#note pad and ms paint

[neellscapsule]

My Heart — Part One

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic slight yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. future conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, a bit of trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker. you are a bit of a yandere later as well.

word count | 4.9k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) i plan on making this a series. please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13.

next.

New York never felt like home, but it became the closest thing you could hold on to.

You’ve built a life here — tall, untouchable. You’ve shaped it with your own hands, your own colors, your own breath. Nothing about it belongs to the Waynes. Not the apartment nestled above a quiet coffee shop in the Lower East Side, not the canvases drying in the corners, not the framed articles about your exhibitions, not the soft hum of the city seeping through your open window at dawn.

You’ve never liked the quiet.

Which is ironic, considering how desperately you’ve built your life around it.

It follows you now, trailing after you like a shadow, as you pad barefoot across the creaking floorboards of your apartment. Your studio smells like turpentine and old coffee, acrylic paint staining your fingers, charcoal smudged beneath your fingernails. The city hums below you—cars honking, people yelling, life happening. But up here? It’s quiet.

You carved out this life for yourself—a life apart from Wayne Manor’s echoing halls, the Bat‑family’s midnight discipline, the nosey of Alfred, even your father’s distant pride. You’d rather have these narrow, straight streets than that cavernous mansion filled with ghosts.

Eye to eye, the portrait looks at you, analyzing, judging. It's almost like you are the prey, and she is the hunter. Huntress. Hadn't that been your name once? That stupid nickname that only your family knew about? 

With that, you decide that that piece is never going out to life. 

Here, you’re Y/N Wayne, and people know you because your paintings make them feel something. They know you because your words drip off pages like slow, sticky honey, because the chords you compose linger like ghosts. They know you. Not her.

Not the Huntress.

Not the child who spent her teenage years leaping across rooftops in desperate silence.

Not the kid who wanted, so painfully, to be seen.

“Y/N, are you listening?”

You blink, eyes pulling away from the list of upcoming press engagements your manager slid across the table. Ms. Morley — always Morley, never her first name — has her arms crossed, her expression calm but expectant.

You offer a polite, measured nod. “Yes, I’m listening.”

Her mouth twitches, something between a sigh and a smile. She’s used to this version of you: distant, composed, pleasant, but just far enough away that she’ll never get in.

“This showcase is the most important event of your career. You know that.”

You do. You know it in your bones. You’ve spent a decade painting your way here, clawing through the cement of your own insignificance to find something — anything — that could be yours.

It’s a refined gallery in SoHo. Exclusive, prestigious. People from the Met will be there. Patrons from across the Atlantic. Journalists whose words can either fold you into legend or erase you like you never existed.

“This is the kind of night that defines an artist,” Morley continues, sliding her tablet toward you, the event details highlighted in sharp white. “And the kind of night the press eats up.”

You keep your back straight, your breathing steady. “I understand.”

Her gaze sharpens, thoughtful. “We need your family there.”

The name curls in your stomach like bad wine. You lower your eyes to the tablet, as if rereading the date will change what she’s about to say.

“They should be there. All of them.”

Your throat dries, but your voice doesn’t falter. “They won’t come.”

“Maybe not. But the invitation matters. Publicly.” Her fingers tap softly against the glass table, a steady beat. “Their presence will shift the entire narrative around you. It gives your work weight in their circles. It’ll make people pay attention.”

People already pay attention. That’s why you moved here. That’s why you don’t sign your paintings with your last name. That’s why you carefully, deliberately, separated yourself from the empire back in Gotham.

“I don’t want to invite them.”

Morley doesn’t flinch. She never does. She’s not unkind, but she is immovable.

“You don’t have to want it,” she says simply. “You have to do it.”

You hate that she’s right.

You hate that part of you — the small, broken part — still wants them to come. Still craves to be seen. Still aches for Bruce’s approval, even now, even after you’ve stopped asking for it.

You press your fingers together, folding them tightly until the knuckles burn.

“They won’t come,” you whisper.

“They might surprise you.”

They won’t.

You’ve lived your entire life in the spaces they didn’t bother to fill. You remember what it felt like to sit in the Manor’s library, waiting for Bruce to come home, waiting to tell him about your mission, about how you stopped a robbery on your own. You remember how the words curdled in your throat when he brushed past you, eyes already on the next crisis, the next son, the next city to save.

Dick was the golden child. Jason was the loud one, the troublemaker, the broken boy everyone wanted to fix.

You were just… there.

You grew up alongside them, but you were never that much with them. Of course, your older brothers are much of your favorite part of your childhood; Dick teaching you about gymnastics before he became Robin. Jason being just one year older than you, close as nail and dirt before he died. You two became heroes together.

He, the second Robin. You, the only Huntress. You remember the night you saved a group of hostages from a deranged gunman. Sixteen, trembling, adrenaline high — Dick found you afterward, mascara bleeding, but alive. He didn’t say much. Just put his arm around you. That was the only time you felt he believed in you, briefly.

You remember, too, being a child in the manor: cold corridors, even colder glances, father absorbed in his mission, brothers leaving home, returning with scars. Your own scars—emotional, silent, winding through your teenage years.

You weren’t the strategist like Tim, or the quiet weapon like Cass. Your mind wasn't as fast as Barbara's. You weren’t the prodigy like Damian. You weren’t even the spirit like Stephanie.

You were just the girl who tried. The one who stayed polite. The one who made her own costume, patrolled the streets no one cared about, picked up the pieces the rest of them left behind.

The one they forgot to love properly.

It's not that they don't love you. A small part of them must have to love you, as you love them, as much as you hate them. Your father loved you, once, you surely remember that; and he did love you, you were sure of that, just not as much as you really wished. 

You spent your teen years similar to the image he gave. Spoiled, charming. The public loved you, still does, you are more than confident of that. Intelligent, sporty, an artist. Someone who loved Gotham, despite all.

“I’ll send the invitations,” you say at last, voice steady. “One for each.”

Morley gives a small nod of approval. “Thank you. It matters.”

You offer her a polite smile, but inside, something crumbles, quiet and familiar.

When the meeting ends, you walk back to your apartment in the gray afternoon haze, the memory of rain clinging to the pavement. You don’t want to write to them. You don’t want to remember.

But you do. You always do.

You sit at your desk — the one you built yourself, the one with the scratches from moving it too many times — and you pull out eight envelopes.

One for each of them.

You start with Bruce. The paper stays blank for a long time. What do you even say to the man who shaped your entire life by not showing up to it?

You remember him in fragments — his voice, his scent, the way his cape would brush your shoulder when you were little and you’d sneak into the Batcave just to see him. His soft smile when you rested by his side in the couch. You remember the big parties he threw at every single one of your birthdays, but you can't remember enjoying them.

Father,              I’m showcasing a new collection in three weeks. You are welcome to attend if you wish. It will be at the Holburne Gallery, in New York. I imagine your schedule is full, but I wanted you to have the information.

You hesitate.

I hope you’re well.

That’s all you write. That’s all you can.

You sign your name — just your first name — and fold the letter carefully.

You seal the envelope, knowing he probably won’t come. Knowing that if he does, he’ll stand at the back of the room like a stranger. Knowing he won’t say he’s proud. But you send it anyway.

The eldest of your siblings was next. You adored Richard. He had been the one you had most envied and admired at the same time. You were always just a step behind him. Always the little sister, never the partner.

Hi, Dick. 

                I’m presenting a new collection soon. It’s in New York. I thought you might like to know. You don’t have to come, of course. But you’re invited. Hope you’re well.

You sign it.

You try not to think about the Christmas he forgot to call. The birthday he skipped. The voicemail he never answered.

You and Jason always understood each other in a way that didn’t need words. Which is why the silence between you now feels like betrayal. His death had been . . . harsh on you. And then he came back. Nothing like the boy you remembered. Nothing similar to your rebellious yet sweet brother.

Jason,             You can leave early. You’d probably hate it.

You sign it.

You remember when you were kids, and he called you his “annoying little shadow.” You remember the first time he died. You remember visiting his grave every week, even when no one else did.

You remember when he came back, and didn’t call you.

Cass was the quiet one, but she was always the first to notice when you were drowning. She never said much, but she looked at you like she saw you, and maybe that’s why her absence cuts the sharpest. 

Cass,          There’s an exhibition. In New York. In three weeks. I think you’d like the paintings. They’re about what we don’t say. I’d like it if you came.

You don’t need to say more. She’ll understand.

She always did. You understand a bit less than her, but you were the first who learned sign language for her, and you resent her a bit when your father's eyes look at her.

Tim was younger than you, merely by two years. The brilliant one. The one who could solve everything except the rift between you. You don't really remember a time where you two actually got along. You were too hurt by Jason's death when he arrived. When your father replaced him.

There’s a show. I don’t know if you’d want to come. It’s not your scene. But you’re invited.

You almost don’t send his letter.

But you do.

You and Stephanie were always too similar in the worst ways — the loud, overlooked ones who made themselves easy to forget.

But you liked her.

Art show. New York. Three weeks. Come if you want. There’ll be wine.

You sign it.

You remember the time she hugged you after a mission and told you that you were her hero in her eyes. 

You remember that you stopped trying to be a hero that time.

Duke and you really don't know each other that much. You call him your brother, because in a way he is, but you are not really sure how much of a sister you are to him. If he calls you that or simply by your name. Probably the latest.

I’m having a show. You’re invited. You don’t have to come. Just thought you should know.

It feels strange to write to someone you barely knew. But he’s family. Whatever that means.

Damian was the hardest of them all: your blood, his blood, all the same. You share some gestures, gestures you both have from Bruce. You carry on your veins the same liquid that runs through his. He carries with his twisted hate to you. You do with tangled love.

Damian,                You probably have already read the other letters by now, but I thought you should be sent one too. I formally invite you to the presentation. Please, don't bring knives or any weapon if you are going to come. 

You sign that one with less happiness. 

You write one more. For Alfred.

Alfred,            I would love it if you came to my show. It would mean everything to me. You’re the only one I really want there. There is a painting dedicated to you. Hope you can see it with your own eyes and not in a photo.

You hesitate. You seal it.

For the first time all day, you allow yourself to feel the weight of it — the years you spent chasing them, the ache that never quite went away. The child in you still wants them to come. Still wants to believe they’ll show up.

But you know better.

You send the letters anyway.

Wayne Manor has never really been quiet.

Not in the honest sense.

The walls hum, always. The distant rattle of the grandfather clock, the soft padding of Alfred’s shoes against marble, the slow groan of old staircases. Even when no one is speaking, the house breathes.

Dick’s never minded that. Silence always had a weight in this place. And right now, it sits heavy on his shoulders as he drags himself down the long hall, wiping dried blood off the side of his chin with the edge of his sleeve.

The night had been rough. Long patrol in Blüdhaven. Longer arguments with Bruce over the comms. His knuckles still ache from where they met a thug’s jaw a little too hard, and his ribs burn with every breath.

He wants nothing more than to shower, crash in his old bed, and pretend—just for tonight—that the world isn’t asking him to carry it.

But as he turns the corner toward his room, something sharp cracks against the wooden floor down the hall.

It’s faint. Small. A box, maybe.

Dick pauses, body tense out of habit, head tilting toward the sound. No one should be up here. Damian with Titus, outside; Jason god knows where, Cass deeply asleep, Tim’s probably holed up somewhere with three screens on, and Alfred—well, Alfred would never let something fall.

Curiosity edges in, overtaking the tiredness. Carefully, quietly, he turns the knob. The door creaks softly as it swings open, revealing a space frozen in time.

It takes him a second to realize where he is.

The walls are bare now. The bed is made, but unused. The shelves are mostly empty except for a few scattered photo frames, one or two stuffed animals slumped in the corner, a cracked mug filled with stiff, dry brushes. It’s not as full as he remembers — a few boxes stacked neatly in corners, the bed made with precision that screams “Alfred.”

But what gives it away—what pulls the air straight out of his lungs—is the pale pink ribbon draped over the desk chair, with “Y/N Wayne” written in the soft, looping scrawl he remembers.

His sister’s room.

Or what’s left of it.

It’s not the warm, cluttered mess it used to be. He remembers tripping over sketchbooks here. He remembers her sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands smeared with charcoal, beaming at him as she shoved a half-finished drawing in his face.

He hasn’t stepped foot in here since…

God, when was the last time? Her high school graduation? No, even before that.

The faint smell of old books and faint perfume lingers — something subtle, floral, long faded. On the floor, near the desk, a box has fallen open. Papers, notebooks, and loose photos spill across the hardwood, an unintentional mess.

Dick sighs, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Alfred’s gonna kill me if I leave this here,” he mutters to himself, crouching down.

He starts gathering the scattered pages, stacking them neatly back into the box. Some papers are doodles — quick pencil sketches of rooftops, city skylines, birds. Some are old school essays, a few folded letters never sent.

Something flicks against his thigh. A small, thick card. He picks it up absently, ready to tuck it away—until his eyes land on the handwriting.

His name.

“For Dick” written in familiar, elegant cursive letters.

It’s an invitation. To a theater. The date is from years ago—2016. He flips it, heart thumping unevenly.

Hi Dick!! I know you’re busy but maybe you could come????????????Please. I got a solo part this time! I’d really like if you saw me play. It’s Saturday at 7pm. I saved a seat in the front row for you, just in case. :)

It’s signed simply: Y/N ❤

Dick’s stomach twists, a slow, sickening pull.

