#and wanted to get the rest of the story told

[lillie98]

I have a strong feeling Will has been dead this entire time. The entire story is a Comic Book series he and Mike started together, but Will never got to finish. Mike takes each book and crafts it into a new reality where he and Will are the Heroes. Will always survives, Mike always saves the day, and their friends and family live happily ever after. Unfortunately, Story!Mike doesn’t know this manipulation is happening and keeps screwing up the plot (hence the monsters) and putting himself and everyone else in danger. Real!Mike must step up and become the leader and set everything back the way it was supposed to be…even if it means letting Will go.

He’s [Will] connected to the Upside Down. He created it, so he must die with it. As much as this story revolves around Will coming into himself and his manhood, it also revolves around Mike and his survivor’s guilt. In order to break the loop and set everyone free, Mike must let go of his guilt and self-hatred. He must look Will in the eye, accept their shared fates, and realize NONE OF THIS was his fault. He did EVERYTHING he could to save Will—even rewriting reality, but sometimes, you can’t save those you love. No matter how hard you try. Will doesn’t resent him for what happened, and he never will, because without Mike, he never would have experienced such an incredible adventure.

Mike gave Will the ultimate gift: Time. He gave Will time with his friends and family, time to experience the joys and horrors of adolescence, and time to live. He can never repay Mike for this gift, and he wishes more than anything that he could stay, but he can’t. That’s why everyone (especially sweet Noah) sobbed during the final Table Read. The Duffers finally peeled back the last frame and revealed the true message of Stranger Things: Unconditional Love.

I love all the religious undertones of Stranger Things and I thought of this verse from Romans 8:38-39:

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

NOTHING—not even Death itself—will separate Mike and Will from each other. NOTHING. Even if they no longer inhabit the earth together, their love endures as a testament to unending faith. I also associate “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story” from Hamilton with Byler, particularly Eliza’s lines:

“Oh, you could have done so much more if you only had time”

and

“I can’t wait to see you again, it’s only a matter of time.”

Mike is telling us Will’s story. He’s using this show and the books they wrote to bring awareness to Homophobia, HIV, and the horrors of staying trapped in the past. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else experiencing the grief and heartache he and Will experienced, so he tells their story as a Cautionary Tale. Tell your people you love them, make a move, and advocate for them before it’s too late. Don’t wait until “The Perfect Moment” or “When Life Gets Easier.” It’s never going to get easier, you have to act now. Otherwise, you may be too late. Think about Robin and Tammy. Robin was head-over-heels for her, but she never made a move. What happened? Tammy moved away and was gone forever. Robin told that story for a reason (beyond her Coming Out). She’s paralleling Real!Mike and Will’s experience and warning the audience to not make the same mistake. If you love someone, tell them while they’re here. Every moment could be your last, and do you really want to live the rest of your life regretting the one move you didn’t make? We only have so much time on this earth, and we must use it wisely.

Henry/1/Vecna is obsessed with clocks and time for a reason. It’s the one thing Will needs that he can’t get. Mike will be on time this season, but only because he wrote it that way. He wrote himself as the Hero—the VICTOR—that swoops in and saves the day, right at the last second. Will’s KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR. The Duffers have made it painfully clear the story we’re seeing is not what actually happened. It’s an Allegory (story rooted in symbolism) for a horrific event in history that claimed far too many lives. So, the next time you sit down to rewatch your Comfort Show, remember: It Was Always A Matter of Time.

Ps: I also believe the choppy message STWriters posted comes from Mike’s letter he reads at Will’s grave—just like Max. Except, this time, he leaves the letter (and possibly the finished Comic Book) at the gravesite, symbolizing the end of their journey and his final attempt to connect with Will. Maybe Will smiles from Above, accepting the letter and beaming with pride, knowing his story will inspire the world forever.

Long Live William Byers

What Letter to Willy tells us…

Two scenes. One song. How both scenes tell us a lot in hidden details…

Letter to Willy… interesting title, no? Not “letter to Billy”, no, the “W” needed to be added to clue us in on how this is about Will.

Not just about Will, but about November 6, 1983.

To begin, let’s talk about both of these scenes. The first one is of Max in the episode Dear Billy. She’s seen at his grave reading her letter to a deceased William. She reads out her feelings and regrets.

The second scene is in the next episode The Nina Project. The song begins playing when Mike and Will catch each others’ eyes while digging and have a heart to heart on top of a car. During the heart to heart, Mike expresses frustration and regret.

Both scenes feature someone who has passed away and their headstone.

Both scenes feature characters dwell on the “what if”s.

Here’s where things get interesting…

Mike referencing someone giving a number… notice how both scenes here involve a car? In fact, it’s almost like we’re viewing the scene on the left from a different perspective (through the car) on the scene on the left. Don’t believe the callback here? Well…

Look at what Mike is holding. 7up. Yup. This is absolutely intentional.

It seems like to me that they’re showing us Mike’s guilt over what happened to Will that night. He has regrets. Possibly because Will actually did die. At least in some timeline.

A little hint to that here too. Associating the “last day of life” with “Mike Wheeler’s basement”…. Can’t really get more on the nose than that. Mike Wheeler’s basement… aka the last place Will was before he “vanished”?

As a writer, he likely wished he could explain himself through writing… in a letter… to Will. Perhaps hoping that an explanation could somehow prevent a tragedy from occurring?

This line makes me suspicious that there’s some sort of time loop 🔁 on the day of Will’s disappearance.

And of course… this all leads back to…

And of course, another possible Back to the Future reference.

For those unaware, Marty saves Doc’s life by writing him a letter and giving it to him in 1955… preventing his death in 1985

What I’m getting at is this: this letter is more significant than you might think. Yes, it is a love letter, but it also is what likely ends up saving Will’s life.

[dunham-doodles]

Couldn’t Sleep

Remmick x fem!reader

5k+ words | 🌶️🌶️ (MINORS DNI)

Summary: You’re having trouble falling asleep at night so you need to keep yourself occupied. A stranger knocks at your door, asking if you want some company.

Tags: light stalking; mention of animal death; wet pathetic men are my favorite; begging; pleading; p in v; cunnilingus; lots of drool; he’s a little freak but I like him like that

A/N: I’m struggling with my own bout of insomnia this week so I wrote about it. Only God can judge me for this.

Insomnia broke through whatever dream you were having and rattled your body awake. You groaned as you attempted to collect the last remnants of sleep that were stolen from you but finally gave up after five minutes of tossing and turning. You couldn’t clearly read what the time was on your small ticking clock but you knew by the look of the sky that it was still early. Which meant it was going to be a long night.

You hoisted yourself out of your bed and began to pace. The floorboards groaned under your weight and, for once, you were glad that you lived alone, so you didn’t need to worry about waking anyone. You wrung your hands, glancing around the small living room for something to do. If you had something to do, you could work on it, tire yourself out, and hopefully go back to bed. Eventually, your gaze fell on the stack of dishes you had been neglecting.

You flicked on the single naked lightbulb that dangled ungracefully above your kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. The running water broke through the silence. You let out a heavy sigh and rolled your head back on your shoulders. You didn’t get it; you felt tired, so why couldn’t you sleep?

The world outside your kitchen window all looked as if it were resting. It mocked you with how peaceful it was. The leaves in the forest were stagnant. Shadows yawned across the patchy grass of your front yard. No little critters scurried their way from view.

You grumbled to yourself and started scrubbing a plate. You continued monotonously through your dishes, washing, rinsing, drying, praying for your body to finally get the memo and fall right back asleep. Your eyes wandered to the window, now significantly darker outside. There was a sliver of a moon dangling in the summer night, not providing much in the way of light. You almost looked away until something at the edge of the woods made you double take.

Two small pinpricks of red light, like eyes, were burning right through you. Your blood ran cold. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. The red light never wavered, trained on you with an inhuman stillness.

This is a wolf, you thought to yourself, This is obviously a wolf. You can relax. You were warned by people in town that there were dangerous animals lurking through your neck of the woods at night. They spoke tales of mutilated farm animals, ghastly howls in the air, and long, dripping teeth. You thought, however, that some of the stories bordered on the supernatural, which you didn’t believe.

No, what you were looking at now was an animal. And it was out there. You were in here.

You dipped your head back to your work and convinced yourself that it was a wolf, or a mountain lion, ignoring the screaming alarm bell in your head that told you the eyes were standing too tall to be either creature.

A knock at the front door startled you. Your soapy hands lost your grip on the coffee mug you were holding, sending it shattering to pieces at your feet. Your attention snapped back to the red eyes in the darkness.

They had vanished.

You picked up the pieces of the broken mug with shaking hands. You told yourself that you imagined the knock, no one would be out and about at this time of night. You silently scolded yourself for being jumpy over nothing. It was the damn locals’ tall tales of monsters that caused you to have an active imagination.

Two more knocks splintered through the air. They were heavy, purposeful. Someone was outside.

You willed the person at the door to go away, to leave you alone, but there was another part of you—albeit a stupid part—that was morbidly curious to find out who would be awake with you at this time of night. Besides, it would be rude not to answer.

You tip-toed around the minuscule amount of debris and carefully unlocked the deadbolt. You kept the latch chain on and it rattled as you pulled the door open.

Sure enough, there was a man standing on your porch. He was tall and slim but with the build of someone who had worked on a farm all their life. Even in the weak light the moon cast, you could see his skin was a sickly white. He was rough looking, unshaven, clothes disheveled; not unattractive to look at but you still found his presence deeply unsettling. His brow cast a long dark shadow over hooded eyes, making it appear as if he was wearing a mask. But his mouth was twisted into an impish grin, as if he always knew he was going to end up right here with you in front of him.

He spoke, “Evenin’ ma’am.”

You didn’t reply.

He continued, “I’m terribly sorry to wake you. Didn’t wanna disturb you, but my car-,” he threw a thumb behind his shoulder, indicating some far off place beyond the stone path leading to your house, “-broke down a few miles back.” When still you said nothing, he pressed on. “It’s awful dark out and I was wondering if you and your husband wouldn’t mind if I came in to rest my head? I’ll be gone before sunrise, y’won’t even know I was here.”

He craned his neck, to get a better look at the interior through the view you allowed through the door. “ ‘S your husband home?” he asked.

“He’s asleep,” you replied, “Don’t wanna wake him. He gets cranky.”

A twinkle caught in his eye and a wicked smirk tugged on the corner of his lips. Your pulse quickened, worried that he knew you were lying. You tried to keep your face free of emotion.

“I see,” he said evenly. He pressed his hands together, pleading you. “If it wouldn’t be any trouble, Miss, can I stay the night? I promise, I won’t touch nothin’.”

Your breath hitched when he called you “Miss”. He knew you were alone.

“I can’t help you,” you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Please, Miss,” he tried again, voice softer, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I said no.” you said, sterner this time. “Please leave.”

He held your gaze for a beat and it took everything in you not to look away. “Alright,” he sighed, “I hear ya’. Just was hopin’ for a bit of hospitality is all.” He waited for a reply that didn’t come. He turned on his heel, making a small show of doing it, keeping his eyes trained on you. He started to take his leave down the steps onto the path, walking intentionally slow.

You finally felt you could breathe again when his boots crunched on the rocky ground.

“G’night, Miss!” he turned and called to you. You answered with slamming your door shut. You could forget about sleeping tonight.

~

There’s an old saying that goes, if you find yourself unable to fall asleep, it’s because someone is thinking about you.

Your insomnia returned the next night. You thought you might be able to get some sleep on the beat up, threadbare couch that was lying under the window near the front door. You just needed a change of scenery. You grabbed a book from your humble collection, something you’ve read already because you didn’t so much care about paying attention to the contents inside. You lit a tall candle, fluffed a pillow your mom had embroidered for you and leaned back on the cushions. The book creaked when you opened it, the smell of the withered pages wafting out.

You were going to fall asleep in no time.

The candle light flickered as you turned the pages, the wax weeping down the side. You felt a yawn coming on when, all of a sudden, a small rapping came from your front door.

Terror shot through your veins. You hadn’t forgotten about the stranger that came to your door, no matter how much you tried. You found yourself looking over your shoulder constantly in the stillness of your home in broad daylight. You abandoned your plans to go into town this afternoon, fearing he might be lurking in the trees, waiting to catch you off guard.

And now he’s back. You could see his lean frame in the window, standing with his hands behind his back, expectantly. His eyes flitted from the front door onto yours and you could’ve sworn his irises glinted red. He actually waved at you.

You shot off of the couch and bolted towards the door. The chain latch screamed against the lock.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you spat.

He held his hands up and stumbled back a little. “And hello to you too.” he said, a hint of a smile curling at his lips.

“Why are you here?” you hissed.

“Well,” he said, almost sheepishly, “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about ya. Being here all by your lonesome.”

“I told you, my husband is sleeping,” you said. His eyebrow quirked. He wasn’t buying it. You clenched the frame of the door timidly, preparing yourself for whatever this might turn into. If you had to fight, you would, even if you didn’t know how.

“I-I don’t have anything of value to you,” you stammered.

“Why’re you up so late?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t sleep,” you answered honestly, “I have insomnia.”

The Stranger whistled low. “That’s a shame,” he said, “You lookin’ for some company?”

“I’m looking to finish reading my book, if you don’t mind,” you grumbled.

“I’ll be quiet as a church mouse.” He made a motion of zipping his lips.

You gave him a hard stare. Through the light of the candle in the window, you could see his eyes. They were a kind of blue that reminded you of tornado season, as the sky started to turn. They felt equally as unpredictable. His hair was dark but less unkempt from the night before. In fact, he looked altogether more presentable, almost as if he were trying to make a better impression than the one he made prior. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. He seemed human to you.

Human or not, you knew the implications of an unmarried woman letting a strange man into her home at the dead of night.

“I’d rather be alone,” you admitted quietly.

“As you wish,” The Stranger responded, “Although, I’d scarcely call myself a gentleman if I were to leave a pretty thing like you to fend for herself at this time of night.” His smile went crooked, “There are strange creatures prowlin’ around.”

You set your jaw, your heartbeat quickening. Couldn’t this guy just leave you be?

“If you’re gonna lose sleep over it, there’s a rocking chair right there.” Your eyes darted to the dusty old thing in the corner of the porch that your dad had carved when he was your age. “You can sit.”

The Stranger’s eye flicked to the rocking chair and then back onto you. You could’ve sworn he looked disappointed. He nodded curtly before lowering himself onto the seat.

You closed the door softly and returned to your place on the couch. Only a window divided the two of you but it felt like you were sitting shoulder to shoulder. You could hear the creaks of protest from the rocking chair as he rocked himself back and forth, as if he was deliberately reminding you of his presence.

The candle you laid out had died and you figured now was as good of a time as any to try and sleep. You curled up on the couch and closed your eyes.

There was a light tapping on the window above you. You sat upright and pushed the window halfway open.

“What?” you hissed.

The Stranger stuck his hand out to you, fingertips barely kissing the threshold into the house.

“I never introduced myself,” he said, “I’m Remmick.”

“I didn’t ask,” you muttered.

Remmick’s expression turned sour as he pulled his hand back. “Well, ain’t you a ball of sunshine.”

~

Like clockwork, every night for the past week and a half, Remmick appeared at your doorstep and sat in that rocking chair. At first, it was jarring to have someone sitting out there while you maintained sleeplessness but then it slowly worked into routine. As soon as you lit a candle or turned on a light, he was there. It felt like having a guard dog. And, with that red-eyed thing that lingered in the woods somewhere, maybe it was better that he was around.

Sometimes he came with things to keep him occupied as he waited for you to sleep; a banjo, a pit from a fruit that he whittled away at. You especially liked when he played. On those nights, you’d leave the window open just a touch, listening to the melody as it lulled you to sleep.

Mostly he just liked to talk. You were beginning to think the only thing he liked to hear more than music was the sound of his own voice. He never let up on asking to be let inside, though. Once, he even tried to coax you out to him.

“It’s a lovely night,” he mentioned offhandedly, “Be a shame to waste it cooped up inside.”

“Hm?” You didn’t look up from your sketchpad. You were doodling the flower pot that rested on your circular kitchen table. It’d been a while since you put fresh flowers in there. The ones that currently resided were already withered and brown with age.

You could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Come outside with me,” Remmick said, “Let’s take a walk.”

“I thought you said there were strange creatures prowlin’ about?” you countered, meeting his gaze from the opening in the window.

“Yes,” he folded his arms on the windowsill ledge, “But I’m here to protect you.” His eyes were beckoning. He leaned in as much as he was able without crossing the threshold.

You inched back, a flush reaching your cheeks. You weren’t used to him being this close. He smelled of campfire smoke and soil, an intoxicating mixture that tempted you to bury your head in his shirt and inhale.

