#Meet Uri

[incorrect-losers]

Eddie: Please tell me you didn’t drag Stan into this

Richie: I did not drag Stan into this

*Doorbell rings*

Eddie: Who’s that?

Richie: I think you know

[cwtchzl]

gonna write a fic where eddie survives but stan still succeeds in his suicide, not in a reddie way but a richie mourns his best friend who he had remembered after 27 years but never even got to see him or talk to him, slowly comes to realization that he was in love with him even during his teenage years and he just suppressed until they started losing contact when they went to college and all of this doesn't even mean anything because there is nothing left of stanley uris other than him haunting richie in his dreams kinda way

[roseworth]

ryan ross honorary lesbian (wrote afysco)

[auphrodyte]

finally caved and watched frozen 2. i thought people were exaggerating but damn everyone in the movie has chemistry except the sole canon couple

[riptozier]

( tag dump !! c: ) tag dump part 2.

[amyzworldds]

Part Two: Thirteen Cheers for Fourteen

Masterlist | Part 1

In a whirlwind of hate and heartbreak, Y/N, the lone female maknae of Seventeen, faces relentless backlash from fans, pushing her to leave the group and vanish abroad. After a year of silence, she returns to Korea, forging a solo path with a powerful comeback, while the thirteen boys grapple with her absence. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor, lil bit of angst

The past few months had flown by in a whirlwind for Y/N. Her solo comeback was locked and loaded—tracks mastered, choreography polished, music video edits finalized. The announcement had dropped a week ago, a sleek press release from her company that sent shockwaves through the industry. News outlets picked it up fast, headlines flashing her name: “Y/N Returns: Solo Debut Set to Redefine Her Legacy.” Carats—those who’d loved her even through the storm—flooded social media with support. “We’re so proud of you, Y/N.” “You’ve always been enough.” “Welcome back, uri maknae.” She’d scrolled through the comments late one night, her chest tight with something she hadn’t felt in years: gratitude.

Seventeen had finished their world tour a month ago, their triumphant return splashed across every K-pop platform. She’d watched clips—Seungkwan’s goofy waves to the crowd, Mingyu’s dimpled grin, Hoshi’s wild energy. They were back in Seoul now, back in the HYBE building, but their paths never seemed to cross. She’d linger by the elevators sometimes, half-hoping to hear Dino’s laugh or catch Joshua’s quiet hum, but it was always silence. She wanted to see them—God, she was ready—but the thought of texting first made her stomach twist. What if they were mad? What if they’d moved on? She’d left them without a word; maybe she’d look like a fool reaching out now.

That afternoon, she’d been halfway out the door with her manager, headed to a meeting, when she froze. “My laptop,” she muttered, patting her bag. “I left it in the practice room.”

Her manager sighed, glancing at his watch. “Hurry. I’ll wait in the car.”

She bolted back into the HYBE building, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as she darted for the elevator. It dinged open just in time, and she slipped inside, tapping her foot impatiently as it climbed to the fourth floor. The practice room was down the hall—she’d grab the laptop and be out in thirty seconds. No big deal.

She shoved the door open, breathless, expecting an empty room. But then she stopped dead.

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

The Seventeen practice room was a mess of noise and motion, the kind of chaos only thirteen boys could create. Hoshi and DK were mid-argument over who’d eaten the last protein bar, their voices overlapping in a ridiculous crescendo. “You’re a human vacuum, Dokyeom!” Hoshi shouted, flopping dramatically onto the floor. Vernon lounged against the mirror, scrolling his phone, while Seungkwan tried to mediate, yelling, “Can you two shut up for five seconds?” Mingyu and Jun were laughing at something on Mingyu’s phone, and Woozi sat at the table, scribbling notes for Carat Land, their annual fan event just weeks away.

They’d seen Y/N’s comeback news. It had popped up on their group chat a few days ago—Joshua had sent the link with a simple, “She’s back.” The room had gone quiet then, each of them processing it in their own way. “I’m proud of her,” Seungcheol had said, his voice firm but soft. “She’s doing it on her own terms.” Jeonghan had nodded, twisting that old “Hannie” bracelet around his wrist. “Wonder why she hasn’t said anything to us, though.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re pissed,” Dino had mumbled, kicking at the floor. “We’re not, right?”

“Never,” Mingyu had replied, his eyes sad. “She’s still our maknae.”

They’d spotted her laptop earlier—a sleek silver thing left on the bench. “Someone’s gonna come for it,” Wonwoo had said, moving it to the table. They’d assumed it was a staff member’s.

Until the door flew open.

The room fell silent, a collective breath held as thirteen pairs of eyes locked onto her. Y/N stood there, frozen in the doorway, her chest heaving from the run, her hoodie slipping off one shoulder. She looked different—her hair shorter, dyed a soft ash blonde, her face sharper but brighter, like she’d shed a layer of weight. But those eyes—wide, startled, glistening—were the same ones they’d known for a decade.

She stared back, her mouth parting slightly, no sound coming out. ascended into chaos. The boys didn’t move, didn’t speak—just watched her, as stunned as she was.

“Uh…” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, breaking the spell. She glanced at the table, spotting her laptop. “My laptop.” She stepped forward, grabbing it with shaky hands, and offered a small, nervous smile. “Sorry, I just—forgot it.” She turned to leave, her heart pounding, her feet itching to flee.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol called, his voice rough but warm, stopping her cold.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned back. He stood up, his eyes locked on hers, and the others followed—one by one, rising, closing the distance. She didn’t move, couldn’t, as they surrounded her.

“You’re back,” Jeonghan said, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. He reached out, hesitating, then pulled her into a hug. “God, you’re really back.”

That broke the dam. Mingyu was next, wrapping his long arms around her, lifting her off the ground slightly as he laughed, wet and shaky. “We saw the news. You’re killing it, huh?”

“Proud of you,” Joshua added, his hand resting on her shoulder, his smile gentle but teary. “So damn proud.”

Hoshi barreled in, nearly knocking her over with his hug. “You can’t just leave us hanging like that again, okay? We need updates!”

One by one, they piled on—Dino clinging to her arm, Seungkwan sobbing into her hair, Vernon ruffling it with a quiet, “Missed you, kid.” Woozi hung back, but his nod and small smile said everything. DK squeezed her hand, Jun draped an arm over her shoulders, and Wonwoo just stood close, his presence steady and sure.

Seungcheol stepped forward last, cupping her face in his hands. “You’re still ours, you know that? Doesn’t matter if you’re solo. We love you. Always will.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and the tears came—not the broken, jagged ones of before, but soft, warm ones, spilling over as she looked at them. Her boys. Her family. “I missed you,” she choked out, her voice cracking. “So much. I didn’t know how to—I thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” Mingyu’s voice broke, incredulous. “You’re our maknae. We’d never.”

“We’ve been waiting,” Jeonghan said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Whenever you were ready.”

She laughed through her sobs, a shaky, real sound, and pulled them closer, the laptop forgotten on the floor. “I’m sorry I left. I just… I had to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

“Good,” Seungkwan sniffled, clinging to her. “Don’t you dare disappear again.”

They stayed like that for a long time, a tangle of arms and tears and laughter, the chaos she’d missed so fiercely. The silence was gone, replaced by their voices, their warmth. She wasn’t alone anymore.

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

The day Y/N’s music video dropped, her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. She’d barely had time to process the release—her album Unraveled hitting streaming platforms, the sleek, cinematic MV racking up views—when a group chat she hadn’t opened in over a year lit up like a Christmas tree. The culprits? Her thirteen former bandmates, now self-proclaimed presidents of her fan club.

“WHERE’S OUR MERCH, Y/N?!” Hoshi’s message screamed in all caps, followed by a string of tiger emojis. “I need that hoodie with your name on it YESTERDAY.”

“Album too,” Mingyu chimed in. “Signed. Limited edition. I’m framing it.”

“Photocards!” Dino added. “I call dibs on the sparkly one.”

Y/N laughed, typing back, “You guys are ridiculous. I’ll bring stuff over later.”

“Later?!” Seungkwan wailed, voice-note dramatic as ever. “We’re dying out here! Do you know how long we’ve waited for this?!”

She showed up at the HYBE practice room that afternoon, arms loaded with a box of merch—hoodies, albums, photocards, even a few keychains she’d thrown in for fun. The door swung open, and she was met with a chorus of shrieks that could’ve shattered glass.

“IT’S HER!” Hoshi yelled, diving for the box like a kid on Christmas morning. “Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

“Chill, dude,” Mingyu said, elbowing him aside to grab a hoodie. He held it up, grinning. “Look at this—‘Y/N: Unraveled.’ I’m wearing this everywhere.”

Seungcheol snatched an album, flipping it open. “Sign it. Right here. ‘To my favorite leader, love, Y/N.’ Go.”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed a marker, scribbling personalized notes as they crowded around her. Jeonghan slid up, smirking. “Make mine pretty. Something like, ‘To the prettiest handsome man alive.’”

“Dream on,” she shot back, writing, “To Hannie oppa, don’t lose the bracelet.”

Joshua hovered politely, holding a photocard. “Can you sign this one? It’s the one where you’re winking. I’m keeping it forever.”

“Forever?” Vernon teased, snagging his own card. “I’m putting mine on my phone case. Look—bam!” He slapped it onto the back of his phone, grinning. “Now I’ve got Y/N watching my back.”

Minghao, who’d been quietly sorting through the pile, held up a hoodie with her logo and name. “This is cool,” he said, his voice soft but his eyes bright. “Sign it for me? ‘To Hao, the chillest brother.’”

“Finally, some class,” Y/N said, winking at him as she signed it. “Why can’t you all be this calm?”

“Because we’re your hype squad!” DK bellowed, pulling on a hoodie that was a size too small. “Look at me—I’m a walking billboard!”

Woozi, ever the practical one, inspected his album. “This production’s insane. Did you write all the tracks?”

“Most of them,” she said, and he nodded, impressed. “Sign mine ‘To the music genius.’ I’m stealing your tricks.”

Jun grabbed a photocard and gasped. “This one’s holographic! Y/N, you’re too cool for us now.”

“Never,” she laughed, signing it as he danced around her.

Seungkwan clutched his chest, holding up a signed album. “I’m crying. This is my most prized possession. Sign it again!”

“You’re so extra,” Wonwoo said, but he was grinning, slipping his own photocard into his wallet. “This one’s mine. No one touch it.”

Dino pounced on her next, waving a hoodie. “Sign the sleeve! I’m wearing it to carat land so everyone knows I stan you!”

She obliged, laughing as they turned the room into a fanboy frenzy—Hoshi posing with his keychain like it was a Grammy, Mingyu snapping selfies with his hoodie, Minghao twirling her keychain with a rare, goofy grin.

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

That night, her phone exploded again as the boys flooded their Instagram stories. Seungcheol posted a mirror selfie with her album, captioned, “Proud leader moment. Stream Unraveled now—link in bio.” Jeonghan shared a pic of his signed bracelet note, “She’s back, and I’m crying.” Joshua’s was simple: a shot of his photocard with a heart emoji.

Mingyu went overboard—three stories in a row: him in the hoodie, him with the album, him pointing at her photocard on his phone case, “My bias forever. MV link below!” Hoshi filmed himself dancing to her title track, screaming, “Y/N, YOU’RE A LEGEND!”

DK posted a blurry selfie with her in the background, “Caught her slippin’. Support our maknae!” Seungkwan’s was a tearful video: “I’ve waited YEARS for this. Stream it or I’ll haunt you.” Vernon’s was chill—a pic of his phone case with, “She’s fire. Check it.”

Woozi shared a studio shot of him listening to her album, “Respect. Link up.” Jun posted his holographic card, “Too shiny, like her.” Wonwoo’s was a quiet flex—his wallet photocard with, “Always with me.”

Minghao, ever the aesthetic king, uploaded a minimalist shot of the keychain against a sunset, “Her vibe. Stream Unraveled.” Dino rounded it out with a hoodie selfie, “Pi Cheolin approves. Go watch the MV!”

Y/N watched it all unfold, laughing until her sides hurt, warmth spreading through her chest.

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

Her first Music Bank appearance was a blur of nerves and adrenaline. She stood backstage, adjusting her mic pack, when she heard it—a roar from the crowd that sounded suspiciously familiar. Peeking out, she nearly dropped her water bottle.

All thirteen Seventeen members were in the audience, squished into the front row, waving lightsticks they’d clearly stolen from carat land prep. They were loud—louder than the actual fans.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Hoshi chanted, jumping like a maniac. Mingyu held up a handmade sign: “OUR MAKNAE SLAYS.”

“Go off, queen!” DK hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Seungcheol, trying to keep some dignity, just clapped like a proud dad—until Seungkwan elbowed him, and he yelled, “That’s our girl!”

Jeonghan waved his lightstick with a smirk, shouting, “You’re prettier than me now!”

“Sing it, Y/N!” Joshua called, grinning ear to ear.

Vernon gave a cool nod but ruined it by screaming, “Woo!” mid-verse. Woozi whistled, sharp and piercing, while Jun and Wonwoo chanted her name in unison.

Minghao stood out, waving a glowstick with quiet intensity, then yelling, “You’re the best, Y/N!”—a rare burst of volume that made her laugh mid-note.

Dino was the loudest, bouncing on his toes. “That’s my twin maknae! Kill it!”

She nearly fumbled her choreo from giggling, but she powered through, her heart swelling. After her stage, they swarmed her backstage, sweaty and beaming.

“You were insane!” Mingyu said, pulling her into a bear hug.

“Sign my forehead next time,” Hoshi begged, pointing at his face.

“Voice was perfect,” Woozi said, nodding. “Remix collab when?”

