#without even considering that one could just do it themselves

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, still chaotic, teasing but that's just another word for verbal bullying, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically)

[A/n]: Okay, so apparently my calculations were off (nothing new to me) with how things are going and how much fun I'm writing the boys + [Y/n], this will become a short series!

Part 1, >Part 2<

Day 3: Five Failures, Zero Progress

You're on your way to work, absolutely dreading what lies ahead. Not the chores, not the endless hours of running errands, but them: The five walking demonic migraines with unholy cheekbones.

They were chaotic yesterday. All sharp grins and cryptic words, eyes gleaming like they knew something you didn’t.

What changed? You didn’t do anything. That, you're sure of. So why the hell are they suddenly breathing down your neck like you owe them your soul? (Which, considering who they are, might actually be on the table.)

Are they acting like this because you saw something you shouldn't have?

Like that concept. Was it supposed to be a secret? They didn’t react like you expected. No panic. No anger. Then again, you didn’t exactly study their expressions too hard. Priorities.

Still, the sight’s fresh in your mind. The holograms. The glowing golden eyes. That haunting yet stunning transformation. Whoever came up with that deserves a raise. You want those contacts. Seriously.

Focus. So what exactly did you do to earn their torment?

...Maybe their whole demon concept isn’t even a concept. Maybe it’s just them being themselves. It wouldn’t surprise you if they casually peeled off their skin one day and revealed horns underneath.

You’d arm yourself with holy water and crosses. Even if it doesn't work, at least you tried.

You sigh. The regular chaos of your job is already exhausting. You didn’t sign up to be personally targeted by five beautiful men with bad attitudes and possible hellspawn origins.

Still, you can’t deny the silver lining. Your last three chapters? A hit with your readers/audience.

With the extra income, rent is looking less like a nightmare and more like a minor inconvenience. You might even treat yourself to a pastry.

So, the plan for today is simple: Avoid them at all costs. Have another staff member deliver their water and lunch. Easy. Professional. Peaceful.

Elsewhere…

"She could be with Huntrix." Jinu mutters, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"Or maybe she’s just weird." Baby says with a raised brow before flopping lazily into a chair. He's so convinced that you are.

Abby crosses his arms. "Or she’s spying for someone else. A lone agent." (He’s been watching too many shows)

Romance taps his chin thoughtfully. "Or a real artist, like she says. She does draw well for a spy."

Mystery, from where he’s crouched on the couch upside down, simply says, "What if she just takes her job seriously?"

The silence that follows is long. Suspiciously long.

Jinu sighs. "I'm sure you've all memorized the choreography enough. Let's take turns watching her and while you're at it, try to get that book. That'll help us clear this whole situation up."

At first, the boys think he’s giving them a free day. A chance to sleep. Eat. Breathe without glitter(?)

But he just kept speaking.

"So who wants to go first?" Jinu smiles, his teeth showing.

They groan in unison.

Instead of practicing, they spent the entire morning arguing over who goes first, then next, and all the way to the last. They eye each other like enemies before throwing down their hands in a dramatic round of rock, paper, scissors.

Mystery wins by default because he doesn’t even participate and somehow still gets the slot he wanted. Classic.

By lunch, they’ve just finalized the schedule when the rehearsal room door swings open.

"Hello! Here’s your lunch." A voice calls cheerfully causing for heads to whip toward the unfamiliar staff member.

"Where’s the other noona? The one who’s been bringing our food these last two days?" Baby asks politely all while flashing a disarming smile.

The staff member nearly swoons. "She asked me to take over today. Said she had errands."

Suspicious. They all thought.

Suspicious enough that the unlucky member with the first shift, Romance, rises like a man sentenced.

It doesn’t take Romance long to find you. A few smooth questions to the right people and a tilt of his smile does the trick.

He spots you sweeping the floor backstage, earbuds in, completely immersed in your own world, just vibing and enjoying your well-deserved peace not knowing it'll be disturbed within a minute.

Romance watches for a beat. Then two. There’s something about your concentration that makes him pause but it was only for a moment.

He approaches, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly with a soft, teasing smile. "Need help with that, darling? Or should I stand here and give you moral support while you sweep?"

You don't notice him at first, too focused or immersed and he noticed that because he took one of your earbuds off.

You thought at first it was a fellow staff member or maybe the manager but what you saw immediately made you scowl.

Really? It hasn't even been an hour!

Romance laughed at the expression you gave him, though he was clearly confused as to why you weren’t already swooning at his smile.

You snatched your earbud from his hand, brows furrowed. "You can help by not shedding glitter everywhere. That’d save me a lot of time."

He chuckled under his breath, undeterred. "Feisty. I like that."

You glanced at him, eyes narrowing like you were debating whether to smack that annoyingly symmetrical face with a broom.

Okay, maybe not the face. It was too reference-coded. But still. You’d aim for the shoulder.

"If you’re not gonna help, move. I’m on a schedule." You glared at him. Stupid pretty boys.

"So serious." He mused, but stepped aside anyway... only to linger. Watching. Following. Breathing near you like some sparkly parasite.

At one point, you dropped the broom to pick up a fallen costume prop: a foam trident.

You didn’t even look at him, too wrapped in your own world as you twirled it absentmindedly like some battle-hardened warrior preparing to train.

Romance watches, both amused and... vaguely alarmed. That twirl was a little too natural that he forgot about getting something.

When he felt like he's been following her for hours, he returned to the others and he doesn’t even flinch when Abby asks, "So? How'd it go?"

"I couldn't get it." Romance's answer made them sigh. They did honestly think it’ll only take him to get that book (sketchbook).

He didn't tell them about forgetting the original agenda, only that, "She was practicing how she’ll strike us. With a trident."

"What?!" Jinu chokes on his drink as he immediately thought, What kind of a human owns a trident? What the hell are you.

"What kind of trident?" Mystery asks calmly with a little tilt of his head.

"Foam." Romance replied so seriously. "She spun it like she meant business. And also called me a walking arts-and-crafts hazard."

They exchanged glances. Why didn't he choose to say the 'foam' part first? And what was that him being a walking arts thing...?

Failure #1

Baby’s turn begins with him stuffing his pockets with snacks. If he was going to tail someone, he might as well do it on a full stomach.

He finds you in one of the dressing rooms, sorting wigs and costume pieces into bins. It's boring work, but you're doing it with focus, just enough for Baby to slip into the room quietly.

Too quietly.

He slinks around, crouched low like some stealth agent, until he accidentally knocks over a mannequin arm. It hits the floor with a loud clack.

You jump. So does he.

Your eyes narrow instantly when you see him. "Why are you crouching like that?"

Baby straightens up and shrugs, trying to play it cool. "Stretching. Back pain. Old injury."

You look him up and down, unconvinced because you should be the one saying that. He's acting like it wasn't just yesterday that he was messing with you by littering all the things you just cleaned up, like some fucking cat.

"Huh, this box? Woops! I’m so sorry, noona." That’s exactly what he’d say, eyes wide and fake-innocent, like some baby deer with unresolved mischief issues.

And every time he said it, it made your skin crawl.

Not because of the word itself. No, you could handle "noona." You weren’t even that much older.

Actually, you were pretty sure you were the same age as him, maybe even younger than some of the others. But Baby said it with that tone.

That smug, cheeky little lilt that made it feel less like respect and more like a personal attack.

You did find him cute. Objectively.

But his whole existence had the chaotic energy of someone who knew he was cute and used it for evil.

And unfortunately for him, charm loses its effectiveness when paired with the urge to throw him out a window.

And here he is, grinning mischievously. "You know, your work ethic is really inspiring. Sorting wigs with that kind of passion? Sexy."

You squint at him like you're debating whether to hit him with the mannequin arm or the whole stand. That sounds so good, so self-healing after what you went through.

You felt like an old woman trying to crack her back when walking.

You let out a sigh through your nose before continuing on with doing your task while Baby walks closer.

You glance at him. "You remind me of my friend’s cat. Always knocking things over and demanding attention." 

Before he can respond, you pat his head, scratch gently under his chin, and walk past him like he’s just another prop to fix the mannequin's arm back in.

He’s frozen. Processing.

A full minute later, he’s still standing there, blinking and you're already done with the tasks here in the room.

"I’m not wasting precious brain cells on a live-action reminder that pretty doesn’t mean functional." You raise a brow at him while picking up a box. "Unlike you all, who have so much free time to pester me, I'm busy doing my actual job."

Baby finally snapped out of it when he saw you step out though before taking your leave completely, he heard you speak again in a demanding tone like you were a parent warning its 7 year old naughty kid.

"Go back to your little posse, alley cat." You said, eyes half-lidded as you smirked. "Don’t you have hair to flip and raccoons to fight behind a 7-Eleven?"

Back at the room, Baby slumps onto the couch with a huff. What happened repeated in his head like a player.

"She called me a cat. Not in a hot, aloof way, but a stray." He then adds, "Like the kind that gets into turf wars with raccoons behind a 7-Eleven.”

That was what all he reported to the others earning funny stares, plus a disappointed but intrigued Jinu.

Like Romance, he didn’t even get to ask about the damn book. He didn't actually had any chance to use half of his charms because one moment you're being playful then next you're roasting him like a bunch of coffee beans.

He may have forgot his original goal, at least he now has something new and that is swearing to make you swoon just like those other simple humans.

And that he agreed with his pink haired friend, who was the 1st victim.

Failure #2

You felt being watched. No, actually you 'are' being watched but by who?

You looked around, scanning the storage room. Empty. Still. Dusty. Dim. So either someone was lurking, or this place was haunted and your will to live had just expired on the spot.

You took one cautious step toward the door.

And then, Mystery appeared from behind a shelf like a summoned spirit. Just standing there. Silent.

"Shibal—!"

You jumped so hard you slipped, tripped over a box, and crashed to the floor in a glorious symphony of clatter and cardboard.

Mystery blinked then tilted his head slightly. "You startle easily."

You coughed once, sneezed from the dust, then squinted through a half-hearted glare. "You appeared like a ghost."

No apology. Not even a hand to help you up. Just that unreadable face and deadpan tone, like he wasn’t the reason you were now covered in packing peanuts and shame.

Though, his gaze didn’t seem malicious...just mildly unsettling. You were 85% sure he was judging you from under all that hair.

You pushed yourself up with a sigh, brushing off your pants like your pride hadn’t just taken a fatal blow.

But of course he didn’t. You’d already finished cleaning up. Again. You cleaned things up a lot these days, thanks to a certain someone and his espresso-fueled vendettas.

You turned your head to glare at Mister Human Equivalent of Dead Air, who blinked slowly. Unbothered. Possibly proud.

"You’re worse than the cockroach I found in the kitchen yesterday."

He hummed, completely unfazed. "Cockroaches don’t scream."

Unbelievable.

"Do you guys have a group chat where you plan this? Like, ‘let’s go bother the new hardworking staff girl’?" Your arms were crossed, your expression demanding answers.

"Book." Was all he said in return.

You blinked. Your brain lagged like bad Wi-Fi. What book?

And is that really all he had to say after standing there for a solid thirty minutes in monk-level silence?

"The one you always have your nose in." He added after a beat, still blank-faced. At least that's what you feel.

"...Is this whole bothering-me thing about that?"

He nodded once. You call bullshit—but also, maybe there’s hope?

"You mean my sketchbook?"

Another nod. You stared at him. Did this guy have a word quota? Was he conserving syllables for his vocal lines?

"If I gave you that, would all of you stop pestering me?"

He didn’t answer. At least not immediately. Just stood there, matching your stare, the silence stretching between you like a rope ready to snap.

You sighed, then gave him a smile. And for one brief, shimmering second, Mystery thought he’d won. Maybe you liked him best.

Maybe you had a thing for the quiet ones—the cryptic, brooding types who linger like ghost drafts in haunted castles.

Jinu did say people had different tastes in idols. Like food—

"No."

...Or not.

Silence dropped again, thick as concrete, before you squinted and spoke.

"What makes you think I’d entrust something of mine to you, or any of you?" you asked. "If you’re all worried I’m drawing you in ‘suspicious’ ways, don’t flatter yourselves. You’re just references."

You stomped past him with all the grace of a woman wronged, then spun back on your heel.

"Actually, scratch that. You should be worried." You jabbed a finger in his direction. "I will draw all of you in suspicious ways. And when you debut? I’ll post it."

You narrowed your eyes. As always, it was impossible to tell what Mystery was thinking, but that didn’t matter. You were confident.

You were an artist. You had the power to draw this stupid boyband making out with each other in watercolor and full shading without feeling an ounce of shame.

They, however, would never recover.

"You better think twice about bothering me now! Tell them that." Then you ran, like a child who knew they’d just poked a beehive and needed to disappear before the stingers caught up.

Back with the group, Mystery returned and stood in front of the others.

"So?" Jinu asked, arms crossed. Behind him, Romance and Baby leaned in, already bracing themselves. Whatever you’d said must’ve rewired something.

Maybe broke a few brain cells on the way out.

"She organizes her materials very efficiently." Mystery said, nodding like he was delivering critical intel to a war council.

Romance blinked. "That’s what you got?"

Baby, now sprawled across the couch with a juice box, snorted. "Told you."

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you at least get the sketchbook?"

Mystery shook his head.

Of course not.

Jinu sighed. At this point, he wasn’t sure if they were failing—or if you were simply immune to all known forms of charm, charisma, and supernatural bullshit.

Romance muttered something about foam weapons. Baby muttered something about alley cats.

And somewhere in the room, a collective ego quietly combusted.

Failure #3.

You volunteered to run an errand. A simple supply run. A chance to breathe.

Sure, you had your suspicions that the boys were taking turns tailing you. Mystery had confirmed it earlier with a thirty-minute silent staring contest that ended in zero answers.

Romance tried to flirt like he’d read one too many bad webtoons. Baby? You mistook him for a stray cat and nearly offered him tuna.

So today? You were ready. You had an escape. Or so you thought...

You regretted everything the second you stepped outside. Why? Because the universe sent you Abby.

Of course, it had to be him. The walking thirst trap of the group.

The one with annoyingly perfect hair, annoying abs, and the kind of face that probably got sculpted by the devil himself on a good day. Because of course.

He was walking beside you like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t single-handedly making people turn their heads from left to right.

And don’t even get started on his stupid shirt. Why the hell is it riding up every few minutes?

Is the universe trying to humble you?

Is nature in on this too? That one breeze that made his shirt lift just enough to show off those abs? It wasn’t a coincidence. That was a divine betrayal.

And of course, he saw you staring. He smirked.

"I saw that." He says, voice low and smug. "Like what you see, sweetheart?"

You groan. "I was looking at the crime against fashion you’re wearing."

He places a hand dramatically on his chest. "You wound me."

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you vertigo. Still, this… wasn’t the worst. At least they weren’t swarming you like yesterday. With them taking turns now, it was more manageable.

"You know," Abby starts, hands behind his head as you walk down the street together, "I think I should be the one to keep you company more often. You seem calmer with me. Maybe even a little... interested."

You stop walking and give him the most deadpan look you can muster. "I was calm because I thought I was alone."

Ouch

But Abby, as always, doesn’t take the loss. He leans closer, lowering his sunglasses with a grin. "Come on, just give me the sketchbook. You like me the most, right?"

You tilt your head and pretend to consider it. "Let’s see..."

Then you dramatically slap a hand over your heart.

"Oh no." You gasp sarcastically. "My deepest secret! How did you know I fall for guys who flex their abs at me like it’s still 2012 Tumblr?"

That gets a crack in his confident grin. Inside, he's genuinely confused. What does that mean??

You pat his arm like you're speaking to someone tragically misguided. "Listen, I’ve drawn more abs than I’ve touched in real life. Yours aren’t special. They’re just... reference material."

Abby chokes on nothing. "Reference material?!"

You give him a cheeky smile. "Yeah. The kind I toss into the 'basic male idol' folder."

You start walking again, casually leaving him in the dust. He stands there, looking scandalized.

Back at the dorm, he slumps into the chair dramatically, hand over his heart.

"She called me basic, and made me carry everything." He mutters, defeated and tired just like the last 2 (Baby & Romance) who returned earlier.

"So she didn’t give you the sketchbook?" Jinu asks, already knowing the answer.

Abby sighs, deeply. "I think she drew a whole new character in her mind just to insult me."

Failure #4

That leaves Jinu, their last hope of getting that sketchbook before the day ends.

"We're counting on you, lead~!" Baby teased with a grin too smug for his own good. His voice dipped into mock aegyo as he winked.

The beef he had with Jinu wasn’t subtle; something about being 'the cute one' when he’d rather be anything else.

It didn’t help that Jinu never really fought back, just smiled like he had better things to do than argue with someone who collected Hello Kitty bandaids.

You, meanwhile, were clocking out. Finally.

Work was done. The sun was down. The universe had tested your patience in every possible way. A hot bath and unconsciousness were the only plans on your mind until he showed up.

"Happy that work’s over, huh?"

You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

"Obviously." You huffed then rolled of your eyes. "Wouldn’t you be if a bunch of demon-spawn kept finding new ways to test your will to live?"

"…Is that a general insult or something more specific?"

His question made you gave him a look like you were hinting at the obvious.

"Fair." He said with a chuckle.

He walked beside you without asking. Just far enough not to be annoying. Just close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“Wanna grab dinner?”

You blinked then gave him a side-eye. "What makes you think I’d say yes? Is this another one of your weird group rituals where someone jumps out of a trash can to scare me?"

"I said dinner, not a prank war. It’s my treat." He said, hands up in mock surrender. "No one else will be there. Consider it… an apology. For the chaos they’ve put you through."

You raised a brow. "And you’re suddenly the nice one?"

"I never said that," He replied smoothly. "But I do know when to offer compensation."

You thought about it. He hadn’t stepped in earlier, sure, but maybe he wasn’t completely awful. And free food was free food.

You were broke, your fridge was empty, and a meal you didn’t have to cook yourself was a rare form of heaven.

So you said yes.

The place he brought you to wasn’t flashy. A quiet diner tucked away from the noise. Warm lights. Old booths. You ordered too much and pretended not to care.

"You know," Jinu said mid-meal. "I kind of expected you to throw your drink in my face."

"You still might deserve it," You said between bites. "Depends how this conversation goes."

He smiled, his chin resting on his hand as he watched you. You noticed, of course. But instead of reacting, you stayed calm, indifferent, even.