Remmick’s brows creased in discontent and he exhaled through his nose. He pulled back from the windowsill and stood out of the chair. “Well, I’m gonna take a walk. You can join me if ya want.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and hopped off the porch. You listened to his crunchy footsteps recede.

You felt… bad. You pride yourself on being responsible and headstrong but with this… with him? Are you being headstrong or just avoidant?

If he wanted to, he could easily have broken in and done whatever he wanted with you already. It’s not like you were close to any neighbors and your family lived states away. He definitely looked stronger than you. It would be so easy for him to take advantage of that.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t get too close to you at all, like something’s preventing him from attempting to reach out and grab you.

You felt innocuous in that security, in whatever invisible barrier that was put between you two. It weirdly felt powerful to be able to deny him and yet, he still kept coming back to the porch. Back to the chair. Back to you.

However, it also felt terribly isolating.

You ran into your small bedroom and threw on an old coat. You shoved through the front door, running barefoot through the gravel, not caring about the sharp edges digging into the pads of your feet.

Remmick turned, hearing your hurried gait close behind.

“Look who decided to come out!” he shouted, a grin spreading on his face. You approached him, gasping.

His teeth were long. They looked like teeth belonging to an animal. They gleamed in the moonlight. You suddenly felt cold.

When you abruptly stopped in front of him, he closed his lips into a tight smile.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said, finally. He sounded sincere.

“I-,” you started. Was what you just saw a trick of the dark? “I didn’t want you to be alone. S-strange creatures prowlin’ and all that.”

You started to shiver, despite the coat. Remmick breached the unspoken barrier and strung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

“That’s why I’m here, darlin’.”

He didn’t feel warm.

~

You woke up that morning to find a bundle of bright orange azaleas at your door. There was no note but you could guess who they were from.

You scooped them up and replaced the dead flowers with the new ones. You caught yourself faintly smiling. Then you remembered the teeth.

Against your better judgement, when you went into town that day, you inquired with the locals about the “animals” that were spotted roaming around your woods.

“I could’ve sworn this thing was as big as a bear and just as hairy,” one man down at the drugstore whispered.

“My Nettie told me that she saw somethin’ out there watching her with shiny eyes. It were walking on two legs like it was human,” another woman revealed. “Whatever it was, she didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

“It’s best not to invite strangers into your home,” one older woman had said. She was sat on a bench cooling herself with a handheld straw fan. “They say the Devil roams them woods. A devil with as sharp of a tongue as he has teeth. Can’t go letting just anybody through the door.”

Armed with the superstitions from the townsfolk, you sat at your kitchen table. Your leg bounced nervously as your mind ran through the events of your evening walk, trying to pick up clues that something was amiss. That he was wrong somehow.

Nothing had happened that night, outside of just walking. The woods had been eerily silent, like every living thing was holding their breath, watching you pass by. Remmick filled the silence with polite conversation. He asked about you, your family, your hobbies and hung onto every word as if you were the most fascinating person he’d met in a long time. At one point, he asked about your favorite color.

You told him it was orange.

You asked him if he had ever got his car fixed. He looked at you, puzzled for a moment, but then brushed it off and changed the subject.

He dropped you off back at your house. He watched you walk through the door and, for once, didn’t ask to tag along inside. You quieted the part of you that was disappointed by that.

The sun had set, flushing the sky red, to orange, to a deep purple. You found yourself sitting outside in the rocking chair, staring down the rocky path to your porch. The crickets began to sing, mixing with the hollow rush of summer air that tussled through the long grass. You lazily sipped at your coffee that you had prepared two minutes ago, eyes watching for a figure in the distance.

The darkness loomed over the house like a thick blanket. You strained your senses for any sign of your stranger making his way back to you. You sat there waiting until the choir stopped singing.

Your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Your breathing slowed.

You woke up at the pale beginnings of dawn. Your body ached from having been curled up in that damn chair all night.

You found yourself covered by a long jacket that smelled faintly of smoke and copper. You peeled it from your body, your feet finding purchase once again on the boards of your porch.

Bloody footprints stained the wood. It made a path up the steps and curved right where you lay sleeping. A small pool had collected at the base of the rocking chair before the footprints turned around and went back where it came from.

~

Remmick plucked out a song in the still night, humming to himself. His voice was raspy and he sung from deep in his chest. The strings on his banjo twinged. The song wasn’t something you recognized.

You found him with his back to the door, sitting on your porch step. You watched him from the window. He looked to be in better spirits than you’ve ever seen him. He seemed more youthful and strong, his back straighter. His skin looked less sallow and bones less gaunt. Even his hair seemed to have a fresh shine to it.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. You needed answers.

You pulled on your door and let it yawn fully open. No barrier. No hiding.

“There’s my girl,” he declared happily. Remmick swiveled his head towards you. His eyes sharpened at the sight of you, his neck tensed. He breath hitched and pressed his lips in a tight line.

You wore the jacket over your shoulders. It covered your arms down to your fingertips. The bottom hem brushed the meaty part of your thigh just above the knee. Underneath, however, you chose to wear a silk shift. It was the color of vanilla ice cream and felt as soft as purity. You felt naked out there in your underwear but with the way it made Remmick buckle felt worth it.

You stripped the jacket from your shoulders, keeping your breathing slow and even. You breeched the door frame, gingerly coming near him one step at a time. You folded the jacket over your arm and kneeled down to where he sat.

“Thank you for this.” you said softly, draping the jacket onto his lap. You kept yourself from smirking when you saw how it badly you were affecting him.

He nodded dumbly. “You-you got all dolled up for me?” he asked timidly. The banjo sat abandoned at his side, thoughts of playing it thrown out the window.

You searched his face for any hint of trickery. Anything that revealed what lurked past the surface of his skin. His pupils were dilated, engulfing any stormy blue that you’ve grown to love. Something beat behind the inky blackness of those eyes. Like an afterimage you get from staring at the sun too long, a strange red hue diluted the black. It pulsed stronger as if fanning a lump of warm coal.

“I know those eyes,” you whispered. “I’ve seen them before.”

“I- I’m not sure what you mean,” he fumbled. He licked his lips, removing the drool pooling at the sides of his mouth.

“You’ve been the one lurking outside the woods, haven’t you?” You reached your hand up, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He whined like a dog. He leaned his head into your touch, resolve wavering. The heat behind his eyes became brighter.

“What’re you doin’ to me?” He gasped. His hands trembled against his thighs, his fingernails digging into his jeans.

You leaned in close, your lips caressing his ear. “I want to know what you are.”

Remmick shot up from the step. He staggered away a few paces. “You don’t know what you’re messin’ with,” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to do nothin’ I can’t take back.”

He refused to look at you. Not as if he were ashamed from the lewd way you were acting but because looking at you would be like looking at the sun. Burning, painful. As if he would break apart from your gaze alone.

“Remmick.” Your voice was lithe, coaxing him towards you.

“Stop it,” he moaned. His whole body shook,

You glided down the steps to where he stood. He visibly tensed.

You relished in this newfound power you had over him. You felt about as wicked as the monster failing miserably not to shine through. He screwed his eyes shut as you reached for the folds of his shirt. Your nails dragged lazily across his collarbone, tracing the gold chain he wore around his neck. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat under his ragged breathing.

“P-Please,” he whimpered. “I don’t know what to do.”

Kissing the muscle on his neck broke him. He clenched your waist with his rough hands, nails digging into your flesh. He hoisted you up in the air and you wrapped your legs tightly around his torso, locking him to you. His lips latched onto yours with a hunger of a man who was told he was going to die. One hand straddled you between your shoulder blades, pushing you even further into him, like he wanted to swallow you whole. He clawed at the fabric of your shift, bunching it up in his grip as if he were deciding whether or not to rip it off of you.

Your tongue pierced through his mouth, feeling the edges of his teeth scrape against it. Your hands grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck to you.

He looked at you now. His eyes were red fire in a pit of black. His teeth poked under his top lip. You stared at him, stunned.

He was terrifying. He looked at you with hunger, half-lidded with lust. His mouth watered freely. His breath came out in quick spurts, rattling his lungs against your stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” he croaked. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I could cry.”

He nuzzled into your breasts, his hot breath penetrating your shift. He wanted you. You realized with horror that you wanted him just as bad.

You slipped down from his waist, praying that your legs weren’t weak enough to buckle underneath you.

Remmick whined. “Where’re you goin’?”

You turned on your heel, making a show of it, and cantered slowly away from him.

“Now h-hold on,” he staggered after you, “You can’t just leave me like this!”

“Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll let you finish the job,” you replied.

He groaned weakly. He stumbled over the porch steps, crawling on his knees. “Stop, please! P-please just stop,” he cried. “Look at me, baby, please.”

You turned as graceful as a dancer, one foot already behind the doorframe. Remmick’s knees scraped across the length of the porch towards you. He let out a cracked sob when you stepped fully behind the doorway.

“Tell me,” you said sternly.

“You won’t like it,” he blubbered. “I promise you, you don’t wanna know.”

“Humor me,” you replied coldly.

Remmick dipped his head low into his lap, bowing. His fingers curled on the wooden boards of the porch, fingernails leaving scratch marks in their wake.

“Let me in,” he whispered, broken. “Let me in and I’ll tell you everything. I swear to you, I’ll tell you everything you want. All the details. The blood, the hunger, the pain. Anything. Please, j-just let me in.”

“Goodnight, Remmick.” You started to close the door, frustrated.

“No! Wait!” He shot up, ��Dammit! Alright, you win! I’m a killer! I had been watchin’ you from the woods. You were gonna die that night.”

You froze in your tracks.

“I knew you were alone and I was… I was so hungry. I was weak. But, you didn’t let me in so I thought I’d keep trying. Thought I could get you to cave eventually.” Tears began to well in his eyes. You were stricken back. You had no idea he was capable of crying. “You made me sit in that damn chair for hours and I watched you then, too. I wanted you to trust me. To know that I could be good. But I-.” The words lodged in his throat.

Then he said something that disarmed you. “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I ever came here. I’m sorry you ever saw me like this. I shoulda’ just left you alone like you asked me to.” His words came out fast and desperate, as if he were running out of air. “But please, please, don’t turn me away. I like it here. I like being with you, like the way it feels.” Remmick’s fingers wove tightly together, his hands trembling. “I can still be good. I won’t touch you or nothin’ without your say so. I just wanna stay. I’ll stay on this porch for the rest of my life if you asked. Please. I can’t get you outta my mind.”

Remmick babbled on, vomiting out confessions, trying desperately to absolve himself to you. He wilted, the monster inside becoming docile. He looked like a kicked puppy begging for food, for shelter, for a touch of kindness. Your name coated his words like an ancient deity.

You watched him writhe with satisfaction. It excited you to see something so dangerous become a puddle at your feet. You felt a spark of longing strike through your heart. He’d answered your question. That deserved a reward.

Lowering to his level, your finger hooked the gold chain at his throat. You met his lips passionately, earning a shuddering breath from him.

“You can come in,” you whispered.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He lunged into your embrace, knocking you clean off of your feet. You were entombed under his body. His lips read your skin like scripture. You gasped at his eagerness to please, melting at his touch.

“Take this off,” you ordered, tugging his shirt out of his pants. Before you could finish the thought, he snapped off the suspenders hugging his shoulders and shucked the whole shirt off his torso in one motion. You took in his bare chest that was glistening with a mixture of sweat and drool. “Excited, aren’t we?” you purred.

He grinned wickedly. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise you, ya won’t regret this.”

Sloppy kisses peppered your face, your jaw, your throat, coating you in a fine, glistening sheen. You could feel his teeth scrape against your pulse—which was fluttering like a panicked bird in a cage—desperate for a bite. He drank in your scent like a drunkard nursing his addiction. Your breath became heavier the lower he got. He took his time with you, drawing out your sighs of pleasure methodically, as if he’d never have the chance to do it again. He hooked your legs onto his shoulders, falling into your warmth. You gasped and jerked your hips as he immediately started circling your clit with his tongue. He hummed against the small mound, the vibrations stimulating you further.

“You taste just how I hoped,” he slurred, “You’re just how I dreamed.”

He raised your pelvis higher and slid a finger into your folds. You gasped sharply as he began to pump. You moaned his name out into the darkness, breathlessly riding the wave of pleasure that was building inside you. You called out to God as well but you didn’t think He was listening anymore.

Remmick slid another finger into you, picking up speed. His mouth still abused your poor clit, lapping at it like fresh water found in a desert. You gripped his dark curls, your voice lodged in your throat, legs losing feeling. You finally came, your body breaking down, quivering in his grasp. He dutifully licked you clean, savoring your taste, toying with your sensitivity.

“Please, darlin’,” he winced, “I-It hurts. Won’t you let me—just for tonight—c-can’t I just-?” He palmed himself against his pants.

If you weren’t spiraling through the remnants of your own orgasm, you would’ve kicked him out just to see what would happen. To watch him squirm some more. But you needed him inside you again. You shimmied the shift off of your body, opening yourself up as an offering. He nearly wept with delight.

He tore off his belt and undid the buttons keeping him contained. He locked you into place underneath him and wasted no time pushing through. You cried out, mouth agape as he fixed himself to you. Your toes curled as he began to thrust, working himself up bigger and faster. His forehead pressed onto yours, leaving gentle kisses on your eyelids. Your hands found purchase around his neck, pulling him down to you. His panting rang out in your ear as he picked up speed.

“S-Shit!” his voice splintered over the sound of skin making contact again and again. He groaned out as he released himself inside you. You could feel the warmth spreading within you, catching your senses on fire.

“Oh, thank you,” Remmick breathed, exhausted, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Each word of gratitude punctuated by a light kiss on your face. You gently cupped his cheek and brought him down to your lips.

You didn’t care if word got out around town. You didn’t care if people looked at you funny as you walked the street or quoted Bible verses at you in an attempt to save your soul from damnation. You made your choice.

You made your choice to let him in.

[kierongillen]

On Writing Team Books

A friend asks me about writing about team books, which reminds me I wrote an essay to a friend about it a while back, and put it in my newsletter. I figure I could put it on the tumblr for easier access. If you like this, I do stuff like this fairly often in the newsletter so sub.

I get the occasional mail from creator friends, asking me for advice on a topic. Last week, Alex Paknadel (he outed himself on twitter) asked me about writing team books, and I downloaded my brief thoughts to him. None of my thoughts are brief. Here’s an edited and slightly tidied version…

Right!

After I got the mail I wrote a list of five topics off the top of my head. I’m now going to go in and fill in some details beneath them. Fear the download.

1) Killing artists.

More than any other kind of book, the chance of breaking an artist on a team book is highest. You have a bunch of characters, which often do some stuff together. So you’re writing a 6 person team? That’s 6 people together. They’re in a fight? Maybe another 6 people against them.

So call your shots carefully when they’re together. Don’t call for shots of everyone in the same panel, unless you’re really giving it the space to land for the reader and you absolutely need it.

Worth noting sometimes you do: at least part of the team book is folks want to see a team doing the thing. That said, there’s exceptions to that…

2) Black Hole/Bad company . Probably Authority.

I usually say I learned to write team books by a teenage exposure to ABC WARRIORS: THE BLACK HOLE and BAD COMPANY VOL 2: THE BEWILDERNESS. This is classic 2000AD hypercompression - both explicit team books told in 5-6 page chunks. How did they do it?

ABC Warriors primarily does it by having a team member be the narrator in each episode, and then rotating the narrator between episodes. So you are both introduced to each character, and also (because the narrators are so different) introduced to the perspective of the character who is speaking., This also means this constant reintroduction isn’t in any way boring, because the characters are all so individually warped. You want to know what a sadistic fuck like Blackblood makes about everyone, right?

BAD COMPANY goes the other way, and has a strong single narrator in the form of Danny Franks, and uses them as the perspective we explore the rest of the cast. Some stuff is almost explicitly Franks interviewing team members.

Both speak to an underlying truth – a big chunk of team books are about moving the pieces around in new combinations, and seeing what they do.

I mention Authority, but the first run dose some key basic things of modern team story books – this almost procedural mode was especially popular in the 00s, and is something of a break of the Classic American Superteam approach. Speaking broadly, it does very cleanly some things superteams have always done - you can see where it moves from separating the group (so all team members gets a chance to do cool shit) and then bringing them together (so you get to do the big team book money shots).

But also note that when they’re together in a non-violent scene, someone - usually Jenny - takes lead, and almost everyone else shuts up. You may view this as the Authority becoming a solo book with a supporting cast rather than a true team book when the story demands - that speaks to it being a plot-first book. There’s not really much for the team to debate about - they all know what they’re going to do (kick people in the head, save the world).

TL;DR: Go breakdown some of your faves. How do their stories work?

3) Spotlight time.

