#I know someone will enjoy reading about it

[do-you-have-a-flag]

as someone who 1. had the books read to her as a child 2. loved them 3.went to the book release parties 4. went to the movies release day 5. cosplayed ficced and fanarted 6. made friends through the fandom I get it.

I get that it's a fun world to play in and you have an attachment to the characters and the flaws of the writing were about on par for a lot of kids fiction at the time even with much better stuff out there it was a unique major pop cultural moment and the fandom did change lives and create friendships. I would never argue that it always being bad means anyone should feel guilty for enjoying it cause that's not how art works. things with bad qualities by bad people can still be influential and their popularity can sill come from a sincere place.

and even with all that, I accepted that I have spent a lot of time and money on the franchise in the past but she soured the idea of continuing to engage with it. I can hold my nostalgia and experiences close to my heart and still chose to disengage from fandom and new content.

I'm just SAYING that this author has done and continues to do real harm in the mainstreaming of her transphobia, and even if you don't conceded that fandom that doesn't line her pockets still keeps HP in a place of pop cultural relevance that supports her financially, I am begging you not to even hate watch this now you know she is involved. do not discuss it unless you are telling uninformed general fans about why she is harmful. let it flop.

"read another book" glosses over the actual phenomenon of how this fandom was experienced. It was so pervasive in a way that has not been replicated. but I am asking you to think about if you want to continue to tie your positive experiences to the words and actions of a bigot who campaigns and donates towards harm and amplifies the voices of extremists. I am asking you to accept that it was something you enjoyed but that you can't recapture that feeling by sitting on this rotting corpse of a fandom. I encourage you to take your friends with you and make whatever you get into contain that same spark of creativity and collaboration the HP fandom gave you be creating it yourselves.

Even Daniel Radcliffe has made clear his support for trans people and said of Rowling "-nothing in my life would have probably happened the way it is without that person. But that doesn’t mean that you owe the things you truly believe to someone else for your entire life.”

you don't have to throw out your merch and denounce HP in the public square, you just have to stop spending money and attention. it's the lack of action that is the bare minimum. it's so easy.

since much of her political news rantings are based in the UK i will just link a relevant charity and encourage anyone inclined to donate

https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/

Welp, if JK Rowling being executive producer and therefore being fully involved in the show wasn't enough for people to boycott, then here's HBO basically saying they don't care JK Rowling is a bigot from hell who literally helped lead a harassment campaign of lies against Imane Khalif in her transphobia and obsession with women being terf's standards of women alongside posting harassment against trans people on twitter at times, they gonna stand by her, while using the excuse, "personal views". Hmm, yes, personal views- that's one way to uh, call what the fuck JK Rowling comes out with a-lot- last I checked personal views do come with consquiences if said out loud....a thousand times in JK's case and still counting....especially if they hurt people, but hey, if it means making another Harry Potter project to milk, just let it fucking be I guess.

[enzstr]

a morning behind the explosions

pairing: timeskip bakugo x reader (married with kids au)

notes: this was waaayy back in my old drafts so enjoy reading :P

The early morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The soft murmur of your children’s voices could be heard from the kitchen, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. You smiled, knowing that the morning chaos had already begun—your two kids were always up bright and early, full of energy, ready to face the day.

You rolled over in bed, only to find that Bakugo’s side of the bed was already empty. You sighed with a smile, knowing exactly where he was.

As you stepped into the living room, you were greeted by the sight of Bakugo, his red eyes narrowed in concentration, wearing a faded “Kiss the Cook” apron over his usual black compression shirt. He was standing at the stove, one hand gripping a spatula while the other tried to balance a skillet full of eggs.

"Good morning," you said, leaning against the doorway with a teasing smile. "How’s the kitchen going today?"

Bakugo grunted, not turning to face you. “Don’t laugh. I’m making breakfast, alright? The kids wanted pancakes.”

You watched him flip an egg with surprising precision for someone who usually preferred to blow things up rather than cook. Despite his fiery personality, Bakugo had become a surprisingly competent cook over the years—especially after the birth of your first child. He didn’t want to admit it, but you knew he loved taking care of his family, even in the little things.

“Do they always expect you to cook?” you asked, stepping into the kitchen and moving to the counter to grab a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, well, they love my pancakes,” Bakugo said with a huff, his back still to you. “And if I let you cook, they’ll be crying ‘cause you’re too slow.”

You chuckled, watching as your youngest, a rambunctious four-year-old boy, scampered over to the kitchen table. His bright blond hair—so similar to his father's—was a mess, sticking up in all directions.

"Daddy! Can I have the biggest pancake?" he asked, his wide, eager eyes shining up at Bakugo.

"Quit being so damn greedy," Bakugo grumbled, but his voice had softened. He slid a plate of pancakes onto the table for your son. "Eat this first, then we’ll talk about the ‘biggest’ pancake."

Your heart swelled as you watched Bakugo gently serve his son, his gruff demeanor melting just a little when it came to his kids. It was a side of him that you had fallen in love with—the fierce hero, the protective husband, the devoted father.

As your son dug into his food, your daughter, who was just a year older, strolled into the room with her hair tied up in a messy bun. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, still half-asleep, but already demanding attention.

“Mom, can you make my pancakes in the shape of a heart today?” she asked, her voice still sleep-ridden but sweet as can be.

You smiled at her, walking over to give her a quick hug before turning to your husband. “I think she’s requesting a little extra love this morning,” you teased.

Bakugo rolled his eyes but was already pulling out a second skillet to make heart-shaped pancakes. He didn’t say anything, but his subtle smirk told you that he didn’t mind.

“Are you still planning to take them to the park later?” you asked, stirring your coffee.

“Yeah,” Bakugo replied as he flipped another pancake. “I said I’d take ‘em, so I will.” He turned to look at you, his fiery red eyes softening. “You can stay here and rest. You’ve been working all week. I got this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to sit on the couch while you do all the work.”

“Tch, I don’t need you hovering over me,” he muttered, but his voice was softer than usual. “It’s not a big deal.”

You gave him a knowing smile, watching as he poured batter into the pan, a small frown on his face as he tried to make sure the pancakes were perfectly shaped. “You’re getting good at this.”

Bakugo shot you a glare, but there was no heat in it. “You don’t need to act so surprised. I’m not some idiot who can’t learn stuff.”

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m not surprised. I love seeing this side of you, you know?”

He tensed for a moment, but then relaxed into your embrace. “Shut up,” he muttered, though the faintest blush crept across his cheeks.

Your son, now finished with his pancakes, climbed into Bakugo’s lap. "Daddy, can you play with me later?"

Bakugo gave a small sigh, but the smile that tugged at his lips was soft. “Yeah, I’ll play with you after I finish here.”

You watched them, your heart full as you saw the fatherly bond between them. Despite the explosive nature of his quirks and his harsh exterior, Bakugo was, without a doubt, the most dedicated father. And it was in these small, quiet moments that you saw just how much he cherished being a family man.

You grabbed the plates and began setting the table, glancing over at him. "You know, Katsuki, I’m really proud of you."

He scoffed, but there was no hiding the genuine warmth in his eyes. “Tch, don’t get all sappy. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

You smiled, kissing his cheek quickly before returning to your task. “Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you.”

As the morning unfolded, you all sat down together at the table, sharing breakfast and laughs. The chaos of family life, while loud and often overwhelming, was something you had come to cherish. You didn’t need grand gestures from Bakugo—his love for you and the kids was shown in the small moments, in his quiet care and dedication to making sure everything was right.

And in that moment, surrounded by the noise and joy of your family, you knew that no matter how intense the world got, you had your own little piece of peace right here.

enzstr © 2024. please don't steal, modify or copy my writing on any other platforms!

[faebled-stories]

The Book of Forbidden Pleasures

Kinkvember Day 24: Tentacles/DubCon

Billlie's Fukutomi Tsuki

AN: the story is tagged tentacles but they are described more as appendages/limbs.

Also this story takes place in the same universe as the Karina story. While you don’t need to have read that one to enjoy this, there are a few references and cameos from the previous story. Enjoy 😉 💖

The rain drummed softly against the windowpane, a rhythmic lullaby that mirrored the exhaustion weighing on Tsuki’s every step as she pushed open the door to her shared dorm. Her shoulders sagged under the relentless pressure of hours spent perfecting choreography, each muscle in her body throbbing with the dull ache of overuse. Her mind felt clouded, worn thin by endless repetitions and sharp corrections that still echoed in her head.

With a tired sigh, Tsuki kicked off her sneakers, the soft thud of rubber against the floor blending seamlessly with the faint hum of quiet conversation drifting from one of the bedrooms. The voices were low and soothing, a distant reminder of her roommates’ presence. Yet the dorm itself felt still, untouched, offering Tsuki the comforting illusion of solitude.

She dropped her bag unceremoniously by the door, glancing around the dimly lit living space. The golden glow of late evening filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The couch called to her, its soft embrace promising a reprieve from the day’s demands. She was just about to collapse into it, letting her exhaustion take over, when a buzz in her pocket startled her.

Her phone.

Suppressing a faint flicker of irritation, Tsuki fumbled for the device, her fingers sluggish from fatigue. The brightness of the screen made her squint as she opened her notifications.

It was from Ningning, one of her closest friends.

“Hey Tsuki! Are you free to do me a huuuuge favor?”

Tsuki frowned, her thumbs hesitating over the keyboard. After the day she’d had, the last thing she wanted was to be roped into something she couldn’t say no to.

“Depends… what kind of favor?”

The reply came almost immediately, as if Ningning had been waiting, bubbles flickering on the screen before her next message popped up:

“Karina unnie asked me to house-sit for her while she’s away with her boyfriend, but I totally forgot my parents are coming to visit! Can you take over for a couple of days? pleeeaaasse.”

Tsuki exhaled a long, heavy sigh, letting her head fall back against the couch. Her rare free moments were precious, a reprieve from her relentless schedule that she guarded fiercely. Spending them house-sitting for someone else didn’t exactly sound like her idea of rest.

“I don’t know…”

She hadn’t even put her phone down when another message appeared, almost as if Ningning had anticipated her hesitation.

“Come ooon it's totally your vibe. It’s a really cool old house. You’d love it. Super aesthetic. I’ll buy you a meal for every day you stay. Please?”

Tsuki stared at the screen, the faint ache in her limbs tempting her to refuse outright. But the phrase “super aesthetic” sparked a small flicker of curiosity in her otherwise exhausted mind. She imagined it already—a house with charming quirks and old-world beauty, the kind of place she might dream about escaping to in her quieter moments.

With a resigned sigh, she typed back:

“Fine. Just for a couple of days, though.”

Almost instantly, her screen flooded with heart emojis, the animated reactions filling the chat with Ningning’s uncontainable excitement. Despite herself, Tsuki’s lips quirked upward into a faint smile, the warmth of her friend’s enthusiasm momentarily softening the fatigue clinging to her.

A few days later, Tsuki arrived at Karina’s house just as the morning rain began to subside. The heavy clouds lingered stubbornly in the sky, only partially allowing pale beams of sunlight to filter through. Her footsteps echoed softly as she stepped onto the wide porch, the wood beneath her shoes aged and weathered but polished by years of care. The air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of rain-soaked ivy and faint traces of varnish, remnants of the house’s enduring upkeep.

She paused, taking in the sight of the house before her. It was even more striking than she had imagined. The red-brick façade was cloaked in ivy that twisted and curled with deliberate elegance, framing the arched windows like a living picture frame. Ornate wrought-iron railings lined the balcony above, their intricate patterns reminiscent of an older, more graceful time. The wide wooden door, its surface darkened with age and wear, stood as an imposing yet inviting gateway into a space that seemed steeped in history.

“This place is amazing,” Tsuki murmured to herself, her voice nearly lost in the soft rustle of ivy in the breeze.

The sound of the door creaking open startled her, and Ningning appeared, waving her inside with a bright grin. “Right?” Ningning said, stepping aside to let Tsuki in. “Unnie and her boyfriend are obsessed with it. It’s basically their dream house.” She adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder, gesturing for Tsuki to follow her.

As soon as Tsuki stepped inside, the house seemed to come alive around her. The distinct scent of lavender lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the sharper aroma of wood polish, like a memory etched into the house itself. Her gaze swept over the interior, taking in the dark wood railings of the staircase and the antique furniture arranged with effortless charm. The floors, polished to a muted shine, creaked gently underfoot, each sound a subtle reminder of the home’s age and character.

The house felt expansive yet intimate, its design inviting exploration while maintaining an air of quiet mystery. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, bathing the space in a golden haze that seemed to soften the edges of the walls and furniture. The intricate carvings on the staircase bannister and the subtle wear on the doorframes whispered of the countless lives and stories the house had witnessed over the years.

Ningning led her on a brisk tour, her voice light and cheerful as she pointed out the key areas of the house. “Here’s the kitchen—you probably won’t need it much, but everything’s labeled. Over there’s the sitting room, super cozy in the evenings. And down this hall is the guest bedroom. You’ll love it; it gets the best light in the mornings.”

Every room exuded a distinct personality, from the heavy curtains in the sitting room that softened the outside light to the mismatched yet harmonious furniture pieces that seemed carefully curated over time. The faint hum of the house settled around them, a low, almost imperceptible sound that only added to its allure.

They stopped near the staircase, where Tsuki’s gaze was immediately drawn to a narrow, unassuming door tucked discreetly into the hallway. It was plain compared to the rest of the house, with a slightly scuffed surface and a handle worn smooth by years of use. A faint draft escaped through the crack at its base, brushing against her legs and sending a chill up her spine.

Ningning adjusted the bag on her shoulder and gestured toward the door with a half-nervous smile. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said, her tone shifting slightly. “Don’t open this door, okay? Like, seriously, just… leave it alone.”

Tsuki tilted her head, her curiosity instantly piqued. “Why not?” she asked, her voice cautious yet intrigued.

Ningning hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the door as if wary it might open on its own. “Jimin unnie told me not to mess with it. She was super firm about it, and honestly? I didn’t ask. She seemed… weird about it. I think it creeps her out or something.” She let out a nervous laugh, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, everything else is fine. Just keep the plants alive and, you know, make sure the place doesn’t burn down. Easy stuff.”

Tsuki nodded slowly, her eyes lingering on the door for a moment longer. The faint draft continued to slip through the gap, cool and insistent, stirring something she couldn’t quite place. But Ningning’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Come on,” Ningning said, her grin brightening as she motioned toward the main part of the house. “Let me show you where Karina keeps all the good snacks.”

With a final glance at the door, Tsuki followed Ningning down the hall. But even as Ningning chatted away, her words breezy and light, Tsuki couldn’t shake the faint, magnetic pull of the small, unassuming door.

Ningning’s voice was light and casual as she led Tsuki on a whirlwind tour, pointing out the essentials: the kitchen, the cozy living room with its well-loved sofa, and the guest bedroom. The house had a lived-in warmth to it, with soft rugs and mismatched furniture that seemed carefully chosen for comfort rather than style. Yet, beneath its charm, Tsuki couldn’t help but notice a subtle weight in the air, a quiet stillness that felt just a little too thick.

“Okay, that’s pretty much it,” Ningning said with a grin as they stopped near the staircase. “It’s an easy gig, really—just make sure the plants don’t die and, you know, no fires or anything.”

Tsuki chuckled softly, nodding as she glanced around the dim hallway. Her gaze flickered briefly to the narrow door tucked near the staircase, but Ningning quickly pulled her attention back.

“Oh, right,” Ningning said as they paused in front of another door. She gestured toward it with her free hand, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “This is the master bedroom. Karina unnie left a checklist on the kitchen counter—watering the plants in here is on it. She’s super into her plants, so don’t skip it, okay?”

“Got it,” Tsuki replied with a small smile, though her curiosity lingered as she glanced at the door.

Ningning gave a playful wink. “Well, that’s everything! Seriously, Tsuki, thanks for doing this. You’re a lifesaver. I owe you big-time.”

Tsuki grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Don’t forget that when we go out to eat. I’m ordering the whole menu.”

Ningning laughed, shaking her head as she adjusted her bag one last time. “Fair enough. Just don’t bankrupt me, okay? See you soon!”

With that, Ningning headed out, the faint sound of the door clicking shut echoing through the house. Silence settled in, broken only by the soft rustle of the curtains as a gentle breeze drifted through the open window.

-----

Later that day, Tsuki stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, the faint light of late afternoon spilling through the sheer curtains. The room was neatly arranged, with an ornate wooden bed frame and matching furniture that gave the space an elegant, timeless feel.

In the corner, a collection of lush green plants thrived on a wooden stand near the window. Their leaves glistened faintly in the sunlight, a watering can sitting beside them like a waiting companion. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the plants, subtle and soothing.

Tsuki stepped inside, the floor creaking softly underfoot as she approached the plants. The quiet was profound, broken only by the sound of her footsteps and the soft clink of the watering can as she picked it up.

She crouched down, pouring water into the pots with careful precision, watching as the soil absorbed the moisture. The faint, earthy scent of damp soil mingled ever-present in the air, creating a soothing, almost hypnotic atmosphere. Her mind wandered absently, the rhythmic flow of water from the can lulling her into a quiet, unfocused state.

It was peaceful—too peaceful, Tsuki realized, as the quiet began to press on her, heavy and unsettling. Straightening up, she turned toward the next plant, her thoughts scattered, when her gaze landed on the far corner of the room—and she froze.

A figure sat in the shadows, perfectly still. Long, dark hair spilled over its slim shoulders, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

A scream tore from Tsuki’s throat, sharp and raw, shattering the fragile silence of the house. She stumbled backward, her foot catching on the edge of the rug, and she crashed to the floor with a jarring thud. The watering can slipped from her hand, clattering loudly as water splashed across the polished floorboards, the sound echoing in the oppressive stillness.

She sat there, chest heaving, her palms pressed against the cool wood for balance as her wide eyes remained locked on the figure. The adrenaline surged through her veins, making her limbs feel heavy and numb all at once.

“Unnie?” she called out instinctively, her voice trembling and hoarse. The word hung in the air, unanswered.

The figure didn’t move. The house remained eerily quiet, broken only by the faint drip of water pooling from the overturned can.

Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts as the initial wave of panic ebbed, replaced by an unsettling confusion. She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the rug and pushed herself upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her, the distance between her and the shadowy figure stretching impossibly wide and yet impossibly close.

Step by cautious step, she approached, her movements deliberate, her senses on high alert. The sunlight streaming through the window did little to banish the heavy shadows pooling in the corner, and as she drew nearer, the truth revealed itself.

It wasn’t Karina.

It was a doll.

A life-sized, eerily realistic doll, seated upright in an antique chair as though it had been posed with meticulous care.

Tsuki’s throat tightened as she took in the details. Its face was hauntingly lifelike, the craftsmanship unnervingly perfect. Softly flushed cheeks, delicately curved lips, and closed eyes framed by long, dark lashes gave it an uncanny resemblance to Karina. The resemblance was so striking it sent a shiver down Tsuki’s spine.

The doll wore a pale lavender dress, its fabric faded with age but pristine in condition. The lace trim at the edges was slightly frayed, but it only added to the unsettling authenticity. The faint lavender scent that clung to the house felt stronger now, as though it emanated from the doll itself.

“It looks so real…” Tsuki murmured, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. “Like a wax statue, but…”

She hesitated, leaning closer, her fingers twitching at her sides as she fought the instinct to reach out and touch it. The texture of its skin caught her eye—it didn’t have the rigidity of wax. The surface appeared soft, pliable even, as though it might yield under pressure. The thought made her stomach twist.

The doll’s serene expression was too perfect, too intentional. It felt less like an inanimate object and more like a figure quietly observing her, its stillness unnerving in a way she couldn’t articulate. The longer she stared, the smaller the room seemed to feel, the air thickening with an unseen tension.

A sharp creak from the hallway broke the moment. Tsuki jumped, spinning around so quickly her knee bumped the edge of the chair. Her heart leapt into her throat, her wide eyes darting toward the open doorway.

Nothing. Just the house settling.

Her hand flew to her chest as she exhaled shakily, forcing her nerves to settle. “Get it together,” she muttered, glancing back at the doll.

The oppressive sensation of its presence still lingered. She crouched quickly, grabbing the watering can and finishing her task in rushed, clumsy movements. Each time she glanced over her shoulder, the doll was still there, perfectly posed, perfectly still. But that didn’t stop the irrational sense that it might spring to life at any moment.

When the last pot was watered, Tsuki stood and turned toward the door. She hesitated, the weight of the room pressing on her shoulders as her gaze flickered back to the doll one last time. The quiet lavender-scented air wrapped around her like a whisper, the moment hanging heavy and strange.

Her eyes lingered on the doll’s face. Its resemblance to Karina was so uncanny, so eerily perfect, that a strange reflex stirred within her. Without thinking, she dipped her head in a small, polite bow—a gesture born out of respect, habit, and the unsettling feeling that she was in the presence of someone, rather than something.

Straightening, she let out a faint, self-conscious laugh, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. “Why am I bowing to a doll?” she muttered under her breath, the absurdity of the moment making her shake her head.

With a final glance at the serene, unblinking face of the doll, she stepped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her. The faint click of the latch echoed in the quiet hallway, but the weight of the doll’s presence lingered. As she walked down the corridor, its expression, its stillness, its unnerving presence—it was burned into her mind. And with every step, the unease that clung to her chest only grew heavier, like a shadow she couldn’t escape.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the house had settled into an eerie quiet. The golden hues of the late afternoon gave way to muted blues and grays, the darkness creeping into every corner as night took hold.

The guest bedroom offered a welcome reprieve, its modest furnishings a comforting contrast to the grandeur of the rest of the house. Tsuki sat on the edge of the neatly made bed, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting soft, elongated shadows on the walls. The weight of the day pressed down on her like a heavy blanket, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had built up over hours of unease.

The unique house scent seemed to follow her everywhere, clinging to her like a whisper. It hung in the air as she slipped under the covers, the crisp linens cool against her skin. She shifted restlessly, her thoughts unable to shake the memory of the doll’s lifelike features and the quiet, oppressive atmosphere of the master bedroom.

She closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. The creaks and groans of the old house kept her awake, their rhythm too deliberate to be random. Each sound seemed to carry meaning, like a whispered message just beyond her comprehension.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, pulling her into a restless sleep. Her dreams were fleeting and fragmented—shadows stretching across long hallways, faint whispers just out of reach, and always that door near the staircase, standing in the periphery of her mind. She woke suddenly in the early hours of the morning, her heart pounding as though she’d been running, though she couldn’t remember why.

For the next few days, she resumed her duties, going through the checklist Karina had left. Watering plants, checking windows, tidying rooms—simple tasks that should have kept her grounded. Yet, no matter how diligently she worked, she couldn’t shake the sensation that something was… watching.

Her steps became slower as she passed the basement door. The plain, unremarkable panel tucked near the staircase seemed to hum with an unspoken energy. She dismissed it at first, chalking it up to her imagination or the creaks of the old house. But as the days went on, the pull became stronger.

Whenever she neared the door, she felt it—a faint tug, like invisible fingers brushing against her chest, guiding her closer. At times, it was barely noticeable, a whisper at the edge of her awareness. Other times, it was almost overwhelming, making her pause mid-step as her hand drifted toward the handle without her realizing.

Then there was the sound.

It started as a faint rhythm, almost too soft to notice. A deep, steady thrum that seemed to rise from the floorboards themselves. At first, she thought it was her own heartbeat, quickened by the tension that gripped her whenever she passed the door. But as she stood there one afternoon, frozen with her ear tilted toward the frame, she realized it didn’t match the rhythm pounding in her chest.

It was something else.

The sound was faint but persistent, a slow and deliberate beat, like the pulse of something alive hidden beneath the house. She stepped back, shaking her head as if to clear it. “It’s just the pipes or something,” she muttered to herself, her voice thin and uncertain.

But the sound didn’t stop.

That night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the silence of the house pressed in around her. The pull toward the basement door was stronger than ever, an invisible tether pulling at her thoughts, making her skin prickle with unease. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to ignore it.

By the next day, it was unbearable. Every time she passed the door, the thrum seemed louder, the pull more insistent. She found herself standing before it without realizing, her fingers brushing the cold handle. She yanked her hand back, her breath quickening as Ningning’s words rang in her ears: Don’t open this door.

But the warning wasn’t enough to keep her away.

Tsuki hesitated, Ningning’s earlier warning echoing in her mind. But something about the door pulled at her, a quiet insistence that she couldn’t ignore. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped inside.

The stairs creaked beneath her as Tsuki descended into the basement, each step groaning under her weight, the sound sharp against the oppressive silence. The air grew cooler with every step, brushing against her skin like an unseen presence. A faint metallic tang mingled with the musty scent of old, forgotten things, and each breath she took felt heavier than the last.

At the bottom of the stairs, the dim space opened before her, cloaked in shadow and illuminated only by a single, flickering bulb that cast a weak, uneven light. Dust motes danced lazily in the air she’d disturbed, their slow movement amplifying the room’s stillness. The quiet was suffocating, as if the house itself had stopped breathing.

Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of jars filled with murky substances. Some were capped with rusted lids, others empty but for a faint residue clinging to their interiors. The objects scattered among them were strange and unidentifiable—trinkets that seemed as though they belonged to a world just outside her understanding.

In the center of the room stood a large wooden table, its surface surprisingly clean amidst the surrounding layers of dust. The smooth, worn edges hinted at its age, while the faint outline of a rectangular shape in the dust suggested something had been there recently. The table dominated the space, drawing her gaze like a magnet.

The room felt untouched, frozen in time, but the table’s pristine condition made it feel out of place, as if waiting for something—or someone. Her fingers brushed the edge of the wood, and a shiver raced through her as the strange pull she’d felt earlier surged within her, stronger now.

Her gaze wandered back to the shelves, landing on a single book nestled among the clutter. Its dark leather cover seemed to glow faintly, the intricate silver filigree embossed into its surface shimmering as though alive in the flickering light.

She took a step closer, her breath quickening as her hand reached for the book. The leather felt unexpectedly warm under her trembling fingers, and the moment she touched it, a low hum vibrated through her palms, resonating softly in the still air.

Turning slowly, she noticed an old wooden chair tucked into the corner of the room. Dust stirred as she brushed it off, sending a faint puff into the cool air. It creaked softly as she sat, cradling the book in her lap, the hum growing louder with every second.

Tsuki hesitated, her fingers tracing the embossed designs on the cover. Taking a breath to steady herself, she opened it. The first page greeted her with intricate symbols, their swirling shapes shimmering faintly as if they held a life of their own. The text was unfamiliar, yet something about it stirred a flicker of recognition deep within her, as though she’d seen it in a dream she couldn’t quite remember.

As she turned the brittle, crackling pages, the air around her grew colder, pressing against her skin. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the macabre contents: meticulously penned spells and rituals, their elegant strokes intertwining with illustrations that seemed to shift and writhe under the dim light. The drawings were both haunting and mesmerizing—dark figures entangled in rituals of power, surrounded by arcane symbols that shimmered faintly with a sinister allure.

The book felt alive in her hands, the brittle paper exuding an unnatural warmth that prickled against her fingers. The room’s shadows seemed to deepen, pressing closer, as though drawn by the energy radiating from the tome.

“This has to be some kind of elaborate antique—or a stupid movie prop,” Tsuki muttered, her voice barely breaking the oppressive silence. The words sounded hollow to her ears, and the static-like prickle along her arms only heightened her unease. She tried to ignore how the symbols on the page glimmered whenever her eyes shifted, the intricate patterns teasing the edges of her vision.

Her eyes were drawn to ornate runes etched faintly into the margins of the pages, their curling shapes seeming to beg to be spoken. She didn’t know why, but her lips began to move, forming the unfamiliar words before she could stop herself.

The first syllable escaped hesitantly, hanging in the still air like a fragile thread. The second came more easily, flowing into the third, her voice rising in a rhythm that echoed softly against the basement walls.

As the final word slipped from her lips, the house seemed to exhale. Outside, the rain surged, pounding against the brick walls with renewed force. A sudden crash of thunder shook the foundation beneath her feet, and the light from the single bulb flickered violently, casting erratic, jittering shadows that danced across the walls.

The hum from the book intensified, vibrating through her hands and into her chest, as though the very air around her were alive, pulsing with the same energy as the tome in her lap.

The air thickened with an oppressive charge, an energy that seemed to ripple through her very bones. A sickly-sweet scent—like decaying fruit laced with a metallic tang—filled the room, overwhelming her senses. She gagged, her stomach churning as a low, guttural groan reverberated from somewhere deep within the dark corners of the basement.

Tsuki froze, her breath caught in her throat as her wide eyes darted toward the shadows just beyond the flickering light. Something was moving. The darkness itself seemed to ripple and writhe, its edges shifting as though it were alive. Her legs trembled, her body screaming for her to flee, but she couldn’t move, rooted in place by a fear so primal it felt as though it had wrapped around her soul.

The book in her lap began to pulse, its vibration growing stronger, more insistent, and a faint glow seeped from its pages, casting eerie patterns onto her hands. Her breath hitched as she saw it—a slick, glistening tendril slowly snaking its way out from between the yellowed pages.

A strangled cry burst from her lips as she flung the book away from her, her hands trembling violently. The tome landed with a heavy thud on the floor, its cover flapping open. For a moment, silence returned, the room holding its breath—but then the glow intensified, and the tendril continued to emerge, undeterred.

Tsuki scrambled back, her wide eyes fixed on the book as more appendages slithered forth, inky black and glistening wetly in the dim light. They moved with a terrible, unnatural grace, twisting and curling as though tasting the air. Their presence was suffocating, an affront to the space itself, and the oppressive energy in the room deepened, vibrating through her chest and setting her teeth on edge.

The air around her grew colder, thickening with a density that made it hard to breathe. She watched in horror as the appendages spilled onto the polished floor, their slick surfaces reflecting the faint glow of the book’s pulsing light.

Her scream caught in her throat a large one lashed out with terrifying speed. It wrapped around her ankle like a living vise, its texture alien—slick yet warm, pulsing faintly against her skin. A shuddering wave of revulsion coursed through her, but to her horror, so did something else: a strange, electric thrill that clashed violently with the primal terror gripping her heart.

“Let me go!” she gasped, her voice trembling as she thrashed against the sinuous limb. But her struggles only seemed to strengthen its grip, pulling her closer to the book.

The room seemed to shrink around her, the shelves and shadows pressing closer as though the space itself had come alive. The light from the flickering bulb dimmed further, replaced by the book’s eerie glow, which had grown impossibly bright.

A crimson sheen materialized at the edges of the doorframe, faintly luminous, as though painted by an unseen hand. It shimmered with a rhythmic pulse, synchronized with the thrumming energy radiating from the book. Tsuki’s eyes darted toward it, her chest tightening as she realized it wasn’t just light—it was a barrier.

The shimmering red aura stretched across the doorframe, sealing her inside. It seemed alive, pulsing and flickering as though aware of her. She screamed again, but the sound was swallowed by the air itself, the barrier promising absolute secrecy. No one would hear her cries, and no one would come.

The appendages tightened their grip, the largest curling upward to brush against her trembling hand. It was as though the book itself was alive, its energy thrumming with hunger, pulling her deeper into its inescapable hold. Tsuki’s mind raced, a storm of emotions churning within her—fear, confusion, and a flickering, inexplicable pull toward the power suffusing the air around her.

“No! Stop!” she cried, her voice raw with desperation as she twisted against the tendrils wrapped around her ankle. The slick surface of it pulsed faintly, their warmth a shocking contrast to the cold fear gripping her chest. Her thrashing only seemed to fuel the energy swirling around her, the room alive with an invisible force that crackled against her skin.

With a sinuous motion, two more appendages slithered from the shadows, their glossy surfaces catching the faint light as they coiled around her wrists. The grip was firm yet unhurried, lifting her effortlessly from the ground and suspending her in the charged air above the glowing tome.

