arriving at what looks like a ghost town. AWWW, doggett sent them to an abandoned hot springs town. that nerd. he would know that type of thing. WAIT! REYES SAYS “HE WAS BORN HERE” OH... THE LORE THICKENS…

so everyone left his home town…. that is very interesting…. nobody to go home to, i take it. how fascinating.

reyes has a flashlight in hand as she guides them to a place where she feels good energies. she reminds scully that she feels these “about people and stuff and places” lmao... i love her

it looks like a very old church. “water from the rock”, it says on the window, alongside a verse from exodus. and inside are lots of spiderwebs. very creepy. i wonder if this is where doggett spent his sundays as a boy. i wonder at what point in time the springs dried up and everyone moved away. i want to know all the details.

scully tries the sink and remarks “well, there’s no water from this rock” lmao. nerd! they need some water to boil. reyes smiles, says she feels stiff, and goes outside to light a cigarette. at least she has the forethought to not smoke directly in front of the woman about to give birth. a thoughtful queen.

she sees something in the sky… the music gets scary.

are the aliens watching them... in the sky???

back at the FBI, doggett locks the door. “it’s not like you knowle. coming to see me when you make me work so hard to see you” <- oh... cold.

he claims to know about this thing/man he’s after. “i think i’m confused, knowle- if it’s a man or if it’s a thing” oh, he’s pissed tf OFF.

knowle says it goes all the way to the top of the military - a rumored program out of the cold war to create a supers soldier. billy miles is a prototype, and he’s after scully. “you may not be aware that she was part of a program herself” <- oh… where is this going…

yeah, the abduction- he claims it was a military operation. and the chip made her pregnant with a super solider. uh. okay.

mmmm…. press f to doubt.

(this makes no sense LMAO... why would the prototype super soldier want to kill another future super soldier... pathetic cover story, alien man)

doggett laughs with no amusement and asks what knowle wants from him. knowle claims he wants help catching billy so they can “put him down”. doggett tells him he doesn't know where scully is.

“who does? your superior?” <- oh… he’s trying to get her for real. knowle says anyone who knows where she is is in danger, too. they better not come for my guy doggett.

mulder is now trying to grab an elevator in the FBI building. i want to see him in anguish. but he gets fed up at it taking too long and walks away. WHEN OUT OF THAT VERY ELEVATOR COMES BILLY! NOT HIM AGAIN!!! is this just going to be the same thing once more?! he better not karate chop skinner’s head off... i'll get mad.

krycek is still in skinner’s office. he gets up. skinner tells him to sit down. he tosses his can in the trash and walks away. skinner gets up after him to yell... but there is BILLY MILES!!! he is sprinting away!!!

krycek gets in the elevator and does NOT hold the door as skinner asks him to. RUDE!! so skinner pries it open himself. GOOD! they look at each other. tensely.

OMFG, BUT THEN BILLY KARATE CHOPS THROUGH THE ELEVATOR AND HITS SKINNER?? IN THE HEAD???? BRO IS BLEEDING LIKE HE JUST GOT SHOT???

NOOOOOO!!! okay, well, he somehow gets to the hospital. not quite sure how that happened - who stopped billy from killing him and how. but i guess it must have been mulder, who is now looking at him in his hospital bed like he’s going to cry. which i think is good angst. doggett calls him out into the hall.

skinner has a concussion. that's crazy, because it looked like a damn bullet hole, but i suppose that a concussion is way better. where was doggett, mulder wants to know!! he was with “an old friend. he tells me stuff i’m not supposed to know” <- ah, mulder has been there in his time…

doggett looks so sad. he relays knowle’s claim that billy’s part of a super soldier program and scully was, too. mulder is furious and demands to know who told him this. sad doggett spills - he gives mulder knowle's full name, too. this is a man who is deeply honest. i like that about him.

mulder is still furious, asking doggett if knowle ever gave him any bad info- and adding "you had to think about that"? at his pause.

but doggett isn’t trying to make that point: he’s scared something will happen to him and no one will know where scully is. “you didn’t tell him where she is, did you?” <- easy, boy. i don't think doggett is stupid. but your protectiveness is endearing.

“no. but i’m beginning to think that the fact that i know is going to catch up with me, if A.D. skinner’s any indication”

“you don’t tell anybody where she is. that’s the deal, right? not even me” he’s furious. he’s not getting what doggett is saying.

