#I didn’t watch the trailer and only read the description and thought it was more of a murder mystery movie

[sophisticatedswifts]

I accidentally saw a horror movie tonight. 0/10. Will never make that mistake again.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Shell 4.5 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

In silence, we caught the bus at the ferry and got off at the Trainyard, the part of the Docks that sat opposite to the Boardwalk.

There is just something so deliciously absurd about the mental image of supervillains, even teenage ones, just... riding the bus. Granted, they're (presumably) not doing it in costume, but still.

slanted just enough that people wouldn’t be able to comfortably walk or sleep on top of them.

Ah yes, gotta love hostile architecture.

“If you asked me five hours ago, I would’ve said no,” Regent replied.  “I would have told you, sure, she’s a loose cannon, she’s reckless, crazy, she’s easily pissed off and she’ll hospitalize those people who do piss her off… but I’d have said she’s loyal, that even if she doesn’t necessarily like us-”

I mean, trust but verify and all that. No Rachel, no money, it's a safe assumption.

A soft clapping answered her.  It was slow, unenthusiastic to the point of being sarcastic. “Brilliantly deduced,” the same person that had been clapping spoke out.  As Tattletale whipped her head around, I took a few steps back from the storage locker, to get a better look at the two people who stood on the roof.

It's cliche, but I always like the 'character watching the protagonists figure it out and then do the sarcastic clap' trope.

They were standing with one leg higher than the other, to keep from sliding off the angled roof, and both were wearing identical costumes.  The costumes sported blue man-leotards with broad belts cinched around their waists, skintight white sleeve and leggings.  Their hoods were elastic, clinging to their heads so they left only a window for the face, and each sported a single white antenna.  Of all colors, their gloves, boots and the balls at the top of their antennae were bubblegum pink.  Their faces were obscured by oversize goggles with dark lenses.

Which... which video game is this?

“Rest assured, Tattletale, you do,” Über proclaimed.  He was the sort of person who proclaimed, announced, broadcasted and declared.  Just like Grue’s power altered his voice to make him sound haunting and inhuman, Über’s power made him sound like the guy who narrated trailers for action movies or late night commercials.  Overdramatic, intense about everything he said, no matter how mundane.  Like someone overacting the role of a gallant knight in a kid’s movie.

Evocative. I do think Wildbow's willingness to do descriptions like this (helped by using 1st person narrative, which I do think facilitates this sort of thing) whereas a lot of conventional writing wisdom would say to not do this, is a big part of Worm's success, honestly.

Leet frowned and turned to the camera, “Is that really necessary?” “You fucked with us,” I replied, “I fuck with your subscriber base.”

Hit 'em where it hurts.

He didn’t get to finish.  Regent swung his arm out to one side, and Über lost his footing.  I joined the others in stepping back out of the way as he fell face first onto the pavement at the base of the locker.

Regent's abilities would probably let him do well at slapstick improv shows or something. I mean, you don't need to fake a trip and fall with him around. :rofl:

Grue spoke in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the pair of villains, “They did something to Bitch, they’ve got the money.  If we don’t get a decisive victory here, our reputation is fucked.”

Villain fight!

I wonder if, during her career as a villain, Taylor fights other villains more than heroes. From what I know of Worm, I wouldn't be surprised. But how much more, pound for pound? :thinking_face:

This was the sort of thing I had put on a costume to do.  Sure, the context wasn’t what I would have chosen, but going up against bad guys?

As far as some of Taylor's various rationalization's go, this isn't even a particularly dangerous or slipper one. :thinking_face:

[soft-for-them]

Apologies - Once upon a time in Hollywood & plus size reader

Summary: You and Rick, like most siblings do, aren't talking because of an argument. The only thing getting you both to apologise to each other is a group of cult members trying to kill you. (Platonic, reader is Rick's step sister who he's helped raise, so no shipping.)

Trigger warning: Descriptions of fighting and injury, this fic is mainly based in the scene in the film were the Manson family try to kill Cliff, Francesca and Rick, so yeah, there's blood.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: I like the idea of writing more fics with the sister reader, idk I think it would be sweet.

The ever constant headache for you both had started around fifteen years ago, you being around five years old whist your older step brother was in his prime staring in Hollywood films and bedding super models like it was a causal Tuesday night.

Around that time your mother had remarried Rick Dalton’s father and them both wanting to get away from it all (aka you) had dropped you off at a random film set were extras roamed around in fake blood and plastic disembodied limbs littered the ground like gravel.

Your ‘parents’ didn’t care that they had dropped you off on the day were a massacre scene was being shoot. Thinking back to that blurry memory you think they hadn’t even realised it was a high budget horror flick Rick was staring in, all they thought about at that time was ditching the hyperactive child on the rich enough son who probably could hire a baby sitter unlike they could.

Whilst Rick spent most of the day dazzling the camera crew and his female co-lead you had spent most of the day in the makeup trailer been cooed over by the hair and makeup ladies whilst stuffing your face with cheese puffs and apple juice.

At one point Cliff Booth had hobbled in, cigarette hanging from his bloody lips and his leg aching from the dangerous stunt he had just performed, his blue eyes going wide as a little curly haired child cheered as he entered the makeup trailer.

“Why is there a child in here?” he had asked whilst taking the cigarette from his lips with one hand whilst trying to rub off the fake blood dribbling from his face with the other.

The makeup ladies had to quickly wipe his face off with soaked cotton balls and wet wipes because he was just making the red mess even worse all whilst a bright eyed you began babbling to him like you knew him forever.

“I’m five!” you had happily declared as one of the women whispered the situation to Cliff.

“That you are little lady.”

So for the next hour instead of fucking off smoking half a pack and challenging cocky actors to fights Cliff Booth spent his time entertaining you. He had no clue what to do with a child but he knew at that moment he had to protect you, he’d always did with Rick and call it an itch but he had a feeling that you were going to stick around.

Now fifteen years later, you complain to Cliff as you dry brush a fake sword’s blade with a rust brown paint, pots of paints and film props surrounding you at your little prop master’s table ready to topple over.

Over the many years you’ve been in and out of your brother’s life, mostly due to your parent’s inability to look after you correctly, you’ve grown to loath the big screen and all the entitled people that comes with it, instead falling in love with the small screen and indie films.

Many days you’ve spent watching Star Trek or Colombo on the telly with Rick pointing out which sets and props look to be made of Styrofoam and flimsy plastic.

Now at the age of twenty you have solid work as a prop maker for television. You love the job and you love the people.

Right at this moment you’re trying to make foam swords look real whilst Cliff tries to talk you around to apologising to your brother all because you called him an idiot for looking down on Spaghetti Westerns because they were ‘beneath him’.

“I’m not saying sorry Cliff.” You grumble as you dip your paint brush in a rusty looking solution made from many brown paints and diluting alcohol, “I didn’t spend most of my childhood stuck on his sofa watching B movies only for his failing ass to talk shit about them!”

Cliff hovers around you cluttered desk, the trailer you work in being cramped and filled to the brim with handmade props, no cigarette in sight for he has developed the habit of not smoking when you’re around (that and the trailer filled with props are so flammable that it would combust into flames at out flick of a lighter.)

“AND THEN, WHAT CLIFF!?!” your voice crescendos as you pad away any blotting paint on the prop sword, “He goes and does all those Spaghetti Westerns anyway getting the lead in that Nebraska Jim flick and what, a wife too! He’s funnelling money in the bin like it’s nothing and he still has the gall to talk shit about my line of work and what pictures I decide to create props for.”

You stand up you shin hitting leg of the table you work at making you swear up a storm.

Cliff only watches in slight amusement.

“I’ve worked on Star Trek you know, I’m friends with Leonard Nimoy, I’ve been inside DeForest Kelley house multiple times, I’ve been personally invited and gone to countless parties hosted by Grace Kelly and her husband all because I was nice to her that one time on the set of that musical film-“

“-I thought you didn’t like the Hollywood type.” Cliff asks in such brotherly way trying to get a rise out of you.

What, he might be fed up with your ongoing feud with Rick but he still sees you as his own little sister and he does find it fun teasing you.

“Yeah, well most of them I don’t but she is pretty and nice and she’s my friend- for fuck’s sake Rick is just jealous!”

“Well, that he might be squirt but I think-“ Cliff begins to guide you out the trailer away from the fumes of alcohol and oil paints, “- he might be more jealous that his little sister is being taken away by all these big wig actors.”

Hair a mess, paint covering your dungarees and magnifying glasses propped on top of your head like you some kind of mad scientist, a flow of extras on their break all in medieval garbs walking around, you turn around to Cliff with an anger on your face that melts into a profound sadness.

“He didn’t even invite me to his wedding, I haven’t even met his wife, for crying out loud Cliff I don’t want another absent father, I’ve already got plenty of those.”

Cliff was itching to get out a cigarette out of pocket but once he hears your outburst, once he sees your eyes welling up with tears and your round body slump somewhat he bounds over and engulfs you in a big hug that only fathers and father figurers know how to do.

“Come home and talk with Rick. I’ll be there and you can meet Francesca.”

You look up at Cliff as you both begin swaying in the hug.

“Can Brandy come to?”

“Of course kiddo-“ he says tightening his grip on you, “-to be honest I think she likes you the best.”

You let out a loud booming laugh that says ‘Ha! I knew it.’ one that gets Cliff laughing too.

I didn’t go quite as planned.

At first when you showed up Rick tried to act like nothing had happened, he did his normal smooching. He offered you a drink and smiled that movie star smile at you all whilst not introducing you to his wife who stood in the background slightly confused at the odd ordeal.

You waved off his offer of a drink and went straight to the fridge plucking out a can of beer.

“You want one Francesca?” you had asked, she replied with a baffled ‘no’ before you plonked yourself down on the sofa making yourself right at home.

You truly wonder what Francesca Capucci thought at that very moment seeing a round young woman with a smile like Mama Cass and a the grace of Etta James all rolled up in pain stained dungarees and Dr. Martens boots.

One thing lead to another, you and Francesca became fast friends whilst Rick and Cliff went off for drinks, and now you're lounging on Rick’s sofa with Brandy’s head on your lap and Cliff offering you a LSD laced cigarette which he’s been smoking.

“Shit, things must be bad if you’re smoking near me?” you grumble as you pat Brandy’s head with a lazy hand, “Nothing was resolved so let’s get shit faced, because that always goes well.”

“At least you met Francesca.” Cliff mutters as his face turns all smiley as the drugs take effect.

“Hum, yeah, she’s real pretty ain’t she…” you ponder out loud as the front door gets kicked in.

You jump up slightly, Brandy not too bothered by the two greasy haired people clad in black who stand there trying to look menacing.

“Ahhhh, can I help you?” Cliff asks.

Another one appears all in black too, her face a pale sickly white, a knife in her hand.

And to think your day couldn’t get any worse because oh boy, it does.

One moment you’re complaining to Cliff about your idiot brother with Brandy on your lap trying to cheer you up, the next thing you know you have a gun aimed at your face by the ‘horsey’ guy and Francesca only in her underwear being forced out into the living room by the redhead.

Thank fuck Cliff is both level headed and slightly crazy at the same time because one moment he’s laughing like a clown and the next Brandy is attacking the fuckers which gives you a bit of time to move out the way of the gun.

It’s when this so called Tex starts hitting Brandy do you snap out you little panicked trace (having a gun aimed at you does that to a person) do you leap over the sofa and begin punching him square in the face, your body holding him down so he can’t kick his way out of it, Brandy still mauling his arm like it was a tug rope.

By the time Cliff has thrown the can at the face of the pale woman, knocking her straight down and breaking her little white nose, you’re fully on top of Tex trying to knock him out.

Now, you were never the best puncher, when you were fourteen you punched a bully who was teasing you about your weight only to breaking your thumb in the process, by my gosh is the adrenaline kicking in has you trying to knock out Tex.

The frightened screams of Francesca in the background spurs you on, the fear of the nice (and very attractive) woman getting hurt making you see red.

Maybe you’ll unpack your childlike crush on the starlet along with the ongoing feud with your brother later on when you’re not trying to wrestle a grown man (said grown man who’s now getting his balls bit by Brandy.)

(Brandy will defiantly get all the treats and cuddles later on.)

“CLIFF! DO SOMETHING YOU DUMB BITCH!” you scream as Tex punches at you, some hits missing but most slamming right into your soft sides.

Doing something Cliff clicks his fingers and Brandy is off mauling Samara. At the same time Tex pushes you off him and charges at Cliff like an angry bull, one eye already going black from you repeated punches.

It’s all a fucking shambles all culminating in you climbing through a smashed window to see your dear brother Rick using his fucking flamethrower to burn the pale bitch like he was finishing crème brulee with a blow torch.

How fun.

“Rick! Be careful!” you try to scream but it only comes out as a pain filled garbled, “Rick.”

Your last call of ‘Rick’ sounds more like a sob than a word, your soft body in so much pain. Your face is stained with splatters of blood and trails of big fat tears which when Rick sees he scrambles to take off his flamethrower (safely of course) to run over to you and engulf you in the biggest of hugs.

Your cries of your brother’s name as you break down and cling onto him cause the older man to start crying ugly tears, ones that are louder that your own sobs.

“I’m sorry Rick.” you sniffle out.

“I’m sorry too-“ he lays a kiss on your hair and starts rocking you side to side in the tight hug like he used to do when you were little and had a nightmare, “I’ve been ignoring you and I didn’t tell you about Francesca.”

“I’m sorry too for ignoring you as well.”

“I’m sorry for being so mean-“

For the next ten minutes the two of you prattle off many apologises, too many really, so much so that when the red and blue flashing lights of emergency services clouds your blurry vision and paramedics try to pry you away from Rick you’re both still apologising.

[mysteryinkkat234]

Tusk (Eddie Munson x AFAB!Reader) Smut

So I’ve been...busy. Busy both working and being...sad. I’ve had a lot and my only way of coping was to write angst and smut all at once. I vented to my friends online and my friends at work but I still feel bottled. My way of coping? Write about Eddie taking my pain away. So that’s what we’ll get.

DISCLAIMER: Unlike most of my stories, this is in the first person instead of second person because this a lot more personal. and because of that, this smut has an afab reader and a description of the reader’s body. Have that in mind when reading.  

ALSO: This is 18+, and accounts without the age in the bio DNI

If you have any suggestions for one shots, my DMs are open.  Also if you like my writing, here’s is my masterlist. Hope you enjoy!

Spice Level Banana Pepper (5,000-10,000): This Smut contains oral, fingering, angst, swearing, cunnilingus, and breast fondling 

Gender neutral afab reader (I/Me)

Tusk - Fleetwood Mac

“Just tell me that you want me.” 

Every day, every afternoon, I was working nonstop all day, I did have time between shifts but the majority of my day was at work, which sucks. Thankfully, I was going to have four straight days of no work, which means more time with Eddie Munson.

Those four days went by too fast, I couldn’t remember what Eddie and I did. Did we go to the arcade? Listen to him playing his guitar? Watched a movie? I… don’t remember; all I remember was going back to work on the weekend.

The ride that Saturday night, it was almost midnight, and Eddie wanted to take me to his trailer. Tears were so close to escaping me, and Eddie was starting to notice. “Ok, you’re silence is disturbing me. What’s wrong?” He finally asked, but I wasn’t going to break, I was afraid the first word I would say would be my whimpering. “Please baby, you’re actually starting to scare me now.”

