#<- just in case because i know the pink is vibrant on my end

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 03.

wednesday

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 04. | part 05. | part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, alcohol consumption, kissing, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~3.0k (i'm so sorry, this is a bit shorter but i felt like it didn't need more) ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

The rest of the day went by quietly. You and Penelope made friends with one of the younger agents around your age who was driving, since you had a few nerdy interests in common. He saw your decorated tablet case, so he initiated the conversation, which went more pleasantly than the usual firsts with others.

Reid kept his distance the whole day. Whenever there was a toilet break—approximately every four hours—he made sure to avoid your company. He lingered around anyone who wasn’t in a talking distance with you. Which wasn’t unusual, given that you were never close. But now it was very much intentional on his part. He made sure to get up from his seat before you could even think about asking him to let you out. He was out of the vehicle in a blink. Feeling confused was tremendously out of character for him and he despised this state.

He also avoided addressing you, even when he would’ve had the chance to disagree with what you’ve said. He just… He needed to sort out his tangled, unorganised thoughts and needed to do it quickly. Because honestly, what the hell was wrong with him that day? He’d been working with you for over a year now and never had similar issues. Many times, he was annoyed, irritated or even secretly entertained and amazed by you. But never like this. Ever since you came in close contact with him a few hours ago, it was as if his brain got coated with thick layers of honey, slowing down the otherwise rational and precise thought process that happened in his exceptional head.

The light brown minibus drove into the golden hour, filling the vehicle's inside with a warm, calming light. You were sitting next to each other in complete and utter silence. You even felt a bit embarrassed. You didn’t know what to say. Should you be unserious or serious? Should you be playful, teasing or stoic? Hell, you didn’t even know if you should talk to him at all. This was quite troublesome.

You directed your gaze out at the window, plugged in your earphones, listening to some of your favourite music while subconsciously biting your lower lip. As you stared into the breathtaking horizon that was painted in vibrant yellow, orange, pink and red colours by the setting sun, a sense of calmness climbed over your shoulders like a soft, shielding scarf. Even a small smile got plastered on your face. Sundown always had this kind of effect on you. It was such a simple thing that happened every day. And maybe that’s what made it so charming for you. The gorgeously painted fairytale-like clouds served as a symbol of certainty. For you, the astounding scenery meant that no matter how hard, embarrassing or horrible the day was, the end of it was given. Nighttime always came, bringing a sense of freedom with itself.

Spencer wasn’t this sentimental over an astronomical phenomenon. The evening sky was undeniably nice, yes. But it was all simple light scattering, basic physics. Light rays hit particles in the air, changing the direction of the light and the colours were determined by the different wavelengths of light, plus the size of the particles in the atmosphere.

However, when the genius’s lingering gaze settled on your face, that was when he felt in awe. As if the setting sun was hinting loving kisses on you, specifically. The warm, glimmering rays of sunshine were dancing around you, making your irises shine brighter. It was almost ethereal. He couldn’t help but notice how you seemed more relaxed. He was carefully engraving every tiny detail into his brain; afraid he might miss something. For a moment, he forgot about his eidetic memory. And for a moment, he even forgot to analyse himself, to look for an answer for his strange behaviour and reason everything.

Even though all of this felt like an eternity, the curious glances lasted only a few seconds. It was short enough for you not to notice anything, but long enough for Derek to do so behind you, whose lips stretched into his signature grin at what he witnessed. This was the moment when he decided, under no circumstances will he let the two of you switch roommates. He’s had enough of the year-long foreplay between the residential smartasses.

×××

“Come on, pretty girl, out with it.” Morgan’s deep, silky laugh filled the small booth where part of the team was sitting as he pointed towards you with a glass of whiskey in hand. You tried to cover your flustered, red cheeks with your palms, but they were no help at all. In fact, this just worsened your situation, since the other four people also started giggling.

“A guest lecturer,” you mumbled in defeat and took a sip from your drink, which was rum mixed with ginger ale just to stall a bit.

“You did the dirty with your teacher?!” squealed Garcia on your left. Her expression showed surprise at first, but her lips quickly turned from an ‘o’ to a proud smirk. “Oh, you’re bad.”

“Naughty girl” Prentiss joined in with her signature teasing tone, she was sitting on your right. At this point, none of you were sober, not even the asshole doctor in front of you, which was an abundantly rare occurrence. He was mostly silent, even during dinner with the team. You thought he’d definitely take his leave after finishing his meal like Hotchner and Rossi did, but he stayed. Luckily, he didn’t feel like getting on your nerves that night, which was a tremendous help, given that the remaining people, however, all decided that that night would be the perfect opportunity to ask these kinds of questions.

“How much older was he?” leaned forwards JJ and she basically shot you in the head with this.

“Khm… 15.” you tried to cover the answer with your coughs with little to no success, causing the other girls to practically scream in disbelief. Derek at the left exit of the booth playfully shook his head and finished what remained of his drink, while the other man just stared at you with a slightly tilted head and raised brows. “Listen, in my defence, I didn’t know that he was a guest prof at the beginning, okay? Also, he had no relation to my grades, so I’m kind of in the clear, no?”

“Depends. I need to know every single itsy-bitsy detail.” Penelope didn’t want to make it easy for you, did she?

You leaned your head back and let out a painful, defeated moan. “Must you?”

“I think we’re all curious here, Y/N.” you didn’t exactly know who JJ tried to encourage, you or the team, but none of the options seemed too good for you.

“That’s not true. I’m sure Dr Reid couldn’t give a damn about the story, so how about we skip instead?” as your last dernier, you pointed towards your rival, expecting him to agree and save you from a rather embarrassing story time. To your greatest surprise, he shook his head and looked straight into your eyes.

“No, I’m very interested.” his tone caught you somewhat off guard. It seemed more confident than usual, yes, but that could’ve just been the alcohol. There was something else in it too. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you instinctively swallowed your saliva a bit harder. I’m gonna push a pillow into this smug motherfucker’s face, I swear to God.

“Fine. We met at the uni library; he was about to take away a book I desperately needed for an essay worth more than half my grade that semester. Since it was one of Rossi’s books, I didn’t want to pirate it, and I was broke as hell, so I asked if I could quickly snap some pics of the pages I needed. Instead, he offered that we could go through it together if I wanted. Long story short, we clicked almost immediately, study dates turned into real dates, and I genuinely thought he was a student like me, just a bit older but that’s all. I almost single-handedly proved that instantaneous human combustion did exist when he walked into a seminar as a fucking guest lecturer while I was sitting there in the first row.”

“So did you break up?” Emily slightly pushed your shoulder with hers, enjoying the scandalous gossip. These past weeks none of you had the time or energy to get together and let out some steam like this. Today’s 12-hour drive was the last straw for most of you and you decided you’d get some drinks before bed, but nobody planned to cross any kind of lines in terms of getting wasted, since another day was ahead of you that you’d spend in a small bus on the road. You bit your lower lip—still silently cursing the man in front of you for not saving you from this by saying he doesn’t give two fucks about you—which gave away your answer immediately. “You didn’t!”

“I think I’m calling it a day, guys. It’s late and if we don’t get some sleep, suicide will look hella sexy tomorrow.” you tried to save yourself from having to explain why you continued your somewhat scandalous relationship with the older man, who was also a guest professor, and you were nowhere near to being drunk enough for that conversation.

Garcia tried to change your mind, she wanted to know everything, especially since this was the first time you let them in a bit more intimately. Luckily though, the others agreed with what you said, so the team slowly started to get their coats, purses and whatever they had with them, then left the little bar near the accommodation.

Back in your small, minimalist hotel room, you couldn’t even hide how flustered you felt. The fact that you just shared such a personal detail about yourself in the presence of the unnerving man suddenly weighted on you, making your cheeks warm and rosy-coloured. It was worse that he said nothing to you. No statistics about teacher-student relationship or about age gaps. He didn’t even try to tease you.

When you walked out of the compact bathroom after taking a quick shower and doing your usual routine before bed, Reid was sitting on his single bed, seemingly deep in thought.

“Uhm… The bathroom is free.” Even though your voice was quiet, the awkwardness was still obviously noticeable. Spencer lifted his gaze, which had been resting on his palms up until now, to your flushed face, and his breath got caught for a quick moment. You were wearing an oversized T-shirt and seemingly soft cotton pants as pyjamas, which was cute, but what truly attracted his attention was the round glasses you were wearing.

Ever since fifth grade, you were blind as a bat. It was thanks to both genetics and the countless nights when you were reading under the blanket without any proper lighting. When you were on duty, you obviously used contact lenses, since wearing your glasses on the field would’ve been heavily dangerous and unprofessional, but now, after the hot and calming shower, right before bed, you had no reason to put back the carefully made, curved silicone-hydrogel pieces.

The doctor was mesmerised. Maybe because he wasn’t 100 per cent sober? Or simply he just wasn’t in his element, since you’ve never shared a room before and this whole scenario was so out of the ordinary for him.

But you just… you were so pretty like this. Not that you weren’t usually. But this look definitely did something to him.

Before you could’ve asked if he was okay, since he hadn’t reacted in any way, he nodded, stood up and went into the unoccupied bathroom. As the doctor walked past you, he quickly ran his gaze all over your comfortably clothed body. He wasn’t subtle, not even in the slightest, causing your already flustered cheeks to take on an even darker shade of red.

You sat down to your designated bed, your eyebrows in a frustrated furrow as you replayed everything weird that’s happened so far. What the hell is up with him today? Is this some kind of tactic to throw me off balance and make me seem dumb or something? While you were fuming silently, you tucked yourself in bed. You were lying on your side and took out the soft, big pillow from under your head to hug it instead. If you weren’t this worn out, you might have debated whether you should show even this about yourself or not, but not that day. It might have been childish, but quite frankly, you didn’t give a damn about it. You always had problems with falling asleep and sleeping in general, so when you accidentally discovered a few years ago that this method made things easier, you stuck with it. If yes, then he has fucked with the wrong person because I can be so much worse than him in every possible way. I’m going to redefine the meaning of menace in his vocabulary. As you drifted towards the oftentimes erratic, unpredictable world of dreams, you mumbled to yourself almost inaudibly. “Game on, doctor.”

By the time Spencer came out of the restroom, approximately half an hour later, you were already fast asleep. The sight of you, snuggling up to the pillow made the dimly lit room seem all the cosier. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep too, which was rather out of the ordinary.

Spencer was wearing one of his favourite black semi-casual suits with a grey button-up shirt and a black tie. He was standing in front of a small audience and was currently detailing the technicalities of building a geographical profile, what counts as a forensic countermeasure and what doesn’t.

As he enthusiastically explained one of the more difficult cases that he’d dealt with not so long ago, he scanned the small group of students who attended his lecture, looking for their reactions. Were they bored, was the class engaging enough? Did they find it useful or a waste of time? The moment he recognised you, sitting in the first row, even his expressive, almost talkative hands stopped for a moment. What the hell was going on?

You looked up from your carefully written notes and shot a genuine smile in his direction. You seemed like you usually did. Wearing something pretty but comfortable, your belongings decorated to resemble your personality, just as in real life. You also had those big, round glasses on that you were wearing before bed, sitting on your nose perfectly. He cleared his throat, fought his initial confusion and returned to teaching. However, he couldn’t ignore the glances you were giving to him from time to time.

After the class was over and the lecture hall emptied, you found your way to his desk where he was packing his books, notes and old laptop away.

“Today’s class was very informative,” you said with your arms behind your back as you tried initiating eye contact. As you stepped closer to him, you continued, “However, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a bit distracted, sir.”

What did you just call him?

He looked at you. A playful smirk was sitting on your beautiful face, your eyes had a similar glimmer in them. You were teasing him, he realised.

“Did I?” he placed his right palm on the massive table’s surface as he leaned towards you. Before you could say anything else, he grabbed your waist with his left hand and pulled you closer to him until your chests were pressed together. You were close enough that both of you were able to smell the other’s perfume, both of you felt the other’s hot, heavy breath on your skin. “I wonder what the reason for that could be,” he murmured while his lustful irises flickered between your eyes and your lips, drinking in the sight in front of him. He moved his right hand from the table to your chin, gently tilting your face upwards. As he finally closed the distance between you, pulling you into an eager, hungry kiss, he felt like an eternity-long starvation was over. He felt like he found something crucial he didn’t even know was missing until that very moment.

Your fingers found their way to his soft, curly hair. As you leaned deeper and deeper into the kiss, it started to seem more like the beginning of a heated make out session. You pulled on his locks, making him growl into your mouth and grab your hips stronger. He couldn’t hold himself back. Compared to what he felt now, it was like as if he’s never known desire before. He firmly grabbed both your tights and lifted you to the table.

As he was standing between your legs, about to devour you, the smell of coffee hit his nostrils. Coffee?

Against his strongest will, the doctor got pulled out of his dream by the currently not-so-pleasant combination of warm light and a caffeinated drink. He needed a moment to gather himself and his scattered thoughts. Because honestly, what the fuck did he just dreamt about? He… Was he your teacher? Did yesterday’s alcohol-fuelled conversation mess up his failproof brain that bad?

thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! taglist: @halfbloodwriter divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[clus444]

"That is not me on tape"

Andy Barber x Reader

Readers are mad that Andrew has been ditching their dates. Andrew has always said that reader needs to communicate better. What happens when the reader is petty and Andrew has low patience?

Mature Content, lollipop is violated (Lmao), you may cringe ( is that a warning) jk jk, very descriptive, some plot. (N-word usage once)

" I'm sorry honey, I'm just trying to make sure everything is in order before the holidays," Andrew says over the phone. I roll my eyes at another excuse that comes out of his mouth. I scoff in response, not knowing what to say in the moment.

"Andy..." He is so full of shit. I get that he has a job as D.A. and he has matters that he can't just ditch. But for a full three weeks? It feels more like an excuse to not see me. Especially when I got fed up and bribed his assistant for his schedule and made him clear up a spot for me. Which by the way wasn't hard since he only had two big cases, which he finished three days ago.

Who knows maybe even longer since we don't talk as much. Ugh! Fuck his work-alcoholic ways with his strong arms and his talented tongue that can turn me every which way. Don't even get me started on his fat-

I blink and clear my throat, "Ok, bye Andrew." I hang up the phone as soon as I'm done talking. I huff and lay back on our couch as I think about the situation at hand. I play with the rose gold necklace around my neck as I think about what to do.

*Buzzt*

I snatched it from where I threw it and read the message that was sent.

Grumpy Ogre- I'll let that hang-up slide since you're rightfully mad. We'll talk when I get home.

I roll my eyes and don't respond. I stand from the couch and go to our room. I open the closet and start pulling out clothes. A mixture of pink, purple, and other vibrant-colored clothes is thrown everywhere. As I pick out clothes and think of a makeup look to match, I stew in my thoughts.

I'm not asking for a lot. I just want a day where it's just me and him. No phones, no work, no unnecessary distractions. But he acts like I'm asking for a fucking trip to Mars and an alien to take home as a pet.

But for me, that's not even the worst part. 7 days ago, 168 hours ago, this man- this nigga! The man who constantly finds his face between my thighs, always trying to get his hands on something, I know he steals my panties. He denied me the physical act of proclaiming my love for him in a passionate way sex.

I don't really care that he said no. I'm never someone to make someone else feel bad for saying no. But it's the reason why he said no. It's because he's overworked himself so much that as soon as he comes home he goes straight to bed, I don't even remember the last time he sat on the couch and we watched our shows. Honestly, I just miss him. The only... crime I did was act on a feeling of worry and hurt. But Andy always said closed mouths don't get fed. Or at least in my case, no deserving ass left not dealt with.

Do with that what you want with that. Or judge me for what I'm about to do.

*Ding Ding*

The elevator doors open and I walk out. I make sure to tighten the belt around my coat. My heels click on the floor with purpose as I walk through cubicles to get to the big brown doors at the end of the walkway. My head held high. I fix my hair and make sure nothing is shown to earlier.

*Knock Knock*

I don't wait for a reply and just walk in. He doesn't even look up once to see who it is. The only thing I can be grateful for is that he isn't cheating. But why would he when he has me at home? Why can't he see that? "Whatever it is, just leave it on the desk, I'll get to it when I can," He signs a paper he's focusing on.

I promptly walk to the chair stationed in front of his desk. I sit down and lean back to pull out a lollipop from my pocket. I open the wrapper and dispose of it quickly. " Should I be worried that my boyfriend doesn't seem to be aware of his surroundings," I raise a brow. His head snaps up.

"fuck! Baby-"

I cut him off," Go back to your work Andrew, when you finish take us home and we'll talk." His face shows caution like he can see right through me. Like he can see the mischief in my eyes, swirling, waiting to bubble over. Waiting for the first opportunity to grab my devil horns and pull them out.

But I know him too. I know that the uncertainty of this situation riles him up. I see the slight clench of his hand on the paper as he eyes the trench. I can feel the tension slowly creep into the room and hover over my shoulder, waiting for my next move. The nervous twitch his eyes make, makes me wanna laugh but I hold it together.

He turns to his papers again. I bring the lollipop to my lips and begin licking. I swirl my tongue around the circular tip and sigh loudly. He looks up quick and back down, It's like a switch went off as his head snaps back up. His eyes track the movement of my tongue. As I glide the lolly horizontally on my tongue I untie the belt and open the coat.