As if you weren’t being quietly studied by a man who looked like he'd walked off a runway.

"You always like this?" You asked with a raised brow. "Weirdly smooth one second, annoying the next?"

He smirked at you. "It’s a learned skill. Keeps people guessing."

"You’re not that hard to figure out." You deadpanned with a slight tilt of your head. "You’re probably the most normal one out of your group. Still a menace, though."

Jinu laughed. Just the short type. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

You stared at him then replied in a monotonous voice, "It wasn’t."

He chuckled, and the conversation settled into something surprisingly... normal.

Eventually, you talked about things you didn’t usually mention to strangers—about the pressure of pretending, of being exhausted all the time and not knowing how to admit it.

About how expectations from others wear you down until all you want to do is disappear.

At some point, maybe out of tired habit or plain honesty, you even muttered something about 'your demons whispering to you late at night.' You meant it figuratively, of course.

But the way Jinu blinked once, slow and calculating made you wonder if he thought otherwise. Like you’d just triggered something serious.

He didn’t ask. Just nodded and let it go. But you caught it: the subtle shift in his gaze, that flicker of recognition. Whatever he was thinking, it didn’t feel like nothing.

Still, he listened. Not with empty nods, but like he got it. Not everything, but enough.

And... that felt nice. It's been a while since you had someone to talk to about things you can relate. Your friends were busy and when they try to invite you to hangout, you're the one who has a pack sched instead.

When you got home later that night, sketchbook still tucked away where no one would ever find it, you let yourself sink into bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe Jinu wasn’t so bad. Not like the rest of his chaos crew. He's become 'just alright guy' to you.

Meanwhile, Jinu returned to the place they all stayed while living in the human world—a sleek apartment tucked above the city skyline, equal parts expensive and lived-in.

The others were scattered across the living room, feigning disinterest while clearly listening.

Abby was the first to ask. "So? How’d yours go?"

Jinu kicked off his shoes and shrugged, hands in his pockets. "No sketchbook. But I think she let her guard down."

That got their attention.

"She’s easier to talk to when you’re not pushing her buttons. Maybe try not teasing her to death next time." He added, giving Romance a pointed glance though his eyes definitely slid to Abby and Baby too.

Not that any of those three looked the least bit guilty.

Baby made a dramatic noise of betrayal when he realized something, his eyes squinting. "So you’re the favorite now?"

Jinu didn’t rise to it. Just smiled, smug even.

"If we earn even a little of her trust, that book’s as good as ours."

And judging by the way he looked quietly satisfied, it was clear their leader had a plan—and maybe, just maybe, it was already working.

Failure #5 (losers)

Day 4: Pretty Privilege Denied

At the rehearsal room...

"This is such a pain." Baby groaned as he dramatically flopped backwards onto the couch like he’d just carried the entire K-pop industry on his back. "Why can’t we just take the stupid sketchbook already?"

He tossed a bag of chips across the room. It missed the trash can by a full foot. No one corrected him.

"Right?" Abby stretched his arms behind his head, flashing abs like it was part of the punctuation. "We’re wasting time doing solo missions. What if we all just... I dunno, ask at once? Overwhelm her with our combined perfection."

Romance was already nodding, a smirk playing at his lips. "Like an idol intervention."

Mystery, curled on the floor beside the couch, mumbled faintly, "She’ll resist. She always resists."

"Because you just stood there and stared at her for thirty minutes." Baby snapped with a roll of his eyes. "That’s not a plan, that’s a horror movie."

"I was being... silent but effective." Mystery defended weakly, hugging a pillow with the dead-eyed conviction of a man who hadn’t blinked in an hour.

Baby didn’t bother looking at him. He just sighed and reached for his lip tint, applying it with a kind of weary elegance that suggested everyone else in the room was the problem.

"I don’t get why you all can’t just manipulate her like normal people." Baby muttered, popping a strawberry flavored lollipop in his mouth.

Like a fucking Bond villain in silk pajamas.

He next adds, "Look adorable, be sweet, and wait. She’ll fold eventually. Humans are weak to affection and eye contact."

Romance blinked. "You think this is adorable?"

"I think this is inefficient." Baby said flatly, glancing at his nails like he was bored of everyone's incompetence. "She clearly likes attention. She breathes like someone who wants to be perceived."

Abby froze mid-sip of his fruit shake. "You said that out loud."

"Good." Baby replied, unbothered, swiping through his front camera to check his angles. "I hope the wind carries it to her. Maybe it’ll reach her ego first."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"…You scare me sometimes." Abby muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like he was rethinking his life choices.

Jinu, to no one’s surprise, wasn’t in the room for this beautifully misguided planning session. He was allegedly "doing leader things," which in practice meant "ignoring all of them for his own sanity."

Which meant the rest of them were unsupervised.

Because in the next five minutes, fueled by ego, caffeine, and deep, mutual frustration, they came up with the worst idea possible:

"We’ll confront her together." Romance declared, sparkles practically glinting in his eyes. Mischief, too.

"Like a sketchbook heist?" Abby grinned. They high-fived, because of course they did.

"No," Baby corrected, sitting upright like a cat that’d just heard a can opener. "Like a coordinated idol strike."

Mystery nodded solemnly. "A synchronized emotional ambush."

"…That’s literally just stalking in unison." Someone muttered upon realization but no one listened. Not that it even mattered to beings like them.

And with that, four immortals in idol skin decided to do what no sane being should ever attempt: gang up on one overworked staff girl who already hated their collective existence.

Because why not? What could possibly go wrong?

-

Somewhere...

Jinu had always known patience was the real game. You don’t survive four centuries being impulsive. So when his members started treating [Y/n] like a raid boss with a lootable sketchbook, he didn’t intervene.

He watched. Waited. Calculated. And then last night happened.

Dinner wasn’t supposed to go that well. He figured she’d make it halfway through the meal, throw a napkin in his face, and storm out. But she didn’t. She talked.

And somewhere between the second plate and her muttering about "demons whispering at night," something in him stilled. That wasn’t normal small talk. And it sure as hell wasn’t nothing.

She either didn’t realize what she said, or she did, and didn’t care. Either way, Jinu recognized the weight of it. The strange, dangerous truth humming just beneath her words.

So yeah. He was interested now. Not just in the sketchbook. In her.

Which is why, this morning, he changed tactics.

She’d let her guard down. That meant it was time to keep her guessing. Balance the scale. Tip it, just enough to rattle her.

Cue: pettiness mode.

She thought last night was a truce? Fine. Let her believe that. Then let her walk face-first into his brand of passive-aggressive hell. Just enough to make her question herself. Her instincts. Him.

If they were going to win this sketchbook war, she needed to be off-balance. And Jinu was going to enjoy every second of it.

So when he saw her coming down the sidewalk with coffee in hand, face still half-asleep and blessedly peaceful, he held the door open.

Then let it close. Right as she reached it. Perfect.

...

You were already tired.

Not physically—not yet. Just spiritually. Which was impressive, given the day had barely started.

But then again, surviving a full shift surrounded by glitter-dusted demon boys could rattle anyone’s soul.

Still. Today would be different. It had to be.

You saw the studio door ahead, sweet salvation in view, and picked up your pace.

And then, of course. It was him.

Jinu. Holding the door like he was doing you a favor. Like he hadn’t spent last night pretending to be a decent person.

He let it shut before you even touched the handle.

It was official. The man had a switch, and you were done trying to figure out which position it was stuck on. You stopped. Stared, then narrowed your eyes as the door clicked shut with smug finality.

Why the hell was he acting like this now?

Maybe he’d decided to be just as unbearable as his idiot members. Or maybe he realized being nice wasn’t getting him your sketchbook.

Or maybe, just maybe, he woke up and chose violence. With iced coffee.

What happened last night? Too good to be true. You were stupid to think otherwise.

Jinu turned his head, smiling like a summer villain in a drama. "Oh? I thought you weren’t coming. My bad."

Your eye twitched as you smiled politely. Violence is a choice. "You saw me walking straight here."

"I see a lot of things." He said vaguely, stepping inside and letting the door stay closed behind him.

You yanked it open with more force than necessary after tapping your id and followed him in, already regretting clocking in today. If HR asked why the break room window was shattered later, this was why.

You tried to brush it off. Keep walking. You had your sketchbook in hand, a long list of things to prep, and exactly zero energy to spare on whatever weird game he was playing now.

And then—

"Good morning, hardworking staff member," Jinu said with the fakest earnestness you’d ever heard, falling into step beside you. "Did you sleep well on your commoner bed?"

You stopped in your tracks, your mouth agape while your brain buffered.

"…What," You said slowly, letting the words drag like a system error. "What did you just say to me?"

Was flabbergasted the right word? Because honestly, that didn’t even scratch the surface. You were spiritually winded. Like you’d just been slapped with a Gucci slipper made of pure ego.

Jinu, the absolute menace, took a delicate sip of his artisanal coffee and smiled. That same saintly, beatific smile that made you want to throw a chair.

"I heard those floor mattresses are terrible for your posture."

You blinked at him. Hard. "You think I sleep on the floor?"

He raised a brow, so effortlessly smug. "Don’t you?"

Oh, okay. So this was the level of unhinged we were on today.

You stared at him, soul leaving your body one judgmental breath at a time. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with all of them? Did they audition to be idols or audition to test your will to live?

Because right now, you were genuinely convinced the universe had assigned you to a group of sleep-paralysis demons with backup dancer skills.

He stared back, calm and composed, like the human embodiment of a rice paper screen: pretty, delicate, and annoyingly hard to punch without consequences.

The silence stretched long enough for you to seriously consider hitting him with your sketchbook.

You turned and walked faster. He followed. He wasn’t done.

"You know," He said, all airy and unbothered, "I heard stress causes wrinkles. You might want to be careful."

"Great." You deadpanned. "Can I borrow your skincare then? I assume it’s made from crushed angel wings and virgin moonlight."

He laughed softly. Like you were joking. You were not.

You reached your desk, set your things down with a sigh, and frowned. Your pencil bag wasn’t where you left it.

You squinted and searched. There it was, off to the right by a few inches. You didn’t leave it like that. You were sure.

"…Did someone move my stuff?"

Behind you, Jinu shrugged with the grace of a lying cat. "Maybe the ghosts like you."

You turned slowly, narrowed your eyes. He was already walking away, sipping his cursed latte like he hadn’t just kicked your entire sense of peace in the kneecaps.

And the worst part? You knew this wasn’t even the peak of his pettiness. This was the prelude. The overture. The trailer before the disaster film.

You swore if he did this one more time, you were going to draw him as a worm in a luxury bathrobe. And that was being generous.

-

Dear god.

You tried to hide.

Not from your work, that would be irresponsible, but from the boyband plague that had decided to infest every corner of your daily life like glitter-coated cockroaches with jawlines.

Storage room? Mystery was already inside when you flicked the light on, calmly leaning against a shelf like he was part of the cleaning supplies.

You screamed and that earned a few pair of eyes from fellow staff members to see what's happened while Mystery just blinked.

Just fucking that. Like he wouldn't be the reason for you having a heart attack at such a young age.

"I was just watching the broom." He said solemnly.

You felt Deja vu and also, "????"

Toilet break? You exited the staff restroom to find Romance waiting by the door with a smile so charming it should’ve been a crime.

"Did you miss me?" He asked with a little tilt of his head. How cute. Like that was supposed to work on you.

You stared back, deadpan. "Did you follow me to the bathroom?"

"No." He said too fast. Then added, "I was just… in the area."

You folded your arms, unimpressed. "Of the women’s restroom?"

"…Geographically."

You shook your head then walked past him. He followed. Damn it.

Lunch break? You were five feet from the vending machine when Abby materialized from nowhere, leaned casually against it, and held out a protein bar.

"Hungry?" He asked with a wink.

You stared, the same dead-eyed stare you gave Romance. At this point, you were immune. Beyond exhausted. Somewhere between "please stop" and "God, just smite me."

"Are you seriously trying to flirt with trail mix?"

He grinned. Handsome bastard #3. "It’s high in fiber."

You almost growled at him like a fucking wolf. "I hate you."

Coffee break? You escaped the building. You escaped the chaos. You made it to your favorite shop. You ordered your drink, basked in a moment of peace.

You shouldn't have turned around.

"Hi." Jinu said, already holding out a matching iced Americano.

You didn’t blink. Yeah, at this point you wouldn't even be surprised if you suddenly moved countries and their striking asses are 'suddenly' there, too.

Which leads you to a thought: Are they even after your sketchbook or other things? Did they fall for you and became obsessed with you like in those webtoons?

Pfft. Yeah, right. You must've lost it there for a second.

You blankly stared at Mister royalty-wannabe. What he said about your bed being a commoner's really got to you. It looks like you weren't the only one who can burn people like toast.

Jinu watches you space out. Poor you, not that he actually cares and that smile on his stupidly handsome face was enough to tell a tale.

"I’ll trade you this premium Americano for a peek at your sketchbook." He offered smoothly, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You stared him down then reached out, took the coffee from his hand, and said in a monotone voice: "Thanks."

He didn't see the smirk on your face as you walked away, simply enjoying your drink. Ah, it feels good to taste victory. An expensive one at that.

Meanwhile Jinu just stood there, betrayed.

"That was a limited roast." He muttered to which you heard as you raised the drink like a trophy.

No peace. No privacy. And definitely no sanity.

But if they thought this was going to make you fold, they were sorely mistaken.

You had pens, paper, and spite.

Let them try.

Later that day, the practice room was supposed to be empty.

Keyword: supposed.

You walked in with your sketchbook tucked under your arm and your emotional shields fully charged, only to freeze when you saw them. All of them.

Oh, god. The dread. The disgust. The divine urge to U-turn right back out the door. As much as you liked the sights of their faces, you could go one fucking day without seeing them.

There were other inspirations in the world, like sewer rats. Or tax documents.

You looked at them, judging, and they could tell. Your judgment wasn’t subtle. It had volume. Weight. A spiritual glare.

Romance on the window sill like a tragically bored novel character. Baby draped over the couch like a spoiled cat who owned the lease.

Abby standing behind the couch, peering over Baby’s shoulder and silently judging whatever cursed content he was watching.

Mystery sitting upside down in a chair like a sentient cryptid. And Jinu by the mirror, sipping coffee and watching like a smug, beautiful stage mom directing chaos.

You stared. They stared back.

"…What." You said flatly.

Baby was first to speak, tossing you his best faux-innocent smile. "We just wanted to hang out.”

You squinted. "All five of you. In one room. Together. With no cameras. No choreo. No staff instructions. Just… existing?"

They didn’t reply.

"Unscheduled." You repeated with narrowed eyes. "Yeah, see, that’s what’s throwing me off. You people only move in packs when someone tells you to."

"Team-building." Abby states with a charming grin. "Very healthy. Builds trust."

Romance stretched like he was auditioning for the villain role in a romance anime. "Or maybe we were hoping for a little sketchbook time."

"Denied." You answered immediately. Yeah, you saw that coming, even smelled it.

Mystery didn’t move from his bat-like perch. "I brought snacks."

You looked at him. "They’re pocket mints."

"They’re shareable."

Yep you turned toward the exit. You aren't gonna waste another energy, but Jinu stepped forward and casually leaned on the doorframe. Blocking it.

"Leaving so soon?" He said, calm and smug and, unfortunately, gorgeous. You don't know how many times you called them all those words inside your head. "We haven’t even started the icebreaker."

But of course no matter how good looking they are, they still continue to test your sanity. With that said, your eye twitched for the nth time.

"What is this, a hostage situation?" You looked him up and down, and he felt you judge him.

"That depends." Romance hummed with a grin. "Are you willing to negotiate?"

Baby pouted, still trying that method of acting cute. "We just want a peek."

"You’ve been studying us." Abby chimed in. "Seriously. We can feel it."

"We’d like to see your... interpretations." Romance added, clearly trying to sound seductive. You gave him a withering look. He faltered for half a second. "Strictly for performance critique purposes."

You let the silence stretch, then slowly opened your sketchbook... just an inch. It was cute but mostly funny on how their eyes lit up.

Then you snapped it shut.

"No." You said with a condescending smile like some typical villainess.

"Cruel." Jinu muttered with a huff.

Baby groaned dramatically, flopping back. "Why won’t you just let us see it?"

"Because it’s mine." You said, backing toward the wall. "And because I know you’ll cry."

Romance scoffed. "I don’t cry."

"You cried when your contact lens flipped inside out." Abby pointed out with a little laugh.

"Emotional trauma." Romance said with dignity. He was quick with his reply. Being on those little screens paid off.

Jinu tilted his head, still blocking the door. "This all could’ve been avoided, you know. Back when we were being nice."

You narrowed your eyes. "You smiled at me one time and then threw a door in my face."

"I smiled twice." He corrected. "That’s effort."

You sighed, dramatically and soulfully. "This is what I get for not calling in sick."

They inched closer, slowly closing in like a very attractive zombie horde.

Then you raised your sketchbook like a weapon and said, "Another step and I swear to God I’ll post the ‘Abby Cries at Pixar’ spread online."

Everyone froze.

"…You wouldn’t." Abby whispered.

"Try me." That wasn't a challenge. That was the truth. You'd do anything for this war.

Behind him, Mystery was already reaching for his phone. "I’d retweet it."

Abby narrowed his eyes at him. "You traitor."

Eventually, Jinu sighed and stepped aside. "You win this round."

You smiled and gave his shoulder a pat. "You mean all rounds."

And with that, you walked out like the final boss of their lives—sketchbook clutched tight, peace restored (for now), and your petty revenge arc stronger than ever.

Sketchbook Status: Untouched.

Artist Mood: Petty

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Hello! I love your writing, I just can’t help but ask and wonder on how the welcome home group would react to a situation on which the reader gets injured like a sprained ankle or a cut that takes a while to heal from so they can’t do much without further injuring themselves?

Used this as an opportunity to practice writing pain. It gets pretty graphic in the beginning. So, please, read at your own discretion.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Red pain

You felt a sharp stinging sensation before the blood spilled. It was deep enough to make your breathing go ragged. But shallow enough to not hinder your movements. Without looking at it, you press your palm against the cut. Applying pressure in hopes it would help.

It didn't do much.

What would the neighbors do if they saw this?

You can already imagine the looks you'll get. The gasps that might leave everybody's mouths. No. They didn't need to see.