“I’ll tell you when we get home,” I said… my voice cracked, I wasn’t even sure he heard me, but his nod proved me wrong. We only had maybe 10 minutes until we got to his house, but the only thing drowning the silence was the music playing through his radio.

~~~

Getting to the trailer, a relief was lifted off of Eddie’s chest, he looks over to me, and I’m scrunched up, waiting for him to unlock my door. I grab my bag and walked to his trailer, opened the front door, walking straight to his room.

When Eddie arrived, he leaned on the door frame, seeing me scrunched up again, covering my face with my backpack, my whimpers are all he can hear. “Ok,” he began, “I know you’ve been having some rough weeks at work, working every night, you keep saying you’re fine but you know I don’t believe you. So just tell me, what’s wrong-”

“FUCK,” I swore, it startled Eddie, swearing wasn’t a rare thing, but it still shocked people, the tears were free and my voice was hoarse, “I’m overwhelmed, there are too many people, I couldn’t breathe. I was told that a big line shouldn’t tell me I’m not working hard enough, it’s just that we’re busy. But why are we. so. FUCKING. BUSY!? I thought it wouldn’t be busy during the last session but HOLY SHIT was I wrong.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry-” I didn’t give Eddie the chance to speak.

“During the day, one of the skate coaches sprained his ankle, and someone had to give out roller skates. I worked fast, even if the skates were a bit too heavy. But then-” I swallowed. Eddie started rubbing my back as I started to crack, “one of the skates, fell out of the rack, and hit me, directly on my back. And that’s what broke me. I just started crying, and everyone can see. My co-workers told me to leave early and I did. I’m sorry for trying to repress it.” I whimpered, leaning into Eddie’s shirt, probably staining it with my tears, I grip onto his jacket.

I don’t know what Eddie can do to help, all he can do is hold me close as I cry. He rubbed his chin on the top of my head, both of his arms now holding me close, his hugs may be tight, but the comfort, it’s so warm for such a cold day. “You clearly were having a bad night.” he said dryly, trying to lighten to mood, it didn’t help, “but wallowing about it won’t help. It’s good to cry, but thinking about it will just hurt more.” 

I look up at him, his dark eyes full of understanding. Through watery eyes, I smiled, it's small, but it got to him. “First thing first, let’s take off you’re uniform and get comfortable.” without warning, he lifted me up and laid me down on his bed. He silently sat me up and pulled off my pullover, revealing a gray shirt. Without skipping a beat, he takes off the gray shirt and chest binders at once, revealing my breasts. “Dammit, you are as beautiful as ever.” Eddie grips my ankles, pulling them and forcing me to lie down, I giggle. With a simple unbutton and zipper down, he pulled both my pants and underwear down, throwing them onto the floor. I immediately closed my legs but Eddie was stronger. “Come on, don’t hide that pretty thing.”

“It’s cold as hell!” I exclaimed, trying to close my legs again.

“Then maybe my mouth can warm it up.” This man, it’s why I love him so much. He dived into my cunt. Shit! His tongue, I squealed, bending my legs, the sound of him lapping me up, was the only sound I can hear. My hands were scrambling for something to grip. At first, my fingers were trying to tangle in the sheets, but Eddie stopped and entangled his fingers with mine, his tongue flicking faster on my clit. 

“Eddie, please. Go fASTER!” I couldn’t finish my sentence when Eddie inserted two fingers. My body was on fire, my nails digging into his knuckles, and my breaths becoming heavy. “Eddie, you…you son of a…FUCK!” I exclaimed, my body couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Come on, cum baby!” Eddie encouraged. And I did, I moaned out, gasping for air as Eddie lapped every drop coming out of me. He let go of my hands and cradled my thighs, I can see the nail marks from where I gripped on for dear life. 

As I’m catching my breath, Eddie gets off the bed and walks into the kitchen, he comes back with two glasses of water and I gladly accept one of them. “Eddie, what about you?” I ask, my throat a little hoarse, that last moan really took everything out of you.

“What about me?”

“I got to cum, why not you?” My hand reaches out, trying to grip his thigh, but he grabs my wrist.

“No, I don’t need that. It’s what you need that matters,” Eddie puts mine and his water onto his bedside table, he takes off his clothes so that he’s only wearing his boxers, descending slowly onto the bed with me, and lifting the bed sheets, “I want my sweetheart to be happy.” He smiles. His hands reach out and start massaging my perky breast. 

Euphoria washed over me, I smile and giggle, leaning into his touch and body. I reach out and turn off the lights, slowly closing my eyes. Even if the night started out badly with loud music, annoying customers, and a skate falling onto my back. It ended with me, cradled in Eddie’s arms. 

[beyonddarkness]

There appears to be no end to the layers in The Rings of Power.

I began as an extremely casual fan, having never read any of the books before watching the show; but I had the same childhood association with the trilogy that so many others have. I live with my more well-read sister, who highly anticipated the series. She followed every release of promotional material, and would occasionally share stills and trailers with me, or give me brief descriptions of characters I did not know (such as Finrod, Gil-galad, Míriel, etc.).

When the soundtrack was released, what began as a relaxing day of listening to two and a half hours of new music, turned into an intense analysis of all of the motifs and cues, and how they related to the track titles and characters. Many things I found interesting, but I would like to say (for the record) that my sister and I were suspicious of Halbrand on this day, albeit mostly in jest. That being said…

I knew that the identity of Sauron was a mystery, but being the most casual viewer, the possibility of Sauron being an already-named character never even crossed my mind. Therefore, the line, Looks can be deceiving, did not sound many alarms. I just thought it was a way to tell the audience to be on guard. (In retrospect, I do not know why I had not connected the dots sooner.)

Therefore, it was not until after we watched the first two episodes, that I thought, Wait. This is much more interesting than I had anticipated. We thoroughly enjoyed the episodes, and came home from the theater with only good feelings, anticipating the introduction of Númenor. My sister had a few hours to ponder upon the things we had seen, and I was about to fall asleep when she walked into the room, almost in shock, and said: “Fig, I think Halbrand might be Sauron.” The next two hours of conversation consisted of careful consideration and reflection, floating atop rapids of excitement and screaming. Why was he dodging all of her questions? we thought. Oh, how interesting it would be, to humanize SAURON, and show this background with Galadriel! My sister told me what it says in Unfinished Tales.

“[Sauron] perceived at once that Galadriel would be his chief adversary and obstacle […]”

Then, we theorized that one of Halbrand’s remarks was an indication that he had already perceived this very thing:

“You didn’t cause my suffering and you can’t fix it, no matter how strong your will or your pride. So, let it lie.”

The subtlety was, to us, very intriguing.

However, that candle had a short wick, for we heeded the counter arguments on the internet, and convinced ourselves that Halbrand was not Sauron himself, but rather a man with a dark past and tragic ending, perhaps in consequence of what his ancestors once did (and believe you me, we pulled many muscles stretching so far). Having been attached to Halbrand, therefore, the following exchange warranted from us intense anguish, more careful consideration and reflection, and even more screaming:

Celebrimbor: “Who’s there? Reveal yourself!”

Halbrand: “Is Galadriel here?”

The finale had such an effect [on me, specifically] that night, I stayed up until 7:00 in the morning, recalling all of the signs, parallels, and connections that we voluntarily overlooked.

I have made several attempts to outline all of the connections that I could possibly think of (i.e. by video edits, an essay, and other methods). The first was creating a little Google Slides presentation (initially for my sister and me), believing I would finish it within the week.

Meanwhile, here we are, three months later. These means alone did not seem sufficient enough to contain everything. The further I delved into the material, the more I found, and things opened up. It did not take long before I was under the necessity of splitting the presentation into two parts, and it amounted to almost 350 slides, total. I have spent every day since the finale attempting to reach the bottom of the barrel, to no avail. Will we reach an end before the release of season 2? Only time will tell.

“It’s right there all along!” PATRICK MCKAY

This is not surface-level storytelling. For example, in The Rings of Power Podcast, Felicia Day asked if the eruption of Mound Doom was Adar’s plan. Patrick McKay said that it was actually Sauron’s plan that Adar used for his own purposes, and after explaining a little bit of reasoning and backstory (which we shall address later), he says:

"That’s the kind of layered lore that we’re trying to build into it, and hopefully, maybe if you really do the deep, deep, deep dive, you can pick up on all those things. And if you don’t, that’s okay, too." Patrick McKay, The Rings of Power Podcast 1×06

NO NEED TO TELL ME TWICE.

Elsewhere, speaking about the reveal of Sauron, Patrick explains:

"We’re really not all about playing games with the audience. I know there were definitely some folks who were like, ‘When are we going to get an answer to these questions?’ But […] it’s right there all along! […] We’re much more interested in the character dynamic between, in this case, a character who turns out to be Sauron, and our heroine. That’s the story! What his name is, is not important. What’s important is: Moment to moment, what is he struggling with? What is she struggling with? What is the friendship that they’re developing […] and how is that changing each of them?" Patrick McKay, The Ringer Verse Podcast

This endeavor began with exclusively focusing on Sauron, but I have learned that 1) he seems to be connected to every single character in the show (in other words, he and/or his influence is everywhere), and 2) each character is so incredibly crucial to the plot, it blows my mind. Therefore, as a consequence of analyzing everything related to Sauron, not a single character will go unnoticed.

The purpose of this blog is not only to give me a place to compile my thoughts, but to show that with the amount of work and dedication devoted to this series, it would be a shame to overlook anything, or to throw up our hands and say, “Well, I guess this thing doesn’t make sense.” The showrunners and everyone else involved know much more than I, so I assume where there are questions, there are answers.

"We’re all constantly talking about: How do we elevate and layer every piece of this? […] There’s so much content! […] Every line everyone says is there for a reason, and connects to something else; and there’s references and cross-references to everything within the show. And if people find it to be a rich text, that would be the highest aspiration and goal for us." Patrick McKay, The Ringer Verse Podcast

So here, we follow Sauron’s advice:

“See what happens when you stop galloping, and you give yourself a moment to think?”

I readily admit that I may be dead wrong about some things. That being said, this series is what caused me to pick up the books for once, and has only enhanced what experience I might have had before. The show already made sense to me when I knew zero (0) things about the lore, but the more I read the books, the more sense the show makes! I hope I am not the only one who is having this much fun.

If a single soul happens to read this one day, I hope you will bear with me as I freely brainstorm. I leave you with a quote from Galadriel, as it applies to myself. I’ll proceed with caution when offering predictions or theories, and will do my best to provide concrete evidence. Thus, a disclaimer:

“Palantiri show many visions. Some that will never come to pass.”

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Flash (2023)

Considering the demand for Zack Snyder’s cut of Justice League, I’m still surprised by the ticket sales of the later DC films. Unfortunately, 2023’s The Flash is more likely to be remembered as one of the biggest box-office disappointments Warner Bros. Ever suffered rather than the red speedster’s first solo big-screen adventure. This film offers a lot to those who’ve avidly watched prior iterations of the DC Universe on TV and the big screen. It panders to the fans a bit too much, in fact, and the special effects vary wildly in quality.

Barry Allen (Ezra Miller) is about to give up hope. As a child, his mother Nora (Maribel Verdú) was murdered. His father was convicted of the crime. Barry knows for a fact his dad (Ron Livingston, replacing Billy Crudup) didn’t commit it. Unfortunately, the last piece of evidence that could have exonerated him - video footage from his trip to a grocery store on that day - doesn’t show his face. Overcome by emotions, Barry accidentally uses his powers to travel back in time. There, he alters his mother’s fate, traveling to an alternate universe in the process.

The trailers gave it away so it’s not a big secret that the alternate universe (not alternate timeline) Barry lands in has an entirely different version of the Justice League. Most notably, Michael Keaton returns as Bruce Wayne/Batman. It was fun to see that sort of thing in Spider-Man: No Way Home and it is again here. I never thought we’d see Keaton donning the cape and cowl once more, much less see him teaming up with the Flash as they search for Superman to save the world from Michael Shannon as General Zod. With cameos from Aquaman (Jason Momoa) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) alongside Ben Affleck’s Batman, loads of easter eggs and some plot points from earlier movies (such as the empty pod in Superman’s ship in Man of Steel) finally getting addressed, the picture checks many boxes for its audience. Unfortunately, this story takes many cues from the terrific 2011 Flashpoint comic storyline, which was previously adapted as an excellent animated film in 2013 and at least one season of the Flash TV series. I can’t say anything about the show but when choosing between the two adaptations, the animated version is better because its dozens of superheroes and villains make it feel like an event. It’s also way shorter; this 2023 movie is a whopping 144 minutes long. If you're interested in The Flash, I'm sure you've already seen/read this story.

To be fair, the running time isn’t wasted. Before he realizes he’s traveled to an alternate universe, Barry thinks he’s gone back in time so he meets his past self: a younger more immature Barry who’s just received his powers. This film is both one of the Flash’s biggest adventures AND his origin story. If you were to cut some material, it would have to be from the third act, which is a big action scene that didn't really need to happen.

If someone aggressively edited this film, they could probably cut it down by 20 minutes with only minimal rewrites/reshoots. For example, Older Barry tells Younger Barry about the first person he ever saved and the first person he failed to rescue. We see the same people in Younger Barry’s universe as disaster looms towards them… but both Flashes are too busy trying to save the world from General Zod to even try a rescue… so what does that mean? I also feel that the mandatory scene in any time travel movie, the one where the rules are explained, is done rather clumsily.

You might not agree with the flaws directed towards the story, but an undeniable flaw is the special effects. Some are seamless, like those with two Barrys. That’s a credit to Ezra Miller as a performer as well. In many other scenes - such as the big opener that has the Flash saving people from a crumbling building - “uneven” feels like an overly generous description.

The Flash is a mixed bag that thankfully has more good than bad. The special effects may make you wonder where all the money went - I suspect post-production ate a lot of it. Some aspects of the plot are really thoughtful, such as the scenes where the younger and older versions of Barry talk about their mother. Seeing Michael Keaton reprise his role is a treat. I’d even call the performances pretty strong, particularly Miller in his dual roles. There are some issues with the screenplay - mostly during the third act. All this means I’d recommend it to those who are invested in the franchise that started with Man of Steel and to fans of the comic as well… but they’re almost certain to have seen this story done before and better.

Go see The Flash with lowered expectations and you’ll be pleased, particularly if you’re seeing it at home as part of your subscription or for the price of a rental. While you’re at it, there is a scene at the end of the credits, though it doesn’t add anything to the movie and can easily be skipped, particularly since it’s not like this is the last time we’re seeing this universe in action - that would be “Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom” in December. (September 2, 2023)

[edddimun]

Traitor

Eddie Munson x gn! reader

(not my gif)

Description: Eddie's sudden change of heart in the upside down results in you trying to save him from the demobats.

Warnings: BLOOD!, mentions of death, near-death experience (but NO DEATH), wounds, swearing, demobats, being in the upside down, ST4 plot (kinda?), MAINLY ANGST!

WC: 2040

A/N: I'm probably (?) going to make a pt.2 but idk how soon though. also excuse the mistakes in this bc I have barely proof read it 💔(I will fix them up soon)

PART 2 - 'Unconfessed yet reciprocated'

Your eyes meet Eddie's, but there was something off as you notice a change in his demeanour as he was attempting to lift himself back through the portal. He halts his ascent and looks at you with loving yet sorry eyes. It hit you like a brick, you knew what he was going to do.

"Don't you fucking do it,"You shout tearfully at Eddie, tears welling up in your eyes knowing he won’t listen to you.

Dustin realises Eddie’s intentions and starts shouting at him to come back. Eddie stays silent, looking back and forth between you and Dustin. But all Eddie could hear were the screeches of the bats and the banging of his trailer doors.

“Please. Eddie. Do it for me, please. Don't do it!" You sob as your tears quickly fall. Eddie's eyes glisten as he watches you cry hysterically. You were unsure of the cause of his sudden shift in heart and intentions. All you wanted was for him to listen and cross the portal.

“I’m sorry.”

He leaps off the rope and uses his homemade spear to cleanly slice it; pushing the mattress to stop you both from plunging back in.

“NO!” You and Dustin scream.

As you see his figure quickly leave your field of vision, you wail in despair and anguish. You knew Eddie was going to die. With tears streaming from his eyes, Dustin cries in desperation. The last thing he wanted was for any of his friends to die, especially Eddie. He recently got closer to him and enjoyed his comfort.

Your thoughts are already occupied with anxiety, to keep Eddie safe, you had to take action. You were aware that Eddie lacked the stamina and strength necessary to defeat the demobats. Eddie was only skilled at playing D&D and the guitar.

Guitar.

You didn’t have much experience with the guitar but Eddie’s taught you the ‘only’ metal song you like, ‘Iron Man’ by Black Sabbath.

“Stay here Dustin.”

“WHAT?” He shouts in response. He holds your wrist to stop you from doing whatever you’re thinking of doing.

“I have to do this for Eddie. Please,” you say trying to hold back your sob. Dustin's eyes crinkle as he starts crying. He's never been more terrified; he doesn't want to lose Eddie or you or both. However, he was aware that you wouldn't abandon Eddie, and Dustin would do the same if he were in your shoes. As he wipes his tears, Dustin releases his grip on your wrist.

“Just stay here okay?” You softly tell Dustin. He nods in response.

You look down into the portal and jump straight in, luckily not injuring yourself but only getting the air knocked out of your lungs. You quickly exit the trailer in an effort to find Eddie. Your eyes catch a glimpse of Eddie riding a bike as forcefully as he could away from the bats. You and Eddie were both in life-or-death situations, but you were willing to accept death if it meant saving Eddie.

You find the ladder on the side of the trailer and hurriedly climb on it. As your feet make it to the top, you find Eddie still biking but you see the struggle in the way his body is moving from side to side, that was until he got knocked off by the bats.

“No. No. No,” you whisper to yourself, you quickly find Eddie’s guitar that was laying down from when he played not too long ago. Putting the guitar strap over your shoulder, you see the bats starting to swarm around Eddie.

Your shoulders tense in fear. Your fingers fiddle against the strings before quickly shutting your eyes and strumming the first power chord as hard as you could.

"Come for me, assholes!" You shout with your whole chest as a few tears slip from your eyes. Eddie's head quickly turns to look in your direction. When he saw you standing on top of the trailer, his blood ran cold. The bats began to slow down around him as their focus shifted to you. Eddie's fear turned into rage. He put his life in danger so you wouldn't die, but now you're about to be demolished by bats.

You continue to painfully and powerfully strum the main riff of ‘Iron Man’ as you see the swarm of bats heading towards your way. Their screeches grow louder and louder. You were prepared to die at this point. There was no one who could save you, and there was no way out. You were doing this to save your friends and, more importantly, your love Eddie. You blissfully reminisce the unforgettable moments you shared with Eddie. Getting high, braiding his hair, cuddling him to sleep, and listening to him ramble on about D&D and Ozzy Osbourne. Though, these thoughts lasted less than two seconds before you were struck by a bat.

“NO!” Eddie's terrifying screams can be heard. You squeal in agonising pain, clutching your arm and letting the guitar dangle from your shoulder. You grab the guitar and hold it by the neck with all your strength, and despite the pain, you manage to hit a few bats with it before one wraps its tail around your neck.

You fall back and gasp for air. Your arm tries to rip the tail off your neck, but a sharp pain on your side stops you, then another in your calf. Your mind begins to blur as you watch a bat fly toward your face. You close your eyes waiting for the pain, but instead, you hear loud simultaneous wails and a thud. No longer feeling pressure around your neck, you start heavily gasping for air.  You open your eyes to see the bodies of the bats, presumed dead on the trailer's roof and on the grass. Pain immediately distracts your thoughts. You slowly raise your head and look down. You notice blood slowly oozing out of you and large patches of blood. Not as bad as you expected. Though you were still in bad shape, you observe a hole in your shirt and flesh ripped from your side. Looking down at your calve, all you see is a deep bite mark. At least, they didn't rip your flesh off. You touch your neck and don't feel any blood, but you do feel tenderness; thank goodness. You sit up and observe the dead bats.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Eddie desperately calls your name. He expected a pool of blood given the number of bats surrounding you, however, it wasn't as much as he expected, but it was still bad. He rushes up to you and notices the gaping gash on your torso and the bite on your calve. He breathes a sigh of relief. Although you were terribly injured, you were not going to die as a result of it. You stare at his eyes, which dart back and forth between your wounds before meeting yours. You were expecting at least some reassurance from Eddie but instead, you were met with his bitter words.

“What the fuck was that for?” He clenches his jaw and looks at you with rage in his eyes. Although you expected his rage, you did not expect it so soon.

His abrupt attitude surprised you. "I should be the one asking you that!" you scoff in the same enraged tone and look away for a second before returning your gaze to him. Your outburst tensed your stomach, triggering your wound. You grunt in pain, pressing your hand against the gash. Eddie notices your distress and unties the bandana from his head, wrapping it around your calve first. He then rips a piece of his shirt and wraps it around your torso, leaving him in an almost cropped hellfire shirt.

“Thanks,” you mutter as he finishes wrapping up your torso. Once he finishes his hands drop to his sides and then rub his face.

“You could’ve died,” he plainly states staring off into the distance. Your eyes then gaze down at your feet.

“You too.”

“Okay, but I needed to y/n. We needed to distract them from the othe-“

“I understand that but I don’t get why you had to do it alone when I could’v-“

“Stop!” Eddie harshly interrupts, now staring at you. You both sit in silence as anger starts bubbling in you.

“Stop what Eddie?! Stop telling you the truth that could have saved your life? You-you could’ve- no you WERE going to die if I didn’t help!” Tears are already falling from your eyes, the sob in your throat being released as you recall the moment of him leaving you and Dustin.

You continue through your cries, “I was about to w-watch your death!”

“Don’t act like I wasn’t going to watch yours!” Eddie shouts at you. He'd never shouted at you, but tears were already streaming down his cheeks.

His mouth quivers, “I thought I watched you die! I watched you fall and I couldn’t see your figure anymore by the number of bats circling your body on top of that trailer!”

You avoid his gaze and stay silent.

“You’re lucky you’re alive,” he whispers as his voice trembles. He grabs your arm and puts it around his shoulder, lifting you up.

Somehow he was able to get you down the ladder and through the portal after comforting Dustin who was weeping to himself rocking back and forth.

As you and Eddie made it through the portal, there was a silence between all of you. Dustin felt this tension but didn’t question it, instead, he tended to you and Eddie’s wounds.

“This is going to hurt okay?” Dustin cautions you as he holds the antiseptic wipe in his hand. You take a deep breath in and nod. Dustin starts wiping your wound, you throw your head against the couch and squeeze your eyes shut. You groan in pain as the stinging continues to grow. Dustin finishes you up and applies a new bandage on you.

“Okay you’re up next,” Dustin turns around and faces Eddie.

“I’ll do it myself,” he replies annoyed.

“Um I don’t think tha-“

“I said I’ll do it myself,” Eddie’s voice rises as he interrupts Dustin.

“Just let the boy do it, Eddie. He knows what he’s doing,” you reply in a vicious tone, annoyed at Eddie’s attitude. You don’t get why he kept denying Dustin’s help when he literally needed it. This was the first time you and Eddie talked to each other since on top of the trailer.

“Who are you to say that?” Eddie questions you.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Did you know what you were doing back there?”

Oh, he got on your last nerve. He took all of your patience away. You both were glaring intensely at each other. After everything that happened, he did not show any sympathy or grace after saving his life but instead he’s mad at you for it?