My brown skin glimmers brightly under the lights and I know the body glitter is doing its job. I slide the shoulders off and group it at my waist. His eyes rake over my chest. A dark look takes over his features. A storm brewed behind his baby blue eyes. I smirk to myself not wanting to get cocky so fast. I trail the lollipop between the valley of my boobs. I circle one nipple but my eye catches movement from the corner of it.

I point a finger," You owe it to me to stay there. all I want is your attention and cooperation." His eyes narrow at me in complementation and he decides to lean back.

"Whatever you say baby girl," He licks his lips then adjusts himself in his seat. I smile knowing I'm going to make him eat those words as he made me take mean dick when he's mad. I take the lollipop and circle my other nipple as my left-hand grabs my left tit. I lean my head down and use my tongue to taste the flavoring off my nipples. I make a show of liking it and cleaning myself.

"No touching with your hands Andy or I swear I'll stop and lock you out of the bedroom."

I stand up and the coat falls to the floor. I make my way around his desk and push him back so I can sit in front of him on the wooden surface. I start sucking the lollipop like it's dick. I hallow my cheeks out and suck like a vacuum cleaner being used on a Sunday morning. I pop it out and leave streaks of it on my chest, paying extra attention to my nipples again.

I lazily leave the lollipop in my mouth. A pout comes on my face," Clean me up?" It seems like a question but sounds like a demand. A tick in his jaw makes me grin. He leans forward and licks up the valley of my breast then places kisses on my collarbone. A deep groan comes from within his throat. When he's done licking around my nipples. He starts sucking on one at a time. Although supposed to be a punishment for him, it turns into a reward for me.

He slowly starts kissing down my torso but I quickly wrap a hand in his hair and pull his head back hard. I tighten my grip and the audible groan he lets out makes my clit tingle. "Watch it," I say firmly. The glare on his face makes him scary but somehow hot at the same time. "Do you know why I'm doing this Andy," I ask as I take one foot and put it over his bulge. I add pressure before quickly taking it off. It looks like he physically deflates.

"Because of a couple of missed dates. But sweetness-" My eye roll cuts him off. He narrows his eyes at me as he speaks again," You're mad which I understand but I won't ta-" I cover his mouth with my hand.

I laugh," No no no," I gather myself together.

"Here's what's gonna happen. You're going to eat me out and depending on how well you do it, depends on how long I stay mad. The ball isn't in your court Andy. Maybe later when I'm done having my fun we can conversate... but right now. I want to feel your retribution through your tongue." I lean back and spread my legs wide open.

He leans forward and spits on my cunt. I feel his spit land and he quickly licks me up. I suck in a breath at his actions, I'm not handing out moans, he needs to earn every reaction out of me. Big hands push me back and hold my legs up.

He heads straight for my clit, not playing any games. His tongue swirls and it feels like he's making out with my pussy. I feel myself grow wet, I suck in deeper breaths, and every now and again I feel my hips trying to follow his tongue. I don't know what it is about hearing how wet I am for him. "mm," comes out my mouth.

*nac nac nac nac*

It feels like it adds to the sensation of being horny. It's like my pussy is trying to prove how much she can drown him. Oh god, his tongue has me talking in third person about it (pussy). " I'm going to kiss it better," He pauses and sticks his tongue in my hole.

"A-ah." I feel my pussy clench on itself and push out my essence. He moans and thrusts into my cunt. I force my torso against the desk surface and push my hips up. My hands wrap in his hair and I pull him in further. A loud whine sounds from my mouth," My c-clit." I remind him before he dives back in. He always gets so caught up in feasting on me, any other time is appreciated but not now.

As much as I would love to keep doing this. I wanna go home as soon as possible and finish there. I start rolling my hips into his face," Work for this...," I gasp out, "cum." I feel my body vibrate and my eyes roll back. He shakes his head from side to side. "oo ah ahh f-fuck," My mouth hangs open. I feel my body tense up.

"Give to me," he demands and sucks on my clit. My chest surges forward as my stomach sucks in, I close my eyes and cry out as I cum. My holes clenched around nothing and Andy slurps me up. I pat his head as my body jerks. He kisses up my chest, "I'm so sorry baby. I swear I'll make it up to you. Tomorrow we'll talk everything out swear." His last kiss lands on my lips and I kiss back.

"You have a lot of making up to do."

-Timeskip to next morning-

*Buzzt* video attachment

Andy groans before tightening his arms around Y/n. After last night, they need as much sleep as possible. Andy's about to lull himselfself back to sleep before...

*Buzzt*

He sighs and turns his body slightly so he can grab his phone. He clicks on the video paying no mind.

"Aw f-fuck, you...f..feel so good andy," Y/n whine comes through his speakers and he jolts up. "Gonna fuck this pussy right," Andy hears himself growl out. He exits off it and feels his face pale. The attachment reads.

P.A Eric- This you man?

*Buzzt*

P.A Eric- Considered deleted everywhere, sir.

Andrew- Thank you Eric I owe you one. My lady would freak if she seen that their was a camera in the elevators. I completely forgot.

A loud shriek sounds from beside Andy. He turns to the culprit and gulps, "Is that my ass!?... ON CAMERA!"

I'm trying to work on improving my smut writing which is what took so long. Anyway enjoy and don't forget to check out the other fics lmao. bye babes

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Heheheheheh…

King's Roast and Sparkling Windows

The bell above the door of King's Roast jingled, announcing the departure of the last customer. Vernias sighed contentedly, leaning against the counter. "Finally, some peace and quiet."

Brent, who had been meticulously wiping down the already spotless espresso machine, jumped slightly. "Oh, uh, yeah. Quiet." He trailed off, his gaze darting around the cafe as if searching for an escape route.

Vernias watched him with amusement. Brent was a good guy, a hard worker, and a surprisingly talented barista. He was also, bless his heart, utterly clueless when it came to anything remotely romantic. Except, maybe, when he wasn't. Vernias had seen glimpses of awareness flicker behind Brent's eyes, quickly masked by a flurry of nervous energy.

"So," Vernias began, drawing out the word, "Eevee seemed to enjoy his latte today."

Brent's cheeks flushed a faint pink. "Yeah, he, uh, he said it was good." He paused, then blurted out, "I'm gonna clean the windows."

Vernias chuckled. "Brent, you already did that yesterday."

Brent's shoulders tensed. "I don't care, they might be dirty again." He grabbed a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels with a determined glint in his eye.

Vernias leaned further against the counter, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Is it because Eevee complimented you before he left?"

Brent froze, the spray bottle halfway to the window. His face was now a vibrant shade of red. "I'M GONNA CLEAN THE WINDOWS NOW, VERNIAS." He attacked the glass with a vigor that suggested he was personally offended by any potential smudges.

Vernias pulled out his phone, snapped a quick picture of Brent furiously scrubbing the window, and sent it to Eevee with the caption: "This is what you do to him." He added a winking emoji for good measure.

Eevee responded almost immediately: "LMAO??? Tell him I said the window look great already!!!"

Vernias pocketed his phone, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Eevee says the windows look great already."

Brent didn't stop scrubbing. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. There's probably, like, microscopic dust particles."

Vernias sighed dramatically. "You know, you could just ask him out."

Brent nearly choked on his own spit. "Ask him out?! What? No! Why would I do that?" He avoided Vernias's gaze, focusing intently on a particularly stubborn streak on the glass.

"Because," Vernias said patiently, "he's clearly into you, and you're clearly into him, and you're cleaning the windows like your life depends on it."

Brent finally stopped scrubbing, turning to face Vernias with a bewildered expression. "He... he is?"

Vernias rolled his eyes playfully. "Brent, he practically batted his eyelashes at you while ordering his latte. And he lingered for an extra fifteen minutes just to chat about... I don't even know, coffee beans or something equally boring. He's totally smitten."

Brent stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. "But... but I'm just... me."

"Exactly," Vernias said, pushing himself off the counter. "You're you. And Eevee likes you. Now, put down the spray bottle and think about what you're going to say when he comes in tomorrow."

Brent slowly lowered the spray bottle, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I... I don't know what to say."

Vernias clapped him on the shoulder. "Just be yourself. And maybe, just maybe, don't clean anything. At least not until after you've asked him out." He grinned. "Unless, of course, you're planning on cleaning the entire cafe in a fit of romantic panic."

Brent managed a weak smile. "I'll try my best."

Vernias nodded, heading towards the back room. "That's all I ask. And Brent?"

"Yeah?"

"If you do end up cleaning something, make sure it's the bathroom. It could really use it."

Brent groaned, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this. Maybe he could actually ask Eevee out. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to clean anything in the process. But just in case, he made a mental note to check the bathroom supplies. You never knew when a sudden urge to scrub the toilet might strike.

Not my usual writing style but decided to try it out….and I do NOT know how you do this for all my little drabbles, it was hard.. I was coloring everything but what I wanted.

¡👑

King coloring the text??? King dropping another peak story in my asks??? KING WRITING SOMETHING ABOUT MY SILLY LITTLE IDEAS AGAIN???

King, no joke, you platonically own my heart atp.

This type of stuff means so much to me - I just shared a little thought and you wrote this beautiful scene based on it?? I was so surprised when I saw it, I stopped walking and had to contain my joy and excitement, because I nearly squeaked irl, while I was screaming internally!!

You share your ideas and I write something regarding them? I share my idea and you write something for it? Like I said in a different post: it feels like we are playing ping pong and i love that so much, King <3

You did such an amazing job, as always, King! I love everything about this scene and your writing is so beautiful, I can't help but tell you that every time - and I fear I will start to run out of compliments one day - but that won't ever stop me from admiring and appreciating the things you write, and the way you have with words 💛👑

This drabble of the scene - and i'm not joking at all rn - could be copy-pasted into the story. As it is, just like that, really. It's just something "small" based on my idea, but the way you wrote it shows Brent's character and his dynamic with Vernias incredibly well. Can i quietly ask to maybe use this or bits of it in a Chapter, King? ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

Cut for the usual yap yap :3

King's Roast and Sparkling Windows

- ??? AMAZING TITLE. I miiight steal Sparkling Windows as a title for a chapter, because that's just a wonderful title and PEAK. Hope u don't mind? (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)

I absolutely love how you described Brent when it comes to him recognizing and handling his feelings!! And how Vern is able to see through Brent and notice his awareness - that's so them ( ´⁠꒳⁠` )

And the way you included my ideas completely and expanded them?? You wrote this entire scene exactly like how I had it in mind and how I had imagined it to play out when I was thinking about it on a whim! I'm so amazed by your skills and writing, I can't stress it enough, really.

He attacked the glass with a vigor that suggested he was personally offended by any potential smudges.

THIS. THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT WHEN I GAVE BRENT THIS TRAIT. You captured my thought and idea so well and visualised it wonderfully, King!

Eevee's response made me giggle so much, because it's so him and fits perfectly, and he will just make Brent scrub even harder with the "Tell him I said the window looked great already!!!" - It's like he's kicking Brent - who's already on the floor because of his feelings - in the most beautiful way possible. I live for this type of stuff for real!!

" (...) Theres probably, like, microscopic dust particles."

Someone save this man. He's sooo cooked at this point, lmao. Sure Brent, sure. This is how we deal with affection and feelings. Totally understandable my dude x3 Iconic!!

"He... he is?"

Oblivious Brent stays our beloved. Eevee is probably pulling out his hair every time after he left King's Roast, and after he tried to be more obvious towards Brent (but failing a little and being awkward, our sweet dork)

Vern describing Eevee as totally smitten is so cute and true, and I love the entire dialogue Vern said there!! They could talk about the most random and boring things, while Eevee just looks at Brent with a little dreamy-admiration and nods.

AND Vern being so incredibly supportive and talking about how Brent is himself and Eevee liking him for that specifically owns my heart. Vernias also trying to push Brent into the right direction softly is beautiful!!! - Wingman Vernias is always real and you wrote him so so perfectly!

AND AND Vernias recognises Brent's tendency to clean when he is nervous - or how you perfectly described: in a fit of romantic panic - and I love love LOVE diiiss!! (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)💛

THE ENDING IS GOLD KING. SO PEAK. I LOVE IT.

"If you do end up cleaning something, make sure it's the bathroom. It could really use it."

He's so real for that and it shifts the more serious mood and air between them to something more lighthearted and fun. Because talking about feelings is important, sure - but Vern knows Brent well enough to know and understand that it's not his preferred cup of tea.

Like, he just gets Brent and the fact that he doesn't like talking about such topics. So Vernias then changing the subject so easily with a little teasing is fantastic!! It underlines that he's super supportive, not pushing or anything, and that he cares about Brent. A lot.

---

King served us some wonderful writing again and I wanna thank you so so indescribably much for this scene!!

And of course I want to thank you for taking my thoughts and visualizing them more than just perfectly!! It's like you held my idea in your hands and then planted them into your own mind while writing this wonderful little drabble! (And you did a great job with the colors, I love the fact you adapted to my silly coloring-escapades and mimicked it - it truly warms my heart to see that <3)

💛👑

[seenthroughmia]

In Your Atmosphere

Chapter Five

Previous Chapter

Content Warning: Language, Alcohol, Joking about sex, Mentions of blood, Attempted sexual assault (not graphic/brief), Catcalling, Death (not graphic/brief), Nightmares

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Note: It took me forever to write this between school and work… I’m not 100% happy with it, but I wanted to get something out. We’ve got some girls night with Karen involved, Frankie saving the day, a HINT of fluff, and some angstttttt.

Delilah hadn’t seen Frank in three days. She’d like to think that maybe that meant he was staying out of trouble, but she knew that wasn’t the case. There were too many reports of deaths amongst the city piled up on her desk that had his name written all over them. She hadn’t seen him in three days because it must have meant that he wasn’t hurt enough to need her to help sew him back up.

She felt comfort in the fact that he likely didn’t have any major damage done to him. Having said that, there was a part of her that wished he would show up at her front door.

Everyday of the week, she heard interesting stories. Everyday of the week, she wrote interesting stories. But having Frank, the Big Bad Punisher, in her home gave her a wave of excitement she hadn’t felt since her college day rendezvous’ with a certain blind lawyer.

Everything about it was foolish. She was enthralled by a man that she had just met. A man that she didn’t even know the last name of. A man who was on the FBI’s top most wanted list.

It had gotten to the point that her job; her dream job… felt mundane. Her focus was no longer on that robbery on 34th street, or that building fire, or that heated political race. All that Delilah Lovett could think about was Frank.

So, in typical Delilah fashion she did what she always did when a man was taking over too much of her thoughts— call up a girlfriend and drink until she forgot.

That was how she ended up in a tight little red dress standing across from Karen Page at a very loud and very vibrant nightclub with two shots of rum coursing through her veins.

“This is… different.” Karen looked around the room as she clutched her drink in her hand.

“I just felt like I needed to go somewhere different than Josie’s… Somewhere more lively.” Delilah grabbed the shot glass that sat on the tabletop that divided her and Karen.

“It’s definitely lively.” A small giggle came from the blonde. Her eyes continued to wander, taking in the dozens of people dancing, vibrating speakers, and neon lights.

“Cheers!” Delilah downed the shot before flagging down a server for another one. “So… a little birdie told me that you went on a date with Matt.”

A tinge of pink could be seen creeping onto Karen’s face. “If by little birdie you mean Foggy, yes. Matt and I went on a date.”

“And?”

Karen could only muster out a smile.

“How did it go?” The second shot Delilah had ordered made its way to the table.

Karen took a small sip of her drink. “It went well. We went to this really fancy place Uptown, but then I think we both realized that we were trying too hard to impress each other. We ended up leaving, and going to this cute little Indian restaurant. He walked me home.”

“He walked you home.” A smirk worked its way onto Delilah’s face as she picked up the newly filled shot glass.

“He did.”

“Did you guys… you know…” She paused before turning her smirk into a big toothy grin. “Get to know each other in a biblical sense?”

Karen’s eyes widened with shock. “Delilah!”

“What? Come on, I need to live vicariously through you. My personal life is so boring right now.” She glanced at the glass in her hand before raising it up in the air. “To Karen Page and Matt Murdock!”

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” Karen let out a breathy laugh at Delilah’s toast.

“No.” Delilah choked down the liquid that was in the glass before slamming it on the table. “Okay, now I’ve had enough.”

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

She had somehow convinced Karen, who was significantly less hammered than Delilah, that she was capable of getting home by herself. Well, she was sure Karen wasn’t entirely convinced, but a call she received from Matt asking to come over swayed her decision.

Her apartment wasn’t too far from the nightclub they had spent the last hour at, but it wasn’t right around the corner either. This wasn’t her first time walking home alone from a night of drinking, and it wouldn’t be her last.

The walk home wasn’t out of the ordinary. There were people on the streets whose night outings were extending way past hers. There were homeless people lingering around convenience stores. There was nothing for her to be concerned about; until there was.

Delilah had noticed a man rounding the corner of an alleyway as she passed by it about a block back. It was very possible that he could’ve just been on his way to wherever his destination was, but she had now been walking for two more blocks since, testing out different speeds of walking. Each time she switched paces he matched it. Her apartment was nearby, and coming to the conclusion that he was following her she didn’t want him to know where she lived.

“Okay, what do you want?” She turned around to face the man. “Is it my wallet or something because if that’s what you want you can have it.” Her hands started to dig into her purse.