Your front door came into view as you reached the edge of Home. Fumbling with the key before closing the door behind you. Leaning against the frame as you hear the latch go -click. Locked. Nobody would see you like this.

You felt the cut throb in synch with your pulse. Hearing the soft tap of blood falling on the floorboards. Shit, this was bad.

With a shaky breath, you peel the hand away to get a look. Biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out.

Outside, you hear Eddie speaking to Julie. Completely unaware of your distress. They’re along the sidewalk just a few steps away. Realizing this, you slink into the bathroom. Looking towards the medicine cabinet.

The only things you had were some gauze rolls, a half-used tube of vasoline, waterproof bandedges and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide you didn’t even remember buying.

You grabbed the hydrogen and a clean cloth, ignoring how your fingers trembled. Then poured the liquid onto your skin. It burns. Holy fuck, it burns. You almost drop the bottle. Watching as the little white bubbles fizz from inside the cut.

"This is fine. I'm fine. It wasn’t that deep." You say to yourself. You’d clean it. You’d—

*knock knock*

You froze.

“Neighbor?”

Wally

★ “Hello? Neighbor? Are you home?” He calls, voice wavering slightly as he speaks. “Can I come in?” You try to say something, anything, but can't find the words. “Please open the door.” He doesn’t mention the blood on the porch steps. Not yet.

★ Usually, Wally isn't this straightforward. But this isn't a usual day. Something is wrong. And making sure you're okay is more important than being polite. You imagine him on the other side. Waiting for you to let him in.

★ The latch clicks again, and you open the door. Seeing his whole body go stiff. He doesn't ask if you're okay because it's clear you're not. You move aside to let him enter. And he does. Quickly reaching for your arm to check the damage.

★ For the next few days Wally insists you stay inside. Worried you might fall apart. Showing up at your door before anybody else. If you like, he could keep you company? Despite the fact various neighbors filter in and out to check on you.

Barnaby

★ You hear his muffled voice from the other side. “…Are you okay?” Then silence. His voice is forcefully neutral. Trying not to show how concerned he really is. "Um, not to be dramatic, but I'm pretty sure I'm legally obligated to check on you."

★ He isn't an expert on humans, like Frank, but Barnaby knows blood on the doorknob can't be good. Open the door and his eyes land on your arm. A horrified expression is plastered on his face. The same one you tried to avoid.

★ Keep the door closed and he lingers for a while. "Alright... I'll wait." Sitting on the porch, waiting in case you change your mind. Eventually, Wally comes by and the two walk off together. Leaving you to deal with this yourself.

★ While you try to take it easy, he fetches whatever you need. Bringing in your mail and groceries. "I'll stop when it doesn't hurt anymore, then maybe a few days after. In case you're pretending it stopped."

[creforage]

𝐢. Six appendages.

𓄿: tags/notes . . . obey me, gn reader as per canon, can be considered a little as body horror on the side, mostly Michael centred.

𖤛 synopsis . . . | after your death in unforeseen circumstances, you are reborned in the celestial realm as one of their own. But are you?

You wake up with an unfamiliar body.

Feathers. So many of them you spotted, at every angle your head turned to. Everything felt sore —like the layers of your skin had been forcibly ripped, and folded into something entirely different in the gentlest, cruelest of ways.

This is not who I am, you thought to yourself, as you sat up with grievous struggle. Your back feels so, so heavy, as if something is dragging it down even further. The very implications set your heartbeat into a fiery, terror fit. Yet, silent you remain, as you take in your surroundings.

Light surrounds you. Engulfes and encompasses all that you were and will be. You can understand that you're laying atop the softest bed you've ever felt, and it's quite a spacious room —gold and glistening curtains blinding your eyes.

Oh, speaking of eyes. They feel different now. Claustrophobic, in an unexplainable way; you can see everything without having to focus your pupils into a specific area. The amount of details you're processing sets your comprehension into a distress in itself. You clear your throat.

Something is shifting impossibly close to your hearing —which also feel frustratingly sensitive — and your auditory senses quickly conclude; it's not on you, around you, or outside of you, belonging to another.

The noise is within you. It belongs to you, you're the producer and its host. Your breath hitches and so does your body, entirely, it heightens the ruffled, soft noise —oh… it's caressing your eyes and arms.

You dare not look down or behind. You dare not touch yourself. In fact, as you finally bring yourself to your feet and push yourself towards the windowsill, your consciousness forbids you from even processing what you see on its reflection.

You no longer possess pupils to lull them to the side of protection. Illusioning yourself is feeble, after all; every twitch of the protruding, stunningly gentle shift of the appendages around both sides of your ears and back are demanding to be acknowledged, one way or another. (Now you understand what was so heavy on your back. The dead weight cascading along your tailbone and dragging across the floor like a thousand corpses. You just didn't want to face it yet.)

You don't even acknowledge it. Rather, you look outside.

You're in the Celestial realm. Unsurprising to no one, really. It's always so bright there. How do they even live that way, always in the light? Do they not tire of it? Your personal musings aside, you're forced to double away from the beautiful visage as a sharp pang of pain hits all across your body again. It's been like this since you woke up, or, more so —in your state of limbo. You felt it, faintly then, full-force, now.

You could only describe it as your own cells and muscle tissues rearranging themselves. They keep shifting, patching onto another, pulling each other apart and reproducing its essentials to what they now declare a state of perfection.

Ah, also, someone has been incessantly calling your name this entire time. A little after you woke up and walked over.. … .. It's familiar.

“[Name],” it says, again and again. Something shuffles from behind. Your perception takes into account another being, probably of belonging here. (Unlike you.) “How do you feel?”

“Michael,” you say, just barely. Your voice is different, but not as much as the rest of you, thankfully. You lean away from the window and, in a fatigued state, call out the intruder's name once more, just for the sake of familiarity. For a shred of comfort. “Michael.”

He's been smiling this entire time, but it widens even further upon hearing your voice. “Hello. You recognized me fairly quickly… I have to wonder, how come? But, ah..” He takes you by the arm, gently, and leads your astray form to sit back down on the edge of the well plushed bed. “No matter. Your well-being is more important right now. Now tell me, how do you feel? Are you aware of where you currently are?”

“Celestial.” You say, but the words come out more of a breath than an answer. Your brain spins. Try to finish your sentence. “Realm. In the celestial realm.”

“Good, good. Your name?”

“.............”

“Do you remember your name? I just used it earlier, if that helps.”

You half hum, then startle yourself. You're still not used to the different timbre in your voice. “I remember.”

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you for a moment. More precisely, what's folded into themselves on your back and such. He lifts a hand to gingerly brush an index finger along the ridges of troubled feathers, and you flinch away from the touch enough for his eyes to widen. He retracts his hand and sighs quietly in what sounds like concern, if you're desperate enough for sympathy.

“This process is quite different with who were inherently born into a respective role here.” He says to your keenly listening ears. “We're all Father's children, and such were we raised, despite its complications and risk. The better we understood and developed, the stronger and efficiently were we molded into Father's image eventually. Take Luke for example. He's been ‘living’ for a time that would normally preceed any regular human, but he's still a child. He hasn't grown out his wings in a result of it, as I'm sure you know by now.”

You nod faintly. He continues. “Which is why, [Name], this not only differs from our Father's sacred custom, but your soul and importance have been enough to be amongst us. You weren't initially born into who you are now, [Name], that's why you are in immense pain as of yet.”

“I never,” you croak out through the rearing pain that digs its heels into every open nerve within you. “asked, for this —”

He stands up suddenly. Smoothes down his robes and turns back to you. “For your own sake, [Name], I'll plead you to not finish that sentence. You're in enough pain as is,” he gets on his knees —Michael the Archangel himself, hands on your shoulders. They're warm, a contrast against you, which confuses you —because angels would normally emit warmth — but oh, but ah, you're a little something entirely different, aren't you?

“Rest.” he ushers you onto your back. You wince and bring your hands against your chest reflexively —seems some senses stay rooted within, even as another, huh? “You'll be accustomed to it soon enough, as will the pain cease. Don't think too hard on it for now, alright?”

You'd expect him to leave by now, but he sits by your side instead, his weight dipping the bed sheets considerably. You're aware of his eyes staring at your face. You don't sense any ill intent. They're low lidded, softer than you might have ever imagined. “You probably would've preferred to have Simeon here to take care of you, wouldn't you?”

The mention of his mere name jolts a reaction out of you. You remember Michael words again. Don't think too hard now. If you start to think further, your body will only punish you for it.

“He would do a better job of it, I'm sure.” He mumbles, and you don't quite like the way he allows his hands to so simply run against your cheek, up, and down again. He pauses. “A shame he's no longer allowed here after his treachery, isn't it?”

You don't answer, because there would absolutely be no point in neither wasting your breath, nor getting into verbal sparring with someone like him. He resumes his semi-petting. You don't like the fact that it's actually proving to be calming your torched nerves and aching flesh. Perhaps it's his angelic properties playing part. Or perhaps he's just genuine. Is it that hard to believe, [Name]?

“I don't know why I'm still speaking to you, or why I'm here,” he says. “I think I've been lonely without anyone to speak to for an agonizingly long while, since the brothers and Simeon —even Luke, and Raphael have departed from our sacred palace. Yes, yes… . I've been lonely.”

You close your eyes, and realize that is about as much freedom as you'll ever be able to afford now. Now, you don't have to bear witness the look in his eyes. The light pouring into the room and chaining its promise around your ankles.

[ghostscarface]

Do you think there is some charm/spell/potion to make mpreg a reality in hpverse? If yes then would it be considered light/normal magic or dark magic?

This is a fun question and I love to answer !

I honestly think it's possible. Consider Witches and Wizards can grow bones overnight, change physical features and sex with a potion. And even carry living creatures in enchanted items (Hagrid's Dragon egg..)

How ? I see those possible options:

Womb-creation Potion : Creates with the help of very rare ingredients, either a temporary or a permanent uterus in the Wizards body.

Conception Charms: Allows two magical cores to merge and create life, regardless of gender.

St.Mungo fertility ritual: to make sure one of them can get pregnant

Transfiguration: Body-altering transfiguration: Changes body to enable a pregnancy.

There is definitely a magical C-section. I don't believe for a second that Narcissa Malfoy went through Labor.

Difficulty Level?

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (You need really insane skills to be able to do that or pay someone)

Light/Normal/Dark Magic?

Very odd magic definitely lol. Normal magic with a lot of restrictions, to make sure no dark wizards try to revive some "Lord"or use blood or even sould-shards to clone themselves or someone else . It would be first considered as odd and foreign (it would definitely come from a whole different culture but got sadly forgotten, maybe maya?) but I can see it getting celebrated by old families if it means that dying bloodlines can survive without losing their sons or ending blood lines.

Bonus:

The ministry of magic sticking their nose in that business and demanding registry for this special occasion, either for needing to order the potion ingredients to explain why you need them or to make sure "child's health" . They would pretend it's for "public safety and order" but it's just to control. Discrimination towards those children by marking them differently in their birth certificate could also be a possibility.

Might mark parents as "non-traditional reproduction Act"

Demand quarterly reports, health checks, magical blood tests , background screenings.

[inhurtandincomfort]

🧵 - Sew their lips shut for Eldwin

Thank you for the ask!! From this ask game

*+*

Eldwin knocked on the door to Clyde's office, three gentle raps on polished wood. He stepped back, smoothed the creases in his glove and waited until a dull "Enter," came from within. He opened the door and stepped inside with a small bow, his fist pressed to his chest.

"You wanted to see me sir?" Without raising his head, his eyes flickered around the room, taking mental notes; Clyde sat behind his desk as always, looking bored with stacks of paper in front of him. A window was on the left side, open today in warm weather with no breeze. They were on the second floor. A sheet was draped over one of the chairs - peculiar. Stood off to to the right, straight-backed with his hands clasped in front of him, looking pointedly anywhere but at Clyde, was Jowan. He perked up when he saw Eldwin, raising his hand in greeting. Eldwin gave a small nod of recognition before fixing his gaze to the floor.

"Come the weeks end, we will be meeting with some high-ranking government officials who are interested in our work," Clyde announced, leaning back in his chair with folded arms. "They will want to see you, and decide whether we are suitable to keep you."

Eldwin glanced up, careful not to make eye contact. Keep him?

"You are considered a dangerous specimen. We've invested a lot of time and money to be able to keep you for this long as a warlock; now you've proven valuable, the government want to seize you for themselves. I trust I don't need to spell it out for you."

Previously, his fear of being captured by authorities was because he would be executed. Since the aether harvests had apparently proved fruitful, he had a new fear - spending the rest of his life locked in a lab to serve as nothing more than an aether supply. The Black Syndicate were awful; but they at least gave him some level of freedom. He had to be grateful for that.

Clyde continued, "We are on good terms with the people in charge. But if they think for even a second that we don't have you completely under control, they will deem us unfit as your keeper. All that effort spent on you will have been a waste. I don't want that. You, certainly, do not want that." He rose and walked around to Eldwin, casting a towering shadow over him. "You understand what this means?"

"Yes sir." Eldwin nodded once, not moving from his respectful pose. "I will behave." This time he meant it. The blow to his pride was a small price to pay for freedom.

"There is no room for even the slightest error. We have plans in place to ensure everything goes smoothly." Clyde gestured to Jowan, who seemed to startle before he approached holding a small case.

With a hand on his shoulder, Clyde guided Eldwin to sit in the covered chair. And by 'guided' it was more 'subtly forced.' He could have ordered Eldwin to do so and he would have obeyed, but either he just wanted a little power trip, or he thought Eldwin might cause trouble.

Tsk. Faithless.

"I'm sorry about this." Jowan put on some medical gloves, and picked up a small bottle Eldwin recognised as a disinfectant used to sterilise surgical tools. "I promise it will be taken off as soon as they leave."

"Wait, what? What will?"

Clyde's grip tightened. "Stay still. We'll tie you down if we have to."

With a clean cotton pad Jowan dabbed the disinfectant over Eldwin's lips, gently tilting his head up for better light. He tried to speak, but a firm "don't" shut him up. It's not like he wanted a mouth full of cotton anyway.

His questions were answered when Jowan next pulled out a sewing needle, and some thread.

"Hey, the fuck- at least answer me, why are you-" A harsh tug on his hair made his head jerk back with a wince.

"I said we needed control."

"I have plenty of gags," which was something he'd never thought he'd say, but hey, there's a first time for everything. "Not to mention I am fully capable of keeping my mouth shut, you don't n-"

"Really? That's news to me. Total control means harsher treatment. They need to see that you are not being treated as a person, but instead like the irredeemable traitor you are," Clyde said calmly, "You can misbehave. They already know you're not submissive enough. What matters most is how I treat you, and proving that you can't cause too many problems no matter how much you try. That even when you want to lash out, you can be controlled. Now, be still. Or I'll make it worse for you."

You're fucking insane. He closed his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath. He didn't know why he bothered to be surprised anymore. Nothing was off-limits to these people.

And really, all things considered, it wasn't that bad. He'd been through worse. Way worse. The quiet sting of the needle piercing his skin was barely worth mentioning. As was the strange pull of the thread being pulled through the tiny holes. More of an odd feeling than anything. It's not like he'd never had stitches before.

He could complain about being silenced, but that's what the gags were for anyway. What was so different about this?

When Jowan was satisfied, Eldwin was sent back to his room with orders to not touch his lips, do not try to open his mouth, keep disinfecting the area, and seek out Jowan if anything goes wrong.

The first thing he did was throw the blanket off the mirror to examine the work.

It was neatly done, he thought. Nice needle work. Not like he could expect anything less from Jowan, of all people. At least it was clean. As a one-off, it wouldn't scar. Probably.

Calloused fingers gently ran across the black threads. He wouldn't be eating for the next few days, then. Could probably use a small straw for water, at least. Maybe he'd have to mix the mud-paste they called nutritional into water just to get some sustenance. Eugh. Or as it was only a few days, they may not even bother, he'd gone longer without food.

That might honestly be preferable.

He draped the blanket back over the mirror. His stomach twisted in knots, and would for the next few days. He hated these social gatherings as is, especially when it could decide the rest of his life. He didn't know what else Clyde had in mind, but as long as it kept him safe, he didn't care. He liked what he had now, really; it was better than being cooped up in a lab and turned into a brainless husk. He vowed to behave himself, do whatever it took to prove that the Black Syndicate could be trusted with him.

But right now, all he could do was wait.

[svt-mizuki]

RELATIONSHIP WITH VOCAL UNIT ∘* ೃ ⋆｡˚.

⋆°࿔ jeonghan \ mizuki ... mizuhan 𝜗𝜚°⋆

you could say that they are close.

contrasting from mizuki's love-hate relationship with seungcheol, she only had love-love relationship with jeonghan. he was relentless when it comes to pranking and being a menace to the rest of the members but mizuki knew that he had her under his wings.

whenever someone would come to annoy her, she would go to jeonghan and stick her tongue out.

they love to go hand-in-hand whenever wherever. that's their love language.

jeonghan wouldnt call it 'overprotective' or 'obsessive', but he always had his eyes on her at all times. always watching and observing.

⋆°࿔ joshua \ mizuki ... misoo 𝜗𝜚°⋆

"jisoo-yah!" "WHO IS JISOO?"

joshua would always cry on the inside whenever she calls him 'jisoo' out of nowhere. he was so used to being called joshua that sometimes he would hear her say 'jisoo' and he wouldnt know that it was him.

mizuki is an avid fan of his 'sunday morning' cover. when it first started, she would always ask him to sing it for her so she could fall asleep. but as time goes by, it turned into a funny thing for them both.

close but not that close. thats it.

"sunday morning rain is falling.." "another one please" "ive been singing the same line for about 40 times now"

⋆°࿔ woozi \ mizuki ... hoonmi 𝜗𝜚°⋆

they are both interesting. a rare funny duo. the two people who would highfive and bump into each other while laughing uncontrollably.

the two people that the members would consider as one of the most scary people with seungcheol and hoshi. but deep inside, these two are the cutest and softest.

in the recording studio, they always had an intense relationship that radiated beyond talent and passion. but whenever something humoric happens, mizuki would burst into laughing first and he would follow afterwards.

woozi respected and admired her musical abilities while she admired him for his creativity and determination.

would take lots of pictures of each other in the recording studio and keep it to themselves to post 'someday'

"jihoon hyung, do you think this beat is nice?" "i think it could be better" "are you deaf or something?"

