#I was in the mood to write out a dramatic little scene so here you go! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

namgyunation · 3 days ago

Note

Hi, absolutely love your writing style and that you not oversimplify characters.

You wrote before, that Nam-gyu and y/n (I’m not sure if she is even y/n) are fighting fiery and a lot. Could you write about one of those scandals and the behavior of both after it.

It can be your headcanons or a full drabble, you choose. Though I’d love to see replicas of both during the argument and afterwards.

Once again, love your works 💋

addicted to the drama

— pairing: nam-gyu x f!reader — summary: a relationship with someone like nam-gyu isn't easy, or peaceful. far from it, but you're in this shit for the long haul. OR; three fights with nam-gyu and three ways it gets 'resolved.' — warnings: suggestive moments, a littleeeee gross, he's especially gross in the second fight i'm sorry :(, mentions of sex but no crazy explicit smut, 18+, the girls are fightinggg, there's a little fluff in here, nam-gyu is veryyy not nice in the third fight and uses rather mean language, drug use, not proof-read! — word count: 11.3k — a/n: hiiiiii thank you so so much for the request and the kind words omg (seriouslyyy thank you :*)) <333 this is my first time ever doing one, so i hope i didn't stray too far from what you wanted, haha. i think nam-gyu is definitely a petty little shit when it comes to arguments with his s/o and definitely more than a little emotionally constipated. i went ahead and included 3 different fights, all with varying levels of seriousness lolol. i'm sorry it took so long, i got a little carried away LMAO. there's a bunch of my headcanons sprinkled in here ofc, but maybe i'll make a separate headcanons only post in the future TToTT I hope you like it!!! <3

In a bad mood, baby, come work me out.

You don't ask for much. You don't think you do, at least.

A tidy space meant a tidy mind meant a tidy life. It doesn't seem that hard of a concept to grasp. To you.

Nam-gyu's shoes are strewn lazily across the floor in front of you, shoe prints outlined and punctuated by a wetness that traced their path from start to finish. Rain water pools beneath the soles, dripping like a damn crime scene. You let out a deep sigh, swallowing your anger as you hung your jacket on the rack.

Your eyes flick over the apartment, taking a mental note of every offense and sorting them in the framework of your mind as you built your case. A discarded glass of iced tea on the island, half sipped, then forgotten. A stray sock on the floor, far from its home in the laundry bin overflowing with Nam-gyu's unfolded clothes. A cup of ramen with the chopsticks still in it. You step forward, grabbing a box of snacks on the coffee table. It was too light, nothing but cardboard and air as you shook it. Empty. You slam it into the recycling bin with more effort than necessary.

Your anger simmers, about ready to spill over as you push past the door to your bedroom. He's exactly where you knew he'd be, splayed out lazily across the bed in shorts and a loose shirt, one hand pillowing his head while the other gripped his phone.

"Nam-gyu."

He hums in vague acknowledgment, eyes still trained on his phone. You swipe at it, knocking it out of his hand, watching his face bloom with a mix of confusion and anger as it tumbles onto his chest, narrowly missing his face.

He curls his lip. "The hell is your problem?"

"Your shoes."

"My shoes," he responds flatly.

You suck in a breath. "In the middle of the floor. Dripping."

He rolls his eyes at you and puncutates it with a scoff. "My god. You're so dramatic."

You throw your arms out. "Is it that hard to wipe them and put them on the rack?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. Dismissal. "I'll do it later, relax."

"You will not do it later."

He exhales, a hand dragging down his face like you're the one exhausting him. "Shit, you're so uptight sometimes. It's just a little mess."

You scoff. "A little mess that you leave sitting there for days!"

He grunts, the only sign that he heard you, before turning over onto his side to unlock his phone again.

Your eye twitches.

Fine.

The next morning, you don't put your makeup away after getting ready for work. Your cups populate the apartment, gathering on every surface like a small village. Your jackets find homes on the couch, the floor, the backs of the few chairs you two had. A stray sock joins his on the ground. Then a shirt. A pair of underwear. Fuck it. You add another sock for good measure.

It only takes two days for Nam-gyu to break. He catches you on the way to the bathroom, his hand digging into your waist as he whips you around, interrupting your plans to continue building the ongoing crime scene of makeup in the sink.

"Cut it the fuck out."

You smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. "Oh my god, you're insane. I get it, okay? Fuck." His hand goes up to rub at his temples for a moment before dragging slowly down his face in defeat.

He points past you at the bathroom sink surrounded in puffs of eyeshadow and smears of foundation. "Deal with... that. I'll get the rest of it."

You stand there, biting back a smile as he lets out an exasperated sigh, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his bangs behind his ears before leaning down to tackle the mess—half you and half him. You're about to tease him when his eyes zero in on something on the ground. He picks it up with a smirk, holding it up in the air in front of you. It's your underwear.

"Honestly?" He looks away from you for a moment, his eyes dragging over it for too long, as if inspecting every twist of the lace. "I don't really mind if you keep leaving these around." He raises his eyebrows at you as a grin stretches across his face. You roll your eyes with a disgusted scoff, but you don't care, not really.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but you're already shutting the bathroom door behind you with a click.

You lean against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble as you let out a sigh of relief. Victory.

---

The next time you fight, it's under the pretense of something fun. You'd complained about how little time the two of you had spent together in the past week. Every time you were home, he was at work. Every time he was home, you were at work— or too exhausted from said work to do anything.

So he proposed a compromise. A night out together at the nightclub, he'd said. A nice way to spend time with each other even when he was on the clock. Like 'take your kid to work' day, except the 'kid' was his annoyed girlfriend. And the 'work' was a shady nightclub filled with too many loud, intoxicated people. And the 'day' was actually a night choking on smoke and sweat and too much noise that stretched way too long, like a guest overstaying their welcome.

You lean against Nam-gyu, staring out into the crowd of people as he tangles in conversation with another one of the club's regular VIPs. You found your head spinning from the revolving door of people that he'd spoken to all night. You wonder how someone as naturally introverted and—rough as him could stand this job.

You listen in, attention flitting in and out as they spoke. He says something so out of character that it catches you off guard. You let out an amused puff of air. He's too animated, too bubbly, too eager to please people that barely know his name. For what it was worth, he was certainly one hell of an actor. Anything to get the guests—and the drugs—coming over and over again, you suppose.

It's not long before you feel his warmth inch away from your body. An alarm. You look up, and his hands are already on your shoulders, rubbing quickly up and down in a way that signals 'hey, I'm about to do something that you probably don't want me to do, but I'm gonna do it anyways'. Your mouth is already opening to complain, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gonna step out for a second, okay?" He's not looking at you. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "This guy is offering me some good shit. Gotta take it. He's real important."

He brushes the ghost of a kiss to the back of your head, no doubt an attempt to placate your already building annoyance, but it barely registers. His hands pick up speed on your shoulders, rubbing the last bit of warmth into you before he's pulling away, smiling with enthusiasm as he leaves to pump more chemicals into his body.

You let your head tip back as your eyes shut. Nam-gyu never ceases to amaze you with just how many bad decisions he can make in one night. The air around you hums with music, closing in on your little spot by the bar. You drum your fingers against the counter, trying and failing to convince yourself that you're having fun.

You're about to stand—go outside to get some air maybe—when someone slips into the seat behind you, filling Nam-gyu's spot.

"Hey."

You startle a bit, not expecting the sudden conversation.

It's a man dressed in all black, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He smells like smoke and beer. Based on his attire, it's not hard to deduce that this is one of Nam-gyu's coworkers, another promoter, you were sure.

You nod at him politely, not really sure what to expect but not wanting to be rude, either. It'd be best not to cause problems with anyone working alongside your boyfriend, you figure. "Hello."

He's nice enough, asking you about how your night was going, what other clubs you'd been to, what kind of drinks you like.

Your face softens into a smile as the conversation continues, your initial suspicion simmering down and settling into something resembling ease as you realize he's just another guy on the clock doing his job: promoting the club.

He leans over, taking his phone out to show you something, and that's when you notice just how close he'd gotten to you since he sat down. You inch away slightly but still listen politely as he pitches one of the club's themed parties.

You nod your head with a vague interest as he scrolls through his photo gallery. Although you were never much into clubbing, you could admit that some of the events looked kind of cool. As he continues going through the photos, one in particular—a Valentine's night—catches your eye. You lean in, and your shoulders brush at the movement.

"That one's cute," you say, pointing at it as you take in the background details. Pink strobe lights, heart balloons, and rose bouquets. A small smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Nam-gyu in his work outfit, his sleeves rolled up and hair tucked behind his ears, knee-deep in a pile of cutesy, pink decorations. The thought brought some color to your cheeks. You'd have to bring it up to him later. Maybe that would be a more fun night for you to attend with him.

Unbeknowst to you, the man beside you was in the middle of taking your statement the completely wrong way. He raises his eyebrows, studying the pink dusting your cheeks and the way your face focused in on his phone screen. He scoots even closer, testing. When you don't react, he reaches out an arm, slowly draping over you as his hand finds its way to your shoulder. His grip on you is light, not forceful, not trapping, but you still stiffen at the contact.

"You think so?" he says, a smirk on his face. He ducks down so he's eye level with you. Too close. "Hey, if you promise me you'll go to our next one, I'm sure I can get you a discount," he brings his phone up again, tapping quickly until he's at the 'contacts' screen, "here, let me get your number so you can—"

You shrink back sheepishly, realizing that you have to nip this interaction in the bud. He looks at you, confusion written across his face, but he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Uh, sorry—do you know Nam-gyu?" you ask, thinking it was as good a time as any to bring him up.

He raises his eyebrows at the sudden shift in topic. "Nam-gyu...? Yeah. I work with him." A flash of recognition. His eyes widen. "Oh. Shit—are you the girl he came in with?"

You nod, a polite smile returning to your face as the man immediately retracts from you, an apologetic look on his face.

You open your mouth to speak, "Yeah, he's my—" Boyfriend, you try to say, but you're cut off by a rush of hands looping at your waist, tugging you backwards into a tight hold.

The familiar rumble of Nam-gyu's voice fills your ears as he leans over you. You twist around, looking up to see his face, both startled and relieved at his sudden entrance. He's staring down at you lazily through half-lidded eyes, and you can see how blown out his pupils are, even in the dim light. You barely have time to react or make a snarky comment before he's pressing his lips to yours, earning a small noise of surprise.

The kiss is welcome until a hand drifts to your chin, tilting you upwards, deeper, drifting into something that felt a little too intimate to be doing in a public space.

Remembering your audience, you pull away, a gentle hand on his chest acting as a barrier between the two of you. His coworker is looking at the two of you, his expression both sheepish and embarrassed, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be— and honestly, he kind of was, what with the way Nam-gyu was glowering at him.

He stands up, giving Nam-gyu an apologetic nod as he clears his throat, hands flying to his pockets as he prepares to leave.

Nam-gyu smiles, nodding curtly back at him, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the ingenuity in his smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He looks off to the side and then back again. "My bad, man. I didn't know she—"

"I think I can handle this one from here," Nam-gyu says, cutting him off with a barely disguised edge in his voice. There's a squeeze at your waist, a hand on your shoulder. "You can go find some other chicks to bother, right?" He cocks his head to crowd of people gathered in the center of the club, a small, mocking laugh leaving his lips. "I'm sure one of them will fuck you."

You recoil at his tone—and his gross implication, hand going up to lightly smack at his chest. You wonder if the drugs were cutting off the circulation to his brain.

"Nam-gyu!" you hiss, but he doesn't look at you.

His coworker curls his lip, eyes narrowing. "Jesus, dude. I said my bad. I didn't realize she was with you, alright?" He shook his head, turning around and promptly removing himself from the situation. He shot one last look at the two of you over his shoulder, returning the glare that Nam-gyu was still giving him.

Once his back fully disappears into the crowd, you stand up, knocking Nam-gyu's hands off of you as you fix him with a stare.

"What the hell was that?" you deadpan, arms crossing. "He literally said he was sorry."

"'What the hell was that?'" he mocks, his voice climbing a few octaves to match yours. He snorts, ignoring the frustration coloring your face. "I could ask you the same damn thing." He leans down, a hand drifting to the nape of your neck as he crowds into your personal space. "So. What were you two talking about? You seemed real interested." His tone dips low into something icy, accusatory.

You scoff at him, explaining how the conversation was friendly, how he was unaware of your status as a couple, how he instantly backed off at the first sign that you were uncomfortable—

But Nam-gyu ignores you, his hands travelling over your body until they find a home at your shoulders. He spins you around, and you let him, exhaustion hitting you as you realize that your statements were going in one ear and out the other. He rubs at your arms yet again as he pushes you forward, making you walk with him as he leads you to one of the side rooms—a VIP room, you come to realize.

"C'mon," he says, voice thick with whatever drug he'd just taken, "got s'more guests to entertain in here, and you get to come with me."

You roll your eyes. "Yayyy." You continue to count down the minutes left in his shift, but something told you that he was in the mood to clock in some over time.

The lounge is nice, spacious. It's at least a bit quieter than it is out in the main area, a perk you're somewhat thankful for as you adjust yourself on the couch. The guy from earlier is there too. You'd nodded at him when the two of you entered, small and polite and slightly apologetic. He ignored you, presumably for his own sake. You don't blame him.

The night continues, and you're silent, not really wanting to get in the way or be dragged into the conversation. You lean closer to Nam-gyu, craving his contact despite how annoying he's been. It wasn't exactly easy for you to relax in a room full of supposedly 'very important people' that you didn't know, all smiles and raucous laughter as they smoked and drank and huffed whatever came their way.

You were never the biggest fan of the world your boyfriend operated in, surrounded by substances and fast people with fast money that seemed to move quicker than their minds could make decisions, but it's what you signed up for when you got into a relationship with him, after all.

He's chatting it up with a particularly loud, and—unique-looking guy to his left, two girls practically melted into him at both sides. Goes by 'Thanos', you come to find out. A famous rapper with a lot of status and—from how he was speaking—a whole lot of money. His purple hair draws your attention, making his presence impossible to ignore in the confined space, that and his peculiar way of speaking, puncutated by random bursts of english.

You carefully snake a hand around Nam-gyu's arm, wanting to be closer but not wanting to interrupt. He gives you a small glance before brushing you off, you shoot him a look but then his arm is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. He adjusts your legs so they're draped over his lap, and you redden, feeling like it was the slightest bit too much.

The others at the table didn't seem to mind, though, too caught up in their own conversations to care about your inner turmoil.

You slowly relax as he returns to his conversation. His hands are warm against you, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other rubbing light circles into the exposed skin of your leg. Nam-gyu was a touchy guy, something that you'd gotten used to in your time together. Always a hand at your shoulder, fingers ghosting against your hip, an arm slung lazily across your lap. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

It was fine at first, a comfort amidst the torturously long shift. His touches were soft, subtle, light, a welcome feeling.

Then, it escalates. He laughs at a particularly stupid joke from Thanos, too loud, too eager. It sounds fake. Whether it was due to the drugs or his desire to get into Thanos' good graces, you weren't sure. Either way, you don't have time to dwell on it before he's pulling you again, closer, until you're on his lap, his arms locking against your middle.

This, you conclude, was most definitely too much. You're quiet for a few moments as Nam-gyu's laughter winds down and Thanos turns to accept a joint from one of his lady-friends, a momentary calm falling over the room with the distraction.

You take the gap in conversation as an opportunity, fidgeting in your spot as you try to inch off of his lap. "Nam-gyu, can I get down?" you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes blank as a playful smile creeps onto his face, but there's a tinge of something else there.

"What?" He lets out a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows. His fingers ghost over your waist, your ribs, the slope of your neck. Then, he's tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ears, smiling at you like a lovesick fool. You balk at the attention. He wets his lips before biting down on them. Eyeing you with a sudden razor-sharp focus. His voice comes out even, "You bored of me all of a sudden?"

You stare at him, incredulous. "What is with you right now?" He's not normally like this—touchy, yes, but not this... animated.

Nam-gyu just chews on his cheek, thinking for a moment before ultimately choosing to ignore your question. He pulls you closer until you're flush against his chest, your face burning red with embarrassment as he continues to hold you, his touch skimming dangerously close to indecency. You turn to the side, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. At least he was warm, a silver lining.

Across the table, Nam-gyu locks eyes with his coworker, a silent battle still simmering in the weight of their stares.

This—his performance—was for everyone to see.

For him to see.

It wasn't even about you anymore. Just Nam-gyu's pride, his desire to win, even when no one else was playing the game.

A small misunderstanding, of which an apology had already been issued, it's fairly easy to let go, but Nam-gyu was never a fan of 'easy'.

The night pushes on, as does he. He whispers things you'd deem not very appropriate for company, much closer than necessary as he breathes against your neck, lips skimming the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. You mumble back a response, his fingers toying with the strap of your dress.

His behavior finally comes to a head a few moments later. Everyone at the table is chilled out, seemingly in a haze, likely from the weed and whatever else was spread out on the table. You wonder if it was finally about time for you to shove Nam-gyu in the car and go home.

Then, his hand is on your chin, guiding you to look up at him and fixing you with a stare that lasts a few beats too long, and then he's leaning down, closer, too close, pressing a kiss to your lips that he tries to deepen. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and entirely unlike him. You quickly break the contact, not giving him the opportunity to up the intensity. Not in front of all these people.

Thanos whistles from his seat, long and drawn out. It makes you want to melt into the couch.

Your face is red as you stand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say, voice coming out in a flurry as you turn away from him.

Behind you, he meets eyes with his coworker for the last time that night, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

He picks up the jacket that you'd left on the couch, throwing it over his shoulder before tossing a lazy 'goodbye' over his shoulders as he follows you. The performance was over.

The silence on the car ride home is suffocating, the engine humming beneath the tension. The energy shift is palpable—one second he was all over you, whispering into your ear and raking his fingers over every expanse of exposed skin, and then, nothing.

Nam-gyu had sobered up enough to drive, thankfully, because you were in no mood to do so. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning out the window. His posture is lazy, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread out in a way that appears casual, but the way his jaw is set, the tension in his knuckles where he grips the steering wheel, the effort he expends to not meet the stare you're boring into the side of his head—it all betrays him, how he really feels.

His lips are set into a thin, irritated line as he drives. His eyes flick to the radio, and his hand leaves the steering wheel for a moment as he turns it on, upbeat pop music filling the car but doing little to mask the fact that he was simmering, barely keeping his temper in check.

You ran out of patience from waiting for him to speak first. "So. You done being weird now?"

Nothing.

"Nam-gyu."

Still nothing.

You let out a small huff that trails off into a laugh. "Wow. So you can run your mouth all night, but now all of a sudden you're quiet?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel at that, his pointer finger twitching as he taps against it, the subtle clinking of his ring against the wheel queueing you in to how close you were to getting a reaction.

You roll your eyes. "You're such a fucking child, sometimes. You know that?"

"Shut up."

Your eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he hisses, eyes narrowing as his grip on the wheel tightens, "shut up." There's something in his voice that makes you listen. It's low, firm, clipped in a way that tells you he's barely keeping himself from snapping.

You study him, taking note of the way he bites at his lip, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard, and the way his hand flexes against its resting spot by the window.

You huff, turning to face the window and mirroring his posture.

Fine.

Soon, he's shifting the car into park, but he doesn't move. Doesn't turn off the engine.

Just sits there.

You don't turn around to face him. He doesn't ask you to, either.

The low rumble is the only sound between the two of you.

You didn't want to be the first one out of the car, and clearly, he didn't want to be either. It was like you two were in a standoff—a childish, petty standoff.

The silence is pointed, buzzing under the weight of all the things you weren't saying to each other. He lets out a sharp exhale, and you feel his stare on the back of his head. You refuse to turn around, refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You feel it, the way he's sitting there waiting for you to break the silence, as if this was somehow your fault and it was your responsibility to rectify it—waiting for you to sigh and grab his hand or say something snarky to give him an excuse to argue with you. It doesn't come.

He's the first to break, clearly tired from his shift, not to mention hungry for something to put in his body other than drugs ands cheap beer. He lets out a scoff before finally shifting the key in the ignition, shutting off the comforting thrum of the engine. He throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he fishes the apartment keys out of his pocket, not sparing you a glance as he walks towards the building.

You roll your eyes as you follow him, not like you had much choice.

The apartment is dim when you step inside, the only light coming from the fridge where Nam-gyu is standing, his body haloed in white as he pulls out a few snacks.

