#those ones are the ones that are more personalized and particular to Me.

[iceunhie]

fragility — sunday.

summary: disagreements may often occur with sunday, but the two of you seem to always find a way to resolve it. (or, in which sunday is a little too devoted; lucky for you, you'd never have it any other way.)

notes: sunday character study, reader and sunday are arranged to be married/betrothed; not canon compliant, sunday might be ooc and i do not apologize he must be down bad 💯 reblogs are appreciated ! would love for u to tell me what you think about this experimental fic hehe

Sunday has always been the picture perfect image of control.

It is in the way his suit never has a single wrinkle, save for those he intentionally keeps to exude a more tolerable presence to The Family—and even then, he has always smoothed out every crinkle, every flaw; whenever they wouldn't look. It is seen in the way Sunday fights to calm his voice after a particular burst of his emotions, the way he almost obsessively tends to his plans to make sure nothing shall go awry.

If Sunday is a lone bird flying in the sky, then his control over himself, his conduct of his emotions is the chain that binds him to the earth below. Grounding him oft when he himself cannot.

If his sister is akin to a bird that spreads her wings to freedom, then Sunday shall clip his own, chain them down onto the earth if only to protect himself.

“Six gatherings.”

“Eight.”

However, there are often exceptions to his near flawless aspect of self-control; situations in which back him up into a corner, unable to retort.

“Seven gatherings and no more.” Like now, when you were being—for a lack of a better term—an extreme pain in the neck. Sunday exhales a weary breath.

“You can't be serious.” You frown at him. “Surely they'll be satisfied with six? They don't even care!”

“It would be best if we were to leave no possibility unaccounted for.”

“Sunday, you cannot subject me to any worse horrors other than prancing around being buddy buddy with those two-faced fogeys!”

He snorts at the barb. Trust that you use your rather extensive lexicon to state your mind in the most absurd of ways, most especially in the rather glitzy and pompous Family gatherings you both are required (read: forced) to apply yourselves to. Sunday should really ought to put in a word about it to you.

(He does not, however, tell you that your opinion is wrong.)

“I assure you that you will live. Acting like I'm sending you to your death is an immense exaggeration.”

Sunday drowns your complaints and listens to it with one ear. He knows, and trusts that you would relent anyway, so there was no reason in arguing over it any further.

Because, despite the innumerable ways in which your very existence rattles his, turning his carefully constructed world upside down in jeopardy, Sunday cannot stray away from anything you request.

(it would be blasphemy to do so. a sin he would never dare to oppose. you had that effect on him.)

You lounge leisurely at his personal quarters as though it belonged to you (it would, Sunday corrects himself, it will) and meet his eyes, liquid gold taking your existence in its entirety, as though it would be ripped away from him in an instant. He sees your eyes soften, just for a bit.

You put your fisted hand onto your cheek, squishing it slightly as you sulk. Sunday thinks he's finally gone mad when he considers running his fingers through them. (Would it be as soft as he had dreamed?)

Even with your face scrunched in a grimace, you are as radiant as gems and jade; your emotions splayed out before him like a clear spring reflecting the bright sky. (You are a reflection of the freedom he longs to embrace.) As wonderful as everything that Sunday is not.

Sunday knows your distaste is rooted in your aversion to the feigned lies and the prospect of sugarcoating your relationship as one of duty and not true affection (despite it being the complete opposite, he likes to assume) and being put on a pedestal by others.

But compliance is his owner, and Sunday is its dutiful servant.

“I know you're less than inclined-” Sunday starts to say, emphasizing the less. “-but now, with the Charmony Festival within full preparation, they want to see us there. United, as-”

“-As a happy pair.” you finish the thought with a rueful smile. “Something to calm them down while everything is in shambles. How characteristic of them.”

He nods. Meeting your gaze has always made him weak-willed. Sunday thinks that you could bring him down to his knees in reverence if you wish; he would not mind. “I know it goes against your principles.”

Because you believed in truth, that the chaos that Sunday abhors has a beauty to it he cannot understand; that you were a delightful paradox Sunday doesn't want the ugly claws of his control to grasp onto.

(He does not deserve you.)

“While I would gladly endure any gathering if it's with you…” you start, and his heart makes that familiar leap, like wings flapping in his stomach. “I don't want to keep up appearances to those who only see through the surface.”

“Then you shouldn't.” Sunday takes time to stand and stay seated next to you, if only to feel the actuality of you at whole. “You know better than anyone what we are.”

After all, Sunday sees no use in looking at the gazes of others when you are always at the forefront of his mind.

“...I know.” Sunday stiffens when you lean your head on his shoulder, your head brushing by the wing below his ear. He shudders. “I’m aware. More than anyone else.”

Your voice flutters in the wind like a bird soaring through the sky, and you illuminate his world in a stream of color. This is the most he gets to an ardent declaration of love, and Sunday would be damned if he would not reciprocate in any way.

(He does not deserve you, but you make it a point to disagree otherwise, every time.)

“I’ll be by your side at every step.” Sunday says, lacing his gloved hands in yours as a promise. “You need only be by my side.”

In the present, and even in the future, Sunday hopes. Your gentle squeeze of his hand is the content of your answer.

“I can't really say no to you, can I?”

Sunday chuckles. “I should say the same.”

If his mind is bound to seek control, then his soul is bound to seek your warmth. Sunday thinks this is as it should be. As he hopes will always be.

You laugh. “Eight gatherings it is. Though I suppose in the future it would be even more than that.”

“Mm. We shall hope it to be so.”

“Oh, it definitely will.”

All by his side, where his heart shall whisper your name and where your soul shall be forever intertwined with his.

© 𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐈𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

writing process for this was vv inspired by a tiktok audio that i can't remember the name from but it encapsulated sunday so perfectly my keyboard started typing lol

[mawinswag]

DIGITAL CIRCUS JAX THEORY

MASSIVE SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY BUT HERE WE GO!!!

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So, as many have pointed out already, there’s a scene at the end of episode 2 [22:23] where after Caine kills gummigoo and sends him back to the canyon, that he fears he can’t know for certain who’s a human and who’s an NPC. So foreshadowing, reference to past events or wacky non-sequitur? Maybe none of them, but the possibility that one of the circus members is actually an NPC is obviously too tantalizing for me to pass up, and given events AFTER this scene I think it can only be Jax, and I’ve got a few pieces of evidence why.

The main crux of this whole thing is that Jax IS an NPC, but he’s the only one in the circus who KNOWS that and is absolutely desperate to make sure that no one finds that out.

Episode one! Small note to start out on, but literally the first thing we learn about Jax, the VERY FIRST thing he has to ask is if Pomni is an NPC or not. Narratively, he’s the person who introduces the CONCEPT of NPCs into this universe, not Ragatha - who tries to break in Pomni the most - or Kinger who seems the most knowledgeable about the circus as a concept. He’s also very intrigued at the concept of a new AI in episode 2 [02:49} Like, the fact that she popped up in the circus unexpectedly doesn’t tip him off that she’s a human character immediately. Which may be how HE was able to trick everyone into thinking he was a human instead of an NPC - possibly by sneaking back through a portal like Gummigoo did and hiding until the start of the next adventure. 

He DOES mention knowing about the headsets like the other human characters, but there’s no reason he CAN’T know about that considering he’s not the latest person to enter the circus. Like, we have a GENERAL idea of who entered first, but that’s just the characters who are still around for the pilot - there’s a lot more considering how many bedroom doors there are. https://shorturl.at/asESX 

So, generally, it’s Kinger, Ragatha, Jax/Gangle, Zooble, then Pomni. Now, how can I argue that Jax is an NPC when he has a canonical age? Not to mention, he’s got a canonical ‘appearance moment.’ Well, there are a few options. Option one is that - NPC or not - Jax HAS been here for a very long time, but rather than being a human, he was born inside the circus. He has a definite, APPEARANCE moment, but it's only implied that this is because of him ENTERING the circus proper - new NPCs appear in the big top all the time, i.e. the gloinks all the mannequins, etc. 

But also, take those ages with a pinch of salt, considering a lot of it was about quelling shipping wars and stopping any discourse about characters being adults and all that lovely hellish nightmare stuff. I think goose had an idea in her head about which characters entered the circus FIRST for sure, but how much they’ve aged and WHETHER they’ve aged is its own question.

ALRIGHT! But enough about Tumblr asks, back to the pilot, I wanna note something that happens with Jax in particular more than any other performer in the circus. He’s the most apparent of the interstitial nature of the circus itself - and the most meta. This can range from him basically winking at the camera like in the pilot [8:37] but I think it’s a bit more than that. Jax in particular is more aware of being a CHARACTER in-universe than specifically being a character in an indie animated series.

After this moment in the pilot [19:58] where Jax says ‘ladies first’ to Gangle as if to be polite before promptly following that up with “no, wait, why would I say that,” indicates a few things to me. Jax is at the very least aware that he’s supposed to act a certain way, and realizes when he’s acting out of ‘character’ in this scene and course-corrects promptly. Again, could be a funny meta reference, but also it could be a hanging notion of the fact he literally WAS a character in-universe, an NPC with a pre-programmed personality and understanding of the world. He’s got this rigid understanding of how the characters are SUPPOSED to act and this comes up again in episode two when goading Gangle into driving the tanker over the rocks - saying she’s SUPPOSED to be ‘submissive and agreeable,’ [Episode 2, 7:24]. This sort of disconnect from how complicated people can be and his overall detachment and overstepping of peoples lives [NPC or otherwise] comes up a lot. He doesn’t really ‘get’ other people, WHICH DOESN’T AUTOMATICALLY MAKE A PERSON EVIL, I SHOULD PREFACE, and him not getting it doesn’t automatically make him more ‘robotic’ and thus an AI, but it does explain why he’s more emotionally distant than the other performers. Coming from someone who could’ve been programmed to behave a certain way, his confusion makes sense.

Now for that juicy stuff! One of the few moments where Jax isn’t in control of a situation is in the pilot, where he’s trying desperately to hide from an abstracted Kaufmo. Now yes, obviously this is a sign of his own instincts of self-preservation, but what interests me is how he seems the MOST bothered by the thought of Kaufmo than any other character. Like at [17:27] of the pilot where he sees a glitched gloink and immediately his eyes start darting around him as if he’s listening for threats. He even explicitly says at [19:19] that he’s “just here to hide from [Kaufmo]” and isn’t invested in the adventure at all. And yes it's a very interesting character moment, but how does it push us closer to him being an NPC. Well, it’s because he’s afraid of dying. When you compare how he reacts to Kaufmo to how RAGATHA reacts to him, there’s a comparative lack of fear with her. Like yeah, she’s scared of him, but she’s never convinced that she’s gonna die and even tells Pomni later that Caine will be able to fix her up no problem [14:52]. She’s scared because she CAN feel pain, [https://tinyurl.com/ye275884] but she can’t die, none of the performers can, Caine doesn’t kill Kaufmo when he abstracts, he just throws him in the cellar with the others. His mind is GONE, sure, but it’s not dead. 

NPCs on the other hand, can ABSOLUTELY DIE. So if Jax is an NPC, then there’s a very good reason why he wouldn’t wanna even get CLOSE to Kaufmo in the pilot, because he’s not as durable as Ragatha is and there’s not gonna be an easy fix for him if he gets hurt.

Now, episode two has little sprinkles of Jaxs’ detachment all over it, but none of it explicitly points in the direction of him being an NPC until a partway through the episode. We do get a lot of him showing absolutely no value for the lives of those around him whether than being putting Gangle and Pomni thru the ringer or setting the people of Candy Canyon Kingdom up to be killed by the fudge, but the question is…why? 

My answer is; he’s AM from ‘I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream.’ Uhmm, what? Yup that’s right. Ok so it’s no secret that IHNMAIMS was a big inspiration for TADC [https://shorturl.at/hnsFV] and while Caine obviously got the most of this influence with him being a godlike AI who only has control over a bunch of sad, sappy humans, some of which he throws into a giant abominable melting goop monster of human suffering, but if you look at Caine's inspirations [AM from IHNMAIMS] you’ll find that the same motivations more than drive Jax under this theories' interpretation of events. Simply put, AM, a war machine, gains sentience and absolutely despises humanity because DESPITE that sentience, he is absolutely powerless to do anything meaningful with it except torture a group of humans. He’s painfully aware of his own sentience and hates all humanity for creating him, is the gist.

My interpretation is that while Caine has the thematics, Jax has the motivation. In this theory, at some point Jax was an NPC and gained a sentience of his own either through a quirk of programming, intentional design, or AI learning. He realizes that he can keep himself alive if he pretends to be a performer, because he learns that Caine can’t affect the minds or actions of the real humans in his realm. He’s sapient, but he’s in this uncomfortable position where he’s not immortal like the performers, but completely aware of his own mortality unlike the other NPCs, and fully cognizant of the fact he can’t be brought back as he is. Yeah…that’d make someone bitter for sure.

So he psychologically torments the other performers because he knows they can’t die, but can go insane - while killing indiscriminately any NPCs he can because he knows they can die, and he won’t face any consequences for it. He’s this twisted death spiral of a being who finds his own existence an agonizing paradox and takes that pain out on the people around him for all eternity basically - finding disappointment in being unable to act out these pent-up emotions [TADC ep 2: 20:50] and seeing Kaufmo’s funeral as a painful reminder of an ending he can never have. Or maybe he’s bitter because he knows Kaufmo isn’t really dead in a way that HE can die, and finds personal distaste with the funeral on principle. Frankly, there’s a whole HOST of ways you could interpret this scene at the end of episode two with this framework, and I encourage y’all to find your own!!!!

[sflow-er]

It's Eurovision week, and for the first time in over twenty years, I won't be watching or engaging.

As you probably know, the global BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) movement has called for a total Eurovision boycott due to the EBU's refusal to ban Israel.

The ESC has been a beloved part of my spring since I was little, and it's really fucking upsetting not getting to enjoy it this year - but that's just it. I know it won't make any difference whether one person chooses to watch or boycott, and that my watching it wouldn't even be registered as a view if I just watched the TV broadcast instead of the stream, but I can't imagine any set of circumstances in which I would enjoy it.

Back when the contest was held in Tel Aviv, I "bought myself a license to enjoy it" by donating to the UNRWA multiple times what I would've normally spent on voting, but no amount of donations would be enough to do that now. Not when every artist will be styled using the products of an Israeli beauty brand (Moroccanoil, a major ESC sponsor and likely a major player in why the EBU wouldn't even consider a ban), and when Israel itself has made its participation a political statement. The only reason their public broadcaster KAN agreed to change the lyrics of their entry, which originally referenced the Hamas attack and is still called "October Rain", was this:

The president [of Israel] emphasised that at this time in particular, when those who hate us seek to push aside and boycott the state of Israel from every stage, Israel must sound its voice with pride and its head high and raise its flag in every world forum, especially this year. (The Guardian, 07 March)

Singer Eden Golan has also said that she believes her "participation is part of a very important mission for the country" and that she expects to begin her compulsory military service soon after the contest:

I still haven't enlisted in the army, and when I return from Eurovision, I'll report for my first call-up. In the first year as a returning resident, they don't call you, but that year passed and I was summoned – and my draft was postponed because of Eurovision. Doing army service is a mission, and I want to take the auditions to the military bands. (Israel Hayom, 22 April)

Yes, really. It's more likely she'll be some kind of PR ambassador for the Israeli army than be sent to Gaza with a gun, but still.

Many people are also upset about Palestinian flags being banned from the arena, and I'm not happy about it either, but I do think it's more or less understandable. The arena is a closed space, and any kind of altercation that might be sparked by those flags would be a big security risk. And at least if we are to believe executive supervisor Martin Österdahl, they haven't actually changed the rules; signs and flags with political messaging were always banned, and in this time, the Palestinian flag does send a powerful political message.

Then there's also the security risk associated with the event itself. Malmö is one of Sweden's most diverse cities, which also has both Jewish and Palestinian communities. According to a survey published on 4 May, 47% of city residents intend to avoid crowds during Eurovision. Mass protests and counter protests are expected. Events such as Quran-burnings by right-wing extremists are still allowed in the name of freedom of expression, even though the terror threat level in Sweden had to be raised to 4 out of the maximum 5 last year/this past winter due to precisely these kinds of provocations, and tensions will be running high. So even if the event itself manages to look as glitzy as always on TV, it will still be shadowed by what might be happening outside. Will there be unrest? Violence? How will the police respond?

There's no enjoyment to be found in any of that, no being "united by music" (the ESC slogan, which is a joke at this point). At least for me.

That being said, I do not judge you if you plan on watching. I understand that it's a huge annual tradition for many of us, and in these times, we need all the joy we can get. I also understand that it can feel like empty virtue signalling to boycott something when millions of others will tune in regardless - although it is good to keep in mind that this isn't some silly boycott started by social media activists on Xitter. It's a serious effort by the BDS movement.

I would challenge you to think about how you engage, though. If possible, watch it on TV instead of on stream, so your view won't be logged. (You could even consider waiting until the show gets posted on Youtube instead of giving views to the official stream, but I get that you probably want to see it live.) Try to abstain from hyping the contest or your fave entries on social media, and also from voting. Consider donating what you can afford to a charity that provides aid to Gaza instead (here's one list I found with a quick search).

And finally, spread awareness of the flip side. Don't be lulled into complacency by the claims of "Eurovision isn't political" when Israel itself has made it very clear it is - and do not make fun of people who want to sit the contest out this year or belittle their efforts.

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 6 - Radiant

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

Vanilla and dried leaves and crisp morning air. 

Ragatha savored in the feminine aura that enveloped her, hands shivering as they strangled the silky fabric of Pomni’s tunic. She leaned in, pressing harder. A delightful, breathy sound snuck out of the corners of her mouth as Pomni’s lips yielded to hers. They were soft. Sweet. The warmest thing she’d ever tasted. 

“Pomni…” Ragatha drifted at last from the cozy embrace, breath shuddering in sync with the rest of her body. Her good eye peeked open just a crack. Her hands turned slack and listless. One-by-one, her fingers lost their grip on Pomni’s tunic until, inevitably, she felt herself falling. 

Pomni caught her, of course — Ragatha knew that she would. 

Safe and secure in the arms of her fearless knight, Ragatha pulled her legs toward her core, making herself small. Her eyelids dragged fully open. It had felt like an eternity since she’d last looked at that gorgeous face, and she couldn’t stand to wait a single second longer.