Tsuki gasped, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as she writhed in their hold. Her limbs trembled with exertion, her mind screaming for her to fight harder, to escape. Yet with each movement, the tendrils seemed to tighten, cradling her with an unnerving precision that made her struggles feel insignificant.

As the seconds stretched into eternity, a foreign sensation began to spread through her, igniting a strange heat in her core. The tendrils moved with deliberate slowness, their touch almost exploratory as they brushed against her exposed skin.

One of the tendrils slithered closer, its movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator assessing its prey. Tsuki flinched, her breath hitching as it hovered near her face, the faint shimmer of its slick surface catching the dim light. She turned her head away instinctively, her lips pressed tightly together, but the tendril moved with an eerie precision, brushing against her cheek with a warmth that sent her skin tingling.

“No…” she whispered, her voice trembling as the tendril’s tip traced the line of her jaw. The scent in the room grew thicker, suffusing the air with its intoxicating sweetness. It seemed to dull her resistance, the tension in her shoulders loosening even as her mind screamed at her to fight.

The tendril pressed lightly against her lips, and for a moment, she held her breath, clenching her mouth shut. But the pulsing warmth and insistent pressure became unbearable, and her resolve wavered. A gasp escaped her, her lips parting slightly, and it slipped inside with unsettling ease.

The texture was slick and alien, its presence invasive yet strangely gentle as it curled against her tongue. Tsuki gagged slightly, her body jerking in reflexive protest, but the appendage didn’t retreat. Instead, a faint warmth spread from where it touched, a strange, electric heat that seeped into her muscles and unfurled through her chest.

A faint hum resonated through her, vibrating softly against her skin as the tendril pulsed, releasing something she couldn’t identify. The effect was immediate—her body grew lighter, the tension in her limbs dissipating as a wave of heat pooled low in her abdomen.

Her head swam, the oppressive sweetness in the air blending with the warmth spreading through her, clouding her thoughts and softening her panic. Her lips tingled where it touched, the sensation lingering even as it withdrew, leaving her mouth empty and her breaths shallow.

Tsuki gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Her fear remained, but it was now tangled with something deeper, something unfamiliar yet impossible to ignore. Her body felt alive in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying, every nerve alight with sensation.

Before she could regain her composure, another tendril brushed against her arm, its slick surface gliding over her skin with a maddening slowness. Her pulse quickened, her body trembling as the warmth within her grew stronger, fanning into an insistent heat.

Her skirt was pushed upwards with an almost sentient deliberateness, the cool air brushing against her exposed thighs. The intimacy of the act sent a flush of mortification through her, her thoughts racing with conflicting emotions. The alien limb seemed to know her body in ways she could not comprehend, their movements unhurried but insistent, exploring her as though tracing a map only they could see.

“No… stop…” Tsuki whispered, her voice shaking with both fear and shame. The words felt powerless, swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the room. Her mind screamed at her to fight harder, to resist, but her body betrayed her. A faint, forbidden warmth coiled deep within her, a treacherous response that made her feel as though the book’s influence was seeping into her very soul.

The first appendage, slick and pulsating faintly, brushed against her inner thigh, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left her trembling. It found her center, pressing lightly against her most intimate place with a surreal precision that felt invasive and deeply wrong. Yet, to her growing horror, the contact ignited a spark within her—a sensation she couldn’t explain, one that clashed violently with the revulsion knotting her stomach.

“Please… don’t…” Tsuki’s voice was barely more than a whisper, each word trembling with desperation. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she writhed against the tendrils, her struggles weak and futile. Yet, her protests faltered when an involuntary moan escaped her lips—a low, shameful sound that startled her with its rawness. It betrayed the turmoil within her, a storm she could neither deny nor suppress.

The tendril pressed further, its warmth a mirror of the growing heat coiling deep within her. Her body’s treacherous response filled her with shame, the telltale dampness between her thighs answering the intrusion even as she squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out the sensations. But it was impossible. The relentless tide of sensation swelled within her, drowning every rational thought beneath its rising waves.

As it explored with agonizing precision, others joined, their slick movements leaving trails of warmth and wetness along her exposed skin. Two curled around her heaving chest, their sinuous motions too deliberate to be accidental. Tsuki gasped as they wrapped around her breasts, their touch firm yet teasing, as though savoring the curves beneath their grasp.

They squeezed gently at first, testing her with rhythmic pulses that seemed to synchronize with her erratic heartbeat. Her nipples, already sensitive from the cool air, hardened under their touch. She bit her lip as one tendril tightened around a peak, the friction maddening as it tugged and teased with deliberate pressure. The slick texture of the appendage sent jolts of sensation straight to her core, each movement stoking the forbidden fire growing within her.

Tsuki’s body trembled, her breaths shallow and uneven as the sensations pushed her closer to the edge of reason. Shame burned in her chest, a searing reminder of how deeply her body had betrayed her. But beneath the shame was a bloom of arousal that defied her terror, growing stronger with every passing moment.

The appendage probing her most intimate place pressed deeper, its girth stretching her in ways she had never experienced. The sensation was overwhelming, teetering on the edge of pain yet blooming into a twisted pleasure that left her gasping. Her hips twitched involuntarily, her body reacting with a primal abandon that made her heart pound even harder.

The room around her blurred, fading into a whirl of shadows and flickering crimson light. The oppressive energy thickened, cocooning her in an isolating warmth that felt both suffocating and oddly comforting. The tome below her pulsed with an eerie, sickly glow, its pages fluttering as if alive, feeding on the maelstrom of emotion coursing through her.

Tsuki’s mind was a battlefield, torn between the instinct to escape and the dark, insidious allure of the magic enveloping her. Her thoughts fragmented, unable to form coherent resistance against the unrelenting onslaught of sensation. Each wave of pleasure crashed over her, stronger than the last, until the rational part of her mind began to fade.

Her toes curled, her back arching involuntarily as the sensations pushed her further toward the brink. A silent scream built in her throat, a raw sound that was equal parts anguish and ecstasy. Every nerve in her body felt alive, her muscles trembling under the weight of an experience so intense it defied her understanding.

As her consciousness frayed, the monstrous presence above her became clearer. its sinewy appendages glistening with an otherworldly sheen. It moved with a terrifying grace, its power undeniable as it plunged into her with an intensity that left her gasping.

The rhythm of its movements was overwhelming, a carnal dance that blurred the line between dominance and submission. Tsuki’s hips moved instinctively, bucking against the relentless assault as her body betrayed her once again. She couldn’t stop the way her core clenched around the intruding tendrils, her body grasping at them with a desperation that left her mind reeling.

The friction built with maddening precision, each thrust a crescendo of sensation that grew stronger, deeper. The heat in her core spiraled outward, consuming her as the storm within her reaches its peak. Tsuki’s mind splintered, caught between horror and exhilaration as the relentless onslaught pushed her closer to a release that she both dreaded and craved.

The tendrils, acting with a sentience all their own, twisted and writhed within her, exploring the depths of her most intimate places with an unsettling precision. Each movement seemed attuned to her every gasp, moan, and trembling shudder, adjusting their rhythm and pressure as though playing a symphony on her body. Every note resonated with her deepest desires, drawing out the pleasure buried in the darkest corners of her being.

Her body felt like a foreign entity, no longer under her control but an instrument in the hands of a masterful puppeteer. Each thrust, each twist of the tendrils, sent ripples of sensation coursing through her, building a crescendo that pulled her further into a sea of rapture. Tsuki’s thoughts, fragmented and fleeting, were lost amidst the overwhelming tide of sensation. She was helpless, suspended in a reality where time, fear, and reason had ceased to matter.

Her vision blurred, the world around her fading into insignificance as she climbed higher, propelled toward a peak that shimmered just beyond her reach. Every thrust, every deliberate motion of them pushed her closer, sending her spiraling upward into a stratosphere of ecstasy she had never dared imagine.

The monster’s relentless rhythm became her entire existence, a singular, primal focus that consumed her. Her breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps, each one a desperate attempt to ground herself against the waves of pleasure threatening to drown her. Her heart pounded in her chest like a frantic drumbeat, echoing the cadence of the creature’s movements, synchronizing with the primal, unrelenting rhythm.

As if sensing the growing tension within her, the tendrils adjusted their pace, their grip tightening as they moved with an intensity that defied human comprehension. They teased her with unrelenting precision, their slick surfaces sliding against her hypersensitive skin, coaxing her closer to the precipice. The overwhelming sensations threatened to break her apart, pulling at every fiber of her being.

Her body trembled violently, each thrust driving her closer to release. The tendrils pulsed with a heat that seemed to flow directly into her, igniting a fire deep within her core. Tsuki’s hips moved involuntarily, bucking against the onslaught, meeting the relentless force with a desperation that shocked even her.

“Oh, gods,” she panted, her voice a broken whisper lost amidst the wet, rhythmic sounds of their motion. “It’s… it’s so deep… I can’t… I can’t…”

Her words trailed into a strangled cry as the first wave of climax overtook her, shattering her remaining composure. It was as though every nerve in her body had been set aflame, an all-encompassing conflagration of pleasure that consumed her from the inside out. The tendrils, slick with her arousal, plunged into her depths with renewed vigor, their undulations sending shockwaves through her veins.

Her mind shattered into fragments of sensation and sound, each moment eclipsing the last in intensity. “Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Please, don’t ever stop!” she begged, her voice a ragged mixture of delirium and surrender. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the air, seeking purchase on something—anything—tangible, as the unrelenting onslaught overwhelmed her senses.

The creature, whether driven by primal instinct or some malevolent intelligence, seemed to respond to her pleas. Its tendrils moved with a deliberate precision that suggested an endless capacity for this relentless assault, each motion calculated to drive her deeper into a state of unending bliss.

Tsuki’s climax stretched on, a cascade of ecstasy that defied comprehension. It wasn’t just pleasure—it was transcendence, a complete dissolution of self into the pure, unfiltered sensation. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her body trembling as the boundaries between pain and pleasure, fear and desire, dissolved entirely.

“I love it… I love it so much,” she moaned, her voice barely audible yet resonating with a depth that betrayed her total surrender. The words tumbled from her lips unbidden, a raw confession that left her trembling.

Tsuki’s body convulsed, the sheer power of the release unlike anything she had ever known. It felt as though every muscle in her body had been electrified, her nerves alight with a searing, unrelenting pleasure that coursed through her like molten fire. Her back arched violently, her limbs trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, each more overwhelming than the last.

The sensations were a storm, a cacophony of raw, primal bliss that left her gasping for air. Her vision blurred, her eyes fluttering shut as stars exploded behind her eyelids, bright and dazzling against the crimson haze of the room. Time lost meaning, each second stretching into eternity as her body trembled on the edge of unraveling completely.

Her breaths came in frantic, broken bursts, her chest heaving as if she’d been submerged underwater and was only now surfacing for air. The relentless pulsing of the appendage kept her hovering on the brink, her cries blending into the rhythmic thrum of the magic that filled the room. Her hands clawed helplessly at the ground, her fingers digging into the polished wood in search of some anchor, some way to tether herself to reality amidst the torrent of sensation.

The peak of her climax hit like a tidal wave, slamming into her with a force that left her utterly powerless. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her body seizing as a flood of heat coursed through her, radiating outward from her core to every inch of her trembling frame. The pleasure was absolute, consuming her entirely, as though her very essence had been dissolved into the maelstrom.

Her heart thundered in her chest, its frantic rhythm echoing in her ears as the relentless pleasure stretched her to her limits. Her body burned, the heat of the moment fusing with the lingering warmth of the tendrils that held her captive, coaxing her to surrender completely. Every nerve, every cell, seemed to hum with an intoxicating energy, pushing her beyond the confines of physical sensation into something far more profound.

When the final waves began to subside, they left her trembling, her body wracked with aftershocks that rippled through her in diminishing pulses. The edges of the world blurred, her mind floating in a haze of exhaustion and disbelief. Slowly, they released their grip, letting her crumple bonelessly onto the ground.

Her body was slick with sweat, her skin flushed and glistening as she lay there, utterly spent. Her limbs refused to move, trembling faintly as though even the smallest effort was beyond her reach. The air around her was thick with the remnants of the energy that had consumed her, the faint hum of the magic in the tome a distant echo now.

Tsuki’s breaths came in slow, ragged bursts, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to recover. Her mind was blank, emptied of thought save for the echo of what she had just experienced. The pleasure still lingered in her veins, a phantom warmth that pulsed faintly in the aftermath, leaving her dazed and disoriented.

Her voice unfurled into the charged air, cutting through the stillness like a blade honed to perfection. The sound was raw, unrestrained, and so utterly human amidst the otherworldly backdrop. Her breath hitched, each gasp a testament to the shock and disbelief coursing through her. How could it be that, even after the tempest of sensations that had claimed her, she yearned for more?

"More… I need more! Please!" The words tumbled from her lips, unbidden and unfiltered, their weight pressing heavily into the space around her. Each syllable carried a desperation that was startling in its clarity, echoing through the stone walls of the chamber. The cold, unyielding surfaces seemed to absorb her cries, amplifying them into a haunting chorus that reverberated back to her as though the very room shared her longing.

She was consumed—utterly, completely. Her body no longer felt like her own, her mind adrift in a sea of sensations and emotions she could barely comprehend. The intoxicating grip of the creature’s presence had become an addiction, a force that seeped into every corner of her being. What had started as resistance had crumbled beneath the relentless tide of pleasure, leaving only this raw, unquenchable hunger that bound her to it in a pact she couldn’t, wouldn’t break.

It wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something primal and profound. With every passing moment, the lines separating her humanity and the creature’s ethereal nature blurred, dissolving into a haze of need and shared satisfaction. She no longer feared the loss of control—she welcomed it, craved it. The sensations transcended the physical, reaching into her very soul and pulling forth a truth she hadn’t dared to face: that this wasn’t just an assault on her body; it was a revelation of her most secret self.

Her voice rose again, filling the cavernous space with a fervor that seemed to draw the room itself into the throes of her transformation. It wasn’t a mere plea now—it was a declaration, an offering, a submission. The creature responded in kind, its movements unhurried yet deliberate, each touch carrying a weight that seemed to acknowledge her surrender.

The tendrils moved with an unsettling grace, their sinewy, cool surfaces coiling around her trembling frame as though choreographed. They encircled her limbs with deliberate precision, leaving no part of her untouched. Her arms were drawn firmly behind her back, her wrists bound together in a grip that was unyielding but not painful.

Her legs, guided with the same calculated care, were lifted and folded gracefully over her head, her knees brushing her shoulders as the tendrils positioned her into an impossibly flexible pose. The deep stretch pressed her body into a posture that felt both exposing and strangely reverent, the creature’s control molding her into a display of total surrender. Every inch of her was held aloft, suspended in midair, her form completely bared to the creature’s touch.

The tension in her body began to dissolve under the tendrils’ firm yet careful guidance. Her initial struggle gave way to a sense of weightless peace, a paradoxical comfort in being so thoroughly restrained. Suspended and bound, the vulnerability of her position was undeniable, but so was the strange intimacy of the creature’s control.

“Please…” she murmured, her voice trembling as her head tilted back, her flushed cheeks brushing against her folded knees. Her lips parted, her breath shallow and uneven as her eyes fluttered shut. “Take me. Use me. I’m yours.”

The words spilled from her unbidden, raw and unfiltered, carrying the weight of her submission. They hung in the air, trembling with an almost sacred longing, and the tendrils seemed to react, tightening around her slightly, as if acknowledging her surrender.

Her body quivered as the creature moved in response, the tendrils gliding along her exposed skin with a purpose that felt both methodical and intimate. The cool, sinewy appendage brushed along her thighs and the curve of her back, exploring her as though she were something fragile yet infinitely valuable.

“I need it,” she whispered, her tone barely audible yet thick with desperation. Each word carried an urgency that echoed in the charged air around her. “All of me… I want you to take everything.”

Her breathing quickened as the tendrils adjusted their hold, their movements becoming more deliberate, more intimate. The sensation of their exploration sent waves of warmth coursing through her bound form, each touch lighting a fire that spread through her in dizzying waves.

“You feel so… so good,” she gasped, her voice breaking as the overwhelming sensations consumed her. “Please… I want more… I need more.”

The tendrils moved with an unnerving awareness, their sinuous forms gliding over her trembling body as though they could sense her every thought, her every unspoken desire. Each caress seemed purposeful, teasing the edges of her mind and coaxing her deeper into the blissful haze that had overtaken her. The cool, slick texture of the tendrils against her heated skin created an intoxicating contrast, heightening her sensitivity with every passing moment.

Tsuki could feel them responding to her, their movements shifting and adjusting as though attuned to the rhythm of her need. Their presence was overwhelming, a constant press of sensations that blurred the line between her body and the creature’s control. Her breath came in shallow, erratic bursts, her chest rising and falling as the tension coiled tighter within her.

One tendril trailed down her inner thigh with a deliberate slowness, its slick surface leaving a cool, wet trail in its wake. The sensation sent shivers racing up her spine, her body arching instinctively to meet the touch. Her thighs quivered, her muscles clenching as it paused just at the entrance of her folds. The anticipation was maddening, her nerves alight with a fiery tension that only grew with every second of waiting.

When it finally slid inside, the sensation was indescribable. A gasp tore from her lips, her head snapping back as a jolt of pure ecstasy shot through her. “Ahhh! Yes… oh yes!” she squealed, her voice trembling with sheer delight as the fullness overwhelmed her. Her hips bucked instinctively, her body greedily welcoming the intrusion as the tendril moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left her gasping.

The pressure within her built with every pulse, the tendril’s movements precise and unrelenting. It teased her inner walls, stroking and exploring with an expertise that felt almost impossible, as though it knew exactly where to touch to unravel her completely.

“It feels… so good,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with unmistakable contentment. Her head lolled to the side, her lips parting as moans spilled from her freely, raw and unfiltered. Her body responded eagerly, her hips rolling in time with the tendril’s rhythm, a silent plea for more.

Her skin glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, the heat coursing through her body mingling with the cool, slick sensations of the tendrils. Every movement drove her deeper into the haze of bliss, her mind unable to focus on anything but the unrelenting pleasure that consumed her. The world around her faded into insignificance, leaving only the tendrils’ embrace and the exquisite fullness that left her gasping for breath.

As her body adjusted to its rhythm, another tendril rose before her, its glossy surface catching the dim crimson light as it hovered near her lips. She barely had time to register its presence before it pressed gently against her mouth.

A startled gasp escaped her as her lips parted, the tendril slipping inside with surprising ease. The texture was slick and warm, its faint pulse vibrating against her tongue as it explored her. At first, the sensation was overwhelming, but as it moved deeper, her surprise melted into contentment.

“Mmmph… so… deep,” she murmured against it, her voice muffled but filled with an odd sense of satisfaction. Her tongue pressed against its surface instinctively, tasting its slick warmth as her lips closed tightly around it. “More,” she managed to hum softly, her muffled plea a testament to her growing acceptance.

The tendril filled her mouth with a deliberate rhythm, its movements teasing and steady, drawing soft whimpers of satisfaction from her throat. Her moans grew louder, muffled but fervent, as her body surrendered to the dual sensations.

Just as she thought her body couldn’t possibly handle more, another tendril coiled around her waist, its movements slow and deliberate as it slid lower. Her breath quickened as she felt it pressing against the tight, unused ring of her back entrance.

Her muffled moans faltered for a moment, her eyes widening as she realized its intent. “Mmmph! No… wait…” she tried to protest, her words barely audible around the tendril in her mouth. But the creature was unrelenting, its movements firm yet measured as it pressed forward with careful pressure.

The tendril began to slide into her tight ring, the sensation sending a shockwave through her. Her body tensed, her muffled squeal vibrating against the tendril in her mouth as it stretched her in ways she had never experienced. The pressure was intense, a blend of discomfort and startling pleasure that left her gasping.

“Mmhhh!” she cried out, her voice a mix of surprise and arousal. The sensation was overwhelming, but as the tendril moved deeper, her body began to adjust, the discomfort giving way to an intoxicating fullness.

Her hips bucked again, her arousal evident in the way her body responded, even to the new intrusion. The tendril in her mouth pulsed gently, coaxing her into a rhythm that felt strangely natural, while the one in her back moved with slow precision, its every motion sending sparks of heat radiating through her.

Her muffled cries grew softer, their tone shifting as the sensations blended into a symphony of pleasure that consumed her entirely. She moaned around the tendril in her mouth, her tongue moving against its surface as her hips rocked involuntarily, her body giving itself over to the relentless rhythm.

Tsuki’s moans deepened, her muffled cries of pleasure blending into the wet, rhythmic sounds that filled the room. She was lost in the overwhelming intensity, her body trembling as the tendrils brought her to the edge of another release.

Her mind fractured under the weight of the sensations, her thoughts dissolving into the raw, primal pleasure that consumed her. She could feel herself letting go completely, surrendering to the creature’s attentions as it claimed her in ways she had never thought possible.

Tsuki’s muffled cries grew softer, their tone shifting from resistance to surrender, as the sensations enveloped her in a symphony of pleasure that consumed her entirely. Her lips closed tightly around the tendril in her mouth, her tongue moving against its slick surface with a mind of its own. Each pulse, each deliberate motion, seemed to sync with the creature’s rhythm, its movements echoing through her as though it were orchestrating her very being.

She moaned helplessly, her hips rocking involuntarily against the tendril that filled her folds. Its movements were unyielding, stroking her inner walls with a maddening precision that left her trembling. The tendril at her back entrance stretched her relentlessly, its girth and depth pushing her to limits she hadn’t known existed. The fullness was all-consuming, her body stretched and claimed in ways that left her breathless.

Every hole was occupied, her body bound and plugged by the creature’s relentless attentions, and the sheer sensation of being used so completely sent waves of heat coursing through her. Her skin was flushed, a fiery warmth radiating outward from her core, spreading to every inch of her trembling frame. Sweat beaded on her skin, mingling with the slick trails left by the tendrils, and her body felt feverish, as though she were burning from the inside out.

Each time she tried to move, her bound limbs pulled against the sinewy hold of the tendrils encircling her wrists and ankles. The resistance heightened her awareness of her vulnerability, a sharp reminder of how completely she was at the creature’s mercy. But instead of fear, the restraint ignited an even deeper arousal, the inability to move amplifying the sensations that coursed through her. When she flexed her legs or attempted to shift her arms, the tendrils tightened briefly, their grip firm yet careful, sending jolts of heat straight to her core.

The tension in her muscles as she instinctively tested her bonds made her hyper aware of how securely she was held. The feel of the tendrils against her skin—slick, warm, and unyielding—only added to the electric current of arousal that pulsed through her. Her fingers twitched, her toes curled, but every attempt to exert control over her own body was met with the creature’s deliberate, commanding restraint. It wasn’t just physical—it's mental, a complete surrender that left her trembling with need.

Her mind spiraled, her thoughts teetering on the edge of coherence. For a brief moment, an image of Karina flickered through her mind—her friend, calm and composed, standing in this very space. This… this was in her basement? Tsuki’s lips twitched in a half-formed, disbelieving smile around the tendril in her mouth. The absurdity of it struck her even amidst the overwhelming sensations. How could Karina have lived above such a thing, so unaware—or worse, so unbothered?

The thought dissolved as the tendrils’ movements quickened, dragging her back into the maelstrom. Each of them found its rhythm, their synchronized motions intensifying as though responding to her growing need. The tendril in her folds thrust deeper, its strokes faster and more insistent, eliciting muffled moans that vibrated against the tendril in her mouth. The one at her back entrance stretched her further, its deliberate pace giving way to a primal urgency that sent shivers racing up her spine.

Tsuki’s body tensed, her muscles taut as the building pleasure became unbearable. Each movement she attempted, every twist or writhe, was met with the firm but almost loving grip of the tendrils holding her. The inability to move only fueled her arousal further, her body betraying her with each pulse of heat that radiated outward. Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her muffled cries rising in pitch as the tendrils drove her higher, their relentless rhythm consuming her entirely.

And then, the dam broke.

Her climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with an intensity that left her gasping and trembling. Every nerve in her body exploded with sensation, a blinding cascade of euphoria that obliterated every thought, every shred of control. Her back arched violently, her toes curling as the pleasure surged through her, wave after wave, unrelenting and overwhelming.

The fullness of the tendrils magnified everything, their pulsing, thrusting movements sending aftershocks rippling through her as her body convulsed in their grasp. She moaned deeply, her voice muffled but filled with raw, unrestrained ecstasy, the sound reverberating through the room.

Her consciousness seemed to splinter, dissolving into the sheer euphoria of the moment. The sensations blurred together, an all-encompassing bliss that left her trembling and breathless. Her body felt weightless, suspended in the haze of her release as the creature’s motions began to slow, guiding her down from the peak with a deliberate tenderness.

She collapsed against the tendrils’ support, her body slick with sweat and quivering from the force of her climax. Her mind was blank, save for the lingering warmth and satisfaction that pulsed through her, a glowing ember of pleasure that refused to fade.

Each breath she took was shaky, her chest heaving as her limbs lay limp in the tendrils’ grasp. The tension she’d felt moments ago was gone, replaced by a languid warmth that wrapped around her like a blanket. She couldn’t move, nor did she want to. The bonds that had held her captive now felt like an embrace, their presence a strange comfort in the aftermath of her release.

When the tendrils finally began to recede, they moved with a grace that belied their earlier fervor. Each one released her slowly, as if savoring the final moments of their connection. Tsuki’s limbs felt weightless as the tendrils carefully lowered her onto the cool floor, their motions deliberate and reverent. Her back met the ground gently, her sweat-slicked body sinking into the cold surface. For a moment, she lay there in suspended stillness, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the creature’s hold began to loosen.

The first tendril to withdraw was the one in her mouth. It slid back with a languid motion, its warmth fading from her lips as it retreated. She could feel its ridges trailing along the inside of her cheeks and the roof of her mouth, each sensation vivid and excruciatingly intimate. Her throat tightened reflexively as it exited the depths of her esophagus, the strange mix of relief and loss making her shudder. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as the slick appendage left her completely, and her tongue flicked out instinctively, as though searching for the lingering trace of its presence.

Next came the tendril from her back entrance. Tsuki whimpered softly as it began to pull free, the stretched, tight ring of muscle quivering in protest. Its girth had molded her, reshaped her in a way that left her painfully aware of the emptiness its absence would bring. The slow withdrawal was almost too much to bear, each inch dragging against her sensitive walls and sending residual shocks through her trembling frame. When it finally slipped out with a wet, obscene sound, she felt a sudden hollowness, the cool air brushing against her gaped entrance a sharp reminder of how thoroughly she had been claimed.

The last tendril lingered the longest, nestled deep within her folds as though reluctant to leave. Tsuki’s breath hitched as she felt it begin to move, every ridge and curve stroking against her inner walls with aching slowness. Her body clenched reflexively, unwilling to let go, and the friction sent jolts of pleasure spiraling through her even as her heart ached with the knowledge that it was ending.

“No… please…” she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely audible, a trembling plea that surprised even her.

When the tendril finally slid free, leaving her folds slick and quivering, the loss hit her like a blow. The emptiness was unbearable, a deep ache blooming in her chest as though her very soul mourned its departure. She felt as though she had been hollowed out, her body and mind suddenly bereft of the connection that had consumed her so completely. A wave of sadness crashed over her, sharp and unexpected, as she realized just how reliant she had become on the tendrils’ touch to feel anything close to happiness.

Tsuki’s eyes fluttered open, and she watched as the tendrils retreated toward the glowing book, their slick, sinuous forms folding into its open pages as if swallowed by the ancient tome itself. The glow from the book dimmed with each passing second, the rhythmic pulse that had filled the room fading into stillness. When the last tendril disappeared, the book’s cover snapped shut with a soft but definitive sound.

The crimson sheen on the doorframe flickered one last time before vanishing, leaving the basement shrouded in darkness save for the weak, flickering light of the single bulb above. The oppressive energy that had suffused the room dissipated, replaced by a deafening silence that pressed against her ears like a physical weight.

Tsuki lay there, her body trembling and spent, her skin slick with sweat and the faint, shimmering residue left by the creature’s touch. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, yet her heart raced, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Every muscle ached, her body marked by the intensity of what it had endured, yet it wasn’t pain that lingered—it was the ache of longing.

The ceiling above her seemed impossibly distant, its plaster patterns shifting and distorting as though mocking her attempts to ground herself in reality. Her thoughts whirled in disarray, fragments of exhilaration and shame twisting together until she could no longer separate them. Each ragged breath brought her closer to the memory of the tendrils’ touch, the unrelenting power of the entity that had claimed her so completely.

She closed her eyes, but the shadows behind her lids were no refuge. The sensations replayed in vivid detail, each ghostly caress and probing tendril etched into her mind with painful clarity. Her heart raced as a truth settled over her, cold and certain: she would never again be the same.

The weight of what she had experienced pressed down on her, and yet—shamefully, achingly—she felt a yearning for more. The creature had awakened something inside her, a deep and irrepressible hunger that no mere human touch could ever hope to satisfy. The pleasure it had granted her was beyond comprehension, an experience so profound it left her soul tethered to the ancient, leather-bound tome that rested silently nearby.

The book now sat quietly in the dim light, its symbols no longer glowing. The silence in the room was deafening, and yet Tsuki could feel it—a faint hum, a residual energy that whispered of its dark promise. A shiver ran through her as she gazed at its unassuming cover, her chest tightening with the certainty that she would return.

She sat up slowly, her trembling fingers brushing the shimmering residue that lingered on her skin. Her body still pulsed with the echoes of pleasure, but it was the ache in her heart that she couldn’t ignore—a longing she knew could only be satisfied by the creature she had left behind.

The realization struck her like a blow: she was bound to it now, tied to something greater and darker than she could comprehend.

-----

The rest of Tsuki’s stay in the house passed in a blur of careful routine. Each day, she busied herself with small tasks—tidying the already immaculate rooms, rearranging little details to feel productive, and watering the plants with deliberate focus. Yet she avoided the basement entirely, the weight of what had happened there too much to face. The house, with its subtle creaks and faint whispers, seemed to breathe around her, alive and aware, as if watching her every move.

But no other strange incidents occurred. The silence of the house felt almost accusatory, as though it knew what had happened and was daring her to confront it. Tsuki couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, though she was alone. At night, she would lie awake in the guest bedroom, staring at the ceiling, her mind spinning with fragmented memories of the tendrils’ touch, the forbidden ecstasy they had drawn from her.

The book’s presence haunted her. Though she left it untouched on its shelf in the basement, her thoughts often drifted to it, the dark leather cover etched into her memory. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye, could feel its pulsing energy even from a distance. Each time her gaze lingered too long on the basement door, her heart quickened, the temptation to retrieve it tugging at her resolve.

Her mind was a battleground, torn between the dark allure of the book and the guilt that gnawed at her. She thought of Karina—so kind, so trusting. Tsuki respected her deeply, admired her quiet grace and the way she carried herself. Stealing the book would be a betrayal, a violation of the trust Karina had placed in her.

But it isn’t just a book, Tsuki thought one night, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater as she sat at the kitchen table. The memory of the tendrils’ touch burned in her veins, the intensity of the pleasure they had granted her unlike anything she had ever known. The connection she felt to the book wasn’t mere temptation; it was a need, an ache that refused to fade. It’s mine. It belongs to me. Doesn’t it?

The thought lingered, seductive and insistent. But as the hours ticked by and the house remained still around her, another voice spoke—a quieter, steadier voice. It was Karina’s voice, her warm smile and genuine gratitude echoing in Tsuki’s mind. Stealing the book wasn’t just wrong—it was unthinkable.

