#third part gets a little off from the important themes

[strawberrysainz]

romanticism. charles leclerc

“ being charles leclerc’s assistant was a piece of work. you loved him though. ”

charles leclerc x reader

a warning — crude language, mentions of food, alcohol consumption, semi-mature scenes.

word count: 2.8k

“Do you want a biscuit?” He pointed to the box of red, racing-themed biscuits, mouth already full with one. “Please don’t tell anyone.” He added as an afterthought, and you snorted to yourself, setting down a notebook to take a gingerbread man decorated as him.

The instagram handle for the baker was loud and proud on the box, and you took a photo of the little Charles, making a note to post it later.

Qualifying hadn’t gone very well for Charles, hence the angry biscuit-eating. He’d ended up third, but an incident in the famous tunnel of the Principality had cost him three more places. His white suit was blinding in the tiny room, and his frustrated little huffs as he flung things this way and that made you slightly on edge.

You had been scrambling to catch up with him this season; you had been dealing with a family crisis until Miami, leaving Charles with some guy as his assistant for the past races. You had thought he was decent at first, but Charles was a precise guy; if he was relying on you to keep it together at work for him, then you’d better fucking do it the way he wanted. Even you didn’t mess with Charles on a race weekend. He was so nervous or upset or he was the happiest guy in the world - it didn’t matter, you just had to be consistent, comforting and take things as they went.

You swore he could’ve kissed you when you arrived on Monday.

But here you were on Saturday, still uneasy; Monaco had always freaked you out - you didn’t believe in the curse because Charles scorned it, but a part of you had anticipated that a stroke of bad luck would always have its way here. It was nine in the evening, and the crowds were still insane. You were prepared to walk back to your apartment at this point, even if it would take you about an hour with the blocked off roads. You handed Charles his clean clothes to change into after his shower, and you were about to go home for the night -

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

You tilted your head. You knew Charles’ new girlfriend had arrived this morning, surely he’d do something with her?

He must’ve seen the look on your face, and his unsureness- the way he couldn’t believe what he were saying- made you embarrassed.

“No, it’s alright. Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll struggle to get back to mine anyway.” You said abruptly. “Must I make you an Instagram post while you’re in the shower?”

He nodded, unlocking his phone. You immediately went into Google Drive to get some pictures as he left, when a message from Alexandra came in.

You blanched; usually, bar your forgetfulness, you put the phone on the do not disturb function so that you didn’t see what he was getting sent- but the full stops and seriousness made you guiltily keep a finger on the notification.

You’re being ridiculous. I can’t give up my job to come cheer you on. I know it’s Monaco but I thought I made it clear. I can’t make it after all, C. My job is equally as important as yours. You’ll be fine.

You inhaled sharply; she was pissed. You thought she was reasonable, but you knew how much it meant to him to have people here; he struggled in Monaco, and even if he didn’t admit it he was so anxious to please.

I’m sure she’ll have a little fuckin hug and a kiss for you. I’m not a cheerleader, that’s her job, Charles. Watch her under the podium instead. Or maybe not after all- I saw you got P6

Talk tomorrow

Your eyes widened. Was she talking about you?

You were being too nosy. You selected the pictures and put them together, locking his phone on the caption section so he’d write what he’d like. As you opened the door to leave, he was there, his eyes meeting yours; and he must’ve known that you knew something because he lowered his gaze.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said quietly, patting his arm. “Sleep well.”

There was a desperation in his tone when he asked you again to supper.

Well, how the fuck could you say no? He was clearly desperate.

“I’ll invite Joris and Lorenzo, and Arthur.” He said quickly, and you sighed; “The usual?” It was a little tapas restaurant 15 minutes away.

You closed the door then, confused, and walked away, opening your phone to call Joris for a lift.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You were in the front seat surrounded by the familiar smell of Joris’ car; you two had become good friends- always together, waiting, working because of Charles.

You were busy typing about the gingerbread man when Joris asked you about the lack of Alex (Charles had probably been talking about her first Grand Prix together with him).

You paused. “They seem to be having some sort of rift. Not sure. Ask him.” You said shortly; you tried to stay out of his love life as much as you could. You’d liked his previous girlfriend to an extent, but the final events leading up to their breakup made it awkward for you to say goodbye. You tried desperately to be professional but at that point you were a really close friend of Charles’.

Joris nodded. You two did enjoy a paddock gossip now and again, but when it involved Charles alone you really weren’t into it.

You ended up taking longer to get to the restaurant because you made him stop at your house - you weren’t going to turn up in Ferrari gear - and showered, put new clothes on and sprinted back to his car in the drizzle.

Walking through the restaurant to your table in the corner, Joris was busy chattering on about the home GP content he was busy with; you were fiddling with your hair, your bracelets, your clothes, irritated to be there. Trying to be normal around Charles in non-work situations like he didn’t fucking employ you always stressed you out.

Not to mention he was being so awkward as of late.

You slid into the bench next to Lorenzo, giving him a warm pat on the arm as Joris sat on your other side. Charles was smiling at the sight of you - you greeted Arthur, and then him, and you were presented with some iced tea (no one drank next to Charles on a Saturday before the race).

You were lost in the conversation between Arthur and Charles (Arthur hadn’t done so well in F2 today either) when Lorenzo caught your attention.

“How are you?” You adored the way he spoke French; it was low and comfortable, in the kind of way that reminded you of a warm hug.

“Alright.” You said, giggling, and he nodded seriously. He knew about your stress - he’d never raced as intensely as his two brothers - and you’d always found him a comfort.

He was busy telling you about something - a trip with his girlfriend - when you heard the distress in Charles’ tone and turned to him. He was staring at the paella in front of him.

Joris was silent; Arthur just looked lost.

“What’s wrong?” You said quietly, and you noticed a few stubborn tears in his eyes that he was dying not to let fall.

“I’m just not feeling good about the race.” His tone was terribly melancholic, and you felt a bit frozen. “I- Cha-“

Lorenzo was stiff; you blinked.

Charles sat up straight. “It’s okay. Sorry.” His tone indicated no more talking about it, and Joris launched into a conversation about something, Arthur hurriedly joining in. You made eye contact with him sternly; we were talking about this later.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

Supper had come and gone, the bill had been paid, and you found yourself alone in Charles’ car at 10:53 pm on the way back to your apartment.

“Please come in.” You had said to him, after he refused to go home immediately to sleep; promising a cup of tea before he got home.

You had dropped your keys by the front door and entered, your cat greeting the two of you. “What’s wrong?” You said, starting the kettle with a tenderness in your tone you could never replicate with anyone else.

Charles was just sighing, complaining, choking with emotion as he spoke of his fears - dear God, he was struggling - you poured milk and sugar, biting a lip, and eventually it became too much that you brought him in for a tight hug in the light of your kitchen, a song playing in the corner.

You pulled away, and to your surprise he was looking into your eyes softly, a gentleness in his expression that freaked you out. You felt your body soften as his hand met your hip, and you knew, despite yourself, you could never refuse him.

“Cha…” you murmured, gaze on his lips. Holy shit, this was so wrong.

He let out a little sigh that had you going insane, and you turned around to fetch the tea, overwhelmed; this was the only way you could prevent whatever what was happening, not happen.

He murmured your name again, and you turned around slowly, guiltily watching his beautiful face, certain feelings you’d suffocated return just like that.

His hand met your arm, gentle pressure prompting you to put the tea down. You gasped quietly as his hand on your hip brought you together, eyes wide and wanting.

He met your lips with his, and it was like a wildfire that burned, bright and haunting, kissing you everywhere, his touch burning, thigh in between your legs, arms and hands touching you everywhere, you were gasping and he was moaning, the desire in the air thick, scary, and his facial hair tickled you in a delicious way that made you shiver, eyes lidded, dark, and suddenly he was moving to take his shirt off and you stepped back, terrified, lonely.

“Charles, you have a girlfriend.” You said lowly, hair messy. You noticed your lipstick all over his lips and face.

He looked scared of himself. “Fuck. I have to go. I need to sleep.”

“And talk to Alex.” You said, scaring yourself with the heaviness of your tone, and he was gathering his things, tea forgotten.

When he left, you waved him out, mouth wobbling, and you burst into tears after closing the door, clutching your mouth, your sobs shaking you, sinking down to the floor.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You’d agreed to lift Joris the previous night, so you were glad to ditch seeing Charles until you really had to - an hour later, you walked into his driver’s room; he was doing some exercises with Andrea while the social media intern videoed him. You stayed out of sight of the camera, leaning against the wall, trying to distract yourself from the previous night’s events.

You were wearing more makeup than usual to hide your puffy eyes from the tears last night, determined to act as if nothing had happened. You really hated that Charles had cheated on his girlfriend with you; you could put it down to him being vulnerable, but you were at fault as much as he was.

When everyone had left, Charles was left on the couch staring sheepishly at you. You crossed your arms, an invisible ocean separating you two, you two continents.

“I told Alex.” He said calmly.

“And?”

“She said she can’t be with me if I’m not being faithful and she’s not there all the time. We’ve only been together three months. She’s not into it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was my fault. I made a move when I wasn’t meant to. I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

From the way he was moaning yesterday, you weren’t sure if that was true.

“Okay.” You snort, moving to open the door. “Driver’s parade in 20 minutes. I’ll see you later?”

He nodded, waving a goodbye as you left.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

P6, like he started.

It was consistent, Joris had joked in your ear as you shook your head, trying not to laugh. He’d had a pretty good race, the team hadn’t fucked up, it was just the way it went.

He had been busy with press and much more before he ended up back with Andrea where you and Joris had been waiting for about three hours (you were also a bit drunk; you’d had too many glasses of champagne from Paddock Club).

“Hi!” You giggled, high-fiving him. “Good job.” Joris also cackled, and Charles shot you a glare. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” You said firmly, shaking your head. “I am very sober.” You said, and Joris nodded seriously. “We had a little bit of champagne.”

Andrea gestures to the bottle that was on the table beside you. “What’s that?”

“For Cha! A well done.” You beamed, and presented it to him. Charles couldn’t help but laugh. “I am going to have to drive you two back in her car, no? Put my bicycle in the back.”

You and Joris were squealing with laughter at the idea, and the two standing before you were laughing at you.

“Come, you fucking idiots.”

“No! You can’t insult me, you kiiiiissssed me,” you giggled, and Joris didn’t catch it, but Andrea did, shooting Charles a glare, who if looks could kill, would’ve shot you dead. He looked so pissed.

“Come,” he snapped, and Andrea said that he’d take Joris.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

He pulled up to your apartment. “Come in.” You said, and Charles scoffed. “Not for a long time now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You looked so vulnerable, rain falling on your head as you peered down at him. “Are you taking my car? I’ll come fetch it tomorrow.” You said softly. “Thanks for taking me. I’m sorry, I was stupid. I needed to relax for one fucking minute this week.”

Charles’ eyes softened, and he opened his mouth to say something before he closed it, nodding curtly, and drove away.

You couldn’t differentiate the raindrops from your tears, forcefully wiping them away.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

You knocked on his door at midday the next afternoon, wanting to thank him before flying to Spain. You hated the energy he’d given you since you’d kissed; it was wildly different and you loathed it.

He answered a minute or so later, glasses on and a scruffy jumper, eyes tired. “Hi,” you were out of breath all of a sudden; he was so terribly attractive.

He looked surprised to see you. “I came to say thank you. And get my keys.”

“Come in. Do you want coffee?” He said instead, and you felt a bit of déjà vu from two nights before, hauntingly familiar.

You loved his apartment. The red and white was a colour scheme you adored, and you sat on the sofa while he made you a coffee, one spoon of sugar and a splash of milk just how you liked.

“I want to say sorry for how weird I was this week. I just hate the Grand Prix in Monaco, you know?” You said hurriedly, and he set down the coffee, sitting down next to you. He laughed. “I know. I know.” It had been this way since 2021- when you had started working for him- and he kept having shit races here.

He held out his hand. You squeezed it. “Let’s move on from it.”

He smirked. “Am I such a bad kisser?”

Your jaw dropped, throwing your head back laughing. “Cha!”

He was dead serious. “Why do you want to move on?”

“I work for you?” You said, disbelievingly, and his mouth twitched. “Charles, come on.”

He picked up the mug and took a sip.

You quite literally wanted to die.

He set it down again, looking seriously at you. “I don’t regret the kiss, if you want to know.”

You stare at him. “It literally broke you and your girlfriend up.”

“I like you.” He shrugged. “More than her. More than I thought.”

You laugh, bringing the coffee to your lips. “And when I saw your lipstick on my face…” he trailed off, blushing, “Fuck.”

You swear you were as red as a mother fucking tomato at this point.

“Slow down.” You retorted, trying not to spit the coffee out.

“Kiss me.”

You stare at him again. Was he fucking delusional?

“What?” You hiss.

He rolls his eyes and kisses you.

You’re pulled onto his lap, breath gone, kissing him as hard as you can. Your head is thrown back as he goes for your neck, and the sounds he’s making make you moan.

“You’re really hot with glasses on,” you tell him, and he falters, giggling, before carrying on.

This time you let him take his shirt off, matching him.

You fall back onto the couch. Those eyes on yours, the eyes of your beautiful boy.

❤️‍🔥💿💌🍓

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lorenzotl Padel boyssss

user i wish I had your job girl

carlossainz55 Please give me a shirt @charles_leclerc

maisonde.monaco ❤️‍🔥💋

user So glad to see you back in the paddock again!!

thanks for reading bestie ❤️‍🔥

masterlist

[strawberriescherrieskiwi]

Successor

Requests by @auranightangle

Here is a link to the request but it is full of spoilers so I suggest reading the fic first.

Wordcount: 7.8K+

Masterlist

Description: Willy is excited to finally meet the ticket finders and his future successor, but as the past collides with the present maybe he will find something even more important.

A/N: Ah it is finally here. And it only took over two months. I don't know why this fic was so hard to write. I suppose the request was so thought out I didn't know how to make it my own, but after quitting writing and coming back I am pleased with it. I definitely want to do a part two, maybe some past smut with Wonka and the reader who is the past lover.

Warning: Angst. Frantic and manic Wonka. DadWonka. Slight fluff. Mention of abuse. Fic is in the third person from Wonka's POV mostly. Lots of flashbacks.

“Big Day, Big Day, Big Day,” Willy repeated over and over as he got dressed with the help of the Oompa-Loompas. “Massive day indeed. I need to be at my absolute best. Need to make a good first impression of my future successor,” he continued to rant to himself.

He was nervous. How could he not be nervous he was letting people into his factory; It was like letting people into his head into his heart. It’s been over a decade, and he wanted to keep it that way, but he wouldn’t be young forever. As much as he wished he could do this forever, he learned a long time ago that nothing lasts forever.

“Okay, Mr. Wonka,  I have a wonderful idea for you.” His love said walking into his workspace.

His attention was immediately given to her “What is it my taffy twist?” He asked. Always happy to hear one of her ideas.

She giggled at his chosen nickname. It always seemed to change, but the theme was always the same, a candy of some sort. But she never minded. “So. I was thinking of everlasting gobstoppers. Think about it, never getting any smaller. Changing flavors, the longer you have it. And while it might not be the best selling, it will be nice for children from poorer homes. A piece of candy to have almost forever. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Willy stood from his chair, humming lowly as he tapped his chin in thought. She stared at him with wide hopeful eyes, rocking on her heels waiting for his thoughts. This was something they always did when one had an idea about a new candy. 

He hid his smirk at her eager attitude and began walking in circles around her. When she started humming sadly, he grabbed her hands and gave them two quick squeezes.

“My chocolate delight that is the best idea I have ever heard.” He replied, smiling widely.

A similar smile broke out on her face, then she threw herself into his arms. Willy caught her around the waist and spun her around the room. “Oh Willy, you had me so worried. I thought my little heart was going to burst out of my chest.”

Willy giggled kissing her sweetly. “Nonsense, my candy cane, your heart is always safe with me around,” he said, causing her heart to flutter in her chest and warmth to pool in her cheeks. 

She leaned forward and pressed another loving kiss to his lips. “Your sweet words have gotten you out of this one, Mr. Wonka.”

“Like my candy, I am always overflowing with sweetness and especially for you, my lovebug,” he said, stroking her cheek lovingly.

“Ah, that is not a candy. What gives, Willy, losing your touch?” she teased.

“Never, just distracted,” he whispered, kissing her. 

“Good morning starshine. The Earth says hello,” Willy grinned at all the children and their parents standing in front of his factory.

He scanned the faces of them all, trying to see if maybe they were here to steal his recipes. Each parent looked ranged from bored to excited to alarmed, all things he could handle.

He then moved his eyes to the children. He had to keep a look off his face when he saw some of them, the ones that he knew would not be fit for his factory, too spoiled brats that would run his company into the ground.

One little girl about 12 years old is alone and Willy narrows his eyes slightly. “You there, little girl? Where are your parents?”

She was startled when she gained his attention, but she didn’t let that lack of a guardian scare her. “Ah, the guardian seemed optional, as it mentions it is to keep us in order, but I can assure you disorder is something I heavily frown upon, thus bringing  a guest seemed like more of a burden for you, Mr. Wonka.”

She framed it as if she were doing him a favor but, in truth, she was alone because, well, she was just alone. She had no guardian to stay with her. Her aunt only took care of her for the money, the father was gone, and her dear mother would be here if she could be.

 “No taste for disorder, you say,” Wonka said, moving closer to her.

“No taste at all. The only taste I have is for chocolate and knowledge from a great chocolatier,” she replied.

“Knowledge to steal?” He asked.

“Knowledge to learn from. I like making sweets myself, it’s a hobby of mine I used to do so with my mother,” she corrected, not going into too many details.

Willy regarded her for a few moments. Something about her seemed familiar, something reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite pull the memory of who. With a shrug, he tightened his hold on his cane before addressing the whole group. 

“Well, it is 10:03. We are behind schedule, so let’s not have any more delays if you all follow me,” and without waiting, he started walking only to pause glancing at the girl. “You child stay close to me, I’ll look out for you,” and then he started walking away.

She quickly jogged to be next to him with everyone else trailing behind them.

“My name is Lollie, by the way,” she said once she was next to him.

“I don’t see why I should know that” he commented not sparing her another glance.

 After the introductions in the front room and dropped their coats and they were off to see the first room. Lollie glanced back at all the other children and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Awful children, she could just tell from looking at them and she saw most of their television interviews. They were here for selfish reasons, but thing again, so was Lollie. She wanted to learn and tour the factory because making chocolate and making candy made her feel closer to her mother.

“I’m Charlie,” one of the boys said approaching her.

“I know we just introduced ourselves, but I’m Lollie,” she laughed.

“Right right. I just wanted to introduce myself to you. Everyone seems to be…” He trailed off.

“Horrid?” she suggested.

Charlie laughed but nodded in agreement. “That wasn’t the world I was thinking but it works. I worked over to one and she just held up her hand and said, ‘Poor next’.”

Lollie gasped. “Awful. I think horrid was too nice a word for her,” she said. Lollie came from money, but that had nothing to do with who she was as a person. She was born into a family with money, but she still knew kindness and manners. To not speak to someone because of their financial situation was mental in her opinion.

“Everyone listens up,” Willy said calling everyone to attention. He stood in front of a door, buzzing with excitement. “Our first room is my favorite room in the factory,” he said pausing to open the door and let everyone in.

“This is the chocolate room and everything in this room is edible. Even I am edible, but that is called cannibalism and frowned upon, children.”

Lollie snorted at his comment. And Willy looked her way smiling, then he turned back to the group. “Now I will give you some time to explore and try out some things,” he said before walking away.”

She quickly chased after him having some questions. “Mr. Wonka, I have some questions, do you mind answering them.”

“I don’t mind, but the question type will depend on the answers.” He said, grabbing an apple, but when he bit into it, it was chocolate and marshmallow.

She gasped as if he had performed a magic trick and clapped. “Wow, you are brilliant.”

He chuckled. “The Brilliance is in the mind of the imaginative, the young, the dreamers.”

 “Then I am even more brilliant than you are, Mr. Wonka,” she concluded.

He laughed again nodding. “I believe that is so. Should I be asking you questions then?”

“Of course, maybe I can you an idea or two,” she grinned.

“Ladies and Gentlemen and everyone in between. My name is Willy Wonka and I have something important to say. Not to just say but give. Have you ever had a craving for a piece of candy only to realize it doesn’t exist? Well, I have that candy, the non-existent, now exists. Who would like to be the first one to try it out?”

“Oh, I would very much like to try it out. The candy we have all dreamed of is now a reality.” A voice said from the back of the small crowd. The crowd parted and a woman stepped forward. Willy's mouth ran dry when he saw her. She was the most breathtaking person he had ever laid eyes on. Up until now he wanted nothing in this world but to make chocolate, but now he wanted to know her.

“Y-yes-” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am come this way. And taste the taste of dreams.”

She was skeptical but also highly intrigued and eager. She grinned widely and stood in front of him. He smiled back warmly and held out his hand and she quickly placed hers in his. Willy placed the candy in her hand in a moment that felt far more intimate than it should have.

“Now, close your eyes and taste,” he whispered to her.

She looked from the candy in her hand to him. After getting an encouraging nod, she closed her eyes, turned to face the crowd, and put the candy in her mouth. The crowd and Willy held their breaths as they waited to see what would happen.

“Oh,” she said, quietly before a full-blown grin took over her face. She opened her eyes, “It’s brilliant. The best candy I have ever had. Something from a dream,” she said in awe.

Willy smiled and she looked at him in wonder. He wished to say something else to her. Something that would make her laugh or like him. His palms felt sweaty in a way they never had before, but quickly people were in front of him begging to try this candy, shouting over, and pushing toward him.

He tried to look over their heads to see her, but she was slowly moving to the back of the crowd, she caught his eyes and smiled widely at him. Willy's heart quickened and he tore his eyes away starting to take orders and give samples, but the woman never left his mind.

“Mr. Wonka,” Lollie said, worriedly when it seemed he had slipped away.

Willy blinked a few times pulling himself from the memory of his youth and smiled at her as if nothing happened. “Sorry about that. Lost in thought, dear Lollie.”

“It’s okay. My mother used to do that a lot. I suppose it is another trait of brilliancy,” she said grabbing a leaf off a tree and popping it in her mouth. “Wow. I’ve eaten your sweets my whole life, but I can never get over the first taste.”

“Ah, that is all by design. A dear friend of mine once gave me the idea to add a bit of a secret ingredient to all my treats. At the very end, I personally, by hand, add it to each of my treats  before it is sent off to packaging.”

“Really?” she asked. “What is it?”

“The keyword is secret there. I think you missed it,” he grinned smugly, tapping her nose slightly.

“Can you answer a question for me then, Mr. Wonka, don’t worry your chocolate secrets will be safe?”

Nodding once Willy stared at her expectedly. “Now when it comes to your roasting process for your cocoa beans, how long do you roast them and how do you do it?”

Willy raised an eyebrow at her question. He was not expecting a question about the process of making chocolate. No one is ever interested in the beginning process. “How old are you?” He asked.

“12,” she replied.

“Well, the roasting depends on how you want the chocolate to be, the ending form is important and should be known from the moment you start cleaning the beans. It is not one size fits all.” 

As he spoke Lollie nodded pulling out a notepad and taking notes of everything he said. She asked a lot more questions throughout the day about the perfect temperature for her namesakes and the best place to order ingredients from.

Willy was more than expressed by her and enjoyed having someone to talk to about his processes and the best things about making chocolate. He missed the joy of sharing his ideas and processes with someone who cared and found them enjoyable.

As the other children slowly gave in to their vices Lollie stuck close to Charlie and Willy. “You know, Violet wasn’t turning violet. I thought she was more indigo, no?” she whispered to Charlie who covered his mouth to hold in his laughter.

“ Maybe a cross between Indigo and Violet,” Willy added as he passed by the two of them.

“Perhaps, but I don’t think I’ll ever have blueberry pie without thinking of her.” She giggled quite happy the rude girl was given her just desserts. 

Lollie hoped all the other rotten children met the same end, except for Charlie. He quickly became her best friend. It was strange as they met today, but she didn’t have many friends, in fact, she had none. Yet, while coming from different worlds, they both understood each other and shared a love of adventure and, of course, chocolate.

“Charlie, what do you think the end prize will be?” Lollie asked as they all moved into the nut-sorting room.

“I don’t know. I hope it is something that will take care of my family, but I would happily lose to you,” he said, whispering back.

She smiled and grabbed his arm giving it a little squeeze. “Nonsense, if I were to win, I would just forfeit to ensure you do. Meeting you and touring the factory is enough for me.”

Charlie flushed at her words and quickly caught up to everyone else to stand next to his grandfather. Confused, she shrugged and stood next to Wonka, eyes widening when she took in the squirrels. 