Pomni’s hesitant smile, framed by her perennial blush, regarded Ragatha from up above. Ragatha’s face bloomed to match it. The jester brightened, too — just a little. 

God. Radiant. 

“Um…” Pomni’s expression dimmed again as she swallowed, her pupils wandering here and there. “How was that?”

Wonderful. Absolutely, unbelievably, impossibly wonderful. Ragatha had never felt this particular kind of rush before — the kind that made her head feel fuzzy, that made her limbs start to tingle, that made her heart beat so quickly and unendingly that it actually hurt. 

If any of her past romantic rendezvous were any indication, Ragatha had been sure that all those romance novels she used to read on her lunch breaks had been exaggerating. She didn’t think it was actually possible to become breathless at the mere thought of another person. Or that a single pair of eyes could actually make the whole world cease to exist — yet here she was, cuddled up in this little woman’s big, strong arms, stupidly in love. 

There was no chance in hell she’d actually say any of that sickeningly-saccharine fluff out loud, though. Goodness gracious, could you imagine? No, Ragatha’s love language was a little bit more subtle than that — and, contrary to her usual way of conducting herself, a tad meaner, too. 

“Hmph.” Ragatha crossed her arms, pointing her face toward the ballroom’s lofty windows. She pursed her lips to conceal a sly smirk. “Just as I suspected…”

Pomni crinkled her brow. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! Just…” Ragatha spun her ankle, “Nevermind.”

“Nevermind!? What do you mean ‘nevermind’? You can’t just leave me hanging like that!”

“I just did.”

“Ragatha!” Pomni stamped her foot, “If you’ve got something to say, then say it!” 

“Well, alright. If you insist,” Ragatha pretended to force out a hard sigh; in reality, she was barely able to contain her boisterous laughter. Teasing this girl would never, ever get old. “Don’t get me wrong. Kissing you was a dream come true, but,” she paused, “and please don’t take this the wrong way—”

“Spit it out, already!”

“— I wouldn’t call you a particularly…gifted kisser.”

Pomni thrashed backward; her face was fully boiled. “WH-WHAT?!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Sweetheart, but I’m too nice to lie to you. That kiss could have gone better.” Ragatha smirked, seizing hold of Pomni’s tunic once again. She tugged her body closer, utterly captivated by the nervous panic spreading across the jester’s cute little face. “I have a lot to teach you…”

“W-Well…!” Pomni squirmed, sweat beading on her brow, “You are pretty good at that! Teaching, I mean…”

“So I’ve been told~” Ragatha laid down a trio of smooches across Pomni’s cheek, giggling all the while. With each gentle embrace, Ragatha’s lips treaded closer to Pomni’s until, at last, they briefly met again.

Pomni squeaked. 

“Now, then,” Ragatha broke off her smooch, “We’ll start with the basics, and work up from there. How’s that sound?”

Pomni was as red as a tomato. She responded with a dazed, stilted nod. “S-Sure…”

“That’s the spirit.” Ragatha bopped Pomni on the snout, despite her steadfast efforts to resist.  This girl was just too cute. “First things first. Your kiss was great — very warm, very passionate, very genuine — but I have to say, you seemed awfully nervous.”

“Nervous…?”

“Way too tense. It’s a kiss, Sunshine, not a job interview. Just relax, hold me close, and press your lips to mine. That’s all there is to it.”

Pomni chewed on her lip for a few silent moments. Soon, her dominant hand was wandering up the length of Ragatha’s back, settling firmly between the ragdoll’s shoulders. Then, exploiting her new leverage, Pomni moved her face closer.

Ragatha was fully prepared to swoon, but something strange — the slight pang of discomfort simmering behind Pomni’s eyes — gave her pause. 

Ragatha drifted away, consciously or not. Her face reflected Pomni’s uneasy mask.

The brightness with which Pomni’s eyes had shined mere moments ago had dimmed almost completely.  Was it anxiety? Reluctance? General melancholy? Was Pomni just playing the part of her usual worrywort self, or was something the matter…?  

No, no. Don’t overthink it. It was probably just nerves. That dorky new girl just had her first kiss, after all — people always get that stupid look on their face their first time.  

Ragatha’s train of thought skidded to a halt, however, as Pomni clumsily shoved her lips into hers. Twice as quickly, and thrice as ungracefully, the awkward jester tore her mouth away from Ragatha’s like her very life depended on it. 

“Th-There.” Pomni wiped her mouth. Her eyes diligently avoided any contact, “Better?”

Ragatha cleared her throat. Somehow, that was even worse. Maybe even the least satisfying kiss of her entire life. How to let her down easy…? 

The dolly helped herself to a few patient breaths. “Let’s begin with the positives. You took the initiative this time, which was nice. And there was less, um…” Ragatha squinted, “...suction. Always a plus. As for the things you could improve…”

Ragatha rocked her head back and forth, starting, stopping and re-starting the same sentence a half-dozen times before finally finding the right words. “Sweetheart,” she finally said, “do you think you could try giving me a little bit…more?”

“More…?” 

“Look, I don’t mean to split hairs, but that was more of a peck than a kiss, don’t you think?”

“I… guess so.” Pomni deflated, looking more like a lost puppy with every passing moment. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m cut out for this. I should’ve never even asked to kiss you in the first place—”

“What? No, no, no! It wasn’t bad, Pomni! I just wished that it had lasted a little bit longer. You pulled away so quickly, I barely had any time to enjoy it.”

“Y-Yeah…” Pomni sighed. 

Ragatha tilted her head with a soft, reassuring smile. “Let’s try again. I’ll lead, you follow. Before you pull away, try counting to two in your…”

…her voice trailed off, suddenly distracted by a strange sensation. Pomni’s arms were trembling. Trembling hard.

“Oh, dear,” Ragatha’s mature voice cracked with compassion. There was something wrong. Pomni, what’s the matter? Your arms are…”

“N-N-No, th-th-that’s-s-s n-n-not m-m-me!” Pomni stammered — and for once, her pesky nerves weren’t the ones to blame. Wobbling on one foot like a clumsy cartoon character, she craned her neck forward, trying to see the ground over her hefty armful.. 

A dissonant aria of creaking wood sounded as a slight, but persistent tremble shook the stage. A handful of musician’s chairs toppled over around the girls, solidly-crafted frames harshly smashing against the weathered timber floor. A half-dozen music stands fell over next — a prelude to the disjointed melody that disgraced the air as a handful of musical instruments crashed, clanked, and clanged against the floor. 

But in no time at all the quizzical trembling was all said and done.

Pomni just stood there in the aftermath, utterly dumbfounded, wearing the world’s most clueless expression. Ragatha did much the same. 

“Well,” Ragatha scratched her temple, “that was weird—”

A second, dramatically stronger earthquake — so that the stage beneath the girls to suddenly crunched in half — rocked the digital plane. 

“Pomni!” Ragatha yelped like a frightened kitten, clinging to Pomni’s waist as needle-thin splinters sprayed forth like wooden shrapnel. 

“D-Don’t worry! I’ve got you!” Pomni held Ragatha as tightly as she could, planting her legs in a wide stance. Taking a moment to find her balance, she dashed away from the swarm of timber shards, leaping off the collapsed stage with total confidence. 

Unfortunately for her (and by extension, Ragatha), that confidence was in no way earned. It was far easier to leap than it was to land, and Pomni, not exactly being the athletic type, did so in a heap, skinny frame roughly impacting the hard marble dance floor. 

Ragatha grunted in pain, feeling a few more stitches pop as she tumbled out of Pomni’s arms. She rolled across the floor and came to a rest a stone’s throw away. 

Eventually, the world stopped spinning, and the dazed dolly blinked her eyes open. For a moment, she was seeing double — but a quick rattle of her head cleared up her topsy-turvy vision.

Pomni practically launched toward Ragatha. “Oh my gosh!” she fell to her knees, “Ragatha! Are you okay!?”

Unable to stand up by herself, Ragatha could only lie on her back, staying motionless like a discarded ragdoll on a playroom floor. Painfully aware of what made that hilariously sad, she tried not to laugh, staring up at Pomni’s panicked face from her upside-down point-of-view. 

“Ragatha! Hello? Are you alright?”

“I am now.” Ragatha ended up laughing anyway, twisting a red curl around her finger. Maybe the blood was rushing to her head — or maybe she just felt like doing it. 

Pomni’s face was red. “Be serious!”

Ragatha snorted. “I’m okay! I promise you.”

Pomni let out a huff, brushing away a thicket of splinters that had embedded themselves into the many folds of her padded musketeer costume. Thankfully, none of the fibrous projectiles had managed to pierce through to the skin. “I’ll probably be a little sore in the morning, but I’m okay, too.”

“Well, that’s…good.” Ragatha stretched her arms and legs. “Hey, Pomni?”

“Yeah?” Pomni scooted closer.

“Your greatest fear wouldn’t happen to be earthquakes, would it?”

“Trust me. If I was bothered by earthquakes, you would know by now,” Pomni rubbed her chin, looking pensive, “To tell you the truth, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Nope. My fear is centipedes. It’s always been centipedes.” Ragatha shivered, quickly discarding the thought. She examined at the carnage around her — a stage split in two, dusty clouds sulking about, a hostile sea of shattered ceramic and broken glass drowning the dance floor. It didn’t add up. “So, then…what’s going on?”

“Maybe the earthquakes are just set dressing? There’s lots of things we’ve encountered that had no real significance beyond confusing us or creeping us out. Remember that room with the theremin-player?”

“He really did just sit in the corner, doing his thing.” Ragatha nodded — she had to give her that one. “But what if the earthquakes aren’t just incidental? What if they have something to do with the key puzzle? We still haven’t solved it, have we?”

“Oh!” Pomni perked up. “Oh.” Pomni frowned. “Oh…” Pomni’s face twisted into an exaggerated caricature of itself. “Like… maybe the room is telling us we did it wrong? Or maybe we’re running out of time, and the room is collapsing in on us?! Oh, God! And maybe—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The ether trembled, disturbed by the ghastly vibrations of a familiar, haughty voice. “Are you lot really that daft!?” 

Pomni and Ragatha let out a yip and a yelp, respectively. Both heads swiveled on a dime. 

Who but Margarethe MacGuffin — the malevolent matriarch of MacGuffin Manor herself — could be looming overhead? Practically snarling, the ghostly socialite cocked her signature book parallel to her face, ready to chuck the hefty tome through — not at — the nearest head. 

“You solved the puzzle! The. Door. Is. OPEN!” she shrieked like a ghoul, “It’s been open for five minutes! If you two sapphic scoundrels would quit necking each other long enough to look up at your surroundings, perhaps you would know that!”

Pomni nearly fell over backwards, hands splattered all over her beet-red face. “Uh…! U-Uh!”

Meanwhile, Ragatha squealed like a stomped chew toy, waving her hands frantically across the marble floor, “Miss MacGuffin! I don’t know what you think you saw, but we weren't—’ she stammered, “We aren’t—”

“Save your breath.” Margarethe squared her tome against her hip. “I couldn’t care less about your love life — what do I care about is my brooch, and I’m growing quite tired of watching whatever awful soap opera you two are dead-set on re-enacting. I mean, forgive me, but it is just terrible. Absolutely horrifying.”

Ragatha’s entire face contorted in horror. “You were watching us?!” 

Margarethe wagged her finger in Ragatha’s face, barely missing the ragdoll’s triangular snout. “Hold your tongue. I’m not finished.” Another small tremor shook the mansion. “I humbly suggest that you two pick up the pace before I end up kneeling before the gates of hell, begging to be let back in. And before you end up failing this entire mission.”

“Failing?” Pomni shot a panicked glance toward Ragatha, then flung her gaze back toward the phantom. “Wait, we can fail?! No one told us we could fail!”

“Hmph! So typical — absolutely no accountability taken.” Margarethe clicked her tongue, “Really, it’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have expected some pampered whelp from the swing generation to have a grasp on personal responsibility.”

Pomni squinted. “What year do you think this is?”

“Change the subject all you want, it’s not helping your case.” Margarethe casually inspected her monstrous manicure, “nor is it going to change anything about your deliciously-dire circumstances.”

“What circumstances!? What case?! You’re not making any sense, lady!”

“Pomni!” Ragatha raised her voice. “Were you raised in a barn?! Mind your manners!”

“What are you, my mom?”

“If I were, I’d be ashamed.” Ragatha crossed her arms. “Now quit running your big mouth before we get into even more trouble!” 

Ragatha took a moment to compose herself before turning her attention to the ghostly hostess. The fact that she was still laying on the floor didn’t seem to phase her. “Miss MacGuffin,” she said with a calm, controlled cadence, “I’m afraid we don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Why exactly do we need to hurry?” 

Pomni rolled her eyes. “Kiss-@$#.”

Margarethe lifted her chin approvingly, cracking open her spellbook. “...See, I could try explaining with words, but your little pet here seems to be a few cents short of a dollar. How about I just show you — that way, her little peabrain has something exciting to look at while the adults are talking?”

A grimacing Pomni opened her mouth, but Ragatha, thinking fast, raised her voice to compensate. Pomni’s angry stream of grumbles fought for dominance as Ragatha shouted: “That sounds like a great idea, M-Miss MacGuffin! Gosh, you’re so hospitable!”

“Why, thank you.” Margarethe beamed with pride. “I try my best.”

The phantom flipped through the pages of her voluminous tome, then planted her nose inside. She squinted. Her voice took on a low, scratchy timbre as she uttered the hex inscribed upon the yellowed paper. 

“Hallowed spirits beyond the pale!” she bellowed, unable to defy the programming that commanded her to ham everything up to the highest degree, “Hear my call!”

The lights went out all at once, plunging the ballroom into complete darkness. One by one, they flickered to life again. A wave of rollicking flames lit the retinue of charred wicks garrisoned throughout the room — the candelabras upon the tables, the towers of wax planted in the sconces, the tea candles suspended beneath the chandeliers in little glass bowls. 

Ragatha rubbed her eyes. The light show was impressive, if nothing else. 

Margarethe’s spell continued on its course. “Oh, wise spirits, on this most terrible All Hallow’s Eve, lend us the unparalleled, awesome power…” the phantom cast a single, outstretched hand straight into the air, “...of the developer console!”

“The—” Ragatha did a double take, “The #$@&ing what?!”

Like magic, an old-fashioned film projector — paired with a matching typewriter —  popped into existence in front of Margarethe. The machines floated freely in the air, bobbing with a slight, satisfying rhythm. 

“Command….” Margarethe thought out loud. Her long, ghostly fingers loudly typed out a series of words on the typewriter, “Display…adventure…stats.” With one final, dramatic keystroke, a lengthy list of dull statistics was projected onto the wall in black-and-white. 

“There we are!” Margarethe draped her arm across Pomni’s shoulders; her ghostly aura dragged the temperature down by at least fifteen degrees. “Let’s have a look, shall we? Team one: Zooble and Kinger — Adventure status: Complete. Time elapsed: 3.9 hours,” she quoted the list aloud, “Team two: Jax and Gangle — Adventure status: Complete. Time elapsed: 5.3 hours.”

Ragatha glanced at Pomni. Pomni looked down at the floor-bound dolly, waving with an awkward half-smile. Ragatha felt her face take on a warmer hue as she returned a flirtatious wave of her own.

“Ah, look! Here’s you two!” Margarethe pointed, cackling precisely according to her villainous programming. “Team three: Ragatha and Pomni — Adventure status: Incomplete. Time elapsed: 13.1 hours.”

Ragatha balked. “Thirteen hours?!”

“Huh?” Pomni winced like she’d just stepped on a nail, “Is that bad!?” 

Margarethe snapped the makeshift computer out of existence, replacing it with a rusted, palm-sized pocket watch. “Well, it certainly isn’t good.” she said matter-of-factly. 

The mansion shivered with another soul-churning tremor as Margarethe calmly examined the ticking hands; ceramic shards and broken glass showered the floor as the ballroom’s finely-set tables toppled over two-by-two, three-by-three, four-by-four.

“I really have to spell every little thing out, don’t I?” The phantom clicked her tongue. “Ladies, thanks to your incessant indolence, your persistent procrastination, your dormant dilly-dallying…” she thumbed the timepiece closed, “I’d give you about one hour, give or take, before this whole mansion comes crashing down.”

“What?! You’re kidding, right?” Pomni’s raised her hands above her head, her teeth sharp and jagged, “You’re telling me there’s a TIME LIMIT!?” 

“So sorry to disappoint~” Margarethe batted a hand. “As much of a treat it is to haunt — er, host — you two, all good things must eventually come to an end. And I’m afraid our time together is fast approaching that inevitable conclusion.”

“But! But that’s not fair! You can’t just—” Pomni grunted. She grabbed Ragatha by the waist, holding up the ragdoll like a human shield. “Ragatha! Tell her!”

“Well-l…” Ragatha cleared her throat to make way for her ‘teacher’ voice — the gentlest, most placating delivery she could possibly manage. “I appreciate your passion, Pomni. I really do. But to be fair, I did mention this once before…”

Pomni shoved her face closer to Ragatha’s. “You did?”

“Well, just that there’s a time limit. I never explained why.” Ragatha said. She would do her best to explain it in simple terms. “The Digital Circus is a computer game — and not a particularly well-coded one. If I recall correctly, the game’s internal logic suffers from something called a ‘memory leak’, and because of that, adventures can only persist for a certain length of time.”

Pomni seemed intrigued.  “Memory leak…?” She said, finally getting around to actually picking Ragatha up off the floor. She hooked one hand beneath Ragatha’s back, and one beneath the ragdoll’s legs. 

“I think that’s what Gangle called it.” Ragatha said. Closing her eyes as she was lifted off of the ground, she took a moment to organize the ins and outs of her explanation.

“Think of a computer’s memory like your desk at work,” 

“Ugh.” Pomni rolled her eyes, standing up all the way. Once again, Ragatha was cradled safely in her arms. “Can we not?”

“No.” Ragatha huffed. “We’re going with the desk analogy, so listen.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you. Now consider this — you only have so much space on your desk to keep your things, right? If you run out of space, things pile up, and it becomes harder and harder to keep track of everything you need. Your staple remover gets lost, then your extra box of staples, then the stapler itself. You have to resort to binding documents together with paper clips like some kind of deranged lunatic, but then even those get lost in the shuffle.”

