#the tone and the setting is just so different...

[firawren]

I know she's not actually weird for reading books, and that the reading itself isn't really the issue. My point was that modern Belle needs something other than only book reading to signal her "otherness." Modern AUs of BatB always make Belle bookish, which is fine, but they often fail to give her any additional interest, habit, or quality that sets her apart from her peers and makes her odd to them. I myself have done this, so I'm not criticizing, just brainstorming how I could modernize her character in a more convincing way.

I said nothing about modernizing her to still live in a small town specifically, but sure, if that was the setting someone chose to place her in for their modern AU, making her dress in haute couture-ish stuff and want to move to Europe (assuming she's living in small-town USA, per your specific examples) could work as "othering." I like your idea for that. I already mentioned the possibility of her clothes setting her apart, regardless of setting, and I did this in one of my retellings, too (she makes her own clothing, and it's brightly colored and doesn't fit with the style of what the other villagers wear). It's fun to connect back to the film's choice to put her in bright blue when all the villagers are in earth tones as a way to signal that she's different.

I love it when modern adaptations of old books opt to be loyal to the book's cultural context instead of the specific details of the characters/settings. Like if one character written in a specific era is depicted as being annoyingly obsessed with pocket watches, specifically as a way of illustrating that this man is a fashion-obsessed airheaded fop, it wouldn't make sense in the same way in the 21st century, pocket watches would be an extremely odd and interesting hobby for a modern young man, so it doesn't have the same context. Make that mf a sneakerhead.

Or a specific scene that's constantly used as an example for arguments of "I don't like [the book heroine] because she hates horses", when originally the point of the scene was that all this talk about horse breeds and some specific stud's ankle angles is also going over her head, and it's more of a "send help, car guys won't stop talking about cars" situation.

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 11- Wasp in a Beehive

A/N: See what I did there on the title? 😼 it’s not that clever- it’s also been hard to write this chapter because I had a lot of ideas but can’t just cram it all into one chapter, so I had to cherry pick what to put in.

That and writer’s block lmao

You had another nightmare this night. You fell out of your little hammock with tears in your eyes, shaking as whimpers build up in your throat. You frantically searched for your bee plush, hugging it tightly against your chest.

Rain poured down from outside, droplets splashing onto the window, slowly rocking your beehive. Staying in such a tiny room didn’t feel comforting, so you stepped out of the room and crept through the halls.

“A-Alfred…” You whispered to yourself, the dim lights from the walls illuminating your way. Passing the upstairs railing, you could see Dick and Tim downstairs, talking in such a late hour while laughing and smiling.

You wish you could run to them for comfort, but the last time you did you only got an uncomfortable smile from Dick and an annoyed eye roll from Tim. So you only continued to walk until making it to a door, knocking slowly while sniffling.

“Master (Name), why are you out of bed?” The door opened for Alfred to kneel down, worried at your teary face. The thunder outside only made you flinch more, where you shakily opened your mouth.

“M-Mama…” You only choked out before collapsing in his arms weeping. Alfred immediately began to shush you gently, his gentle tone soothing out any of the thunder outside.

“You poor dear,” He whispered, “Had another nightmare, did we?” You nodded before sobbing softly again and hugged the butler’s waist tight. He lifted you up in his arms before setting you on his bed.

“Here’s your bee,” He softly said, handing you your bee plush you dropped. You grabbed it and crawled under his covers, making him chuckle softly as this was a nightly occurrence for you to sleep on his bed.

“I will make a vow to you, Master (Name),” He hummed, sliding into his side of the bed, making sure your Wonder Woman nightlight (he never told Bruce) lit the room to keep you calm.

“I promise you, you will never have another nightmare again,” Reaching to cup your little cheek, you wiped all your tears away and gave a smile, eyes fluttering closed before sleep overtook you.

“G’night Alfred…” You mumbled. His heart ached, his breathing stuttering before smiling warmly at you, his own eyes drifting down to sleep.

“And you will never be alone,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“I promised…” Holding your bee plush seemed to be the only thing that’s keeping Alfred from falling onto his knees and letting out another heartbreaking cry. You were alive, truly alive! You may look different, but you’re still his baby!!

Problem is… this changed everything to what the Wayne Family was struggling with. The thing that “killed” you… was really you.

And it was causing chaos.

“I say we just go track them down and bring them back!” Damien demanded, already in his Robin suit and ready to find you.

“We need to find out what caused (Name) to become that thing so we could create a cure!” Tim countered back, glaring at the younger boy.

“Guys…” Duke swallowed hard, “What if… it’s not (Name) anymore…” Alfred didn’t want to believe it, he wanted to deny and insist that you were still you. Yet… he didn’t know who you were, and it seemed like you didn’t know either.

“If that thing is no longer them… then we have to kill it,” Steph managed to choke out. The memory of seeing you dead haunted her, but knowing the thought of killing you again… She definitely took in the fact both times would be because of them.

“You’re wrong,” The voice of Cass made the yelling stop. The vigilante never speaks unless she wants to, so Cass speaks, everyone listens. She had a hardened look on her face, moving over to where Jason was sitting.

“When they broke Jason’s hand,” She lifted Jason’s cast, “They stopped before they could kill him,” The way you looked after you backed away in terror, as if seeing him- albeit his mask covered his face- gave you recognition.

“They called me Jaybird,” That was a name Jason hasn’t heard ever since his death. The one name that made him grin with joy and laugh like he was a kid again. The name that was given to him by the one person who balanced his hero life and his kid life.

“(Name) is still there, somewhere deep down in that beast’s heart,” He continued for Cass, sitting upright from his chair. A spark of hope and determination filled everyone, prepared to do whatever it takes to save you.

Alfred stared down back at your bee plush. Maybe things will be okay, you’ll be in his arms again and everything that happened will be nothing more than a memory. You’ll be his sweet (Name) again.

“I’ll find a cure to whatever they were infected with, to bring them back,” Barbara and Tim immediately got to work in searching for whatever was left in that warehouse they took. They lost the tapes your mother made about Project: Honey, but splashes of pollen and videos from your phone could give them enough time and clues for a cure.

“We’ll have our (Name) back in no time,” Duck reassured everyone, “Don’t celebrate yet Grayson,” Damien hissed, but Dick knew that tone of his brother’s voice that he was also anxious about finding you again.

“The next step is to find Poison Ivy, see if she was behind their accident,” Bruce declared, “The mere mention of her name already gave us many leads and clues as to what happened,” Hunting Ivy down was another hassle, since she usually vanishes for months before appearing for her next spree, and Harley never snitches on her.

“I know how,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Selina was a woman of many words through action. She shows her body to save others like her, swings a leg to kick it into a face of bad people, drags a whip to crack it into a neck, speaks to lure others into a trap.

Yet when it came to Bruce, it was a roll of a dice on whether or not her actions will get through to him. She couldn’t get through to him about his No-Kill code, nor did she got through to him when letting Jason go, but now?

Nothing is ever going to get through to him with this.

“Figured it was about time you would come sniffing around us for a certain someone,” She leaned against a railing on a rooftop, admiring the moon as if it was precious jewelry.

The brooding figure of Batsy was always something she was amazed to seeing, yet tonight she could tell he was off his game, that’s how much she knew him well.

"Where’s Poison Ivy?” He gruffed out, skipping the smooth talking he combined his Batman persona with his Brucie Wayne persona.

“You know I don’t rat out my girls, especially if she hasn’t done anything bad in a while,” Selina scoffed while admiring her claws, seemingly uninterested in what he was going to say.

“But even if I did tell you where Ivy was, not like she would say anything to you willingly, not without breaking your bones. I’m all you got right now for any information,” She shrugged, her whip draped along the ground like a tail.

“Then you know the reason I’m here,” Bruce pulled out a photo, taken from a security camera catching your figure, blurred and out of focus. Selina didn’t bother looking at what he was holding.

“We weren't going have the kid to be thrown in Arkham, Bruce,” She snapped, “Whatever you see, they weren't always like that,” She stretched her body and sat up right, already ready to escape whatever interrogation Bruce was initiating.

“They were just a kid. A clumsy yet smart kid who even knew us as criminals, still smiled and greeted us as if we were still human,” She smiled at the memories of you skating along the street while waving to them, before eating shit into a pole.

“You would’ve loved them, they kinda reminded me of you,” She breathed a chuckle. She was tired, and swung her legs over the railing to leave Bats in the dust, but froze when he spoke.

“That was because they are my child,” His breathing was stilted, as Selina slowly turned her head to see Bruce pulling his cowl off, letting her see how… tired he looked. More than usual.

“Holy shit… you’re the neglectful dad?” Selina’s eyes narrowed before letting out a soft chuckle, growing into a bitter laugh, “Should’ve known, your history on loving your kids were a bit iffy, never really thought you had it in you for abandoning one,” She continued laughing as she slid back to sit on the railing.

“I didn’t abandoned them,” He quickly said, though it felt defensive rather than the truth, “Sure seemed like you did,” She scoffed, standing up.

“I mean, talk about broken home! Did you really didn’t do anything when Damien swung his sword at them? Poor baby went to Ivy for it to heal… never got rid of that scar,” Selina pressed her finger on her forehead, informing where you got your scar from Damien.

“Selina, please. I’m begging you to tell me where they are. At least where Ivy is,” Bruce clenched his hands around his cowl, voice more desperate if you recognized the way he spoke. He was trying to stay strong despite it all.

“And why should I? So you could feel better about yourself? So you don’t have that guilt in your heart reminding you that you failed as a father? That you can’t stand the thought of actually failing being what others saw you as?” Selina pressed him, glaring at Bruce as she backed him to the edge of the building.

“You might as well just accepted you never had them as your kid in the first place since you failed to see them!” The venom from her voice made Bruce clench his eyes shut, gritting his teeth before the gates burst open

“Selina please!!” His Batman voice wavered and broke into Bruce Wayne. Selina stayed silent, watching a broken man as he fell onto his knees, not being able to support the emotional wreck he was in.

"I lost them once-!… I-I can't lose them again…” He wasn’t ever going to lose you again. He will make sure that you will be loved till the end of times that you won’t even remember why you were angry at him. You’ll forgive him that he can promise.

“… Fuck, she’s going to kill me…” Selina groaned, rubbing her face seeing the pathetic face of Bruce, yet couldn’t help but soften a little. She opened a little bag on her belt and shuffled around.

“This is all I’m giving you, because despite us together, your mistakes messed that little baby up so bad they became a monster because of you,” She flicked a small card at his feet, avoiding eye contact.

“This is the only thing I’m going to do, it ain��t my place to interfere, nor help you with,” Even if she was involved with Bruce, you were first, always had and always will be.

“And watch out with Ivy finding out that not only you’re their dad, but the reason they were hurt for so many years,” Selina dusted herself off before hopping onto the ledge of the building, stopping for a moment and turning to Bruce.

“Don’t. Make me regret this,” She warned cautiously and dangerously, pointing at him before jumping off the ledge to leave. Bruce stayed silent before slowly crouching down to lift the card to him.

The card didn’t had any other information other than a name with little hexagon patterns splattered across the faded paper. Guess whoever takes card would know their way around the city to find this place.

“The HoneyComb,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“Here!” It was easy to pin point the location to this indie club that apparently is easy to join. Barbara zoomed in from security footage that came from an undetected camera perched on a small bakery nearby.

“Oswald Cobblepot paid for the property of the warehouse (Name) spent years in by using an alias to sway any suspicion. Discretely having it under renovation during the night, construction was under wraps for days,” Tim crossed his arms and leaned against the Bat computer’s desk holder, eyes darting around to take in every detail from the footage.

“Now we know why,” Barbara piped in, “(Name) has been using the very place they worked hard in as their new home. Surveillance from other stores showed people enter and exit through the night,” More choppy videos played, yet it was clear as day what, or who they were seeing.

“Look at that…” Duke’s eyes widened when spotting familiar faces. From simple mugging or burglary, they see people that only wanted to survive that they had stopped before, “Glowing eyes… just like-,” Now they’re eyes were just like-

“(Names)’s,” Jason breathed out a laugh, “Guess their little rants about bees to me worked in our favor,” Damien looked up at his brother, confused as Jason began to explain.

“A queen bee can’t survive without drones or worker bees, so instead of laying eggs to larvae, (Name) must’ve used that honey they were so proud of as some sort of mind control to target homeless, muggers, or drug addicts to work for them,” He explained, arms crossed and nodding in realization.

“No one would miss those kinds of people,” It sounded mean, but even the optimistic ones in the Batfamily knew that they were nothing more than thieves.

“W-we can’t just let them continue with this! This isn’t like them!” Dick pleaded. He was sure that whatever you turned into has trapped your mind into a mindless state where you had no idea you were harming others! He’ll save you and bring you back to normal!

“That’s the thing… If it’s too late to bring them back, we have to arrest them…” Bruce’s hand trembled at the thought of taking you away to Arkham. Maybe he’ll pull some strings to stop it from happening.

“But if we catch them… we can’t send them to Arkham. I know that our (Name) is still there, we could rehabilitate them to regain their memory!” Duke looked scared, and rightfully so. This could go wrong in many ways, but the look in the family’s eyes means that they’re willing to risk everything.

Bruce has made many mistakes in the past, but you weren’t going to be another. He will bring you back, he will spend his entire life finding a cure to your beast and throw a big party for you when you’re normal again.

“Question is…” Alfred began, his fingers on his chin in a thoughtful manner. Going in dressed as Batman and the Robins is a huge no-no, despite not knowing how capable you are in your bee form Alfred knows how much you hated them. So in a disguise…

“Who’s going?”

…

“ME!!!”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“Honeycomb, where all is welcome,” Dick flipped the card over a few times, as if thinking there was some sort of code behind it. Dick, Damien, Steph, Jason, and Duke were chosen (or rather fought) to be disguised as homeless or low citizens.

“Tt, Grayson, why must we wear such rags?” Damien tsked, shoving his hands into his pockets while they turned a corner to see the warehouse from a distance.

“We don’t know if seeing our faces or clothes the hypnotized “drones” will alert (Name), we lay low,” Dick ruffled the assassin’s hair, making him growl. Yet he was more focused on finding you rather than biting Dick’s hand off.

The low vibrations of upbeat music indicated that they were near. Standing at the warehouse, it looked like it was completely run down just like before, but the lights shining through the cracks said otherwise.

“Please! We seek shelter, we seek a home!” Duke banged on the door, before grimacing when he pulled his hand away to see honey sticking onto him.

Jason snickered before the two doors slid open, the glowing lights from inside blinded them for a moment. Duck squinted his eyes and raised his hand as a figure stood at the entrance, a familiar grin on his face.

“Greetings, my fellow outsider bees!” A voice so familiar with memories caused all of them to freeze. A hand quickly grabbed onto Dick’s, Jason tugging at his scarf frantically. Joker stood happily, oblivious at the group’s reaction.

“Looks like we are welcoming more poor little bees who are in dire need of our sanctuary!” He laughed heartily, “But not to worry! Our queen will take you in definitely!” He gave a dramatic bow before the doors slid open, the light from inside pouring out that blinded them for a moment.

“Grayson,” Damien stilled, “That’s the Joker,” Yet those words felt like a lie. It was so clearly that it was the Joker, but he was… different. His outfit consisted on resembling of a fancy jester with strips and pastel colors splashed across, large antennas sticking out of his head, his smile still wide, but lack the insanity behind it.

And his eyes… glowing like everyone else.

“Yeah, I know…” He mumbled, squeezing the hand of Jason, who remained silent but had that look in his eyes, Lazarus green glowing.