“What a brilliant way to get the nuts. Did you know that Squirrels almost always get the nuts out perfectly? Well, of course, you would know that it’s why you use them,” she said, excitedly.

“Well, aren’t you full of knowledge? I was just explaining that same thing to the group, Gold Star,” he said, patting her on the head.

When Veruca started to demand one of Wonka’s squirrels Lollie rolled her eyes and watched as she climbed under the rope. She wouldn’t say she was someone that enjoyed other people’s misery but watching the Squirrels attack her was one of the highlights of the day.

“A rotten nut all around,” she said to Willy, both of them trying to hide their laughter.

“Ah, but the tree that waters the nut has something to do with that,” Willy added, watching as Veruca’s father walked away. “Maybe a trip will do them both some good.”  He was just as relieved that Veruca was gone as Lollie was. He liked children, for the most part, but the ones here were the worst of the bunch besides Lollie and poor boy.

Crowding into the elevator Lollie and Charlie both gasped as they passed through rooms, she wished they could explore more. Mike on the other hand was being grumpy and trying to ruin the whole mood.

She could tell from all the comments that Wonka made that he also did not enjoy the boy and she hoped he would fall prey to his own flaws like the rest of them.

“This room seems stupid. The whole idea of candy is stupid,” Mike groaned.

“It isn’t stupid. Candy is the only magic in the world, so of course the room would be about magic and the unimaginable because that is what candy is,” She finally snapped back to him.

Willy quickly turned to her at her words. “Candy is a dream made real,” he mumbled before getting lost in another memory.

“You are just wow. So amazing. Candy is a dream, a dream made real. I’ve always thought that. Having a piece of a sweet treat can feel like the best day. It can make your day, but your candy, Mr. Wonka is next level.” The women gushed to Willy as they walked arm and arm down the waterside.

He was forever grateful that the beautiful woman stuck around after all his samples and orders were placed. While he was happy that it looked like his dream was finally taking off, he couldn’t get her out of his head.

And then she was there. Sitting on the curb waiting for him. She expressed her admiration for him and her shared love of chocolate and sweets. It was an instant connection between the two of them and he was glad that she felt it too.

“What about you? You said you are working on candy creations as well. You could put me out of business before I even start,” he chuckled, patting her arm.

She flushed ducking her head. “Oh, that is exceedingly kind of you to say, but mine are going to stay dreams. My father does not believe candy making is a good enough job for his daughter. Though, I suppose no job will be,” she frowned sadly, and he needed to cheer her up.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed both of her arms and dragged her towards the water. “You know, I get my best ideas after a quick dip,” he said.

“In that water? It has to be freezing,” she said, laughing.

“That’s why I keep my clothes on, it’s just a refreshing dip,” he grinned taking off his shoes and socks and walking closer to the water.

“You are mad, Mr. Wonka,” she laughed but followed suit taking off her shoes.

“Aren’t all of the best people, gumdrop?” He winked at her and took her hand. She grinned giving him a tight squeeze back. “One the count of three, One, two, three,” he shouted before they ran into the water.

It was beyond freezing but they both laughed unabashedly, dunking themselves underwater and then huddling closer together for warmth. “Well, no one can ever say you are dull, Willy,” she giggled pushing some of his wet hair out of his face and behind his ear.

Willy burned bright red despite the freezing water. “No no. I suppose I am not known to be dull,” he said, shyly.

She chuckled, “Then we are going to have lots of fun together.”

“Mr. Wonka, are you okay?” Mike’s father asked pulling his son closer.

Willy blinked a few times before looking at everyone. “Never better, now off to the next room.”

“You seemed to be having a lot of… moments, does that happen a lot?” He asked.

“Not too often, but it’s increased significantly today,” Wonka said, looking at Lollie for a moment before ushering everyone out of the elevator.

Soon, like Lollie hoped, Mike’s hubris got the best of him and then it was only her and Charlie. She was only understanding what was happening. Wonka had to be testing them and the last kid standing would get this prize.

She looked at Charlie. He excitedly walked back to the elevator with his grandfather. He told her this was the best day of his life and from the little bit he did share about his life, it’s been a hard one.

“Mr. Wonka,” she said making up her mind.

“Yes, Lollie,” Willy said giving her his attention.

She didn’t want to seem overconfident, but she felt like she was going to be the last one standing, or at least if things came down to Willy just picking them, she thought he would choose her, she was the only one whose name he bothered to remember and use.

“I don’t want your prize,” she said, crossing her arms trying to be bratty and annoying like the other children.

Willy frowned at her. “Are you sure? You haven’t even heard it yet. And I think you will love it.”

“I am sure. I had my fun. I learned some things, but I am disappointed actually. Slugworth’s factory was better.”

Willy’s eyes widened but narrowed. “The winner gets my factory. They will become my successor.”

Her eyes widened and she had to quickly school her features. She wanted nothing more than to get to work with one of the most brilliant minds and do what she loved but, with a glance at Charlie, she knew he needed it more.

“That’s swell and all, but Charlie is your winner, not me,” Lollie said.

“Then, I’ll have someone show you out, Miss Lollie,” he said, taking off his hat and bowing before an Oompa-Loompa took her hand and walked her outside.

Willy frowned as he watched her leave. Charlie would be a good successor. He had the love and the passion, but she had the same sparkle that he only saw once before.

“Willy,” she giggled pushing his face away from her neck. “We are supposed to be working,” she added.

“I am working. We are working,” he said, adding little kisses to her neck.

“Really, then what do you call this?” She countered.

“A reward sweeter than sugar?” He questioned. Causing her to laugh and pull him closer kissing him.

“I am so immensely proud of you. Willy Wonka the proud owner of his own factory. I told you that you would have your own. That your dreams were like sugar, just waiting to be spun into a reality.”

Willy smiled widely at her. He loved her. There was no doubt in his mind. From the moment he saw her all those years ago in the crowd, from the walk in the park that turned into daily walks. To the late-night idea-sharing and dinners. She was his person.

His father was a different man after his mother died and now, he understood why, when you met your soulmate, it was all-consuming he couldn’t imagine life without her. Together they worked hard to follow their dreams and now he had a factory, and he would ask her to marry him.

“It is all thanks to you, my sugar plum. I couldn’t do any of this without your help. This is just as much your factory as it is mine.” Willy cupped her cheek and kissed her softly.

She melted against his lips, kissing him back with just as much love. “My father would have a heart attack if you said that to him,” she chuckled.

“Your father needs to see you for who you are,” he said, pulling her onto his lap and pushing a strain of fallen hair behind her ear. “The genius, innovative person you are, my lovely Pixie Stix,” he said, kissing her cheek.

She smiled sadly. “I don’t need him or anyone else to see me, you see me and that is all that matters.”

“The world should see it. Your talents, your passion it’s unrivaled.”

“Now you are just being too sweet, Willy. I have nothing on you. You are my muse without you, my partner in candy, and in life, I am nothing,” she giggled, kissing his nose.

“You have a sparkle like no one else, my sweet tart, and I have something I want to say to you, actually something I want to ask,” he said nervously.

She frowned, “Are you all right, my love?”

“Never better. In fact, I could be a bit better in a few seconds if yo-“ The door opened and the two of them instantly separated when her father walked in.

“You are coming home with me right this instant,” he said grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him.

She protested and tried to pull away. “Hey let her go,” Willy said.

“And you, stay away from my daughter if you know what’s good for you. This factory can go away with just one visit to the bank. You leave my daughter.”

She was sobbing now and so was Willy. “Please, I love her. I can make a good husband. I can take care of her, don’t take her away,” he begged.

“You and your factory are not good enough for my daughter.”

“Father please, I love him,” she begged, her voice catching only making Willy more heartbroken. The ring burning in his coat pocket.

“Enough. You are forbidden to see him.” And then her father dragged her way. She looked back at Willy, her eyes full of sorrow and pain.

“Mr. Wonka. What are you doing here?” Lollie asked.

Willy smiled at the girl. “Well, after you so rudely insulted my factory, I thought I owed it to you for a better tour.” He replied.

She looked out into her yard. “How did you get here? You don’t have a car?”

“Ah, well you missed the best part when you left. My glass elevator also flies,” he grinned.

“Really?” She said running down the steps of her house. “Where is it? Where is it? I must see this,” she said excitedly.

Willy chuckled as she ran smack into his elevator. Something he’s done too many times since creating it. “I should put a sign or something to stop that from happening,” he said as he walked over to her and checked her over. “It seems nothing is broken. Hopefully, you didn’t knock some innovative ideas out,” he teased.

“Oh, you would like that, that way you won’t have to compete with me one day in business,” she grinned getting into the elevator.

“There is nothing wrong with good competition as long as you don’t plan to steal my recipes.”

“Never.”

“Good, then I welcome the day,” he said getting into the elevator and pressing the fly button.

Lollie pressed her face close to the glass as they rose higher. “You truly are a genius, Mr. Wonka.”

“A true genius, Willy. I will never get over your amazing brain,” she gushed as they ate dinner in his small flat. It wasn’t much and he used to be insecure about it, but she never said anything horrible. She just enjoyed being around him.

Willy blushed at her words. “You are too sweet, my peppermint patty. It was a joint effort from us both. You were the one that made batch after batch, tasting, and perfecting the recipe with me.”

His newest candy had changed the game for him. His tiny shop was about to grow into the factory he always dreamed of. His candy would be shipped all over the world and his dream will be a reality.

It was her turn to flush. “I am just happy to help you, my love,” she said.

He smiled softly, kissing her hand. “You are more than happy. You inspire and create with me. My truest partner.”

The word partner had them both flushing and turning to their food. It’s been a few years since they first met and they have been a couple for over a year, but still very shy about subjects of marriage and forever.

They both wanted it, but there was a barrier stopping them. Her father would never allow it. And Willy wanted to have enough money to be able to take care of them and their future children. He didn’t want her to give up her life to struggle with him.

Coughing unsubtly Willy stood up. “I have a gift for you, my sugar plum.”

“A gift? Willy, you don’t have to buy my gifts. Spending time with you is more than enough.”

“Oh, pish posh. I just received a long sum from the newest candy, which you helped make, so of course, I got you something. Now I’ll be right back,” he said, already walking away. “Oh. And close your eyes.”

“Of course, Mr. Wonka,” she teased closing her eyes. She could admit to herself she was slightly excited to see what he got for her. She tapped her fingers on her thighs in anticipation.

Willy couldn’t help but grin goofily when he saw her impatiently waiting for him. She was just too darling, and he loved her with his whole being. He silently moved closer, leaning down until he was in front of her face.

“Willy are you th-“ she was cut off as he kissed her swiftly and sweetly.

She gasped and he giggled kissing her deeper. Her hands came up to thread through his hair and he grabbed the back of her chair. He kissed her with everything he had in him, wanting to convey just how deeply he loved her.

Her lips moved against his, echoing his words with her lips. They kissed until their lungs begged for air and even then, they waited a few more seconds before gently pulling away.

She slowly opened her eyes blinking up at him. “If that was my present, I take back what I said earlier,” she said softly. Then, as if realizing what she let slip, she flushed.

Giggling wildly Willy leaned down and kissed her once more before shaking his head. “Sorry sugar cane, but that is not the gift, but I hope you still like it,” he said holding up a necklace. “It’s a sugar pop. You said you loved sugar pops best.”

She giggled as she looked at the necklace. A golden chain with a little charm of the candy hanging. “I said I love yours best,” she said happily at him.

“Well, I made this charm with the same love I made in the sugar pops, so it should be the same,” he said.

“I am sure it is,” she grinned.

“Does that mean you like it?” He asked nervously.

“Oh, Willy. I, of course, love it. Anything by you I love, but this is wonderful. You said you made it?” She asked as she let him put it on her.

“Yes, I read a few books on how to make charms and had a bit of trial and error. The chain is of course from the jewelers, but it is a Wonka original for my favorite person. It’s always modeled after my favorite flavor.”

“Why yours?” She asked turning to face him once the charm rested around her neck.

“Well, that is because this necklace has a brother in the form of a bracelet that has your favorite flavor.” Willy held up his wrist where the bracelet sat.

“Oh. This gift is even more wonderful,” she said, standing up and hugging him. “I love it. And I love you,” she said.

“I love you too. Now we will always have a small part of each other when we are apart.” He said, kissing her.

“Mr. Wonka, are you okay?” Lollie asked.

Willy blinked away the memory. He shook his head a few times, trying to will away the painful memories. He hated that they kept coming up. He had fought them away for years, but it seemed the dam had broken them free.

“Mr. Wonka?” Lollie questioned again.

“Oh yes. I am fine. All the best geniuses get a little lost in thought sometimes be warned,” he said, trying to make a joke. And luckily, she laughed. He looked back toward her home. It was large, showing wealth, and he wondered why she was not as horrible as the other wealthy children who came to the factory.

“Where are your parents? Lollie? Should I have asked them first?” He wondered. He wasn’t good with parents, adults, or children. Or people really, but he was sure that he was technically kidnapping her.

“Oh, I don’t have any. Not really,” she said, sadly, taking a seat on the floor of the elevator.

“Oh. Well, that is just awful,” he said, a bit unsure what to do before he joined her. “I lost my mother when I was young, it was especially hard to grow without her. I also had a father that didn’t understand me.”

Lollie felt tears in her eyes and quickly looked towards the sky. “My mother was my best friend. The sweetest woman to ever live. And before you say that everyone says that about their mother. It is true for mine. She loved me and loved the world. She saw it differently from everyone else and it made her so kind, and sweet. I never saw how she married my father.”

Willy frowned in understanding and placed a hand on her shoulder. “When did your mother die?”

“She isn’t dead. At least now yet. My father was not a good man. He didn’t enjoy her unique view of the world and thought to rid her of it in the only way a brutish man knew how. She is currently in hospital.”

Willy's eyes closed as her meaning hit him. No one deserved that. How could anyone marry someone, claim to love them, and then hurt them? And enough to put them in hospital and for their young child. His heart went out to the young girl.

“You have had to grow up faster than anyone needs to, sweet Lollie. I am terribly sorry you have to deal with that. If you want to run away, my factory is home to you.” He couldn’t just let her go back after learning that. He subtly tried to scan her for marks, hoping with her mother gone, she was not her father’s next target.

Lollie smiled softly at his words. “That is a wonderful offer, but my father is gone. My mother’s father made sure I would never have to see him again. He had him sent away to prison. And then my grandfather died, so I was left in the care of my father’s sister. An awful woman, but at least she knows that all the money belongs to me and is smart enough to leave me be.”

“A terrible hand you have been dealt, but it will get better. I assure you there is a rainbow of Sherbet after a cloud of rain,” Willy said.

Lollie sniffled clutching her mother’s necklace in her fist. “But be warned that a Sherbet overloud causes a freeze to the creative juices,” She finished.

Willy froze. He blinked repeatedly, his chest tightened, and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

When she was gone, Willy had no idea how long he just stood in silence staring at the door. He didn’t know anything; his heart was gone. He felt hollow like he had nothing left in the world. His knee buckled and he was on the floor. Willy was gasping, his throat tightened, and he grabbed his chest.

His ears were ringing, and his face was growing wet. If he didn’t know any better, he would think he was having an allergic reaction to something. Maybe he was. Maybe heartbreak was his allergy.

The ring burned a hole in his pocket, and he cried harder. Quickly, he pulled the ring out of his pocket and stared at the chocolate diamond ring. He knew the ring was the most expensive ring or the most flashes, but he knew she would love it. And now she would never see it.

Willy kissed the ring with shaking hands. And then wiped his tears. He needed to get ahold of himself. He couldn’t just give up on her, she was the love of his life. She was his life, he had to fight for him.

Getting to his feet, he tripped, crashing back onto the floor. He groaned, lying his head on the ground. How was he going to save her though? Her father would never allow them to marry, and he knew how much she loved her family, even if they didn’t offer her the same.

He couldn’t make her pick between the two. It would only make her miserable in the end and that was the last thing he wanted. Defeated, Willy stayed on the floor for hours. Until someone knocked on his door asking if it was okay for the employees to go home.

In his heartbreak, he forgot all about his happiness with his factory, his craft, and his dream. Because while it was still his dream, she was a part of it. Not trying to wipe his face, he got up and opened the door.

“There is a rainbow of Sherbet soon. There is a rainbow of Sherbet soon,” he repeated to himself before walking out of his office. “You have all done wonderful today. Truly I am grateful to each one of you. I think you all earned the rest of the night off. I will see you all tomorrow,” he said.

He watched as they all began shutting down machines and chatting as they gathered their things and left. Willy walked around after everyone was gone, turning off lights and locking up.

Once outside his factory, he stood back and looked up at it. It was his dream, but it felt hollow now. “A rainbow of Sherbet. A rainbow of Sherbet.”

“But be warned that a Sherbet overloud causes a freeze to the creative juices,” a voice said sadly from behind him.

Gasping he turned to see his love and he quickly pulled her into his arms hugging her to him. He cuffed the back of her head and sobbed into the top of her head. “My chocolate delights. I-I. I shouldn’t have let him take you. Oh, I was going to come, but I didn’t want to, your family and love and you and.” He was sobbing too hard to make any sense.

But he didn’t need to, she understood him and sobbed along with him. She wrapped herself around him, sobbing into his chest. They held each other, hoping it would be enough. That their love would be enough for them.

“My father has betrayed me. He has given my hand to someone. Some rich earl’s son,” she sobbed. “He told me if I ran away, he would make sure your factory was shut down. That he would make sure you would never be able to sell anything in the country,” she sobbed, shivering against him.

The snow just hit him. In his sadness, he didn’t feel the cold, at least not the cold from the snow. He quickly ushered them back into the factory and into the living area. He sat her in front of the fireplace and made her the creamiest hot cocoa he could. Something that always made her smile.

But not this time. She took the mug but didn’t smile, just looked sadly into the cup. “He told me to come break your heart. To tell you goodbye and of his threat,” she said, watching as her tears dripped into her drink.

“My sweet,” he whimpered, kneeling in front of her and wiping her cheeks. “His threats mean nothing we can leave if you wish it. To hell with this factory. We can leave, move to America, and start a life there. I am sure I can get enough money selling my recipes and factory to someone here.”

She gasped looking up at him. “No Willy. You cannot. Your recipes are your life’s work. They are your life.”

“No, you are my life.”

“Stop it, Willy. This factory has been your dream your whole life. It is what you’ve been working towards for as long as I’ve known you. I won’t let you give it up for me no. Never. I cannot be selfish.”

“Be selfish and let me do this for you, for us. I do not want the factory if I don’t have the person who helped me build it with me.”

She sobbed harder. “You will grow to hate me if you give up your dream for me. Don’t make me have to see that.”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but her fear was the same one he had. He feared her picking him would make her grow resentful of him. The ring still sat in his pocket, and he pulled it out, pressing it into her hand.

She opened her hand and stared down at the ring. A lump grew in her throat and her upset stomach flipped a few dozen times. “Willy….”

“I wished to propose to you earlier. I’ve been thinking about it for years, but I wanted to wait until I was worthy of you-“

“You have always been worthy of me, Willy.”

“-I know, but I have not felt so, but now I know it is not our time to share Sherbert,” he chuckled through his tear-filled eyes and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “But it was brought for you, and you must have it. It is a piece of my heart, and I will never love you as I have loved you. So, you take it.”

She shook her head. “Willy please.”

Neither knew what she was begging for, but he just hugged her to him. They clung to each other as they knew it was going to be the last time. The snow falls hard outside, something grew despite the snow. Something neither of them knew about just yet but was there between them.

The life grew as did the sound of heartbreak between the two of them.

“We will always have our memories,” she whispered, her head resting on his chest.

“And our sugar pops,” he said, touching her necklace.

She smiled sadly, placing her hand over his on her necklace. “Our lollies.”

“Where did you hear that? H-how did you know that?” He asked.

Lollie stared at him confused. “It’s what my mother used to say.”

Willy's eyes moved to the necklace she was clutching in her hands. The necklace that he gave his sweet. The necklace that he gifted her all those years ago. His heart squeezed and without noticing he was crying.

Lollie didn’t notice his tears as she was now staring at the little lollypop charmed and the little chocolate ring that sat next to it. “My mother had a lot of strange sayings like that. This necklace was hers. She wore it every day. I used to play with it when I was a baby and as I grew, I asked her about it. She said she would tell me one day. Tell me about the second greatest love of her life. I always thought that was funny. I assumed it was a gift from my father as a child and didn’t get why she said that. Well, I suppose it is a gift from my father but not the one sitting in prison.”

Willy was going to faint. He was going to faint. “What?” He croaked.

“My mother told me that my father gave her this necklace. When I was eight, she told me that the man she loved most in the world gave it to her and that man was my father. It was not until after her accident, before my grandfather died, I learned the truth. He was talking about what to do with me. He knew he was sick, and he mentioned finding someone to take care of me. His assistant mentioned contacting my father, but my grandfather shut that down. I was confused at first, but it started to make sense. The rotten man in prison wasn’t my father.”

Willy stumbled to his feet and pressed a few buttons on the elevator. He needed to get to the ground. He needed air and he didn’t think it would do either of them good if he just jumped to his death. He couldn’t abandon his daughter.

His daughter.

His daughter.

Their daughter.

He choked on a sob and quickly landed the elevator. He stumbled out and fell to his knees in the grass, only it wasn’t grass. It was snow and he cursed, mentally not out loud his daughter couldn’t hear such language.

“Mr. Wonka is everything okay? Is it a memory again?” She asked, leaning close to him.

“Lollie,” he said softly. “I- I…” He couldn’t get the words out.

“Mr. Wonka? What’s wrong?” Lollie asked now more worried. She moved to her knees in the snow to get a better look at him.

“Your mother… I- I knew her,” he said looking at her. Into her eyes that were so like his own he felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. Maybe it was because the color was his, but the shape and the sparkle, it was all his sweettart’s.

“You knew my mother?” She asked.

“I gave her the necklace.”

Lollie froze, staring at him. “You gave her the necklace? That means. That means... you- you-”

“I am him. That you know. The male mother. The the.

Lollie laughed. “My father.”

Willy sighed and dropped face-first into the snow before turning over on his back and staring up at the sky. “Yes.”

“Can I hug you?” She asked after a few moments of silence.

Willy’s eyes widened and he quickly sat up, brushing snow off his clothes. “Yes, of course, come here. My Lollie,” he said, hugging his daughter for the first time. “Oh, my Lollie, I can’t believe you are my daughter. Oh my. I kidnapped my own child and now have her in the snow. You will catch your death,” he said.

Lollie giggled, it was strange seeing this new side of Willy. He was strange, but that came with being as brilliant as he was, but this dad mode was funny.

“Laughing at me, I am worried about you. Into the elevator with you,” he said, pulling them both to their feet brushing the snow off of them, and pushing her towards the elevator.

“Can I call you Dad now?” She asked as they both got in.

Goodness, it hit him again. He was a father. He had an almost teenage daughter. “Of course. And you that aunt of yours is going to get a piece of my mind and we will get you situated with me. Living in the factory will be, okay?”

“It would be a dream,” she said, excitedly. “We can make candy together, right?”

Willy smiled widely at her. “Of course, we can. I used to make candy with your mother all the time.” And then his smile left his face.

His love was currently in hospital because someone put her there when he wasn’t around. He should have fought harder for her. He should have risked her hating him because this was worse.

“How about first we go visit mom?” Lollie suggested.

Willy nodded. “How long has she been… like that?”

“A year.”

“I am sorry, Lollie,” he said. And then he hugged his daughter for a second time and let her cry as the elevator took them to the hospital.

Taglist.

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[merakiui]

"You don't have to leave you know" with jade please? Love your writing

:D this is connected to tmdg. I couldn't resist writing another snippet with my favorite pair of fools: one who is lovesick and the other who is lovestruck. <3 (implied fem reader + pregnancy)

(fwb dialogues)

When Jade sets a bowl of porridge topped with bananas and blueberries in front of you, you eye him suspiciously.

"What's this?"

"Breakfast. Specifically the overnight oats we prepared yesterday."

You deadpan, peering at the smiling face he managed to arrange with the fruit. "I know that. But why?"

He turns away to continue cutting an apple into rabbit-shaped slices. "Isn't breakfast the most important meal out of the three? You can't start your day on an empty stomach."

It's the weekend; you don't particularly care. Strangely, when he places the plate in front of you, there isn't a portion for himself. Everything's fixed for one person. You've known Jade and his monstrous appetite long enough to suspect something's amiss. More importantly, this is the third time this week he's insisted on spending the night to prepare, what he calls, "safe make-ahead meals." Why he felt the need to call them safe is beyond you... Even more strange is the fact that all of these meals have looked flowery and cute. Almost like something you'd find in a themed café. Either he's having way too much fun, or there's some deeper, underlying meaning behind the adorable image.