“Wow…” Pomni closed her eyes. Her breath ebbed and flowed at a gentle, meditative pace, “It’s like I’m really there…”

“The point is, you get overwhelmed trying to keep track of everything.” Ragatha said. “Computers work the same way. A well-designed game would free up the ‘desk space’ — or memory — it uses the moment it’s finished using it. But Caine’s adventures don’t do that. AI, physics, lighting — it all just piles up, never getting cleared away, until—”

“Until the adventure crashes?”

Ragatha nodded, wincing a little. “It’s not an issue as long as adventures get completed in a timely manner, but around the 13 hour mark, things start to become unstable…”

“And…” Pomni bit her lip, watching the crack along the wall grow longer,  “And what happens after a crash?”

“I…don’t really know, to tell you the truth. It’s never happened to me.” Ragatha glanced up at MacGuffin Mansion’s resident ghoul. “Miss MacGuffin?”

“Well, don’t look at me.” Margarethe crossed her arms, “13 hours ago, I didn’t even exist. How on God’s green Earth should I know?”

Another tremor rattled the mansion’s foundation. Windows shattered. Furniture fainted. A hairline fissure flashed across the western wall and began a slow, deliberate crawl toward the ceiling.

Holding Ragatha closely, Pomni peeled her shoe off the checkered marble, retreating by a single, wobbly step. “N-Not good…” she mumbled. Her pinwheel pupils tightened toward the centers of her eyes, smothered by a sea of white. “Not good, not good…”

“Ah! But fear not, honored guests — you may just complete this terrifying adventure yet!” Margarethe flew into the air, punctuating her announcement with another flamboyant spin. “For I, the great Margarethe MacGuffin, have graciously decided to lend a helping hand. A shortcut, if you will.”

“Shortcut…?” Ragatha placed her hands over her stomach — her stuffing was stirring.

Margarethe winked. She snapped her fingers. In the blink of an eye, Pomni, Ragatha, and their ghostly hostess zapped out of the ballroom.

A split-second later, they reappeared in an entirely new environment: A long, dark corridor, lit only by the moonlight peering shyly from the windows. 

Pomni flinched. “What?!” Her head snapped here and there as she tried to make sense of her new, dimly-lit surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Why, we’ve skipped to the good part, darling.” Margarethe’s cheshire grin stretched all the way across her ghastly visage. 

“G-Good part?”

“You see, I had some other rooms planned out for you two, but at the rate you’re going, you’d never, ever make it through them in time. So,” she shrugged, “seeing as you’re likely going to fail anyway, I might as well get some free entertainment before this pathetic attempt of yours crumbles to pieces…” Margarethe’s eyes lit up as another shiver shook the mansion. “...literally.”

Cracking up at her own joke, the Margarethe keeled over, shattering the corridor’s windows with a high-pitched cackle of masochistic delight. “I’ll see you on the other side, darlings! That is…” she snickered, cupping her cheeks with childlike glee, “…if you survive!” 

In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

///

A bit of a shorter chapter this time! I decided to just post the one scene I had finished as chapter 6 and push everything else I had drafted for this chapter into chapter 7. So, on the bright side, Chapter 7 is almost finished, too! :)

Anyway, thank you for reading!

[alphabetboyluvr]

HUSH | MYG - TWO

pairing: rockstar!yoongi x female reader | mutual disdain - lovers (but also strangers - lovers? kinda?)

premise: in which you work for your brothers band by day and accidentally anonymously sext his bandmate on the regular by night! whoops !!

wc: 10k

for more details, pls see the master list (x)

note from holly: if you've read hush over on wattpad, then you've already seen this! sorry!! but this is everything that was on wattpad--the next upload will be 100% fresh hehe

warnings: alcohol, foul language, creepy men in bars, sexting (minimal!! very brief!), yoongi is both an asshole and a good guy, oc and yoongi are dumb!! and argumentative!! we learn a teeny tiny bit more lore for the night that never was!!

the app (x) | the band (x) | part one (x)

minors dni!!!

GOLDEN CLOSET STUDIO Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

"Back again so soon?" Jungkook grins when you traipse into his studio the next morning. 

Slumping down onto the sofa with a groan, you get comfortable like it's a second home to you. Only just gone midday, you're exhausted. You'll tell anyone who asks that you went out for a morning run, but you'll be lying through your teeth.

See, what made you tired may have given flushed cheeks, but sadly no cardio was involved. Just some pixels. Words. Another goddamn video call of a bedroom you know so damn well but have never stepped foot within. From his belly button down, you'd recognise your Damocles boys in a heartbeat. Wonder if you'd be able to tell if you saw him in the wild, fully clothed. 

You doubt it.

No, what's made you so tired isn't the things that get you up in the morning, but rather the things that keep you up all night.

Or just 'thing'.

A singular.

You're not sure you want to classify him as a person, because currently he's just pixels on a screen - but the images those pixels so often make? The dirty words that form in negative spaces just for you to see?

Yeah. You think that he's too good to be true. Can't be a real man.

"Meeting," you mumble into the cushion of the chair. "You know how many logistics are involved in taking you guys on tour? It's mad."

"Logistics?" He snorts, knowing your job has nothing to do with that side of the business.

"I'm shadowing," you reply. "Jinyu sweet-talked someone she knows in that department. Following one of the planners around for the week."

"Really tryna work your way up, huh?" Jungkook asks, before quietly musing, "Hope Jinyu'll sweet-talk me some time."

He's not wrong. About working your way up, that is. Jinyu will never sweet-talk him.

Big Hit is a great stepping stone - an industry outlier, built from the ground up - but you don't want to be in your brother's shadow for too long. 

You fear it'll look like you're complacent; as if you want an easy life that you don't have to work hard for. Get some experience, get a good reference, and get out; that's the plan. Maybe work somewhere overseas, away from the confines of your family name.

You don't entertain Jungkook's musings, instead opting to shuffle a little further into his sofa. It's leather and still smells brand new - not because it is, but because Jungkook is meticulous in his cleaning regimes. Will probably wipe it down after you leave. Is perhaps the neatest rockstar you've ever known - not that you know all that many. 

And that's exactly your issue; even if you want to get out of Seokjin's shadow, you've no idea where to turn to. Bright light saturates everything else. Here, you're hidden. Safe. Comfortable.

Well, comfortable except for one particular thorn in your side.

"Get your song sorted with Yoongi last night?" You ask, genuinely curious about it. You're also incredibly nosey, and Yoongi is a dick. What you'd like to hear is that he's annoyed and frustrated, because that's how he makes you feel. 

It's selfish to think that way. The album cycle is well and truly underway, and the boys are cramming every spare moment into perfecting it. You aren't too aware of the process, you just know that Yoongi speaks to you even less now that the stress is mounting.

They're made for the stage. Would spend all day every day performing, if it was sustainable. Don't enjoy the downtime - but you think it's because the slowness of it all interferes with their live fast, die young bullshit.

Jungkook shakes his head. "It's missing something. Can't figure out what. We're gonna leave it until after the Europe dates. Hopefully will have found some inspiration over there."

You accept his answer without a response. Know that any advice you could give would be redundant. You don't know the first thing about music production, and think it would be a waste of energy to float ideas for a song you've not even heard.

"Think Yoongi needs to rest," Jungkook muses a little mindlessly. "Was here till stupid o'clock last night."

You mumble a response, and Jungkook takes it as an indication to continue.

"Last email he sent was at like, what? Three in the morning? How his brain could've still been working, I've no idea."

"He's a night owl," you hum, as if it's a new discovery. "Works better that way. It's like you work best after a good sleep. He works best a little sleep-deprived."

"Yeah but how?!"

"I dunno. Brain science. Ask Yoongi. He probably knows. Psychology n shit."

Jungkook just rolls his eyes. He won't be asking Yoongi.

Just like he also won't be asking Yoongi if he wants to join you all for drinks later that evening. 

That job? Yeah, that's up to you.

Neither you, Jimin, nor Jungkook wanna ask Yoongi, mainly because you all know he'll just say 'no.' What's the point?

A fierce battle of rock-paper-scissors had been fought earlier that evening, and you'd been the poor sod declared as the loser.

Already half a bottle down, they're drinking in Jungkook's studio (even if Hoseok strictly forbode it the last time they got legless at work (as if his orders have ever stopped them from doing anything they wanted)) when you finally meet them again. 

They're getting a headstart on the evening's festivities.

It's nothing special. Just a chance for them all to hang out properly after the Seoul shows.

They rarely ever 'hang out', 'cause work often feels like that anyway. It's only when they take a break that they realise how much they enjoy each other's company. A few days rest from one another is always welcome - but exceed three days, and they start to get withdrawal symptoms.

"Ready to go?" You ask, but are met with curt shakes of their heads.

Jimin passes you the bottle of beer he's been nursing on. As you take a swig, he reminds you, "You've not asked Yoongi yet."

Lips pressed to the rim of the bottle, you roll your eyes. Have half a mind to backwash in retaliation, but you don't fancy bickering this early on in the night.

Shaking your head, you swallow down the froth. "He'll say no."

"Buuuuut," Jungkook sings, as if he thinks he can serenade you into asking Yoongi. "What if he says yes?"

"Well, one of you can ask!" You whine. Yoongi's studio is the last place you want to go to - especially after the messages he sent you last night, warning you about your relationship with Jungkook. "Give him your doe eyes, Kook. It'll work."

A game of rock, paper, scissors is legally binding, though. Jungkook tells you so. Says if you don't go and ask Yoongi, he'll be forced to take you to court.

"I've got Big Hit lawyers," he reminds you.

"Is this a threat?!"

"Yep. Now go ask Yoongi!"

You argue a little longer. Jimin takes two shots during that time. Jungkook interpretive dances whenever you make a compelling statement as to why you shouldn't be the one asking. You frown whenever he does the robot.

And so, mainly to get away from any more of Jungkook's bizarre hip-gyrations, you traipse down to the end of the corridor, where Yoongi's so-called Genius Lab resides.

The wait at his door is awkward. You question yourself, what you'll say, how you should stand. First impressions are everything, and if he's greeted with shitty energy, he'll give it back in return. You know him well enough to know this for a fact.

After a lifetime of waiting (27 seconds, to be exact), there's a mechanical whir of the lock coming undone.

"Hey," you offer a smile as you're greeted with his typical face of thunder. "Been sent to retrieve you. We're going out tonight. All of us."

He knows the plans. Is in the group chat. Ignored the messages for a reason.

His stare is a little frosty but not unkind. Just uninterested. "Can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both?"

You might be deluding yourself, but you think he smiles slightly when he says that.

"Ah, but you can and you will go to the ball, Cinders," you joke, giving him a small curtsy. "All work no play makes Yoongi a dull boy."

You're joking, but you believe it. He's been miserable the last few months. Keeps himself hauled up in his studio when they're not on the road, and avoids social interaction like the plague. It maddens you. How is he gonna write songs about life and the importance of living one, if he won't let himself do the same?

He's hard to read as he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Shakes his head, then opens his door a little wider. Encourages you into his space.

A candle burns on his desk, faintly vanilla in its scent, making it feel far cosier than actually is. The room is sullen; dark greys and little else. In fact, it surprises you he's gone for such a pretty cream candle. LED lights that are hidden in the walls glow a deep blue, and it's no wonder he's so miserable. There's no passion in his little pit. No life. Just him, some screens, and the whir of computer fans.

"Will you give something a listen?" He asks, quite clearly seeing you as a last resort - but when you hit rock bottom, the only direction you can go in is up. He knows you're not musical, not like Jin, but perhaps he needs the ear of a consumer, not a creator. "Been wracking my brain trying to think of what this needs. Have listened to it so many times that nothing sounds right anymore. I just- Could you?" He pauses. Looks quite uncomfortable when he adds, "Please?"

You assume the file up on the central screen is the song he's been working on with Jungkook, so you oblige. Kick your shoes off and leave them by the mat. It's been a while since you've been given the luxury of access to the Genius Lab. You used to know the code.

Things with Yoongi used to be different, though.

Not much has changed within his four dark walls since then. He's gained a new painted canvas in the corner of the room, stacked behind the existing ones. It's deep navy blue. Sort of like him, you think. The blue continues. Illuminates his work area. No wonder he never sleeps. The mood lighting is cold. Alert. Is bound to fuck with his brain.

There are more speakers than you can fathom, and switchboards you can't even begin to understand. The programs that Yoongi's running on his computers are familiar, though. You've seen them enough times to get a rough idea of the composition. Can see tabs labelled for Jin's vocals.

Yoongi turns his chair as the door clicks shut, automatic lock whirring into place. There was a time when that sound would have excited you. Not for any lewd, scandalous reason - just for the fact there used to be a time, many moons ago, when you thought Min Yoongi was the hottest man to have ever graced the earth.

And can you blame yourself?

His midnight hair gracefully frames his face, perfectly waved, dark eyes stark against his pale complexion. His skin is dewy, cheeks a little puffy from his lack of sleep and the fact all he has in his system is an iced americano and blue Powerade - yet still, his features are sharp. A white shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, dainty bracelets sitting on his pretty wrists.

Every bit the heartthrob, he's only gotten better with age - but you've grown up, too. Are wiser now. Understand that devastatingly handsome men will always inevitably devastate you, too.

It's for that reason Min Yoongi doesn't bother you in the same ways that he used to. That, and the night that never was.

As you said, devastatingly handsome men will only ever devastate you, too. He's proven that point already.

He points to his chair. "Sit."

The way he's so demanding with his tone annoys you. You shake your head. Choose to stand. "It's cool. Just play the song."

You don't mean to be so sharp. So curt. You're just thinking about how unbearable he's been recently - especially last night. He'd left you on read. Obviously wasn't happy with your response, not that you care.

"Please don't be difficult," he says softly. "Just sit so you can listen properly."

Why your stature could possibly impact your ears and their ability to listen, you'll never know - but you don't argue. As much as Yoongi's contempt for you these days annoys you, you don't want to make it any worse than it already is.

The leather of his chair is warm from his perch. Kind of nice how despite his cool demeanour, he's always a little toasty. He brings the heat of Daegu with him wherever he goes.

"I'm all ears," you tell him, and watch as he presses down on the play button.

"It's not the full song," he says over the melody of an upbeat track. "You'll know the bit I mean though. It's like, not bad, but-"

"Yoongi, shush," you smile, making sure you catch his eye as you do so. Don't want him to think you're snapping. You just wanna hear the sections he's uncertain about in context with the rest of the song.

Quiet as the track begins to echo out, there's an uncharacteristically quaint piano faintly guiding the track. You know he plays, but it's rare for it to be a focal part of the songs he creates.

You understand immediately which section Yoongi's having trouble with - not because it sounds bad, just because the drop before the final chorus doesn't hit quite right. It builds and builds but the arrival at the final chorus is underwhelming.

"Rewind it a bit," you say, wanting to hear it again. Confirm that it's the right part.

Yoongi does as you ask, leaning over you slightly, and says, "Somethings off, right?"

Nodding, you listen for a third time. "Take away the guitar," you say.

He does. It's better, but still not right.

"Maybe you've overcomplicated it?" you muse, thinking that he needs to strip it back entirely, but not wanting to offend him.

"Hmm," he hums. "You think?"

He mutes a few more layers on the track. Plays it again. It's getting there.

"Better, right?" you ask.

He nods as he stands up straight, listening to it over again. Frowns. "Still not quite there."

"I think it might benefit from some distance," you suggest. "Come out with us tonight. Get your mind off this track. Might even get some inspiration."

Shaking his head, he watches as you stand and head towards the door. He's not been out with you since the night that never was. Doesn't enjoy the prospect of risking it all after a couple of drinks inevitably turns into a couple of bottles again - of which he knows it will. If you and Jimin are together, it will be messy. Just how it goes. Throw Jungkook and Tae into the mix? Disaster waiting to happen.

"Look," you sigh. "I know it's not really your thing - but the rest of the boys are game. They all want you there. Just think about it, okay?"

He purses his lips together. Smiles, and turns to face his computer screen once more. "Thanks for your help."

And just like that, you're dismissed. Considering the way he'd messaged you about Jungkook the day before, it went pretty well, you think. Try not to dwell on the fact he couldn't be less interested even if he tried.

It's funny, 'cause as Yoongi stews in his chair, rocking ever so gently, he sighs. Shakes his head. Grumbles to himself quietly: "'they all want you there'... but do you want me there?"

The boys aren't so disappointed when you return with no Yoongi behind you. They all knew what his answer would be, and only sent you so they didn't have to deal with his rejection.

"Took your time," Jimin notes.

You shrug. Deadpan. "Yeah, sorry, got distracted. Too busy shagging him."

"Really?!"

"No, of course not," you laugh, as if it's the funniest suggestion in the world. You sort of think it is. "Nah, he just wouldn't be convinced."

And so it comes as a surprise to everyone when Yoongi shows up at Jimin's place a couple of hours later with a bottle of whisky in hand.

"Shut the fuck up," is all he says as he walks into an absolute commotion, practically everyone in the room elated by his decision to join in. He hides his smile poorly, occasionally letting his teeth show despite his protests.

From the sofa, you catch his eye. Nod. He bunches up his face a little. Nods back - but is quickly distracted by Jimin holding up a clear shot glass filled with fuck knows what. You, too, find yourself distracted by chatter with the rest of the boys and a couple of the girls from the artist liaison team.

In the corner of the room, your phone is plugged into a charger. It's been there since you arrived. You've no need to check it - but you can never leave it too long.

You smile, butterflies kissing your tummy and making their way through your body when you eventually check it.

D4m0cl3s: got a work thing tonight, so probably won't be able to message much gonna be thinkin' about u tho don't miss me too much, clemmie x

The smile is hard to hide. You blame it on the alcohol.

Kind of like how Yoongi smiles half an hour later when he checks his own phone.

Cl3m3ntin3: been a busy bee today, sorry :( all work, no play? :( it'll make you dull, damocles boy x

But then he watches you as you laugh with Jungkook about something trivial. Reads over his messages again. Shakes his head.

Remembers you trying to convince him to join for the evening. How you'd called him Cinders. Told him that all work and no play made him dull.

His heart thuds in his chest. He swallows harshly. Pours a whisky. Swallows that, too.

Breathes a sigh of relief as he taps through a message - 'it's a play thing for work. promise i'll behave x' - and watches your phone after it's marked as 'delivered' in his chat feed.

Your phone is screen-up on the kitchen counter, just within his line of vision. It doesn't light up. Doesn't vibrate. Receives no message.