That’s the main thing, and what all the above do, in various ways. If it’s a team book, characters need to be able to be on panel and do their thing. That it’s being sold as a team book implies that’s the promise to some degree. When planning an issue ensuring everyone gets to do their cool thing for a moment is not a bad perspective to take.

(This is pretty close to running an RPG group, btw. If someone’s not done something for a while, it’s probably time to give them a chance to do something.)

The alternative - especially in a one off - is to make the issue explicitly about an individual. Like the Black Hole, maybe this is just a single character in the team, and about how they work in the team. Of course, the effects do overlap - like in Bad Company, having the story be from an individual’s perspective you get to show how the other people are viewed by them, and so how cool their cool thing may be.

4) Team book vs ensemble cast.

That links to the above - like, what is the book, really?

There’s team books which aren’t really teams - they’re actually ensemble casts. WicDiv was one of them. DIE is much more of a team book - it’s a literal party (with Ash as the main narrator, ala BAD company). Watchmen has one scene when there’s a team, and they’re not called The Watchmen – it is absolutely an ensemble cast. Hickman’s X-men isn’t a team - it’s an ensemble cast (to the level where I think it’s more of a permanent event, or even a social novel). My Journey into Mystery is abstractly a solo book, but at times it became an ensemble book - and even a SERIES of team books, because Loki was always having to put teams together to do stuff. My Uncanny X-men run was primarily an Authority-mode procedural team book, with Cyclops taking the Jenny position and everyone having lots of focus time to do their cool thing (though see later on the exceptions).

The core difference between Ensemble books and Team books is that in a team book “I want to see the people together doing their thing” is part of the promise.

5) Split the Party.

You ever seen Dan Harmon write about Community? Clearly the story circle, but there’s also the sense that most episodes are about dividing the cast into smaller pairs and threes, and exploring that dynamic. This is in a lot of sitcoms, and an approach that 100% crosses over into team books.

5-9 people in a team normally means 7 of them standing around in a blob, with 1 person taking the leader role, and maybe one other takes the person to argue against the leader. Who is arguing likely varies, but it’s normally who feels most strongly about a situation. I suddenly find myself thinking like a team book is a zoom call, and most people are just standing and listening.

So you need to split that up.

Split up a 6 team into two groups of three, and you’ve got proper potential for actual drama. Each scene can be about those people, and by changing up the people you group together, you get to show different aspects of the characters. The Uncanny Run had a core team of nine, which is ludicrous… and when the book isn’t doing the widescreen mode, you’ll see I split the team into 3 groups of 3, and I get to play with all kinds of dynamics.

This is what team books do best, I think – in that you’ve got no single element which “needs” to be there (As in if opposed to you having a group cast around a a daredevil or a batman, readers are still broadly pissed off when you don’t see anything of the lead character). You get to see what emerges from all these different combinations, and then being able to bring them together to do the core TEAM beat when you need that.

Think about the subtext of “Avengers Assemble”. It implies that the Avengers were apart.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

could u do something like sieun accuses u of cheating on him bc of a rumour and argues w u about it ? then when he finds out that the rumour was fake he has to grovel a little to get u back <3 love ur work thank u 🩷

Title: Rumors and Redemption

Yes I am a GIF repeater Leave me alone

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

It started on a day like any other, until your phone buzzed relentlessly with notifications. At first, you thought it was just friends chatting — but the messages were different. Rumors. Lies. Whispers about you, about someone else.

You tried to brush it off. You trusted Si-eun.

But when he stormed into your shared space that afternoon, his eyes blazing with hurt and confusion, you knew the rumors had already done their damage.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone else?” His voice cracked, sharp and accusing as he held out his phone, the screen glowing with screenshots from gossip threads and private chats. Names you didn’t recognize. Stories you hadn’t heard.

You blinked, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. “Si-eun... I’m not seeing anyone else. Please. You have to believe me.”

His gaze pierced you, searching for any sign of a lie. “Then why all these messages? Why do they say you’ve been sneaking around, laughing with some guy?”

You swallowed, voice steady despite the fear curling in your chest. “Because it’s not true. Someone’s spreading lies — I don’t even know who that guy is.”

He paced the room, every step heavy with anger and disbelief. “You should’ve told me! I found out from others, not you. How could you keep that from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding it because there was nothing to hide,” you pleaded, tears pricking your eyes. “I thought you trusted me.”

“For the first time, I don’t know what to believe,” he whispered, voice raw. “Maybe you never really cared.”

The words hit like a punch. You shook your head fiercely. “That’s not true. I love you. You’re the only one I want.”

But the distance in his eyes was deafening.

Days passed like a frozen nightmare. You tried reaching out, but his silence was a wall.

Each message you sent went unanswered. Each call ignored.

You felt the ache of his absence in every breath.

Then one evening, a message appeared. Meet me. We need to talk.

Your heart thundered as you walked to the quiet park where he said he’d wait.

He was there, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I was wrong,” he said finally, voice soft but heavy. “I found the proof — that rumor was a lie. Someone wanted to mess with us.”

You stepped closer, hesitant but desperate. “So... you believe me now?”

He looked up, vulnerability cracking through his tough exterior. “I should’ve believed you from the start.”

The tension that had wrapped around your hearts began to unravel.

“I’m sorry for accusing you,” he said, voice thick with regret. “For not trusting you. For hurting you.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as relief and pain mingled. “I was scared too, Si-eun. Scared of losing you.”

He reached for your hands, fingers trembling slightly as they curled around yours. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you whispered.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, forehead resting against yours. “I’ll do anything to make this right. To prove I’m yours.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his love wash away the doubt.

That night, Si-eun stayed close, whispering promises, begging forgiveness with every word.

He wasn’t perfect. But he was yours, raw, honest, and willing to fight for you.

And that was enough.

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (final)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT (FINAL)

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, Happy Lemon Drop Day 😁 We’ve reached the final chapter which kind of breaks my heart way more than I thought it would. It IS an 11k word chapter though, so I hope that soothes the sting (it didn’t for me but hey). I genuinely loved writing this story and I cannot believe that my hyperfixation on it carried me all the way through. I hope you guys enjoy ❤️

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

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You and Jimin are still as the guys around you jump to their feet and get ready to head out again. Neither of you can move well enough on your own, left to wait for someone to help you. It feels unbelievably infantile, being unable to carry your own weight and having to expect someone else to carry it for you, but either you let them take care of you or you get left behind—and none of them seem willing to leave you in the dirt.

Hongjoong rounds them up into a huddle, reorganizing Ateez to proceed from here.

“Did something happen?” Jimin whispers to you, his eyes wide. “Did he hurt you? I swear to god, I told him I’d kill him—these fucking assholes, it’s like every time I turn around—”

“Don’t talk about them like that.” You deliver a sharp elbow to his ribs. “They’ve kept you alive all night, and they’re good people. Incredibly good people. You gotta stop flying off the handle at them, Chim.”

“You were deliriously happy—literally—ten minutes ago and now you’re over here looking like you did when we got back from the GOT7 program.” Jimin squeezes your shoulder tightly, like he’s trying to punctuate the memory he’s recalling with reassurance that he doesn’t mean to hurt you with it. “If he hurt you, I want to know.”

The group is moving, getting Mingi up, heading for the two of you.

The only thing that hurts is the weight of the wall you’ve just slammed down around your heart. “He didn’t hurt me. I swear. He’s been killing himself to get me this far. Don’t worry, Chim, it’s all good.”

“Yeosang, you’ve got Sugar?” Hongjoong asks, pausing in conferring with Taegyeom when he notices that you’re still sitting on the ground.

“Yeah, I’ve got her.” Yeosang says from somewhere in the middle of the huddle of guys, and you see him shoulder through them to approach you.

The stabbing in your heart conflicts with the betrayal of butterflies in your stomach. “No, Yeosang needs a break.” You argue out loud. “He needs to rest for a bit.”

He’s still coming towards you, ignoring your protest, when Wooyoung appears beside him. “I want her.” He pushes past Yeosang. “That good with you, Noona?”

You’re nothing short of eager to have an option other than the man you want to be able to let go of. Instead of trusting your voice to convey your agreement, you lift your arms like a child begging to be picked up.

When Yeosang utters your name, displeased, you almost break. “I’m fine, I can get you.”

“You’re hurt.” You mutter, as though he needs a reminder. “I’ll go with Woo.”

The younger man crouches down to your level, wrapping his arms around you to bring you up to your feet. Blood washes from your head to your toes in a rush, and you sway dizzily in his hold. He keeps you steady, helping you step away from Jimin so that San can move in and pick up your best friend.

“How do you want to do this?” Wooyoung asks you. “If I carry you on my back, can you hold on? Or will that hurt your hip?”

You don’t want to think about the position that will put you in, having to open your hips to wrap your legs around him, but you can’t ignore the fact that it will be less strain on him than carrying you bridal style in his arms.

He could toss you over his shoulder like Hajoon did to Jimin, but you predict that if the blood rushes back into your head like that, you’re likely to throw up all over him.

“I can get on your back.” You say. “That should work.”

When he turns and crouches low for you to drape yourself over him, you see Yeosang. Standing nearby, watching, uncertain.

It should be no surprise to him that you would insist on giving him a rest from taking care of you, but you’re also fairly sure that you weren’t the most subtle about freaking out and bolting away from him.

His expression has blanked out, but you’ve seen him shuffle through enough emotions over the course of the night that you can recognize the underlying worry.

You went from relatively okay, to losing your mind, to fleeing from him like a stranger in a short span of time, and he’s worried.

That’s not your problem.

He is Kang Yeosang of Ateez, not your boyfriend.

Not a member of your team.

Not someone who’s emotions are your responsibility.

You climb onto Wooyoung’s back. It’s more comfortable than you had thought it would be, your arms fitting securely over his shoulders and his hands cupping you firmly at your thighs. Your hip isn’t too strained by the position, more at ease without your weight on it.

“You good?” He asks you.

“Yep.” You lay your chin over his shoulder. “You can readjust if you need to. I’m good.”

He bounces you once, lightly, getting a better grip on you, and then turns to Yeosang. “We’re good, hyung. Ready to go.”

The older man trades his gaze between you and Wooyoung, not responding.

“Yeosang, you’re up front with me. Seonghwa, take the rear.” Hongjoong says.

“Get me if you need to swap.” Yeosang tells Wooyoung, and then offers you a small smile. It’s such a fond, open expression that you feel your heart clench, unable to stop yourself from returning it. Then he turns and picks his way to the front with the captain, leaving you with Wooyoung, San, and Jimin in the middle of the pack.

Seonghwa slips past you to take up the rear, and then the company is moving.

Morning light is spreading through the trees, making it easy to find their footing without tripping over branches and roots or running through short bushes and brambles.

You’re warm and comfortable against Wooyoung, lulled almost into a drowsy state by the soft rhythm of his gait.

Next to you, San carries Jimin across his chest. The raw deterioration of your friend’s entire leg makes it painfully impossible to carry him in the same piggy back configuration, since gripping any portion of the damaged muscle would instantly aggravate it. However, if any of your group are capable of holding a person’s entire weight in his arms for an extended period of time, the statuesque structure of San makes him the perfect candidate.

“Now that I’ve got you where you can’t run away,” Wooyoung starts softly, keeping his voice low. “What just happened between you and Yeosang?”

Of course he has to get to the bottom of it. Of course you can’t be left alone to bemoan your tendency to self-sabotage. You play dumb. “What do you mean?”

You can practically feel him rolling his eyes. “All that ‘he’s not my boyfriend’ bullshit. He said something dumb again, didn’t he? We’ve told you, the man is socially stunted. You’re gonna have to learn to read between the lines with him.”

“As adorable as it is that you are faithfully committed to being his matchmaker, I think you should hold out for another opportunity,” you tease, giving his shoulder a playful pinch. You have to treat it like a joke. You have to laugh it off, or you’ll sink into heartbreak that you have no business feeling.

“She’s emotionally stunted.” Jimin supplies quietly. “They’re perfect for each other.”

That’s not helping. “Jimin, shut up.”

“Do you not like him?” Wooyoung asks. “It’s totally fair if you’ve decided that you’re not really into him—though that would make you certifiably insane—but it really seemed like it was mutual.”

You debate your answer. Maybe it would be easier to just say that he’s right, that you felt a disconnection somewhere and didn’t end up feeling quite as strongly for him as thought you did.

It’s too big a lie. Even with all your training and experience in acting, you don’t think you can be believed.

There’s nothing about Yeosang that doesn’t draw you closer to him and make you feel safe.

There’s nothing about your decision to take a step back that doesn’t feel like you’re losing something you can never get back.

“I don’t think we should be talking about this right now.” You say instead. “We should stay quiet.”

“You’re avoiding.” Jimin says flatly. “I’ve never seen you like you are with him. I think you’re overthinking. I know I’ve been kind of caustic tonight, but I think you’d be foolish to walk away from this.”

You can barely think past your numbing headache. You’re nowhere near present enough to stand at odds with Jimin. If you have this conversation now, you’ll admit to Too much. “Nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

“So you do like him.” Wooyoung states evenly. “You don’t think he likes you?”

Frustration tightens your jaw. You have to stop yourself from snapping at him to shut him up.

He’s being kind.

He’s trying to help you.

He wants Yeosang happy, and for some reason, he thinks you’re the ticket.

Maybe explaining the truth of the situation will show them you’ve made the right decision. They can’t argue the facts. “I think we both got swept up. I think this can’t survive real life.”

Jimin utters a disbelieving laugh. “You think you’ll face something more difficult than this? If you can work through the zombie apocalypse and come out of it madly in love with each other, I’m pretty sure you can handle taxes and family planning.”

“I don’t think real life is going to be harder than this, I think it’s going to be more boring. It’s easy to feel strong emotions when everything’s on fire, but when it’s mundane? Normal? Boring? What then?”

You can’t keep him entertained all the time. You can’t keep up the thrill of living like you’ve experienced together tonight.

But Wooyoung just laughs softly. It’s not mocking, or belittling—it’s relieved. “Oh, sweet Sugar. Your man lives for the mundane. We get all the excitement we can take in our concerts and promotions. When we get time at home, he’s the epitome of normal. He goes to the gym. He eats good food. He takes his vitamins and supplements. He plays video games. We have to convince him to go out with us. If you think domestic life with him is gonna be anything other than quietly mundane, you’ve been misinformed.”

Jimin breathes deeply, like Wooyoung has just taken a huge weight off his shoulders. “God, see? It’s like you’re already primed to coexist. You both go to work, you come home ready to take a load off—and at least this guy will make sure you eat and sleep properly.”

It is a comfort. To know that you wouldn’t have been expected to spend your off days or weekends chasing every social engagement under the sun. But the fundamental problem still remains—he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know who he thinks he likes.

And you’re already in deep, completely entranced by him. Even if you went on a number of dates to get to know each other, him deciding to either ghost you or inform you that he doesn’t think you want the same things would crush you.

You’re woefully poorly adjusted to the uncertainty of dating, the eggshells you walk to be on your best behavior and hope you won’t make an insurmountable mistake—your anxious heart wants unwavering commitment, not existential doubt.

It’s not Yeosang you’re rejecting, it’s the concept of dating.

You want your life to be full of certainties—lunch with your mom every so often, work every day, your cat every time you come home, peace inside the walls of your own home.

You’re a coward.

“He won’t want me when this is over.” You’ve said it. It’s out there. Your head is spinning and your limbs are on fire, but your heart is hanging out in the open.

“You won’t even give him the chance to find that out for himself?” Wooyoung argues. “He’s openly fixated on you, and you seem to like him just as much. That’s not fair.”

It may not be fair.

But you’re a coward.

“I don’t want to go through that again.” You whisper.

“So you’re never going to try?” Jimin questions. “You’re going to turn down every guy you like, just in case it one day stops working out?”

“I’m good alone. I’m safe alone.”

“Yeah, but you’re lonely.”

At Jimin’s deadpan response, your brain stutters. “I’m not lonely.”

“You are.” He says softly. “I can see it. We could all see it. You think we don’t know why you work yourself to the bone? Why you don’t give yourself any time to be alone? We could all see it.”

Silence resounds between you. The gentle crunch of leaves under their feet is the only sound besides the quiet murmuring of the guys ahead of you.

You are lonely.

Your routines keep you busy, and your work keeps you fulfilled in a professional capacity, and your friends and family filled almost every corner of your heart. But you can’t deny that the safety of your private apartment sometimes feels like emptiness. And the peace of your quiet life at home sometimes feels like abandonment.

But what’s left for you now?

Even if everything can go back to normal—you don’t have your job. You don’t have your family. You would be walking into your empty apartment with nothing but your cat and the memories of this horrible night and all it took from you.

Everything is uncertain now.

Everything you had to hold onto and protect yourself with is gone.