"I'm not really a breakfast person."

He pouts at you. It isn't very effective. "You're missing the joys of a good meal in the morning."

"I'm missing good sleep. I'm not even that hungry." But even as you say that, your stomach produces a betraying rumble.

Jade's lips split in an easy grin. He almost looks like Floyd. "You were saying?"

"Shut up." With a weak scowl, you swipe the spoon from the table and scoop a bite for yourself.

He chuckles and rolls his sleeves down, buttons his jacket up, and heads for the hall. You blink, even more confused.

"Where're you going?"

"Octavinelle."

"What? But you... Jade, you haven't even eaten either. Kinda makes your point meaningless if you're gonna skip breakfast after you just told me not to."

He peeks around the corner. "What are you implying?"

You open your mouth to say, Just get back in here and eat, you asshole. But that's only part of the truth. He knows this, which is precisely why he's now refusing to move from his spot in the doorway until you've admitted it.

"Nothing. I'm just saying..."

"Yes?" he offers, smiling placidly.

Your patience has grown especially thin as of late. The smallest of things set you off. Just yesterday you started openly bawling when Jade arrived at your doorstep with a tin of cookies—cookies you'd begged him to get over text after the recommendation from Ace. You think you may be falling apart. Jade thinks you've never looked prettier.

Huffing your defeat, you avert your gaze. "Y-You don't have to leave, you know... Stay a little longer."

You expect him to tease you for it, to really lay it on so thick that you'll have no choice but to get up and drag him over to the table by the ear. But instead he's lowering into the chair beside you. You'd chased him out the past few times he attempted to overstay his welcome, which he'd accepted without complaint. Now he just looks happy to be here. You'll never understand him.

You scoop a spoonful of porridge and, grabbing his chin, force it at him. "And eat! You're not getting any taller."

His hand wraps around yours, smoothly guiding it to his mouth. An appreciative hum proves he's proud of the result after he's sampled it. You have to agree. It's delicious.

"And you're not getting any more beautiful."

You stare at him, embarrassment clawing up your spine. While these pleasantries aren't unusual, they still manage to catch you by surprise. Not because of the sweetness, but because he genuinely means every one.

"Actually, I take it back. I hope you starve."

Jade leans in to nudge you. "I'll learn to photosynthesize just for you and then that problem will never come to pass."

"How it only nine and you're already being an ass?"

"It's my specialty."

[nevernonline]

✧.* grow as we go; svt smau.

entry #14; dressing for revenge.

synopsis: over the past ten years you’ve fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it’s clear things would ever be the same again.

𐦍 paring: svt members x afab! reader.

𐦍 feat: non-idol! svt

𐦍 genre/s: reader is super angsty low-key, fluffy, sexual themes.

𐦍 content: swearing, bullying, crazy ex’s, mentions of sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

word count: around 2k

warnings: mentions of drunk driving

masterlist ▸ 013 gut feelings and emotional dealings ▸ 015 leave it to the cullens. (part 1)

The beeping of your front door pad got you sitting up on the couch to wait for the arrival of your best friend. Seokmin walked through the door alone, which almost shocked you because lately he hasn’t gone many places without his nerd tribe, you were happy for him finding good friends outside of you. 

“Seokminnie, hello gorgeous.” 

“Hey, baby.” 

You both met in the middle of your front entryway, wrapping him in a big hug, grateful you have someone who was always a constant in your life. 

Looking down at his empty hands confused you, you knew he mentioned he was going to be bringing snacks in with him, but they were nowhere to be found.

“Uh, where are these snacks you promised to bring me? Are you getting forgetful? You’re a little too young for that to start happening now, I’m not sure if I should be concerned or not?” 

“Yeah, about that. Uh-” 

“Vernon, Jun, and Wonwoo are here too aren’t they?” 

“Don’t be mad.” 

“Why would I be mad? Where are they?” 

“The hallway. You know before you-” 

Swinging open your door you saw the three other suspects standing in the hallway, covering the body of a fourth person who came alone for the ride, Minghao. 

“What is going on? Is he here to get in another fight or..”

“No, y/n we're here because we need to tell you something important, especially Minghao. I didn’t want to tell you beforehand so here we are. I think you guys should talk, the rest of us will go chill on the balcony for now, okay? And he brought you the snacks so be nice.” 

“Alright.” 

Crossing your arms in the doorway you make room for the boys to all pass through, without making eye contact with the one you weren’t sure if you should be happy showing up with them or not. 

“Hey, here.” 

Minghao standing in your apartment for a third time, looking as casual as you’ve ever seen him in a full black sweatsuit holding a white plastic bag with bags of chips peeking out the top, waiting for you to take it out of his grasp. Another thing you notice about him is his pink wrapped wrist sticking out from under his sleeve, his cast. 

“Thanks.” 

Grabbing the back and trying very hard to maintain your composure, you turned and placed it on your marble countertop, remembering the time he placed you on top of it to kiss you. 

Shaking it off you placed the frozen pint of half baked ice cream in the freezer and walked over to the couch, not giving him a second look before he sat across from you on the white sofa. 

“So you have something to tell me?” 

“Yeah, it's kind of a lot. So if you’ll just sit back and let me explain first before letting me know how you feel just please at least do me that favor.” 

“Go ahead.” 

Minghao took a deep breath in and eyed your bar cart before starting his conversation. Which you noticed right away and without any words, got up to grab an open bottle of tequila sitting on top, pouring him a glass and watching as he took a shot before you sat down again. 

“Thanks. So, the reason I was really upset last night and came to crash your date with Joshua is because I found out he was one of the people helping Mimi. I had suspicions before, but I was never sure enough to pin him to it until yesterday. I really tried to keep my composure but, when he told me to shut the fuck up and get out I couldn’t do it anymore. He was just acting so casual with you like he had nothing to do with any of it and it pissed me the fuck off. 

I really don’t know how to tell you the entirety of the story or what I know, but I can just start with saying I’m really sorry. I’m sorry if I caused you pain, y/n. I should’ve known from the moment I met you at Wonwoo’s that you weren’t the person Mimi made you out to be.

 A few months ago, when all of this started Mimi reached out to me to get help. She said she knew the girl who hurt my mom and wanted to help me meet her and confront her about it, but there was something I had to do for her first. Which was to help her blackmail you, befriend you so I can break your heart. That’s all she wanted me to do for her when it came to you. I had no idea she was going to go this far to hurt you. 

Joshua was the one who stole your journal for Mimi, which I know is weird and you’re probably wondering why or how he even knew where it was. I found out he got it from Minnie, she told him where it was. Well, I assumed this part for a while without proof, especially since the first post was from your apartment and she had all of those photos of you in her room. I don’t know how or why they were trying to hurt you so much or why she even was helping Mimi. I thought it was weird, but it’s all unconfirmed. I think Mingyu is helping too. There’s obviously a lot more we need to figure out before we can finally confront them. 

I just want you to know I did have a part in it at first, but I stopped the moment after I realized she was full of shit, which was the night you made me dinner and we had sex. I told her I wanted nothing to do with it anymore and that she was full of shit and she’s been threatening me ever since. 

The reason I think Mingyu and Minnie are helping her is because she came to the hospital last night, to threaten me one last time, I overheard her talking on the phone in the hallway, she said Joshua is fine and to act like they had no idea we got in a fight, Seokmin showed me some texts from Minnie and I know she sent a photo of me to your group chat at the bar with her. I never even saw her there. The reason why I was there in the first place was to essentially pretend to pledge my allegiance to her so I could get more information. 

When she went to the bathroom, I took her phone which was locked, but I saw a text from a group chat attached with three other code names, just emojis, but it was enough to assume it was Joshua, Mingyu, and Minnie. It was a Bunny, a Mouse, and a Dog. Am I even making sense? I don’t know anymore, but just know I never had any intention of hurting you once I found out the truth, I just wanted to help somehow and get back to getting to know you. 

I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me anymore, y/n. So if you want me to leave, I can. I’m just really sorry.” 

Sitting in silence for a few minutes, you weren’t sure if you were going to start crying or screaming at the top of your lungs, Minghao watched you take his glass and down the lukewarm tequila to wash away the rage in your gut and feel a different kind of burn. 

“So, you were helping Mimi?” 

“Yeah. For a while.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“I’m not sure what to say, I guess.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“How do I know I can trust everything you’re saying to me right now?” 

“I can show you text messages and proof I tried to get her to quit many times. I voice recorded her in the hospital last night telling me to back off. I can show you, that is if you want.” 

“Yeah, can I see?” 

Minghao opens a folder in his photos app and shows you screenshots of all the information he collected over the past few weeks, ever since the night he first told Mimi to let you off the hook. 

Scrolling through the images made your tears start to hit the brims of your eyes. You looked up for a moment at Minghao sitting and staring your way, watching your heart crush once more into tiny pieces. 

“Thanks.” 

“Sure.” 

“No, just thanks for being honest with me. Thank you for trying to make it better, even if you fucked up a little bit along the way. Not many people could own up to that. It’s actually impressive to know you’re so honest.” 

“I have no choice. This is the wrong time to say this too, but it might be my last chance. But, over the time I spent with you and the more I got to know you, y/n. I, uh, couldn’t help but start to fall in love with you, you’re incredibly impressive. The night at my gallery I wanted to tell you how I felt, but that didn’t end well for us either. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.” 

Pouring yourself another drink, one big enough to share with the boy across from you, you took a big swig and handed him the glass which he drank his share. 

“Look, Minghao this is probably against my better judgment and I hope it doesn’t end up biting me in the ass, but I was falling for you too and with any chance you still have feelings for me or whatever, I’d like to be friends with you, for real this time and just restart by getting to know each other honestly. And I mean you kind of did break your wrist defending me, so I feel like I cannot say no." 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I know those dorks would never have brought you here if they didn’t think you deserved to tell me all of this yourself. So?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” 

“Cool, but no spending time alone for now, I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet. Just friends okay?” 

“Just friends. Should we shake on it or drink on it?” 

“Hug, maybe? That’s a normal friendly thing. Oh, and let me sign your cast.” 

“Yeah, totally.” 

Minghao scooted his body closer to you and wrapped his unbound arm around your shoulders and gave you a half assed hug, which made you giggle. 

“Bitch, what was that?” 

“A hug? What? Bitch?” 

“Hao, if you call that a hug you are a bigger dumb ass than I thought, come on.” 

Turning your body towards him you wrapped your arms tightly under his armpits and pulled him in for a hug that almost felt like a new beginning. 

“Thank you, really, for telling me all of that.” 

“You deserved to know the truth, Swan.” 

“Wow. Now we can finish Twilight.” 

“That would be great.” 

“You know, I just remembered that they’re still sitting outside, should we play a prank on them?” 

“I like your style.” 

“Okay, I’m going to yell at you, very rudely, just get pissed and slam my front door. Got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Standing up from the couch you positioned yourself in front of the window, so they can get a good listen through the blinds of your fake reeling into Minghao. 

Giving him a small nod to let him know you were going to begin, he smiled back ready to see your rage. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re a fucking lying piece of shit.” 

“Me? You’re such a bitch, y/n. Now I get why the fuck nobody wants to be around you.” 

“Thats rich, get the fuck out of my apartment.” 

Minghao leapt off the couch and ran to your front door slamming it behind him and stood outside of it to listen to the aftershocks of your fake conversation. 

He heard Seokmin and Jun asking you what happened, assuming Wonwoo and Vernon were standing there not knowing what to do in silence. 

Suddenly the door opened up to reveal Seokmin’s shocked face looking at Minghao standing in the hallway so casually with his arms crossed. 

“You guys fucking suck.” 

“Sorry, Seok. We had to.” 

“Get your stupid ass back inside.” 

Minghao walked back into your apartment with a fresh start on his mind, arm and arm with your best friend and a relief off his chest that you forgave him and he was able to be in your life, maybe not how he exactly wanted but more than he expected. 

Vernon made himself at home on your couch, wrapped up in the furry gray blanket you had thrown over the back. 

Wonwoo was situated pouring drinks into some glasses, while Jun was still giggling to himself on the floor. 

“So you guys are good?” 

You just nodded at the boy wrapped comfortably on the couch, batting his pretty brown eyes your way. 

“Yeah, but now we all have to take down the bad guys.” 

Smiles came from around the room as you grabbed a sharpie and situated yourself back on the couch, surrounded by friends who truly had your back all signing the cast of the boy who defended your honor.

On the way home Minghao couldn't help but think about the words on his cast, that were surrounded by small stars and your named signed below.

 'Without the dark, we'd never see the stars.'

A quote from twilight you remembered him whispering to you before falling asleep. Something to believe in.

note: hiii we're v much in it now! all the aftermath of y/ns failed date with joshua and finally getting a peak I not who the backstabbers really are. I hope u guys enjoy!! also pls check out my next little snippet of my new smau for after this one, its def slightly more lighthearted but as a fan of drama they'll still be some hehe. ok thank u thank u love u. also unedited prob some typos or something but anyway. 🖤

taglist:@sun-daddy-yoriichi@hipsdofangirl@kissesfrmwonwoo@minhui896@wonwooz1@porridgesblog@jasssy051@soonyoungblr@saucegirlreads@musingsofananxiouspotato@young-adult-summer@punkhazardlaw@bibs-world@the-swageyama-tobiyolo@wonuulvr@woozixo@k-drama-adict@90s-belladonna@blaycke@dnylwoo@to-mi-yo

[gretavanlace]

Anathema (part 1)

Jake kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, angst, violence, dark themes, horror themes, illusions to oral sex, digital penetration, etc

Born of this incredible ask…please keep those off the rails requests coming!! I’ve taken some creative liberties as always

It’s plagued you for months, this incessant, rhythmic, thump thump thumping.

The first night, it had dragged you out of a fitful slumber. Nudged it’s way right into a strange, unsettling dream you were wandering through. The sound became the backdrop, keeping time as you stumbled through an unfamiliar room with no doors until you clawed your way conscious and embarked on a sleep deprived, desperate, search for the source.

The second time you were lying prone on your stomach, nursing the sting of a sunburn. Worn down and exhausted from a day at the lake with too much sun and beer, and not enough sunblock. The sheets felt scratchy beneath you, dragging over your UV beaten skin like fingernails dug in just a little too deep. Annoyed and drained, you hadn’t been able to muster the energy needed for the hunt, and instead, had willed yourself to ignore it until it shuffled over into white noise territory.

The third happening had pissed you off, for lack of a more elegant description.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Had been your frustrated hiss into a dark apartment with no one to answer your query but yourself. Again, you had searched, leaning in close to appliances, pressing your ear up against wall after wall. Again it had proven fruitless. Was the noise coming from inside your own head, you began to wonder. It seemed plausible. Hell, it was beginning to seem likely.

To prove your sanity, you asked neighbors about it, receiving only blank, confused stares in reply. When it got to the point it was happening each and every night, you’d implored a friend to stay over and help you get to the bottom of it.

Clear as a bell it had reverberated through your apartment - wet, organic pulses of sound that made you think of a heartbeat, but not quite.

She had heard nothing, and simply suggested you run a fan at night with a shrug.

A good idea?

Perhaps.

In theory.

However, and you know this sounds crazy, every attempt has been carried out in vain.

Fans? Each one stricken with a smoking motor the moment day ticks over into night. The radio, drifting classic rock softly into the darkened space? Staticky signal that inevitably fades into silence. Noise machines? Broken straight out of the box. Television? Fell off the wall though securely attached. Ear plugs? Missing - pair after pair.

It is as if the sound wants to be heard.

There is an old water stain that occupies the space above your head when you lie awake in bed at night, and if you stare at it long enough, your eyes begin to blur and it looks as though it’s floating. Undulating into languid, shifting, shapes. A faded, brown cloud painted across dingy white paint to keep you company when sleep evades you.

Tonight finds you like most nights do; lost in that disgusting stain, aching to block out a sound you can’t be sure is really even there. Does it exist if you are the only one capable of hearing it? It seems as waste - something occupying space in the universe, real and extant, solely for you.

It seems closer, and something about that makes an unease prickle up your spine. Real or imagined, it is far too near. You’d like to climb out of bed to escape the muted pounding, but it will only follow.

There is a change taking place, though you can’t decide how you have come to understand that truth. This night is pivotal. A shift of great importance is materializing. Salient and inescapable. Grave and arousing in your desire to understand it.

Still, you can’t shake it, no matter how badly you want an answer to your torment - the horror that lies beneath. Whatever is becoming of this night, it isn’t pretty, and it isn’t good. It is dark. It is malicious. It is shadowy malevolence incarnate slithering into the room, dank and feral, like a diseased organ rotting in the corner.

There is something else there, too. A familiarity. A comradery. It too was adored and held in high esteem once, only to be cast aside. Forgotten. Abolished. A favorite child replaced by a soft, pink, newborn babe.

Oh, the ugliness that can be born of love so beautiful.

“I was never beautiful.” The voice comes like a backwards echo. Falling into the space around you strangely, a chilling embrace you burn to scramble out of.

You want to listen to it all your life and to never have heard it at all, all at once. It is horrific, like nails raking back and forth along a dusty chalkboard…and yet, it is alluring. The most alluring. Gorgeous and wrong, like a curse word in a language you don’t speak.

You’ve darted up into a tiny crouch against your headboard, frightened and thrumming like a rabbit hunted and cornered with nothing but a blanket clutched in your shaking fists to protect you from….

…from what?

“You aren’t beautiful, either.” The voice sounds out once more, treacherous and lovely. “Angelic package, all smooth skin, and pink, wet places to cradle a cock, but you’re ruined on the inside. Fucking ruined.”

Cold sweat - you’d always chalked it up to lazy descriptive prose. A way to convey fear without thinking too hard about what fear really is…how it feels, how it takes up shop in one’s body.

How wrong you were…and how awful it truly is. You feel akin to an unwelcome houseguest in your own flesh. Cold. Clammy. Sticky with sick, terrible chills.

Go away. You think silently. But take me with you.

“Fool.” The voice disapproves, mockingly. “Take me with you. Shut up, you’re all alike. One taste of something that is bigger than your small existences and you’re falling all over yourselves to come along for the ride. Fucking leeches.”

Tiny orbs, black and offensive to the eye, are gathering in the corner of your bed, materializing like a fluid swarm from underneath, until you feel like your heart will actually rip apart inside your chest.

The fear is crippling, and also, the only real and true thing you’ve ever felt.

Slowly, like a nearly dormant hive of wasps, a shape begins to form. It’s strangely sharp around the edges - that’s the only way to describe it, though it makes no sense. It’s like tiny needles sinking into your retinas, except, it hurts so badly it almost feels euphoric.

You want more, and more, and more, of that unnerving pleasure-ache, so you watch…drinking it in, even as you quake in terror.

A hum, cousin to a whispered wail, like demons screaming along the strings of a warped violin, sounds out. “Ah, so she likes the grotesque sinew better than the pretty muscle. I’ve a glutton for the underbelly before me. My favorite.”

Do his eyes take shape first, or do they simply steal the show? You know nothing but their flashing, reptilian stare. Icy in their chocolate warmth in a manner that shouldn’t be, shifting with each rapid blink. Pupils so blown the black eclipses all else one moment, then slivered and whittled down like a feral cat’s the next. Blurred over white with a translucent, protective lid and then suddenly clear as crystal, and just as stunning.

His flesh draws focus next. Shape shifting in texture with each minuscule twitch of muscle. It is without blemish and tempting, you find yourself longing to reach for it; but it is hideous as well, flashing and rippling with something that brings scales to mind below the tan expanse. Something lies beneath and you know without doubt that you’d likely not enjoy seeing it.

But which is the facade? The beauty? Or the unholy creature it shrouds? And does it even matter?

Discs of silver are draped around his elegant neck; clasps obscured by mahogany waves that sway against his shoulders. Doubloons pilfered from the abyss of Davy Jones’ locker. Plucked from the pockets of those lost to fickle, frigid waters, and fashioned into strange jewelry. Though you have no knowledge that this is their origin, only that they are mesmerizing, just as everything about him seems to be.

He steps closer, shoving the bed aside with a bored flick of his wrist, rather than moving around the wooden post at the foot.

It’s then that you notice his hands. Wide, menacing palms, delicately agile fingers that move through the air like he is conducting the orchestra of all things.

Rings carved out of metals you can’t identify are adorned with ancient gems you don’t recognize. Shimmering stones of indigo and cerulean, bioluminescent and alive in their glow, winking and glittering under your stare, soothing you with their wicked loveliness.

One - and you’ve already decided it is your favorite - curls up around his thumb like a spiraling root, green as seaweed. Connected, is a thin thread of iridescent aquamarine blue, that leads to a cuff of silver around his wrist etched deeply with hieroglyphs. It disappears beneath a sheer cloak of still blue that flutters as though caught in a soft breeze.

Upon the opposite wrist, a woven wrap of ivory rope - primitive and time worn. He follows your inquisitive gaze and softens slightly at your curiosity. “It tethers me to the sea, little fish.”

Flashes of majestic, gentle whales floating in navy waters as they sing, spark through your mind. He seems to see, and it perks an oil slick smile curling at his lips. “Further back. Before there were hands clutching quills, scribbling to record time, the salt waters were choked with slippery, filthy, things. Monsters. That, is the sea I am bound to. It still exists somewhere that isn’t here. So save your pretty notions, if you would, as I am so tired of them.”

You choose not to think about it any further, lest he grow angry with exasperation…what if he were to leave? But, shouldn’t you want him to go?

Those hands, worthy to rival history’s greatest artistic creations, end in razored, terrifying claws, and he catches you watching them, fear wild in your eyes, as he saunters closer.

“Do I frighten you?” There is a hiss tucked away behind a sensual rasp…the serpent sidewinding through the grass, eager to taste your sin upon its forked tongue. “Do these frighten you?” he drags a claw along your thigh, slitting it open so cleanly you could glimpse bone if only you bring yourself to look. There is an absence of pain, but you cry out anyway.

“Hold your tongue or I’ll slice it from your pretty mouth.” He sighs, bored already with your all too human antics. “Speak quietly, and I will listen. Scream, and perhaps I might enjoy it enough to give you reason to carry on so.”

He flicks through the blood trickling down your leg, speckling it against your chest. “I asked if these frighten you,” he clicks his claws together and the sound doesn’t match the action…they bring to mind bells made of glass.

You find yourself shaking your head, and even more strangely, you find that it’s true. You’re no longer afraid of them. Intrigued seems a more apt description now.

“No?” His tongue sweeps across his plush bottom lip. You shudder to find that it is, in fact, forked. “I’ve just split you open so deeply I could bend and suck the marrow from your bones and you look upon them with devotion. Are you stupid, or simply gluttonous for agony?”

Sensing neither answer will bode well for you, you choose trembling silence.

“They can be anything I’d like them to be,” he’s strolling around now, pacing like fire licking along a back and forth trail of gasoline, idly tapping at you, toying in the blood that still seeps from your painless wound.

“Givers of unimaginable pain. Lenders of mercy. Silver like our dear friend, the moon. Dripping red as though I’ve buried them into your heart to wrench it from your chest.”

You’re hanging on every word…he is a sinful prophet and you would bow and wash his feet with your tangled hair, even if they were cloven hooves.

“I can drift them through you, a sacred thread through the eye of a needle. Tear you to ribbons without so much as a wince of pain, as you well know,” he nods at his handiwork, where you remain splayed open and spilling blood, albeit slower now. “Or, I could rip holes through you, dull and jagged, until you were suffering in unthinkable torment. Pain of which you cannot fathom. Pleasure greater still.”

You’ve settled down into a gentle writhe you can’t seem to quiet. He arches an eyebrow with what seems to be festering fondness that somehow borders on distaste.

He exhales and the room suddenly smells of something unfamiliar. Something that makes you picture sinking down into cold, silent, depths. Black ocean floors, alien creatures. Solitude. Death. End.

Your chest tightens with slow panic, you’re drawing oxygen deep into your lungs, but could you still be drowning?

“How long?”

“How long?” You borrow his phrasing, confused. It is the first time you’ve truly spoken to him and words you’ve known all your life taste foreign on your tongue.

Those seductively predatory eyes blink alive like diamonds tumbling under golden light. Is it the sound of your voice that has affected him so? The fact that you have calmed enough to squeak out a question? Or something else entirely?

A shuffling noise sounds out, like the swollen tail of a fat and famished crocodile lumbering along the edges of a vile swamp. He is moving closer, but there is nothing dragging the floor behind him. He’s fabricated the sound, you realize. He is building a world. He wants your fear.

Fine. You decide, spine straightening almost imperceptibly, he may want all he likes, but he won’t have it.