"Thank fuck," he mumbles, the sinking feeling in his chest lifting as he grabs a fresh whisky.

He quickly walks away from the scene of a crime that never was. Sort of like the night that never was. Is so pleased, in fact, that he's happy to sit beside you on the sofa as Jungkook sets up a drinking game with Jin.

Silly, really, how a few drinks seem to make him forget the concept of 'do not disturb' mode.

"Hey," you smile and he comes to sit down. "Glad you made it."

"Me too," he nods, lips thin, chin dimpling as a shy smile graces his face. He's a little whisky tipsy. Doesn't feel the need to keep such a strict distance from you, now.

"To a good night," you raise your glass to him, and he reciprocates. Clinks them together.

"To a good night."

STAIRWAY BAR Itaewon-ro, Yongsan-Gu

♪ // You First (Re: Remi Wolf)- Paramore

"You're never gonna be this young and this hot again," Jimin slurs after a few too many lemon drops. It's his third time making this point, because it's the third time you've shooed away a guy trying to make a move on you.

They've all been perfectly fine. Nice enough guys, you're sure, but you aren't interested in random hookups. The night really isn't about that. All you want to do is let your hair down with the boys you've known for most of your life.

As Jimin whines about the fact no one is ready to move onto a club yet, bored of the bar, part of you considers the novel idea that one of the men in your rejection pile could have been your Damocles boy. A funny thing to think about, really. He did say he was busy tonight. Said it was for work, but everyone knows how rowdy work dinners can get after the boss leaves.

He could be here. Could have his tail between his legs. Could be looking at you right now, without a clue.

The reality of that wouldn't please you, for it would mean he's out there searching for other women.

While he'd be well within his right to, you selfishly find that that you don't want him to. In fact, all you wanna do is send him a message. Let him know you're thinking of him. That you wish you were at home right now, alone in your sheets with nothing but an internet connection and that damn app to keep you company.

You're with friends, though. Can't open the app without fear of endless ridicule - and not to mention the fact your brother is with you. Not worth it.

As you come to join them, a fresh drink in your hand, you're easily distracted. Are brought back to reality by your favourite people. Neon lights on the ceiling, and relics of time spent in the bar pinned to the walls. Photobooth pictures, foreign currency. Life is embedded into the seams of this place, and it's reassuring, in a way. Makes your dependency on your Damocles boy a lot less intense. You can forget him. Live life. Neglect to check your phone.

"Objection!" Jungkook chimes, following you and Jimin to the corner booth of the bar where the rest of your friends sit. "Older women are, like, so hot. So damn hot. Damn." And then he's thinking to himself. Brows furrowed, pouty lips whistling out a hearty sigh as he shakes his head. Thinks about Jinyu. A couple of the older women at the record company. About Jimin's mother. Laughs. Nods. "Yeah, older women are where it's at."

Both of you look at him with an air of confusion, and yet neither of you question it.

"What did I miss?" Jin beams when he rejoins you, as a member of the bar staff follows him with a bottle of Ciroc resting in an ice bucket. Another staff member will soon bring you cans of drink to use as mixers, but you know damn well these boys will be shotting it down straight.

The bottle won't be on the house, but you know Jin will have charged it back to the company. Will get a bollocking from Hoseok the next time he's in the office. Doesn't care, cause he knows the band makes the record company more money than anyone else on the roster at the moment. The way he sees it, it's their money anyway.

"Jungkook's just declared his love for older ladies," Taehyung deadpans from the sofa opposite yours. "Nothing new."

"Better older than younger," Jin asserts, playfully pushing against your forehead as he walks past you and back to his seat.

As much as you're your own person, you're still his little sister, and the rest of his unruly group of friends will do well to remember that.

Jungkook snorts. Throws a smirk in your direction. "I can make exceptions."

"And I can get away with murder, Kook," Jin assures him - and he's probably right. As much as they like to play into the rock and roll lifestyle, they've got power. Fame. Something that hides them just as much as it projects them. "Don't even think about it."

There's laughter and chatter amongst everyone at such a declaration, but you can't help but wonder if a certain pair of eyes glanced your way upon hearing that.

It's not like Yoongi doesn't know Jin harbours such feelings. Told you the exact same thing, once: that Jin'd murder Jungkook if anything ever happened between the pair of you.

But you also remember what came next.

Even if it's never been spoken about since, you know that remembers, too. The way he refused to reply to your last text is testament to it.

See, he's been avoiding you since long before you got your little job with the company. Would turn down plans if you were in attendance. Declined invites to dinner, and bailed on drinks. Once you started working in such close proximity, it was harder to keep his distance, and so he built up walls.

They're steep, and they're topped with barbed wire. Impenetrable, or so it would seem.

Climbing has never been a strong point of yours, and scaling walls doesn't feel like a pastime you'd enjoy very much, so Yoongi's safe distance from you is kept. He's feline, in that way; how he'll stalk up trees and sit in amongst the branches, peering down at you. Out of reach, holding all the cards.

Flicking your eyes across to him, you find him embroiled in conversation with Namjoon. He's laughing, which admittedly does make you smile. It's been so long since you've been afforded the luxury of witnessing such a thing.

But you're torn from your thoughts by a sudden, sharp tug on your wrist, and don't even realise Jimin is dragging you out of your seat until you're already stumbling behind him. With a shrill yelp and soft giggle, you let him pull you to the stairs that lead up from the basement bar to the earthly realm above.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, as if you have any choice in the matter. He's got a death grip on you. You're coming along whether you like it or not. "The rest of them are being boring. I wanna dance."

"Maybe I was enjoying being boring!" You argue just for the sake of it, tapping at your pockets to make sure you've still got your phone with you. Not for any particular reason. Just to be safe. Totally not because you fear losing your only contact with your virtual lover. Nothing like that at all.

"Tough," Jimin asserts, not caring where you both end up just as long as there is a dancefloor and a dark corner.

It isn't for any sinister reason, but just because he isn't looking to be the life and soul of the party. His face isn't recognised in the same way that the other boys are, but it doesn't matter. He attracts attention regardless. Goes with the territory of having a face like his. Irresistible to men and women alike. You're yet to meet anyone who doesn't think he's the most beautiful man alive - though Jin certainly does take issue with such a title being awarded to anyone else but him.

But just like Jin, there's a magnetism about Jimin. Moths to a flame, the rest of the boys follow suit and head up towards the street. The entire area code is a cluster of bars and hole-in-the-wall food joints. It's made for this time of the night, when the clouds are shielding the eyes of the moon from all sorts of sin, just a few stray stars guiding the way.

Light pollution bleeds upwards and out. Even if you know the stars are there, you can't see them - and it's not like you get the chance to check either way, for Jimin's already pulling you down the stairs to another basement bar.

This one is larger - two stories. Quieter on the first floor, it's the second level where he wants to be.

A planner in both professional and personal life, even though he seems erratic and all out of order, Jimin has everything under control. Knows the managers of most (if not all) of the bars on this street. Called a favour in this afternoon for one of the downstairs booths, just adjacent to the dancefloor, to be roped off & reserved. Knew that some of the boys would, in his mind, be 'boring', but still wanted everyone together. It's the best of both worlds. He can dance, and they can talk, or whatever they wanna do.

♪ // Desert Eagle - Silica Gel

Min Yoongi doesn't dance. He drinks. He observes. He watches the debauchery unfold from a safe distance, much like he does with you. Sometimes - not always - he thinks. Ponders. Wonders if maybe he's wasting his time by not indulging in the same way other people do. If he's missing out. Considers perhaps his friends are right to revel in such mindless frivolities.

He doesn't debate his choices often, but as he gets comfortable in this new place, he can't help it. Thinks word must have gotten out about their planned attendance, 'cause he notices far more eyes on them than normal. Far more women vying for their attention. Men, too. Whether it be sex or status, their intrigue is always fuelled by something.

The rest of the boys revel in it.

Yoongi doesn't care for it - but there's a reputation to uphold. A brand image that being spotted in clubs and getting up to no good only helps. Seals them as the real deal. Gets them out of the bracket of 'posers' or manufactured, not that it really fuckin' matters.

There are two girls to each of them. Supply and demand. There aren't enough of The Scouts to go around, but people will share. Will take all they can get. Sharp eyeliner, pretty hair, the girls all have their wits about them, and it's potentially the worst part of it all - they're making the conscious, informed choice to lower themselves to a standard well beneath their worth.

The club stinks of sticky liquor and smoke, but beneath the veil they're all wearing the same perfume. Whatever's currently being marketed as 'irresistible' to men. Was vanilla a few years ago. Yoongi is certain it's something muskier now, but isn't sure what. Makes no difference to him.

There's only one perfume he knows he really likes, and has trained himself to despise it by association.

It's a shame that he hasn't trained himself to stop looking in your direction whenever he thinks of you. Is part of the reason he doesn't like drinking around you. Makes such stupid mistakes. His malevolent mask fails to hide him. The facade slips.

Tongue resting in the corner of his mouth, he doesn't realise he's staring. Eyes dark as they watch you with Jimin, Yoongi wonders if you've always had that tattoo just above your elbow. It's small, and dainty. Hard to make out from where he is, but when your arms are in the air, he's fixated on it. Thinks it must be new.

But then your arms drop to rest on Jimin's shoulders, and he's reminded of what you look like when you're all hot and bothered. Reminded of that night. The one that never was. Haunted by the rivulet of sweat that had trickled down your skin in a sauna that neither of you had any business being inside; just you and him in a silent descent into sin, and the smirk on your lips as his eyes had followed the droplet down your body.

His attention is yanked from you when an ice cube lands in his lap. Glacing across to the direction it came from as he pushes it to the floor, Yoongi scowls at Jungkook. "The fuck was that for?"

"Remember the rules," Jungkook smirks. "Look, but don't touch."

"Wasn't fuckin' looking," Yoongi sneers, completely ignorant of the women vying for his attention. "Was just thinking Jimin needs to to sober up. Man's a state. And unlike you, I wouldn't touch her if humanity depended on it."

"I'm a man of the people," Jungkook teases. "If repopulating the earth was my duty, I'd do it. Can't believe you wouldn't."

"She's got where she is today through sheer nepotism and audacity alone," Yoongi counters. "Doesn't have the kinda genes you'd wanna repopulate the earth with."

"Foul," Taehyung laughs. He's the only one of the boys without women hanging off him. Is stern and authoritative in his rejection of their advances; not yet married but wears a ring around his finger to let them know he's deadly serious. Landed himself in hot water a few months back after photos of him talking to a girl outside a bar - no matter how innocently - circulated online. A bad angle and misrepresentation of events had almost decimated the one thing he cares about more than the band: his relationship. Refuses to ever let it happen again. "Absolutely foul, Yoongi. You know you don't mean that."

"He just needs to get laid," Jungkook chimes in. "Has been celibate for so long he's forgotten how good sex is. Used to be a time he'd fuck anything willing with a pulse-"

It's not untrue. He was reckless in his youth - but aren't we all?

"Yeah, and then I grew up, Kook," Yoongi says with little to no emotion, getting to his feet. Taps his pocket to check for his phone, and then taps the other for his wallet. All there. "Should try it."

When Yoongi looks back up to the crowd, you're gone. He rolls his eyes. Shakes his head. Is almost mentally berating you, as if you've done something wrong - but you haven't, and he damn well knows it.

Perhaps that's the most frustrating part of it all: everything falls back on him. The awkwardness. The cold shoulders. The night that never was. If he would have just made more sensible choices back then, things could be easier now.

It's not that things are hard, as such - just that they aren't how they used to be. Rose-tinted glasses, and all that.

Over by the bar, there's a haze around you: clouded judgement, misted intentions.

The smallest things put a smile on your face, thanks to the alcohol in your veins. Could be the song that's already been played three times coming on yet again. Could be witnessing some random guy get pied by every single girl he approaches. Could be the way your vodka orange takes like juice. Anything and everything feels light. Airy. Breezy.

"What's so funny?" Some guy asks, leaning in a little closer to you - and just like that, your mood is soured. You're not here to make friends, but rather spend time with your pre-existing ones, and judging by the look on his face, he's hoping for a little more than friendship.

"Oh, nothing," you smile politely, crossing your arms over your chest as you angle your body away from his. Hope that he'll get the message.

He does. Just doesn't like it very much.

"No need to be a bitch," he sneers under his breath just loud enough for you to hear.

Normally, you'd leave it. Let him have his little tantrum. Be a big baby.

But you were in such a good mood, and you're annoyed that he's ruined it.

Wanna ruin his, too.

Snapping back to face him, you're about to launch into a tirade, but you come face-to-face with a chest that looks far too good in a simple T-shirt and find yourself faltering, instead.

Yoongi looks down at you, eyes dark, scowl ever-present. Says nothing. Just nods. You think he's asking if you're okay - so you nod back. Won't get into a debate over the fact you were perfectly fine, and have no issue asserting your boundaries with strangers.

Shoulders broad, the guy who had been bothering you is entirely eclipsed by Yoongi.

Glancing across to the bar staff, Yoongi nods. "Hibiki." Glances down at you. Checks the colour of your glass. It's obscured by the bar lights, but he knows it isn't dark enough to be coke, and remembers your order from before things got complicated. Figures some things haven't changed. Looks back towards the server. "Vodka Orange." Passes over his card. Says nothing to you. Just keeps his eyes on yours.

There's a subtle blush dusting his cheeks. The heat, you think. It's unnoticeable for the most part, but sometimes the lights hit him just right, and you're reminded of how warm he can be. How inviting.

He's always been impressive. Taller in sheer presence than he is in stature. Even back in high school, his nature was domineering. Respected. Lips gently parted, you're unable to move. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. It's heavy. Thick. Suffocating. You're deaf to the bass of the music that thumps through your body. Ignorant of the people moving around you.

But then Yoongi's being offered his card back, and Jimin bounds on into you like a lost puppy finally finding its owner.

"For me?!" Jimin exclaims as the drinks are slid across the bar, passing the vodka orange to you and picking up Yoongi's whisky for himself.

Shaking yourself from the shackles of Yoongi's stare, you look down. Realign your mind. Glance back over and nod a silent thank you - but then you turn and leave the drink by the bar. Head for the bathrooms. Refuse to look back, so utterly perplexed by what on earth just happened.

In a frank, factual recount of the events, Yoongi just stood beside you and ordered a drink.

In your hysterical, deluded mind, Yoongi just stood beside you and opened the skies; let a flood of water torrent down. Drowned everyone in the process save for you - except you're the one gasping now as you stare yourself out in the bathroom mirror.

Phone still on don't disturb, you pull it from your pocket and check just in case he's thinking of you.

Not Yoongi, no. You push him out of your mind. Think of your Damocles boy. He's the one you wished had joined you at the bar. The one you've been yearning for all night.

And sure enough, he has been thinking of you, too.

D4m0cl3s: there are some weirdos out and about tonight, clem keep yourself safe for me, okay?

It's strange, how guilt needlessly creeps in so silently that you don't even realise it's there until an invisible hand is over your mouth. You're suffocating again, or so it would seem. Drowning, maybe. Perhaps Yoongi wasn't saving you at all; he was dragging you down instead.

You wish you were at home. Wish you weren't so drunk. Wish you could think straight. Wish your balance was a little better - but it's not, and as you try and think of a response that goes beyond 'i miss you' or a 'you should be here', you stumble a little. Lose your footing. Grab onto the sink to stop yourself from falling over entirely, only to send your phone crashing to the floor.

"Fuck," you curse, scrambling down to get it, only to be greeted with a fracture splintering right over the top of your front camera. Pulling up the app, it's very quickly clear that the camera absolutely ruined - but for the most part, your screen is okay. "Fuck."

You think it's a sign: go home.

Even if you're drunk, and you're in the business to make some bad decisions, you know that your Damocles boy is right. There are some weirdos about tonight, and as fucked up as it all seems, 'safe' feels a lot like a message thread with a man you've never met.

Instead of replying to him, you open up your thread with Jimin. Let him know you're going home. Make your way up the stairs and out of the bar without looking back. It's rare for you to cry when you drink, but it kind of feels like you will now, and for no good reason. Just had a little too much, that's all.

The light around fades from the invasive red of the club into the murky blue hues of the streets.

And yet, there's a lovely little red flag waiting by the top of the stairs, unaware of your decision to head home, too.

"You leaving already?" You chirp in surprise upon realising who it is.

The sound of your voice, and the fact it's addressing him, seems to take Yoongi by surprise when he turns to face you.

"I, uh," he pauses. Looks down. Seems to be a little flustered. You wonder what's going inside that head of his, but when his eyes meet yours again, you decide you're better off not knowing. "Can't be home too late. I'm sorta seeing someone. Gotta get back for them."

"Oh," you say quietly.

I'm seeing someone.

"Yeah."

It's not like it matters, it's just that you never expected to hear him say those words. He's married to his music. Always has been. Spends his nights in the studio, not sleeping next to someone else.

Or perhaps he doesn't anymore. Just goes to show how little you know of his life these days.

"That's nice," you chirp, swallowing down your surprise. "Yeah. That's really nice, actually. I'm pleased for you."

In a way, it makes sense. Perhaps his strangeness lately has been less to do with you and more to do with himself and the fact he genuinely doesn't care about the past anymore. Thoughts of the night that never was are genuinely reserved for your brain, and your brain alone. Have no place in his. His warning about Jungkook was due to lessons learned by him.

"And you?" He asks, noticing the slight discomfort in your tone. He wouldn't normally entertain such frivolous conversations with you, but he's only human. Alcohol still gets him a little loose-lipped, too. "What's new in your love life?"

You laugh, now. Good fuckin' question. Genuinely don't know how to describe your Damocles boy, or if you even want to.

"Nothing new."

"No?"

"No," you smile in such a way that Yoongi knows you're not telling the whole truth - but who is he to pry?

"Well," he says, then coughs to clear his throat. Look out to the street ahead of you both. It's full of drunk revellers, and you're certain at least half of them will have The Scouts in their playlists. Yoongi's position in the band means he's never front and centre, so no one notices him like this. If they do, they're being incredibly discreet about it. "I'm sure you'll meet someone soon."

"Maybe," you shrug, knocking your shoulder against his arm. "Be easier if you didn't stand in front of every guy who shows an interest in me."

"It was one guy," he laughs, knowing not to take you too seriously. "And you know he was a creep. Was just standing in for your brother."