⋆°࿔ dk \ mizuki ... zukimin 𝜗𝜚°⋆

first love vibes. if chan had a crush on her but didnt have the chance, dk has a crush on her and has a 50% chance.

starting as her first ever friend that spoke broke japanese to her on her first day, dk was the first one to make her laugh despite how anxious and terrified she was.

if mizuki was having a hard time, she knew she could always count on him to be there always. if dk was having a tough time himself, making mizuki laugh could cure him from the blues.

he admitted to having a crush on her but mizuki turned him down because she thought it was a 'joke'

definitely have a compilation of dokyeom staring at her lovingly every chance he gets. from vlives, concerts, filmings, and even just recording— dk would always stare at her. (sometimes even singing some of his lines and pointing at her; mizuki would respond by rolling her eyes with a smile)

⋆°࿔ seungkwan \ mizuki ... mikwan 𝜗𝜚°⋆

enemies. always in their enemies' territory.

seungkwan is sassy while mizuki just has attitude.

he would always flaunt to her, flex on her, push her around, and annoy her every chance he gets. in return, mizuki would post embarassing photos of him on social media, share her anger about him, laugh at him whenever he gets scolded, and torment him whenever she gets the upperhand in certain situations.

but they are bestfriends. soulmates even.

even if they joke around and act like they cant stand each other, they know that they cant live without seeing each other.

they are two things: brawl fights and meaningful connection. they are open about their emotions to one another, not afraid to shed a few tears here and there. seungkwan is open to her about his problems without having to worry that mizuki will use it against him.

despite their chaotic energy, they can always be there for each other. (may or may not the first people to see each other cry).

"are you okay? was i too far?" "no, its okay" "okay. you're ugly by the way"

[the-sapphire-cat]

Spoilers for the infinights bonus 3 shot.

Sometimes I think about Bart and Gumgums evil counterparts (Brat and Grimgrim) and wish people would talk about it because I feel like theirs a lot of potential here we are missing out on.

Firstly the idea of an evil Bart or Gumgum is already a fun idea to play around with, considering those two are arguably the most reasonable and kind members of their party and this idea becomes especially fun when you consider their dynamic with eachother.

During the bonus 3 shot when the infinights first battle with their otherselves they first fight Brat (evil bart) and Grimgrim (evil Gumgum) even when from a timeline where they lost their way and became corrupt they are still inseparable and dispite Grimgrim holding his own extremely well during the battle when Brat called him off and asked Grimgrim to follow him onto the island he did so with no hesitation.

There are a lot of ways you can look at those two especially considering we don’t really know how they got corrupted in their timelines, however this is my interpretation. Brat is Bart without spirit and Grimgrim is Gumgum without love.

Let’s start with Brat, his appearance is less saturated and more dark having a colour scheme similar to Inkoo. It’s easy to assume Bart either failed to save his parents, somehow he encounter Inkoo too soon and when they fought Bart wasn’t prepared and lost, or maybe even went to Inkoo willingly out of desperation or manipulation losing himself in the process. Another thing is when Gumgum interacts with Brat and Brat tries to “comfort” Gumgum he attempts to cast a spell that would fill Gumgum with rage and sorrow and I find that interesting, Bart is quite encouraging especially to Gumgum so it would make sence that Brat would have a similar trait however instead of positive reinforcement he would instead use manipulation into enforce negative emotions and control the behaviour of others, bring out the worst in someone rather then inspiring them for the better.

Grimgrims appearance is a larger angrier Gumgum with thorns growing from his body that he can rip off and throw at enemy’s. Now Gumgum is a self proclaimed flower wizard and flowers can be used for many lovely things they can be used for decorations, used for medication, used for magical rituals, some even eventually grow into fruits, however some flowers have thorns to protect themselves. Gumgum is a well intentioned and innocent character which would leave him vulnerable to being mocked, ostracised, or taken advantage of, we also know despite his kind nature he isn’t immune to negative emotions, he gets angry, he gets upset but he isn’t mean he loves his friends too much to let his anger get the best of him, he loves doing what’s right too much to use his powers for evil. Instead he uses his rage to help people and to fight for the greater good, however Grimgrim seems to have lost that. He isn’t a flower wizard he is a thorn barbarian his kindness and flowers have rotted away leaving nothing but the protective throne, that he not only uses as armour but as weapons against others even if it means ripping them off his own skin.

Also the potential of their dynamic they have for one another because you could take this in many ways but here’s the ways I can think of at the top of my head.

1. It’s almost the same as the cannon timeline, they’re best friends, closer than brothers, inseparable and love eachother dearly, except unlike in cannon they hate and distrust everyone else. Something that could potentially lead to something less wholesome if their paranoia and hatred of others develops into them becoming overly clinging of the only other person they can rely on, a once healthy love twisting into codependency.

2. I touched upon this a bit earlier about Brat using his magic to manipulate the emotions of others, but what if he didn’t just do that with enemies? Brat needing validation and protection takes advantage of Grimgrim using his magic to control his emotions to suit his needs and encouraging his self destructive behaviour and hatred for anyone and everyone who isn’t him.

Finally I just wanted to say how sweet it was when Gumgums finally realised Brat was just another version of Bart his first instinct was to go over to him give him a cupcake, offer friendship and asking to resolve the fighting peacefully. The idea that Gumgum just wants to be friends with everyone even after all this time, and unconditionally loves every version of Bart even the ones that don’t want to be friends with him is just too much.

Also the fact that Bart was upset seeing Kyforge in pain, saying something along the lines of “I’m sorry! I think we could have been friends in another life” then Kyforge saying “we are” and Bart just starts crying. Poor guy doesn’t want to see his friends hurt even though that’s technically not his friend.

This went on longer than expected, thank you for reading and if you have anything you’d like to add or take away feel free to share your thoughts.

[sodaneko]

for every “there is not enough content of x” i grow an additional middle finger

[freebooter4ever]

What do you miss most about Pittsburgh?

Oh gosh, that's a question! I mean aside from the obvious answer of my old dance buddy lettia or naeem.

I miss pittsburgh's community, specifically the very music and art oriented one i was in. There's community here in LA but its all about fame, and money, and celebrity, and how you can use other people to get ahead. Just the other day i saw an influencer i actually kinda admired brag about meeting someone who out of respect for them + their privacy i have never never mentioned because i met them as a friend first. And it felt so weird seeing this person i know be used as click bait for the influencer's hits/likes/subscriptions. It kind of jolted some reality into me about how this city operates even in the smaller circles i run in. Its like the vibes in LA are all about 'being someone' and self importance. If someone is only going to respect me for my money (or disrespect me for my lack of money), or who i know, or credits to my name, i dont think i want their respect anyway.

Pittsburgh though - nobody was anybody in pittsburgh so we didnt fucking care, lol. It was a lot easier to go to things, to feel connected. There was an emphasis on diy, where it didnt matter who you were or who you knew if you had a good idea there was a chance it could happen. There were things like Art All Night and the various music festivals in the different neighborhoods. I was most connected to the music scene so i miss the casual afternoon concerts in someone's tiny apartment with everyone crowded around the band. The basement parties, the dancing. Ted's rowhouse was on fisk street so when i lived there with friends i really enjoyed how much of a community space it was - people were always coming and going off of butler street, movie nights, human chess parties. It definitely could feel too small sometimes - literally everybody knew everyone and everybody dated everyone. The year i left two of my ex boyfriends were living in the same house and i cant tell you the number of 'male harem' jokes i got about that one. Or the number of times a dude wanted to date me and when i said 'no' i immediately got excluded from an entire friend group. But no matter how frustrating the smallness got, i still was also aware of how special it was. Its also mostly over - a lot of my friends from that time have since dispersed to other cities. I think moments like that are fleeting, but thats what makes them unique.

But even with all that said, you know what my favorite thing to do in pittsburgh was?

Driving

and ok ok that probably sounds stupid. And it probably does not help that im in LA where driving is now the second level of hell. But even compared to seattle or nyc or other places i lived, driving in pittsburgh was just so much fun and you cant recreate that anywhere else. I once saw a data visualization of the main cities of the US and places like LA and even NYC were nicely laid out squares but pittsburgh was just this insane clusterfuck pencil scribble, and thats truly it. Cause not only do you have over 100 bridges and lots of one way roads that will funnel you onto a bridge you absolutely dont want to go over but whoops guess you're going anyway, but this city was also built on a cluster of hills. Thats what makes up the various neighborhoods - and the roads that connect these hills through hollows and over forests - are the most confusing rat maze you can imagine. For every one way to go there's also probably a dozen other options and mentally calculating which route will be fastest taking into account traffic and distance and 'speed limit' is a skill only acquired after years of living in the city. And if you have a tiny car and nasc*ar level driving skills thanks to the multiple generations of engineers in your family....driving up and down those hills is just a joy. It also, uh, helped that I made my own hours so worked from 11am - 3am most days and avoided all traffic. And in the city proper the pigs arent allowed to r*adar so as long as you knew where the speed traps were you could...uhhh... Be lenient. I only ever got pulled over once and that was because one time in the spring of 2016 i went home from work early one night and these asshole hockey fans were taking up the entire street around the rink that would get me onto bigelow and connect me to lawrenceville. And since i couldnt go down that one street, becaues its pittsburgh, i had to go in the complete opposite direction to find another route home which took like an extra fifteen minutes. And yeah i got pulled over, started crying and explaining i was just trying to get home from work, and they let me go. But damn those hockey fans. :P (but also had i realized you could go hangout outside and watch the hockey game on giant screens with a huge crowd of fellow broke but dedicated weirdos, i totally would have loved that. Thats what pittsburgh is all about lmao)

Anyway one of my old friends moved from pitt to LA, and then he moved from LA to shanghai. And i once asked him would he move back to LA and his response was that he couldn't imagine living in LA again after living in a Proper City like shanghai. And he made it clear that he saw being able to 'make it' in larger and larger cities as like...a mark of his personal progress. But me? Im a small town girl unfortunately. I still dream about the day i can fuck off to live in a cabin in the woods somewhere.

[shithowdy]

this is your periodic reminder that for all the artifacts and errors and "tells" one could possibly list, the only reliable way to actually determine if an image is ai generated is to investigate the source. it is becoming increasingly common for "fake classical paintings" to circulate around curative aesthetic blogs, and everyone should be using this as an opportunity to not only exercise their investigative skills but also appreciate art more in general. you're all checking out the artists you reblog, right? 🫣

so what are some signs to look for? let's use this very good example.

what a lovely late-impressionist piece blended with evocative leyendecker-esque themes! why haven't you ever heard of this artist before? surely tumblr would be all over an artist like this. who is justin brown?

your two options from here are to do a search for the name, or a reverse image search. i prefer reverse image searching, particularly when it comes to a common name like "justin brown". so what does that net?

Immediately, without looking at any text, something is wrong: it barely exists. an actual historical piece would turn up numerous results from websites individually discussing the piece, but no such discussions are taking place. Looking at the text, though, does show the source-- and at least in this case, the creator was honest about their medium.

But let's also look at the "exact matches", in case a source doesn't make itself apparent in the initial sidebar results like this.

This section will often tell you post dates of images, and here it can be seen that the very first iteration of the image was posted 15 days ago. It did not exist online prior to that.

Seeing how long an unsourced image has been floating around is a skill applicable to more than just generative images! See a cool image of an artifact or other intriguing item with a vivid caption? Reverse search it! If all the results are paired with that caption and only go back a few months, you might just have viral facebook spam.

Sometimes generative creators are dishonest about their medium and do not tag it like in the example, so that's when establishing "jpeg provenance" becomes important. While it can be a little trickier to determine if someone is using generative images and not admitting to it if they aren't trying to pass it off as a classic, something to consider is the age of their account and the frequency with which they post. Here are some account red flags:

-Did they only start posting art after 2022, or if they did before, did their style/skill level WILDLY change? Not gradual improvement-- I'm talking amateur graphite portraits straight into complex digital renders. Everyone starts somewhere, newness is not a red flag alone; it's newness combined with existing in a vacuum away from any community.

-Do they post fully-finished paintings several times a week? -Do many of these paintings seem iterative of a similar theme or subject matter ("three well-dressed young men face each other under shade and dappled sunlight")?

-Does their style change in inconsistent ways? An artist that can swap between painting like Drew Struzan and Hokusai should be pretty well known, right? Why is no one hyping this guy?!

-Do they have social media besides the source instagram? If so, what are they posting about? Are there any WIPs? Doodles? Interactions with other artists? Gallery dates? 3am self-doubt posts? Or is it all self-promo? Crypto? Seemingly nothing art-related at all for someone pushing out 3 weekly paintings?

Basically, if it's important to you to omit this stuff when you curate, please don't just smash reblog if the source doesn't seem to be the OP themselves. Seeking out sources was important even before this became an issue, now it is more than ever.

peace n love

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Stuck on the idea of vampires as a kind of reverse fae, or like someone's twisted, perverse attempt at moulding humans into fae.

They're repelled by liminal spaces.

A vampire could never enter fairyland, not just because they'd never be welcomed, but because most of the usual entry-ways are naturally barred to them.

They can't cross running water. They can't be seen in mirrors. They will wait forever at a crossroads, unable to pick a direction to go in. They can't even step over a thresh-hold unless there is absolutely no ambiguity about whether they are welcome inside.

They crave human blood, iron and salt, but are repelled by herbs and plants. They are supernaturally prevented from harming you unless the rules of hospitality have been invoked.

A fairy may replace your newborn child with something unnatural and ever-hungry. A vampire will do the same, but with your grandmother's corpse.

The fae are typically associated, even in stories where they're the bad guys, with flourishing and purity. Vampires, even in stories where they're the good guys, are typically associated with decay and corruption.

The fae turn ancient human burial mounds into fancy halls for their courts. Vampires take ancient human castles and let them grow mildewed and cobwebbed, exchanging the beds for coffins, turning them into burial places.

Fae don't tend to live among humans, but can generally pass for them with relative ease if they so choose. Vampires nearly always live among humans, but tend to find not revealing themselves a huge struggle.

I can't think of many stories I've read where fae and vampires even exist in the same universe, let alone ones where they actively interact. I feel like their enmity is almost more inevitable than that between vampires and werewolves, however.

The rivalry between vampires and werewolves is, essentially, the rivalry between two apex predator species who share a territory. (Even in stories where the werewolves aren't actually hunting humans.)

The vampires hate the werewolves because the werewolves interfere with their access to prey. The werewolves hate the vampires either because they consider themselves aligned with humans (the prey species), or because they are also predators and the vampires are competing with them.

By comparison, I think there's some story potential in the fae finding something genuinely creepy and uncanny valley about vampires.

They're immortal, like them, but also dead. They can be beautiful, like them, but that beauty is something they actively require humans to sustain. They like to inhabit beautiful and ancient ex-human dwellings, like them, but they actively work to make those places dark, damp and empty.

Fairies who are unflappable in the face of all sorts of Otherworldly monsters, can look an eldritch horror in the eye(s) without blinking, and have never been phased yet by any human, but will recoil from even the weakest vampire.

Vampires who hate fairies just as much, but in a more envious way. The way that the creature for whom immortality is a curse is bound to hate the creatures for whom immortality is an eternity of sunlight and laughter.

Maybe their touches burn each other. Maybe vampires can't stand physical contact with anything so alive and vital. Maybe immortal fairies become ill from too much exposure to the undead.

Maybe they fight over the human population when their territories overlap. The fairy need for servants and people to make deals with, competing with the vampire need for thralls and blood to drink.

Just… fairies and vampires. We need more stories about them interacting.

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

Simone de Rochefort shared the email she sent to Jim Bankoff, the CEO of Vox Media who sold Polygon, on bluesky. The text of the email is transcribed below:

"Hi Jim,

I'm writing to let you know how incredibly disappointed I am about the decision to sell Polygon to Valnet. Even though I'm one of the fortunate few to still be employed, I'm still furious and heartbroken.

I was in Europe when the sale went public. A few days later, a reader recognized me at a cafe in Paris. He couldn't believe what had happened, and asked me how it was possible, in the United States, that a workforce like ours could just be disposed of. He also added, completely unprompted, that American workers should "choose violence." I just thought I'd mention that! It was cool to be recognized halfway around the world for my work. The readers have always appreciated it, even if you don't. But I'm going to tell you about it anyway.

At Polygon, we wrote stories and made videos that were unique in entertainment media - they were weird and well-researched and funny. We also got awards for our reporting (including myself and my now-laid-off colleague Clayton Ashley - we were nominated for an ASME and we won a New York Videogame Critics Circle award).

We attracted brand sponsorships, some of which my team was in the middle of working on when my colleagues were laid off. My understanding is that Vox will be doing make-good sponsorships for the businesses that had contracted with Polygon. I wonder if they will seek out Vox Media again, once that process is finished.

My colleagues who were laid off spent years building connections and trust with sources in our industry. On the video team, subjects gave us hours of their time and resources for interviews. People trusted us to tell their stories. You can't do good journalism without that trust, and that's been at minimum bruised by this sale and the dismantling of the team.

Our readers and viewers are wonderful. I applied to work at Polygon because I read a comment chain on the site that I expected to be full of sexism and vitriol. Instead I found thoughtful people having a civil and intelligent discussion. What a rarity on the internet!

Did you know that Polygon's YouTube comments have always been overwhelmingly positive? My games journalist colleagues at other sites marveled at the fact that at Polygon, I never got hate mail. Was never harassed. That I could scroll freely through the comments of any video that I or my colleagues made and see people appreciating our work. That is so, so rare.

I worked at Vox Media for 9 years. The week before the sale, as I was preparing to go on vacation, I stayed up till 5 AM so that I could finish my next video. No one asked me to do that! That was frankly stupid, considering how little you and the company valued our work. This doesn't make me look very good or very smart, but I'm including it anyway.

The truth is I like working and the feeling of productivity, and I liked what I was making. I felt like that made it worth it.

It didn't! I suppose what I am saying is that Polygon's employees did everything possible to make the site a success. We built a profitable, respected publication.

You, and Vox Media's leadership, didn't know what to do with it. You failed to make a good thing work for you. That's quite sad, and quite an indictment on Vox Media as a whole.

I used to have a lot of faith in the company's longevity. I don't anymore, because of your poor decision-making, and your failure to listen to the people who were telling you what Polygon needed.