The next morning, Tsuki forced herself to make a choice. She stood before the basement door, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle. She could feel the book’s pull even through the wood, its dark promise thrumming in her chest. But she stepped back, shaking her head.

“No,” she whispered to herself, the word barely audible in the empty hallway. Leaving the book behind felt like tearing away a part of herself, and yet, she knew it was the only choice. Respect for Karina, for her trust, outweighed the yearning that clawed at her heart.

By the time Karina and you returned to town, the house had settled into an almost oppressive stillness, as though it had been holding its breath in your absence. The warm sunlight spilled across the porch, highlighting the ivy trailing up the red-brick exterior, and casting a golden glow on Tsuki as she stood awkwardly in the entryway. Her hands were clasped neatly in front of her, her posture composed but betraying a hint of nervous energy.

When Karina stepped inside, her polished appearance and radiant smile instantly eased the lingering tension in the room, filling it with her signature warmth.

“Tsuki!” Karina greeted, setting her bag down with a graceful motion. “Thank you so much for helping out. Seriously, you saved us.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Tsuki replied quickly, her voice soft but earnest. “I actually… really enjoyed my time here. You have such a beautiful house.” Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, and a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

Karina tilted her head, her smile softening. “I’m so glad you think so. This house means a lot to me. There’s just something about it—it stays with you, doesn’t it?” She glanced around as she spoke, as though the familiar details—the carved wooden railings, the faint scent of lavender, and the way the light danced off the polished floors—reassured her.

Tsuki nodded, hesitating briefly before glancing at Karina with a curious smile. “Um… is your boyfriend here? Everyone’s been talking about you two since your news went public. I guess I’ve been wondering about the guy who managed to steal the Karina’s heart.”

Karina laughed lightly, her radiant smile showing as she waved a hand. “He’s out grabbing food. He insisted since I did most of the driving back.” She paused, her eyes brightening. “Next time, we should all go out to eat. My treat. I know he’d love to meet you—you really did us a huge favour.”

Tsuki’s blush deepened, and she ducked her head with a shy smile. “That sounds nice. I’d like that a lot.”

Karina smiled warmly and moved to open the door for her. “Thank you again, Tsuki. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

Tsuki bowed slightly, her movements graceful and instinctive. “Thank you, unnie. Have a good evening.”

With that, Tsuki stepped out into the golden afternoon light, her figure framed briefly by the glow before she disappeared down the walkway. Karina lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching her go with a thoughtful smile. The gentle creak of the closing door seemed to release the tension that had settled in the house.

Once the door clicked shut, the familiar stillness of the home returned, wrapping around Karina like an old, comfortable blanket. She exhaled deeply, the sound quiet and unhurried, as though she was letting the house welcome her back.

-----

You were seated at a small corner table in the restaurant, scrolling through your phone as you waited for the order. The familiar scent of spices and frying oil filled the air, and the hum of nearby conversations blended into a background buzz.

Your phone buzzed, and Karina’s name lit up the screen. Smiling, you picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said lightly, her voice soft and familiar. “Just wondering if you’re still at the restaurant.”

“Still waiting on the food,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “Want me to grab anything else while I’m here?”

She hesitated briefly before humming thoughtfully. “Actually, could you grab me some boba? You know the flavors I like.”

“Of course,” you said with a chuckle. “Anything else?”

“Not really. Oh—actually, I was thinking of testing the security cameras. We should make sure they’re working properly, right?”

“Go for it,” you encouraged. “Check everything out. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay, thanks, babe.” Her voice softened as she ended the call, and you slipped the phone back into your pocket.

A few minutes later, the cashier handed you the food and drinks, the boba cups clinking lightly in the bag as you carried them to the car. The drive home was quiet, the golden hues of sunset stretching over the empty streets. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of finally relaxing with Karina after the long trip—sharing boba and maybe checking out the security footage together.

The house was dim when you opened the door, the faint scent of lavender and polished wood greeting you like an old friend. “I’m back!” you called out cheerfully, your voice cutting through the stillness as you stepped inside.

There was no reply.

You kicked off your shoes and carried the bags into the living room. The sight stopped you cold.

Karina sat frozen on the couch, her wide, unblinking eyes locked on the laptop screen. The faint glow illuminated her pale face, casting flickering shadows across the room.

“Karina?” you asked, your voice hesitant as unease crept into your chest.

She didn’t respond.

And then you heard it.

Moans—raw, breathless, and haunting—poured from the laptop speakers, filling the room with an intensity that made the air feel stifling. The sound swelled, growing louder with each passing second, an oppressive rhythm that clawed at the edges of your mind.

Amid the moans, a voice broke through, trembling yet fervent: “More… I want more!”

The bags slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a muffled thud that barely registered. The cries reached a deafening crescendo, vibrating through the room as the glow from the laptop screen flickered erratically.

Karina’s lips parted slightly, her face pale and rigid, her wide eyes glassy with shock. Her trembling fingers hovered above the keyboard, frozen mid-air, as if the world around her had stopped. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, but she didn’t blink, didn’t move—she just stared, trapped in the haunting grip of whatever was unfolding on the screen.

You took a hesitant step forward, the sound assaulting your ears as the speakers blasted their relentless, desperate rhythm. The cries, the voice, the echoing moans—it clawed at something primal inside you, something that begged you not to see what she was seeing.

“Karina?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the cacophony.

And then she turned her head.

Her wide eyes met yours, filled with something that sent ice through your veins—fear, disbelief, and something darker, something that made your stomach churn. Her lips moved, trembling as though she was trying to form words, but no sound came.

The moans from the laptop swelled one final time, reaching a crescendo so visceral it felt like the room itself might burst apart. And then it stopped.

Silence.

But Karina’s gaze didn’t waver, and in the suffocating stillness that followed, you knew. Whatever she had just seen, whatever she had uncovered—it had already changed everything.

[alexanderwales]

Me: I don't really like modern art. Kat: Did you see that Jacob Geller video? Me: I did. I didn't meant that I don't like modern art in a facscist way, just like ... I don't like it. I look at the paintings, at Rothko, and I just don't get it. Kat: A lot of it you have to see in person, I think. The pictures don't really do it justice, especially Rothko, some of those are huge, and you just stand in front of it and it's like ... as close as I've had to a religious experience. Me: I mean, I went to the Museum of Modern Art in Washington, D.C. And I went to the Tate Modern. And whatever the one in Seoul was called, and another in San Francisco, the de Young Museum. I've seen, in person, stuff from Rothko and Pollock and a bunch of the other Abstract Expressionists. Kat: That ... is a lot of modern art museums for someone who doesn't like modern art. Me: I want to like it. I hear the way people talk about it, how a Rothko evokes these emotions in them, and it's like all I can see is paint on canvas. I don't know. Like I'm blind. Kat: You're the opposite of a tortured artist. An art viewer who tortures himself. Me: It's not that. I mean, some of the stuff I really do get something from. It's not all Rothko. I don't walk into every art museum and just groan in agony. But there are this class where ... people like this stuff, and in my head I'm like "people like this stuff?" Kat: They do. I do. Me: Right, and I do believe that. But there's this part of me that's struggling against the human instinct to go "no, they're all lying for some reason, it's a game of peer pressure, or clout chasing". I think that way lies madness. I think that's a trap that people fall into all the time, because they do the typical mind thing, and they say "well if I don't like modern art, no one else must like modern art". Kat: And you're trying to correct for that by ... looking at a bunch of modern art you don't enjoy. Me: Kind of, yeah. I saw Barnett Newman's Stations of the Cross and I thought the idea of it was interesting, the journey of Christ as laid out in only a handful of brushstrokes. But the actual paintings, I just had never felt further from my fellow man than looking at them and trying to understand them. I sat and tried to meditate, to clear my mind, to let some thought come to me, but it was still just paint on canvas. Kat: And you're what, just going to keep going to modern art museums? Me: If I'm in a city with one, sure. Because sometimes there's something that speaks to me, it's just never the Abstract Expressionist stuff. Kat: I cannot imagine doing that, repeatedly viewing something in a genre you don't like. Is it because it's high status? Because you're clout chasing? Me: I don't think so. I think it's just alien to me, no matter how many reviews I've read extolling the works, how many people have explained these individual pieces. And you know, when we went to the one in D.C., we had our son with us, and he was looking at all this stuff too, and when we went out I asked him which was his favorite. He said it was one of the Pollocks, Lavender Mist. Kat: Cute. See, the kid gets it. Me: I asked him what he liked about it, and he said to me, "you can see the drips". Kat: Sometimes that's all there is to it.

[salllzy]

It is free content that someone has put their time, effort and energy into. They do not owe anyone anything if they choose to write or draw that is up to them. Demanding that they change the art or story to suit your needs is called being entitled. I have noticed over the years of writing fanfic, that the etiquette of certain things has gone downhill. People demanding extra updates on fics and comics, demanding that a character act a certain way. Complaining when a character doesn't act like they would do in canon.

I could keep going with the list. But the point remains, that demanding something from anyone is called entitlement. We as writers, artists and creators don't owe you anything. I know that my words seem harsh and truthfully they are. But when you come into my comment section and demand that I do another update after I have just done a double update and you leave three pages of complete and utter nastiness and you think that you have the right to demand another update? Get fucked. To my duckies who read the chapters and enjoy them, thank you, even those who leave constructive critiques, something which I have no problems about as I can't fix a problem if no one points it out to me. But demanding that I do something the way you want? No, and if you don't like it, then fuck off. I don't have time to read over your bullshit and then deal with you when you say that my work is for readers and that I should do what you want. There is a back button. Use it.

Don't you think you owe it to readers to give them what they want?

No? What an odd take. Read my fic or don't.

[bonkaii4]

Mel being an empath

(Okay i just got say arcane has sparked passion in me i haven’t felt for a show and fandom in yeeeears i haven’t written a meta in forever so bare with me.)

Anyway at first watching act 3 the reveal of Mel being empath felt crazy like that’s such a huge bomb that we didn’t get build up on or much follow through but i do think it explains so much about her character. Traditionally empaths are written to be overly emotional or sensitive sort of like telepaths and being smart but Mel wasn’t written like that she’s quite calm and collected her most emotional outbursts are with her mother and jayce and even with jayce it’s only because he’s hurling accusations at her and she still remains relatively calm in her responses. I think her knowing people’s emotions wether she was aware of this or not plays into this she knows Jayce is coming from a place of hurt and confusion where as her mother back in season one she knows she’s being disingenuous with the reasons of being in piltover.

First watch this just seems like a disgruntled daughter and her mother trying to get on her good side but knowing that Mel can read people’s emotions adds another layer she see right through her mother which not only from just being raised by her but through her her empath skills.

also wanted to bring this up someone pointed this out tiktok and someone else pointed out that this maybe because we’re seeing this scene through Mel’s POV and since she is empath she see that Maddie is secretly enjoying executing Caitlyn. This got me thinking about her career as council member/politician I’ve wondered how she got so high up while seemingly not only being the youngest member but being young period if she’s assumed to be Jayce’s and Victor’s age this makes her about 24-27 in s1 which is extremely young for council member which essentially this region’s governing body. Being able to sense people’s true intentions allowed her to know who to align herself who not to, knowing when people agreed and disagreed with her, or when people sympathize with your views, causes, or concerns on certain issues which all helped her advance quickly her career. I’m sure being from a high born house helped but we see other high born houses in council positions but they’re all older.

She also seems to be somewhat bored with politics and somewhat disillusioned when we meet her i mean giving a fellow council member a child’s toy almost like a practical joke doesn’t seem like someone who views politics and her colleagues with utmost seriousness it isn’t until she meets Jayce that we see the passion for change. I think being empath she saw that Jayce and Vicktor’s vision for hextech and Piltover and Zaun were pure and genuine which is why she supported them. I also hate the rhetoric that Mel never loved jayce and just manipulated for her own gain she does everything in her power to stay true to him and Vicktor’s vision she doesn’t push him to do anything that goes against their morals and goals. When Jayce is worried about Vicktor and his absence at the council may lead to she reassures she won’t let them corrupt their dream. Like i said early she isn’t written like a typical empath she also isn’t written like a typical manipulator(if you can call her that) she is genuine in what she’s says to Jayce she just also knows how people work and his feelings on the matter so she’s able to play on that.

Ambessa describes her to be too soft and she tells Jayce she didn’t Medarda standards i think the way she operates as empath is the cause of that I don’t think Mel is welling to corrupt herself or others when getting what she wants unlike her Mother and the rest of her family i think they operate much more cut through in their goals.

Whew anyway mind any typos i didn’t mean for this be as long as turned out just wanted to share revelation i had!:)

[kabuki-writes]

An Entertainment For The Gods

chapter: 2 chapter 1 | 3

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: Through an invitation from the Emperors themselves General Acacius and his daughter attend one of the bloody Gladiator fights at the Colosseum. But this time it is not only the brutality of the arena that encaptures Geta and Caralla.

warning(s): mention of violence | mention of alcohol consumption | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: -

word count: 2.5k

There was no bigger temple in Rome than the Colosseum. A monument to the Roman Empire, an architectural masterpiece as well as a slaughterhouse for humans and animals. They had to die for the amusement of the masses in the pale white sand and under the eyes of the Roman citizens as well as the Emperor's. You've never visited the arena before, it just wasn't the entertainment you usually seeked as you fancied the amphitheater and stage plays of comedies or tragedies. No one really died from a well-spoken dialogue and the stages weren't drown in blood afterwords. Your father was a similar soul with this. As someone who had seen war and death countless of times, Acacius developed a distaste for the useless killing, which he argued was the mere core of the collosseum's existence.

But while one would despise this form of humanity at its core brutality, other's simply loved it. First under Commodus the fights in the arena became more frequent, while Septimius Severus after him didn't change anything in that matter. Under Geta and Caracalla however Gladiator fights reached an all time high, especially those 'special' spectacles with exotic animals or ships. They themselves had an own Gladiator school under their wings, which was due to their wealth filled with the most skillful warriors and the best equipment, that it was almost unfair.

Given the fact that both twins enjoyed the performance in the arena and the bloody outcome, it wasn't surprising that they were frequent visitors. For the Emperor the colosseum had an own arena box with the best view over the inner pit and with two throne like chairs for each one of them to sit comfortably. It wasn't unusual for them to have guests here either and this time it was a special one. The moment Geta and Caracalla stepped out, the masses greeted and cheered for their Emperors, who - at least in Rome - offered them bread and games to forget the common sorrows of life. Both of them were dressed in the finest, colorful fabrics, while their golden laurel crowns throned on their heads. They waited for General Acacius at the balustrade to come forward, join them and speak to the people. He was still their celebrated hero, their triumph card, so to speak. It was an easy way to win the hearts of the people through a figure like Acacius, who was the ideal Roman.

After your father held a small, yet powerful speech about the braveness of the Gladiators they'll see today, a slave went forward to place a cushioned chair between the thrones of the Emperors. You hesitated a second, since usually you would be seated at the side of your father. "Since we've heard that you had never witnessed a fight in the arena befoe, we thought you might like a good view", Geta suddenly explained to you, before he sank into his own chair. "Please, sit down."

Your eyes went to your father for a quick exchange and you saw in them how he displeased this way of treatment, yet he nodded and you sat down. More and more you understood that the situation had a differnt tone in it. It wasn't mere courtesy why the Emperors treated you like that and given the way you'd read their eyes, it was more than clear that you've captured their interest. Usually any woman of the realm would fight for that privilege, but you had seen how your father acted in front of them, how worried he was when you first made your way to the palace - something was off. You knew you needed to pay attention and be cautious.

"Citizens of Rome, the arena welcomes you! Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla, we the people bow to your greatness and the mighty of our beloved Empire! Under the eyes of the sun the colosseum presents to you a spectacle like no other!", the high-toned, yet thunderous voice of the richly decorated announcer set the beginning of the show and drew all eyes on the white sand down in the arena pit, where a group of men in armor but with a limited equipment of weapons entered through a door from the Colosseum's catacombs. "First we present to you the brave Gladiators that will be our Theseus' today! They may not need to save their Ariadne, but they'll still have to face horde of Minotaurs today in an attempt to safe their own lives!" With those words a couple of other doors opened and six wild bulls entered the arena. Their massive and strong bodies stirred up the sands with every step of their big hooves. They may've been animals, but they had terrible weapons on their head with sharp horns that grew out of their heads.

Caracalla clapped with a joyful laugh. "Oh i love mythological pieces, even though they forgot the labyrinth!"

Your fingers nestled with the fabric of your dress in nervousness as you watched the men prepare themselves for the attack of the angry bulls, which were already pawing with their hooves. More than one set off to ran towards the Gladiators and given the fast but powerful movements of those animals, it didn't take long until the first fighter got overrun by them and another one faced the horns that drilled themselves like spikes into his torso, where blood spilled like a waterfall. The other fighters tried their best to ran or face the bulls with the few weapons they'd been given. One of them even striked down a beast by pressing his sword into its neck, when it was running towards him. You watched the spectacle with a neutral, yet pale face, while the Emperors seemingly enjoyed the show. Geta quickly noticed the way you followed the happenings down in the arena and leaned towards you.

"Are you not entertained, y/n ?", he asked you in a low voice, still loud enough to overcome the cheerings of the crowd. Your eyes went to him, facing the deep blue of his own, while you tried to put on a mask of apathy. "It is hard for me to understand, why useless killing is viewed as entertainment, I'm afraid," you answered, but it just got you an amused smirk in return.

"Oh it is not useless. You see, nothing is as entertaining as humanity itself. What lies more in our human nature than violence, power and the survival of the strongest? Without that, your father wouldn't be able to win all his great victories and our father would not have been able to secure the Roman Empire after the weak reign of the senate."

"And yet Emperor Marcus Aurelius believed that true strength isn't born in violence, but in mindfulness and kindness. The ability to speak, think and therefore to thrive for something higher than mere survival, is what distinguishes us from animals," you responded in a clear, settled tone. This sudden response surprised Geta clearly as his eyes widened and his fingers tensed up. Even Caracalla's eyes had left the arena for a moment and were locked at you. Even though he followed the fight down there, one of his ears had catched every word you'd said. What a sweet, naive woman you were... it made this whole moment even more interesting.

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched and at first you weren't able to tell if he found your words disrespectful or not. In fact, he'd not expected such a bold answer from a woman, especially not against an Emperor. And even though he wouldn't agree with you, it proved him right, that you were not a simple-minded girl. Naive maybe, but not dull.

"Interesting thought, my dear. But would you recite the words to one of these brave warriors down there too? Who will ll earn their freedom, if violence keeps them alive long enough? We offer them a precious gift, and in return they entertain us."

Your eyes went to the pit again, which was mottled in deep red blood now with only one man and one bull remaining. The moment was intense as both animal and human watched each other with intensity, before the bull stormed forward and the speer of the Gladiator, who waited for the perfect moment, hit his opponent. The massive body fell to the ground and the people cheered in Ecstasy. Geta and Caracalla clapped with admiration for the celebrated Gladiator, as he sunk to his knee and bowed to them.

The next round began after the exhausted and wounded 'hero' stumbled through one of the doors, back into the darkness of the catacombs, before he was replaced by a bigger group of Gladiators, who now had to face armed chariots. Their opponents wore the armory of old Sparta while they teared down one after one with their arrows. You leaned back in silence, watched by Caracalla, whose eyes were taking in her side profile for quite a while now. Even though he loved the fights down there, the blood, the violence... you encaptured him more right now. Your stern face, which carried a deep displeasure for this, while you tried so hard to hide it, it was captivating.

Everyone, even his own twin tend to underestimate Caracalla. Even though he was born a couple of minutes earlier than Geta and was therefore technically older than him, his stature was smaller and he wasn't as tall as his brother. This was accompanied by the fact that he enjoyed the pleasantries the god Bacchus had to offer him: wine, music, arts and sex - even more than Geta did. Together with his rather impulsive way of acting, it often led to the false thought that the more capable brother of them was Geta. Oh, Caracalla hated this, it was a misinterpretation weaved like a thread through his whole life. Because he had a gift, he could read people and together with his extensive web of information sources and spies within the city of Rome and beyond, he had a power that lied in the dark. And it was a preparation he did on purpose after he'd learned about the plot that was once set against Emperor Commodus. Some would've said it was paranoia, maybe it was, but he would call it 'preparation'. Nonetheless it came with the pleasant side effect of knowing a lot about the people around him.

"I've heard that you rather choose the theater over the arena", he said with a soft, yet unreadable smile on his lips. "You're a dreamer, aren't you?"

As you heard his voice next to you, your eyes quickly turned to him. "There is nothing wrong with dreaming, my Emperor...", you answered and he nodded quickly as if he'd hoped for that answer. Caracalla even grinned, his golden tooth gleaming in the light. "No, not at all." My Emperor. The way you've said it with your eyes looking at him. It electrified him, so much so that the cheers of the crowd almost faded in the background. You'd faced the pit and the fighters again, but he was still staring at you.

"Which play?"

"Octavia," the name almost shot from you mouth.

"And you consider yourself to be?"

"Octavia. And you?" You didn't even expected him to give you an answer on that, but meanwhile Caracalla's grin grew wider.

"Nero," he said just as fast as you'd answered before.

Your eyes instantly went back to the Emperor, whose eyes were now focused on the deadly fight between a Gladiator and a chariot rider. He couldn't hold back a chuckle, while he watched how the man pushed his sword through the neck of his opponent, ripping off his head.

Nero.

"Why?", you suddenly asked, this time it were your eyes, that watched him.

"I cannot blame him for setting himself free." His answer was almost like a whisper, yet you heard every word. It was a very unconventional way of interpreting the mad Emperor, one she herself would even despise, if he wouldn't seem to be so certain of it. It meant something more.

The arena fight slowly came to an end, when only to oppontents were fighting for the right to claim the victory. Nearly all of the Gladiators and chariot riders were dead, their bodys laying in the pale sand and drowining it with their blood, a weird composition of death that accompanied your questions about Caracalla's answer.

After a final hit, one of the men went down on his knees. He was wounded, severely, and he now felt the tip of a sword against his neck. He surrendered and the gods had to decide what will happen with him. One of the Gods was Geta, who stood up from his chair and approached the balustrade, while the crowd called for a decision. The Gods need to decide, yet Geta suddenly turned his head to you. "What do we say,...? y/n, should he live or die?"

Your face grew even paler than it already was, your fingers were almost digging themselves into the armrests of your chair. You felt a thousand eyes on you, even though it was only Geta and Caracalla watching you, as well as the eyes of your father from behind. The Gladiator waited, while his opponent's arm was cut off and his head was bowed down as if he awaited death. And the crowd screamed and screamend. Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

It rang in your ears, you didn't want to make this decision. But the moment you faced the Emperor, just as you opened your mouth, Geta simply bowed his thumb down - Death.

And the sword went down. Death.

The head dropped in the sand followed by the body, the cheers errupted in the arena, screaming the name of the victorious Gladiator. But you just stared into the nothingness that was in front of you, while you bit your tongue to the point of pain. "Don't pain yourself about this, my dear. There was only one answer anyways," Geta said while he suddenly reached out for your hand and kissed your knuckles, before he took his glass of wine. You didn't move, you couldn't.

Caracalla stared at this scenery and his fingers were shaking as his eyes darkened. The intense urge came up his mind: To simply take his brother and throw him from this box into the pit, his neck breaking from the impact. Those thoughts sometimes came and went, but they got more intense every time he saw Geta interacting with you. And this interaction hit a new high point in him that was only interruped by your form the moment you stood up.

"My Emperors, it was a pleasure to join you, but i need to leave now...", you said in a tone that tried so hard to be polite and not carry any emotion, before you turned your back and quickly stepped out of the imperial arena box, followed by your father General Acacius, who bowed and excused himself in an equally neutral tone.

Both Geta and Caracalla watched them leaving, before the taller one of the twins took a deep sip of his wine. "She'll learn to love it sooner or later."

______________________________

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[slashbitch2]

The Proposal AU! (part three)

Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage

W.C: roughly 1.4k words

PARTS: ONE, TWO

As soon as you left Hayward’s office, Agatha started furiously typing on her phone, the crease between her brows growing deeper with each step out the building. You simply followed; uncertain of what else you were meant to be doing right now. Packing, you supposed. But your first priority was to get some information out of the woman, who was currently on a mission to remove herself from the building, striding at least three steps ahead of you at all times.

It wasn’t until you were both sitting in the taxi that you finally had the chance to speak. “So…” You started, paused, then realised she wasn’t going to put her phone down anytime soon. You sighed. “We’re going to Salem?”

“Unfortunately,” Agatha murmured. “If I can get in contact with my mother, that is.” She spat, resuming her frantic typing.

You scowled, leant closer to peak at the phone screen and tried desperately to ignore the way her perfume pleasantly filled your nostrils. Something about being in close proximity with Agatha was mesmerising. It always had been, but it seemed this latest situation was worsening your complex feelings towards her. If someone asked you to label it, you would say admiration, but deep down you knew it was something greater than that. You simply refused to acknowledge it.

“So, you weren’t originally going to visit?”

Despite having to be involved in Agatha’s life, you had never heard her talk about her family. Not once. It didn’t surprise you. It was near impossible to picture the woman in any scenario other than sitting behind a desk, winding up one of your coworkers for their incompetence, or shmoozing a business deal. Although you imagined her prickly personality had to come from somewhere, and shuddered to think what her mother might be like.

“No.” Agatha scoffed. “I try my best to stay as far away from family gatherings as possible.”

“I’m guessing you’re not close…?” You questioned, slow and cautious.

“God no.” She shook her head, strands of hair coming loose from the vehement movement. “I want nothing to do with my mother and her coven of freaks.”

You tutted, suppressing a smirk at her colourful choice of language. But instead of pursuing the topic further, you turned to look at the scenery flying past the window. “Shouldn’t have mentioned it to Hayward then…”

“Well, with your parents ever so conveniently out of the country, it did appear suspicious that we wouldn’t tell a single soul.”

“Could’ve eloped.” You murmured.

“Sorry, darling.”  Agatha droned; her tone petulant. “Next time I’ll set us up a nice horse-drawn carriage down to the registry office.”

You took in a deep breath, ignoring the surge of irritation at her smarminess, something you recognised you would have to learn to cope with for the next painful while. You had no idea how long this whole process would take, and realised with a sudden stab of guilt that you would have to eventually inform your parents of this decision.

If you explained it was to keep your boss’ position at the company, rather than any dumb, spontaneous act of love, they would surely understand, right?   

“Agatha?” You called, met by a hum of acknowledgement. “Are you telling your family the real reason for this marriage, or are we going to have to keep faking it?”

“Oh, my mother’s a raging homophobe.” Agatha chuckled bitterly, refusing to meet your eyes. “If she doesn’t immediately kick you out, I’m going to enjoy riling her up.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

At last, Agatha’s focus was diverted from her phone as she looked briefly over to you, mildly intrigued by your perseverance. “I was just going to see how it went when we get there.” She replied, shrugging.

“Great…”

“And until then, don’t mention this to a single soul.” Agatha jabbed an accusatory finger in your direction. “We continue as normal for the next day and a half, with me singlehandedly driving this company to success, and you following me about all dazed and heart-eyed.”

“What!” You protested. “I do not follow you about, nor do I have heart eyes!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” She smirked, radiating an irritating charm that had you forgetting how to breathe for a second. You wrung your hands about anxiously in your lap, willing yourself to relax.

“Our flight leaves at 6pm on Friday, so we’ll have to go straight from work,” Agatha said, changing the subject. “You can hide your luggage in my office, and we’ll have my driver pick us up so that saves that hassle…”

She trailed off suddenly, and despite your insistence on not getting too caught up in the intricacies of your boss’ behaviour, you peaked over at her. Just like earlier in the immigration office, she was chewing at her lip, this time with a faraway expression. You frowned, sensing she was nervous about something. It set you slightly on edge to see her this way. Agatha was never nervous. Big meetings didn’t faze her, important deadlines never stressed her out and public speaking was like a second nature to her. Where once this bravery had been sickeningly envious, its disappearance now gave you concern.

Agatha was a mystery to you, one you were reluctant to address, yet desperate to understand.

---

Agatha flopped down onto her desk chair with a huff, allowing her head to fall backwards and feeling her neck crack with the movement. The tension that racked her body seemed to grudgingly resist lessening, and she considered whether she ought to just take the remainder of the day off. But that would be suspicious...

She loathed the idea that her every decision was being monitored but dreaded to imagine the other option: moving back home, back in her mother’s grasp. She hadn’t seen the woman in over ten years, and to think now that she would spend the weekend in her company… Agatha groaned, letting her face crash forward into her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, and in the darkness saw only her mother, pictured how she would be reacting to the news that Agatha would be joining them for part of the trip.

As per usual, her attempt to reach out to her mother had been met by silence. She was starting to suspect her number was blocked, and thus Agatha had instead chosen to inform Lilia Calderu about this impromptu reunion. The woman was cooky, but kind. She had always been Agatha’s one ally within the family, and since her emancipation, was the only one who had bothered to stay in contact.

As if abruptly summoned from her thoughts, Agatha’s phone buzzed across the table, likely holding more information from Lilia. With a sigh, she reached forward to raise the lit screen into her eye line, yet was surprised to be met by another’s name

[4:10pm] Jennifer Kale: you’re coming to Salem????

Agatha chuckled, though not out of humour. Jen was one of the many people her mother seemed to just acquire. It was a terrible feature of Evanore Harkness: that the crazy gravitated towards her, became involved in their family and never left.

The word ‘family’ didn’t quite sit right with Agatha. It was more like a cult.

[4:11pm] Agatha Harkness: I am. I take it you’re still hanging about?

[4:12pm] Jennifer Kale: well when you abandoned ship someone had to replace you.

Agatha scoffed, ignoring the wave of irritation at Jen’s phrasing. She was irreplaceable. Though the idea that her own mother should even try to swap one daughter out for another didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Nonetheless, it still hurt. Agatha crossed her arms over her chest, deciding to pursue the conversation no further.

[4:15pm] Jennifer Kale: Lilia mentioned you were bringing a plus-one. who is she?

At this, Agatha’s loathing softened ever so slightly. Jen was one of the few that had supported her coming out, had even attempted to defend her from Evanora’s outrage. She picked the phone back up, feeling a smile grace her lips as she started to type.

[4:15pm] Agatha Harkness: someone I’ve been seeing for a while. She’s nice. You’ll like her.

The message was a simple lie, but it did the job.

Still, reading it back Agatha found she had a lot more to say about you…

NEXT PART

[hyuckworld]

need to binge the masterlist…. long overdue but ๐·°(⋟﹏⋞)°·๐ (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) "(っ- ‸ - ς)ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (꩜ᯅ ꩜｡) ദ്ദി˙ ᴗ ˙ ) interpret this message

also i have almost (almost......) forgiven you for The Crime™ but i will be mourning its loss while i read this #seventeen fluff fic…….. also can’t say i’m surprised about mingyu being bullied but mc better than me because i would Not let him be my EX

vernon already going through it at work and then there’s mc god (Pretending I Don’t Know What Vernon’s About To Be Put Through) but oml him geeking over how pretty she is what if i Die <///3 the disney movie discrimination is CRAZYYY if vernon was woke enough he would’ve been even More down bad after the disney princess movie question

He tried, as confidently as he could, to voice out his supposed opinion. “Nolan’s Inception is one of the greatest films ever made.”