She never claimed it was a smart idea, but with four shots of liquor in her system it was all she could think of to keep the location of her home a secret.

“Why don’t you come back to my place, sweet cheeks?” He started to approach her, closing the distance. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“So you don’t want the wallet?” Delilah removed her hands from her purse. “Why don’t you turn around and leave me alone, cupcake.”

Mocking a stranger who was following her late at night was probably not the best idea, but her intoxicated state didn’t allow her brain to filter out words before she spoke them.

“Ah, she’s a feisty one.”

She felt a hand wrap around her wrist. The grip he had was strong, so strong that even with her using all of her force to move in the opposite direction he still pulled her into the dark corridor on the side of them.

“This dress is real pretty, but I think it would look much better on the floor.” His hand roamed up to her shoulder to slide the strap of her dress off.

That was enough for Delilah to use her free arm, the one that was holding her purse, to swing the handbag up against the side of his face.

“Bitch!” The hand that was on her shoulder pushed back against her with such force, slamming her into the brick wall in the alley.

A discernible wince came from her as her head took a good bit of the impact against the wall. Distracted by the pain pooled in the back of her head, she didn’t even notice she knife he had pulled out until she felt the cold metal against her collar bone.

“I tried to do this the nice and easy way, but you just had to be difficult, didn’t you?”

Her eyes shut in preparation for the worst, but it never came. The knife falling to the ground. The sound of bones cracking. A loud thud on the concrete. Those were all sounds that surrounded her in the alleyway. She kept her eyes closed until a gruff voice prompted her to open them.

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing out here alone at this hour dressed like that?”

It was Frank, the entire reason she had been out getting plastered in the first place. In front of him was the body of the hooded figure that was holding a knife near her throat seconds prior. His neck? Broken.

Delilah’s eyes focused on the man’s neck for a moment before bringing her attention to Frank. “What are you, my daddy? Did I break my curfew?”

His arms were crossed. He glared at her with such intensity, even more so than when she’d forgotten to lock her apartment door.

“I wasn’t alone. Karen… Well, I was with her.” She started to stumble forward. “But she had to leave to go do the devil’s dance with Matt, if you know what I mean.” A laugh broke free from her mouth, allowing Frank to catch a whiff of the alcohol smell that traveled from her breath.

“For fuck’s sake… How much have you had to drink?”

“Only a little.” She continued her pursuit forward towards Frank. However, she forgot about the body on the floor in front of her. Her foot caught onto the side of the man, sending her headfirst into Frank.

He didn’t wrap his arms around her, but his firm chest stopped her from going anywhere.

“Oops.” She blurted out, staying pressed against him. “Frank?”

“What?”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“He ain’t breathin, ain’t he?”

Delilah looked back down at the body on the ground. It was then that Frank noticed a portion of her copper red hair had turned a crimson color.

“You’re bleeding.” He said pulling her away from him and directing her around the body. “The back of your head.”

“I am?” Her hands moved to touch her hair. When she brought them back in front of her they were covered in red. “It must’ve happened when he pushed me against the brick…” The adrenaline had kicked in once Frank had arrived, temporarily making her forget about her run in with the wall.

“Needs to be cleaned up.” Frank started walking towards the sidewalk. He turned around when he didn’t hear her heels clicking on the ground. “You gonna just stand there or what?”

She still didn’t move. “What about…” she pointed to the ground.

“I’ll take care of it later.”

Delilah made a shrugging gesture and started to move towards Frank. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“No.”

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

For the third time in the last week, Frank and Delilah had sat on the carpet in her living room with a first aid kit in reach. Only this time, it wasn’t Delilah patching up Frank. It was Frank patching up Delilah.

“What were you doing in that alleyway, anyway?”

“I was in the neighborhood.” Frank parted her hair to get a better look at the source of the bleeding.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You were in the neighborhood?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna know what I think?”

“No-“

“I think you were stalking me.” She felt a cold sharp sting on the back of her head. “Owww! Jesus, what are you doing?”

He held a blood stained cotton ball in front of her face.

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad. Doesn’t need stitches or anything.” Frank grabbed a bottle of diluted hydrogen peroxide from the first aid kit. “Just needs to be cleaned real good.”

Her face contorted in discomfort when the chemical compound collided with the gash on the back of her head, leaving her to deal with a burning sensation.

“Good thing you don’t need stitches.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Frank retorted back at her question.

“I most definitely could handle it!” She felt the peroxide soaked cotton ball press against her skin again. “Oww!”

He looked at her with an amused expression. It was an expression that said ‘thank you for proving my point.’

Delilah made a pout with her lips. “I liked it better when you were the one that needed fixing up.”

Her eyes scanned him for a brief moment. She didn’t believe what he said earlier; that he was just in the neighborhood. She could have believed that maybe he was in the area if he were wounded, but she couldn’t find any new marks on him.

“Are you…”

He made note of her eyes studying him. “No. I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” She nodded as she contemplated her next question. “You’re not hurt, so are you still sticking with your statement that you were just in the neighborhood?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Frank looked towards a black duffle bag to the side of him. “Truth is, I was coming to give you something.” He stood up, grabbing the bag from the floor and throwing it onto the coffee table.

“You got me a gift?”

This was unexpected. She had only known him a few days, but she didn’t peg him as the gift-giving type. Her mind wondered what he could’ve gotten her. Her curiosity was settled when he pulled out a worn out yellow hardcover book.

“Uh, thought I would help expand your collection.”

He handed her the book.

Dracula.

“Thank you.” She looked at the book for a moment before moving to her feet.

Frank gave her a small nod.

“Is it even worth asking if you want to stay?” Delilah motioned her head towards the plush couch that they were leaning against moments earlier.

Frank was conflicted. He was exhausted, practically running on empty. He didn’t sleep much these days, relying on exuberant amounts of black coffee to keep him going. Right now that couch looked like the most comfortable thing he had ever seen. In spite of that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already in too deep with her.

“If you feel like you’re inconveniencing me, you’re not. I mean it.” The sincerity in her words shined through loud and clear.

Fuck it, he thought. He would fall asleep for a few hours, slip out before she even woke up, and that would be the end of it.

“Your pillows soft or firm?”

The question had garnered a laugh from Delilah. It prompted her to turn on her heels in the direction of her bedroom. She disappeared out of his view for a moment, but her footsteps were still able to be heard. When she reappeared she was clutching a pillow under one arm and a blanket in another.

“I prefer a stiffer pillow, so if that’s also your preference you’re in luck.” She dropped both of them on the couch.

Truth be told, Frank didn’t really care what type of pillow he was given. He had slept on cots in the desert, on the ground, and on a lone mattress with no bed frame or box.

“If you want anything from the kitchen feel free to take whatever. The only way to get to the bathroom is through my room, so I’ll just leave my door open.” Delilah thought about if there was anything she was missing. “The TV remote is right there, and you’ve already explored my bookshelf.”

Frank sat down on the couch and started to situate the firm pillow she had brought him against the left arm of the sofa. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you could give Twilight another shot while you have it at your disposal.”

“I’ll have to think about it.” He had shot her the same words that she said to him the last night he was there when he suggested she try Dracula.

A light scoff came from Delilah’s body. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night.”

Delilah wandered into her bedroom, while Frank started to adjust his body onto the couch. The couch was small, making him unable to completely outstretch on it while laying. It wasn’t the most ideal place for him to sleep, but that wasn’t his biggest worry. Exhaustion had no longer been on the forefront of his mind. When Delilah left the room the gravity of what he had done set in. He had slipped up and gotten too close. It wasn’t something he could do again.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

A bloodcurdling scream filled the apartment, causing Delilah to shoot up from her bed. Any ounce of sleepiness she had was completely gone. She quickly grabbed her phone and ran into the living room where she had last left Frank.

The screams she had heard were coming from him, face up on the couch gripping the edges of the cushions tightly.

“Frank.” She called out to him as she rushed over to his side.

He was still bellowing out even after she had called his name.

“Frank…” Her hand reached to cover the one closest to her, but his grip never left the sofa. “Shh, it’s okay, Frank. It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe.”

Frank felt the touch of her small hand covering his. His eyes zigzagged around the room to check his surroundings. When he saw strands of her fiery copper hair reflecting in the little light the room had his screams lessened to heavy pants.

Delilah had learned a bit about his life as a Marine the last time she had stitched him up. She didn’t have much experience with people in the line of duty, but she thought PTSD was probably a common occurrence amongst members who served their time fighting wars like he did.

“Where did you go just now?” She asked quietly, not removing her hand from on top of his. Her free hand moved to caress the top of his head. He was sweating profusely and his body felt like a furnace. “Kandahar? Were you dreaming about Kandahar?”

“The carousel…” Frank mumbled out.

“The carousel? What carousel? Is that some sort of military code phrase?”

“In the park…” His eyes were focused on the ceiling. There was a sadness to them, one that Delilah had never seen before from him. It was almost as if he was fighting something internally.

“Frank… I’m not sure what you’re talking about… What park? Central Park?”

His hand flipped over resulting in his palm depositing right up against hers. “Maria…Lisa… Fr-Frank Jr.” The thing he was fighting inside of him were tears. They were threatening to leak through and Delilah could see it.

For the first time in her life, Delilah Lovett was speechless. The man that she had invited to stay on her couch was currently in a state of distress that she didn’t know how to ease. She had so many questions. While her natural predisposition was to ask as many as she could til she got to the bottom of things, she realized that it wouldn’t amount to a fix for the problem; at least for his sake.

The daze that Frank was in had suddenly broken when his brain had completely caught up to the fact that he was in the apartment he had spent three days in during the last week. Delilah had taken notice of this as well when he abruptly shunned away her hands that were placed on his body. The speed at which he discarded the contact surged her crouching frame back towards the floor.

“Shit.” He mumbled at a barely audible tone. He placed both of his hands onto his head, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What did it mean?”

Frank was silent.

“The carousel. The park. Those people.”

“Go back to bed, Delilah.”

“Frank, what does it mean?”

“Damn it, Delilah, I said go back to bed!” He sat up when he spoke this time. The sadness in his eyes had now been taken over by darkness.

If looks could kill, she could’ve sworn she would be six feet under in a grave right now. She started to use her hands to move backwards in a crawling motion. The coffee table stopped her momentum, thwacking her in the back. A small groan came from her lips as she sheepishly stood up and retreated back into her bedroom, opting to close the store instead of leaving it open like she had previously.

Frank didn’t mean to do it, but he knew that he did; he had frightened her. For the first time in all of their encounters she was scared of him. He had acted like an asshole. He was an asshole, he thought to himself. Maybe, it was better that way. It was the opportunity he needed to distance himself.

He couldn’t in good faith stay on Delilah’s couch any longer. He left the pillow where it was on the couch, but folded up the blanket neatly. He put on his boots, tied them up, and made sure to grab his duffle bag off of the table. He headed for the door, locking it from the inside, as he thought about the night's events.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chapter 6

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

The ripple effects of Jimin’s heartfelt announcement at his May concert weren’t something you saw coming, but you’ll face them head-on—because love demands courage, doesn’t it? Yet, just as the dust begins to settle, Yoongi steps in, questions flying like arrows, treating Jimin as if love itself were a crime, and he’s the accused standing trial—for the audacity of choosing you.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.3k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past illness and death (still Jiwoo, nothing new here), detective big brother Yoongi, fluff, small scandals and tiny angst. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: time for another chapter drop—chapter 6, can you believe it? How did we get here so fast? Like, blink and suddenly we’re down to only three chapters left—how are we feeling about that? Nervous? Excited? Emotionally unprepared? (Because same, honestly). This chapter dips its toes into the angst pool 🥲, but don’t worry, I won’t leave you drowning in feels for too long—it all gets resolved pretty quickly. Then we dive into a whole lot of dialogue toward the end, which I guess is a nice little breather from my usual let-me-describe-everything-in-excruciating-detail writing style 😅 Let me know how you’re holding up, and as always, grab snacks and tissues just in case! 💜 This whole story is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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It’s been two months since Jimin’s concert, and the warm, honeyed July air caresses your skin, wrapping you in its gentle embrace. The world around you is alive, vibrant—flowers in full bloom, their colors as radiant as the love that has blossomed between you. Today, you find yourself at an amusement park, surrounded by the joy of laughter and the soft hum of summer. With Jimin by your side and Hwa-Young, his daughter, laughing and playing in your arms, the day feels like a beautiful dream you never want to wake from.

Hwa-Young is a blur of energy, her tiny feet darting between rides, while Jimin chases her, laughing like he hasn’t a care in the world. The sight is pure, untainted by time or worry, and it’s one that will forever remain etched in your heart. There’s something about the way Jimin adores his daughter—a devotion so deep, so complete—that it stirs something powerful inside you, making your heart swell with affection, with a love so boundless it could fill every corner of the universe.

The amusement park stretches out before you, sprawling with carousels and ferris wheels, each one a promise of joy. Hwa-Young, her eyes wide with wonder, insists on trying every ride she’s tall enough to reach, and you and Jimin are there to support her, to guide her with gentle hands and warm laughter. You can’t help but smile as you watch her excitement, her little voice ringing with delight, as you both wrap your arms around her, a protective cocoon against the thrill of the unknown.

The day passes in a blur of colors and sounds, but nothing compares to the sight of Hwa-Young, her face lit up like the sun, holding out her hand for cotton candy, her cheeks pink with joy. She takes a bite, then giggles as the sticky sugar gets all over her hands. The next moment, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she presses the candy-floss into Jimin’s face, making bits of the sweet, fluffy pink cloud stick to his nose and lips.

You can’t hold back the laughter that bursts from you, seeing Jimin’s face, now adorned with sugary fluff, his expression a mix of amusement and mock exasperation. He looks so endearing in that moment—so wonderfully human, so wonderfully him. Without thinking, you lean in, reaching up to pluck a piece of the candy from his face, and as your lips meet his in a soft, spontaneous kiss, Hwa-Young squeals in pure joy, her giggles filling the air.

It’s a small moment, yet it feels like everything. In the warmth of the summer sun, surrounded by the love of the two people who mean the most to you, you realize that this—this simple, beautiful life—is the magic you’ve always dreamed of.

Though the day is alive with laughter and summer’s golden light, a shadow lingers just out of reach. You can feel it—a prickling awareness that you’re being watched. Your eyes dart around, scanning the bustling park, and your suspicion proves true when you catch sight of cameras, their lenses glinting like predatory eyes in the crowd.

“Have you noticed the cameras?” you lean closer to Jimin, your voice hushed.

He nods, a soft sigh escaping him as he shifts Hwa-Young in his arms. “I have. But it’s never been this bad before.” His expression darkens, the light in his eyes dimming momentarily. “The paparazzi have always left me alone… maybe it’s because of what I announced at the concert?” His arms tighten around both you and Hwa-Young, a protective gesture that speaks louder than words.

“I’ll talk to Jin,” he murmurs after a beat, his tone resolute, though you can sense the weight he carries. Not wanting to let it ruin your day, he flashes you a reassuring smile and gently pulls you along. Together, you let the joy of the park envelop you again, riding the coasters, indulging in sugary treats, and laughing until your cheeks ache and your bellies feel impossibly full. For a while, the world outside fades, leaving only the warmth of Jimin’s presence and the sound of Hwa-Young’s carefree giggles.

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of amber and rose, the three of you head home. Jimin drives with one hand on the wheel, his other resting lightly on your knee, while Hwa-Young dozes peacefully in the backseat. You, meanwhile, pull out your phone, scrolling through the chatter of your notifications. A message from Namjoon catches your eye, the playful tone of his words sending a jolt through your chest.

[17:23] Joon the poet: Did you see what twt is saying about your man? 👀

Your breath catches, a knot of unease forming in your stomach as your fingers tremble over the screen. Heart pounding, you switch to Twitter, the app opening to a storm of gossip and wild speculation. It’s relentless, a sea of strangers dissecting the private corners of Jimin’s life.

They’re talking about her. About Hwa-Young. About you. The comments are a blur at first, but certain phrases stab like needles: “Who’s her real mother?” “Why keep her a secret for so long?” “Is he even the father?”

Your chest tightens, but it’s nothing compared to the next blow. Your eyes fall on a post dredging up Jimin’s past, old wounds that the world has no right to touch. Then another about you—slander wrapped in bold headlines:

“Jimin’s Sad Past: How He Lost the Love of His Life”“Y/N’s Ex Speaks Out: ‘She Was Abusive’”

The bile rises in your throat as anger ignites hot and sharp in your veins. Lies. A tapestry of lies, spun to entertain and provoke. Your grip tightens on your phone, your knuckles whitening as if the device itself is to blame for the venom it contains.

You scoff, the sound brittle, breaking the fragile quiet in the car. Jimin glances at you briefly, concern flickering across his face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low, steady, a quiet anchor against the storm swirling in your mind.

You sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on your chest. “It’s just the media,” you murmur, your voice tinged with exhaustion. You try to brush it off, but the thoughts claw at you—how strangers on the internet have turned your life into a spectacle, how they’re digging through your past like scavengers. The absurdity of it burns. Interviews with ex-boyfriends? The very thought makes your stomach churn. What the hell are people even thinking? You look up at him, his profile glowing softly in the dim dashboard light. Hwa-Young murmurs something in her sleep, and Jimin’s hand on the wheel flexes instinctively, protective. The sight of him—of his quiet strength, his love for his daughter, his unwavering presence—grounds you for a moment. But the fire inside you still burns.