“what if something happens to me?” it is a very quiet question. the implications hang in the air.

doggett and mulder seem like they’re off to go torture knowle. yay!! bonding activities!!!

back in georgia, scully is standing outside, just hanging out, i guess. when reyes calls out “dana, come see what you think” <- oh! she calls her dana! i guess she hasn’t been around long enough to get the whole last only names thing. it's jarring to hear, but ultimately sweet. perhaps a sign of their friendship.

reyes cleaned the HELL out of that place - i feel like cleaning it to that level would very much be impossible given how we saw it a few moments before, but this is television, so i can roll with the impossible. and i am getting some serious slash vibes at the way she’s looking at scully and the way scully says “look at you”.

reyes made a cute little bed with bedding that looks semi-clean despite having been abandoned for what seems like years. and reyes has her white t shirt and her dark hair and wants to play whale song to set the mood. she’s everything. and she gives whale song her best go. SILLY GOOSE!!!

she thinks scully thinks she’s weird... but scully says no, SHE REMINDS HER OF HER SISTER 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 (moans and dies and blows up)

“you’re not close to her still?” “uh, she was killed. about five years ago. in my home” long pause and sigh. “it was a terrible time”

(maybe that is why she moved from the bottom floor to the top floor... finally, a reason for the lore inconsistencies)

i appreciate the missy acknowledgement even if it is too little and too late in the story for my tastes. my heart hurts for scully :(

reyes comes over and rests a hand on her shoulder, which scully doesn't know what to do about, LMAO. it seems to throw her off, but she composes herself. AWWW: “thank you for, um, putting this together and… it’s not what i planned, but, um, it’s very nice”

all of those lamaze classes with mulder just for it to wind up like this 💔

they smile at each other… but there is someone outside!!! reyes grabs her gun and tells scully to stay there. loved the way she pulled that out the back of her jeans… serve.

she’s on the prowl… but she doesn’t see anyone. turns back around. and a car is coming straight at her!! she tells whoever it is to get out of the car…. who is this woman who tells reyes to put the weapon away?? she’s dressed like a cop. does that mean anything? anyone can buy a cop costume. she asks reyes for some ID.

reyes takes her inside…. scully starts to explain the whole situation. the cop is like... uhhh, you’re gonna have a baby in here??? yeah. reyes tries to say it’s not as crazy as it sounds!! lmao, she kills me.

i do not trust this cop lady… she claims she’s gonna get her first aid kit in her car and some towels and stuff to help them out. but again. i don’t trust her….

an angel would be nice, but how can you believe in those anymore? even if she leaves to go get some things, someone could follow her back… it isn't worth it!!!

back in DC, it’s 2 am, and doggett and mulder are back at the FBI headquarters for some torture time. i'm pleasantly surprised mulder let doggett drive. perhaps a sign of his barely held back terror over scully.

it seems knowle bolted. BUT we get some really great doggett/mulder content here:

“you told me that he told you he knew how to stop billy miles. are you telling me now that you think he’s a liar?”

“he is or he isn’t. what the hell difference does it really make?”

“it doesn’t make any difference at all. unless you want to protect scully and that baby” (<- low blow at the guy who saved her life over and over while mulder was busy being dead, but i do like to see him crazy protective and thrashing in pain, so i'll take it)

("that baby" oh... i have feelings about this phrasing. like he is trying to distance himself. i can't quite get a read. but it stuck with me)

“and then what? how long can you keep this up? how long until the next billy miles rears his head? the next threat? the next phantom?” doggett doesn’t sound mean or judgemental - he really wants to know.