You’ll be starting from nothing.

“I’m not enough for him.” The broken whisper bares itself without your permission.

“I think you’re wrong.” Wooyoung says, just as softly.

You can’t believe him. You’ll be too driven by your pursuit of the career that you lost, too broken by the deaths of your friends, too guarded emotionally, not useful enough, not nurturing enough, not happy enough.

“The first time he met you, in our second program prep session in that coffee shop, he was inside his head all day.” Seonghwa’s voice floats into the conversation from behind you. “That night, we couldn’t find him for dinner—Yunho discovered him holed up in his bedroom, reading your orientation packet like he was studying for a test.”

Your heart flutters all over again, and it’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever felt. It shouldn’t matter so much to you that he cared so much about your program, but your body is filling with pride and excitement.

“The next day he was in the gym so early—like, the moment it opened.” San says. “We didn’t have a schedule, so we couldn’t figure out why he was up so early. But then on the way to our next meeting with you, he was reciting facts about the program. Like he’d memorized it overnight. He told us to behave, and to listen to you and Rosé, as though we were a bunch of little kids on a field trip.”

“It was weird,” Wooyoung agrees. “We were all kinda confused. He was all like, ‘she worked really hard on this, we should be respectful.’ And we were like, ‘well yeah, we all want to do this, stop being weird about it.’”

“We figured it out pretty quickly after that.” San says. “He was trying to be cool. But he kept asking things like what your drink order had been, if you had said anything about a dress code, if we thought he had said something dumb or embarrassing. Wooyoung cornered him by the third day, because we were all catching on. What did he say to you, Woo?”

“I mean, he was in denial for a bit, but I got it out of him.” Wooyoung says proudly. “He liked you. He asked me if I thought it would be inappropriate to ask you for your personal number. He called you pretty—which, duh—he said you seemed really nice and really smart, and he thought your stories were so cool and creative—like, completely raving about you. I was trying to poke at him, to see how deep he was; I said that I was gonna ask you out, and that I thought we had a connection.”

You give him a small laugh, shaking your head fondly against his shoulder. “We had such a great connection.”

“Oh, such a great connection,” Wooyoung teases back cheerfully. “But I had to let him have a chance, you know?”

“Oh sure, sure.”

“Anyway, he was…” he pauses, struggling to find the words. “He kinda looked like I’d sucker punched him, a little. I had to tell him I was kidding, because he would have backed off for me—that’s just who he is—but the guy was so disappointed.”

“Once we knew, he didn’t really try to hide it anymore.” Seonghwa says. “We’d come home from your prep sessions and he’d be all giggly and flustered, talking about all the times you’d spoken to him. You’d think he was in high school or something. He was dressing up for you, asking us to help him come up with things to say to you, getting all sensitive when we joked about how nice and pretty you are.”

Your heart is racing. “He was?”

“He was giddy.” San says flatly. “We were taking bets on how quickly he would embarrass himself in front of you. We told him to get through the program and fulfill our contract before trying to change the dynamic, and he said he already planned to do that, but he was thinking about places to take you. Should he take you to a movie? To dinner? Out for drinks? Get a reservation at an impossible-to-reserve restaurant?”

Seonghwa breaks in again. “I told him he should find the nicest place in town and impress you, but he said he thought you might feel like he was trying to throw status at you. He said he wanted it to be comfortable, not competitive, whatever that means. Anyway, he decided he wanted to find a place where you could just sit and talk and just spend time together—and he found this beautiful coffee shop—”

You feel horrible.

Monstrous.

Cruel.

What is wrong with you?

He’d put thought into making you comfortable and you had laughed at him.

Forget being too boring, you’ve insulted his consideration of you.

You’d been propositioned by wealthy clients who thought they could impress you with the nicest restaurant in town. If he had expected you to show up, dressed to the nines and sitting stiffly as a team of waiters buzzed around you like you were a couple of VIPs, you would have gone home and turned the page on him.

You’re a horrible person.

“Why did he like me so much?” You ask timidly. “Was it the way I had to wrangle you guys like cats? Because I was pretty impressed with myself.” You’re praying it’s not that. You’re praying he didn’t notice you for the way you were organizing events and talking to staff to make sure all of the messy details got cleaned up and patiently enduring all of the various speed-bumps that you ended up running into—like when the trampoline place lost your appointment, or when the company didn’t have enough seats on the bus.

“Girl, he was on our asses for being out of control. He was lecturing us left and right for our craziness, telling us you shouldn’t have to be parenting us like wild children.” Wooyoung snorts. “Which is absurd, because we were perfect gentlemen.”

You don’t comment.

“He said he could tell you love your work. That you get all bubbly and excited when you talk about your stories. That you’re cute when you sing karaoke. That your dry sense of humor was the funniest thing—and yeah, Sugar, you’re funny, but you’re not that funny. Anyway, the point is, Yeosang thought you were interesting and kind and beautiful from the moment he met you. He didn’t develop an adrenalized crush on you tonight. Do you remember when Jongho threw you at that fake zombie? And Yeosang caught your hand and rescued you?” Seonghwa asks.

You do remember.

It’s one of the funniest things that’s ever happened to you in a program. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know if you saw it, but he was bright red. Like…as soon as he realized he was holding your hand he looked at me and he was blushing so hard. It was adorable. You were acting like a scared high school student and he was all flustered about holding your hand.”

He’d told you he wanted to ask you out. He’d told you he was interested in you before today—or yesterday.

But hearing this, hearing that all of the thoughtless and mundane things about you had been what had caught his eye in the first place, it has your entire body thrumming.

You’d been doing your job, enjoying casual hangouts with clients, and he’d liked you for you. Not for the psycho who runs into danger, or the nurturer who protected his brothers, or the provider who gave up too much of herself.

Even now as you think back, he’d been working with you, trying to restrain your urges, staying loyally next to you in the terrifying moments of danger, but it was the quiet moments that he drew closer to you.

When Jin bit you, when you distracted the hoard for Hongjoong, the zombie pile, the fight for Jimin, the zombies with Wooyoung and Hongjoong, the swarms of wasps—he’d been focused, concentrated, working.

But when he patched you up, when the lockdown happened, all the quiet moments in the office, after the plan to axe the barricade didn’t work out, when he rescued you from the classroom full of zombies, when you’d been scheming about the fire—those were the moments that he pulled you closer.

When the danger had passed, when a bit of normal returned, when you could sit and be yourself, that’s when he reached for you.

Maybe you’re wrong.

Maybe you can risk it.

Maybe you can last.

“He really cared that much?”

It’s Jimin who answers. “Babe, it sounds like this guy likes you in spite of tonight. Not because of it.”

“I laughed at him for his couples therapy comment,” Wooyoung remarks lightly. “But he was kinda right. He would have asked you out anyway, but now you guys know who you are under pressure. Most couples don’t get that before the first date.”

YEOSANG

“Is she okay?” Hongjoong bends low to crawl under a branch and peeks up at Yeosang. “She wasn’t looking good there for a minute.”

The younger man pushes the branch back and pauses to hold it for Yunho and Mingi to duck under. Jongho takes it from him and waits to hold it for Wooyoung, San, Seonghwa, and the two they carry with him.

“I don’t know,” he admits carefully, finding his place next to Hongjoong again. “She was going pretty strong until a little bit ago. I’m a little worried about the way she started losing clarity. Do you think that’s a sign of a bigger problem?”

Hongjoong shrugs cluelessly. “I’m not a medical professional. But I wouldn’t think she needs a bigger problem. She’s got like five bites, all of them muscle deep. That, paired with her being responsible for us while watching all of her friends die doesn’t make a very hospitable environment for a speedy recovery.”

That’s about what Yeosang had assumed on his own. “She’ll be fine. Just as long as we can get out of here and get some help.”

“What did you say to her?” Yunho whispers, urging Mingi a little faster. They crowd in behind Hongjoong and Yeosang, glancing cautiously at the soldiers who travel on the perimeter of the group.

“When?” Yeosang glances back to find both of the taller men peering at him with unbridled concern. His brow furrows, baffled. “What? What’s wrong?”

Mingi raises an eyebrow at him, adjusting his hold on Yunho’s shoulder. “Whatever you said that made her run to Jimin. You’d think you’d have gotten that foot out of your mouth by now.”

Yeosang’s face scrunches with offended confusion. “What? She wanted to check on him.”

“I can’t believe, after all this buildup, you’re fumbling this girl.” Yunho mutters. “She’s like actually your other half, and you can’t stop yourself from screwing it up.”

“Woah, hey, I didn’t say anything. She went to check on Jimin. Then she wanted me to take a break. I didn’t fumble anything.” Yeosang glares back at them, not at all enjoying the miffed expressions on their faces. “Mind your own business. Focus on walking.”

“Then why did she tell Jimin you’re not her boyfriend?”

At Yunho’s hissed words, Yeosang’s pace slows. His spine twists, looking back at Sugar as she clings to Wooyoung’s back. Her eyes meet his, and slide away.

His heart feels like a rock in his chest. “Because we haven’t actually had time to label anything while we’ve been running for our lives.” But his mind is sorting through the events of the past through minutes.

She’d started losing awareness, calling out for Namjoon. Then she’d seemed to come back to herself a little bit, only to continue to slip between reality and memories like she couldn’t distinguish between the two. She’d been fine, safe, holding him like he held her, until the moment she decided to move over to Jimin and tell him she didn’t want him to be the one to carry her.

He shakes his head. “She should be unconscious by now, with all the shit wearing on her. She needs her wounds treated and she needs to sleep.”

Yunho shrugs. “I don’t know, she seemed bothered by something. I think she was crying.”

“She’s in a shit load of pain, leave her alone.” Hongjoong mutters. But then he glances at Yeosang. “Back in the school, when she came to help me and Hwa, it seemed like she was thinking you wouldn’t stick around after all this. If I were you, I’d think very carefully about this crush you’ve got on her and figure out if you want to be serious about it or not. She just lost almost everyone she loves. She doesn’t need to be played with right now. Either commit to this or cut her loose. It’s not a game, Yeo. If you’re serious about her, just be there. Otherwise, let her go. All of us survived this, we can work through the aftermath together. All she has is Jimin.” He pats the younger man’s arm once and returns his focus to the path ahead.

The reflex to defend himself, to argue that he’s not playing with anybody’s emotions, dies abruptly by the time Hongjoong is finished. Unable to ignore the weight of that truth, that her circumstances are more serious than his desire to chase these invigorating feelings that he has, Yeosang follows along in pensive silence.

Everything his captain said was true.

She’d lost nearly everyone. She’s escaping with her life, and very little else.

His job may not look the same after tonight, but at least he and the rest of Ateez can figure out a way to reform as a group and continue to put out music wherever they land.

Her entire production team and management team, and stylists and coordinators and actors, all died tonight. She doesn’t have a team to go home with. She doesn’t have a job to go back to.

She and Jimin will have to face tomorrow by making ends meet and trying to start over from the bottom.

A flood of questions swarm his mind.

Not regarding his feelings for her—if he’s certain of anything, it’s that everything he’s been through with her has only confirmed what he thought from the beginning: she’s strong, smart, loyal to herself; she’s someone he can understand, relate to, connect with; even under the stress and pressure and fear, she continued to be the person he wanted to be next to, trusting her as she lead them through.

He believes he’d seen her moments of weakness and rashness for what they were—not the hopeless actions of a women who doesn’t want to be saved, but the scared resignation of someone who doesn’t know she should be. She proved that much when she saved herself.

Her selfless habits of loading herself down with responsibility, taking burdens from others to bear them herself, her belief that her purpose is to serve and not to live, all struck him as the behavior of someone who hadn’t been allowed to be human; to make mistakes; to need to be cared for in turn.

His only questions now are regarding what she needs to be able to continue to be the best version of herself.

Would his presence in her life hold her back?

Would he just be a distraction, inhibiting her from finding what she wants the most?

Would he just be a reminder of everything she lost?

Is he the best person to be by her side for whatever comes next?

Jimin knows her. He looks out for her. He knows what she needs and what he denies herself. She trusts him, and they don’t stop each other from reaching their dreams.

Would he just be getting in the way of the life she wants to build?

His mind goes back to the lockdown, when she’d told him that all she wanted was the chance to rest and enjoy life without the pressure of work and responsibilities. He’d known in that moment that if he could give her nothing else, he could make sure that she could have days like that.

Not just one, but so many that she forgets what it’s like to dream about it, like it’s something out of her reach.

He wants her to be able to take rest and relaxation for granted, to learn to be lazy sometimes and forgive herself for it.

He hasn’t known her for any longer than a week, but god, he wants to.

He wants to see her create a life for herself that she’s proud of, like she had when he met her. He wants to watch her create stories that make her giddy with confidence and excitement, to watch her become everything she can be, because he’s never seen anyone so perfectly made for a vocation like she is with her programs.

He wants to be there when everything feels like it’s falling apart, when she feels like giving up, when she has moments where she loses faith in herself—because he’s seen what she can do and what she can create, and he knows that she’s capable of so much more than she thinks she is.

He started this week with an inexplicable crush on a pretty girl, but now he feels like he’s found a partner. She’d responded to his affection in a way he never dreamed was possible, but she’d also trusted him implicitly. She hadn’t spent the night pushing him to the side so she could face the situation with the people she knew and felt comfortable with, she’d fallen into a rhythm of partnership. She’d trusted herself with him, and he’d trusted himself with her.

That wasn’t the thrill of infatuation.

That was compatibility. Communication. Faith.

He can’t dismiss that.

He can’t walk away from tonight without her, not after he’d discovered a sense of self next to her. Not after she took his breath away at every turn.

She’s scared.

She’s hurt.

She can conquer this, and the world, on her own two feet.

But he has no intention of letting her do it without him.

Not when he doesn’t want to do it without her.

SUGAR

“We’re gonna stop here.” Taegyeom brings you to a stop in a stretch of woods that faces the gas station. The lights are on at the pumps, but the store is dark. It’s not open yet in these wee hours of morning, and won’t be for a few more at least.

He directs your little group of survivors into a tight cluster of trees and tells you to find places to sit down again where you can lay low for the next few hours. Once satisfied that his charges are following his instructions without question, he turns to the soldiers and positions them at the best vantage points to keep watch.

Wooyoung crouches low to the ground to allow you to get off his back, moving his hands from beneath your thighs to your arms so he can anchor you when you land. Despite trying to be careful, your feet hit the ground with an impact that sends shocks of tingling pain from your heels to your hips.

Staggering dizzily, you let yourself lean against him and use his grip on your hands to ground yourself until the uncomfortable nerve sensation passes. “Ugh, I think I’m gonna puke.” You groan, tucking your chin to your chest as nausea swirls in your gut and heats your cheeks.

“Alright, alright, hold on, don’t puke on me.” Wooyoung says quickly, kindly, turning himself so he can catch you against his chest and spin you to face the bushes. “I’ve got you. If you’re gonna be sick, aim it over there. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

San slips by you, easing Jimin down against a tree and helping him arrange his legs. “You should try to sleep, hyung,” he says. “We’ve got a few hours to wait.”

“He’s right.” Seonghwa agrees, sitting in the middle of your friends and crossing his legs beneath him. “You both should try to rest. We’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

Hongjoong sits at the front, leaning against his own tree with a long groan. “God, what I wouldn’t give for my bed right now.”

“Anybody else starving?” Yunho drops like a rock to the ground next to Mingi. “I feel like I could eat a whole cow.”

“I want pasta.” Mingi mutters. “I’m dying for pasta.”

“You always want pasta.” Jongho grumbles. “I’m with Yunho.”

As the debate continues, you focus on trying to settle the violent upheaval pulsing between your slamming headache and your tight stomach. After a few seconds that crawl like a lifetime, your taut muscles start to relax. The fire fades from your face, your organs stop heaving. “I’m good.” You whisper when you can trust yourself to breathe again. Your body is calming. “I’m good now, Woo.”

“You sure?” He pulls your hair away from your shoulders and arranges it against your back. His face appears near yours, brow furrowing as he takes in the color of your cheeks. “Don’t force yourself, it’s okay.”

You shake your head, no longer buzzing beneath your skin like you’re one wrong move away from losing whatever’s left in your stomach. You can’t imagine there’s anything left in your system anyway. “No, I feel better. I just needed a minute to orient myself. You can put me down.”

Footsteps crunch through the leaves behind you, and Wooyoung’s hands still against your back.

He’s not helping you find a place to sit down, so you reach out your hands to catch yourself against the nearest tree, rewarded by the harsh bite of bark against your palms.

“Wooyoung.” Yeosang.

His soft voice comes from right behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. Even the low timbre of his tone sends your heart racing, even though anxious apprehension still crashes into your thoughts.