You flick on the light, ruining the dramatic environment he was building. You hang up your jacket and kick off your shoes, shutting the door behind you with a click as you fix him with a stare.

He turns, popping a few bites of something in his mouth before he leans against the counter, not meeting your eyes and instead staring at the wall across from him as if it had somehow become the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion swirling inside you. In all honesty, you just want to go the fuck to sleep.

"Nam-gyu."

Nothing.

Fuck, you hated this. Hated when he clammed up and backed himself into a corner, turning his nose up at you and forcing you to drag the issue out of him like you were pulling teeth, like he was a damn child. Because why would he ever just tell you what the problem was so you two could talk it out? That'd be way too easy for the both of you.

You drag a hand down your face, pushing past him and moving towards the bedroom, your patience running extremely, extremely thin.

"Jesus, you're exhausting."

His lip twitches at that. "What, running away again?" he says, voice indignant as he steps in front of you, cutting you off.

"Ohhh." You throw your hands up at him, a mocking smirk on your face. "Now you wanna talk."

He closes in on you, so close that you can smell the smoke and chemicals still clinging to his clothes. He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just presses his lips into a tight, thin line, his expression laced with irritation.

You roll your eyes at the silence. He has no room to talk, and you know it. He knows it too, clear in the way he won't open his mouth.

"If you're gonna throw a temper tantrum every time a guy speaks to me, go ahead. Just leave me out of it." You step back from him, finding your way to the couch. If he wants to act like a dick, fine. Let him.

"I threw a tantrum?" he says, voice laced with something icy as his jaw ticks.

"Yes, Nam-gyu," you say, voice going high as if you were speaking to a child, "a whole fucking scene, actually."

He watches you with silent anger as you fluff up the couch pillows.

You hear a snort behind you. "Oh, sleeping on the couch, huh? Cute."

"Better than sleeping next to you right now."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want."

He stomps into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stare down at your lap, brows furrowed in anger as you gave yourself a moment to calm down. Then, it dawned on you that you were still in the dress you'd worn to the club with makeup still on your face, the only change of clothes being in the room now occupied by your angry boyfriend.

Dammit. You lay against the couch. It's too lumpy. Too cold, without your thick blanket and Nam-gyu's shared body heat. The dress is tight against your skin.

Still, you lay there for a good ten minutes, refusing to fold.

When your efforts to wait him out prove to be fruitless, you let your eyes flutter shut with a sigh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but knowing that there was no way you were going to get a good night's sleep out here.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and shuffle quietly to the bedroom door. You linger there for a moment, steeling yourself.

Behind the door, Nam-gyu is laying in bed, clad in only his boxers as he stares up at the ceiling in the dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he drums his fingers anxiously, angrily, against his skin. His work clothes sat in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket, taken off and dumped in a flurry as he waited for you, refusing to get ready for bed before you cut the act and gave in, like you always did. He knew you'd kill him if you found out he'd laid on the bed with outside clothes.

He reaches over to his phone on the night stand, quickly clicking it on before shutting it off again.

Ten minutes. Fuck. How long were you gonna keep this up for?

His body twitches in reluctant defeat, and he's about to get up, swallow his pride to scoop you up from the couch and drag you into bed so he could get some goddamn sleep—but the sound of the door creaking open saves him. He swallows, body going still against the bed as you step inside.

A wave of relief washes through him, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath since the two of you had stepped foot in the car. He quickly recovers, though, a smug expression replacing his initial relief, hiding the fact that he was waiting for you.

You slink across the floor, refusing to make eye contact with him as you push the closet open and search for your pajamas.

"Oh, look who it is," he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Miss me already, huh?"

You don't respond, eyes narrowing as you stack your clothes in a pile next to you. After gathering everything, you stand up and make your way towards the door without shooting him a glance.

You pause, curling your lip as the smell of the nightclub reaches your nose.

"You stink. At least have the decency to shower after the club before you roll around in our bed."

His expression sours behind you as you make your way out.

You shower quickly, half convinced if you took too long that Nam-gyu was going to bust in and try to argue with you again. You dry your hair, pull on your pajamas, and brush your teeth. When you open the door, he's there, sitting on the couch in his boxers. He doesn't look at you as he gets up, nudging you with his shoulder as he makes his way inside.

"Took you long enough," he scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

His shower is quick, rushed. When the door to the bathroom opens, all the steam escapes. He stands in the doorway with his towel clinging loosely to his hips, hair dripping as he shuts the door behind him, his skin pink from the scorching water.

You quickly still on the couch, shutting your eyes as you pretend to be asleep, trying to play it off like you weren't listening intently, waiting for his shower to be over. Waiting for him to crack so you didn't have to actually spend your night on the damn couch.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, squinting as he zeros in the outline of your body. Then, you hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way over, the sliver of light pouring in from the bathroom being his only guide as he towers over you.

"I know your ass isn't asleep," he says, eyes narrowing as he crouches down next to your face.

You don't react. He wets his lips, mind reeling, searching for his next move.

Then, his hands are gently resting on your side. You swallow, holding your breath in anticipation. The heat of his skin prickles against you, still steamy from his shower, the damp scent of his shampoo filling the space between you.

And then—his fingers press into your sides, and he's tickling you.

You yelp, eyes flying open and body jerking violently as his fingers dig into your ribs, mapping over every ticklish spot on your body that he'd come to know in the time you two had been together.

"N-Nam-gyu!" you try to yell at him, but it trails off into shaky laughter, his touch relentless.

You can't hold it in, after all, who could? And then you're a red, laughing mess beneath him, your hands coming out from where they were pillowing your head a few moments prior, trying-- and failing, to get him off of you.

You try to twist away from him, but he follows, grinning now.

"Oh?" he says, his voice mockingly sweet, "I thought you were asleep?"

He clambers on top of you, water dripping from his hair and onto your dry, warm pajamas. You want to yell at him for not drying off completely before he came out, but you can't get it out between your laughter.

He's laughing now, too, his grin growing wider, and this time, there's no venom there, no smug satisfaction, no anger. It's just him and you. Giggling in the almost-darkness on your lumpy couch in your small apartment, tucked away in your own little pocket of the world.

"You—asshole!" But you can't stop laughing, grinning so hard it hurts, despite how badly you wanted to be mad at him. "I hate you!"

He shakes his head, eyes not leaving you for a second. "No, you don't." He smirks, pressing one last ticklish squeeze in your side, before relenting and taking a seat at your legs.

You're breathless, gasping and heart racing, still half-trapped beneath him.

He stares at you for a moment. His grin softens. Yours does, too.

He knows he'd been an asshole this whole night. Knew it before and after the drugs had worn off.

And though he still doesn't say it—I'm sorry—as if his body won't allow him to say it—he leans forward, hair still dripping onto your face, and he nudges his forehead against yours. Just once.

You let out a shaky, exasperated breath, finally able to compose yourself.

Your hand goes up to rest on his bare shoulder, a beat passes, and then you're tugging him gently down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," you say, shutting your eye as a droplet narrowly misses it, "are the biggest fucking baby alive."

He grunts.

You laugh, amused. In that moment, you know you'd won.

"Jealous little freak."

That earns you a huff.

The two of you sit there for a while, coming down from the moment. Once you can no longer stand the water dripping onto you, you shove him off.

"Hurry up and get ready for bed. I'm tired."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face as you push past him and collapse onto the bed.

Soon, he flops down next to you, the bed shifting under his added weight.

Silence.

He turns his head. A beat.

"So. You wanna fuck? Or..."

You exhale sharply through your nose in lieu of a response, rolling over to curl into his chest.

You press a kiss to his jaw as he drapes a hand across your waist, your voice sweet and laced with sleep as you lean into him, breath brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Go the hell to sleep."

He snorts, and soon, you're both drifting off into your own worlds.

---

The third time, it's not petty, not over a bout of jealousy.

It starts over money.

Of course it does. It always does.

You stand over him, trying to rub away the tension in your temples as he scrolls through his phone, ignoring you like he has all the time in the world.

"Seriously? You spent how much?" Your face is hot. "Are the drugs that good? They have to be, with how much money you throw away over them!"

Nam-gyu doesn't even look up at you. He's slouched, legs spread against the couch as he scoffs. "Why the fuck do you care?"

Your eyes widen. "Why do I— Nam-gyu, are you actually serious right now?"

He exhales sharply, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, as if this wasn't an extremely important and serious conversation. The sight makes your blood boil. He shuts off his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table with a clack.

"Look. I made the money—so I spent the money." He looks up at you then, his expression screaming that he'd rather be anywhere ot her than here. "I don't think it's that hard to understand."

"Yeah? With what fucking rent money, genius?" you spit back, your pulse quickening at his condescending tone.

He narrows his eyes at you, jaw flexing. Dangerous. "I said." He stands, looking down at you now. "I'll handle it." He presses two fingers to your chest, shoving you back lightly, a warning. "Now can you get the fuck off my back?"

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Really? When? Before or after the landlord's knocking on our door?" Your voice rises, the anger bubbling in your chest, getting ready to spill over. "Fuck, Nam-gyu! You always do this! Blow through your money—our money—like it's nothing and then act like I'm the problem for calling you out on it!"

"Oh yeah?" he says, stepping closer. His neck is tense. "And you do what? SIt there and bitch at me like you're my fucking mother?"

The words sting, but you don't back down. You open your mouth to fire back, but he's already speaking, practically yelling now.

"I was working. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Working?" You bark out a laugh, mocking, incredulous. "That's what you call working? Getting fucked up and blowing your money on drugs for people that won't even remember your damn name?"

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he bites his lip. You're sure he's about to explode. It doesn't scare you.

"It's my job!" he yells, lips curling into a sneer. "What, you think you're an expert on my job now?"

"Your job is to promote the club, not snort half the fucking inventory!"

His face darkens, and something ugly twists in his features. You can't deny the way your hands shake at your sides.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," you spit back.

The air shifts, the silence hanging between you two heavy and suffocating.

He shakes his head, looking off to the side like you were being ridiculous as he runs a hand through his hair. "You love doing this shit, don't you? Acting like you're so much better than me, like you've got everything figured out." He juts his chin out at you. "I bet you were just waiting for a reason to fucking lecture me again, huh?"

"Oh my god, Nam-gyu, this isn't about me. This is about your reckless spending habits—"

"And there it is! It's always my fault, isn't it? I'm always the villain, the big, bad piece of shit ruining your life. A screw-up that you have to fix." He smirks. "Go ahead. Call me a screw-up. I know you fucking want to."

You groan. "Do you hear yourself right now? I've never called you a screw-up! That's all in your head."

"Oh, yeah, but you sure as hell think it," he sneers, taking a step towards you. You don't move, determined to stand your ground. "You're always talking down to me like I'm an idiot. Like i'm just some loser that you have to babysit, because you're such a saint for putting up with someone like me." His eyes flash with anger. "You just wanna control me."

"Oh?" you huff, eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is about? Your ego?" Nam-gyu's jaw flexes at that, daring you to continue. "I don't wanna control you, Nam-gyu! I want to build a life with you! But you just keep sabatoging yourself—blowing through our savings on useless shit and poisoning your body while I try to save you!"

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound. "I knew it!" He turns around and walks away from you, hands going up to tug at his hair as he paces across the floor. "You're just like every other bitch I've ever met. Always running your fucking mouth—acting like you know better. Acting like I need to be saved."

Your anger comes to a head, simmering and simmering until it was at the edge, just about ready to boil over. You step forward, cutting him off. "Maybe because you fucking do!"

He pauses, his face going blank as he stares at you. For a second—just a second—he looks wounded. Like you'd slapped him.

Then— "Oh, fuck off." He spits the words out like it's poison, hands falling from their place in his hair and leaving it a tousled mess. "You wanna 'save' me? What are you, my fucking mother?" His fingers twitch at his side. Then he scoffs, shaking his head at you, and a bitter smile stretches across his face. "No. You're not like my mom. You're worse. At least she knew when to shut the fuck up."

That did it.

Your anger boils over finally, coursing through every vein and artery until your body moves faster than you can think.

You slap him.

The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot.

He stumbles back, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. He says nothing as he brings a hand up to his cheek, fingers pressing against the red mark blooming against his cheek. He's quiet for a moment.

Then: a laugh. Sharp and cold, slashing through the silence.

"Oh. Hah. There she is." He grins, but his eyes are wild. "The real you. The one who pretends to be so mature and understanding, but the second I hit a nerve, you turn into a hysterical, emotional bitch."

Your heart is slamming against your ribs now, and there's something hot pushing behind your eyes.

"I hate you." Your voice was shaking.

He doesn't flinch, just stands there, staring at you, but his fingers twitch, something cold taking form in his chest like a stone.

"Good." His voice is low, cold. Fake. "Then why the fuck are you still here?"

Something inside you snaps. Because underneath all the anger, you can hear what he's really saying.

Why haven't you left me yet?

But you're too furious to give him the reassurance you know he desperately wants—the reassurance he's waiting for with bated breath and clenched fists.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

You push past him, throwing the door open to the bedroom, one hand grabbing frantically at your clothes, the other clumsily fishing in your pocket for your phone. He follows you, suddenly silent.

You hear his breathing from the doorway. Heavy. Unsteady. Panicked. You pretend not to notice.

You dial your best friend, quickly bringing it up to your ear to hide the screen from Nam-gyu, hands trembling with anger.

"Hey," you say as soon as your friend picks up, voice shaking, "can you come get me?"

Nam-gyu's blood runs cold, something icy snaking through him and squeezing his chest like a vice.

Despite it all, he still finds a way to be an ass, another sharp laugh clawing its way out of his throat. "You're serious? That's all it takes?" He steps forward, his indifference betrayed by his breathing, fast and raggedy. "What, been waiting for an opportunity to finally be rid of me, you whore?"

You turn to face him, your hands going still as you lock eyes with him, eyes burning.

"You don't mean that." Your voice comes out so, so small.

Nam-gyu's breath stutters, disarmed by the way you're looking at him.

You see his face rewind before you, and for a second, he's the boy you met back in university. Vulnerable, unsure, timid, scared—and you saw it. A flicker of panic and regret across his face, knowing he'd pushed it the slightest bit too far. Knowing you were at the edge. It was up to him to pull you back.

And for a second, you really believe it. That he will.

But then—

Ego.

His pride.

His biggest fucking downfall.

"Nah," he scoffs, looking away as he feigns indifference. "I meant every word."

Your stomach twists. You grab your bag and pull yourself to your feet. You won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe and forcing you to watch his back while his face goes slack, teeth grit behind his lips as he holds his breath. "So. Are you leaving, or not?"

You push past him, bag in hand as you make your way to the door. He follows you, watching as you pull on your coat. He doesn't reach for you, doesn't stop you. His expression doesn't change, but the way his throat bobs—the way his hands shake despite his best efforts to hide them in his pockets—it tells you everything.

And this time, you don't have it in you to read between the lines, to decipher the stupid act he's putting up. All because he can't be an adult and say what he really means.

You grab your bag from the floor, a ding popping up on your phone: a text from your friend saying that she was outside.

Your hand is resting on the door knob, twisting, when his voice comes out—low, cracking.

"You're really gonna do this?"

You don't look at him. Just push through and slam the door shut.

He doesn't follow.

And just like that, Nam-gyu was alone. He lets out a shaky breath that he forgot he was holding, gripping at his sides like it would keep him from falling apart.

Suddenly, despite your absence, everything is much too loud. Louder than before. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the wiring in the walls. The padding of his footsteps against the hardwood as he threw himself onto the couch, his legs suddenly too shaky for him to stand.

"Whatever," he says to the oppressive silence. "She'll be back." His voice cracks, unsure. Like he doesn't even believe the words as he's saying them.

Tension crawls up his back, settling into his limbs like a concrete block. He sits there for longer than he should've, an invisible weight pushing down on his shoulders. He won't say it, but he's waiting for you.

You don't come back that night.

The next day passes by him in a blur, thick with alcohol and chemicals. He's in the bedroom, his phone on the floor next to him. He pushes his palms against his temples, quick gasps burning his lungs.

His fingers twitch, exhausted with the effort of keeping still, but he won't do it. He won't text you. Won't call you. He won't let himself. His heart pounds craters into his chest as he sucks in a deep, labored breath.

His own words from the day before echo in his head. He'd wanted to push you, break you down, make you feel as small as he did. And it worked.

And now?

Now you were gone.

It was fine. It was fine. He pulls himself to his feet, something icy creeping up his spine. Nothing some weed couldn't fix.

As he stumbles to his feet, he catches himself wishing that he'd been scheduled for work today. Something to distract him. The thought makes him laugh, hollow and flat.

His hands shake as he struggles with his lighter, trying and failing to get a flame. He curses, arms dropping to his sides as he leans against the couch. Fuck this.

He slides down the couch until he's spilling onto the floor in a heap. There's something hot and wet pushing behind his eyes now, betraying him as it finally falls. He swipes at his face, biting back the frail noises threatening to spill from his throat. He doesn't want to hear it. His hands make fists in the material of his shirt, and he hardens his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly as his mind short circuits.

It was fine.

You'd be back tonight. He was sure of it. He tries the lighter again, and this time, it catches.

You crash at your friend's place. She doesn't ask questions, and you don't offer answers. It wasn't like this was the first time you fled to her house after a fight with Nam-gyu had gone sour. Your friend's guest room was practically yours, at this point.

The bed is comfortable, warm, but it does nothing to calm the threads of anxiety twitching through your limbs. You grab your phone, checking for the fifth time to make sure that it wasn't on silent.

It wasn't, and as you thought, there was nothing new. No text, no call. You let out a puff of air and continue to pretend like you don't care.

A few moments later, you turn over, fumbling for another pillow in the darkness. You hold your breath, lip trembling as you squeeze it tight, biting back your tears. He didn't deserve it. To make you cry.

"Fucking asshole."

Unfortunately for you, he was right.

The next day, you do your best to stay away. Enjoy your friend's company. Calm the images of Nam-gyu's limp body flickering through your mind like a cruel recording on loop.

Then— "I'm sorry," you say, ducking your head at your friend. She pauses the movie the two of you are watching, and she doesn't startle, as if she already knows what you're going to say next. "Could you drive me home?" Your voice is sheepish, embarrassed, as you keep your eyes on the floor.

You can almost hear Nam-gyu's voice. 'How typical. Knew you'd come crawling back.'

Your friend just nods, keeping her thoughts on the matter to yourself. For that, you're thankful.

Soon, you're rounding the corner, fumbling with your keys before finally pushing past the door, betraying yourself yet again.

And he was there, right where you left him.

He’s half-slouched on the ground, his back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. He'd shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for himself. His limbs are outstretched on the floor, loose and lazy. Like a cat, you think. It would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances.

A joint burns low between his pointer finger and thumb, dangling dangerously close to the rug at the foot of the couch. He brings it to his lips and takes a long drag. A stray piece of ash falls from the end and burns black into the plush fabric. A permanent stain. A reminder.

The room reeks of weed, a cloud of smoke floating lazily around the ceiling in a slow-motion circuit. The smell curls in your lungs like the argument still lingering between you. You don’t even care.

He didn't look at you when the door opened. Not when the door shut. Not when you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve, quickly throwing the window open and ushering the hazy cloud outside as if it had the agency to listen.

He doesn’t blink when you come to a stop at his feet, your shadow falling over him like a blanket. He continues to stare up at the water stained ceiling, regarding it with a calm indifference, like a painting he couldn’t understand.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in every inch of his sorry state. He’s in the same clothes you last saw him in, shirt wrinkled and pants twisted low on his hips. His hair stuck out oddly like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are red and swollen, but you know it’s not just from the weed. He barely acknowleges you, save for a lazy flick of his eyes.

You kneel next to him and and press a palm to the warmth of his chest. His face is blank, even, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but his heartbeat betrays him, hammering beneath your fingers like it was trying to get out. A bird making panicked circles on the floor of an open cage.

He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s weak and tired, bordering on something desperate.

"You stink," you mutter.

Nam-gyu lets out a humorless snort. "Then leave." But he doesn't mean it, not really. His heart quickens beneath your fingers, no doubt scared that you actually might.

But you don't. Instead, you pluck the joint from his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

He blows smoke into your face. You don’t blink.

Your fist closes around the fabric of his shirt just above his heart, the soft cotton spilling out between the gaps of your fingers as you clamber on top of him.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t meet your eyes. You lean down, tilting your head forward so that your foreheads touch. Your hair falls from behind your shoulders, draping over the two of you in a gentle curtain.