“you ever stop to ask yourself? all the sacrifice, the blood spilled- you’ve given nearly a decade of your life. where the hell is it all gonna end?”

mulder is quiet. “i don’t know. maybe it doesn’t”.

we then hear some speeding tires, but DAMN, that was good. had i not just seen it in front of my eyes, i would have thought that too good to be canon. damn. maybe it doesn’t end. maybe it keeps going. as long as there is scully to fight beside and a world to protect. it's mulder. he will always feel he has to hold the weight of the world on his back because of all the people he couldn't save. it is about atoning.

and doggett being curious… not judgmental, even though mulder has been awful to him. wanting to understand this guy his partner loves. damn. mulder being quiet. doggett nodding in something like understanding. YEAH!!! waiter, bring me more!!

anyway, back to the tires. mulder calmly tells doggett to start the car because krycek pulled in. OHHHH… krycek is talking with knowle!!!! what do they know???

are they in danger….?

cut back to georgia, where scully is sitting over some candles, patting at her face. reyes pours her more water. OH MY GOD??? MY JAW JUST HIT THE FLOOR:

“i have to say, with everything you must be feeling… you look amazingly beautiful, dana” <- OH MY GOD???? REYES???????????

speechless at this time… reyes….

literally just stared at my phone with an open mouth for two minutes. wow. scully pauses. “and what about what you’re feeling? any vibrations, agent reyes?”

GIRL???????? 🏳️‍🌈⁉️

woahhhh………. i cannot think straight. but i don't think these two can, either. damn.

(rereading this as i edit my notes, my eyebrows STILL shot up straight to the top of my head, LMAO i cannot believe it. but i am grateful 💗🥰)

reyes says she might just be paranoid, but something feels off. shrugs on her coat. goes to get more water. and i will admit, scully does look beautiful. but i’m scared something will happen to either of them if they get separated.

she looks up at the sky again, sees that bright star. kneels to get some water. everything is so quiet. BUT SOMEONE APPROACHES.

IT’S BILLY!!! he throws her into the wall!!!!

wtf?! how can they get rid of him????? she holds up some iron thing in front of her, ready to smack him.

when someone shoots him!!!! it’s the cop from before!!! with a shotgun blast right to the chest!!! he’s down… but for how long????

okay, so maybe the cop is actually a real one????

her and reyes are dragging his body. she tells scully to go inside. they’ll deal with this. she wants to take care of it for her. it's sweet.

but scully isn’t relaxed. reyes moves his collar and they see the alien thing in him!!

scully tells the cop she can’t report that…. is that a conveniently timed claim of going into labor, or is she telling the truth…..?

what are they going to do with billy miles who can regenerate from hamburger meat????

augh!!!

back in DC, the guys are being spies. there’s no way krycek doesn't see them… doggett sees knowle get out and follows him. and mulder says he’s got krycek.

run run run run run up them stairs, doggett! run!! where is knowle??? the elevator rings…. it is him!!! he gets off… walks somewhere…. doggett is in stealth mode. knowle is in skinner’s office??? well, he's in someone’s office.

AUGH! he talks to crane, telling him that doggett doesn’t suspect a thing! little does he know that doggett peeks in from outside. they say they need to clean house, starting with him. doggett sneaks away… steals a phone???

BUT SKINNER IS IN HIS OFFICE????

was he the one talking to them???

skinner is just chilling in his office after his head wound, LMAO. despite it looking like he got shot in the head, the hospital let him go. well! alright then! he wants to know wtf krycek is doing here, and don’t we all!!! he calls mulder, who thinks that knowle is in on this scheme with krycek…

he thinks that doggett called reyes on an FBI line, telling her where to take scully, and these guys know because they listened in. who could say how high it goes? maybe all the way up to kersh?

mulder demands doggett tell him where she is. will he give in? doggett wants to take knowle and crane out now, but mulder says they could be replacements, too.

how tf will he get to georgia that quick??? and who knows who is listening in??

when someone grabs the phone from mulder!!! shatters it!!! it’s krycek!!! he’s holding mulder at gunpoint.

“i could have killed you so many times, mulder. you’ve got to know that. i’m the one that kept you alive” <- oh… what’s going on here… something LGBT???

“praying you’d win somehow”

“then there really is no god”

“you think i’m bad, that i’m a killer. we wanted the same thing, brother, that’s what you don’t understand”

“i wanted to stop them. all you wanted was to save your own ass”

“no. i tried to stop them. tried to kill scully’s baby to stop them. it’s too late. the tragedy is you-you wouldn’t let it go. that’s why i have to do this. ‘cause you know how deep it goes. right into the FBI” <- kiss him, mulder! it’ll distract him and you can get away.