Minghao smiled, soft but genuine. “You glowed out there. Proud of you.”

Seungcheol ruffled her hair. “Told you—you’re still ours.”

She grinned, surrounded by her thirteen fanboys, their chaos the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

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

Y/N’s solo album Unraveled was a steamroller. It clung to the top of the charts like a stubborn barnacle, sold out its first run in weeks, and forced her label to scramble for new batches. Fans—especially carats—were feral, hyping her every move and dunking on her old haters with savage glee. “Where’s the ‘talentless’ crowd now, huh?” one tweeted, alongside a clip of her MV hitting million views. “Y/N’s out here proving you wrong, stay mad!” another crowed. She’d scroll through it all late at night, grinning at the chaos she’d unleashed.

The MAMA Awards rolled around, Seoul’s biggest night of glitter and glory, and Y/N was a bundle of nerves. She’d been assigned a solo seat in the third row—standard for a soloist—but Seventeen had other plans. The second she stepped into the venue, all thirteen of them descended like a pack of overexcited golden retrievers.

“No way you’re sitting alone,” Seungcheol declared, grabbing her arm as they swarmed her.

“You look like a lost puppy over there!” Hoshi added, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s sad vibes,” Mingyu said, pouting dramatically. “We can’t let our maknae suffer!”

The organizers tried to intervene—“She’s scheduled for—”—but Seungkwan cut them off, clutching his chest. “Do you want her to cry? On camera? Is that what you want?!”

Joshua flashed his angelic smile, disarming them. “She’s with us. It’s fine.”

“Family seating!” DK bellowed, dragging her toward their row.

Minghao, ever the voice of reason, chimed in with a sly grin. “She’s basically still Seventeen. You can’t argue with that.”

The staff threw up their hands, defeated, as thirteen dorky boys hauled her to their table near the front. Vernon plopped her between him and Wonwoo, while Jun and Dino fought over who got to hold her water bottle. “It’s mine to guard!” Dino insisted, hugging it like a teddy bear.

“Give it here,” Jun countered, yanking it back. “I’m the responsible one!”

Woozi just sighed, sipping his water. “You’re all embarrassing her on live TV.”

“No, we’re hyping her!” Jeonghan shot back, adjusting his hair in the nearest camera lens. “She’s a star tonight.”

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

The night rolled on, awards piling up, until the big one—Album of the Year. Y/N fidgeted in her seat, sandwiched between Vernon’s chill vibes and Seungcheol’s tense dad-energy. When the presenter opened the envelope, time slowed.

“And the MAMA Award for Album of the Year goes to… Y/N, Unraveled!”

The crowd erupted—cheers, claps, gasps—but nothing was louder than the thirteen idiots beside her. She froze, jaw dropping, as Seventeen leapt to their feet, turning the elegant event into a frat house rager.

“THAT’S OUR GIRL!” Mingyu roared, fist-pumping so hard he nearly knocked over Jeonghan.

“BODYGUARDS, ASSEMBLE!” Hoshi shouted, and they formed a circle around her, each one striking a dramatic pose—hands to their ears like Secret Service agents, faces deadly serious.

Seungcheol barked, “Protect the queen!” and shoved Dino forward to clear a path.

She burst out laughing, stumbling as they “escorted” her to the stage. DK flexed nonexistent muscles, yelling, “No one’s getting through us!” while Seungkwan wailed, “I’M TOO PROUD TO FUNCTION!”

Vernon gave a lazy salute, muttering, “VIP coming through,” as Minghao smirked and whispered, “We’re so extra right now.”

The cameras caught it all—thirteen dorks in tuxes acting like her personal hype squad, while carats in the audience screamed their lungs out. She climbed the steps, still giggling, and took the mic, the trophy gleaming in her hands.

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

Y/N took a deep breath, the laughter fading into something heavier. The spotlight burned, but she felt the boys’ eyes on her, steadying her.

“Wow, uh… I didn’t expect this,” she started, voice shaky. “This album—it’s everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve fought for. I didn’t think I’d make it here, you know? There were days I couldn’t get out of bed, days I thought I’d lost myself forever.”

The crowd quieted, hanging on her words. Back at the table, Seungcheol gripped his chair, eyes glistening. “She’s killing me,” he muttered.

“I’m here because of the people who never gave up on me,” she continued, her voice rising. “My fans—carats—you waited for me, believed in me when I couldn’t. And… Seventeen.” She glanced at them, and the boys erupted again.

“WOOHOO!” Hoshi hollered, waving his arms like a windmill.

“THAT’S US!” DK yelled, jumping so high he nearly fell over Mingyu.

Mingyu cupped his hands, booming, “YOU’RE THE BEST, Y/N!”

She grinned, tears pricking her eyes. “These thirteen idiots dragged me through hell and back. They’re my brothers, my chaos, my home. Seungcheol, who wouldn’t let me quit. Jeonghan, who made me laugh when I wanted to cry. Joshua, with his quiet strength. Jun, who’d prank me just to see me smile. Hoshi, the loudest cheerleader alive. Wonwoo, my silent rock. Woozi, who taught me music is power. DK, my sunshine. Mingyu, who fed me when I forgot to eat. Seungkwan, my drama twin. Vernon, who kept me grounded. Minghao, who showed me calm in the storm. And Dino, my twin.”

Each name hit like a punch, and the boys lost it:

Seungcheol stood, clapping like a proud dad, shouting, “That’s my maknae!”

Jeonghan fanned his face, yelling, “I’m blushing!”

Joshua grinned, calling, “Love you too!”

Jun pumped his fist, “Prank master approved!”

Hoshi spun in a circle, screaming, “I’M YOUR CHEERLEADER!”

Wonwoo gave a rare shout, “Always here, Y/N!”

Woozi smirked, “Music power, baby!”

DK beamed, “Sunshine reporting for duty!”

Mingyu flexed, “Food king forever!”

Seungkwan sobbed, “DRAMA TWINS UNITE!”

Vernon waved, “Grounded and proud!”

Minghao laughed, loud and bright, “Calm storm, that’s me!”

Dino bounced, “Pi Cheolin loves you!”

“I wouldn’t be here without them,” she finished, voice cracking. “Thank you—for loving me, for waiting. This is for us.”

The crowd roared, but Seventeen drowned them out, cheering like they’d won the award themselves. She stepped off stage, and they swarmed her again, a laughing, teary mess of hugs and shouts.

“You made me cry on TV!” Seungkwan accused, wiping his face.

“Speech of the century!” Hoshi declared, spinning her around.

Minghao squeezed her shoulder, grinning. “You named me. I’m honored.”

“Thirteen bodyguards at your service,” Seungcheol said, pulling her into a bear hug. “Forever.”

She laughed through her tears, surrounded by her dorky, loud, perfect family. The trophy was heavy, but their love was heavier—and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[stariekis]

He was a fairy.

pairing : uni stu!jungwon+ uni stu!fem reader . genre : fluff . cw : none i think . wc : 3.2K + text

check my other works ₊⊹⁀➴ masterlist

— synopsis : your boyfriend has a pretty big surprise to you, what if he changed his hair color without telling you ?

— uri's note : oh i'm so back guys ... what a better way to start posting again than making a blonde won au my shayla💔 i'm obsessed i swear :| n e ways i really hope you like this as much as i like it <3 love u all

When you got home after class you saw that your boyfriend Jungwon texted you not so long ago. You answered as soon as you entered the dorm.

You put your phone down and run to your bathroom to get ready. A surprise? What could it be.. Jungwon has always had a pretty big mouth and he was never able to keep any secrets, at least not from you.

And not only that but he also planned a whole picnic date for you, today was going to be and interesting day to say the least.

You choose to wear something comfy for the picnic; some baggy jeans and one of your jungwon’s hoodies. "Well, how do i look ?" — you asked your roommate. She looked at you and mouthed a silent ‘you look pretty’, you smiled at her compliment and hoped that Jungwon would think the same as her.

You took your keys, your bag and exited the dorm for the second time today. But this time you were actually happy to do that.

You reached the park near your school, where Jungwon told you to meet him. You sat on one of the benches and waited for your boyfriend to appear.

Not much time passed when you felt a pair of arms hugging you from behind, followed by a silent ‘hi baby' and a kiss on the cheek. Once he let go of you you turned around to look at his pretty face, the same one you've been missing the whole day.

"WHAT THE FUCK JUNGWON?" — You jumped on your seat, hands covering your mouth. You thought your eyes popped out of your skull.

So that's the surprise. He changed his hair color. His hair was now. Blonde.

He laughed at your reaction, he didn't think that you would react like that at all. Standing now in front of you he took your hands and made you stand up facing him, your face still reflecting pure shock. "So you don't like it ?" — He pouted, his hands resting around your waist as he pulled you towards him.

You touched his hair, admiring how incredibly good he looks. "Jungwon — you gulped — This is the hottest you've ever looked in your life" — As soon as those words leave your mouth he started laughing again and, taking your face in his hands, he kisses you.

"I'll take that as a yes" — He said as he pulled away. After that he took your hand and guided you to the spot he chose for your picnic date. As you walked there you couldn't stop looking at him. He looked ethereal, like a fairy, he was actually a fairy. You swear you just fell in love with him allover again.

Once you both settled everything down it was almost time for the sun to set. The rays of the sun reflecting on his face, you swear he couldn't get any prettier, but seeing him glowing like this proved you wrong.

You were able to take your gaze away from him for a second just to find a pretty little blue flower next to you. You took it and while looking at it an idea crossed your mind. "Baby — You called him. His head turned to look at you, a smile adorning his face making you melt at that same spot. Come here" — You patted the spot next to you. He got up and sat down right next to you, the closer the better, his shoulder even brushing again yours.

You took the small flower and decided to put it in his hair. He smiles at you while you did that. If you think he is pretty he feels like the luckiest man ever every time he sees you, thinking about how he managed to date someone as magical as you are.

Once you're done you pull away, admiring his face. "You are the prettiest boy I've ever seen in my life, my pretty boy" — You said while caressing his cheeks that were now tinted with a light pink blush. "I told you i'll call you that" — he smiled at your comment while shaking his head.

After that he finally decided to close the small distance between you, kissing you softly. He pushed you gently making you lay completely in the blanket he placed under you both without breaking the kiss.

He pulled away, for your dislike. Resting his forehead on top of yours not wanting to be completely apart from you he whispered a small ‘i love you’ to which you answered the same way as him.

You both laid there, the sun was nowhere to be seen now and the sky was now decorated with tons of stars that reflected in his pretty eyes. This day couldn't end better than this.

tag list : open . send an ask !

[mikeyrrevenge]

reading Where Are Your Boys Tonight (2023) for the first time is driving me insane. throwing here some quotes that made me short circuit:

"Pete would come to Misshapes because Mikey would go"

"I met Panic! at the Vegas Warped Tour date. They were young. Super sweet. Pete was like 'Hey, can you [MCR] meet these guys, they love you, you're one of their favourite bands'"

"Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie were like Lennon and McCartney"

"My Chem is really the band from this world that comes to mind as feeling very protective of the queer kids and young women in their audience. Which is why, even today, they still feel set apart from a lot of their peers."

"Everybody thought me [Travie] and William Beckett were a couple."

"I definitely have a photo of Gabe and William from The Academy Is... kissing eachother in New York City. I think at one point in time it could've broken the internet. Now i think everyone kind of knows that sort of thing was going on. I never did hear of anything beyond that happening between the bands. But i wouldn't be surprised."

"Definitely a presence online of fanfiction involving all sorts of guys from that Decaydance scene. There was some story about me [Adam Siska] and Ryan Ross being lovers, which i thought was hilarious"

"[Who was the best kisser? to Gabe] Definitely Pete. Maybe tied with William Beckett."

[incorrect-losers]

Bev *reading Richie’s list of standards*: My model wife won’t care how dirty my room gets, she will always let me win at video games, she will play street hockey at any time day or night-

Stan: Why don’t you just marry Bill?

Bill *disgusted*:

Richie *also disgusted*: ‘Cause our kids would look like horses

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 3

Bastards

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Sanctuary

Word count: ~9.4k Warning: Slight mentions of blood [ROMANCE]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. A lot is going on here that editing is a lost cause. I'm sincerely praying none of you know anything about fighting.

Ahead. 

His shadows urged him as if he couldn’t hear the call himself. They snaked through the trees, leading him through a darkness softer than their own. The melody tugged at his heart, enough for him to lurch forward, tripping and stumbling over the overgrown roots under his feet. Her voice grew nearer, clearer, the tremors in it raking over his skin.

Ahead.

As he emerged through the entangled branches, his breath hitched. Moonlight broke through the canopy and illuminated a wide circle in the clearing. And she at the centre of it, her head tipped skyward.

Her shirt, barely a white veil in the dim light, caressed her skin as the breeze danced to the rhythm of her song, her words unintelligible and foreign. The soft waves of her hair whipped in the gentle wind. A thick white mist stood a barrier between them, shielding her from him as though she wasn’t his to embrace. 

Ahead.

He took another step. Twigs snapped under him. The fog lifted. She lowered her eyes and blinked. Her lips stopped moving. She stood, frozen in front of him, radiant than a full moon above the mountains. The word hung in the air, whispered by his shadows and the breeze. 

Mate. 

.

.

.

Azriel opened his eyes to a cloud of darkness flittering above him. With each gasp of breath, the weight in his chest sank a little deeper. Every time he saw the same face. Some nights, she sang for him under the golden lights in her bar. On others, they were far away from the rest of the world, alone and safe. But she always smiled. At him, only him.

Despite the torture of facing reality at the crack of his dreams, he went to sleep every night only to catch a glimpse of her. 

Masochist, he might be, but it was all Azriel had of her.