“Mind your thoughts, little fish.” He warns, “I can hear each one clearer than if you’d spoken them aloud and I’ve a nasty temper. If it is your fear that I want, it is your fear that I will have. If it is the useless cunt between your legs that I fancy, I’ll have that, too. Now, answer me. How. Long?”

He takes pity and plants the seed of understanding in your muddled mind. How many nights have you spent alone, he’s pondering. How long since hands have charted maps along your body?

The thought of hands touching you draw your attention back to his, and you’d like to say never. You’d like to be his, completely his, never spoiled by one who came before. Looking at them makes you ache. The way you believe he would touch you makes your stomach roil with revolt. You are both repulsed by and desperate for it.

“Strange, aren’t you?” His chin cocks and the blue light of the moon catches his face. He’s breathtaking, but still, there is what lies haunting and hidden, to contend with. It waits just below that pretty, deceiving surface, a riptide sent to drag you down. You won’t fight it.

“I hide away in your room, night after night,” he bends down and snakes his cool tongue along the frantic pounding of your jugular. The fork catches your earlobe and makes you cringe, but you refuse to cower away. “Drive you just shy of completely mad…” he licks at you again. “And still, I can smell it - how your lovely cunt weeps for whatever I might see fit to slip inside.”

Your body shakes violently, but out of fright or want, you can’t decide.

“She’d gladly open up for whatever I offered, would she not? The blades that tip my fingers? The entire fist of my claw? This tongue you seem so disgusted by, my cock - even if it landed, heavy and cruel, upon the floor, cracking the very foundation beneath your feet. You’d take it, would you not? You’d welcome the pain of my pulling you apart, destroying this pretty package from the inside out, and that is not a question. I’m a spy, little fish, and I know.”

Suddenly, you hear it. Has it been there all along? No. No, certainly not…but there it is - thump thump thump. It’s closer than it has ever seemed no matter how avidly you chased it. He watches the feverish fury come alive in your gaze and he seems beyond entertained by it.

“You…” it hisses, low and accusatory, out of you. A verbal pointed finger of rage.

A smile that doesn’t meet his eyes bares his teeth. They are perfectly straight and white as driven snow, but there is something odd about them, too. “Oh, how I’ve enjoyed watching you descend into madness every night, driven slowly insane by the sound of my cock pounding for you.”

Realization wraps itself around you - a clingy lover you can’t spurn. The sound had danced with a hint of familiarity all along, like a heartbeat, but not quite.

“You’ve been hiding here? Watching me?” You latch your grip around the reins of your voice, fighting for control of it. Still, it quivers. “All this time?”

“My business is none of your own.” He’s grown bored with your questioning, though you’ve only just begun. “I have watched you, and I will watch you still, if I so choose. What leads you to believe that you have a choice in the matter?”

Sickeningly, you relish it - his disregard for your opinion. You’re not sure what that says about you, and you’re not sure that you care.

“Why?” The words hushed out of you, small and weak though you so badly wish for strength. “Is it love that keeps you coming back?” You wish for love more than strength.

“Love?” A laugh barks out of him, halting and nasally. “I love the way you twist and turn in your sheets when you touch yourself because you think there’s no one to see. I love the way you sound when you cum. The way you flush with shame when you realize you’ve made a mess and the neighbors might have heard. I love the way you smell when you’re afraid…like an apple perched upon a stick and candied in terror. I love the way you think you’re looking for a sound that drives you to distraction in the dark, when in reality you are simply refusing to see.”

He knows you and has seen you engaged in the most intimate of acts. You hate it. You love it.

“Close your mouth before I fill it.” The admonition shakes the rafters of your soul, and he looks exquisitely pleased with himself. “Would you enjoy that? Do you like sucking cock, or is it an obligatory act? A means to an end to be spat out and rinsed from your tongue?’

“I—“

He shuts your mouth with a sharp glare, “I don’t ask questions because I care to hear your answers. I ask them because I enjoy watching you squirm. You’re delectable when you’re uncomfortable.”

“Besides,” his knee is sinking into the bed now, crawling closer like a spider readying to wrap you in wet silk spun from his body. “If I want to know if you enjoy a cock in your mouth, I’ll shove mine down your throat.”

He waits until you seem to shrink in on yourself. “Good. Now, find your silence and perhaps I’ll tell you how I came to be this thing. Would you like to know what found me before I found your bed?”

A slow nod gains strength, encouraging this unburdening that seems to be gaining momentum. It’s true that a current of thought has been rushing steadily behind all others in the back of your mind…the wonder of what he is, how he came to be, if he plans to hurt you, or turn you - whatever that might mean.

“Little fish wants a grim bedtime story? A horrendous tail to quench all that obscene, voyeuristic need that lives hidden inside you?” He reaches down, mouth hovering so close to yours you can taste the salt and clove on his breath, and heals the wound he inflicted…simply sealing it up with an upward drag of the same steely claw that inflicted it.

The creation of the gash hadn’t hurt, but the healing of it brings to life an indescribable pleasure inside you. The serotonin floods your brain, thick and heady. You’ll chase this feeling for the rest of your days, you just don’t know it yet.

“My name was Jacob,” he begins. “He who supplants or follows after. I did not live up to my moniker. My father was a great man. Long gone in a war time doesn’t remember. I was meant to carry a legacy of nobility, strength, pride. I did no such thing.”

His tongue, now pink and soft, wet and delicious, laps over the sweet spot he has sussed out along your collarbone. Fork mended in order to soothe your unease.

“I enjoyed the chase of indulgence, instead. Catered to my own desires and no one else’s. My mother wept for her lost child with his selfish soul. My brother, born but a few moments before me, tried to drag me back into the fold, but I wanted none of it.” His hand is on your stomach now, tickling those frosty, shining blades ever so gently over the fluttering muscles there.

“No,” the bridge of his nose sweeps along your jaw as he inhales his next meal of carnal indulgence. “I wanted none of it. I opted instead to chase the sweet embrace of a brand new cunt to kiss my cock night after night…”

The admission squeezes an aching, ravenous, moan from your chest. You’re disturbed and terror-stricken, but it’s a feeling like none you have ever experienced before and you want more and more and more. More, more, more, worse and worse, uglier and uglier.

“I spotted her along the shores of Iteru. Her skin caught the light as she sunbathed, like the tiger’s eye I wore on a length of twine around my neck. Her hair, black as pitch, her eyes darker still. She seemed to be watching me, calling to me, and I went to her.”

Jealousy has reared her hideous head at the thought of him wanting her, but he drives it right out of your thoughts by slipping two fingers inside you, curling them and calling forth a cry of wanton bliss. If the claws are still there, let them leave you torn and bleeding, for you never want this to end.

“Having nearly drowned in that very river as a boy while fishing for perch, I never ventured near. My brothers fished those waters, but I hunted gazelle to make my contribution to the family table at night. But she was a blue flame, and I, the ignorant moth who wanted to flutter my wings between her legs.”

Deeper his touch sinks, searching out a place you hadn’t even known to exist. “Jacob…” the name claws at your throat as it escapes but he merely tilts his head, watching you with fascination as something ripples beneath his cheeks. It reminds you of snakes breaching soft seas, shaking your shoulders with a shudder of disgust.

“That was my name.” He corrects, fucking you into a cloudy, desperate haze with only his hand. “Don’t use it again, and do not ask what I am called now. It matters not.”

As though turning the page of a deranged picture book, he carries on. His voice raking with an underlying vibration you can’t place.

“I was terrified of water, and I should have been terrified of her. But I went to her, and without a word, she spread her thighs and I fed her my cock until she was spent and nearly asleep on the muddy shore. Her father heard her cries. Had I covered her mouth, perhaps I would’ve rotted to dust in a tomb long ago, as I was meant to.”

You have reached for him, and he has allowed it, and now you’re clutching at his cloak, threatening to rip holes into its silken waves.

“Her father was a tyrant. Evil and cruelly protective of his beautiful, only daughter, who enjoyed the hands of men more than she worried about snaring one to wed. He carried magic in his veins, but no honor.”

You’re close, far too close for his liking, and his hand retreats to play in circles over your quaking inner thighs as you whine and plead with him to make you cum. He quiets you sternly and carries on.

“He sentenced me to eternity in inky, prehistoric waters. Doomed to swim them as a horrific, sickening thing…one that would never again turn the head of a pretty girl lying in the sun. But she held magic in her blood as her father did, weaker than his, but there all the same. She gifted me the shell you look upon now, so that I might still indulge, from time to time, in what I love so well.”

Your voice comes strong and sure, more confident than you have ever known it to be. “Indulge, then.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @calumspretty @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn @starcatcher-jake @gvfpal @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson

[sweetsundazed]

contrast - why it is important in editing

contrast is an element in any sort of design, from edits to artwork, and its importance doesn't waver regardless of what kind of design you are creating.

so why exactly is it important? it helps to not only organize the elements in your edit, but also to help distinguish the different parts. contrast helps draw your eyes to the more important aspects of the edit (typically the character). if everything blends together, then the edit stands out less.

its also important to note that contrast isn't *only* created using differing colors, however i will be explaining color contrast and how it can affect your edits in this post. contrast can also be created using size, texture, shape, etc.

the color contrast in different edits will differ depending on the theme you are going for, however no matter the theme of your edit you still want to be able to differ the focus point (your character) and your background. that tends to be harder in lower contrast edits because there is less of a difference in color values.

there is also issues when a lack of color contrast in an edit prevents visually impaired people from properly being able to see what you are creating.

so how can we go about implementing more contrast in lower contrast colorings? there are a few simple ways to do it. i'll be using kasumi as an example

i've created a very low contrast psd and slapped it on kasumi. as you can see with the no changes version, the colors blend together very much because of the lack of color contrast.

the easiest way to fix this (and without changing the colors) would be to sharpen the image. this creates bolder lines on the character and helps kasumi stand out a bit more from the background.

another option would be to simply adjust the layers. on the third kasumi all i did was add two adjustment layers and i created a bit more contrast.

so whats the best solution to fixing the problem? well in my opinion, it'd be both sharpening *and* adjusting the layers.

it maintains that low color contrast look, while also still making it so you can see kasumi.

there are multiple ways to add contrast using new adjustment layers, here's an example of three i could think of off the top of my head. curves, b/c (brightness/contrast), and levels.

using curves can be either quite complicated or quite easy depending on your goal and understanding of it. for creating (or removing) contrast, its pretty easy!

by dragging the top pin to the left, you can easily create more contrast

by dragging the top pin down, you can remove contrast

by doing it in the middle you can create a sort of mix of both.

brightness/contrast is pretty straightforward, just up the contrast value using the contrast bar. usually when i up the contrast i tend to turn the brightness down a little bit as well.

using levels is also relatively straightforward! by adjusting this bar you can easily add or remove color contrast.

you can use just one of these methods, a new method, or mix them! anything works! experimentation is a part of editing, it helps you to learn what works best for you. my guide is not an end-all fact book for how you *need* to do things, but rather advice and tips to help you get better and to make your designs look more appealing.

remember that it's all in good fun! if you have any questions or comments about my post, feel free to send me an ask or toss it in the reblogs and i will answer the best i can. happy creating!

[ecstasyhighway]

YOU & I | an ellie williams fanfic series

this is a fic that will be posted and mostly updated on wattpad @ecstasyhighway this ff is heavily based off of you the netflix show and inspired by a ff on here which i cannot remember who wrote it but if yk lmk so i can give proper credit.

there is not smut in this little part here but its a filthy ah fic that will become darker as it goes on.

MEN DNI - 16+ i fear (im 17 so if u feel uncomfortable reading from a minor who will be 18 at the end of the year then u dont have to read this i really dgaf.)

ch 1 ch 2

silly story and more ff info under the cut

Ellie had seen you walking around the music store she worked at... her attention automatically shifted from the customer in front of her to you. Your hair, your curves, your eyes. Everything about you was just...

"hello? did you hear me?" the woman raised her voice slightly to get her attention,

Ellie snapped out of her thoughts and focused on the clearly irritated woman in front of her.

"yea my bad, what was that..?"

The lady rolled her eyes and started asking questions about guitar lessons for her son or daughter or some shit, she wasnt really paying attention to the nonsense floating from her mouth.

"yeah, im not the one you go to about that, uhhh my buddy Jesse is in the back, he can help you"

"thanks" and with that, she headed towards the back, muttering words under her breath.

Ellie's attention quickly turned back towards you. She examines you closely. Watching you grab a vinyl from the shelf, Call Me If You Get Lost, is what you had grabbed. Ellie wants to walk over to you, and talk to you but shes scared. What if she says the wrong thing? What if she freaks you out? What if you think shes a weirdo.. She turns away to stop looking at you, her cheeks are red and shes shaking, she is just so nervous and she's not even planning on talking to you... She puts her face in her hands and begins to calm herself down.

"Hi! hello"

A voice chimes from behind her, she turns around and a lump forms in her throat.

Its... you.

———————————————————————————

YOU & I | ellie williams.

this is a DARK fanfic. Based heavily off of the show you on netflix and inspired by a fanfic I saw on tumblr. This story has adult themes, sexual themes, stalking, thoughts of killing (no actual killing just thoughts), themes of hate, ellie has slight mental issues (obv shes stalking) age gaps (only 3 years and they're adults). idgaf how old u are this is dark and you have been warned, i am not responsible for any type of reaction you may have to this as ive given you a warning. I will give warnings at the beginning of chapters that might be too dark. again you have been warned.

important - ellie might be a tad ooc, shy!ellie, switch!ellie if you squint. this is a lesbian ff.

MEN DNI I WILL FIND YOU.

reader is afab and 20

ellie is 23

modern au

jessie, dina, joel, tommy, maria, most of the main tlou cast is in this (not everyone will be mentioned or even really have a place in the story, just know they are present)

based in New York (obv)

i am not a professional writer, im simply a girl who writes shit when shes bored, do not expect me to have an upload schedule. I get drained v fast and i want to enjoy writing, its not a job with deadlines. so with that my grammar might be bad, spelling might be ass and if there is any math it will probably be wrong, it might be written in third, or first person i be fuckin up with that but yall will be fine.

YOU & I | ellie williams.

story created and written by @ecstasyhighway

tlou and the characters belongs to Neil Druckmann and Naughty Dog

the story of "YOU" belongs to Netflix

Story was ib by a ff i saw breifly but i don't remember who wrote it so, if yk pls lmk so i can give proper credit

THIS IS FICTION. DO NOT DO THIS SHIT IRL BRUH ITS ACTUALLY WEIRD ASF. AGAIN THIS IS PURELY FICTIONAL. thank yew

uhhhh yeah enjoy ig and i do appreciate any supportive criticism as i am not a professional writer and shit could just be wrong.

also im new to tumblr fanfic writing so yeah 😭.

[thewebcomicsreview]

Happy 10/25, the third most important religious holiday in the Homestuck Calender, and we got a new HS2 to celebrate, focusing on one of the new kids. The new kids were one of the parts of Homestuck 2 I actually liked, so let's see how the new writers handle them! With a Jailbreak reference, apparently.

Wait, hold on, deep lore: thespiansGlamor is Harry, glutinousGymnast is Tavros. RecidicivousGainsayer and gavageCunctation are names we haven't seen before. GC fits into the AGTC DNA theme of all the screen names we've seen so far (it's Terezi's acronym), and RG doesn't. They might be random NPCs, but they might also be foreshadowing. Also, neither Rose nor Kanaya appear to be on their daughter's friendlist, unless they're under the scroll bar, but maybe that's not weird.

What, uh, what did she draw the key with, HS2? That's her blood color, but she's not bleeding.

Also, who's narrating this? This has been a question in HS2 all along, but the narration here calls attention to itself more. It's much more "Homestucky" than HS2's had been.

We even have narration describing conversation, which is something HS2 has never done and HS1 restricted to carapacians.

You suggest to Vriska that you should go the other direction. Vriska says nah this is definitely where we wanna be. She says between the two of you, you've probably got enough luck to take this whole place off the map if you really wanted. You ask her what the fuck she means by that. She says you know like with your Thief of Light powers. You tell her you don't have anything like that. She says huh, weird!

Oh FFS now I have to go look up if post-Retcon Vriska met Aranea, her own dancestor who was not a Thief of Light. That's such a weird thing for Vriska to assume, that Vrissy not only has Vriska's powers but has mastered them. Also, I wonder if this narration style, besides being a Jailbreak reference, is because the new writers aren't confident writing the HS2 characters yet? Or maybe they just don't want Vriska/Vrissy dialogues because they're kind of hard to read.

I like these expressions. I also like this continuation of Candy Lore, that all the HS1 characters see Candyland as a "fake" universe and that's part of why they fucked around so much and got so fucking weird, whereas we see here that the actual Candy Natives do not see their planet as "bootleg". The fact that the HS parents don't think of their own children as entirely "real" is actually super fucked up, but I guess Yiffy's got the main right of complaint there.

I like that Vriska, who can fly, still makes Vrissy give her a boost. What a jerk!

Vriska says now THAT sounds like some shit a REAL Vriska would say! You roll your eyes and start to leave when Vriska calls out to ask if you're going without wishing her good luck. As you start to wish her luck she cuts you off and tells you to keep it, as she already has aaaaaaaall the luck she needs. You say okay dude.

I don't know if the original HS2 writers intended for the resolution of the "Vrissy kind of idolizes Vriska" subplot to end with "Vriska's so fucking Vriska that Vrissy is disillusioned within literally minutes", but it's honestly kind of funny and I like it.

JANE: From the conversation recovered from Egbert's phone, we've learned that Roxy has been... conspiring alongside the rebels for months now. Operating a lab deep within the ruins of the Troll Memorial Meteor, she and her coconspirator Calliope are preparing some kind of super weapon they've dubbed "The Plot Point". JANE: Heretofore referred to as The Point.

This feels a little like shade.

JANE: Let’s get to The Point!!

A lot like shade.

It's a little convenient to the new team that they took over right when HS2 was starting to actually go somewhere, but regardless, that was a neat page. I got a soft laugh out of it, the plot is starting to move, and there was some decent worldbuilding.

[raayllum]

not sure if you've been asked this before, but do you think callum will do dark magic a third time or more? do you think his arc is in any way building towards him coming to terms with it as a concept or will he continue to reject it on principle?

I've talked a little bit about S6 specific predictions and I do think there will be something along the lines of Callum reconciling his dark magic use with his identity (aka that those things don't have to be opposing, as long as those aspects feel/become understood to him) but...

I think the tricky thing is that there's a lot of elements at play all wrapped up in each other. A few things to get out of the way:

Dark magic has two main purposes in the story. The first is as a literal magic source (practical, usable, more unlimited in comparison to primal magic in some ways). The second is what it represents theme wise (desperation, short term power and agency vs long term lack of agency and subsequent powerlessness, destruction and vulnerability).

For most of his life, all Viren saw was the short term power and gain. Obviously we know he did something awful to save Soren, but we don't get the indication that sort of thing happened... More? We see from Claudia that there's lots of casual uses for dark magic and that Viren likely did so as well (needing to use his butterflies on a semi-regular basis for spells off screen). The next time we see a "dark magic to save a personal loved one" is the soul switching gimmick for Harrow, which is part of why Harrow, I think, shows up in Viren's dreams:

But as Viren says, going to sacrifice himself for King Harrow is his attempts at returning to form, to "I need to be the man he once believed I was." A Viren who was more selfless if not also as idealistic as a dark mage can be. Because in the years since healing Soren, Viren steadily lost himself and lost sight of protecting his children ("You're going to be okay now, that's all that matters" / "But Dad, Soren could've died!" "That doesn't matter!"). That's not to say he was morally irrefutable before, but he genuinely cared for his children and prioritized them. Finding his way back in S5 is what his journey is all, ultimately, about. Coining Kpp'Ar and getting his job ("His death creates opportunity for you") was the inciting incident - seemingly? arguably? - that set him on the "I always knew you'd go far, but I didn't know how far you'd go to get there. [...] You made the same choice you always made: the one that gives you power." Because power, not family, is what poisoned Viren's head — and why only by removing it does it have clarity; only by choosing powerlessness does he have freedom from Aaravos (at least in theory).

V: My whole life I've been chasing after things I didn't have. Status, influence, power. Maybe I should stop.

While Viren rejecting dark magic is ultimately a good for him, I do wonder what he would've done if faced with "kill Sir Sparklepuff to spare Claudia's life" > "kill Sir Sparklepuff to save yourself". He may have indeed made the same choice, now being more cognizant and also fearful of the bloodprice Harrow had spoken of, how dark magic always tends to inevitably have Consequences no matter how delayed, but it definitely would've been a different sort of choice.

With that in mind, I say all this to outline that Callum is starting from a fundamentally different place with dark magic and his loved ones. Like Viren he has pride, but Callum overall has very little ego. He doesn't crave notions of status (if anything he's typically uncomfortable with it) nor is just 'power' a desire for him. If he desires power, if he desires magic, then he does so out of a desire of agency, not self-importance or recognition. Callum doesn't want to be admired in an attempt to feedback-loop prove that he subsequently has worth. He wants to be tangibly useful; he wants to helpful.

One of the confines/constraints of the way arc 2 is structured is that we don't get much of Callum's feelings about dark magic use pre-the reveal it allows Aaravos to possess him. While he rejects it and mandates that it's wrong in S2, of course, he is still tempted by it and the potential 'good' it could do. He rejects being a Dark Mage™️ and refuses to have that as his primary form of magic > primal magic, but — as I've said before — that's different than ever rejecting doing dark magic ever again. That's different than swearing off this would ever be an option you turn to. I

A life with no dark magic is undeniably Callum's canonical preference, as far as usage and existence goes. That's clear to surmise even post-S2. But still, as soon as he used it, I always figured that if put into that kind of situation again — Ezran or Rayla's life on the line, and this was the only way to keep them safe — he'd do it. And then he does (5x08).

However, 5x08 does add important context to Callum's feelings about dark magic. Although I think he probably would've said everything he said to Finnegrin in 5x08 even without the possession bomb ("I'm not a dark mage. I don't do dark magic!" and his refusal even under torture), it's undeniable that learning his dark magic use allows Aaravos to possess him has rattled him. It's not clear how much of his staunch aversion is because now he knows the full consequences, compared to how he might behave if he didn't know it leaves him open to Aaravos, but I think the knowledge here, accordingly, is a burden and just makes all of it worse for him.

In 2x07, Callum didn't know the full potential consequences of his actions, if in fearful imagination and nothing else. But because of 4x04, he does:

C: I'm not afraid that he'll hurt me. I'm afraid that he'll use me to do awful things, or hurt people I care about. [...] I'm afraid, Rayla. What if I'm on a path of darkness?

(We'll return to the "path of darkness" concern in a moment, but pin in it for now.)

The tricky thing, though, is that if you have a character say they'll Never do something, and then they do it (and for a good reason), it's very hard to convince the audience that they'll really never do it again. There are ways to — Rayla said she'd never abandon or kill for her family (Bloodmoon Huntress), then she did abandon Callum (for an understandable but not a good reason, though, I might add), and now we're working on being convinced (painstakingly slowly) that she can learn how to stay — and this could be the route they take with Callum. But unlike Viren, I don't think Callum has as much of a lesson to learn surrounding dark magic because he's always used it for genuinely good reasons and with full awareness of his actions. He doesn't lie to himself over it (he doesn't have Viren's greater good schtick nor interest in it) and it was in literal life-or-death situations.

Viren needed to change because his dark magic use escalated in the de-prioritization of his kingdom but — more importantly to his interpersonal development — his immediate relationships and family bonds. Thus far, Callum's shown no hint of that, and I'm not sure that he will, given that interpersonal relationships — not glory or the greater good — are his primary motivations in all things, usually, but especially when it comes to dark magic.

Therefore, I don't think Callum's issue (as it stands now; S6 could make him start to go on a Viren "I can sacrifice my loved ones path by proxy of paranoia") is as much "I have to reject dark magic and subsequently de-prioritize my personal relationships" because... Him loving less is not the solution, to me. He should be prioritizing his personal relationships. Even, unfortunately, to these current extremes.

When Callum states he's scared that he's on a path of darkness in 4x07, it is a little odd, mostly because at that point there's not much to indicate — at least not as much interpersonally (because as an audience member I was screaming crying throwing up) with the knowledge we had at the time — as to why. He was obsessed with the mirror and Soren warned him not to be like his dad ("My father was obsessed with it. Callum, I know you love magic, but be careful. Cause it can change people") over it, but his primary concern seems to be from what Aaravos has told him: "Already tainted by darkness, and destined to play right into my hands." Those are all external forces/warnings, and they worry him. S5, specifically 5x08 I think, is when we see the big internal shift there.