How did you go from cool and steady to craving his presence next to you with the desperation of addiction?

It’s not even just attraction swirling through your blood, coloring the way you see the world, but a sense of security that you didn’t realize you were missing until he’s beside you again.

Everything you had done tonight, with the exception of the turbulent early moments where they weren’t sure if they could trust you, you had done by his side.

You hadn’t realized how much courage you had drawn from having him with you.

“Give her a minute, hyung. She’s okay for now, I’ll sit with her.” Wooyoung keeps his hands on you, supporting your weight so you can turn yourself and slide down the trunk of the tree to land on your butt in the dirt.

Now that you’re facing them, you find Yeosang’s eyes on you. He stands next to Wooyoung, posture strong and sure, gaze hard as stone. He doesn’t even look at his younger brother. “Go sit with San, Wooyoung.” He’s not asking.

You can’t break eye contact. It occurs to you that you might have pushed him far enough away that whatever he’s now come to say to you is exactly what you’ve been afraid of. The look in his eyes terrifies you.

Wooyoung glances at you, worried. “I don’t know if she wants you to—”

Yeosang fixes him with a blank stare. “She speaks for herself. Go on, Woo.”

Your vision is weak as your eyes flash between them, catching the hesitation on Wooyoung’s face and the determination on Yeosang’s.

You owe him a conversation. Whatever it leads to.

A few minutes ago, you would have let Wooyoung run interference for you. You would have done everything you could to drive a wedge of professionalism between yourself and Yeosang to protect yourself, but your curiosity is defeating your fear.

You want to see how Yeosang treats you with freedom so near. You want to see how he’s going to react to how you pushed him away, how Wooyoung is trying to keep you from him. You want to see if you can find the steadiness of the man who stayed by your side all night, or if you’re going to get the sense that he doesn’t know what he wants. Or, worse, if he knows what he wants, and it isn’t you.

“It’s okay,” you tell your self-appointed protector. “Really, Woo.”

Wooyoung glances down at you, trying to read your face, searching for any sign that you’re just trying to keep the peace rather than actually feeling comfortable about being left with the man who has the power to break your heart.

When he sees only open, weary vulnerability, all pretenses at strength and courage long since disappeared, he kneels down next to you. “If you want to be left alone about all of this until after you’ve gotten a chance to rest and recover a little bit, just give me a signal. I’ll fight him off for you, okay?” He flashes you a cocky grin and smacks a kiss right to the apple of your cheek. “I’ve got your back, Noona.”

Laughing at his brazen closeness that is clearly meant to poke at Yeosang, you land a weak slap to his shoulder. “Get out of here, punk, you’re breathing on my face.”

He winks at you and scoots back, rising to face Yeosang again. “Don’t make me come back here and separate you two.”

Yeosang doesn’t seem to be in a playful mood. “You have five seconds.”

Wooyoung throws his hands up innocently and shuffles away to find San, stretching the stiffness out of his back as he goes.

You forgot to thank him for carrying you like a child this whole way, but it’s probably too dangerous to call him back now, especially since Yeosang looks like he’s actually five seconds away from putting him on his face.

When he turns back to you, the tension melts out of his expression.

It gives you whiplash, mind scrambling to make sense of the shift.

You’d braced yourself for confrontation, but now he’s looking at you with so much softness that you’re stuck between letting your guard down and keeping yourself firmly bolstered to face rejection or anger—or both.

Stepping towards you with careful movements, he takes a second to glance over your body, checking your hip, your arm, your neck. All of your bites are bandaged, but you’re sure they’ve all bled through.

You must look horrible. Hair matted and knotted, clothes torn and soaked with blood, face covered in scratches and probably sweat and grime—you suddenly wish it was dark again so he can’t see you so well.

Yeosang lowers himself to his knees in front of you. “Can I stay?” He asks softly. He’s watching you, eyes wide and focused, waiting for you to tell him to leave.

He knows you pushed him away. He knows you chose Wooyoung for more reasons than just to give him a rest. You can see it in his face. Either he’d heard some of what you’d said, or someone else had and told him about it.

Instead of wanting to keep him at arm’s length or further, you just feel horrible. You’d panicked about the possibility of him turning on you, but you had been the inconsistent one. You had been the one who was unfair to him.

Your brain is still screaming at you, begging you not to let yourself be dragged in and hurt again, but for once, you’re not listening. “Please stay.” You whisper.

What are you doing?

Going against everything you’d disciplined yourself to do just because you learned that he’d had a crush on you a week ago?

Letting him in because after tonight, you don’t think you’ll ever meet anyone who makes you feel the way he does?

Yeah, apparently.

Yeosang turns himself to sit beside you, leaning his back against the tree with a heavy sigh. He scoops one of your hands off your lap and holds it tightly in his, resting it against his thigh as he stretches out his legs to lay alongside yours.

The confrontation doesn’t come.

Everything about the moment is so grounding, his shoulder pressed against yours, your palms warm and fingers intertwined, that all you want to do is put your head on his shoulder and give into the sleepiness tugging at the loose threads of your consciousness.

He’s just sitting there, breathing next to you. So why does it feel like you’ve finally found the safety you’ve been craving all night?

Yeosang tilts his head back against the tree, blinking up at the last of the stars that are still visible in the faint glow of morning. “I’m gonna stay with you,” he says simply. “For whatever happens next.”

It takes you a second to figure out why those words, in that voice, have touched your ears before, rooting themselves into your head with resolute finality. The memory comes back with a rush of heat. It’s what he said to you right before he kissed you for the first time, so many hours ago in that hallway.

I’m staying with you.

You don’t have to care about me, but I care about you too much to pretend that I don’t.

Your hand twitches in his, fear and uncertainty rearing their ugly heads when your heart flutters in response to his words. “How do you know?” Your voice is timid, broken by embarrassment, hoping that there’s anything he can say that will calm the trepidation in your soul.

He doesn’t even look at you. “Do you want to stay with me?” Easy. Firm. Level. Like he already knows your answer. Like your terminal inability to hold your tongue around him has given him all the confidence he needs to confront your fears and quiet them.

To you, his question isn’t even a question.

It requires no thought.

He is solid and stable against you, the embodiment of comfort and refuge.

“Yes.” It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever said. Yes. Yes, you want him. Yes, you want to stay with him. Yes, he’s the one you would risk everything for.

And you would, if he gave you that chance.

He sucks in a slow breath. Despite knowing what you would say, to hear it out loud is absurdly thrilling. “That’s all it takes,” he tells you. “I’m not going to pretend that you and I are strangers, talking about exploring going on a first date and hoping it works out. Tonight—last night—took us farther than that. I know you better than that. And I know that I want you next to me for whatever comes next.”

The things you learned about him from his brothers ricochet through your thoughts—how he’d been silly and exhilarated with blossoming feelings for you, making the guys laugh and enjoy his boyish excitement and nervousness, how he’d gone to them with trivial uncertainties, like if he’d said something dumb or if they thought you might be interested in him too.

That’s not the man sitting next to you, not where it matters. He’s sure. Steady. He knows you and your thoughts and your fears now better than any of the other guys’ clueless perceptions of you. He knows you return his feelings. He knows you’re scared of them. He has your hand in his like that’s where it belongs, and goddammit if you don’t believe him.

“Yeosang,” you turn your head to look at him, drinking in his profile, memorizing the lines of his face, cementing the exact shape of that little mark in your mind until you can see it with your eyes closed.

“Hmm,” he meets your eyes, and there’s nothing but quiet assurance there.

What are you even afraid of?

“I’m sorry I made fun of your coffee date idea. It was sweet. I would have loved to get coffee with you.” It should have been said with fondness and promise, but knowing how much thought he had put into choosing that date for you, your voice is only filled with remorse.

A smile cracks across his face. His thumb sweeps over the top of your hand. “How about you let me make you coffee instead?”

Your eyebrows lift. It sounds so domestic, like you’re making plans for tomorrow morning as though you’ve been doing it for years. “Can you even make coffee?”

Damn your inability to have a vulnerable conversation.

But he doesn’t seem annoyed, rather blinking once in pause. “I’ll learn to make coffee, and then I’ll make some for you.”

You snort. “I can make it.” That’s a lie. “Actually, all I have is instant coffee.”

His head falls back against the tree like he’s in pain. “Oh my God.”

“No, wait, I’m out of instant. I can offer you a glass of milk and some stale Oreos.” You really need to reevaluate your pantry situation if you’re going to be sharing meals in the future.

Yeosang groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sugar.”

You just shrug. Most of your food expenses are vending machine lunches eaten over well-worn scripts.

“First thing, when we’re out of here, I’m taking you shopping.” He tells you.

“You know, usually when guys say that, they don’t mean grocery shopping.” You remark lightly.

That gets a chuckle out of him. “You need groceries. Lots of them. Real ones, not packaged in tin cans.”

Something occurs to you with a disappointing start. “You know, I don’t think I’m actually gonna get paid for this program.” Shit, you don’t have any money. You’re gonna have to sign up to teach acting classes just to make rent—which is something you’ve done far too many times to count.

Maybe there’s a weekend seminar coming up that needs teachers.

“I’m taking you shopping.” He repeats with inflection.

“Now hold on, I’m not your charity case. I’m not letting you pay for stuff, I can handle my own living expenses.” You frown at him, flooded with feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment at your inferior financial situation, but he just shakes his head at you.

“You’re not my charity case, but you do need groceries, and I’m going to personally make sure you get them.”

You want to argue with him, but you do need groceries and you can’t properly afford them at the moment. It’s better than giving Jimin more reasons to call you his sugar baby, and at least if Yeosang is offering, you can find a way to make it up to him. “Fine, but don’t get used to it.”

“Okay,” He says, with not an ounce of conviction. He meets your unimpressed stare with an innocent smile. “And you’re definitely getting paid for this program. Like I said, zombies were in the contract. You did nothing but deliver.”

“Oh my god.” It’s your turn for an exasperated groan. “That’s only assuming we don’t have to flee the country.”

“Not to bank on a bunch of evil people dying horrible deaths, but there’s still hope.” Yeosang shrugs, and when you drive your elbow into his ribs he groans dramatically and slumps over.

“Oh god, Yeo—” For a minute you think you might have actually hurt him until you realize that he’s shaking with laughter, not pain. You elbow him again. “Don’t do that, Jesus, you scared me.”

He just pulls himself upright, still laughing. “Sorry.”

You’ve never heard anyone sound decidedly less sorry.

Soft conversation hums from the other guys throughout the group. Hongjoong and Seonghwa are still talking about meals, deciding if they want breakfast or dinner foods. Jongho and Jimin are debating chartering KQ’s private jet (Jongho’s argument) versus sneaking onto a cargo ship (Jimin’s argument) to get away from the government. Wooyoung and San are snoring quietly, slumped against each other, completely knocked out.

It’s not everyone. There are so many people missing, so many cracks in your heart as you count heads and scan faces.

So few of you had survived that stupid program.

But the ones who are here are okay. They’re safe. They’re happy, as much as they can be. If nothing else, they’re capable of being happy and whole and normal when this is over.

You made it.

You survived.

Your soul is bleeding with the ripping away of your family, but you’re not in this alone. You didn’t lose Jimin. You didn’t lose these people, who somehow came out of this wretched experience with the two of you in tow, like they’ve adopted you into their family and have no intention of leaving you behind with the memory of this hell.

This could have been so much worse.

You have one more question. Only one more —one that you don’t think can be answered. Not right now.

But your heart aches with the pressure of it. “What if I’m just a reminder of all of this?” The words fall off your tongue with debilitating weight. Because you will remind him of tonight. He’ll never forget what happened tonight.

None of you ever will.

“All I see when I look at you is my future.” Yeosang meets your wide eyes, glancing at the shocked flush on your cheeks with a satisfied smile. “I get to be cheesy, I’m a songwriter. But I mean that, by the way. This will always be in our past. I can live with that if my future is with you.”

It should be cheesy.

It should be the sappiest line anyone’s ever given you.

But you’re searching yourself, eyes pricking with tears, chest thick with warmth, and all you find are the same words inside you. If your future is him, you can bear tonight.

It’s allowed to be the sappiest shit you’ve ever felt, because you almost didn’t live long enough to hear it.

“You’re right, you are cheesy.” You say, even though tears are slipping down your cheeks in direct opposition of your cool response.

He brushes them away with gentle finger tips, and then his lips are warm against your cheek. “It’s gonna be okay.” He kisses your face again, the words whispered softly in your ear. “I promise, it’s all going to be okay.”

You have to drop your face, overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion and the utter safety of his presence that completely encompasses you. You press your lips to his bare shoulder, wishing you knew how to tell him all the things that are bursting inside of you.

His arms wrap around your waist, the way they always seem to. He lifts you gently to sit between his legs, letting you lean back against his chest instead of the gritty, scraping texture of the bark. “Try to rest, Sugar.” He says against the curve of your throat. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Wrapped securely in the heat of his embrace, his heart pounding steadily against your back, you’ve never fallen asleep so quickly in your life.

A hand cupping your face startles you awake. The sun is high above you, warming your skin, shining bright light of day down on the forest around you.

Yeosang says your name, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. “Sugar, they’re back. Are you with me?” His hands move to rub up and down your arms as you slowly come back to yourself.

You feel like you’ve slept for hours. Stiffness throbs in your joints, your butt numb and aching from sitting on the hard ground for so long. The fog of exhaustion has lightened a little, and your eyes actually focus when you drag them around the movement happening in your group.

Wooyoung and San are awake now, on their feet, hurrying towards the edge of the tree cluster you’re hiding in. Mingi is sitting with Jimin, both of them craning their necks to see what’s happening.

Taegyeom is calm as he passes where you sit, rifle slung comfortably across his chest as he strolls by.

“What?” You sit up abruptly, clocking the excitement on Hongjoong’s face. “What’s happening?”

Yeosang puts his hands to your back to give himself room to get his feet under him, and he lifts you with him as he stands. “Woosung is back.” He tells you, keeping one arm strongly around your back until you get your bearings.

Looking into his face, you find him watching you with mixed curiosity and concern.

“He’s back? Is he okay? Is it…” You don’t dare to hope.

Your thoughts are scrambling to remember the plan, desperate to put the distant sequence of events in order.

They were supposed to come find you if they survived—but was that only in the event of everything else going completely up in flames? Or are they running? Are they hurrying back to you to escort you out of the country?

You can’t remember.

“Are they hurt?” You ask, trying to see through the trees. “What about the other two? Hajoon and Dojoon?”

“It’s all of them.” Seonghwa says, coming to stand with you. “Like, the Black Berets and all the enlisted men.”

Practically trembling with excitement, you turn back to Yeosang, gripping his arms where they fall around your waist. “What about the service station? It’s open now, right? Did we get any calls out?”

He’s nodding, pulling you closer, settling your weight against him when your bad leg buckles.

“Hongjoong and I went over there about an hour ago, as soon as they opened.” Seonghwa says. “We called everyone we could think of—they’re on their way and should be here soon. We just told them we got lost out here and needed help, and not to talk to anybody. They’re coming.”

They called for help.

People out there know you’re alive.

They’re coming for you.

“Oh my god.” You clutch tighter at Yeosang’s arm, both legs now weak beneath you. While you’re still trying to process the information, the fact that you’re so close to getting out of here, you hear the throngs of footsteps approaching your position.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks you quietly. “Can you stand? I can put you on my back.”

You’re shaking your head, too scattered by the conflicting hope of victory and the anxiety of bad news. If you have to pack up and start running, you’re going to need help.

But you have to hear the news on your own two feet. You have to face this, whatever this is.

“Not yet.” You let him support you, but no more than that. “Not yet, I’m okay.”

He helps you move closer to the outskirts of your little huddle until you’re standing next to Wooyoung and San, in full view of the entire army trodding in your direction, with Woosung in the lead.

“What’s the situation, hyung?” Taegyeom asks.

“What happened?” Wooyoung demands. “Is it over? Are they following you?”

“We had a front row seat to an utter shit show, that’s what happened.” Woosung utters with a weary sigh, coming to a stop in the middle of your group. “Those guys showed up shortly after you radioed it in, but by then it was too late. That whole field turned into a zombie outbreak. Those fucking parasites were everywhere.”

Hongjoong looks panic stricken. “Are they still out here? Are they loose in the forest? Holy fuck, it’s the end of the world.”

Seonghwa and Yunho are immediately restless, eyes on the ground, kicking at leaves and branches and bushes, as though the giant insects are going to burst out of the ground at any second.

You’re not so sure it’s not a possibility, yourself, until your gaze sweeps around the troops.

The soldiers are milling around wearily, falling into the grass with no apparent concern for an impending zombie apocalypse.

