#anyway every time one of these scenes pop up i can't help focusing on how awk/uncomfortable it had to be to film

[cherrynotdairy]

what is with romance dramas and kissing underwater i cannot think of a less romantic place to kiss. if someone tried that move on me i'd panic so hard i'd probably break their fucking nose

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Okay so I was watching heathers and I had an idea for Freddy x reader. Reader has an absolute dickhead in their family who treats her like crap and who she's dreamed about the death of many times and Freddy's been watching her through her dreams and kills the person.

"I prayed for the death of Heather Chandler many times. I felt bad every time but I kept doing it anyway. Now I know you understood everything."

I haven't watched heathers so I'm sorry if I got anything wrong. Dreaming freedom, anyone? And btw, Heather doesn't die by chemical poisoning here.

Warnings: mention of death and choking, stabbing, gore, weight shaming on Chandler's part, Reader's kind of psychotic, Freddy is a perv, OOC can't write freddy to save my life. Shit writing.

Relationship: romantic (I think?) Platonic romantic.

Freddy Krueger x reader!

You weren't too fond of the narcissistic manipulative and cruel bitch of a person in your family named "heather chandler"

You couldn't help but dream about her dying tragically or some other way. You felt kinda guilty but she always thought she was better than everyone else and didn't even try hiding it from anyone. She's aware and that's what pisses you off even more.

Your guilt would vanish temporarily every time she does a dick move on you. It got so bad to the point you would pray to whatever higher being is up there that she would just die already, you didn't care how or when.

This was especially amusing to the Freddy Krueger. He has never seen a person hate someone this bad before, it got him wondering what the hell this person had done to die so many times in your dreams.

"Oh y/n, it's been so long." The blond he knew as Heather, said. "It seems you've... Put on/off so much more weight than last time I've seen you, you look fine though." She tried to make it sound like she was reassuring you. Inevitably it pissed you off.

"Hah-" Something got stuck in her throat as she put a spoon of something into her mouth. She made gagging noises while holding her throat, unable to cough it out her face turned red and blue as she panicked.

"Heather are you okay!?" Her posse came up to her side, one of them hitting her back to get rid of the piece of food in her esophagus but to no avail.

You watched in silence as everything seems to slow down and blur, eyes focused on the dying body of your relative. Heather's panicked eyes as she stared into yours, her face full of fear and blue with her veins popping out at her temple.

Freddy was watching the scene with you, (not that you knew) this was however one of the more tame deaths, he saw some brutal scenes. It was more than enough evidence to hint that Heather treated you like absolute shit. And she did and said things much worse than your weight.

Inevitably Freddy became fascinated with you this way. It was a level of disturbingly sexy as he would describe it. A girl almost as blood thirsty as him. (only towards one person but you get the point) Now looking forward towards night time more than ever, I mean, sure he's still haunting kids in their dreams and killing them but it's special when he's into yours. Occasionally acting as some background character or one of Heather's little minions while watching what kind of death you're dreaming about this time.

You stepped into her house, pulling out a knife from one of her kitchen drawers. And stepping up into her bedroom – you opened the door and hid your hands behind you.

"Good morning, Heather." You greeted with a smile, which caused Heather to immediately rouse from her sleep and sit up quickly.

"Reader... How the hell did you get in here?"

"Heather, I wanna apologize."

"Oh do you?" She retorted sarcastically.

"Again, how did you get in he-"

"No, not for that." You cut her off.

Before Heather could question you for the third time, you moved your hand from your back to your side – revealing the knife you had in your hand earlier. Causing her to become alerted.

"Reader, what do you think you're doing?" She asked and backed into her bed further. You approached quickly and held onto her arm – then you swiftly stabbed the knife into her chest, ripping through her night shirt, watching her scream as blood immediately flowed out flawlessly and down onto her lap and bed. Pulling out the knife and stabbing it back in again until blood travelled up to her throat from the inside and started choking on it. A big hole in the middle of her chest, if you wanted to you could reach in and grab her literal heart.

