#Magic Snowball Fight

[another-goblin]

Even after escaping to a different universe (where he's actually appreciated), our Doctor can't stop rating people's performance. Including his own.

[fizermusic]

Kids Love Snow at Christmas

[alvinmichaelmurphyseville]

"Christmas break is so fuuuun!!!!"

"I got some super awesome presents, made a Christmas music video to a Simple Plan Christmas song, and Dave got a REALLY special Christmas surprise of his own! I can't tell ya about it though, because he said he wants to announce it himself!"

"Simon got me a book of TV and movie word searches. I was skeptical at first, but I am FLYIN' through these things! I feel like I unlocked a new talent! Who knew my Albert-y side was so good at word searches? I've never done them before, but I knocked out 4 in one hour! I'm sure I'd be slower doing ones that aren't themed like stuff I'm interested in."

"We also had a snowball fight! Ells and Simon really can throw! I wonder if Netta likes her Christmas gift. I got her a book about constellations."

"My best pal from another dimension got me a Minecraft themed coding book! And edible DND dice! and a bunch of magic tricks that are sciencey!"

"I'm helpin' out with Christmas dinner now, then I dunno what's next. I might play Clue or Uno or somthin' with the family!"

"Hope you're all having an amazing day!!!!"

[gildengirl]

The Gallagher Academy in the winter

[gallium-spoon]

It started snowing yesterday and I've been feeling like a bit of an old grump about it because no one here knows how to drive in snow so the roads are sketchy and I don't like being cold

But this morning I saw some neighbor kids building a snow man and now I feel better

[dorothydalmati1]

My Little Pony Short 140: Snowball Fight

Written by Celina Frenn

Directed by Emily Thompson

Animated by Sergio Lara Jimenez

Puppetry by Oscar Rodriguez Cid

[jilychallenge]

there can NEVER be enough snowball fight fics with JILY in it... this was so cute and perfect. someone get them a cup of hot chocolate...

december jily bingo: snowball fight @jilychallenge

"Evans," James yelled, pulling Lily to the ground behind a large bush, just as a ball of snow flew past right where she had been standing.

She pushed James off her, "What on earth are you doing, Potter?"

James grinning, patting a lump of snow into a sphere.

"Snowball fight."

Lily frowned, "But we have Charms now?"

"Yeah, but it's snowing", he shrugged, chucking the snowball over the bush.

"So?"

"So," he drawled, "We're skipping. Well, other than Remus, he refused."

Lily huffed, "Good, and I should be getting to class too", she began wiping the snow off her uniform and began to stand up.

As soon as she stood, a large snowball flew right towards her, hitting her square in the face.

The sounds of Sirius and Peter laughing ran out in the distance.

Lily angrily wiped her face and ducked just before another snowball came flying towards her.

"Can you tell your idiot friends to stop!"

James winced, holding back a laugh, "No. I mean, I could get Peter to stop, but Sirius is definitely the one throwing those."

Lily sighed, "Fine."

James watched as she grabbed a large handful of snow, rolled it into a perfect sphere and then got out her a wand, whispering an incantation on it.

She stood up quickly, throwing it as hard as she could in the direction the other snowballs were coming from.

A few seconds later, Peter swore loudly.

James poked his head out the bush just enough to spot Peter fall out a tree nearby, large blue spots covering his skin.

"What did you do?" James grinned, staring over to Lily in adoration.

Lily smiled, already charming her next snowball, "Come on, we're winning this thing. Start stocking up snowballs and throw any mildly irritating charms you can on them."

James nodded and got to work.

○

Peter gave in first, shouting that he was cold, tired, and fed up of getting hexed over and over. He made his way inside, heading to the common room.

"One down", Lily smirked, holding out her hand to James.

James happily high fived her.

The bush they had been hiding behind suddenly sprang apart. The two glancing over to see Sirius only a few metres away, arms filled with snowballs and his wand pointed out.

"I won't be so easily beaten", Sirius laughed, barraging them.

Lily tried hitting him back, but Sirius was too quick with waving his wand and defending himself against the snowballs.

James grabbed Lily's hand again, trying to shake Sirius off them. The two ran to a large hill and slid behind it.

"We need a plan," Lily frowned, watching as Sirius easily stocked up his weaponry even more, seeming to bring a practised ease and elegance to making snowballs.

James thought about it for a moment then grinned, "I could get my broom and distract him long enough for you to bombard him? He won't be able to resist making me fall off the broom."

"Yes," Lily nodded, beginning to draw their plan in the snow, "You fly over here, drawing him away from here. Then I'll climb up here while he's distracted with my cloak filled with pre-made snowballs and we'll get him defenceless and unaware."

"Great plan."

"I know", She smiled.

James accio'd his broom whilst Lily began preparing the snowballs.

James grabbed onto his broom.

"Ready?" Lily asked.

"One second", he leaned over, wand aimed at Lily.

She felt a warmth surround her and glanced to James.

He smiled, "I thought you might be cold since you're having to take your cloak off."

"Thanks", she nodded, watching as he flew off.

She waited a moment until Sirius was further away and ran to one of the trees, climbing up it with a careful grip on her cloak.

She watched James flying around, trying to avoid Sirius' avalanche of snowballs. His eyes locked onto hers in the distance and he began to fly closer towards her. Sirius came following suit.

Once he was close enough, Lily began her attack, and James blew up Sirius' stockpile of snowballs.

Sirius swore, unable to defend himself against all of the snowballs. Sirius begrudgingly surrended.

James flew over, giving Lily a lift back down to the ground.

She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. James hugged her back.

They awkwardly broke apart after a minute.

Lily smiled, "This was so much better than charms class."

"Right?" James grinned.

"Mr Potter! Miss Evans", McGonagall's voice boomed as she walked towards them.

Lily glanced over to where Sirius was, only to see he had somehow disappeared. Only a large black dog sat nearby, somehow seeming to appear smug.

"Both of you are meant to be in Professor Flitwick's classroom, are you not?"

"Sorry, Professor," they both answered.

"Get to class," McGonagall sighed.

Lily and James walked past together, close ebough for their shoulders to brush.

Once inside the halls, Lily reached up to James and brushed the snow out his hair. James stared at her helplessly.

[wholoveseggs]

Can I request a one shot with the one and only Elijah? He and reader know each other for years but since she is human he never made a move. She overhears Klaus nagging Elijah about being smitten with her and she confronts him and he is obviously in denial, reader tells him to man up for once and he shows her how much men he is? With Consent of course. Would love reading something like this, you are my go to fix for my Elijah obsession

Snow Day

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A rare snowstorm blankets New Orleans, and the Mikaelsons revel in the icy chaos. But as Klaus pushes Elijah to confront his feelings for you, the heat between you two threatens to outshine the storm.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon!! This was partly inspired by Louisiana getting snow for the first time in over 20 years!!! (yikes the planet is on fire)~ ♡♡

6.2k words - Warnings: smutttt, rough sex (He just scoops you up and has his way with you), oral sex (f!receiving), praise kink, shamelessly using this fic to explore Elijah talking you through it (hot), tiny bit of angst, child Hope being adorable, snowball fights, Klaus being Klaus, magical snow forts and a hint of hot chocolate...

The world outside was unrecognizable. Snow blanketed the streets of New Orleans in a thick, pristine layer, muffling the usual lively sounds of the city. It was almost surreal, like waking up in a dream.

You rubbed your hands together for warmth as you stood at the window of the Mikaelson compound, marveling at the sight. The night before, a snowstorm had hit with an intensity no one had expected. It hadn't snowed in Louisiana since 2004. Now, with nearly ten inches of snow on the ground, you were effectively snowed in.

Not that you minded. The compound was warm and cozy, a fire crackling in pretty much every single room. Still, being cooped up had a way of making you restless, your thoughts wandering far too easily to things you shouldn’t dwell on—like your relationship with Elijah.

You had been friends with him for years, but something about the way he carried himself, the quiet strength he exuded, had always drawn you in, leaving you wanting more. 

Lately, though, there had been a shift. His gaze lingered a little longer, his touches felt a little more intentional. You weren’t blind to it, but Elijah was a master of control. Whatever feelings he might have, he kept them locked away, hidden beneath his stoic demeanor.

It made you sad, the way he denied himself any sort of affection. He always pushed away those he loved the most, it was a bad habit he had yet to break.

With a sigh, you turned from the window and made your way upstairs. You had barely reached the top of the stairs when the sound of raised voices reached your ears.

You headed to the balcony, looking down into the courtyard where Hayley and Rebekah were wrangling Hope into a snow suit. A task that the two immortal creatures seemed to be struggling with, much to the little girl’s amusement.

"Can we go now?" Hope demanded, wiggling out of Rebekah's hold. "I want to make a snowman!"

"Soon," Hayley promised, pulling a large warm hat over her daughter's ears. "We have to finish bundling you up first."

"Let me," Elijah said, stepping in with his usual calm demeanor, crouching down in front of Hope.

The little girl huffed, but she stilled as Elijah gently adjusted her coat and scarf. "You must not rush, little one. Proper preparation will ensure you can enjoy the snow without discomfort," he said, his hands moving with care as he buttoned her coat and smoothed the scarf into place.

"Uncle ‘lijah, I can do it!" Hope protested, though there was no real frustration in her tone.

"I have no doubt," Elijah replied with a small smile, "but would it not be faster if I helped? The snow is waiting, after all."

Hope considered his words for a moment before nodding solemnly. "Okay, but only because I want to go faster."

"Of course," Elijah said, his voice soft with amusement. He worked quickly but carefully, ensuring everything was just right. Finally, he held up her mittens. "Now for the finishing touch."

"My hands are going to sweat," Hope muttered, wrinkling her nose as she reluctantly let him slip the mittens over her small hands.

"They’ll thank you once you’re outside," Elijah said, rising to his full height and brushing a stray curl from her face. "There. You’re ready."

Hope beamed up at him. "Thank you, Uncle ‘lijah!" she said, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"You're welcome, little one," Elijah replied, returning the embrace, the tenderness on his face making your heart ache.

Kol burst into the courtyard then, an excited grin on his face. He was wrapped up in a giant scarf, his coat buttoned all the way up, and his cheeks were rosy.

"Come on, Hope, hurry!" He urged. "I just finished building the best snow fort. It's big enough for the both of us. I know you like to hide in snow forts and scare people, right?"

Hope's eyes lit up, and she released Elijah, running toward Kol and latching onto his hand. "I love snow forts! Let's go, Uncle Kol!"

"That's my girl!" Kol said, leading her toward the doors. "We're going to have a ball, aren't we, Hope?"

"Yes!" Hope said, bouncing along beside him.

The rest of the family trailed behind, Hayley and Rebekah already discussing plans for getting some hot chocolate later.

"Well, look at you, being the best uncle," Klaus said, clapping Elijah on the back with a smile on his face. Although there was a tiny hint of jealousy in his tone.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his antics, heading down the stairs to join them.

"She makes it easy," Elijah said, a fond smile playing at his lips as he watched his family depart.

His gaze drifted to you, his smile growing a little as his eyes met yours. You felt your cheeks flush and averted your eyes, trying not to be so obvious.

"Are you joining us?" He asked, his voice smooth and rich like the expensive whiskey he often favored.

Klaus was pulling on his large coat and scarf, his expression smug as he watched the two of you. A familiar mischievous glint entered his eye, and you braced yourself for whatever he was about to say.

Instead, he didn't say a word, his expression shifting to something close to a smirk as he looked at his older brother. His silence was worse, and the air felt thick with anticipation.

"I don't know, I'm not a big fan of the cold," you said, glancing toward the door where the others had left.

"Oh, c'mon, just for a little while," Klaus cajoled, wrapping a scarf around his neck. "Elijah will miss you if you aren't there."

The heat rose in your cheeks and you cleared your throat, unable to come up with a response.

Elijah shot him a look, grabbing his own outerwear, a long, black, impeccably tailored wool coat and matching scarf. He looked like he belonged on a fashion runway, not traipsing through the snow.

"If the lady does not wish to join, she doesn't have to," he said, his voice level.

"It would be a shame to miss this rare beauty, wouldn't it?" Klaus asked, gesturing to the world outside.

"It's a blizzard," you deadpanned.

"In Louisiana." Klaus grinned. "It's the sort of thing you'll look back on and remember for centuries. And, besides, Hope would love to see you. Don't you want to make a snow angel with her?"

"Fine. But if I get hypothermia, I'm coming for you." You glared at him.

Klaus grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and sauntered out the door.

You pulled on your jacket and scarf, not quite as fashionable as Elijah's, and popped a beanie over your hair. You glanced at him, taking in his refined, handsome appearance.

"Thanks for waiting for me," you said softly, slipping your feet into your boots and tugging on your gloves.

"I don't mind," Elijah said. He gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

You nodded and led the way out of the compound. As soon as the cold air hit you, you shivered, a gust of wind biting through your layers.

"Are you alright?" Elijah asked, his brows furrowing.

"I'm fine," you insisted, even as another shiver coursed through your body. "Let's just get this over with."

"As you wish." He smiled.

You walked beside him, following the path the others had taken. It was quiet, the world blanketed in white. Tiny snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, dancing lazily around you. The street was empty, the storm keeping most people indoors.

You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and joyful conversation, and the image of Hope's excited smile came to mind. She was a delight, a true ray of sunshine in an often bleak world.

You glanced up at Elijah, admiring his profile. There was a softness in his features that was so rare. He looked peaceful. Little snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes, his cheeks pink from the cold.

You turned your gaze forward, feeling a familiar flutter in your chest. You had always found him attractive, but lately, it was becoming impossible to ignore.

Kol had indeed built an impressive fort, so impressive in fact, that there must have been a bit of magic involved. The snow sparkled unnaturally, as if dusted with tiny crystals, and the walls were impossibly smooth, their edges glowing faintly in the sunlight. 