“What the fuck are you on Munson?” You bitterly ask as your back lifts off the couch.

You continue, “Actually, I did know what I was doing. I was saving your fucking life. But now you’re getting mad at me when you’re the one who left us?” You were so red from the anger you had within you.

You let out a small chuckle, “I-I didn’t want you to die but you’re making me feel like I’m the one at fault here. Don’t get me wrong Eddie, I will never regret saving your life, but it’s like you want me to.”

“So go fuck yourself, Munson.”

You stand up and storm off limping into his room and shutting his door with a loud bang. You sit on a stool beside his bed frame letting all the tears out, just wondering why he wasn’t grateful for you saving his life.

[himikochan]

thoughts on the costuming in rings of power?

HELLO hello I've got a lot of thoughts all over the place and they are below the cut

I wanna start with some caveats re: me and rings of power

-I am a professional costumer and I've worked with people in film/streaming/tv/etc and professionals in/out of the union but my main work is in live theater

-I am a Big Old Tolkien Nerd but have only read the Silmarillion a few times and not recently

-I am 100% on team

I am so far on Team No Hate Watching that I called up my Tolkien friends back in 2020 to debate whether we'd watch anything Amazon made for the LotR-universe and unanimously decided we wouldn't trust the universe with Amazon

so that being said, everything I've seen of Rings of Power is from the trailer and screen caps on tumblr/facebook

ALSO when I refer to the Lord of the Rings movies, I am referring to the Peter Jackson movies because I do not have the time to compare every adaption

So what I’d like to start off with is the weird trend of like... romanticized Roman/Greek and Celtic-Briton influences 

(^ Gil-galad- a Noldorin)

(^ Isildur and.... Numenoreans? idk didn’t watch)

(^ Sadoc Burrows, Harfoot Hobbit)

(^Durin IV of Durin’s Folk/Khazad-dûm)

(^Disa - didn’t watch, google just says she’s a dwarf)

A lot of these costumes are distinctly referencing what we think of as classical Greek/Roman and Celtic-Briton clothes (note: “actual” clothes for Greeks, Romans, and Celtic-Britons were different- and I think it’s important to make the distinction between historical garb and the way it’s been stylized in the last 100 years).

Greek/Roman Influences: the stylized wreath crown, the way they’ve draped most of the cloths into chiton, peplos, himation, and chlamys, the broad swaths of unadorned/untextured fabrics 

Celtic-Briton-ish-ish Influences: I’m feeling this in the dye palette they chose which yes I know isn’t super-duper location specific but these colors look very derived from woad, madder, weld, lichen, and gall nuts which have usually been available in the isles, tell me Durin’s crown doesn’t you of the Waterloo Bridge Helmet, the studded armor is kind of ahistorical but frequently dramatized for Celtic-Britons, here just pop around this article (Celtic Clothing: Bronze Age to the Sixth Century) and I think you’ll get what I mean 

I guess that’s a choice to make it seem “earlier” than the other Tolkien movies we’ve seen lately, but carries across the different groups it seems too bland/similar across it all for me. Without getting too deep, these folx are from different ethnic groups/races and it’s kind of weird their clothes don’t seem more distanced from each other (they hail from Aman, Numenor, the Shire/Eriador, and Khazad-dûm/Misty Mountains).

But maybe more importantly I think it’s pretty weird they didn’t push the design more in an art nouveau/pre-raphaelite direction: considering that both of those design philosophies fit in much more neatly with Tolkien’s work and what he emphasized in his descriptions. Both lean more towards figures that are nestled in the natural world and emphasize the beauty of organic curves and a world a little more intense (especially in color) that ours is. Gil-Galad’s cloak does have a watery drape which is nice but the lines of his cross belt, color palette, and the brooches overwhelmingly read more imperial Roman than Tolkien character.

All of this makes Galadrial’s armor so much more... dissonant with the rest of the costuming. Her cuirass/mail combo reads so much more aggressively modern than the rest of it- even more modern than the armor of Lord of the Rings (which, admittedly had similar plate/mail combos but leaned more into a faux-medieval stylization). Also, to be nit picky, I think the lack of a gorget (neck piece) in field armor looks weird :S

I tried to find a better example to illustrate my point but here’s Ingres’ Joan of Arc at the Coronation of Charles VII which is an 1854 depiction of an event that took place in 1429 and presents a very modern adaption of armor. NGL my mind keeps filling the spot on Galadrial’s plate with the sacred heart- her armor reads as such a Catholic-virginal-femme-knight vibe which is very much at odds with the overly classical costumes for the rest of the characters.

I do think her armor is cool looking but it doesn’t feel like it exists in the world of Rings of Power nor does it really fit in with the Lord of the Rings movies... The closest I could think of offhand is Aragorn/Elessar’s armor for the coronation in Return of the King and even that reads as “older” or more grounded in the film-world than Galadrial’s.

.

I’ve seen a lot of comments on the costume quality in costuming groups so I’ve linked the above post here [it’s a public post so you don’t need a facebook account to view it] which covers a lot of it but I’ll have my own rant too.

There’s for sure a decrease in the quality of costumes from the Lord of the Rings movies which is... so disappointing and TBH expected from the most expensive tv show ever in 2022 and from Amazon. I think a lot of people are aware of the aggressive shift towards using CGI for messing around with costumes: it takes TIME and MONEY and SKILL to produce the wonderful costumes we saw in Lord of the Rings and, to be frank, the work of many many costume/IATSE union members which Amazon isn’t going to pay for. The overall time frame for producing tv/movies has gotten a lot shorter which has forced a lot of costuming departments to cut corners in design and execution.

That is how rumpled costumes make it on the screen, that is how you get so many wigs that move unnaturally, that is how the most expensive tv show ever gets such a... bland and milquetoast design. The Lord of the Rings costumes were littered with so many small and very intentional details that brought more personality to the characters and made the world seem more grounded and real.

HOWEVER- I would like to make a note on Miriel’s screen printed undershirt.

I’ve been making clothes a long time, I’ve seen a fair amount of all levels of live theater, I’ve gone to fashion exhibitions, and seen a lot of movies. What I mean to say, is that I’ve seen a lot of art involving clothes/costuming with big and small budgets and many different intentions. Over the last few years, I’ve seen the expectations for local theater and bespoke clothing rise dramatically while keeping the pay low and rushing for time- I think a lot of people are so disconnected from the process of making clothes that it’s been hard to temper your expectations away from what a big budget movie house is able to do.

I 100% Absolutely Think that Rings Of Power SHOULD have done so much better!!! They literally had so much money they could have invested in costume professionals and materials and taken their time to let a nuanced and well-made wardrobe emerge. 

But! I would like to take a moment to admire Miriel’s screen printed undershirt. I’ve seen a lot of people bash it without nuance. It’s not an appropriate solution for literally the most expensive tv show ever- but can you imagine what a clever idea this is if you were putting on a dance performance and needed a full range of movement? Or if you’re staging a production of Cinderella and bought a plastic breastplate and your producer (OhFuckOhFuckOhFuck) only budgeted $100 for a character that’s supposed to be fully armored?

Costume designers and shop workers are overwhelmingly paid less than their peers in other departments (maybe it’s because many of them are from marginalized genders.....) and frequently given a smaller budget than other departments in live theater. I recently had a friend of a friend reach out to me about a musical where they budgeted $300 for 20 full costumes!!! That’s $15 a costume from a professional theater!!!

I absolutely adore the tremendous growth in cosplay we’ve seen over the past decade and the cool costumes we’ve seen from high-budget period and fantasy shows: but a lot of your “run-of-the-mill” costume designers have been run ragged trying to meet the expectations of Hollywood movies on a shoestring budget and it’s been disheartening to see a lot of these kinds of practical solutions bashed online. There was and should have remained a distinction between the quality expectations of big budget films or the passion projects of a cosplayer VERSUS what the majority of professionals do within their budget.

I’ve heard more than a few of my fellow designers and technicians cry because a costume looked GREAT with the distance from stage to audience or properly lit- but was bashed from a close up photo or because the director didn’t like that the “illusion”/solution only worked on stage. I’ve seen catty arguments online where a costumer is trying to build their own platform shoes (VERY VERY DANGEROUS unless you’re a professional cobbler) because the show was usually done with them, their director insisted on them, and they didn’t have the resources to purchase new/used. Fuck I’ve worked rentals with people from a few of these actual high budget houses- trying to stretch a budget until it screams.

There’s a whole complicated discourse on fair wages and labor practices and budgeting that I’m not ready to get into- but I’d like to ask you to think of kindness and the suspension of disbelief. It doesn’t solve the structural problems that need to change, but a lot of professional costumers love their art/craft and are proud of the solutions they come up with in their line of work! Obviously we should expect better quality in examples like these- but I’d like to celebrate some of the costumes that are less “realistic” or “immersive” but do such a good job of conveying their part of the narrative that we overlook the proverbial screen-printed undershirt.

(Hel, Metropolis- needs no comment I love her)

(Monty Python and the Holy Grail- knitted chainmail)

(Jareth, The Labyrinth- one CRUNCHY wig)

(Dorothy, The Wizard of Oz- ruby slippers made with dyed satin and organza, three different kind of glass and plastic beads/sequins, and lit exceptionally well)

.

I’m not the expert on all of this and I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts (please be kind and act in good faith)! I’m not about to say great things about the Amazon costumes for Rings of Power, but I hope that you’ll be more forgiving online for other designers making the best of their time/budget 

Love, your local costume professional

[orpheusredux]

The First Time - Part 2

Fic Summary: Four first times for Eddie Munson: angst, redemption, romance, and true love.

Fic Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader, Eddie Munson x OFC

Warnings:  A description of underage sex, non-con, statutory rape of a minor, period homophobia in part one only, future parts will be more uplifting and fulfilling. 

The First Time Masterlist - Masterlist

“Your girl coming over tonight,” Wayne asked as he emptied his thermos into the sink, and started rinsing it out.

It was their little ritual when Wayne came in from the night shift: Wayne would clean his dinner pail and thermos and ask Eddie how he’d slept and what his plans were, while Eddie ate breakfast and asked him about his shift.

“She’s not my girl,” Eddie replied, alternating between shoveling eggs into his mouth and taking mouthfuls of coffee. He had a copy of a batteries science text book in one hand, and his attention flicked between the page, the plate and his cup. “But, yes, she is. She’s got some big bio test and wants me to do some flash card thing. I don’t know.”

Wayne had nodded and hummed, noncommittally. He didn’t believe Eddie’s bullshit. Not for one second.

*

Eddie tries not to have impure thoughts about you, but he is only one man, and between the shorts skirts, and the way literally everything you own ends up in your mouth at some point is almost more than he can take.

The thing is, you’re only 17. You’re also his friend and - surprise! - he doesn’t have enough real friends to blow one on sex.

Everything will change if he fucks you, he knows it. But Jesus Christ, he really wants to.

Like last weekend, you’d come over to watch Back To The Future and fallen asleep on the sofa with your sock-clad feet in his lap.

Eddie had turned to say something incredibly witty and scathing about Marty Mcfly - you’d let slip you thought he was kind of cute, so now Eddie hated him on principle - but instead of your cute little face, he’d been confronted by the sweet curve of your ass in those pink and white floral panties. The hem of that godforsaken little skirt you always seemed to be wearing these days flipped up almost to your waist.

For a second he’d been transfixed; the idea of just reaching out and touching the faint pink line where the elastic had bitten into your skin, meandered we into his head nonchalantly, sat down and kicked up it’s feet. He pictured squeezing your thick flesh, kneading it, pushing the hem out your panties higher and slipping his thumb inside, touching the tiny, dark pink, puckered rosebud he imagined you were hiding between those luscious cheeks.

Then you’d snuffled a little, wiggling your hips deeper into the sofa cushions, and spread your thighs a tiny bit more. God help him, he’d wanted to touch so much his hand itched.

Thank God, his better nature had appeared out of nowhere and smacked his hormonal desire to do a goddamned sex crime on you in the head. He’d dragged the afghan off the back of the sofa over you instead.

Later, after he’d driven you home, he pulled the van haphazardly off the road half way onto the kerb in his rush to get his pants open, and just about broke his wrist beating off to the memory of those panties.

God knows what he’d have said if one of the deputies had spotted him, parked like a crazy person, and decided to check it out.

“Can you tell me why Eddie The Freak Munson’s shaggin’ wagon is parked up in well-heeled Clerville Heights, Son?”

“Why yes officer, I was bearing off to the thought of molesting a minor!”

He’d have been caught, jizz-handed, and immediately put on some sort of register or watch list and, fuck’s sake, he’d have deserved it.

*

You arrived at the trailer after dinner, a walking pile of books, papers and energy, ditching your bike in the yard and talking a mile a minute before you were even half way through the door.

“...And then he says, ‘no! No, it’s the coefficient’. The coefficient! Like, has ever even read a book?”

“Reeves giving you grief again?” Eddie said from the kitchen where he was upending a bag of chips into a bowl.

Reeves is your lab partner. Eddie cannot believe that the douche gets to spend three periods a week sitting next to you for an hour, and yet has somehow managed to fuck up that sweet deal completely. Eddie loathes the guy almost as much as you do. “Want me to rough him up for you?”

“I want to put a hit out on him. You know people, right? People who will accept cash money to - to ace Hawkins High’s stupidest senior?”

Eddie grins, slightly tickled that despite being a two time senior himself, you don’t think of him as stupid, never have.

“I think you mean ‘ice’ Hawkins High’s stupidest senior, and I choose not to be offended that you only want me for my criminal connections,” he jokes.

“Oh I want you for way more than that Munson,” you reply.

You both go stock still.

“Wow,” Eddie says, managing to deftly disguise the fact he’s just about choked to death on his own tongue.

“I mean the flash cards!”

He just chuckles and give you one of those “sure, sure” looks, so you throw your book bag at him and it devolves into slapping, pinching and tickling as he ducks your half assed attempt to beat him up, giggling like a pair of middle schoolers all hopped up on red sodas.

“Ow! Ow! Help, I’m being assaulted by a nerd! Ow!”

“Gah!” You yell, finally, stomping into the living room to collapse onto the sofa. “You spent 12 hours writing a campaign for five 9th graders and Gareth last weekend, but I’m the nerd?”

“Excuse you, Missy. I’m a goddamned craftsman,” Eddie follows you with the chips and a couple of sodas. He puts them down on the coffee table.

“OK, give me these fuckin’ flash cards,” he says, making grabby hands and throwing himself onto the sofa next you.

The way you kick off your shoes and clamber up on the couch, crossing your legs under you, the way you seem so at home, it does something melty to Eddies’ insides.

And then the melty feeling has to go and ruin things by shooting straight to his dick when you lean over the side of the couch to pull some papers out of your bag, and that God-damned, tiny, little bastard skirt flips up again.

Eddie is a good man, but he isn’t a particularly strong one when it comes to self control, he certainly isn’t strong enough to stop himself from staring at your lap; at the pink and white floral panties barely covering your mound; at the little crease where your sex is defined by the taut cotton. Like a slack jawed don’t, he stared at your pussy way, way longer than is really acceptable considering you are a minor.

The word 'minor' goes off like a siren in his head. He jerks his eyes up to see you staring back at him eyes like saucers.

Without breaking eye contact, you tug your skirt back down.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that.”

You just stare at him, unblinking, breathing hard.

“Please say something,” he says, feeling like the worst kind of asshole.

���Was that - did you - Eddie, have you heard about the Juliette clause?”

That’s not at all what he was expecting you to say. In fact, it was not what he was expecting you to say so much he had no immediate response. Then his brain comes back online with a whoosh.

“Sweetheart, are you fucking serious right now? We’re not discussing English class. We can’t just pretend I didn’t just perv - I just want you to know that despite what I just did, I respect you so much. I lo - I care about you. You’re practically my best friend.”

You take a deep breath and hold your hand up. Your eyelids flutter, not in the come hither way but it the “does not compute” way, like you’re trying to process a bunch of stuff you don’t quite know what to do with.

Eddie’s seen this before at the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl last year, when you were the only Junior on a team up of Hawkins High’s biggest brainiacs. There were ten points and two questions between Hawkins and Kenney High. You looked just like this.

(You also got both questions right, and won the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl cup.)

Finally, you look up and pin him with your stare.

“I have given you every imaginable opportunity to jump me, Eddie. Every time, every time, you do nothing.”

You hold up one hand and start counting ‘every time’ off: “There was that time in your van, I was wearing a thong, and you didn’t even seem to notice.”

Oh, he’d noticed. His poor abused dick had noticed too.

“And the time at Gareth's pool party, when I wore that yellow bikini…”

He hadn’t even been able to talk to her the entire party, and every time someone male that wasn’t him had gone anywhere near her he'd thought he was going to have an aneurysm. He’d ended up leaving the party early.

“Then there was the time we watched Back To The Future, I thought - I thought if I just… showed you my ass, maybe you’d cop a feel, but no! You covered me up so fast I thought, well. I felt like I was grossing you out. Like I was some kind of freaking sex pest,” you said, looking stricken. “Oh my God, Eddie am I a sex pest?

Eddie realizes his chin is just about on the floor. He thinks about all the times he’s sweet talked women and girls; all the flirting and saying things he thought they wanted to hear. He thinks about how you’ve been his friend first, through thick and thin, and how much he doesn’t just want to bone you, but how much he really likes you, too.

He realizes that for the first time in his young romantic life, he doesn’t want to play any of the cutsie-pie games he’s played in the past. He wants to be real with you because, well, he loves you - the big L and the little l versions.

“Honey,” he says gently, reaching out to take a hold of your hand - you’ve been twisting them together in your lap.

“If your a sex pest, then I am one too, because if knew the sorts of things I’ve been thinking about you, you’d call the fucking cops on me.”

He just about swoons when he sees the heat flood your face and you cheeks go almost scarlet.

“But then, why won’t you - Am I not… I mean, I know I’m not ‘hot’...“

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, stop,” Eddie says, squeezing your hand. “You are absolutely hot in all the ways that matter to me.”

He could tell you were really struggling with something, but he didn’t want to push you, he’d be honest with you about how he felt, but he wasn’t going to push anything.

Your brow crumpled so adorably, as you processed this new bit of information.

“But Tommy said there was only one reason someone like you would want to hang out with someone like me. That if I wanted you to like me - like me - I’d have to, you know, do…that.”

Eddie tamped down a spike of rage at the thought of your meathead jock brother saying something like that to you. He thought about his first time, about how he couldn’t see clearly after that, what he really wanted from a girlfriend, how he’d always played this kind of dirtbag casanova part because he thought that’s what dudes did. Yeah, he’d been one giant desperate hormone at 17, but no one had ever just… held his hand and kissed him and let him enjoy the longing, the build up, the anticipation.

“You don’t - Sweetheart, I love spending time with you, you don’t need to - to put out for me to like you - to l-love you. I always want you around.”

“Oh Eddie,” you said, covering her face with her hands. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was exactly the right thing to do, but he slid closer, and slipped his arm around your shoulders.

“I’m only a couple of years older than you, but trust me, those couple of years are going to feel like a couple of decades. You don’t have to rush any of this. You don’t have to do one single goddamned thing that you are not ready for.”

And then because he was only one man, he asked, as gently as he could: “Do you, um, do you want - like, are you - do you feel, like, ready?”

You squeeze his hand and giggle.

“No,” you said after a minute or two. “I don’t think so. I mean… all I know is that I kind of think of you as more than a friend. But Tommy says….”

“No offense, Sweetheart,” Eddie interjects, shifting back a little so he can see your face. “But your brother Tommy is a fucking idiot, who once fucked a football for a dare in front of our entire male half of our gym class, junior year.”

“Ewwww,” you wail, pushing him away. Eddie doesn’t let you get too far though.

“Oh my God, my fucking brother? Jesus Eddie.”

“I know… I know, it was fucking gross.”

“Ew!”

Your disgust makes him all but cackle.

“Look, I’m just saying that he’s not someone you should be taking romantic advice from. His idea of romance is when you finally have sex sober, you’re engaged.”

“Oh God.. no, please stop talking!” you put your hands over your ears and scrunch up your eyes and Eddie doesn’t really believe in much, but he believes he loves you.

“For the record, I don’t think we’re just friends either,” Eddie says, when he stops laughing. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends for a while.”

He looks down at your tiny hand in his, you’re pink nails, the way the skin is so thin and fine between your fingers it’s practically blue.

“Wayne calls you my girl, asks ‘is your girl coming over?’ And I always say, ‘she’s not my girl’, but… you know what? I never have to ask him who he means. Because there isn’t anyone else it could be. You are my girl… or maybe, I’m your boy, man… whatever, you know what I mean. I’m yours, if you’ll have me. No strings attached.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and he rests his cheek against the crown of your head.

“For a couple of smart people we really are dumbasses,” you say.

“Damned straight,” Eddie says. He shifts back again.

“OK, listen. Sweetpea, I would love to touch you one day. I would love to - Jesus - to do everything we could want and more, one day. Like I will… lick, suck bite every goddamned last inch of your body…”

“Eddie,” you sigh and shiver a little. Eddie shakes his head a little to clear it himself.

“But! I am not going to do any of that until you are fucking begging me for it. Ask that feminist pamphlet woman, she calls it ‘enthusiastic consent’ and it sounds fucking hot.”

You scramble up onto your knees and throw your arms around him.

“Oh my God, Eddie! You read it?"

“Course!” He says, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “You asked me to.”

You kneel up, till you’re looking down on his upturned face. You cup his jaw between your palms, and stroke your thumbs across his cheeks.

“I don’t think it’ll be long,” you say, so softly. “I mean, you - we - won’t have to wait long.”

Eddie has a bit of a lump in his throat when you say it. Everything will change if he fucks you, if you fuck him. But that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. Not it you’re in it together.

“But I’ll tell you one thing, Eddie Munson. I’ve never been kissed, and you have my enthusiastic consent to be the first to -”

He doesn’t let you finish asking. He’s dreamed about this, about the feel of you, slight and tender in his arms, about your mouth, soft and open under his.

He cups your head and tilts you slightly, deepening the kiss, dipping his tongue gently into your mouth, trying to show you, in the only way he can, how good he wants to make it for you, giving you everything he has to give.

Your hands gripping his tee shirt, anchor him, ground him, but inside he is flying. He’s kissed… been kissed by women he regretted, but this - this kiss at once so innocent and chaste, yet filled with a very carnal kind of promise - this feels like the first kiss he’s ever had.

When you lean back, he chases your lips for a single, smacking peck that makes you both grin.

“Mmm,” you hum, melting back into the sofa.

“Ok, for a first kiss?” He asks, “I pass muster?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, lifting your arms over your head to stretch languidly. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ll be waiting long at all.”

Part 3 Coming Soon!

[melanielocke]

Alastember - day 26 - passion

I decided to read passion as emotion, and wrote an Inside Out story set inside Alastair's head during scenes from Chain of Gold. I might rewrite more scenes like this later. I had to think for a while about Alastair's emotions and how to gender them, since Riley in the original movie has mixed gender emotions I felt Alastair should too, especially since emotionally he's not super mature yet (mostly due to trauma). I decided making Anger male since it is Alastair's dominant emotion. I made Sadness female because I think Alastair's sadness is very similar to Sona's (the theory for Riley's mixed gender emotions that I like best is that Riley has a male anger and fear because she models those after her dad since those are his dominant emotions). Joy is also male, and Disgust and Fear are non binary and I used they/them pronouns for them. It is possible I have been inconsistent with pronouns though, since I also have the original movie in mind while writing. If you haven't watched Inside Out, I'd really recommend it, and before reading maybe watch a trailer so you can picture it better?