“They started popping out of the burning bodies and attacking the officers. When the reinforcements showed up, they were nothing but a buffet. Delivered like Door Dash right into the hands of those hungry fuckers.” Dojoon says. “I’ve never seen anything so disgusting.”

Hongjoong presses a hand to his chest and falls back against a tree trunk with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to hell for how relieved that makes me feel.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jongho mutters. “Adi-fuckin-os.”

Yunho smacks him right in the chest. “Don’t say that, dipshit, people died.”

“Bad people.” Jongho corrects him. “Bad people died.”

While a large part of you is weighing the same dilemma of unbelievable relief and somewhat heavy remorse as a result, you’re a little sick of letting yourself be a slave to guilt over things you can’t control. “They’re all dead?” You can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it—not if there’s bad news to go with the good.

Yeosang’s arms tighten around you. Even now, he refuses to let you go.

“They’re all hamburger.” Woosung corrects you. “We spent the rest of the time blasting those goddamn bugs to smithereens, waiting around for them to come out of the dead ones. We burned the bodies. Of the officers and the parasites. They’re all but ash now.” He casts a sweeping gaze over your faces, ensuring that the same number of you made it here that escaped the school yard. “I hope you guys are ready to put on the show of your lives. It’s time to go public and go home. And remember—last night was the best night of your lives.”

Silence falls over your group.

They’re all but ash now.

It’s time to go home.

Best night of your lives.

It’s over.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung breathes. “We’re going home.”

Woosung sits on a fallen tree, peeling his gloves off. “If you convince the world that nothing happened here, and if you convince everyone you know that you weren’t almost eaten alive.” He glances at Hongjoong. “You have a lot of work ahead of you.”

Hongjoong is already digging his phone out of his pocket. “We’ll start right now. I don’t want to give anybody any time to wonder what to do with us.”

Woosung hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got some of these guys bringing your vans up here. There won’t be any sign you were ever there.”

“Jimin,” you whisper, eyes flashing to where he’s still sitting with Mingi. He’s hunched over, palms pressed to his eyes, visibly trembling. You lurch towards him. “Yeo, please,” you don’t even have to finish your sentence.

He brings you to Jimin and helps you sit, crouching next to you.

“Chim,” you put your arms around your best friend and feel him throw himself against you, ragged sobs soaking into your shoulder. “Chim, we made it. It’s over.”

The forest around you comes alive with noise.

Wooyoung and San whooping with excitement. Yunho and Seonghwa laughing like all the tension and stress is just pouring out of them. Hongjoong frantically mumbling about posts and selfies and statements to release to the fans, voice trembling with exhilaration. Jongho barraging the Black Berets for more details, gleefully wringing them for information about the downfall of the men who did this to you.

“We’re going home.” Jimin rasps against you, laughter breaking through his sobs. “Oh my God, Sugar, we’re going home.”

“Yeo!” Wooyoung flies towards you with a shout, clearly intending to tackle his brother in a hug.

Yeosang glances at you, eyebrows lifted in question.

You’re smiling, blinking back tears, nodding for him to go. You’re okay. You’re all okay. All you want to do is see them celebrate.

You survived.

It’s over.

He touches your back, returns your smile with a toothy grin of his own, and then he’s gone, swept into San and Wooyoung’s arms.

“God, Sugar, I thought we were gonna die out here.” Jimin squeaks. He finally lifts his head, scrubbing at his face, and laughs at the sky. “Fuck last night and fuck those goddamn zombies.”

You don’t have time to join in the catharsis of cursing out the absolute hell you’ve just escaped, because Wooyoung and San have moved on to their next target, and now Jimin is crushed between them, helpless to do anything but cry with laughter as they squeeze him from either side.

You’re inadvertently pushed out of the group hug, but you don’t even care.

You don’t care about anything.

Hands catch you under your arms, and then you’re dragged up to face Seonghwa. He yanks you into a hug that knocks the air out of your lungs. “Thank you,” he says in a rush. “We couldn’t have done this without you. Shit, I’m so grateful for you, Sugar.”

You snort gracelessly into his chest. “You mean my zombie program that got us into this mess?”

He squeezes you tighter. “Girl, don’t even start. We’re all going for breakfast. I can’t wait for you to meet our team and everybody. God, we’re okay.”

Hongjoong appears next to you, looping an arm around you to join the hug. “Hell yeah, just as soon as we do an impromptu photo shoot. I need your help staging all of this, Sugar.”

You nod, easing yourself out of Seonghwa’s arms. “We can play the injuries off as horror makeup and prosthetics. If we make it fun and silly and talk about your upcoming episode, then we can go get you cleaned up and into fresh clothes and you can put out some more detailed content.”

Hongjoong is taking notes on the phone, already putting together concepts for solo and unit selfies. “Jeez, I don’t know if I remember my Instagram login. We’ll have to get our phones too. As soon as the vans are here we can do more.”

“We can do lives later, but they’ll notice we’ve still got scratches on our faces.” Seonghwa worries.

You wave off his concerns. “I have amateur makeup skills. I can cover up the scratches if I get a kit from one of our vans. As long as you cover the big bites with clothes, I can make sure no one notices.”

“Some of our fans are scary good at analyzing our content.” Hongjoong says, frowning. “What if they see the makeup?”

“Jimin can manipulate the footage so it looks grainy or choppy, like you’re filming on bad internet. We can cover you until they heal up.” You promise, touching his shoulder reassuringly.

His features loosen and a smile breaks over his face. “Okay. Good.” He turns away from you. “Wooyoung! San! Come over here and pretend you hope to get eaten by zombies again!”

While he trods off to orchestrate the first of your public cover-up, you scan the crowd. The forest is packed with soldiers, your friends dispersed throughout them at random. Jongho is still sitting with Woosung and Hajoon, Taegyeom and Yunho have gone to greet the arrival of the vans as they roar up the road towards the service station.

You can’t believe it’s over.

You’re gonna have to buy a new phone to call your mother.

As soon as you have a phone, any phone, you can arrange for a mobile triage unit to set up at your company to treat all of you discreetly, since they won’t publicize your company until after the episode is released. Nobody should be watching your building, as long as you can make it happen quickly enough.

Oh god, you’re gonna have to write a new zombie program for them to have an actual episode to release.

Fuck your life.

It’s going to be in your building, in the middle of the city, far away from the military, as short as possible, and intentionally the worst program you’ve ever written.

You hope they laugh all the way through it.

Your name reaches your ears and you turn, finding Yeosang pushing through the crowd to get back to you.

He collides with you with an exhilarated laugh, stealing you right out of Seonghwa’s arms. “I promise I’ll still take you to Vienna and Venice and wherever else you want to go but can we stay home for a bit first?” He teases, swaying you together.

Home.

You’re going home.

You can’t even give him an answer.

You tug him down and meld your lips to his, right there in front of everybody. Yeosang drags you against his chest, meeting your kiss with every ounce of fervor that you give him.

Seonghwa gives a shout of surprise, and somewhere you hear Wooyoung hooting at you, but you don’t care.

When you can breathe again, Yeosang rests his forehead against yours and smiles down at you. “Is that a yes?”

You kiss him again, soft and sweet, and he melts against you.

Your heart is singing.

Life may suck as soon as this moment is over, when you have to get work crafting the most important story you’ll ever write, a story that has to save your lives, but for right now, you’re completely alive.

“Let’s go home.”

< last chapter | masterlist

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[rosvaline]

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STORIES FROM MY YOUTH; NERO

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TOPIC: Nothing bad happened. Sparda returned that day, in time to save his family. Nothing bad happened. Eva tells 15-year-old Nero what stupid things Vergil did.

╰━─━─━──━─━─━≪≫─━─━─━─━─━─━╯

"Don't worry so much, my dear" Eva's calm voice rang out after opening the door to her grandson's bedroom.

"I'm not worried" he immediately denied, sighing on the bed.

"You worry, you worry. But you see, there are some things you don't know" a mysterious smile appeared on her face. She slowly walked over to Nero's bed, album in hand, sitting down by his hip.

"I think there are quite a few. But grandma, what can I say? Uncle is the stupid one - I mean... You know" he laughed, a little nervously, scratching his hair.

"Oh, you'll be surprised. Dante just likes to talk about it. And Vergil... he wasn't any better than him" she smiled gently, tucking her legs under her and opening the album.

"You can't be serious" he snorted, unable to imagine his dad being as stupid as his uncle.

"I'm very serious. You're a great example of that," she smiled softly, pointing to a photo of Nero and Vergil on his birthday.

Nero just turned his head to the side, wrinkling his nose, a little confused.

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" she laughed, almost innocently.

"About what?"

"Do you know how old they are?" she turned her head to the side, a little in disbelief that Dante hadn't once joked about it.

"Well, not really... Dad always told my uncle to shut up. I thought he didn't want to feel old," he stated, thinking for a moment about how every time Dante brought up their age, Vergil would throw something at him.

"When you were born, my dear, they were 19," she said calmly.

Nero looked at her, in disbelief. He analyzed it for a moment, looking for a funny joke, but he couldn't see anything.

"Seriously?" Nero couldn't help but laugh.

"Totally. Grandpa let him go on his 18th birthday to travel. He came back from it, with you," she explained calmly, patting his knees.

"Oh, so dad complains about me coming home after 9:00 PM, gets grounded for it, and he came back with a kid when he was only 19? Absolutely not funny," he said, folding his arms across his chest. Eva just laughed, remembering how Dante did that every time he was offended.

"Something like that, Angel," she settled comfortably next to her grandson. Her body wasn't in the shape it once was, but raising twins and then helping raise her grandson had cost her some of her youth.

"It's... Unfair" Nero finally said, looking at the wall of his room, as if he hoped the wall would answer him.

"I won't deny it. However, Dad does everything to protect you" she embraced the boy gently and pulled him into a hug.

"I know, I know... But still. These stupid rules" he sighed, resting his head against Eve.

"It's hard to disagree. However, to make this punishment more pleasant for you" she said, cutting off mid-sentence and placing an album on her lap, a very old album "I'll show you something" she opened it to the first photos.

"Dad and Dante have always been very different. But if there is something that connected them for many years it was getting into trouble" she pointed to photos of the young twins, most often in the mud or poking each other. "Vergil could pretend as much as he wanted, but everyone knew he loved arguing with Dante and fighting, that's just their nature. Constant rivalry in every area."

Nero looked with interest at the album he had never seen before. He listened as his grandmother told him about his father and uncle, people who in his eyes were completely different, with no similarities.

"I still remember how Vergil came back a bit dissatisfied on the first day of school," she laughed, scrolling through the album pages to the photos from elementary school. "As you know, uncle is... Quite chaotic and loves people. When finally, when they were 10, we decided to let them go to school, Dante couldn't get enough of the crowd of people he could talk to, run around in the yard. Socializing your uncle wasn't a problem... Unlike dad. When they came back, Dante had a lot of stories, and Vergil looked almost offended and abandoned..." She smiled gently, remembering her children's youth. It felt like yesterday, and yet she was telling it to her grandson.

"Didn't he read poetry or something to ignore his uncle?" He asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Vergil often read his favorite poetry book when he felt lost or lonely. That's why he carried it with him throughout elementary and high school. And he left with it too," she said calmly, kissing Nero's hair in a caring manner. "Dante had better connections at school and more friends, and Vergil had excellent grades. Although I won't deny it, I still remember him fighting some boy to the point of blood because he was bullying a girl a year younger than him," she laughed quietly, moving to the other pages of the album.

"And I'm talking about Aunt Lady," she laughed, pointing to the 16 year old Lady standing between a smiling Dante and a tired looking cat Vergil. "They were 17 years old then and from then on Dante made it his mission to watch Lady's back. And he did it until the end of high school and later when they started working together as demon hunters" she laughed, looking at the pictures of the three of them, unable to look away for a moment.

She wished she could go back to when her sons were little boys.

"So... Dad got into a fight?" Nero muttered under his breath. He didn't suspect that his father... well, was aggressive, in any way.

"You could say that. And more than once" she laughed seeing Nero's surprised expression.

"He wasn't much different from Dante in his teenage years, if we're talking about things like that. There were just a lot fewer of them and his grades were better than Dante's. Definitely better," she laughed. "That was always a problem. And honestly, Dante was always talented, but too lazy and preferred to copy others to have time for his electric guitar and motorbike." Nero laughed to himself at the memory of the guitar and motorbike. He remembered well how his dad had yelled at his uncle for taking Nero for a ride when he was 10.

"He always had his priorities, didn't he?" Nero sighed, picking up the album and scrolling through the pages. "Who's that?" He asked, pointing at a blonde woman who looked like Eva, but a little different.

"Oh, about her some other time, Nero, trust me. It's... a difficult subject," she smiled, apologetically, scrolling a few pages further and pointing to a picture. "This was taken about a year before you were born. Graduation, back then, your dear father had not slept at all. He spent the whole night reading new poetry books he had received because of his good grades. He looked awful after an hour of sleep. Dante couldn't stop laughing at him," she shook her head, remembering how she had applied makeup under Vergil's eyes so he wouldn't look so bad. "He had to ride a motorcycle with Dante then, because he couldn't drive. And Dante didn't want to ride in his car, stubbornly stating that he should ride a motorcycle with him, that he would wake up. And... He wasn't wrong" she laughed, pulling Nero closer to her.

One of the photos showed Vergil as if he was about to throw up, with his hair flying in every direction and his tie slightly loose. On top of that, a few buttons on his shirt were undone. Dante stood next to him, as if he was all that kept Vergil on his feet.

"Is that what he looked like at the end of the year?" he laughed, unable to believe that it was really his eternally well-prepared and organized father.

"Yes. But Lady managed to organize him to a decent degree" she laughed, scrolling through the next photos, where Vergil looked like a perfect student, flawless. Dante was still standing next to him, barely holding back his laughter.

"Aunt Lady is amazing. How did she put up with them?" she laughed, looking at the next photo, where Dante stood proudly, hugging Lady, and Vergil just stood there with no expression on his face except tiredness.

"I guess my cookies, teas, and Dante's charm" she laughed. At first she wasn't sure if Lady was a good friend for Dante, but after a while she realized that her son needed a woman with a really strong and maybe a little aggressive personality to put up with him, while also being a true friend.

"Oh yes, your cookies are the best thing there is!" he laughed.

"Don't sugarcoat it for me" she laughed, kissing Nero on the temple. "But as you can see, your father wasn't as saintly as he tries to be. He did a lot of stupid things, but about the worst ones... you have to ask Dante. He'll know the worst details" she laughed, stroking Nero's hair and hugging him close.

They spent the next few minutes like that, just looking through the photos. Nero mostly focused his gaze on the blonde, mentally noting that he had to ask Dante about her.

In my opinion, Vergil would be just as problematic, if not more so, when it comes to high school life😭

[sillygoofyqueer]

More of pookie @lyngracetalksnwritesnstuff's special AU made just for them (also known as Hanguang-Jun goes to the future AU)!!!

When Lan-Laoshi called Wei Ying out of the library and handed him his phone, he didn't expect it to be Lan-Laoshi's nephew. He also didn't expect to be asked to meet up for something related to his little hobby of trying to learn the extinct language making up the Lan precepts. But, who was he to deny the man? It was his family's language after all, so he wasn't going to disagree with his request! He called Jiang Cheng to look after the boys after Wen Ning started his half day at uni, and his didi agreed until cancelling at the last minute because he had forgotten about an arrangement he had apparently made with a friend - like he even made arrangements anymore! How dare he decide to suddenly have a life when Wei Ying had to attend an important meeting with his laoshi's nephew?!?! Aside from that minor setback, Lan-xiong had assured him that he could take them along, so he had done so.

He now kind of sits there, staring at Lan-xiong and what appears to be his direct copy except somehow more handsome, wondering how ratty he must look compared to them. He literally has a toddler on his lap, one that seems more determined to get the crumbs of his sausage roll on the both of them rather than in his mouth, and his other kid buried into his side, He loves his kids so much, but they aren't helping him look any better, which must be why Handsomer Lan-xiong is staring at him like he's just spat on his face and called him a slur. Despite this, he doesn't stop smiling, greeting the nicer looking Lan-xiong because he seems to be the one who called him, and is thankful to not be immediately told to leave because his presence insults the very air that the Lan breathe (something that has happened to him before, but it wasn't the Lans). Instead, he gets a warm greeting, with Lan-xiong introducing both himself and his genetic copy to him, and he doesn't get to open his mouth before A-Yuan is waving around his sausage roll in offer to Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan shakes his head, instead gently pushing it back towards A-Yuan's mouth, and Lan Huan is gently asking A-Yu his name and what he's drinking, so A-Yu whispers that his name's A-Yu and he's drinking hot chocolate but he can't spill it because of the mess. Wei Ying is just sat in the midst of it all, wishing that he had been able to buy a coffee to have something to do while these two men apparently charm his sons like it's nothing - but, he didn't want A-Yu and A-Yuan to have nothing to distract themselves with, so he forwent the coffee so he could afford their things. So he sits there until the men seeming remember he exists. Of course, then he's told Lan-xiong's entirely batshit insane story about how Lan Zhan isn't actually his genetically identical copy but is, in fact, from the past. He time traveled. And he also only speaks the language that Wei Ying has been researching all about between the uni assignments and the children and the two jobs. Oh, also he's magic!