Hope was hiding inside, giggling madly as Rebekah crouched near the entrance, watching her with a wide smile on her face. Hayley and Klaus were sitting on the bench, chatting idly, while Kol was working on sculpting a large snowball.

Hope jumped out from behind the wall, throwing a snowball at Kol's back.

"Hope!" Kol cried, turning around as he grasped at his back dramatically.

The little girl laughed gleefully and disappeared behind the wall once again.

You smiled, watching the exchange. The sight was so normal, almost mundane. It was strange, seeing the Mikaelsons acting so human.

Hayley joined in on the snowball fight, scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at Kol. Her aim was true, and it hit him square in the chest.

"Oof," Kol groaned, clutching his chest. "I've been shot."

He toppled over into the snow, laying perfectly still.

Hope squealed, jumping up and running over to him. "Uncle Kol!"

Rebekah snorted, crossing her arms. "You've died. Again. Typical."

Kol cracked open one eye and smirked, grabbing Hope's legs and dragging her down with him.

"Nooo!" She shrieked, giggling wildly as she struggled to get away.

Elijah watched them, a fond smile playing at his lips. It was such a small thing, but it sent warmth rushing through you.

"It's good to see them having fun," he said, his voice quiet.

"Yeah," you agreed, your eyes still on him. "Are you having fun?"

He paused, considering the question. Then he knelt down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it. "I suppose so," he said, smiling up at you.

Your heart stuttered at the sight. His gaze was soft, affectionate, and you felt like you could get lost in those dark, soulful eyes.

Then he threw the snowball at you, the icy projectile hitting you square in the face.

The contact was so surprising, so unexpected, that it took a moment to process what had happened. When it finally sank in, you could only stare at him.

Elijah's eyes widened, his face the picture of innocence. "I'm sorry, did I hit you?"

You couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, you're going to pay for that, Mikaelson," you warned, crouching down and gathering snow into your hands.

Elijah's smile grew wider, a playful challenge in his eyes. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, my dear," he said, scooping up more snow.

You tossed your own snowball at him, aiming for his face.

He ducked, faster than humanly possible and the snowball sailed harmlessly past him.

"Hey! That's cheating!" You cried, gathering more snow.

"There are no rules in snowball fights, darling," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Klaus had joined the fray now, launching a barrage of snowballs at Elijah, while Hayley, Hope and Rebekah were targeting Kol.

You ducked and dodged, trying to avoid the flying snow, while attempting to take out Elijah.

His movements were quick, calculated, and it seemed like no matter how fast you moved, he was always one step ahead.

He was standing a few feet away, a playful grin on his face. It was the first time you'd ever seen him act so carefree, and it was infectious.

"C'mon, darling," he teased, "you'll have to do better than that."

You let out a huff, gathering more snow and shaping it into a tight ball. This time, you managed to hit him, the snow exploding against his shoulder.

"Impressive," he said, his tone light and teasing.

You couldn't stop the smile from forming on your lips, the thrill of the moment, the pure, unbridled joy in his eyes, filling you with an indescribable warmth.

Suddenly, a snowball hit you on the side of the head, sending ice crystals cascading down the front of your coat.

You yelped, swiping at the icy shards, and turned to see Kol grinning impishly. You grabbed a fistful of snow and hurled it at him, the missile landing with a satisfying thwack.

You joined in the fray, the sound of laughter and playful banter filling the air. You lost track of time, the snowy battle raging on.

Klaus wandered over to where Elijah was standing, a few feet from the others, watching the fight with a small smile on his face.

"This is nice," Klaus said, his eyes following Hope as she darted around.

"Yes, it is," Elijah agreed, his gaze fixed on you.

"She's quite a fighter, isn't she?" Klaus remarked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Indeed," Elijah murmured, his gaze never wavering.

Klaus watched him for a moment, then nudged him lightly. "I was talking about Hope. Who are you talking about?"

"Hm?" Elijah asked, finally tearing his gaze away.

Klaus smirked, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a low murmur. "Don't play coy with me, brother. We both know you're smitten."

Elijah's brow furrowed, his jaw clenching. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. The way you look at her, it's like she hung the stars," Klaus said, a teasing note in his voice.

"It's nothing," Elijah said, his expression closing off. "She's a friend. Nothing more."

"That's a lie and you know it," Klaus scoffed.

"Even if it were true," Elijah continued, his tone measured and controlled. "She deserves more than I can give her," he said, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice.

"Ohhh, so you are going with the martyr excuse this time? I should have guessed," Klaus said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Elijah looked like he wanted to say more, but you chose that moment to join them.

"Hey," you greeted, a flush on your cheeks. Your breath puffed out in little clouds, and a few strands of hair had escaped from your beanie, curling around your face. All Elijah wanted to do was brush them away, run his fingers along your jaw, feel the warmth of your skin.

Instead, he smiled politely, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah," you said, a little breathless. "This is so much fun. I can't remember the last time I played in the snow."

"Nor can I," Elijah admitted. He paused, seeming to think for a moment. "It is rather invigorating."

"It's freezing," you corrected, laughing softly.

"I'm sure Elijah will be more than happy to warm you up," Klaus teased, shooting his older brother a knowing look.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the suggestion, and you turned away, pretending to admire the scenery.

"Niklaus," Elijah hissed, glaring at him. "It's impolite to suggest such things."

Klaus shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. "But it's true right? Or have I read the situation incorrectly?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unable to come up with a response. You were afraid of what Elijah might say, or worse, not say.

"We are just friends," Elijah said, his jaw set.

You tried not to let his words sting, but you couldn't help the pang of disappointment that twisted in your gut.

"Ah, yes, friends," Klaus drawled, rolling his eyes. "I think the rest of us are going to the cafe down the street to get some hot chocolate, are you two joining?"

"I'm going to head back to the compound," you said quickly, before Elijah could speak.

Klaus raised a brow, looking at Elijah with a smirk.

"I'll accompany you," Elijah said, his voice smooth.

"No," you insisted, a little too sharply. You winced and cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I mean, no, that's okay. I don't want to keep you from having fun with the others. Besides, it's just a short walk. I'll be fine."

"Very well," Elijah conceded, his expression neutral.

Klaus shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.

The silence that settled between you was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words.

You wanted to ask him what he meant, if there was a chance, or if he was just playing nice. But the fear of rejection kept the words trapped in your throat. You quickly turned away, afraid he would see the emotion written plainly on your face.

"I'm going to head out," you said, taking a step toward the street. "Have fun, okay?"

Elijah watched you leave, a hint of sadness in his eyes. He should have said something, should have explained. Instead, he had let you go, his silence a cowardly choice.

When you reached the compound, you shed your outer layers and flopped onto the sofa in front of the fireplace in the library. A wave of longing crashed over you, a deep ache that couldn't be filled. The feeling was transforming into frustration and anger, a familiar bitterness creeping in.

The sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you sat up, seeing Elijah enter the room.

"I thought you were going to get hot chocolate," you said, forcing a small smile.

"I changed my mind," he replied, his voice soft.

You nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. The silence was almost deafening, the tension palpable.

"So, uh, I was thinking about heading home soon," you said, needing to fill the void. "Once the snow lets up."

"Of course," Elijah agreed, though he sounded a bit hesitant.

You swallowed thickly, glancing at him. "Thanks for having me," you added, your voice a bit hoarse.

"Anytime," he said, and there was a sincerity in his voice that made your heart flutter.

You gave him a small smile, the sadness creeping back in. This feeling of limbo was killing you, the not knowing.

"So, is there, uh, is there someone else?" You asked, unable to hold back any longer. Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes across the room. “Someone you're seeing?"

"No," Elijah replied, shaking his head.

"Oh, okay," you said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why do you ask?" He questioned, his tone carefully neutral.

You could have played it off, made a joke, deflected. But the weight of his gaze, the way he was looking at you, it was as if he could see into your very soul.

"You know why," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do I?" He asked, his brow furrowed.

"Don't," you snapped, frustrated with his cryptic behavior. “Just be honest with me, stop with the bullshit.”

Elijah’s features shifted, his carefully composed mask slipping for just a moment. A shadow passed over his face as he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though fighting an invisible force.

"It's not that simple," he said, his voice quiet as he approached you.

"Yes, it is," you countered.

"No," he said firmly. "You deserve someone who can give you what you want, someone who isn't... damaged. Someone who won't break your heart."

"I think that's for me to decide," you said, meeting his gaze.

"And what do you think I can give you?" He asked, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not asking you for anything, this isn't a transaction," you said, the frustration creeping back in. "All I want is to know if you feel the same,"

His dark eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a glimpse of hope. Then, the shutters fell, and his expression hardened.

"It doesn't matter," he said, turning away.

"No. Elijah. It does matter," you insisted, standing up and following him. 

He didn't say a word, just kept walking towards the door.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, reaching out and touching his arm.

He flinched, but didn't pull away, and he slowly turned back to face you.

"Why are you trying to push me away?" You pressed, searching his face.

Elijah stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes. Anger, frustration, or perhaps longing. You couldn’t tell, but his inability to make a decision had your blood boiling.

"Just… stop," you said, letting go of his arm, the words sharper now as the emotions clawed their way up your throat.

"Stop what?" he asked, his voice clipped, as if daring you to elaborate.

"Stop being so self-sacrificing. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Just... man up and take what you want," you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and desperation.

Elijah’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He took a step closer, and you could feel the tension radiating off him like a storm about to break.

"You think this is easy for me?" he said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You think I enjoy pretending I don’t feel something for you?"

"Then why do it?" you shot back, standing your ground.

"Because I have to!" he barked, his composure cracking as he raised his voice. The sudden intensity made you flinch, you had never heard him yell before, but you refused to back down.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice just as loud now. "Why are you so determined to ruin this before it even starts?"

"You don’t understand," he said, his tone quieter but no less fierce. He turned his back to you, his hands gripping the edge of the mantel above the fireplace. "You deserve someone better than me. Someone who can give you a family, children, a happy life. Someone who doesn’t bring danger and destruction to everything they touch."

"Stop deciding what I deserve!" you shouted, your voice echoing in the room.

He turned on you then, his dark eyes blazing with anger. "And what happens when you wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted your life on a monster? What happens when you resent me for stealing the life you could have had?"

You took a step closer, your own anger boiling over. "You don’t get to make that choice for me! I know what I want, Elijah, and it’s you. If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging you to let me in!"

Elijah’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked almost stunned. But then his expression hardened again, his frustration returning.

"I am trying to protect you!" he shouted back, his voice shaking the room.

"From what?" you screamed, stepping right into his space.

"From me," he hissed, his voice raw and broken.

The confession hung in the air, thick and heavy. For a moment, neither of you said anything, your breaths coming fast and shallow as you stared at each other.

"You’re such a coward," you said finally, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness.

His eyes narrowed, his anger sparking again. "You think I’m a coward? You think I don’t want you?" he growled, stepping so close his shadow seemed to swallow you.

You stared up at him, defiant, despite the fear and excitement rushing through you.

"Do you have any idea what it’s like to want something so badly and know you can never have it?" he asked, his voice strained, as though the words were torn from him against his will.

"Yes. I'm looking at him," you retorted, your heart pounding.

Whatever control he'd been clinging to shattered, his walls crumbling as he took hold of your arm, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, feeling his body pressing into yours, the heat of his breath as it ghosted over your skin, the smell of leather and cologne mingled with something wild, primal.

Without saying a word he lifted you up, pinning you to the nearest wall, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss that stole your breath away.

You gripped the fabric of his suit, kissing him back just as fiercely, letting your hands explore along his chest, his shoulders. You were practically vibrating with want, your body humming with pent-up desire as you felt his arousal pressing against your thigh.

"You drive me insane," he murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at the tender spot just below your ear, causing you to moan in anticipation.

You were like a moth to a flame, and he was the hottest fire you'd ever known, searing into your soul, consuming you from the inside out. And the way he touched you, it was as though he were afraid he'd never be able to hold you like this again.

He carried you upstairs to his bedroom in a blur of wind and sound, moving so fast you could barely comprehend it. In that moment, you were reminded that he was more than just a man. He was an ancient creature of immense power, and he was about to unleash every bit of that power on your body.

The moment your back hit the mattress he was on you, his hands tearing away your clothes and tossing them carelessly aside. You tugged at his clothes in return, desperate to feel his skin on yours, your breath hitching as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin.

It wasn't gentle or sweet, it was wild, passionate, full of all the words that went unspoken for far too long. You couldn't get enough, you wanted to lose yourself in this moment, in him. You didn't care about anything else.

The weight of him as he covered you with his body, the way his muscles rippled under your fingertips, the sounds he made when he lost control. You didn't expect this side of him, the almost feral desire he was unleashing.

His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them up until your knees were pressed against your chest, exposing you to him completely. His cock pressed against your slick entrance, teasing you, the sensation drawing out a breathy moan.

"Is this what you want?” he groaned, the head of his cock pressing just a fraction inside.

You groaned in frustration, writhing against him, trying to get him to sink deeper.

He chuckled darkly, holding your hips still. "You need to learn to be patient, sweetheart," he drawled, his tone dark and seductive.

You whined, but you knew better than to push him, and you could see the gleam in his eyes. You felt a sharp smack to your thigh, causing you to yelp in surprise, the stinging pain giving way to a dull warmth that only intensified your need.

"Now be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I've always wanted to," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

The way his accent wrapped around each syllable had a shudder rolling through your body. He gripped your thighs tighter, the blunt head of his cock pressing into you slowly. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you cried out as he sank to the hilt.

"So pretty when you sing for me," he teased, nipping at your throat.