The smell of weed is thick as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly before straying to the nape of his neck. His lips part weakly, as if he's going to say something snarky, something mean, to remind you of the other day.

Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear as you speak, voice barely above a whisper, “Just... Shut up, okay?” You press another kiss to the top of his forehead, pleading. Soon, your face finds its home in the crook of his neck. You breathe him in, the smell of his skin grounding you, still managing to reach you through the haze of smoke and chemicals. "Please."

And for the first time in a while, he listens.

Nam-gyu says nothing. Not when your fingers comb through his mess of hair. Not when you're tugging his limp body up, up, pushing him—stumbling and dazed—into the shower. Not when you're peeling off his clothes and yours, switching on the faucet and rubbing circles of soap onto the gentle slope of his back as the shower fills with steam.

He won't tell you how much he appreciates it. He won't tell you a lot of things.

He's quiet as he pulls on his pajamas and sinks into the bed like a stone. Relief washes through him as the bed shifts beneath your added weight. His shoulders ease up for the first time since you'd left, though he won't tell you that, either.

The next morning passes like any other. There is no sorry. No kisses pressed to your neck or hands looped around your waist. You weren't expecting it, anyways. You don't dwell on it. Not like you had the time, to. Instead, you roll out of bed, shake the sleep from your body, pull your work clothes on, and start your day.

Later that day, when your key clicks in the lock and your legs cross the threshold, the apartment smells different.

Not weed, not chemicals, not the lingering smell of smoke.

Your eyes trail across the apartment, taking note of everything. The counters are wiped down, the floors swept. Even the clutter that usually lingered around—his clothes, empty bottles, dirty dishes—gone.

You raise your eyebrows as you hang the jacket by the door.

You lean against the counter, unable to keep the look of pure surprise off of your face as you watch his back. Nam-gyu is cooking, a novelty from when you two first got together. Before he'd sunk deeper into his drug habit.

"What's this?"

He doesn't look at you. "Food."

"Wow," you press, testing. He looks at you over his shoulder before turning back to the pot on the stove. "You? Cooking?" You lean in closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Am I dreaming right now?"

He shrugs, stirring the pot. "You always bitch about me eating. So I'm eating."

You purse your lips, deciding not to comment on his wording.

You can't remember the last time he'd cooked. It was always you. Or takeout. Or you reminding him to eat, that drugs and alcohol weren't enough to make up a healthy diet.

He flicks the stove off and grabs a plate from the cabinet, wordlessly spooning a scoop of freshly cooked rice onto the plate, still steaming. He shoves it into your hands before grabbing another plate for himself. He moves out of the way, gesturing at the pot like it'd inconvenienced him.

"It's still hot," he says blankly. His voice is tight, clipped, but you know it's just his way of masking his nerves. Tiptoeing around you like one wrong word might send you flying out the door again. "Now shut up and eat."

The food was delicous.

It tasted like nostalgia, bringing you back to the early days where he'd always cook for you, butterflies blooming in your stomach as your legs bumped against each other under the table, flirting under the warm kitchen light.

Back when his job was just a job. A 'for now'. Before it tangled and spiraled with his being, melting into him until you weren't sure where it ended and he began, the fuel for his fire, stoking his addictions and anger and insecurities until it grew big and ugly and distorted.

The thought made your chest tighten a bit, so you push it out of your mind, hands readjusting in your lap as you refocus on the movie playing in front of you.

The two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering dimly across the walls.

Nam-gyu is beside you, sprawled as usual, his legs spread wide and taking up an offensive amount of space. His fingers drum absentmindedly against his knee, his other hand fidgeting with his ring. He hasn't reached for you all night, but every now and then, you feel his eyes flick toward you.

Like he was waiting.

And then, without a word, he pushes something into your lap.

You startle a bit at the sudden movement. You look down, and your mouth falls open.

A plushie. It's a chubby, white bunny. Soft and cute.

You wonder when he went to the store. You picture him walking up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves and chewing his lip nervously as he decides what to get you. You imagine him checking out, slamming the plushie down on the counter before roughly tapping his card.

Then, you notice the small, black box sitting on its tummy. You almost didn't notice it, blinking down at it in shock.

You pick it up, face incredulous as you turn to him.

"You bought me something?" you say, breathless, as you turn it over in your hands.

He doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes trained on the screen. His leg bounces restlessly, both hands fidgeting with their respective rings.

You sigh, and it's soft, so soft, as something wells up in your chest. "Nam-gyuuu..." you start, leaning towards him.

"Just shut up and take it," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you. "Or don't. I don't care."

You stare at him for a long moment. His ears are pink, just barely hidden behind his long, black hair.

You decide to give him a break and open the box. Inside is a silver chain, dainty, shiny, and exactly your style. It's also real. You lift it out with a gasp.

Nam-gyu doesn't turn his head, but his eyes flick to you for a moment, taking in your reaction. Something in him unclenches.

The pendant hanging off of it is small, but it's beautiful, sturdy. You let it fall against your palm, the silver catching the dim light from the television as you inspect it. It's a star.

You pout, eyes going wide and glossy as you turn to look at him. He exhales sharply. Then, you notice something else in the box, a baggie tucked away in the corner of the velvet lining. You hold it up to the light, trying to see what it is.

It's another star, just as dainty as yours, except somehow smaller.

"Is this an extra one in case I lose mine?" you ask, genuinely curious.

The moment he sees what you're holding, his whole body tenses. His knee stops bouncing, and his fingers freeze. Then, without hesitation, he snatches the bag from your grasp.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving it deep in his pocket.

You blink. "Did you—" your voice trails off, realization dawning on you. Your heartbeat picks up. "You bought a matching charm?"

Nam-gyu glares at the TV like it'd personally offended him. "Oh my god. I said it's nothing."

You stare at him stunned. He was never the type to do this—sweet, thoughtful things. No, that was too corny for him. And yet he had. He'd gotten two of the same pendant. One for you, and one for himself.

Maybe to add to his own chain. Maybe to turn into a charm for his keyring.

Either way, it meant something. And you knew it.

"Nam-gyuuu," you press, all discretion gone as you cuddled up to his side. You watch his jaw clench as you rub his side, all smiley and starry-eyed. "You wanted us to match?"

"Okay. Shut up." He's tensing up, leaning away from you as he leans into the armrest, but you know for sure that it's all an act now. The plushie at your side and the necklace gleaming on the coffee table was enough proof of that.

But you can't. You can't stop staring at him, at the way his fingers dig into his knee like he's resisting the urge to snatch the whole damn box back from you. He's sulking like a kid caught red-handed.

Your grin widens, head going loopy with love. "Ohhh my goodness," you say, voice dripping with amusement, "you're so cute, Nam-gyu."

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he finally makes eye contact with you, but there's a color to his face that wasn't there earlier. "Don't start."

But you do start. You lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. "You wanted us to have matching charms? So that even when we're apart, we'll always have a little piece of each other?"

Nam-gyu gorans, tipping his head back against the couch. "Shut the fuck up." But there's no venom in it, not even a drop. Something tells you he might even be enjoying this, in his own way.

"It's like a promise, isn't it?" You sigh dreamily, pushing through the excitement in your chest, but also because you can't help but relish the way he squirms under the attention. "A silent vow that no matter where we go, we'll always be connected. Like two stars floating through space, spinning in a galactic embrace of eternal love—"

"I'm gonna kill myself," he mutters, rubbing his temples. The movie drones on in the background, completely ignored.

You laugh, finally letting up as you nudge him with your shoulder. "You're so romantic," you coo. "Who knew you had such a soft heart under that shitty attitude of yours?"

"I will throw you out that fucking window," he threatens, but it's weak. His ears are red, so red, and he won't meet your gaze.

You let the moment linger, then tilt your head, lowering your voice to something softer. "Thank you," you say, genuine this time. "I love it."

Nam-gyu scoffs, but his knee starts bouncing again. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

But later that night, when you finally slip the necklace on, the bunny plushie sitting gingerly in your lap, you catch him staring.

When you lay down next to Nam-gyu, there's something between you two. Something charged, electric. You don't say anything, but you know it's coming.

When his hand drifts over to you, lingers on your waist, you let it.

Then he's on top of you. His weight presses you into the bed, and you stare back up at him. His touch is soft, gentle, as he brushes the hair away from your face, from your neck. The necklace he bought you is cool against your skin. He stares at it again, touching it gingerly and turning it over in his fingers.

Your breath catches, and then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. It's gentle, soft.

It's not like him at all.

That night, it's like a race. Except there’s only one pedestal, and it's a spot reserved just for you. So he's grunting, biting down on his lip as he presses his fingers into the dip of your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the finish line. There’s a ghost of his breath on your neck, a graze of teeth at your collar bone, something sickeningly sweet in your ears— something you likely wouldn't be hearing tomorrow.

Then, you reach the edge, and he’s staring in your eyes, gripping your chin so you can’t look away. He dips low and smashes his lips onto yours. The ribbon snaps, and you tip over, breath being ripped from your lungs as you gasp, sighing his name like it's a prayer.

It's been a couple minutes since he'd rolled over, your skin still slick with sweat as you continue to catch your breath, heart drumming steadily beneath your skin.

His hand is heavy on your waist, his breathing steady. He was practically half-asleep already once he'd finished.

"Fine," you breathe into the silence, eyelids growing heavy as you swallow. You push your hair out of your face and roll over to cuddle into his side. Defeat. "I forgive you."

Nam-gyu, even in his exhausted state, smirks weakly in the dark. He slowly turns to press his face into you, rubbing slow, possessive circles into your skin.

He feigns ignorance as he smiles against your hair, because accepting your forgiveness would be an admission of guilt, and he couldn't— wouldn't do that.

"For what?"

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: omggg i had so much fun writing this! obviously, a lot of this is my interpretation / speculation of how he'd act 'normally', so when he's not crazy hopped up on drugs and locked up in a life or death situation, but hopefully it's somewhat believable. i'm like rushing to get all my writing out before season 3 potentially crushes all my hopes and dreams and imagination and/or my motivation leaaves me haha. although school's still been kicking my ass, as always please feel free to send me any thoughts / suggestions in my inbox <3 i'm in this shit for the long haul, y'all.

#nam gyu x reader #namgyu x reader #nam-gyu x reader #player 124 x reader #squid game #divider c: strangergraphics #lilyposting #my fic #nam gyu #namgyu #nam-gyu #player 124

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hoe4hotchner · 6 months ago

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A night to remember

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader (x BAU)

Words: 1k

Warnings: Alcohol

A/N: Brain was not braining while writing this, so it’s a little all over. I like it though 💕

The team had just wrapped up a particularly nerve-wracking and challenging case, and with work finally behind them for the next day or two, Morgan and Prentiss had suggested a night out before flying back to Quantico to regroup for their next case. The local bar was surprisingly lively, a cozy spot with exposed brick and upbeat music.

The team arrived in high spirits. Morgan and Prentiss were especially excited finally having gotten Hotch to agree to let the team go out. They quickly took charge, persuading the bartender to mix up a round of colorful, strong cocktails. The drinks arrived, each one a vibrant concoction that pledged to a good time.

Morgan slid a drink toward you with a grin. “Here’s our special celebration cocktail. You’re going to love it.”. You looked at the drink with hesitation, not used to drinking as much as some of your more seasoned colleagues. Your college years had been spent focusing on studies, not on parties.

Emily leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, relax and enjoy. We’re here to make sure you have an unforgettable night before Mr. Suit and Tie over here cracks the whip again.”

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere became even more lively. The drinks flowed down your throat, and your demeanor shifted to an intoxicated happiness. Morgan and Prentiss ensured that you never had an empty glass, continuously encouraging you to try different cocktails, mixers, and liquors. The infectious energy around you loosened your usual restraint, and soon you were laughing more freely, even joining JJ and Spencer on the dance floor.

Meanwhile, Rossi and Hotch had stepped outside for a break, enjoying the cool night air and some quiet conversation away from the bar’s chaos. They leaned against the wall, discussing the case and catching up on personal matters. Hotch, ever the responsible one, was still keeping an eye on his team through the windows.

Morgan and Prentiss, never ones to miss an opportunity for a bit of fun, decided it was time to focus on their favorite target once again: You. They had noticed that you were incredibly lightweight when it came to drinking, and they were determined to make sure this would be your most memorable evening out with the team.

Morgan nudged at your side with a playful grin. “Alright, time for another round. You’re doing great!”

Emily joined in with a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ve got a plan. You’re going to have the best night ever. Just keep enjoying yourself.” You didn’t catch the mischievous glint in their eyes.

As the evening wore on, the booth gradually emptied, leaving you somewhat slumped over, your mind a foggy haze. Reid had joined Rossi outside, while Morgan and Emily had pulled JJ back to the dance floor for the night’s final songs. Glancing around, you noticed how the booth seemed emptier than before, leaving you confused and disoriented.

As the evening progressed, the booth you all shared became empty. You were sitting somewhat slumped over as your mind felt foggy. Reid had joined Rossi outside. Morgan and Emily had joined JJ on the dance floor as the last few songs were being played for the night. You glanced around, noticing that the booth seemed emptier than before. Not knowing where the others were.

“They left without me,” You said loudly, wobbling out of the booth. “They do this every time! Why? Doesn’t anyone love me?” The dramatic outburst drew amused glances from the few people left in the bar. The scene was more humorous than distressing, with your exaggerated tone providing a bit of comic relief.

Hotch, noticed the shift in your mood and decided it was time to step in. He quickly finished closing the team's tab before he approached with a gentle hand on your arm. “Hey, let’s get you out of here,” he said calmly. Trying not to startle you.

As they made their way to the exit, you almost stepped in a puddle of vomit left by a large, bulky man who had just finished throwing up on the sidewalk. You recoiled, exclaiming, “Eww, SICK! Hey! Wide body, curb it next time!”

Hotch quickly covered your mouth to stifle any further comments as he turned to the man with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about that,” he nods before guiding you away from the scene.

Back at the hotel, Hotch helped you into your room. The rest of the agents already having retreated into theirs. As soon as you walked in, you began looking pale and became unsteady on your feet. “I don’t feel so good,” you said, clutching your stomach.

Before Hotch could respond, you hurried to the bathroom, the sound of retching following shortly after. Hotch’s concern grew. He knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Hey, are you alright in there?”

“Yeah, just reallyyyy sick. I think I had too much to drink.” You slurred, your head bobbing a little to the side.

Hotch stayed just outside the door, ready to kick it down to help if needed. After a few minutes, you emerged, looking slightly better but still pale. Hotch helped you to bed, making sure you were alright one last time before leaving you to rest.

The next morning, the team gathered at the airport to head back to Quantico. You looked exhausted and pale, clearly not having slept very well and still feeling the effects of Morgan and Emily's overindulgence. Your head was spinning. They couldn’t resist teasing you about it.

“Hey, baby face,” Morgan said with a grin, “looks like someone had a rough night. I guess the drinks were a bit too much?” You stuck your tongue out at him, clearly annoyed with how cheerful he was.

“Yeah, you might need to work on your drinking skills. You were quite a scene last night!” Emily joined.

You managed a weak smile and rolled your eyes. “Very funny, you two. I’ll stick to water next time. Thanks.”

“How are you feeling today?” Hotch asked, concern evident in his voice. He had been watching the exchange with a sympathetic look.

“Better,” You replied.

Hotch handed you a bottle of water. “Here, drink this. Let’s get you through the flight and back in one piece.”

On the plane ride back to Quantico, you tried to rest, still feeling the effects of the night before.

Consider linking or reblogging if you enjoy my work

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224bbaker · 2 months ago

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So, hypothetically speaking, if someone had never been interested in Sherlock Holmes before but wanted to get into it because of Fawx & Stallion... Where should they start?

Oh my GOD, anon, so upset we didn't see this until now because what a great question and also, our show inspiring someone to go check out Sherlock Holmes?? Deeply upsetting for our characters but SO exciting for us!

Hopefully since you sent this you've just dived in to the stories--because, honestly, that's how both of our writers got into them as kids, and also because despite what roughly 40 contradicting scholars will try to tell you, the timeline is nonsense and Watson's continuity doesn't make sense (we have made our own peace with this and addressed it in-universe because we didn't want to go on deep-dives to decide what puns we were allowed to use for the place we're at in the timeline it's fine, we're fine).

However, just a quick sidebar before we jump into The Stories--if you would rather start with an adaptation than the original ACD stories themselves, there are two options we'd recommend as starting points that are pretty true to canon while remaining engaging in and of themselves:

The Granada TV series with Jeremy Brett and David Burke/Edward Hardwicke: It rules, and most of it's on YouTube! Highly recommend their Solitary Cyclist, Speckled Band, Scandal in Bohemia, and Blue Carbuncle (we may be biased towards the early, David-Burke-Watson entries). These actors and sets are what we picture when we read Holmes.

For an audio adaptation, the 1989 Bert Coules radio adaptation, which you can get for a single credit on Audible in full and has basically the whole canon! Incredible dramatization work that preserves the stories and really deepens the character work in a way that we're obsessed with. Big fans!

If you're liking the vibe of these, you'll probably like the stories themselves! In which case, there are also awesome online book clubs like Letters from Watson that have great communities here on Tumblr (just peruse the tag, it's super fun!), and also over on Discord.

SO. If you're still here and looking for our direction on the stories:

If you just want to start with what is/will be relevant to Fawx & Stallion, we recommend:

Our goal is that our audience doesn't NEED to have read any Sherlock Holmes to understand anything in F&S. We'll hopefully lay things out or give context clues. However, we do have little jokes for the fans, and in season 2, some subtext may be a bit clearer, or have a bit more weight, if you've read some of the stories.

A Study In Scarlet: I know, I know I know I know, Holmes fans, the Utah Mormon stuff, I get it, BUT. Holmes and Watson meet in this one, and it's incredible. The first few chapters of them meeting, starting to live together, going from roommates with a mutual fascination to, through Watson's unintentional insult of Holmes's writing and a fateful invitation to a crime scene, actual friends, are electric. It's a crime (pun intended) that we have so few dramatizations of this in the canon era (we're trying to fix that), we love it so so much. Sacrilege, but, wikipedia the stuff in the middle, enjoy the fantastic meet cute that bookends the thing.

Hound of the Baskervilles: Happening during the events of Fawx & Stallion season 1. I don't need to tell you this one is a banger, we all know this. Less Holmes content than you expect, but a GREAT setting, mood, and roster of suspects, and a thrilling, well-paced mystery with some great Watson.

The Final Problem: Occurs right before the events of season 2, and though you again don't need to have read it, some stuff might hit better if you have, particularly in the back half of the season. High recommend. On the same note, The Beryl Coronet is also mentioned a few times, which is the case right before this one.

Ok, with that out of the way, we highly recommend:

The "Jump Around To Whatever Short Story or Novel Sounds Cool" Approach

This is the move, in my opinion. As I've said before, the timelines are nonsense, you CAN try to get into the weeds of continuity as we have and there is delightful madness to that, but would I recommend it as an intro? No. They're short stories! They're serialized! Treat it like a TBS rerun series at 1 AM and just pick one that is on/sounds cool!

Now, if you want our PREFERENCE? There are different genres of Holmes mysteries, different types of mysteries for different preferences, but we're going to recommend one particular sub-genre of Holmes mysteries that we find particularly fun/unique: The "It's Not Necessarily A Crime Yet But the Vibes Are There" Mystery.

We love these. They're the best. Not depressing or gruesome off the bat, usually starting with some whimsy at Baker Street, these stories usually begin with a client coming to Holmes and the following interaction happens

CLIENT: Um, hi. Honestly it's pretty silly that i'm even here. It's probably just a Weird Thing, you probably don't-- HOLMES: No no no please tell me I love Weird Things. CLIENT: Ok. Well. My boss/guardian/brother/[insert-person-who-has-power-over-them] has been doing this Thing where he [insert extremely weird thing that again, is not a Crime, but the vibes are there]. It's kinda weird. HOLMES: Yeah, super fucking weird. CLIENT: I know! But it's not a crime, so I don't know, you're probably not interested, I'm just a [not rich not male not high class not privileged identity] so there's really no point in checking that out-- HOLMES: No girl (gn), we are DEFINITELY checking that shit out there's a crime in there somewhere and we're gonna find it!