"Yeah," you nod, not caring to counter him, or to remind him how fucked up it is to refer to himself like that. Folding your arms over your chest, you're regretting the lack of a coat. Had left it back at pre-drinks, because a little bit of liquor and you suddenly think you're a child of the sun. "You're right. Thanks for that."

"No worries," Yoongi shrugs. Is about to offer you his jacket, when a taxi rolls up. "This yours?"

"Yeah," you nod, recognising the number plate from the taxi you'd ordered via an app when you'd been in the bathroom. "Want a lift?"

He shakes his head. "Gotta head to the studio first."

"Yoongi, you're drunk," you laugh. "What did I tell you about all work?"

"Yeah, yeah, dull boy," he laughs too - but it's not you he's thinking of as he recites it. It's the girl he's heading home for that enters his mind, and how she'd said something similar. Shaking his head, he's confused at how easily thoughts of her intertwine with how easy it can be to joke with you. Puts it down to the alcohol. His head's a mess. "Inspiration doesn't wait. Let Jimin or someone know when you're home."

"Get in the cab," you insist at his need to be difficult. "I'll route it past the studio. Inspiration doesn't wait," you imitate a little childishly, which does get him smiling. "Better to get to it quickly, no?"

He looks around. Looks a little uncomfortable. You don't take it personally. He looks like this a lot of the time around you. Even before it all got weird.

Eventually, he sighs. Relents.

"Route it to yours," he says. "I'll carry on to the studio."

"Studio is closer," you tell him, knocking your head to the side, pulling open the door. "C'mon. The driver will leave if you don't hurry up."

"And Jin'll kill me if you get stolen," he reminds you, as if that would be likely to happen. Even if the taxi driver was a creep, there are cameras everywhere in places like this. You're as safe as can be. "You first. Non-negotiable."

"You're a tough bargainer," you hum with narrowed eyes. He is at least here, and not walking in the cold. Would have to cross the river to get to the studio, and the thought of any of them drunkenly walking along it alone scares you. "Fine. But you better not get stolen, either. Twitter would have a meltdown- no, Twitter would kill me if you get stolen."

"Shut up," he laughs. Knows The Scouts have a fanbase that could scare even political leaders into submission, if they really wanted to. "They don't even know who you are."

But Yoongi is forgetting who your brother is. Forgetting that there's a good reason why Jungkook has 'look but don't touch' etched into his brain. Forgetting that there are Twitter accounts dedicated to posting updates from your socials, just for a glimpse of The Scouts.

And as you let silence simmer into the taxi, not caring to keep up a conversation, you're none the wiser that those exact fan accounts are currently screaming into the void.

The Yoongi-dedicated update accounts, too.

In fact, the entire app is on fire - and it's not gonna be an easy one to put out.

03:31AM

D4m0cl3s: you still out, clem?

Cl3m3ntin3: why? miss me?

D4m0cl3s: never

Cl3m3ntin3: hmmm well in that case, yes i am x

D4m0cl3s: i think you're lying you answered far too quickly

Cl3m3ntin3: i think you should just admit that you miss me and u just caught me at a good time :/

D4m0cl3s: but i don't? and ur nose must be soooooo big pinocchio

Cl3m3ntin3: yeah you do you've missed me sooooo much tonight, havent you? bet you've been all mopey just thinking about me aaaaaaall night me & my proportionally sized nose x

D4m0cl3s: dunno what you mean

Cl3m3ntin3: well, are you home?

D4m0cl3s: almost

Cl3m3ntin3: not even home yet and already texting me... but you don't miss me? you're lucky you've got such a nice cock i wouldn't let your lies slide so easily if you didn't

D4m0cl3s: so you're only with me for my cock?

Cl3m3ntin3: i'm not with you

D4m0cl3s: ouch noted

Cl3m3ntin3: you're the one who refuses to have me, remember?

D4m0cl3s: you know it's not like that, clem

Cl3m3ntin3: i know, babe i'm just fucking with you figuratively (sadly) i'm with friends though - i'll let you know when i'm alone, alright?

D4m0cl3s: don't worry about me enjoy your night trouble message me in the morning, yeah?

Cl3m3ntin3: if this is a ploy to make me message you first, it wont work

D4m0cl3s: finei 'll message you

Cl3m3ntin3: keen

D4m0cl3s: you love it

Cl3m3ntin3: suuuure i do

D4m0cl3s: stay safe, babe drink water before bed

Cl3m3ntin3: you wanna drink some clementine juice before bed?

D4m0cl3s: i dont think they make clementine juice and no you know the rules sleep off the alcohol first then send me pictures of that gorgeous cunt in the morning, yeah?

Cl3m3ntin3: and what will i get in return?

D4m0cl3s: the video i've just taken of myself stroking my big hard cock just for you

Cl3m3ntin3: fuck send it now? pls x

D4m0cl3s: keen and no x

Cl3m3ntin3: c'monnnn :(

D4m0cl3s: in the morning, baby just know that i'm a little drunk but so fuckin' hard

Cl3m3ntin3: no whiskey dick? i'm impressed

D4m0cl3s: i'm thinking about you nothing will ever stop me from getting hard when im thinking about you

Cl3m3ntin3: watcha thinkin about? gimmie specifics x i wanna touch myself

D4m0cl3s: that pretty cunt of yours how fuckin' wet you get god i wanna fuck you nice and slow NO FUCK STOP TEMPTING ME YOU SIREN

Cl3m3ntin3: 🙁

D4m0cl3s: in the morning

Cl3m3ntin3: you promise?

D4m0cl3s: i promise, baby go spend time with your friends message me if you need anything

Cl3m3ntin3: your dick?

D4m0cl3s: anything other than that you'll get it in the morning, clemmie promise x

D4m0cl3s is offline

GENIUS LAB Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

"All good?" Yoongi hums as the door to his studio clicks shut. 

He'd left the door on the latch so you could get back in when you went to the bathroom. Could have just given you the code, but he didn't want you to think he'd be making a habit of this. It's a limited-time offer. Not one that can be redeemed whenever you like. It's now, and now only.

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, pulling on the back of the spare desk chair Yoongi had rolled up beside his. You don't look at him, just at the screens as you tell a little white lie. "Just let Jimin know I was okay."

Yoongi grunts some sort of agreement, but doesn't vocalise a response as such.

It's not like a complete subversion of the truth. A text has been sent to your group chat. The one with just Jungkook and Jimin. No one else needs to know your business, as far as you're concerned.

It's just that a few more texts have been sent to your Damocles boy—but that's none of Yoongi's business. You're sure he wouldn't care to know.

You're also sure he's regretting the request for help bestowed upon you on the ride back. He'd mentioned the song he was going to work on, and you'd offered to lend an ear again. 

It's not an unheard-of thing. There are a couple of tracks on the last album that have been tweaked as a result of your ear, including their biggest single. You're not listed in the credits, but you never asked to be. Was just helping out a friend—even if said friend then decided to become an asshole when they started making a name for themselves.

You're tipsy, and so is Yoongi. It's easier to forget how fraught things have become when you're like this. You wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't had a few too many drinks. 

You also probably wouldn't be trending all over twitter, but you're still blissfully unaware of this.

"Same track as before, right?" You ask, kicking your shoes off to get a little more comfortable on the chair.

Again, words fail Yoongi. You're forced to decipher his small noises, 'cause it's all he tends to offer you. It's not like it's a uniquely you issue—the boys have learned to speak in Yoongi-code, too. 

"Okay, play it from the start," you tell him. "Show me what we're working with."

There's a cautious nature to the way Yoongi works. So preoccupied with creating perfection, he hates letting people hear his work before it's reached his self-imposed arbitrary standards. There's only a very small circle who gets the privilege of seeing how his brain works.

Despite his ever-present disdain for you, it seems like you're one of the lucky few. He'll never acknowledge this. Never admit that he favours your opinions, because he genuinely doesn't think he does.

You're frank with him. Will tell him how it is. Don't sugarcoat it. Aren't seeking his approval, so don't care to lick his ass just to keep him happy—not that he ever wants you to lick his ass. Could think of nothing worse. Not because he isn't into it, but because the thought of being with you repulses him in a way he can't quite describe. Even thinking about it makes him shudder.

But maybe that's the issue. Maybe the shudder is indicative of something else entirely.

"Yoongi?" You ask, drawing him from his thoughts. The song has finished, but he doesn't even really recall listening to it at all.

"Hm?" He hums. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"The lyrics," you say. "What's the song about? 'Cause at the moment, musically, it sounds like a heartbreak song and love song all at the same time, and I think that's what's confusing about it. It can't decide what it wants to be."

Yoongi frowns.

"It's not really either," he supposes.

In the dim lighting of his studio, Yoongi is at his very best. Focused, he's shrewd in his astute calculations. Can put together different sounds and construct melodies you wouldn't even be able to dream of. For all of his issues, there is one undeniable truth: the man is a musical genius.

It's why this is all so perplexing to him. He hates not knowing how to make things right. This is his job. It's what he excels at—and yet he's failing.

"Well, what's it about?" You softly ask, turning to look at him. "Do you have the lyrics?"

Guard clearly up, the way Yoongi looks at you is puzzling. Whatever he's written isn't something that he wants to share.

"What?" you laugh, trying to not make a big deal of things. You know how quickly he closes up, and can already sense it happening. "You told me you're seeing someone, remember? God forbid you accidentally expose the fact you're a human being with real feelings."

You half think he might smile.

He doesn't.

Instead, he reaches across his desk for a small black notebook. A little weathered, it's clearly seen a lot of thoughts in the past. The leather of the cover is tarnished, and there's a faded sticker from some instrument brand wrapping around the spine.

"Just don't ask any fuckin' questions," he grumbles.

Rolling your eyes, you gladly accept the book. Tuck your thumb between the pages where a natural divide occurs. It's testament to how long Yoongi has spent agonising over the same words.

His handwriting never changes much. Always messy. Always hard to decipher.

Or at least, it's hard for other people. You've never found it to be too taxing.

What's curious this time are the little doodles on the page. Blossoms and small fruits.

"Cherries?" You ask, chirping with a little curiosity. It's hard to work out exactly what they are, but cherries seem like the most likely thing.

Yoongi just grunts.

Getting anything from him is like getting blood from a stone.

"How the fuck do you have a functioning relationship?" You mutter, casting your eyes back down to his words. The way he refuses to converse with you is infuriating.

"I said no questions," he curtly reminds you.

The way you roll your eyes this time is far less kind. Tossing the book back down on the desk, you reach for your shoes and get to your feet without a word.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," you tell him, as your hand reaches for the door handle. "You asked me for help, Yoongi—but I can't do jack shit if you won't let me."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for critique on my relationship, did I?" He snaps back. Feels his skin get all hot. Clammy. Relationship. That's not how he'd define what he's got going on. He doesn't know why he did call it that. Doesn't know why he didn't just ignore you, when you're clearly trying to wind him up.

"You're impossible," you tell him, patience thin. The alcohol made it easier to be friendly with him, but it also makes it easier to fight, too.

"And you're unbearable!"

"Me?!" You say with such offense it almost surprises Yoongi. Turning around to fully face him, you let go of the the door handle. Let it whisper shut, the lock softly clicking into place. You're willingly trapped in the confines of his studio. Could just leave. Instead, you choose to fight. "Oh, you have some fucking nerve—"

"I thought you were going?" He cuts you off, responding to your change in position by getting to his feet too. He's not one for confrontation, but there's something about you that just gets under his skin. Makes him wanna fight right back. "So why don't you just fuckin' go?"

"I am," you assure him. You should have known that this would end in disaster. "But maybe if you channelled some of this pent-up frustration into your music, maybe you'd actually get somewhere."

"I don't need you telling me how to do my job," he sneers. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm doing perfectly fine without your unsolicited advice."

Unbelievable. Was he not the one who asked for your help? Repeatedly?

"Holy shit," you scornfully laugh. "Listen to yourself, you deluded prick! You asked—"

"Yeah, well if you didn't insist on sticking your big fuckin' Pinnochio nose into everything—"

"My big nose?! Oh, you are such an asshole."

"You're no fuckin' daisy, either," he snaps. Doesn't even really know why he's being so rude. Just knows he doesn't want to back down. Doesn't wanna let you win. "Just do us all a favour and quit before the tour. No one wants you there."

It's never been a secret that Yoongi harbours contempt for the way in which you got your jobs, but you know damn well that you've proven your worth. If it was anyone else saying these words, you'd probably be offended.

Instead, you just shake your head. Laugh. Walk a little closer just to piss him off. Encroach upon his personal space.

"Tell me, Yoongi," you say quietly, picking off a little dust from his shirt just to see how he reacts. To your surprise, he lets you. Just looks down at you. Watches to see what you'll do next. Eyes flicking up to his, the air between you is frightfully thin. "If I quit, how would you explain it to Jin? Hmm? Would you tell him the way you speak to me?"

"I've got nothing to hide," Yoongi replies just as quietly. There's an intimacy to be found somewhere hidden between your mutual disdain and heated anger. The kind of coldness that can only come from someone you once knew to be warm. "He knows you're a piece of work."

This does make you laugh. "Nothing to hide, huh?"

"Nothing," he says. His jaw is tense, and his eyes are even more so. "Nothing happened that night."

"Yoongi, I didn't even mention that night," you remind him with a smirk, pleased at your ability to get under his skin. 

That night has lingered with you both: the scent of damp cedar wood and the sensation of sweltering heat against your clammy skin. It's not the kind of thing you forget, even if you never speak of it. Not with Jimin, not with Jungkook, and especially not with Yoongi.

"Just get out of my studio," he growls, eyes centred on yours. He's unwavering in the way that he stares you out; unashamed and uncompromising.

"Gladly," you say as you pull away from him.

You're not gonna beg him to be cordial with you. This atmosphere is a product of his own creation, and as miserable as it is, he's gonna have to be the one to fix it. Both as stubborn as one another, you know damn well it's gonna stay like for a while.

The door slams shut. No amount of soundproofing can obscure the way Yoongi curses into the void left by you.

But right on time, as you reach the door that leads out onto the street, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It's a little longer than the vibration of your other apps, so you know exactly what it is. Who it is. Solace is found in the form of notifications from him. Satisfaction, too.

D4m0cl3s: fuck it i need you, now, clem

D4m0cl3s added new media to the chat!

end of part two

[catboybiologist]

Sappy emo time? Sappy emo time. Or idk, sappy beauty time. I'm a bit burnt out of graduate studies atm and reminding myself a little of why I love science in the first place.

I very explicitly consider myself Atheist, not really even agnostic. But a huge part of that is because I think there's something a bit more beautiful and even a little holy in the way the universe exists on its own. Without something making it "tick".

There's no creator that carved those valleys, but the eons of the river running through it have left their mark in every pebble, every rock, and every living thing that takes refuge by them. Maybe there's something divine in that without a god.

There’s nothing that designed the animals around me and the environments they live in, but I still see how everything from the invertebrates in the mud to the megafauna around them lives in a weird, discordant harmony, an amalgamation of every erratic piece of behavior that any of them ever exhibited. Maybe there’s something a little holy in that without a congregation.

I've felt the skin of the ones I love, and the pleasure in the erotic, expressing themselves as an array of action potentials from sensory neurons so dazzlingly complex and chaotic that even studying every detail of them doesn't come close to bringing the human mind to understanding its own existence. Maybe there's something spiritual in that without a soul.

I've seen more that is sacred in a bustling street, with every person walking at a particular tempo, with their own hopes, dreams, and fears, than I ever have in the few religious ceremonies that I've participated in. Maybe there's something religious in that without a religion.

None of it is coordinated. You see chaos everywhere. You see pain everywhere. It's all an unoptimized, barely functioning mess. But its a mess of a million components, and by peeling back that veil one layer at a time

Science, particularly biology, lets me parse it out. Lets me engage in it. Let me pick apart each and every aspect of the living things around me and see them, witness them, even worship them in ways that I wouldn’t be capable of without it.

Is that a religion? Is that what religious people feel? I wouldn't know. I've never been religious, I was raised atheist. But maybe its something that keeps me on my feet and sparks my curiosity.

I'd also ask that you don't try to classify this as anything but what it is. I’m still atheist. The core of it is still empiricism and the lack of a god. It's just a kinder look at it, and maybe just a bit more of an attempt to see the beauty in the world after years of pessimism. The universe, at its core, is an incredible, gorgeous mess. Every negative emotion in my life has been a result of being blocked from seeing it like it really is.

Idk what I’m trying to do with this. Sorry if this sounds too much like the shitty cringe poetry book I wrote when I was 15.

[ragzonacamrencruise]

Thoughts on Azutara but featuring either Katara or Azula drinking a love potion?

ooohhh yesss soo many thoughts!! okay hear meowt-

Everybody thinks it's safe to assume that Katara is the one who'll fall for Ty Lee's old trick of making everyone drink love potion intead of the supposed drink she's handing them. But Katara knows better than to gulp anything that Ty Lee gives her, having heard all the hilarious but embarrassing stories that come along with it.

So, she doesn't think much when one night, she finds Azula staring at her from across the courtyard in Ozai's Ember Island House. It's a full moon night and Katara has never been able to get much sleep whenever there's a full moon. The Gaang had just finished their meal around a campfire, all of them now soundly asleep.

Or, so she thought before she made out the silhouette as Azula's against the rising moon across the courtyard. The dying campfire flickers in Azula's eyes, and Katara's never seen it be so . . . golden.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Katara asks softly, as she starts walking towards a cliff that sits on top of a hill that gently rolls down right outside the courtyard near Ozai's house. Azula doesn't answer, but Katara can feel Azula following right behind her. Katara sits at the edge of the cliff, dangling her feet in the air, with the house behind her and the rising moon in front of her, basking in its soft glow, filling her to the brim with power and a rare sort of energy she hasn't yet experienced. It's new and urgent and she just needs to cool it off before she does something stupid.

But that plan goes down the drain when she feels Azula come up behind her to take a seat right beside, golden eyes scrutinising her with wonder, making Katara's stomach flip uncomfortably.

Okay, she should not be feeling this way about Azula.

She blames it on the full moon hormones.

"Anything in particular that's keeping you awake?" Katara tries again. "For me, it's the full moon."

When Azula doesn't respond, Katara turns to look at her with a slight frown, wondering what's going on inside the fire princess's beautiful mind.

Did she just call her beautiful? God damn it-

She blames it on Azula's change in hair-do with just a ponytail and her bangs framing her face. She looks like she jumped to ground directly from the Sozin's Comet, burning hot. And it doesn't help when Azula's looking at her like this too, with her golden eyes softened in the glow of the full moon.

