#I checked your muse-page a while ago

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

[thwd4510]

rafayel x gn!reader who’s also an artist.

꧂꧂꧂

(not proof read, so i hope it’s sufficient. sorry~!)

summary: you come to rafayel's studio to borrow some of his art supplies. you end up getting a new and very willing muse...

It’s rather late into the morning when you find yourself heading to Rafayel’s studio, bringing along a sketchbook. In a spur-of-the-moment burst of creativity, you jumped at the chance to make some art. You’ve been having art block for a few weeks now, so of course you’re delighted to have ideas to put on that forlorn looking sketchbook page. It was almost looking back at you, waiting to be used.

Mid sketch, you realized you didn’t have the materials you needed. What should you do? This creativity juice can only last so long–you gotta make the most of it!

When your phone lights up with a random social media notification, your eyes linger on your lockscreen for a moment. It’s a picture of you and Rafayel, where he’s kissing your cheek. You smile, giggling to yourself, even.

He’s so cute… I miss him.

Looking back onto your half-finished sketch, it finally clicks in your head. You can just go to your ARTIST boyfriend’s studio for some supplies. Genius.

Now, here you are at his door, opening it. You shake your head at how he never locks it. Sure, it’s nice that it’s always open to you, but that means it’s always open to other things as well. That’s a different topic for later…

“Raf?” You call out gently. “Rafayel? You home?”

Upon not receiving a response, you wander into his room only to find him asleep. He had spent long hours, not eating or sleeping, finishing a painting or two. Shaking your head, you place a hand over his forehead, simply checking for any signs of sickness. Thankfully, his skin is as cool as ever and you pull his blanket up to fully cover his shoulders.

Leaving him to rest, you take it upon yourself to rummage through his art supplies yourself. You put your sketchbook down on his bedside table, getting up to check his closet filled to the brim with materials and miscellaneous things. Pausing for a moment, you inhale deeply, preparing to carefully open the doors.

“Please don’t come crashing down like last time…” You whisper to yourself, brows furrowed while you cautiously lay a gentle hand on the handle.

The last time you opened this storage closet, everything came toppling over, making an incoherent mess of pencils, pastels, sketchbooks, paintbrushes, etc. Of course, you took the time to organize everything and cleaned out the things that were no longer needed. Rafayel did his best to help as well – it was his mess, after all. Then again, that was months ago. He could’ve very well made another mess again since then.

To your surprise (and body braced for impact), the closet was just as organized as before. He kept it clean, mostly for you and the next time you opened it. With a smile, you walk inside, carefully skimming through the supplies to find what you need.

Minutes later, you find yourself sitting comfortably in bed beside Rafayel while he sleeps. Your previous sketch was long forgotten, left unfinished, as you began drawing out your peacefully resting boyfriend.

The tip of your pencil etched into the paper with quick, calculated strokes of your hand. Periodically looking up at him for reference, you pause after a few more looks. The purple and pink hues of his irises met your gaze, startling you for a second.

“What the hell… You scared me, Raf,” you gasped, barely above a whisper. Your voice was a little hoarse from not speaking for a while, lips pursed while you concentrated on drawing.

Rafayel smiles mischievously, sleep still somewhat evident on his features when he takes your sketchbook in his hand, snatching it away from your hold.

“Whatcha making, cutie? Let me see.” You fumble a little, taken aback by how quickly he took it from you.

“Uh- well, good morning to you, too..!”

He looks at the page intently, eyes focused on your work-in-progress. The way he studies it so intensely causes your face to blow up into a tomato, feeling the (non-existent) scrutiny in his gaze. Rafayel smiles fondly at your little doodles of him on other pages as well, admiring how good-looking you made him seem. He wasn’t accustomed to being a muse as he was usually the artist here. He could get used to this.

Your face grew impossibly hotter, embarrassment creeping up throughout your body while he continued to soak in your drawings. Try as you might, you couldn’t swipe your sketchbook away from his grasp. He caught your wrists, holding them firmly in his hand as he finally tears his eyes away from the page to meet your eyes.

“Is this how you see me?” He almost swooned, eyes twinkling with the light of a thousand stars reflected on the sea’s surface. “I’m flattered.”

You huff in exasperation, tired from trying to pry the sketchbook away from him. Rafayel pulls your hands closer to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on them.

“These are some talented hands you have here,” he kisses them again, lips brushing against your knuckles. “Would be a shame to let them go to waste. Keep drawing, yeah?”

You scoffed lightly at him, your lungs practically being robbed of air to inflate his ego. He gives you your sketchbook back and gets into a relaxed pose, eyes never straying from your own. He hoists his head on his hand, elbow nestled into his pillow as he lays sideways.

Sighing, you shake your head and get to sketching once more. The blush never leaves your cheeks each time your eyes come back up to glance at your Lemurian boyfriend.

He is really handsome, after all.

You wonder if he has ever been anyone’s muse before you, knowing that he’s quite the beautiful man. Your thoughts and sketching comes to a pause when interrupted by Rafayel’s words.

“Draw me like one of your French gir- err, boys,” he says, boasting with pride at how you look at him. “Except I’m the only boy.”

“Ugh.”

However, you wish never to get caught drawing his likeness again. You love him so, but he becomes too insufferable.

…

Bonus-

“Oh, Raf?” You gently patted his back. You two are now cuddled together in bed.

“Hm?” He hummed, voice muffled because his face is nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

“You kept the storage closet tidy. Thank you, my love.”

Rafayel simply huffed a small chuckle, lips stretching into a smile at your praise. The peaceful silence is broken by the abrupt sound of his phone ringing. Thomas’ name flashes on the screen as it rings. Rafayel makes no move to pick it up and you feel his lips curl into an irritated frown.

You sigh, deciding to take pity on poor Thomas and pick up.

“Hello?” You began, voice low, before being cut off by a frantic voice on the other side of the line.

“Rafayel, how many times have I reminded you that you have a meeting with the gallery’s owner today?! Are your pieces ready to go yet?!” Thomas drones on and on, a tinge of tiredness in his voice.

“If not, get to painting! And if you don’t have any inspiration, just- just call (Y/N) for gods’ sake..!”

Rafayel groans, hastily taking and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Thomas, tell them I’m busy being drawn by my talented bodyguard! Let me be a muse for once!”

Poor, poor Thomas lets out a string of confused noises, but before he can protest, Rafayel hangs up. He immediately buries his nose back into the crook of your neck, basking in the comfortable warmth. His (very expensive) phone is tossed somewhere across the room, causing you to wince and shake your head upon hearing it hit the floor.

“I deserve a few more drawings after this, cutie. I like them a lot…”

You only hum in response, fingers carding through his hair with one hand while the other gently caresses his back. You look down, placing a soft kiss at the crown on his head, earning a satisfied hum from him, a smile forming on his lips again. Rafayel peppers your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his heart bubbling with love and contentment that you share the same interest as him. Maybe he’ll surprise you by building you your own studio right next to his, he thought.

hope i satisfied the artsy rafayel girlies w this one ( ͡ ͜ʖ ͡ )

[liaromancewriter]

Winter Wonderland

Premise: Cassie and Ethan enjoy the holiday decorations around town, leading to a candid conversation about their relationship.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,475

A/N: This is set during the Secret Dating phase in Lia Land. Submission for @choicesholidays Winter 2024 and @choicesjanuary2025 prompt "hot chocolate:

Cassie Valentine discreetly glanced at her wristwatch beneath the table, wondering if there was still a chance to salvage her evening plans.

She had already changed into street clothes an hour ago and was ready to clock out when she received a page to report to the Diagnostics Team office. Dr. Ramsey had been clear from the start. The team’s schedule was unpredictable, and all members had to forego time off as needed.

As the latest and the most junior member, Cassie had to flex more than others since she was juggling a tough residency and diagnostics fellowship. Still, there was an upside to all the time spent at work—she got to do it with her boyfriend.

Not that anyone else knew the delectable Ethan Ramsey was hers, she mused with secret amusement. She knew, and that was all that mattered.

She side-eyed Ethan at the front of the conference table, facing the videoconference screen she hadn’t known existed until today. His eyes were alive with curiosity and interest as they consulted with a colleague in California. The virtual consult would determine if the team was required on-site for the diagnosis.

Cassie wouldn’t mind a couple of days of sunshine. Winter had Boston firmly in its grip. Of course, there was something magical about walking through a winter wonderland during the holiday season. Twinkling lights strung on palm trees didn’t have the same appeal as snow-dusted oak trees.

“Thank you, Dr. Amherst. We’ll review the patient file and get back to you tomorrow.”

Ethan wrapped up the call, and Cassie refocused her attention on the job at hand. She really hoped tomorrow didn’t mean they would be working late into the night. But, with this team, you never knew.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Baz said, stretching his arms, “but I could use a break before we work on the diagnosis.”

“I agree,” June said. “I’d rather come in early and approach the case with fresh eyes.”

Cassie held her breath in anticipation. Ethan seemed to hesitate, but then he nodded in agreement.

“Let’s pick this up tomorrow morning. Not much else we can do today.”

Baz and June wasted no time gathering their things and heading out. Cassie wasn’t far behind, but she stopped when she saw Ethan sit down at his desk and flip open the patient file.

“It’s late, Ethan,” she said, not hiding her exasperation. “Are you really planning to keep working?”

“I just want to go over things while they’re still fresh in my mind,” he said, sliding on his glasses.

He looked up at her. “Go home, Cassie. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going home,” she said, settling into the seat across from him. “I’m heading to Faneuil Hall to check out the Christmas tree and holiday decorations. Come with me.”

Ethan smirked, amused. “Isn’t that for tourists?”

“And for doctors who’ve spent fourteen-plus hours in a space that smells like antiseptic. I went last year, and it was nice.”

He rolled his eyes. “I see those decorations every day on my way to work. I’ll pass.”

“Fine,” Cassie said, pulling out her phone. “If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.”

When his phone pinged, Ethan glanced at the screen. “What’s this?”

“I just shared my location with you,” she explained. “I’ll keep it on until I get home.”

Almost ten minutes later, Cassie stepped out of the car, thanked her rideshare driver, and drew in a deep breath of the crisp evening air.

Just what I needed, she thought, feeling the tiredness fade away.

The scent of roasted chestnuts and pine mingled with the faint melody of holiday carolers stationed near Quincy Market. Strings of twinkling white and multicolored lights wound their way around the lampposts and tree trunks, casting a soft glow on the historic architecture.

Huddled inside her thick parka, Cassie trekked down the cobblestone streets, her boots crunching softly against the uneven stones as she admired the holiday wreaths adorning shop doors, their vibrant ribbons fluttering in the brisk evening breeze.

Tourists exclaimed excitedly at storefronts showcasing meticulously arranged scenes of snow-covered villages, glittering ornaments and festive garlands. Meanwhile, hardy Bostonians paid no mind to the spectacle, staying laser-focused on their holiday shopping lists.

Cassie treated herself to a steaming cup of hot chocolate and a bag of tiny, freshly fried donuts before settling onto a bench outside Faneuil Hall to people-watch.

A massive Christmas tree towered over the square, draped in a cascade of shimmering gold and silver lights that seemed to light up the night sky. Nearby, a family of four posed for a picture in front of an illuminated reindeer installation while a couple took a selfie, their cheeks rosy from the cold as they huddled close.

“Got room for one more?”

Cassie’s heart lifted at the sound of her lover's familiar voice. She turned to see Ethan and couldn’t help but break into a wide smile.

“Always.” She shifted to make room for him beside her.

“Christ! It’s fuckin’ cold tonight,” he shuddered as the wind picked up.

“You should’ve grabbed a hot chocolate on the way,” Cassie teased, taking an exaggerated sip from hers. “Here.”

She offered him the bag of still-warm donuts, grinning when a dusting of sugar landed on his coat and the corner of his mouth as he took a bite.

“Relax, babe,” she said with a laugh as he muttered about the mess, brushing away the sugar particles with a napkin. “You missed a spot.”

Cassie leaned in and licked the sugar from the corner of his lips. Ethan turned his head, his lips brushing against hers, and then he placed two fingers under her chin, holding her in place as he kissed her deeply and without hesitation.

Firecrackers burst in the distance—or was it her racing heartbeat and the rush of blood to her head? Cassie didn’t know or care as she fell into the moment.

All too soon, their lips drifted apart and the kiss faded into a whisper as their foreheads touched, sharing a quiet, unspoken connection.

“Excuse me?” a man’s voice interrupted. Cassie glanced up to see the other half of the couple who had been taking selfies earlier. “Sorry to disturb you, but could you…?”

He held out his phone to Ethan, then glanced uncertainly back at his girlfriend. Cassie grinned at Ethan’s hesitation and decided to take pity on him.

“I’ll do it,” she offered, stepping forward.

She took a few photos as the couple wrapped their arms around each other and struck playful poses for the camera. The last photo had them kissing softly under the Christmas tree lights. Cassie thought it might be the best one of all, envying the openness of their relationship.

As the couple walked away, thanking her with bright smiles, Cassie sighed wistfully and settled back onto the bench beside Ethan.

“What’s that sigh about?” he asked, raising a curious brow.

“Nothing,” she said, avoiding his gaze as she gathered the empty cup and paper bag to toss in the trash.

“Do you wish we weren’t keeping our relationship secret?”