“We are happy to take in more of our precious bees!” Joker’s antennas twitched, which caused a few younger bees to offer plates of honey to the new group, to which they declined. Jason grimaced in slight fear when seeing Ben, a young boy he saved from being in the wrong crowd when he spotted him stealing from a car.

He didn’t look malnourished the last time he saw Ben, in fact, he looked better than ever. His clothes were new, his face clean from bruises and blood, but it didn’t felt great when his eyes glowed and antennas twitching.

Dick scanned the area while Joker rambled on about how his “Queen” showed him his wrongdoings and let him in with open arms. “They truly do care about their bees,” He sniffled dramatically, dabbing his fake tears away before laughing softly. It felt unnatural, this place.

Inside had hexagon patterns for the walls and the floors, along with the rails for the three floors she has within it. What appeared to be a waterfall fountain with glowing pink and orange honey where older drones gathered in bowl, still offering them to them.

Damien sure as hell doesn’t like the fact everything felt… too happy. Everyone was safe, yes, but the music, the atmosphere had this… strain, as if it was determined to keep everything in a happy state.

“You’re just in time too! Our queen is about to begin the party!!” Joker clapped his hands with joy, a genuine smile on his face as the lights began to dim. Dick instinctively pushed the others back as the drones and worker bees gasped with excitement, all looking up at the ceiling, where a massive wax covered smaller hive was glowing.

“Party is buzzing tonight!!” A loud, beaming voice echoed throughout the hive, causing your subjects to all cheer. Damien and Duke looked at each other just as a tempo began to drop, and from the ceiling, a bright glow crawled to be revealed.

A bright smile they recognized anywhere, and the voice that no longer stuttered or sounded coarse.

Buzzzzz

“Your Queen Bee makes the sweet stuff, so make me that sweet, sweet honey!!”

A/N: Again, this may be an allegory, but who knows lmao. Anyways, here’s a chapter for you hungry pests because writer’s block actually shot be 47 times then tossed me into a ravine.

Have fun analyzing why things feel fake and too happy, I like when yall analyze things

Taglist: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche @sc3n3mo-t3to @tw-om-gi-hs-56387 @bunniotomia @welpthisisboring @rad4bean @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @ceramic-raven @danart501 @esposadomd @trashlanternfish360 @jjoppees @nervousalpacalady @eyeless-kun @pinkcloudcat @lunamonkeypower @soriansick @your-favorite-god

[txniesha]

Complication Sylus x Non!MC Reader Pt 5

Synopsis: You wanted to get away but he dragged you back like he always does. The only question is, why don't you leave, why do voluntarily stay?

cw: angst, typos, grammar

word count: aprox. 3000

A/N: finally got my macbook charger replaced so im back to writing. I'm excited to get back to updating this regularly and even starting a new one. I hope you guys enjoy and sorry for posting this so late at night.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

The ride back was a lot more awkward than you had expected. You expected screaming and anger, not pure silence. He didn’t even have music on; he was just staring quietly out of the window. It deeply unnerved you as Sylus was a quiet man but not like this. Usually his silence spoke volumes, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking at that moment.

When you arrived back to the N109 zone you felt a sense of nervousness, you couldn’t stop fidgeting with your hands and you really wished you could smoke a cigarette. Your phone was shattered and was barely functioning, so you didn’t even have that to distract yourself during the ride. “Here” Sylus says, and you look over at him. He was holding a box, a new phone. You accept the phone hesitantly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t even start it up. I heard how angry you were when we were talking and figured you would do something stupid… like break your phone” he says, his tone a bit disinterested, nodding at your shattered phone.

You just nod and give him a silent thank you. It irritated you that he waited the entire ride back from Linkon to finally give you the phone, but it was whatever. You spent the remainder of the ride setting up the phone and transferring your things over. You weren’t really surprised when you got the service set back up and your phone lit up with missed calls and text messages.

You looked over to see Sylus' reaction to the flurry of messages but were surprised to see him still staring out of the window. This behavior unnerved you. Usually, he would make some slick remark about your ‘boyfriend texting you’ or take your phone and power it off. You decided to ignore it and respond to the messages. You weren’t surprised to have a few from Xavier asking you to please tell him you were okay. You sent back a quick message telling him you were fine and not to worry. Zayne had also sent you a message, but you decided not to look at it. You didn’t know why but you felt like seeing a message from him would make you regret agreeing to go with Sylus.

The car came to a slow stop in front of the main base of Onychinus. This base holds Sylus’ multi-story penthouse at the very top. The driver opens the door for you, and you thank him as you step out of the car. You did not miss the cold dark city of the N109 and longed to be back in Linkon already. Sylus walked ahead of you, and you couldn’t help but follow behind him like a lost puppy.

The air here felt different, and you could tell everyone in the base was more on edge than usual around him. You felt bad that everyone had to suffer the backlash of your actions and walked with your head down. The elevator ride up was tense and awkward also, with Sylus not even looking at you, just staring blankly at the elevator doors.

The doors opened up to Sylus' luxury penthouse and you stepped out into the cold dark hallways. You were surprised to see Luke and Kieran leaning against the wall talking. They had somehow managed to make it back before the two of you. They perked up at the sight of you two and rushed over to Sylus. “We did well right boss!” Luke asks in an excited tone.

Sylus nods and waves them off. “Yes yes, the two of you are free to do whatever it is you both do for the rest of the evening.” Luke and Kieran high five each other and excitedly hurry to the elevator doors. “See you later boss lady” Luke shouts after you. “Don’t get in too much trouble” Kieran adds before the sound of the elaborate doors closing symbolizes the isolation of you and Sylus.

He turns and starts walking down the corridor and you follow behind him. You’ve known Sylus for years but had never actually been inside this property of his. The ambience here was so much different than the other properties you had been to. This one felt more like home. The place was a lot more decorated and smelt distinctly of him. You followed behind him like a lost puppy, hot on his trail, not really sure about what to do and not sure if you should do anything.

He led you to a big door with immaculate craftsmanship in the wood and it opened for him as if it sensed he was there. The room was beautiful, with a couch placed against a wall and a bookshelf lined with records behind it, both placed in front of a beautiful fireplace with leather chairs surrounding it. A gold record player was set to the side of the couch and behind that was a bed in front of a full-length window, red velvet curtains positioned to the side showing you the N109 zone in all its glory. You looked to the side and saw a small bathroom positioned behind a glass wall. The room was too grand to be a guest room. It was his.

You looked at Sylus confused as he took his blazer off and placed it over one of the chairs. “This is where you will be staying” he says as he loosened his tie, his back turned to you. “Sylus I can stay in a guest room” you say quietly. You started to speak again, but he raised his hand, silencing you. He turned and looked at you, his face stoic.

He walks towards you and corners you against one of the chairs, making you fall back in it. He grabs your face and makes you look up at him. “You left me. Lied to me. Slept with another man. You don’t deserve a guest room.” He lets go of your chin and grabs your hand. He reaches into his pocket and slips out a ring. Your ring. He slips it back onto your finger and kisses it. He leans down and gets face level with you. “Don’t try to run from me again. I need you” his voice is painfully full of emotion.

He gets up and gestures toward the in-room bathroom. “Go, take a shower. I’ll have dinner and clothes waiting for you.” He then leaves the room, and you get up and walk towards the bathroom.

It wasn’t much of one, just a shower and a toilet. The walls were lined with various body washes, shampoos, conditioners, scrubs, and facial products. You were not really shocked as he was a man who very much cared about his hygiene. What shocked you was the number of feminine products in the shower that were clearly used. You sighed, biting your lip in anger. This was just another sign that she had been here—frequently, at that.

You took your time showering and did a petty thing, pouring all of the products he had used down the drain and putting them back in their place. You used some of Sylus’ unscented washes and exited the shower.

When you left the bathroom, there was a plate sitting on the table and a pair of clothes—women’s clothes. You guessed that those were hers, and you refused to even put them on. You sat on the couch and ate dinner as you waited for Sylus.

He came back into the room as you were almost finished, and he looked at the pile of untouched clothes. He smirks slightly. “Do you plan on being naked for your entire stay?” he says as he sits next to you, crossing his legs.You roll your eyes. “No. But I'm not going to wear her clothes or use the things she showers with. You say you need me, but numerous things in here scream her.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re always so busy worrying about other people and what I do and who I see when I’m not with you. If it displeases you so much, I’ll get rid of all of it.” He reaches into his pocket and throws his wallet on the table. “Go buy the things you need tomorrow. I'm done with this conversation and we’re not having it again,” he says, his voice ice cold.

He gets up off the couch and walks to the bathroom.You get up and walk toward the only other door in the room that wasn’t the one that led to the hallway, guessing it was the closet. You were correct in your assessment and started looking around for what you expected to be there.

Sure enough, there was an entire section in the closet designated for her. You grab the clothes and begin throwing them out of the closet onto the floor. As you were digging through some of the drawers, finding more of her things, Sylus came in. “What the hell are you doing?” he says, his voice full of confusion.

“Well, if I'm going shopping tomorrow, I need space, right?” you say, continuing to throw her things out of the closet. “That doesn’t mean you go trashing my room,” he says, irritation now present in his voice. “I'm not trashing it. I'm going to pick them up and throw them away when I'm done,” you say, now turning to him.

He was wrapped in only a towel, much like yourself, his hair still wet and dripping water down to his torso. You had to look away, reminding yourself you were very much upset with him and would not be tempted.

He sighs heavily. “I told you I would throw it all away. Why are you making a scene?” he says, stepping deeper into the closet and grabbing your arm to make you look at him. “I don’t trust that you mean it,” you say, scoffing and pulling your arm out from his grasp.

His jaw tightens and you can see the irritation on his face now. “You think I would keep her things around just to what, taunt you, make you feel like she’s still a choice?” You nod your head, lips pursed. “Yes. I think that is exactly what you would do, because you’re a terrible person when you feel wronged or hurt.”

His face drops into one of stoicism and his grip loosens. He grabs your face gently. “Is that really what you think of me? Some manipulative dickhead who goes to extreme measures just to keep you around?” Yes, you say to yourself in your mind.

“I know what I’ve done to you in the past twenty-four hours is a bit extreme, but I just don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I don't know what you want from me, and I don’t know how to ask you without you blowing up on me. If you didn’t matter, if I didn’t…” he looks away, sighing, and drops his hands.

He turns and grabs a shirt off of a hanger, his shirt, and gives it to you. “I’m tired. Let’s talk in the morning. Sleep in here,” he says, and then leaves.

You stopped your rummaging and sat in silence, contemplating what had just happened. You sighed and decided to go and lay down, putting on the shirt. The bed was a luxurious one with silk sheets. Everything smelt just like him, and it brought you comfort strangely. Your moment of calmness made you realize that you weren’t just angry at him; you were angry at yourself for caring about him. For still feeling something for him, letting him get under your skin, drag you back to him. You close your eyes, deciding sleep is your only option now.

A week of awkwardness went by. A week of glances, unsaid words, and awkward dinners together. He worked in his office when he wasn't down in Onychinus base handling business. You had grown so tired of the awkwardness that you had started talking to his private chef as he made meals just to hear someone speak. Zayne and Xavier had been calling and texting, trying to get ahold of you, but you couldn't bear to talk to them knowing how much it would hurt. How you gave up on the two who cared and tried to protect you just to go back to the one who hurt you the most.

You walked into the kitchen expecting his private chef to be gone already and the kitchen to be empty, but were surprised to see Sylus in there pouring coffee, his hair messy and looking like he had been up all night. You turned to leave, but a red mist quickly pulled you back around to face him.

“No more avoiding. Sit,” he says, and your body involuntarily takes a seat at the kitchen island. He places two cups of coffee on the table and sits across the island from you. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” you say, taking the coffee and blowing the hot drink.

“Not talking to me for a week, awkward side glances, leaving the room every time I'm in there. If that's not avoiding, I don't know what is,” he says with a sly smirk. You sigh and shrug. “Maybe I just need some time to think about all of this. I don't know what you want from me, Sylus,” you say softly.

“You could've left a week ago. Could've run away again, hid better this time. I want you to stop acting like you're not here by choice,” he says softly and grabs your face. “I... I care about you a lot, more than I would like to admit.” You leaned into his touch, not ready to say the words held in your chest. “Sylus, I can't allow myself to be hurt by you again,” you say.

“I won't. I know I haven't given you much reason to trust me, but baby, I promise you, I will do better.” Before you could say anything, the elevators to the penthouse dinged. You both looked over, probably expecting the loudness of Luke and Kieran to grace your presence, but were instead surprised to see her walking down the hallway like she owned the place. Her hair was put up in a ponytail, and she dressed casually with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“Sylus,” she called out, not looking up from her phone.You look over to him and roll your eyes. “Doing better starts now. If you don't handle this, I’m leaving,” you say to him, irritated.

His jaw sets and clenches as he looks toward the doorway where she approaches. She finally looked up and saw you. You were dressed in his clothes, both of your hair messy. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was thinking.“Sy... what's going on here? Why is she here?” she asked.

You get up off the stool and walk out of the kitchen. “I'm serious, Sylus,” you say as you walk out of the kitchen. You stayed in the hallway, obviously going to eavesdrop.

“I told you it wasn’t a good time to come here right now,” Sylus says with a sigh.“What do you mean not a good time? Is it because she's here? You’re not involved with her, are you?” she says, her voice shaky and confused. There was a long and tense silence. “MC, right now is just not a good time. We can talk about this later. Just please leave,” his voice was desperate as he pleaded with her.

You hear a huff and then she comes storming out of the kitchen, not even noticing you as she walks toward the elevators and leaves. Sylus came out of the kitchen, rubbing his face. “Why didn't you tell her we're involved?” you ask.

“Please, just don't right now,” he says, rubbing his temples.“No! I'm just confused. You want me here but can't admit to her that you have feelings for me?” He grabs your arms and makes you face him. “It's more complicated than that. She... she's fate. You're—” he stops speaking and looks away.

“Say it, Sylus. Say what I am to you,” you ask desperately.

“You're a choice. My choice. Not one predestined for me. I want you, all of you,” he says softly.

You look at him and don’t see the put-together man that you usually do. You see one that was unraveling, struggling to come to terms with what he wanted and what he felt like he had to do. You don't know the extent of what he felt for her or how far back it went, but you knew those feelings would always be there.

“I know I'm selfish for wanting you... but I... I love you,” he finally says.

His ruby red eyes bore into yours with such intensity you felt like you were drowning in them. “Sylus, you make it sound like loving me is some kind of rebellion. You call her fate and me a choice, but you're hiding. I don't want to be loved privately like some kind of secret that will break the world. I want you to love me unashamedly, claim me, and show me off. And until she's out of your life, that will never happen.”

tags: @sillyfreakfanparty @crimsonmarabou @z3vl @96jnie @perqbeth @justpassingdontworry @malleus-draconias-rose @sleepykittyenergy @aboobie @syluslittlecrows @scrambledhuevos79 @madam8 @fandomenbylover@insidious-innocence @etherealsoul90 @xsammijoanneex @acasualattempt  @sylusgirlie7 @jasperjokester @animegamerfox @jae48 @goldenbirdiee @zoezhive @rxelarailuj @huuvu @simphoursonly  @athanasia-day @asakiyu @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @eolivy @caramelizedpopcirn @auraficial @dilf-destroyer-04 @hebreeee @noxus123 @satansdaughter123

[tamayula-hl]

I've received several DMs that say things like:

"That artist in the fandom quit because you copied her art style."

"You’re the one who killed her motivation."

"I can’t believe more people aren’t calling you out."

"You should go back to your original style."

In response to these messages, I’d like to take a moment to carefully explain the history of my art style and how it has evolved over time.

The first image has already been shared on my side blog—it's a sex-themed gag comic I drew around 2013. (It was originally posted on DeviantArt, timestamped Jun 20, 2013.)