CW: Charles, descriptions of Alastair's not super healthy emotions

@alastair-appreciation-month

Anger was tired. Tired of the control panel having issues all the time, tired of Joy being sick and pretty much useless. Tired of Sadness keeping at the control panel despite Anger repeatedly telling her to leave it alone. Really, she was impossible. Disgust was the only one up here who was even remotely helpful at keeping this going. If he let Sadness and Fear take control like they both wanted to, Alastair would likely break down. Anger was tired of having to do all the work to keep Alastair going.

‘Do you think Charles is coming today?’ Joy asked that morning.

‘Well, how am I supposed to know that?’ Anger grumbled. ‘He hasn’t sent any messages.’

Joy stretched his limbs, then turned around and rolled over. ‘Back to bed then. I need to save my energy.’

Typical. Anger had been trying for a long time to get Joy back into action, but truthfully, Joy had never been good at his job. He was supposed to make Alastair happy, but Alastair hadn’t been happy in a very long time. It worried them all how sick Joy had gotten in the past years. Anger didn’t know if he’d ever recover.

‘I think Charles might come over later today,’ Sadness said softly.

‘What do you think you’re doing? And stay off the console! It already breaks enough without you messing around.’

‘Of course,’ Sadness said, looking down. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought maybe I could help.’

Anger sighed. ‘Please go back to your circle and keep all the sadness there. We can’t use any more of you today.’

Sadness obeyed and disappeared into a corner. Time to start the day and if this day was like any others, he and Disgust were on their own. He didn’t have time to protect Alastair and keep the other emotions away from the control panel. Not to mention he still had a call scheduled towards maintenance, because someone ought to update this console.

There were new issues every day. Sometimes buttons stopped working, and it became increasingly difficult to make Alastair feel anything. Sometimes the control panel stopped working entirely, or responded only to Sadness which only made everything worse and give Alastair a breakdown. Other times buttons became hyperreactive and only slightly brushing past them let to an overwhelming and out of control reaction. Anger hated it, Alastair hated it, but it was impossible to control. Anger never knew how the control panel was going to respond when he did something.

Alastair got dressed and went down to have tea and breakfast with his mother and Cordelia. They were discussing an invitation Cordelia had received by Anna Lightwood, something that sparked Joy’s interest enough to drag himself to the console.

‘What is it?’ Anger asked.

‘We should convince Maman to let Cordelia go,’ Joy said. ‘If Cordelia accepts Anna, she might accept us too.’

It had been a topic of debate for some time. Fear was absolutely terrified they would be rejected or worse if anyone found out about Alastair’s attraction to men. Joy was hopeful Cordelia might accept Alastair, but often too weak to do anything about it. It was a discussion Anger tried to stay out of, it wasn’t really his place.

‘Alright. Go ahead.’

When Joy hit the buttons, Alastair convinced his mother to let Cordelia visit Anna, under the condition that Alastair would go with her. He hardly sounded or felt happy, but Joy was doing the best he could with the pieces he had left. Anger might not always show it, but he knew that.  

‘Cordelia won’t like that,’ Disgust said.

‘What do we care,’ Anger grumbled. ‘We’re taking her to Anna. No need to go all the way inside.’

‘We could visit Charles instead,’ Disgust suggested. ‘Anyone any ideas where he might be?’

Anger was always up for visiting Charles. The time Alastair spent with his lover was the only time Anger really got a sufficient break. It was the only time Joy came anywhere close to functioning.

‘Alright. Charles it is. I’ll see if I can reach maintenance when you’re together. And Sadness, I’ll remind you that Joy is in charge when we see Charles. You had better not ruin this!’

‘Of course!’ Sadness said, but Sadness had a tendency to do whatever she liked.

Anger didn’t understand it. No matter how many times, no matter what he said, Sadness just couldn’t seem to figure out that she was making things worse. That she was making Alastair feel sad. Charles was all Alastair had right now, the only source of light in the endless dark. They all needed to step back and give Joy a chance.

‘I’ll keep Sadness under control,’ Disgust promised as they fixed their make up with a hand mirror. Disgust had always been rather vain. ‘Whatever Sadness wants to do, I’ll make sure Alastair doesn’t let it show.’

‘Thank you,’ Anger said. ‘What would I do without you?’

Disgust snorted. ‘You could never take Sadness and Fear on your own. Fortunately, you’ve got me to make sure it doesn’t show. With those two, you’ve got to pit them against each other. Fear is scared of what Sadness will do if she’s left unchecked and will stop her before she lets people see just what a mess we are. Sadness will keep trying to make Alastair sad anyway, and hates it when Fear gets in the way and so she’ll stop them from making Alastair show his fear.’

‘Charles isn’t here,’ Fear said.

Anger wasn’t quite sure why Fear became so active on the console when visiting Charles by his house, and now at his club. It was frustrating, because Fear didn’t understand their fear of being judged was what made people judge them.

‘Then where is he?’

Anger took over control, pushing Fear out of the way.

‘Time to pick up Cordelia,’ Disgust said when they returned to the city.

‘Already?’ Sadness said.

‘Get back in your circle!’ Anger barked, taking control. ‘Right. We’re going to pick up Cordelia.’

When Alastair finally arrived at the address where he’d left Cordelia, he realized his mistake. He should have gone with her. He should have stayed and at least checked what Anna’s plans for her. There was no one home.

‘What do we do now?’ Fear asked, shaking on their knees. ‘We don’t know London well. Where could Cordelia be?’

‘Stay away from the console,’ Anger grumbled. ‘Okay. Anyone any clue where Cordelia might be?’

No one raised a hand. Typical. Not that Anger had any ideas himself. Not long after arriving, Lucie Herondale and Thomas and Christopher Lightwood arrived at the scene.

‘Maybe they know where Cordelia is,’ Sadness suggested.

‘Or maybe they were the ones who put her in danger,’ Fear said.

‘You’ve lost your hat Alastair,’ Lucie said.

All five emotions stared for a moment. ‘What did she just say?’ Anger grumbled.

‘We did lose our hat,’ Disgust said.

‘That’s beside the point!’ Anger yelled.

‘Wait, wait, stop!’ Fear yelled. ‘Just take a deep breath, find your happy space!’

Fear was always trying to stop him when he was about to have an outburst. Anger didn’t listen, his head caught fire and he pulled the handles of the control panel.

‘I’ve lost my sister!’ Alastair hissed.

Later that day, Anger was exhausted. Another long day with him the only one to keep Alastair going. Some of the buttons on the control panel had gotten stuck again after Sadness had touched them, making it so that no amount of pushing Sadness away from the panel would stop Alastair from feeling sad. Which meant that they couldn’t go to sleep before Anger had fixed this, which meant he was on the phone with maintenance for the second time this week.

‘What do you mean, you can’t come fix this today?’ he yelled into the phone. ‘What kind of mind workers are you? How do you expect Alastair to go to sleep when EVERYTHING KEEPS FALLING APART IN HERE!’

Anger hang up and threw the phone across headquarters, hitting Sadness in the process. ‘Ow!’ she yelped.

‘Well, this is all your fault,’ Anger grumbled. ‘Stupid maintenance, stupid mind workers, stupid control panel.’

‘Charles is coming!’ Disgust said, hold their mirror in front of their face to fix their face.

They entered something onto the control panel, which seemed to be working because Alastair took a good look in a mirror and started fixing his hair. Disgust was generally in charge of Alastair’s appearance, and Anger had to give them that they did a good job of that.

‘Joy!’ Anger shouted. ‘Joy, get up now! Charles is coming, you’re up.’

Anger and Fear heaved Joy onto his legs, supporting him as they walked to the panel.

‘Don’t touch that!’ he hissed at fear, but it was too late already.

Meanwhile, the buttons Sadness had touched were still going and she was getting back to the screen and control panel too and Anger couldn’t fight them all off.

‘Can you guys behave for a moment! This is Joy’s moment, give him space!’

‘Alastair. Why are you looking a state? What happened?’ Charles asked.

‘You’re up, Joy!’ Anger yelled, but Joy was still leaning against the panel, holding himself up by his arms.

Instead, Sadness started pushing some buttons. ‘I went to find you earlier today,’ Alastair said. ‘My sister was with Anna – I went to your house and even to your club. Where were you?’

‘I was at the Institute, of course. My fiancée remains ill, unless you’ve forgotten.’

Anger stopped trying to push Joy and took control of the panel himself. Charles was their one chance for Joy to do anything, that was true, but there were limits. Anger was getting tired of how Charles kept prioritizing his fiancée over Alastair.

‘I would be very unlikely to forget your fiancée,’ Alastair said coldly.

‘Alastair, we discussed this.’

Sadness kept at the control panel along with Anger and for once he did not stop her. The two of them mixed into a sort of softer anger, an expression of Alastair’s pain as much as they could ever allow it.

‘You said it would be temporary. A temporary political engagement. But I have spoken with Ariadne, Charles. She very much believes this marriage will happen.’

They had to be careful here. Too much Anger, and Charles would become angry too. Too much Sadness, and Charles would think him weak and turn away. Anger decided to let Sadness take over for once.

‘This is not fair to her, Charles. Or to me.’

‘Ariadne does not care what I do. Her interests lie elsewhere. She will gratify her parents with a good match, and I will find it useful to be connected to the Inquisitor. If I become Consul, I could do so much good for the Clave, as well as for you. My mother is too sentimental, but I can make our people strong again. It is what I have wanted all my life. You understand. I told you all my hopes in Paris.’

Charles’ mentioning Paris brought back memories. Orange, happy memories. From the corner of his eyes, Anger noticed how Sadness touched all of the memories. It was a thing none of them really understood, something only she could do. Whenever she touched a memory, they turned sad, and none of them were able to change them back.

Alastair closed his eyes as the sadness the memory had brought hit. ‘Yes. But you said- I thought.’

‘What did I say? I would not make any false promises. You know how it must be. We are both men of the world.’

Sadness knew she was not supposed to touch memories, that she was supposed to stay away from the control panel. But everything Charles was saying was a dagger in Alastair. Charles had made so many promises once, and Sadness alongside all the other emotions, had believed him. She’d been happy to let Joy take control when Charles was there. But right now, Sadness knew deep down she was supposed to drive.

‘I know. It is only that – I love you.’

Charles’ voice cracked like a whip. ‘You absolutely cannot say that. Not where someone might hear you. You know it, Alastair.’

Sadness had always been a romantic. She’d wanted something epic for Alastair, a beautiful man who loved him when no one else would. There would always be tragedy in Alastair’s life, and she would be there for him through it, but in the end there would be a man to help him pick up the pieces. Instead, Charles was crushing the pieces of Alastair’s heart that remained.

‘No one can hear us,’ Alastair said. ‘And I have loved you since Paris. I thought you loved me.’

‘He’s going to say it, right?’ Joy whispered.

‘Nah, don’t think so,’ Anger said.

‘What if he doesn’t love us?’ Fear asked.

‘What would we do without him?’ Sadness said.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Charles responded. He put his hand on Alastair’s shoulder, and it sent a little spark into Joy, enough to get him up on his feet for a moment.

‘I do,’ Charles said. ‘You know I do.’

Charles’ hands went into Alastair’s hair, he drew him closer and their lips met. Joy finally could touch the control panel, urging Alastair to surrender. Alastair slid his arm around Charles neck, pulling him onto the sofa with him.

‘We did it!’ Disgust said. ‘We fixed the relationship!’

‘That could have been a disaster,’ Fear said.

‘I’m feeling so much better! I’m finally going to make Alastair happy!’ Joy said eagerly, pushing several buttons to have Alastair start running his fingers through Charles’ hair, fumble with his waistcoat.

‘Uhm, Joy,’ Sadness said softly, pulling at Joy’s sleeve. ‘Are you sure sex is the same as love? I mean, does this mean he really loves us?’

‘Oh, come on, Sadness. This a victory. Please allow the rest of us to enjoy it,’ Anger said.

Except that this happened every time they saw Charles and Sadness had learnt by now that in the end Charles would always leave. She’d made so many of their memories together sad. The other emotions didn’t think Sadness knew what she was doing, but she did. Happy memories turned sad as summer turned to autumn, and whenever Charles left it was up to Sadness to pick up the pieces. Sadness wasn’t just there to make Alastair miserable. Her job was to help him recognize when he was being mistreated, and with the other emotions’ insistence of shutting her out, Alastair struggled to recognize why he was so unhappy.

‘Alastair, I cannot- I cannot.’

Charles abruptly stopped, pushing himself upright and away from Alastair.

‘Wait, what?’ Joy said, in shock until moments later he collapsed to the ground again.

Her turn, Sadness decided. ‘Charles, what’s wrong?’ Alastair asked, his voice rough. ‘If this is not what you came for, then why are you here?’

If this is not what you came for. If this is not what you came for. Alastair was so close, but Sadness just couldn’t make him see it, she couldn’t convince the other emotions. It was the only time when Joy became strong enough to do anything, but the aftermath was so much worse than what Sadness wanted to have to do. This was not sustainable.

‘I thought you had accepted the situation with Ariadne,’ Charles said. ‘I would not leave you. We would still be – what we are. And I thought that you would agree to marry to.’

‘That we would marry!’ Anger burst out. ‘How many times? When is it going to get through his thick skull!’

‘Anger, calm down,’ Fear said. ‘You’re going to make it-’

Anger pushed Fear out of the way before pulling the handles of the control panel.

Alastair sprang to his feet. ‘That I would marry? I have told you over and over, Charles, even if I did not have you, I would never marry some poor woman and deceive her as to my love and regard. I have convinced my mother I can be of better use to the family in politics.’

‘You will find it difficult to succeed in politics without a wife. And you do not need to deceive a woman.’

‘Why does he keep bringing this up,’ Sadness wondered. ‘In such an arrangement, both would be miserable. How could we do that to anyone? Why won’t he just understand?’

‘Ariadne is an unusual case, if she did not prefer women, she would be unlikely to be willing to marry you.’

‘And if it were not Ariadne?’

‘What the Dickens is he talking about?’ Anger grumbled. ‘Who else is he going to marry.’

‘Speak sense, Charles. What do you mean?’

Charles shook his head. ‘Nothing. I am unsettled. Much has happened this night, all of it bad.’

‘What is he talking about?’ Fear asked. ‘He doesn’t know what we did, does he? Should we tell him?’

‘No,’ Anger said. ‘We promised Cordelia, and we’re keeping that promise.’

‘She would be very unhappy if we broke our word,’ Sadness agreed.

‘Barbara Lightwood has died.’

‘What?’ Joy said softly.

‘Thomas’ sister is dead?’ Sadness asked, taking over the control panel. Alastair repeated her words.

‘I wouldn’t have expected you to care. I thought you hated those fellows.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Disgust said. ‘Wouldn’t have expected us to care? Who does he think we are?’

‘No,’ Alastair said. ‘But Ariadne is alright?’

‘She lives still. But Raziel alone knows what will happen. To any of them.’

‘We might not be safe here,’ Fear said. ‘Maman, Cordelia… We need to get them out of here. We never should have come to London.’

‘Perhaps we should leave London. It may not be safe here for Cordelia, for my mother… Nemidoonam.’

The emotions of headquarters spoke multiple languages, but tended to gravitate towards Persian, so whenever Alastair was feeling a particularly strong emotion, he tended to switch to Persian too. Anger had access to an extended Persian curse word library, whereas Joy liked to whisper Persian terms of endearments into Charles’ ears.

‘We are shadowhunters,’ Charles said. ‘We do not run, or spend our time in mourning. This is the time to fight, and win. The Enclave will need a leader, and with my mother in Idris, now is the time for me to show them my best qualities.’

‘Is he seriously using this as an opportunity to further his own goals?’ Disgust asked.

‘Surely he doesn’t mean it like that,’ Joy said. ‘He’s just looking out for us. Guys, he might have some faults, but he loves us, alright? We can’t forget that.’

‘I must go,’ Charles said. ‘But do not forget, Alastair, that whatever I do, it is with the thought of you ever in my mind.’

‘See?’ Joy said. ‘He is doing it all for us. Just wait and see.’

‘I don’t know, Joy,’ Sadness whispered softly. ‘I’m not so sure it’ll get better.’

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @amchara @all-for-the-fanfiction @imsoftforthomastair @ddepressedbookworm @queenlilith43 @wagner-fell @cant-think-of-anything @laylax13s @tessherongraystairs @boredfangirl16 @artist-in-soul @broodyhawthorne

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Pajama Day

Description: the marvel cast has a pajama day on set, and no one can get over how adorable Y/N, the youngest and therefore baby of the group, is.

Warnings: none, tooth-rotting fluff and tword, this probably sucks because I don’t believe in editing

Note: everything I write with teen reader is completely platonic. Perverts and pedophiles stay away.

Marvel cast (mostly Tom Holland and Chris Evans) x female teen reader

Y/N was so excited. The Marvel cast had just wrapped up filming, and had decided to have a pajama day to celebrate, and they were gonna gather at Robert’s trailers to watch movies.

She had already put on her pjs, gray pants with Mickey heads all over them and a gray t-shirt that read Mickey Mouse, and was currently trying to find her favorite fluffy blanket to bring over to Robert’s. Once she found it, she draped it over her shoulders and snatched up her favorite stuffed animal—hey, it was pajama day, Mr Snuffles should be allowed out of the trailer on pajama day—and headed towards RDJ’s trailer area.

...

Chris Evans was in a bad mood. He was trying hard not to show it, this being the last day and all, but it wasn’t easy. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night because he was plagued by a migraine, and this morning his coffee machine was broken, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask anyone else if he could use theirs.

He was almost to Robert’s trailer when he spotted Y/N, a large blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Despite his mood, a small smile lifted his lips—this girl really was the baby of the cast. She looked so adorable in her Mickey pajamas, a small stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

He watched as she bumped into Tom Holland, and his smile widened farther as Tom tickled her side and she burst into giggles. That gave him an idea. There was almost nothing that cheered Chris up more than making his favorite teenager laugh. And he knew all the best ways to do it.

“Chris,” he snapped out of his thoughts when Y/N waved a hand in front of his face. “Dude stop staring, it’s creepy.”

Chris laughed. “sorry kid. I see you’re rather enjoying pajama day.”

A light blush spread across Y/N’s cheeks, and Chris saw Tom grinning out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, just because I’m the only one with embarrassing pajamas doesn’t mean-“

Elizabeth Olsen inserted herself into the conversation just then. “I wouldn’t say you’re the only one.” She gestured towards Robert, who had bright blue pajamas with rubber duckies all over them.

Chris snickered “Certainly not the most embarrassing, but definitely the cutest.” He wrapped Y/N in his arms and dug his fingers into her sides.

Y/N burst into laughter, half-heartedly struggling against Chris’s grasp. “HeEey, no Fa-air!”

Tom Holland chuckled. “Chris is right, Y/N, you are definitely the cutest.” He ran his fingers over her rib cage, causing her to squeal. “And you’re little teddy bear just puts it over the top.”

Y/N squealed again as Chris continued to dig his fingers into her sides. “Yo-OU le-heave Mr Snuffles out of this!”

Both Chris and Tom let out identical “awwwwwwes” at Y/N’s response. Y/N’s face turned an even brighter shade of pink as she tried to hide her face in Chris’s arm “sta-hap!”

“Aw, she’s shy!” Chris grinned as he dug his fingers into her ribs one last time before letting her go. There would be time for more tickles later.

...

Y/N had felt Chris’s eyes on her for a few hours now. Every time she caught his eye, he grinned mischievously. She wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or excited, especially after what he’d done on the way to Robert’s trailer.

Secretly, she loved it when he or the other cast mates tickled her, she’d loved being tickled since she was little, and until she had joined the playful little Marvel family, it had been years since anyone had tickled her.

But that didn’t keep her from being a little nervous every time Chris sent a smirk her way.

...

Chris waited until everyone was settled down to watch a movie to make his move. It hadn’t started yet, so he wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, and he made sure to position himself right next to Y/N on the couch. She was wrapped up in her blanket, her stuffed animal hugged to her chest. Chris’s mood improved just looking at the little teenage burrito all wrapped up, but he knew nothing would make him feel better than having a little fun with the kid.

He started off slow, reaching his hand under her blanket and scraping his fingers along the bottom of her foot. He heard a little squeal and grinned as Y/N hid her face in her pillow to hide it. Tom, who was on the other side of Y/N, noticed.

“What was that, love?”

Y/N shot a glare at Chris before mumbling to Tom “n-nothing.”

Chris grinned. Y/N knew that if Tom saw her being tickled, he wouldn’t hesitate to join in.

He repeated his last attempt, running his fingers along the bottom of her foot, but this time when she tried to tug her foot away, he grabbed her by the ankle and tugged her closer to him.

“Chri-his!” She moaned quietly, and Chris saw Tom glance their way and smirk slightly. It looked like Chris was gonna have a partner for tickling Y/N.

“Yes N/N?” Chris asked innocently, which caused Y/N’s face to turn pink as she buried her head in her blanket to hide her blush.

“Sto-hop”

“Stop what? This?” He scratched his fingers along her foot, and y/n squealed.

“Yes!”

“Oh I don’t think so n/n, you’re laugh is too adorable, I wanna hear it again!”

“Chris!”

Tom laughed. “Chris is right Y/N, and we all know the best way to hear that little laugh of yours.” He grabbed Y/N’s arms and held them above her head as Chris positioned himself above her so he could reach her most ticklish spots.

“Do-hon’t!” Y/N yelled, already blushing and giggling.

“Aww, she’s already giggling! N/N, I haven’t even done anything yet!” Chris grinned as he positioned his fingers just above her rib cage.

“Bu-hut your going to!” Y/N giggled.

“Well I mean, it’s really not my fault, you come out here so gosh darn cute and expect me not to tickle you?” Chris couldn’t stop himself any longer. He tug his fingers into Y/N’s ribs, laughing slightly as she squealed and thrashed.

“No, sta-hap!” She cried, giggling.

“But N/N, you like tickles!” Tom insisted. Chris froze at that.

“You what?” He asked, and Y/N’s face turned an even brighter shade of pink as she tried to hide it against the side of the couch. “You like tickles? Awww!”

“You-our so mean!” Y/N yelled.

Chris gasped in mock hurt.

“Mean? Me? Never! It’s not mean to think you’re adorable!” He tapped his chin. “Do you know what is mean? We’ve known each other all this time, and you never told me you liked tickling! I think it’s about time you tell me.”

“But you already know!”

“It’s not the same! You have to tell me!” Chris insisted, and he yet again dug his fingers into Y/N’s ribs.

“NO-HO, STAHAP!” Y/N squealed.

“Not until you say it!”

“O-okay, I like it!”

Chris scribbled his fingers into Y/N’s underarms, and she tried to bring her arms down but Tom held onto them.

“What do you like N/N? Hmm?”

Y/N blushed brightly as she collapsed into yet another fit of giggles. She couldn’t say it!

“I-I like-“ she cut herself off with a loud squeal when Chris tickled her legs, right above her knees.

“Come on, N/N, I’ll let you go if you say it!” Tom teased.

“I-I LIKE TI-TICKLING!” Y/N screamed in between her laughs.

Tom released her arms with a grin, before digging his fingers in her ribs.

“AH, TO-HOM!”

“Hey I said I’d let go, I didn’t say I’d stop tickling!”

“NO-HO!”

Chris grinned. “Hey Tom, I don’t trust Mr Snuffles.” He gestured at Y/N’s stuffed animal, lying next to her. “He looks like he’s up to something. We better make sure he didn’t do anything to N/N. How about you count her ribs to make sure she’s got ‘em all?”

Tom grinned “excellent idea.”

Y/N blushed and squirmed, still giggling. “To-hom, no!”

“Now this is for your own good N/N.” Tom dug his finger in between Y/N’s ribs “one...” he moved to the next one as Y/N’s giggles turned into a full on belly laugh. “Two...” Y/N squirmed, unable to stay still under the torturous tickles. “Three...” Tom’s finger slipped. “N/N, you made me lose count!” He dug his fingers into her ribs, and only when her laughter went silent and her face turned red did he decide it was time to let her up.

“Yo-you guys are so-ho mean,” Y/N breathed as she scooted away from then, holding Mr Snuffles tightly as she caught her breath.

“Are you guys gonna quiet down so we can start the movie already?” Robert interjected, and it was only then did Chris realize that the entire cast had been watching Y/N get absolutely wrecked with grins on their faces.

“Yeah, I think N/N’s had enough,” Sebastian insisted, chuckling.

Y/N pulled herself off the couch and curled up next to Sebastian.

“Sebastian’s my favorite now!” She called out as Robert started the movie.

There was a moment of silence before...

“N/N also has a stuffed monkey named Mr Bananafluff.”

“Awwwwwww!”

“Sebastian!”

[ptergwen]

play the game

w/c: 2.2k

summary: an interview question catches you off guard

a/n: this is kinda random but i wanted to write something just fun n cute with actress!reader so this is what we got enjoy everyoneee

-

“ooh, these are always fun,” tom murmurs to you. he pushes a bucket of questions to the middle of the table. you turn it towards yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.