He doesn’t remember this.

He doesn’t remember any of this.

His fingers tremble as he gathers the rest of the papers. More invitations spill out — to gallery showings, poetry readings, little charity events. Some directed to him. Others to Bruce. Some marked for Cass, Steph, Tim.

Names written with hopeful, awkward loops. Names underlined, circled, doodled with little hearts or stars. All gathering dust in a forgotten box, untouched, unopened.

He can only vaguely remember you at galas, tucked behind the grand piano, fingers gliding across keys while the adults talked business. He remembers your drawings stuck to the fridge when they were younger, Bruce pinning them up absentmindedly like they were grocery lists. He remembers thinking you’d be an artist one day.

But he doesn’t remember these shows. These letters. These invitations.

And he missed them.

He missed you.

His throat closes around the guilt rising fast and sharp in his chest. He runs his thumb over the soft paper of the invitation, reading your bubbly handwriting again and again, as if somehow, maybe, he’ll remember being there.

Maybe, if he reads it enough, the memory will appear.

But it doesn’t.

The silence wraps tighter around him.

The box is still half-full. Beneath the papers, beneath the scribbled notes and dried-out pens, there’s a small stack of worn journals, their corners frayed from years of use.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s not fair to read them. But he’s already failed you in so many ways.

His fingers hover over the top one. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then pulls it into his lap and opens it. It feels like an invasion. It is an invasion. But the guilt is heavy. The ache to understand her, to know the sister he most knew once, roots itself deep.

The pages are filled with your handwriting — messy, cramped, sometimes smudged with faint water stains. He thinks it's not water.

The first page is a sketch—a rough, childish drawing of a girl in a cape, standing next to a tall figure with a sharp cowl and a billowing cape. The girl is grinning. The figure is not.

The words underneath: I’ll make you proud someday.

“Shit,” he breathes softly, staring at the faded paper.

“I made a new piece today. I wanted to show Dad but he’s busy. Always busy. It’s okay. Jay says that’s just how he is. But maybe next time…”

Dick’s stomach knots.

He flips further.

“I sent Dick that invitation today. I hope he comes. I’m nervous. It’s dumb, I know, but it matters to me.”

His vision blurs, breath catching.

The pages bleed with more.

Frustrations. Dreams. Lonely nights in the Manor while the others trained or patrolled. Quiet resentment tucked behind polite words. The slow, steady heartbreak of being overlooked — not hated, not ignored on purpose, just… forgotten.

“I think if I’m good enough, they’ll come.”

“I think if I save enough people, Father will see me. Not just the mask. Me.”

He flipped to another entry, years later.

“They forgot again. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just try harder next time.”

His throat burned.

Another.

“It’s not that they don’t love me. I know they do. They just don’t see me.”

“Maybe I was never supposed to be seen.”

Dick grips the pages so tightly his knuckles go pale.

He reads until the words blur, until the guilt curdles into something heavier — shame, self-loathing, frustration.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but eventually, he shoves the notebooks back into the box, his chest aching with every inhale.

His feet move on autopilot.

The halls blur past.

Bruce is in his study — where else would he be at midnight — reading files, probably preparing for tomorrow’s crusade, like always.

Dick doesn’t knock. He pushes the door open, the box balanced in his arms.

Bruce barely glances up. “Dick.”

He drops the box onto the desk with more force than necessary. Papers spill slightly, the old invitation landing near Bruce’s hand. Bruce’s eyes flick down. His brow furrows. He picks it up.

The silence stretches.

“What’s this?”

“Her room,” Dick snapped. “Her life. All the things we missed.”

Bruce’s hand hovered over the box for a second, as if touching it would burn him. “Y/N’s?”

Dick folds his arms, jaw tight. “You ever remember getting that?”

His father studies the invitation. The date. The handwriting. Something flickers across his face — not recognition. Regret, maybe.

“I… no,” Bruce admits quietly.

Dick’s teeth grind.

“Yeah. Me neither.” His hand slams against the side of the box. 

“These? They’re all hers. Invitations. Shows. Letters. You know where I found them? Gathering dust in her old room. You know what else I found? Journals. Years of them.”

Dick’s voice cracks, low and bitter. “She wanted us there. All of us. You. Me. The others. You ever wonder why she left, Bruce? Why she never came back?”

Bruce’s jaw clenches.

“Don’t,” Dick warns, pointing a sharp finger. “Don’t give me some crap about her ‘needing space.’ I read it. I read every word. She wasn’t asking for space. I thought patrols, missions, saving the world — I thought it was enough. I didn’t realize I was walking right past her the whole time.”

“She made her choices.”

“She didn’t choose to be invisible to us.”

Bruce flinched at that, just a flicker, but Dick caught it.

“Did you even read any of her letters? Did you see how many times she reached out? How many times she tried?”

“She distanced herself,” Bruce said, softer now. “She left.”

“She left because we gave her nothing to stay for.”

The words cracked in the air like gunfire.

Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating.

Bruce’s gaze drifted to the box, to the memories packed haphazardly inside. His fingers traced the edge of the cardboard, lingering.

“I never meant—”

“I know,” Dick cut in, voice tight. “None of us did. That’s the problem.”

Damian heard everything.

It wasn’t hard, not in this house. Wayne Manor was old — creaking floors, thin walls, ventilation shafts that turned into hallways for sound. He wasn’t eavesdropping, not really. If they wanted privacy, they shouldn’t argue where the walls carried every word like a confession.

From his place crouched in the shadowed corner near the study entrance, Damian listened.

Dick’s voice came sharp and raw, slicing through the heavy air like a blade.

“…Your daughter. My sister. The one we’ve all been too damn busy to notice.”

Damian’s mouth flattened into a tight line.

Your daughter. My sister.

It shouldn’t sting. But it did.

Because no one ever included him in sentences like that. Not when it came to you.

His sister.

His daughter.

As if you weren’t his, too.

You are.

More than them.

You’re his only blood sibling. His only biological sister, even if the “half” in front of that always tasted bitter. It never mattered to him. Not the technicalities. Not the lineage arguments. Not the fact that you were gone before he ever got the chance to prove it.

You’re his sister.

His.

The others forget that. Dick forgets that. They all do.

He pressed further into the shadows, arms crossed, watching the tension unfold between Grayson and Father like a slow-burning fire.

He didn’t make a sound when the box hit the desk, when the contents scattered like broken memories across the wood. His eyes narrowed as papers slid free — letters, notebooks, old invitations — all marked with your name, your handwriting, your quiet, forgotten hope.

His jaw tightened.

So that’s what this was about.

You.

It always circles back to you, doesn’t it? Even when you’re not here. Especially when you’re not here. He’s thought about you more times than he’ll admit. Even when he pretends not to. Even when he wears his indifference like armor.

When he was younger, maybe ten, he’d wander the Manor searching for you.

Father told him you were away. Grayson said you were busy. Todd didn’t answer the question. Drake looked uncomfortable every time Damian asked. And Alfred?

Alfred always hesitated before replying.

“She’s finding her own way, Master Damian. Some paths are quieter than others.”

But your absence wasn’t quiet. It screamed.

You were a gap in the family photo. A missing piece at the table. A chair left cold at holidays Damian never liked anyway.

And the worst part?

You were the only sibling he wanted to know.

The others? They were fine. Useful, even.

But you?

You were supposed to be his.

His sister. His blood.

“Did you even read any of her letters? Did you see how many times she reached out? How many times she tried?”

Dick’s words echoed, and Damian’s throat constricted.

No, Father didn’t.

No, the others didn’t.

No, he didn’t.

But he has his reasons. Reasons the others wouldn’t understand.

You were already gone when he arrived. When the League sent him, when Talia made the arrangements, when Father reluctantly opened the doors of the Manor to his assassin-blooded, anger-wrapped child — you weren’t there.

They told him about you in passing. In clinical, detached terms.

“Y/N? She doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Y/N? She’s in New York.”

“Y/N? She’s not part of this.”

But you were. You always were.

Even if they didn’t see it, even if you didn’t want to be, you’re a Wayne by blood. And his only sister.

The Huntress.

He knew the stories long before he saw the evidence. They spoke about you — the siblings, Father, even Alfred and all the fucking villains he has encountered — like you were a myth stitched into Gotham’s history.

The vigilante who walked away.

The Huntress with the flawless reputation.

The sister who vanished before Damian could measure himself against you.

But he did, anyway.

He watched the tapes. Studied the case files. Collected every fragment of your old life like it was a puzzle only he deserved to complete.

He mimicked your movements when no one watched him train. He sharpened his stance, just like yours. He mastered the same grappling techniques. He replicated the calculated grace you carried on rooftops — the footage never lied, and neither did the ache of admiration buried deep beneath his ribcage.

No one had to tell him you were better.

He knew.

You’re the only one he compares himself to. Not Drake. Not Todd. Not even Grayson, for all his accolades.

Only you.

His sister.

His blood.

It’s why he’s always hated how distant you’ve stayed. How effortlessly you carved your place outside the family — like you didn’t need them. Like you didn’t want him.

You never came back.

You never called.

You sent birthday letters, even to him. You once sent a present: a beautiful robin, carved with your hands, created by your heart, an exquisite sculpture he stills has in his room, right next to where he sleeps, and no one can touch it. No one.

He knows he shouldn’t resent you for it. You never knew him. You were gone before his feet ever touched Gotham soil. But logic rarely softened jealousy. And the hollow, possessive ache in his chest when they whispered about you never faded.

It burned brighter, seeing your name scrawled across those invitations.

It twisted cruelly, hearing Dick’s broken anger crack through the room.

Would you even recognize him as yours? As your brother? As your blood?

He doubted it.

Still— still, a flicker of want buried itself deep in his chest, like a thorn impossible to pull free.

You should be here, not in New York.

You should’ve stayed.

You should’ve seen him, known him, claimed him as yours before the others did.

Possession tasted ugly in his mouth. But it was all he had left of you.

He slipped away from the doorway before they noticed him. His steps were soundless, as always. The halls felt colder as he walked. The Manor’s walls whispered memories that weren’t his — childhood laughter, quiet piano keys, the soft scratch of pencil on paper — echoes of a sister he never got to grow up beside.

You were a ghost here.

But to him?

You were a benchmark. An obsession. A sister in absentia who still defined him in ways the others couldn’t.

In the privacy of his room, Damian closed the door and sank onto the edge of the bed. His fingers twitched toward the small, hidden stash in the drawer — your old case files, outdated footage, grainy photos from years past.

A shrine built out of frustration and longing.

He flipped one of the photos over. It was you, half-hidden in shadow, your Huntress uniform sleek and sharp, posture flawless. Untouchable. Perfect.

He envied that version of you. Admired you. Resented you. Wanted you here.

It was unfair, how easily you left. How the others pretended they could move on. How you carved a life far from Gotham, far from him, with your paintings and music and words that never found him.

But it was more unfair how badly he still wanted to follow you.

His sister.

The only blood sibling they shared. Not that anyone ever reminded you of that. Not that you ever stayed to show him what that meant.

“She’s mine,” he muttered under his breath. “My sister. My blood.”

And he wasn’t letting you go again.

That's when he remembered Alfred's words. Your favourite brother had always been Jason. Closest to you: in age, in relationship, in language. That had made him burn before. But not . . . He saw clearly where he could get you again.

Who could.

[iwriteiguessandiloveit]

R+R Tumblr Collab-Prologue

Hey y'all! I know it's been a while, but i'm here with the prologue of Ray and I's Collab! Ray wrote all of this, so all the credit goes to her and her lovely writing skillz.

TW: slightly 🌶

Fandom-Phantom of the Opera

(& Beetlejuice, but that will come later)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue 

Rachel’s POV

Time: 2024

I speed-walk down the hallway, trying to look as innocent as possible in the crowd of students (who were all staring at me, highly concerned). I know we won’t be doing anything important in my social studies class, as we were just going to be reviewing our study guide. I was already acing that class, so it doesn’t matter if I skip…right?

I hear a shout echoing behind me to “SLOW DOWN!” I pull my hood up and I force my feet to walk slower (but just barely). I only had 30 seconds of passing time, and I needed to get to my spot before the Safe-Eds in the hallway noticed I’m late and forced me to get to class. 

29… 

I arrive at my locker just around the corner, shoving my backpack in and shutting the door behind me.

20… 

I slip around another corner as the last few students in the hallway move into their classrooms. 17…

I climb up the stairs, and I run into another person scrambling to get to class on time, and almost cause both of us to go tumbling down the steps. 

12…

I sneak past Ms. Meg, the worst Safe-Ed, scolding a student. I take this opportunity to slip past her and creep down the hallway, eyes glued to the bathroom sign.

5… 

And, with my last five seconds, I slip into the girls’ bathroom, and lock myself in the largest stall. Thank goodness it was open, because I was going to need it. As soon as I closed the stall door and locked the latch, the bell sounded out with a soft, “beep-bEep-BeEP-BEEEP!” I took a minute to catch my breath, and then slumped to the floor. 

I know what you’re thinking (or at least some of my fellow germaphobes may be thinking); Why would you sit flat on the floor of a public school bathroom?? Well, it really didn’t matter in this situation. I wasn’t going to be here long, anyway. As I knelt on the ground, leaning against the stall door, I pulled out a small note pad from my pocket and started flipping through furiously. 