You couldn't even form a response, your brain short-circuiting as he pulled almost all the way out, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance. Then, in one swift stroke, he eased back inside you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss as he began to move inside you, each thrust hitting you in all the right places. His strokes were firm and deep, sending waves of pleasure washing over you, each thrust making you gasp for air.

It was everything you had hoped for, everything you'd been craving, and so much more. Your nails dug into the firm muscles of his chest, leaving half-moon marks on his pale skin.

"Do you know all the things I want to do to you?" he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sent a rush of heat through your core. You whimpered in response, unable to form words.

He let out a soft laugh, his hips moving at a maddening pace, as he teased, "All the places I've thought about having you," he whispered.

You could feel your release coiling deep within you, but he wouldn't let you come, keeping you on the edge. Your mind was clouded with need, and his words only added fuel to the fire.

"Like right here in my bed," he continued, "Or taking you against the window for anyone who might be watching. Or bent over the balcony railing, with my fingers buried inside your wet little pussy while your scream fills the night sky."

The thought alone had you clenching around him, the fantasy sending your body into a spiral of need and pleasure.

"Would you like that? Being my plaything?" he purred.

You let out a needy whine, your nails clawing down his back, drawing blood. You needed him to make good on his promises.

"I think you would," he teased, nipping at your neck, drawing more moans from you.

You bucked your hips, your legs wrapped around him as you tried to take control.

"So eager," he groaned as he released his hold on your thighs, gripping the headboard for leverage, and the new position allowed him to hit even deeper, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"You want it?" He taunted, his voice ragged as his strokes became more forceful.

You moaned incoherently, feeling yourself start to lose control, and Elijah laughed, his voice deep and husky as he said, "Then take it," as if challenging you to finally fall off the edge.

Your breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping you as your release finally crested over, and you came harder than you'd ever imagined. Your mind went completely blank, your vision blurred as the wave of euphoria crashed over you.

You were only vaguely aware of the sensation of his cock pulsing inside you, your name falling from his lips as he reached his own peak, spilling himself deep within you.

Your breathing was labored and shallow, your body humming with aftershocks as he began to kiss his way along your neck and down your collarbone, the feel of his lips ghosting over your skin drawing out soft whimpers.

His kisses grew more tender, the touch almost reverent as he murmured against your skin, "So perfect for me," his voice barely above a whisper, the words almost lost to the room.

He kept moving down your body, his lips brushing over every inch of bare skin as if memorizing it. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands tangling in his hair as you allowed yourself to just enjoy the sensation of him exploring you, worshipping you, like you were his religion, his salvation.

"'lijah," you said breathlessly, feeling him spread your thighs.

He didn't say a word as he lowered his head, his tongue finding your clit and lapping at you, drawing a loud cry from you as he cleaned up the mess he had made. You didn't have it in you to beg him to stop, his ministrations driving you to near-insanity, his tongue dragging through your slit.

He hummed softly, enjoying the sounds you were making. The way you squirmed, softly protesting as you felt yourself falling deeper under his spell.

"More," you whined, tugging at his hair.

He let out a deep laugh, and the vibration had your back arching as your climax rolled through you again, and your release flooded his tongue.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Elijah shifted, and you cracked an eye open, your body feeling boneless as you tried to get your bearings.

"Holy fuck," you said, your voice barely audible.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, and you sighed contentedly. The air was heavy with lingering tension, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Yet, as you lay tangled together, the heat of his body grounding you, the world outside seemed to melt away. For now, there was only this. The sense of finally being together.

"I didn't think you would be such a talker in bed," you said, breaking the silence.

You felt his body shake as he laughed again, a low, throaty sound that made you weak. You shifted, cuddling closer, your head on his chest as you traced circles on his bare skin.

"What?" You asked, playfully nipping at his collarbone. "You can't just say all that to me and expect me not to comment on it,"

"I was just stating facts, nothing more," he said, the smirk audible in his tone.

"Mhm," you teased. "Well, I hope you know I expect you to follow through,"

Elijah laughed softly, his arms tightening around you. "Is that so?" He asked, his voice deep and seductive. "In that case, you should get some rest. I have a very long list of things I want to do to you."

Your face flushed, and you laughed, trying to play it off. But deep down, you were hoping that list was never-ending.

"Don't think for a second I'll be satisfied with one round, I can keep you up for days if you let me," he teased, nipping your neck playfully.

The thought of him keeping you locked up in his bedroom for days, indulging your every fantasy and need, made you squirm in anticipation.

You sat up slightly, pushing on his chest so he was lying on his back, his arms still wrapped around you, pulling you along for the ride. You straddled him, kissing him slowly, savoring the feel of his lips on yours.

"We'll see who keeps who up," you teased, rolling your hips over his already growing cock.

He hummed in approval, his hands gripping your ass as you continued to move, slowly grinding against him. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed as you picked up the pace.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled your attention away, and you heard the voices of the rest of the family downstairs.

You felt your cheeks heat up and Elijah smirked, gripping your thighs as he sat up, pulling you closer and wrapping your legs around him. He kissed along your neck, whispering softly.

"We should probably join them before they get suspicious," he murmured.

You hummed in agreement, not really wanting to move but knowing he was right. You let him lift you up and set you down on the edge of the bed.

"We have a lot to talk about," you said, grabbing your clothes from the floor and beginning to get dressed.

"We do," Elijah agreed, watching you. "I can't promise this will be easy," he warned, "but I want to try, if you're willing."

You turned to face him, taking a step closer and helping him button up his shirt. You leaned in, kissing him softly.

"I want that more than anything," you said, resting your forehead against his, feeling like you could finally breathe again.

He smiled, the look of pure happiness on his face warming your heart. He kissed you once more, slow and tender, and you knew in that moment that nothing would ever feel as good as being loved by him.

By the time you both made it downstairs, the rest of the family had settled in the parlor, hot chocolate in hand. Hope was curled up beside Klaus, who was dramatically recounting his snowball victory to an unimpressed Hayley. "I was vastly outnumbered, of course," Klaus was saying, his tone full of mock gravitas. "But my superior tactics won the day."

"You were hit in the face three times," Hayley retorted, rolling her eyes as she sipped her drink. "By a seven-year-old."

"Details," Klaus muttered, waving a hand as if dismissing the thought. Beside him, Hope giggled, her cheeks still rosy from the cold.

Kol leaned lazily against the doorframe, cradling his mug and watching the exchange with a smirk. "Don’t worry, Nik. We’ll still tell our enemies that you have never been defeated," he quipped, earning a laugh from Rebekah, who was perched elegantly on the couch.

As you and Elijah entered the room, Rebekah's gaze immediately shifted to the two of you, her brow arching with curiosity. "Well, look who decided to join us," she said, a knowing edge in her voice. "Took you long enough. Don’t worry, we saved you some hot chocolate."

Elijah’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as he guided you toward the table, a move that did not go unnoticed by his siblings, who were all eyeing you with a mix of amusement and suspicion.

You glanced at Elijah, feeling your cheeks heat up. "We got… sidetracked," he said simply, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile.

Klaus snorted, but a deadly look from Elijah silenced the impending snarky remark. You helped yourself to a cup of hot chocolate, which tasted sinfully good, the heat and sweetness seeping through you as you settled on the couch next to Rebekah. Elijah sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee.

You snuggled close to him and felt him wrap his arms around you, pulling you in even closer as the family laughed and teased one another, enjoying this rare moment of peace and contentment. You smiled to yourself, letting yourself sink into the warmth and love of the moment, knowing that it wouldn't always be this easy but that you would fight for every minute of it.

[archangeldyke-all]

Idea: Isha thinks Santa is real and is horrified of him because she thinks he doesn’t like her because she never celebrated before as well, she was a kid in the mines.

When decorating time rolls around she’s all pouty and sad until you and Sev confront the poor baby.

this is so fucking funny hahahaehhhaheahe

men and minors dni

it's christmas eve.

your family doesn't do the traditional christmas, especially since your family wasn't even a family this time last year.

you and sevika's usual christmas tradition is a nice homemade meal by the fire, maybe exchanging a few gifts, ending the night in your matching mr. and mrs. claus lingerie (just two santa hat and whatever red underwear you can find.)

but now you've got the girls, so you're trying to get a little more festive.

jinx and isha drug home a fallen pine tree branch a few days ago, decorating it with streamers and paper snowflakes they made themselves.

you and sevika splurged on christmas lights, hanging them on your front porch and lining the walls of your home with the multi-colored twinkles. of course, you've both been hoarding gifts for the girls-- anything and everything you could find that you thought they might enjoy you've piled up in the you and sevika's super secret hiding spot (under the bed) waiting to be wrapped tonight when the girls go to sleep.

it's been fun!

isha's been endlessly enchanted by the sparkly lights lining the streets, she squeals each time she sees a rudolph or snowman decoration, and she's obsessed with all the sweet treats that come around with this time of year. hot chocolate, christmas cookies, candy canes-- isha loves it all.

jinx has been having a wonderful time introducing isha to all the fun traditions that come around with the season. she custom made herself and isha matching stockings (she made you, vi, and sevika stockings too-- but none of them were quite as sparkly and fun as isha's.) she's been referring to the little girl as her 'elf'-- isha always bursts into giggles when she does. and when there's fresh snow-- jinx has been bundling the little girl up and dragging her outside to introduce her to the joys of snowballs and snowmen and snow angels.

so, overall, you've all been feeling pretty jolly.

but... you're starting to get a little worried tonight, because isha's been becoming increasingly restless.

you've got the fire going, christmas music playing on the radio, the four of you sharing a plate of cookies and sipping on eggnog in matching flannel jammies.

isha's frowning down at her feet, a worried furrow in her brow.

jinx is fighting off sleep on the couch, sevika's stoking the fire. you reach out and nudge the little girl's shoulder.

"you okay, baby?" you ask. sevika blinks over at the pair of you concern on her face as she looks at isha.

isha blinks up at you with anxious eyes. what is santa? she signs.

you look at your wife, the two of you having a panicked, telepathic conversation.

should we tell her he's not real? sevika's face reads.

you shrug. she's only five, she deserves at least one year of believing, don't you think? you ask with a quirk of your brow.

sevika sighs and gestures for you to speak. you giggle.

"santa's an old man who lives in the north pole, making toys all year with the help of his elves. on christmas eve, when we're all sleeping, he travels across the world using magic and flying reindeer, leaving presents for well-behaved kiddos just like you!" you explain happily.

only, isha looks horrified.

he comes in our house when we're sleeping!? she signs. sevika chuckles. what if he robs us?

"nah, kid, santa's a jolly old man. he's not a thief. he's been doin' this for hundreds of years and he's i've never heard of anyone getting robbed by santa." sevika says.

isha still looks skeptical. okay... but what about the song? he sees me when i'm sleeping and knows when i'm awake? how?

sevika snorts. "you're awfully smart for a five year old." she says, ruffling her hair. "santa's magic kid, 's how it all works." she explains.

isha hums, kicking her feet and digesting the new information. jinx snorts awake, blinking around and trying to pretend she's been awake the whole time.

what if he doesn't like me? isha signs.

your heart breaks a little, and you wrap your arm around her. "why wouldn't santa like you, kiddo? you're a great little girl. way better than jinx-- and jinx never got coal."

"hey!" jinx protests.

isha giggles a bit, then she frowns again, a tear trailing down her cheek. but... he never left me presents before.

your heart shatters. beside you, sevika lets out a heartbroken whimper.

"oh, isha baby..." you coo, pulling the girl into your lap.

"santa's not real, isha." jinx cuts in. you and sevika gasp and glare at her and she chuckles. "what?! it's true. he's made up, he's a fairy tale-- parents use him to trick little kids into behaving well."

isha sighs in relief. so, if i'm bad ms. baby and big mama will still give me presents? she asks.

you burst into giggles, and beside you sevika cackles.

"'course, kiddo. sevika gave me a holiday present the same year i blew her fuckin' arm off-- there's not much you can do that'll stop 'em from spoiling you from now on." jinx says.

well... shit. now you've got tears in your eyes. you didn't know that about sevika, and it only makes you love her more. you reach out and grab her hand, only to find it shaking a little. she must be just as affected by jinx's words as you are.

it takes you a few seconds to make sure your voice won't wobble before you speak. "alright, speaking of-- the two of you gotta go to your room so me and sev can put your gifts out. try to sleep, please." you say.

jinx giggles and pulls isha in her arms, both of them hugging and kissing you and sevika goodnight before wandering to their room.

the second their door clicks closed, you and sevika are in eachother's arms, crying with gratitude for your girls; the best gift you could've fucking asked for.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite

[mediumsizetex]

koviry

for ExplorerOasis  2019

[balladeerssong]

a piece of me.

| SYNOPSIS | sweet things they do out of love.

| INCLUDING | Albedo, Cyno, Dottore, Kazuha, Tartaglia, Wanderer.

| A/N | posting this draft i've been procrastinating on for a while. Dottore's is the longest lol (can u tell i like him a bit)

𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐨 - ᵉˣᵖˡᵃⁱⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᶜᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ˢᵗᵘᵖⁱᵈ.

oh, you don't understand how his latest thesis works? don't worry, he'll explain! he's got just the right vocabulary to translate how all of these messy assumptions and ideas connect. no matter how small your knowledge is when it comes to alchemy, you will understand everything after he's done explaining. he never doubted your ability to understand, either. he believes the key to grasping this kind of knowledge starts with a good, patient teacher.

𝐂𝐲𝐧𝐨 - ˡᵉⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈʷᵉᵃʳ.

walking through the hot desert? strolling on the cold, windy streets? Cyno's headwear is perfect for both. it's kind of like it's infused with magic - cooling you down in the hot weather and providing warmth when it's cold. he never misses any sign of you being a bit too hot or cold. the moment he sees even a drop of sweat on you, or a shiver run down your spine, you'll feel a heavy but comfortable weight on top of your head.