Cassie was always amazed at how astutely Ethan could read her feelings. She supposed it was inevitable when two people had been in an intimate relationship of one type or another for almost nine months.

“We’re private people.”

“That’s not what I asked, Cassie.” He took her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Do you want to go public?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Our families and my close friends know. It should be enough.”

“But…?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. He could be relentless, like a dog with a bone. She knew he wouldn’t drop it easily.

“But I hate how the nurses flirt with you at work while I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me. Or how, if we took a selfie right now, I couldn’t post it on Picta because, as far as the world knows, I’m single.”

“I’m not posing for a selfie on Picta under any circumstances,” Ethan murmured.

“Wanna bet?” she shot back, glaring at him.

Ethan smirked, his lips twitching as if to hold back a retort. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. “You’d lose that bet, Dr. Valentine.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, a challenge glinting in her eyes. “Careful, babe. I always play to win.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get out of here before I freeze my balls off sitting on this icy bench.”

She grabbed her things and fell into step beside him, their fingers brushing but not quite holding. As they walked into the twinkling glow of the holiday lights, Cassie glanced at him, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

Maybe the world didn’t need to know about them just yet. Moments like this were enough.

A/N: In case you were wondering. Ethan lost that bet. 😂

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @justyourusualash @lady-calypso @kyra75 @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction @loreofyore

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 12

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy needs to be alone to get her latest draft done but that leads to an unexpected situation...and confession...

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

I had checked into a hotel room a week ago to get some writing done, which had been driving Jake crazy. When I was approaching a deadline I took a note out of Maya Angelou’s playbook, except, to a more extreme extent. She would rent a hotel room in her hometown, using it as an office of sorts, removing all distractions while she got her writing done. As a procrastinator who worked at the whims of her muses, I condensed the routine into a sprint. I wrote from 6am to 9pm with nothing in the room to distract myself except for a deck of cards and a thesaurus. 

The reason it was driving Jake crazy was the fact that I wouldn’t tell him which hotel I was at and that I would only text him before 6am and after 9pm. If given the chance, I knew he would have caved by day three and stopped by to see me, which would have derailed the entire process, Jake had begrudgingly agreed to her reasoning of keeping him out of the loop.

Cassandra was closing in on her killer, her and her partner Timothy were standing in front of the apartment door, weapons drawn and ready to go. They were going to do it. Except the scene that was in my head wasn’t the one that ended up on the page, Timothy kicked the door open and the apartment was empty except for a note addressed to her. The killer got away. For now at least. Jason and Grace would be ecstatic that the sequel was perfectly lined up but for me it felt like a blow to the chest. My detectives always got their man by the end of the story. Always. 

I spent close to four hours trying to rewrite the scene in a way that even vaguely made sense but nothing felt right. I glanced at the clock, it was past ten o’clock, Jake was probably ready to file a missing persons report at this point. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how he was. Jake liked to be by my side, even without the looming threat of me running off because of Rudolph Lance, he spent so much time at our apartment that Natasha had joked about charging him rent…which he had shrugged at and asked how much. 

When I pulled my phone out of the room safe I had three missed calls from Jake and Natasha and texts from most of the Daggers telling me to please, please, please call my boyfriend and best friend.

“Baby,” Jake sighed on the other side of the call. “Everything okay?” I giggled, it wasn’t even a full hour past when I was supposed to check-in and Jake sounded like I had been missing for days. “Daisy,” His serious tone cut my laughter short. Something had to be wrong. 

“I’m fine, Jake. What’s going on?” There was a long pause that had my heart rate shooting through the roof. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“What hotel are you at?” I started to repeat what I had been telling him all week about the importance of being left alone but he cut me off. “Daisy, I love you and I respect your process but I’m going to need you tell me where the fuck you are.” I flinched, surprised, he had never taken that tone with me before. 

“The Marriott on Sixth and Kewee. What the hell happened?” Jake shouted that I was okay to whoever he was with, probably Natasha. It hit me at that moment that Jake had just said he loved me but the next words out of his mouth ruined the moment.

“There was a big fire at the Marriott on Stiltson, the news said people died.” All the air rushed out of my lungs. All I had told him and Natasha was that I was staying at a Marriott, they must have been so worried. 

“Shit, Jake. I’m so sorry, I’ll come home. I can be there in-” Jake cut me off again,

“Stay put, I’m coming to you.” I plopped down on the bed, chewing on my thumbnail. The hotel was a five minute drive from our apartment, twenty from his. “We’re not doing this again, okay? Somebody needs to know where you’re at, somebody. Even if it’s Amelia for Christ’s sake.”

“Okay, baby, I promise.” Jake exhaled sharply. “I’m in room 108, come in the front doors and go right, I’ll be just a few steps away.” Another exhale, “Unclench your jaw, pretty boy, or you’ll give yourself a headache.” He didn’t say anything but I knew he was listening to me. “Now relax your fingers, you can drive at a speed I don’t want to know about without white knuckling it.” The time the huff had a hint of a chuckle, “You can’t come yell at me then smother me in kisses if you wrap your truck around a palm tree.” 

“I’m not going to yell at you,” He didn’t sound convincing, like he was still mulling it over. We sat in silence while he drove, a few torturous minutes passed by. “I’m here,”

“I really don’t want to know how fast you were going.” Jake sighed, “I’m not going to lecture you, just don’t tell me. I’m going to unlock the door for you.” I crossed the room, flipping the latch so that the door was held open, then I stepped back towards the center of the room. Jake rushed into the room not long later, sweeping me into his arms.

“Hi, baby.” He kissed my temple, hands shaking as he held me. Jake’s whole body was tense around me, showing just how concerned he was. I rubbed his back,

“Let it out, Jake, don’t keep it in.” He pulled away, gripping my face tightly but not harshly. Jake looked wrecked, eyes rimmed red, brow pinched, his jaw tensing and relaxing like he was fighting himself. “I’m right here.” 

“At least last time I knew where you were,” Jake’s tone was harsh. “I knew that you were safe,” I gripped his sides, digging my fingers in. He kissed me fiercely but pulled away before I could respond. “I don’t want to be a controlling boyfriend who tells you what to do, Daisy, but you’ve got to stop doing this to me.” Guilt flooded through me, my grip on him loosening. Jake shook his head tersely, “Please don’t pull away from me.” 

“I’m not pulling away, Jake,” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m right here, tell me what you need.” Jake buried his face in my neck, hugging me tight. “Tell me what you need,” I whispered. “I love you too, Jake Seresin, just tell me what you need.” He didn’t say anything right away, he just held me. With every breath I felt him relax just a little bit more into me until it felt like I was holding all of his weight. “I love you, Jake. Just tell me what you need, I’ll give it to you.” Jake stayed quiet and I found myself filling the gap. “Have you heard of Life360? It’s an app, Harvey and his wife have it, lets them track each other's locations. I just won’t look at the weekly driving report so I won’t see how fast you speed.” 

“You don’t have to,” He kissed the crook of my neck, pulling away just to rest his forehead against mine. “If it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t mind, Jake,” I kissed him softly, “Not if it gives you peace of mind. Okay?” I slipped my hands under his shirt, resting them on his warm back, pulling him even closer. “Are we okay?”

“I love you, Daisy.” Jake kissed my nose and pulled away, smiling softly at me. “Not exactly how I planned on telling you, it just kind of slipped out.” I giggled, pulling him to lay on the bed with me.

“Well, nothing about this relationship has exactly been normal since the whole ‘FBI showing up at my house’ thing. So, I think it’s fitting.” I sat back on the pillows and Jake laid his head in my lap, I carded my fingers through his hair. “Let’s talk about things, Jake. What do you need?” He looped an arm between my legs, snuggling me like a pillow. 

“Can we get that tracking app? I promise I won’t look at it unless I’m worried.” I rolled my eyes, knowing that if he checked the app every time he was worried about me, it would be constantly open on his phone. The…hypervillegance surrounding my whereabouts on Natasha’s orders had lessened but hadn’t faded away entirely. It was something I had learned about Jake, he cared with his whole heart about all of the people in his life, and with that came a certain level of anxiety. 

“Check it as much as you need to, pretty boy,” I kissed his hair. “What else?” 

“I want to take you home for Thanksgiving, introduce you to my mama,” My fingers paused in his hair, the thought swirling around in my mind. What would meeting Jake’s parents be like? Would they be warm and welcoming or stoic and standoffish? What about his sisters? Would they like her? “Stop thinking so hard, that hamster wheel in your head is starting to smoke.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, my fingers moving in his hair once again. “Yes, I’ll meet your mama, what else?” Jake gently bit my thigh and I tapped him on the head, “Jake, baby, is there anything else you need to feel better?” 

“I’m going to marry you one day,” 

“Okay.” Jake turned to look up at me and I’m sure I had multiple chins at that angle but he was looking at me with nothing but love in his eyes and I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

“Wait, so, asking you to meet my family takes a full minute for you to think about but getting married is an instant yes?” 

X

Daisy tilted her head back against the headboard, a small smile on her face. In the last few hours, my emotions had been wrecked. Going from bored, sitting on the couch listening to Rooster and Phoenix argue about something I wasn’t paying attention to, then worried beyond belief when the news alert popped up on our phones, and then instant relief when her name flashed on caller ID. 

“I’ve never met a boy’s parents before,” 

“One, I’m a man, baby.” Daisy scoffed at me, her hand resting on my chest. “Two, you’ve never met someone’s parents?”

“Jake, I hadn’t even cuddled someone before you,” I couldn’t help the smug smile that grew on my lips. Daisy liked cuddling but she needed the conditions to be just right, apparently I was a “human heater” and she needed a fan to be running, more than one if she wanted to keep her beloved pajama pants on.

“My mama’s going to love you, already does,” I reached up, wrapping my fingers around the duplicate dog tags of mine she wore around her neck to pull her down for a kiss. The angle wasn’t perfect but her lips on mine could never be wrong. “Told her all about your lasagna and the way you’ve been feeding the team. My sisters already love you too, they’re both true crime junkies, apparently they have all of your books.” 

“No way,” She snorted, dissolving into a fit of giggles. Her whole body shook as she laughed and it was a beautiful sight. “I’ll sign them when I come to visit. Did I ever tell you that Grace and Jason spent a week arguing over how my signature should look?” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously, I thought I had carpal tunnel by the time we figured it out. Well, I probably do but that’s neither here nor there.” I made a mental note to Google that later, see if there was anything to do to make it better. “What about your pops?” 

“God, he cannot wait to meet you,” I groaned, pulling her down for another kiss. “Pops won’t stop asking about his “new daughter” when I call him. I think my family’s going to propose to you on my behalf.” Daisy laughed but it wasn’t really a joke, my whole family had been calling, texting, even emailing me for information on Daisy and our relationship. Pops had even offered up his parents’ rings for us to use.

“There seem to be a lot of expectations for me to live up to, Jake.” She kissed me one, twice, three times before sitting back up, that same soft smile on her lips. “But I’m telling you now, if you propose to me before we’ve known each other for at least a year, I’m telling you no.” 

“Noted.” 

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592

Next Chapter

[lanternlit]

smokedanced is now lanternlit

And with this I return, so excited to be writing again! Further changes...

I have moved Castiel and the Thirteenth Doctor here from their previous blogs (waywardfeathered/dochaes). If you were just followed, we were probably mutuals there! Hi! I plan to slowly follow everyone I had ongoing interactions with or asks I planned to reply to, on those blogs. Slowly, because I want to double check people's guidelines pages first. If you follow me back here, I plan to automatically reply to our things on this blog :)

I've rewritten my guidelines. The contents are mostly the same, but a lot has been reworded, and some minor things have been added or deleted, so it'd be awesome if you could give them a read. I guess this is technically optional, since they're mostly the same as before.

A few muses have been dropped. Kenna de Poitiers, Jeremy Bradshaw, Juliet Burke and Tyrion Lannister have been dropped as muses.

New muses have been added. Cas and Thirteen have been moved here from their previous blogs, and I have added Fifteenth Doctor as a muse. Jake, whom I added, um, nearly a year ago... finally has an about page, now, as well. You all get free shots to fire at me about how I had an OC among my muses for a year almost without any kind of an about page.

Some muses' stories have been altered. Namely, Mary Stuart is now a modern AU based muse, and I don't write her in Reign canon at least for the time being. Ella Finnegan has had her story altered, as well, basically the way her psychic abilities work have been changed. The latter will be easy to retcon in any ongoing interactions.

All muses have at least a dossier and a character premise page. This one is something I am proud of myself for, but also fuck, I got so frustrated trying to write the character premise pages that I can see it when I look at them, what with some of them having the most simple sentence structure and all, but I figured... better some information for my characters than none??? Everyone has something, now! Also, no more half the muses only having placeholder images on their pages! PRAISE THE ABSOL... I mean, my self-discipline. Because these past weeks I have just wanted to COME BACK AND WRITE, but I made myself have those tabs for all the characters first.

It is currently nearing 2am so pleaaaaase excuse me if this post is chaotic. Hi dash love you dash.