LMFAOOOO THIS MADE ME LAUGH TOO SORRY VERNON of course he’s a christopher nolan fanboy 🤮

HIM TAKING HIS SISTERS MOVIE SET IS INSANEEEEE i would never forgive him fr but also from mc’s perspective…… waoww ❤️ he want me so bad ❤️

vernon: Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university me: 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 #NEEDTHAT

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.”

my queen why en GET HIM AGAIN!!!!!

this might as well be a contract killing with the way they’re about to swipe mingyu’s entire collection Tbh but ACTUALLY SO VALID BECAUSE WHY IS MINGYU SLANDERING MC LIKE THIS 😡 also vernon feeling guilty for being an asshole because of his hate boner for mingyu #truelove

AND VERNON AGREEING TO THIS PLAN WITH ZERO CONTEXT OF WHAT IT IS LIKE HE IS DOWN HORRENDOUSSSS he’s so valid tho don’t let anyone hurt ur queen <3

“Please tell me, Miss Bond, how are you planning to carry this out?” You offered him an incredulous look. “I don’t know what that reference means, I’m too pretty.”

LMFAOAOOA THIS IS THEE BEST TWO LINER ok three but like. ok just the dialogue. ok.

vernon malfunctioning because he insinuated he wanted to see mc again and in the context of robbing mingyu’s house again GODDD WHAT A LOSERRR (i want him so bad u have no idea) (god i should’ve bullied u harder into writing that smut scene)

You still could not believe how your ex-boyfriend was taking this long for the realisation to hit. Even when Eric jumped up on the screen, holding onto the ship’s ropes, the watcher only regarded the character intently, as if he was somehow part of the stranger film.

LMFAOOO WHY DID IT TAKE HIM SO LONG TO REALIZE FUCKKK he just secretly really enjoyed watching it ❤️ AND HIM TAKING SO LONG ON MULAN TOO i love my men useless with innate babygirlism so somehow this isn’t even giving me the ick .

VERNON HALFWAY OUT THE WINDOW AND MINGYU STILL CALLING HIM A NERD GODDD HOW ARE U GONNA ROB SOMEONE AND STILL GET GAGGED . okay wait my bad i read further and he actually followed up with the craziest line ever #ThankYouAmourCheol like wow. true literature

the way he’s so endeared even though she’s geeking out to disney Omg that is called real true love <3 UR KIDDING HES GONNA KISS HER TO THIS SONG….WWAOWW oh i killed myself i really did <3//33 WOW WOWW….. and she likes him sm missing out on TANGLED for a man like gawd. and the shrek reveal was so perfect he really matched her freak in the end

worst timeskip of my life TELL US WHAT HAPPENED IN BETWEEN. also the fact that it was to shrek goddd they were boning to all star

THE BARBENHEIMER SCENE LMFAOOOO kitten and the reader killed themselves after reading that thank u mc Okay waow. CUTEST FACKING FIC EVER i need to die at the way he was ready to commit crimes for mc from beginning to end. his down badness needs to be studied. in a lab. with me as head scientist. anyways that was beautiful and i think fia ficology also needs to be studied because how does it hit every single time!!!!!!!

𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐨-𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝

❝Who knew all it takes is a hot girl with top-tier taste for a man to admit he's wrong?❞

𝒈 𝒆 𝒏 𝒓 𝒆 : fluff, comedy, suggestive, college! au

𝒘 𝒐 𝒓 𝒅 𝒄 𝒐 𝒖 𝒏 𝒕 : 21.7k words

𝒔 𝒖 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒓 𝒚 : self-proclaimed movie mastermind chwe vernon minds his business—whether that be avoiding the popular, problematic kids in his college to reducing customer interest in his parents' film store. his plan of isolation, however, is completely destroyed when you, a seemingly insane disney fan, slam his perfect movie taste and ask for his help to take down an evil ex.

𝒄 𝒐 𝒏 𝒕 𝒆 𝒏 𝒕 : loosely inspired by watching the detectives, film major! vernon who owns an outdated film store, fem! reader is the baddest (but also the craziest) bitch in this fic, vernon is a loser, film major! mingyu who will be violated many times in this fic sorry king, mentions of many filmbro films which will also be violated, self-indulgent mentions of some of my favourite films, a few super dark jokes nothing serious though, kissing, mentions of sex and the act of cumming (all joking wise) but no actual sex because im fearing god today (super suggestive at best), barbenheimer reference <3

𝒕 𝒂 𝒈 𝒍 𝒊 𝒔 𝒕 : @hyuckworld @junyangis @hiraethmae @lllucere @intoanothermind @kokoiinuts @shnnzsworld @lilifiedeans @talkyoongitome @vanishingboots @cookiearmy @person1fys

𝒂 𝒖 𝒕 𝒉 𝒐 𝒓 ' 𝒔 𝒏 𝒐 𝒕 𝒆 : she is finally here !! so so sorry for taking so long </3 i never thought it would be finished atp but thank you addy and alice for pushing me to complete this lil fic !! addy ur film major info birthed the filmbro slander, and alice...no smut LMAO LOSER anyway do enjoy homies <33

𝒑 𝒍 𝒂 𝒚 𝒍 𝒊 𝒔 𝒕 : if you're too shy (then let me know) by the 1975 || q&a by seventeen || wonderful women by the smiths || confidence by ocean alley || talk talk by charli xcx || oh my! by seventeen

back to masterlist

“NO, THE HOBBIT IS SET BEFORE THE LORD OF THE RINGS.”

This particular customer, however, refused to grasp the concept. “But the Hobbit was released after,” he repeated, as if he had not heard twenty minutes ago, when he first entered the store. “Wouldn’t it make sense to watch the more recent movies?”

Vernon clamped his lips together, stopping himself from saying something that would lose him a potential buyer. Well, not that it would matter much, considering the man before him could not comprehend what a prequel was, but still—he had to make this idiot understand.

“I understand that, sir, but the Hobbit is a prequel to the Lord of the Rings.” Holding onto the DVD set, he pointed to the grand picture of the movie’s protagonist. “It’s based on Bilbo Baggins’ adventures.”

“But was that not the little fellow from the Rings?”

“No, sir, that was Frodo. Bilbo is Frodo’s uncle.” The boy then clarified, tone heightening, “You know, where he reclaims his home from Smaug?”

“Smog?” The customer parroted incorrectly, scratching his hair as if the action would jog his memory. “Now why does this hobbit’s home have health violations?”

The twist of his lips was inevitable. “Smaug,” he corrected. “The dragon…the villain…the whole reason the movie was created?”

“See, I only know that one slimy creature with the ring. What was he always saying…” The man snapped his fingers, a lightbulb switching in his otherwise empty brain. “Ah, yes!” He then completely distorted his voice, rasping, “My presh-shious!”

For a split second, Vernon was a little gob-smacked at the impression. Then, he remembered he needed sales, and made sure to laugh as if that customer was the funniest man that ever stepped foot in the store. 

This particular joker, who was clearly not understanding Vernon’s analogies, instead asked, “Well, which one do you recommend?”

Ah, the fated question. 

Besides from the Lord of the Rings collection, he had been asked this very question a few too many times, when customers would browse the films on offer and ask for his opinion. Not that he considered himself an all-knowing master of movies—

He smiled. Now that was something he could chuckle about.

“Well, sir, the Lord of the Rings is a timeless classic. I would recommend it to anyone interested in a well-written, well-produced fantasy.”

The man twisted his lips. “But I don’t really like fantasy, though.” 

Vernon could not help his smile dropping. I don’t get paid enough for this.

With as much strength he could muster, he persuaded the idiot to get a rom-com instead, and ushered him out. 

He sighed, going back to the desk. The store was never busy—unsurprising, since nobody buys DVDs anymore—but that was how he liked it. The less customers that bothered him, the better. He did not want to be that type of guy, but he would rather have his own company than those who thought that the Marvel movies were God’s gift to man. (The Spiderman movies, however, he had to leave out of his apparently controversial statement).

Vernon was about to close the shop out of pure boredom when someone stepped in. 

His eyes darted to the newcomer. 

They stayed as he beheld you.

Perhaps this was a gross generalisation, but he did not expect someone so cute walking in a store this run-down. Maybe you had mistaken it for a vintage shop, planning to rob the CDs, or thought there might be decades old clothing in here. He was certain you had walked in by mistake, but then you began to browse the movie sections.

His first thought was that you seemed to have excellent taste. 

You slowed your steps in the classics section, eyes roaming at the Fan Favourites shelf which was simply movies Vernon had seen this week. Still, they were amazing fucking movies, hence their place on the shelf, now being admired by the likes of you. He wondered what you thought of the one DVD you picked up, assessing the blurb at the back. Roman Holiday. The boy could have smiled—you truly had a knack for picking out special films. 

Your fingers lingered on the movies for only a couple of minutes before you saw the desk—first the counter, and then the person behind it. 

The fact that your first instinct was to smile at the boy behind the counter had a profound effect on him.

Now, he did not want to sound pathetic; he did not know you, had never seen you before, but someone this aesthetically pleasing did not come to stores like his. Someone who picks up Roman fucking Holiday and be this cute did not acknowledge boys like him.

But Vernon Chwe will be cool about it. He will not look like a loser in front of you.

He pretended to look over some DVDs on the counter desk as you approached him. “Hey, there,” you greeted, and only then he allowed himself to look up, glancing you over. Already you had propped your arms on the top, eyes darting around the store as if finding something which deserved your attention. “I wanted to ask about a specific film. Well, films.” 

Films? Vernon really thought all the intelligent minds had rotted in this lifetime, but clearly you were an exception. “Of course,” he said, setting the movie on the side. “What genres are you interested in?” he ticked his head towards the Fan Favourites. “You were looking in the right place, to be fair.”

“Hmm?” you only spared that shelf a momentary—dismissive—glance. “Oh, sorry! I was looking for a specific box-set, but I can’t seem to find it on the shelves. I was hoping you could have it out back.”

Specific box-set? Vernon tried to contain his smile. Of course you were looking for a collection of timeless classics. “What’re you looking for?” he asked you, hoping you were going to request Hitchcock’s best. If you asked for Wong Kar-Wai’s trilogy, he might have fallen to his knees. 

You smiled at him.

Then dropped the bomb.

“I don’t know if you’d have the Disney Princess box set? You know, the complete edition?”

Vernon’s eye twitched a little. What the fuck?

Your gaze on him did not shift. “Are you okay?”

It took a moment for him to realise that you had asked him a question. “Huh? Right, sorry,” he said hurriedly, mind rushing for the many possibilities as to why you had requested a set like that. Perhaps you were braindead? No, that was too harsh. But then, who was watching Disney movies at that age?

Then an idea came into his head, and it made him feel much better. 

“So sorry about that,” he reiterated, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway…Disney Princess set, huh?” He sighed out a laugh. “A sweet treat for your younger siblings, then.”

“Younger siblings?” A swift shake of your head, still smiling. “Haven’t got any of those.” 

The twitching was back. “...anyone under the age of 12 you know?”

“Now you’re making me sound like a freak,” you mused, locking your hands together. “Is it that shocking that I’m getting the set for myself?”

Vernon’s any attempt to diffuse the conversation died the moment you said those words.

Disney. Princess. Movies. The box-set you wanted was a Disney. Fucking. Princess box-set. 

At this rate, his eye-twitching was very much visible to you. “Don’t tell me no one’s ever bought a Disney movie from you,” you said, surprised by his change of attitude.

“Well,” he jeered, “I usually have first-time parents with their toddler kids asking me about sets like that.” 

You then titled your head back a little, taken aback with the comment. “Are you saying I’m too old to watch Disney movies?”

“No!” he instinctively defended himself, though he had virtually no defence to offer. He had, in his own words, called you a hag. 

This was it—he was usually stellar at keeping his opinions to himself. Now, the one time he could have kept his mouth shut, it spluttered open and not only embarrassed him, but one of the only cute potential customers. He was his own saboteur. His own destruction. 

After catching the flurry of emotions on his face, you had a realisation. 

Did his stupid comments get to you? Perhaps they would have, had you not seen his like before. Not only that, you had a sneaky feeling he himself had no clue on what category he was slotted into.

So you let the corners of your mouth curve upwards—up to the point where you were smirking, completely catching the boy off guard. 

“My god, you’re a filmbro!” 

Those emotions that you had witnessed now all conjoined into confusion. “Huh?” was his intelligent answer to the accusation. Filmbro?

And then you began to chuckle—little bursts of soft giggles, which escaped your mouth the more the revelation settled over you. “Wait, wait,” you began, “I need to ask this first!” You wiggled your finger at him. “What is your favourite film?”

Again, the fated question. This time, though, he felt as if his answer would not be the right one. Still—if there was one thing he was confident about, it was his expertise in films.

He tried, as confidently as he could, to voice out his supposed opinion. “Nolan’s Inception is one of the greatest films ever made.” 

There was one, solitary, quiet moment.

It was ruined by the subsequent laughter, courtesy of your mouth, which could not shut after his answer. You had to grip the counter, cackling at the response, and Vernon could only gawk at you, face reddening with every second spent watching you keel over. 

After what seemed like a lifetime (but was only about thirty seconds), Vernon finally cleared his throat. “Alright now, that’s enough comedy,” he muttered.

Another thirty seconds later, you finally seemed to calm down. The mischievous mirth on your face, although would have had any man swooning at your feet, seemed to irritate him all the more. “I’m sorry,” you gasped out, wiping a slight tear from your eye, “You just…you reminded me of my boyfriend.”

Of course. Vernon nearly clicked his tongue in disappointment. Of course the pretty, borderline-mean, borderline-terrible-taste-in-movies girl was taken. Fuck my life, son.

Your smile flickered—almost as if it turned cruel. “My mistake…ex-boyfriend.”

His eyebrow then raised a little. Maybe life can be unfucked; maybe the pretty, not-that-mean-as-he-thought, changeable-taste-in-movies girl was still attainable. 

Your eyes wandered once more, but this time to your hands. “I was actually going to get the Disney Princess set for him.”

The eyebrow decided to raise further up. He was dying to know why you were 1) getting your ex-boyfriend a present and 2) getting your ex-boyfriend the worst fucking present. But of course, due to the lack of balls in his pants, he did not ask you.

The crazier notion was, maybe you knew the lack of balls that should be present in his pants, because you iterated for him. “I’m surprised you’re not asking why I’m giving my ex a Disney Princess movie set, Mr. Filmbro.”

That term had him immediately frowning. “I don’t particularly care,” he lied as best as he could. He then crossed his arms. “Plus, I’m afraid the store doesn’t have the sets. I’m gonna have to order them in.”

A tilt of your head. “Are you lying?”

The cross of his arms was gone—now his hands were raised in surrender. “No, no!” At least not the set order bit…

Although it was quite clear that you did not believe him, you spared him this once. “Alright…” you receded your arms from the desk, taking a step back. Instead, you pointed at him. “But don’t think I’m gonna leave you alone on this!” 

Vernon’s insanely suave, cool, mystique response was giving you a thumb’s up. “Of course.” 

As you walked back to the entrance, hand on the door, you looked back at him. “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Filmbro.” 

The eye-twitch was about to come back. He did not bother waving as you left the shop.

VERNON COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU FOR THE SEVEN DAYS BETWEEN YOU AND TODAY. 

It was slightly embarrassing—he supposed he should have expected some extraordinary meet-cute, where someone who looked and acted like you would waltz into his dusty-ass film store and ask for possibly the worst movie collection to grace the western cinema. 

But then you called him a fucking Filmbro, and now the self-hatred might bubble to the surface of his usual calm demeanour. 

The boy scoffed as he fixed the alphabetical order of the CD covers, located in the Classics section. Filmbro…what the fuck do I look like a Filmbro for…

He firstly supposed that he should consider it a compliment—so what if he had superior knowledge of movies over the average morons that wandered into the store? He was paid minimum wage for this knowledge! Fuck, he was doing a degree within this field! (Not that he was quite sure he would end up as a blockbuster director at the fine age of 21, but the arts majors were always told to dream beyond the realistic limits.)

The more he contemplated over the vicious term, the more it began to bother him. Filmbro…Film. Bro. God, it sounded like a classist clique—a club where the members considered themselves above the laws of society, but were horrendously ridiculed by the outsiders. At the end of the day, he had always been an outsider in these clubs—he did not enjoy being the laughing stock, even if it meant being a member of an elitist group. 

Whatever. So what if you called him a Filmbro? He had only spoken to you once; the opinion of one girl—regardless of how pretty she was—was not of any relevance to him.

But then you sauntered into his store, and suddenly he forgot that he was seething over you for an entire week. 

There you were, footsteps harmonising along the bells of the entrance, and he swerved back to see you. You, in all your frill-skirted, layered-shirted, gum-chewing glory, catching his eye and bringing back the smile which you had offered him the moment you bestowed him that term of little-endearment. 

“Hello again, Mr. Filmbro.”

Don’t be a prick, don’t be a prick, don’t be a prick—

It was fine—it was okay. Vernon was a man now—no longer in his teens. He could have a normal, pleasant conversation. He was mature and able enough to interact with a girl who just happened to disagree with him on certain interests. 

He would be cordial—kind.

“How can I help you, Miss Disney-Hag?”

His skin nearly crawled. I need to kill myself immediately. 

A bit of a low blow from his nickname, but you were laughing, a silly little melody. You must have been crazy, because any other sane, rational human being would have been offended—should have been offended. Vernon fought to keep his face straight. 

“I see you’ve been thinking about me then,” you said. 

That had him looking away, walking behind the counter. “It’s not everyday I get a grown-ass woman asking me about children’s films.”

You mocked a gasp, slapping a hand over your chest. “Ouch. Do you hurt every girl that walks into your filmstore, or is this special treatment reserved for me?

Vernon focused on the cash in the register. “When another girl asks for the special edition for the Cinderella trilogy, then I’ll hurt her just the same.”

You clicked your tongue. “I should have known all men suck in their own ways.” You then approached the counter, propping your elbows atop the surface. “At least show me you’re good at your job and bring me the movie set I ordered.”

At this precise moment, all the thoughts about your stubborn addiction, playful smirk and how terrible the Little Mermaid was had completely vanished.

Shit. 

Maybe his irrational dislike ran further than he thought.

“Yeah…” but then he realised he sounded incredibly suspicious, and cleared his throat, forcing a little assurance in his usual monotone. “Yes! Yeah, of course! The movie set.” He took a step back, nodding his head ever so slowly, as if his head was not churning out a million different plans. “Give me one second…”

“Sure,” you could barely get out before Vernon whirled on his heel, bursting through the backstage door, and into the Chwe flat. 

He did not know whether this was going to work out. 

Like lightning he ascended the stairs, hands brushing against the bannister as he went past his bedroom, door slightly ajar. Not the destination he was seeking, he stopped before the neighbouring door—this one firmly closed. 

The boy made sure to knock first. No answer. Perfect. Slowly turning the knob, he opened the door, peeking around just in case there was someone in the room, and then he would have to resort to more planning. Since the coast was crystal clear, though, he put his mind at ease, only focusing on the main plan.

The room he had entered was a myriad of pop culture references and childhood memories, plastered on the butterfly-covered walls, sitting atop bedside tables or hanging off the hooks. Vernon never realised how invested his sister was with certain TV shows or films till he saw Lindsay Lohan’s mugshot plastered next to her bed. He had asked about it once, but she only waved him off. You wouldn’t understand her impact, she had said to him, and went back to shitting about him to her friends. 

Prying away from the poster, his eyes settled on what he came for, settled in the middle of the huge book shelf.

Sofia prided herself with her book and movie collection, a hereditary trait which Vernon shared: the top and bottom shelves were filled with her all-time favourites, even resorting to furthering her obsessions with the merch related to her treasured characters. He remembered laughing at her ideas until he saw a Barbie FunkoPop figure staring back at him one day. That notion was already horrendous, but the black, soulless eyes had guaranteed its spot in his sleep paralysis the next day.

Thankfully, the little horror was not on show on her bookshelf—this time, right in the middle, was the very prize that he sought. 

The Disney Princess Movie Set—Complete Edition.

Packaged in pink casing, Sofia’s most treasured piece sat, almost with its head held high as the other movies orbited around its pull. As far as Vernon remembered, it held all the Princess movies, and was worth at least 6 hours of his wages.

The boy looked around the room, as if his sister would appear any second.

Then, like a thief in the night (even though it was broad daylight, and would definitely be caught), he swiped the set off the bookshelf, and hurried out of her room.

“Sorry, Sofe,” he could only murmur under his breath as he dashed down the stairs, hoping you had not been bored by his absence, and left him with stolen goods at the scene of the crime.

He opened the door adjacent to the shop, and he almost sighed in relief when you perked up, eyes darting straight to your apparent order. When he saw your face light up like fireworks in the night sky, he titled his head back a bit, stunned by your boisterous reaction.

“You actually bought it!” you exclaimed, drumming your hands against the counter as he set the movies down. “I had a feeling you would blow me off.”

“Business is business,” Vernon said, crossing his arms, “Shit taste in movies will not stop me from making my money.”

You clicked your tongue. “Spoken like a business major.”

“Film major, thank you. I would rather kill myself than submit to the horrors of finance.”

“Don’t die on me just yet.” Bringing out your purse, you fished through its contents, first setting your card on the counter. Then, you brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “I actually have a few more films I want to ask about.”

The boy was expecting another long list of early 2000s rom-coms—perhaps an opinion for every Disney movie ever made in its existence. He swore if he had to hear about Rachel McAdams’ versatility one more time, he might blow his brains out in front of a customer. 

Then you dropped the names, and he had to surge his head forward.

“What are your thoughts on Wolf of Wall Street, American Psycho, Pulp Fiction…Fight Club, Saving Private Ryan, Scarface…” You squinted at the list, finding the names neverending. “Jeez, this list keeps going, huh?” 

He could not help the scoff. “And you called me a Filmbro.” He set his forearms on the counter, locking his hands together. “What do you need these movies for?”

“They’re for my ex-boyfriend.” 

The term had him pausing. Of course—the ex-boyfriend. How has he heard of this man, but not know a thing about him? Shit, he did not even know your name.

“This ex of yours has…an interesting taste,” he said slowly. “What’s he like?”

“I can tell you he attends the same college as you. Well, us,” you clarified, jerking your head towards the college colours of your server’s hoodie. “Film major. Just like you, actually.” 

“Oh?” Small world. “What’s the name?”

“Kim Mingyu. Do you know him?” 

Vernon Chwe nearly shit his oversized jeans.

A hesitant nod of his head. “I have a few classes with him.”

“Oh?” Your stare was a little more intense now. “What do you think of him?”

Right. 

Another fated question—the people around him had to stop asking him such controversial questions, or else he was bound to piss someone off. You were already letting him off the hook too many times; one more judgemental comment, and he was having that Princess movie set smashed on his head.

Kim Mingyu. Fuckass Kim Mingyu. Film major—just like him. One of the most popular boys in the year—very unlike him. All the teachers love his essays, all the girls love his freakishly-perfect six-pack, which Vernon is extremely irritated (and devastatingly intimidated) by. 

What all these people failed to realise, though, was that Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university—and the planet, if dramatics were in order. If you thought that Vernon was a filmbro, then Mingyu was Filmbrother. Filmcomrade. Filmnemesis. 

It was as if you could hear the thoughts churning in his head. “You can be honest, you know. He did dump me at the end of the day.” A smirk began to appear. “Say your worst.”

The reassurance did not help. “I mean,” he started, swiping your card, “He’s okay? I haven’t talked to him enough to have an opinion on him.” 

A half-truth—that should suffice. 

But because the fates like to shit on his head every now and then for kicks, they decided to leave you unsatisfied with his answer. “Or, you can keep lying!” 

Excellent intuition, really. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, slapping the card back on the counter. “I really don’t know much about him.”

The big man upstairs was testing him even further, when, with a determined gaze, you set your elbows atop the surface. You leaned closer, tilting your head to the side as you inspected him, and Vernon blinked back at the sheer lack of space you had created. His mouth twisted, eyes frantically darting at the features of your face, not quite taking in the entirety of your being. Your vision seemed to work perfectly, because it caught the slight flush at the tops of his cheeks, where it was just pale skin seconds before.

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.” 

Fuck everything and everyone, because that only made him blush more furiously. You could not help the chuckle that escaped, deciding to cease torturing him and take your card. “I’ll not say the answer, Mr. Filmbro, but I think you already know.”

Since he had no plans of turning into a human form of a ketchup bottle, he evaded the topic entirely, instead focusing on interrogating you. “You still haven’t told me how Mingyu is related to the movie list you made.”

That seemed to hold your interest. “Oh, of course!” Putting the list back into your bag, you began, “Well, the list holds my ex-boyfriend’s favourite films. I wanted to know your opinion on a few.”

He could not contain his sigh. Oh, he had an opinion on these films that you mentioned. Again, he would rather be buried with his thoughts on the specific genre than ever tell you. The curiosity, though, was eventually going to eat him alive.

So much for minding his business.

“I mean…” he began to think, trying to find the right words. “I don’t mind them? Godfather is a good film, but I’ve seen better from Brando. I like American Psycho, but again, people tend to miss the point of the movie.”

As you nodded, listening to his two-cents on the movies you mentioned, he paused, furrowing his brows. “Why do you care about my opinion?”

You smacked your lips together, folding the list back. “I don’t know much about you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, “But you don’t run a filmstore without knowing a thing or two about the films you sell.”

“So?” He crossed his arms atop the counter. “Shouldn’t you have asked the guy who you made the list about?”

“Trust me,” you said, your smirk turning more into a rageful flash of teeth, “I know exactly what he thinks of these films.”

Don’t particularly know what to make of that comment. “Well, I don’t know what my opinion for these films is going to help you in any way.”

“It has helped.” You paused then, waiting to see if he would egg you on, asking how his seemingly tame opinions would play into the grand scheme of things. “All part of my master plan.”

Master plan? Vernon may have been interested before, but he was certain that, before, he could have hid it without letting you catch onto it. In a sudden flash, though, as if his mouth was beyond his control, he regrettably slipped out the words which had you smiling more than he would have liked.

“What master plan?”

He almost closed his eyes. Shit. Now I’m fucking invested.

The corners of your mouth, lifting upwards, had him almost nervous. “I was hoping you would say that.” 

Great. Brilliant. Fantastic. Fucking Stupendous. Vernon could not think of other pretentious synonyms. “I will tell you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, once again settling your locked hands on the counter, “If you help me out with it.” 

That had his eyebrow shooting upwards. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I intended.” A pause. “Look, I know it’s a little crazy…being asked by someone to help in some mysterious plan. But hey!” you added, “You know who the target is, and you know I can be trusted.”

“Calling your ex-boyfriend a target makes this sound like a contract killing. Also, I actually don’t know that,” he corrected, crossing his arms. “The only thing I know about you is your weird obsession with children’s movies.”

“Well, buddy, that’s basically my entire personality, so you don’t need to know any more!”

Vernon sucked in a breath. “I don’t even know your name.”

Your eyes darted to his features, the sharp brows, the speculative eyes, the flared nostrils. His lips, which were twisted in a curious, bemused line. “That’s an easy problem to solve.” You decided to battle his frown with a smile. “_____.”

_____. At least he knew one important thing about you. He swore Mingyu had mentioned your name before, but then he should not also hold certainty—that boy’s favourite subject had always been himself. 

You snapped him out of his thoughts. “This is when you tell me your name now…or do you enjoy being called a filmbro?”

Man…he could not look you in the eye afterwards. “I don’t…” he got out, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And it’s Vernon. Chwe Vernon.” 

“Vernon,” you repeated, lips curling upwards. “Alright, Vernon, since both of us know each other’s names, you can definitely help me now!” 

The said-boy tried to smile, which was more a grimace. “Well…”

“Tell you what,” you said, trying to find something in your bag. “Wait, give me a second…shit, where is that piece of paper…?” You finally managed to fish a crumpled piece out. “Right!” After catching sight of a pen lying around the counter, you took it and scribbled something quickly, sending it his way.

Taking it, he looked at the messy scribbles—your number. “You’re looking at it as if I passed you a death threat,” you snickered. Vernon gave an uneasy smile. “Just think it over. I need movie expertise, and there’s no one else I know who can help me more than a guy who runs a film store.”

The boy behind the counter listened to you, paper still in hand. Maybe Mingyu made some points breaking up with you—you did not know who Vernon was, save for the name that was tied to him, and the job he was forced to do by his parents. Realistically, he had to decline, because if he has ever learned something in his life—or from watching a myriad of golden age romantic tragedies—is that you never trust the beautiful, crazy girls. 

“Hey,” he heard you say, and he swore your chirp had softened. “I’ll go ahead with my plan in a week’s time. If I don’t hear from you, then I’ll know your answer. You don’t have to tell me now.” When he looked at you, he saw your expression shift. “That’s why I only gave the paper.” 

He supposed he could appreciate this sentiment. “Thanks,” he could only say, pocketing your number. “Is there…anything else you want? Aside from the—” a snide glance at the DVD set—”the movie?” 

“I saw that,” you scoffed, taking hold of the movie set. “And no, I’m alright. I’ll bother you about children’s movies another time.” 

“I’ll make sure these children’s movies are all conveniently sold out when you come,” he countered without thinking. 

You could only shake your head, trying to contain your laugh. “Careful, or I just might bother you after the plan.” 

Vernon did not know what he felt at that notion—would he want that? However, he did not have time to ponder, since you were already heading for the door. As you nearly left the store, bell ringing, he did not hear the door close. He glanced up, catching you looking at him with an indecipherable expression. “Yes?”

You waited a moment before parting your mouth. “I hope to hear from you, Mr. Filmbro.” 

With that, you swiftly exited the store, leaving this Mr. Filmbro even more helpless than he was between the seven days between your first encounter, and now this very second. 

“JO MADE SENSE WITH FRIEDRICH AT THE END. SHE SIMPLY…NEEDED A MAN AFTER PINING FOR LAURIE.”

The professor listened in the small circle, the rest of the students typing or writing down the answer. “Like, realistically,” Mingyu went on, twisting his mechanical pencil between his fingers, “The whole point of the movie is her relationship with Laurie, and that was shattered the moment he married Amy. Friedrich was like…” he pouted in thought, furrowing his brows. “The light at the end of the tunnel…does that make sense, Minghao?”

The said-man nodded. “Interesting take,” he noted, walking closer to the circle he was teaching. “So you agree that Jo needed Friedrich at the end of the film?”

“Absolutely.”

There were a few murmurs around the room, majority of them agreeing with the golden boy who was sitting at the head of the circular, white table. Vernon, who was sat one girl away from him, typed furiously in his laptop, adding to his notes. MINGYU IS A FUCKING IDIOT…CINEMATICALLY ILLITERATE…BORDERLINE MISOGYNIST…Okay, perhaps he was exaggerating on the last one, but his analysis of the question pissed him off. 

Did Jo need Friedrich at the end of the movie? Was what Professor Minghao had asked them about an hour ago. Vernon knew the answer immediately, and, although did not share it with the seminar, was surprised to be disagreed by the majority of the class. Not surprising, however, when his class was filled with men who could not imagine a woman in a film wanting anything else but a man beside her. 

Whatever, he thought, straying from the web page and instead checking the release date for Oppenheimer when he heard your name crop up amongst the discourse in the table. 

“Did _____ actually?” 

“Oh, yeah, said she thought Jo should have been on her own.” A click of tongue. “Not surprising, coming from her.” 

Vernon instantly perked up, fingers pausing on the keyboard. Not surprising? The boy was actually floored at that opinion—and how valid you were for expressing it. 

“I mean,” another girl, right next to him, chimed in, “Didn’t you say she was really stupid, Gyu?”

“God, I don’t know where to begin,” Mingyu said, aghast, and the boy who eavesdropped felt a little dread at every word that escaped his mouth. “Everytime I watched a movie with her she always got bored, or argued with me when I tried to explain shit to her.” 

“I remember we sat with her while we were tryna do our film project last semester,” the boy beside Mingyu recalled. “She had no fucking clue who Martin Scorcese was, man!” 

The group audibly gasped, save for Vernon, who could not help himself, refusing to mind his business. Nasty habit this—he made a note to call you out for this later on, should you walk into his store again. 

Fuck. He did not want that. Of course he did not. He should stop thinking about it too. 

You, that is.