I had always said that Vox Media is an amazing employer. That out of all the media companies, it was the best. I encouraged people who are bright and hard-working and talented to apply for work there. I felt so lucky to have my job. I don't think you know yet how many bridges you've burned with people like me who would've jumped at the chance to work for you, and let themselves be exploited along the way.

A couple years ago, a former employee told me that digital media would never love me back, and that I should leave Vox. They said I wouldn't understand how much the company takes from its employees until I tried working somewhere else.

Well, now I work for Valnet! Thank you for the push out the door!

Meanwhile, if you couldn't make a profitable website like Polygon work, then what hope is there for my colleagues at other Vox outlets?

How many unprofitable ventures will be propped up with profits from the Polygon sale, and for how long? Before you and the folks with a head for business (or so I'm told!) have to hit the ledgers again and find something to sell, or someone to let go. Or will the company just enjoy a tax write-off for 2025 and then … what?

Polygon was special, and it was valuable, and it was profitable, and you sold it, at a time when the economy was at a low point - and when Polygon, against all odds, was still making money.

This does not make sense to me. Please feel free to respond and convince me.

Sincerely, Simone de Rochefort"

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part Six of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

September

Few things in life have come easy to Simon Riley

Growing up, his home life had not been an easy one, feeling as though he were walking on egg shells throughout every step of his turbulent childhood, waking from his nightmares only to discover he lived under the same roof as one

Enlisting straight out of secondary school hadn’t been a difficult process, though going from the tall scrawny kid he had been to the mountain of a man he’d had to become had been no easy feat either, a combination of blood, sweat and tears along with years upon years of intense training had resulted in a hardened military man the SAS was all too happy to claim for themselves

Retiring from the job he’d grown certain he would die doing, now that had been far from easy for the Lieutenant

An honourable discharge is what they had called it, handing him a thick stack of papers one day when he felt they might as well as have slapped him across the face instead

He could have fought it, was legally within his rights to appeal the decision and voice his disagreement before the board, could have tried to have it overturned

And yet, it was just as true that the four letters popping up off the paper to mock him held a flame of truth to their drying ink: PTSD

At first, he’d almost thought it worse, the fact that they agreed there was nothing wrong with him physically, that his body, as beaten and battered as it had been, had always bounced back and been able to keep up with the job, but that now it was his mind they had decided they could no longer put their trust into

But worst of all? His own captain, a man he considered to be more of a father figure than his own flesh and blood had ever been to him, someone who’d saved his skin more times than he could ever hope to count, let alone repay, was unable to meet his eyes when asked if he disagreed

To say that he had anything short of furious at first would be an understatement, he’d felt betrayed by the very organization he’d sworn his life to, had been willing to lay his life down for, had killed for time and time again, and now that a few screws in his head were supposedly coming loose, they wanted nothing to do with him anymore? They were so ready and willing to throw him back onto the streets he’d once come from?

Price had known the forced retirement was going to be a tough blow to his Lieutenant, that it would mean uprooting the only life he’d decided he was deserving of, that he would have to start over entirely without a single soul to stand by him

The captain had done his best in reassuring him that this needn’t be a bad thing, that this could be an opportunity for Simon to truly start over in a positive way, that there was hope out there for him if he would only just allow himself the chance to have it

Knowing his Lieutenant better than most ever would, Price knew his words of wisdom were in one ear and out the other, swearing to the younger man that he would check up on him periodically, as often as the job would allow, but that he should do his best to avoid sitting idly for too long, perhaps find work that kept both his hands and mind busy

As difficult as it all was, time refused to stand still and let him catch his breath, to gather his bearings, already it had been nearly a year off the battlefield and on the construction sites instead

But this?

Your arm tucked into his much larger one as he pushes the pram, your other hand occupied with the ice cream cone you take turns giving him licks of, all because he noticed you eyeing the ice cream truck on the walk home from the park?

Well this, this for Simon is easy

And though he’s decided he has a new disdain for ice cream men who keep their prices jacked up so high even as the last bits of summer cling to the warm breeze as the days roll by, he knows he’d pay whatever exorbitant price it cost to put a smile on your face

“Want another lick?” You ask him, holding the cone up to his lips again for him to have a taste, the early September heat still warm enough that the treat is threatening to melt onto your hands

He savours his bite, never faltering in his steps as he pushes along a sleeping Rosie in her pram, the visor pulled down to keep her eyes safe from the afternoon sun

It’s been weeks of this now, this blissful little bubble the three of you have been floating in

You’d recovered from your illness in no time once you had allowed Simon to take on some of the workload and help you to recuperate, Rosie being the team player she is, had even taken her first ever bottle from Simon, an honour he’d proudly wear on his chest over any other medal he could have ever received during his time in service

Since then, things have so seamlessly fallen into place, it was as though this were always the inevitable conclusion that was bound to happen

He’s enjoyed watching you blush each time he holds a door open for you, whenever he calls you love or birdy, when he slings an arm around over your shoulders or around your waist, but especially that time when he asked the waitress if his girlfriend could have a refill on her water

He’s felt his heart skip a beat each time you laugh at one of his jokes, whenever he catches you staring and you tell him that it’s because he’s handsome, when you stand on tip toes to kiss his cheek or reach a hand out to hold his, but especially when you land your lips over his own waiting ones

In lieu of the night terrors he’s grown used to, he’s now been waking up with the image of your smiling face tucked beneath his eyelids each morning, and going to sleep is no longer a dreaded affair at night with you as his last waking thought

He’s been loving every moment he gets to spend with you, learning more about you each day, discovering what puts a grin on your lips and what makes you squirm, finding out what your dreams are and what keeps you up at night, picking up on your habits and quirks and storing them into the recesses of his brain for safekeeping

He adores the time he spends with Rosie too, a tiny version of her mum who has this behemoth of a man wrapped around her pudgy little fingers, he finds his mind has never felt calmer than when he has you both by his side

Despite everything, Simon finds that he’s … happy

Unequivocally, incomparably, unbelievably happy

He knows he loves you, loves Rosie as well, likely has loved you from the very start, and though the idea of saying such a thing out loud undoubtedly fills him with a sense of fear, a dread that’s been ingrained in him for decades if not from birth, it isn’t as overwhelming anymore, isn’t as terrifying as it could be or even should be

Because even though each time he looks in the mirror he sees a reflection of a man whom he considers to be anything but good, a soldier still plagued with nightmares and regrets from the borderline barbaric things he’s done over the years all in the name of duty, whatever it is you see when you look at him, he wants to be that man, wants to find that same man in the mirror one day you’re so certain is already in front of you

For now, all he can do is keep trying

“Shoot. Probably should’ve grabbed more napkins.” Your voice brings him back down to earth, snaps his mind back to reality, spotting the trickle of chocolate ice cream streaming down over your fingers as you finish the last bite

Well, he did say he’d try to be a good man, not a perfect man, he thinks to himself as he watches your tongue poke out from behind your lips, licking up the frozen treat’s trail across your digits, biting down on his own tongue to stop himself from offering assistance

“Am I all clean?” You ask, tilting your head around to give him a better look at your face

“Hold on,” Simon tells you, halting his stroll as he turns towards you, reaching with a careful hand to cup your soft cheek. “Got somethin’ righ’ here.”

Leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, he lets his tongue run along your lips, catching the last remnants of chocolate left there, unable to hide the grin splayed on his own lips when he pulls back and meets your mischevious look with one of his own

“Cheeky.” You mumble to him, hiding both your smile and reddening cheeks as you duck your head down to glance at the still sleeping baby before you

Oh love, you have no idea

“Okay, well how ‘bout Friday? After work?”

“Hm, depends what time I’ll be finishin’ up that day. Likely it’ll go on late, I wouldn’t want to leave you waitin’ for me, love.”

“Saturday?”

“If I can get to everythin’ I need to get done by then, shouldn’t have to go in on the weekend.”

“As if they’re even making you work on weekends, with how hard you work already.”

“No one’s makin’ me go in, love.” Simon replies, stretching his arms above his head before slipping his jacket on. “It’s me who wants to see this job through. Besides, it’s only the finishing touches at this point, place’s nearly finished. Reckon Rosie’s gon’ be startin’ up pretty soon.”

“Oh, I know. Ugh, I don’t even want to talk about it. I’m not ready to let her go yet.” You pout, trying to be playful despite the honesty to your words.

The idea of leaving your baby in someone else’s care had seemed like such a far off idea when she’d first been born, something you’d have to do when the time came and money wouldn’t allow you to stay home any longer

But now that that date in question was rapidly approaching, you couldn’t help but to feel torn, divided between who you were before she was born, and this new reality where you were still expected to be that person while simultaneously revolving your entire existence around Rosie’s wellbeing

You wish you could just slow time down, hold onto her a little longer, soak in these priceless days and memories while ignoring your dwindling bank account

If only it were that simple…

“She’ll be alrigh’, swee’heart.” Simon tries his best to reassure you, ignoring the boots he’d been about to slip on an stepping closer to you, sliding a hand in between your shoulder blades. “An’ you can always think o’ my offer. No pressure, o’ course.”

As if you hadn’t been thinking about it constantly to begin with

Simon Riley, in the truest knight in shining armour fashion you’d come to know from him since day one, had made a suggestion over dinner the other day that had caught you off guard, an offer all too good to logically refuse

The two of you had been talking about the nursery yet again, your financial worries inevitably coming up as they went hand in hand with your need to get Rosie enrolled sooner than later, lest the lights get shut off or your water turned off before then

Simon had asked you how long you’d stay home with her if it were truly up to you, if money weren’t part of the equation and you didn’t need to go back to work

Of course, you’d thought about it before, hopelessly wishing you could keep her with you until she was perhaps a year old, at least at an age where you wouldn’t be risking the chance of missing out on so many of her milestones and development

None too awkwardly, Simon had brought up the fact that he’d worked another job before construction, one that had supposedly paid him quite well, meaning he had more money laying around then he knew what to do with

You’d been taken aback when he’d offered to pay whatever bills were preventing you from staying home with Rosie until you felt ready to go back to work, not as a loan or as a favour, certainly not something to hold over your head, but just as something he felt was right, something he felt both you and Rosie deserved

You hadn’t known what to say then, and you were still unsure of how to respond now, the idea being a very lovely and undoubtedly generous one, if not a daunting one

But things between you and Simon were still so new, so fresh, you wanted to continue exploring this relationship and see where things would lead, secretly harbouring hope that this would be the last first kiss you ever had, the last time you called someone your boyfriend before perhaps calling him something more serious, and to bring money into that equation, was scary

You’d witnessed numerous relationships gone wrong over finances, too many couples holding money over their partners head as leverage, and though your trusted Simon’s word that he genuinely wanted to share his with you out of the kindness of his heart, you couldn’t help the sentiment that you would feel as though you always owed him for it

Yes, it would have been a quick fix to the dilemma you were in, an instant solution to the worries that had been plaguing you for months now, but would you rather that, or potentially jeopardize what you and Simon are starting to build here?

And so you’d told him you would think about it, and think about it you did, over and over and over, and each time you came to the same conclusion; you just couldn’t take his money

“I’ll think about it, yeah.” You whispered, leaning farther into his touch. “In the meantime you think about what day is going to work for you and I’ll let the sitter know.”

As if she knew precisely that you were planning an outing without her, Rosie began grumbling in your arms, straining out of your hold and leaning into Simon just as you were

“Well hey there miss Rosie,” he chuckled deeply, large hands reaching out to pick her up effortlessly, the sight of him holding your baby one that never failed to make you go weak in the knees. “No fussin’ now, alrigh’? We’ve had lots o’ date wit’ ya, and we’ll have more to come. But I’d like to spend some time with your mum too, ya know?”

“As if she doesn’t get jealous enough already.” You laughed, thinking of how your little two month old likes to protest any time the both of you aren’t holding her. It makes your heart swell, to think of how quickly she’s taken to Simon, and though you know she’s just an infant, you like to imagine it’s because she’s a good judge of character

He’s only been in her life for a short period of time, but the bond those two are forming is undeniable, hell there are some times you’ll glance at him holding her and swear she’s starting to look like him

“She just knows what she likes, don’t you lil’ miss?” Simon asks, his fingers running down her belly to tickle her, the both of you entranced by the grin she gives him, her smiles growing larger and more frequent with each passing day

The both of your freeze in place however, utterly awestruck by the new sound ringing out throughout your flat, a noise that is nothing short of music to your ears

“Did- did she just laugh?” You ask, your own lips stretching into an amused grin as you watch her. “Simon! Holy shi- she just laughed right?”

“She did.” Simon whispers back to you, eyes locked on Rosie’s still smiling expression, small coos coming from her now as her gaze flits between the two of you

“Oh my gosh! That was her first laugh ever!” You can’t help but to laugh yourself, smoothing your hands down her soft head, landing a loving kiss on her forehead as you lean into Simon’s arm

“Really?” He asks, glancing at you with an expression that makes your heart stop, the utter joy in his eyes enough to make your breath catch in your throat, seeing him love your baby so effortlessly.

“Yeah, really.”

“Well in that case Rosie,” He says, forgetting the fact that he’d been about to slip his shoes on and head home, ignoring that he has to be on the job site in less than nine hours, as he makes his way towards your couch, eyes never straying from the bundle in his arms as you sit next to him. “I’ve got a few jokes to run by ya. D’ya like goldfish?”

October

“I dunno, love.”

“Oh, but the pictures would be so cute! Maybe if one of us is holding her up from behind? Would that work?”

“Well hold on, let me cut the leg holes a bit wider, just wanna make sure she’s alrigh’.”

“She is getting pretty chunky on us, isn’t she?” You ask, shifting your hold on Rosie as you switch her to your other hip. “Aren’t you lil’ miss?”

With less than a week to go until Rosie’s first Halloween, you were keen on getting some cute photos of her to celebrate, your family constantly asking for updates and pictures of her

Watching his facial expressions, you’d had trouble keeping a straight face on as you explained to Simon your vision of carving a jack-o-lantern so that Rosie could squeeze her chubby little legs and bottom inside, inspired by pictures you’d seen somewhere or another of smiling babies sat in pumpkins

He’d been skeptical at first, but could never turn you down, especially when you were so excited about trying it at least

“I’d hope so, seein’ how she never stops eatin’.” He chuckles setting the carving knife down to give her bare foot a squeeze, his smile widening as she offers her own little giggle in response. “Wonder what she’ll think o’ real food when the time comes.”

“I’m thinking she’ll probably be a fan. Either way my tits will be very grateful for the break. They’re always so sore.”

“A dilemma I’m happy to help with.” Simon’s gaze meets your own for a moment before you’re both averting your eyes elsewhere, deep blushes staining your cheeks as you can’t help but to recall the way he’d ‘helped’ your aching chest just the other day

It’s been a few weeks now since Rosie officially started nursery, a bittersweet change to say the least, though your work had been gracious enough to allow you to slowly ease back into the job, starting off only part time so that Rosie’s transition away from you wasn’t so jarring

It shattered your heart each and every time you had to drop her off and she would bawl her little eyes out, but slowly she was adjusting, growing used to the new faces and new routine, including not being able to feed off of you on demand

If anything she was taking everything in stride much better than you were

You were emotional, physically at work but mentally still with Rosie, wondering if she was okay, if this was the right decision to be making, not to mention that your body was still producing milk as if she was still attached to your hip 24 hours a day

It was just after your first full week back at work when you’d mentioned offhandedly to Simon how sore your chest was, the two of you lounging on the couch after supper, Rosie fast asleep in her crib, the long days at daycare exhausting her

“Tha’ so?” He’d asked, voice dropping lower than you’d heard it all night, his fingers tracing imaginary patterns across the bare skin of your shoulder. “Can’t have my birdy in pain, now can I?”

Whatever movie had been playing on the telly was long forgotten when Simon’s silent gaze met your own, wordlessly asking for permission as he slowly slid his fingers beneath the fabric of your top, all too enamoured with unwrapping you like a gift soon as you’d nodded to him

Up until that point, the extent of your physical relationship with Simon had been kept to heated makeouts in the front seat of his truck after dates, and heavy petting on the couch after supper, any opportunity to take things further always being thwarted by the little life that depended on you, or by Simon’s insane work schedule

You knew you were both eager to take things further, never quite finding the right moment, the right setting, the right time

But at that moment?

Well, as soon as Simon had your shirt thrown across the room, eyes locked with yours as his large, calloused hand slid up your sides to tenderly grab ahold of your enlarged breasts, thumbs carefully teasing your sensitive nipples, it was as though time stood still

Looking into Simon’s eyes then was like the universe finally granting you a moment of reprieve from the stress and the worries and the money and the work and all the things constantly running through your mind, as though the look in his gaze alone was all the permission you needed to slow down and just feel

Not just to feel, but to feel good

And good lord, did Simon Riley ever know how to make you feel good

As soon as his lips had wrapped around your taut nipple, yours were letting out gasps and moans that only served to rile him up further, sounds that had his tongue swirling all the slower across your sensitive skin

When your hands weren’t slinking through his short locks, they were pulling at the fabric of his own clothes, all but ripping them off of him until he picked you up without so much as a grunt of effort, carrying you towards your room until your back met the mattress

Simon tasted your skin as though it were the antidote he’d searched for all his life, the cure to all of his woes, your body a buffet while he was a man starved, his warm hands lovingly squeezing whatever bit of flesh he felt his mouth had neglected for too long, though not an inch of skin went untouched by him that night

Whether it had been his original intention or not was still up for debate, but when he’d been slathering and sucking at your nipples for long enough, you’d hardly had time to warn him before your milk had hit his tongue, the instantaneous groan of pleasure he let out having you believe it was his goal from the get go

You’d all but had to pry him off your breast, wiping a lone drop off the corner of his mouth before you were tasting yourself on his lips, tongues meeting in a dance they’d performed countless times before, though the energy in the room felt as though this was the inevitable performance you’d been building up to all along

“Simon.” You’d whispered to him between panting breaths, chests heaving as you fought to catch air, skin tingling every place his fingers roamed and explored, the both of you bare before one another for the first time

He’d looked at you with such reverence then, bordering on adoration if you were bold enough to say so, calloused palms handling you with such grace and care it threatened to bring tears to your eyes, the way he knelt before you as though the body that hardly felt like your own some days were an altar he would gladly pray at for the remainder of his days

“Are you ready, birdy?” He’d asked, planting gentle kiss upon kiss over every inch of your face, his strong forearms bracketing you in as he’d climbed above you, the mattress dipping down beneath your combined weight

“Please, Simon.” You answered, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, fingernails scratching at his skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake, pulling him in closer for a proper kiss, just as the tip of his throbbing member kissed your seeping entrance

You remember rolling your eyes in college, whenever you heard the boys referring to sex as ‘sliding into home’, as though the whole affair were nothing more than one big game to them, something for them to tally on their score sheets and compare amongst each other, teasing their mates who only made it to third base

But with Simon?