The second is a one-page sexual comedy I drew in 2020. It was also uploaded to my Pixiv account (under a different username) on October 2, 2020. I prefer not to publicly share that account, but if you’d like to confirm the timestamp, feel free to DM me.

As you can see, I’ve been drawing this type of work—“silly NSFW comics in a Japanese manga style,” using “pastel, soft colour palettes” and “short, one-page formats”—long before I ever joined the Hogwarts Legacy fandom.

In other words, drawing “sexual content in a comedic tone,” using “a cute art style to depict sweet but dumb couples,” and creating “self-contained comics with clear setups and punchlines” has always been a core part of my creative identity.

However, when I first got into Hogwarts Legacy—a story set in Victorian-era Britain—I wanted to try drawing in a style that better matched the mood of the world: something more subdued and atmospheric. At the same time, I saw another artist already succeeding in the fandom with a soft pastel, manga-inspired style similar to mine. I felt afraid of being compared to them, and anxious about my own lack of skill being exposed. Because of that, I distanced myself from my original style for a while and tried my hand at more realistic rendering and serious, moody art (up until around December 2024).

But earlier this year, that artist released a sexual comedy comic that received a huge positive reaction on Twitter. The execution was so polished that I was genuinely stunned—and deeply drawn to it.

The way it teased sexual content, balanced comedy and cuteness, and managed to stay tasteful despite the theme... it was all incredibly refined. And honestly, I couldn’t help but admire that success. I found myself thinking, “I want to create something that people love just as much.”

So I reached out to the artist via DM and asked, “Would it be okay if I tried making a comic like the one you just posted?” They kindly gave me permission, and I publicly tweeted about it at the time—with a reply from them confirming it.

Since then, starting in late January, I’ve returned to the style that suits me best: lighthearted, pastel-coloured NSFW comics. It’s something I’ve drawn many times in past fandoms—it brings me joy, feels natural, and puts far less strain on me creatively.

I hope people can understand that while I was definitely inspired by that artist, the core of my current work is still rooted in my own long-standing preferences and artistic journey.

That said, I won’t deny that I was heavily inspired by certain stylistic techniques found in her work—such as pencil-like line art, colour-coded speech bubbles, handwritten-style fonts, and her delicate balance of sexuality and cuteness.

I’ve learned a lot from her art, and I truly respect her as an artist. While I’ve never intentionally copied her stories or compositions, I do recognise that her refined techniques have influenced me.

I also feel guilt over the possibility that returning to my original style may have unintentionally hurt her feelings. Even though she explicitly gave me permission to draw “silly NSFW comics like hers,” I now wonder if she might have had more complicated feelings beneath the surface. I wish I had been more sensitive to that.

If my lack of maturity ended up casting a shadow over her creative spirit, I deeply and sincerely apologise.

However, it is extremely painful and upsetting to be publicly labelled as “someone who copied her entire style and drove her to quit.”

I see my current work as a result of evolving my old style by integrating what I’ve learned from others. Still, I acknowledge my tendency to be easily influenced by others’ art and my past failure to show enough consideration for her feelings. That’s why moving forward, I will do my best to avoid looking at the fandom timeline altogether—to prevent myself from unintentionally absorbing or echoing the styles of others.

Additionally, if she ever directly contacts me and says, “Please don’t use certain elements in this fandom—like coloured speech bubbles, handwritten fonts, or pencil-textured lines,” I would accept that request with sincerity and stop using those elements.

A quick note about my future creative plans: The “bad boy × good girl” dynamic in my Sebastian × Sakurako stories—and certain Studio Ghibli-inspired motifs I love as a Japanese artist—are not derived from her work. They reflect my own long-standing interests.

(In fact, the concept of Sakurako—a studious, straight-laced original character—was born shortly after the release of Hogwarts Legacy, well before I ever discovered her work. In November of last year, I sent her a DM to explain that, by pure coincidence, my Sebastian × Sakurako dynamic happened to resemble the “bad boy × good girl” trope her pairing also explored. I didn’t directly ask for permission, but she generously responded by saying I shouldn’t worry and that I should feel free to draw what I like.)

So I want to clarify that what I create is not imitation, but a genuine expression of what I love and want to draw.

From here on out, I hope to keep facing my style with honesty, and to continue creating with greater care and thoughtfulness.

Thank you so much for reading this far.

[saphronethaleph]

Life Support Issues

“All right, so… where do you have the plans?” the Rebel technician asked. “An R2 unit like this could have a hundred hiding places.”

R2 beeped and whistled.

“Ah, I see,” Threepio said. “Yes, Artoo has reminded me that in fact the plans are not only in a data card, but also redundantly stored inside his own system – that’s how he was able to access the systems so readily. He will be able to transfer them quite readily through a standard data access port.”

“We can get that set up, sure,” the tech agreed, gesturing, and his assistant brought over a cable.

As he did, though, Threepio looked with interest at his old friend and counterpart.

“Were you supposed to do that?” he asked.

R2 beeped again.

“Yes, I suppose it is a good thing that you did, but I’m asking if you were supposed to,” Threepio replied. “Don’t try and play semantics with me, Artoo.”

R2 provided a long string of bleeps and whistles, and C-3PO stepped back.

“You did?” he asked. “Oh my… well, I suppose I did ask you to do that first one.”

“Do what?” the tech asked, halfway through plugging in the cable.

“Well, we were on the Death Star,” C-3PO replied. “And while rescuing Princess Leia, Master Luke and their friends, I had Artoo shut down all the garbage compactors on the Death Star, and then open the door to the one that they were in. Artoo has informed he that, in fact, he opened all the entrances shortly before we left.”

He made a displeased noise. “In addition, he flushed all the drinkable water into the black water systems, raised the temperature in the food storage areas to two hundred and fourteen degrees centigrade, and sealed the doors to every lavatory on the ship. I am also reliably informed that the artificial gravity generators have been independently set to what he calls ‘shuffle’ and that the plumbing system on the Death Star is comprehensive enough to permit him to transport fluids randomly around the entire plumbing system through a series of several thousand distributed commands which trigger on and off at random, at times ranging from five minutes to three days.”

A pause.

“Also, that reversing the gravity in the shuttle and vehicle maintenance bays produced a quite satisfying crunching sound of valuable equipment breaking. Artoo, did you really have to do all of that?”

R2 whistled, helpfully.

“Yes, I suppose they did blow up Alderaan,” Threepio admitted. “I’m just worried that at this point we might be committing war crimes ourselves.”

“This is becoming ridiculous,” Tarkin said, as blaster fire crackled up and down the corridor. “Half the ship is fighting itself and the other half is trying desperately to find a fresher.”

The firing intensified outside, then Darth Vader loomed imperiously out of the door and the various factions went from exchanging fire to fleeing.

“Have you found anything about what happened?” the Sith Lord asked, returning his attention to Tarkin. “I could believe one of these failures was accidental, but this is clearly deliberate.”

“It has been a little hard to gather information,” the Grand Moff replied, testily. “Since my analyst team is having to defend their access to a shuttle bay which might have an intact shuttle and the last Star Destroyer to try and render assistance was destroyed by two thousand turbolaser batteries all firing on it at once on automatic. But clearly there has been some sort of unauthorized access.”

“The plans,” Darth Vader said, firmly. “The Princess clearly passed them off to someone. The same group as her rescuers… Kenobi’s team. Kenobi is dead, but the smuggler ship must have had a strike team…”

He trailed off.

“But this is the work of an expert slicer,” he resumed. “A normal commando team couldn’t have done this much damage this quickly.”

“There is a report that one of my analysts found,” Tarkin said. “That a golden protocol droid and a blue-white astromech droid were acting suspiciously near Docking Bay 327.”

“Ah,” Darth Vader said, his tone somewhat different. “That explains everything. In fact, I am suspicious that there must be something we have missed.”

“Vader?” Tarkin asked.

“R2 has left us something else,” Vader answered. “I can feel it.”

Tarkin started giggling.

“...ah,” Vader declared. “There it is.”

“Nitrous oxide?” C-3PO asked. “Really?”

R2 whistled.

“I don’t care if you had to improvise and that it’s easily produced from available life support gases,” C-3PO replied, shaking his head. “Really, R2.”

[raekensluver]

lethal love

masterlist | main masterlist

description: a fight with an unsub takes a deathly turn...

pairing: fiancé!spencer x fem!agent!reader

contains: angst, established relationship, guns, typical criminal minds violence, reader is stabbed, reader dies in spencer's arms.

song rec: sign of the times by harry styles - "will we ever learn? we've been here before."

w.c: 4.0k

a/n: sorry :(

the weight of the bulletproof vest pressed down on your shoulders as you secured the last strap, each click echoing through the quiet room like the tick of a clock. it felt heavier than usual today, the fabric warm and stifling against your skin. you took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the faint scent of metal and the lingering odor of fear that clung to the air in moments like these. the vest was a constant reminder of the unpredictability of the job, a silent companion whispering tales of valor and sacrifice.

to your left, spencer, your fiancé of less than a week, was intently listening to emily's words. her sharp gaze was focused, her hands animated as she laid out the new details of the case that you had been working on for a week. the intensity of her briefing was palpable, the scene around her seemingly electrified by the urgency of the situation. spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, his mind already racing through the labyrinth of facts and probabilities that would be his to navigate in the coming hours.

you grabbed his vest from the back of the van, the fabric whispering against your hands as you pulled it free. the weight of it in your grasp was a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation. it was a piece of equipment that could mean the difference between life and death, and as you handed it to him, you felt a sudden, intense wave of love and protection for this man who had chosen you. the vest was placed into his hands and he looked at you, his eyes flickering with a mix of gratitude and determination. he knew what was at stake, not just for the case, but for the future that you had so recently promised each other.

the fbi's tactical unit was already set up, the stark contrast between their professional calmness and the chaotic anticipation in your heart was stark. they communicated in hushed tones, their faces a mask of concentration as they surveyed the warehouse that loomed in the distance, a silent sentinel of the horrors that might be waiting within. the air was thick with tension, the occasional snap of a radio the only sound breaking the silence. you could see the muscles in spencer's jaw tighten as he took in the scene, his mind racing to piece together the puzzle that was the unsub's motive.

emily, her voice a beacon of clarity in the tumult, turned to you both. her eyes searched yours briefly, a silent question, before she began to speak. "as you know, the unsub is highly intelligent, meticulous, and has shown a pattern of targeting law enforcement. he's elusive, but his mo suggests a vendetta that's personal. be ready for anything," she warned, her gaze flicking to the tactical gear you both wore. "he's known to use traps and misdirection, so stay sharp and trust your instincts. he's been two steps ahead of us at every turn, but we're going to change that today."

you nodded, the weight of her words sinking in, and reached for your earpiece. with a quick motion, you slid it into place, the sudden embrace of cold plastic against your skin jolting you to attention. you gave spencer a firm look, the kind that conveyed everything without saying a word. fear, excitement, determination - it all reflected in his eyes before he mirrored your actions, donning his own earpieces with a quiet resolve that sent a shiver down your spine.

together, you and spencer moved towards the warehouse, each step measured and silent. the concrete was slick beneath your boots from a recent rain, the water mixing with the grime to create a treacherous dance of shadows and light that played out under the flickering streetlamps. in the distance, you could hear the distant wail of a siren, a mournful cry that seemed to echo the anxiety building in your chest.

you paused at the edge of the building, the shadows playing tricks on your eyes as you peered around the corner. "i'll take the front," you murmured into the microphone, your voice low and steady. "you circle around back." you felt spencer's eyes on you, his hand reaching out to squeeze your arm reassuringly. "be careful," he said, the words barely audible, but the concern in his voice was clear as a bell.

you gave a curt nod and moved forward, your heart hammering in your chest with every step. the rain had picked up, the droplets pattering against your helmet like a thousand tiny drums. your hand gripped the butt of your gun, the cold metal a comforting presence. the warehouse loomed in front of you, a monolith of darkness that seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy. you could feel the eyes of the unsub on you, watching, waiting.

as you approached the entrance, you noticed the subtle signs of tampering - the door slightly ajar, the faint scent of something acrid in the air. your instincts screamed at you to be wary. you crouched low, your eyes scanning the area for any traps or booby-traps that could be lying in wait. the rain had washed away any potential footprints, leaving the scene eerily clean, as if the unsub had never been there at all.

spencer's voice crackled in your ear, "i'm in position at the rear. no signs of movement yet." his words were a comfort, a lifeline connecting you both in the darkness. the warehouse was vast, a labyrinth of corrugated metal and shadows that seemed to stretch on forever. the sirens grew louder, the sound bouncing off the buildings and echoing through the streets, a discordant symphony that only heightened the tension.

you took a deep breath, your heart racing as you pushed open the door. the sound of it squealing on its hinges was like a gunshot in the quiet night. the darkness inside was absolute, a stark contrast to the harsh reality outside. you flicked on your flashlight, the beam slicing through the gloom and revealing a dance of dust motes in the air. the floor was slick, the smell of oil and decay permeating the space.

before you could respond to spencer, movement caught your eye. it was fast, a blur of shadow darting towards you from the corner of the room. your instincts took over, your hand rising in a fluid motion to aim at the threat. "i've got movement!" you barked into the mic, adrenaline flooding your veins. the figure was on you in a second, and suddenly, you were falling, your body slammed to the ground. the impact knocked the wind out of you, and for a moment, everything went fuzzy.

the unsub was on top of you, his hands scrabbling at your vest, trying to get to your weapon. you could feel the panic rising, a bubble in your chest that threatened to burst. but training kicked in, and you managed to keep your grip, pushing him off with a grunt. you rolled away, bringing your gun to bear, but the flashlight had been knocked from your hand, and you were momentarily blinded by the sudden darkness.

spencer's voice was in your ear, urgent and concerned. "are you okay? what's going on?" but the struggle was too intense to respond. your lungs burned as you tried to suck in air, the weight of the vest feeling like it would crush you. the unsub was quick, his movements erratic and unpredictable. you could feel the cold steel of his knife graze against your arm, and you bit back a cry of pain.

his voice was low and taunting, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "you think this makes you invincible?" the sound of the vest being torn away from your body was a mix of fabric tearing and your own panic. the sudden exposure to the cool air was a stark contrast to the warmth that had been trapped against your skin. "now, let's see if you're as brave without your little armor, shall we?"

you could hear the sneer in his voice, the malicious delight in his words, and you knew that you had to fight back. with every ounce of strength you had left, you threw your elbow into his gut, feeling a moment of satisfaction as he grunted in pain. he staggered back, giving you enough room to scramble to your feet. the pain in your nose was intense, a throbbing pulse that sent stars swirling before your eyes. you could taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth, feel it dripping down your chin.

the world was a blur, the only thing in focus the glint of the knife in his hand. your training took over, pushing through the fog of pain and fear. you knew that you had to keep moving, to stay unpredictable. you darted to the side, trying to use the darkness to your advantage, but the unsub was fast. he was on you again, his grip like a vice around your arm. the cold steel of the knife was at your throat, the tip of it pressing into your skin, sending a fresh wave of panic crashing through your body.

and then, there was a sudden flash of light, and spencer was there. his eyes were wide with fear, his own gun trained on the unsub. "stop," he said, his voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos that was unfolding before him. "it's over. we know who you are. we know what you've done." his words were a beacon in the darkness, a promise that help had arrived, that you weren't alone.

the unsub's grip on you tightened, his eyes darting to spencer, then back to you. "you think this changes anything?" he spat, the knife digging deeper into your flesh. "you're all the same, playing god with your badges and your guns." spencer took a step closer, his eyes never leaving the unsub's. "i know you've had a vendetta against cops, but she's not just a cop." the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, a raw emotion that seemed to resonate through the warehouse.