“She’s gotta be the dumbest one yet, Gyu,” the boy snickered, snapping his laptop shut. 

“You don’t even know the half of it,” the dumper groaned, raking through his locks. “You know she was always watching those fucking Disney princess movies?” Vernon’s eyes widened a little. “Man, I remember she wouldn’t get enough of them. Like, what are you, six? Why the fuck am I watching a movie about a midget dragon?”

Then, Mingyu said the words that made the eavesdropper’s spirits shot down. 

“_____ may have been hot, but she was one stupid bitch. Thank god I got rid of her.” 

The others agreed. He may have spoken more on the matter of your lack of media literacy, but the professor was back, and the seminar had quietened, all in focus. 

All except for the boy who had not given his two cents on the matter, frozen solid at the conversation that occurred. What the fuck was that? He had first thought, over and over to the point that he nearly typed it in the seminar document. He had always known Mingyu was an asshole, but what he said about you gave him a very uneasy feeling.  

What sent him over the edge was that a lot of his grievances sounded identical to Vernon’s own words. 

Miss Disney Hag he had called you—to your face he had insulted your taste in films, and you had only laughed. He wondered how you felt when it was Mingyu amplifying those very opinions on a daily basis. 

A frown marred his features. Damn it. He knew he was a loser, but he did not know he was an asshole. Like Mingyu…

Vernon visibly shivered. 

As Minghao voiced out the objectives for the second half of the seminar, the boy brought his hand into his trouser pocket, slipping out the paper. He looked over your number, the messy scribbles dancing in his eyes. Darting to his phone on the table, he held it in his free hand, looking over the contacts. 

“Damn it,” he said under his breath. 

Was he going to regret this? Most probably. Will you probably make him do something that would result in a fatal injury, and land a permanent stain on his social record? One hundred percent. 

If he knew these things already, then what he should have done was toss the paper in the nearest bin. What he did instead, as he typed in some vital information in his phone, was something that changed his life (or at least the life he will live for the next few weeks).

vernon: u dont have to wait till next week 

vernon: ill help u with the plan

There. And now, he shall wait.

Which, he pondered as he saw the immediate response, was not very long. 

normal disney enjoyer: wait who tf is this??

Oops. 

vernon: oh mb this is vernon lmao

vernon: from the filmstore

normal disney enjoyer: oh damn why didn’t u say so !! freaky ass text 

vernon: ??? ive said it now tf

normal disney enjoyer: and im happy u have ;)

Well. Vernon sighed a little, trying to focus back on his work, but to no avail.

Let’s see what you have in store for the next week.

VERNON WAS WONDERING WHETHER HE STILL HAD TIME TO KILL HIMSELF. 

It could be quick—maybe if he jumped in front of the next incoming car, full speed, he might suffer a haemorrhage in his brain, and die bleeding out as his parents took him to the hospital. Of course, that does mean that it would be slow and excruciating, but he thought that nothing would be as painful as whatever you had planned for him.

Come on…maybe it won’t be that bad. Perhaps his thoughts were spiralling too quickly. Perhaps his assumptions of you were a stretch, and that all this anxiousness, pent up in him, would wash away the moment he saw your car pulling up to the store’s driveway.

He felt himself prepare mentally as, eventually, your small, red car slowed in front of him. Right before him, he saw the passenger window roll down, and he caught sight of your smiling face, teeth showing. 

Perhaps it truly would not be as bad as he imagined. 

“Get in loser, we’re going trespassing.”

Nevermind.

“Oh my God,” was the unsatisfying answer to your perfect reference. Seriously, you should not bother saving your precious material on such a lame boy, but there was something so exciting about his eyes sharply rolling, colour staining the tops of his cheeks. “I’m not doing this if you’re going to quote terrible movies the entire night.”

“First of all, fuck you. Mean Girls birthed half of your customers.” You flicked the lock on the passenger door, pushing it open. “Second, you don’t have a choice. You’ve agreed to ruin Mingyu’s life.”

“First of all yourself, I did not agree to that.” Begrudgingly, he settled shotgun, snapping the car door shut. “Second, Mean Girls was a waste of Rachel McAdams’ talent.” 

You scoffed, starting the car. “I don’t take opinions from men who can’t drive.” 

This shut the boy up nicely, clamping his lips together in quiet shame. He wished he could argue with that—you, he feared, had a good point. Despite that, it was not his fault that his parents insisted on the reliance of public transport; the bus was his greatest villain—aside from the middle school kids in his store that always ask for the next FIFA game. 

You could not help taking a second glance at him, chuckling at his defeat. “Don’t be sad, Mr. FIlmbro,” you reassured him, changing gears. “I like my men a little pathetic.” 

That did not help at all—his eyes widened, gawking at you, but you were already looking ahead, pressing your foot on the accelerator. 

“Jesus!” he exclaimed as he held onto his seat, taken aback by your sudden rush of speed. “I thought you wanted to kill Mingyu, not yourself!”

“My bad,” you only said, turning right. “I’m just so excited! You know, getting there.” 

“I can see that,” he mumbled, looking away from you into the back. Strapped in with the seatbelt, bizarrely, was Sofia’s Disney Princess Set, as if the dozen-movie box was a toddler in need of extra assistance. What the fuck…?

“I’m having these films in pristine condition, Vernon,” you explained, though it still made no sense in his head. “You understand, don’t you?”

Of course not. “Sure.” 

He waited for further explanation, which, as the silence continued, you decided to throw him the conversational bone. “I don’t just carry the set around with me, you know.”

Sure. “Of course not.” 

“It’s relevant to today’s plan,” was all you would offer, speeding more to reach the destination quicker. Vernon held onto the belt a little tighter, still eyeing the movie set rather suspiciously before focusing back on the road. 

The drive was not long—perhaps thirty minutes at most—but he knew he was leaving the rougher parts of the city when nicer neighbourhoods welcomed his vision, the litter on the roads disappearing, instead trees in an orderly line painting the sides of the pavement. The further you drove into these suburbs, the more he was surprised at the sheer luxury of the exterior of these houses; granted, he did not originate from poverty, but his idea of a holiday was three days in the comforts of his bed, bingeing the Miyazaki collection with a lifetime supply of mint chocolate chip ice cream on his lap. 

Vernon had to save his mouth dropping to the seat of the car floor when they rolled into the Kim household’s drive. 

He was aware that Mingyu derived from wealth—the former could not help noticing his pricey, flashy brands every time the taller boy sauntered into the Film Sound classes, but he did not expect this Bridgerton-ass looking house, nestled in between the other million-dollar homes in the neighbourhood. He was greeted with a clearer picture the closer you parked in their drive, surprisingly empty; it was around that moment that you noticed that all the lights were turned off in the house, almost a haunting image. 

The boy was on his way to make a comment about your terrible spying skills when you rebuffed him immediately, saying, “I know what you’re thinking. I have it covered.”

“Please tell me, Miss Bond, how are you planning to carry this out?”

You offered him an incredulous look. “I don’t know what that reference means, I’m too pretty.”

His answer to that was a thin, long line of his mouth. You chose to ignore it completely. “Mingyu’s parents are out of town right now, and his sister’s on a ski-trip in Austria.”

A glance of confusion. “In the middle of March?” 

A shrug. “You know what rich people are like.” Weirdly enough, he knew exactly what you were talking about. “But it worked out great for us.” With a hard exhale you got out of the car, the boy beside you reflecting your actions. “All the easier for what we have to do.” You opened the car door behind the driver’s one, unstrapping the seatbelt and carefully bringing out the movie set. 

“How’re we getting into the evil lair, then?” he asked dryly, crossing both his arms. “I assume the millionaires don’t happen to put a spare key under the carpet?”

“Imagine,” you said, sighing melodramatically. “I tried making them do it so I could sneak into his house, but for some reason, Mingyu never agreed to it.” 

“I wonder why,” he muttered.

“Worry not, young grasshopper!” You strolled to the very right of the house, where a thin wooden door was almost hidden from view. “Where there is a door closed, another is mysteriously open.” 

With a hard push, the door trudged back, swinging heavily away. He stared at it, not quite believing how someone can be so careless to keep their gates unlocked. “Another weakness of Mingyu’s—” You pointed at the cleared path into the house—”whenever he leaves from the garden, he never locks the gate.”

Vernon could not quite believe it. “Either the wealthy are incredibly secured in their safety, or stupid as fuck.”

“I think you know the answer to that,” you joked, going further into the journey, ushering him over. Like a siren calling his name, he followed you, unaware of the shit you might be getting him into. 

Into the fancy garden they arrived, clean-cut hedges bordering in dozens of flower bushes, peppered also with a few fruit trees—berries of every kind ripening on the green. While Vernon admired the natural luxury, you hurried to the nearby shed, where a ladder was situated right beside it. “Quick, help me out here!” you shouted in a whisper, ushering him over. Dropping the DVD set for a moment, you grunted as you held the large ladder up with his assistance, slowly making its way to the brick wall of the house. “Wait, line it up against that window over there,” you instructed, jerking your head towards the far right window, no doubt on the second floor. Once the ladder was lined up properly, you moved the boy out of the way, shaking the rails to make sure it stayed put. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Vernon muttered, watching you take the Disney Princess set in one hand, the other making the first step on the calendar. “We can still…you know, not commit breaking and entering.” 

“You can happily leave, Mr. Filmbro,” you offered, looking up at your destination. 

That had him scoffing. “My ass is not walking two hours back to my house.” 

“That seems more like a you problem then!” you chirped. “Now are you following me up, or pussying out?”

Once again, pussying out seemed like the obvious choice for the boy. He was not made for missions such as these—he was merely meant to watch other people act out said missions in front of his television. Unfortunately, because he was too far away from the film store, it was either sitting it out, waiting for you to come out and do something diabolical, or at least watch over you should you cross a line (if the latter were the case, then Vernon had already failed). 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept uttering like a mantra, waiting for you to climb up enough to hold onto the ladder as he began to follow after you. He made the mistake of looking up as you climbed up, and he got a full, HD view of your ass. He tried his very best to look away out of some semblance of respect, but you also made the mindful decision of wearing the shortest skirt known to man. His fuck, fuck fucks! rang louder, causing you to shush him.

“Stop freaking out, my guy!” you called out, right on the top of the ladder. “I know my ass is crazy built but this is not the time.”

“That’s not why I’m freaking out, _____!” he countered, but knowing you, you did not care for his explanations. He only waited as you pushed open the slight-open window, all the way to the top before climbing inside.

As he reached the top of the ladder, he watched you dust yourself before glancing back at him, ushering him inside. “Here goes nothing,” he said to himself, hands on the top of the window ledge as he put his foot on the sill, pushing himself inside. 

Vernon dropped into the unknown room, an oof! leaving his mouth as he landed rather ungraciously on his feet. Quickly, he looked up, surroundings rather dimmed due to the lack of lighting. Still, with the help of the moonlight, he could slowly make out the huge smart TV in the middle of the bedroom, beneath it a wide shelf filled with DVDs, some opened and scattered on the carpeted floor. The bed was on the opposite side, right next to the window the two of you had entered in, black and gold sheets tousled and unmade.

As you turned the light on, the boy then made out that Mingyu, in fact, did not have a bed frame, but just a mattress, with the sheets barely done properly.  The wall on his left was a full black-shutter closet, where he could see the collection of his designer clothing behind the gaps. Posters were plastered on the rest of the walls, most of them being the Tarantino classics —a reclined, raven-bobbed Uma Thurman watching him with bedroom eyes being the most prominent—with certain papers of autographs also stuck next to the posters. There was another poster—American Beauty and the girl surrounded with rose petals—which had him quickly looking away.

“Jesus,” was all he could say, but he supposed he should not have judged. He himself had only his posters in his room—except he did not have the same taste as a middle-aged incel.

“I know.” You looked around at the familiar space, and the memories you had made here. “Imagine having sex in this hellsite.”

Then the image of you having sex with Mingyu on that messy bed came into his mind, and Vernon could have combusted then and there. “I can’t imagine,” he mumbled out, walking to the door, opening to make sure no one was inside. “_____, are you sure no one’s here?”

“Swear on my life, Mr. Filmbro.”

He had to trust you now—or you had very little respect for your life. 

He kept eyeing the DVD set you had in your hand. “Are you still not gonna tell me what we’re doing with that?”

You marched over to the shelf beneath the TV, settling yourself down. “Come here and I’ll show you.” You patted the empty carpet space next to you for added emphasis.

Hesitantly, he obliged, sitting cross-legged next to you. Finger pointing as it scoured the shelf, you carefully brought out one of the films from Mingyu’s selection, all the while sliding out a Disney film from your own set. “Now, tell me,” you began, as you showed him the two movies. “Do you think The Dark Knight and Mulan are a good match?”

First pulling a face at the choice, he then resorted to keeping his twist of features as he turned to you. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“So like, you know Mulan is a woman disguising herself as a soldier in order to defeat the Huns and save her father’s honour, right,” you explained, though you had a small feeling he was not particularly listening. “And Batman is the same thing, except he dresses up as a fucking bat…stupid furry.”

Vernon could not understand how you compared one of the most beautiful, nuanced depictions of a broken, three-dimensional superhero into a furry, but he needed to get to the bottom of your plan, once and for all. “No, I mean, what are you doing? Why the hell are we here?” 

You tutted extra loud. “I’m gonna swap the CDs, dumbass!” You held up the princess movie. “Thought Mingyu could say to me that Disney princess movies sucked, huh?” Then, the classic DVD’s turn to rise. “Let’s see how he’ll like watching a talking dragon in China instead of a talking bat in Fantasyland!” 

The boy could only watch, shock growing with the successful swap of the movies, the secret Mulan CD safely tucked into the The Dark Knight’s DVD case. “It’s Gotham, actually,” he murmured, but he knew you were not listening. “Wait, _____, we really just snuck into your ex’s house to swap a few movies?”

You looked up briefly as you began opening another DVD case. “I mean, if you want to trash the place, that’s fine, but you can’t do anymore than what Mingyu’s dirty ass hasn’t done already.”

Fair point. “I think you’re going insane. Like, clinically.” He kept looking at the door, which was closed shut. “He’ll kill us if he catches us.” 

“Forget about us, you’re barely doing anything!” you exclaimed, tossing some of Mingyu’s movies to him. “Can you actually help me instead of complaining?”

What he should have done was argue with you properly, perhaps even make his escape and leave you to dig your own grave. Sure, he could not drive, but was it not just three pedals, a wheel and a dream? He could have left, never to see you again. 

But then his eyes wandered to the Inception DVD scattered beside you, no doubt collateral damage as you took out the other Nolan films, and saw a Disney Princess movie sitting beside it. Sleeping Beauty, it read out, with the picture of some skinny blonde chick slumbering with a man overlooking her. He thought it a bit strange, almost creepy how this brunette was watching her. 

And then an idea came into his head. 

He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, clamping his lips together. Please forgive me, Mr. Nolan, for what I’m about to do. 

Hand reaching out to grasp both DVDs, he opened one of his favourites, unclipping the CD. You glanced at him, swapping the movies around. You could not help your stare lingering a little, watching his lips pout, brows furrowed as he fixed the new CD in the Nolan set, as if the task was a serious one. Well, it was a serious task for you, but you expected more complaining. 

When he looked up, he managed to catch a small smile on your lips before he quickly looked away. “And now you’re slacking,” he accused, closing the DVD and setting it atop the newly improved. 

“What’s the plot for Inception?” you asked him, cracking open The Princess and The Frog. 

“I thought you knew, since you laughed at me for saying it was my favourite.” 

“I don’t know the full thing,” you admitted. “The only reason I knew about it was because Mingyu never shut up about it…sorry about that, by the way.” 

Vernon sighed. “It’s fine…if I made fun of your Disney favourites, then bullying me for Nolan isn’t the worst…I think.” He looked at your new suggestion before picking out Alien from Mingyu’s selection. “A thief has to implant an idea into this powerful guy’s mind, and he does this through infiltrating other people’s dreams. However, he has to be asleep while he does it.” 

As you began to laugh, he threw you an irritated look. You shook your head, unable to erase your smile. “That’s a really good match.” 

His eyes widened for a moment, mouth parting. For a moment (and he did not know whether he was going to regret making this assertion), he did not care for Christopher Nolan’s disrespect, after seeing your reaction.

With that, the two of you sat in near silence, the crisp opening and closing of the DVDs, the sliding of the discs being the only sound between the two of you. The Princess of the Frog was successfully matched with the Alien—you, unsurprisingly, had not watched the movie, but Vernon had watched both (one against his will, which you could guess), and thought it the best match. Brave was slotted into The Revenant's case, while Beauty and the Beast went straight into Pan’s Labyrinth’s. 

“Okay so…” the boy held up the Pocahontas CD. “Native American princess falls for the coloniser? How the fuck are you defending this?”

You could only offer a sheepish smile. “The soundtrack is really good?”

“Knowing Disney,” he crowed, cracking open the DVD, “They probably have a song on how terrible the poor Natives are.”

You eyed him, surprised. “How the hell did you guess that?”

First, Vernon made a face, as if he himself could not believe his excellent intuition. Then, he only laughed a little, taking out the Dances with Wolves DVD from the shelf. “I’ve watched enough Disney movies with my sister to know how they work.”

“Oh, so you have watched them?” you mused, watching him exchange the discs. “All that time I thought you only watched what Mingyu watched.”

“No, I watch foreign indie films like an asshole,” he clarified, shutting the cases, and putting Dances with Wolves back on the shelf. “The thing is, I still have my grievances against the super popular films. You know the list you mentioned to me the other day?” You nodded. “Most of these film junkies get off on those movies. I’ll admit I like them, but I’ve seen so much better.” 

You snorted. “Like Inception?” Vernon watched you for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “What? You asked him, tilting your head. 

He followed your movement—he too, craned his head, his brown curls cascading along his forehead. “Like Inception…and better.”

“Better?” you gasped out, fingers rising to your bottom lip in shock. “Does Mr. Filmbro prefer a movie over Nolan’s grand—no, best release ever?!”

“Ha, ha,” he monotoned, only adding to your amusement. “It’s still his best film! But,” he added, shrugging a little, “I may or may not have lied to you the first time we met. Inception’s not my favourite movie.”

“What?!” you could barely contain your grin. “Oh my God, if I find out it’s a fucking Disney movie, I’m never letting you live it down!”

“Let’s not go that far,” he jeered, earning a harsh nudge of your elbow. “Hey! You should be thanking me for my honesty.”

“How about you extend that honesty and tell me which movie is your favourite?” 

Vernon mocked a ponder. “It’s a hard pass.” 

“Come on!” you pressed, scooting a little closer, almost reaching out as if to nudge him some more. “You’ve already committed a felony with me. Telling me your favourite movie is naturally the next step.” 

“Because that’s obviously how normal human interaction goes,” he countered, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Tell me.” 

“No.”

“Tell me!” 

“Hmm…no!” he repeated, assembling the last of the DVDs. “Maybe if we raid Mingyu’s house next time.”

“Oh?” Leaning closer, you paused his hands on the movie sets. “Do you want there to be a next time?”

It was then Vernon realised the implications of your question, a consequence of his own suggestion. It was almost comical, how his eyes widened like full moons, and he immediately shook his head. “Now you know that’s not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” you asked him, and the way he exposed a slight stutter at your question had you laughing. “Would you want to see me again?”

What Vernon wanted to tell you was no, no, no, because another second with you would end with all the blood in his system rushing to his head, and other places. Damn everything and everyone, he would want to see you again—no. No. He wouldn’t. He would not. 

“You haven’t answered the question,” you said, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

The boy was about to stutter out an answer when the two of you heard a door slam downstairs. 

You whirled back, eyes instantly darting to the door. They then focused back on you, widened very much like his not long ago. “_____,” Vernon muttered. 

“Mr. Filmbro…”

The furrow of his brow appeared for a split-second before it disappeared at the shuffling underneath. “What the fuck do we do?” he gulped out, looking around to find anywhere to escape from. This was it—he thought he was getting away with trespassing just because you had convinced him to, but that fuckass ex-boyfriend was going to catch them in his bedroom, two inches away from kissing you, and—

“Wait,” you then said, catching his wrist in your hand. He barely had time to react to it before you shot up from your seated position, hauling the boy along with you. He stumbled, but then you nearly made him fall flat on his face as you ran to the shutter closets, sliding them straight open. The inside was a mess of branded clothing and boxes of sports equipment, but there was one opening with just enough for two people in trouble to hide. 

You first went in, and, with a harsh tug, pulled him in with you. He crashed into you, but you had enough control to slide the shutter door shut. There was so much commotion that when you both finally stilled, breathing harshly as you heard Mingyu enter the room, Vernon blinked back to see your face about two inches away from him. 

He was going to yelp—strong on going to, because you sensed his incoming shock, and smacked your hand against his mouth. His eyebrows could have touched the top of his forehead, but what you noticed the most was the warmth of his skin, burning the longer your touch lingered on his lips. 

The smile you offered him as you put a finger to your lips had him almost passing out. 

“Yeah, man, come round whenever,” was all Vernon could hear, still not comprehending Mingyu’s speech due to your hand. “No, Minseo’s not here, what the fuck? Why do you wanna know where my sister is?” 

Slowly, ever so carefully as not to alert him, you pulled down on one of the blinds of the shutter, spying the movie which he was about to see. Vernon should have been following your movements, but he could only sense you, inching closer and closer to him till you were pressed against him. Of course, you were only trying to better your vision of your ex-boyfriend, but the boy beside you could not focus. The hand on his mouth—God—he needed, so badly, to be put down. Your fingers were soft, and although his lips could not help brushing against your palm, everything in him resisted the urge to react.

Quickly glancing at your accomplice in glee, you dropped your hand from his mouth, silently urging him to watch. He could have rebelled against your pulling away, but he instead obliged. Bringing his face next to yours, he glanced at you one last time before peering at the vision that welcomed. 

There he was, the golden boy, raking his hair as he strolled into the middle of the room, observing the TV before him, and the DVD player sitting at the bottom. He kept humming, as if agreeing with whoever was on the phone. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go to that party later…no, I’m not bringing _____! You know about that already!” 

The boy in hiding quickly snuck a peek at you, who soured a little at the mention. “Hmm? Yeah, whatever. What? Nah, I’m just gonna watch a chill movie before leaving.” Mingyu scanned the films on his shelf. Walking over, he leaned down, sliding out The Shape of Water from his collection, cradling his phone between his shoulder blade and his craned head as he opened the DVD. 

Vernon could not help pulling a face at Mingyu’s choice of a ‘chill movie’ being a film about a mute woman wanting to fuck a water creature. You probably did not understand the reference, but by the growing anticipation on your face, you only cared about the scene you two had created, and was about to unfold just then. 

Mingyu slid the CD into the player, pressing play as he made his way to his frameless bed, settling down in the sheets. “Yeah…no, no, it’s just starting.”

The two of you could hear clearly the opening credits, which began with the most obnoxious opening music of Disney’s intro. Vernon was taken aback by how Mingyu did not realise it from that very moment, but considering he was too busy chatting pure shit on the phone, laughing to himself, the boy assumed he was simply waiting for the action to occur.

“Any minute now, Mr. Filmbro,” you whispered, oh-so-fucking close to him. He did not respond, merely a nod.

Craning his head to see through the shutters, he noticed the animation come to life, the ship within dangerous waters sailing with uncertainty. He snuck a quick glance at Mingyu’s face, which started garnering a little confusion. 

“Are these extra credit scenes? I don’t remember any of this,” he heard the OG filmbro complain. 

You could not help the snort that escaped you. Vernon glared at you, but with little effect. “What?” you whispered. “I don’t remember him being this thick.” 

“What the fuck is this cartoon…” the two of you heard Mingyu pipe up. Finally, the buffoon is realising this is not the two-time Oscar winning animation, but the four-time Oscar winning CGI. “This wasn’t in the director’s cut.”

You still could not believe how your ex-boyfriend was taking this long for the realisation to hit. Even when Eric jumped up on the screen, holding onto the ship’s ropes, the watcher only regarded the character intently, as if he was somehow part of the stranger film. 

Only when, fifteen minutes in, Atlantis is finally introduced that something clicked in his brain. Mingyu tilted his head, thinking out loud. “What the fuck…?”

Getting up from where he sat, he ended the call, informing whoever was on the other side that he would meet later. He took out the CD from the player, examining its exterior. “Can’t see shit on this CD…” He was not wrong—you were smart, choosing the discs which did not have any images, confusing the boy all the more. “Maybe I put in the wrong one…”

He shrugged it off, taking out The Dark Knight instead, another easy, breezy movie to watch when The Shape of Water did not pull through. Now Nolan was a hard one to criticise—Vernon himself was a huge fan, but seeing Mingyu try to watch it irked him. A good thing, then, was it not, that he was bound for a second surprise?

Repeating the routine, he slid the secret CD, settling back into his frameless bed. “Great minds, huh?” you whispered to him, and Vernon only rolled his eyes, not enjoying the dig against him in the slightest. 

“You dated him,” he griped, watching the movie start up.

“Waste of good looks,” you whispered, your partner-in-crime nodding in agreement. The movie beginning had you both falling silent as a bird of prey hits on one of the soldier’s heads. The scene is set in the cold mountains of China, but the sole audience does not catch it immediately. 

“So fucking weird…” Mingyu trailed off again, leaning forwards. “This isn’t the robbery scene…”

Of course it was not—the idiot would not witness one of the best film openings in Vernon’s humble opinion. He would not feast his eyes to the workings of Joker’s bank robbery, nor the cold one-liners from the incapacitated bank manager. 

No, what he was served was the Huns crossing the Northern border, which, as the boy finally began to clock after a good ten minutes, was not what he was expecting.

“What the…” once again, he heaved himself up, walking over to the player. “Now I know something’s wrong…”

Both you and Vernon stretched further close, as much as the closet would allow, to peek at Mingyu’s frustration as he brought the CD out once more, examining the back and front. He then took out some more of his favourites, opening their cases and taking out the CDs, observing them closely. He was suspicious now. How could he not be, when he was expecting incel excellence, but was greeted with the same shit his younger sister—his crazy ex-girlfriend, even—would usually watch.

He blinked back. 

His deathly stillness had the two trespassers pausing. You two looked at each other, faces losing any humour, perhaps recognising that he had clocked on. You watched the scene as Mingyu rapidly added one CD after another, expecting one movie only to have a Disney-fied replacement, completely botching his plans. Every movie that received such Disneyfication further enraged him, the grit in his teeth heard, the tick in his jaw visible. 

The final straw was when the Godfather was slotted in, his all-time, unmatched favourite. There was darkness for the first few minutes, and he sighed too quickly in relief, about to lay back on his mattress. 

Then, a curly-haired girl, a toddler at best, in huge green glasses becomes visible, being told to open her eyes. 

“Is this where magic comes from?”

“What the fuck?!”

And as a conversation between the little girl and her elderly grandmother blossomed, there was a specific dialogue which sent the young boy over the edge.

“This candle became a magical flame that would never grow out…and it blessed us with a refuge in which to live…a place of wonder…An Encanto.”

You nearly burst out laughing. 

Mingyu, on the other hand, could have seen red. 

“Who fucked with my CDs?!” he demanded to no one in particular, though in his mind he knew there was a culprit. “My fucking CDs, man!” 

“Did you do the Godfather swap?” you whispered, barely able to contain yourself.

“Two special families with one heir that doesn’t feel connected to their lifestyle.” Vernon grinned at you, impressed with himself. “It was too easy.”

“Where did you even find the Encanto DVD? It wasn’t in our set.” 

“I found it in his little filmbro shelf.” He ticked his head towards the boy in physical agony. “My guess is that his sister is a Disney fan and left it in his mancave.”

“Oh my God,” you got out, watching the melodramatic scene of your dear ex show rage akin to a teenage boy losing Call of Duty online. 

“That fucking bitch,” he guttered, over and over again as he threw the Encanto CD across the room. Those words came out, and the boy behind the shutters stiffened. Okay—there is rage, and then there is straight up promise of violence. Vernon may not be much of a knight, but if they were caught, he knew he would have to protect you.

He hoped to everything that existed that it would not have to come to that—Vernon would rather fake having a heart attack and have you drag his body out of the Kim Manor. 

It seemed as that might have been a real possibility, until the boy called out a threat to a name they were not expecting.

“Minseo, I’m gonna kill you!” Mingyu roared as he stormed out of the room, undoubtedly on his way to destroy her room, even take his anger out on her Jellycat collection.

As you heard his frenzy disappear down the halls, the trespassers took this as the opportunity to escape the closet, Vernon already creating a little distance in case you come too close and cause his passing out.

“We need to get out now,” he declared as you crept out of the wardrobe, his head whipping to the door which Mingyu left from. 

You nodded, not quite looking at him as you dashed straight for the final DVD. “Oh, Jesus,” He groaned, watching you scramble for the movie, trying horrifically to hide it within your clothes. “You do realise he can come in any second!” 

“Okay, okay,” you said, hurrying over to the window. “Wait, you can go first.”

Vernon raised a brow, following after you. “How come you don’t want to go first?”

You only ushered him further, grinning. “You can peek at my ass again.”

“My eyes will be closed,” he sniped, already carrying it out, trying his absolute best not to imagine your ass in his mind—maybe stakeouts for goofy purposes were not for the weak-willed. “You know, just for that alone, you’re going down first.” 

“Whatever suits you, Mr. Filmbro,” you almost chanted, aggravating him all the more as you stepped out of the window, beginning the trek down. 

He looked down as you descended with one film in hand, still stealing glances at the only door in the room, terrified that the boy would burst through the door, see you both and bring about his downfall. Subconsciously, his fingers hovered just before his mouth, biting the skin around his nails. He knew he should have run himself over with an oncoming vehicle. A messy plan, but still fool-proof. 

“Stop panicking and come down here!” your voice snapped him out of his anxious frenzy. “I know you’re biting your nails off right now!”

The boy instantly repelled his hand, instead furrowing his brow. A little irritating—scary, as well, really—how predictable he was in your eyes. How quickly you had figured him out.

“Alright,” he said, absent-mindedly as he reached for the windowsill. He peaked down again, not realising how far down the descent truly was. Rationally, he knew it was not the worst drop he’d seen on the first floor, but the nerves had started affecting his mind. Now, this entire time he was watching you take one step, two steps down, but he did not have the strength to follow you. 

Still, he knew it was now or never.

Vernon was going to be at your heels (or, more anatomically correct, at your head) when he heard a shuffle from behind him.

He whipped his head around, anticipating the worst.

The worst arrived in all his golden-skinned, empty-headed glory. Holding one of his DVDs, Kim Mingyu stood at the doorway, his eyes widening with every second they beheld the intruder, one leg out of the house, the other a moment away from heaving him up.

Oh. Jesus. Christ.

“The nerd from film theory?”

Vernon’s face dropped. 

The Nerd from Film Theory? The Nerd from fucking Film Theory? 

It was then and there, in that exact moment of time, that the filmbro in question did not give a single care for what the popular boy thought of him. Vernon knew everything about this boy (whether he wanted to or not); his every class, his every terrible friend, even his film preferences, thanks to yours truly. Yet Mingyu did not even know his name—did not even bother to remember.

It was because of that that he managed to garner some essence of his bravado, finally settling both feet on the ladder steps. 

He also decided to add in some corrections to Mingyu’s knowledge. 

“Jo March did not need any man after Laurie…in fact, she did not need any male support, asshole.”

For added effect, he raised his middle finger, as if the burn was sick enough to hurt. 

Mingyu’s devastating response was a confused tilt of his head, clearly not understanding his reference. 

It was enough time for Vernon to hurry his descent down, catching the former more off guard. 

“What the fuck—” was all the boy heard before he quickly tried to travel downwards, feet nearly slipping on the steps by his sheer carelessness. Mingyu’s head popped out from the window, and saw the great ladder leaning against the sill, shocked gaze lowering to where Vernon was descending to.