After a while both you and Heather C were covered in blood. She was dead though obviously, she laid lifeless on her bed with a dark river of red from her mouth as the cherry on top along with the bloodbath on her bed. Freddy watched the whole scene with a twisted sense of amusement and an attraction towards you stronger than ever. Seeing you covered in blood like that was arousing him more than he thought it would.

Freddy sighed and decided with a smirk that he would fulfill your wish and kill Heather for you. Of course, he leaves traces on you secretly to watch you outside of your dreams. He snickers to himself every time he catches you actually praying for Chandler to die. God, you hated her guts in every sense of the words. And to him it was the most hilarious thing ever. He felt you slowly starting to wake up.

A few days later at school, you heard from your friends that Chandler died. Actually died.

Apparently she was found dead in her bed with claw marks on her body, along with a deep hole in her chest. Similar to the one you had in your dream... You felt both a rush of nervousness and guilt. For some reason you felt like it was your fault she died. But it wasn't, how could it? She died in her 'sleep mysteriously'. You had nothing to do with this.

With that you went to bed that night peacefully. No more dreaming or praying for the death of Heather C, as she was finally gone.

Freddy had no plans of letting you sleep peacefully.

As you woke up, (in your sleep) you sat up and looked at the figure a few feet away from your bed. A man.. Burnt-through the-skin man wearing a fedora hat, with metal claws and... Christmas themed shirt?

"Are you happy, Reader?" The man asked, his voice was gravely deep and distorted.

"Happy for what?"

"That your worst enemy, Heather fucking Chandler is dead."

"Oh..." Man, this is a weird dream isn't it? You thought. And you swore the man smirked wider. "Yes, I am quite happy about it-"

"I promise you, dear, this is no ordinary dream."

"Wait what."

"And you'll be very happy to hear that i killed that bitch for you. Aren't you glad? Reader." He strided towards you.

"Why don't you thank me?"

You only looked at him in silence, kind of scared and suspicious.

"What, don't believe me?" He scoffed and leaned in, causing you to back away. But you hit the wall. (Or the edge of your bed.) He leaned in close, his breath fanning against your face as his eyes bore holes into yours. Then the moment he licked your face you immediately screamed and woke up. You looked at the window, it was around 4 am and the sky was just now turning blue.

You sat up straight and huffed, rubbing your cheek and you reeled when you realized it was slimy and wet. Wait, it was wet?

"Believe me now?" The same distorted voice asked. You snapped your head towards the direction of the voice. The man was now leaning against your drawer, his hat covering part of his face except for that shit eating grin.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming, or I'm going insane."

"You're not."

You only sighed and got out of your bed, slipping on your inside shoes.

"You really killed Chandler?" Your question was met with a smug nod.

"I did. Took my time as well, she was a real asshole I tell ya. But you already know that all too well don't you? want me to tell you her last words?"

"No that's... Fine." Freddy snickered at your response.

You stared out the window. "I prayed for the death of Heather Chandler many times. I felt bad many times but I kept doing it anyway. Now I know you understood everything."

He only smiled wickedly. "I hope you find more people that you hold a grudge again. I wanna see what more sick ideas you can come up with."

You groaned softly. Is this going to be a permanent thing?

"Yes, it will."

You frowned at him. Fuck, he can read your mind?

"Yes... I can." You rolled your eyes at his response. How annoying.

[mercurial-vroom]

Hi Meg!

I just finished binge reading GTG and hopped on straight here to yap about it.

I don't think I've EVER had this much fun reading any fic!!! The humour was, the EASTER EGGS from irl F1, the pace, the group dynamic and ofc CarCar!! You guys are absolute geniuses! The jokes during the group interactions were especially my favourite but nothing will beat the utter chaos of the gc when Lando outed CarCar. I had to legit stop reading to laugh at that one for at least a couple of minutes straight!!

And your Charles has got to be my most favourite Charles from ANY fic based in ANY universe!! Loved loved loveddddd his ditzy characterisation.