And we're off! If this sounds interesting to you (and it SHOULD), check out: The Solitary Cyclist, The Red Headed League, The Copper Beeches, The Greek Interpreter, The Speckled Band, The Stockbroker's Clerk, The Musgrave Ritual, The Resident Patient, and honestly probably some others we're missing because it's REALLY common.

Other fun Holmes bangers:

Holmes overworks himself and Watson takes him to the country to rest, only to solve ANOTHER FUCKING MYSTERY: The Reigate Squires

The Christmas One!: The Blue Carbuncle

The Dancing Men: I don't have a fun little thing for this one it's just a banger and the Granada Adaptation rules!

The One Where Sherlock Holmes does NOT fall in love with Irene Adler but does get completely owned because 1) he thinks women don't get up early, and 2) he wanted to have a sleepover with Watson: A Scandal in Bohemia

There are a ton, and hopefully you'll find one that you like and just jump in!

#sherlock holmes #fawx & stallion #letters from watson #granada holmes #acd holmes #asks

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s-soulwriter · 4 months ago

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Writing Angsty Scenes Without Making Them Cringe

Alright, so we all love a good angsty moment, right? That scene where everything feels like it's falling apart, emotions are running high, and your character's world is just burning around them. But… writing those scenes without slipping into "oh no, not this again" territory? Yeah, it can be tricky.

Angst is powerful, no doubt, but it can get cringey fast if you’re not careful. So, how do you make your readers feel the hurt without rolling their eyes at the drama? Here are some thoughts (because we’ve all been there)

1. Keep It Real No one—and I mean no one—has perfectly poetic, life-altering thoughts while they’re in the middle of an emotional meltdown. If your character’s going through it, make sure their reactions feel raw, maybe even messy. Show us their confusion, anger, and fear in a way that makes sense for them. Don’t just throw in a monologue about the meaning of life or have them collapse in a rainstorm. (Unless it’s really necessary. Then, okay, fine, but be careful!)

2. The Little Details Hit Harder Sometimes, it’s the small, unexpected details that pack the biggest punch. Instead of a dramatic sobbing fit, maybe your character’s hands shake as they try to make a cup of tea or they notice a tiny crack in the wall that they never noticed before because they’re spiraling. It’s those little, relatable moments that make the angst feel real, not overdone.

3. Embrace the Quiet Moments It doesn’t always have to be yelling or crying to show that your character is struggling. Silence can be loud. Sometimes it’s the things unsaid that carry the most weight. Maybe your character withdraws, or they’re stuck staring at the ceiling for hours. A pause in the conversation, a long sigh, or a blank stare can be just as gut-wrenching as full-on breakdowns.

4. Avoid the Obvious Clichés (If You Can) Okay, this one’s a bit tricky. It’s not that you can’t ever have rain scenes or broken mirrors (I see you, “symbolism”), but if you’re gonna go there, give it a twist. Maybe instead of staring out a window during a storm, they’re in a brightly lit, overly cheerful room that just doesn’t match how they’re feeling. Play with contrasts. Make the environment work against their mood rather than mirroring it perfectly.

5. Let the Angst Breathe Don’t feel like you need to dump all the angst in one scene. Let it stretch out a bit. Give your characters space to process (or fail to process) over time. A lot of times, readers will feel more for a character who’s quietly unraveling over several chapters than one who explodes all at once. It makes the eventual breakdown hit harder when it does happen.

6. People Are Weird When They’re Hurting They joke at the wrong times. They say things they don’t mean. They shut people out, or they get way too clingy. Don’t be afraid to make your characters react in unexpected or contradictory ways—people do that when they’re feeling too much. Let your characters be complicated, because real people are.

7. Subtle Can Be Stronger Not every angsty scene needs a screaming match or someone running away dramatically. Sometimes, a single line of dialogue or a character’s slight change in expression can hit like a freight train. Try letting things simmer. Hold back when it feels like you should go big, and you might surprise yourself (and your readers) with how much more intense it feels.

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 3 months ago

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Bumping Into Them at a Halloween Party - Scarecrow and Riddler (x Reader)

Summary: Despite the recent major jailbreak from Gotham's Arkham Asylum, all of Gotham's usual drunken Halloween shenanigans seem to be in full swing. Some folks seem to be mocking the criminals at large, with almost half of all partygoers dressed up in their rendition of an infamous Gotham villain. Reluctantly dragged by your friend to one of the more hole-in-the-wall type parties in The Narrows, you expect another typical night of bad flirting that would lead nowhere and holding your friend’s hair back when she pukes. Little did you know you would manage to catch one of the rogues’ eyes when you bump into two of them in disguise.

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Edward Nashton (Riddler)

Pairings: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)/Female!Reader; Edward Nashton (Riddler)/Female!Reader

Word Count: Approx 1,000 per Character

Rating: T+ (Some talk of alcohol and partying and stuff but nothing mature & nothing explicit)

A/N: Of course, I was in the mood to write something Halloween-y tonight, and this came from that. Yes, I’m still working on the other asks as well as two more Kinktobers people suggested in my comments/messages.

Enter Fear (Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow)

Crane had originally planned on dressing up in his own Scarecrow costume to teach a lesson to any drunken imbecile stupid enough to try and impersonate him. Fortunately for the Gotham populace, Edward had made Crane promise not to blow their cover by torturing anyone with fear gas this evening. So instead, Jonathan opted for a more subtle look.

Seated at the bar and bored out of his mind, Jonathan chose to observe a couple in a booth further back. The clearly inebriated woman was dressed up like an angel, wearing those fuzzy cheap mini-wings and what amounted to a white bikini as she nuzzled up to a guy in jeans and a t-shirt that read ‘This is my costume’.

‘How typical,’ Jonathan thought.

“Three bucks she pukes in his lap before the next half-hour.”

Turning to his right, Jonathan came face to face with you, someone who, judging by your expression, was just as annoyed by this kind of scene as he was. He turned back to view the woman and man in the corner booth, pursing his lips as he did so before turning back to you.

“Five she passes out in the next ten.”

You smiled, showing off your teeth in a devilish grin before joining him at the bar.

“Deal.”

Jonathan sat silent, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you ordered a drink. Interestingly enough, on a night made for boozing and treats, you opted for a Cherry Coke. In his mind, Jonathan couldn’t help but run through the potential implications of your actions. Perhaps you were an alcoholic or an addict. Or maybe you were someone’s designated driver which meant you hadn't come here alone. Or perhaps, you were correctly worried that on a night like this, too many people would be looking to take advantage.

After thanking the bartender for your drink, you swiveled your bar-stool in Crane’s direction.

“So, just to recap. If I lose I owe five bucks, and if you lose, you owe five bucks and three Hail Marys,” you said, gesturing to the gentleman’s costume.

“Only three Hail Mary’s?”

“Well,” you took a sip of your drink and paused for dramatic effect, “Maybe one Our Fathers, ya know, just in case.”

Jonathan couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips. Despite his earlier assumptions, he found speaking with you wasn’t as tedious as he previously thought it’d be. Your company was oddly welcome, and the man known to the world as Scarecrow found himself loosening his typically uptight composure.

“I’m not a real Priest.” Crane avouched somewhat sharply, finishing what was left of his scotch in a single harsh swallow.

“Wow. You know that’s a shame because I am actually a witch.” You gestured to your own outfit, complete with a black cape and pointed hat. “And now that I know you're utterly defenseless against my powers, I have no choice but to put a spell on you.”

“That so?”

Jonathan bit the inside of his mouth, trying to suppress the smirk threatening to break through. If anyone was the master of curses, it’d be him. Of course, you had no way of knowing that, without him being in his usual get-up and all.

Besides, he found himself surprised he was indulging in such a conversation, but he had to admit that your forwardness and banter possessed a fair amount of charm. It was hardly time to ruin this distracting, rather quaint conversation with a surprise dose of his fear gas.

“I’m afraid so,” you sighed, dramatically. “And now,” using both of your hands, you wiggled your fingers around, pretending to weave a spell, “I sentence you to an eternity of finding lucky pennies only wrong side up.”

With a flourish and a subsequent ‘poof’ sound effect from you, you ended your great curse with a little boop to The Father’s nose.

“That’s a pathetic curse,” Jonathan said, more disappointed than amused after the effort you went through with such a display. Were you simple or simply kind-hearted?

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Never said I was a good witch.”

‘Huh, well there was a fascinating complex,’ Jonathan thought.

“Come on,” he said, turning on the practiced psychologist charm, hoping you’d take the bait, “You can do better than that. If someone was really going to curse you, what would you hate for them to do?”

You continued sipping your drink, unbothered by the not-real priest's current line of questioning.

“What do you mean?”

“If someone were to utilize your worst fear against you, what would it be?”

You thought for a moment.

“Hmm, you mean apocalyptic-level fear as in like the fear of complete and utter failure or something really stupid but tangible?”

Jonathan took in a deep breath, hiding the anticipation he felt slowly rising inside.

“Whichever you’d prefer.”

“I guess I’d have to say…”

“Go on.”

“Escalators.”

Jonathan did a double-take.

“I’m sorry, did you say escalators?”

“Yes!” You practically shouted. “They’re literally stairs that move! Stairs are supposed to be stationary, that’s what makes them stairs! I mean,” you coughed, clearing your throat in between animated sentences, “How fucking shifty is that?”

Jonathan nodded, finding himself more curious about you by the minute. You were certainly a very unique person, with a very distinct psyche, he’d have to give you that.

“Sorry,” you apologized for your outburst. “They just drive me nuts. Anyway… What about you? What freaks you out so much?”

The way your eyes looked so open, so unguarded drew him in. You looked like this little cartoon character from some after-school special, genuinely interested in listening to what he had to say.

Had you been anyone else, The Scarecrow would’ve given you some bullshit benign answer: heights, the dark, spiders, something of that sort. But seeing you wait for his answer, sipping on your Cherry Coke in hand, Jonathan felt he could be honest with you. After all, it was Halloween, and he was in costume. There was a very likely chance the two of you would never see each other again.

Jonathan leaned in closer to you, lowering his voice, and drawing you in.

“I’ve never been fond of Priests.”

You leaned your head in even further and matched his whispered tone.

“Can I tell you something else?” You asked.

The raven-haired stranger nodded, his captivating blue eyes watching you intensely as he waited for your answer.

“You make a super hot Priest, though.” You couldn't help but bite your lip as soon as you finished your sentence, feeling a little playful with the decent buzz of alcohol floating through your veins.

The man licked his own lush lips before smiling.

“You’ve heard that one before, huh?” You asked, gauging his reaction.

“Honestly, no.” He answered, rising to meet your teasing manner.

You put your hands up defensively.

“Okay, okay. Coming on a little strong, I get it.”

“It would be interesting, however.” Crane voiced his inner musings out loud.

“Hmm? What was that?” You asked, feigning coy.

“A witch and a priest…” he tempted.

“Probably piss God off,” you added, nonchalantly.

For the first time that night, Jonathan Crane smiled a genuinely devilish smile, revealing a set of pearly white teeth under those plush lips of his.

It would seem after hours of ungodly conversation with imbecile after imbecile, it had only taken you a good half hour, to lighten the former psychologist's mood and Jonathan found himself up to the task of matching your titillating nature.

Perhaps it was a good thing Edward had dragged him out here after all.

Enter Mystery - Edward Nashton (The Riddler)

You were positively exhausted. All you wanted to do was go to your favorite little coffee spot, get a hot chocolate, and head home. But of course, you had forgotten that today of all days was Halloween, and to be out and about on the streets of Gotham on Halloween night was always a busy, crowded disaster.

Ugh, you detested crowds. And to make matters worse, your friend hadn’t stopped blowing up your phone, practically demanding you come meet here at this party in The Narrows.

Sighing, you realized hot chocolate was out of the question, and bitterly texted your friend that you’d meet her there in an hour.

Much to your chagrin, your friend was waiting for you with a gimmicky devil horns headband for you to wear. Of course, she would have known you wouldn't bother dressing in costume.

To make matters worse, her costume was that of a sexy angel, complete with a headband halo and feathered wings, which made it look as if you had planned to come to this thing together.

“I look ridiculous!” You yelled to her over the blaring house music.

“What? No! You look super cute!” She yelled back, pulling you behind her as she weaved through the crowd.

Finding a table was easier than you thought, mainly because it was still early evening and everyone was either sitting at the bar or mingling on the dance floor. Thankfully, it was a little rounded table in between the booths and the bar, which meant less traffic.

Plopping down into your seat you made a mental promise to yourself that you’d head home within the hour, the music already creating an unpleasant pressure in your head.

“You stay here,” your friend instructed, handing you her mini-purse. “I’m gonna go see if those hot guys over there will buy us drinks!”

Before you could voice your discouragement, your friend had bounded off, no doubt running up to a group of jockey, fratboy-type guys. You sighed, slumping in your seat.

Even with the annoying music and movement around you, you couldn't help but wish you had a book or magazine or something to pass the time. You know, something other than sitting there looking like a fool in a last-minute Halloween costume at a party you undoubtedly stood out in.

Looking out at all the people lined up at the bar, you noticed a younger-looking man, shy trying to get the Bartender’s attention. Not having any luck, the man paused and looked up, catching your eye.

You offered a sympathetic smile.

The man offered one back along with a raised hand in a half-wave.

“Try yelling,” you mouthed over to him.

“What?” You could see him ask.

“Yell,” you mouthed again, slower this time. “They can’t hear you,” you added pointing to the bartenders and then to your ears.

You weren’t able to see if the man was successful in his endeavor because, at that moment, your friend had come skipping back, an armful of drinks in hand.

“Woah there,” you said, helping her place them on the table. “Exactly how many did those guys get you?”

“Not me,” your friend countered. “Us!”

You looked over to the group of men she was talking about, singling out the one wearing a ‘This is my costume’. He looked like your friend’s type alright: unassumingly mediocre.

“They’ve got a booth if we want to move tables,” she said, taking back her purse and tucking it under her arm. “But I wanna dance first, sounds good?”

You nodded, gesturing to the mass of sweaty bodies beyond the bar.

“Be my guest. I’m gonna stay here. Wouldn’t want anyone to take our table. Or our drinks,” you added, hoping your friend would accept your lame excuse not because she believed it, but because she was never one to turn down free booze.

“Fine!” She wagged a finger in your face. “But don’t come crying to me that you didn’t have any fun tonight when you chose to sit here with a sourpuss the whole time.”

And with that, she vanished into the crowd of bodies jumping up and down to the rhythm of some song you had never heard before.

Looking at the array of drinks before you, you figured you’d pick the most colorful one with some sort of fruity-looking thing in it. That at least had some solid food in it to counter the effects of the alcohol.

You took a sip, and licked your lips, surprised at how easy the drink went down. It was extremely sweet, almost sickly sweet, and you couldn’t hardly taste the rum. You took another sip. No, it wasn’t hot chocolate, but it wasn’t as awful as you were expecting either.

Looking to your left, you saw the shy man from earlier, awkwardly hanging out between the dance floor and the bar, looking just as out of place as you had felt when your friend had dragged you inside.

Catching his eye for a second time that night, you smiled and waved him over, inviting him to come and sit down next to you.

The man looked behind him, checking to see that you were in fact talking to him. Turning back to you he was pleasantly surprised to see that yes, it had been true. You were asking him to come join you.

“Thank you,” the man mumbled, as he took the seat next to you. “It’s more crowded than I was expecting.”

You nodded, sympathetic.

“Yeah, I’m an introvert,” you confessed, “So like five people is a crowd to me.”

The man smiled, a faint blush crossing his cheeks.

“Same,” he said, letting out a huff of hot air as he laughed.

“So, ah, what’s your costume?” You asked, gesturing to his trenchcoat and fedora. “Some kind of mafia gangster?”

The man let out a full chuckle now at your incredulous suggestion.

“No, no. I’m supposed to be an old-time detective, like ah Dick Tracy or-”

“Philip Marlowe!” You said, a knowing smile spreading across your face. “Like in The Big Sleep!”

“Yes!” He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, that’s exactly it!”

Finding himself feeling shy once more after his joyful outburst, he turned his eyes downcast, looking at the table and the array of drinks gathered on it.

“You’re the first person I’ve met to know who Detective Marlowe is. Not many people our age have read the books, I guess.”

“Or seen the movie,” you added, referring to the 1946 black and white picture. “I’ll confess I haven’t actually read the book. But I do enjoy mystery novels. Um, James Patterson is one of my go-to authors, if you can call him that. His stuff is pretty easy to get through and it’s nice to be able to just sink into something mysterious but simple like that.”

You noticed his eyes still weren’t meeting yours, but you didn’t mind. It’s not like the lighting was very good inside anyway, you wouldn't be able to see his face in great detail.

“Um, you can take one if you’d like,” you said, gesturing to the drinks. “My friend got a bunch of guys to buy us some, but I don’t really drink a ton, and she hasn’t been back since she went to go ‘dancing’ with one of them, so...”

The man bobbed his head, gratefully accepting one of the drinks.

After a few hard sips of that liquid courage, his confidence had returned to him along with a nice pink flush of his cheeks.

“I have a copy of the Big Sleep and its sequels, the books, not the movie,” he said. “Back at my apartment, if you’d ever want to borrow it or… anything.”

You smiled, your cheeks turning a shade of pink as well.

“I think I’d like that,” you answered.

A/N: AHHH! Happy Halloween! And Happy Booping!

#scarecrow x reader #riddler x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagine #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton imagine #jonathan crane #edward nashton #scarecrow #riddler #dc #os

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giggly-squiggily · 21 days ago

Note

requests! 🤩🎉 don't mind me taking one of those demon slayer slots, thank you very much! 😂

can i request lee!akaza and lers!gyutaro and douma please? daki was being a little snarky so akaza wrecked her and gyutaro naturally wants to avenge his sister but when akaza overpowers him douma comes to help gyutaro out. maybe douma even has a dramatic little "well well well" moment when he enters the scene 😂😅

i hope you're doing alright and feel free to decline this of course!

- 🐼non

{Request are closed! This is an older one!}

Panda! :D Oh how I love Akaza jkajkreajkrejkrjk My favorite thing ever is him being a softie for the kiddos, so this was a joy to write! :D I hope you like it! I hope it's okay I included Daki as one of the Lers given Akaza targeted her first lols

CW: Swearing, mentions of the entertainment district (Nothing descriptive or graphic, but I'm putting it out there)

“Yehehehehe, nohohohoooo! Yoohohohou son of a-”

“Oi, watch your mouth. I don’t care how strong you think you are- don’t go disrespecting your elders!” Akaza scolded gently, grinning from ear to ear as Daki squealed and ducked down. Nothing she did could protect her neck from his quick fingers, leaving her a shrieking ball on the floor. “Speaking of- you’ve been rather bratty lately! What’s that all about, huh?”

It wasn’t like he didn’t already have a guess. Daki’s hunting grounds weren’t easy, and some days she came back in such a foul mood even Kokushibou was hesitant to speak to her.

Akaza may not be able to take away the bad days,, but he could at least take her mind off of them.

“Screhehehw you! Ehehehehek, brhoohohohother hehehelp!” Daki managed to roll away, giggling through her cries for help. She halfheartedly swatted at Akaza’s wiggling fingers as her brother appeared from her back, ready to fight. “Geheht him!”

“Who the hell’s bullying my-Lord Akaza?” Gyutaro’s murderous glare turned into a look of shock when he realized just who he was summoned for. It was just for a split second, but that was all Akaza needed.

“Bully, huh? Come here!” The redhead was on them in a microsecond, gathering both siblings up and swinging them off their feet. Shrieks and giggles quickly took over as he scratched at their belly and sides. “Oh ho ho, now I have two victims!

“Nohohohohoho! Aheahhaha, Lohohohord Ahahahhakahahahza!” Gyutaro cried, kicking his feet and pushing at the hand latched to his ribs. “Dohohohoohnt- no tihihihickling!”

“Eheheheheehhek! Aehahhahahahah, coohohohohoem ohohohohon, thihihihs is uhuuhnfahahhair!” Daki sounded no better, howling like a witch as her waist was squeezed. “Leheheht me gohohoho!”

“Hmm..lemme think about it.” Akaza snickered, relishing in their childlike glee as he twirled around the room. Not the most ideal look for an upper moon, but when it came to the kids, he was in big brother mode. “Should I let you go here? Or how about here?” He crab walked from one side to the other, nearly dropping them but never loosening his grip. “Decisions, decisions.”

Naturally, their noise was going to attract attention. It wasn’t long before an all too familiar face arrived to investigate.