𝐃𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 - ᵐⁱˣⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᶠⁱᶜᵃˡˡʸ.

i know some might disagree but i think Zandik is gentle with his darling, wether that be out of manipulation, or because he knows how fragile you are. pulling his hand back when you hiss while he's treating you, secluding materials you seem to be allergic to in his lab, having you wear full protective attire when he's experimenting in the same room as you, even if you're not even in the 'danger zone' kind of distance. let's say one day he overhears you complaining to one of your friends about something. acne scars, dry or greasy hair, dark circles under your eyes... he's on it right away. in a few days, you're presented with a container with a mysterious substance in it. it glows slightly, the consistency is somewhere between a cream and liquid, and it has this soft pink colour you've never seen in Dottore's lab... ever. before you can question, he explains where he got the idea, and you can't hold back that fuzzy feeling when you realise he came up with the perfect product just for you! after all, he's very much familiar with your body, he knows exactly what it needs to get rid of the problems at hand.

𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚 - ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵖᵘˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ˢᵗʳᵃⁿᵍᵉʳˢ' ʷᵃʸ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵉᵉᵗ.

walks through Inazuma City with Kazuha aren't uncommon. there's so much to do and see, especially under the starry sky. that being said, the people living there also know this, often resulting in crowded streets. walking forward while looking back at Kazuha might not be the smartest idea - but don't worry. he's got you. he holds your hand and gently tugs on it to pull you to the side before you could bump into anyone. he also has this soft, loving smile on his face the whole time.

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐚 - ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ.

being loved by Ajax means being loved by his family. his siblings - both younger and older absolutely adore you and see you as a member of their family before you even have a ring on your finger. his parents are also very affectionate towards you, and you can't deny how delicious the hearty, warm snezhnayan meals are that they welcome you with. snowball fights with the youngests and ice fishing are also a must!

𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫 - ʰᵘˢʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʸ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʳᵘᵖᵗ ʸᵒᵘ.

he's already at least slightly annoyed by everyone in the Akademiya. they all seem so full of themselves - and the moment you get interrupted mid-sentence just proves it to him. he doesn't hesitate to threaten ask anyone to shut up while you speak. he couldn't care less about how smart or important they are, his darling was speaking, so they will listen. it doesn't even matter what you're talking about, he simply can't let anyone make you swallow your words.

[fizermusic]

Kids Love Snow at Christmas

[ticifics]

Little Charms

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: Things James does for love

Warnings: just fluffy

He gifted you a Golden Snitch engraved with both your initials, enchanted to always return to your hand when you throw it.

He loves messing up your hair the same way he does his, just to tease you and because he thinks it makes you two look “perfectly matched.”

Every time he sees you enter the common room, he makes a point of loudly announcing, “Ah, my muse has arrived!” just to make you blush.

When you complain about the cold, he immediately wraps his Gryffindor scarf around you, even if he starts shivering moments later.

He keeps a journal of every little detail about you—how you hold your wand or the way your eyes light up when you laugh—and uses it to surprise you with gifts or inside jokes.

James practices even harder at Quidditch just so he can dedicate his victories to you, pointing at the stands where you’re seated and winking.

He uses the Marauder’s Map to ensure no one interrupts your secret dates in the Astronomy Tower.

Whenever Sirius teases him about being “domesticated,” James replies that you’re “the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

He loves pulling you into impromptu dances in the middle of the common room, even without music, just to make you laugh.

He insists on writing little notes that magically appear in the air during class, always signing them “From your favorite Marauder.”

He started decorating your spot in the Great Hall with tiny, glowing charms to make sure you know where to sit—and to let everyone else know you’re together.

James loves challenging you to silly competitions, like “who can cast the fastest spell,” just to have an excuse to watch you laugh.

When you’re upset, he enlists Sirius to help plan something utterly ridiculous and fun to cheer you up.

He started wearing cologne because he overheard you mention liking the scent of a flower field, but he overdid it at first and smelled like an entire garden.

Anytime someone asks what he sees in you, James answers without hesitation: “Everything. She’s perfect.”

He made an effort to learn a hobby of yours, even if it was something he never imagined doing, just to spend more time with you.

He loves taking you on broom rides, holding you close, and always making daring turns just to hear you scream in excitement.

He defends you against any rude comments, and his wand is always ready for a duel on your behalf.

He whispers little confessions during class when the professor isn’t looking, just to distract you and make you smile.

He keeps a photo of the two of you in a frame by his bedside that never leaves its spot.

James loves writing messages on the edges of your parchment during class, which appear magically when you run your finger over them.

He volunteered to be your date to the Slug Club’s party, even though he hates the events, just to make sure you had the best night possible.

He never lets you carry anything heavy, always using spells to help you, even if you insist you can manage on your own.

He loves inventing completely useless spells with adorable names inspired by you.

When you complain about being tired, he offers you his Invisibility Cloak and suggests you both sneak away from classes to spend time together.

He started keeping every note and letter you’ve written him, saying they’ll someday tell “the greatest love story Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Whenever it’s snowing, he challenges you to a snowball fight and always lets you win, just so he has an excuse to hug you.

James loves enchanting simple objects to surprise you, like flowers that dance or leaves that whisper poems when they fall into your hand.

[moonlightcycle571]

Lantern Corps and a 10 year old Child

In a last post, I said the Lantern Corps would love Captain Marvel because he’s omni-lingual (and there’s so many different species so it makes sense that they would feel comfertable around a guy who can speak their mother tongue, no matter how obscure it is).

And then it came to me in a glorious vision, the Cores would LOVE or absolute HATE Billy Batson, be it as a kid it as Captain Marvel.

First on the Love Captain spectrum:

Red Lantern: that’s the corps that’s the most insistent. Man’s fights littéral Wrath and demons alike on a weekly basis. Man’s go to weekly poker night with Satan and other Wardens of Hell. Why? Because he has his own prison dimension in th Rock of Eternity, who also holds the strongest demons.

Yellow Lanterns: as champion of magic, he holds a lot of weight. Especially for magic users. One flick of a wrist and boom, your magic is gone. The whole concept of ‘The Champion’ is enough for most to fear him. That and one does not play poker with The Devil from The Bible and other figures from various religions, and just have a normal presence. He’s terrifying when he wants to be. In his Cap form, he needs to actively tamp down to appear more family friendly, and not the eldricht horror he knows he could easily look like.

Green Lanterns: Homeless Child Superhero dealing with horrors must adults can’t handle. That takes willpower. Even before Captain, I’m pretty sure off willpower alone he could qualify. But what’s the real ringer is his imagination. The Rock of Eternity has access to magical dimensions that no amount of crack could dream up. Man’s had to learn how to use Looney Toones Logic irl and it works. Man’s got a while Disney Dimension with Ballerina Hippos with their Croc partners. Mans has debates about files with littéral walking talking dinosaurs. Billy is hella creative, and who knows what would be made with a ring.

Blue Lanterns: do I … do I need to explain? There are the lantern corps of Hope, I think the rest is pretty self explanatory. I will say though, he was close to accepting when he found out they got a Corgi. Even closer when Dex Starr, the red lanterns cat got a

Orange Lantern: bro fights the physical manifestations of the Seven Deadly Sins , including Greed on a regular basis. By right of conquest, he really should be wearing the ring rn. They be trying to put a ring on it for ages.

Black Lanterns: he once revived Freddy and or Mary by reconnecting them to the rock, and since then is considered a ‘nécromancer’. Also (similar to the Avatar State) he has memories of past champions, including death, so one can argue he’s in a life and death loop.

White lanterns: same reasons as the Black Lanterns. They’ve been trying to get Billy to also out-do said Black Lanterns (who in turn try to recruit him some more). It’s just one vicious snowball effect now.

Now for the Hate Captain spectrum:

Star Sapphire Corps: The thing about Billy is that he’s AroAce. Very Aro and Very Ace. So those who draw power from love and try to flirt are met with the disgusted face of someone who’s famously nice. It was a devastating blow to the whole corps. At some point Hal decided to hide behind Cap to escape another Star Sapphire who fell inlove with him, and they just, lost their power. No longer had the ability to fly and everything. He’s Ace-ness is crippling. And it did bring memes. The Ace community was winning.

Indigo Tribe: he’s too autistic for them. And while being the warden of multiple dangerous beings fits their MO and all, they ain’t touching the bullshit magical logic with a ten foot pole. That, and the first time a ring was sent to him to recruit him to keep the evil ones in line, he roasted their whole system, their ugly ass uniforms (that particular shade of indigo clashed with his Hero Outfit way to much) and ended with a comparison to them with a guy called ‘King Kid’ and the fucking ‘Easter Bunny King’ that somehow did a much better job at Machiavellic while also being uhly. They never sent a second one. The red lanterns sent more.

Ultraviolet lanterns: again, man’s fights the Seven Sins on the regular, is their warden along with other sick evils, lies to the Justice League on the regular and plays poker with Demons (and wins) despite being one of the most honest people there is. That and he’s so dad shaped, it counters their power of daddy issues.

Bonuse:

It’s not uncommon for various JL members to receive lantern rings. They just don’t want to. So the standard procedure is to find your local lantern, and give them rings. At some point all the Corps made a lantern offers chart (and maybe the JL got a bit competitive).

Problem, that screen was using old alien tech that didn’t have colour. So they knew Cap had the most lantern offers, but they didn’t know which colours. Until it got fixed.

J’le looking at the rainbow that’s Captain Marvels Ring List: …

Batman: Captain, why is there so many red ones?

Billy, sweating: …

Hal, not comfy with the amount of yellow: I… I need to make a few phone calls.

John, the one who’s been receiving all of his rings: Uh, don’t remind me. I’ve been getting cramps with the amount of times I had to input the different colours.

Dinah: I don’t think even I’m qualified for the amount of therapy everyone is going to need.

WonderWoman: How to you have Negative Pink Rings??? You can’t get a negative number in a list

Billy, inputing the Zeta Tube: haha, it’s so weird

John: … do I need to add AroAce as a weakness for the Sapphires???

Bonus points if the results are open to the galactic public, and just wonder who tf are and ‘Billy Batson’ and Captain Marvel and why they are dominating the top ranks. What is in the Terra city Fawcette.

Extra Bonus Point if the JL go: Who tf is Billy Batson, and why is he ranked above Captain Marvel.

I’ve been waiting to do this one for a while. But never got the motivation. Let me know if I missed any, and feel free to write fanfic (please tag me if you do, I wanna reeeeead).

Final note, I want to give a certain someone a comment of appreciation.

@wonderjanga you are my favourite person on this app. You are the reason I decided to get out of my procrastination slump. Thank you for you content, it’s always so creative and I deeply enjoy it.

For those who don’t know them, I recommend checking out their content. It’s genuinely inspiration for me to start writing again. I don’t think I’ll be writing on ao3 soon, but maybe one day.

[magnagaruzenmon]

Son of Melody III

After a few days under Django’s roof, Hanni had barely said more than ten words.

Chaewon had already returned to Korea, diving headfirst into comeback rehearsals with her group, and Wonyoung and Yujin were too tangled up in their own will-they-won’t-they mess to be of any help. That left Django—battle-scarred bard, accidental mentor, part-time soul-crafter—alone with a thunder daughter curled in on herself like a fuse that had burned out too soon.

He tried everything. Her favorite snacks. Comfort K-dramas. Throwback playlists. Even a fuzzy blanket he imbued with minor mood magic. Nothing worked. She stayed holed up in the guest room, lights off, curtains drawn. Occasionally, a soft sob would leak through the silence.

It made Django’s chest ache. Not because he didn’t understand—he did, too well—but because he hated watching someone so young carry grief that heavy without a fight left in her.

So finally, the morning before his first day at Umbra Farms, he changed tactics.

No more coaxing. No more dancing around it.

He knocked once, didn’t wait for an answer, then pushed the door open. The room was dim and stuffy, the faint smell of sadness clinging to the air. Hanni was curled up on the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, face blotchy from crying.

“Okay,” Django said, bluntly. “That’s enough.”

She blinked up at him, dazed.

“Enough drowning in sorrow. It’s time to drag the chaos gremlin back into the light. C’mon. I know a surefire way to reawaken the little monster inside you.”

She just stared at him.

He offered a crooked grin. “Trust me.”

To his surprise, she followed him without argument. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was hope, dressed as defiance.

He sat her down in front of his custom PC setup, already powered on. “Alright. Boot up League. Two games. No questions.”

Hanni rolled her tear-streaked eyes, but her fingers moved anyway. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Django replied. “Doctor’s orders.”

She sighed as she logged in, then glanced at his champion pool. Her brow furrowed. “What… are these builds?”

She clicked through his rune pages. Confusion deepened. “You run Smite on Naafiri?” she asked, incredulous. “This is an atrocity.”

“She’s my emotional support pack leader,” Django said smoothly. “Judge me all you want.”

That earned him a snort. Her first real laugh since she arrived.

“Fair,” she muttered. “Alright then, coach. What’s the build? Clear path?”

Django perked up. “You’re gonna start blue, then gromp, wolves, raptors—skip Krugs, they suck. Rush Eclipse, but trust me—second item is Warmog’s.”

“Warmog’s?” Hanni choked, but her smile was spreading. “You’re clinically insane.”

“I play for vibes,” Django shrugged. “But my builds slap.”

She didn’t believe him. Until she tried it.

With Django talking her through rotations—sometimes wrong, sometimes inspired—she cleared with ease, snowballed her lane, and carried team fights hard enough the enemy FF’d at 15.

As victory flashed across the screen, Hanni leaned back in the chair, genuinely smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.