If you do actually end up writing more for this universe - which I hope you do - I sure hope you consider writing a gc interaction at some point. I would totally not mind the entire spin off or multiple chapters being solely in the chat format. You guys are hilarious, your humour is top notch and so is your writing so I'm sure you'd COOOOOK with it!! And I'd gobble it up!!

Okay that's enough rambling haha. Just, thank you for writing this beautiful fic and for sharing it with the CarCar fandom. We definitely need more CarCar enthusiasts like you to keep this ship sailing!

Wahhhh this is the absolute kindest ask I've ever gotten! Thank you so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️ We had just so so so much fun writing Grill the Grid, and it makes me immensely happy that people are getting even a fraction of the same joy and laughter out of reading it that we got from writing it.

And I am definitely planning to add more to the GTG-verse! At the risk of making promises I may not 100% deliver on, we already have a couple ideas that we're considering for little bonus oneshots or follow-ups (none are guaranteed to actually be written, but we're having lots of fun spitballing concepts):

An entirely groupchat-based spin-off, like you said! I wrote all the messaging bits in the original story, and they were so fun to do... the texts from the "CarCar get caught" scene in Ch 9 came out of me literally jolting awake at like 4am one day with them having popped into my head fully formed, and I had to frantically type them up in my notes app before I went back to sleep and forgot all about them.

Something Maxiel focused - Their developing background relationship was a really fun part of the story to write, so I've definitely been thinking about ways to make them the focus of a spin-off... either something going back into how their relationship came to be/what they really got up to at that holiday party, or maybe something in the future, like a fluffy little oneshot of Max helping Daniel come up with questions for a week he's not going to be there (including lots of couple-y bickering and subsequent makeup sex, ofc).

The Chaotic Adventures of Charles - My husband sent me this idea in the middle of a workday last week, and I can't stop laughing every time I think about it. 😭😭😭 The idea of Charles getting into Situations all day and then having a Slumdog Millionaire-esque sweep of trivia that night (to everyone else's immense surprise) based on the random things he learned is soooo funnysilly to me. He is allegedly drafting up an outline for me of this and was responsible for most of Charles's funniest lines/general aura in Grill the Grid, so we will see!

4. Galex? - I adored writing Galex's dynamics and would love to write a whole spinoff chapter that focuses on them, but I am stumped by the fact that I never actually decided whether they are together or just, like, intense platonic soulmates. So maybe that's something to be explored? Though I also don't want to ruin their intentional aura of mystery!

5. CarCar in Spain - I've thought a little "meeting the family" oneshot of Carlos and Oscar in Spain for the holidays could be fun... possibly alongside snippets of a trivia night back in Austin that goes very unsuccessfully without their presence, lol.

Anyway, for anyone who enjoyed Grill the Grid enough to read through this entire stream-of-consciousness text wall -- would love to hear what type of spin-offs you'd be most excited to see, or if there are other ideas or characters you think could be fun to explore!! ❤️

[starculler]

I'll finish this thought properly later but Batman AU where Bruce sees ghosts

He's always been able to since he was a kid, even used to talk to them until he stopped being so little and imaginary friends were a less acceptable reason to be talking to the air. He thinks it might be an inherited trait, but his memories with his parents are so fuzzy by now and he never did work up the nerve to ask Alfred, so.

He just lives his life like this. Solves crimes 90% of the time with his own skills and intellect, and occasionally gets help from an aggrieved ghost.

And then he goes to Haly's Circus. The Graysons die, all three, in the middle of their act, but only one sticks around. Little nine-year-old Dick hovers over his parents' bodies, shoving fruitlessly at people he can no longer touch when the cops come to process the scene.

Bruce lets himself be herded out with the crowds, but can't help staring at the too-small ghost from the corners of his eyes when he returns as batman not too much later. Nor can he ignore when the kid starts popping up all over Gotham, fury sparking off his blurry edges and well on his way to becoming something much more malevolent.

It's always been his rule not to get involved beyond an occasional errand or solving a murder - supernatural problems are better left to experts, and no matter how much Bruce can see ghosts, magic's never been in the cards for him. He'd tried when he was younger, the grief of his loss burning under his skin, and convinced he could bring his parents back if he could just manage one little spell. Needless to say he'd given up and focused on much more practical pursuits, swearing off magic and the supernatural as much as his inherent ability allowed. But there's just something about this one kid.