But I do think the "What if I'm on a path of darkness" and his doubt when Rayla reaffirms otherwise is important, because it plays into his tendency to tunnel vision. He's afraid of the dark because in that moment, and in some ways in 5x08, it feels like it's all he can see.

With that in mind, I think Callum's arc will maybe not be a Relinquishing of dark magic entirely, but dismantling the systems/circumstances in place (through acquirement of more primal magic) so that he has less need of it, and a reminder that he Also has Light inside him, too. Dark and light reconciled — for worse and for better.

[waitmyturtles]

Turtles Catches Up With Old GMMTV: The Bad Buddy Rewatch Edition, Part 1 -- Where BBS Came From, What It References, and More

[What’s going on here? After joining Tumblr and discovering Thai BLs through KinnPorsche in 2022, I began watching GMMTV’s new offerings -- and realized that I had a lot of history to catch up on, to appreciate the more recent works that I was delving into. From tropes to BL frameworks, what we’re watching now hails from somewhere, and I’m learning about Thai BL's history through what I’m calling the Old GMMTV Challenge (OGMMTVC). Starting with recommendations from @absolutebl on their post regarding how GMMTV is correcting for its mistakes with its shows today, I’ve made an expansive list to get me through a condensed history of essential/classic/significant Thai BLs produced by GMMTV and many other BL studios. My watchlist, pasted below, lists what I’ve watched and what’s upcoming, along with the reviews I’ve written so far. Today, I kick off the first of four (or more, whoa!) posts on Bad Buddy. I'll look today at Thai BLs that preceded Bad Buddy that BBS spoke to, the tropes and themes that BBS reshapes and adds to the genre's existence, and I'll also take a look at singular commonalities among Aof Noppharnach's shows.]

Links to the BBS OGMMTVC Meta Series are here: part 1, part 2, part 3a, part 3b, and part 4

Since April of this year, I have been watching drama after drama, BL after BL, to get myself familiar enough with the Thai BL genre in order to understand... at least, much more about Bad Buddy than I previously understood when I first watched BBS in January. Today, I'm going to test my mettle, my newfound exposures to the genre, in taking a look at what made BBS so special by way of what came before it.

(Let me quickly note that in no way, shape, or form do I consider myself an expert in the Thai BL genre. That honor is for the people who've been through the trenches for years, people like my dear friends @bengiyo, @so-much-yet-to-learn, and more.)

As usual with my OGMMTVC analyses, here's a little outline for the lovers:

1 ) Some quick additional thoughts on how BBS reshapes Thai BL tropes, building off of meta from the time of BBS's original airing,

2) How I think earlier shows spoke to BBS by way of influence, as well as shared writing and/or directing teams in some instances, and

3) Similarities in the emotional structures of some of the most important protagonists of major GMMTV BLs, including Third, Sarawat, Phupha, and Pran.

Just as a quick reminder from my preamble post a couple of days ago, one of the inspirations for my creating the Old GMMTV Challenge was from a discussion I had with @miscellar regarding the Thai BL tropes that Bad Buddy referenced and reshaped. This post is what I have permanently linked as a means of partly explaining the context of why I created the OGMMTVC, but I also want to direct your attention to this other post by @miscellar regarding from whence BL tropes often stem from -- namely, conventions of reference from the het romance genre.

I want to posit two points to get this started. I think that, fundamentally, the general fandom loves what BBS did by way of both including and reshaping Thai BL tropes. Tropes do indeed give structure to many Thai BLs very often, as @miscellar notes in their second linked post. Even director Aof Noppharnach and the cast of Bad Buddy note this point as a central structural foundation to their show.

I would also posit that us as a fandom (or, at least, just speaking for myself)... happen to love many (but not all) of the tropes themselves, or at least to some extent, particularly by way of nostalgic reference. When I was really getting underway with the OGMMTVC watchlist earlier this spring, I could see in watching, say, Love Sick or SOTUS, the birth of the tropes. Phun and Noh hosing each other down, Kongpob and Arthit not only being engineers in SOTUS, but seeking out careers in the field in SOTUS S. The hubby/wifey language, the strong seme/uke energy in Make It Right, in Together With Me, and so on.

I felt that the Thai BL trope framework, in the course of my watchlist progress, first truly coalesced as a means of a coded and referential artistic infrastructure in Love By Chance. Love By Chance, based on a novel by MAME and written and directed by the longtime BL creator, New Siwaj, had it all. Engineering students in a university setting, rich boy/poor boy, seme/uke/top/bottom dynamics, queer revelations, beach trips, the guitars and the singing, all of it. Back in June, I called LBC the first derivative structured BL -- clearly a BL that came from those that preceded it.

To @miscellar's points in their second linked post: LBC also had, I feel, quite a lot of problematic elements. Before I watched TharnType, I was already calling out a discomfort I felt about homophobia within MAME's material in LBC. I also noted very strong macro cishet romance elements in the way Ae approached his engagements with Pete, romantic and intimate.

We know now that Bad Buddy just grabbed these tropes, and even some of these problematic elements, like the demand for a clearly binary seme/uke dynamic -- and turned them on their heads. Pat and Pran were equals and partners, full-stop. No seme/uke, no top/bottom, no gay for you, no wifey this and hubby that. Bad Buddy took SOTUS and LBC by their shoulders and said -- not today, not on my watch (and BBS AND A Tale of Thousand Stars did it AGAIN in Our Skyy 2!). Especially in closing out Bad Buddy through Our Skyy 2, I love how very specific Pat and Pran were about their verse relationship, with both guys, throughout the series and in OS2, asking each other for each other's ratings of their nightly performances. Yes, it was hilarious and cute and flirty, but those conversations were also very pointed -- and they very much harkened way, way back to themes that Aof and his colleague, Jojo Tichakorn, had explored as screenwriter and director of Gay OK Bangkok (here and here), and in Jojo's The Warp Effect, all of these shows preceding their work in BLs.

I think the turning-on-the-heads of these tropes, within an otherwise classic Thai BL, created an utterly unique fabric by which a new kind of nostalgia for the particular show that is Bad Buddy could be created -- something that almost cannot be RECREATED by the way of the construction of the universe of equality, love, mutual respect, and miraculous communication that Pat and Pran had established between each other. The equitable dynamic in Bad Buddy between Pat and Pran, of the honesty and incredibly open empathic communication that these two had between each other, seems to me to be truly unique -- ESPECIALLY in the face of the massively biased and dysfunctional communicative styles of their parents.

Moreover, now that I'm at this point of the OGMMTVC list -- AND including what I know about his shows post-Bad Buddy, in Moonlight Chicken, Our Skyy 2, and Last Twilight, which is airing now -- we now know that Aof has created HIS OWN SET OF TROPES THROUGH HIS SHOWS. He is the queer filmmaker in Thai BLs par excellence to create a conversation among his shows, and shows made by his colleagues, that speak to each other by way of symbolism, and, I believe, a harkening back both to previous expectations of older queer media AND to older Asian media, particularly by way of either open-ended and/or melancholic endings, as well as general explorations of melancholy and bittersweetness in his shows on behalf of queer characters.

(Before I give some specific examples of Aof's own trope structures by way of inspiration and influence, I do want to note that the aforementioned New Siwaj does this, too, particularly by way of his making references to The Love of Siam in his shows. Love of Siam is known for having a relatively tragic ending between two young queer men. The movie itself is shown and referenced in New's Absolute Zero and My Only 12% -- and the actors who play Tong's parents, who interfere in Tong's relationship with Mew, are reunited as parents in New's Until We Meet Again, where they support Dean's relationship with Pharm. However, I tend to focus on Aof in admiration as his art is generally more consistently excellent.)

So! What are the new tropes that Aof references in his shows -- the new trope frameworks that he's created for himself, to reflect his own interpretation of the Thai BL genre? We have upside-down smiley faces in Bad Buddy -- but we saw them first in Still 2gether! We have picture boards all over the place in Aof's cinematic universes -- in ATOTS, in BBS (TWICE!) (in two different apartments!), in Moonlight Chicken between Alan and Wen. We have scenes of temples, of culturally-rooted spirituality, from He's Coming To Me, to Moonlight Chicken, and now in Last Twilight. From Phupha's internalized homophobia in A Tale of Thousand Stars, to Jim's internalized homophobia in Moonlight Chicken, Aof doesn't shy away from examining the impacts of the pasts of traditional childhoods in rural settings. Call me a cheesy mom, but I happen to love Aof's tendency to punctuate light moments with cute sound effects.

But beyond tropes and trope frameworks, I think the ways in which Bad Buddy speaks to prior shows -- and vice versa, the way that prior shows ended up contributing to Bad Buddy -- were far more impactful by way of larger, macro-level themes.

While we see on BBS the impact of shows like SOTUS (in SO MANY PLACES in BBS besides Pa's gay-for-you reference and the husband/wife reference, including here and here), I Told Sunset About You, and I Promised You The Moon (I'll have more on IPYTM in a post next week about pain, trust, and separation), we also see what themes the future Bad Buddy team was trying out in their own previous shows. Besides Aof's Still 2gether and A Tale of Thousand Stars, the writing team of Au Kornprom, Bee Pongsate, and Pratchaya Thavornthummarut worked on Theory of Love together. Besides becoming a HUGE fave of mine through the OGMMTVC project, I think Theory of Love held possibly some of the most important proto-BBS themes that I saw along the cinematic way to get to Bad Buddy.

Theory of Love, generally speaking, is about how one person can try to change for another person -- and how that other person, and/or the world, accepts that change.

To fast-forward to the end of BBS: we know that the boys take inspiration from Uncle Tong that they will not let the world of their own intergenerational traumas from their families keep them from loving each other, and being in a devoted relationship with each other. Their empathy for their parents dictates that they'll spare their families the pain of being open about their relationship, and they'll keep the somewhat transparent secret that they're together from being discussed in the open.

Pat and Pran negotiate the impacts of how their relationship may change the people around them -- and they make an empathic decision to spare the families the pain of the upfront realization of that truth. Remember what they say in episode 12:

While Bad Buddy focuses on how the team of Pran and Pat negotiate how their relationship will change others -- I see in Theory of Love the testing of this theme within the potential romantic relationship of Khai and Third. I see Au, Bee, and Pratchaya playing with an idea of change and saying, hey, this is how it can work, and this is how it may not work, realistically. I think Khai and Third end up being a successful couple because -- unlike Pran and Pat -- they don't have to negotiate a generational divide to allow change to infiltrate their lives. (In fact, Third's own process of change, and his acceptance of Khai's change, reflects Pran's journey to welcome Pat into his heart, and Wai's journey to accept Pat's and Pran's relationship.) I love how we see this getting played with, literally by the Bad Buddy squad themselves, in Theory of Love.

It was @lurkingshan who first noted the similarities between Third and Pran for me, and I want to expand on that conversation for a moment to talk about another importance fencepost in Aof's thematic universes -- what our dear friend @bengiyo calls The Knowing of queer male characters in BL dramas.

Third is not Aof's character -- Third belongs to X Nuttapong as the director of Theory of Love -- but Pran, Sarawat from 2gether/Still 2gether, and Phupha of A Tale of Thousand Stars all belong to Aof, and Third was written by Aof's usual squad of writer homies. Third, Sarawat, Phupha, and Pran are all characters written with The Knowing of their being queer in their bones and existences, dealing with a certain amount of suffering and realistic realizations related directly to that Knowing -- in large part, carrying with them painful assumptions of unrequited love, and/or the inability to live openly in love with those that they pine for, until a happy or somewhat-happy ending meets them at the end of their dramatic journeys.

I've unwound quite a bit in my past writing (namely regarding The Love of Siam and the endings of Gay OK Bangkok) of how it moves me incredibly deeply that Aof doesn't shy away from pain, reflections of pain, and either painful and/or open-ended endings in his works. With Third, Sarawat, Phupha, and Pran, us viewers were treated to detailed and empathic journeys of realization and change as these characters negotiated their own paths to intimate honesty with their eventual partners. But those paths were DAMN hard. Many of us still can't shake Pran walking away in crushed tears at the end of episode 5. I'm forever moved by Sarawat's meditation to Earn about the meaning of his relationship and of his love for Tine in Still 2gether as he and Tine are temporarily separated before their school competition.

As an out, queer man, Aof treats his Knowing characters with the greatest empathy. Not all of them, interestingly, are great communicators. In my humble opinion, Third treads chump territory many times throughout Theory of Love. Phupha's, like, one of the worst communicators ever, and this was absolutely solidified until the very end of Our Skyy 2 x ATOTS. We had to have Pran compete with Pat throughout all of episode 6 of Bad Buddy for them to finally confirm their relationship as boyfriends -- and a huge part of that was about Pat revealing to Pran that Pat's competitions with Pran are really more about getting closer and more intimate. The incredible @telomeke (via their side blog, @telomeke-bbs) has written about Pran's outside façade vs. his inner sanctuary, and how so very often in his external life, Pran feels compelled to be visually far more organized than he feels internally. The stress and pressure of that will naturally cause some amount of dissociation, emotional confusion, and distance of the kind we saw at the end of episode 5.

I'm going to unwind more about this in an upcoming Big Meta on pain, trust, and separation in many of Aof's shows, but I want to highlight these melancholic themes and infrastructures here now, because I really think they lend emotional depth and connections to shows either led by Aof and/or his close colleagues. These are tough themes to think about. The endings can absolutely be interpreted as happy endings in most cases -- even though an Asian viewer like myself, very much raised on Asian content, can read between the lines of these endings to understand their melancholic underpinnings.

Bad Buddy is perhaps the most popular of Aof's dramas, I'd posit, because while the ending of the series is a little sad to contemplate -- it ends, as it began, with utter equality between Pat and Pran as protagonists who deeply care about each other, to the point of establishing what I might term as a radical re-envisioning of the broken and traumatic paradigm that their parents forced upon each of them as children. By engaging, essentially, in radical empathy to each other, they triumphed over the global framework of what was set before them by their own private familial society.

I think this emphasizes the tremendous largesse of the personal changes that Aof's characters undergo in their emotional processes -- whether these characters are Knowing characters, or if, like Pat, they've experienced queer revelations within their shows. To hand to these characters these TREMENDOUS emotional journeys, and to situate these journeys in shows that treat these characters with the utmost respect, lends to Aof's shows -- especially Bad Buddy -- a safety net for us as viewers to trust fully in the journeys we're watching.

Aof takes tropes and problematic themes and reorganizes them, like a Rubix cube. He takes themes that Asians and queer family know of far too well, like intergenerational trauma or social outcasting, and shows how his characters can still find happiness, while realistically keeping these traumas within a character's horizon. And, he's created his own trustworthy frameworks of art that we can depend on as fans. I love and appreciate the patterns in this, and I continue to remain in awe at the power that Bad Buddy had in encapsulating so much of what was percolating in Aof's mind and fingertips as he constructed this show with the influence of others -- making this show a truly legendary one.

(Tagging @dribs-and-drabbles and @solitaryandwandering by request! If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know!)

[First BBS OGMMTVC meta down, and more to come! Stay tuned next week for a Big Meta on Pain, Trust, and Separation in Some Asian Dramas. The piece will hew close to Bad Buddy, but I've got some other GMMTV and non-GMMTV dramas (and even a Japanese dorama BL) in there to analyze as well.

Here's the complete OGMMTVC watchlist as it stands today. Tumblr's web editor is utterly jacking with this list; for a more accurate look at what I've watched, please mosey over to this link!

1) The Love of Siam (2007) (movie) (review here) 2) My Bromance (2014) (movie) (review here) 3) Love Sick and Love Sick 2 (2014 and 2015) (review here) 4) Gay OK Bangkok Season 1 (2016) (a non-BL queer series directed by Jojo Tichakorn and written by Aof Noppharnach) (review here) 5) Make It Right (2016) (review here) 6) SOTUS (2016-2017) (review here) 7) Gay OK Bangkok Season 2 (2017) (a non-BL queer series directed by Jojo Tichakorn and written by Aof Noppharnach) (review here) 8) Make It Right 2 (2017) (review here) 9) Together With Me (2017) (review here) 10) SOTUS S/Our Skyy x SOTUS (2017-2018) (review here) 11) Love By Chance (2018) (review here) 12) Kiss Me Again: PeteKao cuts (2018) (no review) 13) He’s Coming To Me (2019) (review here) 14) Dark Blue Kiss (2019) and Our Skyy x Kiss Me Again (2018) (review here) 15) TharnType (2019-2020) (review here) 16) Senior Secret Love: Puppy Honey (OffGun BL cuts) (2016 and 2017) (no review) 17) Theory of Love (2019) (review here) 18) 3 Will Be Free (2019) (a non-BL and an important harbinger of things to come in 2019 and beyond re: Jojo Tichakorn pushing queer content in non-BLs) (review here) 19) Dew the Movie (2019) (review here) 20) Until We Meet Again (2019-2020) (review here) (and notes on my UWMA rewatch here) 21) 2gether (2020) and Still 2gether (2020) (review here) 22) I Told Sunset About You (2020) (review here) 23) YYY (2020, out of chronological order) (review here) 24) Manner of Death (2020-2021) (not a true BL, but a MaxTul queer/gay romance set within a genre-based show that likely influenced Not Me and KinnPorsche) (review here) 25) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) (review here) 26) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For The Sake Of Rewatching Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (re-review here) 27) Lovely Writer (2021) (review here) 28) Last Twilight in Phuket (2021) (the mini-special before IPYTM) (review here) 29) I Promised You the Moon (2021) (review here) 30) Not Me (2021-2022) (review here) 31) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) (thesis here) 32) 55:15 Never Too Late (2021-2022) (not a BL, but a GMMTV drama that features a macro BL storyline about shipper culture and the BL industry) (review here) 33) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) and Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (2023) OGMMTVC Rewatch (The BBS OGMMTVC Meta Series is ongoing: preamble here, more reviews to come) 34) Secret Crush On You (2022) [watching for Cheewin’s trajectory of studying queer joy from Make It Right (high school), to SCOY (college), to Bed Friend (working adults)] (watching) 35) KinnPorsche (2022) (tag here) 36) KinnPorsche (2022) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For the Sake of Re-Analyzing the KP Cultural Zeitgeist 37) The Eclipse (2022) (tag here) 38) The Eclipse OGMMTVC Rewatch For the Sake of Re-Analyzing an Politics-Focused Show After Not Me 39) GAP (2022-2023) (Thailand’s first GL) 40) My School President (2022-2023) and Our Skyy 2 x My School President (2023) 41) Moonlight Chicken (2023) (tag here) 42) Bed Friend (2023) (tag here) (Cheewin’s latest show, depicting a queer joy journey among working adults) 43) Be My Favorite (2023) (tag here) (I’m including this for BMF’s sophisticated commentary on Krist’s career past as a BL icon) 44) Wedding Plan (2023) 45) Only Friends (2023) (tag here)]

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

venus, planet of love, was destroyed by global warming. did it’s people want too much, too? did it’s people want too much?

recently on tiktok, i’ve seen a lot of posts associating debbie gallagher with a quote from mitski’s “nobody” saying, “venus, planet of love, was destroyed by global warming”. everytime i see something like this i’m always intrigued because nobody is a song i associate with debbie, but what people say while quoting that part isn’t always something i agree with. i’ve seen people say that debbie was ruined, and i don’t know how much of that is true, i also think that the whole quote (“did it’s people want too much, too?”) fits her even more, so here’s my explanation.

the song nobody is basically just about complete loneliness and having nobody, which isn’t too surprising. but loneliness is a very common theme in debbie gallagher’s storyline, in fact, it is her storyline. every decision she makes is in some way or another based solely on her fear of abandonment/being alone. one of the other big parts of her storyline is becoming a teen mom, why did she do that? because she was lonely and afraid.

in the song nobody, the second verse is, as i said, “venus, planet of love, was destroyed by global warming. did it’s people want too much, too? did it’s people want too much?”. and yeah, that lyric is totally associated with debbie gallagher. in this scenario, debbie is venus, the planet of love, and frank and monica are global warming. everyone else are the people on venus. younger debbie is supposed to be this “planet of love”, she is seen as sweet and loving and everyone loves her. she always has been very loving, too loving, and that’s what ends up destroying her. her mother leaves her, and even if when she sees her again she pushes her away, she still ends up forgiving her. monica ends up leaving twice, and both times debbie just stood by, watching her drive off. in the third season, right after the second time monica leaves, she is a little different. but in the first two episodes, she is still this planet of love. she waits for frank to come back after he’s been gone for months on end; she counts each day without him and basically prays, and when he returns, she’s still the only one who cares. she’s always been the only one to care that much when frank is gone. when frank is missing in the first season, she is the most distraught and the happiest to see him, and when he gets sober, she tells lip she knows it won’t last but she still wants to enjoy it. she’s always known her father is destructive, but she still loves him. the original lyric is referring to venus being like earth, and people wanting too much, on our planet, people do so much to destroy the earth, and a lot of us do these things even though we know it’s destroying the earth because it’s kind of habit. debbie is like that. she knows forgiving monica will hurt her, she knows frank will drink, yet she still loves them- it’s her form of self sabotage. and so, she gives frank a bed, and even though she loves him and helps him, he slaps her, then his friends destroy her room, and she destroys the project she had asked him to help her on, calling it a “piece of shit”. and debbie snaps, she is “destroyed”. she takes a pillowcase full of bars of soap and she starts screaming and hitting frank and everyone just watches; they all watch the destruction in awe because debbie was always so loving and now she’s just… well, she’s the debbie we end up knowing. hurt. people on tikok usually leave out, “did it’s people want too much, too?”, but it’s really the most important part. people always expected forgiveness and love from her, they never expected her to act on the trauma she endured, so when she inevitably becomes hurt and traumatized, people lose interest. they view her as “changed” and “ruined” when she really just ended up exactly like she was going to anyways. there was no avoiding the “new debbie” because enduring what she endured, it’s surprising she didn’t end up worse.

[not-soup-333]

I'm Nobody's Rockstar Girlfriend (pt 1)

Hobie Brown x Fem Musician!reader Warnings: N/A Synopsis: Hobie ends up missing part of the most important gig of your career to date, and not only has it been an increasing theme, but you're getting fed up. Other Details: a little angst maybe? (happy ending tho), reader doesn't know Hobie's spider-man, use of pet names instead of y/n, established relationship, Gwen is in this but it's like Gwen in Hobie's universe so she's not a spider person, I'm assuming with earth-42 miles and other Miguel there are others of all the spider people A/N: I'm more in the metal scene than punk so wish me luck. (I am a musician tho so sorry if desc of show stuff/slang seems a little funky weird or technical.) Also, I may have accidentally gotten a little too into how much the music industry hates women a tad sorry guys. (Also if you guys want to see more please don't be afraid to send me some asks!!)

You loved Hobie Brown. Especially when he was on stage. There was something magical about being in an audience full of people and still knowing every song he sang was one that you'd heard first. Every lyric had been bounced off you before it ever made it under the stage lights. The way the light hit his dark skin always made him almost look like he was glowing. Long fingers gliding over the fretboard as he played.

You loved him even more after the performance when he made a beeline for you. Those long fingers you loved tracing designs into your hips as he asked you what you thought, the look in his eyes hoping you loved it each time.

But right now really wasn’t the time to be focusing on Hobie’s music. You were supposed to be focusing on the show you were playing tonight. As you finished checking the tuning of your guitar for the third time, you glanced out of the dingy side room you and two other bands had been shoved into. You definitely weren't looking for Hobie. Even though he'd promised he’d bring you dinner and a pep talk before the show since you’d forgotten to grab something after load-in and sound check had started. Especially when Gwen’s drum set had fallen apart halfway through her setting it up.

As your eyes scanned the large room, it was nearly packed wall to wall with people. "Be back in a minute!" You called over your shoulder to your bandmates before slamming the door behind you. (It had a habit of not closing if you didn't do it forcefully.)

Wandering the large room, you saw a lot of faces you recognized and many more you didn't. Finally after what felt like an eternity of searching you found a few of Hobie's friends standing near the far wall. Walking up, you stopped in front of the group. "Have you seen Hobie?"

One of them looked down and smiled. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

That question made you pause and glance around again. Had Hobie not invited them? You hadn’t thought about that before he’d walked up, he was usually the loudest person in the crowd during your sets. "I'm playing tonight."

"Oh! Congrats! We'll make sure to cheer for you." One of Hobie’s other friends raised his beer in agreement.

"Did Hobie not come with you then?" You felt your face heat by the question, not liking how it probably made you seem reliant on your boyfriend to them.

"Nah. He was supposed to, but then he ran off. Said he forgot something at home or something like that."

Your throat went dry with the answer and you nodded once. He didn't miss gigs. Something had to be wrong. "Oh, okay."

"I'll give him a call and let you know if I see him after the set though."