you’re at buzzfeed promoting the next spider-man. it’s just you and tom for this one. zendaya and jacob are doing their own interview in the room next to yours. you’re usually paired with the two of them, but tom joins your group sometimes. you find yourself much more intimidated by him than the camera whenever he does. not because he scares you. you’ve actually become close friends over filming.

it’s because you never know what he’s going to say. tom is a flirty guy by nature, and he’ll play it up even more if he has an audience. he loves to give them a good laugh. spark a few rumors maybe, only to get people talking about the movie. the idea itself isn’t half bad. the effect it has on you is what you worry about.

you’ve had a pretty big crush on him that started the same time your friendship did. in your defense, how could you get to know him and not fall? he’s one of the most genuine people on earth, he calls you cute british pet names, he makes you laugh on set during a stressful take. he’s just so charming. he charmed you, after all.

so much as a wink at you and your cheeks would be burning. the last thing you need is for the whole world to see that. it’s bad enough he would, too. you’re hoping he keeps the playfulness at minimum for your interview. with you being the only person he has to bounce off of this time, you’re not sure he will.

“i feel like the fans always ask better questions than interviewers,” tom jokes and takes a slip of paper out of the bucket. he reads it to himself with a snort. “what does it say?” you peek over his shoulder. he folds it again before you can see. a smirk pulls at his lips. “you’ll find out.” “you’re not even supposed to look at them yet,” you huff, reaching to grab the paper. tom drops it back into the bucket.

looking off to the side, he breathes a laugh out of his nose. he’s so annoying about keeping secrets. you push at his shoulder with a smug smile. “can you ever just, like, behave?” “around you? no, i can’t,” tom teases, the hint of a smirk still on his face. this is exactly what you were dreading. what’s worse is you haven’t even started the interview. thank god the cameraman gets your attention.

“all ready. you two start whenever you want.” he gives you a thumbs up from behind the camera. tom scoots closer to you in his chair. his knee is touching yours. it’s such a childish thing to care about, but your heart speeds up. “thanks, man. i think we’re good.” he glances at you to make sure. “yeah?” “yeah, we can start.” your voice is higher than usual, which only happens when you’re nervous. you clear your throat.

the little light on the camera turns red. that means you’re recording. tom beams into it, sounding cheery as ever when he introduces himself. “hey everyone, i’m tom holland.” he holds out a hand to present you. you can’t help but smile at his antics. “i’m y/n y/l/n. we’re gonna be answering some questions you guys sent in.”

“there are a few prompts in here, too,” tom adds, eyes meeting yours for a second. “we have to act them out. let’s get into it.” you raise your eyebrows at the camera. spinning the bucket in his hands, he holds it out to you. “ladies first.” “when he has manners,” you deadpan, getting a giggle out of tom. his stupid adorable laugh that gives you butterflies. holding back a smile, you pull out a paper slip.

“tell us about gwen stacy and peter’s relationship in the movie,” you read off and push the paper to the other end of the table. “i mean, it’s not a relationship. it’s a new friendship,” you explain. tom nods in agreement. “yeah. peter is still after mj in this film.” squinting into the camera, you try to think of a description that won’t spoil you being spider-gwen.

tom digs into the bucket for the next question, but keeps his eyes on you. you hold up a finger when you get it. “my gwen is with spider-man more than peter. that’s all i’m gonna say.” “nice. very smooth,” he teases and unfolds the paper. “how hard was it to do all your stunts?” you shoot him a knowing look. there were a few the two of you had to do together.

they weren’t anything major because you’re not trained like tom is. a lot of the time, you only watched him do insane flips and leaps before simply entering the scene. he’d come back to your trailer after and complain about how sore he was while laying his head on your shoulder or some other part of your body. stunt days were exhausting.

“you know, i’ll be honest. they were awful.” tom shakes his head with wide eyes. you let out a quiet laugh. “not because they were bad or anything. the stunts look amazing. but, they really hurt.” he tosses the piece of paper at the one you just answered to create a pile. “the amount of ice you had to put on your body,” you giggle to him, tom joining in your laughter. he sighs. “i raided the freezer in your trailer every day.”

grinning at the memories, you reach into the bucket for your next question. you’re still smiling when you read it. “this one’s a prompt. it says to do an impression of each other.” tom eagerly sits up in his chair. his leg brushes yours again in the process. you catch your lip between your teeth. “easy. i’ll go first.” he hasn’t started, but you roll your eyes.

“we’ll all be watching a movie and she’s like,” he switches to his american girl accent before continuing. “isn’t that guy so hot? he’s literally so hot, guys. how do you not see it?” your mouth dropped open, you bump his knee under the table. “oh my god, what?” “and it’s always the most basic looking person, too,” he goes on, pressing his lips together in shame for you. you make the same face.

“someone sounds a little jealous.” “it’s not me,” tom scoffs, still playfully making fun of you. you narrow your eyes at him. “ok, my turn.” he’s biting back a smile while you get yourself ready. “ello, love,” you start in an exaggerated british accent. he closes his eyes in defeat. “i love golf. i’m like an old man, innit? i fu-“ you put a hand over your mouth in the same way he does. “i forgot i can’t swear.” tom claps slowly for you.

“bravo, y/n. you didn’t miss a thing, love.” he emphasizes the last word. there goes one of his infamous pet names. he’s just repeating what you said, but it still makes your heart clench. your favorite is when he calls you darling. it sounds so perfect falling from his lips. that being said, you wouldn’t have been able to control your reaction if he called you it right now.

you shrug your shoulder and give him a cheesy grin. “i know i didn’t.” “right, next question.” tom grabs the bucket back from you with a pretend glare. he gasps before reading it out loud. “who’s your favorite cast mate? that’s wicked!” you move your head forward dramatically. “that’s not fair!”

tom drums his fingers on the table. “jeez, you guys are ruthless. i’ll say y/n because she’s right next to me.” you don’t miss a beat. “um, i’m saying zendaya.” you nod at the camera, tom pouting. “love you, z.” “i should change my answer to jacob, then,” he mutters childishly. exhaling, you pull out the next question. there are only two left after this.

“or maybe marisa,” tom keeps throwing names out. “are you done yet?” you ask like you’re his mom. he is acting like a kid, to be fair. “no.” “will you be done if i say you’re my favorite?” he perks up. “yes.” looking him in the eyes, you put your free hand on his arm. “tom, you’re my favorite cast mate.” “thank you.” his sarcastic tone matches yours. he tilts your chin up with the tips of his fingers. “my love.”

you’re quick to turn your head before you let yourself lean into his touch. you’d never recover. for one thing, you’ll think about it too much. another, it would give tom something to tease you about.

pretending to be disgusted, you unfold the paper. your expression relaxes when you look over the question. it’s kind of sweet. “what was your favorite scene to film together?” “all of them,” tom answers right away. “that’s a cheat answer,” you laugh out. he shrugs and looks down at the question. “i’m being serious. i really loved working with you.” his eyes meet yours. “every second of it.”

he’s being genuine. it’s probably to make up for tormenting you this entire interview. all you know is, the fans will definitely start talking. you find it nice either way. “aw, tom,” you coo, him nodding his head. “what was yours?” you’ve never thought about it. you shared so many special memories while making the movie. but, there is one that sticks out to you.

“our last scene. it was a really, like, emotional day because we were wrapping.” tom already knows what you’re going to say next. his lips curl into a smile. “i cried before we started shooting it, so he kept hugging me and said i’d ruin my makeup.” you rest your head on his shoulder for a few seconds, returning the smile. his arm slings around your waist.

“yeah, i felt so bad. your crying face just breaks my heart,” tom tells you with a head shake. you lift yourself off of him and wiggle your eyebrows. “that’s what every actor wants to hear.” “you’re ridiculous. do the last question.” he taps the bucket twice. he’s still holding your waist. “isn’t it your turn?” “it’s the one i read earlier. you read it now.” eyebrows knitted together, you pick out the slip. it’s a prompt.

this has to be a joke. no one in their right mind would have you do this on camera. what kind of interview would this be? blinking a few times, you hold it closer to your face. “it... it says to kiss each other.” you crumple the piece of paper up, face still scrunched in confusion. buzzfeed probably decided to mess with you two. “are we actually supposed to?”

“yep. a fan sent it in,” the cameraman interjects. you look at tom in a panic. he was all smiley about this earlier. now, he’s taking it seriously. “why would we...” you’re too flustered to finish your sentence. tom squeezes your waist. “it’s what the people want. i want it, too.” you can feel your stomach drop. “would’ve said something if i didn’t. do you?”

of course you do. for the past year or so, you’ve been craving to taste that mint chapstick he’s constantly applying. you can’t believe it’s finally going to happen in front of millions of people. technically eight people right now, but the whole world eventually. you’re afraid he’s only going through with it for the movie promotion. for a good thumbnail.

“are you only doing this for promo?” you whisper so the camera doesn’t pick it up. you need his real answer. “never. the promo just gives me an excuse.” his eyes dart from yours to your lips. he inches his face closer. you gulp. “can i kiss you?” he asks lowly. “mhm,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut.

his lips brush yours before he closes his eyes. he kisses you softly, his other arm wrapping around you. your hands go to his shoulders when you kiss back. it’s everything you’ve been needing, been dreaming of for so long now. he tastes even better than you expected. tom breaks the kiss first. a grin instantly spreads across his face. “we’ll continue this later,” he says only to you.

your lips and whole body feel tingly. you give him a goofy smile in return, looking at the camera over your shoulder. “thanks to whoever sent that one in. thank you so much.” you laugh in disbelief. tom turns and faces forward. “i think this is a good place to wrap things up,” he chuckles. “thanks for watching! we hope you enjoyed!” you wave. tom points at the camera. “see us again in theaters next week, if you did.”

the camera clicks off, and everyone else in the room starts chatting. you can’t imagine the headlines that are going to come out about you two. at the same time, you don’t care. you’re too happy. you move your arms up to wind around his neck. tom sighs in content. “i like you, too. in case you couldn’t tell.” he never stops finding ways to shock you. “how did you know i like you?” you groan.

“from one actor to another, you’re not good at hiding it.”

[applejackofalltrades]

Why Do I Like AppleDash So Much?

Literally nobody has ever asked me this but I'm going to answer this question anyway.

Intro: How I Got Into My Little Pony

Imma be real. The reason I started watching the show is because some of my old Twitter mutuals were interacting with posts about the Friendship Is Magic 10th anniversary. Some of them were talking about Rarijack and how it was a good ship, and others were discussing the implied canonicity of Appledash.

I had, at the time, just finished catching up on The Owl House that had recently been in the process of finishing up season one or had just gone into hiatus (can't remember which) and I was losing interest in my old hyperfixations fast.

See, I do this thing where I get really REALLY invested in a show and then as soon as it ends or as soon as I absorb every bit of media in it, I lose some of the interest or it fades. I don't usually lose full interest. For example, I still love She-Ra (my last big fandom) and I'm obviously still invested in The Owl House, but ever since both of those shows ended/stalled, I was desperately needing something to distract me from the trials and tribulations of my will to live that my daily life often forced upon me.

As you can guess, ponies was my solution.

I went into the show with a Rarijack mindset, but knowing that Appledash existed. I guess my mutuals just really liked Rarijack. I decided to give season one a chance. Actually, I felt quite silly for even deciding to watch the show. You see, back in 2018, I was still quite... trivial about watching anything that was seen as "girly". I didn't really have any problems with watching cartoons (ie. V*ltron, Steven Universe, Avatar, Pokemon etc.) but it was the fact that a show was "girly" that made me iffy. I had a very fragile masculinity, okay?

Anyway, so I actually was really afraid to watch She-Ra, even though the teaser images and trailer looked good. But I did and I decided that even "girly" shows could be good and that I was silly.

But, oh boy, cringe culture really messed with me. In mid/late 2020, I was ashamed to watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I said I'd watch one season just so I could laugh at it. I wanted to watch it as a joke, and who knows, maybe I found a guilty pleasure to watch while I waited for The Owl House to come back?

I loaded up Netflix and I hit play. Instantly, I was cringing at myself. Can you blame me? Early season MLP was obviously meant for kids. Not that it was immature or bad, but it was definitely a kid's show, especially considering the iconic storybook opening of episode one.

I watched the episodes, but they mostly were just background noise as I did other things. I remember watching them, but I was indifferent, although frustrated that I found myself chuckling at a few of the jokes and quips. I wasn't that invested, though. I thought Twilight was boring, Rarity obnoxious, Pinkie annoying, Fluttershy frustrating, and Rainbow Dash infuriating. I didn't really mind Applejack, I mostly kinda just thought she was the best one. (Nothing's changed, eh?)

And then....

Fall Weather Friends

Season One Episode Thirteen rolled around.

It starts (as y'all know) with Rainbow Dash and Applejack throwing horseshoes.

I don't know why, but this caught my attention. Of course, being only a few episodes after Look Before You Sleep, I had Rarijack on the mind. But I did think that Applejack and Rainbow Dash were probably good friends and would make for an interesting pairing, and a more interesting episode given their similarities, but also their differences.

I found myself fully watching this episode, and I dare say, it's the episode that dragged me fully into the show.

Maybe it's because I see myself in both of them in a way. Maybe that's why I connect so much with the pair, but them having an episode together? That was really good for me. I wasn't in the best state of mind, and something about seeing two characters that were in some ways reminiscent of myself interact and argue and have an endearing episode together made me smile.

It was then that I discovered the simple amazingness of AppleDash.

I mean, who doesn't love obnoxious, competitive girlfriends that are both prideful and headstrong?

I know I love it.

Anyway, so at that point, my mind kinda just clicked and I decided that my OTP was AppleDash. However, poly rights and Applejack has two front hooves *cough* Rarijackdash *cough*

But yeah so that's how I got into AppleDash. Fall Weather Friends, which was kinda the episode that made me love MLP.

How That Progressed

Well, obviously, I still love that ship I mean I live for it. If I could have any one single ship it'd be them. It just kept getting better and better as the show progressed, I mean their dynamic is great whether you want to see it platonically or romantically. They have a lot in common right off the bat (example, they are both incredibly stubborn, though AJ would take the cake for that) and seem to be close (I mean right from episode one they appear to already have a pre-established friendship), but they're also different. Applejack is a hard worker all of the time with anything she does, while Dash tends to be lazy but can be extremely driven when she is motivated (for example, when she wants to achieve her Wonderbolts dream). Applejack is immensely caring and family-oriented and does things for the good of everypony, while Rainbow Dash can be kind of a jerk and not mindful of her actions when she's wrapped up in the stuff she's doing for herself (not to say she isn't caring, but she tends to be kind of an ass, even to Fluttershy sometimes).

Their growth was immensely fun to watch and as time went on, they shared more and more screentime together. Even if it's not an episode that revolves around them, whenever one of them is in frame, most of the time the other is close by, and they often stand next to each other.

Now, in terms of why they work in the show's canon (in my opinion, either romantically or platonically, they do make a great pairing):

They are both competitive and enjoy competing with each other, though they know (especially after FWF when they've taken it too far)

They watch out for each other (AJ often holds Rainbow Dash back when she's about to rush into danger, especially in early seasons, and Dash always lifts AJ out of danger first [the two examples I can think of off the top of my head are in Best Gift Ever and My Little Pony: The Movie])

Their personalities even each other out. (AJ is a lot more calm than RD, and while they can both get worked up, Applejack is usually the calm one)

Their colour schemes are literally complementary. (AJ's coat is orange while Rainbow's is blue. AJ's eyes are green while RD's are pink/red).

They share a lot of cute moments. (You can just look these up)

THEY'RE HECCING CUTE.

AND FINALLY

I mean fuck, the finale. They're literally canon, you cannot tell me otherwise. It was absolutely intended and you cannot prove otherwise. (read the script notes l o l "we actually could do sort of a subtle wink to the idea that they are now a couple???" < RE Appledash). They live together, they have domestic arguments about chores, they are always giving each other fond looks throughout the episode, always standing next to or near each other, and well we all know Rainbow's iconic hoof on AJ's head in the last shot of the show.

Ashleigh Ball really was the OG shipper and fuck it, she was right. We all know they are in love, she knows they are in love. The only reason they couldn't explicitly state it in the show is probably bc Hasbro would have been against that at the time (I mean, Lyrabon had to be very subtle but hey we gottem).

Oh and, I know this isn't exactly canon canon, but it is an official game: The My Little Pony Magic Princess app. Future AJ and RD's descriptions allude to them being together.

You could negate this and say that this is just them being friends but I mean... come on. Come on. Sweet Apple Acres is Apple family land, and the only people who live there as of The Last Problem are Apples. (AJ, Sugar Belle and Big Mac and their foal, and you guessed it... Rainbow Dash).

You cannot tell me that they aren't canon. You'd really have to be grasping at straws because all the signs are there. They had build up, development, and it just makes sense.

If you don't think it makes sense... did we watch the same show??? It absolutely makes sense.

Anyway, AppleDash is canon. :)

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

peanut butter balls w clyde

A/N: ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANGEL... @maybe-your-left I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF! I AM NOW GOING TO UNSUBSCRIBE TO MY OWN BLOG..

Warnings: Voyeurism, BLUE BALLS, tw: pregnancy, tw: breeding kink, cum eating, masturbation, dirty talk, also sweet talk because Clyde is baby, cowgirl style, fondling those BIG BALLS, copious amounts of description of horsecocks, copious amounts of cum (just a swimming pool size full of his cum if you will), just pure fuckin’ smut and fluff because I cannot get off the DadBod train tonight or ever (thank you @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather I love you forever), tw: mentions of somnophilia, tw: I am back on my bullshit and better than ever bitches! 

The clock read five in the morning as he stared it down menacingly. Having just gotten home from the bar to your sleeping form peacefully huddled against his pillow, inhaling the sweet scent of him while he slaved away at work.

He laid down gingerly, careful not to disturb you as he knew you hadn’t been sleeping too well given the state you had been in over the first few weeks of it all. The vomiting, the tears, the rush of hormones coupled with outbursts of anger and pain from your breasts had all been weighing on you. 

He gave you your space, knowing from his research that the second trimester would be so much different. Hoping the book wasn’t lying to him about that and waiting as patiently as he could for you to come around. 

Those nights he’d find you keeled over the toilet, cursing his name as he stumbled through the door of the trailer. He hated all of it, wishing he could take the ugly parts away for you. But he knew, and so did you, that it was all for the greatest adventure yet, so it was worth the endless tears and heartburn. 

So, on nights like tonight, he’d rub the stray hair from your face, peeking under the covers to place a gentle hand on that growing bump of yours, hoping soon he’d feel a little kick as he teared up thinking about how amazing you were for growing this precious baby. 

He loved you even more than he could count on his fingers and toes, and when you’d both found out, it was both a sigh of relief and joy as you both finally had the thing you’d been afraid wasn’t possible. It was perfect. Except on these nights when he couldn’t sleep. 

When he ached for your luscious cunt enveloping his after a long day’s work. He wouldn’t dare wake you up for it, for fear of the mama bear wrath, but godammit did he wish you were having just as tough a time sleeping as he was. 

He tossed and turned, the light of the clock seemingly getting brighter as he huffed around in the bed. Clad in only his boxers, as he kicked off the sheets in a fit of frustration, his tent very apparent as he adjusted his blue balls in between his thighs, the burning sensation causing a low hiss to leave his mouth. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered, getting up with his good hand to sit his huge frame on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in it as he let out another heavy sigh. 

He strained up, cracking his back as he meandered to the living room and then the kitchen. Shuffling to the kitchen window, he huffed, looking out into the blackness of the early morning, thinking about making himself something to eat to curb his lack of sleep. 

He padded over to the fridge, grabbing his favorite huckleberry jelly out of the side door, then the pantry to get his bread and peanut butter. Laying out a paper plate as he slowly opened the drawer to grab a knife, making damn sure he didn’t make a peep as he slathered the contents together. He pulled the stool out from the island, straining himself to not scoot it too loud on the tile while he devoured his sandwich in the light of the kitchen. 

He looked around, reaching for some chips you’d left out on the counter earlier, crinkling the bag to get a few out before he became thirsty. He strained back up, the pain in his balls returning with every movement as they hit his meaty thighs. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, gripping them in his hand before he took another step, “I gotta do somethin’ ‘bout this,” gritting out as he got the gallon of juice out of the fridge to cop a swig from it, knowing if you had witnessed it he’d be in the biggest trouble. 

Letting out a huge sigh and a burp, he got back on the stool and finished the rest of his five AM snack, still feeling that dulled pain in his lower half as he tossed the remaining things in the trash and plopping on the couch to turn on the TV as he still didn’t feel tired. 

He mindlessly flipped through the channels, settling on a sitcom before wincing in another sharp pain as he adjusted himself, legs spread wide on the couch. His cock still half-hard knowing your half-naked ass was laying in bed, no doubt the wetness building up from your sleep. He loved surprising you in the morning, feeling that slicked up pussy as he would snake a hand or his tip in between your folds, waking you up in the best way he could think of. 

His dick twitched at the thought, his hand sliding in his briefs as he gripped his thick girth at its base, unveiling it in the brightness of the TV. 

His chest heaved, the sensitivity that had built up over weeks of nothing was too much for him to take at this point. Spitting on his large hand as he spread the slick over himself, his dripping tip mixing with his saliva as he traced his bulged out veins along his shaft. 

Throwing his head back at the feeling, wishing it wasn’t his hand fucking himself, and picturing that pretty mouth of yours covering him from stem to stern. He pumped his hand up and down steadily, setting the scene for himself while he closed his golden eyes.

You were perfect, knelt in between his thick thighs, kitten licking his tip and pecking sweet kisses on his tummy while he begged for you to do more. Your gorgeous eyes boring into his as your lashes fluttered in innocence licking a long stripe from the base to the tip. A beautiful moan escaping your lips as your tits hit his sensitive sac. 

You grip his belly in your delicate hands, kneading and scratching at it for leverage while you shoved your mouth over his length, the gag escaping your chest causing his breath to hitch as he watched you take him like the good girl you were. 

He thrusts on himself sped up, thinking of you bobbing your pretty head on his large cock, the spit, and tears streaming down your cheeks and jawline in a sloppy mess while he pushed up into you. Holding your pretty hair in an iron grip as he lead you down on him more, your one hand snaking down to grip his pained sac and rolling it in your fingers while he exhaled a groan at the sensation. 

“Goddammit baby girl,” he gritted out, feeling the warming of his release creep up slowly as he kept his imagination running on and on. His eyes still closed as he jerked it on the couch, seemingly unaware of how loud he truly was in the moment. 

You had woken up a few minutes after he’d begun, leaning in on the doorframe as you bit your lip looking at your big bear going to town in the living room. His thick cock making the drippage seep out of your bare cunt as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. 

He kept up with his thoughts, blissfully unaware of the mess he was making you feel in the moment. Your lower belly burning for him as you gripped the little bump that had become more apparent as of late. 

Crossing your legs to avoid more leakage, you leaned your head on the frame as well, reveling in the sweet sounds your husband was making on the sofa. His grunts, curses, moans, and groans were enough to make you blush as he repeated your name over and over. 