When his eyes found yours, he could have choked on his gulp. Even more so when you smirked at him.

“_____?”

As Vernon finally dropped off the ladder, dusting himself off, he watched the two of you, staring each other down. When he gauged Mingyu’s fear of you, there was a small part of him that was filled with admiration.

Mingyu’s demand sounded more like a whimper. “What are you doing here?”

You only curled your lips further upwards, grinning like a wild animal. It chilled your ex-boyfriend to the bone when you held the Tangled CD up for him to see, with your other hand raising your middle finger. 

“This is for calling me a stupid bitch.”

His mouth dropped open. That gave you just enough time to grab onto Vernon’s hand, enveloping your fingers around his wrist. 

And run for your life.

Vernon let out a yelp as he was yanked forward by your hold, barely hearing Mingyu’s loud curses and retreating back into the house, no doubt to follow after you two—the trespasser could only guess, much too occupied by your hand, a guiding beacon of mischief, never absent in his life as you ran and ran and ran out of the garden, out of the sleek maze which you two first entered, catching sight of the open garden gate.

The boy heard distant footsteps coming from the house, and as you both saw your car parked beyond the greater gates, you fished out your keys, finally letting go of his hand to dash over to the driver’s side, jamming the key in the lock. Vernon let out a startled noise as the car unlocked, wasting no time to jump inside, heart beating loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear. Mingyu appeared at the main doorstep at the exact same time, even more shocked to realise he had not noticed his ex-girlfriend’s car casually parked before him. 

Just as you climbed inside, swivelling the keys into ignition, Mingyu began to run after the car, a mere ten seconds between him and catching you two.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _____, just start it already!” the nervous boy in shotgun begged, his head swivelling back at every chance, heart lurching at every metre closer the filmnemesis crept.

The car revved to life at your signal.

It was time to get the fuck out of here. 

“GO, GO, GO!” Vernon screamed at the top of his voice, fisting the handle at the roof of the car as you slammed on the accelerator, racing out of the driveway with Mingyu’s bellowing following after you. Of course, since he was a mere, enraged college student, and you both were in a (slight) state-of-the-art vehicle, you zoomed out of the neighbourhood, his curses fading with every turn further out, you managing to escape. 

Vernon, because he had never done such a thing before, was still screaming to leave for the next ten minutes until you had had enough, swerving to the side of the road, not far from his DVD store. You almost crashed into the nearby park, frightening a few birds that expected peace within the sidewalk trees, only to be disturbed by a troublesome ex and a film-obsessed loser. 

You gushed out an exhale, fingers gripping tightly to the wheel, almost as stunned as the boy beside you, who seemed to take in the town’s worth of air in his little body. But then, you realised the gravity of the situation, the sole movie at the back which could not be swapped, and the valiant escape from something you never thought you would come out of alive.

Just then, you burst into laughter. 

The boy whirled his head to you, who could not stop the tumbles of laughter that escaped your mouth, hanging on to the car wheel as you cackled and cackled like the Wicked Witch of the West. Well, that was what you thought you sounded at that time, but you, as always, did not care.

Only that you were wrong—at least in Vernon’s eyes. You were wrong, because if you were laughing like some Disney villain, then he would have been more pissed off—enraged even. He was instead in awe, shocked at the raw guffawing that spluttered out of you without shame. Had the two of you not evaded a great danger? Nearly been arrested for your legally ambiguous behaviour? 

For the first time in his life, he was not embroiled with dread. 

There was no anxiety in his body, no essence of panic at the consequences of your actions. No, he could only stare at you and your mirth, and find himself raising his brows, the beginnings of a scoffed laugh creeping from his lips. 

The more he looked at you, the more his own laughter joined yours. 

And then you were both laughing, giggling beyond control at the narrow escape, and the near crash against some tree. Vernon knew how stupid this whole situation was, but strangely, he did not seem to care—not when you did not see it like that. A very odd prospect. 

After a few minutes, when it finally seemed as if you would settle down, you sighed, leaning back into the driver’s seat. “We should do that again.”

Despite the amusement lingering, he immediately shut the idea down. “Not a chance.”

You admired the ancient lining of the tree’s bark in front of the car. “The way you were laughing with me just now, you’d think you want to commit crimes from now on.” 

A dramatic roll of eyes. “I’m not going to jail. They don’t even have a TV there.”

“You and your fuck ass movie collection…”

That brought out another chuckle from the boy—you smiled at the notion. He then looked at the rearview mirror, where the last movie was splayed, all alone and away from the others. “Kind of a shame we missed out on one last movie.”

“Right?” You followed his line of sight. “Fuck, Tangled of all movies?”

“Wait, isn’t that the one with Rapunzel?” 

You let out an impressed hum. “A week of seeing my face, and you’re already catching on!” A mischievous raise of brows. “Another month with me and you can sing all the tracks from the film.”

“You really shouldn’t have this much faith in me, _____,” he said, shaking his head. “Plus, this might be the one movie I didn’t watch with Sofe.” He saw you perk up at the new name. “My sister. She’s the one who forced me to watch all those Disney films years ago.”

“I like her already,” you mused, a finger on your chin. You paused for a bit, looking down at your shoes, settled lightly upon the pedals. Then, you started the engine once more.  “So…Tangled is the only one you haven’t watched, huh.” 

A glance at you. “Yep.” 

You looked back, hoping to reverse away from the tree. “Right…” You checked your watch, the car slowly moving out of the pavement. “Interesting…super duper interesting.”

It was something insane, fantastical the way Vernon’s nerves seemed to hum at the implications. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“What? I just said that it’s interesting you’ve never watched Tangled…”

The boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “This is where you’re gonna force me to watch the stupid movie.” 

But then he caught the look of surprise on your face, as if you had been caught. “Oh, Jesus, you’re not gonna let me out the car, are you?”

“No, no!” you countered at once, raising your hands. “Well, yes as in I was hoping you would watch the movie with me, and no, I won’t force you.” You sighed a little, fingers back on the wheel. “You’ve already done so much today. If you want to go home, I’ll drive you straight there.”

He watched your expression, the prepared acceptance, the anticipation—the sliver of hope, hiding itself amongst the flurry of other emotions. In all honesty, he was tired; the entirety of this evening had exhausted his social battery (which he doubted he had to begin with) and he still had some sound image work left back at the college studio. If it was any other person asking, he would have happily bunked them off—pretended that he had suddenly developed a terminal illness in the span of minutes, and begged them to drive him back home to ‘live out the rest of his days’.

You, on the other hand, were a problem. He could not let you down—not anymore. Not after today.

When he let out a soft sigh, you were anticipating the worst. Then, he revealed the answer. 

“Let’s watch a fucking Disney Princess movie.”

VERNON DID NOT WANT TO WATCH A FUCKING DISNEY PRINCESS MOVIE. 

The moment you opened the door to your house—a shabby, student house about twenty minutes from campus—stepping inside, he realised there was no way back, and that he had to humour your wish, or else lose respect in your eyes. 

As you brought him down the small hallway, leading into the little living room, you quickly grabbed the takeout boxes of your flatmates, murmuring hurried apologies as you left the room. The boy looked around, the slight cracks of the blue walls, the 32” TV sitting at the opposite end of the fraying couches. Posters of Bridget Jones, Notting Hill, and other Hugh Grant movies were plastered on one end of the wall, while Vernon nearly had a jumpscare when he caught a life-size cardboard cutout of some Disney hero—this one unrecognisable. 

“That’s the love of my life you’re staring at,” came the voice behind him, and he whirled to see you, a huge bowl of popcorn cradled in your hands. “Why’re you standing in the middle like an idiot? Sit, sit!” Vernon obliged, making to settle on the sofas when you tutted. “Are you mental? No, sit on the bean bags near the TV!” 

How stupid of me to assume I could sit on furniture designed for sitting, he meant to crow, but the moment he settled on the bean bags, he instantly preferred their malleable comfort. When he let out a relaxed sigh, you huffed out a laugh, propping the bowl before him. “See?” 

“I was gonna say…” Vernon trailed off, watching you press a few buttons on the DVD player. “Where’s the CD?”

“Already in,” you said, picking up the remote as you settled in the beanbag next to him, scooting closer. Catching a look at his face, you bellowed, “Yes, Mr. Filmbro, I watched it recently!”

“How recently are we saying?”

“...yesterday evening.” 

“And this is the masterpiece you wanna show me,” Vernon murmured, sneaking a look back at the cardboard cutout. “Don’t tell me he’s the floozy that’s leading the film.” 

You turned the TV on. “Fine. I won’t tell you.”

He then looked at you. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Trust me!” you then reasoned, putting a hand on the boy’s knee—the mere touch had his brain rewiring, nerves all ceasing to work on the one point where your touch remained. You really had to stop—first your hand was on his mouth in that damned (blessed) closet, and now this soft reminder. He tried his best not to fix his eyes on your lingering fingers as you carried on, “This film is a modern classic. I promise.” 

Well shit, he thought. When you looked at him like that, you could have convinced him that Quentin Tarantino was a better foot fetishiser than a filmmaker. 

“Okay,” he said, almost believing in your words. 

With that, the landing page for the movie turned on, and there were the main characters; he assumed the chick with the long, blonde hair was Rapunzel, and the man behind her—which, Vernon thought, did not deserve to be celebrated as a life-sized cardboard cutout—was the love interest. Whatever. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he mumbled as you pressed the fated Play, anticipating the worst. 

And as the two of you fell silent, Vernon still holding out on the popcorn, watching suspiciously at the screen, the voice of a man flooded the TV speaker.

“This…this is the story of how I died.” 

The boy immediately reacted, face dropping. “The fuck?” he got out, catching the WANTED! Poster of the very man he bad-mouthed not two minutes ago. 

“But don’t worry, this is actually a fun story…and the truth is…it isn’t even mine.” 

“Wait, this dude is already dead?” he asked.

“Just watch the movie!” you answered impatiently, making the boy sigh and lean back into the bean bag.

“This is the story of a girl named Rapunzel. And it starts…with the sun.”

You wanted to keep your eyes rooted to the screen, watch the unfurling of Mother Gothel’s backstory, but that was precisely when the incessant complaining began. 

“Now why are we already getting context of some random witch’s actions? Less telling, more showing, man!” Vernon kept his arms crossed, shaking his head at the TV. “Oh, great, poor little king and queen in their big ass castle!” 

“Having basic sympathy will take you great places, my guy,” you merely said, scoffing down the popcorn in the bowl. “Their kid just got stolen by some crazy bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, piping down once more when the flashbacks ceased, and the present day was introduced into the story. On the screen, a small, green chameleon entered, camouflaging himself behind a pot of flowers. He guessed that the chick with the long hair—Rapunzel—would be finding him, and, lo and behold, he was right. In all fairness, though, it did not take a film degree to work that out.

He also did not need a film degree to guess that a musical number was about to be introduced, not even ten minutes into the movie. That he worked out all by himself, when the guitar riffs sounded. Beside him, you instantly brightened, smile widening as TANGLED morphed on the screen, the song about to begin. 

It was around that point when, as he spared you a glance, he realised you were about to sing along.

“Oh, Jesus—”

If his life was a romantic film, this would have been the perfect setup; the girl that made his heart flutter was seated dangerously close to him, bean bags already touching with shoulders barely following, watching the cheesiest animated movie. He could have seen the shot now, with his gaze turning rose-y as you would open your mouth and sing along to the song. Of course, you would sing beautifully, better than the original singer, and he would sit there, absolutely mesmerised. 

Oh, he was stunned alright. 

“SEVEN AM THE USUAL MORNING, LINE UP—!”

The boy flinched at the sheer volume of your chant—screech would be the better word for it, for he guessed singing was not one of your natural talents. 

You could not see his judgement at all, eyes closed and clutching your fists to your chest, continuing the song. “START ON THE FLOOR AND SWEEP TILL THE FLOOR’S ALL CLEEEEEANNNN—!”

A scoff escaped him, not quite believing the scene before him. He was shocked to silence, the movie’s music now in his background, the forefront being your attempt to outsing the princess. Either no one had told you how horrendous your singing was, or you simply did not care for the opinions of others. A part of him hoped that it was the latter—for you to be so comfortable in singing away, despite what others thought, made his judgement disappear. 

Shamelessly you sang the entire number, up to the point where the scene cuts and the supposedly hot love interest—whose name was Flynn Rider, apparently, which he should have known if he just read the poster at the start of the movie like a normal viewer—was now trying to steal the crown jewels. 

Vernon was too busy thinking about how stupid ‘Flynn Rider’ was as a name to realise that another song had just started. Immediately you changed your tune, your tone lowering, almost sultry. 

This time, you looked at him when you started singing. 

“Look at you, as fragile as a flower…”

“Ayo?” A glance at the TV screen, where Mother Gothel was now singing. “Another song?”

But you did not answer his question, only singing further as you reached your hand out to him. “Still a little sapling, just a sprout!” You continued, and, at that, your hand patted his mess of curls atop his head, mirroring Mother Gothel’s actions. 

Blinking back repeatedly, he could not even shrug it off, stunned once again by how you were casually able to touch him and not feel anything—while his entire system shuts down like a lagging desktop when it tries to run the Sims. 

The overdramatic flair was present in your singing, changed from the sweetness of the previous song. It was crazy how you remembered each word, not slipping at any chorus—you were a true fan, a committed admirer of the film. Even he could not comprehend knowing every single line of his favourites. 

It was admirable indeed—to love a film as you did this one.

It was what made Vernon smile a little, turning away from your melodrama and focusing on the screen, where Mother Gothel now threatened to never be asked to leave the tower. Again.

This time, he would give the movie a chance. Thank God he decided to wake up.

The movie picked up the pace instantly—he had not expected Flynn to meet—and be whacked out by Rapunzel’s frying pan—so quickly, and had reflected her dejection when the mother screamed at her. He could tell where this was going, especially with the thief now in the closet, but he found himself grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl without turning away from the screen.

By the time the third song of the movie came around, he was taken aback that it arrived further in, surrounded by the thugs of the Snuggly Duckling. Without realising, he turned to you, anticipating you breaking out into a song, but you were merely watching the movie, bobbing your head along to the beat.

Noticing his stare, you glanced at him. “Expecting a show?”

“Since you were giving them out without request, I figured this time would be like any other.”

You snorted, grabbing the popcorn. “I’m saving my heavenly voice for the best song, actually.”

Vernon mocked a gasp. “So you’re telling me Mother Knows Best isn’t the best feature?”

“Don’t chat shit, Mr. Filmbro, because Mother Knows Best is one of the top five.”

“I look forward to seeing which song you’re holding out for,” he only said, turning back to the movie again. The popcorn ran out about this time, and you shot up from your bean bag, promising more as you exited the room, leaving him to continue. 

By the time you returned, the protagonists were escaping, chaos ensuing all around them with the guards, his partners and that eccentric white horse chasing them. Ending up in the cave, they recognise a lack of way out, and although Vernon was aware that the movie ends on the happiest note, a small part of him filled with dread. 

That dread disappeared instantly when Flynn confessed his little secret.

“Eugene Fitzherbert?!” The boy demanded.

You chuckled at his disdain. “Yeah, Flynn Rider was hotter. Eugene Fitzherbert ages him about forty years.”

“Flynn Rider was silly, but Eugene is straight up diabolical.” 

“He is still fuckable regardless!” you shushed him, raising your pointer at him. “You wish you had his sex appeal.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let me just change my name to Bartholomew Whiteman real quick.”

“Hey!” you whacked him on the arm, this time laughing heartily at his quip. “Let my man live!”

He decided to spare your fictional man any more bullying, taking in the town atmosphere where the two adventurers and Maximus had now ended up. “Ooooo, the castle dances are my favourite scenes!” you gushed, scooping popcorn in one hand and eating with the other. “Wait, look, look at the braid!”

“Jeez, I’m looking!” he insisted, watching the girls braid Rapunzel’s hair. Flynn—which Vernon is continuing to identify him as, because Eugene was too much for him—stared at her longingly at the results. Vernon used the popcorn as an excuse to gaze at you matching Flynn’s longing at the screen. Your head rested on your knees, locking your hands in front of them, forming a lazy smile. This smile remained throughout Rapunzel and Eugene’s activities, even to the point when the couple were settled in a boat, waiting for the lights. 

“It’s happening,” you declared, the smile widening as you released your legs from your hands. “Oh my God, it’s fucking happening!”

Raising the volume, the boy watched the screen, where thousands of lanterns were sparking alight at the king and queen’s signal. The lanterns’ lights broke across the borders of the town, melting into the sea, the docked ships. Rapunzel had not noticed though, too busy dropping flower heads upon the water’s surface, Flynn helpfully holding out the bunch. 

As the princess dropped another upon the waterbed, she finally noticed the beginning.

It was then Vernon heard your favourite Disney song.

“All those days, watching from the window…All those years, outside looking in…” 

You followed this time, not as loud as the other songs, quiet and soft, as if letting the blonde shine in her song. “All that time, never even knowing, just how blind I’ve been…”” 

You exhibited the same excitement as Rapunzel, who, noticing the lanterns, threw off Flynn’s balance, hanging onto the curling bow of the boat.

The boy, however, was not really focused on the screen.

Because the music that surrounded the two crept into his ears, playing the strings of his senses; because the lights were off save for the TV, shining its dimmed lighting upon your face, making you glow with the dark purples, blues, golds of the Tangled scenery. He lost all interest in everything because you were looking something out of a daydream, watching the events of the movie as if they were scenes of salvation. The two of you were definitely not on any kind of boat, merely sitting on bean bags. Despite all of that, he began to float—swaying from where he sat, as if he was truly settled on water. 

“Now I’m here—” You put your hand to your chest— “Blinking in the starlight…now I’m here, suddenly I see…”

You kept singing the lyrics, voice more subdued than your last outbursts, and Vernon could only watch you, the pure love of this song radiating off your very pores. Vernon’s anticipation rose with every octave of the singer’s voice rising, eyes never leaving your face, the parted mouth. 

“Standing here, it’s oh! so clear…!”

As the viewers themselves were about to observe the thousands of lanterns Rapunzel witnessed, Vernon himself waiting, he made the mistake of averting his gaze from you, if only to see the grand reveal.

It was what made you unconsciously envelop your fingers with his, clasping his hand with yours.

He whipped his head to yours, eyes widening to the point of spilling. 

You were already looking at him. 

When you sang the next lyrics, Vernon could have melted molten.

“I’m where I’m meant to be!” 

And as the lanterns surrounded the protagonists, lighting up the entirety of the night, you sang the chorus to the boy in your little college flat, no one to witness it but two of you.

“And at last I see the light! And it’s like the fog has lifted!” 

Your voice was hoarse now, all the screech-singing catching up to you. Vernon, in another lifetime, would have instantly resisted, ran for the hills if it was literally anyone else in the room but you.

“And at last I see the light! And it’s like the sky…is new…” 

But it was you—you holding his hand tightly, you looking at him with the light of the lanterns in your eyes, you opening up to him in your little haven, away from anyone else. Granted, you could have offered this performance to anyone, but he liked to think—shit, he was truly hoping—that you would not have done this for anyone else. 

You would have only sang your favourite song to him. 

“And it’s warm, and real, and bright! And the world has somehow…shifted…”

Vernon watched you halt a moment, waiting for the next verse, your hand tightening in his. 

“All at once…everything looks different…”

You were right—the world had shifted underneath him, stilled under the dimmed lighting of this dingy living room. The two of you now faced each other, music still tuning from the TV, but the characters long forgotten, as if they never existed. Yes, you were right in that everything looked different, seemed different, as if he was seeing you for the very first time. 

“Now that I…see you.”

Shit. You were rather beautiful before him.

You paused then, watching his reaction. You tilted your head, thoroughly amused by the sheer awe that radiated from his face, but then you noticed his chest rise and fall, more unevenly the longer you observed him. 

The next detail you caught was how his eyes darted down—down to your lips.

It was the lips, which were watched so intently, that parted.

You attempted at a little humour. “Out of all my talents, I guess singing isn’t one of them.”

But Vernon did not respond with words. Sure, he would have agreed with you, but singing was irrelevant now. Out of all these infinite talents you possessed—your natural charm, your ease in making him laugh, your trespassing and eventual escaping of such crimes—Vernon could not have given less of a shit about singing. Not when you were before him, bathed in an unnatural, extraordinary light, soft music playing in the background. Almost as if he had adorned the rose-tinted glasses, courtesy of the universe.

In any romantic comedy, he would have kissed her.

The boy was not known to be courageous—anything but brave. Real Life, Not Clickbait Vernon would have left by now. The Real Vernon should have pussied out. 

You, however, looked a little too beautiful to be treated with cowardice. 

“Are you going to kiss me, Mr. Filmbro, or are you gonna make me wait till the end of the movie?”

He parted his mouth for a split second, gob-smacked at your question. The twinkle in your gaze, though, had him spluttering out a harsh chuckle, craning his head down at the sheer absurdity of it all. But then he looked up, smiling, not quite believing what he was about to do.

“I should make you wait.”

That was what he said. What Vernon instead did was finally grow the two balls that were supposed to be hidden in his pants, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. 

Now the boy always wondered whether the movies were right—when mouths would touch, move against each other, whether a fire would ignite between souls, whether one really felt as if they were not of this world.

It seemed like Hallmark-level bullshit to him, but the moment his lips touched yours, he began to float out of this room. A soft hum reverated from you, approval at his actions, and he could have burst as he felt you smile against him. 

Maybe Disney was right. God, he really did not want to be in such accord with that stupid corporation, but they were onto something with the fireworks, the orchestral singing when couples kiss. He himself felt a choir-like chant all around him as he brought his hand to your face, angling it slightly so he could gain better access, boost your pleasure as he delved slightly deeper.

He was unstoppable. He was alive and ecstatic and delirious, opening his mouth wider, his other hand now finding your waist, snuffing out any distance between you two. It was not like he was a pro in these situations—he had only ever had one serious girlfriend, and that was at an age where a boy could get away with merely ‘french-kissing’ (as the kids back then would have gloated) your significant other. Again, he may have fooled around a little in college, too, but never had he experienced this haze of lust, this newfound desire. 

This desire enhanced further when you slipped your tongue from the seams, sliding it along his as an invitation for more, and he could have honestly thanked that heinous hag Walt Disney for making movies you adored so much, to the point of showing him and landing him in this situation. Of course he indulged you, opening his mouth enough to let you inside. The sensation of your tongue slipping past his lips had a soft noise releasing from his throat. 

Tangled was all but forgotten, the two of you too occupied being entangled with each other. You pulled him even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers brushing against the ends of his hair. The soft touches had every strand of his locks standing on edge, a wave of delight washing over him. 

You were sagged into the bean bag, Vernon’s weight upon you sinking you further, but you did not mind it—relished it, his scent engulfing you, the sighs and soft murmurs of his every exhale haunting your eardrums. Who would have thought that a boy who could recite every Joker quote from The Dark Knight—Virgin Supremism you termed the talent—had this kind of game hidden underneath? How was he able to ignite such powerful emotions from you?

How was Vernon ‘Filmbro’ Chwe able to make you feel so good you did not realise Tangled finishing right before you?

The two of you could have spent all night intertwined in each other, perhaps would have gone past the boundaries of mere making out. However, between the haze of his soft whispers to you, your own mist swimming in your head, you heard the starting music of the DVD reverting to the home page, and like instinct you opened your eyes, finding that the movie had ended.

You must have paused, because Vernon immediately stopped, concern staining his pretty features. His knitted brow, eyes laced with nervousness, shamed you for ever stopping. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“Oh, no, no!” You felt like a fool for the answer you attempted to give him. “It’s just, um…”

He followed your line of sight, turning around. Once he realised, he looked back at you, you surprised to find a little shock replacing his concern. “We were going for that long?”

Your smirk had his stomach knotting. “This is what happens when you make out with someone you like, Mr. Filmbro.” 

He could not respond, looking away as his flushed face managed to redden some more. You only laughed at him, playing with the hem of his shirt, his arms still steady as they caged you. “You are so lucky, you know.”

He quirked a brow. “And why is that?” 

“I would never miss the second half of Tangled for a man.”

It was so incredibly stupid, how he felt a semblance of pride at the notion.“Happy to know I’m an exception.”

“You do know I’m gonna make you watch it again so you can say you’ve watched it.”

Vernon tilted his head to the side, lost in thought. You watched him, anticipating. “This is the part where you say you’d rather Mingyu jump you than rewatch Tangled.” 

“Well yes, but…” He glanced over his shoulder, where your shelf of DVDs were stacked, a particular movie which had caught his eye previously now standing out all the more. “I, uh…” 

He looked back at you, and the self-conscious glint in his gaze had you watching his every movement. “I was hoping to show you my favourite movie instead.”

You were ready to make a comment on how you prided on avoiding Nolan films like the plague, but then you remembered the conversation at Mingyu’s house. Your eyebrows could have touched your hairline. “You said I could never know.”

“Well…” a small smile escaped him, slowly pulling himself away. “If I am to be your exception, _____, then I suppose you can be mine.”

Gaping at him, you could only keep silent as he, with great effort on his part, heaved off you, making his way to the shelf. He was lucky, you thought—had he been a moment slower, that comment alone would have had you kissing him again. 

What quickly caught your attention was him sliding his pointer finger through your collection, a series of your favourites. The anticipation was rising, you not quite believing that Mr. Filmbro’s favourite film was within your arsenal. Weeks ago, you would have bullied him relentlessly for the ironic hypocrisy.

When he pulled out the fated DVD, you let out the greatest laugh.

The boy instantly frowned, but you did not realise, cackling and cackling away at the selection, the final boss of Vernon’s favourite film, nestled between his fingers. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but again, you did not hear him, lost in the shrill sound of your laughter, erupting the room to life. 

“Oh, Jesus—” Your chortling did not seem to stop, almost to the point of hiccups. “Your ass…this entire time—!”

“And suddenly I’m leaving!” Vernon announced, getting up and about to drop the DVD. 

He did not last long in his determination when you grabbed onto the end of his shirt, grinning still. “Thank God you’re not a Nolan kiss-ass…that’s all I’m saying.”

All he could do was stand like an idiot, the tips of your fingers caressing the skin just above his trousers. “But I am a Nolan kiss-ass,” he murmured, crossing his arms. 

“That’s what I thought, too, but this film—” you jerked your head towards the prize in his hand. “You’ve redeemed yourself.”

“Stop it,” he only said, crouching down to pull out the Tangled CD, replacing it with the new, and, in his opinion, improved movie. “This is why I didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“And nobody will know,” you assured him, watching the movie’s main menu pop up, the PLAY option highlighted. “This’ll be our secret.”

“First the trespassing,” Vernon began, sitting down beside you, “Then the tampering of movies, and now this.” He grabbed the remote, about to play the movie. “How much more are we gonna sneak around?”

You looked at him, and the smile you offered him had him glancing away—only for a second. “Have you not had fun, though? Sneaking around with me?”

Normally, in a situation where he had zero balls, he would have evaded such a question, not fanned the flames of your fire. But tonight he had watched a Disney movie with you, felt your fingers caressing his skin, had even kissed you in the purple hues of Tangled’s light. Tonight, he could conquer the world.

What would answering a heated question do any harm?

Vernon locked eyes with you then, trying to fight his smile. “I think I could have fun with you anywhere…in secret or for anyone to see.”

As something in your gaze shifted, he turned the film on (an entendre which was completely intentional). 

Once again, the two of you were in the same position, watching yet another film, this time another’s all time favourite. The narrator began in a strange, European accent, explaining the tale of an unfortunate princess, much like Rapunzel, and her dire situation. 

Although it was undoubtedly his most treasured film, the boy had a very hard time paying attention when all he could feel was that penetrating stare of yours, capable of revealing his very soul from beneath his measly shirt. Even when the stranger main character was introduced, following his main routine in his strangest abode, Vernon was not particularly concentrating anymore.

Not when he heard your voice, a soft question amongst the gaudy music of the 2000s. “Do you mean that, Vernon?”

And perhaps it was because you said his actual name, especially when your voice sounded like…like that. Like something from a perfect movie soundtrack, akin to the end-credits of an unforgettable TV show. 

Because he was too occupied with simply admiring you, he merely nodded, biting the inside of his cheek.

And because you were too busy admiring him, his words, the entire night where you had felt pure, euphoric joy, you did Mr. Filmbro a little dirty by making a decision that negated his film.

You shifted closer once more, hands reaching out to hold his face. 

This time, Vernon was prepared when you kissed him.

There was a certain eagerness in your lips this time which was newer—more enjoyable to his senses. It made sense now, why all these couples in movies made out for hours and hours on end. He felt as if he could kiss you forever, move against your mouth, delve inside until his tongue memorised your very imprint. 

You moaned a little louder this time, and the very sound had his heartbeat racing, moreso when, as he pressed you against him, shifting upon his beanbag, he knew then and there that something in the air shifted.

Last time, you had stopped. This time, there was no such indication—the very thought had him skirting his hands around you, holding you tight enough to never let go.

Still—even with such possibilities, there was no way you and him would escalate to the point of losing his virginity.

Whatever happens though, he will still watch the end of his favourite film. 

Whatever happens, Vernon would not be having sex with you if Shrek was playing in the background.

VERNON LOST HIS VIRGINITY WITH SHREK PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.

Certainly not his greatest achievements, considering he could not focus on his favourite movie, but it was certainly not his fault. You were—to put it quite plainly—hot as fuck.

He did not leave until the very next day because—as he had stated that night—he still wanted you to watch Shrek, and did, somehow, end up watching it properly. You did not stop teasing him, and he did not stop shutting you up by kissing you senseless. 

Unfortunately, the boy did have college the next day, so he had to leave at some point, but not without promises of meeting you again. This time, however, you two did not continue the crimes he committed with you. You and Vernon were not modern-day Joker and Harley Quinn.

When the two of you were not terrorising Mingyu’s livelihood, you decided to hang out at the filmstore, where it all began. Vernon would host weekly movie nights, and both of you would eat popcorn and watch each other’s recommendations, scoring them differently in accordance to what was most important for each other.

For the film majoring student, the rating was influenced not only by the actors’ performances, but also from the intricate storyline, the character developments, their relationships. A story, for him at least, was about relationships. Good cinema was about the chemistry between two actors, the emotional connection they had not just with each other, but also their effect on the audience. The actual editing of the film, too, was another bullet point in his criteria.

Your rating, on the other hand, differed slightly. 

“Michelle Yeoh is such a MILF,” was your only comment upon finishing Everything Everywhere All at Once. 

This comment nearly made Vernon lose his mind. “One of the greatest movies of this decade, and this is your only input?”

“But am I wrong, though?”

Vernon sighed a little at that—at the end of the day, you were absolutely in the right. There was a reason Crazy Rich Asians went platinum in his dingy little room. 

Of course, it was not just his personal recommendations that played. You had compiled a list of your all-time favourites, going beyond Disney’s borders, and Vernon was introduced to the dashing timeless genre of the rom-com. Now having a younger sister who (he thought) was a basic bitch meant he did possess some knowledge of the genre, but he had never really sat down and watched a rom-com without falling asleep in Sofia’s bed. 

For you, though, he braved the most famous romances, which he found himself enjoying more than he would have liked—more so when he found one of his favoured actors in 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Heath Ledger singing was something I never thought I needed,” Vernon commented as the ferocious couple finally kissed. 

“And this is the same fella who was the Joker in your little Nolan film,” you reminded him, as if he was not aware already. “Oh, and he was the gay cowboy in that movie.”

“Gay cowboy?” His confusion lasted for approximately thirty seconds before he groaned, pushing you over on your beanbag. “My god, are you talking about Brokeback Mountain?”