She glanced at Django. “Okay… what’s your deal?”

He raised an eyebrow. “My deal?”

“Hestia said you are like living legend.”

The living room of the Django’s apartment was dimly lit, strewn with game controllers, an empty bag of popcorn, and the faint hum of background music coming from Django’s speaker. It was the kind of mess that meant someone had finally let themselves relax.

Django chuckled, slouched on the floor with his arms draped over the beanbag behind him. “More like I lived in the shadow of legends,” he said, eyes distant with memory. “When I first got to Camp Jupiter, I was seven. No real direction. Just this loud, scrawny kid who didn’t know when to shut up.”

Hanni tilted her head, cross-legged on the couch. “You? Loud? Never.”

He snorted. “Jason helped me figure things out. He was already a golden boy by then—natural leader, good heart. Made room for me. Later, during the Titan War, I went questing with Max and David. We were a trio for years. Then they died, and Jason died not long after.”

There was a beat of quiet. Not mournful silence—just a soft pause in the rhythm of two people who didn’t need to fill the air.

“I’ve been on my own ever since,” Django added quietly.

Hanni smirked, trying for lightness. “Not entirely true. You’ve got Chaewon now.”

Django cracked a grin. “Sure, but that’s a recent development.”

“Well then I guess I count too,” she said, trying to mirror his tone, but it faltered halfway out. The smirk didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He noticed—but didn’t push. “I guess so.”

Hanni hugged her knees to her chest, fingers tugging slightly at her sleeves. “I heard you talking to Chaewon the other night,” she said after a while, quieter now. “About how bad things were. I don’t think I ever really… got it before. How hard the case must’ve been. On her. On Yunjin.”

Django’s expression softened. He didn’t say anything at first, just gave her space.

Hanni’s voice wavered. “I mean, I knew it was rough. But I didn’t feel it until now. Not really. And it’s eating at me.” She glanced away. “I used to tell myself it was just business. That I didn’t have a choice. But I did.”

“You can always apologize,” Django said gently.

She barked a bitter laugh. “Apologize for what, exactly? ‘Sorry I helped expose every ugly narrative they could craft about you? Sorry my boss—who I fought for a year—hates your guts and still won’t shut up about you?’” Her voice cracked a little. “It won’t change anything.”

Django leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Maybe not. But you can start by saying why you did it. And then apologize for how ugly it got. It’s not about fixing the past. It’s about owning it.”

Hanni looked down at her hands. For a second, she didn’t move.

Then she nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

The tension faded just a little, and Django reached for the console remote, casually flipping through his library. “Wanna beat me at something?”

Hanni wiped at her eyes, recovering fast. “Depends what you got.”

“A lot of fighting games,” he said.

“Do you have Project 2KKO?”

Django gave her a sideways grin. “Always.”

Hanni smiled, just a little. “Okay then. Let’s play that.”

She shifted on the couch and took the controller he handed her, the warmth returning to her fingers. Outside, the wind rattled through the fig tree, but in here—for the first time in days—it felt a little more like home.

The game screen faded into the credits, Hanni’s victory declared in bold red letters. She leaned back on the couch, smug. “That’s two out of three.”

Django groaned dramatically, tossing his controller onto the rug. “I’m starting to think you’ve been training in secret.”

“Maybe I have,” she said, but the smile faded faster than it should’ve.

Django noticed the shift right away. “Hey,” he said, voice gentler. “What’s up?”

Hanni hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek before speaking. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if it even matters. If I’ll ever get to do music again. Real music.”

She turned to him, arms wrapped around her knees again. “I mean… Hybe still technically owns my likeness, my stage name, the whole package. They made sure of that. Even after everything fell apart, the contracts didn’t.”

There was bitterness there—quiet, exhausted bitterness, not angry. “It’s like they still own a piece of me.”

Django was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, thoughtful.

“Then make a version they don’t own,” he said simply. “Make music under a new name. New voice. New rules. Start with who you are now, not who they tried to copyright.”

Hanni blinked, startled by how simple it sounded. Then she let out a short laugh, dry but real. “That’s poetic and all, but do you know any good producers?”

Django raised his hand with a smirk, fingers wiggling in the air like a magic trick. “You’re looking at one.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, you produce?”

“I don’t just shred bass for therapy,” he said, mock offended. “I’ve done post-quest EPs, indie collabs, even scored a couple magical dramas for fun. If you’ve got a sound in mind—I’ve got gear, time, and a weird compulsion to help sad girls scream into microphones.”

Hanni burst out laughing, and it felt genuine this time. “Okay. Okay, then. Let’s make something dumb and loud. Something they’d hate.”

They spent the next week holed up in Django’s studio when Django wasn’t working at the Umbral zoo.—an enchanted garage wired with amps, spell-dampeners, sound barriers, and enough cables to trip a hydra. Hanni wrote lyrics by hand in a spiral notebook. Django built riffs and loops on his old, scarred laptop. The result wasn’t polished—but it was real. Raw guitars, layered vocals, fury and freedom in every distorted track.

When they finally uploaded it to SoundCloud under the name Bad Tokki, Hanni hovered over the “publish” button for a long time.

“You sure?” Django asked.

She exhaled slowly. “No. But I’m doing it anyway.”

She clicked.

The page refreshed. The single was live.

And for the first time in months, Hanni looked like herself again—not a ghost of an idol, not a girl in limbo. Just her.

Django leaned back and handed her a soda. “You just made your first bootleg anthem.”

She toasted the can against his. “Here’s to being illegally cathartic.”

As Yunjin and The rest of Le Sserafim were neck deep in their latest comeback they were pushing themselves to the brink and it was starting to show the cracks. The van hummed down the highway, windows fogged slightly from the leftover chill of the night show. The girls were sprawled across the seats—Chaewon half-asleep, Kazuha scrolling silently, and Yunjin at the wheel with her playlist running dry.

They were between comeback shows—riding adrenaline and exhaustion in equal measure. The kind of in-between where the road stretched too long and the silence started to settle in everyone’s bones.

Yunjin sighed, flicking through SoundCloud on her phone, looking for something raw, something new.

She paused at a recent upload, the title bold and chaotic:

BAD TOKKI — “Revenge Fantasy ”

There was no artist photo. Just a scribbled pink rabbit with devil horns and broken hearts for eyes. Five tracks. One listener. She tapped the first song out of idle curiosity.

And the van changed.

A low, gritty bassline ripped through the speakers, followed by sharp drums and a voice—frustrated, jagged, vulnerable—cutting through the track like someone carving open their own chest.

It was a scream turned into poetry.

Kazuha looked up first. “What is this?”

Yunjin didn’t answer. Her hands tightened slightly on the wheel.

The second track hit harder—more melodic, but aching. The vocals didn’t waver, even when they cracked. There was fire behind them, a story too big for the song. Pain made art.

Chaewon stirred, blinking. “Is this… someone we know?”

They all went quiet, listening more intently. The phrasing, the inflection, the quiet hum that slipped into certain lines—it was all strangely familiar. Not just the voice. The feeling.

Yunjin’s stomach twisted. She knew that voice. Or maybe she used to know it.

Kazuha sat up. “She sounds like…” she trailed off.

“No,” Chaewon said softly. “It can’t be.”

But none of them turned it off.

They listened to the whole single in silence, track after track, until the final distorted note faded and left them staring out the windshield at nothing but stars and asphalt.

Finally, Yunjin spoke.

“Pull up the artist.”

The screen only showed a username: @badtokki666

No links. No socials. Just the music.

Chaewon sat forward, resting her chin on the back of Yunjin’s seat. “If it’s her…”

“Then she’s finally screaming,” Yunjin finished.

No one said Hanni’s name.

But they didn’t have to.

The road stretched on. And the next track in the queue couldn’t compare.

The morning sun hadn’t even climbed past the studio rooftops when Django’s phone started vibrating nonstop.

Ping.

“Bro is this you?”

Ping.

“That bassist tone is filthy.”

Ping.

“Who’s the vocalist?? I need to collab.”

Ping. Ping. Ping.

He blinked awake on the couch, half-buried in guitar cables and an open bag of chips. Django reached for his phone, squinting.

At the top of his notifications:

@jenaissante posted a story.

He opened Instagram.

It was a video of Yunjin, staring straight into the camera from a moving van. Hair pulled back, no makeup, hood up. The track playing in the background was unmistakable—“Burning in Bunny Slippers,” the third song from Bad Tokki’s EP.

Text overlaid in bold white font:

“I know the bassist and drummer anywhere. @CornfedCowboy.”

Then, under that:

“Whoever this vocalist is—thank you. You said what half the industry’s too scared to.”

Django exhaled through his teeth.

It was out.

He switched to Twitter—chaos.

TikTok—worse.

SoundCloud—trending.

The EP had jumped from one listener to ten thousand in less than an hour.

His DMs were exploding.

“You know her? Who is she?”

“Tell Bad Tokki I’ll mix her next single for free.”

“This is the rawest shit I’ve heard since underground punk Seoul.”

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Hanni messaged him.

hanni: dj. what. did. u. do.

dj: yunjin posted it. she recognized my playing.

hanni: she what

hanni: are ppl asking who I am?

dj: like sharks in a bloody pool

hanni: ohmygodohmygod

hanni: I’m not ready

hanni: but also

hanni: this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me

There was a long pause.

Then another message.

hanni: what if I ruin it? what if hybe sees?

Django replied without hesitation.

dj: then we burn their contracts in your next song

dj: no one owns you

dj: not anymore

dj: they just don’t know it yet

She didn’t respond for a minute. Then a shaky audio note came through. It was her laughing. Crying a little, too.

He smiled. Then strapped his bass on. If the world was gonna come knocking—they were gonna make noise that shook heaven.

It was late—too late for coffee, too early for bed.

The makeshift studio at the ranch buzzed with quiet life. A pair of lava lamps pulsed on a shelf beside stacks of demo tapes, and Django was thumbing through pedals when he heard the door creak behind him.

Hanni stepped in, hoodie draped over pajama shorts, her hair loose for the first time in days. She clutched a chipped mug between her hands like it was armor.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” Django replied, not looking up. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She shook her head. “Kept thinking about… them.”

Django finally glanced over, eyes soft but wary. “The girls?”

“Yeah,” Hanni said. “Yunjin, Sakura, Chaewon. Kazuha, too. Even Eunchae.”

He set the pedal down.

She sat on the floor, back against the wall, tucking her knees up under her chin. The steam from the mug curled around her face like breath in cold air.

“I dragged them through hell,” she whispered. “Said things I didn’t mean. Did things I didn’t understand. I helped build the case that tried to break them.”

Django didn’t say anything. He just watched her. Listened.

Hanni’s voice wavered. “So how can you even look at me, let alone help me? I thought you’d hate me most of all.”

Django sighed and sat down across from her, folding his legs like they were back at campfire lessons.

“You couldn’t know,” he said quietly. “How far it would go. What it would turn into.”

She looked up, eyes glassy. “But I still did it.”

“You did what you thought would protect you,” Django said. “You were in survival mode, Hanni. So was everyone. That doesn’t mean you’re blameless—but it also doesn’t mean you’re a villain.”

She was silent.

“The industry makes artists just to kill them,” he continued. “It feeds on us. Polishes us like mirrors until we stop recognizing our own reflections—and then blames us when we shatter.”

His voice stayed calm, firm.

“I don’t hate you. And neither will they, not forever. Especially not once they hear your heart in the music.”

Hanni gave a tiny laugh through her nose, wiped her face with her sleeve. “You sound like some weird bard-poet philosopher.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Django smiled faintly. “Besides… if we only helped the perfect ones, no one would get saved.”

She blinked at him.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I deserve it, but… thanks.”

“You’re not done growing,” Django said. “None of us are. But you’ve started telling the truth—and that’s more than most people in this industry ever do.”

She leaned her head back against the wall. “You think they’ll forgive me?”

He smiled gently. “Make another EP. Keep being Bad Tokki. Let the music ask the question.”

And for the first time that night, Hanni smiled, too.

The studio was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only happened after 2 a.m., when the world outside went still and all that remained were ghosts and melodies.

Hanni sat cross-legged on the floor with a notebook propped against her thigh. The mic was live but idle, her last take still looping softly through the headphones. It was a stripped-down track this time—just a slow piano progression Django had made earlier that week, underscored by the faint hiss of analog tape and the ambient hum of distant wind chimes.

She mouthed lyrics to herself, scrawling then scratching them out. Something about shame. Something about forgiveness. Something raw and terrifying, because it wasn’t masked by distortion or reverb.

In the control room, Django sat behind the mixing board, resting his cheek on his hand, watching her through the glass. He wasn’t smiling, but his gaze was steady. Encouraging. Protective.

His phone buzzed beside the soundboard.

Chaewon:

Are you awake?

He thumbed a reply.

Django:

Yeah. Helping Hanni track something.

A few seconds passed. Then her reply came:

Chaewon:

How are you really doing?

He stared at the screen. The question hit him harder than expected.

He typed slowly.

Django:

Busy. Tired. Making good noise. Missing you.

There was no immediate reply, so he leaned back, closed his eyes for a moment, letting the looping chords in the studio wash over him. The gentle ache in his chest settled into something familiar.

Then—another buzz.

Chaewon:

I miss you too. Your voice. Your chaos. Even your bad coffee. Can we talk soon, just us?

He smiled, then sent a single word.

Django:

Always.

Across the glass, Hanni lifted her head and made eye contact with him, as if sensing the shift in energy. Her expression softened, the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

“I think I’ve got it,” she said quietly into the mic.

Django gave her a nod. “Let’s hear it.”

She took a breath. No filter. No effects. Just her voice—trembling but true.

I tore the stars from your name

Just to feel in control

But you never stopped shining

Even when I tried to dim your soul

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

For not knowing how to be whole.