you felt a warmth spread through you, the fear momentarily abating as you watched spencer. the tears in your eyes weren't just from the pain; they were for the love that was so palpable between you both, a love that had grown stronger through the years of working side by side, solving cases, and now, facing death together. the rain outside seemed to mimic the deluge of feelings within you, the droplets on your face mixing with the tears that slipped down your cheeks.

spencer's voice was a balm, his words a gentle reminder of who you were and why you were here. "she's a daughter, a fiancée. my fiancée. she's part of me," he continued, his voice unwavering. "she's more than just a target to you." but the unsub's eyes remained cold, his grip unyielding. "you think that means anything to me?" he sneered, his voice as sharp as the knife he weld. "you're all just numbers, statistics in the grand scheme of things."

you felt the knife at your throat twitch, a precursor to the horror that was about to unfold. your heart hammered in your chest, each beat echoing like a gunshot in the silence of the warehouse. spencer's eyes never left yours, and in that moment, you could see the fear, the love, and the resolve that burned within him. "please," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "please don't do this."

but the unsub's grip remained firm, his eyes glinting with a manic excitement that sent a shiver down your spine. "it's already done," he murmured, the knife's tip digging deeper into your flesh. "you can't stop what's coming." spencer's voice grew stronger, more assertive. "i know you're smarter than this," he said, his voice a lifeline in the sea of fear that threatened to drown you. "you're not just some mindless killer. you have a reason for this. tell me what it is."

his words hung in the air, a silent plea that seemed to resonate with the unsub. for a moment, you could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, a crack in the armor of his madness. "my reasons are my own," he said finally, his voice low and menacing. "you'll never understand." the knife at your throat twitched again, and you felt the warmth of blood trickle down your neck.

then, emily's voice crackled in your ear. "backup's on the way," she said, the words a lifeline thrown into the abyss of your fear. but before you could even begin to feel relief, spencer's voice cut through, loud and urgent. "no, emily, don't!" but it was too late. the sound of boots on the wet concrete grew louder, the shadows outside the warehouse door morphing into figures with guns drawn.

the unsub's eyes widened with glee, a twisted smile stretching across his face as he tightened his grip on the knife. "perfect," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "now, they'll watch you die." the knife pressed deeper, the pain so intense it was almost numbing. you could see spencer's expression change, the calm resolve replaced by a searing rage that seemed to set his eyes on fire.

the backup agents burst through the doors, their weapons sweeping the room in a deadly arc. but the unsub was ready for them, his own weapon now pointing directly at spencer. "drop it, reid, we got it from here," one of the agents shouted, but spencer didn't move, his gaze locked on yours. the unsub took the opportunity to press the knife even further, a sickening crunch filling the air as it pierced through the fragile barrier of your neck. the world began to dim around the edges, the pain giving way to a cold, empty numbness.

spencer's face was a mask of agony as he watched you, the love in his eyes turning to fury. he knew that the backup was there, that you were supposed to be safe, but in that moment, all he could see was the crimson river flowing from the gaping wound, the light in your eyes fading away. without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger, the bullet flying true. the unsub's smile froze on his face, his grip on the knife loosening as he stumbled backward, the life draining from his body.

you felt the world spin as darkness closed in, spencer's arms wrapping around you, catching you as you fell to the floor. the cold, hard concrete was a stark contrast to his warm embrace, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. you could feel the warmth of his tears mixing with the rainwater on your cheeks, the tremble in his body as he held you tightly. "you're okay," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "you're going to be okay."

his hands were gentle as they moved over your neck, applying pressure to the wound. the pain was a distant throb, a reminder that you were still alive, still fighting. the sound of the unsub's body hitting the ground was a dull thud, lost to the symphony of rain and sirens that filled the air. spencer's breath was hot against your ear, his voice a whispered chant that seemed to keep the darkness at bay.

"stay with me," he pleaded, his voice tight with fear. "don't you dare leave me here alone." the warmth of his breath mixed with the metallic scent of blood, creating a potent cocktail of fear and love that washed over you like a wave. the rain continued to fall, the drops hitting the warehouse roof like a million tiny fists, a relentless rhythm that matched the erratic beating of your heart.

you tried to speak, to reassure him, but the words caught in your throat, a gurgle of blood escaping instead. your eyes searched his, finding the love that had grown stronger with every case you had faced together, every danger you had survived. "when did you know?" you managed to croak out, the question barely audible over the cacophony of the storm and the sirens that grew ever closer.

spencer's eyes searched yours, the question echoing in the tension that filled the space between you. "know what?" he murmured, his voice thick with fear and confusion.

you coughed, the pain in your throat searing. "that you wanted to marry me," you whispered, the words barely audible over the din of the rain and approaching sirens.

spencer's eyes searched yours, the fear slowly giving way to understanding. "the moment i realized i couldn't imagine a world without you in it," he replied, his voice choked with emotion. "you're the one who makes sense of the chaos, who brings light to the darkest of cases."

the sirens grew louder, the wail a cacophony that seemed to pierce the very core of your soul. you felt the warmth of spencer's hands on your neck, the pressure steady and reassuring. the world around you was a blur, the pain a distant throb that paled in comparison to the overwhelming love that filled you.

"you're not going anywhere," spencer murmured, his voice a lifeline in the storm of pain and fear. "not now, not ever." his eyes searched yours, desperation etched into every line of his face. "you're going to be fine," he said, the words a mantra that seemed to hold the darkness at bay.

you tried to nod, but the movement sent a fresh wave of agony through your body. instead, you whispered the words that had been on the tip of your tongue for so long. "i love you," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. the rain outside seemed to pause, the world holding its breath as you made your confession.

spencer's eyes widened, a mix of shock and relief flooding his features. "i love you too," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "more than anything." his hand reached up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the blood that was starting to pool beneath your chin. the warmth of his touch was like a beacon, guiding you through the darkness that threatened to swallow you whole.

the sirens grew louder, the wail of the emergency vehicles a crescendo that seemed to shake the very foundation of the warehouse. the sound was a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy of your confession, a reminder of the chaos that was about to come crashing in on you both. spencer's grip on you tightened, his eyes never leaving yours as he whispered, "you're going to be okay. i'll make sure of it."

but the truth was, you didn't know if you would. the darkness was spreading, a cold embrace that seemed to suck the warmth from your body. your hand reached up, finding his, and you squeezed it tightly, the strength leaving your body in a rush. the world was spinning, the shadows swirling around you like a tornado of pain and fear.

spencer's voice grew distant, the sound of his panicked whispers a comfort that grew fainter with every passing second. the rain continued its relentless assault, the drops mixing with your tears to form a river that flowed into the abyss. you could feel yourself slipping away, the warmth of his touch growing colder, his voice a distant echo.

the world around you began to fade, the darkness closing in like the jaws of a predator eager to claim its prey. the sirens grew distant, the sounds of the approaching cavalry a muffled drumbeat that seemed to come from another world entirely. the pain in your neck was a dull throb, a heartbeat that grew slower with every passing moment.

you clung to consciousness with a fierce determination, desperate to hang onto the warmth of spencer's embrace. memories flooded your mind, a kaleidoscope of moments that had led you to this fateful night. you thought back to the first time you had met him, his shy smile and the way his eyes had lit up when you had talked about the case that had brought you together. the way his mind worked was like nothing you had ever seen, a whirlwind of brilliance that had both intimidated and intrigued you.

your first date had been simple, a quiet dinner in a restaurant that had been his favorite spot. you remembered the way his hands had trembled slightly as he reached for yours across the table, the gentle way he had looked at you, as if he had finally found something precious that he never wanted to let go of. it had been a moment of pure, unbridled joy, a spark that had set alight the flame of love that had burned steadily through the years.

his proposal had been unexpected, a sudden flash of vulnerability in the middle of a hectic case. you had been poring over files, your eyes burning with fatigue, when he had looked up at you, his own eyes filled with a hope and love that had taken your breath away. the way he had fumbled with the ring, his voice shaking with emotion, had been so utterly human, so utterly spencer.

you had stared at the ring, the diamond winking at you like a star that had fallen from the sky, and felt your heart swell with joy. "yes," you had said, the word a promise that seemed to echo through the room. "yes, i'll marry you." the moment had been perfect, a snapshot of happiness in a world that so often dealt in pain and suffering.

now, as you lay in his arms, the reality of your situation crashing down upon you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of regret. regret that you hadn't had the chance to explore that love more deeply, to build a life together outside of the shadow of your work. regret that you won't get the chance to walk down the aisle, to see the joy in his eyes as he watched you come toward him.

spencer's voice grew more urgent, his words a desperate plea that seemed to echo through the darkness. "don't go," he said, his grip on your hand tightening. "stay with me." the rain outside seemed to mirror your own tears, a mournful cry that echoed the pain in your heart.

you tried to smile, to reassure him, but the effort was too much. your eyes drifted shut, the darkness pulling you under like a relentless tide. you felt his hand squeeze yours one last time, a silent declaration of his love and his fear. "i'm here," he whispered, his voice a lifeline that you clung to with all your fading strength.

the warehouse was a cacophony of noise now, the sirens and the shouts of the approaching agents a dissonant symphony that seemed to grow louder with every passing second. the world was spinning, the cold seeping into your bones as the warmth of spencer's embrace began to fade.

spencer's voice grew more frantic, his whispers of love and reassurance now a desperate chant that seemed to hang in the air like a prayer. "stay with me," he repeated, his voice a ragged sob that tore at your heart. "you can't leave me now." but the darkness was relentless, its grip on you tightening like a noose.

the world grew quiet, the rain outside a muffled lullaby that seemed to sing you to sleep. spencer's breath grew ragged in your ear, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. the warmth of his hands was the last thing you felt as the cold claimed you, pulling you under like a relentless wave. your grip on his hand loosened, your fingers slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

the darkness was complete, the pain a distant memory as the embrace of oblivion wrapped around you. you could feel yourself floating, the weight of your body gone, the heaviness of the world no longer a burden. you were free, adrift in a sea of nothingness that was both terrifying and peaceful.

taglist: @maxsisly, @misatxox

[alternate-real-ities]

Can i see the alternate versions of myself? I'd especially love to see my arab version!

Hey there! Sorry for the wait, calibrations took a bit longer than expected. But you know what? Here, come with me. I want to try something different this time. Stay close though, I don't want you to get lost in the multiverse. Ready? Come through this portal with me.

See this guy? This is you, but in the dimension I like to call Arab World. Now come with me. You'll see what I mean.

We're here. Careful, cover yourself with this keffiyeh. We can't be seen like this, we'll be arrested for sure. Okay good, now wait...

There! See that guy carrying the heavy crate? Let's follow him.

That's Amir, a strong and handsome Arab man who helps around the local market. You might have guessed it, but Amir is you in this reality. Look how you effortlessly move that thing around. Your muscles so big and defined, your skin tanned from the sun, and your eyes sparkling with confidence. Oh yeah, you look good. Want to see more? Let's follow him.

Now we're at the gym. Amir is a local personal trainer, you know, the kind that makes you sweat and scream in pleasure. Look at him, casually chatting with his clients, flexing his biceps, and showing off that chiselled jawline of his. The way he moves, the way he talks, it's like he's in control of everything around him. You can feel it yourself, can't you? The power, the confidence, the allure. In this reality, you're a man that knows what he wants, and I think you know pretty well what happens to those that disobey you.

Come on, let's not linger here too long. I want to show you something else.

Pretty sweet, huh? I found this exact moment in the timeline. Look at those hot furry pecs of yours, and the size of those arms! I think I'm getting wet just looking at you. You think he knows how sexy he is? I bet he does. Maybe I could convince him to give me a private show later. But knowing this reality, I don't think that would be a good idea. I don't want to end up in a harem of slaves, even if it sounds like a fun idea.

I'm getting a bit carried away here, sorry. Let's move on to the next reality.

You step through another shimmering portal, the world shifting around you. The air is thick with neon lights and pulsing music. You find yourself in the heart of Seoul, surrounded by the electric energy of a nightclub.

A familiar face catches your eye - it's you, but not quite. This version of you is taller and broader than you, with a glint in your eye that speaks of confidence and charisma. You're dressed like you're in a rave, wearing a revealing mesh crop top that shows off your toned sizeable chest and abs, paired with slutty shorts that highlight your muscular legs.

But enough of that, come with me again.

Stepping through the portal again, the world shifts around you. This time, you find yourself in a bustling gym. Look, there you are. Right after finishing a heavy set, huh. Well, did I mention you're a powerlifter in this reality? You've got the usual Asian young-looking facial features, but the size of your body is truly something else.

Just a sexy, hunky powerlifter. The gym regulars can't help but sneak glances as you rack the weights and stretch out, your physique and confidence impossible to ignore. You finish your set, take a long drink from your shaker, and lean back with a relaxed, satisfied grin, soaking in the admiration.

Ready to see the next version of yourself? Let's do one last trip. Step through this portal again.

You step through the portal and find yourself in a vibrant Mumbai café, the air buzzing with conversation and the aroma of spices. Across the room, you spot yourself - this time as Rohan, a charismatic Indian influencer with a magnetic presence.

Here, come with me - let's introduce ourselves to Rohan. See him over there? That's you in this reality: a charismatic Indian influencer with a magnetic presence.

Oh, you're shy? No worries, I got this.

some time later

That wasn't so hard, was it? Your alternate self, Rohan, is thrilled to meet you, and even invited us to join him on a walk through the city. Stick close to me though, don't want you to get lost in time.

On our walk, Rohan shares stories of his rise to fame, his passion for fitness, and his love for fashion. He's a social media sensation, with millions of followers who adore his lifestyle and physique. As we walk, fans spot him and rush over for selfies - he flashes a charming grin, flexes his biceps, and shares a laugh, always gracious and confident. His style is impeccable: a crisp linen shirt, tailored trousers, and designer sunglasses perched on his head.

As evening falls, Rohan leads us to an exclusive rooftop party overlooking the city. Bollywood stars mingle with business moguls, and we're right at the centre of it all. Rohan introduces us as his closest friends, and soon we're swept up in conversations about fashion, fitness, and the latest social media trends.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reflecting on the incredible versions of yourself you've met. Each reality offered a glimpse into a different life - one shaped by culture, ambition, and circumstance, but all sharing the same spark that makes you, well, you.

Rohan raises a glass in your honour, and the group cheers. Now, I don't want to ruin the moment, but we need to get back to our own reality. I'm running low on energy, and I don't want to risk getting stuck here. So, let's say our goodbyes to Rohan and step back through the portal.

Did your farewell? Alright, let's go...

--------------------

That wasn't so bad, was it? I've got to say, those alternate versions of you were quite hot. I hope you enjoyed coming on this small trip with me. Don't think I'll be able to do this again anytime soon, though. I'm afraid the physical strain of jumping through so many realities at once is taking its toll on me. I might need to rest for a while before I can do this again. But hey, thanks for joining me on this journey through the multiverse. Who knows? Maybe next time, we'll find even more surprising versions of you.

[ludolka]

Nulls eyes malfunctioning but he is just colour blind

"Since when is Joel's green streak yellow? This the dye fade? "

"Wow blue hair looks good on Lizzy... Since when is it blue? "

"Wow the fish surely look strange today... Maybe they are sick..."