“Yes, that one!” you exclaimed, picking up the TV remote. “My guy has range, but him as a high schooler is still my favourite role.”

“You do realise how bad that sounds, right?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, waving him off as you began searching for the next movie. “Now, Two Weeks’ Notice or The Proposal?”

Vernon endeavoured to weigh in on the options. “Which one do you think I’d like?”

“Well, both have Sandra Bullock in them…”

He looked over both DVDs. “Now that’s a white woman I can get behind.” 

You scooched a little over to him, locking your hands together. “We can watch something you like…” When he knitted his brows together, not quite answering you, you went on, almost unable to look him in the eye. “You’ve been super nice, you know…sitting through all my favourites.” 

The boy could not help it, unable to let a smirk slip. “Is this _____ appreciating me for once?” The beginnings of his shit-eating attitude did not develop, since your smack on his arm completely snuffed it out. “Ow, damn!”

“You deserved that,” you muttered, beginning to scoot away until Vernon’s hand on your wrist stopped you. 

When you focused your gaze at him, he already beat you to it. “Let’s watch both today.” 

It was silly, how that made your heart beat faster. “Really? You would watch two rom-coms in a row?”

As his hand pulled you closer, his stare had you almost—almost—nervous. “I’ve done worse for you.”

“Very true,” you said, absent-minded, more lost in the twinkle of his eyes. “Very, uh…good point.”

Vernon thanked all the higher bodies that may have existed for the pure, unadulterated rizz he was attempting to spew. “I’m full of good points,” he crowed. “Now, are you going to stare at me all night, or are we going to watch Sandra Bullock?”

Although your cheeks burned, you pushed him off, earning a chuckle from him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Filmbro. The only man I’ll be staring at will be Ryan Reynolds in The Proposal.”

All of the boy’s suave attitude dissipated at his shock. “The Deadpool guy?!”

“Ryan Reynolds did have range before,” you explained, shaking your head. “Then the superhero bug bit him.”

“What a shame,” he only said, as if Vernon did not follow the Deadpool universe to the point of possessing special editioned comics in his room. Still, he happily slotted the CD inside the player, and excused himself to make more popcorn for the two of you.

As the boy prepared snacks, glancing back every time at the opening scene, he managed to sneak a look at you, eagerly watching the screen. 

He could only smile, putting all the popcorn in the huge bowl before hurrying back to you. 

THIS WAS PROBABLY THE FIRST TIME YOU WORE A SUIT TO A CINEMA. PERHAPS THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME YOU WORE A SUIT AT ALL.

Admittedly, it was not as if you had intended to go into the cinema in formal attire—or, at least the only formal clothing you had. Your first plan was to steal something from your father’s wardrobe, but when you tried it on, it did not fit properly, and you refused to look like an idiot in public.

Not that you cared much about looking like an idiot in public before, but there was another person to look out for. And that person, although had already done embarrassing enough actions for you, did not want to push it further. One more ceremonious act of humiliation, and Vernon would have run a thousand miles from you—or that was what you thought. 

You observed your cinema fit one last time before your bathroom mirror, fixing the lapels for the nth time. Your rented three-piece suit was almost a second skin, waistcoat snug underneath the tweed jacket, matching coloured trousers adorned alongside. You borrowed some Oxford brogues from a friend, which made you realise that you had more posh friends than you knew. You tried to find a hat similar to the one Cillian Murphy wore in the promotions, but because you did not have the wardrobe of a middle aged man, you resorted to let your head rest. 

All of this elaborate planning to see Nolan’s (apparently) greatest release yet—Oppenheimer. 

Because the cinema was not far away from you, you decided to walk, messaging your date to let him know that you were on your way. You were certain he was already there in the cinema; Vernon, since you had started hanging out more with him, had only ever talked about Nolan’s upcoming epic. You swore if you recited the IMDB plot out to him during sex, he would have spunked within minutes (a mental note to experiment on that later). His excitement had you booking midnight release tickets, which consequently made him so happy you thought you had invited Nolan to the town cinema. 

The night, furthering along, had beautified the black sky, stars twinkling on your journey. The consistent vibrations from your phone indicated the boy’s imminent excitement, and you smiled, double-checking your formal attire once more. You would have romanticised the nighttime further but living in student area brought you right back to fearing slightly for your life, so you quickened your step, cinema already a close speck in the distance. 

You knew you were nearer to the destination when the flocks of pink and black grew, the cowboy hats and fake pipes all piling up in your vision. Seeing the pink reminded you of Barbie’s influence, also being released tonight alongside the more serious counterpart. 

A small part of you really wanted to see the midnight release for the new movie. The original plan most people were following was either to watch Oppenheimer and then Barbie, or the other way around. You were so close to procuring tickets for the latter, but decided that it was important to accompany Vernon to the seemingly bigger release. After all, you were never as excited about films as the dear film major you had rather grown to like.

Another vibration of your phone, and you finally decided to stop ignoring said-film major and text him, possibly informing you of his arrival.

mr. filmbro: yo where u at

mr. filmbro: they’re too many pink mfs out here im getting suffocated

You rolled your eyes.

_____: im coming to save u kitten.

mr. filmbro: :0

Once you were inside, it was a complete sea of pink and black and grey. Two sides, which one would assume would be opposing, were all celebrating, sharing their drinks, anticipating when the theatre doors would open to let everyone in. Within this myriad of fans, you tried to search for the most mentally ill one—the one who you were certain had a finer three-piece set than you, who would have happily stolen Cillian Murphy’s set clothes to truly honour the movie. 

Strangely enough, after a few minutes, you could not find him, even after confirming your seats. You searched for anyone wearing anything devoid of colour, but did not find the boy. This time, you decided to bother him, calling him and pressing the phone to your ear. 

“Where are you, kitten?” you purposely growled, lowering your voice an octave. “Daddy’s waiting.”

“Kitten actually killed himself after hearing that,” was his purposeful monotone. 

“Can you resurrect yourself for me real quick? I’m tryna find where you are.” 

“I’m next to the Oppenheimer popup.” Immediately you tried to find it, scouring through the crowds. “I figured you’d find me easier.”

Scoffing, you ignored the Barbie stalls, walking further ahead. “How very smart of you to wear Oppenheimer clothing while standing next to it. So much easier to find you, isn’t it?”

He did not retort back, instead inciting your excitement. “Wait, I think I can see you…?”

Your eyes darted over to the fresh faces of the Nolan fans, all taking pictures of the cast pop-ups. What you were observing were the men and women, all lack of colour. 

What your gaze ended up on was someone completely different. 

What you were expecting was a mini-Oppenheimer, the too-large blazer, the sashed hat upon pretty brown curls. What you received instead was a boy engulfed in all the pinks of the colour wheel.

Pink was the colour of his top, bubblegum pink the colour of the stringy fur coat sporting over said shirt. Magenta was the colour of his flared trousers, whilst rose was the colour of his converse. What topped off the entire look was the hot pink cowboy hat, sitting perfectly upon his wavy locks, completing his fit—a fit which was perfect for the Barbie movie. 

It was around that point that he caught on to your stare—through the oceans of opposing fans, he, too, finally found you.

Vernon heard your curse murmur through the phone. “Oh my fucking God.”

That was when his own gaze roamed over you, shocked and shameless amongst the crowds. Not that the crowds mattered, not anymore. He was a little nervous, he had to admit it to himself, only because there were so many people, and they were only watching for the fad, for the trend. A part of him wanted just you and him in this midnight cinema, the biggest official date yet. 

But then seeing you here, in all your black-clad, Oppenheimered glory, had stunned him to his core. Although he had specifically brought you here to watch the movie, he had completely expected you to arrive in the pinkmania fit. Because you had kindly booked tickets for his anticipated film, he thought at least to participate in the Barbie craze fit.

It was like instinct, how his steps gravitated towards you, his phone still pressed against his ear, very much like you. You followed him slowly, hearing his ragged breaths through the speaker, watching him walk closer and closer until you both were a mere couple of feet away.

Only then did you drop the call, your hands at your sides as you admired him. It was a while before any of you spoke. 

Like always, you spoke first. “Tell me the fur coat is yours.”

A ghost of a smirk. “Sofia’s.”

“Stealing’s like second nature to you now, isn’t it?” you taunted. 

Like always, he dodged your taunts. “I thought you were gonna wear all pink.”

“I thought you were gonna wear all black.”

He tilted his head. “Well, I thought since we were watching both movies…”

Your confusion was clear, the corner of his lips curling further up. “Wasn’t Oppenheimer first?”

He then went inside his flared trouser pockets, fishing out two tickets—its colours matching his outfit. “I know how much you wanted to see Margot Robbie be silly.” 

“I did!” you exclaimed, taking the tickets from him, admiring how pretty they were designed, especially when compared to the Oppenheimer marketing tickets. In your admiration, though, you noticed a detail which had your excitement faltering. “Wait, are you sure? It says the movie’s at the same time.”

Vernon then checked the timings, mouth parting. “Oh shit. Didn’t think about that.” He shook his head, mouth straightening in a line, dejected. “This is what happens when I try to do something romantic.”

“I have to give points for effort,” you offered, bringing your hands to his wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s watch Oppenheimer, honestly. Cillian Murphy is still hot when he’s old.”

“No, no,” he countered, clasping your hands on his wrist. “It’s chill.” He glanced down. “Let’s do Barbie first.”

You attempted to argue him on this, but he simply let go of your hands, with his one hand wrapping around your waist, and the other hand’s wrist being checked for the time. You bit back a smile at his mere actions, relishing his fingers skirting under the suit, the waistcoat. “Vernon,” you attempted. 

“_____,” he said back, staring at you with an awe that you would have deserved had you worn a couture gown, not some rented hand-me-downs. 

You knew he would not take no for an answer now. “But what about Oppenheimer?” you asked anyway as the two of you made your way to the cinema. 

Vernon only pretended to think extremely deeply of the situation, making you elbow him playfully. “Now tell me, Dear Disney Hag, how did we enter Mingyu’s house?”

“Why, we walked straight in!” you answered like an over-enthusiastic student, in which he sarcastically clapped for you. 

“Right on.” As you both walked towards the Barbie theatre, the opposing movie was being screened right beside you, where people were bursting in. “See how everyone is walking in right now?” He gave you a knowing glance. 

That knowing glance had you scoffing in excited disbelief. “My God! Look at you, all ready to commit crimes!” you looped a hand around his arm. “I have taught you well, young man.”

He patted your arm. “Mr. Filmbro has come a long way from chatting shit about your movie taste.”

“So you admit it?” you leaned in. “Disney makes better movies than your flop directors?”

“That’s a completely different claim,” he clarified. “My taste in films is objectively better.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact you're watching the Barbie movie before Oppenheimer.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging you closer. “That’s ‘cause I like you a lot, Disney Hag…”

You did not stop your smile from lighting up your entire face. “You’re not the most insufferable filmbro I’ve dated I guess…”

”I better be the last filmbro you date,” he muttered, watching over the last of the crowds, where they now stood, waiting to enter the theatre.

The longer you waited to answer him, the more incredulous his face became, brows knotted in disbelief. You only chuckled, leaning in and pressing your lips upon his. Of course, he was taken aback, but surprises like these were pleasant, welcomed with open arms as Vernon closed his eyes, pulling you in. 

The moment the line started quickening you broke away, only to make sure no one skipped in front of you and him, and thus deal with yours and his passive aggression. You could not help the giggle that escaped you at breaking away from his lips, relishing in his dazed state. 

Honestly—you truly would not have minded being anywhere with him.

When it was finally your turn to go inside the Barbie screening, you held tightly to his hand. “Let’s go, Mr. Filmbro.”

Vernon only smiled. “Right behind you, _____.”

And as the two of you entered the theatre, hand-in-hand, the boy learned that perhaps he, too, would have gone anywhere with you. 

[night-raven-tattler]

Just... Just Mc asking Jamil, Trey, Idia and Sebek to do the "painting your nails with your s\o eye color"

I'VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH THIS AND WOULD BE SO CUTE IN YOUR WRITING (。´Д⊂)

-🌙

Hello 🌙! This is an adorable request and Mx Tattly lives for this kind of romantic fluff. Thank you for your request!

Nailing that new look!

Characters: Trey, Jamil, Idia, Sebek × GN!Reader (romantic, separate)

Warnings: minor chapter 6 spoilers, mentions of food in Trey's part, implied body issues in Idia's part

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Trey was hard at work, his hands kneeding into the dough and his arms flexing with strain

Despite his physical effort, he was in high spirits, smiling to himself as he looked at the dough in his hands- or, better said, his hands in the dough

His nails were, for the first time in his life, adorning nail polish

But not any nail polish, but one the color of your eyes

Cater was there when you showed Trey a thread on Magicam that showed a cute trend, lovers painting their nails with the color of each other's eyes, and how much you seemed to enjoy the idea

But you didn't dare to ask outright - maybe Trey wasn't comfortable with that kind of thing, which you respected

Yet, the moment you were gone, Trey turned towards Cater and asked him to help find nail polish that matched your eyes and his eyes...

Trey's smile grew even fonder at the memory as he finished with the dough, putting it aside to rest

He was working on some rolls he could hopefully greet you with later...

"Someone's been in a good, spoiling mood lately."

Your voice rung pleasantly in the wing and in Trey's mind as you took a bite out of his rolls

"They're my favorite flavor, too. How did you know?"

Trey grinned as he saw you wipe your mouth the cream with a tissue, his eye color complimenting your nails quite nicely

"I guess I was really lucky this time, huh?"

You huffed in amusement at his answer, both of you knowing he was not honest

But he was smiling in content with the way you almost seemed to show off your nails whenever he looked at you

And you also looved very pleased with yourself when he reached to wipe some cream off your face with his thumb, his nails clearly showing off the color of your eyes

Despite it being a trend, it was like a secret between the two of you

A discreet exchange of words of love between the two of you

『••✎••』

The Scarabia boy didn't really keep up with trends, and internet culture memes usually flew over his head

But you never cared about that, and always explained things to Jamil in group settings so he wouldn't feel too out of the loop

Yet, he kept hearing you talk about this one trend with your friends, a trend you yet had to explain to him, which made him curios enough to look it up himself

As he was reading the first article that popped up, a small devious grin started adorning his face

The master of always being one step ahead of you was cooking up a new way to surprise you...

A usual, silent cuddle session in the evening turned into him taking your hand and bringing it to his lip

His lips on your knuckles brought a small stutter to your heart, making it forget how to beat for a second

You could swear Jamil was a cuddlebug the moment every window and door was closed, and he seemed to get high off of the feeling of having you all to himself

"Your hands are very different than mine."

If your entire attention weren't focused on Jamil, you almost would've missed his words

"Really? How so?"

As to show you the differences, Jamil brought your hands in front of you, putting his palm and aligning his fingers to fit yours

His hands were more calloused, his fingers were quite longer, and his nails were well taken care of

"...When did you start painting your nails, love?"

He smiled at your, a mix of affection and mischief

"Only recently. I felt the need to try something new. Something... different."

It was a peculiar color choice for nail polish, and it didn't go with his general aesthetic at all

"Maybe we should paint our nails together. What do you think?"

His question caught you off guard, but you excitedly accepted his offer

Jamil was a very skilled person, and he definitely knew how to do nails properly

Much to your surprise, he simply reached towards his nightstand and took a small bottle out of his drawer

"You have the color picked and everything, huh? You little..."

Your tease died on your throat when you saw the color of the polish, and suddenly it clicked into your mind

You looked at Jamil, affection and admiratyion and amusement all dancing in your eyes together

"How did you know...?"

He only gave you a satisfied grin, making you blush slightly

Jamil has his way of always surprising you, if always catching you off guard in one way or another, but this was beyond what you expected

Jamil was always so thoightful, so careful with you, and it made your heart swell

...and the payback in kisses almost infinite

『••✎••』

The Shroud family was forced to carry a curse, a punishment extending through generations for the mistakes of just one reckless Shroud

The overly fast blot dissolution leads to his trademark fire-like blue hair, and the blue coloration of his lips, his nails and fingertips

Looking down at his hands and seeing that blue can be hard sometimes, seeing that blue and the weight he's been forced to carry

But the first time he looked down and saw a differently color he kind of jumped until he remembered what happened

He saw every single one of the Magicam videos you sent him, and he has been aware of the trend way before you were

"You can't say that this isn't a bit cringe..."

He pouts as his left hand is receiving a much needed manicure from you while he does his dailies on his phone

"Maybe a little bit, but you still agreed to it."

Your smooth hands hold his gently as you apply the nail polish of your eye color, while you already have that golden hue adorning your nails

Idia grumbled to himself a little bit, his hair glowing more pink the longer you held his hand

Once the first hand was done, you let it go and pushed it towards him

"Careful to not smudge it. What do you think?"

Idia took a few moments to examine his newly painted nails, trying to will his brain into not finding it weird to not see his natural, blue tinted nails

Now they carried a color he could only describe as full of life, as full of something other than dread

And, somehow, they made his hands look more... appealing, like he didn't see the same weirdly long, boney fingers attached to a palm way too narrow

Of course the color of you looked weird on his fingers, but it was the kind of weird that was quirky more than anything

He pursed his lips, his hair turning more pink as he struggled to find the words to say

"...This is the kind of cringe I can get behind."

His voice came out as more of a mumble, a small admission instead of his sigh of defeat whenever you got him to do something coupley like this

You offered him a small smile, pulling his phone out of his other hand and resting it on his lap as you worked on his other hand

"Glad to hear that."

『••✎••』

"Why would I want to paint my nails in the color of your eyes?"

His question sounded rude to some, even as if he was questioning why he'd want to indulge in something so silly

But by this point in your relationship you knew Sebek well enough to know he was simply genuinely confused by the trend you just showed him

"It's a form of... showing devotion, I suppose. We paint each other's nails as the color of each other's eyes to show that, no matter what, we carry a small part of the other with us at all times."

Sebek let those words sink in before he nodded

"So this is why you want to do this with me?"

You nodded as both of your cheeks grew rosy at the small proposal

"I also thought it would be really cute, you know..."

You added, and Sebek mumbled something about "not needing to do cute as a guard", but he loved to see you happy, so he relented

The next day, you were in town, shopping for the nail polish

And, to your surprise, you had to help Sebek make the difference between crimson and emerald... huh

Once you picked the colors, you were ready to leave, yet...

Your eyes lingered on a certain color, a shade of lime that came close to yellow, vibrant that reminded you of a certain heir

"Hey, Sebek."

Sebek hummed at you when you caught his attention, looking down at the bottle you picked up

"This shade is close enough to Malleus' eye color, don't you think?"

It took a few moments for him to catch on, and he was... taken aback by your consideration

And the two of you left the shop as he sung your praises for your observation and quick thinking

Sebek was the type of person who enjoyed symmetry, a clean and neat look

Belief that lately has been contradicted by his mismatched nail polish

When anyone asks, he gets slightly embarassed and stuttery, but to him it's a proud display of devotion

The eye color of his liege adorns his left hand, the hand with which he yields his sword, his baton, his magic

And your eye color adorns his right hand, the hand you always hold when he's busy so he isn't preoccupied, the hand he reaches towards you in moments of danger to push you behind him, offering you protection

[piscespetals]

summary: in which sevika becomes your boss at The Last Drop

content: this fic is another multi-chapter work! i hope you enjoy.

content warning for this fic: depiction of sa (this chapter only), blood, slight gore/fight scenes, cursing, sexually explicit content. pretty heavy topics to be honest, it makes a lot of commentary on how it's like to live in Zaun. since this chapter has an sa scene (very lightly detailed scene but still hints to it), if you would like to skip that part, there will be three asterisks (***) that indicate when the scene begins and when it stops so that you can do what's safer for you. sa will not be talked about alot in depth for the rest of the chapters, and i will give a content warning to chapters that hint or reference it.

word count: 3k

thanks for reading!

Part One

When you are first hired at the Last Drop, it only takes 4 hours for Sevika’s name to circulate the building and make its way towards you. 

The first time you spot her, she is brushing through a crowd of drunkards, seemingly not wanting to be approached with an expression as hard as stone. The tall woman, attractive and large as she may be, is intimidating. Her figure, although only in your line of vision for a few seconds, is something made of pure muscle and height. You know that she could easily tower over you if she wanted. 

Despite her quick and fast entrance, it only takes your first day to realize that Sevika isn’t someone that you fuck around with. And based on the way that your coworkers and supervisors tense at the mere mention of her name, it’s obvious that she’s someone important here.

Throughout your first month at the Last Drop, any other appearances of Sevika is no different. Her steel cold stare could freeze anyone to death. You’ve seen her drag people upstairs only for them to never come back down (who knows what she or Silco did with the body?). You’ve seen the way she dominates the deadliest men–how she doesn't let them silence her. 

How she challenges them…

You've also seen the way that your coworkers have gotten their heart broken, hoping to be the one-night-stand turned lover that changes Sevika’s promiscuous ways. And every time, your coworkers end up heartbroken. Gender doesn’t really seem to matter with Sevika. She’s ruthless with everyone. She’s mean.

And, God, you really hate how much you like mean women.

At first, you thought it was amusing to be pining after her. It isn’t surprising, since you've had your fair share of passionate romances (and heartbreaks) with people similar to Sevika. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you can’t seem to stay away from them.

But now it’s been over a month and you can't help but wonder when the crush will dissipate. At this point, it's entirely inconvenient.

You've managed to keep yourself out of the limelight for the majority of your time at the Drop. You’ve found your rhythm by staying in the kitchen, away from the wandering eyes of questionable strangers. Away from Sevika.

But that only lasts for so long.

Amy, your boss, manages to shatter your Switzerland bubble on a Thursday evening at noon. It’s exactly the last thing you want to hear: “I need you to swap schedules with Janessa,” Amy barks.

It isn’t a suggestion or question. It’s a demand. 

Your mouth opens to object, already feeling that familiar pang of agitation within you. But Amy doesn’t hang around long enough to hear. 

“Thanks!” She calls over her shoulder, briskly walking behind the counter and towards the kitchen.

Your teeth grind and your jaw clenches. With balling fists, you stand there for a few more minutes. Trying to simmer down. Trying not to get fired.

You cook. You make new recipes. You may even help the dishwashers every once in a while (especially on nights that are packed). 

But you don’t buss and you don’t wait. That’s Janessa’s ballpark. She’s known as one of the best waiters in town. Her reputation followed her as she hopped in between different restaurants before landing at The Last Drop for good. She’s usually quick, efficient, polite but not too polite (no one ever could be considering the kind of people that this job attracts). 

The idea of Janessa swapping places with you in order to cook an overwhelming amount of food under the pressure of constant verbal abuse? That doesn’t sound right. 

Well, it doesn’t sound like something she would willingly do.

“I tried to help you out,” Max, your coworker, whispers. He clicks his tongue while washing down the countertop of the bar. You forgot that you were holding a conversation with him before Amy interrupted. “I overheard her talking to Nessa about it and offered the swap.” Max blinks through his thick lashes, which are covered with clumps of purple mascara, before he makes eye contact with you. “The bitch told me I wasn't qualified. Can you believe it?”

You snort underneath your breath, nearly choking at the idea of such a conversation happening.

Max—a petite curly-haired himbo with stunning hazel eyes and nails long enough to claw your heart out—most certainly isn't a popular bartender due to his skills. He has charisma, a charming personality and a smile that can make anyone stop in their tracks. He’s willing to listen to anyone that needs a shoulder to cry on (which is almost always every regular that comes here),  and he doesn’t mind sucking up to Amy as long as it means that he has full control of the bar. He’s been employed here long before Amy’s time, which you truly believe is his saving grace.

He knows the history, the neighborhood— the business very well.

But mixing drinks? Not his strong suit.

Seeing him out on the level ground with numerous tables to handle would be comical. A train wreck for sure, but definitely comical.

“Did she say why Nessa was swapping?” Self consciously, you peer at the rest of the pub over your shoulder. Everyone is seemingly out of earshot but it doesn’t hurt to be sure.

Max’s shoulders tense. He stops his scrubbing, right hand still holding onto his soaked disinfecting cloth as he sends you a sidelong glance. “Not my place to tell.”

The hairs stand up on your arms as you register his reply.

The sound of the entrance door opening is what shatters your reverie. Just like that, Max’s shoulders relax. A smile spreads across his face, this time not quite reaching his eyes, as he looks towards the door. “Welcome to The Last Drop!” He says, voice dipping into that flirtatious cadence you know all too well.

That is all he is going to say on the matter. You know Max doesn’t like gossiping about people’s shit. And your coworkers definitely have a lot of messy situations throughout their employment here. He wants no relation to any of it. 

You pick up on the hint, instead swallowing your curiosity and looking at the incoming customer. It’s one of the workers from the brothel across the street. She’s a leggy brunette with towering stilettos and a resting bitch face as cold as stone. She’s just as unapproachable as the last time you saw her. But there’s a spark in her eye when she regards Max. Based on her last few visits, you’ve grown to learn that she’s taking a liking to him.

“Well, that's my cue. I’ll leave you to…do your thing,” You mumble, fighting off a smirk. Max peers at you with a quizzical expression as you gesture vaguely to the bar around you. “Or whatever nonsense you do up here…”

“Hmph,” He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn't you be back there making shepherd's pie or something?”

“You mean working? Something you're not familiar with, I’m sure.”

“With a face card like this? I’m too fabulous to work.” He winks before gesturing towards his face. “A reality you're not familiar with, I’m sure.”

A laugh erupts out of you as you click your tongue. You’re walking towards the kitchen, ready to clock out for the day and finally rest, when you hear the lady of the night approach the bar. You believe her name to be Scarlett, and her voice is a low and silky murmur while she addresses Max.

When you glance over your shoulder, you can't help but notice the way her cleavage spills over her frilly corset top. Her braids are pulled into a bun on top of her head, eyes alluring as she peers at Max through thick long lashes.

Too caught up in all the glamor that Scarlett is, you walk right into a nearby wall (because that is unfortunately what happens whenever beautiful women are near you). 

Max and Scarlett immediately glance at you. Max, with that all-knowing smirk, and Scarlett's raised eyebrow is enough to make you want to dig yourself a grave.

But you don't. Instead, you clear your throat, apologize and shuffle to the kitchen with haste.

The air is thick with cigarette smoke.

That’s one of the reasons why you hate waiting. 

You don’t mind occasionally working in such an atmosphere. After all, you are one of the few chefs that regularly make an appearance everyday. So you’ve grown accustomed to walking through the boisterous crowds of smokers and drunken belligerents before and after your shifts.

But then, for the rest of the shit, you usually find solace in the kitchen—swallowed by plates and dishes and food and ingredients—which is more your forte.

“Hey pretty lady,” A bald, greasy buff man grumbles. His eyes are set on you yet simultaneously far away. Out of focus. “I’m getting hungry. Why don't you come over here and serve me?” Then he winks with a shit-eating grin that makes you queasy.

“You're not in my section,” You reply dryly with a shrug. “But I'll let Dylan know that you're ready to order.” 

“I don't want Dylan,” His eyes linger on your chest, before trailing down your entire physique. It's almost as if he allows his entire train of thought to become visible for everyone to read. 

Your teeth grind as you quickly scan the room once more. Dylan said that he was stepping out for a 5 minute smoke break 40 minutes ago. 

There's a part of you that doesn't want to give in. You don't mind being the one coworker that won't take on more tables than absolutely necessary. Especially when you were voluntold to switch job roles with someone you barely even know, and without even being told why.

If it wasn't so hard to find a job lately, you're pretty sure Amy’s management within itself would be enough encouragement for you to quit. But you really, really need the money. Despite the toxic work environment and occasional harassment from drunk citizens, this is the closest you've come to financial stability in years. You can’t afford to fuck it up.

A heavy exhale leaves you as you shift your feet. “Have you had a chance to look over the menu?” You ask, eying the man with distaste.

His grin widens. “No. What do you suggest?”

“Well, we offer a lot of stuff really. If you're in the mood for something more fulfilling, we have different stew dumplings. I'm not sure about your allergies though, most of the stews here are made with—”

“Surprise me,” Then he gives you another once over.

There is a part of you, a small part, that's tempted to reach across the table and rip out his eyes. You hate the feeling you experience when men unabashedly undress you with their eyes; especially when it’s from creepy old men. 

Even more so when said men don't know how to respect boundaries.

But you ignore the idea of doing such a thing. Instead, you turn on your heels and walk away.

Or, at least, you try to walk away. 

***

A tight grip wraps around your wrist, pulling so abruptly that you nearly fall over. It happens so fast that you barely register it. A breath, hot and pungent with liquor, travels across the base of your neck before meeting your nose. “You didn't ask me if I wanted anything to drink.” The man adds, voice low and gravelly.

Then more is happening...

And that's what makes you snap. 

Within seconds, you're reaching for your knife, which you had previously placed inside the pocket of your apron. 

A fire courses through your veins as you retract the blade.

“What the fuck!” The man yells, letting go of your wrist. He presses a palm against his right cheek, which now has a wide gash that is gushing with blood.

***

You don't give him time to say anything else. Your elbow comes in contact with his throat, jabbing his windpipe with as much force as possible. He staggers from the impact, landing with his back on top of the table behind him as he gasps for air.

Your knife, now dripping with his blood, digs into his chest. You hold it there, watching him wince when you apply pressure.

“If you ever so much as breathe in my direction again,” You mutter darkly. He’s squirming uncomfortably, a pool of blood soaking through his shirt as your knife continues to pierce his chest.

The pub has grown eerily silent and the heavy weight of countless eyes begins to register.

“I…I-I,” The man underneath splutters in shock. Beads of sweat gather around his forehead as he peers up at you through a cloud of fear. Thirty minutes ago, you’d have been surprised to find him roughed up by someone half his size, especially considering how large his biceps are. 

But then again, The Last Drop seems to be filling up with tons of useless goons nowadays.

“We’ll deal with him.” The voice that breaks your reverie is unrecognizable—feminine and raspy. 

That's when your head snaps up and you realize just how tense the atmosphere has become. Many citizens watch you silently, some mouths ajar while others look ready to egg you on. It's never really a typical Friday night at this place without people trying to drunkenly fight each other.

It's rare, though, that  employees become the main culprit.

Something moves closer to you—a person. “Hey, it's alright. I-”

Still on edge, you're quick to react. You inhale sharply, grip tightening around your knife with reflexes that feel like second nature.

A low growl fills the air, the sound of metal colliding with metal following soon after. Then your blade is being knocked out of your hand, something powerful grabbing both of your arms.

A flash of grey, the smell of cigarillo. Warmth. Undeniable warmth.

“Woah, it's just me." The voice is so close, yet so far away.

"Look-" Then... "Maxwell, I need you to come and help." The voice speaks again. This time even firmer. A woman’s voice. 

When your vision adjusts, you lock gazes with a pair of stormy grey irises. They're merely inches from yours, peering down at you with a gaze that is steady. 

That's when you realize that you can't move because she's practically towering over you. Holding you.

It’s Sevika.

You must have tried to attack her, clearly caught off guard. Surely, you hadn't meant to. For a split second, you lost it and now here she comes, seemingly out of nowhere. It was merely a reflex—a fight or flight response.

“It's me. Sevika," She announces, voice sharp as if she's trying to to speak through a wall. "I'm having them take him upstairs. He’ll be dealt with,” She repeats, almost as if it's a promise. She searches your eyes, grip loosening around your arms, “I’ll make sure of it.” She adds. Despite her expression being made of steel, there's something that flickers in her eyes. It appears only for a millisecond but it's glaring enough to somehow recenter you.

Her shoulders appear to relax when you start to feel present in the room again.

She waits for you to reply. And waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Then, “I can handle myself,” Is all that you manage to say. 

She stares at you for longer. You can see the gears in her brain shifting, but you aren't exactly sure of what to anticipate next, or even how to accept the fact that you just tried to attack your boss with a pocket knife.