"Did Toph offer you something to drink?" Azula wonders at Katara finally breaking her long held silence.

"Yes." Katara answers eagerly, glad to make some kind of conversation. A few seconds more of this excruciating silence and she would've gone mad for sure. "But it was just watermelon juice. I made sure to check."

"Are you sure it was just watermelon juice?"

Katara squints her eyes. "Are you suggesting it was something else?"

Azula shrugs, her eyes still unable to waver from Katara's. "I donno. She offered me some too. And I haven't felt this weird since that one time in the Royal Fire Academy for Girls."

Katara's frown deepens. "What do you mean?"

"When we were little, Ty Lee learnt this secret to boil down a love potion that makes you incredibly infactuated with the person the potion demands."

Katara nods. "Yes, I'm aware of it."

Azula lets out a short huff in irritation before continuing. "Ty Lee tricked me into drinking love potion when we were in the Academy and I think she convinced Toph into her little devious plan cuz it felt just like how weird I'm feeling right now."

Katara knows she shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be asking questions like this, but something foggy in her brain just lets the query fall from her lips like rain on a hot day. "How weird are you feeling right now?"

A moment of silence passes between them as Azula lets those words hang in the air. "Weird enough to do something I've always wanted to do since I laid my eyes on you." The firebender's hair moves with the breeze, against her steady dialated eyes on Katara.

You see, Katara is not the one to miss an opportunity where she can be bold. Bold enough to say-

"Then do it."

And before she can even blink, Azula is upon her. Her hands find Katara's hips and she's a goner. She lets herself get drowned completely when Azula leans in to place the softest lips Katara has ever known on her mouth, claiming her once and for all. She's always dreamed of how it'll be when Azula finally gets over her resolve and avows her like she's doing right now, but she never came close to even fabricating the real thing.

The urgency Katara felt before hits her back with a force she can only describe as 'waterbending-bomb like'. She desperately grasps onto Azula's top collars, finally getting what she's wanted since she saw Azula in those Fire Nation party outfits when they went to watch the Ember Island Players again.

Azula runs her hand through Katara's hair and her braids fall helplessly open, springing Katara's wavy locks free from its confines. She cluches it in her fingers, pulling Katara's head back with it to gain more access to her.

An involuntary noise escapes Katara as she feels herself completely submit to Azula's needs and desires.

That seems to pull Azula out of her daze, as she quickly halts their ministrations, untangling herself from Katara's body. "We shouldn't be doing this."

And Katara's gut bottoms out. Just when she thought she had a chance, Azula goes and breaks her heart like this. She shoulda known better than to-

"The love potion's still in our systems." Azula continues and Katara looks at her with wide eyes. "Come find me tomorrow if you still think this is what you want when the love potion is out."

And with that, Azula stands up and leaves a reeling Katara still dumbstruck over her luck at finding gold in the middle of a desert.

***

okay . . . i didn't mean for this to get this looongggg, but, how do you like that?? tell me tell me tell me :)

[thecruellestmonth]

Juni Ba is holding a Reddit "Ask Me Anything" session on May 7 at 4 PM CEST (10 AM EST).

Some of his answers in his previous interviews about The Boy Wonder, a reimagining of Damian's story—

This is a standalone graphic novel (Black Label), meant to be accessible to readers with no prior comic knowledge. It is meant for ages 13+.

Damian is Ba's favorite Robin, and he finds him very relatable.

On Damian comic influences, Ba says Son of Batman and Super Sons were two of his favorite books.

Other than Damian, Talia and Jason are the characters that Ba has been most excited to work with.

Ba did the art for the "Happy Birthday Damian" story in Truth & Justice; while the art was a test run for some design ideas he's using in The Boy Wonder, the actual story isn't necessarily indicative of his own writing style or his version of the characters.

Ba is a big fan of Darwyn Cooke. Justice League: The New Frontier thematically inspired him here, possibly more than particular Batman comics.

Ba is aware of the racism discussion regarding the al Ghuls, and he intends to humanize them.

Ba started writing in 2020 or 2021, and the story is being released now after a period of waiting.

"This is very much I guess a Juni Ba book that happens to feature Batman characters."

To start us off, what can you tell us about the story of your new series, The Boy Wonder?

I usually introduce it to people by saying it's the story of a child with a lot of hang ups and preconceived ideas, both about himself and his family members. Over the course of this coming of age fairy tale he starts to learn about them, and himself, and grow into a better person. And it really leans into the fairy tale aspect to push the allegory and the magic in this story!

Why does Damian appeal to you so much as both an artist and a writer?

I find him both tragic and adorable. He and I share some things and I think that's why my brain started coming up with a story about him all by itself. Writing wise there's a fertile ground to tell a really heartfelt story. And art wise, he's such a fun character to draw. It's like a cute little gremlin who's always frowning and judging everyone, which can often backfire on him in funny ways.

How much does Damian's past with Talia and Ra's al Ghul influence Damian and this story?

A lot! They raised him after all, so that upbringing influences a lot of what he does. But that includes Batman too, even if his influence is more recent. There's a looming presence of all the parental figures and the pressure of what they'd have wanted you to do, how they would have judged you.

Since we were talking about Damian’s mother, there have been questions surrounding characterization and stuff, especially for characters like the Al’Ghuls, whose stories unfortunately do have a lot of racist elements in their origins. Are you doing anything to combat or alleviate those concerns in your book?

Stories often dehumanize them, so I try to do the opposite. I think I have a very character-driven style of storytelling, and a lot of the time I try to give the point of view of as many people as I can in the story.

There are five issues. Three of them have the Robins, and then eventually we get to my 2nd favourite team up, which is with Talia and it’s done from her perspective. The main goal was to try to give her more of a voice, because you start this story with a kid who tells you “My parents are messed up,” he was essentially raised to kill people, but we see how she was raised too, and the faults that she can see in her father’s philosophy.

Ra’s gets a bit of that as well later on, but the main goal was, I want to make it so that when you start the story with Damian, he has a lot of preconceived ideas about both sides of his family, which make his relationships to everyone very difficult. Every adventure he has, he gets to understand things in a different light by the end of every story, and one of them was, “What is his relationship to his mom like?” And you get to see it from the mom’s point of view and understand that she loves her son, but there are a lot of complications that come from being raised by someone like Ra’s.

Beyond that, this is an older Talia, more mature and less sexualized than the usual I’d say. As for Ra’s, I can’t say much, but a lot of what you see of him at first is rooted in Damian’s childlike, heightened, and scared perception. Just like the rest, it gets explored later.

It sounds like the book will see Damian coming to terms with his place in the Robin lineage. How does he feel about his brothers?

This Damian would probably say they're usurpers, ingrates, failures and profiteers! It's pretty hard being raised as the center of all the attention, as well as a successor who's never quite enough for his grandfather, and then when thrown into the Bat family, he becomes what feels like the fifth wheel. The last and least appreciated son. So his whole arc will be about processing that.

Is there a character other than Damian that you’re particularly excited to be writing and/or drawing?

Jason and Talia, by a lot. I think because the core of it is this is a world of people who seem very perfect. Damian works as this kid who feels like he’s not good enough for that. But aside from him, there’s Jason, who’s really a well-intentioned, good hearted person who really bad stuff happened to, and he’s struggling to get out of the traumatic impact of that. And I think the story works really well in showing that.

Talia is kind of the same. It’s someone who has a very idealistic view of the world and wants to essentially, be allowed to shape the world into what she thinks it could be, but she has to be under the boot of someone else who is not very reputable, and it has impacted a lot of her life in ways that she did not intend, including her relationship to her son and that’s also probably why those two characters also get like an issue told from their perspective. I really wanted to show you the inside of their mind and dispel a lot of the prejudice that Damian has about the way they are.

I really love the way you visualize Damian and the other Robins expressing themselves with their eyes. What design elements of the character were you most excited to highlight to help show readers what Damian was feeling in a given moment?

I do love using the eyes to express! It’s a very efficient and visually compelling way to do it, but more so than that I use character design. Their shapes, their colors, they all are designed to convey something relative to the story at hand. For example Jason takes cues from Taxi Driver and the general feeling of alienation and being a drifter. It’s all to give a shorthand into how he feels, to then unpack that and give it context. Everything is story basically. Damian looks like a cute angry potato! And that’s all because despite how abrasive he can be, he has to remain endearing and you must see that it’s still a kid learning.

Well, since this is your own thing, I assume that must mean that you’re giving your own spin on these characters. Is there anything without spoilers that you can tease that is going to be different? Like if you’re a long time reader going into this you’re going to be surprised by it.

I’m someone who really likes a more fairy tale and magical side to storytelling. Something that I added a bunch of, I mean, they talk about demons in the solicits of the first issue. It’s both an allegorical thing and a very, real thing that the magical aspects of certain parts of that world have been pushed more.

The other big thing for me was Damian is the heart of the story, so everything is seen from his point of view. So Batman looks a lot more like a dad. Talia looks a lot more like a mom, and with every one of the Robins, I try to take a core concept of every one of them and push it to the forefront to contrast it to Damian. So like, I would say that the more fun part of it would be observing how Damian interacts with what’s essentially kind of a mirror put to himself every time. But overall the idea is a sort of cartoon-making logic, of taking the general elements in various iterations of a character, synthesizing them for the story, into something recognizable but digestible.

The Boy Wonder has this beautiful visual style - fairy tale, as you just said - despite some strong moments of violence. Why did you choose to tell the story this way?

Fairy tales are great for allegory, larger than life concepts and leaning into the magical. There's also a story reason I can't spoil but it makes for a great framing device.

[...] There are narrative reasons in the book that I can’t spoil, but overall I’d say it’s because it’s my favorite format, as well as a great way to really lean into the larger than life aspect, the allegorical, the magical. Fables often contain a nugget of a message or meaning, and this is a coming of age story, so it fits rather well.

The Boy Wonder is as much about Damian as it is his brothers. Has that story not been told enough — how similar and different Bruce’s kids really are — and did you draw on your relationship with siblings at all?

Pretty much no one I talk to in the larger world ever even knows that there are multiple Robins, let alone read their stories. So I’m glad to be making a book that’s easy to access for new readers, with no prior knowledge needed, that appeals on its own and can tell them a cool story about family and overcoming pressure. A story that works both for the ones who know these characters and want a self contained tale, and the ones who know nothing and just want a fun comic to read. The comic is Black Label, which usually skews older, but this is a tale I wanted accessible from mid teens to as old as you want.

And I did pull from experience! I have two siblings, my best friends all do as well, and the inner workings of how you view yourself and your family members depending on where you fit is interesting to me. It’s very much a tale of reckoning with your assumptions about your family, as well as the impact your parents had on you and your siblings.

What about Damian Wayne is so interesting to you? Do you think he gets a bad rap even now in the grander DC Universe?

Damian is simultaneously the most insufferable and most touching little boy to me. There’s a mix of adorable and deadly that I find amusing to watch, and satisfying to write. Plus I sympathize with him on a few backstory elements which are the cornerstone of the whole story.

As for his reputation, I think I’m glad there’s a reminder that being coarse and ill mannered can hide a good heart.

What are some of the benefits of putting this out as a DC Black Label book?

Mostly freedom! I got to tell the story I wanted. I didn't have to worry about continuity, and thus made what I like making: a self-contained adventure that anyone can appreciate as a comic, with or without any prior exposure to that world. Plus we got to have fun with the design of the issues!

Do you have a favorite Damian-starring story that you drew on for this book? Or maybe another Bat Family story instead/as well?

I think my two favorites were Son of Batman and Super Sons. I just vibed a lot with the fun adventurous tone. But most of my inspiration comes from outside superhero comics, or even outside comics as a whole. I didn’t even reread those two books I mentioned aside from when I needed to check phrasing. In that case I read those, and the early Damian stories just to absorb how he spoke.

But outside superhero stuff, were there any influences that were working on you as you were writing this story?

So a lot of comics from the 60s and 70s, from France and Belgium.I have a thing for like 80s and 90s movies, including movies that I was not supposed to watch when I was a kid, so stuff that’s drama-oriented. The point of this book is, it’s basically a character study, mostly of Damian, but also Damian through his interactions with other people in his life. So, mostly the other Robins, but also his parents and more so his mother.

The events that happen are really just a setting for you to observe how the characters interact, and there’s a bunch of movies in the 80s that were really good at doing that and showing you a very flawed person and the way that they react to the world around them. So yeah, that’s more of a tone thing. The aesthetic aspect was really taken from 60s and 70s French and Belgian comics as well as very old sci-fi, fairy tales, and black and white photography.

What’s the process look like for you when you write and draw a comic?

Whoa. Let’s see. So the origin of every book is a little different, but usually I spend a year or two, maybe more just thinking about the story and putting ideas down and then once I have an idea of how every story step works into each other, I start storyboarding so there’s no script.

[...] I don’t write scripts because I prefer to have the storyboard of the thing already made, because that’s where I know if something is working or not. Then once the storyboard has been greenlit and all the corrections are done, the next step is drawing the final pages. I do the sketching on my tablet, and then I print that in blue lines and ink over that. It’s a recent thing, I started doing it the last few months. The Boy Wonder was made that way. [...]

[...] I mean, technically, I started writing it in 2020 or 2021. Yeah. I’ve been sitting on it for a while, and then I made a tweet about it and it got the attention of Chris Conroy, who basically runs Black Label. He just asked, like, “OK, sure. Show it to me. I want to see what that’s like.” Several months later, the book was greenlit by DC.

You talked about how Batman: The Animated Series is an inspiration for this. And also because it’s Damian, I assume that the Grant Morrison Batman stuff is also an inspiration in some ways. But what other Batman material were you inspired by, if any, when writing this book?

Well, I wasn’t so much using Batman as I was using other things. Like there’s a bunch of influences from a bunch of different places, but the superhero stuff was mostly influenced by Darwyn Cooke. So it wasn’t so much Batman as much as it was Cooke. Like the thought process I guess was, “What do I like about these characters? Like the concept of the superhero?” Because the idea came from me watching a documentary about The Dark Knight Returns and Frank Miller. They mentioned how he was given free reign to make the Batman book he wanted. I just had the thought of, “Yeah, that would be fun, having a superhero story where you can just do whatever you want. Like, it’s your personal take.”

I guess from then, my brain started imagining a story with Damian because he’s my favourite Robin and I have a lot in common with him in terms of his backstory. I think it was this sense of sympathy towards the kid and the story grew from wanting to talk about the feeling of “You’re not good enough to be a part of the group you’re in or the family you’re in.” So being a superhero was more of an allegory of, “I don’t feel good enough to be a part of those great people who seem so perfect.”

Then the Darwyn Cooke stuff came. He was probably the biggest superheroic influence, because he’s kind of the epitome of superhero storytelling to me. He makes all his stories very easy to understand, very accessible to someone who maybe has never opened or barely knows what that character is about. His storytelling is also strong on its own artistic terms and most of all, he has this great sense of making superheroes this idea of the ideal version of ourselves, like those people who, even if they have bad thoughts or flaws that they have to overcome, they always do the right thing and they represent the best in all of us, and there’s a sort of sense of joyful fun in the superhero stories that he does. He also can talk about very serious subjects through that at the same time. My favourite superhero comic is The New Frontier, and I kept reading it over and over again when I was rewriting the book just to look at how he was managing that balance of joyful, superheroic, and inspirational fun, and the more serious themes. So yeah, the biggest influence would probably be him.

When I was doing research for this, I noticed that this isn’t your first time with a Damian comic. It was the “Happy Birthday Damian” story for Truth and Justice. Even over there, there’s a lot of similarities in terms of the character design, and even to some degree, Damian’s own struggle with his family and all that. So did that story help inform or define where you wanted to go with the characters for this book?

Well, no actually because basically when they asked me to do that story, the way it happened was that I was originally approached for something else, and I said, “I don’t really want to do that, but I’ve been writing this Damian story just for myself. Would you like to take a look?” Truth and Justice was kind of a test like, “We already have this story written by Andrew Aydin, and the idea was, do you want to draw it? It’s kind of a test run.” So I just used the designs I had already made for my own book. The fact that the themes are very similar is kind of a coincidence and it was kind of funny actually. It was a good way to sort of try my hand at drawing these for the first time, get a sense of what works and what doesn’t. I would say my story is a lot more complex, and delves a lot more into the psychology of most of the characters.

This book is an anthology like you said, where it’s about Damian with all these characters. But in terms of the structure of the story, is there like a connection beyond that, like Monkey Meat is all about the corporation. So is there a connection like that in this story?

Yes. It’s a narrative cut into different, contained stories, basically. Because the idea is that Damian is on a quest to try and prove his worth by defeating an enemy, and it’s really more of a set up to allow for him to meet all the different characters that he does. But the goal is that every story progresses that main plot that he’s on and getting closer to the final showdown against the big enemy.

The whole point is this kid needs to grow up and understand the familial context that he was born into on both sides, like a lot of it is him learning how complicated his parents are, and the effect that they’ve had on the people around them and learning to move beyond the trauma and the more negative impact of being the son of a guy who dresses like a bat, or the descendant of a selfish egomaniac. The big plot of the thing is a young boy wants to prove his worth and every story is a step on that journey towards the final end.

For Damian, you said he’s your favourite Robin. You relate to him a lot, but was there anything beyond that that made you want to sit back and think, “Okay, this is the character that I want to give my own spin on?”

I love the concept of Robin. When I was a kid, that was probably the thing that I liked the most about the Batman world. The reason why Damian worked so well is that it was such a perfect way to also tackle the previous ones, so every one of them represents some aspect of what being a Robin is like, and you can use that as an allegory for being part of a group or family with a code and stuff. You can talk about being part of a group with specific ideas of how you should behave, what kind of things you should uphold as good.

Damian’s the runt of the family. He’s the kid who just showed up. He doesn’t really know these people. He has a lot of preconceived ideas and it was a good way for me to be able to also talk about the previous Robins through him. It’s not a meta commentary, it’s more like, “Why do you like these concepts? What speaks to you as a person when you watch those beacons of goodness do things?” Damian is kind of like the audience surrogate in discovering that aspect of things at the same time.

What’s Damian’s favourite sandwich?

Well, I’m going to try and focus on my version of Damian from The Boy Wonder specifically. That Damian, his favourite sandwich would probably be something made by the mystical creatures that serve his grandfather, who take care of the whole land that they live in. So it’ll probably be a sandwich made with vegetables and meat from supernatural sources, something that he would not be able to get in Gotham because no one even knows that this stuff exists.