And like he ONLY notices something is wrong for a dumb reason like his LED being blue instead of purple lmao

Omg yes I love this so much

Just him malfunctioning in ways has so much potential. The color settings are off in his eyes, making him see everything in different colors. Maybe everything has a strong blue tint, maybe everything’s monochrome, maybe he can’t see red or any shade of it, maybe everything’s either overly saturated or very toned down. His language settings are off, he can suddenly only speak Japanese or German (or Hungarian, that’s the only language I fluently speak without fucking it up or having to use google translate if I draw a comic with this concept), or maybe his accent changes

Maybe he gets some software virus from the internet and gets all glitchy

Also I really like the whole concept of Null struggling with various sensory issues during his building process. Everything’s too bright, his eyes need readjusting and he wears sunglasses for a while. Everything’s too loud, his hearing needs readjusting and he wears noise cancelling headphones for a while. His balance is off, he can’t walk in a straight line or be on his feet for too long without falling over and he needs someone to help him walk. His peripheral vision is off, he keeps walking into desk corners and chairs and doorframes

Like everything’s trail and error, every setting can have massive consequences that take way too long to undo or fix

[nellie-elizabeth]

Starsky & Hutch LB 1x10: Lady Blue

Angry huffy Hutch is very cute, his poor car.

"I enjoy bein' Zebra 3, I don't think I could sleep at night if they took that away from us." Also Starsky is being very gentle with poor disgruntled Hutch, I love it. He doesn't understand why Hutch loves his hunk of junk, but he gets what it's like to be really attached to his vehicle!

"There's a 187, that's a dead body." lol sassy!

This cop in uniform is really shaken, and I love that H checks in on how he's doing

"Hey, you okay?" Starsky's voice is so gentle and sweet, and then H reaching out to put a hand on S as he delivers the news

Hand hold happening out of frame... awwww.

Also H just keeps bringing S liquids to drink, he's fussing. :(

S is staying so spooky calm and almost gentle, making the case for why Dobey shouldn't boot him off. But also... Dobey... my dude, you are such a pushover, Starsky should not work this case.

IMMEDIATELY after Starsky says it's gonna be a professional investigation, they force their way through a door with violence without having a warrant. Fun stuff.

S is so blank and rattled by all of this. "He loved her, didn't he?" / "Yeah." Hutch's voice when he says that... it's so soft and tender. This is a rough one!

H's method of cheering S up is to lightly insult him but in like the most gentle, affectionate voice I've ever heard in my life

Also apparently the Paul Muni bit was based on a real joke that David & Paul had on set, that's very cute. I love the little relieved laugh from H.

Scene with Polly is a little rough but S&H treat him with kindness and respect to his face which is nice

I like how when Dobey calls, H peels off to deal with that and leaves S to do the questioning, without needing to discuss who will do what

Oh shit!! Genuinely wasn't expecting the twist that Helen was undercover!

Huggy weighing in on the situation, on the side of vengeance... don't put ideas in S's head, dude!

Also, an interesting moment where we see H putting away a full meal while S just has a coffee. That's a sign things are not as they should be.

"Hey! These are my hands!" lol

"Baby blue, this car could be for you"

ALSO does this guy think these dudes are buying a car together? lol. And then S calls him "blue eyes" hehehe

Love that H gets to do the crazy driving on this one. But also WOW this is not a "professional" investigation, this is wild

Fifth Avenue is a bad-ass and kinda hilarious. He's helping them because his pride as a classy thief is insulted by these lesser folk

I'm surprised they drugged Cindy and didn't just kill her, but maybe this means they're not the murderers?

This park walk.... S confiding in H about Helen... "then we'd take a walk in the park, pack a picnic, sit under a tree in the grass, watch the kids." And S&H are literally taking a walk in the park.

I had to pause the ep to talk about this - S saying that he and Helen used to talk about having kids, and then says "that surprise you?" And H puts his hand on Starsky's arm and says "no". There is sooooo much going on here omg. H is being so gentle and supportive and also he is affirming for Starsky that he sees him, the vulnerable parts of him, that the idea of him as a husband and a father is not at all ridiculous to him. Man, Hutch gets a good best friend award for this episode, he's being so good to Starsky

"Your Spanish stinks. Over"

I'm always very emotional about when one of them calls the other "Partner" as short-hand for a declaration of general support. H to S: "Come on partner, time to let go" is the same as him saying "you have me, I'm not going anywhere." Again H is speaking to S with the gentlest, tenderest tone all episode, it's a lot

S answering Dobey's phone lol why

Another sign of how in sync S&H are - they have the brainwave about the radio thing and both immediately hop on the phone with Dobey being like "huh?" because he can't read their special partner brain connection lol

Really wish the language about mental illness was different on this show but like I know it's the 70s it's not like I'm surprised. I just flinch when our hero says "psycho" like that

S sitting backward in a chair my precious weirdo!

S&H raising their heads in unison in incredulity at this psychiatrist

"How did you get this job? I wouldn't let you fix a sewing machine"

"He's a victim too... he's all screwed up!" I gotta say, I'm really moved by S having this perspective, like, this guy killed Helen and he's saying it's not his fault

S gets angry--rightfully-- at this guy, and H instead of calming him down also starts screaming at him too, they are both SO fed up here.

"You're a robot." I mean this is a somewhat clumsy message but I like how H puts it, that the test is supposed to be a tool in the hands of a professional, and not just a rote thing where if you get a certain number you get a certain diagnosis. It feels similar to how today sometimes people will just list a couple of common symptoms that they have and then diagnose themselves/their loved ones with something where it's like... I mean, it's a good general guideline and maybe a first step but they analysis shouldn't stop there, you know?

I feel like it's so important for S's character that he makes that promise to Dobey at the beginning that he's gonna keep his cool on this investigation, and despite the typical examples of police misconduct that these assholes always get up to, he keeps that promise and doesn't want revenge or anything

S tried to help him, he really did, this is honestly sad.

"Hey Starsk, you see that sunset?" - romantic...

"What are the candles for, you expecting someone?"

HE MADE STARSKY'S FAVORITE? THOSE SMILES ON BOTH OF THEM!! SOMEONE CALL ME AN AMBULANCE

"Called your mother up" - UM EXCUSE ME. What! "Eat your vegetables" I'm SCREAMING.

Dear lord that ending knocked me sideways what the fuck is this romantic candlelit dinner nonsense! You've gotta be kidding me!

So, general thoughts... this show has a violence against women thing, and it also has a "crazy people killer" thing, and both of those things are combined together in this episode in a big way which isn't the best. But I thought the plot was constructed really well with some interesting twists and turns, and I was really moved by their resistance to Starsky having vengeance on the brain in any sort of toxic or over the top way. He wanted to find whoever did this to Helen, but when he knew it was someone mentally ill, he genuinely actually wanted to help them however he could.

This marks, I believe, the second time we have a love interest for either S or H who we've never heard of before and will probably never really talk about again, but for whom one of the guys evidently felt quite strongly. Hutch's girlfriend in "The Fix" felt kind of anomalous and strange, but here, I really liked the way Helen was talked about as an element of Starsky's life. Sure, she's definitionally fridged - we never get to meet her, she's there for Starsky's man pain, but I'm not gonna have much fun watching this show if I get caught up in stuff like that.

I like what her presence in Starsky's life, the fact of them being serious, says about Starsky as a character, and also about his friendship with Hutch - the fact that this was a fellow cop, someone they met together, someone Hutch also knew and liked, just kinda gives me warm fuzzies? I fully believe, and I think the rest of this show is going to bear this out for me, that neither of them could ever get to a real, true love, let's settle down, phase with a woman, unless that woman was also pals with the other guy. Like, if Starsky and Helen had stayed together and gotten married, Helen would have been in Hutch's life forever too, you know? And there were little moments in this episode that really cemented that. Having Hutch be the one to see her body and break the news to Starsky, having Hutch answer Cindy when asked if Starsky loved her - Hutch knows how it was, because Hutch was there!

This episode is also continuing the trend of having a plot that is ostensibly about Starsky or Hutch being in love with a woman, but is in fact a REALLY strong case for why these two are soulmates actually. That scene in the park, the tenderness, the way Starsky is describing an activity he used to do with his serious girlfriend (walking in the park) while literally doing that same activity with Hutch, the way their arms keep brushing together... oof.

And just throughout, Hutch is the best most supportive friend in the world, really turning up in Starsky's time of need. I like that he doesn't treat Starsky like he's incompetent, he doesn't fuss over him in any type of over-the-top way, he just... constantly and gently makes his presence felt. He teases Starsky kind of the way he always would, just with a bit more tenderness to the words, and he gauges how Starsky is doing by Starsky's ability to respond to the ribbing and keep their gentle joking going.

And that scene at the end? Gahhhh. For one thing, Hutch has Starsky's mother's phone number and calls her on the phone sometimes? That's very very sweet. He makes Starsky's favorite meal, he lights candles, he points out the sunset, he says a kind word in remembrance of Helen... all of this on its own would be enough for me to love the scene. What I can't get over, however, is the decision to INTENTIONALLY call out the romantic framing. The candle lighting could have been an unspoken thing that we fans all gushed about. But no. Starsky calls it out. "What are the candles for, you expecting someone?" Because Starsky sees the candles as a thing Hutch would do for a date. And then H makes a joke about eating early, and S shoots back immediately "what time am I leaving?" But it's clearly, 100%, a joke that they're both in on. That one bit of dialogue exchange makes this whole ending scene exponentially more gay. Hutch was doing a romance for Starsky. Starsky noticed it, and he called it out, and then they sat and had dinner and wine together.

This show is gonna kill me dead.

[amethystandemma]

Sister Knows Best

Synopsis: Ernie Macmillan comes out to his older sister, Victoria Macmillan. Things… don’t go exactly as planned.

WC: 967

Author’s note: I wanted to write something for pride, so I wrote this! It’s been in my head for a bit and I wanted to share it. I wrote this in like 30 minutes in the back of the car. Also. PLEASE FINISH THE FIC BEFORE COMMENTING I AM BEGGING YOU!

Writing Taglist: @okey-dokey-lackey, @berserkerrose, @elisalsaa, @starry-slithers, @light-of-the-room, @rosewoodcafe

For two hours, the Macmillan siblings wandered around Hogsmeade, popping into various shops and acting as if everything was completely normal. In reality, things were not.

Everything was far from normal.

Ernie had shown a lot of courage with being a member in Dumbledore’s Army, especially considering the risk it put on his role as one of Hufflepuff’s Prefects. Sneaking under Dolores Umbridge’s nose was no easy feat. Every morning, he woke up with a feeling of terror that it’ll be the  day she found out and he would be stuck doing the revolting lines like the ones Harry had done. Every day he lived with that fear.

But what he needed to tell his older sister was much more terrifying than any of that.

Ernie had heard horror stories of parents reacting terribly to their children coming out to them. Some families kicked their kids out to the streets, and some muggles, according to Justin, would send their children to a “conversion camp.” That was not somewhere Ernie wanted to be. 

In his opinion though, the worst thing a family could do was make him hide who he was. Ernie very much doubted his parents would send him to any muggle camp, but what if they didn’t accept him? What if coming out changed the way they saw him?

That’s why he wanted to tell Victoria first. As a “trial run” as Noelani had put it. If Vic reacted alright, then his parents should too.

“Ern? Did you hear me?” 

Victoria’s voice drew him out of his thoughts. Ernie shook his head, looking at his sister.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” mumbled Ernie. “What?”

Rather than answering his question and repeating what she said, Victoria set aside the two dresses she was holding onto the rack. She took his hands into her own velvety, perfectly manicured ones and softly squeezed. 

“Ernie, you’ve been stressed this whole visit,” Victoria said, gently guiding him to sit down on the velvety bench next to the racks of clothes. “I want to help you if there’s something going on, but you need to tell me first.”

Merlin, how did she always know what to say at the right moment? No matter what was going on, she always knew how to make things better.

Why would this be any different?

Ernie took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes for a few moments. He simply breathed, trying to work up the courage to just say it. That’s the whole reason he asked her to meet him on this trip. 

“Alright.” Ernie opened his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale. “I-I’ve recently come to realize… come to realize something about myself.” Merlin, why was he stuttering? “Something that you need to know, because it’s important.”

Ernie met Victoria’s gaze, his eyes meeting her brown ones of the same shade. “Victoria, I’m pan.”

Victoria’s hands tightened on Ernie’s for a brief moment. Her brow creased and her body tensed. Ernie would have thought the world was completely frozen over if it wasn’t for the three, slow blinks that came from her. 

“Ernest.” Victoria said after a moment, her tone slightly cold. “I love you. Very much. But as your older sister, I feel as if I need to tell you when you are being daft.” Ernie’s breath hitched. “This is one of those moments,” Victoria finished. “You are not a pan.”

No. No, this couldn’t be happening.

All throughout their childhood, Victoria had always supported him. Sure, they fought and bickered as all siblings do, but at the end of the day, they were always there for each other. Hells, Ernie was one of the first people to comfort Victoria after Weasley left her. 

He had always been there for her, but she wasn’t able to be there for him? She wasn’t able to accept that this is who he was? She just couldn’t fathom that he was attracted to people regardless of their gender? What was so hard for her to understand?

Merlin, he wanted to cry as her words repeated themselves inside his head. 

“You are not a pan.”

Wait a minute.

“A pan?” Ernie asked, his voice shaky. 

“Honestly, Ernest!” Victoria’s voice raised to something close to a shout, very different than her usual quiet tone. “You realize how absurd that statement is, right? You are not a cooking utensil!” 

He wanted to cry again, but this time from relief and laughter instead of anger and sorrow. She misinterpreted him. She didn’t hate him.

“No, no, Victoria.” Ernie tilted her face towards her, smiling with a small tear in his eye. “I’m pansexual. I’m not a pan.”

The look of irritation melted away almost instantly and was replaced with one resembling regret. Victoria pulled Ernie close into a tight hug, one he returned with equal fervor. 

She didn’t hate him.

“Thank you for telling and trusting me,” Victoria whispered. “I’m so, so sorry for my initial reaction.”

“It’s okay Vic,” assured Ernie. He ran his fingers through her hair, a habit he had since childhood. “I’m just glad you’re not angry.”

She pulled away and took his face into both of her hands. They felt so incredibly soft against his skin.

“I wouldn’t ever be angry at you,” Victoria assured. “Not about something you don’t have a choice with. This is who you are.”

Once again, she knew exactly what to say and how to say it. 

Merlin, he had the best sister.

“I don’t know Vic.” Ernie smirked. “You seemed pretty angry about me being a pan.”

Victoria sighed as he laughed. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

“Never.” Ernie kissed her on the cheek, having to bend down significantly to reach her height. “What kind of brother would I be if I did?”

[dastardly-imbecile]

TENEBROSITY

TW: suicidal ideation, depictions of death and grief

wordcount: 1.3k

masterlist, ao3

something something reader who dies. Doesn't particularly matter if she was a soldier or a civilian, if it was the blur of battle or the quietus of an accident, if it was a bullet or a blade or the cruel hand of Fortuna. Out with a bang, out with a whimper.

What does matter is that Simon, predictably, takes it not well. Worse that Price puts him on leave, and he has nothing to do but lay spread-eagled on the bed you once shared, stare at the ceiling and quietly thinks about the knives in the kitchen, about the pills in the cabinet. Not with any real sort of action behind the notion, but just the everpresent reality that they're there, that he can take the kind way out. The only thing that stops him, really, is that he knows if there is an afterlife, he sure as hell isn't going where you are.

Between the team's sporadic visits, Kyle's attempts to set him up with a therapist and Johnny's attempts to cheer the grief out of him and Price's attempts to have a normal conversation - as if normalcy exists, anymore - he takes to scrolling through your old messages. Little lines of text: years of love encapsulated in a single bubble, such small things. Messages that he once only spared a seconds' glance before responding, he now spends hours poring over, trying to find the secret to mortality etched into those pixels.