"Thanks." You mustered up as you turned away from the group. "I'll see you guys later."

As you returned backstage a few people called out a hello and you mustered up a smile before slamming the door shut behind you again and leaning against it. Gwen, looked up from her phone and saw your face, immediately turning to concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Hobie’s… god I feel stupid saying this it’s just… Hobie’s not here.” You covered your face with your hands and tried to push the tears down that were welling up in your eyes. You didn’t like feeling this way. Like your heart was about to burst out of your chest simply because your boyfriend had missed a gig. You had been a fiercely independent person your whole life until you’d met Hobie about a year ago at a basement show. From that moment you’d felt like your life had been tied to his, and suddenly it was important that he missed your show.

“Oh… it’s okay I’m sure he’ll show up. He’s not the kind of guy who’d miss a gig this big for you.”

That sat heavy in your stomach for a long moment before you felt anger rise up in your throat. “This isn’t the first time he’s missed one though, and he’s been missing them more frequently lately. I mean, I haven’t missed one.”

Gwen fell silent but placed a hand on your shoulder as you continued spiraling further and further into your thoughts. “I’m almost always there for his shows and when I’m not there it’s usually some crazy circumstance, and I always listen to his songs before he plays them on stage. I’m supportive of him all the time so where is he right now? Gwen, I will not just be some rockstar’s girlfriend. I have my own career to worry about.”

Gwen nodded and her hand slid off your shoulder. “It sounds like you need to talk to him.”

“Well, I’d love to if I knew where he was!” You shouted, kicking the door right before the headliner’s manager pulled it open. “You guys go on in five.”

Turning to grab your guitar and sling it over your shoulder, you gave your band a look and said. “Let’s go prove we’re a real fucking band yeah?”

While the rest of your band nodded in agreement, Gwen just sighed and grabbed her sticks from where they lay next to her drum pad.

Nothing but adrenaline was going through your veins as you stepped out onto the stage, the bright lights making it impossible to make out most of the crowd as per usual. Still, you noticed when halfway through your set a familiar head of wicks entered the door. That was enough for you to boil over the edge. Turning to the rest of the band after the song was over you pushed the mic you’d been near away from your mouth. “Let’s finish with the new one.”

“But you haven’t been able to finish it without messing up.” Your singer said, pushing her own mic away from her mouth for the moment. 

Knowing this was precious time wasted you shook your head. “Let’s do it.”

“Is this about Hobie?” Gwen said from over her cymbals as your singer turned back to the audience.

“No.” You lied. Well, only partially lied. You needed to prove yourself, but it was also a better closer than the one you all had settled for. And you’d gotten the riff at least once in practice without messing it up. “It’ll be fine. We're going to kick ass." You walked back to your amp and hit the pedal switching the channel for the next song and the show went on.

Your eyes, betraying you, continued to flit back to Hobie as he joined his friends and continued to watch you from the corner. You hated him right now, and the guts he had to show up late to the gig that could possibly be your break. But still his eyes met yours and the smile he gave you made the rest of the world melt away. If only for a moment. Because then you remembered you were mad at him and turned your focus back to your guitar.

By what was either talent or sheer adrenaline, it was the best show you’d ever played. At the end your fingers were sore, and one may have been beginning to crack, but it was good. Incredible even. As you stepped off the stage, breathing heavily and grinning. You saw Hobie leaning against the door to get backstage, arms folded over his chest and legs crossed.

When his eyes met yours he immediately pushed himself off of the wall and began walking to you, a grin on his face. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to kiss him or yell at him. “You were on top of it Love. That was amazing.”

“It would have been even better if you’d been here for the whole thing.” You replied without fully thinking. Well, you supposed it was going to be the latter now.

“I’m really sorry, something came up. I got here as fast as I could.” One of his hands went to your hip but you pushed past him.

“Unlike one of us here, I’m reliable and have to go help with load-out. Let’s talk about this later.”

“I ain’t the one picking a fight here Ma,” Hobie said, wrenching the door open and holding it for you. A twinge of annoyance had entered his voice which left you feeling both oddly satisfied and like a black hole had opened in the pit of your stomach. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it for the whole thing but I really tried to be here.”

“Yeah well, sometimes trying just isn’t enough. I’ve never missed a gig of yours. Except that one time I was really sick but that doesn’t count. And not only that, but this is the most important gig I’ve ever had.” You laid your guitar in its case and latched it shut with more force than was likely necessary. You unclipped the ring that had the key on it from your belt loop and locked the case with such a loud click for a moment you worried that you’d broken off the end in the lock before you pulled it out and put it back on your hip. “I always do my best to support you as much as I can and I haven’t been getting that in return lately. And Hobie I may love you more than even I understand but I am not just some rockstar’s girlfriend and I’m not going to be.”

“Okay.” Hobie’s face was unreadable as he reached out and grabbed your guitar case from where it still lay on the ground. Guilt already began settling in your stomach.

“Hobie-”

“Car’s in the back yeah?” His deep brown eyes didn’t look at you as he pushed the door open and walked out behind the venue.

[simp999]

Short Lived.

Pairing: Ken Midori x Reader

Series: Beyblade Burst

Wc: 5.4k (help)

A/N: A new friend got me back into beyblade and I needed to write for my old beloved. (Sorry splatoon manga fans, I'm still working on the next chapter!)

A/N 2: I know that the beyblade fans don't vibe on tumblr for the most part, but I am deprived of beyblade fanfic. Take it

Warnings: Ends with fluffy angst (Might make Ch.2 if anyone wants.)

Themes: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers(?)-Not officially lovers but like c'mon now

Masterlist

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you cut the loose threads from the glove you’re trying to sew back together. 

Last night, you had been training with your bey, but it seemed your glove had had enough of the years of sweat, abuse, and regular washes that it had gone through, and gave up on you. It had gotten you through many wins, and you doubt you’d find another just as comfortable since this one is now worn perfectly to your launching hand. You remembered that your school left the home ec. class open after hours, so you figured you’d give attempting to fix your glove a shot, which obviously wasn’t going well. The threads were too far apart, then too loose, then they just looked so badly done, you were ready to give up and buy a new one. Before you were able to fully get up from your seat, a boy came up to you - a brown puppet on one hand, and blue on the other.

The brown one began to talk in a goofy voice; “Hi there! Would you like some help? This guy here likes to think he’s pretty good at sewing.” The blue one cut him off, in a drastically different voice, “Yeah, ya seem to be strugglin’ a bit there.”

You could only stare at the person in amazement. What a skilled ventriloquist! Not only can he speak with minimal movement from his mouth, but he can switch voices so quickly! 

You dismiss your thoughts, remembering the situation at hand. You get a little flustered after examining how badly you managed to mess up your stitching this time, accepting the kind stranger’s offer.

“Yeah… That’d actually be really nice.”

The boy takes a seat in the chair beside you, making sure to keep some distance between you two. He takes off his puppets and places them on the table with care, reaching a hand out toward your glove, silently asking to borrow it. You hand the beaten and well-used glove over, and he carefully but efficiently undoes the miserable stitching that you did. It doesn’t take long before it’s all gone, and you’re mesmerised by the way he so quickly threads the needle and pokes it through the fabric, making seemingly perfect lines. You see that he’s not doing the usual stitch, and you study the way he continues for a bit. He gets about a third through the small hole in the glove before handing it back to you, putting his puppets back on his hands to explain how to do this new stitch. A backstitch. He explains how to do it with maximum efficiency, and tells you that this stitch is great for reinforcing the area, which is exactly what you need.

You’re much slower, and the lines are obviously less straight than his, but this is far better than any previous attempts. He waits for you, pointing out when you begin to put too much space between the holes, or any other details. In the meantime, he introduces himself. Well, the puppets introduce themselves and him. You smile at how cute Keru and Besu are, and marvel at their unique personalities. You quickly learn that Ken’s puppets are very important to him, and that he’s obviously been doing this type of thing since he was young. His skills only further prove that, for both sewing and ventriloquism.

You only notice that you’ve been looking at Ken a little too long when he brings Besu’s little hand up to his face to ‘wipe’ Ken’s cheek, Besu asking if there’s something stuck there. Your face heats up, realizing your mistake, and you quickly assure him that you’re just heavily impressed by his ventriloquism skills. You can see slight surprise cross his face, it seems people don’t often see how difficult his skill really is. Besu thanks you, while Keru boasts about how long Ken’s been practicing for. He gets on to mentioning his puppet shows, and the two of you talk for a bit. It’s cut short when you sheepishly ask him if he can tie the final knot for you.

You try on your glove on the way home, trying to remember all the little details of the person you just met. The spikey, fluffy-looking black hair he had, the comfortable green color scheme, even his little snaggle tooth was hard to miss. It felt like you two spoke for hours, even though it was only probably 20 or so minutes. The sun is halfway through setting, and you find yourself wanting to see him again. You’re sure he went to the same school, it was simply unlucky that he and you had separate classes.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

You spent the next couple of days paying more attention to your surroundings at school. Taking the longer routes to classes, walking around during lunch, and even getting out of class a couple of minutes early so you could try to wait at the front door. No luck. 

You didn’t really have anyone to hang out with, your - acquaintances at best - having their closer friends to hang out with. You didn’t mind, but there was something about the puppeteer that had you wanting more of his presence. He just seemed so… kind, and comforting. 

With no luck from your attempts, you decide to test out the bey stadium on top of the school. You heard rumors of it, but never bothered trying it out, favoring the one at the park and the one you had at home- you and your dad had built it. 

Before turning the corner, you heard the all too familiar sound of a bey spinning. You contemplated even going, but you were interested in potentially finding another skilled blader.

A boy with white hair and a black vest is fully concentrated on the red bey before him. You could bet that he’s counting the seconds that it’s spinning for, so you wait to make your presence known so as to not distract him. It spins for an impressive amount of time, and you wait for him to stand up and wipe the sweat from his forehead before approaching him.

“Can I help you?”

“I doubt it, but do you happen to know where I can find a boy named Ken? He wears mostly green, has two puppets-”

“Oh, Ken Midori. I believe he has a puppet show starting sometime soon in the main area of the mall.”

He finally looks at you head-on, and you recognize him. He’s known to be an extremely skilled blader, supposedly the best at school. Shu Kurenai. You pretend to not know him, and you thank him for his time before making your way to the mall. You’ve always tried to keep your beyblading lifestyle on the down-low, changing up your appearance in battle and only really practicing alone. Beyblading isn’t your only personality trait. 

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

You smile at all the little kids who are sat down in front of the booth, and imagine all the thankful parents who can finally get somewhat of a break. The story follows an over-confident but weak hero who can’t manage to beat a dragon. Help arrives, and you’re quick to recognize the two puppets and their voices. Your smile grows, and you excitedly wait for the end. No, not the end of the cute story being played, you’re excited to go see the boy managing those two adorable puppets. Though, the story is still engaging and fun. They sure are experienced at what they do.

The puppets bow to their audience, and the curtains close. While kids begin to shuffle through the crowd to meet up with their parents, you carefully make your way over to the booth, watching out for any green and black. A lady comes up to you and asks if she can help with anything, and you see that she has a puppet on one of her hands, one from the show.

“Oh, yes! I’m looking for Ken?”

She nods and calls out his name, and the boy makes his way over to the lady, only spotting you afterward. Besu’s the first to talk:

“Oh! You made it to our show!”

“I was pretty sharp out there, right?!” Keru intervenes, and Besu doesn’t want to feel left out, so the two begin some light banter. Ken breaks it up by giving his two puppets a glare, then he makes them bow their heads, as if they felt bad. You stifle a laugh at the scene before you, happy that you got your own mini show. Ken’s smile slightly grows, and his mother notices, so she tries to give him a little push.

“How about you two go hang out for a while? We’ve got everything covered here, and that’s the last show of the night. As long as Ken’s home by 8:30.”

You bring your hands together to play with the hem of your sleeve, feeling bad about taking her kid away for a bit.

“I don’t mind helping if you’d like?”

“Don’t worry about it, you two go have fun!”

The two of you stand in silence as his mom leaves. Ken’s not sure if he should be frustrated or thankful that his mom just threw him right outside his comfort zone, but either way, he’s stuck with you now.

You check the time on your phone, 6:07.

“We’ve got a couple hours, is there anywhere you’d like to go? Or… We are already at the mall, if you’d like to just walk around?”

Ken admits through Besu that he never really got to check out the mall. You’ve lived in this city your whole life, which means you know this mall quite well. You’re quick to drag him, metaphorically, to your favorite stores that you think he’d like. The two of you find some stickers you like, some shirts, and anything else you find interesting that’s also reasonably priced. You surprise him with a keychain of a cartoon-y dog that looks an awful lot like Besu. He looks happy to receive it, Besu doing a little dance while holding it between his little paws, but Keru crosses his arms and huffs.

You turn around to show him a keychain that you already had attached to your bag, which resembled Keru. Keru’s attitude quickly changes, remarking that he’s the better one because you have his keychain. He and Besu get into another small fight, and you’re once again reminded of Ken’s amazing skill as a ventriloquist.

The night flies by, but you’ve definitely gotten more comfortable with each other. This time, you didn’t forget to exchange contact information, so now you two can plan meet-up times. Once you wave goodbye to Ken, he stands in the middle of the quiet mall, feeling the same way you did after your first meeting. He’s never had a friend before, and he’s deciding that he’d be happy to have you as his first.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

For the next few months, the two of you began hanging out outside of class. You introduce him to places you enjoy, finding out that he really likes this one clear opening in the woods not too far from your home. You went once during the day, finally trusting him enough to show him your special comfort spot. There are lots of flowers, and you even added fairy lights and a few blankets to lay on, thanks to your mom. When moving the branches away from your face and holding them away for Ken, you explain that you like to come here when you want a break from reality, or to just enjoy nature as it is.

“People are always so bombarded with lights, buildings, cars, loud noises, and the like, so we don’t often get to have 'us' time. It’s much prettier at night, we should try to convince your mom to let you stay out a bit later one night. Maybe on a weekend?”

“We often have lots of plays on the weekends, but I think our first one for next Sunday is later in the day, so if we go next Saturday night after the play it should work.” He still uses his puppets to speak, and you still love them just as much as the first day they spoke to you. They are really cute and fun, after all.

“Alright, a week and a half from now, then! Don’t forget!” Ken nods, excited to see what this place looks like at night. It seems you put lots of care into the surrounding area.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

The next day, you had planned to meet up after school. At the end of your last class of the day, you get a text from your favorite ventriloquist saying his club is having an emergency meeting. You were really hoping to hang out with him, and you wouldn’t mind if there are other people around, so you ask if his club would be okay with you lingering around. He thinks about it, and figured that his friends wouldn’t mind, so the two of you meet up and you follow him to the roof.

You quietly follow behind him, a little nervous about meeting his friends. You wouldn’t usually be like this, but these are Ken’s friends, so there was a good chance you’d be seeing them time and time again. 

The first one to pep up is a boy with short, blond hair, he seems to be pretty eccentric. His energy is really fun and he gives off good vibes, it feels like being around him could put you in a better mood overall, which is nice. You wave at him after he points you out, and he gives you a bright grin. You notice Shu nod at you, you’re surprised he must have remembered you. The next to speak is a shorter boy with dark blue hair, and it’s a little hard to make out what he’s saying thanks to how fast he’s talking. Something about asking if you’re Ken’s friend, then about blading.

What was that about blading? It seems the friend group quieted down after he asked you the question, also wanting an answer. Noticing your lost expression, the blondie from earlier repeats his friend’s question.

“Do you do any beyblading?”

You could tell them, but you don’t like it when your name gets out there.

“Not that much.”

“But you have a bey?”

“...Yeah.”

The blue-haired boy is quick to challenge you to a battle, but you’re not really feeling up to it. You’re not a big fan of showing off your skills to any unnecessary opponents. You don’t also want to make a fool of yourself. The ‘meeting’ goes on, and they discuss an upcoming tournament. The plan for this meeting is just to battle. They introduce themselves to you one by one, then decide that they’re going to do a tournament-style set of battles. They don’t have enough players for it to start out evenly, though. They manage to convince you to join, and you agree on the condition that you get to battle Ken in the first round. It’s the only way you’d be able to hold back.

Anyone else and you’d end up with a quick and effortless burst finish.

Valt’s up first against Honcho- or Rantaro, you’re not sure which name to use since he introduced himself as Honcho, but all the others called him Rantaro. You’re surprised at how much skill is shown before you, you may have underestimated these players. Not like it matters, though. It’s then Shu against Daigo, and you already know the outcome before it starts. Finally, you end up against Ken.

You both take your positions, and you opt to not do any strength-inducing launches, so you keep it basic. You already know exactly how this match is going to do. Your eyes flicker up from the stadium to Ken, and he looks really focused on where he intends to send his bey. He makes it all too obvious that he’s going straight to the center. You barely give the launch 15% of your power, and you let him win with a survivor finish.

As if you’d have the heart to hurt him - Well, his ego. You congratulate him on the win, and remind the gang that you don’t blade that much, with a hand stretching the back of your head and a half-smile.

“No worries! At least now our tournament can continue!”

You lean back on the bench, examining the players’ battle styles. You focus mainly on Ken’s of course, and he’s a lot stronger than you had anticipated. You watch the battle between him and Valt, the underdog pulling through. It almost looked like a stroke of complete luck that he’d won against Ken, but as much as you’d like to say that, an experienced blader’s eyes like yours could catch the hidden skill that Valt has.

He comes and sits beside you, encouraging his friends. You tag along, rooting for them. Daigo sits on the other side of you, since there isn’t anywhere else to sit and his legs are tired. The two of you don’t exchange any words, but you gain a mutual respect for each other. You like his style, and he approves of you as Ken’s friend, you seem like a good pair to him. He won’t say that aloud, though.

That weekend, Ken calls you to see if you can hang out. You try your best to never turn him down, even ditching plans just to hang out with him, but you’ve got a battle in a tournament that you can’t miss. You feel bad about it, but it can’t be helped. You tell him that you’re busy, and he assures you that it’s alright and he’ll just go watch his friends battle.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

You throw on your hood and a cloth facemask, adjusting the elastics on the sides to be comfortable. This mask is really breathable, and has a cool design that consists of two rows of cartoony sharp teeth. It’s perfect for concealing your identity while you blade.

Your opponent is already up on stage when you walk up, Hanami announcing you as the Mysterious blader, only known as X. You take a glance at the crowd, there seems to be more people showing up at your battles as time goes on. You refuse to go easy when it comes to important battles, so you steady your arms and plant your feet for maximum power.

3, 2, 1, LET IT RIP!

The crowd cheers, and your hood slips down from the force of your launch. That’s why the mask is important. The hand resting next to your hips subtly brings up three fingers. Then it hides one. One left. As you bring down your index, the opponent’s bey bursts. Six seconds, it seems you were feeling generous today.

Another quick glance at the crowd was intended only to observe their reaction, but your eyes caught someone unexpected. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The puppets on his hands seemed to be as surprised as him, their mouths wide open. Before he can make any sort of movement as your eyes linger on him, you shuffle over to the changing room. You try to be subtle when you leave, checking around corners before walking past, but that someone still manages to find you. He runs up to you, hugging you excitedly, but still gently, from behind, having Besu voice his excitement.

“I knew it was you!”

Keru’s quick to add on,

“Why didn’t ya go all out against Ken, though? You’re a really strong blader!”

You take a quick look around, making sure that nobody else is in the area before taking off the mask and hoodie.

“I wanna keep it on the down low. Getting challenged left and right isn’t too fun. And I didn’t have the heart to go all out.”

The last part was muttered, but Ken heard it. He chose to ignore it, though.

“You don’t enjoy lots of battles?” Besu sounded like he was a mix of sad and curious.

“Well, I’ll be honest, I underestimated your friends. I didn’t think they’d be fun to battle, but I might just have to one of these days. I’ll only do it in a competition, though.”

Ken nods, then stands still for a second. It seems there’s a lot running through his mind. His smile grows all of a sudden, and he hugs you again.

“We need to battle for real sometime, okay?”

You embrace the hug, then let go, with your hands still on his hips. You nod, agreeing to it. You may not have the heart to go all out right away, but you’re sure that if you do it enough, one day you two could have a really all-out, fun battle. The two of you have to go separate ways since it’s dinner time, but not before you promise to battle him often.

As you walk off, he finds himself staring at you in amazement. That opponent surely wasn’t weak, you were already a couple of rounds deep in the tournament. He had come to watch the previous battle, which featured Valt, but ended up staying because he was curious about Valt’s possible future opponents. He had gotten quite the reality check instead, realizing how awesome his friend is. Yeah…friend. 

That moment, Ken makes a big decision: 'That’s going to have to change. Next weekend.'

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

The next couple of days go by as usual, having lunch with the beyclub, and hanging out with Ken a couple of times throughout the week. Although, It’s hard to miss the way he seems to slowly inch closer to you when he’s near you, or how he may have messaged you a little more often than usual, asking how you were or if you remembered to eat. 

But Tuesday, that all stopped. He went quiet. You didn’t receive a 'Good morning, see you at school!' text. He didn’t have Besu pitch into the conversation, nor did he have Keru butt in with any snarky remarks during the beyclub battles after school. He still answered when spoken to, but he seemed very… out of it. Dazed? Like he had something else on his mind. You were worried about him, especially since you planned on hanging out with him in a couple of days. You have been planning this late-night meeting for a while now, and you really hoped that he still intended on coming.

But he didn’t move away when you moved closer to him, and he didn’t flinch when you put your hand in his and rubbed your thumb against it. You wanted him to know that you’d be there for him, no matter what. You wanted to so badly tell him that you- no. That can wait.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

The night finally came. The sun was almost done setting, and Ken still hadn’t made it to your house yet. Now this was getting worrying. After debating for a few minutes, you finally sent him a text.

[“Hey, we’re still on tonight, right?”]

[“Of course, I’m on my way.”]

You let out a sigh of relief, unsure of why you ever doubted him. Of course you could trust him, he was the person that you were closest to, the person you cared about the most. 

You look up from your dark phone screen when you hear hurried footsteps. Ken speaks through Besu, telling you that his mom wanted help deep-cleaning the house. You give him a nod, and you gently grab his hand, (you grab Keru?), and lead him to your favorite clearing. You move the branches away, being careful as to not let them smack Ken when you let go.

Ken doesn’t notice that you two have made it to the clearing until you announce it, probably because the fairy lights weren’t on. You lead him to the blanket, getting him to make himself comfortable before finally turning on the lights with a “ta-daaa~”

You had meant for all this to feel a little silly, wanting to get rid of the tense atmosphere, but you immediately saw just about every worry leave Ken’s eyes as the lights flickered on. It’s like he was finally made aware of how dreamy the world could be, and it almost seemed as if his eyes twinkled when they met yours. 

Must have just been the lights. 

You sit beside him, eventually deciding to lie down once your arms got too strained from holding yourself up. The only thing filling the silence was the quiet buzzing of any nearby bugs, and the crickets. Ken let himself fall from his sitting position not too long after you did, and he was quick to pull you close to him. Impossibly close, even, as he had your head laying on his chest.

He’s never been this bold before, and you can easily tell that he’s nervous with how hard his heart is beating. You snuggle closer, if possible, and you’re almost on the brink of falling asleep. Before you can though, the fairy lights die out, allowing you to see the infinite amount of stars above you. There’s no better time than now.

“Hey.”

Ken slightly adjusts his head so his eyes can meet yours, but you don’t share his glance.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

His breath hitches. You catch the way his chest no longer moves up and down, and your lips waver, afraid you may have made a mistake. He most definitely understood what was implied, his reaction making it a dead giveaway. 

It’s silent for what feels like hours, the only thing breaking it being his uneven breath. Then, his light sobs. You immediately half-sit up, focusing all your attention on Ken. 

There’s a big, strained smile on his face, the kind that only shows when you’re the last person trying to convince yourself that everything’s alright. It begins to fade, and tears only begin to fall faster when you envelop him in a hug. He hugs you tighter, tighter than he ever has before, almost like he’s afraid to lose you. No, as if he’s afraid to leave you. 

You back off by a couple inches when his weak hold finally allows it, and you bring a hand up to wipe one of the many tears from his cheek. You eventually have to courage to raise enough for Ken to hear.

“Ken…did I say something wrong? I never meant to hurt you, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s not your fault that you loved me.”

You both sit in silence. Your hand weakly starts to weigh itself down, away from his face, while he avoids any kind of eye contact. This was the first time you heard his voice.

“I…I don’t want to leave. I can’t just leave you, you mean so much to me!”

He begins to ramble, and it starts to become hard to understand him when the tears come right back.

“Ken, my love, I’d never leave you. What makes you think-”

“No, no, my family. My family’s puppet shows are making me travel. I have to change schools. I have to leave. I have to leave you.”