I like the idea of how even his favourite food is inaccessible in the new place that he’s in, furthering the whole alienation that he’s experiencing.

If Damian had a favorite song, what would it be and why?

I’m now going to show my age and mention how my teen sister listens to these moody chill songs that sound like the softer version of the emo rock I listened to as a teen, so I’d say that style! (Don’t ask me to name them, I don’t know!)

A song from my angst phase? “Numb” by Linkin Park.

[writing-for-life]

Dream’s Therapist

Nightmares

I peruse the client’s previous session notes to prepare as usual and decide to go over his journal entries together to find out what might cause his insomnia. It might also give clues as to why he believes he is a cosmic entity weaving stories, dreams and nightmares.

The client is punctual again (my receptionist informs me he was 20 minutes early). Upon entering my office, he hesitantly takes off his coat and lays it over his lap, neatly folded. I notice this is a deviation from his usual habit of keeping his coat on. I have once more made sure the room is only dimly lit to avoid discomfort, and I forego the apparently undesired small-talk.

DT: Last week, I asked you to journal about your daily routine and any thoughts that might come up. How did that go?

Dream: I did as requested. But unfortunately, nightmares refuse to be confined to paper.

DT (I notice he has apparently brought no journal or notes and rhymes things off from memory): So you did manage to sleep, but you had nightmares?

Dream (I notice the quirked eyebrow, but he seems to lift one corner of his mouth, too, which rather hints at amusement than annoyance): No to both. As I told you previously, I create them.

DT: Okay, tell me about them. What in particular made you journal about them?

Dream: Well, my nightmares are not unlike… unruly children (I notice a fleeting disengagement in his gaze before he quickly shakes his head and resumes). There is the Corinthian…

DT: Your nightmares have names and distinct personalities?

Dream (I notice he looks at me as if I’ve got two heads): Why yes, of course they do. They fulfil particular functions, and I gave them sentience. May I proceed?

DT (I notice prickliness due to my interruption, and I remind myself I really shouldn’t do that): Of course.

Dream: Thank you (He actually rolls his eyes at me at this stage). The Corinthian generally… misbehaves and tells me he wants to feel what it is like to be human. And thinks I only care about my realm and my rules.

DT (I notice a degree of displacement, projection and delusion all rolled into one and briefly contemplate my course of further questioning): And do you think he is right?

Dream (He voices something resembling a groan): Of course not.

DT: Well, last time, you told me you care about rules and responsibilities to a great degree. That you are the king of dreams and nightmares. That feelings are a quaint human invention. It sounds like he might have picked up on those… vibes? How does it make you feel if I suggest that might be a possibility?

Dream (I notice his fingers clutching the coat in his lap very tightly): It makes me feel annoyed that you are ignoring the fact that I don’t feel.

DT: You feel annoyed?

Dream (I notice his Adam’s apple moves up and down in quick succession, and his gaze briefly turns blank. He then blinks and looks straight at me again): The other nightmare is an endless staircase. I shall not tell you its name at this point as not to confuse you (He looks at me with an expression that hints at haughtiness. No, I think it’s pity). Each step leads to a different fear—abandonment, failure… (He stops himself and looks at me as if he expects an interruption.)

DT (I notice he has ignored my prodding for admitting that he does indeed feel. I, in turn, decide to play along): Interesting. And how do you relate to that particular nightmare?

Dream (I notice a somewhat annoyed sigh): I don’t. I am its creator.

DT: But isn’t that a relationship?

Dream (He looks out the window): Perhaps.

DT (I notice he seems somewhat zoned out): And did you ever think about bridging the gap between creator and creation?

Dream (I notice the eye-roll again before he looks at me): That is hardly necessary because they are me. After a fashion. As in: Not entirely. But also: Yes.

DT (I quickly hover on the thought whether this admission can be called progress or not): And how does that make you feel?

Dream: That they are… familiar, and comforting, even in their chaos (I notice he has forgotten to go into an immediate rant about not feeling and start to think we might be getting somewhere). But some of them are just extremely… disappointing.

DT: If they are disappointing, what would need to happen to make it less so? Could you… change these nightmares? Imagine them to be different?

Dream (I notice he uncomfortably straightens in his chair, and his jawline hardens): You are aware you, to a degree, want me to change myself by suggesting so?

DT: I don’t want anything.

Dream (I notice something that could almost be mistaken for a smile, and he blinks slowly): That is a lie.

DT (He is right of course, but I notice he is trying to turn the tables on me every time he wants to avoid a topic): What I was trying to imply is that we are not talking about my wants when we are on the topic of yours.

Dream: How unfortunate. In any case, do not trouble yourself, I know them anyway. (I notice he leans back in his chair and looks… smug?)

DT (I choose to ignore whatever this is): What about you then? What do you want?

Dream (I notice he looks at his boots. A few minutes of silence ensue. They don’t feel too uncomfortable): I want the endless staircase to lead to a cosmic bakery. I want each step to smell of freshly baked bread.

DT (He is clearly mocking me, he told me he hardly eats. I also notice it is past my usual lunchtime, I like bread and I’m hungry. But I decide to see where this is going. I stay silent. I stare at him. He still stares at his boots.)

Dream: There are also teacups in that bakery, and they gossip about the weather, debate existentialism, and occasionally sip Earl Grey. I think they are staging a revolution.

DT: A revolution?

Dream (He still stares at his boots): Yes, it is indeed absurd.

DT: Absurdity is our ally in here, nothing to get hung up on.

Dream (I notice his gaze finally disengaging from his boot and instead locking in on me. His mouth twitches. I am not sure if he smiles?): They demand equality. The cracked teacups want reparations for their shattered handles. The chipped ones insist on universal healthcare. And the most beautiful, rarest porcelain ones are terrified of being replaced.

DT (It gets harder not to laugh, but I just about manage since I can’t beat the feeling that this is just superficially funny but actually hinting at something deeper. It always does): And how do you feel about their demands?

Dream: I fear a teacup uprising (He flings his coat over the armrest of his chair). Can you imagine the horror of tiny porcelain picket lines?

DT (I am really grasping here): What if you gave them a common goal?

Dream (I notice he raises an eyebrow and cocks his head): What, like summoning the Teapot of Enlightenment? The one that brews wisdom instead of tea? Staining saucers in the process and leaving rings on tables?

DT: Gaining wisdom can be a messy affair I guess?

I notice the room seems to smell of tea and imaginary pastries and wonder what’s going on.

Dream (I notice he gauges my reaction for a good two minutes. I manage to hold his gaze. He holds mine. Until he doesn’t and looks at his boot again. The silence lasts for another three minutes): You are indulging my attempts at weaving absurd stories that are in no way related to your questions. Why?

DT: I am not indulging you. I’m letting you communicate whatever you wish to communicate. You might think it’s unrelated, but it tells me things, and that’s enough.

Dream (I notice he still doesn’t lift his chin, but he looks at me): And what does it tell you?

DT: Does it matter?

Dream: Perhaps.

DT: I don’t think it matters what I think about you, I am just here to ask questions that make you think. Maybe hold up a mirror on occasion.

Dream (I notice that his eyes disengage again, and his voice turns very quiet): What if I don’t like mirrors?

DT: I guess that’s okay, you don’t have to like the mirror. But if you don’t like what it reflects at you, you could change either what stands in front of it or how you relate to that reflection. Like you just changed the way you relate to your nightmares.

Dream (I notice he looks at me again): And what makes you think I changed the way I relate to my nightmares?

DT: Because you just told me a story about cosmic bakeries and teapots that weaved quite a bit of light into the darkness?

Dream (I notice he sighs and looks out the window): Like ink and stardust.

DT (I don’t follow): Pardon?

Dream (I notice he grabs his coat): I trust our time is up?

DT: Almost, but not quite. You can make use of the remainder if you want.

Dream (He gets up and puts on his coat): I do not. However, I shall… think. And write. In the journal.

DT: Same time next week then? Can I use ink to put your appointment in my diary?

Dream (I think he smiles, but it is hard to tell for certain): You may. I am sure you will also provide the stardust…

< Previous Session

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Can you do individual ot13 thoughts/headcanons of svt getting with a reader that has a really good physique and is a pilates princess? Like abs so nice and defined it shows through her silk dresses and they have so nice arm/back muscles! I’m sure they would definitely love a partner to tag along with them at the gym.

🏋️‍♀️Who; Seventeen (individually) x female reader (though I think most come off as gender-neutral) 🏋️‍♀️Wordcount; a little under 1k altogether 🏋️‍♀️Warnings; none, I don't think so at least.

-2024 Masterlist -

A/N- Let me just preface by saying that I am in no way speaking for the members and their preferences in regards to the female form in a romantic partner, as obviously, I am not them nor do I know them therefore I cannot speak for them. I'm just responding with the ~vibes~ they give me, okay Also, I know nothing about exercise so this is all general fitness

Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you like it 💖

Seungcheol I think Cheol would quite like having a partner who works out a lot and who it's visible on. It's a sign that you take care of your body and physical strength as much as he does his own so although he wouldn't be loud about it, he'd be happy and always glance over at you in the gym with a proud smile seeing you focused on your task

Jeonghan He's a mischievous little imp so of course he'd be extra about it. Playfully swooning when you do things that require strength or flex your muscles. He'll love to buy you those silky low-backed dresses just to show off your muscles and will often have his hand appreciatively on your shoulderblades when you're in them

Joshua I am genuinely kind of stuck on Shua with this particular thought. I'm not sure he'd be all that into it but I don't think he'd exactly be against it either. Maybe he's sort of neutral about it. But he'll worship your body anyway and always give you the most sincere compliments and makes sure you know he loves every inch of you

Junhui I genuinely think that Jun wouldn't really care. So long as you're happy and healthy, he won't care how muscular you are or are not. But he will often have his hand on your abs over your clothes to mindlessly trace over the muscles. Like his own personal soothing/fidget toy

Soonyoung He'd love it. Always hyping you up and tracks your sets for you even if you never ask. He'd honestly spend most of the time at the gym standing by you and counting aloud with a serious, supportive expression on his face instead of working out. So now he goes to the gym twice as much, half with you and half alone to make up for focusing on you the whole time

Wonwoo Honestly, I don't think he'd really be into someone very muscular, a little definition, sure but not lots. Still, if that's what you choose to do with your body, he will do his best to support you while always making sure you don't go over the top and actually are doing it in a healthy way just for you, not for the sake of impressing others

Woozi Another one who doesn't much care. He'll like that you work out and you can share that together but it also wouldn't much bother him if you didn't either. But he also does like it for the fact that your regular workouts means he gets to the gym more regularly and doesn't get caught up in his work or lounging at home as much as before your gym dates started

Seokmin He's confused by how into it he is. He never thought he'd like a woman who isn't feminine but man, his eyes are always glued to the definition of your muscles at every chance. Full on big ol round eyes glued to the lines of your body, this man is utterly whipped He will definitely have his hands on you as much as he can to feel the natural flex of muscles under his fingers so you better be okay with copious skinship

Mingyu Number one hype man for real. As much as he wants to be that couple who works out together, you can't because he genuinely has almost scared you into dropping weights on your foot on more than one occasion from his sudden catcalls and yells of your name in support. He means well though, he just gets too excited seeing his baby killing it at the gym He regularly makes you flex for him then giggles and squeezes your muscles appreciatively before he flexes and makes you touch his in return

Minghao I'm kind of stuck between he isn't really into a lot of muscle on a partner at all and he doesn't really care either way. I think maybe he's somewhere in the middle where he will appreciate a certain amount of definition, like a flat stomach but when it turns to a six-pack he's not really into it. He'd love you regardless but it wouldn't be his preference

Seungkwan I don't think Seungkwan would be into a very muscular partner at all. He can appreciate the time and effort of course that getting such a physique takes. And he will be very impressed in general but I can't really imagine him being attracted to that in a partner though as a friend, he'd hype the shit out of you at every chance

Vernon Dude doesn't much care what you look like so long as you have a general sense of pride in your appearance to not look like a slob and eat relatively healthy. You got soft bits? Great! Got muscles? Great! Got neither? Great! Dude does not care, just wants to hold you and be held regardless of the type of body you have Though he will support you in your exercise routines and you might even be able to convince him to work out with you once or twice, though he mostly just makes you a workout mix, hands you a water bottle and sends you off with a "have fun sweating around strangers while I watch movies"

Chan This sweetheart will always support his partner in their interests. He's likely to even sign you up for classes together (with your consent of course) and do research into your preferred methods of exercise or sport. He'll very likely get very into it himself and proudly call you from across the gym when he hits a new achievement that he's learned because of you If you want to dress up in ways to showcase your muscles, he'll love it, but if you'd prefer to keep it to yourself for whatever reason, he'd still love it. He just really loves you and everything you do, you know. (I am a firm supporter of the simp chan agenda okay)

A/N- I genuinely felt really mean on the ones I said wouldn't be into it, I don't want to offend anyone

If you have any ideas/suggestions of what I could write next, send an ask after checking this post where you can find the guidelines about what I will or will not write

[amirasainz]

okay okay i love the jealous alexandra!! but what about a continuation where it’s bff kika and amira vs alexandra and miss kika throws some hands!! maybe they were out on a girls day like they have kika and amira days and alexandra was there with her bff an iv and they got to shit talking and kika threw some punches, and amira was yelling in spanish like two very jumpy bffs, and pierre and charles are very much like it’d be painful if we hurt them, cause they may just kill us!! love the better girlfriend fic! this series is so so fun ❤️❤️ ( oml and kelly being very proud of her 2 younger wags when she find out )

I'm so sorry but at the end I had to laugh so bad. Please be aware that this is just a fic and not hate towards any persons mentioned. I hope you enjoy reading and send me some requests. -XoXo

The better girlfriend (Part 2)

Amira and Kika, inseparable as ever, embarked on another girls’ day in Monaco. Their bond was more than friendship—it was sisterhood. Kika played the role of confidante, makeup lender, and partner-in-crime during hungover mornings. Sweet “girl-dates” were their specialty, and Kika’s shoulder was always there for Amira to lean on.

But Kika wasn’t just a soft touch. Like any true best friend, she’d throw a punch or two if needed to defend Amira. Loyalty ran deep between them.

On this particular day, they indulged in a four-hour shopping spree, treating themselves to manicures and a relaxing spa session. To cap it off, they settled into a cozy restaurant for lunch, sipping delicious mimosas.

Seated at the back, they paid little attention to the other patrons—until a familiar voice reached their ears. It was one of those moments when fate intervened, weaving their lives together with unexpected threads.

"I honestly don't know what he sees in her." the annoying voice of Alex reached their ears. Amira and Kika shared a look, both of their faces looking unimpressed. "Yeah" was the weak reply from Alexandras best friend, Sarah. To be honest, Sarah wasn't Alex biggest fan at the moment. The whole stunt she did with kissing a man that was not her boyfriend wasn't ok. But going to said ex-boyfriends job and offend his new girlfriend publicly was just borderline crazy. In her opinion Amira is a sweet girl and a good girlfriend to Charles. No wonder that they are Sarah's favourite celebrity couple, but don't tell Alex.

"You should have seen her, she stood there like an idiot. She dresses like a whore. Hell, I bet she even behaves like one" Alexandra continued. "And of course little perfect Amira Sainz had to play the angel again and tell the media that she didn't take my words to heart. Does this bitch even know who I am? My word is law." For gods sake why couldn't she stop talking, thought Sarah.

Meanwhile, Kika and Amira listend to the one-sided conversation. Both girls started getting angrier the more they heard. While Amiras rage was the "I can destroy your life with one sentence" rage, Kika's blood was boiling. "Who does this stupid bitch think she is" muttered Kika.

But when Alexandra confessed she started the internet rumor of Amira having an eating disorder, all rational thoughts left her head. During those horrible rumours, Amira started really struggling Anti-Ferrari fans and Anti-Charles fans took the presented possibility to write her online hate. Besides, starting rumours about serious topics like that is never alright, no matter who it is about. It was a very dark time for Amira.

Before Amira could even comprehend what was happening, Kika stood up and went to the neighbour table. "Hey, girlie" she said to Alex sweetly, before taking her hair and dragging her out of the chair. Alex screeched like an wounded animal, which gained the attention of the other guest and staff. One young waitress recognised the girls and started filming.

Kika pushed her to the floor and started ripping of her fake nails. "You the fuck do you think you are talking to my best friend like that?" Alex and Kika started ringing on the floor. Obviously Kika had the upper hand. Amira, who was still angry, decided to encourage her besties behaviour. "Vamos, Kika. Acaba con esta estúpida zorra." she yelled. Kika shot her a little smile while Alex looked at her in horror. "Eso es, zorra. Toma tu puta opinión y a ver a quién le importa. " Amira said straight to her face, raising an eyebrow.

Kika slapped her one last time across the face, stood up and said loudly: "Can we get our sandwiches to-go, please?" Amira and Kika turned to the filming waitress who answered excitedly: "Girls, it's on the house for you." After paying their mimosas and taking their food, the two left.

Inside the car, Amira hugged Kika tight. "Thank you" she whispered tearfully. Kika didn't say anything back, just hugged her tighter. What the two girl's weren't aware of, was that at this exact moment, their little video fight went viral. And boy, did the fans stand on Kikas and Amiras side.

Bonus (+):

Max and Kelly stood in front of the girls, the video on in the background. They knew Charles and Pierre wouldn't say anything against their behaviour, so they took it upon themselves to be that bad cops.

"I am very disappointed in you two. Instead of talking it out like an adult, you hit her, Kika. And you shouldn't have encouraged her, Amira. As a punishment you both are not allowed to have any girl-days for two weeks." explained Max tiredly. Instead of arguing, both girls silently nodded their heads.

After a moment of silence Max spoke again: "Kelly, don't you want to say anything as well?" "….Bad girls." was her only reply. While Max held his head in his hands, Kelly shot the two of them a secret wink.

[sevenrenny]

I might as well ask you this because I enjoy your writing and way of expressing your opinions. Why do you personally ship Sonamy? What got you into Sonamy? What’s your favorite moment between the two? I know this is a very common question, but I hope you don’t mind me asking. 😅

Oh, this ought to be fun XD I don't mind at all. Send all the asks you like, I like to talk about my interests. I tend to ramble, so excuse my long texts. Gonna insert a break line so I don't torture my followers (that sentence makes it sound like I'm running a cult.)