Jimin’s brow furrows, his eyes briefly searching yours before returning to the road. “You know we’ll get through this, right?” he says softly, his voice like a balm to your frayed nerves.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” you whisper, though the tightness in your chest remains. As the car hums along the quiet road, you glance out the window, the lights of the city twinkling in the distance. The world can be cruel, you think, but as Jimin’s hand gently squeezes your knee, you remind yourself: love is stronger.

When you finally step through the door of Jimin’s home, the familiar warmth wraps around you like a balm. He makes dinner for all of you, his quiet love showing in the simple act of cooking. The three of you share a peaceful meal, putting Hwa-Young to bed after her sleepy protests and bedtime giggles. It’s a tranquil moment, but the tension brewing beneath the surface lingers.

Later, you join Jimin on the sofa, his laptop balanced on his knees, the glow of the screen reflecting off his furrowed brow. Tabs are open—Twitter, Reddit, and articles filled with the chaotic chatter of strangers. His fingers hover over the trackpad, scrolling through comments that seem to cut deeper with every passing second.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, settling beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. The scent of him—warm and familiar—grounds you, even as you brace for his reply.

“Seeing what the fans are saying…” he admits with a sigh, his voice heavy with frustration. “I hate it—how they’re digging into everything. Making up wild theories that aren’t even close to the truth.” He turns to you then, his dark eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sadness. “And I’m so sorry… for dragging you into this media mess. That was never my intention.”

Your hand instinctively moves to his, your thumb brushing against his knuckles in a soothing motion. “Oh, Jimin,” you whisper, your tone soft but resolute. “I know. It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

He exhales slowly, his breath mingling with yours as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tender hug. His heartbeat drums steadily against your chest, a quiet rhythm of reassurance.

“I texted Jin,” he says after a moment, his voice muffled against your hair. “But he told me to just let it be. To wait it out.” His tone sharpens, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But I can’t. I can’t just sit here while they tear everything apart.”

“It’s going to be okay,” you tell him, though your own heart aches seeing him like this. You wish your words could reach deeper, could untangle the storm brewing within him.

Jimin pulls back slightly, his gaze distant as he pulls his phone from his pocket. His fingers hover over the screen, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, concern creeping into your voice as you watch him, unsure where his mind is heading.

“What if I… went live?” he mumbles, the words almost hesitant, as if testing how they sound aloud. “To explain everything. Set the record straight.”

You blink, caught off guard by his suggestion. “Does Jin think that’s a good idea?” you ask, your brow arching. You don’t want him to act impulsively, to make things harder for himself—or for you.

He doesn’t answer right away. The silence hangs heavy between you, broken only by the faint buzz of his phone as notifications roll in. And in that silence, you know. You don’t need him to say it. His silence is the answer.

“Do you really think it would help?” you ask softly, your voice laced with both concern and hope. If he truly believes this could make a difference, perhaps it’s worth the risk. Perhaps he needs to do this, for himself. For both of you.

“I think so,” he says, his tone steady, his resolve clear. “Because I’m tired of this. All of it. This shit has been going on for years, and I’ve kept quiet for so long, but after the concert…” He pauses, exhaling sharply, the frustration bleeding through. “It’s worse now. I need it to stop—I need to take back control.”

He turns to you then, his gaze softening, his eyes searching yours. “Do you want to do the live with me?” he asks, his voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability. There’s hope in his expression, but also a flicker of fear.

He takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently, grounding himself in your presence. And as you look at him—the man you’d follow anywhere, through any storm—you nod. “Yeah,” you say with a quiet smile, the word carrying the weight of your trust, your love, your partnership.

Jimin exhales a small breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing just enough for you to notice. He reaches for his phone, setting it carefully on his laptop perched on the coffee table. His fingers move deliberately, opening Instagram, navigating to the live button. You watch as he pauses for the briefest moment, taking one last breath before tapping it.

Here goes nothing.

The screen lights up, and almost immediately, notifications flood in. Even though it’s nighttime, the response is overwhelming—20,000 viewers in mere moments. The small counter in the corner of the screen climbs rapidly, and it’s surreal, like watching an entire crowd assemble before your very eyes.

Jimin runs a hand through his blonde hair, the small gesture both endearing and grounding. He inhales deeply, steadying himself, and then offers a warm smile, his wave casual but heartfelt. “Hi, everyone,” he begins, his voice smooth but carrying a trace of nerves. “Thank you for joining this very unplanned live. I have something personal I want to share with you all.”

His words hang in the air, and you move closer, sliding your arms around him from the side, offering quiet support. The camera captures the way you smile softly into his shoulder, and though you’re not as used to the spotlight as he is, you’re doing your best—for him, for both of you.

Jimin glances at you briefly, his lips curving into a gentle smile before he turns his attention back to the camera. The intimacy of the moment, shared with thousands yet profoundly personal, feels electric. His vulnerability, your quiet strength, the weight of everything unspoken—it all builds in the silence that follows, ready to unfold like a story finally breaking free.

“So, recently, since my concert…” Jimin begins, his voice steady but tinged with a quiet vulnerability, “many people have been digging into my past, spinning wild theories about my life, my family, my choices. And I want to ask—please, stop.” His words hang in the air, the weight of his plea palpable.

He leans slightly forward, his eyes earnest, gazing into the camera as if trying to reach every single soul watching. “I understand that you’re curious—I do. But I’m only human, just like you. When I chose to become an artist, when my work found an audience, I never sought this… this invasion. All I ever wanted was to write, to pour out my feelings. To take the chaos in my heart and transform it into something beautiful, something that could move people. My family, my friends—they never signed up for any of this.”

Jimin pauses, the weight of his next words pressing heavily on him. “So I ask you,” he continues, his voice soft but firm, “how would you feel if this happened to you? To your loved ones? If your private joys, your losses, your life were picked apart by strangers?”

You can feel the rawness in his words, the subtle tremble of frustration masked by his calm demeanor. And in this moment, you’re struck by how eloquent, how utterly human, he is. He’s not just an artist, not just a public figure—he’s a man fighting to protect what matters most to him.

Taking a breath, Jimin steadies himself again. “I want to clear a few things up—not because I owe it to anyone. I don’t have to share this, and truthfully, I never wanted to. But I’ve come to understand that sometimes, silence only fuels speculation. So I’ll say this—this one time—and then I ask that you respect my wishes and never bring it up again unless I choose to.”

The live chat explodes—hearts float in rivers across the screen, crying emojis mix with messages of support, and some fans seem braced for what’s to come.

Jimin lets his shoulders fall, running a hand through his hair. His gaze softens, though there’s a flicker of exhaustion in his expression. “Yes,” he begins, voice quieter now, “I do have a daughter. And no, Y/N isn’t her biological mother.”

He pauses, exhaling deeply, as if releasing the tension that’s been building for years. “I didn’t lose the love of my life,” he says, his tone carrying both clarity and sorrow. “My daughter’s mother wasn’t someone I loved romantically. She was my best friend—someone I cared for deeply, but in a different way. She’s no longer with us. And I’m asking—begging—you all to let her rest. Let her family grieve in peace.”

His words hang in the air, heavy yet liberating, like a long-buried truth finally unearthed. The live chat slows for a moment, as if everyone watching collectively holds their breath, absorbing the weight of what’s just been shared. Then the hearts begin to flood back in—a cascade of red and pink, a silent reassurance. Messages pour in: “We support you, Jimin,” “You’re so strong,” “Thank you for trusting us.”

Beside him, you feel a swell of pride and protectiveness. He spoke his truth with grace and strength, and as the hearts and messages continue to fill the screen, you know he’s touched thousands of people—not just as an artist, but as a person.

“And yes,” Jimin says, his voice unwavering yet tender, “Y/N is my girlfriend. And I’m asking you—pleading with you—don’t dig into her past. Don’t harass her exes, don’t piece together fragments of her life as if you’re entitled to them. What she’s been through is not for you to dissect. It doesn’t concern you—it only matters to me.” His tone carries a finality, a quiet storm of conviction that leaves no room for argument.

You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, as if trying to shield him from the vulnerability he’s exposing to the world.

Jimin takes a deep breath, his gaze hardening with resolve. “If you can’t do this—if you can’t give us this one shred of humanity—I will resign. It’s that simple.” The words land like thunder, and even you feel the weight of them settle in your chest. His voice doesn’t waver; it’s steady and sure, and it sends a chill down your spine. You never knew he was prepared to draw such a hard line, and yet, it feels so utterly, devastatingly Jimin—protective, selfless, unshakably loyal.

“My heart will always be in my music,” he continues, softer now, but no less resolute, “and I have so much I still want to share with you. But if my privacy, if her privacy, isn’t respected, then I can’t do this. I won’t. You should know that I’m happy. That I have everything I need. That’s all you need to know.”

He pulls you closer, his arms encircling you like a sanctuary, and kisses your temple. The gesture feels private, sacred, yet the world has just witnessed it—a glimpse into the love you share, real and unfiltered. Your cheeks flush, but you don’t pull away.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” he finishes, his gaze softening as he waves at the camera. “I wish you all a good night. And please—this message, you’re welcome to spread it like wildfire.”

With that, he ends the livestream, the silence in the room stretching out like an exhale after a storm. He turns to you, searching your face. “Was that okay?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of worry now, as if he fears he might’ve said too much.

You bite your lip, shaking your head in disbelief at the sheer courage of him. “It was perfect, Minie. I just hope they understand—really listen this time.” And you do hope, with every fiber of your being, that his words have reached them. Because this spotlight, this circus of attention, was never meant for you. It’s a weight you don’t want, and one Jimin doesn’t deserve.

Jimin smiles faintly, the tension in his body finally starting to ease. “We’ll see,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair before shutting his laptop and setting it aside. He pulls out his phone, swipes to put it on Do Not Disturb, and sets it face down on the table. You both know Jin is likely trying to call him already, but tonight, Jimin has chosen peace.

When you crawl into bed together, the room feels like a cocoon, warm and safe. Neither of you checks your phones, not even once. Instead, Jimin’s arms find you in the dark, his voice a quiet whisper against your hair. “I just want a normal life,” he says, and you can hear the ache in his words.

“You deserve that,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing against his. “We both do.”

And though the world outside may still be spinning in chaos, here in this moment, with his steady heartbeat beneath your ear and his love wrapped around you, everything feels perfectly still.

Jimin groans, the sharp sound of knocking breaking through the quiet stillness of dawn. It’s persistent, relentless, dragging him from the cocoon of warmth he’s sharing with you. You don’t stir, lost in sleep’s embrace, but Jimin knows he can’t ignore it—not with Hwa-Young sleeping soundly in the next room. The last thing he wants is for her to be woken by this rude intrusion.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he moves through the house, the wooden floors cool beneath his bare feet. His body stretches involuntarily, his limbs still heavy with the remnants of sleep as he unlocks the door. When he pulls it open, his manager’s face greets him, taut with worry, his brows knitted in a way that immediately sets Jimin on edge.

Fuck.

Regret crashes over him in a wave, a bitter taste rising in his throat. Maybe the live really was a bad idea, he thinks, recalling your gentle protests and the hesitation you tried to instill in him.

“Jin,” he begins, but the older man doesn’t wait for pleasantries. He steps inside with the authority of someone who’s walked this tightrope for far too long. Jimin stumbles aside, wide-eyed, closing the door before trailing Jin to the sofa.

The silence is unnerving, heavy like a brewing storm, as Jimin sits down, unsure if he even dares to. Jin doesn’t speak at first, his sharp gaze enough to keep Jimin rooted in place, anxiety building like a drumbeat in his chest.

“Have you looked at your phone at all since yesterday?” Jin finally asks, his tone unreadable, calm yet laced with something that feels dangerously close to anger—or perhaps worry.

Jimin shakes his head, swallowing hard. He’s been avoiding his phone like a curse, afraid of what he might find. Afraid of the fallout.

“Well,” Jin says simply, pulling out his own phone and holding it out to Jimin, his face unreadable but his sigh heavy with meaning.

With trembling hands, Jimin takes the phone, his breath hitching as he stares at Jin’s Twitter feed. His eyes widen as he scrolls through an ocean of responses, waves of words crashing over him. But they aren’t the venomous kind he’s been dreading. Instead, they’re filled with something else entirely.

Support.

There are countless messages—fans pleading with others to respect his privacy, demanding that the press leave him and his family alone, rejecting the gossip and the lies outright. Strangers, some from corners of the world he’s never been to, standing as a shield against the malice he feared would consume him.

His heart swells, impossibly full, and his hands begin to shake as the tears come unbidden. It’s overwhelming—a tidal wave of love and loyalty he doesn’t feel worthy of, but that he’s undeniably grateful for. He presses his lips together, his throat too tight to form words, and hands Jin’s phone back with trembling fingers.

“This…” he starts, his voice cracking, “I can’t believe they actually listened.”

Jin exhales deeply, his features softening slightly now that his point seems to have landed. “This might’ve gone over better than anyone could’ve hoped. But,” he says firmly, pointing a finger at Jimin, “never—and I mean never—do anything like this again without running it by me first. Got it?”

Jimin nods, his damp lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he whispers, “I promise.”

He knows Jin is right—the live was reckless, a risk that could’ve easily tipped the other way. Yet, somehow, against all odds, it hadn’t. Instead, it feels like a crack in the wall that’s been closing in on him for years, letting in a glimmer of light. For the first time in what feels like forever, he breathes a little easier.

He leans back against the sofa, relief washing over him, softening the tension in his muscles. Maybe now—finally now—he’ll get the privacy he’s been craving. Maybe now, he can simply exist without the weight of relentless scrutiny pressing down on him and the people he loves.

A smile breaks across his face, unbidden and genuine, as he stands, running a hand through his messy hair. He can’t wait to tell you. To share the good news—that his fans have rallied behind him, that the world isn’t as unforgiving as he’d feared.

The thought of your smile, of the peace this will bring you both, propels him toward the bedroom, where you’re still sleeping soundly. For the first time in weeks, hope feels tangible. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, things are finally starting to change.

“I can’t wait to have your brother and his wife over,” Jimin says, his voice gentle as he stirs the pan, the rich aroma of dinner filling the cozy space. A soft smile graces his lips, the kind that makes your chest feel warm.

You scoff lightly, setting down the plates with a playful shake of your head. “You say that now, but just wait. The second Yoongi starts grilling you with those detective-level questions, you might think differently.” You let out a laugh, already imagining the scene.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes crinkling as he flips the food with ease. “He means well,” he says, his tone carrying that quiet understanding. He’s still haunted, just a little, by the protective glare Yoongi gave him the last time they met—a look that said, Hurt her, and you’ll answer to me.

“I guess so,” you murmur, your hands moving to fold napkins as you glance toward the living room. Hwa-Young is sprawled out on the couch, utterly captivated by the anime playing on the TV, her little giggles occasionally filling the air.

But then, the thought of Amy crosses your mind, and your mood shifts. Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “I just hope Amy keeps her hands to herself this time.”

Jimin pauses, turning to you with a teasing glint in his eye, the wooden spoon in his hand still. “Jealous?” he asks, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t peg you as the possessive type.”

You whip around, mock offense painted across your face. “I’m not possessive,” you say, feigning indignation. “But her behavior is weird. And excuse me for not liking other people pawing at you like you’re public property.” Your voice dips into something more serious now, laced with frustration. “It’s just… disrespectful. Like she thinks she can ignore your boundaries just because you’re famous. I don’t care how much she adores you—it doesn’t give her the right.”

Jimin tilts his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he leans casually against the counter. “So, what are you going to do if she doesn’t stop? Give her one of your signature lectures?” he teases, his voice warm and light.

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “If she keeps it up, I’ll say something to Yoongi. Or better yet, I’ll put her in her place myself.”

Jimin laughs, a melodic sound that makes your irritation falter just a bit. “Put her in her place? That sounds dramatic.”

“Not dramatic,” you counter, planting your hands on your hips. “Just a firm reminder to act like a decent human being. You know, the kind of respect normal people give each other without having to be asked?” You gesture dramatically, earning another laugh from him.

He shakes his head, still chuckling as he turns back to the stove. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Darn right, I am,” you reply with a grin, placing the last fork on the table and stepping back to admire your work. The clatter of utensils gives way to a comfortable silence, the hum of the TV and the gentle simmering from the kitchen blending into the rhythm of your shared life.

And though the thought of Amy still lingers at the edges of your mind, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Jimin’s laughter and the steady ease of his presence always have a way of grounding you, reminding you that, no matter the noise of the outside world, the two of you are a team—unshakable, even in the face of unwanted hands and overly curious stares.

The doorbell chimes, a bright note cutting through the gentle hum of domesticity. You move toward it, anticipation and a trace of unease coiling in your chest. As you swing the door open, Yoongi’s familiar silhouette greets you, solid and steady as always. Without a word, he pulls you into a warm, grounding hug—his gruff demeanor melting for just a moment in the embrace. Behind him, Amy stands, her eyes wide and sparkling like a magpie spotting something shiny. Her gaze darts around Jimin’s home, a little too eager, a little too curious. And just like that, it’s already beginning, you think with a quiet sigh.