“What do we have here? Lord Akaza playing with the kids?” Douma poked his head in with his usual smile, watching the scene unfold before him. “Lord Akaza- playing with the kids, I see?”

“Douma.” Akaza paused his antics upon seeing him, good mood dampered. He’d be lying if he said it was completely ruined though. “Did you need anything?”

“My, my- don’t stop on my behalf. I just came to see what all the fun was about.” Laughing, Douma drank in the sight of the siblings trapped within Akaza’s arms, giggly and looking to him for help. “Did you two truly forget what I taught you? You’re breaking my heart!”

“Taught them?” Akaza raised a brow, not sure if he liked where this was going. Gyutaro titled his head curiously before realization hit him.

“Oh!” He shot a hand out, tracing the closest blue line. Almost immediately Akaza yelped and jerked back. “Go for his stripes, Daki!”

“There you go!” Douma cheered.

“No way you told them about tha-ahahhat! Gyutahharo!” Akaza twitched as fingers swiped along the blue lines of his arms, weakening his grip even more. Daki squirmed free first, diving behind him and grabbing his sides. “Nohohoho, Dahahaki!”

“Hehe, got you now!” She grinned as he arched, nails scratching playfully against the stripes along his sides as Gyutaro broke free. It wasn’t long before four hands were tickling him, getting at the blue lines across his entire torso. “Don’t let up! He’s a strong one!”

“Like I’d do that!” Her brother growled, jerking as Akaza poked him in the belly, retaliating. “Nhooohoh, don’t! Lord Doohohuma, hehelp!”

“Oh?” Douma, who was lounging across the floor in the background, looked up with peaked interest. “Do you want my assistance?”

“Don’t you dare!” Akaza called out, his snarl shattered when Daki wiggled a finger into his armpit. “Hehehlp me insteahad!”

“Get him, Lord Douma!” Daki cried, squealing when Akaza twisted around and got her neck again. “Huhuhury!”

“Hmm…oh, what a dilemma. I wouldn’t be much of a teacher if I did everything for you.” Douma stood, sashaying towards the trio with a cheeky grin. “On the other hand…”

There was a beat of silence. No one moved, waiting to see what would come.

Then..

“GAWHA!” Akaza let out a loud guffaw as his hips were grabbed, cold hands sending shivers across his skin. In a matter of seconds, he was flat on his face, half curled up as he tried slapping away those dastardly fingers. Yohohohou sohohon of a- heheahahhahahahha!”

“Didn’t you just lecture Lady Daki on respecting your elders?!” Douma laughed with him, keeping one hand on his hip as the other flipped Akaza over like a pancake. “Of course, I’m younger than you, so I can let that slip. Gyutaro- be a dear and get his arms for me?”

“Got it.”

“Noohooho, dohohohohn’t gehehehhet it! Dohohohon’t gehehhet it-ehahhahahahahaha!” Akaza exploded into laughter as his arms were pulled up, his armpits quickly attacked soon after. Between Gyutaro’s quick fingers and Douma’s lazy tracing of the lines along his stomach, this couldn’t get any worse.

“Lord Douma- what should I do?” Daki asked, eager to join in.

“Get his legs, dear.”

It just got worse! “Nohoho, do-EHHEHEHAHAHAHHAAHA NOHOHOHO!” Akaza nearly lost his voice in all the howling, spasming like a dying insect as the three ruthlessly attacked his tickle spots. He wondered if Muzan was watching them all now- shaking his head in disgust like he always did whenever the demons acted anything but serious.

What should have scared him out of being ticklish only worsened his condition. Damn- he couldn’t even rely on his greatest fears for help.

“Lord Akaza- are you still with us?” Douma’s coo brought him back to reality. Right- currently dying of laughter. Got it. “Does it tickle? Hmm? Does it?”

“He’s so loud! I bet the whole castle can hear him.” Gyutaro mused, bringing his tickles up Akaza’s triceps and earning a wheeze. “Whoa, bad spot.”

“Does he have stripes on his knees?” Daki dragged her nails where she assumed stripes would be, dragging her fingers straight down the center. The resounding booming laughter following confirmed her suspicions. “He does! He does, doesn’t he?”

“AHehahahahahhaha! Cohohohohme ohohohohn, gihihihive me a brehahahahhak!” Akaza pleaded, feeling his stomach start to hurt from how hard he was laughing. Yet another odd thing to discover about himself post becoming a demon. “I gihihihive, I gihihihive.”

“Boo- and here I thought we would go longer.” Signaling for the younger demons to stop, Douma rested his chin in his hands with bright eyes, watching Akaza groan through his giggles. “Still, that was rather fun, wouldn’t you say?”

If the kids weren’t here, Akaza would show him exactly how he felt. Instead, he rolled his eyes, dramatically sighing and making the others laugh. His limbs were free soon after; Douma saying something along about seeing his beloved whole Gyutaro folded himself back into his sister’s back. He closed his eyes, throwing an arm over his face as he seeked composure.

“Hey.” A finger tapped his arm, making him move it. Daki smiled down at him- not her usual sinister grin but a rare, more fitting smile for someone so young. “Thanks for playing with us today, Lord Akaza. And for cheering me up.”

“I just did what felt right, that’s all.” Akaza lifted a shoulder, making her giggle. She leaned down then, wrapping an arm around his chest and presing her face into his shoulder; squeezing him gently.

“I know I already have a big brother, but with you it feels like I have two. Thank you.” She gave him one more squeeze and a quick peck to his cheek. Did the room get blurry? God, even as a demon he was always quick to tears.

“You’re a good kid.” He hugged her back, patting her hair as she smiled brightly.

Thanks for reading!

#Demon Slayer #tickle #tickle fic #akaza #daki #gyutaro #douma #dorks #akaza being a big brother for so many words akjrkjaejkraejk #he's got a spot spot for all of them #except Douma #well...okay maybe a TINY one for douma #....maybe #a speck #a tiny speck #jkarjkeajkrejkrajkjkrea

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airenyah · 1 month ago

Text

A LOOK AT STYLE'S JOURNEY | Ep 6

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep7 | Ep8 | Ep9 | Ep10)

I meant to post this on January 1st since we didn't get a new episode that day, but then I got distracted making gifsets and writing other meta. Oh, and I was also busy finally watching the show with my mother. Whoops. But my thoughts on episode 6 are finally here! ENJOY <3

Pronoun situation: As usual, just assume Fadel and Style use the rude guu/mueng with each other unless I point out a significant pronoun switch.

To recap: Style has spent all of last episode coming to terms with the fact that he was falling in love with someone who regularly kills people. By the end of the episode he has come to a conscious decision that he wants to be with Fadel no matter what. Fadel ends up spending the night in Style's bed where they have a significant conversation about trust before they make love. "Making love", because love is finally most definitely involved in the act.

No. 1: Morning Cardio

It's the morning after and probably the very first morning in their relationship that they wake up together. They bicker and Style finally gets his morning cardio in. All is good, all is well, everyone is happy, no one is sad. I desperately try to repress any memories of how this episode ends in order to get through this scene without sobbing. I end up crying anyway as I think about how the first time they hooked up Fadel abandoned Style on the floor of a cold, dark room after punching him in the gut and now Fadel is lying on top of Style, cuddling and kissing him in a warm room filled with the brightest sunshine.

Anyway, so Fadel wakes up Style who really doesn't want to get up yet. Fadel chides Style for not setting an alarm. But Style won't lie there and get scolded again and so he immediately scolds Fadel back: "I told you to hold back and you didn’t listen to me, either." And since everyone loves the language tidbits so much, here is the literal translation of the "I told you to hold back" part:

Last night I told you to stop เมื่อคืนอ่ะ กูบอกให้มึงหยุด [mêuua keun - àh • guu - bòk - hâi mueng - yùt] last night - [particle] • I - tell - for you to - stop

As grumpy as Style is about being woken up and having to get out of bed, there's a lot of amusement in his voice when he says this and his facial expression is also warm as he looks at Fadel. But then he closes his eyes again and immediately goes back to being a little morning grump as he dramatically laments that his body is sore and that he oh so sadly can't go to work. Fadel is now so relaxed around Style that he finally starts cracking jokes and playing along with Style's antics, offering to take Style to the hospital while trying to scoop Style up bridal style (haha. style. 🤭) in order to take him just there. But it's too early in the day for these games and Style really does not wanna leave the bed just yet. And so he impatiently complains about Fadel trying to carry him, and then explains: "I was just being overdramatic." In Thai, the word that was translated as "overdramatic" is สำออย [săm-oi] which my native speaker friend defined as "pretending to be weak about something" and explained that it's a negative word that is mostly used to make sarcastic remarks. That would certainly fit with Style's slight morning grumpiness. I also looked up the word on thai2english which defines the word as following:

[to] look for sympathy (by acting excessively sad or crying)

Style wasn't exactly crying when he complained about his body being sore, but he sure was looking for sympathy. So he clarifies that he was only pretending and that Fadel didn't need to maneuver him out of bed and then goes on to say: "I know you’re like a block of walking ice, but you should learn to read between the lines." In Thai Style uses the word อารมณ์ [ah-rom] here which translates to "mood" or "feeling" or "emotion":

An ice wall like you should learn to read other people's mood/emotions. กำแพงน้ำแข็งแบบมึงอ่ะหัดอ่านอารมณ์คนอื่นบ้าง [gam-paeng náam kăeng - bàep - mueng - àh - hàt - àan - aa-rom - kon èun - bâang] ice wall - like - you - [particle] - practice - read - mood, emotion - others - some

And Style's current mood is "staying in bed" and "wanting to be babied". The message finally reaches Fadel and he pushes Style back onto the pillow. He props himself up above Style and comes back to what Style was saying about his muscles being sore. "They say we should hit it right where it hurts. It’s like exercising. That’s how your body builds stronger muscles." Style responds with a challenge: "Thanks for the trivia, but I don’t see why you’re telling me this." In Thai he actually phrases it like a question:

[...] but what are you telling me this for? แต่บอกกูเพื่ออะไรเนี่ย [dtàe - bòk - guu - pêuua à-rai - nîia] but - tell - I/me - what for, why - [particle]

(Alt. translation: But why are you telling me this?)

I personally prefer it phrased as a question because it makes the challenge a little more direct. With the exception of rhetorical questions, a question encourages a response. With Style phrasing it like a question, Fadel is pretty much obliged to respond because a question is expected to be followed by an answer. And the answer is? "You need to exercise daily."

Fadel leans down and starts pampering Style with kisses. By now Style's morning grumpiness has faded away completely and is replaced by contentment instead as the lyrics "And now I'm yours / All yours, baby / Now I'm yours" play. Now they are officially each other's. They are officially in love.

No. 2: Awkward Encounters

Unexpectedly, Style's dad returns from his fishing trip just in time to catch Fadel leaving the garage. Style walks in on his dad having a very awkward interview with Fadel and comes to Fadel's rescue. By now Style is much more awake and in a considerably brighter mood than he was right after waking up. His dad immediately starts teasing him about Fadel, but Style isn't having it. He shoots his dad down by calling Fadel his "friend" (part of me wonders if he does that because maybe Fadel and Style haven't really discussed how open/official they wanna be with their relationship outside their inner circle of KB/FS and he doesn't just wanna drop the news to his dad without checking in with Fadel first), he lets his dad know he is being embarrassing and then gently sends Fadel away, releasing him from this very uncomfortable situation that he was suddenly trapped in. And I just adore the way Style stares after Fadel, watching him leave without tearing away his gaze:

Even when his dad starts making a teasing sound, Style takes a moment to fully process that his dad is talking to him while he himself is too busy looking at Fadel and having his attention and thoughts fully on his boyfriend. It's only when his dad starts speaking properly that Style finally turns his head towards him. His dad continues to tease him but even with Fadel gone, Style still isn't in the mood for it and quickly changes the topic to his dad's fishing tip. And their ensuing banter is very endearing because you can just clearly tell how important Style's dad is to him and how much they genuinely like each other. And a little detail I also love is how Style's dad wears a vest similar to the one Style wears later in this episode.

(Btw, y'all, Style stares after Fadel for so long that I had to go with using only every 3rd frame to make the gif fit in the 8mb size limit. That's how long Style stares for jgkdkjfdg)

Side quest: To Play or Not to Play

Now, if you read my previous metas and especially my ep3 meta you'll know that I've been arguing for Style not actually being into sleeping around all that much. Now, you could take Style's dad asking Fadel "Are you his one-time thing or are you taking him seriously?" as confirmation that Style is a player after all. However, I still don't think so. First of all, I'm not gonna believe it until Style has said it himself and even more importantly his actions and behavior also convince me otherwise (considering how many lies all the characters in this series constantly tell) and second of all, I'm not sure Style's dad himself actually knows whether his son sleeps around or not. After all, this is the same man who only the other week said "I forgot you like men". And also the way he was so surprised about seeing an unfamiliar face coming out of his house lets me think that Style usually doesn't have any random over-night visitors. Not to mention his dad being surprised about Style's type ("Oh, well, who’d have guessed that’s your type?").

And all that isn't to say Style never has a one-night stand. I'm just saying, I don't think it happens on a regular basis. As I said in my ep3 meta, I think Style makes very deliberate choices of who he sleeps with and that is also confirmed in episode 5 when Style mentions how his dad tried to set him up with some mechanics but Style wanted to be able to choose for himself. If Style does have one-night stands, it seems like he either never brings them home or he simply just doesn't sleep around often enough for his dad to be in any way used to it. Personally, I think it's the latter. I think Style gets picky about who he sleeps with, because to him sex matters (as discussed in my ep4 meta as well).

Oh, and also in Thai the dad uses the expression หลอกฟัน [lòk fan] which is a colloquial phrase which my native speaker friend explained as "to trick someone into sex". And by the way, Style himself uses that exact expression in episode 4 at the Rise Up meeting when he bitches about getting nailed and bailed. And now I'm a bit angry at myself that I felt too awkward to ask about this phrase back when I was writing my ep4 meta, because the "tricking" connotation of this phrase definitely adds some nuance to Style's anger in episode 4. But coming back to episode 6, I think Style's dad isn't necessarily saying this because of his son's potential love life habits and it's more him being a bit of a protective dad who wants to make sure the people his son keeps company with aren't gonna cause heartbreak to his son.

No. 3: Make the Most of It

Style and Kant meet for a drink and Kant gets right to the point: "If they really decided to carry out their operation tomorrow, and got arrested by Captain, what should we do?" Style doesn't like the thought of Fadel (and Bison) being arrested and suggests a solution: "Let's stop them." Kant reminds him that he can't just walk up to Bison and outright tell him to abandon the mission and Style agrees that Kant would not make it out of that situation alive. "Unless you leave him right now", Style says. Or more literally:

Unless you get out of his life from now on. นอกจากมึงจะออกจากชีวิตไบซันตั้งแต่ตอนนี้ [nôk jàak - mueng - já - òhk jàak - chii-wít - Bison - dtâng-dtàe - dton-níi] apart from, except - you - will - depart, leave - life - Bison - since, from - (right) now

It's not like the literal translation is a big difference from the official translation, but I just thought "leave his life" sounds more dramatic and I'm sure some of you will appreciate this little tidbit of info as well.

Style doesn't know if Kant can simply just just get out of Bison's life or not but what Style does know is that he himself certainly can't just drop out of Fadel's life to never see him again: "But as for me, I’m getting kinda attached to Fadel". Or what he actually says:

But to be honest, I've already begun to worry about Fadel. แต่เอาจริงๆ กูเริ่มเป็นห่วงฟาเดลแล้วนะ [dtàe - ao jing jing • guu - rêum - bpen hùuang - Fadel - láew - ná] but - honestly, seriously - I - begin - be worried - Fadel - already - [particle]

Thai doesn't have verb tenses, so I think a possible translation would also be "I'm beginning to worry about Fadel". Personally, I think present perfect tense is more fitting, since last episode Style already told Kant "I’m beginning to worry about him now", which – something I missed it in my ep5 meta in my hurry to finish before episode 6 dropped and have since added to the post – but what Style says in reality in episode 5 is:

I'm worrying about him now. ตอนนี้กูเป็นห่วงฟาเดลแล้วว่ะ [dton-níi - guu - bpen hùuang - Fadel - láew - wâ] now - I - be worried - Fadel - already - [particle]

(Alt. translation: I'm worried about him now.)

In episode 5 Style says nothing about "beginning to" worry, no, in episode 5 he clearly states that he is already worrying about Fadel and so I think it makes sense to interpret his statement in episode 6 as "I've started to worry about Fadel", since it's something that began in the past (episode 5) and is still ongoing as of this point.

Anyway, so Style questions if Kant would be able to get out of Bison's life and lets him know I myself can't get out of Fadel's life now that I've started to worry about him. We immediately see proof of his worry as he practically begs Kant to hurry up with getting the boss behind everything arrested so that this mess can finally come to an end. And once again we see that Style is quite the optimist: "Those two will be free, and we can go on with our lives."

I think it's not just optimism that led Style to say this words, but also bit of wishful thinking and most importantly, a lot of hope. He is well aware that the situation is messy and difficult, but he still hopes, hopes for the best, hopes for a happy ending for them all. There's gotta be a way, right? If Captain Christ only wants their boss, then everything will be fine, right? But Kant reminds him of the bitter reality: "You think Captain would let them walk? They kill people for a living. If they ain’t shot dead on the spot, they’d at least get a life sentence."

I think deep down Style already knew this, but actually hearing it out loud hits different. I think it's only now that it truly sinks in for him that it will likely be the very last time he'll get to spend time with Fadel. Style sinks back into the bench, looking miserable. Kant moves over to Style's bench to comfort him: "We can only make the most of what we have now." For once, Style isn't in the mood to talk. He grabs his drink, clinks cans with Kant, and they both try to wash away their worries with beer. It's not helping. Style stares dejectedly into the air.

No. 4: Please Don't Be Mad

(Side note: in my ep3 meta I couldn't quite tell if Style went to the bar to purposely seek out Fadel or not, and well, I have my answer now hahaha)

Just like Style already mentioned to Kant and to us, him and Fadel are spending their evening at the heavy metal bar. Fadel tells him that this is the first time that he didn't come to the bar alone and Style tells him "Happiness shared is happiness doubled". Style is serious, he really means it. He is here because he wants Fadel to be happy, wants them to be happy together. Fadel makes heart eyes at him. Style gives a little smile back. Fadel gets the tickets. The ticket seller informs them that the band will be playing for the last time. Style looks serious again. The band isn't the only one having a last time. The ticket seller continues: "It’s gonna be a memorable night." Style looks towards the ground. This hits different for him. "You’re right," he finally says, "for me, tonight is certainly going to be a memorable night." And again, his tone is serious. His words hold a certain weight to them, he really means what he says with all his heart. Then he looks at Fadel. Style was speaking to the ticket seller as he was saying this, but really, it's a message to Fadel. I'm going to remember this night, he says, I'm going to remember you. Style may not be able to tell Fadel about how this will potentially be their last night together, but at least he can be honest about his feelings. This night matters to Style, and it matters a lot. The knowledge of this possibly being a goodbye weighs on him and we can tell by the way just how serious Style has been throughout this short sequence. Not the loud, bubbly boy that we've all grown to love. I think Fadel can also tell that something is off about Style, because he raises his eyebrows at him and stares at him quizzically for a moment before he turns to enter the bar. Style follows him.

Once inside, Style is looking rather tense. There is something on his mind that he needs to confess but that he struggle to say. In the end it does burst out of him. "I don’t really like heavy metal," he shouts in the middle of a heavy metal bar. It makes for a funny moment, but Style is clearly distraught. Fadel says he already knew that and Style is relieved that Fadel isn't angry. Now, I've had some thoughts about this.

I'm not sure this confession was really about Style's music preferences at all. It kinda reminds me of how, remember episode 5 of Bad Buddy when Pat "confessed" to Ink, but it wasn't really about his feelings for her at all but rather Ink and that confession served as a stand-in so that he could get the weight off his chest without having to open the real can of worms? Yeah, I think we have something somewhat similar happening here. Now I do very much think Style was absolutely telling the truth when he said he doesn't like heavy metal music. After all, we did see him jamming out to a song that was very much not heavy metal music, so the content of his confession definitely wasn't a lie. But I do think it served as a bit of a stand in for all the things Style CAN'T confess to right now. And there is a lot that Style could and should and probably also kind of wants to be confessing to: the fact that he knows of what Fadel does, the fact that Kant has informed the police of Fadel and Bison's next mission, the fact that said police will be awaiting the brothers there, the fact that this will likely be Style and Fadel's very last night together. Not to mention the fact that Style hit on him for a car before he fell in love for real. But as Kant pointed out earlier that day when they were having a drink together... It's not like they can just walk up to the brothers and just say it. The brothers are killers after all. And in a way, I think Style's confession serves not just as an attempt to be more honest with Fadel but also as a way to assess how Fadel will react if he learns that Style actively lied to him.