You couldn’t help but to compare this to the same feeling as coming home, when Simon slid into you for the first time, your combined groans echoing throughout the room, hands grasping at each other as though you keeping each other afloat in a stormy sea that was only picking up speed

It was as though you had danced this dance before, had felt each other’s embrace in a previous lifetime and remembered the steps without fault, the way you both moved in perfect rhythm and harmony, understanding your partner without so much as a word needing to be said, eyes saying everything you would ever need to know

No one else in the universe existed in that moment, apart from you and Simon, Simon and you

It was the early hours of the morning by the time you’d both exhausted yourselves and ruined the bedsheets, eternally grateful that the headboard banging against the wall hadn’t woken up your tiny roommate

“Will you stay?” You’d whispered to him as he held you, legs tangled together as the sheets barely covered you, his hand smoothing along your naked back as he pressed a kiss to your temple, tightening his hold on you

“For as long as you’ll have me, love.” He’d answered without hesitation, his deep voice catching on the last word

“Better make yourself comfortable then. Don’t think you’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”

Since that night, Simon had been staying over more and more frequently, your flat being closer to his job sites meant that sleeping over on occasional work nights just made sense, and you and Rosie were always more than content to have him there

Though presently? As he attempted none too gracefully to thread her flailing legs into a huge pumpkin, her cries of protest growing as his own voice tried to talk her through the process, urging her to give mama a smile as you laughed behind the camera at their antics, you knew she’d give him hell over these pictures one day

That very thought had your heart faltering, not wanting to set your hopes up too high too soon as your brain painted images of an older Rosie and Simon looking at these pictures in the future, the three of you still together years down the road

He had said for as long as you’d have him, didn’t he?

You wonder how forever would sound to him

November

He hasn’t had one in so long, that he’s momentarily stunned when it happens

Frozen in place, beads of sweat dripping from every pore of his body despite the chillier weather threatening to frost the windows over night, he doesn’t recognize where he is right away, your bedroom ceiling being one he’s only ever seen in better times, not a sight he’s used to seeing in the midst of a night terror

It feels as if every breath he fights to take only expels air from his shrinking lungs, unable to catch even a single relieving gasp, he begins to panic, kicking the sheets off of him in a hurry as his frantic eyes scan the room, intent on finding the threat he knows deep down isn’t there, but his brain convinces him is lurking around every corne

When he blinks next, your cold bathroom tiles are cooling his heated skin as he lays sprawled across them, the ringing in his ears louder than they’ve ever been before

He can’t bear to close his eyes too long, visions of spilled blood and unadulterated carnage flashing behind his eyelids, pain inflicted all too willingly by his own hands rippling through his core, a suffering like no other being inflicted upon him again and again each time he tries in vain to forget

His nightmares have changed recently

No longer does he picture himself at the end of a combatant’s AK, his skull beneath an enemy’s stomping foot, his throat the one bobbing against the edge of a razor sharp knife held against his oesophagus

Now, it’s you he sees, with a fear like no other shining in your eyes just before the light is taken from them forever, it’s you whose body he picks up from the wreckage, hardly recognizable from the awkward angles your broken and batters limbs point it, you whose death certificate he finds himself signing over and over and over again, a cruel trick of his imagination unlike any other

Tonight was worse than usual however, when he’d looked down at the corpse he’d been carrying in his arms, finding to his horror that his blood stained hands were holding the baby girl he’d come to know and love

He barely makes it to the toilet before he’s retching up everything in his stomach, the mere thought making him physically ill

That’s the worst part, isn’t it? That there is some truth to these nightmares

His hands are stained with blood each time he cradles Rosie, whether the violence is visibly etched into his skin or not, the same hands he holds both you girls with are the same ones that have slaughtered mercilessly, without hesitation, without consideration of whether that enemy had something like this waiting for him at home too, a family to hold

He knows this is his own doing, his mind having run rampant after your first fight last night

Well, fight might be a bit hyperbolic of him, an awkward disagreement at best, a scab he kept picking at until it threatened to bleed again

Just as he does any time things go well for him, any time things feel right, he just has to go and find a way to try and ruin it for himself, doesn’t he? His insecurities have been trying valiantly to poke their heads out and meet you head on, to pull the rug out from under you and expose himself for the liar he is, to shine the spotlight on every misdeed he’s ever committed and have you act as his judge, jury and executioner

Because what business did he have, asking you in the middle of Rosie’s bathtime, the both of you knelt by the tub as you giggled over bubble beards, if her dad was ever going to be showing his face about?

“Simon- she-,” you’d started awkwardly, the reddening of your cheeks and avoidance of his gaze having him feeling instantly guilty, though the subject had been one he’d never known how to address properly, how to bring up organically, as much as it spent time nagging away as his brain. “She doesn’t have a dad.”

“You’d gone to a clinic, then?” He’d asked, probing for any bit of confirmation that there wasn’t some other man roaming the streets out there, who could show up at any moment and lay claim to the home he was building for himself here? Whose measly DNA would hold more leverage over him, would bond him more legitimately to the two of you than he ever could?

“No. I- I didn’t go to a clinic.” You had insisted, pulling the stopper out of the tub and letting the water drain as you pulled Rosie out and wrapped her in a soft towel.

“Then she has a dad.” He had tried to reason, only just wanting to hear from you that no, there was no one else, no one was going to be taking this from him

“No, Simon. She doesn’t have a dad.” You’d snapped, turning your back to him as you dried off an all too happy Rosie, babbling away in your arms. “It was- it was a one time thing. I’d never met him before. I don’t even know his name so- look I’d rather not talk about this right now, okay?”

God, he was such an ass, wasn’t he?

He’d even let you kiss him tenderly that night, let you apologize for snapping at his question, let you explain that it was still a sensitive subject but that no, there was no other man in the picture, let you tell him that he was the closest thing to a dad Rosie knew

Though maybe it wasn’t the argument which had him paralyzed from fear in the en-suite right now, was it?

Perhaps it was more likely the stack of lies he laid upon each night was catching up to him? The prickly thorns of his deceit poking out to ensnare him in his guilt?

It’s not as though he’d gone and explicitly lied to your face recently, and none of his deceptions had ever come from a place of ill intent

But he knew all the same how upset you’d be if you realized the exorbitant daycare bill you received at the end of each month which made your eyes bulge out of their sockets, was only a fraction of the true cost? That the other portion of the fees were billed directly to him, yet another scheme he’d orchestrated without you realizing

He knew you were too proud, too headstrong to accept his money, despite his insistence that he had more than enough to share and that he wanted to provide for you and for Rosie

He knew you never wanted to feel as though you depended on him, as though you would owe him for his help, but birdy why couldn’t you see that he would never ask you for a single thing in return apart from what you already give him so freely?

He would never try to take your independence from you, your freedom, your stubborn pride, he only wants to help, to take away your worries and give them to himself instead, so that you can choose whether you go back to work or not, so that you can choose whether Rosie is ready for nursery or not, rather than being forced to decide

He can hear you beginning to stir in bed, his ears hyperaware of every noise in the flat despite the persisting tinnitus, knowing you’ll be up soon as reach for him and find the bed empty

He’s got to get his head straight, pull himself together, there is no threat, there are no enemies here, he’s safe, you’re safe, Rosie’s safe, and you’re all together

He’ll be damned if anything changes that

December

The stockings are lined by the fireplace, lights twinkling across the branches of the fir tree decorated top to bottom in ornaments of every shape and size, wrapped presents tucked away underneath the tree as Rosie sleeps without a care in her crib, an old Christmas movie softly playing in the background, but none of it matters right now, not when Simon’s presenting you with one of the most precious gifts he could ever bestow upon you

His story

Your legs are draped across his lap as you both sit on the couch, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your pants, running upon and down your calves, keeping his hands occupied as he struggles finds the right words, the right place to start, unable to meet your eyes as he hands his beating heart over to you, piece by broken piece

Your Christmas Eve dinner consisted of just the three of you in your flat, a warm homemade meal prepared together, an all too lengthy obligatory video chat with your family overseas to ooh and aah at Rosie in her Christmas jammies, a kiss or two under the mistletoe as you decorated the tree

There was nothing more you could have asked for

Well, perhaps other than asking what was on Simon’s mind all day

Because though he was present and engaged, you could tell him thoughts were elsewhere, his mind preoccupied with something that never quite rose to the surface, but was nevertheless visible beneath the waves

You’d been more than surprised when Simon sat you down on the couch after putting Rosie down for the night, holding your hand in his as he let out a deep sigh and told you that he wanted to tell you about his family

It was a subject you’d never dared broach with him, seeing as he’d never once brought them up to you

Though he’d never explicitly said so, you’d been able to discern that Simon used to work for the military, in whatever capacity you were unsure, but a former soldier at the very least

From the way he always stood a little straighter in public spaces, always positioned himself so he could see every exit and entrance, how his head was always on a swivel, looking over his shoulder, it was evident that Simon had a background that required him to watch his back

His diligence was one that might seem exaggerated now, but had clearly been the difference between a life or death situation at some point in his life before, and so you’d never questioned his quirks and habits, not even when he began having those nightmares you knew he thought he was keeping well hidden from you

But to now hear him confirm those suspicions? To lay himself bare before you in his most honest form and present to you his very heart and soul? It was almost too much to bear

You shared his anger and frustration as he told you of his turbulent childhood, joined him in his grief as he explained his mother and brother’s addiction, smiled with him as he remembered how he’d been able to help them out of their downward spiral, how he’d stood as best man in his brothers wedding, how he knew how to handle Rosie so easily from the get go because he’d held his own nephew from the day he was born

You cried with him as he told you of their fates, skimming over details without losing the harshness of their demises, how he himself had known nothing but pain and death and violence from that day forth, how his world had revolved around nothing more than killing and sleeping and killing, rinse and repeat for years upon years

You hugged him as he shared with you how lost he felt being discharged from service, how he had no idea where he would go from that point on, finding mediocre solace in the manual labour he poured himself into for months

That is, up until he met a pretty bird on the other side of the fence one day

You kissed him after he told you that he had hope now, that he wished for countless more Christmas Eve’s like this one tonight, consisting of little footie pyjamas and belly laughs and wrapping paper and bedtime stories and three stockings hung by the fireplace, because more than anything…

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, your combined tears streaking across one another’s cheeks as neither of you are willing to pull away from the other, the world could be falling to ruins outside and neither of you would notice, your whole world here in this very room. “I love you. I love you. So much, birdy. I- I love you.”

“And I love you, Simon Riley. Every part of you. I love you.”

Though nothing had physically changed of course, you swear you could almost see how much lighter Simon felt that next morning, how a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he held Rosie in one arm, keeping you close to him with the other, heaps of wrapping paper and ribbons and bows strewn across the floor as gifts piled around you three, not a single one of them worth more than what he already held in his arms

January

“I swear! Simon I’m not kidding, she just said it!”

“In the 30 seconds I was gone? Rubbish.”

“No I’m serious!” You giggle, playfully poking at his ribs before laughing louder once he lands a smack on your bum. “Come on baby, you can say it again. Mama. Mama! Go on Rosie, you’ve got it.”

“There’s no way, birdy.”

“Simon! Let her do it, I know she said it.”

“I know you want to believe she said it.” He says, a deep chuckle emanating from his chest when you land your own swat at his backside, Rosie watching all too intently from her high chair. “She’s just babbling, love.”

“Babbling is how talking starts, Si. First she’s babbling, next she’s stringing sounds together, next she’s talking our ear off night and day. But I know she said it just now, I’m not crazy.” You reason, undoing the safety buckles of her seat and lifting her up into your arms, slotting her against your hip as you go back to sitting on Simons lap at the dinner table, empty plates pushed aside as he wraps his strong arms around you both

“Alrigh’, well go on with it then Rosie girl. What’d your mum hear you say? Hm?” Simon plays along, running a loving finger down her soft, plump cheek, her mouth following the digit as tough it might be a tasty snack

“Aaaaah. Baaaaah. Aaamaa.” Rosie cooes, entirely pleased with the undivided attention she’s receiving from her two favourite people in the world

“See! She’s getting close.”

“Love,” Simon can’t help but to chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple in good spirits. “All I heard was gibberish, I’m sorry.”

“Just listen close, she’s trying to say it. Come on Rosie, it’s mama. Ma-ma. Can you say it? Ma ma ma ma mama?” You coo back to her, sounding just like every corny parent you swore you’d never become, until you became a parent yourself

“You hearin’ yourself?” He asks, laughing at the pointerd stare you shoot in his direction. “Let me try then, hm?”

“Have at it.” You tell him, handing her off to him as you stand back up on your feet, heading around the corner of the hallway. “I’m gonna go check the laundry real quick.”

“Alrigh’ then, my baby bird. Your mum wants to hear you talk, hm? What’d you say? Want to make her real happy and say mama? Mama?”

“Mmmmma. Mmmmma!” Rosie replies to him, slobbery, chubby hands coming to tap at his stumbled cheeks in amusement

“Holy shit, you actually are tryin’ to say it.” He says in a mix of disbelief and pure amazement, watching intently as he little pink lips try to hard to form the sounds. “Go on Rosie.”

“Aaaaa. Aaaaa! Daaaaa!”

“Well now you’re just all over the place, swee’heart.”

“Daaaaa! Daaaadaaa! Dada!”

At that, Simon is certain his heart has stopped beating, eyes gone wide in surprise as he looks down at the squirming bundle of joy who’s still babbling away without a care

Dada

She’s just called him dada

Obviously, she has no idea what that word means, she’s only just strung together some sounds, like you’ve said, she doesn’t realize the significance of those noises she’s just made

But for Simon?

He’s not sure life will ever be the same again, barely acknowledging the tears that are pooling in his eyes as he brings Rosie closer to his chest, cradling her against him as though she might disappear in the blink of an eye, the feeling of her tiny heartbeat against his own a comforting rhythm he finds solace in

“Yeah, it’s me love.” He whispers into the crown of her head, all too aware of your form watching from around the corner with unshed tears on your lash line. “It’s your dada.”

February

You had told him Valentine’s Day had never been something you saw as being worth celebrating, nothing more worthwhile than exchanging cards and lollies in primary school and unnecessarily crying over in secondary when you were without a partner for the dance

Simon already bought you flowers more often than you could keep track of, he cooked meals for you, paid for dates, made love to you until you saw stars, loved your baby like she was his own, what more could you ask of him?

You’d insisted you didn’t want any fanfare, didn’t want anything more than him, and certainly didn’t want any presents

And so when you got home and found a small wrapped box on the kitchen table, you were a little peeved

“I hope you know I didn’t get you anything.” You mention, already feeling a tad guilty that you hadn’t bought anything for Simon on your first Valentine’s Day together, though you thought he’d been on the same page as you

“Good thing this isn’t just for you then.” He says, sliding the box closer to you and responding to your raised brow with a wink of his eye. “S’for the both of us. Well, three of us, technically.”

“Well now I’m intrigued.” You reply, dragging your fingernails through the wrapping until your palm held a small cardboard box, wondering if the box was empty it was so lightweight. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you lifted the top off the box, revealing its single content inside. “What’s this?”

“A key.”

“Well, yes thank you. I can tell it’s a key, doofus.” You give him a playful kick under the table, spinning the cold metal key between your fingers. “What’s it for?”

“Our place.”

“Our what?” You ask, more than a little bewildered now, wondering if maybe Simon forgot to wear his hard hat today and took a hit to the head. “Simon you already have a key to the flat.”

“I know. It’s not for this flat.” He says, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, the creases in the page appearing as though it had been folded and refolded many times over. “It’s for our new place.”

As he unfolds the paper and slides it towards you, the wires in your brain connect, a gasp leaving your lips as you nearly drop the key

“Simon, you didn’t…”

“I did.”

On the paper before you, lies the listing for a house you’d been eyeing for a long time now, only now the ink on the paper tells you that the house is no longer up for sale, but is instead under negotiation

As lovely as your flat had been when you were living as a single woman, it had become cramped once Rosie arrived, and had only gottten that much tighter once Simon started unofficially living here as well

If only for the fun of it, you’d spent time looking through larger flats in the area, none of them within your price range, and so you’d gone down the rabbit hole of looking at homes you decided you’d never be able to afford and kept coming back to one in particular

This one hit everything on your checklist, and more

It was in a great neighborhood, was close to Rosie’s nursery and potential future schools, wasn’t that far from your work, had lots of parks nearby, on top of being spacious enough to accommodate the three of you

You’d shown it to Simon one evening, offhandedly asking him what he thought about it, wanting to get his opinion to keep in mind when you looked through future listings that were more within your budget, never thinking that he’d been paying that much attention to it

Yet, lo and behold, here in your hand was what was apparently the key to your new home together

“Simon- I-”

“I know your instinct is likely to say no right now.” Simon began, jumping in before you could start. “And I get it. I did this without askin’ you. But- love you should’ve seen your face when you showed me this place. I’ve watched you go back to this listing more than you realize. I’m already here practically every night, eventually Rosie’s gonna start walkin’ and we’ll need more space for her. This one’s got a great backyard righ’? I’ll build her a swing in the back, teach her to ride a bike out front. We could walk her in the pram to nursery on nice days, it’s so close by. We’d be able to-”

His own rambling is cut off, when you all but leap across the table to grab him by his collar and slant your lips over his

“Yes.” You say simply, pulling back to meet his loving gaze, leaning into the warm hand he’s brought up to cradle your cheek

“Yes?” He whispers back to you

“Yes.”

“I love you, birdy.”

“And I love you, Simon.”