His brothers never mentioned being plagued by visions of their mates after the mating bond snapped for them. He didn’t have the gall to ask either, partly because he didn’t dare believe it was what he suspected it to be. The clear whisper from his shadows only haunted him in his dreams. A mere word said into his ears once and gone, leaving him to wonder if he had dreamt it as much as his hallucinations of her. But every time he woke up with his skin prickling with need and heart swelling with bittersweet longing, he swore he smelled that same fragrance of spices.

And then, there was the matter of the bond itself. His emotions and desires came crashing down on him so fiercely, so fast, that there was no other explanation, even if he wanted to deny it. The tether wound tight around his heart every time he refused to seek her. But it was quiet. So eerily quiet. If he sensed her, he told himself, he would know for sure.

His brothers realised the moment the growl erupted from his throat. They scented the bond on him, Rhys had said. It was the feral look in his eyes that had convinced Cass though. Azriel believed him, for he had wanted to tear every limb of the man that night.

He could see it as he sat in the booth with his hands fisted on the table—thundering up the stairs past Uri’s protests, ripping the door that snapped shut softly above them off its hinges, going straight for the man’s throat. He wouldn’t have used his knife. No, he had wanted to do it with his bare hands.

Darkness exploded around him at the sight of the locked office door. His siphons shone bright like hellfire against the black of his shadows. If his brothers hadn’t dragged him out of the bar a minute later, his shadows would have claimed the one who belonged with them, belonged with him .

What truly stopped him was her eyes.

Even after months, he remembered the pure disdain and disgust that filled them when she defended the fae against a pervert. The flicker of alarm, the following rage, and then the void. No, Azriel couldn’t bring himself to be the cause of it. Mate or not, he didn’t want her to look at him with those eyes. 

And when he shot to the skies and flew over Velaris until sunrise—afraid to stop, afraid he might end up in front of her doors—all he thought of was her smile, her voice, her. 

His brothers didn’t bother to stop him. Even Cass didn’t make one of his jokes. After hours of trailing him, they left him to his own misery. But not before a slow, careful presence nudged against his mental wards as if he were a breath away from shattering. 

Whatever you’re tempted to do, Rhys had voiced when Azriel allowed him in, don’t.

And he listened.

He listened every day since. He fought his impulses to run to her, to see whether she had felt anything that night. Even when he knew mating bonds didn’t work that way. 

Rhys made it easy though, or so Azriel believed, by sending him on mission after mission with barely any day to spare in between. Months ago, he would have visited Pharus even during only a day’s break. But now, he didn’t trust himself enough to be in the vicinity of the bar, day or night.

Cass took the honour of owning the loosest lips in the family by telling everyone what had transpired that very night. Apparently, Rhys had wanted to wait until Azriel was ready.

One look at Mor’s brown eyes and he knew when the conversation veered towards Ayla. But five centuries of friendship counted for something as she picked up on signs of his frustration and let him be. Nesta gave him a disapproving stare but respected his silence, on occasions. At least Cass backed off when he showed no interest in pouring his heart out like a lovesick youth. 

But Feyre, believing she was as sly as her mate, took him on errands for her paint supplies. And supposedly remembered an important meeting always somewhere close to a specific red-bricked building. Azriel wasn’t a fool, and so he left his High Lady to attend her meetings alone. Honestly, it was Elain’s company he tolerated, the only one in his family who never asked about Ayla or his brooding over his own cowardice.

Rhys’s generosity lasted for a whole of three grand weeks. He dismissed every pressing concern Azriel brought to him and bound him home. With an endless list of people who loved to pry into his matters, each day posed a new kind of torture. 

Given they were aware of his obsession with the middle Archeron sister and the consequent dispute with his brother—the High Lord, it was safe to say his longing to be mated like his brothers surfaced with not much of a shock. And they all had one question.

Why hadn’t he done anything yet?

To begin with, Ayla barely knew of his existence. When the mating bond snapped for his brothers, they were acquainted with their mates to some extent. Feyre knew Rhys enough to hate him. Nesta and Cass. . . they were at each other’s throats as much as in each other’s pants. And he distinctly remembered Elain’s reaction. She hated Lucien when he declared the bond in front of everyone, resented him for it, and resisted it with all her might.

So Azriel listened. He stayed away.

He stayed away as years of rejection finally caught up to him and fear snagged his heart. He stayed away though centuries-long prayers were answered in a heartbeat. He stayed away when everything he ever wanted was so close to his reach.

Shackled to home day after day, his options were limited—antagonising himself with his family’s nosiness, running errands which gave his legs, wings and shadows a reason to seek Ayla, or training. 

‘Ready to talk?’ asked Cass the moment his brother took his stance before him and raised his fists to his chin. 

Azriel threw the first punch, and that was the end of that conversation.

It became the new routine. Waking up at night with thoughts of her and releasing his tension in the ring in the morning. He expected Cass to coax him into action, but Rhys was the one to intervene.

Glaring at his brother’s back, Azriel froze in his steps. Close to the southern border of Velaris, stood a lone white stone building along the wide bend of Sidra curving into the city. The turquoise blue on the carved iron doors demanded attention from miles away. One of the heavy double doors was pulled open while the other remained closed, blocking the view of the inside. Through the mesh-covered grilled window, hot air billowed out only to be carried downwind over the waters. Smoke coiled out of a chimney in the back. 

Two horses—creatures of beauty and grace complimenting each other in every way—were tied to the stump outside a modest stable erected beside the quaint smithy. One, as stark as Rhys’s hair and the other, as pale as Amren’s grey eyes. They shuffled silently at the sight of the three brothers who invoked their primal need to surrender their beastly control.

‘Why are we here?’ Azriel ground out. His hands clenched, twitching to throw his brother into the river. Not nearly adequate, but enough to get his point across.

Rhys adjusted the cuffs of his tunic. ‘I fancied a new blade. It’s been a while since I got any, don’t you think? You could get one too.’ He glanced over his shoulder with the same insufferable smirk at the Truth-teller strapped to Azriel’s thigh. ‘Give it a little rest maybe.’

Cass rubbed his sore shoulder from two mornings ago. ‘Do you think I enjoy getting my ass handed to me every day?’ He scowled, stalking up to the two wide doorsteps made of the same stone as the building. ‘I don’t care what you do there. Get. Inside. ’

Azriel stared. Cass stared back.

His brother’s solution to everything was training until his body was limp and trembling. If Azriel had gotten him grumbling about a few landed hits, he definitely pushed this too far. He took a step forward and Cass breathed in relief.

Rhys opened the other door and peered inside. 

Azriel came up behind him and said quietly, ‘You told me not to do anything.’ His shadows drifted ahead before he could reel them back.

‘That night, Az.’ Every trace of amusement disappeared from Rhys's face. Shaking his head, he entered the shop with his brothers on his trail. ‘I told you not to do anything stupid that night.’

A short counter took the space along the breadth of the room across the door. A metal mesh formed part of the wall on their left separating the forge from the shop front. Wood groaned and crackled beyond the partition as a shadow moved in front of a glowing furnace.

To their right, cabinets with glass doors spanned the wall from floor to ceiling. One half showcased knives, swords, and arrowheads made of iron and steel fit for regular use. The other exhibited an interesting collection.

The polished metal of the blades gleamed with a liquid sheen under the soft morning light. Gold and silver made their hilts. Gems of every colour, cut and size adorned the intricate swirls along them. Little wooden placards took a place next to each with centuries, lands—except Night Court—and a few names of fae lords, long dead or forgotten, etched on them.

The brothers studied each weapon carefully, their breaths held in reverence in the presence of ancient blades that had been lost in time, wielded by warriors who once walked and warred and bled to death.

If his brothers chose to wield a sword of their own and name it, Azriel knew, long after they were gone, they would be as coveted as the ones before them. One day, his Truth-Teller would be too, and it had nothing to do with him. The sheathed knife weighed heavy on his thigh as to confirm his belief.

Metal groaned behind them. A man pushed the mesh wall aside and came through. He offered a mild smile, sealing the path again. 

Azriel had seen an uninhibited version of that smile once, hated it, and wanted to carve it out of that face.

Cass strode past to Rhys and blocked him from the clueless fae. He muttered under his breath, ‘What were we thinking? This is a bad idea.’

But his brother smiled smoothly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Azriel resisted the urge to snarl at the man. His shadows curled around his ears, hissing how they wished to shred the one who dared touch Ayla apart. His face that brought a smile to hers, his lips that kissed her cheek, his hand that held her body. Another reason he had stayed away.

‘How can I help you?’

Orvin was no warrior but his build suggested he could handle himself in a fight. His wrapped hands implied he indeed helped Ayla in the workshop. His eyes held an effortless sparkle, unlike the one Azriel usually had to muster for anyone but his family. His short chestnut hair curled at the ends and all Azriel could think was the way Ayla would have tugged at them that night when he—

‘We were hoping to talk to her.’ Rhys tipped his head to the mere shadow looming beyond the makeshift wall against the roaring golden of the fire.

Orvin folded his arms across his chest. His smile faltered a little. ‘She’s busy. Whatever you’re looking for,’ he nodded at the case beside them, ‘you can find it here.’

Cass’s eyes roved over every steel with the warrior's scrutiny, unable to resist his instincts. ‘They’re not good enough.’

And Rhys didn’t deign to look at them, ‘We have a special request.’

In a blink, Orvin stood to his full height—his chin held high, his smile vanishing. ‘She doesn’t work with lords and High Lords.’ 

While Azriel watched her as she moved farther into the shadows, Rhys purred, ‘Surely you can make an exception once.’ 

Metal hit metal in a steady rhythm in the other room. For long minutes, they stared at each other. Feet shuffled. A harsh hiss cut through the silence.

Orvin remained unfazed. ‘She doesn’t make exceptions. For anyone. You can either buy one of these or leave.’

All his life, very few who weren’t a lord or High Lord had defied Rhys. He never abused his power in Velaris. It was one of the reasons the city thrived and people admired him. Still, no one ever forgot who he was and what he was capable of under that beautiful face and charming smile. 

Yet, the sheer arrogance Orvin radiated at that moment, looking down at the most powerful High Lord to have ever existed like the scums he drove out of the shop, was not something anyone had dared do before. He either had a lot of courage or little common sense to deny Rhys what he wanted. 

‘I’m no lord,’ Azriel said finally, his voice gratefully even and low. ‘She makes weapons for others though, doesn’t she?’ 

Orvin slid his gaze to the darkness swarming the shadowsinger's shoulders, ripples and ripples of them challenging him, threatening him. He brought his eyes back to the glowering hazel ones that promised nothing good. Then he turned to the forge. ‘I’ll have to ask her first.’

‘Don’t tell her who we are,’ added Rhys softly.

Orvin paused to throw a warning look over his shoulder. The sliding door clanked gently into the stone wall behind him.

Azriel heard her heart beat as steady as every clang of metal that rang through the air. Time crawled as he waited and waited. For a moment, he considered if Orvin had returned to his work instead. Finally, every sound came to a halt when light footsteps headed towards them.

‘Make yourself presentable,’ her friend sighed. His voice was smooth as a caress when he spoke to her.

Her feet stopped. She took one sharp breath and bit out, ‘If they want me to look pretty, they shouldn’t interrupt me while I’m working.’

Cass pressed a fist to his lips in a useless attempt to hide the stupid grin on his face. Rhys turned to him, his usual amused eyes glowing that set Azriel’s nerves on edge. 

Another sigh, long and deep. ‘At least wash your face.’

‘I regret hiring you.’ 

Her quiet grumble left Azriel’s heart fluttering in his chest. He surveyed a short sword perched on the lowest shelf to hide his smile from his brothers who watched him intently.

‘You wouldn't have a business without me,’ Orvin’s voice followed her to the back and the sound of running water muted his words. ‘How do you plan on selling anything when you hate talking to your customers? You need me to run this place.’

Water splashed. ‘And you get compensated for it.’

In her bed. The words birthed something wretched and slimy in his gut. Azriel closed his eyes as if the simple act could erase his filthy thoughts. With each breath, he tamed the self-loathing that filled him at his own perverseness.

Rhys spoke with a touch of kindness. ‘She doesn’t take an interest in him that way.’

‘Did you,’ his words came out in a low growl and Azriel didn’t try to hide it, ‘look into her mind?’

Though his brother had done it to many over the centuries, none of them ever tempted him to throttle Rhys to death. He could have as well laid his hand on Ayla in ways he shouldn’t.

Rhys simply shook his head. The cockiness in his eyes from mere seconds ago vanished as a calm contemplation replaced it, the one that overtook him in the face of an unknown opponent.

His. Hers is shielded. Rhys held his brother's glare and admitted solemnly, That night in the bar, she knew I peeked into her mind. I didn’t mean to. Her shields went up so fast I could barely find my way out. She knew what she was doing, Azriel. But she didn’t chase me. Any Daemati would have, but she didn’t.

That was months ago and Rhys chose to disclose it with Ayla only a few feet away. Revealing it now meant one thing. A warning. To a brother. From the look on Cass’s face, it was obvious he had been privy to that information as well. 

The groan of wheels against the floor brought the three out of their mental conversation. Ayla walked out, wiping the back of her neck with a washrag. A sheen of sweat coated her flushed skin below her collarbones. Hair slipped loose from her braid curling along the curve of her face. She didn’t come any closer.

Azriel had been so wrong. He had a glimpse of her legs that night, and yet he never could have imagined what he saw in front of him. 

Her oversized shirts and pants were a disguise for what truly lay underneath. Every inch of her body was a sculpted perfection. Every curve and dip of muscle earned from years of training and discipline. Her light sleeveless shirt hung off her shoulders and shifted with each breath she took. The tunic underneath and her dark pants clung to her like a second skin. The scratch on her exposed calf had turned into a fading pale strip. And a fresh scorch mark stained the inside of her forearm.