Lots of muses have been switched between their activity status. Current list goes:

primary muses: cas, hannibal, iris, izzy, jillian, the tardis, thirteen, will

secondary muses: edi, ed, ella, ever, garrus, lucius, mary, tali, ten

tertiary muses: charlie, clara, dean, river

test muses: chloe, eloise, fifteen, hurley, jake

Speaking of, right, Eloise has been released from "I need to rewatch Bridgerton first!" jail, and she's open for interactions sksksksksk

Guys, I don't remember what else I was meant to say.

The blog has had a bit of a makeover. Nobody look at my navigation page, the only thing I edited there so far was the colour scheme, it is outdated. I know me saying not to look is going to make people look but what can I do. Look at my muse directory and guidelines if you want to look at something, you sneaky sneaks.

The interest tracker has been updated. Chloe and Jake have been finally added on it. Cas and Thirteen have also been added on it. Fifteen has- you understand.

The tracker is the same one I've had before, but if you are interested in any of the added muses, please edit your responses. If you haven't done the tracker before, this would also be a very nice time to do it!

Going forward, I am going to go through my unaswered ooc messages and reply to people, I know there are a lot of you who have been on hold with plotting. Thank you so much for your patience. I am also going to start replying to things again, obviously. Now that my muse pages all have at least something on them, I can continue to work on them while my main focus for the blog is generally, well, roleplay. The pages being in such a state of WIP was a huge source of executive dysfunction for me.

I also plan to re-read everyone's guidelines just to make sure neither of us have edited ours so that we don't match anymore, but that'll not be done overnight with all of you.

I hope the url change isn't a huge inconvenience. If you could give this post a like, if you've seen it, that'd be awesome of you, though not at all necessary! I am genuinely very excited to be here again.

[thegreeks]

Jealousy and Devotion

Warnings: jealousy, improper neighbor

Synopsis: "Such is my life: A minute ago I was happy, immersed in a book. Now I feel a misery only violence could cure." - Kim Addonizio, "'Round Midnight"

It was late in the afternoon at Pemberley, where the slanting light of day filtered through the drawing-room windows, casting a golden warmth upon the furnishings and lending to the room a quietude both soothing and somber. I sat by the hearth, engrossed in a volume of Persuasion, allowing myself the rare delight of solitude, unmarked by the calls of society or the requirements of household management. With my husband, Mr. Darcy, gone to attend to estate matters, I savored the unbroken peace that seemed to enclose me, as though even Pemberley itself had fallen into a hushed musing.

Yet as my mind became absorbed in the tangled fortunes of Austen’s characters, the sound of distant voices disrupted my tranquility, pulling me reluctantly from the pages before me. I glanced up, my heart lifting then sinking at once, for there—entering the drawing room, his face a portrait of agitation—was Darcy, accompanied by a visiting neighbor, Mr. Belgrave, whose tendency toward exaggerated speech and unwelcome familiarity had long since grated upon my patience.

Darcy’s gaze fell upon me with a singular intensity, the subtle rigidity of his posture, the set of his jaw, suggesting emotions held firmly in check. He inclined his head briefly in greeting, his formality betraying the severity of whatever emotions stirred within him, though to the untrained eye gone unnoticed.

“Ah, but here she is, Mrs. Darcy, the true light of Pemberley! Mr. Belgrave exclaimed, his tone all too cheerfully. “Indeed, it is no wonder that Mr. Darcy remains in such high spirits. How could he not be, with so fair a lady for his wife?”

A discomfited warmth crept across my cheeks, for his compliment, though intended as praise, was lacking the delicacy which respect demanded. I felt the words to be a clumsy intrusion, yet it was Darcy’s response that truly held my attention— a faint clenching of his jaw, the darkening of his gaze that bespoke a displeasure he did not trouble to conceal. My eyes found his, but he, after an almost imperceptible pause, looked away, as though determined not to meet my gaze.

Belgrave continued his effusive remarks, growing ever bolder, his manner so familiar as to be unbecoming. He took a step closer, clasping my hand within his own, pressing it with a fervor that, while perhaps excusable by some, was, for me, deeply unsettling and entirely unbefitting the reserve of polite company.

“Mr. Belgrave,” Darcy said, his voice as smooth as it was dangerous, “you would do well to restrain yourself from so freely touching what is not yours to touch.”

Belgrave’s laughter rang out—a hollow sound, lacking the sincerity of true mirth—and he affected a semblance of joviality, but even he could not mistake the steel in Darcy’s eyes. He released my hand, retreating with a hasty, awkward bow, his smile too broad, too strained. With exaggerated deference, he excused himself, departing the room with a final, overabundant flourish.

As the door closed behind him, the silence that followed was thick and tangible, settling upon the room with a weight that neither of us seemed willing to disturb. Darcy stood by the window, his hands clenched behind his back, his gaze fixed upon the winter landscape beyond the panes. He was still, yet every line of his frame spoke of a tempest barely contained, of an unspoken struggle raging within him.

A moment ago, my world had been simple, my heart as calm as the quiet pleasure of reading by the hearth. Now, an unease had settled in, one I could not name, but it brought a sharpness to the air—a miserable feeling I could only describe as anger, though not entirely my own.

Summoning the courage, I rose and approached him, my steps soft, tentative, watching as the muscles of his shoulders tensed at the sound of my approach. “Fitzwilliam,” I began, my voice scarcely more than a whisper, “what troubles you so? Is it the words of Mr. Belgrave?”

He turned to face me, his gaze searching, his expression one of fierce restraint, as though he feared what might escape him if he allowed himself even a single lapse. “He spoke foolishly, yes,” he replied, his voice measured, the weight of something unsaid heavy upon each syllable. “Though it is my own weakness that vexes me more.” He exhaled sharply, almost a sigh, but there was a vehemence within it that stirred a pang within me.

“What weakness, my love?” I asked softly, though my heart already understood.

Darcy’s gaze fell, then rose to meet mine, fierce and unyielding, though tinged with the vulnerability he so seldom betrayed. “A moment ago, I was content—happy, even—in knowing you were here, safe, at peace,” he said, his voice low, each word imbued with feeling. “But the very sight of that man’s touch—of his careless intrusion—ignites me with a rage that I can hardly bear.” His hands tightened together, knuckles whitening. “It is a wretched impulse, yet…I find myself helpless before it.”

“Surely you cannot imagine that I would…” I stopped, the words faltering. “Fitzwilliam, you know my heart, know that it is yours in body and soul, as surely as your own heart is mine.”

“Yes,” he murmured, though there was a strain to his voice, as though admitting to weakness pained him. “Yes, I know it entirely, but I am not a man without jealousy. It is not the product of reason. It is as if the mere thought of another looking upon you with such audacity—it stirs something within me that I am ashamed to own.” His gaze softened, though his expression remained shadowed. “Such primal anger—it makes me fear what I cannot control.”

Gently, I reached for his hand, entwining my fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his touch, so familiar, yet tonight imbued with an unfamiliar intensity. “You need not feel shame,” I said my voice gentle, the affection I held for him lending it strength. “If your jealousy unsettles you, let it only remind you that your love is no failing, Fitzwilliam; it is the proof of your devotion.”

He gazed down at me, his grip warm yet controlled, as though he were holding back an ocean of unspoken emotion. “And yet, I fear,” he admitted softly, “that I cannot easily release it. This feeling clings, stubborn as a shadow. I am as though…imprisoned by my own heart.”

I moved closer, my hand resting upon his chest, where I could feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart beneath my fingers. “Then allow me to share this burden,” I whispered, my voice quiet but resolute. “For even if love casts shadows, there is no darkness in loving, only the light we create together.”

His gaze softened, and he brought his hand to my face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of my cheek. “You are more gracious than I deserve,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And yet…forgive me if this fury persists, for the very thought of harm, or affront, befalling you is a constant companion I cannot cast aside.”

“Then we shall bear it together,” I replied, resting my head against his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace dispelling the chill that lingered. “For there is no wrath that love cannot soothe, just as there is no love that cannot, at times, be touched by anger. In you, Fitzwilliam, I find both my solace and my strength.”

As his arms wrapped around me, a fierce tenderness overcame him, as though he held me not merely as a husband but as the very keeper of his heart’s peace. And in his embrace, the memory of our fears, our doubts, dissolved, replaced by the steady, enduring flame of a love that, even in moments of shadow, shone all the brighter for having weathered it.

[stormblessed95]

Hi Storm,

You were the first account I followed here and I’ve been through almost every post relating to member dynamics on your masterlist.

I’m finding this very hard to articulate but you’ve always said if you receive asks that are respectful you will indulge. I am making a lot of effort in trying to phrase my sentences in such a way that they do not offend and would like to apologise in advance if they do. It is not my intention.

Some time ago, there was discourse on your page where you said jikookers have bullied you and did not support you when you were being bullied. I am not sure when that was. I’m sorry you went through that. You put in a lot of effort to write the member dynamics posts and it’s quite shocking that people don’t respect it, value your effort and then bully you.

During that discussion you said something along the lines of jikookers becoming like taekookers as they allow the abuse of Taehyung. You said the fandom back in the day allowed Taekookers to fester because they didn’t take a harsher stand against what they were doing. I am paraphrasing or maybe I didn’t get the gist of it.

I don’t think jikookers or any other sub set of this fandom is anywhere near Taekookers. The reason is that most ot7 are Taekookers. When the fandom allowed hate against jimin, it gave rise to the most vile fandom and it is the largest part of army’s even today Jimin and his family get bullied and called all names and it’s is allowed because no one can shoot 90% of the fandom down and all those who allowed it are responsible for that shit show.

So then why are people and yes, most are Jikook stans, why are they called out if they so much as criticise Taehyung for some of the things he does? Did he have to join a Jikook show? No, did he have to post those pictures during muse? No. Did he have to name call Jungkook every single live? No. Does he visit fandom spaces? Yes. He sees the shit that goes on in there. Yes. He has sued people because he supposedly wants to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves but is ok when his fans call his fellow member a slut? Can you all not be objective enough to criticise him for this behaviour? Not everyone will like everyone you like, but you are an ot7 army so you should be objective enough to accept criticism too. But instead you shut everyone down? That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?

I say all of the following with respect, I promise. My intention is not for this to read as harsh or rude in any capacity. I'm making this disclaimer now because I know sometimes, it's hard to get tone in text. I'm being straightforward and serious with you. And my tone is meant to be one of kindness, softness and respect while being serious and rather blunt about it.

Anyone who tells me that they didn't see the hate campaign that reigned against me last year is either lying, or brand new to Jikook Tumblr. Or you took a 2 month long break and only came back after I was on hiatus, which then, if you checked my account at all, you still would've seen it. I guess the last option was that you just never checked my page until I came back. I'd much rather if anyone would bring it up, just be honest. Yeah, I saw that, I was silent, my bad, it was a mistake. Or it wasn't a mistake, I agreed with your haters and I'm still just here because I want your content. Whatever it is, I would much rather the honesty. Idk which of these categories you fall into, if any, but why bring it up just to try and discredit my feelings about jikookers and toxic behaviors being allowed to fester? I stand by what I said. You don't have to agree with me. That's your prerogative. I have never tried to tell people how to feel, I've only ever said that I will curate my space and use my block button freely to stop from seeing opinions I have no desire to see.

True OT7s are not taekookers, follow better people. Idk what else to tell y'all about that. When I say toxic behaviors being allowed to fester, I mean that taekookers way back when weren't nearly so bad as they are now. It used to be the same petty bullshit that so many shippers are now pulling. Except it never got checked, so it grew and festered and boiled until it's now as bad as it is with taekookers. If you don't stop the same petty revenge toxicity in Jikookers now, the same thing will end up occuring. And I don't want to see anyone complain to me in a few years about it, because all I'll be able to say is I told you so.

The last part of your message dear, just reads as essentially asking permission to be hateful towards Tae. Idk if that was your intention, but it's how it comes across to me at least. It's not criticism. There is stuff we can be critical about towards our idols, BTS included. Nothing you listed is worth criticism and is just things his antis use to bring hate against him. It's the same thing that tkkrs do. Nitpick stupid stuff to give themselves a reason to hate on Jimin. It's not worth it. And you will be a happier person in long run if you stop trying to hate Tae and just hate the antis that are the ones responsible for their own behaviors.

I'm not shutting anyone down (this is also the phrase that makes me question if you truly "don't know anything about me being bullied") I am saying I won't tolerate any kind of hate speech on MY blog about any of the 7 members. (even if you don't think it's hateful, on my blog, I have the right to decide what is and isn't discussed. Other blogs will draw different lines in the sand, and you can find GCs, or Start your own blog where you can say whatever you want. That's the beauty of the Internet.) You can do whatever you want in your own spaces. I personally, want nothing to do with it. I have bigger fish to worry about it. I'm here for BTS, all 7 of them. And I'm more concerned about k-media and the harassment our boys suffer from them and antis of all kind. Way more than I could ever pretend to be concerned about Tae talking about one of his best friends.

And again, I sign off with this whole thing respectfully, and with the hope that you also, take no offense to the way I phrased anything. Even if you disagree.