It’s only a few weeks later, as you’re on your way to pick up Rosie from daycare, that the paperwork is finalized, the home officially yours, Simon’s and Rosie’s

Your first place together

Giddy with excitement, you make a quick pit stop by their office before slipping into Rosie’s class to get her, knowing it’ll be a lot trickier to speak with Emma once you’ve got your squirmy girl in your arms, always too ready to go home

You were on good terms with all of the staff at Rosie’s daycare, even the educators who weren’t in Rosie’s program, but you’d become actual friends with their assistant director over time, Emma, finding you had quite a bit in common, including your love for Rosie

It wasn’t so easy to maintain all of your old friendships since becoming a mum, your best friend sticking with you through thick and thin, though others had slowly dwindled over time, and so finding an unlikely friendship at Rosie’s nursery was a welcome surprise

“Hey! Was hoping you’d be here.” You say cheerfully, poking your head into Emma’s office, finding her sat behind the desk

“Oh hey you. Pfft, when am I not here?” She joked, shutting her laptop and giving you her full attention. “Coming to pick up the girly girl?”

“Yeah, just wanted to update some info with you first, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, well yeah. Of course. Come on in. What’s up?” She says, gesturing towards the chair across from her for you to take

“Our address is actually going be changing soon.”

“Oh my gosh! That place you were telling me Simon got?” She asks with surprise evident on her features

“Yes! The offer he put in went through and it’s officially ours now. Not sure when moving date will be quite yet, but I wanted to update you sooner than later.”

“Of course, that’s so exciting.” She replies, opening her computer back up and starting to type away

“And I figure it’s probably about time we add him as a contact as well. Or caregiver, whatever you prefer to call it.” You mention, reasoning that there are likely going to be times now where Simon might drop her off or pick her up by himself, and that they’ll need him on the list of approved caregivers

“Ha. Could you imagine? He only gets added now?” She laughs, still typing away at her computer.

“Hehe, yeah well, there might just be days where I can’t pick her up in time and so he’ll step in.” You add awkwardly, a bit confused by her reaction

“Right well, he’s clear to do so any time that might come up.” She assures you, giving you her own strange look now

“Wouldn’t you need him to be on her caregiver list first, though? I thought that was part of the policies, having the approved contacts?”

“Wait, sorry what? What are we talking about right now?”

“Adding Simon as one of her caregivers? I mean, I know it’s not ‘official’ or anything, officially moving in together isn’t a marriage proposal, but he’s still like a dad to her, is he not able to be added to the list?”

“Sorry- is- are you saying Simon isn’t Rosie’s dad?” She asks, her expression one of utter confusion

“What? No. No, of course he’s not her dad. I mean, not technically but in every way that matters yes. That can’t actually make a difference in having him be an approved pick up, can it?”

“He-” she begins, giving you an odd look as she spins her laptop around to face towards you now, the screen displaying Rosie’s contact information. “He’s already on there, babe. He’s been on there since day one.”

“Wait, what?”

Oh what an ending! Many, many more good things to come with these two, I promise. Simon just has to pay a little first, okay? Next chapter is already in the works!

As always your patience, support, comments and messages in my inbox mean more to me than you could ever know! It’s been a tough month personally and writing is an outlet I find so much joy in so it really does mean a lot when my work resonates with others

- M 🫶🏻

Tag list: @dawnnightshade666 @topaz125 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @th3on3and0nly1r1s @sirbonesly @biscgutz @cmbghost @glossy01 @slowlyshycomputer @barcelonaaababe @astrxsee @sweetpeakarolinaaa @aqua-nina @wizzdot @beautifuleaglealpaca @peachy-satan00 @drewsuncrustables @pato-spoiler-27 @lem-hhn @dravenskye @juullllssss @mxsatorisimp @merkitty49 @monssan99-blog @notkyleelol @tessakate @sahvlren @danika1994 @viennakarma @pastel-devil-06 @asoulsreverie @puppydollgstar @strawberrygato @heletsmelovehim @404creep @just-lilita @desiretolive @marigold-morelli @robinfeldt98 @sleep101 @scaleniusrm @wh0reforstars @beebeechaos @lulutheoverthinker @casterblue @amans-puer @mestrecadumaverick @loud-mouph @t3a-bag @enfppuff @kneelforloki @scorpio-echo @casketofroses @vintage-karma

[strawberryraviegutz]

Can we PLEASE be normal and agree that all kpop demon hunters ships are valid instead of shitting on/writing off ships and or thinking that a ship is a moral failing or “less progressive” just cuz said ships are m/f.

Are yall forgetting the target audience for this movie?? Like yeah the movie is for queer ppl too since there’s a queer allegory in the movie’s overall message and kpop fanbases having a huge queer community, but this movie also had in mind women and young teenage girls who obsess over kpop boy bands along with shipping themselves and or other kpop stars with said boy band members both male and female.

I still wanna enjoy hunterix yuri so bad bad because im a multishipper, but at the same time even as i was watching the movie I already knew ppl were gonna start shitting on Rujinu, zoestery, miromabby, and the Saja boys and the ppl who like these ships and the Saja boys as a whole and it’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

Hell even before the movie came out ppl were jumping this one person who made a ship post about Mira and Abby. And yes representation IS important but that doesn’t mean m/f ships should just be disregarded as “not progressive”.

When did we suddenly start deciding that a woman and a man being attracted to each other is a detriment to the feminist/progressive movement?? Like yall do realize that CisHet allies exist, right? You’re not automatically “more progressive” by shipping gay ships.

I’d argue it’s more misogynistic to send a message to women that if they’re attracted to and or want to have relationships with men then that means they’re a danger to the feminist/progressive movement or have “less value” which does nothing to help our movement at all and just ends up excluding other women which also goes against our movement.

Feminism and the progressive left movement as a whole is all about EQUALITY. Feminism quite literally involves helping men too because EVERYONE is negatively affected under the patriarchy.

Men may not be oppressed for being men but that doesn’t mean that the patriarchy doesn’t affect them negatively. Feminism isn’t men vs women, it’s everyone vs misogynists/the patriarchy. Also bold of u to assume that Rumi and Jinu are straight.

Considering the parallels to Rumi’s story and the way many queer ppl feeling about their own identities feeling like they need to hide themselves because of shame, it’s obvious that she’s not straight and could be bisexual. Just cuz a bi woman falls in love with a man doesn’t make her any less bisexual/queer.

And Jinu is a 400 year old demon. He probably had centuries to experiment along with the fact that queerness did exist in Korea and Asia as a whole and was a normal part of their cultures pre colonization hundreds of years ago and the same goes for the other Saja boys. Mira and Zoey can be attracted to girls too of course but them being shipped with men wouldn’t make them any less queer especially if the men in question are also queer.

Plus we all saw how all three of the hunterix members reacted when they first saw the Saja boys(especially Mira and Zoey who had LITERAL HEART EYES WHEN THEY LAYED EYES ON THEM. Along with Abby’s Abs continued to make their eyes do the popcorn thing 2 times later on in the movie and Mira literally calling them hot the first time.).

Any of the hunterx x Saja boys ships could quite literally be bi 4 bi or bi 4 pan(with the saja boys being pan with the reasons being my previous statement about them being over a hundred year old demons who had plenty of time to experiment.)

Why can’t we just agree to disagree and ship whatever we want without putting down/sending vitriol towards other ships and or the ppl who ship these ships?? We’re already in a low empathy crisis as is and yall are just making it worse. Focus that same anger and hatred yall put into sending hate towards ppl over pixels on a screen towards calling ur senators/reps about pushing back against the facist regime that the orange man is trying to plunge the US into.

Like seriously guys what will it cost u to not be an asshole to others for liking something that you don’t like? Get off your high horses and BE NICE TO EACH OTHER AND RESPECT ALL SHIPS.

[sl-ut]

i like it better

was gonna wait to post this but i decided to go ahead with it in honour of me graduating with my bachelor’s degree (first gen. university grad!!!) yesterday and starting my new job today!!! i watched thunderbolts* last week and i loved it and i love bob even more.

pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x fem!enhanced!reader

description: every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* but not crazy so read at your own risk, reader DOES have a backstory but it’s not detailed in this (i’m considering making this a non-chronological or plot-based series about this pairing i love them smmmm pls lmk if i would be wasting my time or not lol), golden retriever x black cat vibes, slight age gap (r is early-mid 20s, i assume bob is supposed to be late 20s maybe early 30s?), reader has similar powers to wanda–lightly detailed in this fic, swearing, mentions of past addictions and substance use, reader has BEEF w john walker and everyone loves it, READER REFERRED TO BY CODENAME PANDORA

words: 6.4K

date posted: 16/5/25

Despite all of their differences, the Avengers had been able to establish a certain level of respect and friendliness amongst one another–Bucky wasn’t sure of how they had been able to do it. From what he’d heard and experienced, Steve and Tony had butt heads with one another more times than they could count, and that’s saying a lot considering that one of them was a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Clint seemed to be a wild card, not often around enough to be on anyone’s permanent bad side, while Natasha was notoriously good at playing both sides with every member of the team. Bucky Barnes was certain that he would not have lasted more than a week with that crew before they were tearing each other apart, which was quite evident in the way that the team quite literally tore themselves apart when he came into the picture, but somehow, some way, a group of assassins, super soldiers, and gods were able to find some sort of commonality for the sake of team morale, so why couldn’t he do the same with this team?

He inarguably had more in common with this group than Steve had with the others. He, Yelena, and Alexei were highly trained assassins; he and John both super soldiers who, at one point, worked for the U.S. government; he and Ava were both the results of some lab experiments thanks to SHIELD aka HYDRA and both had a tendency to stick to themselves; he and Bob–well, he wasn’t sure that he had anything in common with Bob aside from the crippling mental illness that accompanied a not entirely consensual superhero lifestyle. However, there was one final member of the team that he had more in common with than any of the rest, and she was the one he found the most difficult to break through to. 

The girl had been saved from a HYDRA base not too long after the Battle of Sokovia, where she’d been held hostage and used as a lab experiment for the vast majority of her life. She was only a kid then, barely old enough to have a valid driver's license, but Steve had taken her under his protection just as he had done with Bucky. Her powers had been unstable, a failed attempt to recreate the exact abilities of Wanda Maximoff without the use of the mind stone, but when Steve, Nat, and Bucky had been forced to go on the run, Shuri was able to create some sort of blockers for her mind, to isolate her abilities from use so she no longer had to fear losing control. Now, here he was over five years later, compact onto a superhero team with her, though she no longer the tortured child he had once promised his best friend that he would protect, and he wasn’t entirely certain as to how she had regained her powers, but she had grown to have a steely wall between herself and the other New Avengers, as they had been deemed, especially with him.

On one hand, he could understand that the girl had been traumatized, much like he had, but instead having no fond childhood memories to look back on except for the few months that she had been able to stay at the Avengers Compound with Steve. But on the other hand, he was growing increasingly frustrated with the attitude that she had developed–snarky, bratty, and bold; the teenage phase that she’d been denied of now surfacing during her twenties. She could be unpredictable, either making her presence known through witty comments or ignoring any of their existences, which made it especially stange to Bucky when he began to pick up on certain tendencies she had when it came to Bob. 

If Bucky were asked to describe Bob in three words, they would be um, uh, and nice. Bob was the nicest of the group, though that was no great feat when you considered exactly what sort of people had been assembled into the team, but Bucky knew relatively little about him. He was the most dangerous of them all without question, but still for whatever reason had settled into the role as a walking punching bag with little fight. He was awkward, easily embarrassed, an easy target for the others to pick at when he did something wrong. When they had all initially moved into the tower, he was the only one who had made much of an effort to befriend anyone, but he could never seem to hold eye contact with the fiery young woman in fear of taking a verbal lashing, like the others often did, and yet he never did. 

In fact, while he made an effort to avoid being in her path, she more often than not diverted it so that he was her final destination. On an empty floor of the tower where she could isolate herself just about anywhere, as she normally would choose to do, she would seek out wherever he was and silently join him in whatever he was doing.

The first time Bucky noticed it, he was returning from the gym. He’d sent a nod in Bob’s direction as he stepped out of the elevator, then halted in his tracks as his gaze shot back to the scene before him; she was curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her as her eyes scanned the pages of the novel in her lap, meanwhile Bob had taken up the space at the other end of the couch, sitting so stiff that Bucky wondered if the girl had held him at gunpoint just before Bucky entered the room. She didn’t even spare the super soldier a glance, only turning the page as he sent a questioning look to the shaggy-haired man, whose eyes widened even further in an effort to convey his own uncertainty with her presence.

Bucky moved on, stepping into the kitchen just across the room to find himself something to snack on, making sure to keep a close eye on the girl–he wasn’t sure whether or not he should start planning Bob’s funeral.

Bob finally broke the awkward silence, stunning the man in the kitchen. Bob had relatively stuck to the practice of speaking when spoken to, but Bucky was certain that he’d never seen Bob speak to her since moving into the tower. 

“I can put something else on, if you want,” he smiled awkwardly at her, eyes flickering between her and the screen, “I’m not really watching it anyways.”

“Don’t be stupid, Bob,” she said as she glanced up at him, and Bucky was certain he saw the slightest curve of her lips as she met Bob’s gaze, “you’re like halfway through. I like this one, anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes moved to the flatscreen on the wall, across from where they were seated, brow furrowing in confusion as his thoughts tumbled through his lips before he could truly process them, “You told me you hated this movie when I watched it last week.”

Her gaze turned to him, sharpening as she narrowed her eyes, “Maybe I just hate when you watch it.”

Bob’s face flushed red as she turned back to her book without another word, awkwardly sipping on his glass of pop as Bucky frowned. He shook his head at the young woman, having learned to let her words roll off his back rather than letting them fester, snatching the first thing he found in the fridge and fleeing the scene, praying that Bob did not ruin whatever sort of good mood he’d put her in so that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw him. 

***

Alexei was the kind of guy that people either loved or hated. He could be loud, obnoxious, sometimes even straight up belligerent, and had possibly the worst ability to read the room that anyone had ever seen. However, he was the most outwardly friendly member of the team, oftentimes being the leading force behind any group activities. He was still a target of the young woman, of course, but rather than taking it as a personal offense, as he mocked Bucky and John for doing, he found some enjoyment in the girl’s taunting. Any time one of her digs was sent his way, she was met with boisterous laughter and usually some sort of unnecessary physical contact. 

He understood very little when it came to the lives of young women, but he was a girl dad at heart. She somewhat reminded him of his Natasha when she was a young girl–which made more sense to him when he discovered that she had been taken in by the late Black Widow and her teammates before the blip. He found himself flocking to her more than any of the others–save for Yelena, of course, claiming that he had no interest in training with anyone but the strongest of the New Avengers.

He came to understand the regular routines of the others who lived in the tower, especially when it came to who was going to be in the training facility and when. He liked that she tended to go later in the morning, allowing him to sleep in later than if he were looking to spar with any of the others, usually sauntering in with a loud greeting, jokingly challenging her to a spar that he would inevitably lose. The Red Guardian was a force to be reckoned with, but no amount of serum could fight off this sort of power. Truthfully, he would have hoped to take on Sentry again, but Bob and the others had been very adamant that Sentry was not to be brought back until they found a way for Bob to better control his abilities, and the young woman was the next best thing. 

Sparring usually ended with the large Russian knocked on his ass, barely having landed a single swing at his opponent as she stood on the opposite end of the mat, barely a drop of sweat on her brow and the only sign of fatigue having been a result of using her powers. Though, as they returned to the main common area afterwards, Alexei would always announce to the others that he had been bested, but it had been a well-fought match. 

“I almost had her,” He grinned as he took a long drink out of the liquor bottle he’d conjured up out of seemingly nowhere, “next time I win, you will see.”

“I’m sure,” the girl droned, turning to where Ava sat at the dining table, “where’s Bob?”

Ava shrugged, raising a brow curiously, “Haven’t seen him. Why?”

“I told him we would go get bagels.”

“I would love to get bagels,” Alexei rose back up to his feet, “I will join.”

“No you won’t,” The girl turned sharply on her heel, “I think you could have better things to do than bother me all day.”

The Guardian, undeterred by her words, chuckled joyously, “Of course, of course. Bring me blueberry.”

As if he had sensed that she had been looking for him, Bob appeared in the doorway of the common area, eyes flickering between Alexei and Ava with a breathy hi before he turned his attention to the woman standing with her arms crossed. His face flushed under her intimidating stare as he began to wring his fingers in front of him nervously.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” she echoed back to him, “I was just looking for you.”

If possible, he blushed even more, the pink tint of his cheeks deepening into a burnt shade of red, “Oh, uh, you were?”

Ava tilted her head curiously at his reaction, not entirely sure if Bob was nervous or petrified at her words, though she wouldn’t blame him for either.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “You still want a bagel or what?”

Relief streaked across his face as he realized why the girl had been looking for him, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, pushing past his figure in the doorway, “Good, I’m starving. Let me grab my coat.”

The moment she was out of earshot, or so he assumed, Alexei called out to Bob to grab his attention, “Psst, Bob. Bring me bagel. Blueberry.”

Bob smiled awkwardly before he nodded, jumping as the girl appeared beside him once more, now bundled in a soft brown coat, taking his hand in her own as she all but dragged him towards the elevator without another glance to the others. Bob turned quickly to offer a bashful wave to his teammates before they disappeared around the corner. 

Ava huffed as they left her sight, “Now what was that about?”

Alexei looked at her with his brow furrowed, crossing his thick arms over his chest, “What? I wanted bagel.”

***

Contrary to Bucky’s belief, the young woman actually did consider some of her teammates to be her friends. While her words were often interpreted as nasty insults that were better left ignored, something that she was more apt to respect was the way that Yelena and Ava were able to give it back to her. It was a respect that they earned from her, and she them, leading to a friendship based on past traumatic experiences and forced proximity. When she wasn’t revelling in her loneliness, she was usually in the company of one of the two older women–or her most recent choice of companion, but even then, it did not mean she had given up her frequent enjoyment of alone time. 

Yelena was an early riser, often having slept barely two hours the night before. The three women had spent the last week on an assignment, only returning an hour earlier. The plane made for a rough sleep, though the black eye that Yelena was sporting certainly didn’t help.

She entered the kitchen, finding Ava already seated at the dining table as she dug into a plate heaped with an assortment of breakfast foods. The counter was decorated with a few larger plates piled with eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast served up buffet-style. Behind the counter, Bob was muttering to himself as he messed with the new espresso machine that Bucky had ordered.

“Morning,” the Russian sighed, wasting no time in piling her own plate with food. She’d survived on granola bars and beef jerky for the last week, so a hot, home-cooked breakfast was a vision akin to heaven in her eyes, even if it had been made by Bob–he was getting better, but he was no Gordon Ramsay. 

He turned to glance over his shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of the blonde, “Oh, hi Yelena. How was the mission?”