(the way he talks about killing scully's baby... whew. i'm assuming he means that he was involved with the lady who switched her meds and somehow it just didn't have any impact because the baby is superhuman in ways that aren't particularly clear)

“you want to kill me, alex, kill me. like you killed my father (which one… he killed them both, didn't he?) just don’t insult me trying to make me understand”

(using this moment to confess that i still refuse to believe CSM is his bio dad. i just cannot get behind it. #sorry)

he gets closer…. closer…. his finger on the trigger….. but someone shoots krycek first!!!!

YAAAAAAAAS, SKINNER!!! KILL HIM!!!! HE SHOT HIM AGAIN, LMAOOOO!!! BRO IS WHIMPERING ON THE GROUND…. reaching for his gun with his now very fake hand…

“it’s gonna take more bullets than you can ever fire to win this game. one bullet… and i can give you a thousand lives” <- now what do you mean by that…………

he tells skinner to shoot mulder. why is skinner looking at him. is he considering it?

LMAOOOOOO, SKINNER SHOT KRYCEK RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES... GAAAAAAAAG!! that post i made about scully killing him with surgical precision in the season finale…. well, we didn't get that in canon, but we got something similar. everyone say THANK YOU, SKINNER!!!!

mulder goes to head to the airport - he needs the location from doggett. “skinner, are you with me?” “just go, i’ll get it”

(what do you say to your boss who just killed a guy to save you? i guess "thank you" would feel too small)

BRO JUST KILLED HIM IN COLD BLOOD!!!! EVERYONE CHEEEEEERED!!!!!!!!!!!! however, skinner looks like he is emotionally going THROUGH it as a result. which is very interesting.

(i wonder if that means he is free from his digital disease thing now...?)

mulder gets in the car. krycek’s corpse lays on the parking garage floor... if he really is dead. you never know with these things.

bro…. that was monumental.

in georgia, the cop lady is helping time scully’s contractions, which are now two minutes apart. oh girl. his ass is not gonna make it in time.

poor scully is groaning while reyes finds an old dress. BUT SHIT!!!! THE COP LADY HAS A LUMP IN HER NECK, TOO!!! reyes is shocked when she sees this….

back at the FBI headquarters, doggett is running, looking for skinner…. and who does he find but crane and knowle instead…. he grabs his gun. he screams he will use force. but they both keep coming. so he runs. RUN, RUN RUN!!!! they split up, one at the bottom of the stairs and one on the top. SKINNER FINDS HIM!!!!

back to the georgia camera. reyes boils more water. hands some to the cop. who hands it to scully to drink. reyes is thinking. SHE POURS THE BOILING WATER ON THE COP. SHOVES HER AND SCREAMS TO MOVE. scully is like WTF!!! she starts screaming, too. reyes takes the cop out at gunpoint.

when in arrives… other people. WHO ARE THEY???? BILLY GETS BACK UP????? reyes is freaking tf out……..

SCULLY SCREAMS….

my jaw. it is open. that is all that can be said at this time.

doggett and skinner are still RUNNING. they get in the car. doggett is trying to call mulder, but didn’t his cell just get squished by krycek? crane jumps on the roof of the car and punches through the window.

meanwhile, poor scully is SCREAMING while billy miles and everyone else enters the room… reyes seems to think they are here to protect her????? but they are ALIENS????

crane is choking doggett while knowle follows behind in his car. and scully screams that this is HER baby to the many alien replicants staring at her. she BEGS reyes not to let them take it. oh my god. what are they doing???? why are they watching her?

a big car chase is happening over in FBI land while scully screams that it is HER BABY. god. it is so guttural.

there is so much happening right now. skinner is gonna decapitate a mfer, which i support. knowle runs over crane and then his car BLOWS UP, which is getting skinner an a+ in defensive driving techniques.

poor scully is still screaming, begging reyes to not let them take it. weeping and screaming and oh my god there’s the sound of an infant wailing. let her have the damn baby right now. the aliens are staring at her?????? tf are they gonna do????

mulder, meanwhile, arrives in georgia by helicopter. so much is happening right now. all the aliens are trying to run away, getting in their cars and fleeing. he hops out. he is howling for scully. WHERE IS SHE??? reyes finds him - says scully needs to get to the hospital.

cut to kersh. I DON’T WANT TO SEE KERSH RIGHT NOW???

did mulder get her to the hospital???? what happened with the damn aliens standing guard??? are they actually… good guys??

kersh is tearing into doggett about this report. “i signed the report right there, sir” LMAO. and reyes signed it too, LMAO. DOGGETT ASSIGNED HER, YAAAAAS. this obviously does NOT please kersh.