“I’ve got her,” This time, the source is coming from someone familiar. Max. “It's okay,” He whispers, drawing closer. You feel him before you see him. The tips of his claw-like nails brush against your shoulders as he gingerly grabs a hold of you. 

Only then is when Sevika breaks your gaze, this time turning to Max. “Staff lounge.” The brute woman orders. 

“I’m fine.” You counter. 

The edge in your voice says otherwise.

“...Then I need you to grab Amy,” She continues, completely disregarding you. “I would like to know why we have a chef waiting tables during the busiest rush of the week—”

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” You press, voice raising a few decibels.

Sevika jaw’s clenches, icy eyes flickering towards you. “You nearly decapitated someone. You—”

“...I have four hours left. I will leave when my shift is complete.”

Her nose flares. “Lounge. Now.”

Before you can reply, she’s turning on her heels and walking away.

Unfortunately, Max agrees with Sevika.

It’s apparent in the way he immediately grabs your shoulders after her departure. Every citizen seems to be watching the entire escapade because this is the quietest you’ve ever heard the pub be during a rush hour.

“I’m fine!” You hiss, frustrated by the whole ordeal. You are perfectly capable of defending yourself. You don't need staff members to coddle you. “Seriously.”

Max doesn’t reply, merely huffing underneath his breath as he guides you past the bar and towards a back hallway that leads to another room. 

When the two of you have reached the lounge, he finally says, “You're shaking.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

He leans forward, grabbing both of your hands,“ You're shaking.” He repeats, looking at you dead in the eyes. That's when he lets go and you peer down at your palms.

A frown spreads across your lips at the sight of your trembling fingers.

“You nearly killed the guy,” Max continues. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“It was only self-defense.”

“I'm not saying you were in the wrong,” A flicker of worry meets Max’s eyes. “That asshole deserves everything you did to him, probably more, But,” He winces. His gaze trails off to a distant place behind you. “Chef’s don’t usually do what you just did.”

Before you can reply to Max, the door flings open. In walks the petite redhead that you instantly knew to be Amy. She’s light on her feet, eyes alert and face flushed. At first, you’re surprised to see her in such a state. 

Shortly, though, Sevika enters the room. Then it all makes sense.

Sevika’s domineering in all aspects and has a ferocious air about her that can make anyone feel...tense. 

You thought she was the last of it, but another pair of footsteps walk-in behind her. 

“S-Sorry,” The person stammers, side stepping so they can scurry around Sevika and find a chair to sit in. The person is Dylan.

“This won't take long,” Sevika announces. She seems annoyed, not even looking at anyone else in the room. “Starting tomorrow, nothing about tonight will be brought up again. Now, Amy.” She turns to Amy, who instantly shrinks in her chair. “Why wasn't Janessa on the floor tonight?”

There's a beat of hesitation before, “She's working the kitchen now.”

Sevika’s nose flares. “If you moved her because of last week, I want you to think over your explanation very carefully.”

Another beat drags. Amy blinks. She gapes. She blinks once more. Her cheeks are tomato red at this point. “I-”

Sevika presses on. “Did Silco somehow change his mind?” 

“...No.”

“So you deliberately went against Silco’s orders and switched Janessa to the kitchen. Meanwhile,” Sevika’s eyes flicker to you. Your stomach lurches. “You make our only competent chef work the floor, after I told you that she isn't up for debate. And you expect me to show you mercy?”

Amy doesn't answer. She's on the verge of tears, which shocks you.

Amy is a bitch.

She’s known for brutally reaming people for simply breathing wrong. She doesn’t hold back and she doesn’t mind doing it in front of customers either. You know her to be stone cold. Heartless. Void of compassion and depth.

You never thought that you’d see the day where she’d get her ass handed to her.

Sevika turns to you, face filled with hard lines and calculating orbs. She stares at you for a few moments. You don't quite understand if she’s sizing you up or mentally chastising you. But you wait for her to fully collect her thoughts.

“If anyone touches you like that again,” She slowly begins, voice low. “You do what needs to be done. Whatever that means to you. Do you understand?” 

Your muscles freeze at her words.

No questioning? No reprimands?

“You aren't mad?” You clear your throat.

You were fully expected to get reamed for tonight.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, “Do you want me to be?”

Heat spreads across your body. You don't answer her question, deciding to move on. “Does Silco know about tonight?”

She grows more perplexed, “Do you want Silco to know?”

In the corner of your eye, you watch how stiff the rest of the staff members become. The room is so quiet that you nearly hear a pin drop.

It’s obvious that Silco finding out about this would cause a shit show.

Sevika takes your silence as an answer. 

“None of this will be mentioned again after tonight.” She breaks eye contact and turns to the rest of the room. “Is that clear?”

Everyone nods.

“And Dylan?”

Dylan jumps at the sound of his name. “Huh? I mean, yes? Y-Yes, ma’am?”

“If you disappear for that long again, you won't have a job to come back to.”

“Yes, ma’am. I-I mean,” Dylan blinks with swimming eyes. “Sorry.”

Sevika chooses then to shove her human hand into her pocket, glancing at you once more. When she retracts it, you notice that there is something shiny and silver that she's holding.

Your knife.

Silently, she holds it towards you. 

When your feet stay planted—brain struggling to process everything that's happening—she exhales heavily, evidently becoming impatient.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to close the distance. You grab your knife, knuckles grazing her palm, which ignites a static shock. Your fingers jump away from her instantly. If the skin contact startled her, her face doesn’t give it away.

“Thank you,” Is all that you say. You hate how vulnerable you sound.

She merely nods. Then, “He's upstairs, by the way. Definitely suffering from what you did to him but not harmed any further." She pauses, rubbing her lips together. "Did you want to come upstairs? It's your call on how you would like him to be handled."

You eyes widen at the realization.

She took him upstairs to do god know what (everyone knows that if Sevika takes you upstairs for any other reason than discussing business, then you probably aren't coming back down). You'd never thought she would include employees in such a thing.

Even with a matter such as this.

"I'll give you ten minutes to think about it," She continues on. "If you decide to come upstairs, he'll be waiting. Otherwise, go home. Tomorrow you'll return to the kitchen.” Then she turns on her heels, adding, “Amy, I expect your desk to be cleaned out by midnight.” Before she walks away. 

In the midst of her departure, your eyes begin to burn. 

Max and Dylan are already stepping out of the room, completely shaken up by the entire situation.

Being reprimanded by Sevika is never on anyone’s bucket list.

You idle there for a while, letting all of the events replay in your mind as your muscles start to unspool. Fidgeting with your knife, you allow the blade to extend. That’s when you notice that his blood has been cleaned off and your blade sharpened.

Amy wails pathetically while curling into herself. 

Her cries are nothing more than brown noise at this point. You're too preoccupied by the hammering of your heart, and the way that Sevika’s words have tattooed themselves onto your hippocampus:

If anyone touches you like that again, you do what needs to be done.

[bloomzone]

Do you ever feel like SHIT? Like life is moving so fast, and you’re stuck, tired, or completely drained? cuz same 🙋🏻‍♀️. That’s why I started looking into Japanese and Chinese habits—because I'm searching for slow down type of lifestyle, finding balance, and creating small moments of peace in the dawm chaos. Now, I know some of y’all will say, 'It’s overrated, you’re just obsessed with China or Japan,' but hear me out these habits aren’t about trends—they’re rooted in centuries and they’ve genuinely helped me improve both physically and mentally. If you’re ready to stop just surviving and start thriving, keep reading. These little changes might just change your life too.

Little Habits, Big Glow: Japanese & Chinese Traditions That Changed My Life part 1:

First off, warm water in the MORNING. I used to roll out of bed and go straight for coffee or cold ass water cuz my throat is DRYYYY , and honestly, my body hated me for it fr. But then I read about how in Chinese medicine, drinking warm water first thing in the morning is seen as a way to wake up your body gently. And let me tell you, IT WORK. No bloating, no sluggishness—just a simple, calming way to start the day. Sometimes I add a slice of lemon, and it feels like I’m doing something kind for my body before I even check my phone

Two Ikigai.( I talked Abt Ikigai and how to achieve this concept click here!) Japanese concept changed the way I see my day-to-day life. It’s basically finding purpose in the little things—like, not waiting for some huge life-changing moment to feel fulfilled. I used to put so much pressure on myself, thinking I needed to achieve these massive goals to be happy. But Ikigai taught me to slow down and find joy in small things, like enjoying my morning tea or journaling. It’s a game-changer for anyone who feels like they’re always chasing something bigger.

Another thing I’ve started doing is Tai Chi or qing gong. I know I know—it looks slow and kind of boring, but hear me out. It’s like moving meditation, and if you’re someone who struggles with anxiety (like meeey), this will center you like nothing else. It’s not about burning calories or anything like that; it’s about connecting your body and mind in the most peaceful way. Even just 10 minutes a day leaves me feeling lighter and more focused. (Click here to watch a video of it) When I first started, I thought, 'This is way too slow for me.' But then something clicked. The slowness is the point. It forces you to focus on your breathing, your posture, and every little movement. It’s like a moving meditation that clears your mind while strengthening your body.

© bloomzone

[garbagechocolate]

IT'S GOTTEN THIS BAD.

The VAs are PEOPLE TOO. You can have your opinions but remember that it's not "Well, it's just one hate post," because you don't know the amount of SHIT content creators go through!

If you don't like it? COPE. LAES was taking a interesting story direction, but obviously not everyone has the same opinion as you. Whatever, get in discourse with other fans but DO NOT GO AFTER THE CREATORS. They're trying to have fun, at the least, and you can LITERALLY SUCK THE JOY OUT OF THIS ALL by being a BITCH about it.

How would you fuckin feel if someone stood over your shoulder and started spouting shit about how your roleplays aren't good? God, aside from the mentioned insane amounts of hate-

THIS FANDOM IS SO. FUCKING. INTOLERANT.

Anything that doesn't fit into the category of "tragic doomed twink yaoi" is regarded as LESSER or sometimes a fucking CRIME

WHO GIVE A SHIT!!! YOU SHOULD BE THANKFUL THERE'S SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO AND TAKE IT.

They make DAILY VIDEOS. Remember when David recorded when he was SICK? These VA's are trying their best to keep up with demand, but if this hate continues then goddammit, this fandom is not WORTHY of having such involved and engaged creators.

To the amount of harassment Kat has received, I'm so sorry. It must have been difficult constantly reading criticism of characters and stories you put effort into. Your writing is not the problem, and I love and enjoy it. I'm sure Kat won't even read this reblog, but I wish best condolences. You are talented, and creative, and it's unfortunate that majority of the TSBS fandom are stuck at the maturity of a toddler.

I'm Done Writing For LAE

I've written for LAE for a while now, even when I have 3 other jobs and not a lot of time to dedicate to it. But apparently all that time and effort I put in just isn't good enough.

Every time I open Tumblr, read the YouTube comments, scroll through TikTok, and sometimes even on the TSBS fan discord, I'm welcomed by people saying how shit my writing is, how shit my characters are, or how much they dislike xyz.

This isn't me wanting sympathy, or to guilt trip you. Though I'm fully expecting people to say I am. I just want to let you know; I'm done. I'm not writing any more episodes or interacting with the community in any way. I've tried. It's clearly not good for my mental health. So I'm done.

This isn't me saying I'm done voice acting or anything, I'm still going to be Earth/Pollux/Dazzle, I just won't be writing what will be happening to them anymore.

I put my heart and soul into these characters and their stories, but apparently that's just another way to get hurt.

If you have questions about TSBS, don't send them to me. I'll only answer/interact with questions/posts about my own series/channel.

[tarohugs]

after you find out they cheated (nct dream)

►ot7 x reader

► angst!! some (very minute) fluff, cliff hangers..

►read part 1 here!

►a/n part 2 as requested!! although this was def not what some wanted i think this turn off events is much better. please enjoy and lmk if u do

MARK

After the dispatch rumors, Mark’s name trended on social media for the remainder of the month. Seeing his face constantly had upset you tremendously to the point where you had to mute his name and every nickname given to the boy. 

You two had not talked since he admitted to you over text he had cheated. He made many attempts to come over and make amends but to no avail, you paid no remorse to his actions. Truthfully, Mark was the love of your life and you dearly wanted to give him a chance considering he was trying his best to set forth with your relationship, but something about you couldn’t let him off so easily. 

Throughout the course of your relationship with Mark, he had always said you “were the one” and you shared many intimate moments together. Now, as you watch him through your doorbell camera making his final attempt at reconciling, you decide it is time to finally communicate your true feelings. 

He had approached your front door with flowers and a box of your favorite chocolates along with other of your most beloved items you enjoyed. His eyes swelled with tears as he began to stutter words when you opened the front door. 

“Y-y/n,” Mark faltered in shock that you opened the door before he even had the chance to knock. “I have a lot to explain, just please listen-”

You laughed, surprised he thought he even had a chance, “Mark, you know what you did was wrong and nothing can change that. Look, I didn’t answer to hear you out, I answered to tell you I’m over you and to stop bothering me.” Your eyes watered as you made eye contact with the boy that was once your lover.

“You know it’s just Dispatch,” he asserted, “None of that was the truth, you know this. Please, just listen to me, I can explain everything to you even if you don’t want to hear it. Don’t just throw away years of us for something so stupid.”

You gasped, shocked that he would claim this was stupid, “There’s nothing to explain to me, you fucked up and this is over. None of the shit I’ve seen about you this month was stupid. I’m not dumb, Mark, don’t treat me like this. You don’t deserve a second chance.”

Mark tried to speak again but you immediately shut him down with the palm of your hand signaling him to stop. Maybe you would give him a chance another day but this wasn’t the time. You never accepted the gifts from him as you shut the door in his face. 

As months went on after your final encounter with Mark, he made no other attempts to reunite with you, accepting you were ready to move on to someone better. No texts, no knocking on your door, no phonecalls, no contact at all. Your life with Mark was over for good.

RENJUN

When Renjun had admitted to you he cheated, you didn’t believe his words at first. He had to be joking, I mean who was he to cheat anyways? He was always loyal to you and never failed to ensure you were the number one thing in his life. What could possibly bring him to cheat on you?

“Renjun, what are you talking about?” you questioned, trying to come up with some explanation for his infidelity. 

He couldn’t look you in the eyes as he confessed, “You know Yeji? My new coworker? We were at a holiday party and I was drunk and you know how the rest played out.”

You couldn’t believe his words. Renjun was always the type to inform you of every event in his life. When he had told you about his annual holiday work parties, he always invited you, this year was the first you had heard nothing. As you came to the realization why, you finally connected the dots. 

Even though Renjun excused himself by offering that he was drunk, this wasn’t a drunken mistake. Renjun was intentional with his actions. If he had intended not to invite you in the first place, his objective was clear he was trying to get in Yeji’s pants. 

Not a single bone in your body felt remorse for the boy as you came to comprehend his efforts to cheat on you. “Get out,” you stated strictly, offering no emotion for Renjun to crack.

“Y/n, just give me a chance. I’ll make it up to you,” he began to plead, clutching his fingers together to create a dramatic effect. Nothing could make you forgive him.

“Renjun, you knew what you did. You’re better than this and I deserve better than whatever is going on with you,” you attempted to excuse his infidelity. Renjun had always been truthful with you and although his activities were clear, you had wanted to give him a chance despite your brain telling you not to. 

Renjun simply nodded your head at your statement, beginning to get out of your once shared bed and gather his belongings. He didn’t speak a word as he stuffed his suitcase full other than, “I’ll get the rest of my things later.” He didn’t though, after that night he had left for good.

He never texted you to gather his possessions or make amends. You went on for weeks of no contact and eventually trashed his uncollected belongings due to the high level of emotion they caused you. Not wanting to make the first text, you waited and waited for him to make a move.

Eventually your waiting had done you justice has you finally received a message from your ex-boyfriend.

renjun: y/n

renjun: let’s talk

JENO

After many failed attempts of trying to make Jeno offer some sort of apology for his actions, he eventually started ghosting you as a whole. You couldn’t believe he could once be so loving and switch so easily to being the toxic ex-boyfriend he would shame before. 

The I love you’s turned into Leave me alone’s as you constantly tried to confront him. During the course of your relationship, you two had moved in together and when he cheated on you he made no attempt to move out - simply inviting other girls over without a care in the world. 

Luckily, you two had separate rooms but this didn’t change the fact you could still hear the banging of his bedframe against the wall from one of his many one night stands. One night you had gotten so agitated by his thoughtless actions and confronted him about what was going on.

“Jeno,” you barged into his room, interrupting whatever fuck he had going on. “I’ve had enough of this.”

He pushed the half-naked girl off of him, slowly making his way to throw on a shirt, telling the girl to leave. She scoffed at you limiting her time with Jeno but quickly put on her scattered clothes, leaving your shared apartment. “Y/n, what the fuck is your problem,” he expressed angrily, clearly upset that you would interrupt such an intimate moment.

“Look Jeno, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but I’ve had enough of it. Either you stop with this or you leave. You were the one that fucked up. Figure out your life,” you finally stood your ground. Jeno had always been dominant in your relationship, and after your “break-up” this prevailed. 

He constantly made you feel bad about yourself, blaming you for “not being good enough” as the reason he had to cheat on you. Yeah, this hurt like hell. However, you were desperate to make Jeno love you again, even if he had acted so wrongly. 

Jeno rolled his eyes at your scolding, “If you want me out y/n, so be it. Just know I won’t come back.” He shut the door in your face as you listened to him slam drawers and punch the wall in anger.

You ran back to your room and shut the door behind you, sliding down it as tears began to blind your eyes. What had happened to Jeno? 

The next morning you woke up with no trace of Jeno to be found. He offered no explanation for what had changed him so tremendously but you figured you would find out when you received a knock on the door from Jaemin, Jeno’s best friend.

You answered the door reluctantly, scared Jaemin would make a comment on your puffy eyes and dishelved features. “Jaemin, what’s wrong?” you questioned, taking in his appearance. He seemed to be in the same situation as you, noticing his freshly awoken demeanor.

“Y/n, we need to talk. It’s about Jeno,” he sighed, stepping into your apartment.

HAECHAN

When Haechan saw the look on your face after you discovered him cheating, endless apologies left his mouth. He had never seen you so upset and angry with him, he admitted he deserved your backlash. 

Even though he was quick to beg for your forgiveness, you never offered it to him, opting to move on instead. You were petty and getting back together with Haechan would not be the power move. 

Although you had made it clear you were over Haechan, you never made an official attempt at breaking up with him. Instead, you had simply ghosted him as you didn’t want to make any contact with your so-called ex-boyfriend. This, instead, led you to have even more difficulties moving on as you felt remorse hooking up with other men due to some sort of tie still being connected to the boy.

Months went by and all the efforts you made to sleep with random strangers were ruined as you felt a constant cloud of guilt hanging over you. You tried to get over him by getting blackout drunk at random parties, knowing sober you would make no effort to move on. You were unsuccessful most nights but one night you were finally convinced it was your time. 

Unfortunately, the guy that you landed with in bed was only victorious due to the similar features he shared with Haechan. His hair, his voice, his eyes - everything reminded you of him. Yeah, you had technically not gotten over him, but it was a start!

You were gracious enough to recognize this was a lead in the right direction as you had finally slept with another guy since your relationship with Haechan “ended.” Though, as you began to sober up as you awoke from your one night stand, you couldn’t help but notice the man in your bed appeared too close to Haechan. 

As you took a closer look, your suspicions were confirmed. You were back to square one.

JAEMIN

Following the numerous days you had left your shared apartment with Jaemin, he began to grow concerned for your being and where you were staying. You had opted to reside in your best friend's house as she was the only one kind enough to offer you a place to stay.

Jaemin knew you lacked options to inhabit for the time being and was quick to conclude your location. No longer than two days of you staying there, Jaemin had made his way into her apartment with a bouquet of roses, reciting the speech of apologies for you to hear.

“Y/n,” he sighed, moving closer to you when you opened the front door, “I know you want nothing to do with me, but I have a lot of explaining to do. I’m so sorry for getting upset at you, you did nothing wrong. Please forgive me.”

You laughed in his face. Did he really think you would forgive him so easily? “Jaemin, I can’t believe you right now. You owe me a lot more than this,” you asserted.

He knew you would be reluctant to accept his expression of regret but he knew he could convince you no matter what it would take. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” he breathed, handing you the flowers, “please give me another chance. I’ll show you the world.”

It’s crazy to think the way his final sentence could be perceived so differently. Once you had viewed the words as a way of him expressing his love, now it was simply his manipulating attempt to win you over.

Although you were upset with Jaemin for his actions, you couldn’t hate him. You had loved him for months on end and it would be difficult to get over such emotions in such a short time period. You allowed his manipulation to work on you as you offered him a second chance. 

You two continued your relationship for months, rebuilding the connection you once had, this time with more caution. As you began to fall in love again, you couldn’t help but wonder who the girl he had cheated on you with had been. This prompted you to begin searching his phone for clues on who the mistress could possibly be. 

When you arrive upon your best friend's name in his recent text messages, you ponder what the two would be conversing. As you scroll through their texts and see the endless meetups and shared intimate texts, the story finally clicked into place.

CHENLE

After Eric had shown you the texts he shared with Chenle, he was quick to console you over your ex-boyfriend. You had scheduled a meetup with Chenle immediately after and broke up with him, offering no time for an explanation from him. Eric and Yuna had been good friends of yours for years, you knew everything they told you was the truth with no sugarcoating.

As time went on, you and Eric’s relationship began to prosper into something more, sharing many endless night together but never making it further than a few stolen kisses. A couple weeks after your break up with Chenle, Eric had attempted to ask you on a date but you were quick to deny him stating that it was too early for him to make a move. 

“Y/n, I don’t understand. Were those drunken nights nothing to you?” Eric questioned, angered you could deny him so easily. 

You shook your head, upset that he would be so ignorant to ignore your emotions. “You know I just got out of a relationship, Eric, those nights meant something I’m just not ready for commitment yet.” Truthfully you never felt much for him when you were dating Chenle, but due to his chivalrous acts of exposing your cheating boyfriend, you had gained some attachment to the boy. 

Eric accepted your explanation but still attempted to win you over multiple nights in a row. Eventually, you fell into his trap and accepted going on a date with him. As you delved into a new relationship with Eric, you couldn’t help but feel as though something was off. 

Yuna wasn’t very supportive of your relationship after a couple weeks of being with him. She noticed a change in your attitude and offered no reasoning of why she further began to distance yourself from you two. The three of you were inseparable for years so you figured she was just beginning to adjust to being a third wheel.

Though something about Yuna’s lack of support for your relationship with Eric struck a nerve inside you, you couldn’t help but feel there was an underlying message behind her actions. When you received a message from the girl, you were in for a ride.

yuna!!!: don’t hate me but eric lied about chenle

JISUNG

Accidentally live streaming is one thing, having a girl speaking in the background is another. Netizens were quick to spread rumours about who the mysterious voice was in Jisung’s accidental live stream. You were also curious as to know what Jisung was truly doing in that moment of vulnerability, but when you sent him various concerned and aggravated messages, you realized none of your texts were delivered to his phone. Jisung had blocked you.

Being an idol means strict punishment from companies - and under the circumstances Jisung had fucked up, he was in for trouble. Of course his managers were aware Jisung was dating you, so they were quick to assume the mystery girl was you. Due to this, they were punished Jisung by banning all contact he had with you. This led you to having no reasoning for what was going on that day. 

You attempted to contact his members but they made no effort to offer you any explanation either, most likely scared they, too, would get in trouble. If you weren’t terrified of the company, you would reach out to his managers yourself, but you had heard of the things they did to idols and you didn’t want to risk any chance of communication you had with Jisung.

After months of no contact with the boy, you finally began to accept he wouldn’t be returning back to your life any time soon; however, when you received a letter in the mail from Park Jisung, a sliver of hope ran through your veins that this chapter of worrying would finally come to an end. 

As you opened and read the handwritten letter he had graciously sent, your eyes began to shed tears. In his heartfelt letter, he sent numerous apologies and explained the girl in the video had been one of his cousins, he was simply hanging out with family and didn’t tell you because he wanted to surprise you with a gift she had intended on giving you.

Although you were reluctant to believe such a fallacy, you knew Jisung better than anyone else, he had to be telling the truth. The only problem was, that there was no way to contact Jisung other than via the mail. Even though you had found out the truth, what was the cost?

[obxsummer]

what are your favourite jj fics??? ive been looking for some good ones to get lost in but i feel like ive read all of them lol pls drop some recs !! fav one shots/series, anything :)

OH MY GOD OKAY WAIT here's some of my recent/all-time favorites!!! i also reblog mostly completed favorites (various fandoms) on @chaos-magics if you wanna skim there for more!

inked by @sarahroutldge

you and jj have been dating secretly for half a year, and a small question about a mysterious new tattoo leads to his friends finding out about the two of you.

the usual spot by @katcoquette (a genrette au!)

you receive someone’s ‘one phone call’ & the results are you stumbling slipper first into the police station at 3AM to bail out your best friends.

back to you by @peavhyshy

in which you return to the island after moving away and have to confront unresolved feelings and changes in the friend group.

scream by @rafeyscurtainbangs (smut, feat. rafe too)

please read content warnings before indulging but enjoy!!!

summer lovin' by @murdockcastleslut (smau, ongoing)

what if chandler groff had never abandoned his son with luke maybank? instead, larissa genrette divorced her seemingly abusive and power-hungry husband, chandler groff, and raised her son with the help of her father. enter jackson j. genrette, the playboy casanova, who is best friends with rafe cameron, also known as the "king kook." one day, while at the country club, he meets pouge!reader, the new summer server, and is immediately entranced. will these two people from opposite sides of the island fall for each other?

i know & soul deep by @kindapinkskies

literally my all-time favorite jj pieces, so well written and i loveee the angst

dirty little secret by @lunarliza (series)

You’re a new Kook in town who just so happens to be fuck buddies with JJ Maybank behind closed doors, or open ones, with absolutely no feelings involved. Or so you both vowed. What happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl? 

the summer playlist by @pogueszn (series) (one of my favorites to re-read too!!)

Pope’s long-term internet friend is coming to stay for the summer and tension starts to run high when feelings are added to the mix

[misshoneyimhome]

For Dad!Willy X reader can we get one where his family/teammates meet the baby for the first time 💙

Honestly, I can’t even put into words how much I’m loving all the dad!Willy content we’ve been diving into lately! I’m in such a mood for it, and if I’m honest, I’ve got a ton more thoughts and ideas—but I’m keeping it short and sweet to make it an easy read 😉 Absolutely obsessed! Hopefully, you’re enjoying it as much as I am, babes 🤗

Tropes & warnings: no warnings, except once again overload cuteness! Dad!Willy x reader, baby!Eliot, meeting family and friends

Word count: 1K

➼｡ﾟ

First Impressions and Family Ties I dad!willy x reader ✐

The condo buzzed with a palpable mix of excitement and nerves as you cradled Eliot in your arms, your gaze flicking over to William. He stood leaned against the kitchen counter, exuding a level of calm that felt borderline infuriating given the storm brewing in your chest. His easy smile didn’t match the worry swirling in your head—a chaotic blend of pride, anxiety, and a desperate desire to make everything perfect.

“What if he cries the whole time?” you burst out, pacing the living room while Eliot nuzzled against your chest, utterly unbothered by your spiralling thoughts. “What if someone holds him, and he poops everywhere? Or—what if he spits up on your mum?”

William’s chuckle rumbled softly, a sound that somehow made you want to both relax and glare at him. Pushing off the counter, he crossed the room in a few casual strides, radiating an effortless confidence you couldn’t wrap your head around. “Babe,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you close, “he’s a baby. That’s literally his job. And my mum raised five of us—trust me, she’s seen worse.”

You shot him a look, your nerves clinging stubbornly. “You’re seriously not nervous at all?”

“Not even a little,” he replied without missing a beat, his fingers brushing over Eliot’s downy-soft hair. “They’re going to love him. And he’s got you, so what’s there to worry about?”

Before you could muster a response, the faint ding of the elevator reached your ears, followed by the telltale sound of footsteps approaching. Your heart immediately leaped into overdrive.

“They’re here,” you whispered, clutching Eliot just a little tighter.

William’s hand slid to your shoulder, his thumb drawing soothing circles against your skin. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got this.”

The door swung open, and Camilla Nylander was the first to step inside. Her warm smile reached her eyes as she immediately spotted the two of you. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed, wrapping William in a quick, affectionate hug before turning to you. “And you,” she said, her tone softening as she kissed your cheek. “It’s so good to see you again, sweetheart.”

Her gaze shifted down to Eliot, and her expression melted into one of pure adoration. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she breathed, her hands coming up to her chest as she took in the sight of him. “He’s even more beautiful than I imagined.” She hesitated, her eyes meeting yours. “May I?”

You nodded, your heart easing as she carefully gathered Eliot into her arms. The practised ease with which she held him—gentle yet confident—was enough to make some of your tension dissipate. Watching her coo softly to him, her face glowing with pride, you felt the tiniest spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

Michael was right behind her, his broad smile as easygoing as his gait. He clapped William on the shoulder before leaning down to get a good look at Eliot. “Got that Nylander charm already,” he said with a knowing grin. “Though I’ll say, he’s a lot calmer than you were as a baby.”

William smirked, his arm still firmly around your waist. “I’ve mellowed out.”

“Oh, sure,” came Alex’s voice as he strode in, Danielle and Stephanie in tow. “That’s why you once tried to use my hockey gloves to fish a puck out of the toilet.”

“That was one time!” William groaned, though his sheepish grin betrayed him.

Danielle leaned in close to Eliot, brushing her fingers lightly over his tiny hands. “Wow,” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “He’s already got more hair than Willy.”

“Okay, what’s with the hair comments today?” William demanded, running a hand through his blond locks for emphasis.

Alex smirked, leaning against the couch. “We’re just saying, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Michael warned, lifting a hand in mock solemnity. “You two could end up bald like me in ten years. Genetics doesn’t play favourites.”

The room erupted in laughter as the Nylander siblings took turns doting on Eliot. Stephanie cradled him with a quiet confidence, her expression soft as she traced the tiny curve of his fingers. “He’s perfect,” she declared, grinning. “Don’t worry, Eliot. Aunt Steph’s got you. I’ll protect you from Uncle Alex’s terrible jokes.”

The doorbell rang again, cutting through the playful chaos, and William crossed the room to answer it. His teammates filtered in, their familiar banter filling the space.

Rasmus Sandin was the first to approach Eliot, his grin wide and mischievous. “Look at this little guy,” he said, crouching beside Camilla. “Eliot Nylander, already cooler than his dad.”

“Careful, Sandman,” William retorted, his grin mirroring Rasmus’s. “You’re not safe on the ice or off.”

Matthew Knies followed close behind, his towering frame somehow softened by the awe on his face. “He’s amazing,” he murmured, crouching slightly as Eliot let out a soft yawn. “So, when’s his first skating lesson?”

“He’s already better than Willy,” Rasmus quipped, dodging the playful shove William aimed his way.

The condo filled with laughter, warm chatter, and the occasional sound of Eliot’s soft sighs as he was passed from one adoring pair of arms to the next. When John Tavares finally stepped forward to hold him, the room grew momentarily quiet. His steady presence radiated calm as he gazed down at the baby. “Future captain material,” he said with a smile, glancing up at William.

William laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “One step at a time, Johnny. Right now, we’re just trying to keep the pacifier in.”

As the evening wore on, the space felt warmer, filled with the unmistakable hum of love and connection. You caught William watching you from across the room, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken. When he finally made his way back to your side, his hand rested at the small of your back, his touch grounding you as his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile.

And in that moment, with Eliot nestled safely, surrounded by laughter and love, you realised this wasn’t just a gathering. This was family. This was home.