~ Storm 💜

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Original Female Character Pairing: eventual Stiles x OFC, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.9k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, parental death, descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author loves lesbian poets and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: Four years ago, Drea Dickinson's entire life fell apart. Her mom died, her best friend replaced her, and all she could do was watch listlessly while everything else burned down around her. All she wants is to forget and maybe get through her sophomore year without flunking chemistry and completely unraveling at the seams—a seemingly impossible task with the sudden appearance of ghosts from her mother's mysterious past and a hair-raising beast ripping people apart all over town. It would be easier to pretend if she hadn't accidentally entwined her life with the most interrogatory bastard in town. She could have gone her whole life without meeting Stiles Stilinski, and she would've been perfectly fine, but now she's stuck knowing that she's made her bed in the fragile, breakable bones of the boy with all the answers. Chapter Summary: After her annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, Drea meets his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables, poetry recitation, and incoherent babbling.

A/N: This is an entirely selfish project. This rewrite has been so incredibly nostalgic, and I may or may not have cried a few times because the TW era was such a special time of my life. To be 17 again, sigh. I wrote a very bad version of this in 2014, and I cannot believe it has been 10 years!!! I'm almost 30! Impossible! The 10-year anniversary is entirely coincidental but still a wonderful, serendipitous happenstance. I'm re-watching the entire series with my little sister, who is coincidentally 17, and good god I just miss the TW, TVD era. Bring back the cheesy teen monster shows that give perpetual fall vibes PLEASE. You can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)!

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Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before her mother’s death, Drea would have picked fire. Every single time. 

She never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of her argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, her mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, Drea mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; Drea connected those dots all on her own. She’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

Drea flitted her eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Her responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Her yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely her father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to her face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps Mayor Dickinson stopped being her dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” Drea smoothed her thumb in small circles over the armrest of her chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of her first interrogation. She’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. Drea picked at her uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of her mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Her mom had been far too indulgent of her lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at her snarky aside. She let her finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; Drea could tell. At the time, she saw it as a victory. Now, it kept her up at night, the drooping lines of her mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book she was trying to read.

Drea bit down on her tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of her thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” She paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Her mother kissed the top of her head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. Drea woke up in the hospital, and her mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto her top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, she wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though they both knew how the story went from here. She had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

Drea bit down on her thumbnail and winced when her teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

Drea shook her head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, she had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, Drea looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped her knees tightly, digging her fingers into tawny skin until her wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Her eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and her voice went so quiet she could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” She pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her fists and gnawed on the soft lining of her cheek, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

Drea was scared to open her eyes as the silence stretched between them. They’d danced around the subject before, hinted and twisted around the heart of it, but they’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give her a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, plain old grief—but whatever caused her temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, she still had no explanation at all. When she finally peeked through her lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, Drea couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” Drea cut him off. Her eyes went flinty, deep brown darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of her anger. She never had any trouble reading her father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing Drea remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

Drea nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of her denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

Drea chewed on her bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

Drea blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” Drea stood up quickly, shouldering her bag. She forced the corners of her mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. Drea had seen it before, on one of her many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, she assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. She must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave Drea a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Drea gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping her fingers around the strap of her backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

The sky was grim, a mocking reflection of expression on her face. The spite in her eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of her cheeks. For a moment, she just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor. A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled her back into reality. 

Unfortunately, the search for her car keys was a considerable endeavor. Typical. Drea stacked her textbooks and binders onto the hood of her sedan, haphazardly throwing her jacket on top of the pile to protect her painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time her fingertips brushed against the cool metal of her keys, her hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when she pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all she could do was rest her forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to her mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of her thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

Drea jumped, and then flinched again when her keys clattered against the ground. She caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as she felt. She turned around, apprehensively—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow her rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

Drea blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for her keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and Drea’s heart dropped back into her chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. She hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” Drea hummed, leaning back against her car. Her fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” Drea’s brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above their heads as they stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made Drea sink her teeth into her bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

Drea pursed her lips and ran her eyes over the front of her car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” Drea was slightly horrified when she finally noticed that she was smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto her face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in her cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of her car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by her freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” Drea sighed and started stuffing her things back into her backpack, shaking it violently until her notebook finally slid past her chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of her face. Drea tilted her head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. His eyes, she noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, she realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

Drea pushed his finger away from her face with her own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered as he struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked one space to her right until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Her lips parted briefly, and then she grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

Drea bit back the snark poised on the tip of her tongue. When people looked at her, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She was the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; Drea Dickinson’s mom died, and she was there. It seemed like that was all she would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been her chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so she took it, wholeheartedly. She kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and her mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” Drea finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting her head, Drea watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” she said faintly. It was coming back to her in pieces. That was life after twelve for Drea Dickinson: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when she surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards her, “Stiles.”

She took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Drea.”

Stiles’s brow wrinkled, “I thought it was Andy.”

Drea hadn’t been Andy for what felt like a very long time. Four years, in fact. There were several reasons: her mom called her Andy, and she wanted to become someone else, anybody else—but ultimately the deciding factor was ‘Andy Arson.’ The nickname stuck around far longer than she thought it would. With a last name like Dickinson, Drea really thought the tweenager taunting would go in a different direction, but thirteen-year-olds had a knack for latching onto a person’s deepest-seated insecurities. Middle school, she mused, was a tragedy all on its own. 

“Nope. Just Drea.”

Stiles examined her face, and she saw that flicker in his eyes again: the light of recognition. “Well, Drea’s cool, y’know, in comparison.” His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and Drea’s eyes widened. She held her breath in her sternum until she registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, she concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills. 

The longer she remained silent the more parts of his body started to move. Stile squeezed and unsqueezed the black clamp in his hand and drummed on the side of her car with his unoccupied fingers, “Like, Andy—no offense—doesn’t exactly strike fear or confidence in the heart. I mean, I wouldn’t trust Officer Andy to save my ass in a shoot-out, and I definitely wouldn’t trust Dr. Andy to cure my unknown, incredibly rare, incurable disease.” 

“No one could cure your incurable disease. That’s quite literally the entire definition of the word.”

“Sure,” Stiles connected the last clamp and glanced at her over his shoulder, almost checking himself in the chin with a large shrug, “but I’d buy that Dr. Drea could.”

Her mouth parted for a second, and then she closed it before she could say something impulsive. “That’s not even how it works; I’d be Dr. Dickinson.” 

Stiles winced, “Brutal.”

“Yeah,” Drea sighed and rubbed her palms over her arms until the goosebumps prickling her biceps receded into her skin.

Stiles looked back at her again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards her face. She caught it before it could smack into her nose, and she clutched at the soft material until she realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at her when she looked up from her hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and she felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in her arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. Drea blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into her closet until her second alarm startled her into snatching the first shirt her fingers came in contact with—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on her lashes dripped into her eyes.

Robotically, Drea thrust her arms through the sleeves and tugged it over her head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. She smiled slightly, combing her baby hairs behind her ears, “I almost forgive you for being a dick about my name.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “At least people can say it without seizing.”

Drea looked at him and tilted her head, eyebrows crawling towards the bridge of her nose.

Stiles waved his hand in the air and extrapolated, “My full name is—just trust me. Dick jokes aren’t the worst thing in the world.”

“No,” Drea chewed on her lip, “they aren’t.”

There was a moment in middle school where she was tempted to plant the seed of something incredibly stupid and irresistibly raunchy, something like, ‘Andrea wants ‘Dickinsideher,’ because even that was better than a name with matricide as the punchline. But it didn’t take when Jared Cartwright soft-launched it in PE, so Drea seriously doubted it would ever catch-on from the target herself.

She cleared her throat, “But they are almost as bad as stye jokes.”

“Uh, absolutely not. Eyesores are nowhere near as gross as dick’n nu—” Stiles coughed, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before finishing his sentence with an audible question mark, “…phallic imagery.”

Drea pursed her lips, “Pus beats penis on the ick meter by at least 23 points.”

Stiles’s eyes glimmered in the fading light, “23?”

“Maybe even 24.”

Another bout of silence fell between them, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the quiet as Drea let out a soft sigh, dropping her head back against her car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock her car and now, but she couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, she realized, without her foul mood casting a shadow over her head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. Drea could feel his gaze on her again. A tickling sensation trailed down her spine as she fiddled with her keychain. It was old, a gift from her parents on some birthday she couldn’t remember. Paint had chipped off in most places after thoughtlessly throwing her keys every time she came home, but she could still make out the M and Y of the orange ‘Mystery Machine’ logo.

Stiles hummed for a moment and then said, “I’m Nobody. Who are you?”

Drea stared at him and waited for the punchline. It didn’t come. Instead, he shifted from one foot to the other and fumbled over each following syllable. “You know, like…Dickinson,” he waved his hands around, seemingly searching for some sort of cosmic relief. “I thought it would better than a dick joke, but upon some seriously belated reflection, I realize that you’re probably tired of corny assholes qu—”

“How dreary,” Drea interrupted, quietly but loud enough to be heard over the rumbling jeep, “to be Somebody.”

Stiles’s jaw snapped shut; it was his turn to blink at her stupidly. He smiled a little and ran his hand over his buzzed head, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t know what she was agreeing with, only that she wholeheartedly did.

“I forgot that part.”

Drea clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shook her head, “It’s the best line.”

“It might have something to do with my species landing somewhere between microscopic bacteria and radioactive cockroach on the high-school social food chain,” Stiles said dryly. His face remained impassive, like he was talking about something benign as the weather. 

Drea tilted her head a little and a timid smile unfurled over her face in time with the swell of familiarity blooming beneath her ribcage, “Then there’s a pair of us.”

His cheeks dimpled when he smiled back at her, “I do remember that one.”

“Well,” Drea slid her hands into her back pockets and shrugged, “it is the best part.”

Stiles squinted at her and then laughed.

Drea felt a bit like laughing too, so she swallowed thickly before she could choke on the impulse. She took a step backwards and curled her fingers around her keys in her back pocket, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you start reciting, ‘I Felt a Funeral, in My Brain.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ would be next.”

Drea slid into her car and stared at the steering wheel, wrapping her fingers around 10 and 2 and silently calling upon every deity she’d ever heard of to end her suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but she seriously doubted her smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, she should revisit her resounding dedication to atheism, she thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. Drea bit back a smile when he shot her another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from her battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, she was convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against her window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

Drea snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. Drea decided that she much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” Drea drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

Drea thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” she sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” Drea agreed, staring at a small chip in her windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that she couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut Drea’s door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “See ya in English, Dickinson—both of you.”

“Awful,” Drea’s nose scrunched as she buckled her seatbelt, “terrible, dreadful. A solid 25 on the ick meter.”

Stiles grinned and held up his hands, “I’ll think of something better by Monday, promise.” 

Drea put her car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and flicked her damp hair over her shoulder, “I dwell in Possibility.” What a scary place to be, she thought as she watched Stiles disappear in her rearview mirror. Possibility. Hope. Life. She was chronically good at surviving; cockroached her way out of every horrible thing life squashed her with. Lately, all she could do was cling to her heartbeat and the warmth of her skin, until she was barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but Death would not stop for her, so she stopped looking for him. She kept treading water, took her pills, stopped existing—she was a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. She didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced her to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

[medra-gonbites]

The Wizard Who Read Everything

Chapter 3

Final chapter of the Wizard Who Read Everything where Gale gets caught reading inappropriate things by the author of the aforementioned material.

I am not so good in smut but if you are an enjoyer of flustered Gale that read smut and does something about it do check @senualothbrok's sexy piece Research !

Pairing: Gale x Named Fem!OC

SFW - Fluff, Pining, Meta,

Words: 2413

Coaxed by his candid answers, Marina reached for the paper, her fingers briefly touching his as she slid it from his grasp. She turned the page to another extract. “What about… This one? On page 4 ?” She enquired, an eyebrow raised provocatively. Gale looked down, seeing the lines that had made him rush home less than an hour ago. Rereading it under the audacious gaze of its author sent a pang of lust down his core. The tension in the air seemed to thicken. He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, desperately attempting to keep his composure despite the situation. "Ah! That... that passage has quite the impact, doesn't it?" He mused, his eyes fixed on the paper.

Read the rest on AO3 or under the cut

When Gale finally got back to the tower he rushed upstairs, climbing the steps four at a time to reach the confines of his office. He collapsed on the couch, out of breath. Tara, who had moved to his chair in tandem with the sun, looked at him with a puzzled look.

“My! Mister Dekarios! You are sweating like a grease mephit. Was Lady Stonemarrow chasing after you again? Qua your artifact collection?”

“No… No Tara, I’m quite alright. I just thought it would be good for me to… Get some exercise!” He lies.

The tressym's eyes narrowed and her whiskers flinched. She was not buying a word of it but could not be bothered to probe further at this point. 

“I will assume you have not brought any treats like I foolishly hoped you would?”

Gale stuttered. Despite the duration of his excursion he had not actually brought anything back from his “errands” besides the newspaper he was currently hiding in the crook of his armpit. Tara huffed, her muzzle up high in an offended manner. 

“Well, I will fetch myself some snacks on the roof then, since I must be so neglected here.”

Gale did not protest and was relieved, even, to see her go. He retrieved the journal and, in the new found privacy of his study, resumed the reading he had interrupted back at the tavern. 

The more he read the more conflicted he felt. But the more he read the more compelled he was to read further. 

He was torn in half. Flattered for being his apprentice’s muse, elated by the thought that she could be seeing him the way she depicted in her story. But he was equally mortified that she did, scared about what could happen if he leaned into this attraction. 