How long had it been since that night? Weeks? Months? It felt like aeons. And now he stood in her presence, mere steps away from touching her. If he wanted, if she allowed. Azriel couldn’t breathe. His hands trembled by his side. He focused his will on binding his shadows to himself as they chanted her name and begged to be set loose.

‘What can I do for you?’ Her voice lost the airiness from moments ago. Her words were polite, yet her frown asked— Why are you bothering me?

Rhys smiled like the beautiful prick he was. ‘We hear you're crafty with weapons. We’d like to commission you to make one for us.’

None of the brothers missed the slight roll of her eyes. ‘We don’t make weapons. The ones on display are for sale. My partner will help you with that.’

Her partner leaned against the sliding door, wearing a smirk on his face. A smug, satisfied smirk.

Ayla turned around. She was halfway through the door when Rhys’s words stopped her. ‘That’s not what I heard. You have quite the reputation all over Prythian. And beyond.’

‘You heard wrong.’ She noted each of their faces with nothing but a blank observation.

Don’t you remember me? Azriel wanted to ask like an insolent child. You sang for me!

‘So what’s that hammering back there about?’

‘I deal with arrogant fae men every day. Helps with stress.’

Rhys lifted a brow. Ayla mimicked him. 

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle. A calm warmth smothered the anger, jealousy, and everything vile that consumed his heart.

‘Indulge us,’ Rhys gave her a smile that charmed everyone into compliance. ‘Just one weapon. It shouldn’t be much trouble.’

Ayla blinked.

‘For him,’ Orvin lifted his chin, ‘at the back.’ Maybe she wasn’t into him, but he sure seemed to be protective of her.

Ayla dragged her eyes across his face, peering through the mask of indifference he wore, or Azriel hoped he did.

‘One for each of us,’ amended Rhys, earning a glare from her partner.

‘Special requests cost extra.’ 

Orvin paled. He opened his mouth but Rhys interrupted, ‘We can afford it.’

‘This way.’

Ayla turned on her feet and headed back. 

Orvin stalked her, his eyes widening and yet, they softened for her, ‘Listen, they are—’ 

‘It’s fine. I’ll handle it.’

‘But they are—’

A heavy quiet fell in the room. The brothers went in before Orvin revealed their identity. Heat swallowed them the moment they set foot inside the forge. Sweat trickled down their bodies, making their leathers stick uncomfortably. 

Azriel tucked his wings close to his back, wading through the narrow path between two wooden worktables. He keenly avoided the fire that gorged on coals on his left. The scarred skin on his hands stung and tingled. His shadows swarmed away to his other side, twitching against his wing. 

As they crossed to the end of the room, he took in a breath, her overwhelming scent etched in every corner soothing him. The sweet and bitter scent of spices. All those months when he had thought it was the bar, it had been her.

Ayla stopped in front of a carved wooden door. Removing a heavy iron key from a hook above her head, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside. 

All the while, Orvin stood beside her and scowled at Rhys. His brother flashed him one of his perfect grins and peeked into the room over Ayla's shoulder.

Azriel appreciated one thing—her partner’s refusal to back down even knowing who Rhys was. And couldn’t decide how he felt about his unwavering loyalty to his mate.

‘It wasn’t my fault this time,’ called out a voice. A young fae, no older than twenty, walked in and came to a halt when she spotted the three brothers.

Her skin glowed golden in the light from the furnace and the brown in her eyes turned into a pool of molten copper. A purple bruise adorned her child-like face from her cheekbone to her jaw.

Ayla arched her brow, bored and challenging. 

The fae shrugged, but there was panic in her eyes. Fear of disappointing Ayla, Azriel realised. ‘I mean it! He came at me.’

Finally, losing interest in the brothers, Orvin went to the girl. ‘When did this happen?’

Her thick red hair swayed as she jerked her face out of his grip. She scanned them from head to toe, the frown on her lips deepening with each passing glance. ‘You’d make a knife for another one of these rich bastards, but not me?’

‘I’ll consider making one for you when you come in here without a scratch,’ said Ayla mildly.

‘I have to stop defending myself against those bastards to get a weapon?’

With her bared teeth and fiery eyes, the fae looked like a portrait of a feral cub. The brothers tried to hold in their smiles.

Ayla cut them the same bored look and it was enough to sober them up. When she turned to the fae, her eyes shone. ‘I meant don’t get hit.’

For a moment, the girl only blinked. Then her lips parted in a childish grin as she let Orvin inspect her bruises and answered his questions. 

When none of the brothers moved, Ayla said to Rhys, her face placid. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Azriel couldn’t hide his smile this time. He bowed his head as he entered the room after his brothers. The shell of his wing brushed against her shirt and a shiver shot down his spine.

A short writing desk stood beside the door. Ayla went on to pluck a notebook from the shelf next to it leaving the brothers to their inspection. The room, almost as big as the store and forge combined, included a training mat in the middle. Weapons ranging from knives to swords to maces to war hammers were mounted on one wall. The other carried practice weapons with blunt edges and wooden swords. Long windows, as wide as his hand, split the continuous racks on either side. No way in or out except for the carved door.

‘Who is she?’ asked Rhys, eyeing her every move. 

Cass had been unnaturally quiet since they arrived. 

Ayla unwound the thread holding the notebook close. ‘I don’t see how she's your concern.’ She flipped through the pages, the soft crinkle echoing through the air. She continued without looking at them, ‘You will not tell anyone that I made these for you. You will not speak of this room to anyone. You will return here if and only if you need a replacement.’

‘You seem to be fond of rules,’ Rhys drawled with a tilt of his head, gauging her every reaction, her every word, her every breath.

She lifted one of her beautifully arched brows. ‘You can leave if that’s an inconvenience to you.’ With a pencil in her hand, she looked up. ‘I’ll need your names.’

‘Silence for silence. We won’t talk about you and you won’t know us.’ The words fell off Rhys's lips as if he had been expecting it.

‘This is for me. You shall choose your weapons today. If you prove safe to use one, you will get one.’

Rhys stared at her. Ayla stared back. Her face was a vision of calmness, one that even he never mastered.

A minute passed. Then another. The silence was stifling. His shadows nipped at his neck.

Speak .

Azriel took a steadying breath.

Speak.

He opened his mouth.

‘Rhysand. Call me Rhys since we’re about to be good friends.’

No widening of eyes, no parting of lips in a soft gasp, no shaky breath as the name hung in the air.

Instead, Ayla stood still. Her eyes roved over Rhys’s form in an agonisingly slow, measured scrutiny. She took in every feature, from his infuriatingly perfect face to his broad shoulders to his toned chest to his shaped legs. And all the while, Azriel ground his teeth.

‘Rhysand it is,’ she said in a voice that left his skin prickling. She made notes in her notebook and his shadows writhed to know what she observed.

Cass crouched in front of the stack of longswords finer than Illyrian blades. He had a sincere smile on his lips and appreciation in his eyes. ‘You know how to use all these weapons?’

‘Most of them, yes. Others, I have a working knowledge.’ Ayla frowned, shrugging a shoulder. Her gaze lifted to Rhys again before she jotted more. Finally, she closed the notebook marking the page. ‘Pick your weapon.’

Rhys walked along the shelves surveying the assortment, before he stopped in front of the double-edged swords. He ran his finger over the one at his eye level. Sunlight hit its gilded dark edge and scattered on his palm. A thick white rope corded along the length of its hilt for a better grip.

‘Which one do you recommend?’ He asked softly with a ring of awe in his voice.

‘It’s not up to me to decide yet. First, I need to know what you can do.’ Rhys looked over his shoulder and she added, ‘We’ll assess your strengths. Pick a weapon of your choice. Knock me off my feet.’ 

Rhys faced her with a wicked smile. Cass grinned walking up to Azriel. His brothers knew. Even his shadows didn’t find out this little slice of detail in their spying. 

Ayla moved to one end of the mat. Her feet planted shoulder-width apart. Her hands clasped behind her back. She had not an ounce of doubt or worry on her face as she waited. 

Did she know who they were? Would she still be calm if she knew of the wars they had seen and fought in? The Illyrian wings must have clued her in. Yet, she stood poised and composed.

Rhys lifted his hand, fingers brushing against each other, ready to get rid of his jacket with a single snap. Then, he reached for the buttons instead.

Ayla didn’t even blink at the sight of his naked warrior torso, and a petty satisfaction churned in Azriel's heart. Her gaze shifted though, when he picked a broadsword, the one he admired.

Her brows furrowed, ‘You sure?’

‘Your turn,’ was Rhys’s only reply as he swung the steel, testing its balance. 

‘I don’t need one.’ Rhys looked up. Ayla shrugged, ‘I’m making an assessment. I don’t need a blade for that. When you’re ready.’ 

Grasping with both hands, Rhys adjusted his grip on the hilt and grounded his feet. He winked at Azriel. How do you like her now?  

How did he like her? He wanted to shove her against the wall and devour her lips. He wouldn’t care if his brothers watched. He wouldn’t care if the whole of Prythian watched. He wanted to feast on her, feel her body against his, naked and sweaty. He wanted to run his tongue over her skin until the taste of her was all he remembered. 

Azriel took a shuddering breath and crossed his arms against his chest. His shadows sheathed his body hiding the one true indication of where his thoughts had wandered. His brother chuckled, and he scrambled to put his mental shield back up, tripping over and over again.

Rhys took a step forward and swung his sword lightly. Ayla didn’t move. He inched forward and did it again. Not a blink. He held back his thrusts, stopping short with lazy flicks. 

Azriel smirked at his dilemma. How do you like her now? 

Rhys straightened, his hand and sword limp by his side. ‘At least pick one of those blunt ones,’ he smiled. ‘It’s impolite enough to fight a lady.’

The corner of her lips twitched. ‘If I need a blade to win a fight, I'd rather learn how to fight first.’

Cass laughed and jabbed an elbow into his ribs. ‘She’s fun. I bet—’

‘We both can’t bet against him.’ Azriel grinned back. 

‘Ten gold marks says Rhys will be on his ass in fifteen.’

‘Twenty marks. And make it ten.’

Rhys opened his mouth when Ayla sighed softly to herself, ‘Rich bastards indeed.’

The three brothers shut up but had identical grins plastered on their faces.

Rhys moved in the precise steps he had mastered over years and years in war camps and battlefields. His hands set to motion to match his stride—fluid, quick. The edge almost grazed her arm and Ayla leaned back an inch.

Pulling the sword back, he swung it to her other side. Ayla swerved, but barely. Every move was calculated, nothing more than to dodge the attacks, none to waste her energy or lose her balance.

Rhys noticed too. Do you mind if I nick her a bit? 

Azriel smiled. You can try.

Smirking, Rhys launched into attack after attack. With each step, he pushed her back. He cornered her against the wall stacked with the training swords, careful not to hurt her, much. 

And she stood rooted every time, her hands behind her back.

Her body twisted and stretched with grace. Her feet slid against the floor in effortless drags. Her serene face gave away none of her thoughts. Her gaze darted between his arms and legs, swift and cunning. A glimmer flickered in her eyes but it vanished as soon as she blinked. 

In her presence, at the sight of her, Azriel trembled—not out of fear. But with need, with reverence. He wanted to run his hands down her every curve and watch her move at his touch, at his kiss. Just the thought of the curl of her delicate body against his or the glide of her hands along his skin was too much to bear. Every fibre in his body cried to get on his knees for her.

Rhys swept high and went for her neck. Ayla moved with the blade, ducked low, and turned away as she grasped a wooden sword off the rack and blocked his next strike.

‘I thought you didn’t need a weapon,’ Rhys smirked and aimed for her leg.

Ayla sighed, twisting out of his reach. ‘You’re taking too long.’ She nodded at their audience, ‘And I have other customers.’

She made no attacks. Splinters flew with each blocked hit. Every move was as fluid as her breathing. 

Rhys quickened his pace. His smile fell off his lips, but the spark in his eyes remained. He went for her shoulder, the flat of his sword hoisted to land a hard blow.

Ayla leaned back, dropping to her knees, her sword tucked along her spine. She swivelled around and rose to her feet behind him. The blunt tip of her sword tapped Rhys thrice. On the back of his neck, right behind his heart, at the base of his spine. 

They were done in seven.

Azriel was mesmerised. He had never seen anyone move with such precision or swiftness. But he didn't have the chance to linger on what she had done for long.

‘Or your wings if I’m being generous with your life.’ She walked past Rhys back to her desk, ‘Do you not prefer using them in close-range combat?’

Rhys faced her, palming the spot on his neck where he took the soft hit. His lips parted with a mild gasp. ‘You can see them?’

Ayla shrugged and opened her notebook. ‘Most glamours don’t work on me. They are still hidden by shadows.’ She glanced at Azriel, and he sucked in a breath. ‘Not like his. But faint outlines, more of a disguise by a dark smoke.’

Azriel hadn’t realised his shadows were perched on his shoulders, watching her without their usual chatter.

‘It’s not a glamour,’ mumbled Rhys. The earlier wariness returned to his eyes as he met his brother’s stare.

She wrote in her notebook again. ‘Then I don’t have an explanation for it. That one is too heavy for you,’ she peeked at the sword in his hand, a frown tugging at her lips. ‘You need a lighter steel since you don’t use your wings. The weight throws you off balance. But then, you’ll need more force in your thrusts.’

Rhys gaped at her. 

Cass agreed with a simple shrug. ‘You better show up for training tomorrow.’ He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder as he did his shirt. Rhys shoved his hand off, the buttons at the top left forgotten.