Django leaned forward, watching her like he was watching a fragile sunrise.

And somewhere in the distance, in a dorm room lit by fairy lights, Chaewon turned her phone face-down and held it to her chest—feeling his words, even from miles away.

The sun hadn’t risen yet. Just the pale gray of approaching dawn slipping through the blinds. The track was done. Mastered. Labeled.

Hanni sat on the studio couch, knees drawn up, her phone in both hands. She stared at the SoundCloud upload screen like it might bite her.

“Is this stupid?” she murmured. “Should I wait? Maybe rewrite the bridge again?”

Django glanced up from his laptop. “You’ve rewritten it four times already. It’s perfect.”

She groaned, tossing her head back. “I just… I don’t know. What if it’s too honest?”

“Then it’s real.”

Hanni looked at him. “But real doesn’t always go over well in this industry.”

Django leaned against the console, arms crossed. “That’s why we’re doing this your way. No marketing, no names. Just the music. Let it speak for itself.”

She hesitated. Her thumb hovered over the “Post” button.

Then she whispered, “Okay.”

Click.

It was live.

There was no explosion. No fanfare. Just a quiet notification and the sudden feeling that her chest was going to cave in.

She looked at Django, wide-eyed. “It’s out there.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “It’s a good piece, Tokki. It deserves to be heard.”

Her heart was pounding. “What if someone recognizes me? What if—what if they recognize me?”

“Then let them. Let them hear you, not what they made of you.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder, hiding her face. “You’re weirdly good at this, you know that?”

“I’ve been in enough fires to know when it’s time to stop running and start singing.”

They sat like that for a while. No alarms. Just the low hum of speakers and the faint wind outside.

And far away, in rooms they didn’t know, someone clicked play on “Wholeness by Bad Tokki.”

And listened.

Yunjin sat in the back seat of the van, phone in hand, earbuds in. The others were half-asleep, Chaewon nodding off against a window, Eunchae curled up with a blanket.

The single had been floating around for days now—Bad Tokki: Wholeness—haunting vocals and bass-heavy instrumentals tearing up SoundCloud, making rounds on stan Twitter, even a couple of idols posting about it.

She finally pressed play.

And when the chorus hit, something in her stilled.

She knew that voice.

Not just the sound—but the cracks, the way it held grief like a knife, how it buried joy in rhythm and regret. A voice she once harmonized with.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

She ripped the earbuds out, switched to the van’s speaker system.

“You guys—listen to this. Right now.”

The others stirred groggily, annoyed—until the song kicked in.

Chaewon blinked, confused. “That’s… that voice—”

“It’s her,” Yunjin whispered. “It’s Hanni.”

Dead silence.

The song roared into a bridge—guttural vocals, grinding guitar, a line that sounded like someone drowning their apologies in distortion.

Eunchae sat up, eyes wide. “Holy crap.”

By the time the track faded, no one said anything. The van just… sat in it.

Yunjin grabbed her phone, heart thudding, and called.

Hanni was sitting on the floor, laptop open, scrolling through comments. Her hands trembled. Everything was blowing up. RM just reposted it. Someone from Itzy had tagged her.

Her phone rang.

Yunjin.

Her throat closed. She looked at Django—he nodded silently.

She answered.

“Hello?”

A pause.

Then Yunjin’s voice: “I know it’s you.”

Hanni closed her eyes. “Yunjin—”

“No. Listen,” Yunjin cut in. Her voice shook, not with anger, but something deeper—hurt barely contained by strength. “I don’t care what lawyers or PR people made you say. I don’t care how twisted things got. But you wrote that song. That was real. That was you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hanni whispered. “For all of it. For staying quiet. For hurting you. I thought I was protecting what we had, but I just—”

“You can’t undo it,” Yunjin said. “But you can scream back.”

Hanni blinked.

“You said what hurt,” Yunjin continued. “Now I want the next one. I want rage. I want teeth. I want a song that tears into the execs who tried to bury us like we were disposable.”

Hanni’s mouth opened. Closed. She could feel tears slipping down.

Yunjin added, softer now, “I miss you, Hanni. I really do. But if we’re gonna heal, we have to burn something down together.”

“I think I can do that,” Hanni croaked.

“I know you can,” Yunjin said, fierce again. “Now go plug that mic back in. And tell Django I want a feature.”

Click.

Hanni just stared at the screen.

Then turned to Django, wiping her face. “You heard her.”

Django grinned. “Guess I’m producing Revenge Era: Bad Tokki and Her Bad Sisters.”

They high-fived.

And somewhere in the night, a revolution began—in rhythm and fury.

After another week of late-night studio sessions and caffeine-fueled guitar tweaks, Hanni quietly launched a social media page for Bad Tokki.

The logo was cryptic—just a glitchy rabbit silhouette against static—but it didn’t need to be more than that. The music was speaking louder than any face ever could. She posted cryptic updates, blurry photos of drumkits, and teaser clips drowned in grainy filters. No selfies. No voice notes. Nothing that could be traced back to her. She even typed differently.

Still, as the singles started climbing, getting reposted by indie curators, idols with burner accounts, and even a couple of western producers, anxiety curled deeper into her ribs.

“Django,” she murmured one night, eyes flickering over the rising play count on Ashes Like Us, “what if Hybe finds out?”

Django, reclining in the studio chair, barely looked up from tuning his bass. “They won’t. You’re not using your name, your face, or anything tied to NewJeans. And honestly?” He gave her a casual glance. “They’ve got bigger fires to put out.”

“But what if someone leaks it? What if they start connecting dots?”

He shrugged. “Then you say it’s a fan project by someone with a good mimic skill and an axe to grind. Unless you start selling it or performing with your actual face, they’ve got no real ground to stand on.”

Hanni nodded, but the pit in her stomach remained. It didn’t stop her—but it never quite left.

They grew closer over the weeks, a rhythm forming between them that was less student and teacher and more co-conspirators. Django was steady in a way she didn’t realize she needed—not coddling, just always present. He knew when to push her on a take and when to back off so she could breathe. Eventually, after they built out a full five tracks, she slid a rough beat and melody across the desk.

“I want you to write the lyrics for this one,” she said.

Django blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned back, arms folded. “I think that’s a bad idea. I’m kind of… metal-as-hell. You’ve been running alt-rock with a bit of grunge pop. My lyrics usually sound like they came from a haunted war journal.”

Hanni smirked. “Exactly. I want some of that. You’ve helped me so much. I want one song on this where your voice gets to rip through everything.”

He hesitated.

“C’mon,” she added. “You can write it. I’ll do the verses. But the chorus—it has to be you. Unfiltered.”

Reluctantly, Django agreed.

The result was their most furious track yet—a seething anthem wrapped in distortion and fire. Hanni’s verses were bitter and sharp, soaked in metaphor and venom. But it was the chorus that needed the weight of fury Django carried in his chest.

When they recorded it, the lights were low and the air smelled like soldered wires and too many sleepless nights.

She turned to him, nodding.

“Alright. Time to let it rip.”

Django stood at the mic, cracked his neck, and stepped into the storm.

He let the silence throb for a beat—

Then screamed, voice raw and cutting:

“God in the cross, devil in the nails—

What’ll you buy with your money in Hell?”

“God in the cross, devil in the nails—

You can take all that money and bury yourself.”

The room shook.

Hanni played along, strumming like she was trying to light the strings on fire, her grin wild, eyes glinting with adrenaline. The speakers threatened to blow, the layers of sound thrashing together into something that felt like a riot and a requiem.

When the final note faded, they were both sweating, breathless.

She looked up at him and said, almost reverently: “That’s the one.”

They didn’t need a label’s approval.

They didn’t need permission.

They just needed each other—and rage loud enough to fill the void.

The night of the release was quiet. Too quiet, Hanni thought, as she sat cross-legged on the studio floor, the faint glow of her laptop illuminating the half-eaten takeout between her and Django. The file was uploaded, the SoundCloud post was live, and the cover—an oil-slick rabbit with red streaks across its ears—was shared to the Bad Tokki page.

They didn’t say much. Just watched.

Within an hour, the numbers started ticking.

First 300 plays. Then 500. Then 1,000 in ten minutes. Hanni’s palms were sweaty. The track was heavy, angrier than anything she’d ever been part of before. The sound wasn’t “idol-approved”—it was ragged, defiant, alive. And people were loving it.

Comments poured in:

“WHO is the vocalist?? I need her entire discography NOW.”

“Did Bad Tokki just invent church metal?”

“That chorus—bro who is SCREAMING? That went harder than expected!”

“This is the anthem for anyone who got screwed over by a label.”

And then the reposts started.

One burner account after another—some suspiciously similar to idol alts. Mentions of the track flooded timelines. K-pop fans, punk fans, indie heads, all converging under one post: “This is the most honest thing I’ve heard all year.”

Across town, in the backseat of a dark van after another brutal comeback stage, Yunjin sat scrolling SoundCloud while the rest of Le Sserafim dozed.

She clicked on the new Bad Tokki upload, drawn in by the cryptic cover art—and as the track opened with gritty guitars and an unrelenting bassline, her eyes shot wide open.

By the time the chorus hit, she was sitting bolt upright.

“God in the cross, devil in the nails—

What’ll you buy with your money in Hell?”

Her jaw slackened.

That voice. That scream. She knew that scream.

“Oh my god.”

Chaewon stirred in the seat beside her. “What?”

Yunjin shoved one earbud toward her. “Just listen.”

The van was silent, save for the muffled growl of the track. Chaewon’s eyes widened too. Eunchae leaned forward, and Kazuha stirred awake.

By the end of the song, the whole group sat in stunned silence.

Kazuha blinked. “That… that voice sounds familiar.”

Yunjin exhaled hard and opened Instagram.

She pulled up her story, selected the album cover, and typed:

“I know the bassist and the drummer anywhere.”

@django.wav

She hit post.

Within five minutes, the SoundCloud link was trending in idol circles. DMs flooded Django’s inbox: indie singers, idols, even an underground rapper asking, “yo who’s the vocalist on this?”

And in the studio, Hanni stared at her phone as the reposts snowballed—and her alias, her voice, her truth—was finally seen.

“Django?” she whispered, breath catching.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes were wide. “What do we do now.”

He nodded, slow and calm. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

Le Sserafim’s van hummed along the highway, late-night city lights streaking across the tinted windows. Yunjin was already dialing Hanni’s number, heart pounding. Beside her, Chaewon still had one earbud in, the echo of Django’s scream lingering in her bones.

“…God in the cross, devil in the nails,” Chaewon murmured, shaking her head with a crooked smile. “Django really went full battle-priest mode, huh?”

Kazuha laughed softly from the back. “I didn’t even know he could scream like that.”

“Oh, he can,” Chaewon said, grinning as she tapped her phone. “He once kicked a Hellhound in the throat while quoting The Cure. Man’s got layers.”

Eunchae blinked. “Like an ogre?”

“Exactly.” Chaewon leaned her head back, mock-sighing. “Of course the first time he features on a song it sounds like the end credits of a biblical apocalypse.”

They laughed, and then Chaewon added under her breath, “Can’t wait to roast him about this later.”

Absolutely—here’s a refined and expanded version of that scene that brings in more emotion, tension, and character voice while keeping the playful undertone:

⸻

The afternoon sun spilled through Django’s window, catching the edges of Hanni’s phone as she shoved it into his hands.

“Tell me I’m hallucinating,” she muttered, pacing like a cat too aware of the storm outside.

Django squinted at the screen. A crisp PDF from HYBE Legal. An exclusive contract. High pay, full control of the “Bad Tokki” project, glossy tour promises—everything an artist was supposed to dream of.

Except it wasn’t a dream. It was a cage.

“…Huh,” Django said flatly. Then looked up. “Don’t do it.”

Hanni snorted, arms crossed. “What, and miss out on the privilege of being owned twice by the same system?”

She snatched her phone back, holding it like it was radioactive. “Naur.”

Django burst out laughing, proud and a little relieved. “Fantastic.”

Hanni flopped onto the couch beside him, exhaling hard. “Like they really thought they could buy my voice just because it’s trending now.”

“You are trending,” Django said, pulling up the latest stats on his laptop. “Fourth on the alt rock charts. Second on the indie metal playlist in Japan. Someone made fan art of Bad Tokki as a magical girl.”

“That part I liked,” Hanni mumbled.

He glanced over, softer now. “You said you didn’t know if you’d ever do music again. But look at you.”

She smiled, but there was a bitter edge to it. “Yeah. And now the people who tried to silence me want to give me a mic.”

“Let ‘em watch,” Django said, nudging her shoulder. “You don’t need their stage. Youll build your own.”

The rain had let up by the time Chaewon finally arrived at Django’s place, her hoodie clinging to her hair from the damp air. The door swung open before she even knocked—he’d felt her presence, as always. She grinned at him, tired but glowing.

“Comeback cycle’s over,” she said, stepping into his arms with a long, relieved sigh. “I’m yours again.”

Django chuckled as he wrapped her in a hug that lingered. “I missed you.”

“I missed this,” she murmured into his chest. “Missed you. Missed not feeling like a walking advertisement.”

They stood like that for a moment longer before another presence stirred behind him.

Hanni was curled up in the corner of the living room with her laptop open and headphones hanging around her neck. When she looked up and saw Chaewon, she sat up a little straighter, lips pressing into a line.

“…Hey,” she said quietly.

Chaewon glanced at her, eyes curious but calm. “Hey.”

“I know this is your time with Django, and I won’t take long, I just—” Hanni stood up, the words coming out faster than she’d rehearsed. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For dragging Le Sserafim through the mess. I didn’t understand how deep it all ran until it was too late. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. But I did. And I’m really, really sorry.”