The strains getting more feral as he neared his orgasm. You inched forward just before he was about to burst, knowing the faces he made so well as you crawled on your hands in knees like a tiger stalking its prey. 

“Holy s-shit, Y/N,” his low baritone muttered out, the speed on his angry cock had picked up as fervently as he could possibly go in the moment, his precious face conjuring up in all signs of pleasure as the sweat dripped from his temples, his teeth gritted while he tried to reach his edge. 

You watched his hand move in tandem with his hips, moving just snuggly in between his tree-trunk thighs as he kept his motions going. Your eyes found those heavy balls of his, watching as they began to twitch from his end. In a fight or flight moment, your hand grabbed them, rolling them so sweetly and delicately as his eyes burst open in terror. 

“Y/N?!” he jumped, the sensation pushing him over to squirt out a thick rope on his belly as you massaged his sac to the end of it all. 

“That’s it, daddy,” you cooed, eyes hungry as he spurt out more and more cum from his tip, his heavy breaths coming in high as he winced more and more of his spend on himself, “cum all over the place big bear,” salivating as you saw the amount that has built up on his stomach. 

“M-mother f-fuck d-darlin’,” he growled out, watching your eyes follow the load as you hunched over his softening cock. 

Your lips touched the warm baby gravy, beginning to lick and suck every drop along with trails of hickeys on his precious tummy while your nails dug into his thighs, the crescents indenting on them as you finished your ministrations on him. 

You lifted your head, licking your lips as you swallowed his whole load, showing your tongue after all was said and done. 

“Where the hell were ya ‘bout five minutes ago?” he chuckled, catching his breaths as he watched you straddle his lap, your precious little bump touching his belly as you closed the gap on him. 

“I was sleepin’ honey,” kissing his lips slowly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hand coming to caress your taut skin in your midsection, tracing slow circles as you kissed his forehead, “but I got woken up to a growling bear in the living room,” raising an eyebrow as you leaned back to meet his timid gaze. 

“‘M sorry darlin’,” he whispered, “I jus’ couldn’t sleep an’ I didn’t want ta wake ya up on account a ya not gettin’ that good a sleep lately,” his head bowing down in shame as he continued to avoid eye contact.

“Honey,” you pushed him to meet you again, “I know I ain’t been myself lately, an’ I’m sorry ‘bout that,” the pit in your stomach forming as his pout surfaced on his face, “but if ya needed somethin’ I woulda done it… No matter how late it was,” smiling as you pushed some stray hairs from his sweet face. 

“Psh,” he huffed, rolling his eyes slightly at the thought of waking you from a dead sleep, “baby girl, I ain’t ‘bout ta wake ya up fer ya to suck me off fer ten minutes so I can sleep,” he chuckled. 

“Why not? I know you’d do that fer me in a heartbeat,” cocking your head to the side as you took in his toothy grin. 

“‘Cause I ain’t gonna wake up a mama bear,” laughing out loud as he smoothed a hand on your lower back, “I don’t wanna get bit darlin’!” pulling you into a huge hug as you both laughed. 

“Well,” you got up from the couch, extending a hand to pull your man to bed, “if ya want… This mama bear needs a lil’ lovin’ from her big daddy bear,” winking as you inched him back towards the bedroom, “an’ I got a hankerin’ fer some horsecock right ‘bout now,” pushing him onto the bed while you straddled his hips, removing your t-shirt to reveal your fullness to him. 

His cock straining again under the weight of your slick cunt as it rubbed the length up and down from your grinding on him. 

“Ya like whatcha see daddy?” whining as you lined your entrance with his tip, his groans enough to send you into another stratosphere as you swallowed him inch by painful inch. 

“I love seein’ ma baby girl like this,” he strained again, gripping your hip in his hand as he pushed himself up into to you, “all full a me… It’s ma favorite thing in the world,” gritting out over your purrs for him. 

The sensation was magical. His cock teasing your cervix with every knock as he grunted his motions out while you ground your sloppy pussy over his pubic hair. The movements hitting your engorged clit with every rub and tug from the both of you melting into each other. 

“I love bein’ all full a you big bear,” wailing out as you gripped his huge tits in your hands, your own dangling in front of his face as the sound of wet slaps penetrated the room. 

“Ya?” he growled out, setting an even more punishing pace as he watched your jaw drop and your gorgeous tits bounce, “ya want me ta keep ya like this? Breed ya ‘til ya can’t take it no more?” the words hitting your bud as your spine tingled in your impending orgasm. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew the words and the movements to get his baby whining and moaning like a complete whore under or over him. He may have been a simple country boy, but he knew his way around his wife, and what went straight into her cunt besides his large and in charge dick. 

“G-Good G-God yes daddy!” the tears spilling as you rag-dolled over his large frame, the orgasm spilling over you in an unexpected wave as his words cut to your very core. His motions grew erratic upon feeling your flutters clench around him in the most delicious way. 

He watched your eyes meet his again, the blackout you’d sustained fading away as overstimulation set in. His grip tightened even more as he began to spill into you, his relieved cries reverberating around the room as he felt your warm cunt suck up his spend. 

“J-Jesus baby girl,” he groaned, his balls completely empty as you fell to the side of him in a thud, your breaths coming in tandem with his as he gazed at you. 

“Ya alright mama?” he pet your growing bump with the utmost tenderness, “I didn’t hurt ya ‘er nuthin’ did I?” glancing a look down at your figure in a panic before your hand reached his cheek. 

“Ya didn’t hurt me or the baby at all big bear,” caressing his cheek as you pecked his plush lips, “we’re jus’ fine,” smiling warmly as he exhaled a relieved sigh, his eyes fluttering in his impending tiredness.

“I think daddy needs ta go ta bed, whatchu think baby bear?” giggling slightly as a smile crept over his face in total relaxation, his circles slowing as he stilled his big paw over your baby. 

“Goodnight daddy,” whispering on his forehead as his breath evened out, and his limbs went limp. 

________________

In other news, you ever have a job as a waiter? 

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LMK if ya would like to be added to any taglist of mine! All of my love!🖤 

[jointhephantomtomorrow]

Legion of the Black - Story of the Wild Ones

-

I will only be posting the first chapter here. If you want to read the whole fic (it is fully finished) you can check out the link at the bottom of this post or in my pinned.

Be warned there is some very heavy subject matter, all warnings are posted in the fic description on AO3. This first chapter has no warnings.

-

I hummed absent-mindedly to myself as I brushed an old piece of charcoal over a torn cloth - the ashes on the material was the closest one could get to a pencil on paper these days. The ashes created smudges on the cloth - not nearly as neat as I would have liked - leaving behind lines of varying weight as I pressed lighter in some areas and harder in others. My eyes followed my fingers intently as a poorly-drawn bird came into shape. Having been so long since I had seen a bird, let alone heard a distant birdsong, the details were wobbly and vague. It didn’t help that my fingers cramped uncomfortably, holding the odd shape of the charcoal.

“Maracheck!” I jumped at the sound of my friend’s voice as they stormed through the door (which was really just another old rag hanging over a hole in the wall of the old trailer we had converted into our home.) My closest friend, Forrest, glanced from me to the rag in my hand and back to me, their expression shifting into one of horror.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” They demanded. I sighed.

“Drawing?” I replied. I knew drawing was illegal. As was humming, singing, dancing, and basically anything creative that you could think of. Just dragging charcoal across cloth and humming quietly would have got me killed had the wrong people heard or seen me. “It’s fine!” I insisted as Forrest snatched the rag from my hands. “No one’s been within five miles of the camp for the last three months and even then they didn’t even know we were here.” While I tried my best to look and sound calm, a shiver ran down my back as I thought back to the event.

Abandoned vehicles weren’t exactly a rare sight in these wastelands - or so I had heard - and unless you were a survivor looking for supplies or shelter, there wasn’t anything remarkable about them at all.

Our camp consisted of five total trailers, all of varying size and sturdiness. Forrest and I slept in the smallest one. It also just so happened to be the least stable one. Every day another pipe or sheet of metal would fall on someone’s foot or head; it wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate.

Forrest glared at me again, fighting back tears.

“I don’t care how safe you think it is!” They cried, “What if someone heard you? What if someone else in the camp decided that you constantly humming and drawing was putting us all in too much danger and turned you in?”

I didn’t know what to say and Forrest fell silent as their voice began to crack and tears started to fall. I jumped to my feet and pulled them into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” I admitted honestly, “I promise I’ll try harder. No more art. No more music.” It was a difficult thing to promise, but if it kept us alive...

“I don’t want to lose you,” Forrest sobbed softly into my shoulder.

“I promise you,” I said sternly, “I will always be here. You will never, ever lose me.”

That night I lay awake, listening to the soft grumbles of Forrest snoring beside me. Some days I fell asleep with no problem, only to awake the next day feeling as though I hadn’t slept in weeks. Other days, I lay awake for hours - sometimes being able to watch the sun rise - and I would put on my best I-got-a-full-night’s-sleep impression the next day. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights.

I sighed to myself and sat up. This was a stupid thing to do. So unbelievably stupid, no one with half a brain would do it. Still, I found myself stepping outside as quietly as possible and making my way to the edge of the cliff our camp sat upon. I knew the way down - a hand here, a foot there, climb around the foothold that had been damaged by a small rock slide, let go and bend your knees as you land.

Glancing around once more to make sure I was alone, I reached for a rag draped over a rock. At a glance it appeared to be merely sitting there, as though a small breeze would surely carry it away at any moment. I adjusted the rocks subtly holding it in place and pulled it back to reveal a mess of wires and circuits and breathed a sigh of relief. It was still here.

Pulling the half-functioning pile of machinery into my lap as I sat down, I reached for a few radio knobs and started to fiddle with them, turning them this way and that until the gradually forming static made way for voices. I kept turning them, not wanting to stop and listen to whatever lies F.E.A.R was spreading this time.

I remained where I was, cross-legged on the filthy ground for a long time. I was unsure how long I sat there for, adjusting wires and turning knobs, until finally, I heard what I had been searching for. Amidst the static was the strum of a guitar, accompanied by the beat of drums and a bass. And then, there it was. That voice.

He sang so beautifully, his voice carrying hope and anger, belief and fear, readiness and desperation. It was dull, a little hard to hear through the static, but certainly there.

I revelled in the music for as long as I dared, trying to force my shoulders to relax but being unable to resist a few glances around to keep reassuring myself that I was truly alone.

It’s okay, I thought, no one’s ever out this late at night. Despite this, I decided it was time to head back. Hesitantly, I switched off the make-shift radio, cutting off the music, and not for the first time I felt myself filling with the anxiety that I may never hear it again. I tried to ignore it, but I could swear that feeling was a lot stronger that evening than it had ever been before.

Taking care to hide the radio as well as I could, I positioned the rag back in place and scrambled back up the cliff face, entirely oblivious of the horned figure staring at me from afar.

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 15

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 12.0k

warnings: descriptions of violence, sexual assault, mental illness. dark themes and foul language. all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a fat grain of salt.

description: As Han Jisung’s trial steadily approaches, Hwang Hyunjin struggles to decide where his loyalties lie. Prosecutor Kang is as ruthless as he is greedy, and a startling confession from Yang Jeongin reveals that the ugliest pasts often lie behind the brightest of smiles. Old scars run deep, and all wounds are finally reopened on the day of the trial.

watch the trailer here!

ryu says: “holy h*cking shit.”

15| the devil’s advocate.

“Is Miroh Heights rallying for the death of a 20-year-old orphan? Is justice always this heartless?

“The only existing psychological analysis of alleged serial killer Han Jisung has now been revealed to the public eye, painting a stark contrast with the image of the stone-cold murderer we were all introduced to before. What else is the prosecution hiding? Is Han Jisung at the mercy of a system that has failed him once — and will it fail him again? More on this complex case, next week.” 

You set the school paper down on the diner table. Across from you, Bang Chan gave a low whistle. “Lee Felix, is it? You really outdid yourself, kid.”

Felix grinned. He was glowing, not just from the detective’s praise, but with a light sheen of sweat — you two had woken up at the crack of dawn to deliver the newspapers around town, Felix on Jeongin’s bike, and you and Chan in Woojin’s police cruiser. The delivery boy had even drawn out a map of all the shortcuts he knew, and so you had all made it back to Glow Cafe — where Hyunjin was waiting with fresh mugs of coffee — before noon.

Jeongin scanned the front-page article again, nodding excitedly. “I read the local press’ papers every day while I was in the hospital — this basically goes directly against everything they’ve been saying.” He still had weeks before he was allowed to be discharged from the hospital, but had managed to bribe a nurse into letting him take ‘short walks for fresh air’ during the day. 

“Why’re we fighting against the local media, though?” Hyunjin asked. The barista looked much better now that Jeongin was awake — the colour had returned to his once-pale cheeks, and he had opened the cafe back up for business again. “I mean, what does the news have to do with the trial? Knowing the prosecutor, he probably doesn’t even care.”

Chan shook his head. “The media plays a huge role in cases like these — mass murder allegations, things that’ll implicate the entire town. In smaller cases, yeah, no one would look twice at the news. But for cases like Jisung’s, they’re going to bring in a jury for the trial — and most times, what the jury agrees on ends up being the final verdict.”

“But the jury isn’t supposed to have heard of the case beforehand.”

Woojin grimaced. “In theory. Miroh Heights is a big town, but it’s old — not to mention it’s a campus area.” When Hyunjin still looked confused, Woojin continued, “That all makes it a close-knit community. There’s only so many people who qualify for jury duty — and I’m willing to bet that there’s not a single person in Miroh Heights who isn’t keeping up with Jisung’s case by now.”

“Kang’s a top-tier scumbag, but he’s far from stupid,” Chan mused, reaching for his mug and frowning when there was no more coffee left. “It definitely wouldn’t be beyond him to pull some strings to make sure he gets to choose the people on the jury: the ones exposed to the case — the news — the most—”

You finished his thought for him. “Students. Professors. Citizens.”

“Exactly.”

There was a brief silence. Chan began a side conversation with Felix, and you snuck a look at Hyunjin. He had disappeared behind the counter, and was fiddling with the cash register with his head down.

You glanced back at the table. Woojin and Jeongin were sitting in a strangely awkward silence — the delivery boy’s expression was oddly closed off, you thought to yourself. It was almost...cold, a side of Jeongin you had never seen before. Shrugging, you excused yourself from your seat and retreated behind the bar to where Hyunjin was standing quietly. The barista was idly unrolling packets of coins to refill the cash register, and didn’t look up at you. 

You nudged him gently. “Hey, ‘jinnie.” Nothing. “Hwang Hyunjin, talk to me.”

The long silence was broken only by the clinking of coins, until Hyunjin finally mumbled, “What d’you mean?” 

You sighed, fiddling with an empty coin tube and trying to find the right words. “It’s— it’s a lot to ask for, I know.” You didn’t have to mention Jisung’s name for him to know what you were referring to — your boyfriend’s case hung over all of your heads like a guillotine every second of the day.

Still, your mind flashed back to his sudden outburst months ago, when he had first met Jisung face-to-face in the cafe. His cold, guarded wariness towards the other boy, and how he’d spent the next two months practically soulless by Jeongin’s bedside. You tried to meet his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot.”

The coins were trembling in Hyunjin’s long fingers. “You’ve been through more,” he muttered back. You didn’t have to follow his gaze to know he was looking at the site of your stab wound, hidden under the layers of your sweater. “How’d they let you out so early, anyways?”

“Hey, I was in there for nearly a month — they said I slept for three weeks straight, you know?” You laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension, but Hyunjin didn’t return the smile. “I’m okay, ‘jin.”

Your eyes searched his face for a response. Despite everything, Hyunjin still looked weary — like he had gotten older, more tired. He had seen things in the past few months that could never be erased — you all had. And you knew Hyunjin like the back of your hand — he had been one of the first faces you’d met when you’d moved to Miroh Heights, the unlikely first close friend you’d made. With absent parents who ran businesses abroad, Hyunjin had been on his own for most of his life. You knew how he always kept his worries and doubts to himself, how his polite, casual demeanor hid a heart full of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with or express. 

“Are you okay, though?” Hyunjin asked, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours, and you felt your heart pang at how helpless he looked. “Every time you see something wrong — someone in trouble, you stop at nothing until you can help them. And I love that about you, y/n. I really do—but—” Hyunjin gestured his hands wildly, voice wavering as if he was struggling to get the words out, “You can’t save everyone, y/n.” The familiar words made you shrink back as Hyunjin kept talking. “The last time you tried, you nearly ended up— d-dead. I’m worried like hell, okay?. Worried that if you keep trying to save others, you’ll just be the one hurt in the end.”

“Hyunjin—” You reached out to grab his shaking hands, to calm him down, but your elbow knocked over a roll of coins. They spilled across the floor, making everyone jump and look up.

“Everything okay back there?” Chan called, and you nodded, waving him away distractedly as Hyunjin dropped down to pick the change up. As you knelt down to help him, you heard footsteps approach the counter, and looked up to see Jeongin behind you. Back at the table, Chan and Felix were still talking like newfound frat brothers, but Woojin was fiddling with his mug silently.

“Can I talk to him for a moment?” Jeongin asked you quietly, and you glanced back down at Hyunjin. Jeongin had been sitting the closest to the bar counter, you realised — he had probably heard a good chunk of your conversation. You nodded, placing the change on the countertop, and headed back to the table.

Hyunjin watched Jeongin dive for a quarter that was rolling away. Underneath Jeongin’s sleeves, Hyunjin could see fading scratches peeking out — where the skin had scraped away when he’d fallen to the ground, bloody and unconscious, the night of the attacks. They were nearly healed, but the memory alone still made Hyunjin’s gut twist, and he tore his gaze away.

“Do you still think about that night?”

Both Jeongin’s quiet voice and his question took Hyunjin by surprise, and he couldn’t help but look up. The younger boy’s eyes were soft, gentle — a contradiction to his naturally fox-like features — and it was as if he’d spoken Hyunjin’s thoughts out loud. You never had to explain anything to Jeongin, Hyunjin thought. Growing up with no one but his sickly grandmother, Hyunjin had never truly opened up to anyone before — but Jeongin always seemed to understand exactly how Hyunjin was feeling, and there was something about the younger boy that could always calm Hyunjin down. 

He’d always looked at Jeongin like a younger brother, a bright presence Hyunjin wanted to protect and take care of at all costs. 

Now, Hyunjin found himself wondering if Jeongin had been the one taking care of him, all along.

“I see it every time I close my eyes,” Jeongin finally continued, and the question repeated itself in Hyunjin’s head — that night. The night Han Jisung had killed another student, and sent Jeongin into a two-month coma. The night Hyunjin had woken up to find his closest friend bleeding out on his storefront. No matter how many times the memory crept up on Hyunjin, it still made his blood run cold.

Hyunjin could only nod, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Sometimes...I think about how things might’ve been different. If I hadn’t stopped — no, if I hadn’t even taken that shortcut through the Yellow Wood. Or...if I didn’t have to work the night shift in the first place.” Jeongin huffed a soft laugh, then drew quiet. “But we don’t really get to decide what happens to us, huh? One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, the world’s turned upside down.” He paused. Something in the younger boy’s voice made Hyunjin think he wasn’t just talking about the Yellow Wood anymore.

“I wonder if he...if Jisung thinks about that, too.” Jeongin continued. “How things would have changed if he hadn’t taken that path that night. Or, if he never had to do the things he did...” Jeongin trailed off, and a question was left hanging in the air.

Where did it all go wrong?

It wasn’t like Hyunjin had never seen Jisung in passing — the kid whose bright smile and boisterous laugh masked his strangely wide, dark eyes. Who seemed to linger alone on the streets and in the shadows of murky alleyways after curfew, just wandering. As if the boy was constantly looking for something he’d lost — but had long since forgotten what it was.

“I just...” Hyunjin’s own voice surprised him, but as soon as he got the words out, he could no longer stop them. “I just want everything to go back to normal. The way things used to be. I—” Hyunjin looked around the cafe, letting out a shaky sigh. “I’ve grown up in this town all my life. Maybe I’ve grown scared of change — scared of how it could make me lose everything. Scared of how it could make me lose you guys.” He put his throbbing head in his hands. “Maybe that’s what makes me a coward. I don’t know Jisung. But I’ve seen the things he’s done, and I can’t — I can’t watch it happen again. I don’t think I could take it.” He looked at Jeongin helplessly. “How do you...forgive someone who could have killed you?”

Jeongin was silent, pensive. He picked up the last coin and slid it into the cash register before saying quietly, “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

Hyunjin frowned in confusion. “You don’t...talk about your family often.”

“Most of the time, I’d rather not.” Jeongin gave a small smile. “But these days, I keep thinking about them. I know people talk about them behind my back — why a freshman has to work delivery jobs all day, and study all night. Why no one came to visit me in the hospital, except for you.” The younger boy shifted his feet, gaze dropping to his hands. “My dad’s in prison. Third-degree murder.”

Hyunjin’s hands stilled, and Jeongin continued talking. “My mum was your typical office worker — real big company, too. We were never that well off to begin with — maybe that’s why she stayed silent about the...the abuse for so long. About the stuff her higher-ups would do to her behind locked doors, when they’d make her stay overtime in their offices.” Jeongin’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat shakily. 

“I don’t know how my dad finally found out, I...I could never bring myself to ask.” Jeongin was gripping the count[er, knuckles white and voice barely audible. “I’ve never seen my dad angry before. He doesn’t get angry. He’d always take the short end of the stick with a smile, you know? This was the first time he’d ever...picked a fight with anyone.” Jeongin paused, eyes glazed over in memory. “That night, Mum was staying late again. But this time...my dad showed up at her workplace. Burst in after-hours, like a madman. And that night, neither of them came home.

“The police came knocking on our door the next morning. And they told me my father killed three men in a fight. A fight.” Jeongin looked up at Hyunjin now, smiling, but his crescent eyes were filled with tears. “No one cares about an office woman’s sexual abuse story. Not when you have the families of three rich businessmen bribing law enforcement any way they can to keep their reputations clean. You can guess who the lead prosecutor of the trial was.”

“Prosecutor Kang,” Hyunjin breathed, not daring to believe it, but Jeongin nodded.

“The trial was easy. My dad would spend the rest of his life in prison.”

“That’s not fair,” Hyunjin blurted, voice barely a whisper. “They can’t—it’s not—”

“The system isn’t fair,” Jeongin replied. It sounded like he was quoting someone. “It’s been a long time since the system’s chosen morals over money.”

Hyunjin’s gaze wandered back towards the table, where Woojin was sitting, and thought back to the tense atmosphere between Jeongin and the young police captain earlier. “Is that why you and Captain Kim…”

“His parents put mine in prison. It’s more than a little awkward, really.” Jeongin laughed, but the sound didn’t quite reach his eyes. The younger boy always tried to put on a bright face, Hyunjin realised with a pang, no matter the pain he might be hiding underneath.

“I’m not trying to compare my dad to Jisung. Jisung, everything he’s done…” Jeongin shook his head. “He has too much to make up for, I wouldn’t even know where to start. We all knew that going into this.” He glanced over his shoulder at the table where his friends were seated. “y/n more than anyone. If we make Han Jisung out to be innocent, if we try to get him pardoned...that makes us just as bad as Kang.” Jeongin sighed. “But I can’t just watch them treat him like they did my dad. Make him out to be a psychopath, until even he starts to believe it.