‘Where did you learn to fight?’ Cass asked her. Noting Azriel's unwavering eyes on her like a creep, he gave his ribs a harsh nudge.

‘Around,’ she mumbled, flipping through her notes, scratching with her pencil, and marking a few details. She opened a new page, ‘Next.’

Cass clapped his hands and skipped forward with a feral smile that showed all his teeth.

‘Azriel.’ He smirked when his brother mouthed a curse at him and walked to the middle of the room.

Ayla looked up. She studied him—every inch of his face and body. For a moment, Azriel let himself believe she took longer than she did with Rhys. She blinked slowly, her lingering gaze setting his skin on fire. When her eyes landed on his wings, they flared by a degree in response. She scribbled in her notebook as his brothers chuckled under their breaths.

Azriel had already decided what he would do once they walked out—kill Rhys for his mental comments and then Cass for indulging the prick.

Ayla went to the racks. She returned her sword and rearranged the ones misplaced by her earlier. ‘Choose your weapon,’ she said gently.

Azriel hated that she never spoke his name like she did Rhys’s in that sweet voice of hers.

The moment they entered the room, he spotted the one he wanted to try. Narrower and longer than his Illyrian sword, the simple piece of art swallowed the light around it. Leather wrapped along its hilt as a seamless extension of the abyssal black of the blade. His shadows glided over it, testing it for him, almost as drawn to it as himself.

A muffled ring of metal sliding against leather echoed in the quiet. Ayla turned around to find a curved knife in each of his hands. 

Though Azriel had knives and daggers sheathed on him at all times, he favoured swords. But not that day. They wouldn’t allow him to get close to her, give him a chance to touch her.

Taking her place across from him, she quietly assessed his hands, the way he brought them to his front, gripped his knives ready, and shifted his weight on his feet.

She murmured, ‘Odd choice. Most don’t go for these. They prefer something big and flashy,’ she smiled, bringing her gaze to his face. ‘Requires a lot of practice to master. How long did you take?’

Azriel blinked. Every thought went out of his mind at that smile. ‘Been a while to remember.’ 

Wisps of hair fell over her face as she tipped her head. Her eyes shifted over his shoulders and arms. ‘Your shadows,’ darkness wreathed around him anticipating the little touches they longed to steal, ‘need to sit this one out.’ There was a flicker of hesitation, a weight on his back. ‘Just you and me.’

Like it had been a command from him, his shadows drifted to a corner of the room. 

Just you and me. 

Her words roved over his skin. He stared at her. His brothers fell silent too. 

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ she said softly.

For a full minute, Azriel stood frozen. Then, he lunged forward. 

The same dance ensued, him leading with the first move, her dodging with minimal movement. A strangely familiar rhythm they both fell into with an ease that rendered him senseless. Her warmth grazed his body, her breath hit his fist, and her hair caressed him every time he got too close. Unlike with Rhys, she didn’t keep her distance. She threw her own punches this time.

Azriel summoned every knowledge he acquired fighting for five centuries to take down one woman—his mate.

He wanted to win her challenge only to pin her down under him, to know what she felt like against him. He was, by no means, a simple warrior. Even without his shadows, he was easily one of the most powerful the Illyrians ever dreamt to be. And yet, in her presence, under her calculating eyes, he hardly remembered to steady his breaths.

‘Your left footing needs work,’ she said, stepping back to miss his blade that almost slashed her rib. 

His footing needed no such thing. She was goading him, mocking his consideration, that much her smile told him.

Cass yelled from one corner, ‘Don’t let her win again, brother.’ His eyes twinkled.

Training with each other for centuries left no mystery in their technique or style and removed the freshness of a challenge. If his brother got the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate like Rhys, and Azriel knew. 

Rhys scowled beside him, a look so foreign on his face. ‘She didn’t win against me.’

‘Sure, she didn’t kill you thrice either.’

‘She didn’t have a real blade. I was being courteous.’ Rhys’s lazy smugness returned to his voice. ‘It’s something you wouldn’t understand.’

Azriel breathed a laugh. 

Her gaze dipped to his lips and then to his hand that came at her. She swerved to her right, grabbed his wrist and ducked under. And as she came back up, her other fist met the inside of his bicep. She retreated a few paces. Feet apart, hands behind her back. 

Pain rippled through his muscles. He shook his arm twice, slowly. His skin burned and ached where her fingers had been. His body came alive as though it had felt her grip elsewhere. His heart pounded in his chest, their beat drumming in his ears. He let out a long exhale.

How he wished to throw the knives away and grab her waist instead.

She observed every move he made—the flex of his fingers before they wrapped around the daggers, the rise of his chest as he heaved in a breath, the shift of his legs under him for his next move.

Azriel wanted her eyes only on him anyway. He wished he had taken off his leathers like his brother had done so. Maybe she would have appreciated that too. He would have definitely enjoyed her hits.

He threw the same punch. She swerved. He went for her chest. She glided back. He took a step forward and swept his dagger across her torso before she landed on her feet. She skipped back. He smirked. The corner of her lips twitched. He aimed a strike at her face again. She leaned to her side, and Azriel slammed his left fist into her jaw. She staggered back a few steps, far from his arm’s reach.

‘You always favour your right,’ he remarked softly.

Ayla didn’t move. Her feet planted on the spot. Loose strands of hair veiled her averted face but not the patches of red blooming on her jaw. Her breaths were uneven for the first time since they started. Even his brothers went silent.

She slowly turned to him, her head hung low, her eyes trained on the ground. She reached a hand to her face. A streak of crimson, thin and sharp, ran along the smooth curve of her jaw through the framing bruise. 

Azriel stared at his blade. Blood gleamed along its edge. His grip loosened. Dread filled his chest along with an ache. He looked at her, breathless, as her fingers ghosted over the cut, pulling away with smears of pale red on the tips.

Apologise, Rhys hissed in his mind, now .

Azriel opened his mouth.

‘You,’ she wiped her fingers on her shirt below her ribs—the stains akin to the ones she tried to erase that first night, ‘learn fast.’

Her eyes met his, and a dangerous delight swirled in them. She moved quick. She took two long steps and lunged at him.

Azriel crouched and rooted to his feet as he brought his arms up to block her incoming blow to his face. It wasn’t her hand that met him, and he wasn’t fast enough.

She stepped on the inside of his thigh hard to shift his weight, propelled herself up, and her other foot pushed into his chest. Using the momentum, she swung herself over and around his shoulder.

Before Azriel could blink, his feet gave out. His wings spread behind him easing his fall.

Her grip was strong. She pressed his hand to his throat, the edge of his knife cool against his skin. Her face hovered over his. 

Azriel let his head rest on the ground. Painfully aware of her body pressed against his—straddling his waist, her hands around each of his wrists—he willed himself to hold her stare steady. 

She breathed, ‘You’re dead.’

‘So are you,’ he rasped the words out. He lifted his head to peer down between them. The glinting tip of his other blade poked at her chest, where her heart was, where he was sure a spot of blood would soon taint her white shirt.

She followed his stare. Her lips pulled into a smirk before she looked him in the eye. ‘As long as I take you with me.’

Azriel yearned for nothing more. For her to take him—to death, to hell, to his damnation. 

Her braid fell over her shoulder, and the ends tickled his face and neck. Her short breaths hit his skin, the scent of her making him heady. Her hands were warm against his shadow-kissed cold ones. Blood rushed to her face. A bead of sweat trickled down between her brows, followed the curve of her nose, and trailed down her cheek.

Azriel wanted to trace it with his tongue, taste her. Her blood, her sweat.

Beautiful. The word clanged in every corner of his mind as he took her in, raw and bare. 

Beautiful. The blade dug deeper into his skin, reminding him she held his life in her hands. 

Beautiful. Especially when she had him at her mercy. 

His mind chose the inappropriate time to conjure the other ways she could have him at her mercy. Gods, if she moved, she would feel him. 

His shadows crept up to them, teasing her hair, teetering along the cut on her jaw, furious for what he had done to her.

His head fell back. He took a deep breath and still, it wasn’t enough. The delicious burn of cool metal scraping against the column of his throat felt painless compared to her intense gaze peering into his soul. He swallowed. She tracked the movement. He swallowed again, her eyes snapped to his. Every nerve in his body urged him to reach up, let the blade slit his throat, only to kiss her once.

And for a sweet moment, he thought she wanted it too. 

She blinked. She pulled back an inch and looked up. 

Orvin hurried in with the red-haired fae. Panic flashed in his eyes. He shoved the fae inside while he lingered close to the door. ‘She’s back. She’s here.’

Ayla shot to her feet taking every sense of warmth around him with her. ‘It’s fine,’ she urged them in and stepped out. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

The door closed behind her. Azriel’s feet followed her on their own.

But Rhysr’s voice in his mind brought him back. She’s gone. Quiet your thoughts a little.

He turned around with a snarl to find both his brothers sporting a cruel grin.

The key clicked into place and so did an invisible force. ‘It’s warded,’ Rhys observed the narrow slits along the walls. His smile vanished. ‘Why do you have wards here?’ 

They turned to Orvin, but he stared at the closed door. He shielded the fae with his body and coaxed her back, far from the entrance. He didn’t answer. 

Outside, a fire crackled in the furnace. Metal whined. Sharp clicks bounced off the stone floors and walls. Both Orvin and the fae sucked in a breath.

‘So,’ said a voice low and feminine, ‘you’re hiding in the monster’s den. I can’t decide if you’re smart or losing your mind.’

Orvin shivered at the sound.

Rhys studied the door, lost and distant in his thoughts. He reached out a hand despite Cass's warning. His palm rested on an invisible field a few inches short of the wood. His touch sent out glimmering waves along the walls, floor, and roof. The wavering stilled once they merged on the far side. A breath later, they rippled and eddied until they reached his palm again. Rhys stepped back staring at his hand.

Ayla spoke calmly. ‘You wouldn’t have found me if I were hiding.’ 

‘I wasted a long trip on this.’ The voice sighed, every word tinged with a seductive drawl. ‘Let’s not dally. Come with me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Have you forgotten your deal already?’ The voice got closer and closer to the door. 

‘I never made a deal with you.’

‘Didn’t you?’ The voice hummed. Long and light. ‘Never mind. We can always make a new one.’

Bare feet shuffled across the floor, drawing away from the locked door. The wards muffled some of the conversation, but their fae hearing helped. Ayla’s voice barely carried through the room. ‘I don’t work for any court.’ 

Heels stomped across the floor. The intruder whined, a delicate teasing sound. ‘Name your price. I’ll get you whatever you want.’

‘I have everything I need.’

Metal groaned against the wood. A sharp thump, metal against metal. Another and another. Each one harder than the previous. 

The voice snorted. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of this pathetic excuse of a court.’ 

Cass stiffened beside them. He asked Orvin, ‘Who is she?’ Neither he nor the fae answered.

Ayla said softly, ‘This is my home.’

Those simple words from her lips made Azriel’s heart clench in his chest. A twisted approval of who he was, an acknowledgement of his existence.

‘This? Velaris? Don’t fool yourself.’ The voice laughed. It would’ve been the most melodic sound Azriel had ever heard if not for the mockery in it. She moved away and away, stalking Ayla, circling her. Venom dripped from each word she spouted. ‘What did you expect? You’d find a man here, maybe a lord , fall in love, have a cosy little life like a common fae?’

Ayla chuckled in response. So soft, so tender that it made Azriel smile, too. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing here?’ Her voice lingered, drifting farther past the furnace, past the fires. ‘Gods, sounds like you’re projecting your dreams onto me.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ The voice turned into what it truly was. A vile, cruel shrill masked by the sweetness of its lull.

‘Or what?’ Ayla paused, and Azriel could see the smirk on her lips. ‘You come into my home and threaten me. Did you expect me to kiss your feet next?’

The voice fell silent.

Azriel turned to Rhys, and he shook his head. Her mind is shielded. 

The heels turned to the door again, hitting faster and faster. They stopped right in front of the door. ‘Where’s the half-fae youngling?’ 

Orvin hissed behind the brothers and gestured to them to step back. They all turned to the fae who cowered to a corner, yet schooled her face in defiance. The pointed arch of her ears peeked through her thick hair. But the tan skin, the hazel eyes.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Please,’ the stranger whined with a thrill at the tightness in Ayla’s voice. ‘I can smell her.’

Rhys asked the fae kindly, ‘Why does she want you?’ When she didn’t answer, he tried again. ‘I’m Rhysand. You know who I am?’ She nodded once. ‘I can help you if you tell me who that is.’

But one look from Orvin had her pursing her lips.

Ayla padded over, biding her time. ‘It’s just me. And I’m very busy. So leave.’

‘Right, since the silver-tongued half-fae High Lord finally gets his way with you.’ 

A long silence. Despite Rhys’s warning looks, Azriel checked the wards. Shadows writhed along the door prying for a way out.

‘The men inside,’ she huffed a breath. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Of course, I knew. Who do you think they are?’

Another moment of silence, only longer. A heart beat faster and faster while the other remained steady outside the door.

‘You didn’t know,’ the voice whispered. ‘Of course, they hid it. Very clever.’ Her breaths filled the pause as if she were calculating her next words. ‘No matter. You already had your doubts, didn’t you?’ She let out a dreamy sigh, one many men yearned to hear in their beds. ‘Well sculpted, beautiful beyond measure, skills better than that of an ordinary warrior. Come on, they are Illyrians! ’

From her tone, it was certain she meant more than just their appearance. The brutal savagery of their kind.

Ayla was silent. So very silent. But her heart—the one that remained calm and rhythmic while fighting—now raced like a fawn’s being preyed upon, trying to break free of her ribcage. 