I stopped, and went back a few pages when I saw a glimpse of the numbers “” peeking out in old ink. The page was slightly ripped, and filled with yellow-brown stains. I really don’t know how it got like that. Somehow I could still read what it said. I took a few breaths to clear my mind. I held out the notebook, opening my mouth to recite the words. 

“PARIS, FRANCE, 18—-” 

Someone opens the stupid door. And it creaks. Really loudly. 

This is my face right now: 😑

Now I’m forced to wait. I awkwardly listen as they enter a stall, do their business, NOT WASH THEIR HANDS, and leave. Disgusting. 

FINALLY I am left in peace. 

And as I recite the words on my page, my voice bouncing around against the echo-y walls of the bathroom, things around me start to change. 

The toilet, and the toilet roll holder begin to disintegrate. The papery ashes rise up into the air, and then vanish without a trace. I begin to feel a little dizzy, like the whole world is spinning around and around, with blurs of light everywhere. But I keep going. I read the whole page down to the bottom, then re-read it. The ground starts to fall from underneath me, also disintegrating into thin air. Through the increasing chaos, I can just barely see an old Victorian side table and a potted plant on top that replaced what used to be the toilet. A detailed painting hung where the toilet paper was, and underneath my feet appears a maroon and gold rug resting on a smooth wood floor.  My vision begins to falter. The light and ashes and mist swirl around me until I can’t even see anymore. My ears are filled with all sorts of sounds, from porcelain smashing on the floor to some of the highest music notes I’ve ever heard. A force pulls me back and I feel like I am falling through thin air.

Then, I black out. 

And I wake up. 

I almost knock my head on the side table as I open my eyes. Yes, I may have just blacked out, but I feel completely fine. It's just what happens when I do this. I flip over and sit on the ground, taking a long glance at my surroundings. Two twin-sized beds sit next to the table behind me, with ornate mahogany frames, and cream and mauve bedding. A dark wood cabinet towered over me on the wall, next to a large vanity. A lit candelabra sits on a table in the middle of the room, adding to the bright light shining through the open windows. A cool summer breeze flows through my hair as I stand up and lean out over the nearest window ledge. 

Far down below, horses pulled beautiful carriages down the wide streets, with people everywhere; going in and out of shops, storekeepers yelling down the street, and others going for their daily walks downtown. Trees lined the sidewalks and were already changing color. I turn my head up and gaze out at the skyline. Far out in the distance, the Eiffel tower looked beautiful. I can’t believe it was finished already. I begin to smile, but then stop abruptly when I realize everyone who may be looking up will see my clothes. Oh, crap. I keep forgetting about this. I stumble back into the room and open up the tall cabinet. I grab a few items and then run back to the screen room divider in the corner. I throw off my outside clothes and put on a white petticoat, tights, and a white bodice with short ruffle sleeves. I slip on a pair of short brown boots. I begin singing some random high notes in an operatic voice to warm up. I had a performance later tonight. 

But then, I hear a voice other than mine. 

“Rachele, is that you singing, darling? You’re back already?” 

A wide smile spreads across my face and I skip over to the large cabinet on the wall. I push it with all my might (without tipping it over) until it has moved far enough to slip my body through the hole in the wall behind. A cold chill surrounds me, pulling me into the darkness. I can almost hear a soft whisper encouraging me. It feels as if I am transported into a different world as I place my foot on the first step down, and pull the cabinet back into place behind me, as I descend into the void. 

The familiar glow of candlelight seeps into the stairwell as I get closer and closer to the bottom. My heart jumps and I can’t even wait anymore. I rush the rest of the way down, until I'm at the very last step. I slow myself down; I’ve gotta look like a lady in front of the hot Victorian men. I creep around the corner, hands holding each other in front of me, and as I begin to see his face my heart races. 

Erik. 

He’s standing there, tending to his small model of the opera house, wearing a sharp black suit, with his mahogany brown hair combed back; just one stubborn strand floating in front of his forehead, refusing to stay put. He has a jet black shawl and cape over his shoulders that just touches the floor, with golden embroidery along the bottom. He turns around as he hears me, the milky white mask on the right side of his face glinting in the candlelight glow. I can see the corner of his mouth perk up as I waltz further into his lair. 

“Ah, my love. You’re finally back. I am eager to hear you perform tonight.” Erik walks towards me with his arms out, and I run into him. I put my arms around his torso and his hand reaches for the back of my head. The other rests against the small of my back. I lean forward into his arms, as Erik tilts my head up to look at him. He’s at least 4 inches taller than me. I’m about 5’8. He smells like musk and candle smoke and I breathe it all in as I press the side of my head to his chest. I feel his gloved hand run through my hair and I pull away. “I’m sorry, Erik. I had important matters to attend to.”

“More important than seeing me?”

“Of course not…” And as I whisper my final word, I brush my fingers against his sharply carved cheekbone and step up onto my tip-toes to press my lips to his. 

Erik tilts his head and leans into the kiss. He pulls my waist closer and I shiver as his thumb grazes my jaw. He pulls away but keeps heavy eye contact with me. Erik begins to guide me backward until my legs hit the frame of his grand king-sized bed. He’s breathing heavily; his chest rising and falling. After I instinctively sit down at the edge, continuing to stare up at the masked man in front of me, I shift my body as smoothly as possible so that I’m sitting in the middle of the bed. Erik pushes me down lightly with his fingertips until my back hits the layers of blankets and my head, the pile of assorted pillows. I smirk as he climbs over top of me and straddles my waist. 

Oh yeah, remember what I said about the germs in the stall? Well, that doesn’t matter anymore. Because those germs don’t exist in any other universe. Let alone in 1870.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yayyy!

Stay tuned for Chapter 1, coming soon :DDD

-Rea ❤

-Ray ⭐

[themasterpostblog]

Pencil/2D Animation Resources Masterpost

5/10/24:

Hello, I broke into my old account so I could make a little masterpost of resources I come across for learning pencil/2D animation. (Free or affordable classes, places to get tools, videos to give insider insight, etc.) I may not be able to get everything included, so if you think of something, you can reach out and suggest things to add! I will be updating this over time, with notes on when it was last recently updated. And maybe I'll end up giving the old blog a refresh too. I likely won't be making new masterposts outside of this one any time soon, nor updating any old ones. It's been SEVERAL years, and the internet is a different place. I would assume most of the old links are out of date by now, unfortunately. I hope that this list is helpful to you as well, and if I'm incorrect in anything I list, I'm learning too! So please be patient with me and feel free to reach out with a correction. It's not finished yet, but Tumblr deletes my posts before I finish them, so I'm starting with posting the skeleton and slowly updating this)

Find a Community to Learn From!

(recommended groups to lurk/join/make connections and ask questions)

What Tools Do I Need?

PDF Guide to Animation Desks, as written by David Nethry

(next line)

Where Do I Get Tools?

(Places where you can buy art supplies, software, etc)

Cartoon Supplies

(Online seller who carries Ingram Bond paper, lightboxes, storyboard pads, blank cels, etc. See also: Lightfoot LTD, which is identical in every way to Cartoon Supplies and for the life of me I'm not sure the difference, though both are equally recommended along side each other.)

Jet Pens

(Ah... I love window-shopping this site. If you love stationary like I do, you'll be on this site for hours adding things to your cart... and inevitably removing them because it's not feasible to spend hundreds on pens and sticky-note pads.)

Dickblick

(I've found they have good prices on name brands, but I haven't purchased from them yet. Often, I'm too overwhelmed by all the choices.)

Improve Your Art/Learn the Basics!

(anatomy classes, starter tools, etc)

Aaron Blaise (Co-Director of Brother Bear)'s Online Classes

He runs very good deals on the classes occasional, but you can also do a year's access to all classes and keep what you download, which is very useful! They're short, quick lessons, and tend to veer into more "helpful tips" than teaching, from what I've personally noticed, but it's well worth the price if you get them at a good deal!

Inside Look at the Industry -- aka: the Special Features:

(behind the scenes stuff, etc)

Books are more useful than you might think!

(Richard Williams Animator's Survival Toolkit, etc) (check out gently used copies of these books on Thriftbooks for a good deal!)

Nifty Free Resources

(Things like height charts, references, color wheels, blog posts, videos, etc)

What Artists Can Learn From Aladdin's Incredible Color by J. Holt [VIDEO]

(spacing for formatting)

The Art of Color Theory: Guide for Animators, Designers, and Artists (Animator Artist Life)

(space for formatting)

Free software!

GIMP

(A classic, GIMP is an old friend of mine. The first software I downloaded for art, I used to use it almost entirely to create animated GIFs for the Warrior Cat forums. Ah, how time has passed. Nowadays I can't even remember how to animate a GIF on there, but such is life. I still use it to this day for digital art, even having Corel Painter. Before GIMP, I animated the old fashioned way -- MS paint and Windows Movie Maker. With determination, I scripted and animated a handful of Warrior Cat characters frame by frame. Each frame of Hollyleaf or whoever it was blinking was the likely source of death for our old computer, may she rest in peace.)

Storyboarder

(Storyboarder is a free software with which you can use to create professional and clean storyboards. It also provides printable storyboard templates so you can do you work traditionally and re-upload it easily into the software! It also works with Wacom tablets. Check it out! It's actually super cool.)

Pencil 2D

(A free, open source software. Simplistic design, switch between raster and vector, and best of all, again, it's free. I haven't used this one much yet, but I've seen it positively talked about by many! I'll update with more research when I have the chance.)

Krita

(I haven't used this one yet, so I can't speak on it either! But it's going on the list so I can come back and research it later. My poor laptop is not going to handle this many downloads lol.)

OpenToonz

(I also haven't tried this, but see above, haha.)

Blender - Grease Pencil

(Blender is well known for 3D animation, but they added a 2D feature called Grease Pencil as well.)

WriterDuet

(Free for up to 3 projects, very simple, but upgrades to a $10 a month plan, which is... eh, I'll keep my Scrivener for now. I used to write scripts in Microsoft Word or the Notepad on PC back in the day, I don't think I personally need the fancy features.)

Trelby

(A free screenwriting software, very basic and simple, good for beginners.)

Keep an eye out for

(Humblebundle occasionally does software deals -- a good art bundle at a discount can give you an easy start!)

[anonymous-dentist]

I love SM!roier. He has committed to the shitty ms paint track pad drawings. He doesn't even use the free version of canva. Soon enough he's just gonna make a post with the notes app on his phone drawing with his finger. No wonder people consider the page a meme page. It's great! Why would you be scared of a haha funny meme?

My man is dedicated to his art, I have to give it to him

[gloopgolp-world]

Did some sketches of the GgW cast. I wanna do more refined drawings of them at some point but for these I wanted to get across the actual shapes and makeups of these characters better than the little ms paint doodles. (sorry but no Amrej. She's too hard to draw.)

Miloc is definitely the most sketchy, but I think it gets the idea across. Plus this time I included his little backpack.

Really proud of this Schmymoon. she's a simple design but I think she looks cool.

Zlonk I had to really update the design of. I like my original art but he can Not Just be having nubs. So now he's hot hands with stubby but functional fingers, an actual torso (note that it is proportionally shorter than a human's) and little pads on the bottoms of his legs (the middle two are slightly behind the outside ones). Also to address the allegations; that is a shirt and not just his fur (I realize now that I forgot to draw the neckline but that means nothing). He wears it cause it matches the fur patches under his eyes and mouth.

¤ is mostly the same but now they have little ball joints to show how they move their thrusters around. Also they have a hatch in the back that has access to their soul.

And in commitment to the bit I drew a full sketch of ProtagoBilly and then scribbled and smudged him out. If you can still gleam details good for you.

[solisvidentis]

>Oh, alright then. Thank you Ms... give him a second he's reaching back into the basket to fetch a clipboard, currently scanning the paper on it- Lalonde, Ms Lalonde, there he goes. Yeah the directions that were given to him said to go north to the spot that wasn't orange, and his compass seems to have broke, cause the needle has been idly drifting clockwise. Its weird, but hey not like that matters now that he's been corrected.

>A quick look at the landing craft as the pawn passed her with the delivery cooler wouldn't be much of a shock design wise. Much like the few carapacian ships she may have seen during her time in the game, it was basically a normal nautical looking ship that just flew through space. Except instead of a hulking battleship, it was just a normal boat (or maybe even a dinghy). What was strange however, was the paint job. Most of their stuff was usually monotone and matched their planet. This however looked like a patchwork of purple and gold, the colors following no real pattern or structure. The Derse insignia on thr bottom having an X painted over it. One may say that this is the first sign that this alter came from a weird timeline, along with him being a deliveryman for some reason. However that would require normal to be in Sburb's lexicon to begin with.

"Yes there isn't precisely a magnetic north here, it's a bit of an unusual body in that regard."

>amusing herself with the obfuscation, rose walks with him as he pads across the soft, gently shifting surface of her body. She notes the odd livery of the ship when they pass by, but doesn't remark on it

"It's a bit of a walk to get beyond the Orange Fields, and even then a bit further still to where I reside- I hope that isn't too much trouble."

> she wasn't exaggerating- they likely had a good hour or so to kill as they crossed the expansive dunes and valleys of her robe clad flesh, the occasional rumble vibrating the ground under their feet as they proceeded- leading to the seer engaging in a bit of small talk as they journeyed

"If I might ask out of curiosity, have you been in this line of work for long? This is my first time dealing with extra-universal delivery services."