There was a beat of silence. Django kept his arm around Chaewon but let her go gently when she stepped forward.

Chaewon studied Hanni for a long moment before her expression softened.

“…I believe you,” she said. “And it did hurt. But I’ve also seen what you’ve done since. You’re not who you were when everything fell apart.”

Hanni blinked, then nodded slowly, like she couldn’t quite believe she’d been heard.

“So,” Chaewon continued, smirking a little, “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

Hanni tensed. “What?”

“You let me be in the next Bad Tokki video. I want to wear something ridiculous and smash a car window.”

Hanni stared at her—and then laughed. A real, unguarded laugh. “Deal.”

The door creaked open with a gentle thunk, the smell of city smog and exhaust curling in behind it.

Chaewon trudged inside Django’s apartment, dragging her suitcase like it had personally offended her. Her hoodie was oversized, her eyeliner smudged from the flight, and her hair was tied in a half-bun that had lost the will to live.

“Django,” she groaned, kicking off her sneakers, “I swear if you don’t have food I might start gnawing on the wall.”

A beat passed. Then his voice floated from the kitchen: “I have a peace offering.”

She perked up like a cartoon character smelling pie on a windowsill.

“Meatball subs?” she called out.

“I know your soul,” he replied.

Ten minutes later, they were up on the roof, the city buzzing below them in fractured neon. They lay side by side on an old quilt Django had enchanted for warmth, holding greasy sandwiches that dripped marinara onto napkins crumpled in their laps.

Chaewon took a huge bite, then sighed like it physically healed her. “I’m going to marry this sandwich.”

“I’d officiate,” Django said, mouth half-full. “But I think I’d be jealous.”

She nudged him with her knee but didn’t say anything.

A few moments passed in silence, the kind that felt like home.

Then Chaewon set her half-eaten sub down and exhaled through her nose.

“…I hate this part,” she said quietly.

Django glanced over. “What part?”

“Coming back to myself,” she said, picking at a corner of the bread. “Comeback prep always breaks me a little. I stop sleeping, I stop thinking, and I just… grind. And now I’m bloated and sore and I’ve been stress-eating like a raccoon and I’m supposed to look camera-ready in a week.”

Her voice cracked a little near the end, but she laughed to cover it. “I feel like a human meatball sub. With eyeliner.”

Django was quiet for a second. Then he said, “Okay, first of all—those stress carbs powered some killer vocals and a terrifying bridge dance break, so let’s put some respect on the meatball sub phase.”

Chaewon gave a soft, breathy chuckle.

“Second,” he added, “you always look like you’ve descended from a moonlit temple to whisper ancient truths into our ears.”

She snorted. “That was poetic and a lie.”

“It was poetic and true.” He turned onto his side to face her. “Chaewon, you’re not a concept photo. You’re a person. People eat when they’re stressed. People get tired. You’ve earned every bite of that sandwich. And honestly? You still glow.”

She blushed and shoved a napkin at his face. “Stop being sweet. I’m trying to have a moment.”

“You can have your moment,” he said softly. “I just want you to have it without shame.”

That stilled her.

Her eyes welled slightly, but she blinked the tears away. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He tapped her sandwich. “Now eat the rest of that or I’ll be forced to eat it and tell Hanni you cried at the meatball part.”

Chaewon laughed for real this time, wiping at her face. “You’re a menace.”

He smirked. “I’m your menace.”

They lay back down side by side, the sandwich warm in her hands and Django even warmer beside her.

Down below, the city never stopped buzzing. But up here — for just a moment — everything was soft, slow, and safe. They lay in silence for a while, content, chewing, the wind teasing strands of Chaewon’s hair across her cheek.

Then she nudged Django with her elbow. “So,” she said, “how did you get through to her? Hanni. When I left, she was still a shut-in thundercloud.”

Django chuckled, taking a swig from his soda. “Zeus kids come in two flavors: ‘Little Shit’ and ‘Hero Extraordinaire.’ She’s the first one.”

Chaewon laughed, covering her mouth. “That’s so mean.”

“It’s not wrong,” he said, grinning. “She’s got that chaos gremlin energy, just buried under too much pressure and disappointment. So I didn’t coddle her. I bullied her into booting up League and ran her through a scuffed jungle Naafiri build.”

“You… gamed her into healing?”

“Exactly. Spoke her native language: petty, competitive, and mildly unhinged.” He smiled, looking a little proud. “After one game of her flaming my rune setup, she was talking again. Teasing. Laughing. I just had to give her permission to be a little shit again.”

Chaewon’s smile softened. “You’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“This. People. Holding space for them without trying to fix everything. Letting them figure it out beside you.”

Django didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, he said, “So are you.”

Another silence.

But this one felt heavier. Heavier because Django turned, just slightly, to really look at her.

“Chaewon,” he said. “When your contract’s up… if you don’t want to renew — don’t.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he said. “Every comeback breaks a piece off you. Every time you leave, you come back with less sleep, less color in your face. I get it — you love your members, your fans — but it’s hurting you.”

She bit her lip, the wind suddenly colder against her bare skin.

“I can’t stand watching it chew you up,” Django continued, his voice rougher now. “You deserve more than glitter-covered burnout. You’re not meant to grind yourself down to shine.”

Her eyes were glossy again, but this time she didn’t hide it.

“Do you think I’d be anything outside of this?” she asked, voice small.

“I think you’d be everything,” he said, without hesitation. “Artist. Teacher. Gremlin. Moon priestess. Whatever the hell you want.”

Chaewon leaned her head on his shoulder. “…What if I miss it?”

“Then you miss it,” Django said gently. “Missing something doesn’t mean you were supposed to stay. It just means it mattered.”

She let that settle, chest rising and falling with steadier breath.

Then, after a pause, she muttered, “I’ve been stress eating so much. I feel like I’m ballooning.”

Django looked over at her, unamused. “Chaewon.”

“What?”

“First of all, no. Second of all — and I say this with full respect and zero shame — it all goes to your ass.”

She looked scandalized. “Django!”

“It’s a compliment! I’m being supportive!” he grinned, nudging her. “Your stress eating is actively improving your silhouette. You think I’m mad about that?”

Chaewon dissolved into laughter, hiding her face in the crook of his arm. “You’re such an idiot.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, smug.

After a beat, she whispered, “Thanks, though. For not making me feel like I have to be small to be loved.”

Django reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be free.”

By now, the meatball subs were long gone, the wrappers crinkled beside them. The sky above stretched wide and hazy, streaked with twilight purples and distant city glow. Django and Chaewon lay curled together on a blanket, her head tucked beneath his chin, one leg draped over his.

They were half asleep, the kind of drowsy that comes after full bellies and emotional honesty. Django’s arm rested around her waist… and then slowly migrated lower.

It happened once — a gentle squeeze. Chaewon didn’t react.

Then again, fingers drifting just slightly. Another squeeze.

A beat later, her voice, soft and dry: “Naughty boy.”

Django froze like a kid caught raiding the cookie jar. “Sorry,” he mumbled, already moving his hand away. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t say stop, did I?”

Django blinked.

Chaewon cracked one eye open and smirked against his chest, her voice smoky with mischief. “Just pointing out that you’re bold when you think I’m asleep.”

A slow grin spread across Django’s face. “You know, for someone who’s worried about gaining weight, you’re awfully proud of what you’ve got.”

“I contain multitudes,” she said, yawning as she adjusted herself against him. “Anxious idol. Feral goblin. Sleepy goddess. And right now? Very cozy girl being groped by her himbo mage boyfriend.”

“That’s a sacred title.”

“And one you’ve earned.”

They slipped back into that gentle rhythm of near-sleep, Django’s hand resting comfortably where it was no longer in danger of being swatted. The city hummed below them, a lullaby of neon dreams and distant thunder.

Eventually, Chaewon murmured, “Don’t let me renew just because I’m scared.”

Django kissed the top of her head. “You won’t. I’ll be here. Every step.”

And above them, the stars blinked — as if eavesdropping on something very human, very soft, and very real.

It was late afternoon, a few days after the peace summit at Django’s place. The sky outside was tinted amber, soft light slanting through the blinds and casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Django was tuning his guitar while Chaewon stretched across his futon in a loose hoodie and bike shorts, one socked foot slowly kicking in the air as she scrolled through her phone.

“Still trending,” she murmured, grinning. “Bad Tokki’s got the world eating out of her hands.”

“Not bad for an underground project,” Django replied, strumming a chord. “You sound proud.”

“I am,” she said. “Of her. Of you. Of us.”

She tossed her phone aside and rolled onto her stomach, chin propped in her hands as she watched him. “But you know… we haven’t really had time alone since I got back.”

Django looked up from his guitar. “We’re alone now.”

Chaewon grinned slowly. “I meant quality alone time. You and me. No Hanni hiding in the studio. No late-night mixing. No mystical sword quests or apocalyptic subtext.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly does ‘quality’ mean to you?”

She slid off the futon and padded toward him, slow and deliberate, until she was straddling his lap with her arms draped over his shoulders. “I want you,” she said softly, brushing her nose against his. “Not just the producer, or the hero, or the guy who keeps everyone together.”

Django’s hands settled on her hips instinctively. “So what do you want?”

Chaewon tilted her head. “I want the version of you who kisses me until I forget my name and then makes me ramen because he knows I’m always hungry afterward.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound low and fond. “You’re always hungry but I love that about you. If I could feed you and kiss you every day I would,”

Chaewon blushed at Django’s words as she felt need pool in her lower abdomen she loved when he embraced that “papa bear” side of him that would take care and pamper her but also ripped the throat out of anyone who’d hurt her. “God I’m gonna ride you till you bring him out,” she said sultry

Django smiled and said “well That version of me does make a mean bowl of ramen.”

“Then summon him,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his jaw, her breath warm against his skin. “Or I will.”

He leaned into her, forehead against hers, voice dropping. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like dangerous,” she said, hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt. “You keep dating witches and daughters of war gods.”

“I keep dating you,” Django said, his voice rougher now. “You make me like dangerous.”

Their kiss deepens as Chaewon takes her time tracing the runes of protection that ran all over Django’s body the intimacy and closeness riled her up a bit as she slips her hand under his waistband lightly grabbing his cock and feeling him shiver under her before he got up to make the ramen. At first she pouted at the loss of closeness but followed him into the kitchen.

Chaewon smiled against his lips, kissed him slow and deep—and somewhere in the kitchen, the ramen water began to boil.

Later, the apartment smelled faintly of garlic broth and sesame oil. An empty ramen bowl sat on the coffee table, forgotten in favor of the tangled warmth on the futon, where Django lay on his back and Chaewon sprawled across his chest. His fingers traced idle shapes along the bare skin of her thigh, the edge of her hoodie hitched up just enough to tempt but not scandalize.

Chaewon sighed contentedly, her fingers playing with the chain around Django’s neck. “This,” she murmured. “This is what I missed.”

Django turned his head, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Being wrapped around me like a very demanding, beautiful cat?”

“No,” she smirked. “Being with you and not needing to fight for it. Not sharing you with danger, with grief, with someone else’s apocalypse.”

His hand stilled. “There’s always going to be something trying to take that from us.”

“I know,” she whispered, tilting her head to meet his gaze. “But tonight it didn’t win. And tomorrow it won’t either.”

He nodded, fingers tightening slightly against her skin. “You’re getting prophetic again.”

“You like me prophetic.”

“I like you clingy, sexy, confident, terrifying, and in charge of the aux cord,” he said. “I like you every way you come.”

Chaewon smiled and lifted herself enough to press a kiss to his lips—slow, heated, and languid with no rush to escape. Her thighs bracketed his hips now, and Django’s hands slid up her sides, beneath her hoodie, resting reverently just under her ribs.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice soft but unshakable.

She nodded, breath warm against his cheek. “I’m not trying to make this a big thing,” she whispered. “But I need to feel close to you. Not chaotic. Just us.”

They moved like music—unhurried, familiar, deeply attuned. No rush, no high stakes. Just shared breath and gentle fire. Django held her like something sacred, and Chaewon let herself trust him fully in a way she rarely allowed anyone.

His hands found their way to her breasts as she straddled him. His cock more than ready for her. Chaewon sank on it relaxed.

Django enraptured by her lost control of himself in Chaewon’s surrender. Her walls coiled around him like a boa as she bounced on his cock up and down

“Fuck you fit so perfectly inside of me,” Chaewon moaned. Django’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as pussy sucked him in as if it never wanted to let him go. He moaned her name like a prayer as took more of his sanity with each grind of her hips and sway of her body.

“Fuck fuck,” they alternated as their moans reached fever pitch. As the lust and love consumed them they moaned as they came together.

In the afterglow Django stared at Chaewon and said, “I need you more than anything,” Chaewon smiled and said,

“Oh you’re really down bad for me,”

Django nodded smiling happy that the little cheetah had chosen him.

Later, she fell asleep tangled in his hoodie, one hand splayed across his chest, listening to the steady drumbeat of his heart. Django stayed awake for a while longer, watching her with a look of quiet awe, as if he were the one dreaming.

The air was thick with heat, the scent of skin and trust mixing as Chaewon straddled Django on the couch, the low hum of music barely audible beneath the sound of their breathing. Her hoodie was somewhere on the floor, forgotten. His shirt was bunched in her fists as they kissed like they were trying to memorize each other.

Chaewon gasped as Django’s hands gripped her waist, grounding her against him. His mouth trailed down her jaw, then back to her lips, where the kiss deepened—hungrier now, edged with something primal. A hum rumbled in his chest, low and possessive, like a storm warning before lightning.

She felt it—felt him—shifting into that deeper, darker part of himself. The part that wanted to keep her, guard her, mark her.

And it set something off in her.

She broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, dazed and breathless, “Then claim me… make me yours.”