“Come in,” you say with a welcoming smile, gesturing them inside. “Jimin’s finishing up dinner.”

Hwa-Young’s tiny footsteps patter across the floor, and she appears beside you, peeking up at the new arrivals with her shy, curious eyes. “Hi,” she says softly, her little voice tugging smiles from even Yoongi’s stoic features.

Yoongi crouches slightly to meet her gaze, a warmth softening his expression that few outside the family ever see. His affection for kids, so pure and unguarded, has always warmed your heart. “Hey there,” he says, ruffling her hair. She beams at him, then asks, “Do you wanna play with me?” And of course, Yoongi, never one to refuse a child, agrees with a small, amused nod. He lets her tug him away, leaving you alone with Amy.

You glance toward her, suddenly aware of how the air shifts. She’s smiling—no, gazing—at Jimin, who’s still in the kitchen putting the final touches on dinner. Her eyes sparkle, the kind of shine you’d expect from someone meeting a movie star for the first time. You sigh internally. Why does she have to look at him like he’s carved out of marble?

“This way,” you say politely, gesturing her toward the table. “Come and take a seat.”

Jimin emerges from the kitchen, carrying the last dish. The rich aroma of his cooking fills the room, and Amy’s breath catches audibly. “Wooow,” she gushes, clasping her hands as if he’s just performed a miracle. “You’re such a good cook!”

Jimin smiles politely, nodding. “Thank you,” he says simply, his tone cordial but distant. You know that kind of flattery doesn’t sit well with him; he’s always preferred sincerity over fawning admiration.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announces, and like a gust of wind, Hwa-Young comes bounding into the dining room, her laughter trailing behind her like music. Yoongi follows, a rare fond smile lingering on his lips.

The table fills with chatter and the clinking of cutlery as you all dig in. But even as conversation flows, you can’t help but notice Amy stealing glances at Jimin every chance she gets, her attention so fixed it borders on embarrassing. Yoongi, ever perceptive, catches on quickly. “Amy,” he says under his breath, his voice low but firm, “stop staring and eat.”

She flushes, muttering a half-hearted excuse, but the damage is done. You press your lips together to stifle a smile.

The meal is otherwise peaceful, though there’s an undercurrent of anticipation in the air. Yoongi is unusually quiet, his questions withheld for now, but you can tell he’s saving them—every one of them—for later. Probably for when Hwa-Young is tucked into bed and can’t overhear.

The evening slips by faster than you expected, and soon it’s time to get Hwa-Young ready for bed. As always, she tugs at your sleeve and asks for you to be the one to tuck her in. You don’t mind at all—in fact, these quiet moments with her before sleep are some of your favorites.

In her room, the world feels smaller, softer. You sit with her, gently combing out her hair, the strands catching the dim lamplight like threads of spun gold. She hums contentedly as you braid it, her voice soft and melodic, a lullaby all its own. Afterward, you settle beside her with a book, reading in a low, soothing voice as her eyelids grow heavier with each page.

When the story ends, she asks you questions, her little mind wandering to all the curiosities of the day. You answer them patiently, your words weaving a comforting cocoon around her thoughts. You’ve always believed that a child should drift into sleep with nothing but good feelings and safe imaginings.

Finally, you kiss her forehead, your lips brushing against her soft skin. “Goodnight, my little munchkin,” you whisper, tucking the blanket snugly around her tiny frame. She giggles at the nickname before yawning, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifts into the world of dreams.

As you step quietly out of the room, closing the door behind you, a sense of peace washes over you. Whatever tensions linger in the dining room, here, in Hwa-Young’s sanctuary, all is calm, all is well.

When you step back into the living room, the remnants of dinner have vanished as if whisked away by unseen hands. The dining table stands bare, the dishes tidied into containers, and everyone has settled into the soft cushions of the couch. Yet, the air feels tense, charged with unspoken words.

Yoongi sits directly across from Jimin, his posture straight, arms crossed, the subtle weight of a protector in his stance. Amy, ever the opportunist, is perched a little too close to Jimin for your liking, her presence like a thorn pressing into your side. You sigh, sliding into the narrow space between her and Jimin, asserting your place with quiet conviction.

Jimin visibly relaxes the moment you’re by his side. He leans into your touch instinctively, as if the tension he’s been holding onto dissipates in your presence. You squeeze his hand gently, and he answers with a small, grateful smile.

Across the room, Yoongi’s sharp gaze flicks between the two of you, his thoughts written plainly on his face. Then, without warning, he dives in, voice calm but edged with authority. “So,” he begins, his eyes locking on Jimin, “what are your intentions with my sister?”

You stifle a sigh, biting back a smile. This was bound to happen sooner or later; Yoongi never got his chance to grill Jimin when you first started dating. And now? Now he seems determined to play catch-up.

You rest your hand atop Jimin’s, a quiet signal of reassurance. You know your brother means well, but his intensity can be overwhelming at times. Jimin clears his throat, sitting up straighter, ready to face the onslaught of questions.

“Well,” Jimin begins, his voice steady and sincere, “I just want to make her happy. To make sure she feels safe and loved, and to give her everything that’s within my power.”

Yoongi nods, a small hum escaping him as he considers Jimin’s words. But he isn’t finished. Of course not. “Do you know about her other boyfriends?” he asks, his tone measured but pointed. “Other than Mark?”

The mention of Mark’s name sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. Not because Jimin doesn’t know—he does—but because the name alone dredges up memories you’d rather leave buried. Mark had been a storm in your life, his presence violent and destructive. Even now, the thought of him leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Jimin’s fingers lace through yours, grounding you. “I know,” he replies simply, his voice firm, unshaken.

You turn to Yoongi, your voice soft but resolute. “There are no secrets between us, Yoongi.”

Your brother leans back slightly, the weight of your words softening his posture, though his next words are laced with a quiet anger you know he’s been holding back. “Oh, I know. He told me that Mark hit you.”

The room stills. The air feels heavy now, laden with unspoken emotions. Your heart sinks into your chest, the memory resurfacing despite your best efforts to keep it buried. You’d never told Yoongi; you’d been too afraid of how he’d react. But of course, Jimin had told him—out of love, out of honesty.

“It’s in the past,” you say softly, your voice a sigh carried on the weight of old wounds. Then, with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you add, “And just so you know, I kicked him in the dick for that.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise, his stern mask cracking for just a moment. And then, he bursts into laughter, the sound warm and unexpected, filling the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Guess you don’t need my help after all,” he chuckles, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement.

You laugh with him, confidence blooming in your chest. “I’m a big girl, Yoongi. I can take care of myself.”

Yoongi nods, his laughter fading into a fond smile. “That’s great,” he says, his voice softer now, the love he holds for you shining through. “But I still have to make sure Jimin isn’t like your previous boyfriends. So, excuse me if my questions get a little too personal. I’m just looking out for you.”

You sigh, though it’s filled with affection, not exasperation. “I know,” you say, your tone lighter now. “So go ahead. Ask him whatever you want.”

Yoongi’s eyes shift back to Jimin, his expression steady but not unkind. The tension in the room eases, a silent understanding passing between you all. You squeeze Jimin’s hand once more, silently thanking him for standing beside you, for holding the truth of your past without letting it define you. And as Yoongi leans forward, ready to probe deeper, you feel a quiet strength settle in your chest. Whatever questions come, whatever words are exchanged, you know you’ll face them together.

Jimin nods, steady yet vulnerable, bracing himself for more of Yoongi’s questions while Amy sits quietly, her presence an afterthought, observing the unspooling of truths between the two men.

“Alright,” Yoongi begins, his voice low, his fingers raking through his dark hair. His gaze sharpens as he leans forward, as though peeling back layers of Jimin’s soul. “Have you ever been in a serious relationship before? I don’t know much about you from the media—I’ve only heard... rumors.”

Jimin exhales, the question digging into something tender. “I haven’t,” he admits, his voice tinged with quiet honesty. “I’ve never been in a serious relationship before. I never had the time—or, maybe, I never found the right person.” His eyes soften as he turns to you, his hand warm in yours. “That is, until I met your sister.”

His words settle over you like a balm, and you feel your heart skip in its rhythm, a flutter so gentle and profound it roots you in the moment.

Yoongi hums thoughtfully, his expression unreadable as he shifts to another question. “If my sister had a bad day—like, a really bad day—how would you cheer her up?”

This question catches your attention too, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate. “That’s easy,” he says with a small smile, as if the answer is second nature to him. “I’d hug her—tight. I’d tell her it’s okay, that everything will get better. Then I’d play her a song to make her feel understood. After that, I’d put on her favorite movie, and I’d make her favorite dish. Whatever it takes to remind her she’s loved and safe.”

The simplicity and thoughtfulness of his response send warmth through your chest. Your heart feels like it’s tumbling, summersaulting, caught in the gentleness of his words. Unable to resist, you lean into him, wrapping your arms around him in a soft embrace. He responds in kind, pressing a tender kiss to your temple, the gesture grounding and sweet.

Yoongi observes this exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly as he absorbs the scene. He nods slowly, seemingly satisfied, though his voice remains cautious. “Alright. Next question: What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to someone you cared about?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with expectation. You feel the faintest stiffening in Jimin’s frame, the subtle tension that tells you he already knows what he must say. Your heart tightens preemptively, because you, too, know where this will lead—he’s told you this story before, one filled with rawness and regret.

Jimin takes a deep breath, his voice quiet and deliberate, each word carrying the weight of a memory that has never left him. “When my best friend got sick with cancer… at first, I tried to ignore it. I told her everything would be fine, even when I didn’t really believe it. I think I was in denial. Maybe I didn’t know how to deal with it.” He pauses, as if gathering courage to press on. “But when her diagnosis turned terminal…” His voice falters for a moment before he continues, steadier now. “The worst thing I did was not listening—truly listening—to how she felt or what she wanted. She dreamed of having a child, and I tried to help with that, but beyond that?” He swallows hard. “I wasn’t there for her in the way she needed. I focused on distracting her with happy things because I couldn’t face the idea of her dying. I thought I was helping, but all I did was make it worse.”

The room feels charged with his confession, the kind of silence that hums with unspoken emotion. “If I could,” he adds, his voice breaking just slightly, “I’d go back and do it all differently. I’d give her the care she deserved in her last days. That’s a regret I’ll carry with me forever.”

Your arms tighten around him instinctively, trying to hold him together in the cracks of his pain. You’ve heard this story before, you know the guilt he carries, and it breaks your heart all over again to see him relive it now.

Yoongi leans back in his chair, his expression no longer probing but solemn, softened. It’s clear he hadn’t anticipated a response so raw, so open. For a moment, he simply looks at Jimin, then offers a quiet, sincere, “I’m so sorry.”

Jimin shakes his head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s part of my past now. Something I carry with me, something that shaped me.” He shrugs, but you can see the lingering pain in his eyes, the shadow that remains even after the words have been spoken.

Amy, sitting to the side, lets out a soft, sympathetic murmur. “That’s... so sad,” she whispers, her voice breaking the quiet.

You roll your eyes inwardly but say nothing. Instead, you lace your fingers with Jimin’s, squeezing his hand tightly to remind him he isn’t alone.

Jimin straightens a little, as if shedding the weight of the moment. Turning his attention back to Yoongi, he lifts his chin slightly, his gaze steady. “Is there anything else you want to know?” he asks, his voice calm but resolute.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker downward, as though the weight of the evening’s emotions pulls at his thoughts. His fingers drum softly against his knee, debating whether to continue. The tension in the air feels fragile, like glass teetering on the edge of shattering. “I do have more questions, but…”

“You can ask me anything,” Jimin says softly, leaning back into the sofa with you tucked beside him, his presence as steady as the anchor you’ve always needed.

Yoongi tilts his head, considering, then nods. “Alright. What are your views on marriage and commitment?”

A smile curves on Jimin’s lips, his expression open and sincere. “Even though I’ve only had short-term relationships in the past, I’ve always wanted something long-term. Marriage? I’d love that someday, sure. But if that’s not what your sister wants, that’s okay too. I just want to grow alongside her, however she dreams.” His hand shifts to your thigh, the warmth of his touch grounding you, yet sparking a quiet fire in your chest.

Yoongi hums, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “What’s the most important quality in a partner, in your opinion?”

Without hesitation, Jimin squeezes your thigh gently, a subtle reassurance. “Honesty and communication,” he answers, his voice calm but firm, like the foundations of a house built to last.

You can’t help but smile, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks. Jimin’s gaze flicks to you, a slight grin tugging at his lips as though he knows the effect his words have on you.

Yoongi nods again, leaning forward. “Alright, then. How do you handle arguments or disagreements?”

“With communication,” Jimin replies easily, the conviction in his tone undeniable. “I’ve always believed most arguments can be solved by just talking things through—sharing how we feel instead of bottling everything up. That’s actually one of the reasons I write so much. It helps me untangle my thoughts and express what’s in my heart.” His smile is soft, almost wistful, and you find yourself falling for him all over again.

“Yeah,” Yoongi murmurs, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Glad to hear it.”

The weight of his questions lightens a fraction, and the corners of Yoongi’s mouth lift into a rare smirk. “What’s your favorite thing about my sister, then?”

Jimin doesn’t even pause to consider. “Her soul,” he says simply, the words so sincere they feel like they belong to the air itself, as though he’s just stated an undeniable truth of the universe. “She’s bright, kind, and loving. She makes everything feel... lighter.”

Your heart flutters, your cheeks flushing under the weight of his words. You don’t hide the grin stretching your lips, leaning into him with a soft laugh as you nuzzle his shoulder. Yoongi clears his throat, but you don’t miss the way his hand rises to his face to hide what is likely a loving smile.

Still, Yoongi presses on. “I need to know—what would you do if someone hurt her?” His voice lowers, the edge of protectiveness unmistakable as he leans forward in his seat.

Jimin’s expression hardens slightly, his arm wrapping around you instinctively. “I’d kick their ass,” he says with quiet determination, pulling you closer into his embrace. You rest your head on his shoulder, finding comfort in the steel beneath his words. “I won’t let anything bad happen to her, ever.”

Yoongi exhales through his nose, leaning back in his chair. “Good,” he says simply, though the glint in his eye hints at approval.

“Alright, then. What’s something you’ve learned about her that surprised you?”

A quiet chuckle escapes Jimin, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as he answers. “It might sound strange, but it’s her curiosity. She doesn’t just skim the surface; she digs deep. She doesn’t care about appearances or superficial stuff. She asked me questions about my lyrics—not because I’m famous, but because she wanted to understand me as a person. She made me feel seen in a way I’ve never felt before.”

Your heart swells, the sincerity in his words making your chest ache in the best way. “Aww, Minie,” you murmur, turning to press a kiss to his cheek.

Amy groans dramatically beside you, breaking the moment with a loud sigh, while Yoongi’s lips twitch as though suppressing another smile.

“Alright,” Yoongi says after a beat, his tone lightening just slightly. “If I weren’t here asking you all these questions, how would you prove to me you care about my sister?”

Jimin doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d hope you’d see it in my actions—and in her happiness. That’s proof enough, isn’t it?” He smiles, his confidence quiet but unshakable.

Yoongi nods, but his next question comes with a deeper weight. “How do you think you’ll help her heal from her past?”

Jimin’s grip on you tightens briefly, his answer slow and deliberate. “First, I’d never behave like her exes did. And I’d give her all the time and space she needs to feel safe, to feel loved. I just want to build something where she knows she’s cherished every single day. If I can, I want to give her the whole universe—because that’s what she deserves.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the gesture so tender it brings a lump to your throat.

Yoongi tilts his head, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Well, I guess that answers what you think she deserves.” He pauses, then chuckles. “Okay, last question: Do you think I’m being too hard on you?”

Jimin’s grin widens. “Not at all. With her history, I completely understand why you’d be protective. You’re her brother, and I admire you for having her best interest at heart.”

Yoongi leans back, his laughter low and warm. “You almost seem too good to be true,” he teases lightly. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, though—even if I do think you’re perfect for her.”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward to give your brother a mock glare. “Are you done playing detective now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi chuckles, his guard finally lowering.

The rest of the evening shifts into lighter territory, with easy laughter and playful banter. The conversation meanders to Jimin’s career until he grows tired of it and flips the tables, asking Yoongi about his own life—his hobbies, his work, your childhood.

Time slips by unnoticed, the clock ticking past midnight before you realize it. When Yoongi and Amy finally leave, the house feels still and warm, as though peace itself has settled into the walls. You and Jimin climb into bed together, the softness of his sheets and the strength of his arms wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort. Snuggled close, you drift into sleep, his steady heartbeat lulling you into dreams of love that feels like home.