Lan-xiong stares at him, waiting for his reaction, and all he can really do is shrug and say "alright." Like, he's had suspicions about the magic part for a while; during his research, he found that the Lan actually have a TON of books written in the forgotten language, but they keep them in what is basically a secret room, separate from the rest of the university. Lan-Laoshi was extremely hesitant to even show him it. A couple of these books have diagrams of weird...symbol things? in them, and he once sketched one of them out on a piece of paper for later research after his shift at the restaurant. Later, he had been indulging in outside floor time with A-Yuan and A-Yu in the nearby park, breathing in his surroundings and just relaxing, letting his mind clear of all thoughts - even keeping that when A-Yu broke his concentration to ask for a water bottle. However, his hand brushed against the notes he wrote as he went to grab the bottle and suddenly his bag was on fire and he had a burnt hand.

He actually explains this to Lan-xiong when asked about his nonchalant reaction, and Lan-xiong asks why he didn't think to tell anyone about it - as if it looked good for a random guy who looked like he took drugs to start ranting about magical symbols. Plus, discovering magic was just not fitting in with his schedule, he truly had so much to do before he even touched that topic. So! He instead grins and turns to Lan Zhan, being like "if you speak very slowly and very formally, I might be able to understand you a little." Wei Ying is aware that the resources he's had for learning a whole language are likely extremely formal compared to the casually spoken language, considering they're all rule-related or education of the Lan Clan related, so he's hoping that Lan Zhan can help him out learning these things more properly!

[nso-csi]

250614 Taemin bbl live

I've dong long hair but i wanted to try a new style so i'm growing hair my hair is curly this n this part it gets curled when i sweat even after straightened cr.

I saw shagyehan you saw my unintended silly side :) cr.

It’s nice to call like this after a while right? You guys have been asking me when is my comeback.. I’ll try not to comeback too late About fanmeeting, I’ll look into it since booking venues is a little difficult but my birthday.. which will come in a month.. I’ll try to do something special. cr.

he also talks about how mics nowadays are really great Taemin then explain more about sound reflections and Difference and said him and the members had many meetings to discuss these technical aspects (sounds, in ears etc) Ah! Even everone has different in-ear preferences. talks about spatial sense from the voices in the in ear and outside the inear and one preference settings Oh did I talk too much of such uninteresting things? cr.

Taemin talks how the sounds on his in ears can differ (eg. He talks about when he perform and when he goes and greets fans during SHINee concert.. like the drum sound can sound loud on his in ears or that the beats can sound slightly slower etc. and those things can differ Depends on the situation hence he will need to set it during rehearsal, the setting is different every time. The staffs are awesome, the members who did the rehearsal are awesome too! more sensitive fans can sometimes feel like ‘oh why do the artists dance slightly faster?’ It’s because the beats in and out of our in ear are different (in-ear is slightly faster) so when there are lots of people up on stage (group alignment) or with the dancers, we mostly takes off our in-ears. The timing for the artists to wear back their inears are different too During the concert (swcvii), there are times when I told the staffs to raise the volume in my in-ear.. it’s because we have lots of tracks and let’s say.. during live band session.. if I point my fingers up, it means I want them to raise the drum sound control so I can match it Easier, if i touch my lips and point upwards it means Increase the my sound monitor sound control. The orignal sounddata is somewhat removed for the live band to fill in eg. For View, it isn’t 100% instrumental only, we’ll remove the drums~ the accompaniment~ the bass etc. cr.

I wasn’t being mad though but even I agree I looked sensitive (mad). I may have been sensitive as well.. since I focus only on the sound on my in ear, if i can’t hear it since the start.. a lot of problem may arises (if he goes out of beat it can lower his overall performance condition) And if I can’t hear well, I will use my throat a lot and it will hurt faster, we sing a lot of songs on our concert and so we need to control our voices (throat usage) so we use just enough and not over exert. gives a brief explanation how it differs than using his voice/throat on karaoke cr.

Taemin talks about the sound problem he had at shinee concert: i wasn't angry even though i looked so ;) oh the heart hit 1 mil~! cr.

You want me to talk about the company dinner? There are actually lots of time we had companies dinner after having been active for so long, completing album promotions, finishing our concerts etc., back then I felt ‘ah, how tiring, I just want to rest’, I didn’t know the importance of it but recently…. Together with the people who worked alongside us, the stories only we know.. the company dinner (after party) is actually the only setting we can talk about it together Like saying ‘the sessions are really great and it gives me strength, thankyou’ etc. (We can also discuss) the minor mistakes only we know etc. Talking about those are all so fun. There’s this sense of bonding. These after parties are all so meaningful cr.

This time, Minho suggested it first but we gave the staffs who have worked hard together with us, gifts in random. A lot of people have also been with us for a long time and those who are affectionate of us as well. They’re divided into teams on each table and the members suggested that we go round the tables at the end. Before that, we also have the time to give out presents and thereafter we go to each tables saying our thanks, ‘that was fun’, ‘(to the performance director) hyung, why is your expression like that (during the concert)’ etc.

I’m actually not the type who drinks well, I don’t drink often.. there are people who don’t get drunk and those who do and I happen to be one who is able to get drunk so I don’t really go drinking parties.. but anyways (that day), I drank a lot! I really drank a lot! If I remember correctly, i drank for 3 rounds.. in the end.. I really.. this might sound weird.. I think I get off work (finished his drinking parties) almost on the time where people start going to workㅋㅋ When I got drunk, i thought I talked for about 10 minutes but then Minho hyung told me ‘hey! You’ve been talking about the exact same thing for an hour!‘ It has been a fun time~ There are lots of entertaining stories but the members probably remember it better than me. Later on when the members and I gather and we have something to say, we’ll share it since I don’t really remember it well! Be quiet! During the after party, I thought I should convey my thanks (to fans) while I’m tipsy.. like when I’m about to go for my 2nd round from my 1st.. But no, who knows what I might say while I’m not completely sober..and even if I do go live, I’ll probably just spew nonsense and end the live? Like ‘(in cute voices) everyone thankyou!’ It’s good that I don’t do so? cr.

He talks abt the after-party Taemin: i don't drink much usually as i'm the type who has hangovers i stayed there to the end like i left when ppl were starting to come to work cr.

[billiesleftboobie]

I love you

Billie Eilish x reader

Summary: a story inspired by I love you by Billie Eilish

Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide, break up, not proofread (let me know if I missed something!)

a/n: Heyy been a while since I dropped a fic. Anyway this is a bit shit and it had been sitting in my drafts for a while. I just got this little idea on the bus while listening to I love you so I wrote this and forgot about it. I didn't really check the grammar on this so if there are mistakes I apologise! Anywayy I'm sleepy and enjoyyy

I was told that to love someone you have to learn how to let them go. And maybe that is true. True but painful.

When it happened I wished that I was being lied to. I yelled "tell me it's not true," but no answer pleased me. I wasn't the one to cry. I usually bottled my feelings untill the bottle was too full and it overflowd. She helped to empty it before it all came crashing down. Before the sharp glass pieces would hurt me and others around.

My bottle was up to the brim when I heard the news. It shatterd, overflowd, spilled.

Everything started to go downhill two years ago on the night we separated. She came home late and exhausted. I waited for her. I always did. I was in my cozy silk pajamas and I ran to hug her when the door opened as I always did. But then came the 7 words that cut off pieces of my heart.

"I think we need to break up..."

"What are you talking about?'" I had said, disbelief was clear in my voice. I didn't want to believe her and I had hoped this was all a bad dream. Soon I'd wake up and she'd be there next to me, comfort me, kiss me. But it was all real.

My voice was quivering and my hands were trembling when I listend to her explain why. Why she'd break my heart so suddenly.

"Look... I've been feeling odd for a while now... I don't think I love you anymore. It's not fair for you to be stuck in a loveless relationship and I can't bare  getting you hurt in the process, I'm sorry"

Her voice sounded wobbly and it had a uncertain edge to it. She looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

I couldn't understand. Breathing suddenly felt heavier and my heart was pounding in my chest like it was trying to rip out of my body. Billie haden't been in the right mental space for a while and now all of this just raised my concearn.

"Why do we have to break up? Billie we can work through this... why are you leaving me... leaving us?"

I was shattering, it felt like a million pieces of glass were cutting up my heart from the inside.

Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes wouldn't meet mine. Her expression was screaming shame

"I just- I can't be here right now..."

She musterd out a sorry before she left. I tried to stop her. I needed her she couldn't leave. But she did

I was never the type to let someone see through me. Let someone in. All my life I had been scared to open up to people, living with my own thoughts crawling in my brain. But I had let her in. And now she had left with all of my secrets and aches.

By now my bottle was full. It was ready to spill any second. That night I didn't sleep. Not even a wink. Thoughts ran through my head as I hugged my pillow, pretending it was her. It still had her scent. Her sweet but musky scent. I was still in denial about all of this. Her messy explenation, exhausted form and eyes looking anywhere but mine was suspicious to me. Obviously my mind had ignored those signs in the heat of the moment.

Two days later, no texts, no calls, no reaching for me. I knew she didn't want to talk to me so what was I expecting. But after a week passed and there were no news of her in social media and she had made no new posts, I got this feeling something really bad had happened.

Three knocks echoed from my door and soon I'd get the most painful news of my life. The ones that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

She had passed away. Her own hands had taken her from me. She had taken herself from me. Out of reach. Out of sight.

I wanted them to take the words back. To tell me it's a lie, not true. My bottle shatterd. Flood gates opened and everything was let out. I crumbled to the floor, trying to catch my breath.

She had left me to make me have a reason to be mad at her, so it wouldn't hurt as much. It still did. She was in pain and I hadn't noticed. I mean I had noticed something; she felt off and her smiles didn't quite reach her eyes like they used to. But she still smiled at me even if she felt like dying. Her laugh felt more dull, less real. She felt less real.

Days passed, weeks passed, months passed. Every second of every minute felt dull, lifeless. She wasn't there to hug me anymore, cuddle me untill we fell asleep, laugh untill our stomachs hurt.

I still love her... but I don't want to. It's not easy to let go. There was nothing I could do or say, I couldn't escape the way I love her.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Soft Enough to Stay - the short story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - tiny bit of smut

You hadn’t planned for it to happen that night.

It was just dinner at your place. Something warm and simple. Barefoot in the kitchen while Alexia leaned against the counter, sipping wine and watching you with that soft amused smile she always gave when she was trying not to stare.

Conversation floated around work. Teammates. music. She teased you for the playlist. you teased her for picking the tomato slices off the bruschetta.

There was comfort in it. Familiarity, but crackling underneath, something more. That closeness had been building for weeks. Touches that lingered. Eyes that said too much.

You were both dancing around it.

So when you finally kissed her. When the room went still except for the quiet clink of her wine glass on the table and her fingers finding your face. It felt overdue, like something inside both of you exhaled.

The night unfolded naturally after that.

You ended up tangled in your bed. Legs twined together. The sheets half on the floor. Alexia was slow with you. Not tentative, but present. She asked with her eyes. With her touch. Every time her hands moved somewhere new, she watched your face like it held the answer.

When her mouth found your breasts, you inhaled sharply. She paused.

"Too much?"

“No,” you said. And you meant it... at the time. It felt good, better than good.

Like your body was finally being seen, not just touched. But your chest had always been a bit of a minefield. A sensitive spot. You’d never really explained it to anyone. How sometimes the gentlest pressure could leave you aching the next day. How there was this line between pleasure and pain that you didn’t always know was there until you crossed it.

But in the moment, it was worth it. Her lips. Her hands. They made you forget the rest.

She made you feel.

You woke up first.

There was sunlight pushing in through the curtains, and Alexia was curled against you. Hair a tangled mess over your arm. She was snoring a little. You smiled. Tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, and tried not to shift too much.

Your chest was sore. That tight, swollen kind of sore you knew meant inflammation. You winced a little, adjusting your top, but didn’ want to make it a thing.

Then she stirred. Groggy and warm. Murmured your name like it was a secret.

Her hand slipped under your shirt. Fingers brushing your side before gently cupping your breast.

You flinched.

She pulled back immediately. “Sorry. Did I...?”

You shook your head, cheeks burning. “It’s okay. Just… um. It’s a little tender this morning.”

Her brow furrowed. She sat up slightly. Still half-sleepy but fully focused now.

You hesitated. You didn’t want to make her feel guilty. “It’s not your fault,” you said, quietly. “I should’ve told you. I’ve always had this… issue. My breasts get inflamed sometimes. Even from light pressure. It’s weird. It’s embarrassing. I didn’t want to ruin the moment last night.”

Alexia blinked, then exhaled... not out of frustration, but something closer to heartbreak.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she said, voice low and certain. “You could’ve told me. I wish you had.”

“I know. I just…” You looked away. “I wanted to feel normal. Wanted to feel good. And I did. Just… now I feel like a balloon someone squeezed too hard.”

That made her laugh. Not at you, but gently, with love. She leaned over and kissed your forehead.

“You’re allowed to feel good and also need care after. That’s not weakness. That’s human.”

Her fingers brushed the side of your face. “Let me take care of you now, okay? Ice, tea, whatever you need. Or nothing. Just lying here.”

You hesitated, then nodded. Let her pull the blankets up over both of you. Let her spoon you close. Her hand staying respectfully at your waist now. Warm and steady.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel ashamed of your body.

You felt… safe. Wanted. Held.

[aliciavance4228]

Reading Shadow Of Perseus So You Don't Have To

Okay, before starting to actually dissect this book I cannot help but notice that the author inserted these fragments in her novel:

"Oh, look at me! I just copy n' pasted some random ancient texts in my shitty retelling to prove that I did my own search and I know what I'm supposed to write about. I'm so smart y'all! 🤓"

Anyway, this book is written from the POVs of different women from the life of Perseus. First we have Danaë's POV, then Medusa’s, then Andromeda's and then Danaë’s again. *sighs*

Chapter One

Danaë has a handmaid named Korinna. Which yes, I know that it's actually a greek name and that it comes from kore, but it's kinda funny to me since here Corina is that one middle-aged woman who sits on the balcony while gossiping the entire town and spitting seeds in your head.

Danaë is currently in Larissa, giving offerings at the temple of... Apollo and Artemis?! I'm sorry, but the author does know that these two generally had separate temples, right? Right?!

Are you gonna tell me that Danaë's mother is dead or something?! Or that Acrisius wants to remarry a girl who's probably younger than his own daughter instead of expecting a grandchild from her instead?! Bitch, that man was probably so old he needed two packages of Viagra™ and a hot chick to put a finger in his ass in order to get a boner if the best he was able to do in his prime was one or two daughters.

Side Note: We're still at the second page of this retelling, by the way...

Okay, we're told that Danaë never left Argos before but would want to travel around the world because... her cool uncle told her many stories throughout time. Are you gonna tell me that you're going to turn even Proteus into a nice guy just so that your Perseus would look like the ultimate Genghis Khan with a personality disorder?! Really?! I mean, SERIOUSLY?!

After leaving the temple the two women make their way to the city. But Danae knew they had no reason to fear. No one in Argos would dare harm the daughter of Akrisios, nor one of his slaves. Alright, quick question: How do people, who lived in an era where stuff such as television, photography, posters etc. didn't exist, knew how does the princess of Argos looks like unless she traveled so oftenly that citizens got used of her face? Especially considering the fact that back then women usually had a more secluded life.

"Argos had no shortage of men hoping to marry Akrisios’s only daughter. But as each one presented himself, her father found a reason to reject them. They were too fat, too thin, too poor, too wealthy, too foolish, too clever."

Sooo... basically any average balkan father? I'm confused, is this supposed to depict him in a worse light? Anyway, Danaë is now musing about how many men her father rejected even when she found them handsome and wanted to marry them for the rest of this chapter or so.

Chapter Two

Danaë turns back to the "Golden House" (which honestly sounds like some sort of a hotel which makes this retelling even more absurd) where she finds her father and uncle complaining again.

Not gonna lie, this is the most accurate fragment from this book so far.

Danaë then joins her cousins at the table, which by the way have the exact same personality (none, that is), divided into three.

"Like his twin brother, Danae’s uncle had begotten no sons, and yet he did not seem to resent the fact. He doted on his three daughters as if they were the greatest gifts the gods could have bestowed."