There was definitely a chemistry that had blossomed between them. Something that had been seeded on the first day they had met. But he had tried to remind himself that she was his apprentice as guilt grew hand in hand with his affection. He feared to fall into the same patterns he had been victim of with Mystra…

Yet, he could not seem to control his wayward thoughts. Especially as he continued to read through her work. As he reached the more erotic and graphic passages, his core twisted and turned with excitement and dread. The taboo around the whole ordeal making it all the more sinful… And arousing. And Gods he hated how much he was aroused. 

He let his mind wander towards a more self-indulgent rhetoric as he tried to relativize the situation. She was his student, but in a way his peer.  A human. A mortal. It would not be so inappropriate for him to indulge in any fantasies involving her after all… Would it?

He tried to force himself to stop but his eyes kept roaming on the page almost independently from his will. His pants tenting from the stiffness that had hardened down below. Each move from him, as he shifted on the cushion, if he moved his leg or when he grazed against it with his elbow while turning the page, sent a jolt of shameful pleasure down his spine.

“Good afternoon sir.” Gale heard behind him.

He almost jumped from the couch, startled, before panic properly settled into the pit of his stomach upon recognizing Marina at the threshold of his office.

“Ah… Marina dear! Isn’t it your day off?” He sputtered, trying to stealthily rearrange the area of his breaches that refused to rest down.

“Yes, but I thought I would pop by to write… Like we discussed yesterday.”

The mage felt irritated and caught. Rightfully so in truth. Before he could ask himself why on Toril she did not knock before coming in, he saw the door, wide open,  just like the door to the balcony. In his haste to revel in her story he had forgotten to take the barest precaution to ensure his privacy and had left all entrance points open. A real gruyère of a tower. 

Faced with the skittishness of her usually composed mentor Marina’s quizzical eyes fell onto the piece he was holding in hand. She turned a bright shade of carmine red when she realized just exactly what he had been reading.

“Oh, I see you’ve warmed up to the idea of reading such… vulgar literature.”

“It… It certainly grew on me.” Gale babbled, his indiscretion undeniable by now, “I was curious to discover what you, uh… What you write.”

“And?” She asked tentatively, still shy but her confidence bolstered by the idea that her work was worthy of the wizard’s attention.

"It’s certainly something. The... content of the writing… It's very... intimate, wouldn't you agree?”

“This is what I usually write, yes.” Marina replied with a timid smile, that was growing more and more daring by the second.

“Right, right… And your last piece is quite… How to put it? Deja-vu inducing?” Gale continued, his voice strained a little. He looked away for a moment, not able to stand her gaze as he followed up, “You do understand that it may not be entirely proper to write about... well, about me?”

“It's not really you.” She defended, “Just like it's not really me either.... More like, two romanticised versions of us, if you will…” 

That was a fair point and a good defence as well, Gale thought. After all, one could get inspiration wherever and character archetypes and tropes were commonplaces in romance….

"I see," He cleared his throat, "A purely fictional story. Not based on actual people or… Feelings…?

His voice unconsciously took an interrogative inflection. Was he really asking? Hoping? He did not let himself think so, but deep down a part of him would have liked her to say it… But instead she apologised.

“I'm sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable, sir. Again, that wasn't meant for your eyes.” 

The wizard shook his head with a slight smile on his lips which he tried to make look as casual as possible.

"No, no, don't be sorry. I wasn't uncomfortable. Just a little surprised, is all…"

There was a moment of floatment, between embarrassment and glee. A sort of silence which enticed more questions. 

“Did you?...” She hesitantly started. She bit her lips as if to force her mouth closed but, past regret, mustered the courage to go through with her question, “Did you enjoy the writing?”

The wizard faltered for a beat, unsure of how to answer. He could not deny that he was affected by her writing. But was it a good idea to admit it to her? Maybe if he remained neutral: comment from a purely literary point of view, perhaps?

"Ah... Yes.It was… Very imaginative, and your prose is remarkable... The descriptions were very vivid…"

She walked around the couch and came to stand by him. She glanced at the page in his hand. Her eyes twinkled maliciously upon seeing exactly what page he had reached before her interruption. 

“What do you think of what happens on page 3 ?” She asked, flipping a few pages prior and pointing to a specific paragraph there. 

The wizard's eyes flicked down, scanning over the passage she was pointing out. Images of the paragraph's contents quickly filled his mind, and he felt himself blush even more than he already was. She smirked at the redness that now spread to his neck and chest. 

"Ah... page 3… It's... quite an eventful passage, isn't it?” He remarked, his voice coarser than he had wished.

“Have you made such use of mage hand before ?” 

Gale’s mouth went dry at her outspokenness and he carefully contemplated his answer. Should he be honest or keep this conversation professional? Then again, it was her day off and he was not the kind to lie…

"Y… Yes." He started, the word dribbling painfully from his mouth "Mage hand can be... very versatile in certain situations."

Coaxed by his candid answers, Marina reached for the paper, her fingers briefly touching his as she slid it from his grasp. She turned the page to another extract.

“What about… This one? On page 4 ?” She enquired, an eyebrow raised provocatively.

Gale looked down, seeing the lines that had made him rush home less than an hour ago. Rereading it under the audacious gaze of its author sent a pang of lust down his core. The tension in the air seemed to thicke. He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, desperately attempting to keep his composure despite the situation.

"Ah! That... that passage has quite the impact, doesn't it?" He mused, his eyes fixed on the paper.

He, who had the habit of being verbose and grandiloquent in his speech, could barely form a sentence at this moment without his voice breaking and betraying his current flustered state. His heart was pounding and she was standing so close. He tried to look up from the ink but anytime he was doing so his eyes were irremediably drawn to her lips. In an effort to avoid the plump wedges of flesh, he returned his focus on the leaflet. 

Marina was clearly gauging and enjoying his reactions, which made him both upset and excited. He really should not engage in this sort of talk. He should ask her to stop or leave. And yet, a part of him wanted to continue playing that little game of theirs. 

She turned the pages to fast forward toward the end of the story, further than where Gale had read till now. She circled the lines of a specific excerpt with the pad of her index.

“And… this part? Would you say it would be inappropriate in the context of the story?”

Gale scanned the page, taking in the passage she was referring to. He took a minute to read it, his breath held with an unspoken anticipation. As he processed the words, his brow shot upwards. His fingertips tingled and his breath started to come in quick rags. His mind began to conjure images. Far from innocent and fuelled by the sultry sentences dancing in front of his now hazy eyes. 

He finally gathered the courage to look up at her. Marina’s eyes were half lidded, clearly as affected as him by the literature they were both enraptured in. Her pretty mouth pouting and parted, expectantly awaiting his answer. 

He did not know what to say. All he wanted to do was close the distance between them. Pull her close and feel her body against his. Reenact what she had written and see if he would be a match to his romanticized self. The line between appropriate and inappropriate, all but a blur, overcast by a burning desire to touch her. With a whisper he finally voiced his answer, almost a confession of his own feelings.

"Yes... it would be inappropriate in any context… Unacceptable... Desperately tempting…”

She clutched at the page and swallowed hard, staring into his eyes with an unblinking gaze.

“I do not have an ending yet… Although I have several ideas…”

Gale flinched. He could not help but interpret the subtext in that statement. Marina took one last step forward, leaving them chest to chest. Too close for the type of relationship they had had until now.

“I could do a classic happy ending or… Unrequited love, type of conclusion…”

The mage’s pulse quickened. He stood acutely aware of their proximity, the subtle intimacy of their conversation and the expectant unwavering scrutiny with which she studied his face, trying to find a slither of answer in there. He tried to maintain a stoic expression.

"How would you write… The happy ending?" He stuttered, his voice raspy and quivering.

“They live happily ever after, I suppose.” She sighed.

"'They live happily ever after.'" He repeated, his forehead tilting forward despite himself, grazing her brow, "It sounds so... easy."

“I pander to my readers. But since, in this case, my reader is you ... What do you think? Happy ending… or not?”

Gale's mind was swirling. Confusions, desire, culpability, elation, joy. What was appropriate and what was forbidden? What was fiction and what was reality? All seemed to merge in a blunder of want. He closed his eyes for a moment overwhelmed by the conflicted thoughts that swarmed and screamed in his head.  In a bold surge forward, he pressed his lips against Marina’s, hoping the gesture would silence all his doubts. 

He was relieved to find that it worked. 

She returned his kiss with passion, grabbing at his neck desperately, a small moan escaping her throat as he tasted her. He wrapped one of his hands around her hip, pulling her close against him as his other hand cupped her cheek. The implication of that act, and the new status of their professional relationship, they would discuss later. For now it was only them and the desire that had built up, exacerbated by the art they had both luxuriated in for the last few weeks.

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

Tara was walking down the hall, wiping her rasp tongue on her fangs and whiskers to clean the pigeon blood from her earlier hunt. She had found the Waterdeep Wazoo on the floor of the study and had cracked what she thought was the case of Gale’s previous vexed demeanour. She stopped in front of the bedroom, sated and no longer cranky, resolute to make peace with her long time friend. She scratched at the door, trying to get  the mage to open.

“Mister Dekarios! Yoohoo! I’m very sorry I cancelled the gazette without telling you. I didn't mean to upset you. You must have missed the crosswords, I wager. I assure you I shall correct my wrongs by reiterating our subscription at the earliest.”

From behind the door, Gale's voice resounded, panting and laboured. 

“Sure…”

Upon hearing the wizard’s tone and his apparent lack of breath, the tressym grew concerned.

“Are you quite alright Mister Dekarios?” She enquired.

“We are fine… Privacy please…”

”Why must Mister Dekarios be so boorish today!”  She thought, surprised and slightly insulted.

Wounded in her pride, the creature did not pry and turned around, offended. She headed back to the library. Since she was to be by herself, she would indulge in some reading time. 

She was behind on several number of the special editions and she had better start now should she want to be up to date before the new one next tenday.

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 16-- Theater

You and Saeran discuss Zekyll and White before watching Zen’s performance (866 words).

“Do we have everything we need, my love?” Saeran asks as the two of you linger outside the door to the theater. 

You consider the question, patting your pockets. “Tickets, check. Here’s yours.” You hand Saeran the small cardstock slip. “VIP badges, check.” You tug at the sky blue lanyard around your neck, which indeed contains the laminated VIP badge which will get you backstage after the show. “Flowers for Zen, check.” Saeran is holding the bouquet, which he put together specifically for this event. “Shoes, pants, shirts, et cetera, check. Am I missing anything, dear?” 

Saeran giggles at your joke. “I don’t think so, my sweet. Let’s go in.”

“Alright. Let’s go in.”

You take Saeran’s arm with an air of elegance which only serves to exacerbate his giggling as you lead him into the wonderfully decorated venue for Zen’s performance. You’re over the moon to be seeing your friend’s latest musical, especially after hearing so much about it on the messenger. You and Saeran settle into your assigned seats, which, of course, allow an amazing view of the stage.

“It’s a good thing they postponed this until after the trouble with your father was over,” you whisper to Saeran as the other members of the audience begin to file in. “I would’ve hated to miss Zen’s show.”

You know Zen has worked very hard for this— as has Yoosung, for that matter— and that he would have been devastated if you and the twins had missed the production. The director was very understanding of the safety concerns faced by the entire RFA, including Zen, and so he agreed to the rescheduling. The entire group will be able to make it to the theater, and then to the late dinner you’ve planned for this evening. 

“And it gave me time to read the book,” Saeran reminds you. He’s spent the past day-and-a-half or so utterly engrossed in his copy of The Strange Case of Dr. Zekyll and Mr. White. The novel is short, but Saeran, as it turns out, is a very close reader. He annotates his books carefully, with neat commentary written on removable notes so as not to damage the pages. 

“Hm,” you hum. “What did you think of it?” This subject has been bothering you for a while— you worry that Saeran might not feel comfortable with the portrayal of Mr. White, considering the things that he was told about himself at Magenta. As you understand it, one of his reasons for reading the book prior to the show was to ensure that he’d be prepared for the topics of the musical. An adaptation like this could easily turn into a cruel caricature if not executed with requisite care. 

“The novel is just about how everyone has a mix of good and evil in them,” he explains, “Mr. White was created by the author to make the point that nobody in real life is completely evil. I don’t relate to the story very much… Saeran wasn’t evil, and neither was Ray, no matter what Rika told me. I’m strong enough now to understand that’s the case, but the book was still interesting to read.” Per usual, Saeran’s understanding of the media is nuanced and complex. You get the feeling that he wants to say more, and you’re looking forward to talking it through with him on the drive home. 

“It was written a long time ago,” you muse. “But I can’t wait to see Zen playing both characters. I know this was a huge challenge for him.”

“Mm,” Saeran offers you a contemplative hum, “Especially considering that White is supposed to be shorter than Zekyll. I wonder how they’ll show the scene where Zekyll’s employee meets White and doesn’t recognize him.” 

“Well, I guess that’s the magic of theater,” you shrug. “I’m sure the costume changes are going to have to be really quick.” But you know Zen can handle it. He once told you that his fastest complete costume change took him only fourteen seconds.

“It might get confusing to have one actor playing both parts,” Saeran muses, “But Zen is good at his job. I’m sure he’ll pull it off. Although… I’m curious to see how the adaptation will be structured, since the book doesn’t have much plot until the very end when the main character reads the doctor’s letter. If they show the story in chronological order, it might ruin the mystery.”