→ Requested series taglist: @13-manggaetteok, @mima795, @hnnnjm, @flaneuseonthestreets,  @miniesjams32, @graydolan12, @rinkud, @allie-in-the-moon, @pjmxxjmdipity,

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @fancypeacepersona, @ktownshizzle, @pjmxxjm, @ajoonniice, @kookiewithluv, @mikrokookiex, @rapmonjoon94, @parkitrighthere,

→ Author’s endnote: phew, this chapter was basically a talkathon! So much dialogue, I felt like I was writing a drama script 😅 But seriously, what did you think about all of Yoongi’s detective-level interrogations? 🕵️‍♂️ That man was not holding back with Jimin—like, calm down, sir, you’re not auditioning for CSI: Seoul! I really hope you’re still loving the series because I’m having an absolute blast with it 💜 Tell me all your thoughts, theories, or even just your favorite Yoongi moment from this chapter—I’m dying to hear it!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2025 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[swayingluv]

Prey of Hell - Chapter 0

Alastor x Buné (OC)

Chapter 0: Prologue Next Chapter

“Quite a pleasure to be reporting this incident, quite a pleasure! However, what happened to this young lady is no pleasure! Famous ringleader, ?̵͓̱̞̘̌̍̆?̷̡̨͖̲͆̕?̴͖͙̝͚̀͐͑?̶͉̳̿͌͘?̸̳̌?̵̨͓̦̰͒?̸̧̖̅̒?̷̭͈̱͕͗̐̓, dead at 25! Such a tragedy I’m afraid, mauled to death by her very own tiger in front of her audience! What a way to go!” The radio host began, starting out his broadcast with his usual greeting. He sat in his radio tower, far from the majority of civilization. The tone in his voice seemed too lighthearted to be reporting this occurrence, especially because he had known the very woman who had lost her life.

“Reports say there was blood of a rabbit on her from previously feeding the tiger, and later on during her performance, the tiger attacked her! Ripping her to complete shreds. Guess you could say the tiger pulled a few limbs, huh?” He continued, a laugh track playing in the background after every cruel joke that was made.

“Now as one may know, I frequently announced for her shows whenever her dear announcer was out! Such an interesting soul might I say, she sure did live for entertainment, haha! Even dead, she is causing a show! Police are now looking into her for multiple accounts of murder, swept under the rug by using her own circus as a cover up. Mentions of abuse from the previous owners are also being looked into, however, nothing is confirmed! What an interesting case!” He announced, his radio show being broadcasted to everyone in the city of New Orleans.

“This case is one that is so vexing, a ringleader accused of something as serious as murder. Especially one that had such a famous circus, popular amongst people of all ages. It’s been deducted to nothing but a coverup for something much more dark, the circus owners being a line of horrendously horrible people! Only recently has the circus been exposed for these activities due to the death of their darling ringleader. She was a 25 year old woman, known for her brilliant entertainment skills. Her act was one for animal lovers, using a tiger to carry the show for her. However, in her most recent show, the tiger ate her alive in front of the crowd she adored. It really was a show stopping last performance!” The radio host continued explaining this tragic tale, entertaining his very own viewers in the process. There was something so sinister about this case that he enjoyed, making him smile at just the thought of the truth being uncovered.

“It truly breaks my heart knowing I had offered to be the substitute announcer for such a deranged woman. If I had known all of this beforehand, there is no way I would have said yes!” And with that, the radio host continued his broadcast for hours, switching from reports of this to reports of other news, as well as the most recent hit jazz songs. All the while this was happening, a new demon manifested itself in Hell.

───────── ∘°𖤐°∘ ─────────

A woman fell from the sky, landing straight into Pentagram City. Her fall was the farthest thing from angelic, which made perfect sense, because she was the farthest thing from an angel. She gasped in pain as she hit the cold and dark floor, regaining consciousness. She shook her head, feeling something atop of it move with her shaking. Her eyes widened and she looked down at her hands, realizing that they were now long, white claws fading into a light pink at her fingertips. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked down at her legs, which were now adorned with stockings. Her right leg had a very vibrant pink fabric covering it, a line of X’s traveling down to her ankle. The other leg held a white stocking, striped with very thin lines of black. Looking down to her feet, there were two heels on them. The heels were a dark maroon, matching the shorts she had noticed she was wearing. In addition to this, there seemed to be a coat resting on her body. The ends were torn, looking as if it had been shredded. Attached to her waist was a golden whip, leading to many ideas in her twisted mind. As her eyes trailed further up, she saw epaulets sitting on her shoulder. Looking straight down, she saw a vibrant pink and gold bowtie attached to her neck. She smiled, she loved the color pink! On the other hand, she had absolutely no clue where she was.

The smaller woman stood up, shaking her head once more, checking out her surroundings. She appeared to be in a city, although not a nice one. It was covered in trash and fire, and if a city could scream, it would. There were strange looking people running around the streets, cars on fire, people laying dead on the ground, and trash littered along the sidewalks. A moment of realization hit her, remembering her death. The memories struck her like a flash of lightning. 

She remembered her past life as a ringleader, hosting many events at a circus. Without much thinking, she remembered the name of said circus with ease. The Stellar Cirque. She recalled her last moments, the very tiger she owned attacking her as if she were prey. It tore her to shreds, taking her limb by limb. All in front of her audience too. They wished they could look away from the violent scene, but something compelled them to keep watching. She remembered feeding the tiger earlier that day, giving it a rabbit that it enjoyed. Rabbit blood splattered her clothes and neck as she fed the tiger, resulting in her inevitable death. The tiger smelled food, saw food, and ate food. Albeit, that food was her. She remembered her name, vowing to never let anyone know what it actually was. And from then on, she was known as Buné.

She walked out of the alley she had fallen into, walking out onto the sidewalk. Prancing past a store, she was her reflection in the glass window. Her hair was now a shade of pink between vibrant and pastel, pulled into a bun sitting just above the back of her neck. Her eyes were a dark pink, and her sclera were a light pink. On her head rested two bunny ears, starting at pink and cut into white at the top. Between those fluffy rabbit ears was a dark maroon hat with a vibrant pink ribbon on it, a bow with a long trail on the back of her hat. Her face was relatively the same, although her skin was pure white. Her cheeks had circles of lively pink on them and a light purple shade of eyeshadow was present on her eyelids. Her eyelashes were abnormally long, but most of all, her nose was a small nose that resembled a bunny. She stared at her reflection and let out a giggle, the irony of her new form. 

“What a cruel joke!” Buné grinned, watching her hands trail up to her ears as she felt them. Fluffy, how weird. Something caught her attention as she stared, her neck. There was a massive scar that appeared on her neck, a claw mark. It didn’t end on her neck, so it was safe to assume it continued onto her torso. She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Damn cats.” She sighed, continuing her walk through this new environment. 

Buné looked up into the sky, seeing a giant pentagram looming above. Her mouth parted slightly as all of the clues started adding themselves up. Then, she smiled, reflecting on her very obvious crimes. “So, I’ve made it to Hell! Yay!” She cheered, thankful she still had consciousness. Her mind trailed back to all of the wrongdoings and crimes she had committed, starting from something as small as theft. Then, it led to bigger things, such as murder. Taking the lives of others had always given her an adrenaline rush she chased after, never wanting to leave that high. Her victims trusted her so easily, she appeared like a sweet woman who had a love for show business. But oh, were they wrong. She let out another laugh as she continued walking down the streets of Hell, soaking in the new cityscape she was bound to get used to. So many things were on fire, so many people were screaming

A strange man approached her, he was tall and much more built than her. His skin was a dull gray and he wore torn brown clothes. He had blackened horns that were the size of her very own ears, yet they were much more curved. His voice was raspy as he spoke, “Aren’t you just a pretty little thing?” 

Buné narrowed her eyes at this, putting her claws on her whip that was attached to its holder on her waist. She kept her cool, realizing she had no reason to be hostile towards him, but still very aware of anything that he could try. “What a glacé sweet you are!” She smiled, showing him her sharp teeth that she had yet to realize she had.

He gave a sinister smile back, putting his slimy hand on her shoulder. This caused Buné to grab the dark maroon handle of her whip, ready to take it out if need be. “What do you say, we go to a more private place?” He slurred out, blinking slowly at her. 

Buné rolled her eyes, looking up to him with an unreadable gaze. “No need. I wouldn’t engage in such activities with someone like yourself.” She giggled, grabbing his hand and removing it from her shoulder pad.

The sinner did not take this well, growling at her response. “What makes you think you could even do that with me?!” He hissed, balling his fists at her. Buné grinned and took out her whip, ready to try it out. She only arrived a few minutes ago, and she was already getting into conflict! She lashed it against the concrete, hitting it hardly. As it hit, pink electricity sparked from it. She looked down at it and possibilities ran through her mind. 

Buné pulled the whip back up towards herself. “Say, could I try this out on you?” She asked, tilting her head as she questioned him. He looked at her with disgust, but that didn’t last. She backed up and raised the whip, hitting him with a splash of electricity bolting through him. His eyes became like spirals and for a split second, he seemed almost unconscious, as if he were having a daydream. After 5 seconds of this state, he regained his thoughts. His expression went from angry to fearful, and his eyes widened. 

“What the fuck was that? What the fuck did I just see? Who the hell are you?” He screamed at her in hurt, as well as pure horror. His thoughts raced as he brought his hand up to his head, stars spinning around his head.

“Whatever do you mean?” The rabbit demon asked, confused. All she did was hit him, nothing more had happened.

“I-I saw a tiger! It fucking jumped at me! I felt myself get torn to shreds! I saw the crowd cheering for it! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He screamed, backing away slowly. 

Buné’s eyes lit up with excitement. She saw that very scene as she died! How come he saw it too? All she did was hit him with her whip! “Oh? Do tell me more!” She excitedly started walking towards him, grabbing her whip. She held it out once more, striking him twice with force. He stayed still for what seemed to be twice as long, his dazed state returning to him. After that, he jumped back into himself. He gasped and screamed, rubbing his eyes as tears began to form. 

“Fuck you!” He said as he ran off, giving no more context to what he saw. 

The short rabbit demon pondered for a second and looked down at her whip, which was still shooting out pink bolts of electricity. She grinned to herself, putting it back into its place. “Fascinating!” She exclaimed, continuing her way down the sidewalk.

…

And with that, Buné quickly gained popularity for all of the wrong reasons. She found out quickly just what exactly she could do. Manipulate people’s thoughts into her own. She could take her memories from life and make them see the exact same thing with just a touch of her whip, replacing her in those memories for them.

She learned she could turn into something much more frightening on her own will. Thick, black horns would sprout from her head as her hat fell. Her eyes would glow with the same vibrant pink, and glowing stitches keeping her limbs together would appear. She realized she could remove her limbs in this state, as well as her own organs. It always made for the perfect party trick. There was much more to learn about herself as the years passed by.

After 8 years, a new demon manifested itself into the same hell Buné adored. He rose quicker than she did, earning himself the radio demon title. And something about that name, Alastor, rang a bell in her dark mind. The same Alastor that occasionally did the announcements at her beloved circus. She made it her goal to see him again, although she knew he probably did not remember her, she just needed some source of entertainment in this hell that she would spend eternity in.

…

It was early in the morning and walking down the streets of Hell, Buné spotted exactly who she had been looking for. In front of the tailors’, she recognized his face, although his form was much different from the form she had last seen him in. He was much taller than her and his tanned skin was no longer that, and instead it was gray. His hair was bright red and was black at the bottom, shortening as it led to the back. Atop of his head were two fluffy ears, sharing the same color as his hair, into a black just like the bottom of his hair. Although it was difficult to see, two small antlers were present next to his ear. A deer, how cute! Buné giggled to herself. A red tinted monocle rested on his face, as well as a giant smile showing off his yellow colored teeth. His eyes were sharp and firm despite his smile. Above his eyes seemed to have dark red of some sort, almost like eyeshadow. He had a black and red bowtie, much like her own, and a bright red and striped suit, paired with black pants. The radio host wielded a microphone, the same bright red being repeated throughout his appearance.

Buné’s eyes lit up, bringing her hands up to her chest and shaking them with excitement. She giggled and speed-walked towards him, excited to see the only other person she knew during her life. She ran behind him, tapping him on the back with her pointer claw. Alastor turned around, only to see no one there. His smile remained but his eyes furrowed in annoyance, only to receive another tap on his back once more. He turned around to see a shorter demon, resembling closely to a rabbit. He recognized her as the infamous rabbit demon, Buné. However he quickly realized that it was the same woman he reported a gruesome death on years ago in life. The same one he used to know decently, as he announced for her shows. He looked down at her, and before he could say anything she spoke up. “Alastor! I found you!” She giggled and put her hands on her hips.

Alastor’s eyes were unreadable as he responded. “Buné! I remember you quite well, you were a force to be reckoned with, dear.” He bent down and touched her nose gently with one of his fingers. Buné laughed in response as Alastor stood back up straight.

“You are the only familiar face I recognize in Hell. I figured I’d locate you!” Buné admitted, she had known literally no one else in Hell, and to know someone caused her much relief. She could handle herself fine, but knowing someone made things much more comforting. She had been alone in Hell for 8 years.

Alastor nodded politely in understanding. “I completely understand! I too know no one else, but you showed up just on time. I remember reporting your death, quite the flashy one I might add!” He took his microphone in front of him and rested both of his hands on top of it. 

Buné’s eyes widened and she looked away in embarrassment. Oh, he reported my death. That’s nothing short of embarrassing. She thought to herself, before speaking. “Ah, yes. A betrayal from my own animal. Nonetheless, in front of my audience, a total embarrassment!” She shook her head, not proud of her death.

Alastor laughed at her reaction, unable to disagree with her. “Yes, and to be exposed for all of your horrendous crimes right after! I would have never guessed you were such a violent woman, Buné, dear.” He looked down at her, almost expecting answers from her.

Buné looked back up at him, confusion creeping onto her face. “Oh? The authorities actually found out about all of my side hobbies?” She questioned, tilting her head to the left a little. 

Alastor turned to face the sidewalk, offering her his arm. “Of course! Join me on an outing and I shall tell you everything you wish to know about the results of your death.” He suggested, causing Buné to nod and take his arm as they began to walk down the sidewalk. Truly a start of a new friendship, one that could possibly shake this entire city of Hell, causing trouble like never before. ───────── ∘°𖤐°∘ ─────────

Thank you for reading the prologue! This is just a small project I'm working on, I have many drawings of her if you guys would like to see! My AO3 is swayingluv, it is also posted on there :)

Please don't be harsh, this is my first time writing anything and posting it! If people like this I might try to update more often. Thank you for your time, have a wonderful day/night <3

[kotamagic]

Mid-season finale is here and another hiatus is kicking in for Lore Olympus. Gahdamn.....what a doozy...

Let's start with Kassandra's prophesy. Psyche & Eros got it out of her with....a magic pink candle?.... and realized Apollo's plan to poison Zeus. They reach out to Zeus as fast as they can, but are they in time?

This bit here may seem a bit thrown in edge-wise, but it is something that Hades should know since they have been on/off dealing with the Kronos problem.

It's also good to see that they are still communicating with one another. They've had hiccups, to be sure, especially with Zeus giving birth to Dionysos, but Zeus isn't forcing secrecy here, so Persephone can be open about what's going on with Hera.

It's the ceremony on the eve of spring. Persephone is here to do her thing while Demeter & Hades look on. At first, there's an uncomfortable silence between them, and then Hades does this.

Despite all the animosity between them, Hades offers an olive branch. I mean, it's in the form of volcanoes, but you get the idea.

So the reason Hades resisted giving up the volcanoes is because they were a gift from his mom. Since volcanoes start underground (in the Underworld, one might say) and reach into the Mortal plain, it was a connection Hades was reluctant to give up.

Maybe, in an odd way, by offering this "connection" Hades is asking that they actively work to improve their relationship together. Just a theory.

Can I just say that Persephone looks lovely, yet sad here?

Something has gone horribly wrong! It's supposed to be spring, yet there's snow on the ground!

Also of note, the leaves in Persephone's hair look faded or frosted. They are usually vibrant green, but that's not the case here.

Oh shit! The God that Apollo has been talking to has been guiding him to usurp Zeus. Apollo extracted the needed prophesy from Kassandra. He got the herb...

....and gave it to Zeus. Eros and Psyche were too late. With help, Apollo seems to be taking over Olympus, and stealing Persephone's powers if the return of winter is any indication.

And who do we have to actively thank for Apollo's success?

Ouranos. Not grandpa Kronos, but great-grandpa Ouranos. This is going to end poorly......

And with that cliffhanger, Lore Olympus goes on hiatus again......

Anyway, thanks for coming to my LO post!

[stubblesandwich]

MORE of your house of colour ted talk please, that was really interesting to read!!

Oh my gosh, I'm so happy you enjoyed my mini TED Talk/crazy person rant in your tags. 

For those who don't know what the HECK I'm talking about, I reblogged this fantastic little gif set and went off in the tags about how lucky we all are that Colin O'Donoghue happens to be a winter. 

So for those unfamiliar, everyone fits into a color palette or season, according to House of Color, which came about in the eighties and is based on color theory. The idea is that based on your skin's undertone, hair color, and eye color, you fit into a "season" of color. You're a spring, autumn, summer, or winter. Spring and autumn are on the warm end of the color palettes, and summer and winter are the cooler seasons. Think warm oranges in fall and bright, sunny greens in spring. Bright blues and berry pinks for summer, harsher whites, blacks, blues for winter. Makes sense, doesn't it? (Honestly, it took me a long time to understand it all, but once I did, it kind of broke my brain and I can't unsee these things. 🙃)

Well, I make the case that sir Colin O'Donoghue, our dear Captain, is a winter. And we are so damn lucky that he is. Do you know why? Because winters are the only season who can truly pull off black. 😎 And true red, actually! Because of the high contrast between their features and their cool undertones, winters look amazing in high contrast, vibrant cool colors. Those colors don't wash them out like they would other seasons.