[oathdublin]

From The Shelf | 5 Masterpieces From The Electronic Archive Of The Emerald Isle

Ireland, home to some of the greatest electronic musicians on the planet. Here's 5 of my favorite Irish records from the last decade, fresh from the shelf.

New Jackson - The Night Mail

Originally pressed in 2011 on Bodytonics 'POGO Recordings' imprint and later remastered on Mano Le Tough's 'Maeve' label in 2019 - they do not come better than this. Accurately painted as a 'below the radar anthem' by the RANSOM NOTE, 'The Night Mail' is a unique endeavor, unlike anything I have heard since its release.

Driven by rolling arpeggios, droning bass rhythms, and euphoric synth lines, all glued together by a masterfully blended vocal - it is everything you've ever wanted from an electronic record. A testament to the impressively broad catalog of sounds represented by David Kitt's 'New Jackson' moniker.

A record I could never afford on Discogs before its re-issue, but one that now sits contently on my shelf.

Stream | Buy

Kev Sheridan - Losing Someone Is Never Easy [Alone In Berlin EP]

Another beauty from the ever-growing back catalog of Mano Le Tough's 'Maeve' and a record close to my own heart - Kev Sheridan's 'Alone In Berlin EP'.

Snappy snares, lush pads, and melancholic chords - all combine to create this minimal yet emotionally eclectic affair.

It's not often emotion is encapsulated efficiently in a club-driven track, but Kev hit the nail on the head here. Packed with subtle tones of adapting to life abroad and produced at the hands of pure talent.

'Losing Someone Is Never Easy' earned its place on my shelf a long time ago and there it remains.

Stream | Buy

Lee Kelly - Our Place In Time [Excerpts From Layers Of Identity]

Daire Carolan's First Second Label [FSL] has never really failed to disappoint since its conception in 2011, with contributions from a broad array of Irish talents like ELLLL, Sputnik One and Thrust's Glimmerman - but there's just something about Lee Kelly's 'Excerpts From Layers Of Identity' that ticks all the boxes for me.

Mesmerizing strings, low-frequency basslines and underlying arpeggios complete 'Our Place In Time', a track I've had on repeat since it came off the press in 2019.

Stream | Buy

DeFeKT - Split My Mind [Magnetic Resonance]

"Few artists have been as pivotal in Ireland’s electronic evolution of the past decade as DeFeKT" [DJ Mag].

A playful affair with underlying tones of darkness and raw emotion, this EP is something truly special. Written in the midst of Matt's ongoing struggles with MS, this record is an immersive experience, one that allowed me to connect with an unfamiliar world.

'Split My Mind' became an instant dance floor anthem when it hit the shelves in 2019. Pounding kicks, acid basslines, lush arpeggios and mesmerizing pads - all the keys to my heart, served immaculately on a plate of wax.

Here DeFeKT uses his craft as an outlet to contextualize his experience and solidify his reputation as a modular mastermind who never falls short of the mark.

Stream | Buy

Bicep - Glue

There are few tracks in existence I vividly remember hearing for the first time, this will always be one of them. Responsible for nearly 200,000,000 streams on Spotify and now casually disregarded by many as "overplayed" - 'Glue' is an undeniable masterpiece.

Comprised of mellow breakbeats, stuttering synths, harmonic pads and a vocal that will enlighten your soul, this track as much an experience as it is a piece of music [so much so that the live version has become an 8 minute escapade].

Records that have seen the club as much as 'Glue' has are few and far between and armed with memories and beer stains, mine has probably seen the inside of my record bag more than it has my shelf - After all, records were meant to be played...

Stream | Buy

[crexti]

a silly picture I will never finish colouring

[omhamlet]

Give Me Reasons to Be Complete 

[mune-writes]

ok i know i just requested something yesterday, BUT I HAVE A REALLY GOOD SONG FIC IDEA - steve harrington x reader and the song is you belong with me by taylor swift where steve’s dating a cheerleader and the reader and him have been best friend’s since forever but the reader has had a huge crush on him, I THINK IT’D BE SO CUTE

s. harrington || you belong with me

A/N: my personal thanks to u and our lord and savior, source of all my inspiration: ms. taylor alison swift

The day you met Steve Harrington was one you couldn’t quite remember, granted the two of you had been in kindergarten then. Your mother loves to recount the story on your birthdays, how he had stolen your favorite crayons and you retaliated by flicking your mashed potatoes at him. Eventually, you both made up and bonded over finger painting, and you both had been inseparable since.

Even through the awkward years of pre pubescent middle school kids to the more intimidating environment that was high school, you both had managed to remain as good friends, best friends, that was, when Steve wasn't out with his other more well known friends.

Of course you saw it coming, even from miles away, as you and Steve first set foot on the High School campus, you knew deep down that he would be swept away by the popular crowd, because even you had to admit that he was charming, the fact that he had perfect hair only ever boosted his reputation.

Passing notes and always spending you lunches together turned into short 'hi's' and 'hello's' as you passed each other by in the hallways, every time Steve and you had managed to snatch some alone time to talk, somehow one of his friends always managed to barge in, dragging Steve away with him.

Despite how dejected you felt whenever he was taken away from you, you let him go each time. It wasn't as if you were together anyway, you and Steve? The king of Hawkins High with some band geek nobody? Not a chance.

After years of being friends with the Steve Harrington, absolute heartthrob of the school, could anyone truly blame you if you told them you'd had a crush on him since the fourth grade?

For years you had buried whatever feelings you had for him deep inside you, locked up in a dungeon of your own creation along with all your dreams of becoming a ballerina or astronaut.

You convinced yourself it was never going to happen, especially now that he was currently dating the captain of the cheerleading team who also happened to be one of your biggest bullies, none other than the queen of hell herself: Heather McNamara.

You told yourself it was natural, predictable even. She was pretty, she was popular, she was actually a really talented cheer leader, and she made him smile--despite how she tormented you, you tried to force down the bile that crawled up your throat whenever you saw his arm slung around her shoulder, the little kisses she would throw him while she did her cheer routines as he played basketball, while you were the one stuck on the bleachers.

Curse the stupid made up hierarchy that was high school.

Although you and Steve seemed to be drifting apart while at school, that wasn't the case at all outside of class. Sometimes, every after school when you didn't have band practice and Steve didn't have whatever sports practice he was into at the time, you would both spend afternoon until night driving around Hawkins, with music turned up and the windows down as you two yelled out the lyrics to your favorite songs.

Those were the moments you liked most, where you could be you, and he could be the Steve you always knew him to be.

Then he'd drive you both home, which was easy, considering the fact that your houses were right next to each other, with his bedroom window only a few feet away from yours. When you were little, to avoid waking any of your parents up, you and Steve would communicate with big pads of paper, chatting through writing way past your bedtime.

You smiled at that memory.

"And then Heather said 'I'll bring my own cassette tapes next time,' like, um, what? Y'know, if she didn't like my music she could've just said that and I would've turned it off, I don't know why she had to be so passive aggressive about it, and her tone was just--"

You furrow your brows and shake your head. "Dude, if that annoyed you so much why don't you just talk to her about it?"

Steve groans. "That's the thing! Whenever I try to talk to her about something that's bothering me that she does, she always twists my words and make it so that I'm the villain! I mean-- that's not fair!"

You huff, giving him an incredulous look. "If it's like that every time you confront her for stuff that she does to make you feel bad, why are you still with her then?"

"Because!" Steve starts, shrugging. "I don't know, I think I might really like her, she could be the one, y'know."

You let out a fake barfing noise. "Gross, keep that sentimentality away from me please."

"You know, I think you'd have a better understanding if you were in the same situation." He says before turning the steering wheel down towards the park you were supposed to be going to.

You scoff, turning in your seat to face him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean," Steve inhales before blowing out of his mouth. "You've been single for like, the longest time, (y/n), you sure there aren't any cute band geeks you're hanging out with?"

"As if I'd ever want to be all mushy gushy with someone like that." You roll your eyes for what seemed to be the tenth time during this car ride. "Like 'oh babe how are you, I missed you so much', 'oh baby I missed you too'." You tease, mimicking Steve's deep voice and Heather’s high pitched one as you say those words, right before putting your fingers together and making your hands kiss while imitating kissing noises.

"Hey! Stop that." Steve whines, slapping your hands down as you giggle.

"Now I get why no one wants to date you." He murmurs, but you hear his words perfectly, causing you to punch him square on the bicep.

"Ow! Hey, I was just joking, alright? You're great, (y/n), I'm sure you'll find someone soon."

"Last time I checked, Harrington, I don't need to date anyone simply in order to boost my popularity, okay?" You retaliate, crossing your arms.

"Ouch, (y/n), you make me seem so vain." Steve places a hand over his heart to feign hurt.

You laugh sarcastically before looking at him while batting your lashes. "Glad you noticed."

He rolls his eyes at you, nudging your forehead with his fingers and you laugh.

You'll find someone someday, his words echo in your mind.

But as you watch him laugh and smile with joy as he turns up the volume to his favorite song with the afternoon sun pouring through the car window to illuminate his face in gold, you didn't need to look any further.

Because you had already found someone.

...

It was a typical Tuesday night, your current favorite song blasting through your speakers as you read a book that you needed to understand for class. Unable to even remotely understand the author's words in their 19th century grammar, you let your mind wander as you stared at the page.

Prom was coming soon, and there was no doubt in your mind that Steve would be crowned prom king, along with his snooty little girlfriend.

You sigh, shutting the book. You spot Steve in his room from the view you had into his bedroom window, he was pacing around the room, the phone wire getting caught in his chair before he yanked it out.

You didn't know exactly what was going on, but you saw his animated hand gestures, the frustration on his face as he ran his hand through his hair.

With your eyebrows knitted together, you get off your bed, making your way towards your window. Steve finally slams the phone down, his face tinged with red from all the yelling he had done. He catches your eye, and you give him a concerned look through your window. He quirks his eyebrows, shrugs, and shakes his head.

Swiftly, you grab the big sketchbook that you usually reserved for your art classes, writing a message to him in big black letters with your sharpie.

He looks at you with confusion as you scribble down your message, his eyebrows turning upwards as he realizes what you were doing.

'Are you okay?' It read.

He grabs his own pad of paper, the yellow pad he was supposed to use to take notes in, scrawling his own message in black marker.

'Not really.' He replied.

You shoot him a frown.

'What happened?'

He shakes his head, sighing, before turning the pad of paper towards you, revealing his message.

'We had a fight again :('

The sad face he doodled almost makes you laugh. He was still the same dorky Steve under that popular mask he wore after all.

'Sorry about that'

He comes closer towards his window, opening up the latch to slide the window pane upwards.

"You wanna go for a walk?" He calls out.

You smile, opening up your own window. "Sure."

...

You sneak your way into the kitchen and out the back door, memories of doing the same sneaking out as kids when either of you were grounded replay in your mind.

You carefully unlatch the gate to his backyard, making sure there would be no noise to alert anyone, tiptoeing your way up the back porch until you stood at his own back door, waiting.

"Hey." He greets, eyes not meeting yours.

"Hey," You smile. "Everything okay?"

He makes his way past you, shaking his head while you follow him.

"No, not really."

"What happened?"

"She," He hesitates, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "She broke up with me."

You feel bad for him, you do, but if that meant him finally being free of a toxic relationship, you couldn't help but feel relieved.

"Oh." Is all you manage to say.

"But I'm gonna get her back." He says with conviction, nodding his head as his eyes looked far away into the horizon, as if he was imagining the ways he would somehow win her back.

You furrow your eyebrows and scoff, which catches his attention and snaps him out of his daydream.

"What?" He says, bewildered and confused by your reaction.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No? I'm serious, I'm gonna win her back, just wait and see."

You roll your eyes, incredulous at his response.

"Why? You don't even like her that much!"

"How could you even know that? You don't know me!" He cries out, emphasizing his words with wild hand gestures.

"That's another thing you're wrong about, Steve, I do know you, and I know that you're making one of the biggest mistakes in your life." You say the last few words with a hint of cynical laughter in your voice.

"Where the hell is this even coming from, (y/n)? I really like this chick, what more is there to it?"

"Oh so you 'really like this chick' but you just so happen to complain about her all the time?"

Steve stammers for a moment. "Love's complicated like that, I don't know, I just know that I need to take her to prom too--"

"Oh so that's it!" You exclaim sarcastically, moving your hands into wild gestures of their own. "Steve, the king of Hawkins High, is afraid to go to prom without a date."

"Yeah, well, at least I actually have the chance to have a date on my arm, not sure I can say the same thing about you, can I?" He seethes.

You squint your eyes at him in disbelief. "You're seriously bringing that up right now?"

He shrugged. "I figured that since you were such an expert about love you'd be in a relationship oh no wait," Steve points at you. "You're not."

You let out a laugh devoid of any joy. "At least I don't go out with people who aren't good for me for the sake of keeping my social status." You reply, words dripping with poison.

"Yeah well, at least people know me. I mean, who even are you at school besides the band geek who follows Steve Harrington around like a lost little puppy?"

You lick your lips, resolve faltering. "Is that really what you think of me?"

Steve sucks in a breath, closing his eyes as he rubs them, then shakes his head. "No, no, (y/n), I--"

"You know what? Fine, I'll stop following you around like a lost puppy. As far as I know, you're on your own, Harrington." You say, anger bubbling in your veins as you stomp away from him.

You don't even notice the look of regret in his eyes as you turn your back.

...