OHHHH, doggett says kersh is under investigation for meeting with knowle and crane!!!!! and they walk out.

“you investigate what i tell you” “and you put me on the x files. that’s what i’m investigating”

those two bitches are so pretty together... but he is gonna get super fired

mulder comes to scully’s place. smiling. is he nervous? THE GUNMEN ARE ALL HERE, JUST STARING, LMAOOOOO, AND THEY ALL HAVE GIFTS. they don’t believe how mulder found her in time without specific coordinates. “there was a light. i followed it” <- MORE JESUS CODING… these goofy henchmen and their gifts….. mulder preparing himself…. the gunmen scurry away and let them have their big moment

HIS AWKWARD LIL “how’s everybody doing?” when he comes in the room, OH MY GOD…

she’s holding the baby. hands mulder the baby with a big smile…. the baby starts to cry and she looks so happy. he says hello. she starts crying. “what are you going to call him?” “william. after your father” <- OH!!!

she smiles at him.

HE LOOKS SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR SKINNER LMAOOOOOOOOO

she says she doesn’t understand. they came to take him from us. US! “why they didn’t”

“i don’t quite understand that either. except that maybe he isn’t what they thought he was” her face starts to fall. “that doesn’t make him any less of a miracle, though, does it?”

“from the moment i became pregnant, i feared the truth. about how… and why. and i know that you feared it, too”

“i think what we feared were the possibilities” WE!!!!

“the truth we both know”

“which is what?”

KISS???? LONG SLOW KISS??? WHILE HE HOLDS THEIR BABY?? SCULLY GRABBING HIS ARM?????????????

OH??? my GOD???

THE END?????

FUCK i have half a mind to not even watch the rest of the show, holy HELL, that ending was perfect????????

now hold on... i need to watch that all again.

the awkward ass gunmen, i’m crying….

guys, seriously, should i just write my own ending? look at mulder stepping into her place. his nervous smile. the gunmen. WISE MEN WITH GIFTS - OMFG, HOW DID I NOT PICK UP ON THAT RIGHT AWAY….? THE JESUS CODING IS OVERT. even if one of these wise men has a ramones shirt. lmao.

now which one brought frankincense and which one brought myrrh…

okay, i had to make a stupid post about that. but now back to the game. his nervous ass smile. her cushy bed and the weird paintings over it and a bassinet with all sorts of little toys… is that a cat??

mulder whispering as the baby cries to soothe him and scully’s giant smile as she hands him over…. oh my god. her eyes all red with tears. his stupid joke and they both laugh and then it is back to being serious.

the truth they both know is that they LOVE EACH OTHER, OH MY GOD…… and her kissing him deeper….

oh my god. i need to sit down. i mean, i am sitting down, but like... emotionally. i need to sit down even more.

WHYYYYY DOES THERE HAVE TO BE MORE??? LIKE, SHOULD I JUST STOP HERE…?? oh my god.

no. i know what i must do. i know i must learn the rules of canon in order to reject it. but. oh my god. what if i don’t want to? what if i want to tie it up with a bow right here? everyone is happy! krycek is dead. the aliens no longer want to kill scully and the baby. mulder is still unemployed, but maybe after kersh is ousted, he can come back. doggett and reyes are serving. the end!!!!! and we all lived happily ever after!!!!!!

ahh…. good things never last. never, ever, ever. and knowing that kills me!!!! i can’t take more heartbreak!!! these bitches already have lost everything!!! let them have one good thing!!!

i was really glad they brought melissa up 💔 i thought they moved on from her too fast. and reyes and scully were quite the team. damn. there were serious vibrations there. i also cannot complain about the mulder and doggett team up. they can go on double dates. in any direction, actually. that would be epic. it takes a village and all that.

oh, my heart. it is at once happy and also sad because i know the sadness comes next. so. other thoughts:

skinner, you’re real AF for ending that krycek menace, LMAOOOOOOOOOOO!!! i gasped!!!!

scully sleeping for 6+ hours…. she was tired!!! reyes is a very good friend!!! are there any heterosexuals in this show??? because i’m not seeing any, tbh!!!