Let's get down to the photo evidence, shall we?

Here we see Colin in all his smirky glory.

Now, we all know what this man looks like, but let me point out the obvious. Dark hair, light eyes. The contrast between the two is high, allowing him to pull off a more high contrast color, such as black, white, and that vibrant blue at his collar. His skin has a cool undertone (which is a whole other thing but just trust me there for now). You can see a more pink look to his skin, instead of a warmer yellow undertone. It's easier to see on people with lighter skin, but you can also determine undertone on folks with darker skin. So, there you have all the makings of a true winter.

What does that mean, in terms of clothing and picking out colors that will complement your features? Let's look at some pictures of Colin NOT wearing colors in his winter palette and maybe you'll see what I'm talking about.

Now, you'll never see me on this website saying this man looks bad in these photos. Obviously you'd be hard pressed to make Colin look unhandsome in anything you put him in. But just take a look at him wearing this muted wine colored shirt. His features don't pop at all, like they normally do. It's doing nothing for him. He'd actually be better off just wearing that white undershirt, in terms of making his features pop. And then the photo with the beige on the right is just... I mean, we can all see that's not good, right? We can all see those colors are doing nothing for him? Winters and beige don't mix. Beige is on a winter's no-no list.

It was actually difficult to find photos of Colin not wearing colors in his season. He actually does pretty well for himself, in that regard. He generally wears cooler colors and a lot of black. Here's another photo example though of him in a warm, olive green. Does he look ugly? Absolutely not. Would this sweater look better on him in black, or almost any shade of cool blue? Absolutely.

The olive color washes him out, actually. Let's compare this to Colin in a bright white and dark blue, below.

See how his eyes pop, and his skin doesn't look so washed out? The olive green sweater seen above is a warm green, which would look fantastic on someone in the autumn season. On a winter, though, it just doesn't work as well. And because I love Colin in blue, here are some more examples of him wearing his colors well.

Now, you might be saying to yourself, "Tori, you silly goose. You're forgetting about the magic of lighting benefits, and also the magic of facial hair, which is basically makeup for men." Sure, I'll give you that. Most men look better with stubble or a light beard, and lighting helps. I take you now to my next example of Colin not in his best colors.

The white undershirt and the blue tie are great for Colin! The rust brown suit, however, makes me feel yucky inside. I keep using this phrase, but you can see how this color is just not doing the man any favors. It doesn't help bring any vibrancy to his features in any way. Let's compare these now to (the moment we've all been waiting for) Colin wearing black and see if we can tell a difference.

Do you see how his eyes look brighter, and his skin tone doesn't look so muted and washed out? The skin beneath his eyes isn't as shadowed, either. People generally look healthier when wearing the colors that suit them best. Now, add in Hook's eyeliner to make those blue eyes pop, and you've got some real magic.

Winters also look great in red. (Think of Monica Gellar, also a winter, in her signature red from Friends.) Let us not forget Killian's fan favorite "red vest of sex", as seen below. Someone in the costume department really knew what they were doing with Colin, it must be said.

It's also important that they had him wear silver jewelry, instead of gold, as silver goes better with cool undertones. And how fortunate are we that they cast a man who naturally looks so good in black? The whole "little black dress" as a closet staple for women simply doesn't work for so many of us who just don't look good in black. The only season that truly shines in black is the true winter. ✊🏻 More power to them.

TL;DR Colin looks fantastic in black, and there's a scientific reason for it. Emma didn't stand a chance against not falling for Killian Jones, and neither did we.

Thank you for attending my TED Talk.

[floralpotions]

Alice tries to hide a secret from Severus upon moving in with him...

Alice's hand shoots out faster than Severus thought possible, landing on top of the cardboard box with a resounding smack that nearly makes him jump back. His eyes instantly snap to her face, raising an eyebrow in silent question for her odd behavior.

Alice, for her part, attempts to look nonchalant to dubious ends. She fixes a smile towards him, one that didn't seem quite genuine, "I've got this one. You can, um... Unpack that one over there."

Severus' eyes trail over towards the indicated box, then back over to her. "... Why?"

"Why what? You're the one who offered to help me unpack..."

"No, why do you seem rather... protective of this particular box...?"

Alice sniffs, "I do not. I just... Have some of my things in here."

Severus' lip twitches upwards, "... I gather... Most of the boxes you brought into my house... Have your things in them..."

Alice huffs.

"... I would be worried if that was not the case..."

"I meant that it has my clothes in it..." She flushes and looks away, shuffling awkwardly on her feet.

"... Ah." Severus supposes he can understand the hesitancy Alice might hold for him going through her undergarments, although it's not like their relationship is... New, per se. Alice can be rather shy, though. Still, he has this nagging feeling that her defensive nature in regards to this particular box has little to do with the possibility of him taking inventory of her brassieres... Nonetheless, he relents for now.

"You can unpack that upstairs, then." Now, it is his turn to blush, a light shade of pink spreading down from the tips of his ears to his cheeks, "... I know we've... shared a bed before. The master bedroom is where I stay. If you'd like to, you may unpack your things in there... If not, there is a guest bedroom across the hall that you may also stay in, at your leisure. Either is fine."

Alice gives him a small, grateful smile and disappears up the stairs, hefting the cardboard box with her, leaving Severus to ruminate, after he collects himself, on what she could possibly wish to hide from him.

The answer becomes evident later that night, when Severus finds a stuffed animal leaning against the pillows in the middle of the bed.

Numbly, he picks it up and examines it. It's a stuffed dragon, its possibly once-vibrant green fuzzy cloth rendered dull and threadbare with age. Its beady black eyes stare blankly up into his own.

He turns and looks at Alice with a silent, questioning look.

Alice turns a rosy shade and fidgets with the hem of her t-shirt, "... That's Klaus."

"'Klaus'?"

"... The name sounds similar to 'claws'. Which he has. Because he's a dragon."

"Of course. Silly me." Severus looks back at the green, shapeless lump his girlfriend apparently deemed appropriate to put in their bed.

Alice drifts over and lightly plucks the offending thing from him with all the insistence of an overprotective mother, earning an amused huff of a laugh from Severus.

"Do you need that thing to sleep?"

"... Yes," Alice hugs the plush dragon close to her, its head lolling, the odd and misshapen body fitting perfectly in her arms.

He lets out a put-upon sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, "... Fine. I suppose Klaus can stay in our bed for the night."

Alice beams at him, melting away any reluctance Severus might have had towards their additional bedfellow.

A/N: Klaus is real, and I love him :)

[knave-of-clubs]

Random Story Ideas I'll probably write Soon #6

If I'm new to the fandom I reserve the right to ramble about/write things everyone else has probably done in multiple ways

That being said, The Core is now a small child–

(Beware of my brainworms)

So, for clarity's sake, I have to say that it's not exactly The Core that's a child? If you're a Steven Universe fan, I'm kinda imagining that this kid is to The Core what Steven is to Pink Diamond— there's overlap in personality, and some physical attributes and memory fragments are passed on, but the two are viewed as distinct entities with differing actions/reactions to the world.

Now, of course, this kid has decided that its name is Darcy, and it ends up wandering into the care of twenty-something Marcy Wu, who was not prepared AT ALL to suddenly experience parenthood but here she is! Also, this kid freaks Marcy the hell out because not only is it a Sudden Child that calls itself Darcy of all things, but it ALSO just so happens to be nearly identical to what Marcy looked like at that age (~7–10) sans two important details:

Creepy vibrant orange "The Core" eyes

When it scrapes its knees and other young child-y things, it bleeds GREEN!

So yeah, Marcy is very psyched (/s) about this kid in the beginning–

(Now's probably a good time to drop the kid's pronouns. Darcy, much to Marcy's confusion/slight exasperation, refers to itself with we/us/our pronouns and responds to plural they/them/themselves and singular it/its/itself pronouns. Yes an average human child of that age isn't usually gonna think that deeply about pronouns. No I don't care they do it anyways. Let me have my fun <3)

Now at first Marcy just takes care of this strange little child because it's very clearly related to The Core and that's not something she wants to let loose on poor, unsuspecting Massachusetts. Some people who see her asks questions and she brushes them off with the classic cartoon "Oh, just my little cousin, visiting from xyz". But eventually, much to her own surprise (and nobody else's), Marcy finds herself growing attached— now she just goes along with the assumptions that she has a kid, since really that's just the case at this point. One complicated tango with Family Services later and Marcy Wu is now the sole legal guardian of her "little cousin", dubbed Darcia Minerva Wu.

The hypothetical story I'm crafting in my head for all of this would probably just be a connected series of oneshots, the first of which I'm actually currently writing down, but for now enjoy these small details:

Darcy is autistic and mostly nonverbal, and they use basic ASL (no one knows where they learned that) and gestures to communicate

Despite preferring to be referred to with plural pronouns, Darcy actually isn't a hivemind like The Core was. It might've been a hivemind at some point though?? And as a result it's very scared of complete silence and being alone

Because of how afraid they get, Darcy cried a lot during their first few nights with Marcy

Marcy didn't really understand the 'too quiet' problem at first, because in her experience The Core was overwhelming and too loud

Concepts of Marcy dealing with borderline shady people to get Darcy a legal identity include references to "this one guy on the West coast who faked his death and took his twin brother's identity"

[m4iya]

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ Matchup #7 Anon 777 ˙⋆✮ᐟ.ᝰ

It’s been a while since i’ve posted, so hello! And hello Anon 777, as you’ve requested to be called :3

I’ve decided to match you to Yamaguchi Tadashi!

Let’s begin with your personality: Reading this, I saw a few similarities between you two! As a first: Some of your likings that some of your peers may not understand. I know I may not be making much sense here, but the two of you might initially bond over struggling to fit in with crowds/making new friends. Since we know how much he’s struggled as a kid, being picked on for his appearance and whatnot, the two of you might be able to connect on a level where a mutual understanding of each other grows.

The reason why I specify not to include a physical description is because it usually affects my choice and makes it a little biased. In this case however, I read the rest of your matchup, taking your appearance into consideration after I had matched you. So this once, I’ll be including it in my ‘analysis’ or whatever you want to call it!

Some people say that friends and those who are close tend to look similar, and I think the neutral tones in your shared colour palette fits the mould i was thinking of (especially since you said you have freckles) I don’t want to spend too much time on the physical descriptions, so i’ll leave that for the aesthetics and pictures at the end.

I’m not exactly sure, but I know some girls who like to be very girly, not like a Barbie doll, but they like pinks, soft designs, delicate things, some of the general things you imagine when you think ‘girly’. I might be wrong, but I kind of got this vibe from you! Not the petit, coquette kind, but the cottage core, soft spoken kind.

And when I think of Yamaguchi, I also think of that type of girl. He’s not exactly the big and buff type, but I can see him as a type of person who’d want to ‘protect’ someone he’s close with? I don’t know if you got all that but I hope it didn’t come off as weird :c

Here’s a scenario I can imagine! maybe it’ll communicate what I tried to say above.

Stepping outside the door to your house, a picnic basket gripped in one hand while the other locked the door.

A ring sounded from your phone, and you held it up to your ear.

“I’m outside now, where are we meeting?”

Following the location sent to your number, it'd be a short walk from your house. After the two of you discussed an outing yesterday, he continuously asked to meet you at the door to your home and walk with you, holding the basket of food. Though, you insisted that you'd be fine on your own.

You knew how he felt; always doing the most to make sure you. weren’t having trouble with anything he could help with. School bag? He’d offer to carry it. Forget your mechanical pencil? No worries, he carries a spare. Convenience store? He’d pay, and when he did, he carried the bag. You couldn’t help but break out into a smile each time he was there for you, knowing how much he cared.

Stepping into the vibrant field, you took notice of the various kinds of flowers sprouting out in between the blades of grass, sprinkled all over the tops of shrubs. Just when you were about to reach into your pocket to notify Yamaguchi that you’d arrived, a panicked voice rose from behind.

“Sorry I’m late!” He panted, hands on his kneecaps as he paused to catch his breath. “Did you wait long?”

“Nope. I just got here.”

Laying the picnic blanket on the grass, you brought out each item, explaining what they were as he watched in awe.

“You made all of this?” His eyes were wide with surprise.

A giggle escaped your lips. “Yeah!”

The two of you snacked on some sandwiches and light sweets, occasionally feeding each other a bite. He’d reach out and wipe your cheek with a napkin if sauce or frosting happened to reach there, and you’d put something new in his plate whenever he finished what he was eating, until he genuinely insisted that he was about to fall into a ‘food coma’.

“They’re just snacks though!”

“They turn into meals once you eat enough..” He groaned, hand on his belly.

After a few sips of water and iced tea, the remainders of the picnic were placed into plastic containers including some that he could take home to his family. This time, he let you carry the basket as the two of you took a stroll through the park.

“This really is a beautiful park.” The flourishing greenery carried your gaze around, pausing occasionally to snap a photo.

“Right?”

Yamaguchi bent down in front of him, picking a daisy from a bunch. Twisting it around in between his forefinger and thumb, he turned his attention to you.

“You remind me of this flower..” A coy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Bright and happy..” Your gaze fluttered to his cheeks, painted with pink. “Yet refined and pronounced.”

Ignoring the warmth tingling your face, you chuckled. “Is that a compliment?”

His hand reached forward, tucking the flower behind your ear before cupping your cheek.

“What else would it be?”

1st pic: Picnic aesthetics, 2nd pic: a photo the two of you might take, 3rd pic: the vibes i get from you

[bizarrelittlemew]

sending a message of solidarity re: OFMD S2's colorgrading. i'm doing video edits (rather than gifs) and good god is it a nightmare. i'm doing self-taught color correction bc you literally cannot see a thing. who did they put in charge of this? 😔

YES what is up with that, it is so dark! and i know it's likely conscious artistic choices but you'll have episodes like E4 that are super red/yellow, and like E7 that's really green/cyan, and you can probably read a lot into those choices but for editing it just adds a lot of work lmao

the giant LED screen with vibrant blue skies (or pink in case of S2E2) is not my best friend either because they end up being backlit a lot but at least it's LIGHT

[nohiketoosmall]

Ranking Plush Wild Republic Rattlesnakes

Part 1: Ranking Plush Anacondas

Part 2: Ranking Plush Cobras

Part 3a: Ranking Plush Rattlesnakes

The photo limit for posting is 30 photos and Wild Republic was fully taking up 1/3 of the list so I moved the brand as a whole to their own post. Some listings are labeled as K&M International, which seems to be their former name.

I looked through my stuffed animals and I have one WR stuffed animal I could find, a giraffe from Lincoln Park Zoo's adopt an animal program I got for Xmas from my partner. Wild Republic partners with multiple organizations including the Audubon Society, which I talked about a little in my Anaconda post, and also the WAZA (World Association of Zoos and Aquariums), hence why you'll find their plushies in zoos.

Personally, their snakes are very hit-or-miss for me, although I should note they seem to have different price points so some are naturally higher quality than others. They've been around since 1979 but according to their own website boomed in popularity in 1999. Since then, they seem to have introduced and discontinued many stuffed animals, hence why they appear so many times on the ranking lists.

Super Jumbo Western Diamondback by Wild Republic (1)

113in

7/10 This rattlesnake is fine, but doesn't hold up next to Rambo IMO. There is also a 70in version on the WR website and I think they use the exact same fabric patterns, which is why the "jumbo" version has such small triangles. I couldn't find confirmation it has a rattle. IMO if I'm going to get a rattlesnake plush it should have a rattle, but I won't take off a point for that in the rankings because I don't think I'll be able to confirm that for most. But in my heart this is a 6/10.

Green Rock Rattlesnake by Wild Republic (2)

54in

8/10 Okay, I have to admit, I don't like the physical design of this snake very much. But I had to give it extra points for the audacity of including such a specific species of rattlesnake. I didn't know of this rattlesnake, but it is also called the banded rattlesnake and can come in a variety of colors including apparently gray, pink(ish), blue, and white. None of them are as vibrant as the green of this stuffed animal. They used this as an opportunity to make a blue version as well (this one listed at 70in):

On the topic of product descriptions, the Wild Republic website describes the green snake like this:

Long, lean, mean and green

I'm not a fan.

Green Rock Rattlesnake Toy by Wild Republic (3) via stuffedwithplushtoys

54in

2/10 I will give this snake props for... being unique, and having a rattle. But, seeing the fact this appears to no longer be sold on the Wild Republic website, I think its obvious why this was not successful. (At least stuffedwithplushtoys put nice facts about snakes in the product description)

his one seems to also have a blue type, although I only found this one picture:

Timber Rattlesnake by Wild Republic (4)

54in

7/10 I think that this uses the same sewing pattern as the other Wild Republic rattlesnakes. The website boldly proclaims this a "lifelike stuffed version" which I find extremely funny given they chose to make this snake bright magenta. But I found it so funny I ended up really liking her, she's iconic. In case you're wondering, real Timber Rattlesnakes are brown.

Twin Spotte Snake by Wild Republic (5)

70in

3/10 It doesn't look like this particular entry was proofread before being posted. The twin-spotted rattlesnake is indeed a species, and can be a kind of greyish blue. I don't rank this low because I dislike the bright blue- I just ranked the magenta timber rattler higher- I just don't like the pattern. Looking at the other WR rattlers, this one is so far off, it doesn't even look inspired by the twin-spotted? It looks like a burmese python pattern in blue. If you know the Deep History of my blog you know that I once had a dream featuring an electric blue burmese python, so we can only hope they use this fabric for a python in future posts.