Still has your phone, too. Leaves your search tabs untouched, leaves your apps opened just as they were, just like your products still litter the bathroom counter, just like he put your half-finished leftovers in the freezer, cold and permanent as the dead.

It's not healthy, but he's never been healthy. Not a moment in his life: not his childhood, not the military, not now, in which there was not something, someone, searching for the best way to break him; best way to put those pieces back together and shatter them again. The only difference, this time, is that both are him: something about Ouroboros, something about Sisyphus.

He starts texting you again. Long, incoherent paragraphs about how much he misses you; simple love yous, all the hundreds that he never got to say. He could have told you ten times a day, for a thousand years, and he would still have so much more. Calls your voicemail, just to hear your voice once again, so he can pretend you're just out of the house, that you'll truly call him back 'whenever I'm able'.

Imagine his surprise when, one night, he sends a succinct, goodnight dove, and you reply.

I love you.

Of course, he's pissed: someone gets your number by some means, not only uses it - if they'd told him, fuck off, who are you, stop texting me - he could have has a modicum of respect, at the very least. But no: they imitate, they paint themselves in the image of a Goddess; something about Exodus 20:4, something about the Viceroy butterfly.

It pushes him into overdrive for the first time since you died - he pulls up the old software, hooks the phone up, tries to triangulate the location of the sender. All he gets, though, is a jumble of letters and numbers that apply to no coordinate on earth.

And then, you call him. Your name popping up drives into him an anguish deep enough to burn, moreso when he checks your phone, sees it just as inert since the day you died.

He shouldn't, but he answers.

When you say, "Simon," he's thinking about how he'd most like to kill these people: sure, get a number, hook up some voice changer, real convincing. It's going to fall apart when you beg him to send you a couple thousand dollars, or when you dig into him for some bit of intel: he won't be tricked, won't allow grief to break his last bit of dignity, sell his soul for a bit of false love.

And then, you tell him the last words you ever said to him. Same voice, same tone. Murmer more, as he sits there, shock dripping down every vertebrae in his spine. All the things you would whisper to each other in the dead of night. End your speech with a short, "It's me. I love you. I found a way..."

So for a week or two, it's almost enough: he spends every waking hour on the phone with you, sends you all the pictures he can think to take. It's fine that you never respond with any of your own. It's fine that, sometimes, on those phonecalls, you sound scared or sad or start halting, unfinished sentences with, I wish, or, if only. He can pretend that you're off on a trip, that this is some temporary fever.

Only, he can't, not really. Something about truffle pigs, something about pitbulls: something about the desire to dig, to sink his teeth into the meat of the matter and rip until bone is caught between his jaws. Whenever he asks you about how, or where, or, can I ever see you, you sound like you're crying while you deftly avoid answering.

Really, you have only divulged two things: one, you dying won't help. Two, when he visited your grave for the first time since your death: I'm not down there anymore, Simon.

A fantasy grows, some reversal of the five stages of grief, denial come last: he imagines that maybe you aren't dead, that maybe you were captured by some nebulous force of evil, are currently holed up in some dark basement. Got your hands on a phone somehow, sure, if it doesn't make sense then it will when he rescues you, when you explain it to him between kisses.

He gathers the rest of the task force at his - your - house, despite your pleas not to. Tells them. Almost relishes in Johnny's look of disbelief, in Price's evident concern - because he'll be proven right. Right, when he clicks the call button, when...

When it rings, and rings, and rings, and goes to voicemail. He swipes to your messages, but all are gone, all your responses wiped away to apepar one sided.

He's not a stupid man. Anticipated something like this, maybe - but the screenshots he took are nothing but black space, and the recordings of your voice carry naught but the sound of his own breathing, and before he can do something, anything, to prove this, Price has a hand upon his back and Kyle is saying something and he tears away, shuts himself in your room. Calls you four times, while they talk quietly outside. It's not until the fifth - after the front door closes - that you pick up.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I'm sorry, Simon, I... I came back for you, just you, came back..."

The wave of reality ebbs, flows. It's not all bad, eventually. Some days, he spends curled around your old pillow - which smells more like him, than you, at this point - while you whisper filthy words through the tinny speakers, rutting into the fabric. He tries to do the same to you, but you never make the same sounds you used to, and when he tries to ask about your body, your pleasure, you devolve into low notes of grief.

Maybe it's better this way. Maybe it's worse. Something about the carrot and the stick, something about Tantalus, ankle-deep in water.

Something about the inability to move on: about you, stuck wherever you are, ephemeral, blind and senseless but for your voice. About him, hand perpetually upon the phone, ignoring the calls of his team, caught upon the half-death he's able to live.

About a hunger and a pinprick of light and the world as it darkens, the crepuscule of existence.

[jakeyywoniee]

DRUNK IN YOU - Yang Jungwon

Warnings: Fluff, Suggestive (idk what to add more)

Plot : Idol au, drunk Jungwon, non idol y/n

❅─────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────❅

The glow from your desk lamp cast a warm hue over your apartment as you glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time.

11:58 PM.

Almost midnight.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, half-watching the rom-com playing on the TV and half-glued to your phone, waiting for a message. You knew he’d be late. He always was when it came to dinners with the members. But tonight felt different—there was an anticipation building in your chest you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because it was your three-month anniversary, or maybe because of how he said, \*"I'll definitely come over tonight. No matter what."

And when Jungwon made a promise, he always kept it.

Your phone buzzed.

Jungwon: "Outside."

You shot up faster than you'd like to admit, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled around your legs. You ran to the door and took a deep breath before opening it.

And there he was.

Jungwon stood in the hallway of your apartment building, one hand casually tucked into the pocket of his grey sweatpants, the other holding a bottle of strawberry milk. His black fitted tee clung to him just right, showing off the definition in his arms and the slope of his collarbone. His hair was slightly tousled—clearly from running his fingers through it—and his eyes had this glazed, sleepy look that made your stomach twist in the most dangerous way.

"Hi," he said with a slow, lazy smile that was nothing like the shy grins he usually gave you.

"You’re drunk," you whispered, the scent of soju hitting your nose the moment he stepped closer.

"Maybe a little," he admitted, setting the bottle of milk on the small table beside the door as he slipped his shoes off. "But I promised I’d come."

You could only nod, stepping back to let him in. He walked in like he belonged here—because he did. For the past month, this place had become his safe space. Your couch, his napping zone. Your kitchen, where he'd steal sips of your coffee. Your bedroom, where he'd shyly ask to cuddle with you under the pretense of a movie night.

But tonight, something about him was different.

He flopped onto your couch, stretching his legs out and patting the space beside him. “Come here.”

You hesitated. There was something about his tone that made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t the usual soft-spoken Jungwon. There was a deeper edge, a layer of confidence—and maybe mischief.

You sat down carefully, leaving a small space between the two of you.

He looked at it and chuckled. “Why are you so far away?”

Before you could answer, he reached over and tugged you into his lap.

“Jungwon!” you squeaked, hands landing on his chest as you tried to find your balance.

He laughed, his arms circling around your waist as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “Missed you,” he mumbled, his breath warm against your skin.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your body heated up at the feeling of him so close. “You’re drunk,” you whispered again, more to remind yourself than him.

“And I’m still your boyfriend,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. “So let me hold you.”

There was no arguing with that.

You relaxed into his hold, your fingers instinctively playing with the hem of his sleeve. He felt so warm, so solid beneath you. It was overwhelming in the best way.

“You’re always so soft,” he murmured, one hand tracing the outline of your waist, the other brushing your hair behind your ear. “Do you know how hard it is not to kiss you all the time?”

You blinked. Your eyes met his, and for a second, the room felt too small, too quiet.

“Then… why don’t you?” you whispered.

And that was all it took.

He leaned in slowly, eyes flickering to your lips before they closed. His lips brushed against yours—tentative, testing—before he kissed you fully. It was slow, unhurried, but deep. His lips moved with a sort of practiced desperation, like he’d been holding back for far too long.

Your fingers tightened around his shirt as you kissed him back, your heart pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears.

When he pulled back, his lips were slightly swollen, and his eyes were darker than before.

“That…” he whispered, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb, “...wasn’t enough.”

He leaned in again, this time with more pressure, more hunger. The second kiss was nothing like the first. It was messier, deeper, your mouths parting as your breaths mingled. His hands moved to your thighs, fingers pressing gently into the flesh there as he held you tighter in his lap.

You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

He groaned in response, pulling back just slightly. “You’re driving me crazy, baby.”

“Jungwon…”

“Tell me to stop,” he said, forehead resting against yours. “Please. If this is too much…”

You shook your head. “Don’t stop.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you again, his hand trailing up your back, tangling into your hair as he tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your hands roamed—his chest, his shoulders, anything you could touch to ground yourself in the moment.

It was addictive. His taste, his scent, the way he sighed into your mouth when your teeth grazed his bottom lip.

Minutes—or hours, you couldn’t tell—passed with you tangled in each other’s arms, breathless and flushed.

At some point, you found yourself lying back on the couch, Jungwon hovering over you, lips trailing from your jaw to your ear, whispering things that made your face heat up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “So perfect. I’ve wanted you like this for so long.”

His hands never wandered too far. Never crossed the line. But the way he kissed you, the way his lips lingered on your collarbone, the way he whispered your name like a prayer—it was overwhelming.

You clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, and yet...

“Jungwon,” you breathed, your voice shaky. “We should stop.”

He froze, his lips just inches from your neck.

Then he nodded, slowly, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Okay.”

You both lay there for a while, tangled in each other, catching your breath.

“I didn’t mean to go that far,” he said quietly. “I just… I missed you. I wanted to be close.”

You smiled, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek. “You were perfect.”

He blushed, burying his face in your neck again. “Don’t say things like that. I might kiss you again.”

You laughed softly. “Then maybe I’ll say it more often.”

He groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

That night, you fell asleep in each other’s arms, your heart beating in rhythm with his, the room still humming with the heat of everything you almost did.

And maybe, just maybe, you liked this side of Jungwon a little too much.

Sunlight streamed through the pale cream curtains of your apartment, falling gently over tangled blankets and the soft rhythm of breathing. The golden light crept over Jungwon’s bare arms, his hair messy against the pillow, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his lips parted in peaceful slumber.

But peace didn’t last long.

With a groan, Jungwon stirred, blinking blearily at the ceiling before rolling onto his side.

Then it hit him.

Last night.

The kisses. The heat. The way his hands had wandered too far too fast. The way you trembled beneath his touch. And the moment you whispered "We should stop".

His stomach twisted as guilt slowly seeped in.

Damn it.

He sat up slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. What if I made her uncomfortable? What if I scared her off? He wanted to kick himself. He never lost control like that. Especially not with you.

Carefully, he turned his head.

And there you were.

Lying on your side, arms tucked under your pillow, face tilted slightly toward him. Your lips were parted just the tiniest bit, and your hair was a sweet mess around your cheeks. You looked peaceful. Serene. And so heartbreakingly beautiful.

A soft smile tugged at his lips despite the pit of regret in his stomach. He watched you sleep for a while, slowly lying back down beside you. His hand reached out, brushing your hair away from your forehead before placing a soft kiss there.

I'm sorry, he whispered silently. For being too much.

You were humming in the kitchen an hour later, stirring the batter for pancakes and pouring coffee into a pair of mismatched mugs. Jungwon had woken up a few minutes after you, groggy and quiet. He mumbled something about needing a moment and disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

You tried not to think about last night. But your cheeks heated anyway. The kisses. His voice in your ear. His hands holding you close like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist from behind, startling you.

“Jungwon—!”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft against your ear, low and remorseful. “About last night. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Your hands paused mid-air, the ladle hovering over the pan.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you said quietly.

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “Then why’d you tell me to stop?”

You turned your head slightly to meet his eyes. “Because it was getting too much. Too fast. Not because I didn’t want it. Just… not yet.”

His expression softened with relief. He turned your face fully toward him and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll always wait for you, okay?”

You smiled, poking his cheek. “Now sit down before you distract me so much I burn the pancakes.”

He laughed, letting go of your waist but not before sneaking a quick kiss to your temple. “Yes, chef.”

Breakfast was cozy—your knees brushing under the table, shared bites, and sleepy giggles. Jungwon practically inhaled your pancakes, saying it tasted like love, and you threw a napkin at him while trying to hide your flushed face.

Once the dishes were cleared, you handed him a towel and a change of clothes. “Go take a shower. You still smell like soju.”

He dramatically clutched his chest. “You wound me.”

“Shower,” you said, laughing. “Now.”

As soon as he disappeared into the bathroom, you plopped down on the couch with your phone, intending to scroll through your usual morning updates. But a headline caught your eye on a x post.

There he was.

Your thumb hovered over the screen.

The photo showed Jungwon stepping out of the restaurant, his hair messier than usual.

You gasped—and then immediately blushed.

Because that image sparked memories of what followed. The lazy smile he wore at your doorstep. The bold way he pulled you into his lap. The kisses. The heat.

You were so lost in the memory you didn’t notice the bathroom door open.

Jungwon, dressed in a clean white tee and grey joggers, towel-drying his hair, stepped out and paused when he saw your face.

“You okay?” he asked, walking over.

You quickly locked your phone. “Y-yeah!”

He raised an eyebrow, then sat beside you. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are,” he said smugly, leaning closer. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

He grinned and snatched your phone.

“Jungwon!” you yelped, trying to grab it back.

Too late. He unlocked the screen and saw the tab still open on the photo of him.

His eyes widened. “Wow… this is the worst picture of me ever.”

You were mortified. “Give it back!”

He laughed. “So that’s why you were blushing, huh? Thinking about drunk me kissing you like a man starved?”

You smacked his arm. “Shut up!”

He leaned in, whispering against your ear, “Wanna re-enact it?”

You practically shoved him off the couch, face flaming.

The rest of the afternoon was pure chaos.

He wouldn’t stop teasing you.

When you tried to fold laundry, he wrapped a towel around his head and dramatically said, “Are you thinking about my sinful aura again?”

When you tried to sweep the floor, he slid beside you in socks and whispered, “I should kiss you again, right here, next to the dust bunnies.”

When you were making tea, he came up behind you, pressed his lips to your neck, and murmured, “Remember when I said you drive me crazy?”

You dropped the spoon.

“Oops,” he said innocently.

“You’re a menace.”

“But I’m your menace.”

Despite your threats, you couldn’t stop smiling. The warmth in your chest bloomed with every laugh, every touch, every teasing glance. Jungwon was soft and bold all at once—your sweet boyfriend with a playful edge, and you loved every second of it.

Later, the two of you sat curled on the couch again, legs tangled, a blanket over your laps. He rested his head on your shoulder, fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

He looked up at you. “How lucky I am to have you.”

You blinked. “That’s sudden.”

“I mean it.” He shifted so he was facing you fully. “You let me in. You accept all my versions—shy, awkward, tipsy, clingy, bold. I don’t think I ever felt this… safe. With anyone.”

You reached out, brushing his hair from his forehead. “You’re my safe space, too.”

He leaned in slowly, kissing you—soft, slow, deep. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat, but about something else. Something tender. Lasting.

When he pulled away, he smiled. “Next time, I won’t be drunk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

He winked. “Just a kiss. Nothing more… unless you want more.”

You blushed again.

“See?” he teased. “Still thinking about it.”

And just like that, the afternoon faded into laughter and gentle chaos, hearts full, and the space between you filled with the kind of love that was playful, patient, and deep.

❅─────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────❅

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

How do you think L would handle an outgoing, adventurous lover who was a little too trusting? Like, the type to accept party/event/trip invites from people she's just met, including spur of the moment ones ("come with me to x"). Since L is so distrusting and suspicious, I just wonder how he'd handle it

To me, this falls under the same personality-umbrella as Blabbermouth! Reader, so this is technically going to be another oneshot of that. Enjoy!