i don’t really care about the aliens, i’m sorry 💔 i don’t know what their deal is and each time i try to make sense of it i come up short. so they wanted to kill her and get the baby... despite this, they wanted to kill all of the people that could have been a threat to her baby… (or who could have been involved in the creation of her baby but actually weren't?)

but then they all say JK and just stand and watch her give birth… lmao?? so are they neutralized now?? have they been freed from their alien shackles with the power of infant??? and invasion has been cancelled? yeah, i am sure that isn’t what will really happen, BUT!!!! IDGAF!!! i need to live in make believe land sometimes ❤️

mulder… so protective, our mulder… getting there just in time… god, i want the fic where they get to the hospital. i bet that was crazy. was she okay?? i assume you should go to the hospital any time you give birth, but also some people don’t do that so??? who knows??? was she just bleeding in the helicopter while they flew over there? did she pass out? maybe something happened along the way?? there are limits to how many questions i want to ask for fear of answers and a greater fear of a lack of them.

scully has a baby :( and the baby has little toys in the bassinet :( and a little mobile :( and mulder held the baby and whispered to him and she named him after his father

(which i thought was kind of strange because they famously didn’t get along, LMAO??? but also wasn’t her dad named bill, too. so both their dads are named william. i guess it’s a buy one get one sort of a situation. maybe he came to terms with his father and talked about it with her and we don’t get to see that. because that’s a bold thing to do without talking it over first, LMAO. i can't even blame scully for that because it is such an outrageous thing to do, you have to point it at the writing)

william :( he’s gonna have little baby clothes and little baby toys and books :( and they love him :( and mulder was so nervous to see them both :( but they were doing okay :( and the gunmen brought gifts :(

yes, the jesus comparisons were killing me, LMAO!!! that was soooo unnecessary 😭😭😭 i’m just going to conveniently ignore that... LMAO, this show makes some weird ass choices that sometimes you have to just mentally discard, BAHAHA

krycek is over party…. 🎉 🎈🎊 REST IN PISS!!!!!!!!!!!!

he was monologuing instead of shooting, BAHAHA, and he called mulder “brother” which is crazy because you know he wanted to kiss him with tongue

i mean, good news, the wicked witch is dead, but if that really is the ending of his story, i’m not sure how i feel about it?? maybe more will be fleshed out. maybe not, though. maybe we’ll find stuff out postmortem? and aren't there comics or something? but also, that means i would have to watch the rest of the show for that to happen, and lalalalalalaaaaa, who says i want to do that?!?

skinner… my guy. i need to dap him up. do you think they have him as the baby's godfather? i read a fic where that happened. not sure if it is realistic or not, but who tf cares? nothing on this alien show is realistic.

little baby… what is he going to be like when he grows up? i already have ideas based off of the AU i have been plotting, LMAO. obviously he’s gonna be crazy smart if he is the child of those two. i wonder in what direction, though? a doctor like mom? a niche academic like dad? will he grow up hearing stories of bigfoot and mothman? and again, who will take his ass to soccer practice? or will he be more of a piano kid? or both??

there so many potential futures you can just make up when you don’t want to deal with canon, LMAO

i wonder where doggett and reyes figure in… i wonder if they hang out with the kid. i know they will have presents for SURE. and doggett will probably get super emo given his life experience, but you can’t blame him. i wonder if they’re partners on the x files now. or if they are even going to have jobs after standing up to kersh. or maybe doggett will wrestle the x files back from kersh and give the assignment to mulder and scully and then go do his thing in a more typical unit. or maybe he's in too deep for the typical now?

maybe they’ll all get fired and go somewhere else together and bring all of the crazy with them to some fuckass small town, LMAO. can you imagine…?

scully could be the local pathologist, mulder can teach undergrad psychology at a community college, doggett can join the police and whip the local squad into shape, and reyes can sell people psychic readings. and maybe also teach religious studies at the community college. i know they love her on ratemyprofessor.

yes. this is something to imagine. and occasionally they have to leave town to go help skinner out on a case once the evil of kersh is defeated, but that is okay because their jobs all have very generous paid time off as a result of them having excellent work experience and being a great benefit to their local community.

and maybe they don’t all work in the same city and they have a bit of a commute but hey, that’s fine. plenty of places will hire them. they have great resumes. maybe they stay in the DMV. he can go to georgetown; he’s done some lectures there, right?

or maybe he would not be satisfied teaching the youth about brains and he will still need to hunt for aliens. listen, we can’t win ‘em all. if he has to grade trash papers, he at least has his friends and family to support him, and you know he’ll still be doing research on nessie on the side. taking an assistant position with the gunmen.

don’t judge me if i’m playing toys in my head with these characters.