It had been a week since you last stopped talking to Steve, avoiding him at all costs whenever you were at school, closing the curtains to your window to make your one message very clear: Don't talk to me.

Sometimes you wondered what happened to the two of you. You two used to be like two peas in a pod, he told you everything there was to know about him, his entire life story.

Steve felt nothing but guilt as you brushed past him in the hallways, barely even sparing him a glance. He remembers those days where the two of you would sneak out to go on walks, or 'nightly adventures' as you two used to call it growing up. He recounts the moments he'd spend with you, sharing secrets, hopes, and dreams under the stars. He had told you everything there was to him. Steve was stubborn, but he knew you were right; you did know him, down to the very specs of stardust in his bones. He had told you his life story, but he forgot to mention all the chapters you had always been a part of.

...

Prom was only a day away now.

As much as you brushed your friends' invitations off, you couldn't ignore the endless pestering of your mother.

"Oh, come on, (y/n), it's your high school prom! I remember how fun my little proms were, come on, sweetheart, you need some sort of grand moment in your life to commemorate your high school days! Pleaasee." She had begged and pleaded with you.

Finally, after more pestering and nagging, you relented.

So now here you were, walking your way towards the gym after your mother had dropped you off, snapping an endless supply of pictures of you on her polaroid, gushing about how stunning you looked.

Before you left the house, you had caught your reflection in one of the mirrors by the living room, and, as vain as it was, you had to admit that you looked good.

Your hair was meticulously styled courtesy of your mother, makeup brushed on to highlight your best features, that, along with the elegant dress of your favorite color you and your mother had chosen paired with the matching jewelry made you feel the best about your appearance for the longest time.

You walked into the gym, decorated with various balloons and streamers, your mouth widening into a smile as you caught one of your friends from band. You ran over to them as best as you could with the strappy heels you wore, tackling one of them in a hug.

As you laughed and drank punch with your friends, your eyes caught a glimpse of none other than Steve 'the hair' Harrington. He glances towards your direction and you two make eye contact, which you immediately break as you turn to your friends.

"So, you guys see anyone cute yet?" You say.

"Uh, duh, Steve Harrington is literally standing right there." Your friend replies, quirking an eyebrow.

"Actually, he's walking towards us now." Your other friend says as she fixes her hair.

You bite your lip, sure, you weren't mad at him anymore, but you were still a little annoyed. Ever the prideful one, you only looked down at your drink as Steve approached you.

He waved to your friends, sending them a small smile before he turned to you.

"(y/n), can we talk?"

"What's there to talk about?" You casually shift your eyesight to the side, intent on not even making eye contact with him. While he was the pretty one in the friendship, you were most definitely the petty one.

He rolls his eyes at you and sighs. "Look, I know you're probably still annoyed at me, and I'm sorry, but can we please just talk? You and me?"

You close your eyes, letting out a breath, before you look at him. "Fine."

He grins, finally, you were talking to him. He leads you away from your friends and to the dance floor.

You quirk your eyebrow at him. "Steve, where are we--"

"Come on, (y/n), dance with me." He holds out his hand towards you.

Memories of you pining for him for years envelop your heart, and you just couldn't tell him no, not with those sweet, pleading eyes of his.

You take his hand, and as if on cue, a slow song starts to play.

Before you know it, you had your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands at your waist. Your heart thumped against your chest, still, you tried your best to play it cool. After all, the two of you were completely platonic, And, much to your dismay, nothing could ever change that.

"You were right." He says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

"About Heather," He says, looking into your eyes earnestly. "She and I.. we just weren't right for each other."

"Oh, um, okay." Is all you can manage to say as you felt your cheeks flush pink when you caught his gaze flickering towards your lips.

"I've spent my entire life chasing after things, people, because I guess being popular and liked by a lot of people made me feel wanted, loved." He laments, gazing at your features with affection.

You let out a soft chuckle in an attempt to ease your nerves. Throughout your entire life of knowing Steve, you had never been so close to each other like this. "Glad you finally noticed."

He laughed, softly, before he licked his lips. "Guess I was too busy trying to impress the world that I forgot about the one person who I saw as my world."

When he looks at you like that, with that affectionate, kind look in his eyes, how could you ever stop your heart from melting?

"That person's you, by the way." He smiles, clearing up his words.

You squint your eyes at him, despite the smile that graced your lips.

"That was the cheesiest thing I've ever heard, Stevie."

He laughs, shaking his head. "It was worth a shot."

"What, did you spend like 30 minutes of your time practicing that line in front of your mirror or?" You teased.

He rolls his eyes playfully at you before leaning his forehead on yours.

"Can't get anything past you, can I?"

You beam at him, eyes crinkling as you smiled. "Never."

He laughs before he kisses you on both cheeks, then on your nose, then your forehead, until he reaches your lips. You practically melt into him as his soft lips move against yours, ever so gently, and you swear you could stay in this moment forever. Despite the sea of people around you, whispering and gossiping about the band geek and the king of Hawkins, all of that faded away as you swayed to the rhythm with Steve, your Steve, who you knew inside out, who knew you down to the tiny specs of stardust in your bones.

And nothing and no one could ever take that away from either of you.

[fictionalwh0ree]

love notes- angelina jolie

summary: you and angelina pass each other sweet notes in the one class you have together word count: 777 warnings: none

a/n: i've had a bit of an obsession with angelina jolie this past week. girl, interrupted is SO GOOD. it feels like a crime that there's no angelina fic like anywhere

school had to be one of your least favourite places ever. you'd much rather be in your girlfriend's arms than sitting at a desk listening to a teacher. your favourite class of the day had come, science. it wasn’t because you were amazing at it, but because angelina was in it, too. you were also lab partners, so it was easy to communicate in discrete ways. it helped that your teacher was totally oblivious to everything.

you walked into the classroom, immediately spotting her. her long dark hair flowed over her arm as she faced away from you, probably doodling something. you slapped your detention slip onto the teachers desk, interrupting his lecture, but your eyes never left your girlfriend. the teacher gave you a passive-aggressive greeting and returned to teaching.

you dropped your bag onto the floor loudly, finally catching angelina's attention. she faced you with a bored look on her face, which graced her face every science class. she quickly bent down to search her backpack, finding a pad of stick notes. you looked at her with a puzzled expression as she wrote something on it.

detention again? it read.

maybe :), you answered, a small smile on your face

what’d u do this time? she wrote

hey! it wasn’t my fault, you wrote

you looked up at her, a huge smile painted on your face. she dramatically rolled her eyes, the smile you loved so much finally making an appearance. right before she could write something else, you snatched the sticky note. her jaw dropped and she narrowed her eyes, a smile still present.

you’re pretty, you wrote on the other side of the paper

you slid it over to her and watched her smile wide at the words you’d written.

not prettier than you, she wrote, causing you to blush.

stop it, the teachers gonna know somethings up, you wrote, still smiling hard

you watched her begin to write something down, her smile growing. you leaned over to pick up your water bottle and took a large sip. angelina slid the sticky note back over slowly. she watched you carefully as your eyes grazed over what she had written.

yeah, just like he noticed that time i had my hand halfway up your underwear, she wrote sarcastically.

your eyes widened at the words on the small yellow paper and you choked on your water.

"everything okay, ms. y/l/n?" the teacher asked.

"oh, yeah. i just choked on my water a bit," you answered, your voice a bit strained.

"do you need a minute?" he offered.

"i'm fine, thanks," you declined.

he resumed the lesson and you looked over to your right. there sat angie, biting to her bottom lip to hold in a laugh and diverting her eyes. you glared at her until she finally looked up. the minute your eyes met, she burst out laughing.

"ms. jolie, do you need a minute out in the hall?" the teacher asked.

"no, no. i'm fine. i'm sorry. sorry," she apologized through laughter.

he muttered something under his breath and then continued his lesson.

angelina's head was now laid over her open notebook as she laughed silently. you folded the old sticky note and stuffed it in your pocket before pulling out a new one.

so not funny, you wrote.

angelina took the note and crossed out the word "not."

that wasn't funny either, you wrote.

she smiled at you again.

it was very funny, she answered, underlining "very" three times.

i think i will be taking a minute in the hall. to cry. because my girlfriend is making fun of me, you wrote jokingly.

drama queen, she wrote.

i'm leaving now, you wrote.

no, you can't, she knew you were joking.

why? you asked

because you love me too much, she answered. you looked at each other and smiled.

as she was folding the note, it fell onto the ground, right next to the teacher's feet. he had been helping the student in front of you two.

just our luck, you thought.

"what is this, ladies?" he asked, holding the folded note up.

thankfully, no writing was visible. just as he was about to open it, angelina stuck her hand up, signalling him to stop.

"um- girl problems, sir," she said slowly.

"oh," he said, before placing the note back down onto the desk.

you both looked at each other when he turned away and smirked at each other. angie placed her hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles in.

[27emailsicantsend]

the rina headcanons are endless!! it would be verrrryyy cute if we ever got rina baking together. it is very necessary to see them having a flour fight and having a frost-off to see who can ice the GF cupcakes better (my money is on Ms. Porter those turkey cupcakes looked expert level). we also deserve to see ricky teaching gina how to skateboard in this summer montage bc imagine him holding her by the waist gently while she holds his shoulders and her knees are kinda locked bc she’s nervous and is completely padded up…yeah i like to suffer with these thoughts.

also random but i would loveee a proper halloween episode bc we absolutely NEED to see rina in a haunted house bc yes gina would be protecting ricky. hes so malewife i cant 😭. one of these days i may have to slip out of anon mode and dump all my ideas on you privately haha but hiii it is me bday anon 🧁!

the expo gave us SO much i can’t even process what all this means for s4 but seeing the chemistry between sof and josh as rina is so heartwarming they work so well together i already know rina are going to be the most annoyingly cute couple when they finally get together. can you say ‘IT couple!’ and im totally projecting here bc i always wanted to do this but all the guys i ever dated were losers but i would d-word for a scene where rina are doing face masks together!! idk something about that is so sweet to me, especially if its gina smearing clay mask on for him and ricky being totally into it. (!!!) and since josh likes to paint his nails, it would be a cute nod to that if gina ever polished ricky’s nails. like imagine him with the cucumber slices over his eyes ike a diva while gina is giggling as she paints his nails in some pastel color. very bestie-turned-boyfriend energy! <33

BDAY ANON I MISSED YOU!!! Thank you for always showing up with a little cupcake 🥹

Ok but for real how did she frost those turkeys that well?? I’m literally a decade older than her and I do be struggling making anything meaningful in my kitchen lmao (and I eat mostly gluten free too so I just KNOW those were not easy to make). Also, completely unnecessary side note, Sofia is gluten free so they added that in as a call out to her IRL. They didn’t need to specify the cupcakes were GF so I thought that was a cute little shout out :)

And OMG I am like 90% sure I saw someone do a fan art of her standing on his skateboard and holding onto him 😭 (I can’t remember if they were kissing in it or not but how CUTE would that be, especially with their height difference!)

AND THE HALLOWEEN ONE IS SO GOOD. Like imagine him just quaking and crying and she has to lead him through, but then she gets a little scared sometimes and they call each other chicken again 😭 where I live (not sure if other places are like this) every one of our haunted houses end with someone chasing you through with a chain saw (no chain) 😂 it is the most traumatic and funny thing and the amount of screaming and panicking that happen in the end is so funny. I know it’s to get people to get out of the haunted house quickly but BOY is it funny. I would d*e if I saw them both run out in absolute fear from the ✨fake✨ chainsaw man

We were FED at D23. There was NO REASON for them to add the triangle to the choreo in their performance outside of fan service and you want to know what? I ate it up EVERY time I watched! And I’ll do it again!!

And trust me I totally get that!!! I 100% live vicariously through my rom coms and books so I don’t blame you 😂 (sorry you dated jerks though- I hope you find your own rina type love story some day 🥲)

And that is SO cute and we absolutely know ricky would do it. He would probably be the one who keeps bugging gina to go shopping for the supplies, asking her a million questions about the spa night, and would proudly brag and wear his colored nails. TBH it reminds me so much of Jim and Pam. Like we KNOW Jim would literally wear the dumbest outfit or do something that makes him look silly if Pam asked. And Ricky just RADIATES Jim energy. I’m so obsessed with these ships like I’m down BAD!!!

[novoaa1writes]

heaven

pairing(s): dark!peggy carter x nb!reader

summary:

you and peggy carter have a professional relationship. 

she’s your boss, for christ’s sake. 

sure, she’s gorgeous. and funny. and intelligent. 

are you attracted to her? undeniably. 

but regardless, you’d never pursue her. you know better than most that getting into it with your boss never ends well. 

too bad peggy doesn’t seem to harbor the same reservations. 

contains: non-con / dub-con smut

[ inspired by “positively owned” by @imanuglywombat​ ]

word count: ~1,000

rating: explicit (18+)

warnings: non-con, dub-con, rope bondage, dark!peggy, pet names, dirty talk

notes: reader is non-binary (they/them pronouns), though their gender identity is a fairly minor part of this drabble-ish thing. and, as always, reader is written to be poc / racially ambiguous, though that’s very minimally alluded to here.

[commissioned by someone who requested to remain anonymous]

— —

“Jesus, f—Please, I can’t—Shit !” 

With one last choked scream, you collapse back down to the mattress, aftershocks of euphoria ravaging your trembling body in powerful waves. Your wrists ache where they rest behind you near the base of your spine, bound tightly with coils of sturdy crimson rope. 