Azriel inhaled sharply. His own heart filled with fear, anger, and confusion. A breath later, it was gone as swiftly as it had overtaken his senses, leaving a hollow in its wake. So was the frantic beating of her heart. He pressed his fingers to his chest. His brothers noted it.

Finally, Ayla said, ‘Who I do business with is none of your concern.’ Her voice was surprisingly composed.

‘Oh, but it is. Your hypocrisy is my concern when it stands in the way of getting what I want.’

‘Whatever that is, you need to look somewhere else.’ 

A low grunt rumbled through the door and sent his shadows skittering. 

The intruder hissed, ‘You know, your righteousness is starting to get old.’ 

The wood jerked when something hard slammed against it. Shadows exploded against the ward, only to be pushed back and contained inside the room. A whimper escaped the young fae behind them.

Ayla gasped. Feet scraped against the stone floor.

Before he realised, Azriel pounded at the door. The ward wavered like it did against Rhys’s gentle palm and settled into stillness. He hit it again. Again. And again. His shadows slithered along the walls, searching for an escape, through the roof, through the narrow slits of the windows.

‘She won’t even hear you, Shadowsinger.’ Orvin spoke, concern lacing through his words. ‘The ward strengthens with each impact.’

His brothers only watched him. When Cass looked at Rhys, he hesitated, ‘I can’t get through.’

There was a strain in his voice, worried for Azriel. Worried about the danger his mate posed. Worried what might become of his brother if something happened to her. 

The voice hissed, ‘Remember.’ A strangled choke left Ayla’s lips when her head hit against the door again. ‘Remember what you owe them. For once,’ the voice ground out, ‘remember everything.’

Silence returned, suffocating and intense.

‘Finally!’ Another soft thud. ‘Next time, don’t play too hard. Make the bargain.’

Ayla sucked in a breath. The sharp footfalls pulled away from the door, from her. She growled, ‘Next time, I’ll melt you.’

The air stilled. A dark promise carried through in those words of hers. With each passing second of quiet, the gravity of her threat settled deeper and deeper.

Then there it was, the grating mockery of that angelic laugh. But no words followed. And the intruder was gone.

The key clicked. The ward faded. Azriel took a step back and so did his brothers. The door slowly flung open.

Ayla stayed outside. She took in their faces as carefully as she did before, as every other time. Her stare settled on Rhys. For the first time, recognition flickered in those still eyes. A deep red handprint tainted her delicate neck.

Azriel gritted his teeth. ‘Did she do that to you?’ 

He didn't truly need an answer. His whole body shook with rage as his shadows swallowed him, ready for his command. Cass came to stand beside him.

Ayla only looked at Rhys. ‘I don’t work for High Lords. You need to leave.’

Azriel reached for her, but Rhys held a hand out. He glared at his brother.

But Rhys ignored him. ‘I can explain,’ he spoke as gently as he would to a babe. ‘We had our reasons. We didn’t me—’

‘I respect them. I want you to respect mine.’ She stepped aside from the doorway. ‘Leave.’

Rhys waited for a moment. He then turned to his brother and nodded. But Azriel stood his ground, watching Ayla. Later, Rhys promised. You will come back for her later.

Azriel released his breath. He took in her distant eyes once. He stormed out without waiting for his brothers, his knives clenched tighter in his fists. 

He and his shadows were going on a hunt.

Next Chapter: Shadow

[willpowers]

klapollo is just like if a first year out of law school attorney meets his opponent, prosecutor Brendan urie who immediately stumbled on his feet and rizzes on him and the attorney has the audacity to not pick up on it

[daizedndconfused]

thievin’

a/n- idk why im up right now but yay first post of 2025 who’s hyped?? ik i’ve been like mia for a bit but i blame my ps5 for that. also back in school!! awesome (can you tell im crying) lmaooo anyway this is defo gonna be like a mini series so get ready okay lots of love everyone hope you keep up your resolutions if you do em<33

characters- cole brookstone x thief fem!reader

type- eh fluff kinda/enemies to lovers type beat you’ll see

warnings- very mild suggestive comments (not proofread)

synopsis- you’re a thief living in the most run down part of ninjago. you’re doing everything you can to make ends meet, but sometimes you gotta bite the bullet and take a gamble. in order to make a little extra cash you’re sent on a mission to steal a very priceless artifact—the most high risk heist you’ve ever been on. you encounter a certain ninja during your outing and you just can’t help yourself to a little bit of fun upon meeting him. will he let you go? will you succeed in recovering the artifact? or will it be your head on the line instead?

word count- 3.1k

Being poor was okay. Obviously, it wasn’t the ideal spot to be in, and sure you’d prefer to have money and not have to worry about whether or not you would be able to feed yourself tomorrow but you can’t have it all, can you?

Everybody thought Ninjago was the most gorgeous city–clearly they’ve never visited your side of town. You personally didn’t think it was an awful place to live, but it definitely isn't what people would expect out of the great ninjago city.

Nevertheless, it was home. Well, home since your parents died and you were left to fend for yourself. Technically, your mother died during childbirth, or shortly after. You didn’t really like to ask your father about it. It seemed insensitive.

The loss of your father was more recently caused by an unsuspected illness you didn’t have the funds to get treated. You lost him seven years ago, and you miss both of them immensely, even if you never knew your mother–she still held a place in your heart, and your blood.

Plus, it wasn’t as if you were completely alone. The loss of your parents and your home only hindered your spirit for a few months. But eventually, you had to grow up. You had only yourself now, and you needed to start getting your shit together.

That’s how you found yourself living in a narrow alley with nothing but a few blankets to separate yourself from the hard concrete, and a tarp above your head held up by hopes and dreams in case it rained. Courtesy of a girl you’d met three years ago–Henley.

You did what you had to to survive, the both of you did, but your version of ‘work’ was a tad more illegal than Henley’s. While your friend chose to work at some manufacturing factory that paid maybe ten cents an hour, you quickly developed the skill of ‘soft hands.’

Just a little something you picked up in the few years before befriending Henley. Plus, living where you did at the time, it was customary for your father to teach you martial arts, and teach he did. He often pushed you to your limits, making sure your senses were always on high alert.

Though now you supposed you were grateful for it. It made it easy to navigate the crowded streets of Uri–the poorer side of Ninjago that most people decided to ignore.

The early morning sun beat down on you, somehow finding its way around the tarp above your head.

Groaning you rolled over, hoping to block out the rays and catch a few more hours of sleep.

“Morning,” Henley yawned from beside you.

You mumbled incoherently back at her.

“I’ve gotta get going, work starts soon,” Henley told you. You heard her scooting closer towards you.

“Why d’you work at that shithole?” You grumbled, still not fully awake. “They barely pay you, Henley.”

You could practically see the expression on her freckled face. She was most likely staring down at you with a torn and somewhat somber expression.

“It’s the only place that would hire me,” she muttered. “You know that.”

Squeezing your eyes tight you then sat up, stretching out your back. Upon opening your eyes you came to find out your assumption was correct.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Which is bullshit by the way. Any web company would be lucky to have you.”

Henley shrugged a shoulder. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Then it’s a good thing we haven’t stooped that low,” you reassured her. You left the unspoken yet out of the sentence.

Henley smiled, brushing back her mane of curly red hair. “Okay, now I really need to go. Please, be safe today, and try not to get caught. I really don’t know if I can stomach breaking you out of jail again.”

“In my defense,” you said as she stood to leave. “There may have been some alcohol behind the reason that asshole caught up to me.”

Henley fixed you with a look that said, Good luck, before she looked up and down the already busy streets and made her way to the factory.

You gave yourself a few more minutes before heading out onto the streets. As usual, Uri was already busy at like eight a.m on a weekday. Stall owners were yelling at anyone passing by as if the volume would persuade people to stop and buy a useless trinket they didn’t need.

Still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you wove through people, fluid like a leaf in the wind. It was almost too easy to nick people’s wallets this way. In Uri it was almost impossible to walk anywhere without brushing shoulders with someone. Lucky for you, the jacket you wore held many pockets to store your ‘finds’ on the street.

After palming a few wallets on your way to possibly the best looking building in this part of town, you opened them up to find nothing much. Out of all the wallets you lifted, you got a whopping thirty dollars.

See that was the issue with living in a poor neighborhood–everyone you stole from was also poor. Not a great match unfortunately.

Sighing, you made your way towards the tallest building in Uri. It also just happened to be where you’d pick up a way to make some extra cash on the days that were really slow. Just from waking up this morning you knew today would be one of them.

The only issue is, the jobs you’re given are risky, and so you try not to do them as often.

The guards posted outside of the doors let you through without any issues. At this point you’d been coming here sporadically for about five and a half years. You were the best and most reliable thief Malina had.

A few doors, some hallways, and an elevator later, you stood in front of the woman herself.

Malina stared at you with a victorious glint in her eyes, her head resting on her intertwined fingers. “And here I thought you broke up with me.”

“Ah, you know me,” you shrugged, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Always comin’ back.”

“Now that I can always rely on.” Malina leaned back in her big leather chair, one long leg crossed over the other.

Malina was the only successful business owner in this Uri. Shockingly, she got most of her wealth from illegal schemes and black market dealings. Which is why she needed you.

Malian didn’t waste any time in throwing down a file on top of her spotless desk.

“It’s all in there,” she waved a gloved hand, her diamond bracelet twinkling in the light of her office.

You reached for the file and flipped it open to survey its contents. Your eyes widened as you continued further and further down the papers clipped together. This job was impossible.

Usually, nothing is impossible for you. However, in the past Malina only ever had you stealing jewels from old guys on their deathbed, or artwork from museums, and sometimes some random priceless artifact guarded in an equally random warehouse.

Apparently this time she really wanted to put you to the test.

“This is a joke,” you said, flipping the file shut.

“How so?” Malina asked, dark brows furrowed in innocence.

“Look, you give me work, and I’ve always appreciated that,” you told her honestly. “But stealing from the Royal Family is my one way ticket to a lifetime in prison.”

Malina pouted at you. “And here I thought my star employee never got caught.”

You scoffed out a laugh, tongue in your cheek as you looked up to the heavens for patience.

When she didn’t back down you finally spoke. “What else you got for me?”

“Unfortunately,” Malina said, though her tone didn’t suggest she found it anywhere near unfortunate, “that’s it.”

“Bullshit,” you challenged.

Malina raised her hands. “I’m serious! Work’s been booming lately.”

Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes. The two of you stood unspeaking, staring at each other as you weighed your options.

On the plus side, if you did this job successfully, you and Henley might be able to afford an actual apartment. A shitty one, but it was better than the alley. Plus, you might also be able to afford the first few months of rent before you get a real job and force Henley to quit hers at the factory.

Closing your eyes you reluctantly agreed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Malina’s grin widened into an eerie expression, her pearly white teeth shone almost as bright as the diamonds around her wrist. “I knew you would. Clothes are in their usual place.”

You nodded and spun on your heel, hightailing it out of Malina’s office. Thankfully, ever since you all but pledged your loyalty to her, she’d provide you with some living essentials occasionally. Things like showers, a hairbrush, basic needs like that.

But when she sent you out on a mission, she made sure you were set up for success, and the rest was on you. Opening the wooden wardrobe at the end of the hall, you were greeted with the familiar sight of the dark clothing you typically wore on outings such as these.

You picked the uniform off the hanger and quickly found the nearest room to change in. Even though you wouldn’t be leaving until nightfall, you still would rather put it on now as it helped you even in Uri. With the hood and mask covering the bottom half of your face, the only thing you could really make out was your hair and eyes.

You spent most of the day on the roof tops, going over the blueprints of the palace Malina provided for you, along with the guard rotations. Pacing along the edge of an old rundown building, you slowly came up with a plan. Though, the object you had been assigned to steal was a bit odd. You expected jewels, or even the crown, but instead you were sent after a golden hourglass, with equally golden sand inside.

You didn’t know the properties or importance of the object, but to be honest, you didn’t really care. You just wanted to get the job done and over with so you could return home and finally place a roof over your head after seven years of sleeping under the open sky.

As soon as the sun set beyond the city, you set out. Of course, you left Henley a note explaining you might not be back tonight–and that you might not be back at all–but you assured her not to worry.

It took a while to get to the good part of town, but a few subway trains later, you finally made it. And what a difference it was.

Instead of yelling and aggressive haggling, there was light chatter, laughter, and the buzz of technology reverberating around you. Not to mention the colors. Almost every sign in Ninjago was neon, and sometimes you couldn’t help but get a little sidetracked looking at all the beautiful things you’d never get to experience yourself.

Eventually, you found yourself by the palace. Fishing out the timetable of the guard rotations, you determined that the east side of the castle would be the most unprotected in about two minutes–meaning you had to be quick.

Quick you were. You managed to get to the east side and scale the wall in a minute and thirty. Tiptoeing around the outer wall, you made sure to keep your eyes on the guards below. So far, none of them noticed you.

Finally, you landed on the tiled roof. By memorization, the hourglass would be located in a mostly open room on the top floor. Carefully maneuvering around the roof, making sure to not make too much noise, you managed to unlock the window and pull it open.

Thankfully, it didn’t make much noise. Letting out an internal sigh of relief, you quickly tied a rope on one of the support pillars of the palace and threw it over the side of the window. Directly below the window was an obnoxiously large potted plant that would do well to hide you from view.

You briefly wondered if you’d be able to climb back up with rope one handed, but instead you figured you could bring a cord to secure the hourglass onto your belt loop.

As usual, you landed on the red wood floors without a sound. As much as you wished to stick around and admire the impressive castle you’d only ever seen in newspapers, you had a job to do.

Heart hammering, you peeked around the plant to find two guards–both with their back towards you.

It feels almost too easy, you thought as you crept towards the hourglass displayed on a pedestal.