In the end, he just can't help himself. He gets involved.

Gotham's night is especially damp and dreary when he finds the child on a rooftop. He watches from behind his cowl's lenses as the kid shoots him furtive glances every so often, seemingly debating with himself before steeling his resolve.

"The others say you can see us."

It's not a question, but Bruce answers anyway. The kid -- Dick, he introduces himself later -- talks his way into staying at Bruce's side while he investigates the Graysons' murder (and maybe, this once, Bruce doesn't fight him too hard. There's no where and no one to return this child to, and maybe Bruce can see some of himself in those not-quite-opaque blue eyes).

When they find and apprehend Zucco, Dick disappears. Bruce is almost sure the kid's faded away like most of the ghosts he helps (and if he has to ignore the tightness in his chest at that thought then so what?). At least, he thinks so until he comes back to the Cave (the Batcave, Dick had called it at one point and Bruce hadn't found it in himself to argue the silly name) and finds Dick perched on the Computer's console, kicking his feet like it's just another Tuesday to be spent running down leads.

"You're still here," he says, dumbstruck. Dick rolls his eyes and flashes one of those big performer's grins that Bruce has come to learn mean mischief is afoot.

"'Course I am! I knew you'd be lonely without me, B."

Bruce doesn't respond. Dick doesn't leave. And if Batman gets a little more involved in supernatural matters than he had previously, well that's no one's business but his and the odd little bird at his side.

[angry-geese]

Fluorescent Adolescent

Itadori x Reader x Sukuna

Warnings: sfw. platonic/romantic (interpretable). some minor swearing. mostly fluff. mention of violence. poly (sort of). Gn!Reader

Notes: Yuji and the reader have a movie night together. Sukuna decides to tag along

Nights at home were rare.

There’s not a lot of downtime when studying to become a sorcerer. Gojo was always sending you off on jobs that his students were very much not ready to handle. The line of work doesn't really follow a set schedule. Curses rarely exorcise themselves.

You haven't even graduated and you already wanted to retire.

You wanted to do something to celebrate your time off. Yuji suggested a movie night. You had nothing else in mind, and it sounded nice. The two of you thought about inviting Nobara. Movies weren't really her thing; she had other plans anyway. It wasn't often you got to hang out with just Yuji.

Gojo side-eyed you when you asked to borrow a movie. Your first mistake was asking him. The last time you borrowed one from him, the disc had been switched out with a porno. It took Yuji quite a while to figure out what was wrong. Nobara couldn’t pause the thing fast enough. Whether he forgot, or he did it on purpose, you’ll never know. You have the sneaking suspicion he meant to do it. When you gave it back the next day, Gojo never questioned why Yuji couldn’t look him in the eye.

Maybe that’s why Nobara passed on this one.

Eventually you settled on a horror movie. You're not quite sure what it was about. It looked gruesome. The cover had fake looking blood all over it. Despite being a jujutsu sorcerer, you were a wimp when it came to things like this. In the heat of the moment you could deal with it, but when it came to movies you were squeamish. It didn't matter how many times you told yourself that it wasn't real.

In the other room, the microwave beeps. The smell of burned popcorn fills the room. He likes his burnt; you can't stand the stuff. Two bowls had to be made. Both with a healthy dousing of salt and butter. Not the powdered stuff either; the real kind.

"You're going to miss it!" You call out.

"No I'm not!" Only a moment later followed by: "maybe I am!"

Yuji flings himself over the couch, just in time for the movie to start. Popcorn spills over the sides of the bowl, onto the couch and floor. He shouts "five second rule" before popping one into his mouth. Immediately you tackle him. He’s a bit stronger than you, and easily struggles free. It takes you nearly sitting on him to stop him. You have to pry the rest of the floor popcorn out of his hands like someone fighting their dog for an item it shouldn't be eating.

"Are you going to stop?” You ask. “Or are you going back for more the second I let you go?"