(i think i decided that i do want to keep them as FBI agents in my AU, though, so william's parents can have very cool jobs where they keep the world safe. still working out the details on how they can do that and raise him but shh, just enjoy it for now)

emotionally, i am pleased. with the plot, i am a bit dissatisfied, as there are more questions than answers, as usual- what was krycek doing? what did he mean about it being with the FBI- was he infecting the agents who were aliens, and for what purpose? are the aliens gonna all give up now? colonization has been canceled? so there are just going to be like 15 unkillable aliens wearing other people’s faces around the southeastern US and that is gonna have to be okay?? what are they going to do?? be good neighbors?? just never say a word?? except for maybe also go on karate chopping missions against others planning human experiments in the name of human cloning and alien research? will they act as a paramilitary against the green blooded colonizer aliens? oh, now we’re cooking. earth’s mightiest heroes or some shit.

yes, they shall be incorporated into this AU as well. it is law. if you can’t kill them because they just grow back then that isn’t a plot hole, it’s plot armor, because then they can fight the alien colonization. exactly. you see what i’m cooking?

oh my god, i just got deja vu. it is as if i have typed these exact words before. maybe that is a sign to be done for the night and allow the contentment to wash over me before it will inevitably be stripped. maybe i can fall asleep tonight to dreams of them being occasional FBI consultants and holding hands and saturday morning walks and sleeping in the same giant fuzzy bed and making pancakes and then spooky stuff also happening because you can get as domestic as you want but that still has to be a key element. even in an AU there HAS to be some spooky, or else it isn't fully the show.

yeah. yeah ❤️

two days later... i am still fleshing out how i want things to go in juni's version of this story, but that is okay. there is no deadline by which i must have a full universe. at this point, i want to somehow keep them at least partially on the x files.

but you see how i jumped straight into rejecting canon? because i know that the center cannot hold. i know that tortures are to come. and i cannot bear it. why can it not just be wonderful that our friends are all alive?

it's so funny, i've said it before, but i generally am disinterested in domestic stuff, but now i'm like damn... all i want is a universe where they still solve beastly crimes, but also go home to a little guy, LMAO. there is so much room for angst there, though. the dichotomy of spending the day solving grisly murders and going home to an innocent life brought into this cruel and violent world... the terror that will fill them over not being able to fully keep him safe... yeah. that shit is GOOD. give it to me.

overall, i thought s8 had its ups and downs just like all of the other seasons, but the highs were really high. i'm curious to see if s9 will disappoint me as it seems to be the least liked by the fans, but again, i try not to hold myself to the opinions of others and also even if i do hate it, i shall study the rules in order to break them with acknowledgement towards the things i DID like.

i must document it all! it is my sworn duty! even when i want to bury my head in the sand and think about halloween with the mulder-scully family and putting that baby in a pumpkin costume!

i wonder what time of year he was born in... the timeline makes no sense, LMAO. it should be february-ish of 2001, yeah? is he a pisces baby like his momma?

#obviously i'm an msr truther but i see the points of mulder/doggett and scully/reyes. i see the appeal. i can have a little as a treat.#can't believe those dorks actually had a BABY... this is so crazy. totally wild. and i wonder what he will be like.#i want to see them do silly stuff together. like i said you have to put a baby in a pumpkin costume for halloween. it is law.#i think one of the perks of having a baby is putting them in cute outfits. they are fully customizable in terms of clothes.#the naming him william thing is still throwing me off but it is not a bad name at all outside of mulder's awful dad #for some reason before i watched this season i thought they named him matthew LMAO. maybe because every class i was in had 2 matthews each #anyway. so much on my mind. s8 you were a JOURNEY!!!#hopefully i can get all the notes typed up for the other posts next week when life is slightly calmer!!#juni's x files liveblog #8x21 #the x files

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