The lacquered surface of the wooden headboard behind you is cool and hard against the flushed, sweaty skin of your back—a welcome respite. 

Your thoughts spin; your naked chest heaves; and that sensitive place between your thighs… twitching and unbearably sore, puffy folds glistening with copious amounts of your own slick.  

You’d close your legs if you could—but of course, Peggy’s already several steps ahead. Both legs are restrained, bent double and widely spread—ankles to the tops of your thighs, knees askew—limbs tightly bound in crimson rope which matches the neat coils around your wrists. 

“P-P-Please, Ms. Carter,” you manage to gasp out, lungs burning. “I-It’s too much, p-please—” 

A dainty, perfectly-manicured finger dipping into your swollen folds stops you mid-thought, ripping the very breath from your lungs as the tip drags languidly from entrance to clit. 

In this moment, it seems to matter very little that you never wanted this—that Peggy Carter was a friend to you and nothing more, that you were more than content with allowing the dynamic between the pair of you to stay exactly that: platonic. Professional, even.

She’s your boss, for Christ’s sake, and heaven knows you’ve never been one for mixing business and pleasure. 

It never ends well. You know that better than most. 

Not only that, she’s… well, she’s Peggy Carter. Sole founder and current CEO of CARTER & CO., the world’s largest weapon manufacturing conglomerate to date. She’s among the most successful women in the world—in history, even. Hell, she’s been on the cover of Forbes three times spanning the last five years; she’s basically a celebrity. 

What could she possibly want with the likes of you? What could you possibly gain from making yet another big-time mistake with the woman who holds your very future in her dainty, impossibly well-manicured hands?

“Holy—Shit—Fuck !” 

Maddening shocks of pleasure jolt you back to the present, the pad of a probing finger as it lazily circles your clit. Just like that, any semblance of dubiety and skepticism flee your thoughts, leaving you a writhing sweat-slick mess in its wake, noxious euphoria twisting your very insides up in dolorous knots. 

“Aww,” Peggy coos, her breath hot against your lips as she looms above you, cocoa-bean-brown eyes watching your every twitch and shudder with rapt attention. “Does that hurt?”

Even as she asks, the very tip of her middle finger delves surehandedly back into your slick to dip just so inside your spasming hole; needless to say, the sensation alone (no matter how slight) has you fucking keening off the bed.

“Oh—OhmyGod—” You cut yourself off with a short inhale as Peggy sinks her finger ever further inside your clenching depths without a semblance of warning—slowly, gradually until she’s knuckle deep inside you.

Holy fuck.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—but there’s pleasure, too. Body-racking, chest-compressing, insurmountable pleasure which threatens to tear you apart from within.   

“Puppy’s a bit sensitive now, aren’t they?” Peggy questions, her honeyed tone dripping with faux sympathy. She’s all power and hungered poise as she bores down upon you: red-painted lips pushed out to form a perfect pout, lust-blown pupils intent upon your own… It feels impossible to look away. “Well, that’s to be expected, I suppose. I’ve put this pretty little pussy of yours through quite the ordeal this afternoon, haven’t I?”

“I—P-Please, I don’t wanna—Oh, my, FUCK !” Pleasure arrests your body from every side as she works another finger into you without preamble, effectively halting any futile attempts at escape in favor of arching your body obscenely up into hers—a wordless plea for more, more, more.

You don’t want it; it hurts and you don’t want it, but somehow you do, and that juxtaposition alone threatens to shatter you from the inside out—never mind the rest of it.  

Peggy chuckles, leaning down to nuzzle the tip of your nose with her own—teasing you even still, like you aren’t hanging on the precipice of utter mental and physical collapse. “Aw, my precious baby… You can give me another, can’t you?” She plants a kiss at the very corner of your lips, letting out a quiet chuckle against your skin at the tortured groan that objectively rather simple act elicits. “You can cum for me once more, make me so very, very proud?”

Something about Peggy Carter—she has a certain knack for making every question come across as an incontestable demand. This instance is no exception. 

And, in typical Peggy Carter fashion, she doesn’t wait for a verbal response.

Rather, she does precisely the opposite—works in another finger and doubles her pace despite the way it makes you shriek and wail, thrusting violently into you until lewd squelching noises fill your ears. Your cheeks burn with the shame of it; your sorely overstimulated cunt throbs and spasms wildly around Peggy’s thrusts; the sheer sensation of it all is unlike any else you’ve ever known, eclipsing your fickle consciousness in shades of blinding white.

“That’s it, bunny, let it happen,” Peggy soothes, her voice low and silken—offering comfort… and even still, her pace doesn’t falter—if anything, it quickens; long, dexterous fingers coaxing your swollen cunt steadfastly towards another earth-shattering orgasm that you’re sure will break you when it hits. “You’re doing so well for me, now—such a desperate little thing… You’re going to cum, aren’t you? All over my hand like a good little puppy, that’s it...”

… Fuck. Yeah, that fucking breaks you. 

You bite your tongue to stifle a keening whimper and don’t flinch when you taste blood, even as you can’t stop yourself from bobbing your head up and down in a shallow nod—admitting defeat. Hell, you’re almost cross-eyed as you gape wordlessly back up at Peggy, helpless and utterly overwhelmed by pleasure, bits of drool dribbling down your chin. 

It’s… heaven. Fucking heaven.  

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @teenwonder

— —

end notes: dark!peggy rail me challenge

LINK TO MASTERLIST

[peachyteez]

 harmless pranks ≫ DAY ONE, WOOYOUNG?!

this mischevious dolphin hybrid escaped an illegal experiment lab and has wandered the ocean for almost a year. all he longed for was love and attention—maybe even a family. who knew his “little” prank on jiyu would be the beginning to all of his wishes being granted.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @kpopnightingale, @rosesarethebest, @stillcantfindaproperusername, @bonbonhwa, @its-sarah-stark, @sanismybb, @frankenstein852, @peachseok, @woopetals, @exhofayemars, @pvrkacciosan, 

✧ can’t be tagged: @alienmashup, @c-sanshine, @int0chae

✧ notes: surprise! i know i scheduled the release for may 7th, but thought i’d release it a little early :)

next。

“i can’t believe you’re up and leaving us for a month,” yeonjun sarcastically commented while helping her lug her last luggage into the mercedes van that sunwoo had been so generous enough to send to pick them up. “and from the looks of it, it doesn’t look like soobin, beomgyu, and taehyun are going to let go of the others.”

and true to his word, she looked over to see them gathered in a group hug. beomgyu clung onto yunho with teary eyes, he’s never been separated from him for a month before. yunho gently pat the younger puppy’s head with a small smile. 

she chuckled at the heartwarming scene. “guys, you’ll still be able to call and facetime. and you’re acting like we’re never coming back! we’re only going to jeju island.”

“but what if you run away with this person because they’re rich?” beomgyu asked, ignorant to her background. at his question, the other boys gasped and whipped their heads over to her. 

her smile slightly faltered, forgetting that they don’t know of her origins. she knew she’d have to come clean someday—maybe this trip was the right time to tell. 

“don’t be ridiculous, of course we are,” she gently reprimanded before coming over to ruffle beomgyu’s hair. “beomgyu’s imagination is just running a tad bit wild.”

pouting, beomgyu shifted from yunho to engulf her in a bear hug. 

“soobin and i’ll make sure beomgyu doesn’t grow any grey hairs while worrying about you guys,” taehyun jokingly reassured. he knew beomgyu well enough, even though he was an addition to the family a month ago.  

“miss, it’s about time to depart to the airport,” the driver informed with a bow. 

with a nod, she rubbed beomgyu’s head. “okay, we need to go now, bub. we’ll message you when we get there, okay?”

reluctantly nodding, beomgyu let her go. he joined soobin, taehyun, and yeonjun to see them off, waving until they not longer saw the black vehicle. 

in the car, yunho, mingi, san, and yeosang were fascinated with how fancy the interior was. there were two rows of two seats, and row with three seats in the back. the seats were so comfortable, and it was so roomy; an environment unfamiliar to the hybrids. while seonghwa and yunho knew somewhat of her background, the others wondered how she managed to afford something like this. 

“is your friend rich?” san asked, looking back to face jiyu. seating arrangements were decided by an intense game of rock-paper-scissors. in the end, yeosang and hongjoong sat in front, mingi and san were in the middle row, and jiyu was squished in between yunho and seonghwa in the back. 

“that’s one way of putting it, yes.” in truth, she was worried about how they would react to her and sunwoo’s background. most of them had come from influential families or illegal organizations to begin with. having terrible memories with them, would they change once they knew who she really was?

“but don’t worry, he’s really nice! he has a hybrid friend of his own, too. i think he said a german shepard hybrid.” yunho seemed to perk up at the thought of meeting another dog hybrid. 

“hm...if you say so. if you trust him, then we do, too,” hongjoong said before getting comfortable in the seat. 

upon arriving at the airport, the van immediately took them to the runway where a private plane was parked and waiting. she assumed it was sunwoo’s. the boys plastered their faces against the van windows at the sight of the plane. they’ve never been on one before, hence their childlike fascination. 

“are we really going on that?” san asked with excitement. “i love your friend already,” he teasingly commented. 

jiyu softly chuckled as the van came to a stop. hopping out, she saw sunwoo standing at the entrance to the plane with a hybrid she assumed was eric. catching sight of jiyu, he started climbing down the stairs. she smiled and waved to him, an action he returned with a small chuckle. 

“were you waiting long?”

he shook his head. “don’t worry, we came ten minutes ago. eric’s been eager to meet you and your—” seeing the six hybrids behind her filing out of the van, his eyes widened. he knew she had hybrids, but he didn’t really know what to expect. “you have six?”

she sheepishly chuckled. “yeah...i hope you don’t mind. they won’t bite if that’s what you’re worried about.”

on the contrary, sunwoo didn’t mind at all; it actually made her a hundred times cooler in his eyes if anything. he’s never met a girl who managed to befriend six different hybrid breeds. but then again, with her job, he should’ve seen it coming. despite that, she just kept surprising him with who she is. 

“guys, this is sunwoo,” she called out to the boys. “he’s the friend i was talking about!” 

while the boys acquainted themselves with sunwoo, the german shepard hybrid approached jiyu with a friendly smile. “hi, i’m eric! although i think sunwoo told you plenty about me already.”

jiyu giggled at the boy’s abundance of energy. “he has mentioned you a few times. i’m jiyu.”

eric enthusiastically nodded. “i’ve heard about you a lot, too! sunwoo didn’t stop talking about you for a whole week after your first meeting.”

jiyu felt her face flush at the new piece of information. “a week—”

“ji! sunwoo said there’s also video games on the plane!”

before eric could continue exposing sunwoo, yunho came bounding up to her with the others in tow. with their calm and excited demeanor, she assumed that they managed to feel relaxed and at home with sunwoo, which made her happy and relieved. 

“is that so?” she mused, rubbing the spot behind his ears. yunho nodded and giggled, pushing his head into jiyu’s hands. eric glanced at sunwoo and couldn’t help the smirk on his face at the sight of the soft look on his friend’s face. 

snapping out of his reverie, sunwoo cleared his throat. “we should get going.”

the plane ride nothing out of the ordinary—the boys were getting to know eric, while jiyu and sunwoo caught up over a glass of champagne. 

“so it seems like your friends don’t know about you yet?” sunwoo inquired. “i told eric to keep his mouth shut about it just in case.”

softly shaking her head, she quietly glanced at the hybrid group that had passed out not too long ago after expending all of their energy. “only seonghwa and yunho know about it. i never found the right time to tell the others but this trip might be it.”

mingi had sleepily wandered over towards them and plopped down next to her before laying his head on her lap. within a few minutes, his breath evened out again. 

an endearing chuckle left her lips as she threaded her fingers through his faded red hair. “ah, you big baby,” she cooed. 

sunwoo watches her with a soft smile on his face. he watches the way she gently lulls the giant bunny to sleep, the mother-like smile on her face, the gentle aura she exudes—he could go on and on. she was completely different from what he had been expecting. while they had a few brief meetings during company gatherings, she always had a blank expression, never smiling nor frowning. it was almost like she was more robot than human.

when his parents had informed him of his future marriage with her, he didn’t know how to react. a part of him would’ve been lying if he had denied feeling the tiniest bit of disdain at his fate.

but lo and behold, she managed to leave him soft and charmed with every meeting, even if this was only their second one. 

“sir, ma’am, we’ll be landing in about ten minutes. please fasten your seatbelts.” 

his pilot’s voice managed to break him out of his thoughts, leaving him to scramble to sit up straighter and cool his flushed face. 

“i should wake them up,” jiyu said, completely unaware of sunwoo’s dilemma. softly shaking mingi’s shoulder, she gently prodded him awake before relaying the pilot’s message to him. padding over to the others, she did the same.

sunwoo sighed before buckling in his own seatbelt. he needed to keep himself in check around her before he accidentally does something that would embarrass himself. this is going to be a long month.

upon arriving at the private vacation home, jiyu was already bombarded with the youngers’ pleas to go to the beach. luckily for them, the vacation home was just down the street from the beach, giving them easy access to visit whenever they wanted. 