.

.

.

“Oh.”

That’s what that meant. 

He’s leaving. 

You may never see each other again.

“...When?”

“I need to start packing tomorrow. I also need to tell the bey club.”

You nod absentmindedly, you mind trying to come up with any possible, futile ways to keep him here. When nothing useful comes up, you slowly reach your hands around his torso and lay down. He allows it.

He can feel a wet spot form on his shirt, but he only embraces you tighter. He strokes your hair as gently as he can, resisting the urge to burst out into tears again. It’s much harder when the love of his life is past that point, lying on his chest, and there isn’t much else he can do as comfort.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

You awake the next morning to rays of sunshine crossing your face, and you groggily attempt to sit up, but the arms wrapped around you won’t allow it. You quickly recognize the fluffy, black hair you grew so used to, and the area in the woods that you loved so much. That was all you needed as confirmation that no, none of what had happened was a dream. Your eyes want to well up again, but your body refuses, still tired from last night.

Finally, Ken’s grip loosens a bit when he takes in the situation as well, but it quickly tightens again when the two of you are sat back up.

“Don’t you still have to tell the beyclub?”

“...Yeah.”

Ken makes no effort to move until you do, grabbing his hand and letting him take the lead to wherever he had planned on meeting the club. Before he turned the corner, he takes a deep breath in and plasters the usual smile on his face. You hadn’t let go of his hand, so he currently only has Besu on. 

You don’t plan on letting go any time soon.

Xander ends up interrupting the beyclub, and you all find yourselves at the Shakadera Dojo, the Beyclub battling the Swordflames. Halfway through the team battles, Daigo finally speaks up about something being off about Ken, and he slips his hand out of yours, swiftly making his way out of the dojo. You follow the beyclub, finally ending up at the top of a cliff, where they question Ken. 

You know it hurts. 

It hurts, even more, to say it out loud.

“Want me to tell them?”

He quickly looks your way, and his face is mixed with surprise, panic, sadness, and many other emotions. A slight nod towards you, and you somehow manage to utter out the words that Ken couldn’t. Only once it came to the part about him not wanting to leave could he finally speak up, and you could tell his eyes were starting to gloss over again, same as yours. It almost seemed as if a heavy weight was taken off his shoulders, only to be replaced with a heavier one. The clear emotions being shown by his friends didn’t help, and that made him want to get away as soon as possible.

Not paying attention to his surroundings, the rock beneath him crumbles, making him slip. He closes his eyes, preparing for the worst.

He opens his eyes to see your face, jam-packed with adrenaline. You pull him back up thanks to the help of the beyclub, and the two of you sit for a second, trying to comprehend everything that just happened. 

Then, Daigo lays out the idea that everyone will still be friends no matter where you are. That gives the rest of the club hope, and Ken’s eyes fill with determination. The two of you stand up, and you piggy-back off off Daigo’s idea, assuring him that you’ll be there for him no matter where you are. 

You refuse to let go of his hand once again, up until he has to get into the truck to make his way to his new home.

“Hey, don’t forget to shoot me a text anytime, okay?” 

Your nerves are getting the better of you, but Ken reassures you that he’ll keep in contact. He pulls you in for one last hug.

He doesn’t let go until his mom calls to him, and even then he waits another minute.

“I love you. And distance won’t change that. Don’t get hung up on me, though, go enjoy life.”

You let out a sad chuckle,

“As if I could ever move on. I’ll still love you, even with the distance.”

One last deep breath and he gets in the truck that begins to drive off.

The beyclub members shout their last goodbyes and you give the last word;

“Be safe, Love!”

May.21.23

[grrlsoft]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ save it for later : eddie munson

summary : when caught sleeping in class, you're sent to the first detention you've ever had in your high school career. little do you know, a certain metalhead will make your punishment just a bit more bearable.

pairing : Eddie Munson x gn!reader

author's note : cranking out these eddie fics at the speed of light oh my LORD my motivation to write for him is endless. anyway, meet cute with eddie type beat. if you're thinking of my fics as a series, this would technically be the beginning of it

song inspo is save it for later by the english beat :)

warnings : none! just eddie and reader being cute and silly.

this fic is spoiler free !!

a sudden rush of pain breaks you from a peaceful sleep as your head meets your hardwood desk with a loud smack. you groan as your sleepy eyes blink open, unaccustomed to the garish, fluorescent lighting of your english class. it's cold (Hawkins High is infamous for its poor heating) and you wish you could go back to sleep.

as you try and wake yourself up, you slowly start to realize how unusually silent everything is. no students are gossiping behind you, no papers rustling or loud chewing of gum. not even the teacher is speaking. 

this is also when you realize that the reason for this abnormal silence is because all the students in the class are staring at you. 

you raise your head fully (which you soon think to be a mistake), and your eyes meet the glare of your english teacher, Mrs. Bradley, her glasses poised just below her unamused stare. you flush suddenly, realizing what has happened. 

"well, (y/n), since you are so very clearly paying attention, would you mind telling us about a theme from The Great Gatsby?" she asks you, obviously setting you up for failure. you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. 

"I-I don't really-" you attempt, but she cuts you off with a disappointed shake of her head, accompanied by a sigh. 

you sink into your chair as you feel your cheeks and the back of your neck burn with embarrassment, and the students around you chuckle. you wish to become one with the carpeted floor, you think to yourself, a little piece of lint, perhaps. 

you don't pay any more attention to the rest of the lecture as Mrs. Bradley directs her tyranny on other fellow classmates of yours, but you are soon freed from suffering as the bell rings. you collect your books and backpack and are only a few moments away from getting up out of your desk, but the vision of a bright pink paper being placed in front of you breaks your hopeful illusion of respite. 

you stare down at it and say nothing. you're eyes do not meet Mrs. Bradley's. 

"(y/n), this is the third time you've fallen asleep in class this semester," she states rather condescendingly, as if you don't already know. "I'm sorry, but this behavior will not be tolerated. you will be in Mr. Robinson's room for detention after school." 

you are silent and the only student left in the room. your don't dare to touch the detention slip, and Mrs. Bradley has to remind you to leave for lunch after you've sat idle for two whole minutes. 

you crumple it up and stuff it in your pocket as you stride down the hallway. you want to light it on fire, or maybe bury it in the forest behind the school, but you don't have a lighter, or know anyone with quick access to a shovel.

you sit in your spot underneath the bleachers in the empty Hawkins High gymnasium and think for a long while about everything that's happened. a part of you feels like dying, this being the first detention you've ever gotten in the history of, well, ever, and you're worried about what your mother will think. you plan on possibly leaving it unmentioned and seeing what happens (the Hawkins administration was known for rarely contacting parents). and besides, it wasn't your fault that you had been spending the last three months listening to records and watching MTV until four in the morning. you only had so long to be a teenager, and doing those things was far more important to you than Mrs. Bradley's english class.

but, that isn't to say that you don't care about your grades, because you do. you aren't a star student, probably not valedictorian material, but you'd like to think that you're decently smart. you don't want to flunk her class, no matter how boring it may be. 

you sigh and rest your head on the back of the bleachers. even if detention was only an hour long, you know that it's an hour of your life that you'll never get back. 

eventually, the end of the day comes around and the final bell feels more like it's laughing at you rather than allowing you to go home. you take your time walking to your locker, collecting all your belongings while also mentally preparing yourself for impending doom. who else would be in detention with you? surely all of the school delinquents, who you were not excited to see. you fully expected to leave school with gum stuck in your hair. 

you clutch your backpack tightly as you make your way to Mr. Robinson's room. the hallways are eerily empty, it being a wednesday afternoon where everyone has gone home already, and your heart jumps in your chest when your eyes land on the door to Mr. Robinson's room. 

you stand in front of the door for a long while, hand hovering over the doorknob as you remind yourself to take slow, deep breaths. it'll be fine, you tell yourself, it's just one detention. how bad could it be? 

you inhale sharply and open the door as quietly as possible. to your surprise, you are met with a very empty classroom, besides one person sitting at a desk in the middle of the room. 

you squint and you think that you recognize him. you've seen that head of frizzy hair before, and that ratty old baseball tee with the words "HELLFIRE CLUB" printed on it, but you aren't completely sure since there is a single piece of loose-leaf notebook paper draped across his face, obscuring his features from view. weird, you think to yourself, but okay. 

"oh, I see we have a newcomer," Mr. Robinson's words distract you from staring at the brown haired boy. you blink at him and say nothing, watching as his eyes scan the roster in his hands. "hmm, (y/n)?" 

you nod and his eyes look out at the room. you stifle a laugh at how the sunlight bounces off his bald head. he gestures to a seat next to the boy you had been staring at before. 

"how about you sit next to Mr. Munson. then I can keep an eye on you both," he suggests, and you follow his request. you cautiously walk over to the desk and sit down. the chair makes a loud creaking noise and you cringe.

Mr. Robinson relays some of the basic rules of detention (no talking, no doing homework, no reading, no drawing, no gum chewing, etc.) but you don't really hear him. you're too busy trying to come up with an excuse to tell your mother as to why you had gotten home late. 

you take a glance at the boy next to you and watch as he attempts to blow the piece of paper off of his face, emphasis on attempts. you bite back a smile as it slides off suddenly, revealing his face.

if Mr. Robinson's words didn't tell you enough, this definitely was the Eddie Munson. 

his features contort into an expression of annoyance as he looks at the paper that's now on the floor, until he locks eyes with you. you blush, startled by his sudden, curious gaze. he blinks at you, and then grins. it dazzles you momentarily.

"hi," he mouths. you tuck a piece of hair behind your hair and smile at him, not daring to reply. you're slightly frightened; you've heard the rumors about him.

but the longer you look at him for, he's more handsome than you thought. you have only seen him at a distance, from his frequent speeches from the tops of lunch tables in the cafeteria, but now you have come to realize how good-looking he truly was. his hair is messy and unkempt, rings adorning several of his fingers and multiple pins stuck haphazardly onto his denim vest; all giving him a very boyish, rough sort of look. 

but his eyes, oh, that changed everything. they're big and brown and beautiful, almost puppy-like. you're starting to think that he's the most adorable thing you've ever seen, as well as being just plain handsome.

you watch as he carefully picks the paper off of the floor, digging around in his pocket for a long moment. he pulls out a heavily chewed on pencil and scribbles something down on the page, then, as his large, brown eyes glance from you to Mr. Robinson, places it on your desk.

with shaking hands you take it, and Eddie watches you with a hopeful expression on his face. you look down at the paper. 

"hi," it reads in barely legible handwriting, "I'm Eddie." 

you smile a little and look over at him, and he sticks his tongue out at you. you roll your eyes and carefully pull out your own pencil, writing down your name. as discreetly as you can, you pass it back to the frizzy haired boy. his eyes scan it quickly and he writes down something else, sliding it over to you once again. 

"first time?" it reads. you write a quick yes, unfortunately and hand it back to him. he looks at you with a funny expression for a moment and then goes back to writing. you worry that Mr. Robinson will hear the sound of his pencil lead scratching against the paper. Eddie returns it to you.

"what are you in for?" it says. "destruction of property? vandalism? murder???" 

murder is underlined three times and you grin fondly while writing that you were being punished for sleeping in class.

Eddie takes the paper, scribbles something once again, and places it on your desk.

"quite the offense," he wrote. you look at him with a knowing gaze and write that you felt that Mrs. Bradley was just being as authoritarian as always. you also decide to add a little drawing of her, complete with her greasy, permed hair and bright red glasses.

you pass it back to Eddie and a wide smile breaks out onto his handsome face, clearly pleased with your drawing. he chuckles silently as you watch him think for a moment, pencil tapping against his desk, and he suddenly starts scribbling again. after a few long moments, he gives you back the paper without a sound. 

it doesn't say anything, but you notice that he's added little devil horns and a tail to your crude doodle. you laugh silently and draw her so she's clutching a pitchfork.

this exchange goes on for a few minutes, you and Eddie adding to your drawing. it gets worse and worse until you have to tell yourself to stop, unless you want to run the risk of bursting into laughter.

Eddie keeps looking at you and you keep looking at him. something about the way his eyes stare into your own makes your heart skip a beat. you don't think you've felt this way about anyone before. you aren't sure if this is your heart being excited at the possibility of making a friend, or something more.

but regardless, it would be good to make a friend. at least one.

instead of drawing anything else offensive, you write something down about how you've seen Eddie around before and ask for his class schedule, but he doesn't get very much time to read it before Mr. Robinson stands up suddenly. 

"Mr. Munson, what do you think you're doing?" he asks. Eddie's wide eyes shoot up to meet the bald man's gaze. he shrugs dumbly.

"writing lines, obviously," he says, putting his hand on his heart, "I promise to never ever threaten to punch Jason or any other imbecile- sorry I mean jock, even if they hit me in the back of the head with their stupid basketball and also rightfully deserve it." 

Mr. Robinson isn't pleased with his answer. "give the paper to me, please," he says as he holds out a hand. 

Eddie looks from him, to the paper, then to you. he raises his eyebrows in your direction flirtatiously and you wonder what is going on inside his head. his gaze is then drawn to the open window, and with seemingly all the force in his body, he crumples up the paper and throws it out the window. 

his eyes return to Mr. Robinson's astonished face and he smiles devilishly. 

"oops. my hand slipped." 

something that sounds like a snort leaves your mouth involuntarily. you cover your mouth with your hand and Mr. Robinson's head snaps to look at you. so does Eddie's.

"is something funny, (y/n)?" Mr. Robinson scowls.

"n-no sir. of course not," you shake your head profusely and he slowly sits down, covering his face with his hands. 

on instinct, you turn to face Eddie and find him already looking at you, grinning brightly. you return the smile with your own and watch as he leans back into his chair, his eyes wandering over your figure. he seems to be examining you. 

you flush and avert your gaze to the ground. you had never been in a situation like this before, where someone had seemingly taken so much interest in you. it leaves you a little dumbfounded. 

you and Eddie exchange frequent glances for the rest of the hour. he seems to have a bit of a staring problem, and maybe you do too. occasionally his foot slides over to your own and he pokes your leg with one of his white shoes. once Mr. Robinson's timer goes off, he dismisses the two of you with a long sigh. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Eddie," he adds as the two of you are halfway out the door. Eddie shoots him finger guns and closes the door. 

"well that was fun," Eddie says, stopping in the middle of the hallway. it feels strange to be with him, just the two of you. you had never spoken to him prior to this moment. 

"you could say that…" you reply slowly. he starts walking and gestures to you to follow him. 

"sad I had to throw away that drawing of Mrs. Bradley," he looks at you expectantly. "you drew her perfectly. wanted to frame it."

chuckle and shake your head. "I hope nobody finds that. our names are on there."

"oh I wouldn't worry about it. nobody can read my handwriting anyway," he hums, "but you on the other hand..."

"geez, throwing me under the bus that quick, huh?" you scoff at his remark. he looks at you and smiles toothily.

"sure, since that means you'll probably get detention again."

it takes you a moment to process what he's saying and you blush when you finally understand. he stares at you with that charming smile and pretty eyes and your stomach can't help but fill with butterflies. you look at a row of lockers and fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater.

"so, first detention, huh?" he asks you, changing the subject. you nod. 

"yeah. I have no idea what I'm gonna tell my mom," you say, sighing. Eddie hums and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

"well, it's not like you were in for anything bad," he says. he then spins around to stand in front of you. 

"oh, I got it!" he exclaims. "just tell her you were hanging out with me!" 

you pause at his words and cock your head to the side. 

"uh, yeah, that would work really well, actually," you reply, becoming more adjusted to the idea the more you think about it. although you would have to tell your mother you were hanging out with the school's resident metalhead and D&D maniac, at least she would know that you had made a friend. 

"see? I'm full of great ideas," Eddie smirks at you. 

"too bad those great ideas don't get you out of detention," you tease, and he feigns an expression of deep offense at your words. he clutches his chest and you laugh loudly, the noise bouncing off the walls of the hallway. Eddie's heart flutters at the sound. 

perhaps that detention you had gotten worked more in your favor than you initially thought.

[fcble]

GREAT THINGS, PART II

"For God's gifts and his call are irrevocable." — Romans, 11:29.

In which Haksu's life falls apart. FEATURING: Kang Haksu, Lee Taein, Yoon Mingeun, Lim Byeonghwi, Fable ensemble WORD COUNT: 6.7k WARNINGS / NOTES: Discussions of stalking and blackmail, more heavy-handed religious themes. You can read the first part here! Not very proofread. Sorry in advance for the mistakes I definitely made. I wanted to finish this closer to the beginning of April than the end but it is what it is. I also fucked up the timeline a little bit compared to some other pieces. This is the more canon one.

DECEMBER 2017

You pass Taein's little tests with flying colors. You’re Hercules, and these are your trials. First, your one month trial period. In the beginning, it is hard. There are days when you think you can’t make it at all, when you think maybe it would be better if you gave up, that a mediocre life is not so bad. After all, most people live mediocre lives. You aren't most people.

Second, it becomes apparent by your third or fourth day that the other trainees—namely Mingeun and Jaeseop—have a vendetta against you. Mingeun leads the independent dance practices, because he has the most experience, despite being the second youngest in the room. It throws you for a loop at first—how one nineteen year old can have the same amount of idol training as everyone else combined. You don’t enjoy taking direction from him. He singles you out, though you don’t trip over your feet any more than Andrew or Intak, and asks you to repeat sections over and over again until he’s satisfied. He isn’t good at giving instructions. He’ll tell you that something is wrong, crossing his arms with his back to the mirror, but not what exactly is wrong. It doesn’t take long for you to realize he’s doing this on purpose. He doesn’t want you to succeed, and he’ll hold you back himself. You won’t let yourself be bullied by someone younger than you, so you force yourself to take his advice seriously and listen earnestly. It’s a battle of wills, and you’re going to win. 

Jaeseop is a different story. He treats you differently because you’re an outsider. He’s been with Zenith Entertainment the longest because Taein is his uncle, a fact that you learn not from him, but from Kiyoung, and then do your best to take in stride. It becomes even more important for you to impress him. He holds you at an arm's distance anyway. You can't understand it. He seems so protective of everyone else, drawing a clear line between you and them. You try, again and again, to get to know him. He gives you the cold shoulder every time, answering your questions in short sentences or single words, like he’s mimicking Intak’s speech patterns. You have to be on his good side, because you know he’s reporting everything that relates to you back to Taein. You imagine what he says about you: you don’t fit in, you’re different, they would be better off without you. The thoughts keep you up at night, despite the bone-deep tiredness that you haven’t been able to shake since you joined the company.

Third, Taein extends your trial period weeks and months at a time. You make it through your first month, and he seems surprised to see you in his office again, come the new year. He changes it up on you, amending the parameters of your old deal.

“A month isn’t nearly long enough to learn how someone works,” he tells you. “Take a job, for instance. A new employee doesn’t immediately know everything about the position, or fit into the workplace culture. There’s always a training period.”

You haven't had the type of job he's describing, so you sit in his office and nod along. Your trial month becomes a two month trial, then a three month trial. You wear down Jaeseop and Mingeun one at a time, until they have no choice but to acknowledge you.

When your third month is over, Taein doesn't say anything. You assume you passed all his tests. You're officially a trainee now, a member of whatever Taein is planning.

Then it's summer, and everything changes.

You're going to debut. Of course, you knew this from the beginning. So did everyone else, because that's what you told them the day you joined.

Your debut announcement comes in the newly renovated meeting room. You were unaware there were still changes being made to the building, of construction going on on the floor above you. You chalk it up to being so intensely involved in your training.

Nevertheless, you sit in a spinning chair at the end of a long table, the lights dimmed to illustrate the presentation that Taein and his assistant, Yuxuan, are giving on your upcoming debut. Your group name is Fable. Your debut is slated for August 8, 2018, your twenty-first birthday. It must be fate. Your concept will be representative of Korea, and Intak is writing your debut song. More importantly, you’re going to be the main vocalist. You can feel Mingeun’s murderous gaze from across the table.

After the group announcement, Yuxuan pulls you aside and tells you Taein wishes to speak with you, individually. You don't know what that's about, but you agree. You assume he wants to speak to everyone individually.

When you’re in Taein’s office again a day later, you aren’t worried. Then he locks the door behind you, and you start to worry. You feel like you've spent more time in here than practicing with the rest of Fable, though you know that can't be right. It's the way time stretches and slows when you're sitting in front of Taein.

“You’re in a very unique position,” he says.

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” you say. You can’t show weakness. “I want our deal to continue through my debut.”

“No.” Taein’s response is immediate. 

“Then Eunyoung-ssi will learn of your infidelity,” you say, almost apologetic.

“And you’ll ruin any chance you have of debuting.”

That would be a problem for you, but you have to pretend it doesn’t matter. You shrug. “You’re so close to finally debuting a group. Isn’t this what you left SM to do? You’ve spent so much time and money on us. It’d be a shame to throw it all away now.”

You can feel him faltering. You’ve pressed all the right buttons. You push them further. “I’m going to be the face of Fable, and you’re going to make that happen.”

Taein leans back in his seat. “So that’s what all of this is about. You’re desperate for your five minutes of fame. I can’t make anyone famous. It won’t fall into your lap.”

You hold his gaze. “You can buy it. I want every opportunity that Fable gets. If there aren’t any, you’ll make some.” You assume he has deep pockets. He can’t produce an idol group without them.

“There are other, easier ways to become famous,” Taein says, sounding almost amused. “Being an idol is a fickle position.”

It's the position you chose. You won't back down now.

"You drive a hard bargain," he continues. "I seem to have been backed into a corner." It doesn't really seem like that to you, but you keep your mouth shut, in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’ll be the face of Fable, and in return, you’ll keep my secrets to yourself.”

You nod again, this time maybe too enthusiastically. “Deal.”

Taein holds his hand out and you shake it, suddenly feeling lighter. You’re going to debut. You’re going to do great things.

“Jaeseop spoke highly of you,” he says as he unlocks the door.

You pause. “He did?”

“He admires your tenacity and your ability to work with people who don’t want to work with you. He also said you might be more stubborn that Mingeun, which may not be a compliment.”

You beam at the praise. You choose to interpret that last part as a compliment.

You’re halfway out the door, a skip in your step, when Taein stops you again. “One last thing. What were you studying?”

"Business administration," you answer. "I dropped out at the end of the school year."

He nods. "It suits you. You should consider going back."

You aren't too sure what to make of that.

APRIL 2021

You build your house with paper cards, yet you’re surprised when it comes tumbling down. You think you should have seen it coming. There were signs: Taein started work earlier and left later. Sometimes he’d stay overnight, locked up in his office, doing God knows what. You try to ask Jaeseop about him. He brushes you off and tells you not to worry. You spend a few days in that limbo between caring and not caring, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong and minding your own business.

Then the news breaks. It comes from Mingeun in the group chat—nothing more than taein’s wife is divorcing him lol. Then he changes the subject and asks if anyone’s seen his headphones. Jaeseop confirms it a minute later, then asks if you can all not talk about it.

It slights you more than it should. You know Mingeun and Jaeseop are close. You know Mingeun never takes no for an answer. You still want to be part of that in-group that gets to know the full story as it develops. 

When the news breaks in public a couple of days later, you keep track. That’s your responsibility, after ll, your finger on the pulse of any news, good or bad, about you and about Fable. You read through the reputable sources, then the less reputable ones. They talk about Taein’s past: his first divorce, his less than amicable departure from SM Entertainment, how a small company could finance a debut with as many promotions as Fable had—and all the opportunities you had. Then the next major news story breaks, and everyone forgets about Taein.

Not you. You can’t. You walk on eggshells around him, though to be honest, you don’t see him much. You know his schedule well enough to avoid him.

Until the day he asks to see you. He corners you—it seems like he knows your schedule just as well as you know his—as soon as you arrive back from a photoshoot. He stands outside the entrance to the parking garage, smoking a cigarette. Daewoong looks unfazed.

“We need to speak,” Taein says. You’ve barely had the chance to step outside.

You nod silently. You saw this coming. You watch him flick the ash off the butt of his cigarette and discard it to the ground.

You follow him into the building, and then up the elevator, still in silence. You’ll have to defend yourself soon, and you need the time to think. You can broker another deal with him. You’ll have to. You’ve grown too lax in your position, too self-assured and confident that nothing could go wrong, because nothing goes wrong until it does. You’re the face of Fable. You have more bargaining power now than you did four years ago when you were no one.

“Have a seat,” Taein says, unlocking the door to his office. You can’t remember when he started locking it.

You sit. He locks the door behind him, and that’s when you begin to think you might be in trouble.

You watch him sit in his much nicer seat and start up his computer. He’s looking at the screen when he asks, “Do you know what I wanted to talk to you about, Haksu?”