I found a very similarly patterned snake that seems to be exclusive to Saint Louis Zoo, which I didn't fit into the other post because of length constraints, plus because it is so simimlar to the above plushie. The seller did not include any tags, although there don't seem to be any visible anyways, and the snake is not sold online. I assume it was custom ordered from one of the many plush companies I've been looking at in these posts, though.

Foilkins Rattlesnake by Wild Republic (6)

54in

7/10 This snake isn't really "my thing" but I have to admit, it is very cute regardless. It doesn't seem that huggable due to the material, but thats kind of the whole gimmick with the foilkins. I will accept that this one is not for me, but is good. I'm also gonna tuck this other foilkins rattlesnake in this section, it's clearly a rattlesnake but wasn't tagged as such:

Colorful Snake by Wild Republic (7)

54in

7/10 I thought I was finally free from Wild Republic when I found an e-bay listing showing the full body of this snake. It's listed as "Colorful snake" and not tagged rattlesnake on the WR site, and the fully body isn't visible so I'd written it off as a non-rattler. I guess this is very loosely a "horned rattlesnake" with a wacky pattern, but I'm ranking it highly because I think its a fun artistic direction.

Tribal Orange Snake by Wild Republic (8)

54in

0/10 I realized I had missed this one while looking through the "snakes" catalog. I'm ranking this one 0 because I'm not a fan of companies using the word "tribal" for any pattern, its just meaningless. Plus its just a little busy- I prefer the other colorful orange one.

2010 Purple Rattlesnake by Wild Republic (9) via ebay

50in

6/10 e-bay continues to taunt me by suggesting new Wild Republic Rattlesnake Plushes. I don't like this one very much and I wasn't sure if I should include it because its really just a snake with a rattlesnake tail, and because there are so many other WR plushies on this post, but it does look very soft. A different ebay seller seemed to have labeled this (or a very similar purple snake) as "Rainforest Cafe" so it may have been produced for them.

Patchwork Rattlesnake by Wild Republic (10) via ebay

70in

7/10 Like some of the others, I like this brightly colored one for its creative take on the patterns of a rattlesnake. This does mean fully 1/3 of this list is WR, but what can I say, they love rattlesnakes.

Blue Rock Rattlesnake by Wild Republic (11) via ebay

55in

4/10 I think this is meant to be a different version of the twin spotted rattlesnake, but this ebay listing was the only place I found this snake- they didn't even include a picture of the tag, so I can't confirm 100% this is WR, but it looks like their work. I just think the pattern and color choices on this one are kind of ugly. (The threads around the rattle are loose, hence why it has no detail).

Red Green Snake by Wild Republic

54in

8/10 This is the first unique shape and style from WR we've seen in a while! I like the face, its cute, and I like the creative patterns. The above photo is from ebay, but I did confirm that this snake is still sold on the WR website- the preview image on their site doesn't show the tail, and it's not tagged rattlesnake.

Plush Diamondback Rattlesnake by K&M International / Wild Republic via ebay

53in

4/10, this is a perfectly fine rattlesnake, although I don't like how the diamonds are not neatly centered. The most interesting thing about this one is the age- the ebay listing states this is from 1998, but not the manufacturer. The tag was very damaged but did say "1998 K", and as you may recalled K&M International did not rebrand to Wild Republic until 1999. I then found a listing with the same type with a better-looking tag, confirming the manu.

That's all the Wild Republic rattlesnakes so far! (not sponsored ofc, the other post has the other brands, again these just didn't fit!) Don't forget to read the post with the other rattlers!!

[xoteajays]

I know that I never hit you hard enough for you to forget how to count now.. I know that for a fact. So you can't actually blame that on me.

So how is the show? What do you think of the show now? Tell me! I'm wanting to know. I have questions. So tell me what you think about it.

~

Exactly! That seemed out of character for the Mighty Warriors. And.. I know. That could've just been aesthetic for the music video. But if it's supposed to be an epilogue where Warriors do become Kuryu, then it confuses me that you would give them any weapons though. Like the old Kuryu, like Ryu, uses weapons. But none of the Warriors ever did.

And don't get me wrong. An attractive man in a suit is attractive... But they've never worn suits before with the exception of Ryu. Ryu's style was always more 'professional' compared to the style any Warriors do wear, and he always only ever wore black clothes. Nothing that was in a flashy vibrant style like everyone else in Warriors, mainly streetwear clothes rather than suits. With colors. The complete opposite to Ryu.

If Ryu's the new leader of Kuryu, I don't see him backing down from a fight with anyone.. Especially not from any 'street trash' like the Rude Boys. He'd rather die than not kill them if given the chance to. And so many characters like Nikaido are completely bitches who can't fight.

~

Strawberry Girls are stupid! If the girls do not know basic information about men, their personalities, their styles, or anything. Then this just so happens to be why they're single. Because they're so stupid to me.

The only way that Rocky could prevent Kizzy from cutting off his limb would be because women wouldn't want to be around a man, without his limbs. That's the only reason why they never cut off his hands too.

And they make sure there is always duplicate keys around just in case the situation calls for it. Because that would be bad if you lost the key at all. So the senior Rascals always have a key for this whole situation.

I don't know how insane Kato might be. And we know that Sakyo and Ukyo might be insane in a violent way, to some extent, but never on a same level as Hyuga is. And if they know how insane Hyuga is.. Now I am actually imagining how the Daruma newbies find out that Hyuga's family was one of the original families in Kuryu. How'd they act then.

~

So I might've figured out the fucking recipes for the cocktails that are in Club Heaven! And we were both right too.. Seriously. That's not any joke either. The menu I sent you from the High&Low festivals, back in the time when people celebrated the franchise for coming out then.

It lists the flavor for the White Rascals as a calpico. So I've researched calpico... A milky type of drink that comes in five flavors - the original, lychee, white peach, strawberry and mango flavors. And even certain flavors like original, lychee and peach are white colored. Strawberry is pink colored. And mango is orange colored. So now, I'm imaging their signature drink would be with the calpico as the very main ingredient.

They would use every flavor. But original, lychee and white peach end up being the main flavors.. Because white colors for White Rascals.

And! Despite calpico not being an alcoholic drink, that is frequently in alcoholic drinks in Asian (especially Japan). But, of course, one of the liqueurs that mix it with is vodka. And if you do look up some of those drinks.. Those drinks look like the Rascals drinks in different glasses.

~

So apparently some of my bands updated their appearances for their new albums. Apparently I can't look at pretty Asian men respectfully... My staring is somewhere in between respectfully and disrespectfully.

~

You said fifth time? Definitely more than five characters for me.

The only exception to a mafioso who wasn't abused might have really been Vincenzo. Like.. I'm not saying his past wasn't said. But he never was abused by his father. That's all I will say about his character.

Like the Shelby family (from Peaky Blinders) came from very abusive families. Rocky counts.. If though Rocky isn't technically a mafioso in the traditional sense. He's a gang leader who had an abusive father so that led to his mother and sister committing suicide. And others too.

Obviously. I know. Criminals become criminals because of the past in their lives.. But still though. Have criminals come from normal pasts - in the same way criminals also come from abusive pasts too. Do both equally. Because having an unsuspecting antagonist is so interesting. But, then again, you just might not emphasize with any of them then.

it’s so long! it’s like watching a movie every episode. i’m still neither here or there on it, but i do like vincenzo himself as a character. also i thought the flick scene was cute, stealing that idea for my daydreaming.

~

it kinda sucks to slip the warriors into kuryu aesthetics because it was interesting to have ryu among the warriors because he was so un-warrior-ish. he’s like, a rich kid! he wears fancy clothes! ans uses weapons! he’s the literal black sheep in the warriors. so he stands out when with the warriors. but then they crammed the warriors all into the kuryu fashion and it’s. wrong.

put the warriors back in their colours! and their cool streetwear! ryu can be the one in his fancy high fashion clothes. it’s about the duality!

i think it’d embarrass ryu to be beaten by the rude boys. so it should absolutely happen. one of the rude boys deserves to knock him on his ass.

~

i’m imagining rocky just trying to convince one of the golden bomber/smg guys to give him the spare key and kizzy being there like ‘don’t you dare give him the key’ because she’s trying to get something from him while he’s trapped. on one hand, rocky’s his boss. on the other, kizzy will make his life hell for defying her. lose lose situation.

~

oh! calpico! i’ve had calpico before. i could see that being made into an alcoholic drink. looks there are a lot of ones online, ones with like gin, vodka or sake. idk what alcohols are popular in japan.

i think i’d prefer the strawberry flavour tbh, even tho it’s not white. i’m not a big fan of lychee, i don’t mind peach tho.

~

it’s definitely a favourite backstory for writing characters you need to feel some kind of empathy for. like time to make you feel bad for this character! flip a coin, is it going to be abuse or dead family?

gotta find some new material for sad backstories.

[timebeingtarot]

Hello there! :) How are you doing? I hope your week's going well so far. I've read your post on free readings and was wondering if I could please request for one if you're okay with it?

Question: What will my future spouse adore about me the most?

Thank you so much! Hope you have a nice day! 💕

- M.I. 🌼

when I look at these cards, the first thing I notice is the balance between energies in these cards. most obviously, one is upright and one is in reverse, so they are in physical opposition to each other. the color tones are also in opposition, with the chariot featuring cooler, deeper tones, versus the vibrant pinks, yellow, and sky blue of the princess of swords. the chariot is a card I associate with a more masculine energy in general understanding, and the princess of swords a more feminine one, but I would argue that in this specific deck the cards rely on this dichotomy less often and more frequently represent a more gender ambiguous or fluid approach to these cards, so I'm not certain I feel this dichotomy is relevant. the chariot imagery depicts a calm serenity, while the the princess of swords has a more active stance. all of this is to say, that your partner will appreciate the balance you bring. this could mean that you as a person are very balanced, that you have an appreciation for many viewpoints and interests, that you can bring a lot of energy when needed, but you can also be a stable support when needed. however, the balance could also be referring to your relationship with each other, that you are perhaps very different from each other on the surface, but share certain key values and factors that help solidify your strong bond and connection.

in my opinion, I think the second option I stated above is more likely the case. the reason I think this is because the two cards here on their surface look very different, but when you examine them further you start to understand their connection and what they share within. while the charioteer looks serene, it is because he has faith in the tools at his disposal to achieve his cause. this represents a person who is committed to charging ahead, who has strong self esteem, who is ambitious and open to challenges. this does not mean they are necessarily aggressive, but they are committed. the princess of swords is a card that I associate with wit and drive. similar to the last card, I also see ambition here. perhaps that is what draws you together. sometimes we say that the princess card is less experienced, but in my opinion the chariot is a card I often associate with adolescent tendencies, so I think this is not a sign of immaturity on either part, but more of a sign that you only at the beginning of your journey, you have so much more life to go and you are both invested in your own futures. on the more negative end, the chariot can sometimes present by being overbearing, inconsiderate, and may hyperfocus on one area of their life and neglect others. with the princess of swords, this person may be condescending, defensive, or cold at times. they may use logic as a defense against emotions they are not ready to deal with. these are areas that you may need to pay special attention to in your partnership with each other.

what I think this means for your question? your partner is going to love how deep of a connection you have. you are going to connect on a level where the really important parts of each of you just work well together, and it will feel stable and rooted. you will know you are with this person when you feel like you are safe to express your feelings without being punished or shutdown, and that you have faith that your partner will be responsive to your needs because they have shown you that over time. you will support each other in going after your passions, and they will admire how driven you are because it is something that they value as well. they will not like you in spite of the things you are nerdy or excited about, they will appreciate how invested you get in things. basically, they will like that you are both passionate people who are willing to follow their own path.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

I don’t know who the anon is that’s trying to woo Shadow, but I just want to say I’m rooting for them.

Either way, if it works out or goes wrong, it’s bound to be at least somewhat entertaining (albeit, I may have a bit of a different definition of entertaining than most people)

Also, because I’m too lazy to send another ask after this (and also fear of forgetting what I was gonna say), again regarding the wings, do Falkry have different plumages? As in like colors of wings? Like eagle colors or dove white or vibrant pink (pretty sure it exists somewhere out there with birds)? Wait are wings used when doing dating stuff for them, like, uh, getting a partner (god that sounds so weird/wrong to say, hope I’m not overstepping by asking that; feel free not to answer that one)? I have so many more questions now (in a good way) about the intricacies (aside from wings and, uh, the other thing) of them.

Anyways, hope you’re having a good day/night, taking care of yourself, staying hydrated and all that jazz :)

Again, other anon, I’m rooting for you (also preparing funeral rites just in case)

-idk

I'm rooting for the Shadow-woo-ing anon too -- wishing good luck on their survival! (But I agree with you, it will be rather entertaining no matter which way the situation goes, even if Shadow DOES end up murdering them. Best to get the funeral plans ready in advance, like you said!)

Now on to answering your main questions. Yes, Falkry have a multitude of feather colors and patterns their wings come in! (usually unique to each individual person, like fingerprints) But none of them are super colorful like tropical birds though (but there IS a separate species of (now-extinct) Falkry I'm in the process of making that all have colorful feathers only with no dull ones (think parrot colors), as well as having different wing shapes and features than typical Falkry to exist in a more tropical environment)

The colors of your average Falkry's wings vary greatly, but usually have very earthy base colors. They can be either one straight pure color, or be a mix of colors, typically ranging in the browns/grays/silvers/blacks/orange/blonde ranges. Solid white wings like Shadow's are the rarest occurring color.

Many Falkry have patterned wings like natural birds that include spots, splotches, spatters, mottling, or barring (like most hawks have barred feathers, for example) so Falkry with brown wings might have black stripes on their feathers, or multi-colored feathers mixed in. Falkry can also have wings that looked "dipped" in color -- like white wings with black tips. Typically, most Falkry have lighter underwing colors and darker top feathers, as you can see in the example pictures at the bottom of this post which hopefully give you some ideas of what Fallry wings look like in general (not my art, credit goes to someone else -- I can't remember the artist's name)

----Now, on to dating. You guessed correctly! A Falkry's wings are used in courtship in a variety of way, primarily body language & communication. It gives them a wider range of 'nonverbal talking' than you would find in the human world, which often means that their relationships are stronger with less miscommunication since everyone can be read like an open book.

Also, 'divorce' isn't really a thing in Falkradia. It's a foreign concept, because Falkry work very well together and bond for life. They tend to be a very peaceful & nonviolent race, unlike humans (Shadow is a rare exception, since violence is her first resort for resolving conflicts -- most Falkry are wary and cautious but remain passive)

But anyway, on to the foundational communication part of things. Falkry wings can be very expressive of one's emotions. Wings that are held high and drawn back indicate a confident, alert posture, whereas wings that are drawn tightly close to a Falkry's body signifies anxiety and nervousness, because they are subconsciously trying to 'hide' behind their wings. Drooping/dragging wings can be a sign of depression, sadness, being gloomy, or just plain exhaustion/sleepiness. Constantly twitchy wings shows excitement and restlessness.

Here's a guide to basic Falkry wing-related communication and social patterns when more than one person are involved:::

If one Falkry lightly brushes the tip of their wing with someone else's, it's a "hello!" sort of gesture with friendly intentions, introductory to conversation. Just like a human might come up and pat another human on the back of the shoulder to say "hi!" right before beginning a conversation.

If a Falkry walks up and places most of their wing overtop another person's (partially wrapped around their back), it's meant to be comforting/reassuring, and is also a sign of affection, showing that they care about someone's feeling and are there to support them. The Falkry equivalent of a human putting their arm over someone's shoulders and telling them it's all right.

During a conversation, wings slightly flaring to the sides indicates shock or surprise, sort of in a "No way, for real?" kind of way, often accompanied by taking a dramatic/exaggerated half-step backwards.

If a Falkry lightly smacks someone with their wing, it is usually a playful, affectionate gesture, the same as a human slapping someone on the back while laughing their head off at a funny joke. Often seen in tightly-knit social groups among close friends -- but it's rude to bump someone you don't know very well with your wing, and can be seen as offensive or careless/clumsy.

If the wing twitches or the tip flicks subtly to the side, it means the Falkry is annoyed or irritated (frequently seen in Shadow's body language throughout my books because she is almost always annoyed by human interaction). But it can also be a quirk or a tell that a Falkry is lying, though it's a rarer meaning.

Flinging wings nearly straight up into the air is always an offensive gesture, no matter the context -- it's meant to be prideful and arrogant and is showing-off someone's wings colors or muscles, the equivalent of a human flexing to impress an audience. It's looked down on in society as incredibly rude, since respect and humbleness is highly valued in Falkry culture.

Wings can also be used to make gestures just like human hands -- if a Falkry's hands are occupied or they are carrying something heavy, they might point their wingtip in a direction instead to communicate. Or even just out of habit.

Wings will also often completely wrap around someone during hugs -- one Falkry holds their wings close, usually the one feeling sad or down, and the other Falkry totally wraps their wings and cocoons them in a show of intimate comfort and protection.

Also, a bit off-topic, but one of the pictures also shows the different growth stages a Fallry goes through (again, NOT MY ART)