 “It was okay, boring. Way too easy,” she eyed him curiously as he turned back to the machine, “I thought you didn’t drink coffee, Bob.”

Ava smirked as she spoke through a mouthful of eggs, “It’s for his girlfriend.”

He whirled around at this, eyes wide as a familiar red flush crept up his neck and crawled across his cheeks. His mouth gaped at the two women, seemingly unable to string together the words to defend himself from their taunting stares.

“She’s not–I’m–We–”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, “I had no idea you had it in you, Bob.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“No, but you want her to be,” Ava added. “You love her.”

“Who loves who?” Alexei appeared in the kitchen as well, eyes lighting up at the sight of the prepared spread of food, clapping Bob on the shoulder before loading up his own plate, “Bob, I could kiss you.”

“No one loves no one,” Bob frowned, stammering over his words, “I mean, we–”

“Bob loves Pandora,” Ava said again to Alexei, who made a noise of approval through his mouthful of food.

“Oh, this?” Alexei asked, “This I already know.” 

The other third all turned to him in bewilderment, exclamations of surprise leaving their mouths.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Yelena asked, a look of betrayal on her face as she launched a piece of toast at her father.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Bob demanded, looking like he could faint at any moment, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Bob,” Yelena chuckled, finally tucking into her food with the exact excitement of someone who hadn’t eaten a hot meal in a week. 

Then came the woman in question, floating in through the kitchen like a spirit with her hair wet from the long, hot bath she’d taken upon their return. The others froze, unsure of whether she had heard what they had been talking about prior to her entry. She wore a pair of black leggings, tucked into a pair of long wool socks beneath her favourite pair of slippers, torso hidden beneath a worn grey sweatshirt–one that Bob was able to recognize all too well. 

“Morning,” he beamed at her, her presence seemingly soothing the embarrassment he’d been faced with as a result of their acknowledgment of his feelings for her, “I, uh, I made breakfast. And coffee, how you like it.”

The girl peered up at him before reaching for the mug that he had offered in her direction, taking a slow sip before a small smile crawled onto her lips as she thanked him. The others watched as she turned to put together her own breakfast, but their eyes were all trained on the shaggy-haired man, following his own gaze as he observed her silently, mulling over her wet hair, down the slopes of her cheeks while they glistened in the soft morning light from her hydrating skin care routine. Her shoulders, covered in the heavy sweatshirt that he wasn’t even sure of how or when she had taken it out of his closet. 

To Bob, she was always the most gorgeous woman on earth, whether she wore her fitted suit or bundled up to combat the bitter nature of New York City, but he always found her the most beautiful when she was home, dressed comfortably and considerably less guarded, where he got to really know her for more than her own trust issues. When she made herself malleable to love, where she allowed him past her guarded walls. Everything that they’d each experienced in the past, all of the trauma that they’d been forced to endure–it was all out in the open and safe, both learning to rely on one another’s presence to feel fully at ease. The only bit his team members were wrong about was about her being his girlfriend–they’d never gotten quite that far, so they had never even made their feelings clear to one another. He wanted more, but he was happy to take things as slow as she needed. 

Ava and Yelena exchanged a glance across the table, flickering between the pair as they joined them at the table, Bob finally picking at his own breakfast as he settled into the seat next to her. He seemed content as they both tucked into their food, silently sharing a few glances as the others finally changed the topic of conversation. 

Though none of them were ready to let Bob away with this for much longer. 

***

John Walker was inarguably the least liked member of the New Avengers, not that he did very much to help with that. He was rude to his teammates, often quite selfish, and quite possibly the most arrogant man in New York City. For someone who boasted about his achievements in the military and as team captain of his high school football team, you might think that he might put some more effort behind his ability to work as a team. After taking on the role of Captain America, however, John quickly learned that he didn’t tend to play well with others. 

When he’d first moved into the tower, he had assumed that, having once already housed the former team of Avengers, there would be ample space for the entire team without encroaching on his personal space. While that was generally true, one thing that John couldn’t help but notice was that, particularly at night, his enhanced hearing often picked up any sounds on his floor, mainly from the neighbouring bedroom, which belonged to Bob. This meant that he was subjected to Bob’s insistent pacing, humming, and occasional snoring when he finally fell asleep, but more recently he had noticed a particular increase in talking. He wasn’t able to make out any words or phrases being said, but the muffled sound of his voice was enough to keep him up at night. He had even brought it up to Bob with a lingering concern of him speaking to Sentry at night, as he’d been known to do before, only to be met with a sputtering, blushing mess, claiming to just be sleeptalking. 

One night, though, John had had enough. The talking, the giggling, John could not figure out what the hell Bob could possibly have going on to sound so happy at two in the morning, but he was going to put an end to it. 

His fist met the door with force, not caring about whether or not he might be waking up any of the others as he impatiently waited for Bob to answer the door, though his anger quickly dissipated into utter confusion as the door swung open to reveal the one person in the world who he actively avoided interacting with. 

“Can I help you, Walker?”

He squinted his eyes at her, taking in her appearance as she stood before him in her pyjamas, hair pushed out of her face by a fluffy leopard print headband and her face coated in some slimy green substance, “Uh, yeah. Where’s Bob?”

The door creaked open a little further to reveal the man in question, appearing at her side with a matching green sludge on his face with his own shaggy brown hair pushed away with a similar fluffy blue headband. 

He smiled bashfully at the supersoldier at the door, “Oh, hi John. What’s up?”

Walker’s eyes flickered between the pair, brow furrowed in surprise, “If I cared a little more I might ask the same thing. It’s two a.m., can this not wait?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, “It can’t actually.”

Bob’s eyes widened in shock at her defiance, “I mean, we’re almost done–”

“No we’re not,” she interrupted him, “we’ve still got five steps left in our skincare routine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, his patience wearing impossibly thin, “Could you two just finish braiding each other’s hair and shut up already?”

“And why don’t you go take a nap on the freeway?”

“Woah–hey,” Bob bit back his own laugh at the girl’s words, wanting to both deescalate the building tension and stay on her good side; altercations between these two usually only ended one way, which was John a beating without the young woman having to so much as lift a finger. “We’re almost done, Walker. Hell, we’d probably be done by now if it weren’t for this conversation.”

John looked at Bob in surprise as the girl let out a sharp laugh, equally shocked at his words. Bob could be quite snarky when he wanted to be, but he was also somewhat of a peacemaker among his teammates; these weren’t the type of people where fighting would result in bad blood and arguments, it could end in the destruction of the building and a funeral or two. But, that didn’t mean he was unable to have his own issues with his teammates, and one thing he was truly tired of was taking so much shit from the man who was Captain America for all of two minutes.

“You heard him, Walker,” she smirked up at him victoriously, “beat it. We’ll keep it down, wouldn’t want you to miss out on your precious beauty sleep. Lord knows you need it.”

The door slammed shut, rattling with the force of it as it narrowly missed the tip of his nose. The trek back down the hall felt fuzzy to John as he pondered the interaction he’d just had with the pair, even as he laid in the darkness of his room. 

What was she doing in his room at this hour? Since when are they so close? Was Bob wearing a face mask? Why–

What in God’s name are those noises?

***

Valentina had always been a nuisance to the members of the New Avengers, even long before the team even existed. Sure, her involvement in their lives was what had brought them together and helped form a certain bond between them, and had she not done so then there would not have been anyone there to defend New York City from Sentry–though there also wouldn’t be a Sentry if it weren’t for Valentina either. But now that she wasn’t even truly in control of the New Avengers, she still seemed to be keeping one hand on the wheel at all times. 

The personalities of the team didn’t match up very well. Most of them were explosive, manipulative, and deeply traumatized, but one thing that Valentina seemed to put extra importance behind was the idea of team bonding time to promote better unity. In truth, she didn’t really care whether the team got along or not, she just wanted to ensure that they were perceived as unified by the public and by potential threats.

Thus brought the team to be sitting in the living room, arranged in a circle around the wooden coffee table with a deck of cards arrayed across the surface. Nothing brought a group of individuals together like a game of Uno, right? Well, when the individuals were specially trained to conspire and betray one another, perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Bucky groaned as the young woman dropped yet another plus four into the centre pile, “there’s no way you’re not cheating. Where are you getting all of these cards?”

“Magic,” she said, shrugging as she took the last swig from her can of Diet Coke. 

The Winter Soldier let out a sharp exhale through his nose before reaching out to pluck four more cards from the quickly dwindling deck. Next to him, Yelena barely paid attention to the game as she tossed her own card down, eyes trained on the man across from her as he shifted nervously under her stare. Bob wasn’t entirely sure of why Yelena and Ava had been so aggressively staring him down all evening, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his feelings for the younger woman sitting next to him, he was only hoping that they wouldn’t be bold enough to bring it up in front of the rest of the team–especially her.

Pandora pushed herself back onto her haunches, fingers curling around the empty can as she glanced over at him, nodding at his nearly empty glass of water, “Want another?”

A small, bashful smile curved onto his lips, nodding graciously as she grabbed his glass and stood to her full height, turning to head towards the kitchen. 

“I could use another beer,” John called after her, shaking his empty bottle in her direction.

“Great, the fridge is full of them whenever you’re ready,” she didn’t even spare him a glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Without missing a beat, Yelena leaned forward. For a moment, Bob thought she was about to reach across the table to peek at the missing girl’s abandoned cards that she had set on the table, so he quickly reached out and pressed his hand against the cards to keep them firmly in their place. 

Yelena looked at him in confusion for a moment, which quickly developed into an expression of betrayal, “Bob! You thought I was going to cheat? Who do you think I am?”

His eyes widened as he registered the offense in her voice, quickly moving his hand away, “Oh, sorry. It just, I don’t know, looked like you were.”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“You told me not to,” he stared blankly at her. 

She scowled at him, but waved it off, “Have you done anything yet?”

“Done what?” John inserts himself.

“None of your business,” Ava scolded him before turning back to Bob, “well?”

A bloom of red pinched at Bob’s cheeks as he shook his head, “N-no I haven’t. There’s nothing to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked, glancing between the two women and Bob. 

Bob watched Bucky nervously as Yelena vaguely described the investigation that she and Ava had taken upon themselves to conduct. Regardless of the current state of their relationship, Bucky had known the girl since she was a teenager, and had promised his “late” best friend that he would watch out for her, so he was still considerably protective over her (though anytime he tried to show any sign of this he would have a near encounter with the nearest and heaviest object she could hurl his way). 

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he turned his gaze to Bob, “You and her? No way.”

Bob furrowed his brow in concern, “I mean, is–I don’t think it’s that outrageous.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t been hearing them in his room at all hours of the night,” John chimed in, resting his chin on his closed fist as he portrayed his sudden interest in the topic. 

“What?” The others all exclaimed in unison, turning frantically from John to Bob, who’s entire face and neck were now burning. 

“We were just doing skincare!”

Yelena barked out a laugh while Bucky furrowed his brow impossibly further, lips curling in confusion. 

“Come on now, Bobby,” John grinned condescendingly, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

“It is,” Bob demanded, “look, I don’t know what you want me to say but–”

“What’re you guys talking about?” the girl in question asked as she rounded the corner again, resuming her seat on the floor as she placed two fresh glasses of water on the table, one in front of Bob and one for herself. 

The New Avengers all shared an uncertain glance. Sure, they could out Bob right then and there, and the deed would be done. They would become a couple and the team could be spared the next however many weeks before Bob finally explodes from infatuation. Or, of course, they could out him and then have to deal with the aftermath of the young woman not reciprocating his feelings, destroying the strongest relationship that both of them had been able to make since joining the team, and taking away the only calming factor that either of them were able to find to subdue their powers. It was a gamble, and for most of them, it probably wasn’t worth–

“We’re talking about Bob’s love for you, of course!” Alexei roared, joining the conversation for the first time since she’d left–he, of course, had chosen straight vodka for his drink of choice, and while it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk off of it, he’d been able to get his hands on just enough to make him tipsy.

The entire team stared at the large Russian man in disbelief. He’d been half asleep for the last hour, having spent a large majority of the afternoon convincing every member of the team to come spar with him. A cobalt blue shimmer surrounded the young woman for only a second, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared–a reaction of her shock and slight embarrassment, akin to Bob’s beet red cheeks. 

“Dad!” Yelena hissed, “you weren’t supposed to tell her.”

Bob stuttered a slow response, a few jumbled words that truly didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The others sat quietly, soaking in the suddenly chokingly awkward air in the room while Alexei argued to defend himself. 

“What?” he asked, then turned back to the girl, “I tell truth, he talks about you all the time.”

She was silent for a moment, narrowed eyes scanning her teammates so closely that they were a little concerned that she was about to snap on them.

“Well, I would hope so. We’ve been together for months.”

“What?” Bucky barked.

Yelena scoffed out a weak, “Since when?”

“You have?” Ava jolted forward in shock, while John choked on his last swig of beer. 

“We have?”

She turned to meet the wide, teary eyes of Bob. Her expression softened as she took in his appearance, lips appearing dry from his insistent chewing, the colour of his cheeks softening into a dark pink shade rather than the red that had formed out of embarrassment. She reached across, taking his hand in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb.

“You didn’t know?” She tilted her head in amusement, “Bob, I’ve been sleeping in your bed every night for months.”

Bucky lurched forward, “Okay, a little less info please, some of us don’t need to know the details.”

She squinted at him, “Cram it, Tin-Tin. I’m not talking to you.” 

“I mean,” Bob coughed, lowering his voice to feign some privacy as if he weren’t in a room with highly trained and enhanced individuals, “I never asked–not that I don’t want to–it’s just, I never got to ask you.”

She raised her brows at him, “Yes you did.”

“He did?” John gasped, finding himself much more intrigued by the situation than he ever could have expected. 

She ignored him, “Yeah, right after the fourth of July, remember? You told me you liked being with me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant–” Bob stammered, blood draining from his face as he noticed the slight recoil of rejection in her body language, her grip on his hand loosening as if she meant to pull away. He tightened his own hold, “I do like being with you, I just didn’t know that’s how you took that. But I would like to. Be with you, I mean.”

A small smile curved onto her lips, and perhaps if she wasn’t sitting in front of an audience, she may have granted him a full grin as she squeezed his hand, “Good. In that case, I’m telling people that I’m the one who asked you.”

Bob nodded, turning to glance at his teammates bashfully, all of whom seemed to be in utter disbelief of what they were witnessing, “Yeah, me too.”

“Ahh, young love,” Alexei sighed, settling into the couch cushions as he slung an arm over Yelena and John’s shoulders on either side of him, “go on, Bob, kiss her.”

“Alright,” Bucky stood up, tossing his cards onto the table, “that’s enough of all the mushy-gushy. I’m going to bed.” he paused hesitantly as he turned to head down the hall, glancing down at the young woman, “I’m happy for you, kid. But let’s keep it PG, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, “You better hurry up, wouldn’t want the geriatric unit putting out a search party.”

BONUS

This was, without a doubt, the most comfortable Bob had felt since he’d first moved into the tower. Laying in his bed, freshly showered, ceiling fan on, and the woman he hadn’t even known he was dating curled into his side with her head on his chest and wearing clothes entirely from his closet. She wasn’t asleep yet, he knew by the way that her fingertips were slightly twitching against the fabric of his shirt. She liked to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat; she'd told him many times that she found it soothing and helped her drift off to a slumber that wasn’t entirely plagued by nightmares. In turn, her weight on his chest seemed to help with his anxiety, like a weighted blanket that was suspiciously girlfriend-shaped. 

He spoke her name into the darkness of the room, waiting to hear her soft hum of recognition to continue, “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

She let out a quiet giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t know we were dating this whole time. I literally sleep on top of you every night.”

He let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, well…”

“And I let you make out with me all the time.”

“I know–wait, you let me? You haven’t been enjoying it?”

She turned her head to stare up at him, chin settling into the groove of his pec comfortably as she smirked at him, “Well I did at the time, when I thought you were making out with your girlfriend, but now that I know you were actually just making out with some random chick?”

“It wasn’t just some random chick,” he argued, “it was some neighbour chick. I’d seen her around.”

She pinched his side through his t-shirt, causing him to squirm underneath her, “Oh really? I guess that means I was just making out with some nerd I’ve seen around then, huh?”

He smirked, glad for the darkness of the room and it’s ability to conceal his blush from her, “I think I like it better when you call me your boyfriend.”

She turned her head again, returning to her original position as her cheek nestled against his chest, lips gently pressing against the white cotton.

“Yeah, I like it better, too.”

[velvetvexations]

Good morning. Random take for today: there should be more autoimmune disease awareness within the trans community.

Not for the sake of fearmongering obvi but like. I developed an autoimmune after abruptly stopping T (causing my E levels to spike, which some autoimmunes apparently love) and it’s kinda striking how many trans women I’ve seen around community spaces for those with the same disease. There are trans men & enbys around too but the only actual studies I could find on my disease & transgender patients were pertaining to trans women and idk it’s just interesting, one of the “solutions” to lessening symptoms was downright mortifying and I just. Really wish it weren’t widely considered a TERF dogwhistle to talk about having a disease that reacts to hormones 😭 because disabled trans people desperately need to be uplifted. Like talking about our issues is the only way to bring attention to them and if we can do that maybe someone will finally figure out a treatment that helps sick trans people without forcibly detransitioning them!! Why the fuck should we care about the opinions of TERFs when trans people are dying! But every trans person w this disease that I’ve spoken to personally tends to keep to themselves about it for fear of handing ammo to transmisogynist pieces of shit who could turn around and fire it off at young trans women to keep them from transitioning. And I can’t say I really blame them, I do the same. We’re all so defeated because most of us were either forced to detransition (an attempt to put the disease into remission) or carry on as normal (only to get sicker because nobody cares to find a solution beyond detransition) & expected never to complain or actually be ill. The invisibility & general lack of research/treatment options is made even worse since this specific illness is more common in black and/or indigenous populations so in turn it’s black + ndn trans people suffering for it, namely black trans women from the studies I’ve seen.

I just wish that we weren’t made to feel like skeletons in the closet of the trans community. And it feels exceptionally shitty to see posts like “I hope XYZ gender trans people get cancer and die” because that is the reality for some of us. More than people who haven’t been there probably assume. And those kinds of posts don’t hurt anybody like they do us.

I don't know anything about this so I'm putting it in #I just work here. Corrections are welcome.