“My mum can’t find work anywhere. She doesn’t sleep, barely eats, never leaves the bed because she’s so sick. The doctors all say she has lifelong trama. I don’t want to watch the system...end another life that doesn’t deserve it.” Jeongin glanced behind him. Hyunjin followed his line of sight towards the table, where everyone was chatting. Jisung’s friends — Felix, Chan, maybe even Woojin; and his girlfriend, you. “I don’t want to see what it does to the people that love him.”

Hyunjin was silent for a long moment. The chatter at the table and the clinking of the coffee mugs seemed like background noise as Jeongin watched the older boy take in everything he had said. Outside, students and citizens were beginning to fill the streets as rush hour approached — it was the end of the school term, and the bustle of summer life was humming beyond the glass windows of Glow Cafe.

Before Hyunjin could respond, though, the cafe doors swung open, the CLOSED sign clattering against the glass in protest and making everyone look up at the sudden commotion. A middle-aged woman in a tweed blazer and pencil skirt was marching straight towards the table you were seated at, a younger woman with a notebook stumbling after her.

Hyunjin straightened up, tone professional despite the weary look on his face. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today under special circumstances—” 

She cut him off impatiently. “Where is Felix Lee?” 

Bewildered, Felix stood, holding out his hand to attempt a handshake. Instead, the woman reached into her bag and slammed down a newspaper identical to the one you already had on the table — the school paper.

“What is the meaning of this?” Her voice was high and reedy as she jabbed a red-nailed finger onto the front page, where Jisung’s article had been printed. “Who do you think you are to publish these—these baseless stories?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” you responded tensely, “I think you’ll find that this article contains more truth in it than all the articles the local press has published, combined.” 

She turned on you, sneering in disbelief. “Do you know who I am?” You glanced outside uneasily, where a sleek black car was parked.

“Why do rich people always assume we know who they are? Listen, lady, we don’t care—” Chan began, but was interrupted by a sputtering sound Felix made.

“I think we should care,” your best friend choked out. In his hands was a business card that the woman’s assistant had handed him, and the blood had drained from his freckled face. “She’s the head of the local press.”

Everyone fell silent, and the woman smiled slyly. “Precisely. Publishing articles like these…” she glanced down at the school newspapers on the table, clicking her tongue. “Your school should be ashamed of you. An amateur school newsletter, overstepping their boundaries.” 

You saw Felix’s expression darken at her words, ears red. “A good newspaper reports on all sides of the story. We publish the truth here, and nothing but the truth—”

“Why? So you can all bail your psychopath friend out of prison? Do you even care about the implications? Your truth is hindering the investigation of a convicted murderer. People like him should not get their story told. Your truth will put this town in danger if he walks free, you understand? It will get more people killed.” She fixed Felix with a withering look of contempt. “Let me give you a word of advice, young man, if you even think of surviving in this industry—sometimes, you need to know when to keep your mouth shut.”

Your mouth was burning with countless words to bite back with but your tongue stayed stubbornly tied, mind racing. The woman had spoken out loud what you had all thought of at one point, what you had been most afraid of the public believing. You stole a look at Hyunjin behind the counter. The barista was avoiding eye contact, but you knew he had been thinking the same thing. His stormy, unreadable expression made your stomach churn — you knew he had been the most hesitant and unsure of Jisung’s case out of everyone, but seeing it written on his face now made you feel even worse.

Sensing that things were beginning to get out of control, Woojin cleared his throat. “Ma’am, if you’re finished, I would kindly ask you to leave—”

“I have every right to stay here,” the woman interrupted viciously, snatching up the campus newspaper again, “until your journalist friend revokes these articles—and promises not to interfere with the investigation until the trial has concluded.”

You started in protest. “You—”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Hyunjin’s calm voice cutting through the growing chaos made everyone freeze and turn towards the barista. He pushed the cash register shut with a bit too much force, and leaned down to rest his forearms on the bar counter. “I told you we were closed, yes? You have no more business here. If you choose to continue infringing on my property, we can bring this to the police.” His eyes were still stormy as he stared the stunned woman down — but the words coming from his mouth were the complete opposite from what you had been expecting. “Now get out of my cafe.”

“I—why, you—” The woman could only sputter for several seconds as you all stared at Hyunjin in awe, the most self-assured expression you had seen on the barista in ages — as if he had finally made up his mind about something. Behind him, Jeongin had a small smile on his face.

“Preposterous,” the head of the press stammered, taken aback by Hyunjin’s bluntness. Her mouth opened and closed like a puppet’s, but no words came out. Finally, glaring daggers at all of you, she snatched her bag and stormed out in a whirlwind of nauseating perfume, her poor assistant barely keeping up behind her.

The silence lasted for several more moments. Hyunjin was still staring after her with a reserved expression, his shaking hazel pupils the only indication of how nervous he was.

Felix was the one who finally spoke first, the wide grin in his voice breaking the tension. “Hwang Hyunjin. You are the man.”

━━━━━━━━

Opening the door to Bang Chan’s office sent clouds of dust into the stale air, and the detective into a coughing fit. Chan moved to snap the blinds open, letting evening sunlight warm the musty room.

“Bloody hell, Chan,” Woojin groaned as he patted the dust from the coffee table in the corner. “I was joking about your office being a coffin before, but—how did you let it get this bad?”

You, Hyunjin, and Jeongin followed the police captain into the room, taking tentative seats around the coffee table as the detective tried in vain to open a window and clear the stuffy air.

“I haven’t had any new clients since this case was taken from me by that damn prosecutor,” Chan protested indignantly, grabbing a notebook and pen. “I’m taking a well-deserved hiatus. B’sides,” he added, sighing, “I don’t exactly have the heart to focus on anything else right now.”

Woojin grimaced, and looked around the room. “We’re waiting on Felix?”

You nodded. It had been nearly a month since the first article had been released — a whole month since the head of the press herself had come storming into Glow Cafe, demanding for the publication to be stopped. You weren’t sure if it had been the woman’s biting remarks or the newfound support from Hyunjin, but Felix seemed to have hit the ground running, publishing story after story and going head-to-head with every article the local press put out. 

The articles were beginning to pick up steam, too — as soon as the school year had ended, the entire town had begun buzzing with talk about the contradicting stories. You should have felt relieved that your last-resort plan had even stood a chance — but the longer the fight and investigation went on, the more you could feel the stress weighing down on your shoulders. Though removed from the investigation, Chan and Woojin came to you with more and more bad news they were able to overhear with each passing day. The trial was scheduled for next week, and you hadn’t heard from Jisung since...well, since you had found him, bloody and broken, in the back lot of Mia’s Diner.

“Things aren’t looking too good,” Woojin began, expression grim. “The prosecution’s claimed custody of the camcorder footage and Jeongin’s Walkman tapes. Seungmin’s legally not allowed to touch them anymore—not without Kang’s permission.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the police captain’s words. You, Chan, and Seungmin had all been warned separately to stay out of the investigation by legal officials, but that hadn’t stopped you from gathering what information you could. You should have known Kang would find a way to get ahold of all the evidence, but nothing could have prepared you for the sick feeling the confirmation stirred in your gut. 

Chan sighed, tapping his pen on his cheek. “Far as I know, Jisung still isn’t taking a lawyer. The kid won’t even talk to me now.”

“How’s the trial going to work, then?” Hyunjin asked. “If the kid doesn’t take an attorney…”

“It’ll be his word against Kang’s,” Chan nodded glumly. “It’s a trial held under special circumstances. The prosecution will present all the evidence they choose, the judge and jury’ll listen to all the witnesses who decide to come forward, and then they’ll use that to form the final verdict.” He paused, then added, “And if Jisung chooses to defend himself, he has the right to speak, too.”

“Except he won’t,” you interjected, heart heavy, remembering Jisung’s face when he had told you about his parents’ deaths. Jisung had spent his entire life living in the shadow of guilt his childhood cast over him, a self-induced hell he forced himself to relive every day.

“Kang has the jury, the witnesses, and the evidence,” Jeongin thought aloud, the sentence alone making the air feel heavy. 

“We’ve all been called to attend the trial, yeah?” Chan nodded at you, Woojin, and Hyunjin. “Us, Felix, and Seungmin can only come as spectators. Jeongin’s been called in as an eyewitness.” He frowned, counting off his fingers. “The only other type of witness Kang can bring in would be an expert witness. Medics, psychologists, that sort of thing.”

“Kang’s clever — he’ll probably bring in child psychologists or medical specialists,” Woojin noted, frowning. “It’d be easy for them to cherry-pick the evidence to use it against Jisung — especially since he refuses to speak to anyone right now.”

“Haven’t they found anyone for Jisung?” You asked desperately. “His old social workers, foster families —”

“He was abandoned over a decade ago. None of his social workers have come forward.” Woojin sighed. “But you’re right — they have found a forensics specialist to come testify.”

Jeongin perked up. “Who?”

Chan looked grim. “Head coroner Lee Minho.”

Your heart sank. Lee Minho. No one was willing to address the elephant in the room: that Minho admitting to his own crimes would be one of the easiest ways to avoid a death penalty. Except…

“No one on the prosecution knows what Minho’s done, and we don’t have any incriminating evidence against him, either. They won’t believe us, and there’s no way he would confess,” you muttered, remembering the uneasy conversation you had had with the coroner on the rooftop. Minho had been hiding in the shadows of Jisung’s self-destructive crossfire his entire life. From the coroner’s unreadable eyes to his strange, reserved attitude, you had no idea how to guess his next move.

There was a knock on the door, and everyone looked up as Felix walked into the office, backpack sliding off one shoulder. “I have good news and bad news,” your best friend announced, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

“Bad news first,” you answered immediately, groaning. Good news was rare these days. “I want to get it over with.” Hyunjin nodded in agreement, looking at Felix expectantly.

“The head of the press is still up our asses, believe it or not. She’s changed her strategy —  they’re making bribes now.” Felix fished a slip of paper from his bag. “Someone came in today — dressed real proper and business-like — and told me that if I halted publications, they’d be willing to pay a pretty hefty sum.” He flipped the slip over onto the coffee table.

It was a cheque, you realised. Chan whistled as he read out the amount. You looked back up at Felix, holding your breath.

“I took the bribe,” Felix admitted, tone apologetic, and your shoulders slumped. Your last connection to the investigation, gone — but Felix kept talking, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I took the bribe, and we used the money to buy everyone in our department the most expensive coffee on campus. Actually, thanks to them, we pulled an all-nighter and published the last part of your case study this morni—oof!”

Your best friend was cut off when you tackled him into a hug, nearly tumbling backwards as Felix laughed and patted your back. “Felix,” you declared, voice still shaking from how scared you had been, “You are ruthless.”

“One of my many charms,” he grinned, Hyunjin clapping him on the shoulder. Felix pulled away from you, and his hazel eyes suddenly grew serious as he scanned your face. 

Out of everyone at Miroh Heights, Felix had known you the longest — if anything was wrong with the other person, you were always able to pick up on it. Despite your relieved smile, Felix could see how overworked you were — you had been reading up on past cases nonstop, making phone calls, and making notes on the camcorder footage, no matter how much rewatching it traumatised you to the core. From your bloodshot eyes to your pale lips, anyone could see that the upcoming trial had taken the worst toll on you. “y/n,” he said worriedly, “you need to take it easy.”

You sighed, scrabbling a hand through your dishevelled hair. “How can I? I need to keep working on this — I need to be strong.” 

“You’ve always been strong.” Surprisingly, it was Hyunjin who spoke up this time. For the first time in weeks, there was no more anger or bitterness in his voice — only sincerity. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You tried to give him a small, grateful smile, but even that couldn’t staunch the bubbling anxiety in your gut. “The trial’s in a week. We can’t let up now.”

You could sense the boys looking at you anxiously until Chan finally clapped his hands, breaking the grim silence. “Well, you heard the boss lady.” The detective winked at you. “Let’s get back to work, boys.”

━━━━━━━━

The courthouse lobby was already overflowing with chaos and reporters by the time Prosecutor Kim Seungmin arrived at its doors.

This wasn’t his first time attending a trial, of course, but the scale of it all was what made him uneasy. Citizens of Miroh Heights were huddled outside the gates, catching whatever glimpses of the trial and snippets of information they could. When Seungmin had elbowed his way into the building, he spotted security guards flanking all the entrances.

There was a sign for the bathroom on his left hand side. Seungmin made a beeline for it, pushing open the doors and allowing himself to escape the pandemonium for a couple of moments. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he saw a familiar figure standing by the sink. 

Prosecutor Kang’s eyes met Seungmin’s through the mirror and the older man straightened up, snakelike mouth curving into a smile. “Ah, Prosecutor Kim. Good to see you.”

Seungmin nodded stiffly as he tried to muster up the courage to walk past his colleague. He could feel Kang’s beady eyes watching him contemplatively.

“Are you still beat-up about the case? You must be,” Kang mused, turning back towards the sink and flicking on the tap. “Don’t get yourself too down about losing it. It was only a matter of time.” If Seungmin didn’t look at him, Kang’s tone sounded almost kind.

Almost.

Kang was here on behalf of the prosecution, with his team of carefully selected witnesses and—Seungmin was willing to bet—jurors. Seungmin had barely landed a spot as a spectator in the trial, alongside Felix, the school journalist. If things went Kang’s way, anything and everything that happened in today’s trial would be completely out of Seungmin’s control. 

“Rookie mistakes,” Kang continued, wiping his spectacles. “It’s to be expected at your age, really—”

Seungmin ignored his passive insult and turned back towards Kang, tone pleading as he tried one last time. “Mr. Kang, you don’t have to do this. Han Jisung—”

Kang barked a laugh, cutting him off. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were filled with equal parts amusement and resentment. “I’m not sure why you young people always have such blinded judgement,” he seethed. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s just a boy,” Seungmin shot back, heart pounding at the way surprise flashed on Kang’s face. He had never dared to challenge his colleagues before — especially not Prosecutor Kang — but he forced himself to stand his ground as Kang finally turned around to face Seungmin. He was silent for several tense moments, slowly drying his hands before picking up his briefcase. Then, Kang’s expression smoothed over as he raised an eyebrow at the younger prosecutor. 

“Not in my court of law, he isn’t.”

He had walked briskly out the door before Seungmin could muster a reply. The commotion outside grew louder before it was muffled again by the closing doors, and the younger male was left in the dark, empty washroom, filled with an increasing feeling of dread.

━━━━━━━━

Jisung jerked forward when the prison bus came to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming his head against the front seat. He tried to shake himself out of his daze and turned towards the window, tired eyes adjusting to the morning sunlight. Outside was the town he had grown up in, and yet everything felt so...different. 

As soon as the bus doors swung open, swarms of reporters surrounded its sides. Two policemen roughly escorted him through the crowd, and he could vaguely register the questions being screamed at him from every angle.

“Han Jisung, is it true?”

“Did you kill all those people? Did you set fire to your own home?”

“Will you plead guilty? Will you plead insanity?”

Insanity? Jisung’s mind flashed to the memory lapses every time he...killed, the gaping black spots in his thoughts, the endless throbbing in his temples that never quite went away. His head was swimming, but his body felt numb. Have I gone insane?

Once they were inside, he was ushered further down the hallway into a side room. A stone-faced clerk in a grey suit nodded at the policemen, then fixed his hawk-like eyes on Jisung’s unfocused face.

“This is him?” He asked dubiously, then cleared his throat. He didn’t move to shake Jisung’s hand. “Well, then. You refused to take an attorney or public defender, so, uh...your trial will be held under special circumstances. The judge will hear the witnesses, the evidence, and anything you have to say. Got it, kid?” 

Jisung couldn’t will himself to form any words. Everything sounded as if he were underwater.

The man coughed nervously. “As long as you cooperate, things shouldn’t be too bad, eh? Although from what I’ve heard about you, I wouldn’t keep my hopes up.”

Jisung could sense the official’s eyes raking him up and down in slight distaste at his silence. As Jisung quietly took a seat in the corner, he could hear the man muttering irritatedly to the guard by the door and chuckling.

“It’s always the messed-up kids, huh?”  

━━━━━━━━

You watched as the courtroom slowly filled with people — reporters and spectators huddling around you, clerks and attorneys taking their places in their respective boxes. You were sitting with Bang Chan, Felix, Woojin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin near the bar, watching the members of the jury shuffle in. They were all somewhat familiar faces — students, professors, and citizens, as Bang Chan had guessed — and you felt a small glimmer of hope every time you recognised someone.

The prosecution’s witnesses were beginning to file in on the opposite side of the room, as well: A stocky boy with a swollen, bandaged nose, and a scrawnier one, also heavily bandaged — the only survivors, you realised, shuddering — from that terrible night at Mia’s Diner. Then there was Jeongin, whose face made you relax slightly. Next to him, though, there was a nervous old woman who you didn’t recognise, and an unfamiliar middle-aged man. And of course, pacing back and forth behind them, like a panther on the prowl, was Prosecutor Kang. 

Every time the doors swung open you couldn’t help but look up, heart hammering in your chest. 

You were really only looking for one person, after all.

Sure enough, the heavy oak door in the corner creaked open, and a familiar flash of golden hair made your breath catch in your throat. Flanked by two stone-faced officers, Jisung entered the courtroom. 

You immediately leapt to your feet, and heard Chan whisper in warning. “y/n.”. The detective’s tone was gentle, but you didn’t have to turn back around to imagine the alarmed look on his face. Your eyes were glued on Jisung, and it took every fibre of your being not to sprint up to him, push past the guards, and pull him into your arms. You were shaking with equal parts relief and horror as you took in the sight of him. 

He’d lost weight, his skin was pale and bruised, but his eyes — you felt your mouth go dry. The eyes you had seen fill with both laughter and sadness, light and darkness, were now completely lifeless. As if he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. You felt hot tears prick at the back of your throat and you clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from calling out his name. You had thought you were prepared, that you would force yourself to stay calm at all costs — but now, as the weight of the situation was finally beginning to sink down on your shoulders, you weren’t so sure you would be able to.

You felt Felix’s hand gently tug at yours, the only thing anchoring you to reality, and slowly sat back down, your hands grabbing fistfuls of your cardigan to keep from shaking.

Jisung found you in the crowded courtroom before you did, and the split second he caught your face soothed an ache in his chest he’d been trying to ignore, like a long-neglected wound. Seeing you alive and breathing — when the last memory he had of you had been one where you were bleeding out in his own hands — sent a bittersweet pang through him, the sheer relief overwhelming him to the point that he felt his own knees buckle. To anyone else, you looked almost normal, he thought — but he would have been a fool not to catch the dark circles under your eyes, your shaking hands, the raw worry that had etched itself into your weary features.

As soon as your eyes flickered up to him, Jisung immediately looked away, a voice in the back of his head seething. Coward. 

His gaze wandered around the room and he was instantly met with a mix of hostile glares and fascinated stares — like an animal that had been chained down. Wherever he looked, dozens of eyes were on him, dozens of blazing lights searing through him and pinning him to the spot. It was almost as if he could hear the spectators’ thoughts, the countless names that the local press had called him ringing through his head. The youngest mass murderer of Miroh Heights. A walking psychopath. The soon-to-be-convicted serial killer.

“Order in the court,” you heard a man next to the judge call out, and a hush swept across the room. The judge — a middle-aged woman in sombre black robes —  nodded. “The trial is now in session. The case of Han Jisung, and the Miroh Heights Murders, Your Honour.”

Kang moved forward and cleared his throat.

“Your Honour, today I intend to prove the defendant guilty of nineteen counts of first degree murder, as well as a history of crimes spanning over a period of thirteen years. This includes eight counts of arson, including the defendant’s own home, and five counts of aggravated assault, including the attack of Yang Jeongin three months prior. The numbers are based on the images of the victims we showed him that he recognised.” Kang gave a deliberate pause, flashing a look of disdain over where Jisung was seated. “He has violated Sections 235 and 435 of the Criminal Code, and the prosecution intends to prove him fit to receive capital punishment.”

Capital punishment — the death penalty. Kang was doing exactly what you all had feared, and his words and self-assured attitude made you feel sick. 

“Does the defendant have any opening statements?”

Your eyes flickered to Jisung’s face — had his expression darkened? His features had stiffened into a cold mask — lifeless eyes, sickly pallor, clenched jaw. It was almost as if he was trying to fit into Kang’s description of him, you realised with a sinking feeling. To your dismay, Jisung stayed silent, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Please call upon your first witness.”

You watched the nervous old woman from earlier wobble forward and introduce herself.

Kang had pulled out images of a familiar crime scene — the burnt-down flat on the outskirts of town, where the remains of a woman identified as a local sex worker had been found. The night of your first date, you thought, grimacing.  “Where were you, the night of this fire?”

“I was making my rounds through this neighbourhood,” the old woman began, fingers trembling as she pointed at the images. “I happen to live ‘round there, and I own some of these flats myself. This woman is—was—a tenant of mine.”

“Did you see anything suspicious prior to the fire?”

The old lady paused. “I thought I saw a boy lingering ‘round the alleyways. Holding his head and stumbling around real bad, pacing back ‘n forth like he couldn’t see clearly. ‘twas near the red-light district, so I thought he was just another drunkard.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw, stumbling through the alleyways?”

The old woman slowly pointed at Jisung.

“And what did you see, at around 10 o’clock, sundown?”

“I-I saw the roofs in my neighbourhood go up in flames. Ran as quick as I could, but the blaze was already too big to stop —” She shuddered. “But through the smoke, I could see the figure of a boy in the fire, escapin’ from the house.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw escaping the burning building?”

You watched in muted dread as she lifted another quivering finger in Jisung’s direction.

“There’s no way she could have seen clearly through all that smoke and fire,” you heard Woojin mutter behind you.

“Your tenant had no prior connection to him — no negative relations beforehand, correct?” 

The old woman nodded. “Not that I know of.”

Prosecutor Kang hummed. “We have no reasons to believe this murder was provoked by the victim. And yet, that night, Han Jisung set fire to an innocent woman’s home — in cold blood. She was an outcast, no family or friends — he likely chose a victim that wouldn’t be missed.” He smiled, turning towards the judge. “That is all for the eyewitness, Your Honour.”

You grit your teeth as the old woman sat back down. Kang had called on his next witness — a chubby, red-nosed man who introduced himself as a child psychiatrist.

“The defendant refused to answer questions during the psychological evaluation,” Kang informed the judge smoothly. “We researched his past thoroughly—”

“Bullshit,” Felix muttered.

“—and reached our conclusions by analyzing the nature of his criminal history during his adolescence. We will also be consulting—” Kang motioned for the two boys to step forward, “His former classmates, who will testify on Mr. Han’s character.”

“He’s insane,” Chan whispered in horror, “He’s letting the kids from the diner attack testify on Jisung’s mental condition?”

“Please state your affiliation with the defendant.”

“We grew up in the same orphanage,” the boy in the buzzcut answered, his voice thick from his swollen nose. “Kid always stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“Did the defendant ever exhibit any strange behaviours during his adolescence?” Kang asked.

“He’d be missing from classes for days,” the scrawny boy piped up. “Always hoverin’ in the corner like a little creep. Sometimes even lightin’ things on fire. Never got in trouble though — always real charming towards the teachers.” 