“i’m really sorry, i hope you don’t mind,” she apologized to sunwoo for the fact that they were going to the beach the moment they put their bags down. “if you’re tired, you can stay. i can take—”

sunwoo’s soft chuckle made her pause mid-sentence. she didn’t know he was capable of making such a melodious sound. while she was still living in the main house, her friends had painted him to be an aloof person. and even from what she saw at company dinners. the daughters of other elites were always throwing themselves at him, offering him drinks and their company. 

yet every singe time without fail, he would coldly reject them.

so when yuta had told her that he was the one her father set her up with, she was doubtful if they could even be civil with each other. 

“it’s fine, i’ll go with you and the others. eric’s been pestering me to go, too so it works out.”

the soft and friendly expression was just proof to her that maybe, just maybe, she had been judging the facade he puts up.

“oh, okay then!” she smiled before scurrying to her room to change. “let’s meet back here when we’re ready!”

watching her excited like a child to go to the ocean, he couldn’t contain the smile that he had been biting back. he was glad that they could at least be friends despite the circumstances.

“stop staring at her door and go change, loverboy.”

he was bought back to reality by his best friend’s quip. throwing him a half-hearted glare, he trudged to his room. “i wasn’t staring.” even his protest was weak. 

eric couldn’t help the smirk that crosses his face. he’s known his best friend long enough to know that he never gets like this around girls. “this should be an interesting trip.”

by the time they all met back up to leave, it was two p.m.—a prime time for the sun to be out and bestowing them with it’s heat on their short walk to the beach.

“it’s the ocean!” yunho shouted with utter glee and happiness as he and eric raced each other across the sand and to the water. the others ran after them, even san who ended up straying on shore and dipping his feet in the water. hongjoong joined him as he watched over the others in the water. 

jiyu and sunwoo had found a group of beach chairs under a big umbrella and tossed their bags down. stretching her limbs, jiyu sprawled out on a chair and closed her eyes for a brief moment. hearing the ocean waves along with the cheerful shouts of the boys in the water made her smile with content. 

cracking an eye open, she caught sunwoo throwing off the white t-shirt he had on and shaking his head afterward to fix his hair. her eyes raked over his body against her own will. his lean figure, the define abs lined on his stomach, and the hints of muscles on his arm only served to have a volcano of butterflies erupt in her stomach. 

“everything okay?” he asked, leaning down towards her face.

looking away from his piercing gaze, she jumped up and quickly discarded her own outerwear before speed-walking towards the water. “yep! just great!” she definitely didn’t miss the smirk that was threatening to take over his face. 

sunwoo smirked before running to catch up with her. he couldn’t help but take note of the red two-piece she was sporting. a part of him wanted to throw his earlier discarded t-shirt over her to give her coverage from other people’s gazes that were lingering just a bit too long, but he bit back his own desire.

after all, they were just budding friends who were about to be stuck in an arranged, and potentially loveless, marriage.

but that didn’t stop him from lifting her up and tossing her into the water.

emerging back up, she had to rub her eyes to get rid of the salt water before throwing a glare towards the laughing culprit.

“kim sunwoo!” she stood up and crossed her arms across her chest like an angry child. 

“i had to—hey!”

too busy caught up in his own laughter, he failed to notice the wolf hybrid sneaking up behind him to exact revenge for jiyu. emerging up next to jiyu, shook his head to remove excess water out of his hair before looking for his culprit. seeing the proudly-smiling seonghwa on shore with his hands on his hips, he let out snort. 

“alright, you got me.”

she burst into giggles before floating on her back. looking up at the sky, there were no hints of clouds—just the endless blue that seemed to stretch out for miles on end. feeling someone tug her feet, she perked her head up to see yeosang pulling her. 

“you were floating too far out,” he informed before lightly flicking her forehead. “watch out before you float away and we’re stranded here without you,” he added with a chuckle, just barely missing the splash of water that jiyu retaliated with, before swimming off back to yunho and mingi. 

“he seems fun to be around,” sunwoo said as swam up to join her. “he reminds me of eric, only more sass.”

“yeah, i never know where his sass comes from—”

she was cut off by a huge splash of water from behind that had not only hit her, but also sunwoo. turning around, she expected it to be yeosang, san, or eric.

but no one was behind them. 

sunwoo furrowed his eyebrows. the hybrid group was at least twenty feet away from them—there was no way any of them could’ve done it since he and jiyu would’ve heard them swimming off or laughing. 

“that’s odd, who—ah!”

before jiyu could finish her sentence, a pair of arms grabbed her waist and yanked her underwater. having no time to react, she felt herself being tugged away as they started swimming with her in tow.

sunwoo swore his heart almost stopped; whether it be from the fact that it all happened so quickly or the fact that jiyu could potentially be drowning, he didn’t know. he didn’t have time to know.

“oi, what the—!”  

his scream caught the others attention. looking over, they sunwoo looking frantic pulling something up from under the water. 

but there was no jiyu. 

they all swam over with urgency, fearing something went wrong.

“where is she?” hongjoong asked, brows furrowing with panic. the others looked ready to fight what or whoever took jiyu, even yunho and mingi even though they both looked on the verge of crying. 

“something pulled her down and just...swam away!”

meanwhile, underwater, jiyu was having a ball trying to fight off what or whoever pulled her down. it was definitely a person—she felt the arms around her waist and the hard chest that was tightly pressed against her back. looking behind her she managed to make out a male with majestic, black with gold highlights. 

the lack of air snapped her back to reality from her gawking and she stared to try and pry the man’s hands off of her. as if catching onto her message, he quickly brought her back up to the surface. 

inhaling like her life depended on it and coughing out some water, she turned around and glared at whoever decided to try and almost drown her.

but before she could her a word out, she was blown away by how...pretty the man staring back at her was. with his hair tucked behind his ears, it framed his face perfectly, showing off his distinct and defined facial features.

but something else caught her eye. 

the lower half of his body was a tail. eyes flicking back and forth from the man’s face to the tail, her mouth opened and closed like fish out of water.

“a fish h-hybrid..?”

“oi, jiyu!” 

at the sound of her name, she looked behind the man to see everyone swimming up to her. it turned out that they weren’t that far away from shore—the man, or hybrid, just took her along the shoreline rather than farther out like she had originally thought. 

the unknown hybrid just watched as the seven other hybrids and sunwoo crowded her to make sure she was okay. yeosang profusely apologized, saying “i know i joked about you floating away and stranding us, but i didn’t mean to make that a reality”.

sunwoo ruffled her wet hair, breathing out a sigh of relief. “you scared me there. i thought i was going to lose you on the first day here.”

“huh? yeosang?”

at the sound of his name, yeosang turned around and practically fainted. he literally swam past him, how did he manage to miss the extremely familiar face.  he stared at the underwater hybrid, wide-eyed, like he had witnessed another miracle from the universe. the unknown man mirrored yeosang’s look.

“wooyoung?!”

[halaboyz]

–– HEARTS // SUNWOO.

pairing: non-idol! sunwoo x gn! reader, close one eye for non-idol! hyunjae x gn!reader genre: angst, fluff + very, very cliche word count: 2.1k warnings // notes: profanities, no more that i know of ;; decided my first post to be the birthday boy! happiest birthday to the brightest ray of sunshine that deserves the whole world ♡ + you can find this scenario on my wattpad! i cannot find any time yet to write a new one so here you go,,

"I hate you." You cuss out to the man in front of you, sunwoo. "What did I ever do to you?" You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at yourself in disgust, full of flour and eggs.

"I just like making fun of you," He held his belly while laughing, "You look definitely someone to make fun of." He nodded off and left you standing on the cold rooftop.

You looked up, heaving a deep sigh. You closed your eyes in high hopes of stopping the hurt and anger conquering yourself. Your thoughts were distracted when you felt something cold touch your nose, and lots more to your face afterward. You open your eyes to see, "Snow.." You mumbled to yourself.

"Yes, it’s snowing, and you're still here, only in your school uniform, and–– drenched in flour and eggs." You look behind you to see Hyunjae, your not-so-average closest guy friend, removing his padded jacket and walking towards you.

"It's okay, you wear that. I'm not very cold."

"You are. Your lips are pale." You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness, and let him put his jacket on you. "I'm not stupid enough to know that it’s not Sunwoo. I'm sorry, Ms. Cha got on the way and made me run some errands."

"Come on, it’s not like you can stop Sunwoo."

"But I promised you I'd protect you."

"I know that."

He sighed, "How'd he turn out that way though? You were the best-est friends."

You closed your eyes. You also didn't know. You were childhood friends, closer than close, but one day, the Kim Sunwoo you know just disappeared. He started making fun of you, throwing balloon paints at you, embarrassing you in class, tripping you with the food tray on your hands, and now, throwing flour and eggs on you. This was going on cycle for a year and you don't know until when you can take it. If he hates you, why can’t he just say it? 

Oh, and of course, the reason. Why did he suddenly turn out to be so cold and merciless to you? every question you wanted to ask is just getting many and many.

Until Hyunjae came, he once tried to save you from tripping but then one of Sunwoo's friends pushed him too so you fell with him. That day he promised to be your closest friend and to save you always. 

"Thank you Hyunjae."

"Suddenly?" He let out a breathy scoff that made you realize he was only wearing a hoodie and was breathing visible air already because of the coldness.

"You up for hugs?"

"With your egg and flour?" He laughs, "Why not?" He reached his arms to you and hugged you lovingly.

"Let's go in, you're freezing." You said, "You can use my jacket." As you made your way to the door, he pulled you.

"One step he takes towards you I'll do martial arts on him." He made silly moves to make it look like he can beat up Sunwoo in 2 punches.

You laugh and pull him in, "You're so gonna walk me home today to explain to mom that there was a.. project."

"I got you, even though it’s bad." He pointed at you while going down the stairs, giving a playful wink.

As you got down, you heard stomping feet away from you. As you look at the back of the person, you knew very well that it was Sunwoo.

you looked at Hyunjae as he was giving the same confused look. You both shrugged it off and proceeded to your room–– yes, you're attending classes that messy.

You stretch your back and arms up, hearing the bell signal dismissal. You fix your things, waiting for Hyunjae. He wasn't in the same section as you, so you really had to wait.

While waiting, you recalled how grumpy Sunwoo was in the remaining class after you met him on the rooftop.

You shook your head sideward and when you were about to stand up, enough of waiting for Hyunjae, you were met up with Sunwoo's eyes and face that was very close to you so you let out a big gasp.

"Shocked? We were more than this close before, y/n." He smirked and made himself closer to you slowly.

"What the fuck are you up to?" You said, trying your best not to stutter while moving backwards as much as you can. "You've done enough for today, Sunwoo. Please, let me go home." You tried dodging him but he held both sides of your chair.

"Oh no, you're not going home." He made his way closer and closer, until your faces were inches away. Your heart was beating faster and you didn't know why, and you don't want to know why. You closed your eyes tightly when he was closing the gap. "Are you and Hyunjae dating?" He has made his way close to your ears which made your blood rush up to your face.

You were just breathing heavily until he was pushed to the wall with a raging Hyunjae. He grabs Sunwoo by the collar and protectively holds you behind him. Sunwoo did nothing but give a smirk.

"Do not, ever think about getting close to y/n again. I'm fucking warning you." You instinctively held Hyunjae as he let go, got your things and you both walked out the door.

You were now on the bus taking the way home, Hyunjae still has furrowed eyebrows.

"Hyunjae.”

"Hmm?" He hummed without looking at you.

"Hyunjae, I'm sorry."

"Nah, I'm just kidding," His face turned absolutely opposite in a mere second, turning to you. "So what did he say?" Like a little girl, he wanted to know everything, every detail. So you did tell him. "Ah! you know what, I honestly think, from the bottom of my heart, to my guts and to the blood running insid––,"

"Just tell me!" You cut off his blabbering.

"He's just in love with you." Hyunjae smirked as you turned red again. Your heart beats faster, but to hide your redness, you hit him repeatedly.

"What the fuck's in your mind! Are you crazy! Why would he do these if he does! You’re insane!" Until you arrived at your stop, he just kept on laughing at you because your red face didn't fade one bit.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months.

It has been months and even once did Sunwoo talk, or even make fun of you again. you didn't complain though, but still you felt incomplete. On the other hand, you were now spending all of your spare time with Hyunjae. He was fun to be with, how come you just became friends with him this year?

"y/n!" Hyunjae shouted through the hallway. "I have something to tell you."

"Spill."

“I'm thinking of building my courage and asking my crush to prom!"

“That's nice," You laugh, “Why’d you tell me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you going?” He ignored your question.

"I don't have plans to go to this prom," He raised his eyebrows at you. "What? It'll just tire you up dancing." You roll your eyes at the silly thought, but something inside you wants to experience prom.

"No, you need to go."

"I don't need to."

"You have to."

"I don't want to."

"y/n! Shit, I still have class. prom's on the day after tomorrow, I'll pick you up! I'll freaking drag you if I have to!" He waved as he made his way to another classroom.

You were on your way to your locker to get your things and go home, but as you open your locker, you find your favorite flower inside it, with a letter.

Go to prom with me?

You were beyond bewildered, no one knew your locker's password except.. Hyunjae and... Sunwoo?

You curse at yourself and look more in the letter but no name was written.

This handwriting isn't Hyunjae's.

You shrug the thought of Sunwoo asking you and thinking that he probably has a date already.

Prom night.

It was already prom night. You wake up early, the flower from the other day bringing good morning to you while sitting in your nightstand. You still don't know who gave it, but didn’t mind otherwise.