“You know what, now that I think about it, what happens in Zekyll and White?” You’re familiar with the concept, of course, but you don’t know anything about the actual plot of the novel. Maybe you should’ve read it alongside Saeran to better prepare for the show. 

“Shh, my love,” Saeran shushes you gently, with a loving hand on your wrist. “The lights are coming down. You’ll just have to wait and see what happens, won’t you?”

“Oh, you’re right, darling,” you whisper. You were too engrossed in the discussion to notice the lowered lights without prompting, apparently. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later, though. I want to hear your thoughts about the play.”

“Mhm,” Saeran agrees, holding your hand tight as the curtain is raised. 

[ocelberich]

. kaeya alberich has joined the adventurer's guild !

# OCELBERICH ━━━ private, roleplay blog for kaeya alberich of genshin impact; interpreted & loved by barely ( any pronouns ); affiliated with gnostic hymns.

portrayal notes.

as stated in the handbook, i prefer to use the chinese dub for kaeya's characterization though i will likely compare it to english & japanese dubs for nuance. though i play the game in english, my preference differs.

a slightly major difference, to me, between the dubs is that, unlike in the english & japanese versions, kaeya sounds more similar to a teasing, older brother figure that you know nothing of, rather than the handsome mysterious companion that i'm familiar with as an english-player. ( though this isn't to say that he isn't a handsome mysterious companion of ours. it's simply a matter of how heavy one mood is compared to the other. ) his inflection is different between performances, of course, but i rather enjoy the tone SUN YE chose to use in his. thus, my kaeya will be written with such.

last canon appearance is, correct me if i'm wrong: version 3.8, secret summer paradise, thus he will be written as of then!

though i keep a document on all muse-related dialogue & information that is constantly updating, i have yet to fully make my document relating to khaenri'ah. so, if you see me yapping incorrectly and want to politely vibe check me, please do! i welcome all vibe checks.

though kaeya's application was written exactly one month ago, i did not expect to write him and, thus, am a bit shy about how i may portray him. this is simply to say that, yes, i will make mistakes, so please be patient with me.

patience, too, comes with shipping. while kaeya is friendly, his ability to recognize certain bonds as real will come late and in due time as a result of his distrust in the world & and himself. while i'm open to shipping romantically, i'll be leaving that to ooc discussions before anything is incorporated on the dash. likewise, my headcanon of kaeya being demiromantic will swiftly be realized, as romance is a wary concept to him.

for now, that's all! thank you for reading and i hope to write with you in the near future 💕

navigation.

i. handbook ━━━ includes mun information, blog rules, art credit, writing specifics, & more! ii. character ━━━ if you click this link, you sell your soul to me in a blood pact because the about doc is nowhere near finished and i made sure to warn you beforehand iii. talents ━━━ necessary talent page, as of the affiliated group's rule

tags explained.

♛ ━━━ ❝ what is treason to the bloodied plumes of royalty? ・ 【 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 】 . ( all posts that are "in character", hence the tag )

♛ ━━━ ❝ whoops! the cavalry captain without his cavalry! ・ 【 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 】 . ( all posts that are "out of character", ex. shitposts, maintenance, meta, etc )

♛ ━━━ ❝ they will know him as the captain with a crown of lies beneath his cape ・ 【 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐘 】 . ( reblogged art, including possible art by the mun, of the muse )

♛ ━━━ ❝ the incarnate of a hunted bird's misery ・ 【 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 】 . ( posts centered around a muse's headcanons, meta, etc )

♛ ━━━ ❝ to enjoy is to consume; to consume is to sacrifice ・ 【 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 】 . ( all reblogged posts with prompts, ask memes, sentence starters and the likes )

♛ ━━━ ❝ he is what a father has made him; what a nation expects of him ・ 【 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗 】 . ( all posts that are replies to an ask, excluding threads made from certain asks )

♛ ━━━ ❝ thread name ・ 【 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 】 . ( the threads tag )

♛ ━━━ ❝ support tag ・ 【 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 】 . ( support tags for all muses this muse interacts with, always liable to change )

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Morning, I know it's been a while since you added a part to the DI5 au but....can we get some update on what is happening now? If it's okay.

((Good morning to you too anon, hope your okay. And yes it's been a while hasn't it? I'm sorry for not adding anything to this little Au in a while now. Due to work and things it left me trying to think of what else to add. Though, I think I can do something. So I hope this is alright and makes up for being so late.))

((Oh and the ones mentioned in this belong to my friend @demon-blood-youths while some others belong to me too along with some added guest muses who will be showing up as well in this.))

Silver butterfly mun/Peahen mom

Seems thanks to Fosh and Mouse, they were able to find some hidden data resulting in what this infection is like. He got the copy files from the two but he told them to come to where he is so they can study on it more.

For now, he was keeping a eye out for any other fractions that would show up here and out of harm's way. Though, he did find two more fractions that showed up a while ago.

~~~~~A few hours earlier~~~~~~

"Anything?"

"No sir. Nothing yet. Thanks to the data, we might need some time to read and study up on this weird formula. It's unlike any other we seen before but it's nothing too hard to look over." one doctor said seeing the mess but it was what the infection was made of. They needed more info but the hackers had the data with them."

"Even so, keep looking through it please." Mr. Henderson said with a sigh. But while looking about, he hopes the others were alright. The guards outside were keeping a eye out for survivors and got told some of the people and demons that was still alive and here safe was evacuated through helicopter to a secret place. They were out of NYC for the time being till this whole mess was over with.

However, as he was checking on something, he heard some paging from a walkie-talkie. He picks it up and answers.

"Go ahead."

'Sir, we see a group of young people coming down this way..I think it's one of the fractions.' someone said as Mr. Henderson blinks.

"Wait, are you sure?" he asked.

'Affirmative sir. We will see when they get close over...'

Mr Henderson said nothing but he hopes it was while going to meet up with them. He did see Guam's fraction all rested and bandaged up. They were one of the only fractions that got here safely and un infected. Now he worries of the others.

In a while, just like the guard said, the door opens to show one group walking inside tired as the guards checks them. Each one was look at for any infected viewing but shows none was. They were taken inside as Mr. Henderson looks to see it was a fraction!

The Knights of Darkness.

"Everyone, your alive and safe..."

"Mr. Henderson!?" Angel said but he was seeing everyone tired from the running and fighting.

"Yes, I know you are all confused right now but I'll explain after you guys are taken in and treated. But let me ask; are any of you infected or bitten?" he asked.

"....." the fraction members looks to one another then shook their heads when looking at him.

"Alright. Here, get me some help moving them inside." he said seeing the guards helping them carefully while getting them to a area for them. They were able to see Guam and his fraction resting up but they jumped in shock happy to see Joshua's fraction safe. Mr. Henderson was happy to see this but he blinks to notice something.

"Hold on; where's Joshua? Why isn't he with you? What of the others on Ashley's team and herself?" Mr. Henderson asked only for Vanessa to shake her head.

"N..No...we got separated from them. We were hoping they were here safe with you and whoever else is here." she said and yet, given the look on Mr. Henderson's face shows otherwise.

"As for Hiroshi, we heard he's with Hellmare and T-bone's with Maggie. We know that Timmy and Hex are with the healers Swan and Ophelia with Gerald, Taz, and Daniella and the others too...."

"I...I see.."

"Wait, so Ash and her team still isn't here? Or anyone else besides us and Guam's group?" Sydeia asked.

"I'm afraid so. We are still looking around for them right now and waiting for them to come here. For right now, I told them to come here safe so we can work on trying to figure something out. For now...that's what we have. But don't worry, I'll be sure they are found and safe. For now you guys rest up..." he said seeing the fraction nods but their was worry on their faces.

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

That was hours ago and he got word both fractions were asleep resting from the nightmare. Guam's fraction kept a eye on Joshua's fraction but they were worried of their other friends.

'I Hope you all are safe. I know Matt and his fractions is safe where they are..but I need to know more. I need the hackers here safe and hope for the best on fixing this..' he thought but now he was worried about this new threat roaming around. This was just getting worse.

~~~~Meanwhile with Ashley and Joshua~~~~

Joshua was just arriving to another safe house after the last one was moved from. He had a bad feeling that something was roaming around in that location but he was tired after helping Ashley get out of there. Right now, she was really tired but he sets her down on the bed while she was laying on the side.

"O...Okay....okay were safe.." he mutters seeing they were near Times square right now. They shouldn't be too far off from where Mr. Henderson is. But right now they had to wait a week before moving again. Just to be safe. He looks to Ashley who was tired while curled up.

"....." Her breathing was slow but she looks a lot more tired now due to the infection. She's fighting it which he knew but he was so worried about her that he didn't want her to go through this.

Looking to Ash, he slowly reaches to rest a hand on her cheek as she remains resting up but nuzzles into the palm of his hand. "...Don't worry Ash..I'll keep you safe..just please fight this infection. Don't give into it." he begs even if she still remains resting she only relaxed knowing Joshua was close to her.

"I hope the others are safe..same for your team too.." he mutters softly.

However, she was curled up more on the bed that he remains by her side, hearing the disturbing noises outside from the infected. He only hopes they get out of here and away from here. He also hopes the others still out here are on the move soon.

~~~~~~~~~Meanwhile~~~~~~~~~~~

Their has been some movement with others. They did move to new safe houses from the new dangerous ??? infected that was seen roaming some areas. It was getting dangerous now but the others were only remembering one thing: Keep moving.

Right now the following are in new safe houses:

T-bone and Maggie who moved two hours ago.

Oblivion and Yuuka that was just arriving in their own. It's said Yuuka's team are on the move as well and has met up finally.

Fosh and Mouse along with Navarro and Echo were on the move right now.

The six claws with Ink were just getting to their new safe house check point

Willow and Ethan along with their two fractions were half way close to a new safe house or the last one before seeing the destination of where mr. Henderson is located.

Sai and Vivi were just close to their own and moving quietly or Sai carrying her due to her still recovering.

Rex and Kali was still moving along with their fractions but they were keeping a eye on rex's team who is now infected.

Hellmare and Hiroshi was really close to Mr. Henderon's location but needed to wait till moving again.

Joshua and Ashely are in a safe location now but don't know Joshua's team made it to the safe point while her team is scatted out right now.

Fin and his boys were half way to the check point of Mr. Henderson's area but the one that was infected or some have started losing it. They sadly had to be put down because of it. Doing that was hard for Fin seeing that they snapped due to the infection. Though, the remaining ones kept moving hearing some being eaten alive.

Jaron and Rust had just moved to a new safe house hours ago and is watching over Melinda and Breezy who are knocked out right now.

The healers Ophelia, Swan, and Hex along with Timmy, Taz, Gerald, Ping, and Daniella were just showing up at a new safe house after losing some infected that was chasing them.

And finally for Jinx, she still remains kidnapped......no word was heard ever since.

As for Jinx......

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

"Anything yet?" Dr. Mart K. asked looking at the testing part seeing two doctors checking on a studying fight. They had two infected inside the room but Jinx was there too. However, she looked a lot worse than before while looking more savage and blood hungry. She drools hissing at the two before they begin attacking.

The other two inside were fighting her but hearing some loud thumping noises and crashing noises with blood splattering across the glass.

"Well, given the tests, seem she is breaking little by little. We might have to give her a bit more." he said while the scientist sighed agreeing. The two saw one of the infected's body slam against the glass area as Jinx kept fighting the other.

"..Doctor Mark? I got word that more of the more dangerous infected is roaming and settling in nicely. They are already taken over 70% of NYC." He blinks looking to see Tabatha say this while she was happy.

"Good work. Lets keep this up and see how it goes after.." he saw her nod agreeing with him. "Second, where is Doctor Hashmar anyway?" he asked.

"I heard he was working on the DNA For the infected gene. He's making it stronger and studying the previous strain now. He said something of new effects on demons." she said. New effects?

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know. That's why he's working on that now in his office..guess he's looking for more things to study on." she shrugs but smiled as Mark sighed.

"I see. Well, please keep me up to date..for now, see that our test subject don't pass out." he said turning to walk off as Tabatha Jones sees Jinx panting while laying on the ground. She was coated in blood but the door hisses open showing Tabatha grabbing her arm to force her to sit up.

"Not bad Kitty. Your getting better and better...just need to be sure you keep obeying like a good girl...." she smirked but forces her up on her feet and follow her. However, she resisted only for Tabatha to punch her spilling blood.

Jinx winced from the hit but was forced to follow her. "Seems you still got some fight in you..no worries though, we have a lot more tests to work on for you before releasing you to find more of your friends." she giggled as Jinx was dragged.

"........."

"But we have to work on that strong will of yours first.." she said walking before getting into a room as the door slams shut, locking behind them.

~~~~~Meanwhile somewhere else at Tokyo's Outskirts~~~~~~

"And that's the mission..seems this little sickness is from the USA in NYC or dark NYC as most have called it. However, we'll have to go and help them out...even given the fact little Taz and Kinie is there. I suggest you guys be ready..and maybe help in finding a cure for this." a male said showing the mission. However, the group was worried seeing the mess.

But it explains the horrors that's been happening here. To some people getting ill all of a sudden. They thought it was cursed spirits but this was something else....but it seems some that was infected were also cursed showing curse like skin conditions and health conditions.