Django froze, lips hovering just above hers, his grip tightening. He swallowed hard, and the breath he let out trembled.

“You make me feel so safe, Django,” she went on, her voice shaking with need and truth. “Like I’m finally allowed to be loved without conditions. So claim me. Just… hold me so close I can’t forget it.”

That was all it took.

Django kissed her again—deeper now, reverent and fierce—and when he whispered her name, it sounded like worship. His hands slid over her like he was learning every inch, not with lust but purpose. He didn’t rush. He anchored her.

In that moment, Chaewon was his. And he was hers.

But just as the fevered haze began to crest, she pressed her forehead to his and whispered, breath hitching, “I have to be careful… my body wants you to make me a mother, and I’m not ready yet.”

Django paused, lips barely brushing hers, eyes hooded and wild. Still lost in the claiming high, he said low and deep, “You’d love it. You’d love having my kids.”

The words hit her like a lightning strike—hot, dizzying, undeniable.

A small, uncontrollable shiver rolled through her spine. Her lips parted but no words came at first. The idea shook her—part fear, part craving.

She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, grounding herself.

“Django…” she whispered, gently placing her hand on his cheek.

He blinked slowly, the haze starting to lift as he saw her clearly again. Her soft smile steadied him.

“Not yet,” she said.

He nodded, forehead pressed to hers. “Not yet.”

But the fire between them remained—slow-burning now. A promise, not a demand. And though they pulled back, curled into each other, that whispered line between them had shifted. And they both felt it. The night had quieted, and the adrenaline had faded into something softer—warm limbs tangled under the light throw blanket, Django stretched out on the couch with Chaewon tucked against his chest. The room was dim, filled only with the low buzz of the TV playing something neither of them were watching.

Chaewon lay with her head on his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy patterns along his forearm. She’d been quiet for a while. Content, but thoughtful.

Django noticed. He always noticed.

“You’re thinking,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly from earlier intensity.

She smiled into his neck. “You always say it like it’s a crime.”

“Depends what kind of thoughts,” he teased, brushing his thumb along the curve of her spine.

There was a pause. Then: “That thing you said… about me loving it if I had your kids.”

Django stiffened slightly. Just slightly. “Yeah,” he said, quiet now. “I… got carried away. I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t hate it,” Chaewon cut in, barely above a whisper.

Django blinked, turning his head just enough to see her eyes—open, raw with truth.

“I just… it felt too real. Too easy to want,” she admitted, pulling the blanket a little tighter around them. “And that scared me.”

He held her a little closer, his voice gentling. “You never have to rush with me. You know that, right?”

She nodded slowly. “I know. I just… I used to think I’d never even want that kind of life. Not with the industry. Not with everything I am. But with you… it’s different.”

Django didn’t say anything at first. Just kissed her temple.

Then, quietly: “Someday, if you ever did want it—kids, home, whatever us looks like long-term—I’d want it too. But right now? I just want you.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, tension melting.

“You’re stupidly good at saying the exact thing I need,” she mumbled.

“Don’t let that get out. I’ve got a reputation as a chaotic menace to maintain.”

She laughed—real and small—and kissed his collarbone.

“I’ll keep your secret,” she said.

The studio apartment was unusually quiet for once, save for the soft hum of the A/C and the distant tapping of Django’s foot as he flipped through synth patches on his laptop. Chaewon was curled into his side on the couch, her head tucked against his chest, fingers lazily tracing circles beneath the hem of his shirt—completely innocent in theory, but with the kind of lazy intimacy that said they’d long since crossed the threshold of restraint.

Django wasn’t saying anything, but the way his breath hitched now and then betrayed how much he was trying to stay composed.

“You’re evil,” he murmured softly, lips brushing her hair.

Chaewon smiled, just about to reply—when the door burst open.

“Chaewon, your phone is—oh my god,” Yunjin stopped mid-step, blinking hard.

Hanni peeked around her, then grinned wickedly. “Careful, unnie, keep your hands there any longer and you’ll trigger his breeding kink.”

Chaewon’s head shot up, face instantly flushed. “Yah! What the hell does that even mean?!”

Yunjin cackled. “It means we can’t have our fearless leader on vocal rest for nine months because she couldn’t keep her hands off her very accommodating boyfriend.”

Django groaned, head falling back against the couch as Chaewon scrambled to move her hands—but that just made things worse. Her fingers, in trying to escape, dragged lightly across his stomach, and Django visibly twitched.

“Chaewon,” he said under his breath, voice low and frayed, “if you keep touching me like that while trying not to touch me, I’m gonna to fuck you right in front of Hanni and Yunjin.”

Hanni looked between them, mock-offended. “Oh wow. So you do have a kink.”

“I am fine Chaewon is just handsy,” Django muttered, hiding his face with one hand.

Yunjin snorted. “Anyway, we brought ramen and gossip. You two can resume the ‘make a demigod dynasty’ agenda after dinner.”

Chaewon glared half-heartedly, cheeks still pink, but climbed off Django’s lap. He caught her hand briefly before she fully stood, brushing a kiss over her knuckles in silent retaliation.

“Oh my god, I’m getting secondhand pheromones,” Hanni said, waving the air dramatically.

“Shut up,” Chaewon grumbled, burying her face in her hands as she walked toward the kitchen—still smiling.

The ramen boiled furiously in the pot while Hanni threw in the last of the toppings—scallions, soft-boiled eggs, and a frankly ridiculous amount of chili flakes that Django silently judged from across the counter.

“While i do Iike spice I can’t help but think You’re trying to assassinate us,” he said flatly.

“It’s called building spice tolerance,” Hanni replied, proud.

Chaewon plopped down on the couch again, stealing one of Django’s hoodies and tugging it over her head. It was way too big, sleeves dangling over her fingers, and she tucked her knees up as Yunjin slid a bowl into her lap.

“Eat up, leader-nim,” Yunjin said sweetly. “Gotta keep that strength up for all your extracurriculars.”

Chaewon glared at her over the rim of her bowl. “You’re so lucky I’m too hungry to destroy you.”

“Me? I’m just here to support young love,” Yunjin said with faux innocence.

Django, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his own bowl, looked up. “You mean instigate chaos.”

“Potato, potahto.”

As they dug in, the conversation drifted from comeback gossip to the usual banter—Hanni throwing shade at a stylist’s idea of “grunge,” Yunjin venting about rehearsal choreography that made her “feel like a possessed Muppet,” and Django casually chiming in with random rock trivia that only Chaewon seemed to appreciate.

About halfway through the meal, Hanni leaned her chin on her hand and looked at Chaewon.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she said, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry I put you through so much. I know it wasn’t all me, but… it still feels like I made it harder.”

Chaewon paused, then set her bowl aside and reached across the table to nudge Hanni’s wrist.

“You did,” she said bluntly. “But you’re fixing it. That counts more than you think.”

Hanni blinked, then nodded slowly. Yunjin bumped her shoulder, and Django offered her another egg like it was a peace offering.

“Also,” Chaewon added, smirking now, “if you’re gonna keep teasing me, just know—I will find a way to retaliate. I’m patient.”

“Terrifying,” Hanni mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.

“Hot,” Django muttered without thinking.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Chaewon blinked.

He coughed into his bowl. “…I said pot. Like for ramen. You need a bigger one.”

Yunjin wheezed. “Sure, bro.”

Hanni grinned. “You are so in love it’s disgusting.”

Chaewon just smiled, this time slow and genuine, as she leaned into Django’s shoulder again. “I know.”

It was late—well past dinner, well past teasing. The ramen bowls were empty, the playlist had shifted from chaotic rock to mellow lo-fi, and the couch was sinking under the combined weight of exhaustion and comfort.

Django sat cross-legged on the floor, absently tuning the battered acoustic guitar in his lap. Hanni, sprawled out on the loveseat with a blanket half-draped over her, spoke quietly, her voice caught between reflection and frustration.

“Can I ask you something?”

Hanni glanced up. “Always.”

“What’s it like… being a Thai idol,” he said, the words slow and hesitant, “in a space that doesn’t really want Thai idols?”

Yunjin, curled up beside her, looked up. Chaewon—half asleep in Django’s hoodie—opened one eye.

“I mean,” Hanni continued, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, “I’m Aussie, right? Like, that’s what’s on my birth cert. That’s how I sound. But it’s like… the industry doesn’t see that. They see me as this… outsider. Not Korean enough. Not Japanese enough. Too Southeast Asian. And sometimes, it’s like there’s this invisible wall. Like I’m always just one feature off from being someone fans will love completely.”

Her voice dropped a little. “I guess you probably wouldn’t get it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Django, completely deadpan, said, “I think I have some idea.”

And that was when Yunjin lost it.

She doubled over with laughter, full-body, shoulder-shaking, tear-streaming laughter, slapping her knee like it owed her money.

Hanni blinked. “What? See, I knew—”

“Hanni—” Yunjin wheezed. “You were just about to explain racial discrimination to a Black man in America.”

Hanni froze.

Her face went bright red.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, clutching her forehead. “Oh my god I’m so stupid—”

Django laughed now too, the low, warm sound of someone used to moments like this. He reached over and nudged her foot.

“You’re not stupid. You’re just used to being the only one in the room who has to explain it.”

Hanni didn’t say anything for a second. Then she looked up at him, sheepish. “Okay. But like. Why didn’t you stop me sooner?”

“I was curious where it was going,” Django shrugged. “You’ve got good stage presence.”

Chaewon finally cracked a sleepy grin. “Yeah. You should turn that monologue into a spoken word track for the next EP. ‘Bad Tokki Learns Her Privilege.’”

“Shut up,” Hanni groaned, throwing a pillow at her.

But she was smiling, even as her face burned.

A few days later the rec center was getting ready for the festival to fallen heroes.

It was a memorial to all the heroes who had been lost over the course of time and a way to give them one more honoring after their death

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, golden rays over the ranch grounds. Django was in the garden near the workshop, kneeling over six neatly wrapped bundles of herbs, flowers, and folded cloth—each one meticulously tied with colored thread that matched the personality or essence of the person it honored.

Chaewon stood nearby, tying her hair back with a dark ribbon. She looked over, watching Django’s careful, reverent movements as he secured the last bundle. She counted silently.

One… two… three… four… five… six?

She frowned slightly and stepped closer.

“Django,” she asked gently, “who’s the sixth one for?”

Django paused. His hands stilled over the crimson thread of the final bundle. It took a moment before he answered.

“Nick,” he said, voice soft. “Nick Gautier.”

Chaewon sat down beside him, folding her legs. She didn’t press, just waited.

“He was a year ahead of me in high school,” Django continued, eyes on the bundle. “Half demon, full smartass. We met through music—he played drums, I played bass. We got in a fight the first day we met, then played together the next week.”

He smiled faintly. “He was the first person who actually saw me. Like—really saw me. Even when I didn’t know who I was. He could’ve judged me, or walked away when the weirdness started. But he didn’t. He just… stayed.”

Chaewon watched his face as the edges of grief and memory pulled at his expression.

“He died during one of the first major hunts I ever went on. Saving me, saving others. I used to hate that he died and I didn’t. I thought—if he had lived, maybe he would’ve handled things better. Maybe all of it wouldn’t have fallen apart.”

Chaewon reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“That’s why you carry so much,” she whispered. “It’s not just the missions or the wars or the gods. You’ve lost pieces of yourself with every friend you’ve buried.”

Django didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, once.

“I don’t talk about him much. Or David. Or Max. Or Jason. I think I convinced myself that if I kept moving forward, I’d carry them with me. But sometimes it just feels like weight.”

Chaewon leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Then let me help carry it. Even if I can’t know them, I can honor them with you.”

Django exhaled, the kind that trembled on its way out. He tilted his head, resting it lightly against hers.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “I think they’d like you.”

Chaewon smiled, eyes closed. “I think I already do.”

The wind stirred, soft and reverent, as the six bundles lay in the grass—waiting for the firelight of the Festival of Lost Heroes to guide them home.

[taw-k]

Home videos of Thor and loki

A video of Frigga knowingly walking in on baby Loki stuffing his face with jam from a ceramic jar in the private kitchen (he looks like the peanut butter baby)

Thor doing his "warrior scream" at the Midgardian age of 8, which is just a loud, high pitched scream. Loki doing the same as a toddler and falling backwards from his own effort.

Lokis first day in the snow. Thor is throwing snowballs. He hands baby Loki a snowball and he tries to eat it. Frigga has to keep a keen eye on Loki because he keeps falling head first into the snow, trying to eat it. Baby Loki loves the snow... For some reason...

Little Thor running around with a bucket on his head (his "warrior helmet").

Young Thor playing as a valkyrie

Thor climbing rocks, trees, palace columns, anything he can find.

Loki copying Frigga by "reading" his favourite book (he was running his finger along the lines of text and babbling)

Young Thor on the verge of tears after getting a scrape but trying not to show it until Loki toddles up to him and points at his scrape saying "uh oh. Owch. For owch" and giving him a band-aid (he tries very hard to not get it to stick to his own fingers.)

Frigga stubbing her toe on a door and and Thor proceeding to kick the door as hard as he can to defend his mother.

Tween Loki jumping around excitedly about learning magic from a new teacher.

Something similar to that one video where a boy is meeting his baby sister for the first time and she's buddled up and the boy says "she has no arms" 😭

Food fight.

Little Thor standing in the middle of a large table with a cup of orange juice happily joining cups with a group of renowned older warriors (he's part of the team too)

Thor and Loki in a flower picking competition for Frigga

Thor teaching Loki to build blocks. Loki cries everytime his tower gets knocked over.

Thor trying to play with Loki with their silver feathered and gold horned helmets on. Loki's is too heavy and he falls back and cries. Thor can't see out of his.