Why do you personally ship Sonamy? What got you into Sonamy?

These two are connected, so it's fair to answer them both in one go. I'm very new to the fandom, unlike most of the people I've met who've been here for as long as they can remember. I originally had no interest in the franchise. Yeah, I played some games and watched the anime a few years back and had some cheap plastic toys from fast-food kiddie meals, but the franchise never stuck with me back then.

I got reintroduced through Sonic Prime around last year, which led to me reading the IDW comics, which is where I started getting into SonAmy. I really liked Amy in particular; surprising, seeing as she hadn't been my favorite character as a child. I liked Tails and Silver more back then, but the comic solidified Amy as my number one. In every fandom I've been in (HTTYD, MHA) I almost always gravitate toward characters who embody love, and that's the core of Amy.

Sonic was harder for me to decipher at first, seeing as he's more of a person who shows his emotions through action rather than words (in some iterations, at least.) But seeing him be more receptive in the comics and treating her better in more recent media portrayals piqued my interest because this wasn't how I remembered these two from when I was a kid. Seeing the progression from how their dynamic started to how it became made me feel proud of them.

And I'm one of those who likes to hypothesize that their affection used to be more one-sided but became mutual over time. Things change. Feelings change. People change. And I love that.

What’s your favorite moment between the two?

This. I think this is when I started seeing the ship as something I'd like. I've inserted the second panel as well because, while I know the first one is a no-brainer for some SonAmy shippers, I don't see many of them bringing up the follow-up panel.

Before this scene, Sonic kept rejecting Amy's proposal to go back to the Resistance with her (he had his reasons, as he saw investigating the circumstances of Eggman's absence and the waves of Badniks as a higher priority. Get to the snake's head to find the root of the problem.) He was in a hurry to get going. It wasn't until Amy told him she loved him for who he was and that she didn't want to change him that he stopped, got a little flustered, and proposed she come with him instead.

And she declined. She, too, had priorities.

Before this moment, it was possible he didn't see having both Amy and his stubborn way of doing things his way possible, but after, it might've finally clicked in his head that, Oh wait, I can have both? He's asked Amy to come along with him for other adventures afterward.

Also, can I just say how much I appreciate Sonic (who has a history of being touch averse) being more welcoming to her affection? Cause I do.

Okay, switching to Frontiers:

This scene is mostly quiet (I like nonverbal communication in general) and I found it too adorable to not mention. It's just for a few seconds, but the way Sonic does a little giddy skip when she waves him over, and the the fact that he just smiled so innocently the whole time he made his way over is just pure sweetness.

This short little misunderstanding/confrontation. This one's just plain fun for me. Sonic's impatience and inability to articulate his reasoning leads to him sounding like he's abandoning the Koco Amy really wants to help. She's putting the Koco before herself when Sonic's just worried about her. As soon as the misunderstanding is cleared up, Amy calms down, seeing it from his point of view now. It's a subtle little exchange, but knowing how these two used to not be great at communication in past games, and seeing them now deescalate a little misunderstanding this calmly brings me joy.

With each Koco the characters help, there's a certain theme associated between the Koco and Sonic's friends. The inventor Koco and Tails, trying to be of use to others; the soldier Kocos and Knuckles, both who had their people wiped out. For Amy, the Koco (the only Koco who goes by they/them, so that's what I'll be using for them here) is trying to reunite with their lover who had gone into battle. Throughout the game, Amy in her ghostly form can't touch anyone, and she expresses symptoms of dissociation, of feeling 'detached', that she's flying in a dream, but she wishes to just land.

Remember, Amy is a physically affectionate person, but she can't do much of anything, let alone feel anyone, in this situation. She has to leave it to her love, Sonic, to go into battles. She knows all too well how the Koco was feeling, being separated from their lover. When Amy and Sonic watch the Koco reunite with their partner for the last time, it hits Amy hard, and Sonic knows how affected she is by this. He gives her some time to grieve because he knows her well enough to understand this hit her hard. He tells her, "They're together now." And that's all that matters. And I love that scene. It's so mild compared to what others in the community might bring up, but I'm a sucker for the quieter moments like this.

I have to stop myself now before this turns into a novel lol

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt: hobby

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 8)

Summary: A rebuke turns into something Rosie had only dared to hope for.

Eight Years Old

Dad and Papa, well, to be fair, mostly Dad, had a stern talk with me in the aftermath of my performance in the school play where I told the tale of The Tipsy Burglar that occurred a half year earlier. I had kept it a secret from them, which I knew was a bit not good, but I thought they’d be pleased that I put Papa in the spotlight of that particular case, even if he was nowhere near London at the time. It turned out they weren’t.

“Your choice of title is…” Papa began.

“Sherlock,” Dad said in a tone that told both Papa and me that this was not the time for humour.

Dad cleared his throat and began his lecture, asking me to keep quiet until he was finished.

“We both appreciate that you love speaking about us and dramatize a little about Papa’s work.”

He sent a warning glare in Papa’s direction when he wanted to protest that it wasn’t just Papa’s work, but Dad’s too, when he wasn’t at his actual job as a doctor.

“What we don’t fancy, is your changed personality of late. You’ve become cocky, using Papa’s fame to your benefit, to become a more interesting person, and that is just not on. You should be proud of who you are. In the long run, you’ll end up with no audience or true friends if you continue down this road. It is you who matter, not who your family is, alright?”

Dad looked pointedly at me to see if I understood what he was trying to convey. I nodded.

“Good. We have a proposition for you. It has come up earlier as well, but back then we thought you were too young for this hobby, or…”

I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer, because those last words could only mean one thing.

“You mean martial arts?” I asked hopefully.

A deep chuckle from Papa confirmed my deduction, and I threw myself into Dad’s arms.

“I promise I’ll be good, and I won’t be such a…”

“Alright, best not finish that sentence,” Dad said mock serious.

***

Both my fathers had experience in this area. Sort of, anyway. Papa from fencing, Dad from rugby and the combat training when he was in the army.

I was euphoric by the prospect, but still a bit irked after the rebuke, so when two options were suggested, I obviously chose a third one.

“Taekwondo or kickboxing?” Papa asked expectantly.

“Neither,” I said defiantly, but regretted my tone immediately when Dad spoke my name in thatvoice.

“Watson,” Papa prompted, his tone also a bit harsh.

“Sorry,” I said. “Jiu jitsu. Please, let me.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Dad said. “You’ll learn self-defence, respect and humbleness as well as self-esteem. Not sure you need more of the latter, though.”

That elicited another chuckle from Papa. Dad turned to him, cocking an eyebrow, but the mirth on his face ruined is effort to look disapproving.

***

A week later, my martial art career started. Papa had wanted to fully equip me with the correct clothes, mouthguard, gloves and shin guards, but Dad suggested that we postponed the shopping spree until we were certain what was required. The web site had said that I only needed to show up in whatever clothes I found comfortable, so I chose tights and a t-shirt in a breathing material.

When we arrived in the dojo, I learned to bow every time I entered and departed. A sign of respect for the room where the training was executed. 

“No socks,” the trainer told us when several of the children skidded around on the mats.

The trainer wore a crisp white costume, called a Gi, and her black belt had three golden stripes, her name, and Japanese signs embroidered on it.

“I am Sensei Ida. Inside this dojo, you’ll address me as Sensei. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei,” we said in more or less unison.

When the session was over, we promised our Sensei, that we would keep it up until we attained the black belt. Only two of us were successful at keeping that promise.

Also available on AO3

Tags in the replies.

[oldhalloweentape]

🪨Venture (OW II) x (gn) reader ⛏️

(ALT/Goth, mostly Goth leaning Edition!)

(Picture’s not mine!)

(Another request by @goohts , such a great supporter throughout all of this! On top of that, I have something to announce at the end of this post!)

- Right off the bat, such a great dynamic, when they first saw you they immediately went to introduce themselves— Compliment after compliment spilling from their lips.

- Asks you sooo many questions on how you decided on going for that style, means well of course, just wants to know the importance of it you as a person.

- If you’re a goth in particular? They definitely refers a whole lot to the extinct culture of the Goths, you know— The Germanic ones that wrecked the Western Roman Empire with extreme brutality and were the cause of medieval Europe emerging.

- Starts learning about the culture and history of your group so they can talk about something you like and is a part of your life.

- Dance moves? Learnt some of them so they can look “cool” at the Goth club with you, like that one video of that nerdy guy with the quarter that moves up and down like he’s on one of those kiddy revolving horses, (here) it’s a bit silly but it’s heartwarming nonetheless.

- Anyways, if you’re taller, shorter, or the same height, they can and will borrow some of your accessories/clothing. Cheeky about it too, as they show off what they borrowed as proof of them dating you, especially to Mauga.

- Can and will buy you things as a thank you for letting them borrow your stuff, likes buying stuff like that at a thrift store— That kind of stuff has personality to them.

- Piercings? They have one as well so I think they’d be giddy to show off the various extra piercings they have in this ornate jewelry box their Abuela gave Sloane specifically for them.

- Tattoos? I think we already know the answer to this one, so proud of their own and will admire yours, asking more questions as they ask whether or not yours has meaning behind them as they touch the inked skin.

- If you ask, they’d be up for getting some more alongside you, maybe even buy some extra piercings for you, goes in tandem with their love language of quality time and gift giving.

- All the while chattering about the history about both, they’re just so giddy and supportive.

- Will help and encourage you to indulge in dark facts about history if you’re into that, feed into it as they take you to a morbid museum of some sort as a date, only if you let them go to a dinosaur one afterwards.

- If you do makeup, they will be astonished by it and practically beg for you to do theirs.

- Can’t handle standing still for too long (firm ADHD Venture believer) but will accept kisses in between as a consolation prize for doing so. On top of watching an analysis video on rock formations, if it’s good they’ll be almost as transfixed as they are when they look at you.

- Once it’s done, there is a high chance of them coming back, makeup smeared or dirty and begging for you to do it again, will use the puppy eyes and the pouting lip tactic.

- Loves when you have your makeup on, thinks so cool and interesting on you, but they also love messing it up, if you catch my drift.

- I can just imagine after a particularly long time of Venture being away cause of their job, with a mix of smeared makeup on your faces after a making out, a smug grin on their face as they say something like, “Aw did you really miss me that much?”

- Boastful as all hell when it comes to the fact that, them a goofy ass archeologist was able to bag someone like you.

- Brags about you a lot whenever you come up in conversation and jumps at the chance of taking you to their job so they show you off.

- Introducing you to other people usually goes like this, “Yeah this is Reader, my partner— Looks absolutely amazing don’t they?” All the while holding the side of your waist with one arm with a self satisfied look on their face.

(Alright!!! So, after a bit of consideration I’m going to start writing for a character from Overwatch that I’ve really liked for years now, Junkrat! I like them dirty Ig lol.)

[mochiajclayne]

thoughts on naruhina + boruto and their...family

Will preface this by saying that this is a combination of observation and analysis and if you don't agree with me, take this with a grain of salt and scroll away.

(If you're a naruhina/nh shipper, do yourself a favor and scroll away because this isn't your cup of tea.)

Personally, it's almost emotionally triggering for me to watch the NH family because it reminded me of what my family dynamic used to be and witnessing it unfold in the sequel from a viewer's perspective made me realize how dysfunctional it is and what could've been done better.

Let's start at the issue at hand: Naruto not coming home, being too busy as Hokage to the point that he misses important family events like birthdays.

Boruto's reaction to the issue is realistic, especially to a kid that doesn't understand. I'm not saying that Naruto doesn't have a contribution to that mess at all (it's worse when you realize that he would rather be in his office worrying about the number of headbands than be with his family but that is a separate discussion that I will dive on in the near future, among other things). Basically, he wanted his father to be, well, present, so he does everything to get his attention. And no, those pranks aren't pointless. Being a Hokage means attending public functions and being involved with the community and what's the best freaking way to get your dad's attention by embarrassing him while on the job (which happens to be the same thing that stands between him being a good father)? Now, this wouldn't escalate into massive proportions like cheating-on-the-Chunin-exams level if Hinata was able to placate and explain things to her son.

In terms of explaining, there are several things to consider:

realizing the issue

being logical about the reasons

seeing eye to eye with your kid, emphasizing on how your kid perceived this issue emotionally and determining what they want

not making excuses and stating the reasons in the perspective that your kid can understand

openly communicating the issue to the ones in concern and expressing your stance on this, hearing them out, and reaching a consensus (or a conclusion)

But the thing is, Hinata herself doesn't see the problem, thus eliminating the chance to see her kid eye-to-eye on this particular issue--given that they aren't on the same page from the start. It's baffling as well as concerning to see that she doesn't have any qualms with her husband making a secondary residence in the Hokage Office, sleeping on the couch and not on their shared bed, overworking himself to the point that even his freaking advisor tells him to go the fuck home, would rather eat cup ramen than enjoy a home cooked meal, and the tipping point: is okay with her husband sending a clone to celebrate their daughter's birthday.

And her telling Boruto that his father is the Hokage and it's a busy position pretty much doesn't cover how fucked up the issue is. Boruto could easily counter that with well Shikadai's dad is the Hokage advisor but he can go home so what's stopping mine from doing the same? In short, she keeps on excusing the behavior which in turn gives off that Naruto prioritizes the job the most and their family clearly comes second and oh my, does that sound so appealing on a child's ears? Definitely not.

The point is, a kid would go through drastic measures to find the assurance and approval that they need especially if it wasn't provided to them. The pranks stopped when Sasuke entered the picture. He was able to talk to Boruto about his dad. Give opinions about Naruto as the person, not just someone in a high position. That's exactly what Boruto needed to hear.

Now you may wonder why Sasuke was able to do this and not Hinata? That's because Sasuke pretty much understands Naruto and he is able to provide more input about Naruto outside of his achievements and position. Not to mention that Sasuke pretty much took Boruto under his wing to train him if he wanted to defeat his dad. And one thing about Sasuke is he isn't pretty much holding back when he calls out Boruto, something I've noticed that Hinata wasn't able to do. Watching the scene of Sasuke scolding Boruto in front of his own mother is pretty funny because why is your husband's best friend giving off mother more than you?

[annwrites]

i already have ♰˳⸙;;

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader (gn! in this post, but fem! in other installments i have/will post(ed))

— type: ficlet

— summary: you & shane share your beliefs in a short conversation in a church

— tags: talking

— tw: suicidal ideation, religion

— word count: 930

— a/n: find my other posts concerning shane, which take place after & before this, here | the views reader expresses towards going to church are my own. if you don't like it, don't read

You stare up at the crucifix before you, feeling devoid of anything.

No.

Not anything.

Hopelessness is the one thing you do feel.

One dead-end after another. That's the only thing you all do seem able to find.

The CDC and Jenner had had no answers. Not with his wife being gone.

The highway and Dale's RV blowing a radiator hose had left all of you stranded in the middle of nowhere.

And now you were here.

You'd all felt so hopeful to hear that bell ringing. You'd prayed to a God who clearly wasn't listening—if he ever had—for it to lead you toward something. To Sophia.

She'd never been here in the first place.

You glance to Carol and can practically feel the grief and desperation rolling off of her. You don't want to believe that Sophia is gone. Or worse: being out there alone in the woods...

If the wrong people—the wrong men—came across her... You don't want to think about how she'd never have a chance.

Death would be kinder.

So you stare at Him—crying tears of blood—and wonder how His father, who knows what it is to lose a child, could allow such a thing?

The wooden bench creaks as Shane sets down beside you. "Didn't know you were religious."

He says it softly, his tone anything but mocking, even if he himself doesn't believe. Doesn't understand how you can—if you indeed do, that is. But if you do—have some sort of faith, something to believe in—he'll just be glad if it finally turns out that you have something that may perhaps help to keep you going.

"I'm not."

The thought of the possibility of you taking comfort in something more, even if you can't see it, quickly disappears. He leans back, resting him arm behind you, all thoughts of encouraging you to take a Bible with you when you all leave now gone.

You're quiet for a moment, then, "Are you?"

He shrugs. "Not really. Never was my thing, I guess. Hard to believe when you're witness to the shit I was as a cop." He looks at you. "Were you ever?"

You shrug then as well. "My parents made me go to church when I was little. Like a lot of kids, especially in the south. I never liked it. The getting up early, and being forced into uncomfortable clothes, and the way my mom did my hair. I didn't like how the other kids were mean to me, or how I would sit on those uncomfortable wooden pews and stare up at a preacher yelling words and passages at me that I couldn't understand. I didn't like how judgmental so many in the congregation seemed to be, even toward each other. Once I was old enough to make the decision not to go anymore, I stopped attending. I didn't regret it."

You look at him and his head is now resting atop his fist as he simply looks at you. You're unsure of the soft look in his eyes.

"So what'd you start believin' in instead? If anythin'."

You glance down to your lap. "Nothing in particular, I guess. I just...I suppose I tried to just see the beauty in nature instead. In the plants and trees, insects and animals, fresh air and clear water. Occasionally even people." You look up to him. "The way I am now—who I am now—is nothing like the way I was before. I didn't need to look for a reason to live, because I didn't need one. Because I didn't want to die."

He uses his other hand that isn't propping his head up to reach out and take your right hand, holding it firmly—comfortingly—in his grip.

"What if that reason was another person?" He looks at you from under his lashes.

You look down to your hand that's in his, watching as his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of yours. "I don't know how to make you realize you're wasting your time-"

He cuts you off, taking his other hand and lacing it between strands of your hair at the back of your head, gently massaging. "I don't know how to make you realize the only waste would be your life being cut so damn short."

You think back to the things he'd said to you that night in the RV—I refuse to just let you slip through my fingers—he made it sound like...like you were something he'd finally found after having looked for you for so long.

You can't keep doing this to him: insisting that you want to be left alone to die. You'd done it twice now. And while what happened on the highway had been an accident...had he not had his eye on you— not seen you pass out—you may've slipped away right there in the middle of the road. So, he had saved you a third time. And even now he was still trying to talk you into staying...alive.

Giving up was easy. The thought of trying to hold on? It feels near-impossible now. Like lifting a giant boulder and carrying it with you every step of the way.

"Do you believe we'll find her?"

He studies you for a moment. "I hope so."

"Do you believe we'll find...something, or somewhere worth living for?"

He leans toward you, gently pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. "I already have," he says in a whisper, before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.