"I'm going out," you call from the doorway, slipping on your shoes. L peers past the wall from the couch, eying you curiously.

"Where are you going?"

"Well- okay, so, Jenny, right? 'Member Jenny?"

"I do."

"Well, her boyfriend has a friend, who has a girlfriend, who's having a big birthday party, and Jenny said I could probably just stop by since it'll be so big, they won't even notice I'm there."

"Do you...know this friend's girlfriend?"

You reach for another shoe, balancing on one foot to slide it on. "Uh...no, not really."

His eyes narrow. "Do you know anyone attending? Is Jenny going?"

"Uhhhhh...no."

"...I'd rather you not."

You cross your arms. "Why not? It's just a party."

"Many things can happen at a party."

"It's just like a club, no different."

"Clubs aren't particularly safe, either."

"L," you say, stern.

You lock eyes, a battle of wills.

A puff of air leaves his nose.

You've won.

"Keep your phone on."

"Kay!" You grab your wallet and keys.

"And call me when you've arrived."

"Alright!" You reach for the door.

"Watari can drive you."

"Oh, okay." You set down the keys.

"Perhaps he should accompany you."

"Ugh, no, just let me go!" Watari was grand and all, but you weren't going to a party with a 60-something year old man.

"Fine. Is your phone charged?"

"Yes, yes, all of those things, can I please leave?"

He eyes you up and down. Such a pretty outfit. You were too irresistible for the masses, what if you were kidnapped? Murdered? He knew all too well what happened to pretty girls in dark places. "Please return home at a reasonable hour."

"Of course. I'm leaving now."

"Yes."

"My hand is on the knob."

"I see that."

"I'm turning the knob"

"Your point has been made."

"MyFootIsOutTheDoorSoIfThere'sAnythingElseYouNeedToSaySayItNow-"

"Go, please. Have a good time."

"Love you!"

"I Love-" the door shuts behind you, cutting off his sentence. "...You...Hm."

It has been a while since you've gone out, he admits his worrying has deprived you of your favorite pastimes. You were a social creature, albeit far too trusting. He knows his constant nagging over your safety has deterred you from bothering, your need to avoid arguments and tiffs taking precedence over your need to see other people. This would be good for you, he decides, a way to let off some steam.

He opens his phone, and checks your location. You were fast, already on the move in the limo. The location tracking was one of many agreed upon safety measures, a product of his elusive nature. He needed to do some work, but all he could think about was you. You'd drink if it was offered, and with your inhibitions even lower than usual, who knows what you'd do? You enjoyed dancing and singing, what if you stood on a table, danced like nobody was watching, fell, and fractured your skull? What if your brain dislodges, and you go into a coma? He immediately reaches for his phone, but stops. There was no need to panic. You were a grown woman. You could take care of yourself.

Over the hours, he manages to do a few tasks, distracts himself with a puzzle, has a few snacks...but he was always thinking about you. You did call when you arrived, but since then, he hasn't heard back.

It was only 10...he'd hate to bother you...this was necessary. He nabs his phone.

It rings.

And rings.

And...rings.

"Hey!"

He opens his mouth.

"I'm not at the phone, so...leave a message!"

Right. He waits for the tone, and decides to do just that.

"It's getting late. I was wondering how you were. Call Warari or myself when you're ready to leave."

He doesn't say more than that, his tone doesn't betray his nerves. He stares into nothing as he hangs up, his hands clenching and unclenching around his legs. Logically, the party would be loud. You probably aren't on your phone. You wouldn't hear the ringing. But also, logically, anything could happen. Terrible, awful things. Things that people like him look at in high-definition photos, or examine in plastic baggies.

It took ten, deafening, terrifying, stomach-turning minutes for you to call him back. He was immediately met with the sound of cars whizzing by, you were outside.

"Hiiiiiii babyyyy," you croon.

"I called you," he says matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I didn't see, but um, I'm good to come home." Your words slurred, unfocused. You were clearly drunk.

"I see. Watari and I will retrieve you."

"Waitttt will you stay on the phone with me? I'm bored out here and I don't wanna go inside."

"Why don't you want to go inside?" Was someone bother you? Harassing you?

"I fell earlier and everyone laughed at me."

Oh. "I can stay on the line, but you'll have to wait a moment while I call Watari."

"Kay."

He picks up the hotel landline, and dials for Watari. After a short and clinical conversation, he's set to go and get you.

"L," you whine, drawing out the single syllable.

"Yes?"

"I miss you..."

"I'll be over shortly."

He makes his way out of the room, down the hotel hallway, into the elevator, soothing you all the way through.

"And I'm hungryyy."

"Would you like me to pick up food on the way over?"

"No, get here quick...but can we get food on the way back?"

"I suppose."

"Ugh, it smells like weed out here..."

"That's unfortunate."

"I miss you so much, baby."

"You've said that, yes."

"Well do you miss me?!"

"I do."

He exits the elevator, crosses the threshold of the lobby, and meets Watari at the car, quick to settle in and start navigating.

"What?? Oh, I'm talking to my boyfriend..."

"Who's there," he asks softly.

"Nobody, just this guy I met...he's like totally into me but it's okay because I loveeeeeee you."

"...we'll be there very soon, please notify him of this."

"Kay. Y- yeah, my man's gonna be here soon, so like, y'know, shoo."

He sighs. Speeding doesn't seem like a bad option...but if they were stopped for a ticket, it would only slow them down.

He didn't have to worry for long, within 5 minutes they were pulling to the curb of the mid-sized home, blaring with music and lights. You were sat on the sidewalk, phone to ear, pout on lips.

The second you recognized the car, you bounced up, rushed to the door, and slid it open.

He watches as you tumble in, into his lap, peppering his face with kisses. He holds you steady with a hand on your ribs, and reaches past you with the other to shut the door.

"Hiiii."

"Hello."

The car jolts forward, and you slide backward, not yet settled. He reaches for you once more, but you clamber into a seat next to him.

"How was the party?"

"Fun. Are we going to get something to eat or not?"

"What would you like?"

"I want McDonald's...or Taco Bell...or Wendy's..."

"I'll tell Watari to stop somewhere close."

he slides open the divider between the driver and passenger area, relays the message, and is swathed by you the moment he settles back. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, kiss his cheeks and neck, and eventually writhe your way back into his lap. He really can't do much other than hold your waist.

"You're so handsome," you mumble, your words vibrating against his neck.

"Sit down," he sighs, patting the back of your head.

You reluctantly remove yourself from him, and settle in a proper seat. He does you the favor of buckling you up. "Are we almost there?"

"Yes," he nods. You won't know the difference anyway. "How did you fall?"

"What?"

"Earlier, you said you fell."

"Ohhhhh, yeahhh, I was dancing on a table."

He knew it. "Are you injured?"

"I don't think so."

He frowns. "Do you have any bruises? Bumps? A headache?"

You look down at yourself. "A few on my arm...no, and...no."

Two out of three wasn't bad. He nods, just as the car begins the slow. They've reached food.

One hour and a 10 piece chicken nugget later, you were safely tucked against L's arm, on the couch, half asleep. "You're so sweet to me," you coo, drawing circles on his thigh. He sighs, patting your head with a heavy hand.

"I wish you were more cautious in the things you do."

You grin, slow and lazy. "I don't need to be, 'cause if I get in trouble you'll come and save me."

He gives you a long side eye. You're too busy invading his personal space to notice, gluing yourself to his side. "Perhaps you're too reliant on my affection for you."

You blink. "Do you think I'm pretty."

He blinks back. "yes."

"How pretty??"

"Very."

"In what way?"

"In every way. Does that satisfy you?"

"...No. Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

"Like you mean it!"

"I love you."

"...thank you."

[ilikekidsshows]

Continuing the "mlb sucks as a complex grey morality story that some of the show's defenders claim is intentional and good storytelling" train of thought, mlb simply doesn't have the proper setup to pull this off. Not in terms of Marinette acting ooc (because she really isn't) but because if they wanted to go this direction with the story, they should've signaled it waaaay before the story reached this point.

Take Madoka as a classic example for a magical girl deconstruction. The show does string the audience along about it's true nature for a bit but it shows its hand by the end of episode 3. The show has 12 episodes so that's the 25% mark aka the point of no return aka the end of the first act. The audience now got a taste of exactly what's the tone the story is going for and so they head into the second and third act with proper expectations.

Or look at Steven Universe if we want to look at something more episodic. The first season was very episodic and lighthearted and most of the more complex and grey elements of the story were kept as implications (that would only be elaborated on in later seasons). Then came the finale and season 1 and seriously upped the stakes.

The first episode of season two had Steven react to the events of the finale in a rather realistic way and it's clear the events affected him heavily. This signals the audience that the direction the show is in the show magical adventures can and will have adverse psychological implications on its characters, so when the characters later make bad choices due to their respective damage that still keeps within the tone of the story.

If mlb wanted to pull off the tone switch then at the very LEAST the first episode of s5 should've reflected that this is the kind of story where the protagonist can lose to the main villain they fought for 5 seasons and then go on to enact his will. Obviously some earlier setup in s1 or s2 would've been better, but s5ep1 would've also worked to establish the change in tone for this season. A change of tone that would've felt pretty natural considering the BBEG just got a hella upgrade.

Instead what we get is the heroes trouncing the villain as usual despite all his newfound power, a supposed "wise old man" type character going on about how awesome Ladybug is and groveling for forgiveness for ever doubting it and in general same old akuma fights other than the akumas getting a new gimmick.

The beginning of s5 signals that despite the major loss they just had, everything is going to stay more or less the same tone wise. That's absolutely not the tone they should've gone with if they wanted the end of s5 to launch this complex and grey conflict.

---

Yeah, like, we can't forget that Miraculous has been on the air for eight years and hasn't been rebranded once. At this point, you can't make a smooth transition from straightforward, “don't think about it” type of morality to a complex story of deconstructing the moral values of your hero. Miraculous has a brand identity as a small kids’ show by now, the more actiony cartoon you upgrade to from Paw Patrol. There's a reason the crew behind Teen Titans Go started insisting their series was never meant to have anything to do with the original Teen Titans cartoon when fans got upset at the complete change in direction. You can't claim two completely different shows are actually the same, because that's a lie.

In addition, Miraculous doesn't have a set moral code to deconstruct. Its only value system is “how will this impact Marinette?” because that's the only thing the writers are interested in, and that isn't a morality system at all. Astruc loves to mock fans who criticise him that Miraculous is just too complex for them and to just go back to watching Paw Patrol but at least Paw Patrol has better morals and more consistent lore than Miraculous. Paw Patrol sticks to how things work in-universe and, when new characters get introduced, they dedicate themselves to actually using those characters, something Miraculous only started doing with SEASON 6.

I think season 2 is the sweet spot for most shows that want to break away from being episodic. The first season is the introduction, so viewers often even expect short and compact stories that introduce the characters, world and important lore concepts. The transition to season two is where most shows settle on what they wanna be and do. Steven Universe settled on its expanding universe at that point. Transformers Prime settled on what kinds of stories it wanted to tell at that point. Avatar the Last Airbender started properly focusing on recurring plot elements at that point. And what did Miraculous do that that point? It settled on "some elements from previous episodes might pop up again but nothing will actually change".

At this point, I’d say Paw Patrol is more complex than Miraculous. You could deconstruct Paw Patrol with the stuff they’ve given you. Miraculous doesn’t have anything to deconstruct because the show is that basic and formulaic, except for the writers’ pet protagonist. The only thing Miraculous could possibly deconstruct is its core value of “Marinette must always get the most sympathy” because this show has nothing else with any substance to it. It’s all just smoke and mirrors to make the audience think progress and important things are happening. That’s what all these villain powerup fakeouts are all about, they make you think something cool is going to happen, even as the heroes keep doing the same stuff as always. What whole Miraculous box at Gabriel’s command? It might as well not exist for all the importance it had. What evil cabal of mystery villains? It might as well not exist for all the importance it will surely have.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

SHANE'S GIRL ➵ D. DIXON [14]

Part Fourteen | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh & Merle Dixon are the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, story follows the show but dialogue and events are paraphrased, abusive behavior, a very slow burn

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: Alright. I'm back after a work induced hiatus. I have missed this story deeply and even though this isn't the most eventful chapter, I'm excited for what it's setting up. I've also updated the playlist on Spotify if any of you want to give it a listen — I think it encapsulates our two favorite apocalypse idiots very well. As always, let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

attack seems to have shaken everyone; however, for Daryl, it’s different. He’s dealt with plenty of walkers during his various hunts after the world’s end, but this wasn’t just one or two stragglers in the woods that he could sneak up on before they noticed him. No, this time they were too close to home, and they managed to get the jump on him. He almost died. The realization almost made him sick to his stomach. It’s not that Daryl fears death. He’d come to terms with his own demise long before the dead started walking. Hell, he always assumed he’d die young anyway. The fear that settled deep into Daryl’s bones last night was not for himself, but for the woman softly snoring into his shoulder: you.

You saved his life. And the terror in your eyes afterwards, as you stared at the bloody knife in your hands, will haunt him for the rest of his days. Because it’s his fault. You killed to save him. And maybe it’s not his place, but Daryl was hoping to shield you from the horrors of this world for as long as possible. He knows the toll that taking another life does to a person — the guilt and pain that lingers in the back of his mind every day. He knows that it doesn’t matter that they’re technically already dead — that walker was still a human being once. He didn’t want that burden on your shoulders, but now it’s too late.

The sun is just cresting over the horizon when Rick’s voice slices through the thick silence that settled over the quarry camp, officially ending the longest night that Daryl has ever experienced.

“I know we’re all running on fumes, but we need to bury our dead.”

Rick’s voice is quiet, but there’s an urgency to his tone as his eyes shift from Daryl to T-Dog and Glenn. The two men had hunkered down near the RV once the chaos had settled and exhaustion consumed the camp for just a few hours. Even though he hasn’t spoken to either of them since you’ve all gotten back from Atlanta, Daryl’s grateful that they stuck close to both of you. Now, more than ever, Daryl believes that there is safety in numbers. Still, he couldn’t sleep. Even though his shoulders sag due to the weight of the last twenty-four hours, the warmth of your body keeps him up. A constant reminder of what he has to protect — of what he could have lost last night amidst the devastation. So, even though every single fiber of Daryl’s being yearns to stay by your side, he nods at Rick’s words.

“Not you, Daryl.”

Daryl’s brow furrows, and he's not the only one confused by his words. Both Glenn and T-Dog look skeptically at Rick until they follow his gaze. Rick Grimes is watching you peacefully sleep against the camp’s, so-called, notorious brute. Daryl suddenly feels uncomfortable and shifts slightly under the weight of their attention. The movement causes you to stir in your sleep and he fights off a smile at the content sigh that escapes your lips as you press your face further into his shoulder. Rick raises a brow at you both before continuing.

“You’re busy. I haven’t seen her get a good night’s sleep since I’ve gotten back.”

He’s right. Daryl’s not sure if you’ve truly rested at all since he’s met you. And a part of him believes that has more to do with Shane Walsh than the end of the world. After all, it’s probably hard to relax when the most dangerous threat to your well-being is lurking in your tent. So, Daryl simply gives Rick a firm nod.

“Man, why does Dixon always get to play bodyguard?”

Glenn’s eyes immediately widen, and he elbows T-Dog in the side. T-Dog’s eyes land on Glenn before following his gaze to Daryl. He raises his hands up in defeat as the archer glares daggers at them both.

“I’m just kidding, man.”

“You better be.”