Style looks almost a bit too upset and guilty for it to be just about his music preferences after the truth is out of his mouth.

The situation is a bit awkward, because he ends up yelling it loudly in a room full of heavy metal fans, but I don't think he really cares about that more than a whoops in this moment, because what really matters is: "You’re not mad at me, are you?" There is so much urgency to it, his expression kind of pleading:

I'm sorry that I wasn't being honest with you. You're not mad at me, right? You're not mad that I lied to you, right? Please don't be angry with me. Style is so very stressed about this. Fadel's reaction is important.

And Fadel? Is not angry that Style lied. In fact, to Style's surprise, Fadel actually already knew the truth about him (foreshadowing, anyone? 👀). Style is veeery relieved about this:

มึงไม่โกรธอ่ะ กูก็สบายใจแล้ว [mueng - mâi - gròht - àh • guu - gôr - sà-baai jai - láew] you - not - angry - [particle] • I - [sentence link] - happy, pleased - already

In the subtitles Style says "All I want to know is that you’re not mad at me" here. I checked the original line with a native speaker friend who translated it as "You're not mad, then I'm relieved" (and if you put the Thai line into Google Translate it also spits out "If you're not angry, I'll be relieved") which I think matches what Dunk is portraying here through his body and his facial expression a lot better. However, the official English translation summarizes the whole point of the confession very nicely: all Style wants to know is how Fadel will react to the fact that Style actively lied to him and he's desperately hoping that Fadel won't be angry to find out the truth.

And then Fadel isn't angry. And tells him that he wants to see the real Style. Style tilts his head at him, not looking entirely convinced despite the huge relief just now. There is still a lot Style is currently keeping from Fadel, things that are a much bigger deal than his music preferences. Style is still keeping truths from Fadel, still lying to him. And then Fadel drops: "But still, liars should be punished." This has Style genuinely stressed again. There is almost a bit of fear in his voice when he inquires what the punishment will be as he reluctantly lets Fadel drag him away. Style now knows that Fadel won't be angry at him for lying, but there will be consequences (a punishment) (again: will this be foreshadowing? 👀).

No. 5: Fake Fan

Turns out Fadel's punishment isn't all that scary after all, even if Style isn't too hyped about it. Nevertheless, he patiently sits there and lets Fadel paint his face without stopping him. But no matter his patience, Style still can't let Fadel do this without at least a verbal protest. He points out that that Fadel isn't wearing face paint either and is almost kind of offended. YOU aren't wearing any so why are you making ME do it? Style then questions if Fadel even has the skills for what he's doing. Unlike before, Fadel now easily gives up information about himself to Style without hesitation: "I used to wear the same makeup as my favorite band."

A major running theme that we've had going on over several episodes now is how Style keeps trying to get Fadel to loosen up and to have fun. We saw this happening in episode 1 already when Style tried to get Fadel to play along when he made him get the pin off his shirt himself (which actually happened even before Kant made Style hit on Fadel). We saw it in episode 2 when Style pretended they were on a cooking show and provided commentary while Fadel was preparing a customer's food. We saw it in episode 3, when Style follows Fadel to the heavy metal bar for the first time and tried to get Fadel to party and to scream a little. We saw it in episode 5 when Style convinced Fadel to wear the matching couple shirts, pulled him into a dance, and even got him to sing karaoke. And what's more, we've also seen Style trying to get Fadel to socialize. And yeah, of course a lot of what Style was saying and implying about Fadel doing things with Style specifically he said because he was actively hitting on Fadel, but I do think he genuinely meant it when he said things like "But some things are better done together" (episode 2, sports field) or "How’d [having a good time all by yourself] even work? You need someone to 'scream' with" (episode 3, heavy metal bar).

So Style has been trying to coax Fadel out of his shell pretty much since the beginning, has been trying to get him to just enjoy life, has been trying to pull him out of his loneliness. And he's doing it again here: the moment Style learns of Fadel's old hobby, Style immediately suggests Fadel paints his face too. Matching make-up for the two of them. It's something that Fadel clearly enjoys and also they'll do it together. Obviously. Because some things are better done together. And happiness shared is happiness doubled. But Fadel refuses, because he never lets anyone see him with band make-up on.

Edit: There is so much going on here in this scene that I totally forgot to mention a very important language note (and I'm really mad at myself that I didn't catch my mistake before publishing this meta): the word for make-up/putting make -up on is แต่ง [dtàeng] which also means "to marry". So when Style says "Then you should put some makeup on, too" it actually also sounds like he is saying "Will you marry me, then?", which is why Fadel suddenly stops and looks up at him. Make of that double meaning what you will 🤭

After that we get even more running themes: only moments ago Fadel said "I want to see the real you", but this is something that goes vice versa for Style as well. In episode 5 he told Fadel "I promise that no matter who you are, I’ll still like you" and while this was mostly in reference to Fadel's secret hitman identity, this sentiment counts for everything else about Fadel too. And if Fadel enjoys wearing his favorite band's make-up, then Style will also like him for that. Style wants see Fadel's real him and he wants Fadel to be the real him, to live the real him. "How long are you going to live someone else’s life?"

And it's not just that. After episode 5 I was discussing the double date scene with @secriden in our DMs and she talked about how Style was giving Fadel a safe space to participate in all that socializing by being even sillier than Fadel so that Fadel didn't have to be embarrassed about dancing silly dances or wearing silly couple shirts. And I think the very same thing is going on here. Fadel never lets the public see his painted face, whether it's out of fear or embarrassment or something else. And Style offers for them to wear matching make-up. "Try just being someone you want to be," he says, "We’ll do it together." Fadel isn't alone in this, Style is right here, by his side, with him. A safe space. "There’s nothing to be afraid of." Not if Fadel is with Style. Style will support whoever Fadel is underneath his thick, icy walls no matter what. Style is set on it. And tonight, potentially their very last night together, Style will gladly wear make-up for Fadel and Fadel will wear make-up too for his own happiness. They'll do it together and there is nothing to fear when Style is with him. Well? How about it?

Fadel is quiet. He lets Style grab his face and paint on him. Style gives Fadel an encouraging nod, like See? It's not that bad. It's not that scary. I'm right here with you. Be happy. Be you. I love you.

Now, the tear tracks that Style draws on Fadel's face are obviously foreshadowing to how this episode is going to end with Fadel crying because of Style's "betrayal". But honestly, the very first time I watched it? This foreshadowing went right over my head. Admittedly, I was also running on just 3h of sleep that day because I'd been up all night finishing my ep5 meta so I could post it before the new episode dropped and took a 3h nap around noon, so that might have also been a factor in that, but yeah, it totally didn't occur to me that the episode could end in Fadel's real tears (not sure if that made the last scene better or worse tbh). No, the thought that I had instead while watching the episode for the first time was: "Are those the tears that Fadel never got/gets to cry?" And to be honest, I do hope later down the line we'll get a scene where Fadel finally lets it all out, let's out all the pain from all the trauma(s) he's been through while Style is right by his side, supporting him through it, is there for him. Because they'll do this together and Style will always be ready to happily offer and create a safe space for Fadel, just like he did in episode 5 when he was asking Fadel about his parents or when he was trying to get Fadel to let lose and dance a little in the bowling alley or now when he's offering to wear matching make-up with Fadel. And when Fadel cries (and I hope he will cry, and not just from Style's "betrayal"), then Style will offer a safe space for Fadel to cry in, too.

No. 6: (Bitter)Sweet Happiness

Both in make-up, they now proceed to have the time of their lives at the concert, smiling the brightest smiles. They even get to take selfies with the band. Fadel is happy, and so is Style. I think this may actually be the most carefree we've seen Fadel in the entire series so far and it's all thanks to Style.

After the concert they end up standing by a glass window. "Thanks for coming with me," Fadel says and Style looks at him with the warmest, most loving, most adoring expression.

Of course Style accompanied him here. He had promised Fadel in episode 3 already that he would make Fadel 'scream' at some point (that is to have fun, basically) and now they're both here, Fadel is having a good time, and Style is happier and more in love than he could ever have imagined. Fadel continues his little thank you speech: "If it weren’t for you, I’d probably have sat alone over there." Style knows this very well. He saw him sit all by himself last time, refusing to have fun with Style. He saw Fadel stand by himself in the crowd. And even then he was of the opinion that "You’re supposed to have fun with your friends at a place like this". And now Fadel is here. Having fun with him. And there is absolutely no need for Fadel to thank Style, because just getting to see Fadel smile makes Style happy already.

However, as the night is coming to an end the happiness Style has been feeling is overshadowed by the knowledge of what is about to happen next. It's overshadowed by the knowledge that this is almost certainly the last time they'll get to spend time with each other like this. "You wanna come over tonight?" Style asks, "I want to cuddle you to sleep." He doesn't want this night to end. He wants to hold on to Fadel just a little longer, wants to hold him for as long as possible before all of this is over. And best case-scenario, he also manages to stop Fadel from going on the mission like he suggested when he was getting drinks with Kant.

He looks at Fadel with hopeful eyes. But Fadel declines. Style's dad is home and besides, Fadel's got work tomorrow. Work? This has Style listening up. He seizes the opportunity, just like he did back in episode 5 on the floor of the garage. He starts subtly grilling Fadel: "Grocery shopping? I’ll help." Which, by the way, is actually: "The market? I can go with you."

ตลาดหรอ เดี๋ยวกูไปด้วยได้นะ [dtà-làat - rŏr • dĭieow - guu - bpai - dûuay - dâai - ná] market - ? • moment - I - go - too, with - can - [particle]

And that makes me cry a little, because the market one of their spots by now. Like, of course Style would gladly go to the market with Fadel. But Fadel isn't going to the market. He tells Style he's doing something else. But Style already knows exactly what Fadel is doing and where he's going. Once again Style tries to get Fadel to spill the truth: "You’re doing a lot of second jobs, aren’t you? What else do you do besides working as a host? You can tell me. I won’t judge." I promise you I won't judge you for being a hitman. I already know this and I'm cool with it. And if you would just SAY it out loud already then I could tell you not to go through with the mission tomorrow. Then I could keep you by my side just a little longer. Please tell me. Style looks at Fadel with big eyes, full of hope and encouragement.

But Fadel does not say what Style wants him to say. Style is disappointed.

He leans back against the glass wall, upset. In the gif on the right it actually almost looks like he could start crying any moment now:

Fadel is confused, but amused, assuming Style is probably just being his usual overdramatic self. He laughs and asks Style what's wrong. Style side-eyes him, still upset and pouting.

This is potentially the last time they'll be together. Tomorrow Fadel will probably get arrested. Tomorrow Fadel will probably be taken away from him. And he can't even talk about it. Can't even stop him from going.

Fadel continues on:

You act like we're not going to see each other again just because we won't be spending the night together. แค่ไม่ได้นอนด้วยกันเองทำอย่างจะไม่ได้เจอกันอีก [kâe - mâi dâai - nawn - dûuay gan - eng - tam - yàang - jà - mâi dâai - jer gan - ìig] only - not - sleep - together - just - do - like - will - not - meet/see each other - again

Style might not be able to outright tell Fadel that he's acting like that because they actually, for real may very well never see each other again when the night is over, but at least he can try to be as honest about his feelings as possible: "It’s been a good night. I don’t want it to end." I don't want to say goodbye. Fadel tries to console him. "When I’m back, there’ll be more nights like this." Style so badly wants to believe him.

He looks at Fadel with big, hopeful eyes. You promise? Fadel nods. And I think, despite Style knowing that the police will interrupt Fadel's mission and that it won't go smoothly and will likely end in his arrest, I think despite all that deep down Style holds Fadel to that promise. And we can once again see how optimistic and especially how hopeful of a person he is. Now matter how bleak the situation seems right now, Fadel has promised to come back and Fadel has promised that they'll have more nights full of happiness together. And a promise is a promise, right? You can't simply just break it. And so Style hopes for the best. He might not be able to get him to stay but at least Fadel will be back. Because he promised.

They seal that promise with a kiss. And it's interesting, because Style doesn't immediately close his eyes when Fadel goes to kiss him but instead looks at him for a moment longer. And then his eyes keep fluttering open for a moment. It's almost as if he can't tear his eyes away from Fadel, as if he can't help but use every opportunity to look at Fadel, to catch every last glimpse of Fadel while he still has the opportunity to do so. They break apart and Fadel tells Style that he's (also) very happy tonight and Style (re)confirms his own happiness. They lean their foreheads against each other. And again, Style can't really close his eyes and fully sink into the moment the way Fadel can. It's like he tries to close his eyes but they keep fluttering open a second later because he just can't keep his eyes away from Fadel, is compelled to keep looking at him while he still can, while Fadel is still right there with him. And even when they break away from each other and turn to look out of the window towards the stage, it takes Style a couple of seconds to tear his eyes away from Fadel, who is already looking elsewhere:

After they've turned around, their hands find each other. And I think in that moment Style really needs that support through his distress and I think Fadel can feel it, even if he can't figure out what exactly is up with Style and why he is acting the way he's acting.

No. 7: Moving On

Fadel and Bison's mission has passed. Kant's brother nearly got caught in the crossfire. Kant wonders if Bison saved Babe. Kant guesses that Bison saved him. With that he also implies that if Bison was the one saving Babe (since Bison is the one who actually knows and recognizes Kant's brother), the one taking the shot must've been Fadel, implying that Fadel would have injured or killed Babe. But Style, who has been spending a lot of time with Fadel and has slowly been getting to know the real Fadel underneath all those walls, just can't imagine Fadel would shoot a random kid. When he asks Kant "You think Fadel would shoot Babe?" it's definitely in defense of Fadel. And that's interesting, because so far he's always been supportive of his bestie and his investigations. He hasn't always been happy about it, but he still never fought Kant about it. This is the first time we see Style actively go against Kant to stand on Fadel's side instead.

Style continues: "You think he knows you’re a snitch?" I think this is partly still a bit of an attack on Kant in his defense of Fadel in the sense of What, does Fadel to have a reason to kill your brother because you did a shitty job staying undiscovered? and partly a genuine question to find out if Fadel would actually have a motive to shoot Babe on the off chance that he did mean to do that. Not that Style actually believes that, though.

Kant says no and says that his work is over and that he's done being a snitch. This should be good news to Style, but Style doesn't look very comforted. In fact, Style barely acknowledges Kant's words. His mind is somewhere else, is with someone else. "I want to see Fadel." Once again we aren't simply just told through text that Style worries about Fadel but we are also shown. And on top of worrying, Style also misses him.

As so often when Style expresses genuine care and attachment to Fadel, Kant immediately disapproves: "Style! You have to get over it. You can’t ever get together with him. Move on." In Thai, Kant uses the word ตัดใจ [dtàt-jai] when he says "get over it". Thai2english defines this as:

to part with something, to give up something (somewhat unwillingly)

Style is unwilling to give Fadel up. He can't part with Fadel, no matter how much he knows he should if he wants to get out of that mess of a situation. "It’ll become a funny story," Kant says, but Style isn't laughing. He is miserable.

No. 8: Will They or Won't They (Come Back)

Fadel and Bison's mission hasn't gone to plan (neither for them, nor for the police), they've gone completely MIA and our two remaining love struck boys that were left behind now stop by the restaurant in the hopes of meeting them there in person if they're already not picking up their phones. However, Style and Kant find the restaurant abandoned as well. Style looks a little disappointed when he states that the diner is closed, but he's not necessarily all that surprised and he is definitely very concerned. Kant walks away from him to check the inside through the windows just in case and Style follows him. They run into the black cat and end up having a little chat.

And what's interesting about it is that during that little chat Style isn't even all that depressed, despite still not having any clue whatsoever about Fadel's whereabouts. In fact, he actually sounds kind of cheerful when he asks and talks about the cat, unlike in the scene before where he was simply just miserable. Style's tone as well as his expression do both get more serious when he says "I guess [the cat] misses Bison, then. He’s a food source, after all", but no matter how troubled he is about the whole situation, no matter how worried he is about Fadel's well-being and no matter how much he misses him, he won't let himself wallow in misery.

Kant says "Why do I have a feeling that this isn’t over? They can’t run forever, that’s for sure. If they haven’t completed their mission, they will definitely come back" and once again we see Style's optimism and bright outlook on life when he replies "I guess you’re right. Before things went down, you saw how attached they were to us". But similarly to the scene in the beginning when they were having drinks, Kant comes back with some realism: "No matter how much you love someone, you gotta prioritize saving your own butts, right?" Style thinks about it for a moment and raises his eyebrows like Yeah, I guess that's true...

Once again, his expression gets more serious and his smile fades but we know he's not giving up any hope of meeting Fadel again whatsoever, because he'll be back in a week to check on the restaurant again. And let's be real, the series might not have shown this to us but we all know Style went to the diner every single day of that week. Possibly even multiple times a day.

No. 9: Something Special to Eat

A week later and we see Style checking on the restaurant again, this time without Kant. And to his surprise and utter joy, the lights are on! Fadel is back and he looks well! Style stares at him through the window, breathes a small huff of relief, then shakes his head a little like he can't believe his eyes, like he can't believe that what he is seeing is real. As I mentioned before, I'm absolutely convinced Style went to the restaurant every single day for the past week and now it turns out that he was right not to give up, not to lose hope, to stay optimistic like he always is. Style's joy about Fadel's return manifests in his whole entire body as he hops and skips through the restaurant doors.

Once inside, Fadel doesn't seem surprised to see him. He doesn't even say hello, but immediately opens up with the words: "I was thinking of going to your place. But you were more impatient than me, huh?"

Language side note, for all you language nerds out there... In Thai the "you were more impatient" is actually only implied, not explicitly stated:

I haven't gotten round to go see you yet. กูยังไม่ทันไปหามึงเลย [guu - yang - mâi tan - bpai hăa - mueng - loiie] I - yet - not be able to (do sth in/on time) - go visit - you - [particle] You came running to see me. มึงมาหากูซะละ [mueng - maa hăa - guu - sá - lá] you - come visit - I/me - [particle] - [particle]

(For the second sentence I decided to translate it as "you came running" because the particle ซะ [sá] can imply that the action should be done quickly. And Style did come running very quickly the moment Fadel was back.)

And when Style replies "Where have you been?" his words are also a little more dramatic in the original, as is fit for his personality:

Where did you disappear to for so long? มึงหายไปไหนตั้งนานอ่ะ [mueng - hăai bpai - năi - dtâng naan - àh] you - disappear - where - for a long time - [particle]

(It's basically "Where have you been for so long?")

A whole week is a long time to not see your boyfriend, especially when you know something bad has happened and you have no idea if he's alright or not. And so Style rightly complains. Fadel says that his phone broke and that he had to change both his phone and his number. Style throws him an almost disappointed look. He knows that this is a lie (or at least the "my phone broke" part probably is. Fadel might have had to change his number for real when he went into hiding). And more importantly, it only explains why Fadel wasn't replying to his texts. It does not answer Style's question of "where have you been?" and so Style is left none the wiser. Fadel says that he was busy and Style continues to complain: "And you didn’t think to contact me a little? I was worried sick about you, you know?" And we saw that. We got to see how Style was worrying when he was longing to see Fadel after hearing how Babe nearly got injured and we saw it when Style checked the restaurant at the very least two times, once with Kant and once by himself (and let's be real, he definitely went more than twice, we just didn't get to witness it). We see it even now in the way he complains to Fadel about him ignoring Style for a full week. Style thought he was saying goodbye to Fadel at the concert because the police would be ripping Fadel away from him but then that didn't actually happen because Fadel managed to escape and Style spent a full week worrying about him, missing him, longing to see him. And then Fadel is back and he's doing well and he didn't even think to tell Style about it. Style has every right to complain and Fadel should know it, too.

Fadel complains about Style's complaining and then offers to make him food like a peace offering and/or an apology. And fun fact, when he says "Anything you'd like to eat?" in Thai it's:

Anything special you wanna eat? อยากกินอะไรเป็นพิเศษป่ะล่ะ [yàak - gin - àrai - bpen pí-sèt - bpà - lâ] want - eat - anything - that is special - ? - [particle]

I'm telling you, when I heard Fadel say the words "eat" and "special" in the same sentence I immediately expected Style to say "you". I think I even said the word "you" at my screen when I watched the episode for the first time. And then Style DIDN'T. He just... didn't say it. When it was literally right there. I'm truly disappointed in him ngl.