Just what the hell is going on? However, one male was worried seeing the secret tape of Jinx being infected and badly hurt. This leaves him closing his fist.

'.......Jinx......'

"Don't worry Yuji, we'll help her and the others....we already got someone to take us there to aid. Though, we will hopefully get help resulting in some of this happening.." another male named Megumi said seeing someone sitting down while looking tired.

A worried hoot was heard as a familiar shinigami was resting on his partner's lap but another girl was sitting by him while tears were seen. She looks at the bandaged up bite there on his shoulder but he didn't move but was still alive.

".........."

For now, the group waits for orders till it was time to depart. Seems this infection has spread out even more. A lot more than one thinks.

[bardic-inspo]

I’m totally a few chapters behind with BtG but I just wanted to say I’m so excited to see you’re still trucking away at it and that things are coming together. When I started following you a year or so ago I was always inspired by your writing updates and your dedication and systems to keep yourself in check. I’ve started writing again since then, but by no means have remotely attempted a project as big as yours. I’m considering NaNoWriMo but idk if I’m up for that yet! Anyway. Thanks for sharing both your creative work and your behind the scenes musings. It is really bolstering! Hope you’re doing well 🥳💜

This was such a sweet surprise to find in my inbox. I am so touched by your kindness, and to hear that I've helped inspire you in turn <3 <3

I had to laugh a little because I've often thought, if I had realized at the beginning how long BtG would turn out to be/how long it would take, I might have chickened out and never started it. But hey, I'm in it now 😂 But in all seriousness, coming back to the story after some time away while very exciting, was very difficult, and scary in some ways, and I can't say thank you enough for dropping this note. It warms my heart to have folks like you still along for the ride.

And congrats to you on making your way back to the page! You can consider this me waving pom poms across the internet, cheering you on, in whatever route you decide to pursue it. My personal feeling is that NaNo can be fantastic for rough-drafting, or if the main goal in mind is just getting words happening again. But, depending on the person or just where someone is at, I've also seen it be a source of pressure more than productivity. I'll also throw out there that I've enjoyed being a part of Get Your Words Out, which takes habit (# of writing days) or word count goal pledges each year in January, and you have the whole year to meet your goal. You can participate as little or as much as you'd like, there's a Discord server and they host word sprints and lots of little writing events throughout this year. Or, you can just do the monthly goal check ins (a short google form) and not do any of the other stuff. There's no worries about or consequences for not meeting your goal, and I like it as a sort of low-pressure accountability tool. They'll open up to new goal pledges again probably in late December/January if that piques your interest.

Thank you so much for the kind words, and the well wishes. I hope life is being nice to you, too, and I wish you best of luck with your writing <3 :)

[unveilhq]

congratulations on your acceptance, odd, tommy, b, & murr ! please make sure you check the next steps here

derek luh, bisexual, cis male + he/him → isn’t that adryan rhodes? i’ve seen them hanging out with the hellhounds. i hear they’re ???, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 6 years. they seem to be loyal & meticulous, but also coarse & nonchalant.

max riemelt, homosexual, cis gender + he/him/his → isn’t that ashwyne "wyne" bordai? i’ve seen them hanging out with the half ghosts. i hear they’re 35 [1354], but they’ve only been in alexandria for 2 months. they seem to be honest & independent, but also abrasive & lackadaisical.

mark consuelos, gay, male + he/him→ isn’t that matias garcia? i’ve seen them hanging out with the darklighters. i hear they’re about 5865, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 24 years. they seem to be charming & witty, but also calculating & sarcastic.

álvaro rico, bisexual, male + he/him→ isn’t that javier flores? i’ve seen them hanging out with the kitsunes. i hear they’re 30, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 5 years. they seem to be flirty & loyal, but also care-free & rowdy. it’s cool that they’re a time fox!

álvaro Rico, homosexual, male, he/him→ isn’t mateo flores? i’ve seen them hanging out with the kitsunes. i hear they’re 30, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 5 years. they seem to be trustworthy & clever, but also judgmental & impulsive. it’s cool that they’re a celestial fox!

TWO new wanted connections have been added!

did you hear karl vaughn (eric dane), our resident human, is looking for their husbando? they’re a 50+ year old supernatural creature who arrived in the chateau 25 years ago. they look like booboo stewart, elliot fletcher, patrick dempsey, idris elba, open to many others. the player does not require you to contact them prior to filling this out. - karl met your muse nearly thirty years ago and fell in love. while karl is human, your muse is not and yet even when your muse told karl what he was, karl just welcomed that with open arms. they moved to alexandria twenty-five years ago to be together and raise a family. now that karl is starting to age, the question of whether or not he should get turned is hanging the back of their minds - especially if your muse is a species that is immortal. more can be discussed if/when you reach out :) @unveiledveins 

did you hear terazi ziranda (alex meraz), our resident familiar, is looking for their charge? they’re a 25-35 year old witch or siphoner who arrived in the chateau just now. they look like kellan lutz, dean geyer, brenton thwaites, michael b. jordan, open to others. the player does require you to contact them prior to filling this out. - terazi had been charged to be this muse's familiar, and he had developed a strong bond with your muse. unfortunately, a fire broke out that not only destroyed the estate that he and your muse were staying on, but killed your muse's family and as far as terazi was aware, your muse. now terazi is in alexandria, hiding out as his family and his tribe believe that he is a bad omen and he deals with the grief of not being able to protect his charge (i.e. your muse). more can be discussed when you reach out. @unveiledveins  

the following fcs are newly on reserved

rege-jean page

theo james

jordan calloway

gregg sulkin

chris evans

charles melton

due to a character being dropped, the following fc is reopened

ben barnes

[guilty-love]

@goldenloved​ liked for a starter

Kyouya is quite aware of how much lady luck has blessed him that night. He is aware that this is an once in a lifetime opportunity to him. And he also knows that what he is about to do is going against everything that he, as a prosecutor, should stand for.

But then, Kyouya is only a prosecutor, right? He is not a detective or a police officer or anything like that. It is not his job to chase down criminals on a crime scene, no. He is the lion that rests in his den, waiting for his pray to be brought by him by the hunters. And then, only then, is it his job to take the prey apart.

But they are not in the courtroom. They are, in fact, in the middle of the city, late at night. There are helicopters and search lights all around the place, all of them trying to spot the famous Moonlight Magician. But none of them managed to do so yet. None of them managed to spot him.

No one except for Kyouya... or so he thinks.

It’s you, right?

You are the one they are looking for. You are that ‘Moonlight Magician’ everyone keeps talking about.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which cruel fate leads you and jungkook to bright places.

> fluff, a little twinge of angst? / wc: 4.2k

> warnings: none really. but if you’ve read the grocery store drabble, you really get lost in this one. hehe

note: oc!!! stop making him worry like this. cries in i love sweet boy jungkook sooo much. + i enjoyed writing this :[ <3 listened to cigs after sex while i was at it. and as you can tell i got very. carried away. scratches head. researching about pokemon bread was also kind of fun?

—

love is selfless— it’s what they often say. however, on his way home from work, jungkook finds himself admitting his ugly truth: he is selfish. when he arrives at your shared space, he will tangle his limbs with yours and let you drag him across the floor to wherever it is you need to go. he will hold on to you, and never let go. he will abandon the concept of time at the farthest corner of his mind, along with his exhaustive musings and responsibilities. instead, he will be consumed by you.

and sometimes, he finds that the telepathy connecting the two of you is baffling.

because he’s definitely not thinking about anything else but you. he’s scouring the entire apartment for any trace of life, but you’re nowhere to be found. the bed is still made. the bathroom lights are off. the pillows on the couch are organized. the center table is spotless. the kitchen is clean. he opens the trash bin, and the last thing tossed in there is still the egg tray he discarded this morning. he checks the laundry room, but the only clothes of yours in the laundry basket are from yesterday.

he ends up deciding that you’re not playing hide-and-seek with him like he originally thought. he sits on the counter top, anxiously playing with his lipring as he calls your number. again. and again. and again.

you did tell him earlier that you were going to visit the library, but it already closed an hour ago, so you should be home by now. moreover, if you were going to drop by other places, you would’ve updated him that you’d be home later at night. but you didn’t. the last text you sent him was a captured photo of page 73, an overview about thyme. you reminded him that he once mentioned that he wanted to grow some herbs in your balcony, so you’re doing some old-fashioned research about them in the library.

and thank heavens you answer the call on his fifth try, because he’s about to have a breakdown in the middle of your kitchen.

“jungkook!”

not to be dramatic, but if he was standing, his knees would’ve collapsed on the tiled floor at the sound of your voice. he swallows the lump in his throat, breathes deeply to unload the weight sitting on his chest.

“where are you?”

“oh, right! about that-” you chuckle nervously, and he can already imagine you tapping your foot against the floor. “wait. let me just-”

“how long? i can’t wait. i miss you. tell me where you are and i’ll pick you up.” he hops off the counter, making a beeline to the front door.

“yes, pick me up. please. i’m not sure where i am exactly but i just checked and my location is still turned on with you.”

oh shit. the location feature. why didn’t he think of that? and what do you mean by-

he pauses on his tracks, car keys back in his hand not even twenty minutes since he got off his car. “baby, how do you not know where you are?”

“uhm, i fell asleep in the bus . . . then i panicked and got off because i thought i missed my stop. but you’re not gonna believe what happened next!”

he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers massaging his temple because he has a bad feeling about this. “okay. try me.”

“i realized i actually got on the wrong bus. stupid, right?” you giggle through the phone speaker, and it’s both endearing and ridiculous that you can still laugh in this situation.

nevermind that, he’s just relieved that you’re safe.

“i walked for a while and found this convenience store with a charging station. i emptied my battery trying to book a taxi but none accepted me!”

your whiny voice makes him smile, although he looked forward to hearing it more when he planned to be disgustingly clingy and affectionate.

“i’ll go, baby. just wait for me there, okay?” he presses the down button, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

“okaaay.” you reply in a sing-song voice.

he puts you on speaker mode when he enters, checking on your location to see how far you’ve strayed from home. you got on the wrong bus. no mistake about that.

“you’re an hour and three minutes away.”

he hears you choke out a cough from the other line, most probably on a drink. “an hour?! by foot, right?”

“no,” he chuckles. late night drives with you aren’t new, so he doesn’t mind it one bit. “by car.”

silence fills the air for a few seconds. “then i’ll drive on the way back. i’m about to eat ramyeon so i’ll be energized!”

“let’s see if i get too tired to drive. just stay on the phone for me, okay?”

“wait- i’m hungry. need to go put hot water in my noodles. let’s switch to video call.”

when he accepts the video call, he’s greeted by the candy and chocolate shelf in landscape view. you probably propped up your phone on the charging station, so he adjusts his phone’s position to match yours. and you . . . are nowhere to be found. again.

he’s already driving out on the road when you appear on his screen. you smile at him, waving the chopsticks in your hand.

“i’ll do a live mukbang for you in a few minutes.”

he takes a brief glance, memorizing the way you look before reverting his attention to the road. a small smile grows on his face, a huge wave of love flooding his system. “you look so pretty today.”

“thank you. it took me thirty minutes to pick out my outfit.” you chirp happily before revealing the hand hidden behind your back, holding up a special item you stumbled upon during your little adventure. “look what i found! do you want it?”

“what is it?” he asks as he makes a turn.

“team rocket’s pokemon bread. it’s chocolate.” you inspect the bread again to confirm that you’re correct. “it’s the last one on the shelf so i just bought it.”

his eyes widen in surprise, lips forming an ‘o’. he personally knows many people who have been visiting stores until the late hours to buy them. it’s all the rage nowadays.

“oh? you actually found one?!”

“don’t you think fate led me here for this?” you gush excitedly.

he finally stops at a red light, taking a good look at you with fondness. “you’re giving it to me?”

“yes. enjoy it, okay? i walked in boots for this.” you point at the camera threateningly.

so adorable. he misses you so much.

he obediently crosses his fingers to forge a promise. “i won’t leave a single crumb uneaten.”

“good boy,” you poke the camera as if you’re booping his nose. “i left my food too long. i’ll go get my overcooked ramyeon now.”

you disappear again, and he resumes his journey leading to you. you return moments later, devouring a cup of ramyeon. you’re holding it with some tissue paper. you were never really good with touching hot things— you drop them without thinking twice . . . which is a health hazard.

and it stays like that for a little while. as jungkook drives, he looks at you and the navigation guide every now and then. just to make sure he’s turning to the correct lefts and rights as the voice says; and to give himself the assurance that you didn’t stray somewhere else again. you, on the other hand, is too focused on your food to give your boyfriend a smidge of attention. that’s how mukbang asmr is, right? only eating sounds?

the cashier is probably thinking of you funny for eating infront of your boyfriend via video call in a public place. you couldn’t care less. it’s been a long day, and staying still in this small corner of the earth feels oddly comforting.

you’re in the middle of sipping down the leftover broth at the bottom of the cup when you hear movement from the aisle behind you. being nosy as you are, you find yourself taking a peek. you take quick and light steps back to jungkook to tell him about what you saw.

“babe, they’re restocking the pokemon breads. i’m the only person left here.” you whisper with one hand covering your mouth from the side, as if you’re sharing a secret. “i’ll buy more.”

he unconsciously copies the gesture and the volume of your voice. “do they have the other flavors too?”