Weakly he nods.

The moment you let go of his wrists he’s lunging past you, reaching for it. In one swift motion you have him under you, pinning him to the floor.

The movie starts off with a creepy looking scientist, and two women stranded in a forest. You admit defeat, and collapse on top of him.

"Man I got hit so many times over this one," he offhandedly mentions.

"What?"

His response is a grunt.

If he says something out of pocket, it's best not to acknowledge it. He could write an entire novel about his life and barely scratch the surface. It’s almost impressive at this point.

It intrigued you, though. There were about a million questions you had for him. Asking one only brought up a hundred more.

The first thing you learned about Itadori Yuji was how he was Sukuna’s vessel. The second thing you learned was that he was going to die.

You were told not to get attached. Against almost everyone's advice, you did. So did many others. Yuji was truly strange. He didn't have the look of a man given a death sentence.

You often wonder how you'd react in his situation. Maybe you'd go to your death with a lot less grace. But there's no way of knowing until it happens. You like to think you'll go out in a blaze of glory.

Your interactions with Sukuna had been few, and only in passing. Aside from stories, you don't have much to say about him. Generally you aren't around when they switch. The one time you were, they didn't stay switched for very long. It still made you wonder. Since they shared domes, could Sukuna see everything that went on in Yuji's daily life? How much control did they really have over each other?

Sukuna would often switch out with Yuji while he slept. You expected that. He was unpredictable, and a bit of a prick. He's the king of curses after all. What more would you expect from a demon? Strangely enough, he never did anything. It wasn’t a proper switch, more like a particular hand or leg was taken over. Sometimes he'd knock things over, or hide Yuji's things, but he was never much more than an inconvenience. The guy could be a menace, sure, but he wasn't nearly what you expected.

He lays his head in your lap. Instinctively your hand finds his head, gently carding through his hair. It's strangely soft. It feels nice between your fingers. Sometimes you wonder if he dyes his hair, or if it's naturally like that. Come to think of it, you've never seen a baby picture- or even a childhood photo.

It's almost horrifying how quickly Yuji began to doze off. You sat there the entire time in wide-eyed horror. Maybe a bit of disbelief. If he feels the way your legs tense underneath him, he says nothing about it. He's snoring in no time. He can't help it, your hands feel so nice in his hair.

Unfortunately, you had caught Sukuna's attention too.

Nothing went on in Yuji's life without Sukuna listening in. Every little detail about his day to day life was known by Sukuna. Most days he didn't care to listen in. Unless there was a fight, or something to piss off, he wasn't interested. He was the first to realize how fond his host was of you. Immediately he started plotting all the ways he could hurt Yuji with you.

That plan was cut short.

He's not sure when it happened. Slowly you became worth something to him. Your strength was promising. If you continued on your path you could prove to be a truly frightening sorcerer. He found your will to fight impressive, albeit naive. At first it was a reluctant respect. You had promise. He could use that. Either against your or against other sorcerers, it didn't matter to him. You'd work in his favor eventually.

There was one moment that stuck out. One where his feelings went from a general distaste to fondness. You were fighting a curse, of all things. Although it didn't hit hard, it could shrug off a lot of damage. It wasn't particularly strong, but it was tough, and smart, proving to be a pain in the ass to everyone involved. With a snap of his fingers he could have exorcised it. But he didn't. Watching you two fight it was much more entertaining. If his host was killed, he'd simply bring him back.

Something went wrong. He's not quite sure what. The moments went by like shots out of a badly filmed movie. One scene. Then cut. Then the next scene. Then cut.

You're clinging onto his arm, asking if he's—Yuji—is okay. You weren't even hurt, but you were soaked in blood.

His feelings for you weren't disgust, or hatred, or even pity. It was something much worse. If he was capable of liking someone, it would be you. Sukuna could never imagine himself feeling this way for a human.

He hates that.

The affection he feels isn't love in a proper sense, but that's the only word for it. A creature like him isn't capable of love. He's the king of curses, he'll never lower himself to the level of humans. He'll never view you as more than a pet, but he cares for you in some sort of way.