Why the fuck were you excited?

Weren't you supposed to have no plans?

Who is Sunwoo going with?

Questions start to bubble your mind again and it was none other than Sunwoo and Sunwoo only.

"Argh!" And you unintentionally slept again.

The loud ringing of the doorbell ruined your sleep and it was ringing nonstop.

"y/n, I'm not gonna stop until you let me in!" Hyunjae banged the door until you opened it. He made his way to the couch with his tuxedo.

"Oh, you look nice."

"I know. I look great." He scoffed. "Now go get ready gal, prom's in 5 hours."

"And you're already dressed?"

"That's because my mom wanted it, but I brought some spare clothes so I'm going to change here first and change again later, so that I won’t look a mess around girls who fawn at me." He fantasizes as you rolled your eyes.

You walk out your room prepared simply, and Hyunjae playfully claps at you.

"You look great." He winks at you, holding out his arm for you to hold as you walk to your flat’s parking lot.

You look at the car in front of you as Hyunjae takes careful steps with you. He opened the passenger's seat for you to take. As you were waiting for Hyunjae to speed off, you realize that there was also a car with a sticker of the school you were attending in.

"Huh, do I have any classmates in the same apartment?" You tilt your head as you think until Hyunjae sped off.

"Wow, this is very boring." You said as you just sit and watch couples dance. A lot have been offering their hands to you but politely decline it, reasoning you didn't know how to dance.

Hyunjae was beside you, reluctant to dance with others because he can’t just leave you alone.

"Have you noticed Sunwoo has been having his eyes on you the very moment he stepped out of his car after us?" He asks nonchalantly.

Your eyes now start to dart everywhere, looking for Sunwoo and as soon as your eyes landed on him, he avoided your eye contact and drank whatever was in his cup.

You scoffed and were surprised that Hyunjae stood up, offered his hand–– more likely pulled you to the dance floor.

"I'm bored, let's make Sunwoo jealous."

"You're really insane."

"Not,” He sassily cranes his neck. “Because what if I'm right? I might pass the prophecy." He laughed as he made you hug him in position for a dance; your arms on his neck while his hands on your waist.

You stayed like that for minutes until you were pulled outside.

"Alright, show's over." Sunwoo grunts, and Hyunjae just winks at you.

"Where are you going?" You ask him as he continuously pulls you and unintentionally tighten his grip on your wrist. "It hurts, Sunwoo, let go." He didn't budge one bit but just made it tighter. "I said it fucking hurts!" You stop and escape your wrist on his grip. You stopped in an empty garden that had a cool breeze.

"It hurts?" he scoffed, tears brimming in his eyes, "Do you even feel hurt? Then what do I call it when it’s worse? That's not all the pain you've given me, y/n! Do you know how much it fucking hurts seeing you so close with Hyunjae? Do you know how I felt that time when you were so happy the first time you got seated with him and not me? Do you know how random it feels to say I don't love you but my heart feels otherwise? Do you fucking know how it always hurt me that you say i hate you to me always, in hopes of you saying the opposite those times i always make fun of you?" Tears were now running down, and yours were threatening too. "Do you know how hard it is to avoid you, to avoid thinking that you and Hyunjae aren't dating?" His furrowed eyebrows made you scared of what was to happen.

"We aren't."

"Bullshit y/n!" You winced, "Bullshit! Sharing hugs, you're always together, yet you didn't even acknowledge the flower I put in your locker! You went with him this prom.." he exasperatingly exhales. "I'm doing my best to erase you from my mind and heart.. to say that I don't have any chance with you. But this heart," he points at his heart, "It beats for you.. It beats for you, it hurts." You let out a light chuckle, cupping his cheek to make him face you.

"Bastard, we aren't dating, you know how fond I am of cuddling with whoever." You smiled at him, "I don't know how love feels," his eyes lit up, "But it feels the same way you do.. It beats for you."

[jedifarmerr]

The Anomaly Series: Chapter 1

(Marcus Moreno x F! Reader)

Rating: E (18+) No Minors 

Word Count: Just under 2k

Overall Series Warnings: Masterlist

Warnings: Language, light angst, general heroic themes, & things that go along with superheroes (No use of y/n & physical description of reader is vague)

Authors Note: This is a new series, I had this idea, and couldn’t get it out of my head! Majority of this is cannon compliant, just added some more details and stuff

The scratchy feedback of the intercom echoes around the small cabin, jolting you awake. Your eyes flutter, adjusting to the bright yellow and blue tones splashed throughout the interior of the cabin, a flash of their symbol in every small crevice and corner. You look around the cabin, disoriented, your eyes landing on the bright blue uniform, the gaudy yellow H embellished on the flight attendant's cap, an artificial smile spreading across her features. Your body flops against the leather seat, your head bounces, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. 

Your feet hit solid ground, wobbling slightly as you adjust, the sun warm against your skin as you close your eyes, breathing in the air of your new home. The sound of gates squeaking open pulls your attention forward, a limo appearing in the horizon, making its way across the private runway. Even from a distance, you can see the obnoxious symbol of the Heroics plastered on the hood, a scream for attention, for assurance. You cringe at the flashiness of the display, but what did you expect, this was the Heroics, the most pretentious and the shallowest people you have ever known, and your employers. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” you scream out, tiny droplets of coffee painting your new satin blouse, your fingers rubbing at the material as you continue the long descent down the stairs of your complex. You dab at the material, eyes focused as you make your way down the sidewalk. A woman in a Heroics jacket lands on your bicep, pulling you back. 

“No,” you say in a passive tone, disinterested in what she is offering, “I will take the bus.” Turning back to the material, you lick the pad of your thumb, rubbing angry circles at the material. 

Her grip tightens, stopping you midstep, “Ma’am we must insist,” an apologetic tone in her voice “you know we can’t-” you put your hand up, your mind reminding you it isn’t her fault, not to start problems on your first day. 

You sigh, “Fine, but do you have something for this?” You point, she nods her head as she leads you to the car, “I think we can find something.” Hey, at least you won’t be late for work. 

The car makes its way through the city. You had heard rumors of the West Coast branch, rumors of how grand and innovative it was. As the car crosses a bridge, the sight of a lavish, modern building causes your jaw to drop. A massive structure surrounded by water, reminiscent of a castle, complete with a moat and drawbridge, a barrier separating them from others, how fitting. 

The car comes to a stop in a secluded area, keeping you far from the entrance and prying eyes. You grip the handle, ready to make your long trek, “Wait!” your head snaps over, the sound of shuffling coming from the front seat, “Here is your badge, you will need it to access the terminal.” 

“Terminal?” your fingers run across the hard plastic of the surface, what did she mean terminal. 

Her head nods to the small spec, located close to the front, “Just follow the crowd” she smiles, “Ms. Granada will be waiting for you in the main lobby.” You nod, turning back to the door, “wait! You need a map-”

“You need a map for this place?” you interrupt, unable to hide the shock. 

You calm your tone, “Thank you. Will you be here to pick me up as well?” 

Her face is remorseful, “I will be out front at 7 o’clock.” You nod, letting out a deep exhale as you give her a small wave, opening the door to your new life. 

You stare out the glass panes of the terminal, watching as the busy workers scurry around, moving in all different directions as they race to wait hand and foot on the Heroics. You follow the crowd, wandering aimlessly through the lobby. An annoyed tap on your shoulder turns you around, now facing a woman with a plastered smile on her face, body stiff as she stares at you. 

“Ms. Granada?” She gives a quick nod of her head as you reach out your hand, introducing yourself. 

“Yes. I know who you are.” Her voice coming out choppy and somewhat singsongy, your hand dangling in midair, “WE, are so happy to have you joining us,” she turns, your hand clutching to your side, “Come,” she says with a look over her shoulder, “Let’s walk.” 

You shuffle behind her, trying to keep up with her quick pace as she guides you around the extravagant building. Your eyes wander as you travel through the corridors and hallways of the building, taking in the grand display the Heroics showcase, the ornate gold of the ceiling, the smooth tiling delicately placed on the walls, this really is a castle. 

Your body comes to a halt as she stops, “This is my office, come. Let’s talk privately.”

The doors slide open, your eyes landing on the blue furry chair in the office, unable to control yourself as you race to plop down on the warm material. Ms. Granada watches as your body relaxes in the chair, a deep sigh escaping your lips. She clears her throat, her gaze serious, causing you to straighten under her gaze. 

“First, we are so happy to have someone such as yourself working for this branch. I know the East Coast was sad to see you leave” 

You give her a passive smile, “Happy to-”, she cuts you off, a reminder that all heroics workers are the same. 

“Now, we are taking your situation very seriously. The only two people who will know your true identity are myself and your driver. Don’t worry, she has worked here for years.” A sigh of relief escapes you. 

“Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk about the job.” She rises from her desk, leaning on her fingers, “You will be working in the main control area, doing exactly what you were doing at your last job, matching heroes with missions.” 

She starts to walk towards the door, sliding open with ease. “However, at this branch, you will be working under someone.” 

“Wait. wait. Wait. I don’t-” she stops you. 

“You are here now, and here, you are a nobody. Got it?” Her head twitches to the side, waiting for your response. You nod, torn between the relief of being a nobody and the annoyance of having an incompetent boss. 

The doors to the control area glide open, the sound of fingers typing and the beeps from the machines fill the tiered work space. Your body descends down the steps, looking from side to side, the walls scattered with high-tech devices and screens, the Heroics logo covering the area that would have laid bare. 

“This is way better than the East Coast.” Your mouth hangs open as you watch the wide screens covering the front wall, the innovative system at work, moving photos of the heroics dancing across the screen, quick succession as the sound of the workers' conversations fill your ears. 

Ms. Granada smiles at your comment, shimmying as she stands straighter, “Well, this is the best of the best.” 

She leads you to your desk, the one next to you unoccupied, only a frame containing a photo of a little girl showing that the space is reserved. Grabbing your shoulders, she pushes down, forcing your body to sit in the swivel chair. “This is your desk,” she points, “and this is your device. It has all the files you need to do your job.” She smiles as you click around, “Now, let’s get to work.”

Ms. Granada stands at the center of the room, everyone working on their respective projects. The big screen flashes red, a robotic voice sounds through the speakers, “Threat Detected” causing the computers to all transform into a new program. The energy of the room shifts, the workers voices turning urgent, quick, their words filling the room. 

The discussion comes to a screeching halt as the doors slide open, everyone's head whipping to see the intruder. A familiar face slinks down the steps, his body shuffling into the seat next to you, acting as if he can go undetected.

Ms. Granada turns from the podium, an annoyed expression crossing her face, “You’re late.”

His voice is husky, his face candid as he speaks, “I’m sorry, my daughter-” 

Ms. Granada holds her hand up, immediately silencing him, “Now. Who should we send?” 

A few suggestions fly around the room, all being nixed, everyone too eager, too hurried. Your mind ponders, before it breaks through the others, “What about Ms. Vox” you drag her photo on the screen, and “Invisi Girl” both their photos moving across the screen. 

Ms. Granada looks to the man, “You have the final say.”

He turns to you, confusion evident on his face, “Why did you choose those two?”

You can tell he isn’t challenging your decision, he wants to hear your reasoning, unaware of the details of the threat. “Well, Ms. Vox can use her vocal cords to break the glass, while Invisi Girl slips through undetected,” you look to the screen, “They will think she is alone, but Invisi girl can stop the device, while Ms. Vox takes care of the rest.” You look at the man, your voice assured. 

“Solid plan. Send them.” His voice encouraging. Ms. Granada nods as she sends the call. 

Everyone watches as the plan goes off without a hitch, watching as the heroes fight, another win in the books. The man turns to you, an excited expression on his face. Your eyes remain on your screen, reading files, unfazed by the fight and the cheering of the other workers. 

“Hey,” that husky voice draws you from the text, “We haven’t officially met, I’m-”

You look back to the screen, “Marcus Moreno. Leader of the Heroics, and my boss. I know.” You say your name, not looking back over. You knew of him, knew of the Moreno family.

After a few minutes, he interrupts again, “Well, great job, fast thinking and detailed” an awkward laugh coming from his lips. 

Your focus remains on the screen “Well, I have a lot of experience. But, thanks.” You meet his eyes for a second, giving him a quick nod. 

He doesn’t interrupt again, instead taking glances at you, watching as you keep to yourself. It’s safe to say, he doesn’t get much work done that day.  

You begin picking up the papers scattered around your desk, cleaning as you keep an eye on the clock. A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Marcus’s body sitting in his chair, his focus on the training video of the new heroics. Curiosity gets the best of you, as your eyes peer over, sneaking a peak at the upcoming “talent.” 

The sound of a young girl’s voice radiates through the speakers, barking orders at the others, a smile appearing on Marcus’s face, his eyes meeting yours. 

He points to the screen, “That’s my daughter”, his voice proud, the smile widening. 

Lucky for him, his daughter is a heroic, just like him. You smile, “Sounds like she is a leader, just like you. I’ll see you tomorrow Marcus.” He nods, giving you a quick wave as you leave the room. 

Marcus’s eyes adjust to the darkening sky, his eyes narrow as he looks through the glass pane of the terminal, looking at the nearly empty parking lot. Bright headlights shine through the glass, temporarily blinding him. Removing his glasses, he rubs at his eyes, blinking excessively to gain his sight back. The town car is at a halt, in front of what looks like your form, he watches as you stealthily enter the car, watching as it drives off.