“Changed his expressions like masks,” the boy in the buzzcut added quickly.

Kang turned towards the child psychiatrist. “How would you describe the mental condition of a patient like Mr. Han, taking these testimonies and the defendant’s criminal history into account?”

“W-well,” the red-faced man began, sweaty brow furrowing. “Starting with his unexplained history of pyromanic tendencies — this destructive behaviour indicates the patient harboured violent habits from a young age. That’s often a strong indicator of various conduct disorders in young children.”

“But isn’t it normal for children to be curious, to cause a little trouble?” Kang smiled — he was playing the devil’s advocate, you realised uneasily. “You surely can’t sum up his fascination with fire as a dangerous condition.”

The psychiatrist nodded. “Of course not. But the patient was able to shift between personas from a very young age — like his classmates have said, he could be cold and reserved to them, but charming and cunning towards authority figures. This constant deception in young children, along with the destructive tendencies, is what often leads to sociopathic behaviour.”

“Sociopathy,” Kang repeated, and turned towards the judge. “Oh, dear.”

You looked on in dismay as Kang kept twisting the case like the strings of an ugly puppet, clearly aware of the way the jury and spectators were beginning to lean towards the prosecution’s arguments. With Kang’s carefully crafted questions directed at nervous, unsuspecting witnesses, everything seemed to point to one obvious answer. Han Jisung was a guilty serial murderer, there could be no question of it. Even the testimonies were beginning to blur together:

He went all psycho on us. 

Laughing like some maniac, like he enjoyed it. 

Murdered my friends for no reason. 

At this rate, you didn’t stand a chance.

Kang needed one more witness — one more witness was all it would take for the trial to shift completely in his favour, and for you to finally lose hope. You looked around the room in desperation and spotted Minho seated on the prosecution’s side, the coroner’s smooth and mask-like expression doing nothing to calm your frazzled nerves. His words from the rooftop rang in your head, sending chills down your spine.

There is little you can do with people who don’t want to be helped, y/n. You’re just like how I was. 

Was that why Minho had cooperated with the prosecution? Because he thought that Jisung was already beyond saving? As if he could feel your gaze burning into him, Minho’s eyes darted upwards to meet yours. You were startled to find that there was something unfamiliar in his expression; something that hadn’t been there the last time you’d met him — like a crack in a mask, a ripple in smooth water. Before you could decipher what it was, you heard Kang’s haughty voice calling Minho up to the stand, and the coroner turned away.

“Please state your name and status.”

“Lee Minho, forensic pathologist and head coroner of the Miroh Heights murder cases.”

“Could you describe the autopsy results of the confirmed victims?” Kang held up a remote and projected images of various crime scenes onto a screen. An uneasy murmur rippled through the jury and spectators at the graphic images — some, like the burned body of the woman, and caved-in skull of the man at the Yellow Wood, you recognized, but there were several more you never had the courage to look at before.

Minho glanced at the photos Kang had projected onto the screen, expression unchanging. You remembered his oddly empty smile when you had first met him, when you had asked him if the endless rows of corpses ever made him uncomfortable.

“I’m sure it did, at some point. Sooner or later, they all start to look the same.”

“Yes. Well, as you can see, the victims’ bodies almost always showed signs of excessive force and trauma. Victim #1, Na Jangmin, was pronounced dead on scene from smoke inhalation and respiratory burns from the combustion of various chemicals found in the science laboratory.” Minho pointed to a gruesome image of a peeling, shrivelled corpse that made your skin crawl.

“Victim #2, Park Beomsoo. Died from asphyxiation. The victim had a high dosage of flunitrazepam — Rohypnol — in his system prior to his death.”

“And what is Rohypnol, Mr. Lee?” Kang interjected.

“It’s a powerful tranquilizer drug. Small amounts are sold as sleeping pills, but high concentrations can cause paralysis, or even loss of consciousness. It’s a common date rape drug.”

“Did the victim consume the drug of their own accord?”

“The concentration is too high to have been used as a sleeping pill dosage. The victim’s time of death was around noon, on campus, so there would have been no reason to for him to consume the drug. We detected traces of food in Park’s body along with the drug, but we don’t know where the drug came from.”

Kang turned towards the judge triumphantly. “Shortly after the drug took effect, the victim was pronounced dead. This was a premeditated crime. The defendant drugged the victim’s food, and slowly suffocated Park Beomsoo to death. Taking the defendant’s mental condition into consideration, Your Honour—” Kang gave a meaningful nod, a dark glint in his hawklike eyes, “I would argue that the defendant may have enjoyed the process of committing the murder.”

It took the last ounce of your self-control not to leap up from your chair at his words. Seemingly unfazed, Minho kept talking. “You can also find strange correlations between the victims. We always deduce signs of brute force exerted, and a pattern of victims: people with a history of abuse, adultery, and harassment. You could say that this killer...hunted killers.”

“The defendant’s M.O., Your Honour,” Kang added, nodding. “The constant pattern of victims and killing styles confirm that these were premeditated murders, habitual murders.”

You felt your heart sink, feeling sick. Beside you, Woojin had his head in his hands. Your last hope had gone down the drain. You should have known the coroner would play along, that he would never give himself in; that Lee Minho was the type to always save his own skin before saving others’— 

“However,” Minho spoke up again, “I’d like to add that all the crime scenes are also always impeccably clean. We observed minimal blood spattering, DNA evidence, and even fingerprints. Some wounds on the victims’ corpses didn’t match the hypothesised murder weapons, and were ready to become cold cases.” 

“Evidence that the perpetrator of these murders was also able to plan their clean-up afterwards,” Kang flashed the coroner a strange look. “Ladies and gentlemen, this only shows that the killer is meticulous and calculated in his attacks. As I’ve said, this is an insidious, long-seasoned killer we have on our hands—”

“You might be wondering why the evidence for this case is so scattered,” Minho’s mild voice cut him off, and Kang looked irritated at the sudden interruption but let the coroner continue. “Why the killings are so sporadic, always occurring at irregular intervals.” He paused, thinking. “Why nothing seems to fit together.”

It took several moments for his words to hit you, and you lifted your head in disbelief.

What? You turned to your friends, who all looked equally confused. 

What is he trying to say?

“I remember recording that the deduced weapon at the Yellow Wood attacks was a hammer, or crowbar.” Minho nodded at the papers in the Judge’s hands. “That’s not true.”

All the heads in the room seemed to snap up in shock at the coroner’s blunt words. You felt your breath stop, and looked over at Chan, whose expression was just as stunned.

“The weapon of choice was actually a stone from the Yellow Wood,” Minho shrugged. The coroner set down the papers Prosecutor Kang had handed him, turning to face the jury. “If you dig around in the lake outside Miroh Heights Hospital, you might be able to find it. Then there’s the vodka from the fire, the knocked-over chemicals in the science laboratory, a janitor’s rope from the rooftop. They were all impulsive weapon choices,” Minho nodded at the judge, “all from the scene of the crime. As if the perpetrator had chosen it on the spot, in a fleeting moment of impulsive judgment.”

You saw Kang sputtering behind him, mouth opening and closing uselessly. The Judge was evidently taken aback, too, peering at Minho from over her half-moon glasses. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Lee?”

“That it should be obvious that these crimes were almost never premeditated.” Minho glanced at the pictures of the crime scene. His voice was quiet — nearly inaudible — but exasperated, as if he were surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. The entire room seemed to be leaning forward, listening to his words with bated breath. “They were done in the heat of the moment, and someone else had to tamper with the evidence afterwards.”

“How could you possibly know—”

“Because I’m the one who’s been cleaning up after Han Jisung for the past thirteen years.” 

Your mouth dropped open in shock as a hush fell over the room, reporters gasping and scribbling in their notepads. Minho had a small smile on his face as he took in the entire room’s response — how everyone had fallen quiet, speechless at the sudden turn the trial had taken. The smile wasn’t gloating or cruel, you realised slowly. It was filled with a simple curiosity and wonder, like a child who had finally tried something new for the first time. 

Even Jisung had looked up, his eyes widened in surprise. “Minho—” His voice was raw from disuse as he called out to his first friend, his oldest friend —  but Minho only smiled at him and shook his head slightly.

The room was shifting uneasily around him. He should have been scared, Minho thought. He could already feel lies instinctively forming on his tongue, a thousand ways he could backpedal and take back what he had just said. It had become second nature to him, he realised — covering up murders first, and his own emotions second; the two things he had always feared the most. He could hear Kang angrily stammering and calling his name behind him, but Minho ignored him.

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, fixing her piercing gaze on him. “Why are you doing this? You are aware that a confession like this will lose you much more than your job? That it may very well condemn you to a lifetime in prison?”

“I’m aware,” Minho replied softly, eyes wandering across the room and landing on Jisung’s distraught face. The boy he had clung onto as his only family, the boy who he had both loved and feared for thirteen years. There was nothing left for him to lose. “I thought for the longest time that covering the murders were my own twisted way of...saving the boy. I don’t think I had the courage in me to do much else.” He looked around the courtroom, and his eyes finally landed on you. The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, but was strong enough to challenge him with a steady voice and blazing eyes. The girl who was an unapologetic contradiction, he remembered, almost fondly. The girl who had reminded him what it was like to be brave, to finally start living for himself.

Yes, he thought. This was the least he could do.

“Han Jisung had nothing to do with the cover-ups of the crime scenes,” Minho raised his voice, surprised at the strength in it. Behind him, he could hear the prosecution stirring, and felt two security guards seize his arms to remove him from the podium. “He is not the depraved killer the prosecution wants you to think—”

“Your Honour, this must be a set-up between the coroner and the defendant,” Kang cut him off furiously, shooting Minho a death glare behind his spectacles. The murmuring of the jury and reporters drowned out the coroner’s last words as he was dragged from the room. “Your Honour, do not be deceived—”

“Order in the court!” The judge banged the gavel repeatedly, holding her head in her hand as if she had a migraine. “The—the coroner’s statements will be deemed faulty, and Lee Minho will be dealt with separately. The trial will continue.”

The silence that settled over the room after the coroner’s outburst was eerie. You could feel your heart still pounding, mind racing over the words Minho had shouted over Kang’s, the almost wistful smile on his face as he let the guards drag him from the room. The coroner had been a wildcard, you thought uneasily, your gut churning with a cocktail of anticipation and anxiety. There was no telling which way the trial would go from here.

“Does the prosecution have any other witnesses?” The judge called out, and you saw Jeongin finally stand up. Words and whispers began flying as he made his way forward to the witness box, the citizens recognising the delivery boy immediately. You glanced over at Kang, who looked more relaxed than ever — and you knew why. Everything from Jisung’s camcorder footage to Jeongin’s salvaged Walkman tapes had either been confiscated by the prosecution, or were in Seungmin’s hands. Kang had been meticulous making sure that the younger prosecutor had no power over the case, banning him from interfering with the investigation for good. 

Which meant that all Jeongin had to sway the jury was his own verbal testimony. One young boy’s word against Prosecutor Kang’s. 

“State your name and status.”

“Yang Jeongin. Um, student at Miroh Heights University.”

Kang looked down at his papers, then back up at the judge. “On the night of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin was biking home after closing shift before he was brutally attacked by the defendant with a blow to the skull. He is the only living witness that has come forward to testify, and the only person who witnessed the defendant’s attack firsthand. Luckily, he was able to regain consciousness after the horrific attack.” He turned towards Jeongin, smiling triumphantly. “What he has to say may well turn the entire case upside down.”

He was clearly expecting Jeongin to give away evidence against Jisung, you realised. After they had told Jeongin that his tapes had been withdrawn from the investigation, the delivery boy had hit a dead end in his testimony. No matter what he said, Kang would be able to find a way to use it against Jisung. Sure enough, he was watching the young boy now like a vulture, ready to pick him apart.

But Jeongin only smiled back at Kang. “Actually, it’s not what I have to say, sir.” When the prosecutor’s face contorted in confusion, Jeongin continued, “It’s the things that you’ve said.”

Before Kang could reply, Jeongin reached into his pocket and pulled out something silver. The guards instantly moved forward, but Jeongin set it onto the clerk’s table, motioning for him to take it. After several moments, the low crackle of speakers connecting began filling the tense silence, and you realised what it was that Jeongin had brought with him. 

A voice recorder.

“He didn’t tell anyone to make sure it wouldn’t get confiscated, too,” Chan realised, eyes widening. “Smart kid. But what could he have possibly recor—”

The detective’s awed voice was drowned out by a recording of another very familiar voice.

“Kim Seungmin. As you may have heard, the serial killer — ah, the Han Jisung case, I could say — has been transferred to me.”

Prosecutor Kang.

The room froze. When you looked at Kang, you saw that all the blood had drained from his face.

“Now, now — don’t feel too ashamed, Kim. Everyone makes rookie mistakes. They may have assigned the wrong case to you, but rest assured — it’s in proper hands now.”

“Is it?”

You winced, peeking at Seungmin beside you when you heard his voice on the recording as well. Seungmin had never mentioned the way Kang treated him to anyone, and the younger prosecutor’s jaw was clenched, but his eyes were blazing. 

Still, you weren’t exactly sure why Jeongin was playing a recording of Kang and Seungmin’s conversation. What could he have possibly overheard, that made him look so confident now?

“Have something to say to me, Kim?”

“I’ve just — never understood the way you handled cases, sir.”

“Seungmin.” You could almost see the condescending look on Kang’s face. “Allow me to share a word of advice. They won’t teach you this in law school.”

Seungmin watched realisation flash across Kang’s face like he had been struck by lightning, but it was too late.

“Your job as a prosecutor is not to judge the defendant fairly.”

“Wh—”

“If you want a smooth career...all you need to do is make sure you’re appealing to the right people. In other words, listen to what the public wants. Please the public; don’t waste a single damn about the defendant. You spent all your precious time worrying your little head over the killer’s motives, and now that we finally have him, you’re still worrying over the severity of his sentence? Murder is murder, Kim Seungmin, and actions speak louder than motives. You can show lenience towards a mass-murderer, or you can sweep his sorry past under the rug and bring closure to dozens of families. Which would make you a richer, more popular man?”

“Your Honour,” Kang stammered, face white, “This is—improper use of evidence, this shouldn’t—” The recording cut him off again, the judge’s face stony as she motioned for the clerk to keep going.

“Is that how you got to where you are?”

“Think, boy. As far as anyone needs to be concerned, the cold-blooded killer is caught, peace is re-established, families are soothed, justice is served once again — and I come out the hero. You saw that boy’s wretched past. Even he can’t handle it. So why poke at wounds that aren’t meant to be re-opened?”

You didn’t realise how hard you were clenching your fists until you felt your palms sting from your nails. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath. Kang looked stricken, pale mouth opening and closing frantically like a fish out of water, but no words were coming out.

“You think you’re being kind? Justice isn’t meant to be kind, Kim. Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour.”

The judge stopped the tape, her face livid. The room had gone deadly silent, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. ““Your job as a prosector is not to judge the defendant fairly?”” 

Kang could only shake his head wildly as she continued, raising her voice, ““Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour?” From a faulty forensics expert to this — Prosecutor Kang, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Your Honour, I—” Kang sputtered out, beady eyes darting around furiously — at Jisung, and at Jeongin. “L-lies! It’s all lies, this is absurd!” He laughed, trying to make himself sound nonchalant, but his voice was weak. “This must be a—a fabrication perpetrated by the defendant—” The room was erupting in chaos now, the jury and reporters bickering amongst themselves. 

You had never seen the prosecutor so worked up before as he continued to protest frantically, “Your Honour, the defendant must have coerced the victim to do this, to—to frame me. Please listen to me, we must conduct another investigation—”

There was a deafening bang as the Judge slammed the gavel down, making the room jump. “There will be no investigation,” she thundered. “Prosecutor Kang, you are hereby removed from the Han Jisung case.” 

Kang leapt up from his seat as officers appeared on either side of the prosecutor, seizing his thrashing arms. “Let go of me! Your Honour! Your Honour, you cannot do this. Han Jisung must be condemned — you cannot let this murderer walk free—”

“Silence!” The judge bellowed, and the last of Kang’s words were drowned out, the heavy oak doors banging shut as he was thrown from the room. Jeongin looked evidently shaken. He had been right. His last existing recording — the unlikely trump card — had flipped the case on its head. You heard frenzied whispers all around you as your heartbeat pounded erratically in your chest. 

“Does this mean the prosecutor’s been fabricating all the evidence? Who can we trust now?”

“I’ve never seen a case like this before.”

“What’s going to happen to the trial now that the lead prosecutor’s been detained?”

The banging of the gavel eventually brought the restless audience to a strained silence. The Judge looked weary. “We need to take an emergency intermission. The trial...will recommence shortly.”

━━━━━━━━

You let the sea of people push you through the courtroom’s double doors, your legs threatening to collapse at any moment. Outside was hardly a breath of fresh air — all around you, cameras were flashing, reporters were gossiping, and officials were arguing. You tried to focus — to process what had happened, but the incessant buzzing of people chattering around you made your head pound so hard you swore your skull was splitting.

A firm hand on your shoulder yanked you out of your migraine, and you whipped around to see Hyunjin. You let out a small sigh of relief. 

“Hey, it might be good to get out of this crowd for a bit,” Hyunjin said, taking in your exhausted expression worriedly. “I, uh, lost everyone, but if we step outside—”

Before he could finish, you both caught sight a blond head bobbing towards you in the sea of people. Felix pushed through, cradling his camera for dear life. His freckled face was sweaty and breathless. 

“Kang—Kang’s lost all power,” he gasped out when he reached you. “Detective Bang’s managed to convince the guards to let him talk to Jisung for a few minutes—”

You had already seized your best friend by the shoulders and spun him around. He instantly got the message and the three of you began elbowing through the hordes of people, Felix leading the way.

The clamour died down to a quiet hum as you reached the hallways, Felix ushering you past an OFF-LIMITS sign. The corridors were nearly empty now, and the three of you sprinted to the end until you reached a heavy oak door. It was slightly ajar. You caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expressionless face through the dim crack, and your hand hesitated on the door handle. 

“I told you and Woojin I wouldn’t give you any counter evidence.” Jisung’s voice was cold and lifeless. 

“And you didn’t.” You could hear the growing agitation in Chan’s voice as the detective pleaded. “But you’ve got to listen to me. More people want you — need you — to keep living, more than you give yourself credit for.”

“Stop, Chan. You don’t have to do this anymore—”

“Han Jisung.” You couldn’t help his name falling from your lips, voice louder than you’d intended as you threw open the heavy door. The guards rushed to block you before you could get any closer, but you pushed back, forcing Jisung to meet your eyes. His were flat, dark, horribly cold.

“y/n,” he replied softly, and you felt your heart break.

“Why are you doing this?” You fought to keep your voice steady. “You have the right to speak for yourself. Defend yourself. You know what they’re saying isn’t true. So why are you letting them keep accusing you?”

“How do you know it isn’t true?” Jisung laughed humourlessly, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to yourself. I did kill all those people, and you know that.”

“I do. But you’re not the psychopath Kang is making you out to be,” you protested. “I know you.” 

“You don’t.” Jisung’s voice was bitter. “You don’t, actually. I’ve always — always hidden parts of myself from you. What you’re hearing from Kang is the closest you’ll ever get. He — he knows me better than I know myself.” He smiled weakly, but it fell flat. “I’ve always been like this, drawn to murder and blood and fire. It can’t be fixed.”

Each one of his words pierced through you like bullets, and you searched his face frantically for a sign, anything left of the rain-drenched, smiling boy from the diner; the wounded, soft-hearted boy you had fallen in love with. Your heart was hammering in your throat as a horrible question echoed through your head. 

Did he mean it?

It was as if Jisung had pulled on a mask, you thought. His face was absolutely still — but for a fleeting moment, you could swear you saw a flash of pain

No.

You had grown to know him, grown to know that he was the kind of boy who was willing to play the part of a depraved monster, just so you would push him away first. 

Jisung stared back at you, and for once, the darkness in his wide eyes no longer scared you. Instead, endless memories were flashing through your mind.

Jisung making you laugh until you choked on Chinese food, and apologising profusely for hours afterwards.

Jisung spilling pancake batter all over your kitchen counter, and feeding you blueberries to make sure you didn’t notice.  

Jisung, holding you in his arms until you fell asleep, hands as gentle as if he thought you were made of glass. 

“You need to go,” Jisung broke your long silence. “Stop hurting yourself. You need to let me go.”

You looked up, taking in his slumped shoulders, the note of defeat in his voice, the facade he had pulled on during the trial, and everything hit you all at once. Maybe it was the stress of the weeks leading up to trial or your hatred towards Kang had finally reached its breaking point. Either way, an overwhelming feeling of sheer frustration was washing away the anxiety that had been thrumming in your veins for weeks, and it left in its place an unbearable, burning anger.

You felt yourself push past the guards as if in slow motion, a voice in your head telling you that maybe this wasn’t the best idea — and slapped your boyfriend across the face.

The slap wasn’t hard, but the sound that rang through the room felt deafening.

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot,” you yelled. Guards immediately surrounded you, dragging you backwards, but you didn’t take your eyes off Jisung. He was staring at you, stunned,  the stone-cold facade he had put on earlier now cracked wide open. “What do you think you’re solving this way? Do you know how many people have been working nonstop to make sure you don’t get yourself killed?” You could feel hot tears of frustration spilling onto your cheeks. “Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive. I need you to stay alive.” Your voice was hoarse as you screamed over the guards pushing you out of the room, and the heavy door swung shut with a deafening bang. 

The silence in the hallway seemed to swallow you up, the weight of what you had just said and done crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. You felt your knees finally buckle as you sank to the ground, burying your face in your arms and finally letting all your pent-up tears fall freely. 

Hyunjin and Felix were by your side, exchanging worried looks as they patted your back gingerly. You weren’t sure exactly how long the three of you stayed like that, your exhausted body racking with frustrated, mortified sobs, until you heard footsteps running down the corridor towards you.

“There you are— I’ve been looking for you guys for—” Kim Woojin’s breathless voice made you look up, and the captain did a double take. “Bloody hell, what happened?”

You wiped your reddened eyes furiously as Felix shook his head at the police captain, who was kind enough to take the hint.

“The thing is —” Woojin began again, tripping over his words. It was the first time you had seen the police captain so frantic. “It’s — it’s an emergency situation right now. A mistrial. The head prosecutor’s been thrown off the case, people are rioting—”

“This is a fucking mess,” Hyunjin muttered, but Woojin shook his head.

“No, it’s not,” the police captain exclaimed excitedly, “Not for us. They’re calling for a prosecutor who’s familiar with Jisung’s case to step up, asap. If there’s any prosecutor who was also working on the case—”

As if on cue, the intercom buzzed above you, making you jolt. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and Miroh Heights Murders will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants of the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Seungmin,” you, Felix, and Hyunjin all said simultaneously, and Woojin nodded. Felix was already pulling you to your feet, and the four of you broke into a run towards the courtroom.