Sukuna's affection comes out as bullying. Well, as much as a lone mouth can bully someone. You've learned to tune him out or brush him off. He's harmless around you. Yuji seems to keep him on a short leash. His bark is far worse than his bite. At least to you. You really can't say that for any unfortunate bastard that decides to piss him off.

Jokingly, you began referring to Sukuna when talking to Yuji. It was only to make him roll his eyes. Everyone hated when you did that, because usually Sukuna would respond. You tried to see how long you could get him to talk before he realized you we're screwing with him. It usually took a while.

Yuji's snores have gotten awfully quiet. The movie is less terrifying than you expected, but it makes your stomach churn. His eyes are open when you look down. They aren't Yuji's; they have a different look in them. Sukuna’s eyes have no humanity in them at all.

Both sets of Sukuna's eyes are focused on the TV. You're not quite sure when they switched. He made no show of it. One second he was Yuji, the next he wasn't. His hand rests on your knee, his thumb gently rubbing across your skin. He feels a bit colder than Yuji. You can’t help but wonder if it’s a curse thing or just a coincidence.

You try not to stare for too long.

"This is boring." He says. "You find this scary? Let alone entertaining?"

He doesn't like seeing you distressed, even if it's directed at something that isn't real.

"Yes, thank you," you say.

Maybe if you keep scratching his head he'll stop talking.

"Why do you like these? Clearly you don't like being scared." He says.

"Keep talking and I'll stop playing with your hair."

His sharp nails dig into your skin. "No."

"Then I suggest you stop talking,"

He sulks. It’s almost impressive how quickly you get him to back down.

He's a bit like a cat; the second your arms are tired and you need to rest, his fingers are digging into your skin. He doesn't want you to stop. The moments where he wants affection are ones where you can't—or don't want��to give it to him.

It's almost a competition between him and Yuji. His host is always so open with how he cares for you. You’re very affectionate towards each other. You’re affectionate towards all your friends. He finds it sickening. He wants your attention to be on him and only him. Yuji is only competition. Unfortunately for him—and you too, let's face it—they're a package deal. Sharing isn’t exactly a skill he has.

He shifts so he's sitting up, his head resting against your chest. Your heartbeat drops off for a second, before picking up in pace. You rest your chin on top of his head. Your hands find his hair, brushing it out of his eyes.

It's not long after his breathing evens out.

His head nods, eyes half shut, gaze still on the tv. You're so warm, he notes. He doesn't remember human contact feeling this nice. However hard he tries to fight sleep, it's no use, he can't stay awake for much longer.

For now, he would settle on sharing you if it meant he could have moments like this.

[jungw8ns]

GOING TO AN ESCAPE ROOM WITH ENHYPEN !

PAIRING: boyfriend!enha x gn!reader. GENRE: established relationship, fluff, crack. WARNINGS: profanity (not that much tho), mentions of death (?). WORD COUNT: 100 - 200 each member.

HEESEUNG:

the two of you were so pumped playing an escape room together for the first time that the other people in line had to calm you guys down (which was trully embarrassing to say the least 🤐🤐)

he was looking at the ranking board filled with pictures of players that had succeeded in the shortest amount of time and he just wanted nothing more than to see both your faces on there

but anyways, we all know how competitive heeseung gets 🕴️

oh boy let me tell you, this guy WAS SPEEDRUNNING IT but not the kind you were thinking

the second the timer had started he was literally SPRINTING AROUND THE ROOM LOOKING FOR CLUES YET COMPLETELY MISSING THEM 🏃‍♂️💨💨💨

while he was busy running around, you were picking up the little details in the room and in no time managed to open a few locks

"y/n look i found– oh 😐😑😐"

HE WAS SULKING PLSSS 😭😭😭

when you noticed him standing from afar staring at you with his arms crossed, you called him to solve this one puzzle you already did

*gasps* "oh no! babe i don't understand how to do this, please help me 😔😔🤥🙏🙏"

he had to bite his lower lip to stop himself from letting out that cocky grin but it got out eventually