Once you got close enough, you took a few moments to inspect the pedestal. There was a very possible chance of the hourglass being placed upon a weighted pressure plate that would set off the emergency alarms if removed, but after looking at it, the stone surface looked entirely even. There most likely wasn’t any extra security around this artifact, but in the off chance there was, you’d have to be ready to run.

Calming your mind, you swiped it quickly, preferring to take it and bolt in case the alarms went off.

You got three strides in before your luck ran out. All around you alarms had started blaring, alerting every guard on the premises. However, by that point you had already tied the glass around your waist and were ascending the rope.

You could vaguely make out the alarmed voices of the guards chasing after you, and as soon as you heaved yourself onto the roof, you sliced the rope with the knife in your boot. Two thuds and pained grunts were all you heard before you bolted.

Guards were climbing up at every point, but what they had in size and brute strength, you had in speed and agility. Being quick on your feet was like second nature–and you really should send a letter to the Royal Family to invest in some guards. These ones weren’t all that good at their job.

You hoped over them in groups, and it felt like you knew the palace layout better than they did. You knew exactly where to step and when to step, that by the time you landed on the other side of the walls, you knew you had one.

You grinned and laughed triumphantly as you jumped across the rooftops. The guards got further and further away and you blame the adrenaline in your veins for what happened next.

Suddenly, something tangled itself around your ankles, sending you tumbling to the concrete of an apartment complex.

“Son of a–” you winced, cradling the wrist you had landed on at an awkward angle.

Sitting up quickly, you reached for the rope wrapped around your ankles when a boot beat you to it.

“I don’t think that belongs to you,” the stranger spoke.

Looking up slowly, you mentally cursed yourself at the figure standing above you.

The Earth Ninja.

Why the hell were they at the palace? Why did they care about some petty robbery, wasn’t there some maniac trying to destroy the world that they should be busy with at the moment?

“What? The outfit? It doesn’t–borrowed from a friend.” You leaned back on your palms, looking up at the Earth Ninja’s strikingly gorgeous face.

He wasn’t wearing his mask tonight, leaving all his features on display–brown eyes that you guessed were a gorgeous shade of hazel in the light, shaggy but well kept hair as dark as the sky above, and a build that could rival the strength of an ox.

Cocking your head, you pushed your hood back and mask down, letting him see your roaming eyes and approving smirk.

“I need that.” He pointed to the golden hourglass at your hip. Apparently he didn’t find your jokes very funny.

“No, I need it,” you countered. “How else am I supposed to keep track of the time? I don’t have a watch.”

You shoved your hands up, rotating your wrists spastically to emphasize your point.

The Earth Ninja leaned down, but you didn’t back down. “Just hand over the glass, and I’ll tell them you dropped it trying to flee.”

You too leaned towards him, the both of you so close your noses were almost touching. In the ninja’s favor, his expression didn’t falter.

“I told you, I need it.”

“And I gave you an ultimatum,” the ninja returned, his eyes hardening. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” You smirked with a wink.

You saw his facade crack slightly as he twitched back every so slightly. That was all the hesitation you needed.

As the two of you went back and forth, you had been discreetly severing the rope binding your legs, and you quickly wrapped them around his waist, flipping him over onto his back. The Earth Ninja landed with a harsh exhale. You leaped off of him quickly before he could counter your surprise attack.

He was a ninja, and you knew there was no way you’d be able to beat him at hand to hand combat, but you could avoid him. Your thought was proven when he was back on his feet and into a fighting stance a split second after you created distance between you and him.

The Earth Ninja raised a curious brow at you over his raised fists. “Who are you?”

“Funny I was about to ask the same thing,” you laughed. “But, I think I’ve got something that could help me out with that–Cole L. Brookstone–what’s the L for? Oh well, six-foot five inches, black hair, two hundred and ten pounds–” you broke off looking him up and down. “Well you certainly don’t look over two hundred.”

Cole’s eyes widened as he lunged for you, and the wallet in your hand. You jumped back from him easily and continued to read off his driver's license.

“Hazel eyes, nineteen years old–oh cute we’re the same age–”

“Give it back!” He demanded, reaching for you again, only for you to slide under his legs and appear behind him.

“Born on October 25th–” another attempt to grab you had you using the rope previously used on you against him, binding his wrists, and legs making him fall on his ass.

You then hopped onto the roof of the entrance hallway of the building, and sat on the edge, legs swinging in front of you.

You continued to flip through his wallet, “Restaurant receipt–you know you don’t have to keep those. Lifetime subway pass, oh you lucky bastard. Gift card you’ve probably had for three years, credit card–very shiny, one fifty in cash and–” you paused upon seeing the last item in his standard leather wallet.

Sliding your eyes down to the boy your age, you raised a brow at him, almost laughing at his red face you could see even in the dark.

“Why do you have a condom in your wallet?” You giggled.

Cole momentarily stopped struggling against the rope and had the decency to look away, embarrassed.

“Emergencies,” he grumbled, glaring up at you.

“Ah, right,” you sucked air through your teeth before tossing it back down on his lap.

Flexing his arms, he snapped the ropes like they were ribbons and did the same with the ones binding his legs.

“So, it seems we're at an impasse,” you sighed.

“No,” he stood, “we’re not.”

“Au contraire, you’ll never catch me. You had your shot, and you blew it.” You pointed at him accusingly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that I’m very slippery. And I assure you–you chase, and I’ll run, and I can keep running for a damn long time.”

It would become a game of cat and mouse you knew would go on forever.

“Surely you don’t expect me to just let you walk away with a priceless artifact from the Royal Family.” Cole crossed his arms.

“Exactly–impasse.”

The stubborn boy shook his head, black waves flopping. “No, I–”

Before he could finish his sentence, the dart was already buried into his arm.

Cole startled, looking down at the tiny metal needle sticking out of his right bicep. He gave you an unimpressed look before reaching with his other hand to pluck it from his body. However, his hand was halfway there when it went limp by his side.

Cole’s brown eyes went wide as his legs too started to wobble, and shortly after the rest of his body gave away.

He once again landed on the ground with a dull thud.

Smiling slightly you gracefully jumped down from your perch and made your way over to him to retrieve your dart.

“What the hell is that?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“Just a numbing sedative,” you responded, pocketing it. “Don’t worry it’ll wear off in like an hour.”

“An hour? Hell no, help me up.”

“Hmm, tempting,” you deadpanned, but you did prop his back up against the wall of the roof in a sitting position.

Cole glared at you, and you smirked back.

“I enjoyed our little game of cat and mouse my friend,” you patted his cheek before standing to full height. “But I’m afraid I must be going. Places to be, money to be made–you know how it is.”

“Hey! Wait!” Cole called to your retreating back.

But you didn’t. Instead you leapt down to the adjacent roof and all but skipped back to Uri, happy that you weren’t caught, but you weren’t entirely mad about meeting the Earth Ninja either. Secretly, you hoped he'd track you down–where round two of your game would take place.

[princess-glassred]

Stan's parents in the book are only mentioned like once or twice, but I get the vibes that they're the kind of parents that aren't really close with their son at all. Sometimes Stan bonds with his father over little stuff like birds, but Donald and Andrea are not Maggie and Wentworth. They don't joke around with their son or humor him much, the uris's don't really do humor. They care about Stan as much as any parent would care about their son, but nothing beyond that. They never sat down with Stan and had a movie night. They never volunteered at one of his boyscout meetings. They have a very "that's to be expected" reaction to Stan being bullied.

They care an awful lot about Stan's future- perhaps too much, but they can't help but have certain expecations for Stanley because he's so smart. Stan's just a mini adult, he's not like other kids, he can handle a lot more than they can. They don't have to kiss his booboos to make em feel better, he just needs a bandaid. If someone were to ask Stan about the way his parents treated him he'd probably say he likes that they aren't helicopter parents or parents that constantly force him to hang out, but maybe Stan would prefer something more intimate every once in a while. I wouldn't say Donald and Andrea are necessarily abusive, they're not like Alvin Marsh or Butch Bowers, they just don't really know what the hell to do with their son. Does Stan wanna talk about his feelings? No not really. Does Stan like small talk? Again, not really. They just kind of do the bare minimum in everything and assume Stan is fine with that.

It's not that Stan is unhappy persay, he doesn't necessarily spend nights in his room crying for good parents who love him. It's just complicated, and sometimes Stan feels like he could use a break from their weighty expectations.

[warmbeebosoftbeebo]

The story behind the B styling Spencer's hair photo

Hey, I was wondering if you have the photo of Brendon cutting someone's hair (I'm pretty sure it was Spencer's) on tour. I've been looking for it everywhere and I'm failing to find it. Thank you very much for responding if you do have it (I'm sorry for wasting your time if I just made this picture up in my head)!

I think you might be thinking of the time that Spencer got bored during the Q&A portion of a summer tour meet & greet and styled his own hair into a sort of unicorn horn?

Brendon later reached over to help Spencer when his hairdo was falling down during the signing:

that's my best guess for what you were referencing, but just let me know if this wasn't it!

[cheolaholic]

ring of love; csc (05)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n;; omg, i'm alive????? jkjk, work's been piling up lately and i'm honestly drained by the time I get back home so I couldn't do much writing or even qc the draft before yoinking them into a tumblr draft 💀 but anyways, hope yall enjoy this chapter !! uri boo makes a small little cameo in this chapter :D a part of the angst in this fic has also arrived, pls be prepared (it’s not that heavy tho).

You were 15 when you experienced your first ‘heartbreak’. Though, you call it a ‘heartbreak’ solely because it was a “for the lack of a better word” situation. A week before summer break, your parents had announced that the three of you would be flying off to Jeju to visit your grandparents.

You adore your grandparents, and they adore you just as much. Before you started middle school, you remember constantly flying off to Jeju, or even taking the ferry, to visit them every holiday and school break possible. Even during the initial stage of your move to the small town, your parents had sent you off to your grandparents as they sorted out the heavier parts.

Your grandparents had brought you to the beach, taught you how to make kimchi and even brought you to one of the fireworks shows during your stay. But, when you started middle school and were bombarded by a shit ton of schoolwork, you weren’t able to visit them as often.

So, you were ecstatic when your parents announced the Jeju trip. Both Aki and Seungcheol could see the excitement and happiness in your eyes as you told them about your plans.

Aki asking you questions about Jeju while Seungcheol listens to both of you with a small smile on his face. “how long will you be there, pup?” he asks, cheek leaning against the palm of his hand.

“Uhm… I think maybe for two weeks? I’m not really sure… Dad did ask mom if she wanted me to tag along with them to London afterwards…”

“Oh? What are they gonna be doing in London?”

“They have a business meeting that lasts at least two days. But, they decided to stay back a week for a mini vacation.”

“Do you want to go?” Aki asks as she pops a piece of strawberry into her mouth, stealing a glance at Seungcheol, noticing the way his shoulders are slumped at the mention of you thinking of joining your parents overseas.

Dude looks like a puppy not wanting its owner to leave it alone… she thought to herself, finding the scene in front of her amusing.

“Well, whether or not you want to join your parents, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself regardless!” she spoke.

“Take good care of yourself, pup,” Seungcheol added as he reached out a hand and patted your head, sending a faint blush spreading across your cheeks and a teasing smile on Aki’s lips, “If you ever need anything, call me, okay?”

“Or me!”

The older male rolled his eyes at Aki’s words, smiling when you nod your head.

“Seungkwannie!” you squealed out in happiness as you ran up to your cousin who was standing out at the gates of your grandparent's house, engulfing him in a big hug. “I can’t believe you’re here! Mom and Dad said that you’d be in Biyangdo!”

“And miss out on the chance to spend time with my favourite cousin? Never!” Seungkwan proclaimed as he pecked your cheek. “I haven’t seen you in years, ___! There’s no way I’d pass off the opportunity to spend time with you while you’re here!”

Seungkwan is your cousin from your mom’s side of the family. Before the age of 5, you don’t remember much about meeting Seungkwan other than the stories both your parents would tell you over family dinners. For example, when you asked them about the scar Seungkwan had on his chest, his dad said you were the one that left it on him. They proceeded to tell the story of how you had scratched Seungkwan because he had refused to let you watch Pocoyo on tv when both of you were just 3.

Or when his mom would ask you if you remembered Seungkwan hiding in the closet to scare you, but you ended up crying because you had thought he went home. So, instead of scaring you, he came out of the closet and both your parents found the two of you cuddled up on the floor the next morning

After Seungkwan helped you and your parents move the luggage into your grandparent’s home, Both of you sat on the porch, drinking the lemonade your grandmother had prepared. “How’re you, aunt and uncle doing?” he asks, “I heard from Uncle Lee that you’re starting high school soon! probably in a few months, right?”

“Things have been the same, besides the whole mom and dad having to go overseas occasionally and I had to stay with either Aki or Seungcheol.”

“Speaking of Seungcheol, how’s that little crush of yours on him going?” Seungkwan asked with a teasing smile, nudging your sides, “Ever thought of telling him before he graduates? There’s a chance he might head off to the big cities or even abroad for college.”

You were silent for a moment.

You have thought about telling Seungcheol your feelings, but you never thought about the timing. Now that his graduation is nearing, you still haven’t told him. As you were still stuck in your thoughts, Seungkwan places a hand on your shoulder, “Well, whatever happens, I wish you happiness.“

“You say that as if I’m leaving you forever.”

“Hey, let me be sentimental!”