First of all, Megapenthes is right here! Second of all, the greatest irony out there is that Acrisius DID love and care for his daughter before finding out about the prophecy, which makes her imprisonment even more tragic. Sanitizing the exact same depraved fossil who assaulted Danaë and even his own daughter in one obscure source in a so-called "Feminist" retelling should perhaps make you consider to abandon writing this book. Unfortunately we're only at chapter 2 and there are 44 more chapters that will follow. *sighs*

"Her grandmother used to say that they had quarreled even when they were in the womb, and although Danae knew she was joking it didn’t seem improbable."

Oh trust me, she was NOT joking! By the way, did you know that Danaë’s mother died when she was little? Because why would one explore the bond between a mother and a daughter when you could have her be in a good relationship with her pedo uncle? Booooooooooring!

Acrisius' chief emissary then suddenly appears, telling him that they received a message from the Oracle and has to talk to him in private. Acrisius then finds out that he won't be the one who'll have a son, but his daughter, and that said son will eventually kill him. Acrisius is not so happy y'all.

Chapter Three

Danaë is currently in her prison for two days. I'm sorry, but this is supposed to be a disturbing, hearbreaking moment and yet this is how it reads like:

Her uncle shows herself to be appalled by his brother's actions and wants to see his niece, because of fricking course! 🙄

Because sitting in a room all day is boring and she runs out of hobbies Danaë asks one of her servants to bring her a lyre to occupy herself with, which she does. This chapter ends with Danaë playing the instrument while crying because of her paranoic father.

Chapter Four

One week later Danaë receives a visit from the baker's son named Myron, which turns out to be some uncooked OC (pun intended). By the way, Myron is a stupid name to choose for someone from the Late Bronze Age (we have it too under the variant of Miron), since it literally comes from myrrh which has a greater importance in Abrahamic religions especially. Back to the plot, Myron tells Danaë that he has heard her playing the lyre and fell in love with her music so he decided to visit her, and gave her a cake as a gift before leaving, promising her it's not the first time when he'll pay her a visit.

This is the dumbest chapter so far, because what do you mean Acrisius is senile enough to let his daughter in a chamber anyone could enter in without much difficulty if the entire point of her imprisonment was to keep her a virgin so that she won't give birth to a son?! And before asking: No, that guy didn't came in through the window, because that room has no windows to begin with; he simply used the door just like any normal person. At this point I'm wondering how is Danaë supposed to be isolated if all she would have to do to escape is to open that fucking door, and those guardians are clearly not doing their job.

Chapter Five

Danaë is now waiting for the uncooked OC to come to her that night (pretty sure the accidental innuendo was actually intended). He turns back with another piece of cake, then starts to tell her about his family drama, poverty and how he intends to live Argos with a ship. Danaë is all in heat because it's the first time she's so close to a boy, and he's also quite nice and handsome too.

"friend" pretty sure this guy will soon father Perseus, so before reaching another chapter here's my advice:

Chapter Six

The uncooked OC is visiting Danaë every night. Danae realized she had never really had a friend before. A true friend. Not her cousins bound to her by blood and forced proximity, or her handmaid bound by servitude. Myron owed her no loyalty. He asked for nothing from her. Don't you guys love it when a supposedly feminist retelling has a woman having a stronger bond with a male OC than with the canonical female figures she might have actually been close to? I know!

One day Danaë receives a visit from her father, after about a month or so ever since he locked her away. Danaë then begs him to release her, telling him that as long as he rejects any suitors or makes a priestess she won't bear any children, to which he makes it clear that she could still get pregnant via seduction or rape and this is the safest possible way to avoid the prophecy, then leaves.

"And it was then that she knew his true fear. He did not fear her but her body—the life it could bring, and the death. Its permeability, its fatal fecundity. This was no new threat. He had defended against it all her life. The oracle had only made his fear greater, the stakes higher. And with that realization she knew she was lost."

Something tells me that the author was thinking "I'm a genius." while writing this and started to self-compliment herself as if she wrote Oppenheimer's "Now I am become Death." speech.

The uncooked OC visits her that night again and Danaë tells him about her conversation with her father. He then tries to comfort her, and they start to kiss and fuck.

Chapter Seven

This chapter is only three pages (not that the other would be much longer anyway), and it's basically just the uncooked OC telling Danaë that he could help her escape, and run together far from Argos. But they don't really come with any plan at all, because Danaë still hopes that her father will change his mind one day and free her anyway.

I'm sorry girl, but just because you don't believe in prophecies or in getting pregnant after the first time that doesn’t mean that your father shares the exact same beliefs as yours, nor that he will free you for asking him politely.

Chapter Eight

Danaë discovers that: "Oh well, you could ACTUALLY get pregnant after the first time!" and realizes how stupid and desperate she was all this time. Her servant is the one who observed her nauseous moods sooner and informs her father about it, and he quickly realizes that his daughter might be in fact pregnant.

But Danaë still didn't figure out that the handmaid already suspects something, so she cuts her tight with a knife and stains her rags and wool with blood so that she would believe she didn’t lose her periods. But exactly in this moment her father enters her chambers and discovers her trickery.

Friendly reminder that the original Danaë managed to keep Perseus hidden for three or four years, while this one wasn't able to hide her pregnancy in the first place.

Chapter Nine

Danaë is held captive for a while, this time in her older bedroom instead of her prison, crying about how she can no longer see her beloved uncooked OC boyfriend again until her father asks her to come with him. They travel during nighttime in a wagon for a while, before they stop nearby the sea. Acrisius then asks his men to bind his daughter and throw her in a boat, then cast the boat into the see because he is a "pious men" and would rather know his daughter killed by the waves of Poseidon than his own hands. Danaë begs for forgiveness when her pedo uncle suddenly appears:

Proteus wasn't able to save his niece, so she's tied thrown into the boat anyway.

Chapter Ten

Danaë bemoans her own fate while pregnant and tied into the boat, praying that Poseidon won't cast any storm. I'm sorry, but this chapter alone is only three or four pages, and extremely dumb for numerous reasons:

1) The chances of a pregnant woman devoided of any food to not die are very low, let aside to not lose her pregnancy. Perseus was already a baby or a small child and Danaë wasn't tied in the original myth. Not to mention the fact that here she isn't in a chest but in a boat, making her more vulnerable and exposet to any danger.

2) Danaë and Perseus weren't completely abandoned, but protected and safely carried away by Poseidon and the Nereids. But because in this shitty retelling there are no gods the fact that her and her fetus somehow survived is less credible.

3) This is the distance between Argos and Seriphos, by the way:

There's no way that trip lasted for only one day or a few hours.

That boat is eventually found by Dictys and other fishermen, who manages to safely rescue Danaë.

[hancfubuki]

caleb’s joy suddenly falters for a single second at the mention of another woman, the one he guesses, is the same rafayel calls a betrayer. he knew about her, bur hearing from him directly they shared a bath together simply annoys him. as far as he remembers, the lemurian told him he was the one taking his first kiss, his first everything. yet, sharing a bath seems way too intimate to do it with a stranger. he tries to act composed, his gaze softening with a hint of intensity behind it, a possessive glance that it’s almost impossible to ignore. his head tilts slightly, fingers brushing against rafayel’s neck. “i can’t imagine why she thought that was the right temperature for you.” his words are gentle, casual, but carrying an undertone that betrays his calmness. and so, he leans forward, his head resting on his shoulder as his thumb moves to the edge of his jaw. “i mean, not everyone can understand what you need. it takes… attention. effort.” his gaze flickers down for a moment, jaw tightening as usual when he gets jealous at his own thoughts, this time, picturing rafayel in another bath with someone else. “but you don’t need to worry about that anymore.” he leans in, voice dropping to a murmur as his lips curve in a soft, possessive smile. “because i’m here now. and i won’t let anyone else near you to mess with your water again.” he places a kiss to his jaw before letting go. a promise along with words to claim him, thinking that he wants to be the only one to share this kind of intimacy with him from now on.

yeah. it didn’t matter anymore. caleb is the one with rafayel now, and whoever that woman was, she was nothing more than a horrid memory for the lemurian. the constant glances shared in between also reassured him about this. his palm occasionally laying on top of his knee, gently petting him as he speaks to gideon until it’s time to go. “i have good tolerance, yes.” even when his cheeks are slightly red, but mostly it’s because of the gesture. the soft kiss placed on his lips as he hums happily in response, wanting for it to linger for more seconds and stay connected until they are out of breath. he sighs when rafayel pulls away, the needy look on his eyes asking for more, even when he is aware that’s dangerous for both of them. if they kiss, they won’t stop, and the night will fall with no chances to explore the town a bit more.

as they step out of the tavern, the golden glow of the near afternoon basks the streets in warm hues. the sounds of the market are close, vendors calling out their wares, children laughing, and the faint melody of street musicians tuning their instruments somewhere in the distance. caleb walks a step behind rafayel at first, glancing at his profile and how the light played off his features, a flush creeping up his neck. ridiculous. they just had a moment of intimacy, yet he somehow feels shy about holding his hand. but to be fair, there’s something different about the simplicity of this moment. as he steps closer and without a word, his hand brushes against rafayel’s, curling his fingers around his. the hold grows firmer after a few second, thumb tracing small circles against his skin. “i don’t want to lose you in the crowd.” he says. a weak excuse he doesn’t even need yet somehow it helps him to hold back the urge to pin and kiss him again. after all, holding rafayel’s hand feels natural, yet every time he does it, his heart still races. the sound of the musician gets closer, and they finally find themselves in front of a crowd that’s listening and dancing.

they could see the bard sitting on a wooden stool, cradling a lute with well-worn strings. their fingers move with ease, a soothing sound, like a lullaby, carrying a story without words. he squeezes rafayel's hand for a moment, looking back at him expectantly to see his reaction. "what do you think?" caleb is not well versed in music, so to him it sounds good as long as it's enjoyable, but he wants to listen to the critique of someone like him. "do you make music, seashell?" now he is eager to learn more about the lemurian.

Rafayel gives a little huff through his nose, tilting his head when Caleb teases him again. "I liked our bath. You made it nice and warm, but the last time I was here, that woman made the water so hot I thought she was trying to boil me alive!" He plays up for the dramatics, head tilted back like he's appalled. "I would have believed it if she hadn't stepped into that same water, as if it was nothing." He shakes his head as if in disbelief, wondering just why she had decided it was the perfect temperature when it left his scales feeling weak and nearly falling after the quickest little dip.  An experience he never wants to go through again, if he could help it, seeing as it was incredibly uncomfortable.

Silence falls upon the Lemurian as he listens to Caleb's conversation with Gideon, giving them space to catch up, laughing softly and leaning close to catch every detail. It's a rare chance for him to learn more about the man, so he takes in every story that might give him a hint to his behavior and adventure in Gideon's words, blue and pink eyes taking in every different expression he made from the corner of his eyes. He knows he isn't being as discreet as he could be, only hiding his face with a glass raised to his lips every so often to drink that sweet wine, his gaze sideways as he admires the other's smile and ease as he converses with his friend. Their eyes meet enough times for Rafayel to realize Caleb was keeping an eye out on him as well, which encourages him to drink without worry. The truth is, they had wine like this in Lemuria as well, though the taste was different. Alcohol was also brought from the upper world sometimes when ships were sunk, and he admittedly had had his fair share of messing around with his friends and taking a curious sip. Maybe he had never told Caleb of this, seeing the way he hovers and puts a hand to his lower back as Gideon leaves them, effectively giving him an opening to lean against the Captain without a word after receiving a kiss to his cheek.

"I like music. I wouldn't be opposed to listening to songs created by landlubbers," he jokes softly, giggling airily as his head lolls till it's on his shoulder. "Tipsy... Maybe a little." The admission comes with a dazed sigh, straightening himself and smiling with the softest flush to his cheeks. "Just enough to feel good. You had quite a few as well... Are you alright?" He reaches up, cups his cheek gently to caress-- and as if it's the most natural thing to do, the Lemurian gets on his tiptoes, lips brushing against the other's in a short little kiss. "Let's take a look at the performances, then you can take me to the pier. If there's enough time, we can walk all the way out to enjoy the sunset on the sea's surface."

[bethagain]

I can't believe they fridged Izzy.

[jojo-schmo]

I'm updating my personal ref sheets and it's really hitting me just how SMOL Kirby, Bandee, and Elfilis really are compared to the rest of the cast.

[bitchfitch]

I had a shrink appointment today and while I could not see it I knew my doc was going through the five stages of grief while I explained my fool proof strategy for doing my t shots despite a crippling fear of needles: By abusing my vastly more crippling fear of being an inconvenience.

My mother and I play phasmophobia together every week. she usually has a pretty limited time to do this bc she's like. a doctor and a college professor whos always busy. So I asked her to just. hold me to doing them. We don't start playing until the shot is done. so my needle fear doesn't matter because now it's Wasting™ her time and I have to do it quick. Using one neurosis to defeat another.

It's a horrible coping mechanism because it's feeding the inconvenience fear, but it is definitionally a coping mechanism.

[carpesabrina]

The blonde nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Like I don’t want things handed to them. But I  also don’t want them to work as hard as we did.” Her especially, she had worked hard as a teen a very young adult. She didn’t want that for any kids in her life. She would help them acheive whatever goals they had, and she hoped by the time they got to that point, her own career was big enough to really help. “A big old party. I hope you realize It’ll be an all night thing. Drinking and eating until 3am. And then fucking the rest of the time.” She said teasingly. She was hoping that they wouldn’t get too drunk on their wedding night where they couldn’t at least make love that night. She had heard plenty of stories of it not actually happening the night of the wedding. “I can’t wait til everyone calls me Sabrina Friedman.” She knew professionally she still had to go by Carpenter, she couldn’t just change her name when it came to the music. But personally and legally she could change her last name to Friedman.

“30 seats?” She asked for confirmation from him. “That’s it? Are you inviting any of your coworkers? There’s more than 30 at AEW.” She pointed out. Sure, she didn’t expect him to invite everyone from his work. Obviously, she didn’t want his ex to get invited to the wedding. But 30 seemed a little low for what she had pictured. “Yeah, my friends are your friends, we’ll make it work.” She said as she patted his bicep. She looked up at him again as he spoke, shaking her head. “I’ve always been honest with you when I keep saying New York. I want to get married in New York. Whether it’s in the city or Long Island. But I want to be here. This is our home just as LA is.” She loved Pennsylvania and knew they could find a cute little place to get married there. But New York just felt right in that moment. When she pictured their wedding, it’s what popped into her head. Kelly nodded at Max’s questions. “Yes, there’s chairs and tables in the ballrooms.” She told them, and then brought them back through the two bigger ballrooms so they could really look at them again. She said if they had any questions to feel free to call her up before she left them alone. “I really like this place over the other one that we looked at.”

"See cute kids that will make cute babies." He told her as he smiled back at her. He could see why she wouldn't want to be attached to those albums even though she sounded great. They weren't her vision or her life and so she didn't relate to them as much. Now she was the CEO of her own brand and could write and sing whatever she wanted as well as have whatever cover on her album she wanted. Max hadn't expected her to want him on a cover, never dreamed of it but when she asked him, he wasn't going to turn her down. What his princess wanted, he tried to give her. "Yes they well and won't have to work as hard as we did. Sure, I want them to work for things but not have to claw their way there." He didn't know if that made sense or if she would agree but he never wanted their kids to feel pressured to do something to succeed. Seeing her smile as they talked about Vegas as opposed to their real wedding made him smile too. "Yes, a party to celebrate our love and join our families as one." Everything was going smoothly, the lawyers had already met and Max and Sabrina signed off on the prenup agreement. Not fuss, no muss, what was his was his and what was hers was hers. He never wanted her money and she didn't need his.

"Hey, you know everyone and I don't know who you want to invite. I just want to make sure you can have who you want there. I need 20 seats maybe 30 if I add a few more work people. The rest is all you, baby." He felt her squeeze his hand and wondered if she really wanted it in New York. "Be honest with me, do you want us to get married in New York? Because if you do we can and you don't have to look up stuff in Pennsylvania. You made some good points and if that's where your heart is then we'll do New York." He nodded at the woman and walked out with Sabrina to go to the next location. He was content as they walked in to let her handle everything and stood back listening and admiring her take charge and talk for them. "Yeah we have to have a dance floor. For the father daughter dance and our first dance together as a married couple, plus we all like to dance and I'm Jewish so we'll be doing some of my religions traditions." He wanted so bad to say his wife was a dancer and so were some of her friends so no way they weren't going to be dancing. "We would need one of the bigger ones and do they have a reception area? We'll be eating and drinking so we'll need one of those too." He sounded so clueless to himself as he spoke, nothing educated like Sabrina but he was trying to help.