Style does not say "you", instead he sits down and let's Fadel decide on the menu and compliments his cooking. Fadel is immediately sus about the sweet talking and asks: "Did you do something wrong?" Style doesn't know that this is a very pointed question, has absolutely no idea that Fadel is currently suspecting him of snitching to the police. "No," Style replies, but his voice doesn't sound entirely genuine. It's not a full lie but it's also not entirely sincere. Did he do anything wrong? It's hard to say. Technically he isn't the one to tip off the police so technically this isn't something he's done wrong. Style also knows a lot more than he should and that's also not something that he's necessarily doing wrong per se, but it's still something he's keeping from Fadel which could be considered wrong. And one could also say that not explicitly warning Fadel about how the police would be at their mission wasn't right. So technically there is something he did do wrong and that he could be feeling guilty about. No matter whether he really did do something wrong or not, Style chooses to deflect and distract anyway. And he changes the topic to something that really is completely true this time: "I just really missed you." Although, when he says "Is it so weird to get a little affectionate?" it's almost a bit of a challenge. Tell me again how I'm doing something wrong. Style continues: "You know, all this time apart really frustrated me." And there we finally have it. The "I want to eat you" bit.

I think at this point it's pretty obvious that Style is being genuine about his flirting, but I just wanna point out that what I noticed before about how Style acts when he truly wants Fadel continues to hold up: instead of being loud and performative, Style gets quiet, goes almost into a whisper by the end of the sentence. And he also gets handsy with Fadel. He reaches for Fadel's nipple specifically and it works. Fadel is very much distracted. But he stops Style because this is not something Fadel wants to do in the middle of his restaurant in front of a wall of glass windows (probably? Who knows with them 🤷🏼‍♀️). Fadel decides on making spaghetti for Style who approves and fondly smiles at Fadel. They keep holding on to each other's hands for as long as possible as Fadel turns around to walk off and I cry and then I cry some more about the way Style once again can't tear his eyes away from Fadel.

No. 10: Oh, I Wish That You Hadn't Pulled the Trigger

It's later in the evening, Style has presumably finished eating (and maybe Fadel, too?) and now they're both wiping down the restaurant. And once again we see something that I've been talking about for the last few episodes now: Style likes helping. Fadel explicitly tells him that he doesn't have to help and that Fadel will do it himself, so likely Style just grabbed the cloth and started wiping without a second thought while Fadel had his back turned. Because helping people is something that comes to Style naturally. He wants to help. And so he insists on continuing to help with the cleaning and, if it makes Fadel feel better about it, offers Fadel to think of it as payment for the free food.

And I know this meta is actually about Style, but I see Fadel watch Style for a moment after Style said that and I can't help but remember how Style was there in episode 3, helping Fadel out at the restaurant when Bison was nowhere to be found and now Style is here again, helping Fadel out at the restaurant without hesitation and of his own free will and I can't help but think that this is probably one of the things that Fadel has come to love about Style. Style is here and he helps and supports Fadel no questions asked. Which make the news he is about to hear even more painful. And right on cue, Fadel's phone rings.

Fadel steps outside to talk to Bison. In the meantime inside, Style moves on to wipe the next table. He lifts his head just in time to catch Fadel looking at him through the window. Style smiles at him fondly.

Style is so happy that Fadel is back, is so content to be around him. The night of the concert wasn't a goodbye after all. He had bid farewell to Fadel internally already but now he gets to have a new beginning after all. Style is overjoyed.

Then Fadel comes back inside, proceeds to turn on some music and Style is confused as to why he would do that. Fadel asks if he can't get romantic and Style calls him out for scolding him earlier about Style being too sweet and cheesy only to turn around all of a sudden and wanting to be romantic after all. Style has absolutely no idea that Fadel sees him in a completely different light now, but I think he can tell that something is kinda off and that the phone call might have had something to with Fadel's sudden change of mood. So Style asks what Bison said. And Style being Style who cares about his loved ones also wants to know if Bison is with Kant. Fadel confirms. Style comments that Bison probably missed Kant. And right after the sentence is out of his mouth, for just a split second before it cuts back to Fadel we can see a very pleased smile form on Style's face.

Bison wasn't the only one missing someone. Style was too. He was missing Fadel so very much and he was worried sick about him and now Fadel is back, Fadel is standing right in front of him in the flesh and everything is all good in this world. Of course, Style is pleased.

And then Fadel says "I also missed you". Style's eyes widen in surprise, his expression serious now. Ever since they officially started dating Fadel has been saying things like "we're on trial" and "I won't ever trust you 100%" and while he did admit to being very happy earlier in the episode at the concert, I think Style wasn't really expecting Fadel to suddenly be so open about his feelings, almost out of nowhere without any obvious triggers. But then Fadel continues his confession by telling Style that there is no one messing with him when Style isn't there. Ah, there he is, that old nagger that Style has come to love. A compliment that comes in the form of an insult. That's more like him. Style is amused and in a lovingly teasing, but also slightly serious tone asks if he's just an annoyance to Fadel and whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. Fadel is quick to assure him that it's a good thing: "Having someone to miss is good. It makes me want to go to the market and go jogging with the hopes of running into you."

Did you notice that I changed something in Fadel's wording just now? Because the official subs wrote "grocery shopping" instead of "the market" and once again I just don't understand the decision to translate it like that because the market is literally one of their spots!! It's not the action of grocery shopping that's important here, it's the place!!! Because Fadel is likely doing some of his grocery shopping at a supermarket too, but it's when he shops at the market place specifically where he has memories with Style!!!

In fact, let me just share Fadel's exact wording of the whole bit:

Having you to miss is a good thing. การมีมึงไว้ให้คิดถึงเนี่ยมันดีนะเว้ย [gaan mii - mueng - wái - hâi - kít-tĕung - nîia - man - dii - na wóiie] having - you - to - miss - [particle] - it - good - [particle] It makes me want to go to the market, มันทำให้กูอยากไปตลาด [man - tam hâi - guu - yàak - bpai - dtà-làat] it - make that - I - want - go - market go jogging in the morning, ไปวิ่งตอนเช้า [bpai - wîng - dton cháao] go - run, jog - in the morning because I'm hoping I'll get to meet you. เพราะหวังว่าจะได้เจอมึง [próh - wăng wâa - jà - dâai - jer - mueng] because - hope that - will - get to - meet - you

And also a little bit earlier when he tells Style "I’ve got no one messing with me when you’re not there":

Without you, there is no one messing up my life. ไม่มีมึงอ่ะ ไม่มีใครมาป่วนชีวิตกู [mâi mii - mueng - àh • mâi mii krai - maa - bpùuan - chii-wít - guu] without - you - [particle] • no one - come - be chaotic - life - I/my

This confession is a parallel to his "I hate that I don't hate you" confession: In episode 4 Fadel said "I don't like you messing up my life" and now in episode 6 he says "Without you, there is no one messing up my life". In episode 4 Fadel said "I don’t like myself when I look for you on the morning jog or at the market" and now in episode 6 Fadel says "It makes me want to go to the market and go jogging in the morning with the hopes of running into you". In episode 4 Fadel said "I don’t like that I miss you." and now in episode 6 he says "I've missed you. Having someone to miss is good."

It's his confession from episode 4 but this time it's romantic and Style even points it out very amusedly, but is also very happy about it: "Are we officially entering romantic territory?" Fadel says that he wants to do what lovers do and Style tells him "I don’t want you to do what you don’t want to do". Or in his exact wording:

I don't want you to do anything that isn't you. กูไม่อยากให้มึงทำอะไรที่ไม่ใช่ตัวเองนะเว้ย [guu - mâi - yâak - hâi - mueng - tam - arai - tîi - mâi châi - dtue eng - ná wóiie] I - not - want - that - you - do - anything - that - not - yourself

Fadel told him at the concert that he wanted to see the real Style, but the same goes the other way around. Style wants Fadel to be the real him, too. And he doesn't want him to do anything that isn't the real him. But Fadel replies:

But I can be like you want me to be. แต่กูสามารถเป็นอย่างที่มึงอยากให้กูเป็นได้ [dtàe - guu - săa-mâat - bpen - yàang - tîi - mueng - yàak - hâi - guu - bpen - dâai] but - I - be able to - be - like - that, which - you - want - for, to - I/me - be - be able to (cont.)

It's a loaded statement. And it has Style confused.

It's the exact opposite of what Style wants. Style wants Fadel to be himself, Style doesn't want him to live a life that Style tells him to live. Style doesn't understand and while there are questions written all over his face, he doesn't ask any of them out loud. He stays quiet and smiles a little in uncertainty (He's currently living through a happy little romantic moment with his boyfriend, right? Right?? That's definitely what's happening here, isn't it???) as he waits for Fadel to continue and to maybe elaborate. Fadel takes a step towards him and says:

I think... I already love you. กูว่า...กูรักมึงแล้วว่ะ [guu - wâa... guu - rák - mueng - láew - wâ] i - think... i - love - you - already - [particle]

(Alt. translations: "I think... I love you" or "I think... I love you now")

Style is delighted to hear these words. Distracted from his bemusement from only seconds ago he smiles a satisfied smile. He's been so open and honest about his own feelings and finally Fadel is opening up too and giving back. Style happily kisses Fadel in response.

He, too, loves Fadel. He loves him and he's missed him and he's been worried sick about him when he didn't hear from him for a full week and didn't know how he was doing and now Fadel is back, Fadel is well, they get to have more nights like the night of the concert together, they get to be together for longer than Style thought they would. Life is great.

After they part, they lean their foreheads against each other. When they did it at the concert, Style's eyes kept flickering to Fadel's face. Here at the diner Style can sink into the moment and into the touch a lot more now that he knows this isn't gonna be the last night he'll be together with Fadel. (I've hit image limit, but here's a parallel gifset.) He does look up at Fadel at one point, almost as if to check if Fadel is still there, that he is real, that this is not a dream. And maybe it's also to check on him, since he's been acting a bit weird since the phone call. But then Style closes his eyes again and sinks into the moment one more time, just like when Fadel leaned into him. The two move into a hug as they sway from side to side. Style can neither see nor feel Fadel's tears dropping onto his back.

Of course I'm gonna have to wait to see what future episodes bring before I can say for sure, but honestly speaking, I do think Style can kind of tell that something is off about Fadel after his phone call with Bison. Style immediately clocks that Fadel is behaving strange the moment Fadel turns on the music, Style calls Fadel out for suddenly being romantic when only shortly before that he was telling Style off for being sweet, he gets confused when Fadel goes "I can be like you want me to be" when that's the exact opposite of what Style has been asking for and there is also something in the way Style really sinks into the forehead touch but then his eyes open and flicker to Fadel as if he's checking on him (almost as if he was also checking that Fadel was still there and hasn't gone away again, as if Style can feel that Fadel is in the process of saying goodbye to him). Fadel is in a weird mood and that mood probably does reach Style. But the thing is, Style is missing a key piece of the puzzle and even if he can tell that something is off, to Style it still looks like a happy picture. To Style it still is a happy picture. And what Style doesn't know, but what we, the viewers, can very much see coming is that this happy illusion will burst soon enough.

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep7 | Ep8 | Ep9 | Ep10)

#the heart killers #thk #fadelstyle #stylefadel #thk ep6 #thk meta #thkmetamine #my meta #adrm #HIIIII GOOD MORNING MY META IS FINALLY OUT #i'm glad there was no new episode for once bc i didn't have to stress out about this meta and i'm STILL making it in time before ep7 #i'm already dreading the next three weeks bc my semester is about to end #i have a presentation at the end of the months and a few (time consuming) assignments to do rip #watch me pull several all-nighters again just to get my metas out before the new episodes

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siena-sevenwits · 22 days ago

Text

Goodness of Yesterday (again! my evenings keep being too full to manage a writeup)

I went to the parish I love in the city, the one I always used to go to, and Mass was beautiful (they have an organ now!) I had four friendly interactions after Mass. I felt welcome and comfortable even though it's been a while and I used to go to the car right after Mass for a while because I was anxious. People are so good.

I also got to see my little niece for a little bit, because they were there today. The niece was wearing four or five layers because when they set out this morning it was literally -40 (Celsius, obviously!) in their area. Thankfully it has not been that cold on our side of things - low twenties mostly. It's insane to me how much the weather is moving up and down over the course of a day and at such great variance over a smallish region. We're suppose to go up to -7 tomorrow by late afternoon, I hear! Wild, and I am thankful.

I had a lovely Cajun chicken sandwich on the way home.

How to explain this... I drove past a man carrying garbage bags who moved exactly as if he were on a horse, and it made my afternoon.

I talked a little with my brother in Texas, who isn't having an easy time right now, so it was nice to connect. He found himself with some unexpected time because he was about to cross the street when it suddenly became very evident that the road was along a marathon route. Rather than re-plotting his course he decided to chat on the phone until there was a proper break in the wave of runners.

I spent a lovely hour puzzling alone with no music or audiobook and found I surprisingly had the focus to single-task it! (A very small thing indeed, but I was worried I didn't, so I am glad.)

AAAAAAHHHHH. Saltmarsh! Things are happening. Man, are they ever. (You can stop reading here if you're not in the mood to read the ramblings.)

Skerrin and Anders had a big argument, and both disappeared. Anstaff found Anders at the former haunted house in what used to be the alchemist's laboratory. We had a scene that was half gentle, half creepy involving the half-fashioned human-shaped constructs of metal and wood that the alchemist may have been hoping to bring to life in her experiments/may actually have been brought to life and then had it taken away. Anders has a strange concern for them and a feeling like he ought to give them proper burials, even though they are only lifeless constructs. (aaaahhh)

Something Anstaff set into play at a session of few months ago finally came to fruition - he had the gravedigger who is actually a brilliant researcher look some things up for him - and the gravedigger finally found an obscure but very needed piece of information in an old book. A piece of the puzzle that suggests that Skerrin is a former agent of the Scarlet Brotherhood, an impressive assassin who was exiled after a mistake.

Anstaff and Anders don't have confirmation, but they freaked out, realizing that Skerrin will surely be coming back to retrieve whatever he was keeping in his carefully (scarily) guarded office. They got back to the house and cracked the office lock in time to find the frankly ridiculous number of safes in Skerrin's office flung open, puddles of strange fluids on the floor, and the maid they previously suspected was in league with Skerrin burning papers in the fireplace. Roll for initiative, got the maid tied up, and now they are rushing to salvage the charred and now soaked papers. AAAHHHH. SALTMARSH.

...(Ain't it dramatic enough without it having come to light yet that Anders is unknowingly one of those constructs? Mwahaha.... I love the sheer melodrama of it all. I would never write this in a novel but it's a blast to play in a game.)

#fortifying against the dismalness #ghosts of saltmarsh

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ludoka · 1 year ago

Text

So.... What would happen if SOMEONE decided to rewrite Freaky Fusion but eliminated the fusions, left the plot of the hybrids and the time travel plot?

Long text after the cut:

The fic would begin by introducing the hybrids and the students' reaction to them. Cleo and (I think it was her?) Draculaura would give the same comments as in the movie. But here the hybrids already established in the series would not be ignored. Lagoona would talk about how she herself is a hybrid. What's more, we could even add that she is the fruit of a freshwater Nymph and a sea monster.(I just made this up while writing. I have no idea if it's canon or not but I like it.) Your intervention in the conversation could leave the atmosphere a little tense. Frankie tries to lighten the mood by insisting her friends go to class.

In another part of the school, Deuce and Jackson are in the former's locker talking about the same topic. Or rather, Deuce is nervous and frustrated by how everyone is reacting to the hybrids. While Jackson doesn't care too much. He has already had his conflict with the students regarding what he is. You already know this is temporary until the novelty of the matter cools down. This resolution does not reassure the gorgon at all. In fact, it frustrates him enough to vocalize his concerns. The whole topic was really making him very uncomfortable. On a good day, he's already having trouble coping with the fact that he's a hybrid. This only makes you feel worse. To the point of being terrified that other monsters will know what he really is. Jackson tries to console him but the bell at the beginning of his first class forces them to cut the conversation short.

What they didn't know is that a certain gossiping ghost, who was collecting information for his blog, was listening to them.

The first class is Dead Languages with Professor Rotter. Class is pretty boring today. Which causes some students to become distracted and murmur among themselves. Cleo is one of them and tries to talk to Deuce (who is more in the clouds than on earth)One of the topics he brings up is about hybrids, which he immediately realizes is the wrong topic to talk about. Since she sees how her boyfriend tenses very visibly. Which makes her remember that she's been on thin ice ever since she almost got her boyfriend's best friend killed just because of her pride. Said friends... It is also a hybrid. Cleo is seriously thinking about asking Frankie to sew her mouth shut so she doesn't screw up again. (I'm thinking about placing this after my own version of Ghoul Rules. I feel it is appropriate. It seems like he's been building up these nerves since before this day. It's more ✨ dramatic ✨)

The rest of the class passes without pain or glory. Only at the end does Rotter remind his students that in the last period of school they have to present their family tree work. (because I don't remember how the homework they were given in the movie was written)And he points out that Frankie will be the first to speak.

A stressed Deuce is the first to leave the classroom, closely followed by a worried Cleo. She is a couple of steps behind him. Thinking about how to talk about whatever is bothering the gorgon. Just when you think you've finally found the words, a mass notification from Spectra's blog catches your attention. She is about to ignore it but when she saw how the students began to stare in her direction, she decided to quickly check just in case. The title leaves her baffled. "Deuce Gorgon, the most handsome cool boy in school, is a hybrid?" That was the huge title that headed the blog. Cleo looks up with the mission of searching for answers but notices how terribly pale Deuce is while looking at his cell phone. She catches his attention. He looks at her scared. In fact, Deuce becomes hyper aware of his surroundings. He notices how everyone is looking at him and starting to whisper around him. This sends him into a spiral of panic and he ends up escaping the scene. It ends somewhere in the school, near the indoor pool. That's where Lagoona finds him. Deuce realizes that she is not alone. She is accompanied by Sirena von Boo and Neighthan Rot. When he asks about them, Lagoona tells him that she became friends with Sirena in their previous class. They saw him run out of the hallway and read the blog. Lagoona and Sirena went to look for him, they ran into Neightan and he joined the search. (mainly because Avea and Bonita were still in class)

This is where I cut the explanatory text and give the concise points of this particular plot:

The plot itself has the hybrids talking about feelings and experiences. Trying to help each other in all this sea of rumors and staring. Mainly by comforting Deuce and letting him open up to them.

There would be some scene with Draculaura and Clawd talking about their relationship. The topic of vampire biology would be touched upon a little. How they age and mature slower than other deadly monsters.

I would also have Deuce and Cleo talking about this matter.

Also the reaction of the students, encouraged in a negative way by Toralei, towards Deuce and his "deception".

In general: Lots of feelings, heavy conversations and ✨drama✨

Now you will ask yourself: Where is the time travel plot in all this? Good. Let's go back to the moment of Rotter pointing at Frankie.

After watching the teacher leave the classroom, Frankie lies down on his table and writhes in his misery. Robecca and Ghoulia who were by her side comfort her and ask her what's wrong. She explains that she has nothing useful to expose. His parents avoided the topic of family too much and gave him nothing to work with. So you're probably going to fail the class. Invisibilly appears (because he is another gossiper) and comments that he also goes through the same thing. His father isn't the most talkative when it comes to whatever turned him into a monster. Billy has a suspicion that it was an experiment gone wrong but he has no idea. He believes his father is looking to take the secret to the grave. Here Jackson Jekyll joins the conversation. (because in this school the concept of "private conversation" does not exist) Jackson comments that if there is a family that loves to keep secrets, it is the Jekyll family. It was easier for him to help Heath by putting together the family tree of his elemental family, than it was for Holt to find SOMETHING about his mother's family. They know that their great-grandfather is the one who started the whole Hyde thing but they don't know anything else. Not even what year his grandfather was born or how his great-grandfather Henry Jekyll and his great-grandmother met. It all seems like a big secret that no one should know about.