Just as you rolled your eyes, you felt your phone vibrate - you had gotten a text from Aki.

aki: did you make it to Jeju safe? ___ bestie <3: yeap! ___ bestie <3: i’m with my cousin rn ___ bestie <3: [sent an attachment] aki: ooh, he’s cute ___ bestie <3: want me to introduce you? aki: gurl aki: don’t try to matchmake me when you’re struggling to tell Seungcheol about how you feel aki: and besides aki: your cousin is cute, but he’s not my type ___ bestie <3: wow ___ bestie <3: you really just did me dirty aki: i’m just saying ___ aki: better tell him before you lose the chance aki: besides your romantic struggles aki: have fun and take lots of pictures! aki: can’t wait to see them when you get back <3 ___ bestie <3: i will!

“Are you gonna stay here with grandma and grandpa while Aunt and Uncle Lee fly out to London?” Seungkwan asks as you set down your phone, refilling his glass of lemonade. You shrugged, still debating on whether or not you wanted to join your parents. “I’m honestly stuck in between… On one hand, I want to see what other countries are like. On the other, I haven’t seen grandma and grandpa in years…”

Your mother who was on her way to give you both a plate of strawberries overheard the conversation and tried her best to help you with your indecisiveness. “___, sweetie,” she began as she set the plate on the wooden porch floor, “you can always travel in the future when you’re all grown up.”

“That sounds like you just want her to stay here in Jeju so you and uncle can enjoy yourselves without her presence,” Seungkwan teased, earning a forehead flick from your mother.

“Well, she’ll be in your care too, Seungkwan. I hope I won’t return to a sassy, diva daughter after leaving her here with you.”

Seungkwan gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest at your mother’s statement. “Aunt Lee, I’m hurt and offended.”

“You’re just further proving my point, Seungkwan.”

“Hey, the sass could end up helping her in the future!”

cheollie: hey, pup cheollie: mom said you and your parents made it to Jeju safely cheollie: how are you feeling? cheollie: did you get motion sickness during the flight? cheollie: did you eat dinner yet? sweet pup: ehh, the motion sickness wasn’t that bad sweet pup: grandma made lemonade :D sweet pup: and yes, i ate dinner! sweet pup: grandpa grilled some mackerel sweet pup: [sent an attachment] sweet pup: and look at how fat the strawberries are :0 sweet pup: [sent an attachment] cheollie: wow cheollie: those look good cheollie: hey, do you think it’s alright if we have a call? sweet pup: like, right now? cheollie: yea sweet pup: oh sweet pup: um, let me head out to the porch cheollie: take your time, pup

As you quietly exited the room you were staying in and out onto the porch, you picked up Seungcheol’s incoming call, feeling the butterflies in your stomach intensify when you heard his deep, “Hey, pup.”

“Hi, Cheollie! Have you had your dinner?” you asked, getting a small hum as a response. “Dad got a deal with a big client so he bought steak for us. Mom also cooked calamari.”

“Wow, it must’ve tasted amazing…”

“Yeah, it was. But, tell me about your dinner, ___. I’m sure you had more than just grilled mackerel.” Seungcheol chuckled, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you mentally cussed at how the older male still has an effect on you despite being 2 hours away and talking to you through a phone.

“Well… Mom made raw crabs and seafood soup!”

“Looks like my little puppy is eating well... That’s good.”

“Is there another reason you wanted to call, Cheollie?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, making you slightly anxious. You hear a faint rustling, thinking he must be lying on his bed as he’s talking to you. A sigh was heard before Seungcheol told you his motive for calling you - and to say it had you on the floor was an understatement.

No, this man had you envisioning a future with him.

“I miss you.”

When you didn't respond, Seungcheol got worried, calling out your name on the other end while you remained stunned at his confession.

“U-uhm, yeah?”

“Did that make you uncomfortable, pup?”

“No, no, it just… It just caught me by surprise…”

You hear Seungcheol chuckle, and more rustling can be heard before he speaks again. “Well, I’m used to having you around me, twenty-four seven, ___. It feels weird when you’re not.”

“I’ll be back in two weeks, Cheollie. You’re being dramatic!”

Maybe he was, the older male thought to himself. But, he pushes that thought to the back of his head as he finally tells you the real reason he’s calling you.

“My parents are thinking of bringing me to Seoul this weekend to check out a few unis… I just thought that I’d let you know since, y’know… I’m graduating soon…”

Your heart sank at the mention of him graduating. You knew it was bound to happen - you even told yourself to not be too sad when he does end up moving out of Daegu for college. But, to hear it coming from Seungcheol himself, the reality hit harder.

“Oh… Well, I’m happy for you!” you tried your best to hide the sadness in your voice, though he still picked it up. “Pup, I’m not going away forever. You’ll still see me when I come back during breaks and when you leave for college, you can come over to Seoul, too!” he assures you, chuckling to himself as he continues, “Maybe our parents might even have us share an apartment so I can watch over you.”

Humming, you stared up into the sky, mesmerised by the stars that were scattered along the blanket of the night sky.

“___?”

“Yea…?”

“Remember what I taught you during our taekwondo sessions?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t forget how to use them, okay? Can’t have my little puppy all defenceless now, can I?”

you bit your lip as Seungcheol went on with his words, how he wished he could stay in Daegu longer so he could spend more time with you. How he wanted to explore the bigger city in Daegu with you (where he implies it being just two of you and without Aki who would often nag at him for having a bad taste in things).

“I’m gonna miss you…” you muttered quietly, not knowing how or what else you were supposed to say. You weren’t going to tell him about your feelings, that’s for sure. but, a part of you wished you could.

Who knows? Maybe you both could end up being something.

“It’s getting late, pup. you must be tired from the flight and settling in. Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Cheollie…”

When the call ended, you stared at the screen of your phone, a million thoughts racing through your head. You couldn’t put a finger on it, but you had a sinking feeling in your stomach. perhaps you were overthinking the whole situation or something wrong was bound to happen. Whatever it was, you quietly got back into your room and crawled into bed.

Something didn’t feel right.

It was the weekend Seungcheol was due to head to Seoul to have a look at the city and attend a few of the education fairs - and not once, had you gotten a single message from him.

In fact, in the days leading up to that weekend, he had been quiet too. His replies were either short, took too long or there weren’t any replies at all.

It makes you feel uneasy.

“Still no updates from loverboy?” Seungkwan asks, glancing over your shoulder and peeking at your phone, seeing the wall of texts about how the past few days have gone down for you. When you sulkingly shake your head, Seungkwan’s heart aches as he sees his favourite cousin down in the dumps.

“Hey,” he calls out in a gentle tone, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. “Maybe he’s just caught up with those college things. Sooner or later he’s bound to update you, right? Besides, you should be busy having fun here in Jeju!”

Looking at your phone one last time, you shoved it back into your pocket and let Seungkwan drag you to a food street, saying how they added more delicious treats since the last time you visited.

By evening, there was still no news about or from Seungcheol. You’ve tried calling him multiple times, but they all end up going to voicemail. It was starting to affect you and your parents began to take notice, but decided to not question it for fear of triggering an episode. After dinner, you decided to call Aki in an attempt to get some form of comfort.

“I just don’t understand, Aki,” you told her, “I texted him, even called him but I got nothing! What if something bad happened to him?”

“Hey now, you’re probably overthinking things. He might just be sorting those uni documents out - you know how lengthy and taxing they can be. Maybe, he’s just tired and needs some rest!”

“You think so?”

“It’s just a guess, ___. whatever it is, I’m sure it isn’t anything serious.”

Oh, how you wished it really wasn’t anything serious.

When the time came to send your parents off at the airport for their trip to London, you had sent a message to Seungcheol and yet again, you got no response. One thing you came to realise in recent years, was how big of an over-thinker you are. It was something you hated and while your family, Seungcheol and Aki have done whatever they can to help you lessen your overthinking, that still doesn’t stop it from creeping up on you from time to time.

Seungkwan does his best to cheer you up. Bringing you to more food streets, a maze field, and even the seaside to take your mind off of Seungcheol but alas, it was as if Seungcheol had taken over your mind just like the virus in ‘The Last of Us’. One evening as you sat on the sand of the beach, staring off into the horizon, Seungkwan came up and sat next to you.

“I know this might not sound nice, but you can’t let something like Seungcheol not responding to you ruin your trip, ___. Sure, it’s upsetting having someone you’ve known for years and care for go ghost on you, but it’s kind of… pathetic, to let it ruin what could be a fun summer vacation.”

As much as those words hurt you, Seungkwan was right.

You hadn’t seen your family that lived in Jeju for years and now that you can, you’re letting something like your crush not responding to you ruin it. “Then, what should I do, Kwannie…?” you asked, wiping the tears that were starting to stream down your face, “I don’t wanna leave Jeju knowing I didn’t get to spend time with you and our grandparents…”

“How about you try calling him only once? If he doesn’t pick up, we’ll forget about it and move on, okay?”

You give it a thought, minutes passing by before you pick up your phone and dial Seungcheol’s number, placing it near your ear.

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialled cannot be reached.”

Seungkwan noticed your body shaking as you redialled the number, your breathing starting to grow shallow.

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialled cannot be reached.”

“___?” Seungkwan calls out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. When you began to cry, he pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back as you cried your heart out. “Shhh, it’s okay, ____. it’s okay.”

When you got back to Daegu, your heart dropped at the sight of the empty house next to yours. the entire house looked as if it were fully emptied (which it was) - the potted plants Mrs. Choi had displayed on the gates were nowhere to be seen, the shoes that were neatly arranged on the shoe rack weren’t there anymore, and the Choi’s family car wasn’t parked in its usual place.

“I guess they must’ve moved since Seungcheol is going to start college soon…” your mother tells your father who hums in response as he unloads the luggage from the trunk of the taxi. When she notices the sadness and tears in your eyes, she immediately starts comforting you.”Oh, sweetie… Does it upset you that much?”

“I… I couldn’t even say goodbye to him…” you sobbed out, “I couldn’t even see him one last time before he left…”

“Oh, princess…” your father coos after bidding the taxi driver goodbye, hugging you tight as your mother does the same, “I’m sure he feels sad for not being able to do the same, hmm?”

“Will… Will I… Will I be able to see him again?” you asked through hiccuped sobs, wiping your tears away as more kept spilling. Your mother nods, giving you a pat on the head. “I'm sure you will, honey.”

“He said he’s thinking of joining University of Pledis, right?” your father asked, a small smile on his face when you nod, “Then, you just need to study hard and get in there too! That way, you can finally be reunited with prince charming!”

despite your tears, you still manage to laugh at your dad’s tease. “Dad!”

“Ah-ah, don’t think we didn’t know about your little crush on Seungcheol, ___.” he responded, chuckling as he gave your arm an assuring squeeze.

“Whatever the future has in store, I’m sure the two of you will meet again.”

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwoo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetener @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnotthelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @minhui896 @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp

[aziraphales-library]

this is going to sound slightly stupid i’m begging you to bear with me

you know those fanfics from like 2013, the rpf’s that (usually) were about musicians like harry styles or brenden urie?

they’d go something along the lines of, ‘not-like-other-girls’ sitting in the crowd of a concert her friend dragged her out to, but she just doesn’t care about the music it’s so not her thing so she reads a book during the concert (cue the groans). then the lead singer sees her and is totally taken by her uniqueness and calls her out from the stage or asks to see her after the show yada yada.

anyway, i saw some fan art of rockstar!crowley and normie!aziraphale, and i thought it’d be fun to see if there’s anything similar to those kinds of rpf’s but instead for crowley and aziraphale!

We have a #famous crowley tag you can check out. Here are some fics in which Crowley is famous and Aziraphale is not...

A rockstar's love by The_boxhead (G)

Crowley had a lot of problems finding someone to have a relationship with as the famous rockstar that he is. But that day when he entered that coffee shop and saw that blond haired man behind the counter, he didn’t want more than to get to know that beautiful angel with that cute smile.

Star Crossed by AppleSeeds (T)

When Crowley, the lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Sixth Circle, agrees to take part in a radio show discussion feature, the last thing he expects is to come away from it completely smitten with a man who must be the world's most adorable magician. Crowley's uncharacteristic behaviour towards Aziraphale during the show doesn't go unnoticed by the listeners, with speculation soon running rife online. Only one thing for it - Crowley just needs to engineer an opportunity to see Aziraphale again. All in the name of generating publicity, of course.

Never Too Late by AppleSeeds (T)

It's been thirty-five years since the height of Aziraphale's enormous crush on rockstar Anthony Crowley, but when he sees that Anthony is still performing, Aziraphale feels he owes it to his younger self not to pass up the opportunity to finally hear him sing live. The last thing he expects is for Anthony to actually approach him once the concert is over, extending an invitation that surpasses every fantasy Aziraphale harboured about him as a young man and resulting in the most memorable night of his life.

The Only One I Still Know How to See by Furuba_Fangirl (E)

Aziraphale has been an admirer of Anthony J. Crowley for years. However, the gap between audience member and stage actor begins to thin when they are given the chance to officially meet.

Soho by Lurlur (E)

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages. One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

Find the Light by klikandtuna (E)

I saw a collection of gifs on tumblr combining David Tennant as a rock star and Michael Sheen as a school headmaster (see the notes of Chapter 1 for a link to the post!) and someone said that it ought to be a fic, sooooo I've made it a fic. Here's a heapin' helping of rock-star Crowley and headmaster Aziraphale! Now with shiny new cover art, also by me!

Win a Date With Anthony J. Crowley! by Caedmon (E)

Crowley is a world-famous rock star who sells out arenas. His name is synonymous with 'rock-n-roll', and he thrives on the spotlight. When he agrees to raffle off a date with himself for charity, he's expecting to meet an overzealous fan that wants to wear his skin and very well might try to roofie him. What he's not expecting is to be instantly attracted to the quiet man with the unusual name who shows up for the date at the Ritz... and he's certainly not expecting for Aziraphale to have no clue who he is...

- Mod D