Rick huffs out a laugh before placing himself between the men. He gives Daryl a momentary, warning glance before turning to T-Dog.

“You best get to work or else you might need a bodyguard.”

T-Dog’s eyes shift from Rick to Daryl. Daryl juts his chin up at the man. He doesn’t want to fight — not when you look so peaceful right now — but he’s not one to back down. Luckily, T-Dog sighs defeatedly before walking off with Glenn in tow. Rick watches them walk away for several moments before turning back to Daryl. He raises a brow at the youngest Dixon brother before collapsing into the lawn chair T-Dog had been lounging in. Daryl watches as Rick roughly runs his hands over his face — it looks like he got about as much sleep as Daryl did last night.

“Listen, I feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot.”

Daryl scoffs at Rick’s words. Off on the wrong foot seems like an understatement. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Rick had a gun pointed at him in Atlanta. But he’s important to you, so Daryl bites his tongue and lets him continue.

“But I know her.”

Rick’s gaze drops down to you, and Daryl’s eyes follow.

“And she trusts you.”

Daryl tears his eyes away from you at that admission. He expects to find confusion or judgment on Rick’s face, but instead, he’s looking at you with the tenderness of a loving brother. And when Rick looks back up at him, there’s a sadness in his eyes that he cannot place.

“I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but I know you looked out for her. Thank you.”

The earnestness in his tone surprises Daryl, but he gives the man a firm nod. In all honesty, he doesn’t need his thanks. It has never been a burden to look out for you, and he’s certainly not trying to pass off the responsibility onto someone else. No, Daryl Dixon has begrudgingly come to terms with the fact that he cares about you. The two men sit in comfortable silence together until another muffled sob escapes Andrea, who is still clutching Amy’s limp hand in hers.

“What are we gonna do about that?”

Daryl motions towards the sisters with his free arm, and Rick glances towards them before letting out a deep sigh. He rakes a hand through his hair, and Daryl almost feels bad for asking. After all, Rick never asked to become the de facto leader of this group. But someone has to call the shots, and Daryl sure as hell doesn’t want it to be Shane.

“I already talked to her. She said she’ll take the shot — but only after she turns.”

A sudden rage courses through Daryl’s veins. Waiting for Amy to turn into one of those monsters endangers everyone in this camp. Rick knows the risk, and yet he’s still allowing it to happen. Daryl isn’t in charge — he doesn’t want to be — but he will not risk your life for the convenience of others. Maybe it’s selfish, but he really doesn’t give a shit.

“You can’t be serious. That girl’s a time bomb and you know it.”

Rick’s face hardens, and his jaw clenches.

“What do you suggest?”

“Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

You mumble the words into Daryl’s shoulder, just loud enough for both men to hear. Your face scrunches up immediately once you open your eyes. A groan escapes your lips as you try to adjust to the morning sunlight.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Rick snorts, which causes you to peel yourself away from Daryl so you can shoot the sheriff a playful glare. For a moment, Daryl is disappointed by the loss of contact, but then he spots the blush that’s creeping across your cheeks due to the nickname he’s given you. It tumbled off Daryl’s lips before he could think twice about it. He meant it as a lighthearted jab — understanding the way your eyes meet the rising sun with nothing but disdain. After all, he didn’t become a morning person until the world fell apart. He recalls the nickname rolling off his mother’s lips on the mornings she remembered to wake him up for elementary school. And the groan that escaped you reminds him of the ones he’d let out as Merle would exclaim that nickname in the kitchen when Daryl finally stumbled out of his room late in the afternoon with an intense headache due to the hangover he had from the eventful night before. But honestly, in Daryl’s heart, it’s less of a nickname and more a term of endearment — one he could find himself using more as long as you keep letting him.

“What’s so funny, Grimes?”

“Nothin’. It’s good, sunshine. Fitting, even. Just wish I’d thought of it myself.”

You roll your eyes at the sheriff before shifting your eyes back to Daryl. Your playful expression suddenly turns serious as you regard him.

“I’m serious, Daryl. Let her be. She needs to do this her way.”

Daryl studies you for a moment. And Rick watches as you both seem to have an entire conversation without speaking. The interaction confuses him deeply, and he desperately needs to sit down with you to catch up on everything he’s seemingly missed. To his surprise, Daryl shifts on his feet slightly before giving you a nod.

“‘Lright.”

You give him a small smile — a silent thank you to him for trusting your intuition. Daryl’s eyes shift from you to where T-Dog and Glenn are burying the dead. Even though he knows it’s not his responsibility, he suddenly feels guilty that he’s not helping. You follow his gaze and put the pieces together. You know how hard it is for Daryl to stay still, especially when he knows there’s something else he can be doing. You reach out, grabbing his forearm to get his attention. His focus is immediately on you — his expression brimming with concern as his eyes check you over.

“Go.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Rick. Go.”

Daryl’s eyes shift to the sheriff before finding their way back to you once more. You understand how he feels. After last night — after watching that walker almost tear into his flesh — you don’t want Daryl out of your sight right now. But you’ve both got things to do and there will always be responsibilities that will pull you away from one another. Finally, Daryl seems to relent.

“You need anything, you come get me. ‘Lright?”

You nod at his request and watch as he slings his crossbow over his shoulder after getting up. He looks down at you one last time before walking off towards Glenn and T-Dog. Your eyes follow Daryl for longer than you care to admit, and once you finally peel your gaze away from him, you’re met with an incredibly perplexed Rick Grimes. He looks like your protective older brother — arms crossed tightly across his chest and brow raised in confusion.

“I think you and I need to have a little talk.”

Taglist: 

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

@marina-isabella

@lissanovak

@elissanatok

@luv-4-aria

@moejoeflow-blog

@ceoofdisappointment

@jewellthebooknerd

@callsignwidow

@genderless-ghosty-boi

@all-will-be-well-love

@tabzthemightyyyy

@mychemicalimagines

@nosebleeds-247

@catradora333

@punicorn999

@tybsbnbn

@i-wear-wet-socks313

@sunny92sworld

@echothy

@ta3baee

@rottngzombi

@rhey-007

@azanoni

@ritosparty

@vaniniweenie

@nameless-ken

@ibuch7

@theunfortunateshadow

@j0joworld

@marauder-exe-old

@hello-emma

@ziziriaa-blog

@livingdeadblondequeen

@krissophia

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

@kellie-ana-blog

@my-name-is-heartache

@the-valars-sapphire

@mer-curie03

@lunajay33

@death-becomes-her

@grav3yardbb92

@mythicalyyours

@nicole-lynne

@lovers-till-death

@moncherriis

@imadisneyprincessiswear

@uselessmoonlight

@random-annie

@kriss-w

@heidiland05

@eighth-heroine

[taystarr]

"ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴꜱᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ" — ᴊᴜɴɢᴡᴏɴ x !ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ You and Jungwon have been best friends since childhood. You always supported him, cheered for his dream to debut. Since ENHYPEN’s rise, communication has faded: unread texts, unanswered calls. You tell yourself you understand — he’s busy, he’s famous now — but it still hurts. ( ⟢ ) pairings. Jungwon x fem!reader ⎯⎯ Contains. Angst, Fluff, Cursing, Kissing. ✿°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.-> You stare at your phone screen, tears welling in your eyes. "𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘵.. he's really doing this." You say, as you see Jungwon standing next to six other boys. Some look older than him, others look younger. They all look so happy, 𝙝𝙚 looks happy. This is probably the twentieth time you texted today. You've been texting him non-stop. Not like he's receiving them though. He blocked you 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 ago when he debuted. Or maybe he just got a new phone. Whatever it was, you two haven't had contact in forever. You throw your phone down onto your bed, huffing in response and stand. It's nice outside, maybe you could take a walk to get your head off him. ✿✿✿ The breeze is warm, the different color leaves cover the ground, and the smell of rain and fresh bread fill your nose. You step into a nearby cafe from your house, and walk straightforward to the register. "The usual?" Avery, the worker who so suddenly became your best friend just from your breakdown in the cafe bathrooms. He's sweet, perfect height, brunette, and the most cutest facial features. You'd think he was a girl based of his appearance and name. "Yeah.." You mumble, hands shoved in front pockets. "Do you think he'll ever come back? Or y'know.. text?" Avery lets out a small chuckle and a quick grin before replacing it with a serious tone (also a bit mocking). "I mean, possibly. But get real. An idol come back for some girl he knew back in 4th grade?" He says while making your drink. "Hey! We grew up together. Same school, neighborhood, even our parents were friends! He vowed to never forget me when he moved to go to the damn 'Survival Show; iland" You groan, flopping onto the counter, a random customer side-eyeing you as she places her own order. Avery just smiles and hands you your drink. "Don't sweat it, he'll be back.. Maybe." You roll your eyes playfully and move away to take a seat at the nearest table as you wait for your muffin. You pull out your phone, open TikTok and the first thing you see is Jungwon mentioning some girl on his live. The fandom is going wild, everyone fuming, happy, whatever. Your heart dropped. He moved on? Well, obviously.. After not talking to you for four years, he most likely has. But damn.. it fucking stings. "She was so sweet, we used to play in my garden outside when we were younger. Until she got stung.." You listened close, eyes widening. Wait.. was he talking about - you? You still remember the time that bee stung you, you cried so damn loud it probably echoed around the whole neighborhood. So he 𝙙𝙞𝙙 still remember you. If so, why hasn't he texted? Oh fuck him. Just as, Avery walks up with an amused smile, freshly made muffin on a plate. "On the house, once again.. You better get right and start foucsing on yourself instead of a random kpop idol. You BOTH have better things to do." Avery marks. "Please, he still knows me. Look!" You say, holding the phone up to him as they video replays. "..Oh wow, so great. Yeah, awesome y/n. He brings up a girl, a bee, and a garden, and all of a sudden all eyes are on you." You roll your eyes, snatching your phone away and setting it down. "C'mon, its the EXACT scene that happened when we were kids, I remember it like it was yesterday!" Your voice gets louder, a few eyes darting over. "Quiet down, weirdo" Avery whispers, as he takes a seat next to you. "Y'know that group, whatever their name is-" "Enhypen. It's enhypen." you correct him. "Right.. Well, their coming to the country. I could buy you tickets?" You froze, your eyes lit up then narrowed. "You'd buy me tickets?”

“No way im going to my old best friend's concert looking for him. I'd look like some crazy fan trying to sneak backstage!"

"So.. is that a no?" Avery ask. "Mhm.. you'know what. Yes."

✿✿✿

It's now time for the concert, you've been waiting for weeks. Avery brought everything, you got front row seats in the pit. You looked good, smelled good, dressed good. Oh yeah, even if Jungwon didn't notice you, another member probably would've.

You walk into the entry, you already got your ticket checked. First thing you do? Food. No matter what, you've gotta be fed for doing anything. You grab a slushie and plain hotdog which came up to $20. "Twenty dollars for this? Oh that's wild." You mumbled to yourself, as you head over to the condiment sections. Then you hear it.

Screams.

Loud, crazy ones. People are running towards the area, screaming at seven different men walking with like 15 security guards in front of them. Enhypen.

"Oh shit.. that's them right there!" You say to Avery, nervousness and excitement building. Oh yeah. That's right. Avery tagged along too, you were way to scared to go alone. Like who walks into a concert, looking for an idol who used to know them, alone? Yeah, not you.

Avery rolls his eyes, slurping his drink and nodding, probably barely even able to hear you since the noise. But whatever you said, he probably got a gist of it.

You both make your way down the escalator, moving through the crowd. A fansign? 30 minutes before the concert? What in the hell were they thinking? Whatever.

You stepped in line, waiting your turn. You lean beside you to whisper to Avery but.. he's gone? Then you hear your name being shouted from halfway infront of the line. "Y/N!!! I'M UP HERE, SOMEONE LET ME INFRONT OF THEM!!" He shouts as you roll your eyes and chuckle. Moving past everyone. Now you were only about behind five people.

Time past, the line moves, then; it's your turn. You greet Heeseung first, smiling and interacting with him. Then you greet Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Ni-ki, and guess who's last in line? Him. Jungwon.

You pause for a moment, then move slowly. Maybe he'll recognized you, maybe he won't. Your heart was pounding, you swore if anyone ruined this moment, you'd actually kill them.

✿ ✿

Your eye's connect. Quickly. Your staring at Jungwon, and he's staring at you. It may have took him about 45 seconds to realize you, but the moment "Wonnie" came out your mouth, that same nickname, same silly accent you'd used to say it in came out your mouth, it's like his whole world stopped.

"Y-y/n?.." He mumbled, emotions cruising through him. "Wait.. Why the hell- you-, who- The fuck?" Was the first actually 'sentence' that came out his mouth.

Eyes landed over, but didn't say anything. "Uhm.. well.. nice seeing you again?.." Jungwon said, and your heart dropped. "Huh?.. That's what you've got to say? No 'oh I missed you so much!' or 'my childhood bestie!'" You say, staring at him. Niki nudges him, signaling that your time for greeting is over and the line needs to continue.

"Sorry.. I- .. here." He scribbles on your hand, just like he did in middle school whenever he wanted to write something important but couldn't say it. His number.

"After the show." Was his last words before moving onto the next engene. You rolled your eyes and huffed, Avery laughed his ass off. Goodness he was annoying. You looked over and threw a punch to his arm, huffing.

"He said - He said- 'The fuck'" Avery repeats, laughing. "Oh screw you." You said, throwing out your now empty slushie cup. You looked down at your hand, and pulled out your phone typing the numbers in. Avery finally looked up, stopping in his tracks and raising an eyebrow. "Really? What if it's a scam? I mean why you he give you his number."

Your eyes landed over at Avery, your expression saying everything your mouth wanted to. Shut the fuck up. Avery’s smile drops and he huffs, crossing his arms.

✿ ✿

Time passes, everyone is either in their seats or on the pit at the front. As the concert started, everyone screams, hyped up already.

Thirty five minutes into the concert, Jungwon spots you. He waves and smiles, and what’s the first thing you do? Flip him off. He laughs, genuinely. The members notice but don’t say anything.

✿ ✿ ✿

The concert is finally over, and the first thing you do is dial the number Jungwon have you. You don’t even wait and let him settle down first. He almost instantly picks up, breathing hard, cheers in the background from the backstage mangers.

“Hello?..” silence. Then an annoyed huff “It’s m—“ he didn’t even let you finish, he immediately speaks up.”ah! Y/n. Come backstage we need to talk.” He hangs up before you can even argue back.

✿ ✿

You arrive backstage after being guided by a security guard, Avery didn’t follow; he said he’s taking his ass home.

You and Jungwon’s eyes meet, and he books it to you, pulling you in a tight hug, spinning you around. You kick your feet attempting to get down and start you fussing.

“You stopped talking to me for four fucking years and now you want to spin my ass around?!” You yell, Jungwon already sensing your attitude.

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry. When we first debuted they told us we had to get rid of friends. Even close ones.” Your eyes widened “Bullshit!” He nods in agreement, still starring at you with those eyes.

You breathe in and out, calming down. Then the first genuine thing comes out your mouth “I… I missed you..” Your voice cracks, and when you look up you already see that stupid smile and adorable dimples appearing on his face.

“Awhh, see! Behind all that sas it’s my favorite girl!” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Missed you too, pretty”

Gross. You roll your eyes, groaning, going right back to the girl you were.

“I promise I’ll never leave again, not even if the dumbass company officials tell me too.” He vows.

“Yeah, you said that last time.” You exclaimed. But before he could even get anything out, you leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“You still owe me for laughing when I got stung.” You scolded. “ we were nine.” He whispers against your lips, both of you smiling and giggling against each others mouths.

“Fuck you..” you say.

“You love me” he whispers back.