As he listens to them complain, Robecca has an idea. His father, before he disappeared, was a lover of science in general. He lived many years collecting information, meeting other scientists and doing his own experiments. She suggests they look for something in her father's workshop. Hopefully, they can find something regarding the Stein or Jekyll family. (Robecca apologizes to Billy for not being able to find a solution to his problem but he rejects her. He doesn't care much) Ghoulia was going to say something regarding work but after watching Deuce and Cleo leave the room, she decided that it was easier to help this group with their homework.

This is how Robecca, Frankie, Ghoulia, Billy and Jackson go to the Hexiciah Steam workshop.

While there, they don't find much. At least until Billy stumbles upon plans for a time machine. This draws the attention of the rest. Robecca takes a look at the plans and searches the workshop if there is something similar there. And, indeed, it was a large machine that was in the middle of the room. As they examine the machine, Billy comments that it would be great to test if the thing works and use it to do his homework. That makes them pause and contemplate the idea. The first to be against it is Ghoulia. She doesn't think it's very smart to mess with the timeline just for a school project. Frankie and Jackson support her. But Jackson also comments on how MAYBE if they didn't interact with anyone and were just there to watch, they wouldn't actually be doing anything. It also suggests it could be a good thing for Robecca. After all, it's the most direct way he can find clues to his father's whereabouts. This raises the robot's hopes. Ghoulia is still against it but after seeing her friends' hopeful looks, she decides that MAYBE it's not such a bad idea. As long as the necessary measures are taken. The girls and boys celebrate this beforehand and look for anything about the operation of the machine. They discover that for the machine to work and there to be a way to return, someone needs to be in the current era. Monitoring travelers through bracelets that serve as trackers and controls that allow them to travel by time and place. Ghoulia and Jackson note that there is a very specific way these bracelets work but decide to find out later. Since this was just a round trip to see if the machine worked in the first place. So with everything prepared Robecca, Frankie, Jackson and Billy get ready for the test trip. Ghoulia gives them the go-ahead and turns on the machine. The quartet enters the machine and goes to a year not too distant, just to try it out. More specifically 1950's New Salem.

In fact, the machine works! After watching a bit, the four try to go back to their time to tell the zombie. But can not. No matter how hard they try, the bracelets don't send them back to their time. In reality, it sends them randomly to other places and times. They panic a little (A LOT).

Currently, Ghoulia is worse. The disused machine was broken enough that it had imperfections that none of them noticed. So now the machine was causing fluctuations in time itself. Making time go slower or faster randomly. This is also causing beasts and animals from different places and times to appear today. Not to mention that, for some reason, his friends can't come back. So it's up to Ghoulia Yelps to fix the time machine, prevent the timeline from being destroyed, send the beasts and animals where they belong, and bring his friends back. It's... A pretty normal Monday, if Ghoulia is allowed to comment.

So this subplot has:

Jackson, Robecca, Billy and Frankie traveling through time. Uncovering family secrets and finding clues to the whereabouts of Hexiciah Steam.

To them trying to survive times that they only read about in books, saw in movies or paintings.

And Ghoulia saving the day behind the scenes.

Yes... A standard Monday.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope you have a happy new year and I wish you the best of luck in meeting your new year goals. 🎆❤️✨🎆

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apricityblack · 2 days ago

Note

So I saw you were looking for Marlene x reader requests! (I agree, there aren’t nearly enough out there) and I was wondering if I could get something hurt/comfort with her?

Maybe reader gets injured during a Quidditch Match or something? I’ll leave it up to you.

I hope this is what you were after! Thanks so much ❤️

this was very fun to write ty for the request !!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

marlene mckinnon x gryffindor!reader

The last thing you expected on your day off from school was to be stuck in a hospital bed. You had been planning to spend the day at Hogsmeade, specifically at the Three Broomsticks, celebrating the Gryffindor team's victory over the Slytherins. But instead, here you were, trying not to snap over Madam Pomfrey’s unyielding bed rest orders.

You were in the middle of trying to keep down the vile skele-gro potion she had forced into your mouth when you heard her.

“Oops! Sorry! When did that wall get there?” Marlene shouted as she failed to slow down in time, body-checking a student trying to leave the wing.

“Can I help you, Miss McKinnon?” Madam Pomfrey asked, rolling her eyes as she pulled back the curtain around your bed.

“Nope! Just here to see the little klutz,” Marlene grinned, taking the seat beside you.

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, nodding toward the scene she’d just caused.

Madam Pomfrey corked the potion bottle with a strict look at Marlene. “Keep an eye on her. Make sure she rests.”

As soon as the curtain fell closed, Marlene leaned over, brushing a gentle kiss against the corner of your mouth. The action left a flush creeping up your neck.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, her voice teasing but concerned.

“Horrible, obviously.”

Marlene laughed at your dramatic response, her fingers tightening around yours. “Right, of course. My bad.”

A shift in your mood suddenly came, and you glanced down at your intertwined hands. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Why?” Marlene asked, her voice soft and confused. She tilted her head to meet your eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m the reason we lost the match. We worked so hard all season for this game, and I messed it all up.”

Marlene’s expression softened, and she shook her head, her smile reassuring. “Hey, it’s not your fault. It’s that Slytherin chaser’s fault for throwing that Quaffle at you!”

You shifted in the bed, making room for her, patting the spot beside you.

“Well, it’s not like you look like a Quidditch hoop or anything,” Marlene teased, helping you settle into her chest, being careful with your injured leg. “Well, maybe you do a little bit, but still—”

Before she could finish her playful jab, you broke into your first laugh since the injury, the sound pure and unguarded.

Marlene grinned at the sound, her eyes lighting up. She couldn’t get enough of it. Or you.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening wrapped up in each other, falling deeper into the warmth of each other’s presence, completely lost in the moment

#marauders #marauder x reader #marlene mckinnon x reader #marlene mckinnon #harry potter #maraders era #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #x reader #harry potter x reader #james potter x reader

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evegwood · 1 year ago

Note

how do you atually write a script for a comic fhhhdhdhdh like do you write it the same as a movie script idk how to start

My basic system is using bulletpoints inside a table. Each table cell is a page, which is handy for planning page spreads, and each bulletpoint is a panel. This script also divvies up the scenes by colour so I can block out how long each scene is:

Because I'm the sole artist, I don't include any information that is obvious to me; that means expressions, poses, or individual panel sizes don't usually make it into the script. If there's something really dramatic and important I'll include it, but otherwise I tend to work out character poses when I'm thumbnailing or pencilling. I'm already kind of laying out the page in my mind when I'm writing so when I go back to actually draw it I'm like yeah I know exactly what face Vic is pulling here.

I do also have @spiremint on board now as colourist but because I don't really think in colour I don't have any notes for that in the script. Instead, I make notes on the inked/pencilled version of the page when I'm sending it to Spire for the colour script. Those notes will say stuff like the mood I'm going for, the weather, what happens in the scene so he can give me some cool alternate background colours. Spire never sees the script, it really is just for me when I'm pencilling/lettering, and then I discard it and work from what I have in front of me. It's a stepping stone tool, not a strict guideline of what the page should look like.

That's how I write a script, but you can write your script literally however you want! If it's just for you to read, you only need to include as much information as you find important. For some people that's everything because they either can't envision the scene without a description or because they want to make sure they don't miss anything important out, and for some people it's the most barebones thing imaginable. If it works for you, just do it!! You don't need to write a script like you would for a movie unless you really want to, or it's for someone else to see. Do you want to see the entirety of my script for the Chapter 5 lasertag scene?

Now here's a more helpful answer. I always start with an outline of what exactly needs to happen on each page so I don't need to work too hard figuring out how many panels should pass before I need a page break. Example:

You will probably want to think about three main things when putting your script together: dialogue, environment, and character. Each panel is an individual moment in time. That means you shouldn't have too many things happening in a single panel, and one panel should generally only have one dialogue moment, one environment note, and one character action. Someone can't jump up in alarm and then look relieved all in one panel, because that's two character actions (and would also be pretty difficult to draw but shh). A character shouldn't (can, but shouldn't) say they want to leave, then change their mind and ask for another drink all in one panel, because that's two dialogue moments. For environment notes, you really shouldn't have an explosion and the hidden treasure revealed all in one panel, because that's two environment notes. You don't need to stretch everything out into its own panel, but make sure you watch for too many things of the same category happening in one panel.

That's a lot of info, but I hope it helps!

I'm doing a little Q&A right now to celebrate the launch of the Inhibit: Book Two Kickstarter! If you have a question about Inhibit, comics in general, or anything else, shoot me an ask 🔥

#asks #ama #anonymous

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yulin-pop · 2 years ago

Text

⤷ ✧ My Pearl

Female reader (she/her pronouns used)

- order 78 | one-shot | Silver

Note: Happy one year anniversary!! I can’t believe it’s been a year. This is actually one of my earliest works and I decided to fix it up and post it. I can’t tell if I’ve gotten worse or better at writing lol

Why exactly was there a drama class in Night Raven? It seemed so out of place for a magic academy. But no one else thought the same.

“It is an academy after all.”

“Just cause it’s magic doesn’t mean every class has to revolve around it.”

Maybe it’s just because you’re an outsider? Nonetheless, you just to happened to have it as an elective. Since you were lumped in as a first year, you had classes with only first years. But electives had people of all different grades and classes.

Despite your attempts of finding a first year friend in one of your other classes, there appeared to be none amongst this group of 24 people. Only people from other grades and other classes. You were just about to submit to loneliness before you saw a glimpse of grey hair and a thud.

You looked to the entrance to the class and see someone dropped a box of supplies, some of it happened to roll underneath you. You immediately crouched down and gathered up the random items off the floor and handed it to him.

His eyes widened at you. “Thank you..”

“Your welcome, Silver!”

He seemed taken aback when you said his name which made you nervous. “Forgive me. Erm… What's your name?”

Ah… He completely forgot you. At least he recognized you?

“It’s MC…”

“I’ll make sure to remember that.” He said sincerely.

Being in the same class, you figured you should stay around him. You never had many opportunities to talk to upperclassmen or even befriend them. Maybe this is your chance?

“Do you have this class too?”

“Yes..”

You invited silver to sit beside you for this class. It was open sitting since it is a drama class. You stared at him for a moment before speaking up again. “So Silver, did you choose this elective?”

It took him a tap on the shoulder but he responded.

“No.”

“O-Oh… Then how did you end up here?”

“I allowed a… friend… to pick what classes I take.“ He responded with a distant tone. You tried to hide your disappointment in every response he gave. He seemed so indifferent to you. He didn’t seem to like you in the slightest.

Suddenly the whole class went silent which didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. You heard the clicking of heels and suddenly a bright light, or maybe that was just for imagination?

“Vil Schoenheit…”

“W-Wait he’s in this class?!”

Whispers of him echoed throughout the classroom and you turned to see Silver's reaction. He seems rather unphased but weary.

After the teacher moved away from the teacher’s podium, he stepped up and cleared his throat.

“Allow me to be frank, if you expect an easy class to goof around in everyday, go drop out. Whether you like it or not, you’re all going to be pushed out of your comfort zones.”

The mood in the class dropped in an instant and Vil seemed to enjoy that reaction.

—

“A play? Between a prince and a princess.”

“Yes, and we’re having a discussion on who should be who. Sit up, Silver.”

You felt like a nuisance and a pest judging by how tired and annoyed he seemed with you every day.

Though, he should be considered lucky with how Vil Schoenheit didn’t personally wake him up like he did with another student.

Silver turned his chair around and faced in the same direction as everyone else.

“Princess Ava seems hella sensitive. You know, that one scene where she starts crying.”

“Then Prince Ethan skips sword practice to comfort her. That’s a little dramatic…”

You glanced at Silver every so often. He seemed disinterested in this whole class and felt bad. What if he would have a better experience of you just didn’t talk to him? Maybe you’re making him look bad?

“Well no offense but I don’t think anyone wants to play a girl, Schoenheit.” Some guy said. Before Vil could interject, someone else spoke up.

“Yeah, if anything, then an actual girl should play it.” Another guy pointed at you.

“Wait a minute. Me?”

“Well yeah. You’re a girl.”

“Besides, doesn’t she kinda fit the descriptions of Ava already? The hair, the eyes, and a princess-ish face.”

“Wait, that's a far-fetched statement there!”

“I vote for MC to be Ava!” Someone stood up and shouted. A few cheers of agreements sprouted up until there was no denying the role anymore. You were now being one of the main leads in a play. You put your head down in defeat and tried to drown out the rest of the discussion.

“Now that the role for Ava is decided. We’re moving onto Ethan.” Vil declared. In total, that role has 143 lines to memorize. While your role had 128 lines. So whoever would play Ethan would get the most lines.

“Isn’t Ethan supposed to be quiet…? Why the hell does he have so many lines?”

“He’s also a good sword fighter supposedly. Hey wait, Raymond, aren’t you good at sword fighting?”

“Wait a damn minute! Don’t you try to force that role onto me! Silver is way better than me!”

Everyone’s head turned in his direction and Silver nearly jumped back. “For real?” Someone asked. “Yeah, Silver really could kill me if he wanted to. He also has a close enough resemblance to Ethan, don’t you guys agree?” The guy said urgently.

“Wait what do you mean—?”

“Silver should be Ethan!”

“Agreed!”

People chimed in to agree with the statement. Silver’s protests were drowned out quickly and before he knew it, his name was written down, officially casting him as Ethan.

You slowly turned your head towards Silver. He grimaced and begrudgingly picked up his script as if it were infected with a virus.

Oh god, would Crowley let you drop out?

❥

The moment he took a step through the door. His whole body nearly shut down in pure shock. You stood there with a sheepish smile and helped him with his mess. What were you doing here?

He accepted the fact he most likely would never come close to you ever again. He knew Sebek would have many opportunities but his chances were little to none. He kept it all in. How he felt about you.

You were simply amazing. You were rambunctious but just enough so it’s not over the top. You had guts. You were suddenly thrown into a world and adapted quicker than he ever could.

Not only that, you were undeniably charming. You didn’t even realize how you completely captured his respect during Leona’s overblot.

He didn’t know when the fight would end. He was a human and compared to Sebek, his stamina runs short. Leona sent another attack, sand and dirt flying everywhere and for a moment he couldn’t see. He stumbled back, dropping his pen onto the floor, trying to get rid of the sand in his eyes.

A figure from the sand cloud sprinted out and yelled in urgency. “Silver!” You quickly swept up his fallen pen and shoved him out the way from Leona’s attack. He opened his eyes to see you shield him from the flying debris.

“Be careful.” You said out of breath, shoving his pen back into his hands.

Seeing you made him realize. He didn’t even learn your name.

He, by all means, respects you for what you did.

Though, he wished to be closer to you. He really wished things would go slower and maybe not close in this way..?!

He awkwardly wrapped his arm around you as you put your forehead against his shoulder. “I’m sorry… You don’t need to bother yourself with me. I know I’m nothing but a nuisance.”

“W-What are you saying?”

“I know, I’m too sensitive. I’m not beautiful like my sisters. I’m not as social as them either… I-I!” Your eyes squeezed shut. “Forgot my next line…”

Everyone around you groaned as you sighed and shrugged. “Really, you can’t remember your lines?!” A guy yelled at you as he handed you your script. “Try having to memorize and act out all these things. Maybe then you’d understand.”

Silver went to your side and looked at his own script. “My Pearl” is a play about a talented prince and a young, anti-social princess from another kingdom. The princess, Ava, is the youngest of all her sisters. She grew up feeling inferior to her sisters due to being the youngest and being less attractive than her three other siblings.

The prince, Ethan, was a gifted child. He received three gifts. Mastery in swordsmanship, silver hair that sparkles in the light, and the ability to see the beauty in people's hearts.

A marriage is arranged between Princess Ava and Prince Ethan. It sprouts in a seemingly one-sided love, Prince Ethan trying his hardest to show her his true feelings.

Cute story.

But not when you have to act it out with someone you deeply admire.

Despite often being so close, you never seemed to catch on to his fast heart beat and his stiff gestures.

“Both of you need to really focus on what the characters say and why they say it! The script isn’t just lines to memorize, it’s responses to the situation.”

“What do you mean?!”

“If you don’t know then you need to reevaluate your skills as an actor.”

“I never intended to be an actor in the beginning…”

“You’re such a child.” Vil scoffed “Silver, you need to connect with the story more.”

Silver raised an eyebrow at the comment. “You seem to be dazing off. It’s bothersome. You’re here, and you’re Prince Ethan.” Vil firmly said as he turned around and went to scold the rest of the members.

You regretted ever taking the suggestion to choose theater as an elective. “Cater made this sound easy…” You said to yourself as you looked down at your lines.

❥

“Silver? Is that you?” You asked out loud in a dimly lit room. You soon realized it www though he was in no condition to speak.

“He’s sleeping at this hour? That’s a bit early.”

You intended to leave but you noticed something white laying around his head.

Sorry Silver, hope you don’t mind.

You entered his room and knelt down to inspect what it was.

You scanned the words across the paper and soon came to recognize the words. “He was practicing the script…?” You said quietly to yourself. A smile played across your face as you stared at his sleeping expression.

“Ow!”

“W-Wait..?! MC is that you?”

You held your face and rolled on the side. Kudos to him for his quick reaction. You should’ve never let your guard down. You sat yourself up as Silver grabbed your wrists and went to check if your face was ok.

“A-Are you ok?!”

“I don’t know… What do you think?” You begrudgingly removed your hands off your face, your face retorted with pain and small tears at the corners of your eyes.

He immediately lifted you up and sat you down on the bed. “Where did I hit you?” He shakily asked.

Your small groans in pain suddenly stopped for a short moment. As you moved one of your hands down, you opened your mouth to speak.

“Will you still think I’m pretty… even after this?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Why did I say that?! Ahh… I better tell him so he—

“I could never think that.”

He didn’t seem to even bat an eye at the random response, incidentally he responded right in character.

“How could I ever think that of you?” He asked with a tilt in his head. You breathed out and put your hand down on your lap.

“People say your hair is as beautiful as silver, you have a golden heart, and you're more graceful than any prince I’ve seen. I know it’s all true because I’ve experienced myself. Then there’s me, your soiled fiancé, after I’ve been thrown away by another, we married solely to keep peace between kingdoms. Married to a woman like me, it’s ruining your public—“

“MC.”

Eh? He said my name?

He harshly yet tenderly wrapped his arms around you. His neck nestled into your neck, chills ran down your arms.

“I’m sorry.” He sharply said.

“Wow, talk about soap operas. That isn’t nothing compared to these two! Isn’t that right, Sebek?”

“How dare you do this in the presence of other people?!”

“W-Wait this isn’t what it looks like!!”

“Apologies , it is so, so late and I believe I should be heading back Ramshackle!”

“Absolutely! Leave immediately! How would the young master react to seeing such shameless actions?”

You quickly scrambled away from his room and nearly tripped on your way out. Silver closed his eyes and turned the other way.

“Silver. What was that?”

“Script. F-For class. We were rehearsing, I swear.”

“Is it now? Hehehehe..”

❥

“Silver, MC, it’s almost time for you two.”

“Alright, thank you.”

You let out a sigh then sat down on a chair. Your legs were shaking and it struggled to contain your deep breathing.

“MC, you look unwell.” Silver said as he spotted you. He wasted no time kneeling down in front of you and attempted to get a look at your face.

“You look pale.” He muttered under his breath. “Are you really this nervous?” He asked with concern in his tone.

“Erm… I’ve never ever done something like this before. Stepped up in front of a big audience and performed or presented… I never had to do that.”

“Never?”

It made him wonder about your past, though it was no time to ask about that. He thought about the times he was like this.

What would Lilia do…?

“Close your eyes, MC.” Silver commanded. You reluctantly complied and closed your eyes. You heard a bit of shuffling around before you felt a tap on your forehead.

Suddenly, you were in control of your whole body again. There was no longer a pit in your stomach or were your legs trembling.

“What did you do?” You asked in amazement.

“Ah… Back then when I was a boy and got hurt, Old Man— Lilia, used a spell on me. It works well, doesn’t it?” He confessed with a smile.

You put your hand against your chest and stared in gratitude. “Now come on, we need to get on stage about now.” Silver beckoned as he stood up from his kneeling position and held his hand out to you.

He really does look like a prince like this…

You couldn’t help but naturally gravitate towards him. “Yes, I’m ready!”

“Excellent.” He led you to the side and bowed. He was about to go to the right wing but before he could, you shouted.

“Meet you on stage!”

“Yeah, meet you on stage.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #silver twst #silver twst x reader #silver twisted wonderland #silver twisted wonderland x reader

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