You weigh your options. You have a guess. It’s a very good guess. You don’t know what he wants to hear. It knocks you off balance.

“I can hear the gears in your head turning,” Taein says. He’s still not looking at you.

“I have a guess,” you say, perfectly neutral.

“I’d like to hear it.”

You take a deep breath. “You want to talk about our deal.”

“Precisely. You should have said it with more confidence.” Now he tears his gaze away from the screen to give you a once-over. You bear it.

You begin to lay your pieces in front of you. “The footage is irrelevant now. If I were to reveal it, it’d destroy both of us.”

You have more to say, but Taein interrupts you. “You, more than me. So you understand. It’s time we close that chapter of our lives, once and for all. We won’t need to speak of it again. It will be like it never happened.”

“Until you marry again and cheat once again.”

Taein laughs. “I’m old, Haksu-ah. I doubt I have a third marriage in me.”

He treats marriage and divorce like toys. You despise it. Marriage is a sacred covenant, not something to play with and discard. You want to weaponize it against him, but it’s difficult when he doesn’t share the same ideals as you.

“I want the other part of our bargain to stay the same,” you propose.

Taein's smile nearly vanishes. “No, I don't think so.”

Truth be told, you’re accustomed to all the good things that have come your way. The solo television appearances and jobs and endorsements and advertisements. You take it all in like a man starving. You can't give that up.

“I’m the public face of Fable,” you say. “You made me into it. Without me, who do you have?”

“It might be time for a change,” Taein muses. “Someone else can take the lead. I think Byeonghwi might be a good choice.”

He can’t be serious. Byeonghwi could never do what you do. None of them could.

“Wouldn’t it be strange?” you press. “To have someone else represent the group? The fans and the public are used to me.”

“You’re a member of a group,” Taein says in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “You’ll have to share the spotlight.”

That’s the last thing you want to do. You’ve worked hard for your place in the sun. You can’t just concede it. You grasp for straws, trying, desperately, to come up with a trump card. You find yourself lacking one. It’s no matter, you tell yourself. You found one before. You can find one again.

You swallow back any sort of lesser argument. “Fine.”

“I'm glad we're in agreement,” he says pleasantly. “You can keep the photos, if you'd like. Or you can post them online, if you'd like that more. It was never about them anyway.”

The world tilts dangerously around you. “What do you mean?” you ask, unsure if you want to hear the answer.

“All you got from them was a chance,” he says. “I will admit you forced my hand in accepting you as a trainee. Everything after that was your work.”

“Then I would have debuted anyway? I would have been the face of the group anyway? I could have shown your wife the pictures and you wouldn’t care?”

Taein nods. “It would have been unpleasant at the time. It was a surprise my marriage lasted until now.” 

You understand, suddenly, the appeal of violence. Taein, sitting directly in front of you, is the root cause of every problem you've ever had as a member of Fable, and even before that. It would be so simple to reach across his desk and—. You stop yourself. You spend too much time with Mingeun.

"Blackmailing your boss really isn't a good look, Haksu-ssi," Taein says, clearly oblivious to the thoughts racing through your mind.

You shift in your seat so that you're sitting on your hands. He seems so smug and self-confident, wielding his superior intellect over you. You can’t stand it.

"You went along with it," you say. You try to stay calm. You can feel your control slipping away from you. "You said we had a deal."

"We did," he concedes. "I would have upheld my side of the bargain no matter what. You're the one who constantly thought about it. I ask to speak to you, and the first thing you always said was something related to your blackmail. Clearly, it was important to you. You brought this upon yourself."

That was good. You know that. You wouldn't be here, if not for your investigative skills. You earned your spot, in more ways than one. And yet, there’s something about the way Taein speaks, about his tone of voice and his choice of words that make you feel like a child being reprimanded by an adult well-versed in the ways of the world. You know nothing, and he knows everything.

"It was a pleasure working with you, sajang-nim," you say, voice tight. You're not going to cry, but you think you might scream.

Taein smiles at that. “I don’t think it was for you. I appreciate your sentiment nonetheless.” 

You don't take Taein at his word. You can't. He's shown, now, that you can't trust him. You think you're playing checkers, and he's five steps ahead of you in chess. Two can play at that game. You made a bargain with him before, when you were younger and more naive. You have the experience now. And you know Taein's reputation is far from spotless.

This time around, you have a bit more money and a lot less free time. You refuse to let go of your bargain, and more importantly, you want to get Taein back. So you hire a private investigator, a middle-aged man who’s supposedly good at his job, near the high end of your budget. You do it all online, staring at your computer screen only at angles at which no one else can see it. You lay out the bare bones of your situation through emails: this is your boss, you’re a lowly employee, you’re dissatisfied with the current state of the company, you want to know if he has any sort of illegal dealings. It's a bit of a jump from the third point to the fourth, but the investigator doesn't ask. 

He gets back to you a couple of days later. You open the email minutes after it arrives, curling up on one end of your apartment’s couch with a coffee. It’s straightforward and professional. You skip over the pleasantries and focus on the important part, where the investigator has written Lee Taein’s company, Zenith Entertainment, is partially owned by Ahn Jinguk, one of the sons of Danyoung Group chairman Ahn Changok. As far as the financial state of the company is concerned, all business is legitimate. However, unless you are the heir to Samsung or Hyundai and capable of outbidding the Ahns, I will no longer be investigating Lee Taein. I wish you luck in your future investigative endeavors, should you still be interested. As a next possible step, I have attached some information about a few other individuals of interest.  

Underneath all of that is a series of names, occupations, and pictures of everyone else with a stake in Zenith Entertainment. You think you might have seen some of these people around the building before, though their names are unfamiliar. 

You’re so focused on your phone screen that you don’t register Mingeun coming up behind you, until he says, “What’re you looking at?”

His breath ghosts over your ear as he leans on the edge of the couch and peers over your shoulder. You jump, clicking your phone screen off. “Nothing.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Mingeun says. You can practically hear him scowling. He’s been more of a nuisance than normal over the past couple of months, ever since Jaeseop told him he wasn’t going to be part of their upcoming promotions because he’s technically still on hiatus. “So? Talking to a girl?”

You take a moment to respond. You could tell him the truth. Now that you and everyone else know what he’s been through—what Taein put him through—you think he’d understand your decisions, even if he’s a terrible Catholic and the one time you brought him to Mass was a disaster.

“It’s a long story.”

Mingeun drops into the seat next to you. “I have all day. I didn’t think you were the type to date as an idol.”

You flush. "I'm not dating anyone. Can we talk somewhere more private?"

You don't know where Eunsu and Byeonghwi are, but you don't want to risk them overhearing your conversation, should they interrupt.

Mingeun raises an eyebrow. "Sounds exactly like what someone who isn't dating would say. Your room or mine?"

You know Mingeun's room is akin to a pig sty. "Mine."

As it turns out, your bedroom isn’t much better. It’s not like you get visitors, because you don’t have a girlfriend. You sit on your bed. Mingeun sits on the floor. There isn’t much more space in the room. Your desk is entirely monopolized by your laptop and a stack of notebooks. Your desk chair is being used as a bar stool in the kitchen, though it’s a bit too short for that.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” you begin, because Mingeun seems a bit too fixated on that. “This is related to how I joined the group.”

Mingeun’s expression turns hostile. You can practically see him remembering your first few trainee days.

You pick and choose your words. You’ve parleyed with Taein; you can have this conversation with Mingeun. 

“I also made a deal with him,” you say, as if you two are one and the same, “though it was a bit different from yours. I discovered he was cheating on his wife. I exchanged keeping that information a secret for a debut.”

“You blackmailed him.” Mingeun’s voice is an icy monotone. “Then you came in here and took my spot.”

It sounds bad when he says it like that. You never took anyone’s spot. If you had, then Mingeun wouldn’t be here at all.

“I didn’t,” you say, but he barrels over you.

“You did. I was the best vocalist until Andrew-hyung joined, and then I was the second best vocalist until you came along. When you’re third best, you might as well be nothing. It means you’re not good enough. You’re not talented enough, you’re not skilled enough, you haven’t worked hard enough.” He’s standing now, beginning an erratic circuit around your room. 

You let him cool down a little before you speak again. “I’m sorry,” you offer, as if that's going to fix anything.

He fixes you with a baleful glance, and you're suddenly thankful he hasn't punched any holes in your walls. It looks like he's inching closer and closer to it, hands balled into fists, jaw so tight he might pop a vein. You're surprised that he doesn't have permanent indents in his palms from his fingernails.

“Did you know,” he says slowly, “that a few months before we learned we were going to debut, Taein-nim cut me from the lineup? For you.”

“I didn’t know,” you say softly, staring at the ground. “It worked out for you.”

"It did not 'work out' for me," Mingeun says, air-quotting your words back at you. "If it 'worked out' for me, I would be in NCT right now. It 'worked out' because Jaeseop-hyung argued for me. He managed to convince Taein-nim to debut me as well."

All of this is news for you. You wonder how long Mingeun has kept all of this bottled up. The last three years, presumably. Almost the same length of time he spent lying about where he grew up and what his childhood was like. There's nothing you can say to reassure him. You know this, because you've tried before. Mingeun isn't a conversationalist. Once he gets worked up about something, the dialogue becomes one-sided and there's little to do but wait until he cools off.

You present him with a question of your own anyway. "If you had an opportunity to do what I did," you ask, "would you have done the same?"

You know that if you were in his position, left with no choice but to disguise your identity, to hide who you truly were in order to debut, you'd do it.

Mingeun only glares at you. "I don't want to know what you're up to anymore. I don't care."

He doesn't answer your question. You take that to mean he agrees. He storms out of your room, and you give him a few minutes on his own before you follow to retrieve your coffee.

You can’t make another deal with Taein. For once, you’re out of ideas. You have no cards left to play, no aces hidden up your sleeve. You’ve been the face of Fable for three years. That will have to be enough.

The change comes quickly—faster than you thought it would. Byeonghwi is the one with the extra schedules: the solo endorsements, the variety show appearances as a representative of the group, the music show MC position. Those were yours, once upon a time.

When the opportunities do start coming your way again, it's never you alone. It's you and Eunsu, or you and Byeonghwi, or you and Andrew. Once you stop to think about it, all those pairings make logical sense. You and Eunsu are basically inseparable in Fable's group shows, because you're always hanging onto him. You and Byeonghwi and the two faces of Fable. You and Andrew are the backbone of the group's music as the main vocalists. It's infuriating. You despise it.

Your current situation has you and Byeonghwi as guests on a radio show, promoting your soon-to-released album alongside a mostly rookie cast promoting their soon-to-be released film. It was supposed to be you and Eunsu, but Eunsu’s older brother passed away recently, and he left for home a few days ago.

You told Daewoong you’d be fine going by yourself. He gave you a rather disinterested look and said the program’s director requested two representatives. 

When you're sitting in the radio program’s studio, comically oversized headphones on the table in front of you, it almost feels like normal. As long as you pretend Byeonghwi isn't sitting right next to you. Before you’re on air, you make polite conversation with the actors. There are three of them: two young men and one young woman. You try, as you sit there, to match their faces to the film poster on the wall behind them. It’s a bit difficult, because the film is some sort of gritty, post-apocalyptic one, and their faces are covered in fake blood and gore.

You do your best. You’re charming. You’re cordial. You’re kind. Byeonghwi tries to join the conversation twice, and you ice him out subtly both times. He takes the hint. No one else seems to notice.

Then the host begins the show, and you’re on air. It’s just as much of a performance as being on stage is, and you don’t disappoint. You introduce yourself: you’re Haksu from Fable, in charge of the group’s vocals. Then you introduce your sixth mini album, 환호작약, releasing in two weeks. The tracks were all written by your group members, and the title track, 멋, is an upbeat trap anthem driven by a taepyeongso. You’ve worked hard for this, and you hope everyone will listen to and enjoy the songs.

You’re comfortable, relaxing as the film cast introduce themselves and their characters. You learn the movie’s plot follows three high school students who become trapped in their school when the apocalypse begins. Cut off from the outside world, the students quickly turn on each other, forming and breaking alliances. In line with that—and not with your album—the radio program’s episode is themed around school. You’re prepared, like you always are, your mind full of anecdotes and advice, though you were never a good student. Byeonghwi wasn’t either. The two of you are here regardless.

The first question tackles favorite subjects. You’re seconds away from responding, leaning into your microphone to speak. Your favorite subject was, of course, art. You’ve been in choirs all your life. It’s what made you want to become a singer.

So when the host turns to Byeonghwi and asks, “Byeonghwi-ssi, since you’re the youngest, could you go first?”

You disguise the beginning of your sentence with a cough.

Byeonghwi seems a bit surprised, but he recovers quickly. “I liked PE a lot. When I was in high school, I was on my school’s soccer team. Growing up, I wanted to play professionally.”

The eyes of one of the actors—his name has slipped your mind already—light up, and he launches into his own similar story. This must have been planned, and you weren’t involved. You’ve never been athletic. You survive Mingeun’s dance practices and that’s enough for you. The two of them embark on a lengthy conversation about Son Heung-min that the host has to interrupt to steer the show back on track.

For some reason you weren’t consulted on, all the questions are directed towards Byeonghwi, not you. He talks about clubs—his soccer team again—and cliques—how he transferred to high school in Seoul and developed a poor reputation because he sat in the back of the classroom and was absent often, a story you and your fans have heard countless times before—and preparing for the suneung. He didn’t even go to university. You did, but no one asks you for advice. You sit in silence as he gets a faraway look in his eyes, recounting cram schools and private tutors and self-discipline.

Everyone seems oblivious to your plight. The film cast laughs along with Byeonghwi’s stories, the same way they joked around with you before the program started.

Then comes the program’s main event, posing the same question the film’s cast deals with: who would you choose to survive the apocalypse with? As per usual, Byeonghwi goes first.

“Haksu-hyung, of course,” he begins. That was a given, but it means you now need to choose him as well. When you and Eunsu planned your responses, you both agreed to name each other. You had no such agreement with Byeonghwi.

“He’s reliable and everyone likes him. People are drawn to him. He’d be a good leader,” Byeonghwi continues. “And Yejun-hyung. He’s smart and would definitely survive.”

You have to admit you like hearing speak so highly of you.

When it’s finally your turn to speak, you say, “I’d pick Byeonghwi.”

A reason isn’t in any of your plans, so you make one up on the spot. “His athleticism makes him a good asset, but he might leave me behind if we had to escape,” you joke, before quickly moving on. “I’d also want Jaeseop-hyung.”

Your first pick, had you been in a real apocalyptic situation, would also be Andrew, but you doubt the three of you are some sort of survival situation dream team.

“He’s reliable and we get along well,” you finish.

You don’t speak much for the rest of the program. You sulk quietly instead, because Byeonghwi and the actors are doing most of the talking, and no one bothers to include you in the conversations. It would have been better if Daewoong let you go alone.

The on-air light finally clicks off, and your torture ends. You pull your headphones off, happy to be free of the weight. Byeonghwi stretches in his seat, a bright grin on his face. “That was fun! Did you have fun, hyung?”

You grunt out a noise that could be positive or negative. Of course he had fun. He was the one who got to speak. All you did was introduce yourself and your new album. Your sole consolation is that the main focus was on the actors, not on the two of you. You’re the face of the group. It just feels wrong for anyone else to represent the eight of you. 

You grit your teeth and bite your tongue and force a smile to your face for the usual round of polite goodbyes and closing remarks with the show's host.

Byeonghwi beams brightly. “I hope we can do it again.”

You echo his sentiment out loud. Inwardly, you know that once is more than enough for this experience.

After that, the promotions of your latest mini album come to a smooth close. The night of the recording of your farewell stage puts everyone in a good mood—until Mingeun ruins it all.

He’s in the dorm when you arrive, which is a surprise, because he spends most of his time with the band. You didn’t think he wanted to see the rest of the group during the promotional period he was excluded from.

You also didn’t think he was part of your little after party—a kickback, according to Andrew. The distinctions between types of American parties have never been of interest to you.

No one else minds. Mingeun slips in like he was just at your music show performance, though he’s drinking water, not alcohol. He’s standing in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with Eunsu, when he suddenly announces, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Haksu-hyung has something to share.”

You, leaning against the counter amidst your conversation with Andrew, do not, in fact, have anything to share. You play along anyway. “A toast,” you say, raising your soju bottle. “To our successful promotions.”

You didn’t win a single music show this time around, but there are another measurements. Your sales numbers are good. Your fansigns are successful. No one experienced a life-threatening scandal.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Mingeun says. He’s not raising his water bottle. You lower your drink.

You watch Jaeseop’s gaze ping-pong between the two of you, more curious than anything.

Mingeun takes a seat in your desk chair. “Haksu-hyung wants to tell us how he became an idol.”

You want to do nothing of the sort. You know it won’t end well. No one—not even Andrew—is drunk enough to hear it.

“He told me recently,” Mingeun continues. “I thought everyone else might want to know.”

“There’s something we don’t know?” Byeonghwi asks, ever innocent. You assume there are a lot of things he doesn’t know.

You try to downplay it. “There isn’t much to say. I wanted to be an idol, and I managed to find Taein-nim, who was willing to give me a chance.”

To your horror, Jaeseop speaks up. “To be honest, I’m curious about that too. Your story’s never added up, and Samchon doesn’t like talking about you.” He starts to count on his fingers. “I recruited Intak and Kiyoung-hyung. Mingeun and Eunsu knew Samchon from SM. Andrew and Byeonghwi passed the audition. You don’t fit into any of those categories. So?”

You know that. You wince at the reminder. You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, even Intak and Kiyoung, who might as well be a world away in the living room. You swallow roughly. Your throat is dry and your hands are sweating. You put your drink down before you drop it.

Mingeun spins around in your chair. It almost looks like he’s enjoying himself. “You were enthusiastic when it was the two of us. What happened?”

You trusted him. Out of everyone, you thought he’d understand you the most, and despite all his prickliness, you know that he’s trying and he means well. Usually. You also know Jaeseop and Byeonghwi and Andrew and probably Kiyoung would find your actions deplorable. 

“I thought you’d understand,” you say, picking your words carefully. You discard “sympathize” and “relate.” 

Mingeun nods slowly. “I guess you were right about that.”

That boosts your ego by only the most miniscule amount. It can’t compare to the dread swirling in your stomach. 

“Will one of you explain?” Jaeseop bursts first, nosy as he is.

“Sorry, hyung,” Mingeun says. “We’re going to say some unpleasant things about your uncle.” Then he turns to you. “I’ll help.”

Jaeseop shrugs. “I’ll survive.”

The room is silent, except for the pop of Andrew opening another bottle of beer with his now empty one. Mingeun, clearly reveling in the attention, says, “Haksu-hyung could have predicted Taein’s divorce before he became a trainee.”

“I don't get it,” Byeonghwi announces almost immediately.

“You knew,” Andrew says, surprisingly calm. 

You nod, suddenly feeling mute. Mingeun is telling your story, and for once, you don't mind.

“I still don't get it.” Byeonghwi again, of course.

“Blackmail,” Mingeun announces dramatically. “Haksu-hyung won’t admit it, but that’s what it is. He caught Taein-nim in some uncomfortable situations, and used it to become a trainee.”

It sounds much more dramatic—and much worse—when Mingeun puts it like that. His words are met mostly with silence. You stare at the kitchen counter, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone. Your secrets are revealed to the world, and strangely, you feel lighter. You didn’t Mingeun about all the time you spent staking out Zenith Entertainment and him, by extension. You don’t think you’ll ever tell anyone that, and your burden settles on your shoulders again.

“Is that accurate?” Jaeseop asks, oddly calm. Almost like Taein when he’s mad, you realize. 

“Yes,” you answer without looking at him. You like the spotlight, but right now, this is the worst it’s ever felt. Defensively, you add, “It wasn’t hard.”

Eunsu shakes his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

You don’t think you have a bad side. It was just one of the choices you had. Desperate times and desperate measures.

“At least it wasn’t revealed through the tabloids,” Mingeun says, waving his water bottle through the air. 

“This isn’t about you,” Andrew says. He’s a few paces farther from you than he was when you were talking earlier, and more than halfway through his second beer.

Mingeun ignores him. “It’s not that bad. I get it.”

“Not that bad?” Eunsu repeats. “I think it’s pretty fucking bad.”

You wince. You didn’t think he’d oppose you like this. It’s weird, because it seems like Mingeun is almost on your side, despite bringing up the topic in the first place, and you’ve never seen the two of them disagree on anything. 

Then Jaeseop says, “It’s not surprising that he’d do that.”

You think he’s talking about you, but then he adds, “My uncle. His first marriage ended the same way.” He almost cracks a smile. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

Byeonghwi’s eyes are wide in annoying innocence. You assume he’s wondering what happened to respecting your elders and filial piety. You’re surprised too. You know there’s little love lost between Taein and Jaeseop. You didn’t think he’d understand your logic.

“So,” Mingeun says, spinning in your chair, “does anyone else have any deep, dark secrets they'd like to share?”

"No," Andrew says. "I know not to tell you secrets."

“Would you don't have told us?" Jaeseop asks.

“I don't know," you admit. You don't like that Mingeun was the one who shared it, but the reaction you received was better than you expected. Jaeseop isn't kicking you out of the group, and if Andrew and Eunsu look at you like you have some contagious disease, well, you'll live. 

"How long did you do this for?" Kiyoung calls from the living room.

You freeze. You never told Mingeun that. He stormed out before you could get very far. You wonder if you should lie. After all, Taein said it didn't matter. You could have done this on your own. The reception is fine now, but if you tell them it helped you become the face of the group when maybe, it was supposed to be someone else, they might turn on you.

You make your decision, and pray for forgiveness.

“Not long. Like Mingen said, I used it to become a trainee."

"There were easier ways," Jaeseop says, another clear echo of Taein.

“What made you stop?" Kiyoung asks, staring intently at you.

"I didn't need it. I could do it on my own." Half lie, half truth. "I didn't want to ask for too much. It didn't feel right.”

Eunsu snorts, "Didn't realize you cared about morality."

You're trying to make it into Heaven, so you do care.

Kiyoung doesn't quite seem to believe you, but he drops the subject.

The mood never recovers, despite Byeonghwi's best attempts. You can't tell who's to blame: you, for your actions all those years ago, or Mingeun, for his insistence on the subject. You fade into the background of your own group's private party, hit with a sudden stab of fear that maybe this is your fate. Maybe you'll have nothing left. Maybe your group members are witty and charismatic and charming, and all they needed was the chance your fall from grace is now providing.

You won't let that happen. You can't let that happen. After all, you're destined for great things.

[farizrz]

Anastasia G. (Author of GoE, SBTR, and OTI) comment about new book, Garden of Eden on her telegram. (Translate by deepl)

"Did we really wait?" - I wondered until the announcement came out.

Now (I'll allow it to be considered insane), Effie's mocking voice rang in my head with a not-so-encouraging wish:

"Happy Hunger Games and may luck always be with you."😞

For almost three months, I was in a languid wait for the release of the novella.

We chose an ambiguous setting and were undoubtedly worried about the audience's reaction.

You could see for yourself that most of the time I kept my mouth shut, made almost no comments (or responded, but ambiguously) and waited for the right moment to get back to you.

I hoped that the less I commented, the better chance I had of keeping my chosen plot and theme of the story from you. But what happened, alas, was otherwise (my fault for not keeping track in many ways🥲)

I won't lie that I reacted calmly to all sorts of statements (managed to prick me after all), but I won't close myself off from the audience. I've missed you guys since it's been a year already.

Thank you for listening to my verbal .... rebellion and outrage🐕 and now, straight to the point.

I am pleased to finally present to you my third novel, Garden of Eden.

We will dive into an exciting adventure that will present not only colorful moments, but also dark events with a small note of detective component.

📌Small note: regardless of my desire to show the thorny path of a K-pop idol with all its unpleasant components, I want to warn you that there will also be moments/scenes in the story where I simplify their burden a bit.

Otherwise, we wouldn't have time to get to know our favorites more closely and, in general, the romance would be relegated to little more than a tenth. By the way, this point will also be revealed quite uneasily in this setting.

🔺Now to the important news, which many people had time to discuss, but never learned all the subtleties and nuances.

Aleksandra is the lead writer of my story (not a co-author).

She controls part of the visuals in the novel, gives edits and makes sure that the initial plot moves in its own direction. She helps with the math part (she opened the door to the world of k-pop for me, and I threw all of my energy into learning it), and also makes sure that LL's relationship with you develops so that everyone is happy with their favorite.

I am a freelance writer who writes her story on her own.

I would like to thank Aleksandra for her help and support throughout our work together.

I sincerely hope you are pleased with it. Thank you for waiting and believing ❤️