“yes. keep driving safe. be right back.”

you dash to the other aisle, and jungkook and the long row of kitkats play a staring contest in the middle of traffic yet again.

familiar with your nature, it is entertaining to watch you participate in the pokemon bread hunt out of the blue. very on-brand and-

“so competitive.” he laughs to himself.

—

“hi!” you beam at the camera, hugging the paper bag inhabited by your new prized possessions. “uh, we have eight in total. i bought one of each flavor so there’s two team rocket now. and three jigglypuff bread just because- um-”

jungkook stifles his laughter. oh, of course you did.

“it’s so cute. i couldn’t help myself.” you sigh, slightly feeling guilty. other people do hoard them and buy everything off the shelf, so you think about that to feel less bad about taking all the jigglypuffs.

fuck. if you’re being this cute over a jigglypuff bread, he might just have to join everyone and do convenience store raids, too.

“you’re kind for still leaving some. i saw a person in the internet buy all the pokemon breads in the store they went to.”

“right?! i saw that, too.” you exclaim, relieved that you had the same thought as him.

“did you get me my pikachu, though?”

“of course. pikachu must always be present!” you answer proudly as you unplug your phone after seeing that it’s already at 50%. “i’m getting bored here. there’s a thrift shop just beside this, so i’ll go see if they’re still opened.”

jungkook drums his fingers on the steering wheel, following a beat he’s making up on the spot. “alright. i’m only fifteen minutes away, so don’t go anywhere else.”

”yes, sir.”

“and don’t end the call.”

“i won’t. you’ll miss me.”

he clicks his tongue before sighing, expressing his frustrating sorrow. “i already do.”

—

the air from outside is warmer, and it engulfs you the second you pull the door open. it makes your skin feel sticky and uncomfortable. the thought of going back inside enters your mind, but the idea gets shot down immediately after. might get tempted to buy more bread.

the thrift shop heavily contrasts the vivid conveniece store. there is no door. racks of pre-loved clothing greet you by the entrance, leading to more of them inside. a lone warm lightbulb illuminates the cramped space, hanging in the middle of the dirty white ceiling. and the smell. oh, the smell— it causes nostalgia to rush throughout your body.

a woman emerges from the wooden counter. she’s in her 50s, if you had the guess. you make eye-contact, and her kind eyes eases your uncertainty about whether you’re allowed to enter or not.

“you can still look around if you want. i’m just cleaning before i close up.”

“oh, thank you!” you politely bow before approaching the long rack of shirts and long-sleeves against the wall. you’ve been eyeing them since the moment you arrived.

left with no other choice, you leave the paper bag of pokemon breads on the floor, under one of the racks. you carefully lean your phone against a shoe on the shelf above it, just a little higher than your eye-level. you smile unbeknownst to yourself. your jungkook looks extra handsome when driving. while he admittedly has a short attention span, he’s very focused on the road when he’s behind the wheel.

you’re already browsing through the clothes when he glances at his phone. he can only see half your face, but he also hears your fast hands pushing back the hanger of the ones that don’t capture your interest.

your love for shopping doubled when you entered a relationship with jungkook, because purchasing items you think he like or need also brings you an unexplainable joy. it’s not limited to clothes or accessories. for example, you bought him white and blue acrylic paint two months ago because you noticed that he used them all up for a project.

after more or less ten minutes, there are already two t-shirts and one sweater hanging on your forearm. one of the t-shirt is yours. it matches with one of your trousers that you barely wear.

you’ve walked past the camera frame when you stumble upon a black bomber jacket, looking so cool and brand-new, which explains why it’s a bit on the pricier side. and you know jungkook has a lot of other black jackets back at home, but you just can’t help yourself because it reminds you so much of him.

it’s so jungkook. you can’t allow it to live in another person’s closet.

you approach the counter with the clothes you picked out. the woman halts her sweeping outside, leaving the broom against the wall before wiping her hands on her long skirt, the floral print noticeably faded with time. you hastily grab the belongings you left unattended, putting your phone’s microphone on mute to keep your little surprise.

there’s no paper bills left in your wallet after spending all your money on food and clothes. with a grimace, you drop it inside your bag. you were only supposed to go to the library today, spend a little money on bus fare and lunch. perhaps, spontaneously add in a little snack in between. however, this is called spontaneity out of hand.

“are these for your boyfriend’s birthday?” the woman asks in a hushed, yet teasing, voice as she folds up the jacket.

two pairs of eyes fall on the phone you’re holding, and you smile sheepishly. “i’m trying to make everyday his birthday.”

“he’s very handsome. you better take good care of him!”

you cover your face in embarrassment, silently laughing. “we take good care of each other! he’s coming to pick me up because i couldn’t find a taxi.”

“oh dear, are you new here?” she stuffs the jacket in the big plastic bag, along with the other clothes you bought. “there’s barely any taxis here after 9pm. everyone just walks. many complaints about it, but good exercise for my rusty bones when they ask me.”

“i’ll keep that in mind for next time.” you wrap your left arm around the bag of clothes, sliding it off the counter until you’re carrying its full weight. “thank you again. have a great night! and stay healthy!”

you stumble on the single step leading outside because the weight of the breads and clothes are unbalanced. thankfully, you make it out of the shop without a scratch. the woman bids you a safe trip and picks up the broom, the melancholia of night-time quietness blanketing her home once again.

you look down at your phone to find that the video call with jungkook has ended, but before you can question him, a familiar voice sings your name from a close distance.

“jungkook!” you call out to him, crossing the distance between you in high spirits. “you really came for me!”

jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “you really thought i’d leave you here stranded? you always make me worried.”

“i never do it on purpose.” you frown, shoulders sagged with guilt.

“that makes it more worrisome.” he breathes out a sigh. “come here. i missed you.”

“i want to hug you, but my hands are full.”

he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you in a tight embrace. he feels you give a chaste kiss to his jaw before leaning your cheek on his shoulder, and just like that, his anxiety melts away. your favorite perfume invades his sense of smell. as a person with a sensitive nose, many perfumes often give him a headache. he is in love with yours. it’s sweet and subtle; it feels like coming home.

“i was so excited to come home but you weren’t there.”

“i’m sorry for always making you worry. i’ll be more mindful next time.” you apologize to him with a kiss on the cheek, and you feel it rise against your lips when he smiles. “oh no, wait. the bread- they’re going to get all mushed up.”

he reluctantly untangles himself from you, taking away the heavy load you’re carrying without you having to ask. this is when you swiftly snatch the car keys from his hand.

“i want to drive this time.”

he breathes out a sigh of relief. “oh my god, thank you. i’m getting sleepy.”

—

it’s impossible not to quickly look over to the passenger seat when a bright flash fills the vehicle. surprise, surprise! instead of sleeping, jungkook is taking pictures of the packs of pokemon bread he eagerly arranged on his lap.

“that flash is brighter than the sun.”

he throws a thumbs-up with an overly enthusiastic voice. “samsung!”

you swear, every chance he gets he promotes thei-

“don’t you dare steal my jigglypuff.”

he raises his arms in surrender, making balloons with his cheeks. “i just didn’t know they were strawberry flavored. i’m tasting team rocket’s chocolate rolls first. namjoon-hyung likes it.”

he carefully tears it from the other side to keep team rocket’s image unharmed. he takes a bite from the choco roll, and feeds the remaining half to you.

“mhmmm.” he hums, eyebrows furrowed in sheer delight. “it’s so good? i’m glad you bought another.”

he divides another roll in the middle. he munches on his share as he waits for you to finish your first bite. while he does as such, he suddenly perks up when he remembers the story he was supposed to tell you.

“i saw a group of guys enter the convenience store when i arrived earlier. they were looking for pokemon bread, too.”

“how’d you know?”

“i heard one of them say ‘this one better have the gastly bread or i will cry.’” he imitates the stranger’s deep voice speaking in a whiny manner. “it was funny.”

“then he’s probably on his way home crying now.” your giggles create a harmony.

that store did not have gastly bread, unfortunately.

—

“moment of truth.”

jungkook locates the pokemon sticker after you finish the rest of the bread. you wait with bated breath as he unveils the first out of eight stickers.

he gasps as he comes face-to-face with- “it’s snorlax! number 143 . . . 143.” he freezes as he scans his memory for the special meaning of the number code. “doesn’t that mean ‘i love you’?”

“it does,” you confirm with a grin. “i told you it was fate! isn’t it the best love confession?”

while living with you is a type of intimacy he values greatly, and protects everyday, getting lost in unfamiliar places with you has a charm of its own. it’s one of the days when he allows himself to say: jungkook, you lived well today.

he presses the sticker on your cheek, giving you a kiss through snorlax. “i love you, too.”

—

“since we can’t finish all these bread tonight, we’ll open the rest tomorrow.” jungkook announces as he sets down the plastic bag on the floor. in the meantime, snorlax is kept in his wallet for safety purposes.

he carries the clothes to his lap next, curious eyes and curious hands taking out the items one by one. he squeaks a sound of amazement. “you found quite a lot in that shop.”

“they had a lot of good stuff. i got the dark green-ish shirt. the rest are for you.”

he holds the baby blue sweater by the shoulders, letting the rest of it unfold and hang suspended in the air. “this one is so pretty.”

“oh! i really like that one. might borrow it a lot.”

“you’d look pretty in it. especially in the winter.” he says fondly. the mental image of you wearing it surrounded by snow is making him miss the season that just passed.

you pout. “but i got it for you. so wear it more than me.”

“i will. i want to wear it to work right after laundry day.” you beam in contentment, and he pats your head appreciatively. “you’re so fucking cute, baby. thank you for buying it for me.”

the black jacket catches his attention next, and the galaxies in his eyes sparkle as he takes in its the details and overall appearance. “this is totally my style! how does it look so brand-new?”

“right? it’s a steal so i had to buy it!”

jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a conscious effort to restrain himself from attacking you with hugs and kisses. buying treats and gifts for each other on random days— it’s grown to be a second nature in your relationship. this is why you always go on trips on birthdays and anniversaries instead of buying big gifts. he loves that there’s no pressure, and the element of surprise never fades. he loves that he knows what you like, and you know what he likes. a huge part of what makes him who he is has permanently resided in who you are, and vice versa. he will carry you with him for the rest of his life, just like the food he learned to love because his childhood friend forced him to have a bite, and how he adds a bar on top of the letter J because it reminds him of the number 7.

so from now on, he will refuse to wear any other jacket but the one you bought him, and he will think of you every time the sky is baby blue.

“i think this is going to be one of those clothes i’d wear all the time. like the first sneakers you got me.”

“oh god,” you chuckle at the old memory. if people didn’t know he was rich, they would’ve thought he only had one pair of shoes. “you really wore those out.”

“that’s how much i loved it!”

“okay, but you need to wash it before wearing it.”

“i’ll wake up earlier to do laundry.” he starts planning out his day inside his head as he folds up the clothes to put back inside the bag. but then he traces his thoughts two hours backwards, and he is reminded physical affection he’s been craving the whole day.

“can we cuddle when we get home?”

“of course, my love.” you raise an eyebrow in question. “when do we not cuddle?”

“i just missed you a lot today.” he sighs, turning over to his side to look at you. perhaps, also to memorize the street lights reflecting on your face, and how your beige cardigan has slipped down your shoulder. oh, the urge to write a song at this magical moment.

“what’s wrong? did anything bad happen today?” pure concern adorns your voice. you hate it when he’s sad. so much. you want to shield him from everything bad in the world.

“nothing.” his face starts to feel flushed, one of the dead giveaways that he’s emotional. “i just love you, that’s all. you get it, right?”

you have never been more grateful to meet a light that just turned red.

you solely focus on him momentarily, combing his hair with your fingers because it always helps him to relax. “feeling a little overwhelmed, is that it?”

he only nods as a reply. he catches your hand in his to give your knuckles a kiss, plushy lips caressing the tough bones of your doting hand.

“we’re almost home. wanna cuddle in the bathtub?” you propose when you recognize the familiar scenery through his window. the promising comfort and safety of your home causes exhaustion to come crashing down on you. your muscles are suffering the consequences of your actions, and therefore, are asking for compensation.

jungkook seems to be relishing in the idea, doe eyes sparkling instead of shining with unshed tears. “please, that sounds nice. but i’m sorry for when i fall asleep in there.”

—

you laugh nervously as you enter your parking lot. you do have your license, but you don’t drive very often. maybe three times a month at most. you find driving to be energy consuming despite being seated, so you much prefer commuting because it also serves as your rest time before and after attending to your duties.

“i need to reverse park before we can get into the bathtub, so you have to help me.”

and yes, additionally, you just simply hate reverse parking with burning passion.

“why do you hate reverse parking so much?” your boyfriend asks out of curiosity.

good question.

“i know we have cameras now, but i’m still always scared of bumping into other cars.”

he flashes you his old-fashioned captivating smirk, resting his hand behind the driver’s seat. what makes it funnier is that you’re not even looking. you’re too preoccupied with finding your parking space.

he raises his eyebrows teasingly, doe eyes turning into small slits as they do when he’s playfully flirting. “you don’t have to be scared of such thing, baby. i’ll pay for the damages.”

“you’re jinxing it! i’ll definitely mess up that ferrari now!”

—

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