"oh it's so easy sweetheart, just put this here and then voila! 😉"

when the two of you escaped you suprisingly got to take a polaroid with him home after ranking 2nd in the records

heeseung was the one who held onto it tho, placing it underneath his clear phonecase for safekeeping <3

JAY:

GOD THIS DUDE

THE ESCAPE ROOM WASN'T EVEN THAT SCARY AND YET EVERYTIME YOU GUYS OPEN A LOCK OR A DOOR HIS FIGHT OR FLIGHT INSTINCTS COME UP 😭😭👊👊

"y/n stay behind me >:(("

"um, babe, you do realize that's just a door right?"

"WE'LL BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY?? THE STAFF COULD'VE PROGRAMMED IT TO GROW LEGS?? 😵🧐🧐"

you knew you shouldn't have played horror games with him a few nights ago cause he looked like he was about to lose his mind 😔

you had to shove his ass aside and move on to the next mission cause the both of you knew that he was stalling 🏌️‍♀️

jay was being extra clingy the whole time you were playing, he'd either link arms with you or hold hands (he's literally so adorable) 💞💞

BUT THEN YOU THOUGHT OF DOING A PRANK ON HIM

while you were roaming around the room trying to solve a puzzle, you saw this horse mask on a nearby table

and so you made sure jay was distracted and put on the mask

you could've NOT worn the dusty old thing but where was the fun in that?

"jay can you come here for a sec?"

you hid behind the wall beside the door frame waiting for him to come into your sight and attacked him

now, how about we guess what happens next?

a. he faints

b. he runs away

or c. he slaps you in the face and forces you to buy him food for the rest of the night

if you guessed c then YAY! YOU'RE CORRECT 🥳🎉🎉🎊

THIS HOE SLAPS YOU AS HE SHOULD

"$##/@+(+'£%(:?!!)&£**/*%@"

when he finally takes off the mask like those scenes in scooby doo he's never felt so betrayed in his life

"i- I TRUSTED YOU 😭😭😭 YOU BETTER BUY ME FOOD LATER, I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS, THE BETRAYAL???? LITERALLY UNPROVOKED?????"

he wouldn't stop side eyeing you until you guys finally pulled up on the mcdonalds drive thru

"hi, can i get two um– bts meals please? 😒😒 and two oreo mc flurries 🙄🙄 and also large fries 😐😐"

sane (1/3)

would be trailing behind you like a little puppy (i love him so much 😭😭😭)

he either has his arm linked with yours or held hands every five minutes

JAKE:

really focused on the puzzles he's doing but the second he hears you call out his name for help he's there beside you with the sweetest smile

but anyways, mans was POPPING OFF the entire time you were playing

he was solving problem after problem in no time (he wanted to impress you is why he activated his inner flash ⚡⚡) but he did let you play tho, the last thing he wanted to do was make you pissed at him for hogging all the games

def buried jake with compliments and forehead kisses right after ❤️__❤️

and so the two of you got out in like an hour and a few which you were very proud of

"you were so cool today babe, good job !!"

"aww thank you angel 😊😊"

sane (2/3)

SUNGHOON:

would be linking pinkies with you the whole time, only letting go whenever the both of you had to solve something that needed two or more people

there was this one game tho where he had to arm wrestle this literal hand lever to open the door to the last room (yea...don’t ask why, the staffs were pretty weird 😬😬) 

it made him enjoy the experience a bit more as it was only the two of you playing instead of getting accompanied by strangers

HGAWAHSGDHSGHDA PLSS THIS GUY

“oh this’ll be easy, y/n step aside, i’ll handle this 😏😏😏”

idk if you were supposed to think about how handsome he looked with his serious expression on and his veiny hands coming into frame or be worried for him because the lever was REAL HARD to pull that his veins looked like they were going to pop any second soon, you stepped in and helped him tho cause you were a good s/o <3

from a spectators point of view, the two of you looked like y’all were about shit your pants but the two of you eventually succeeded on beating it, immediately dragging him to the next room which had a sofa in it, laying down to catch your breaths

cliché moment ahead ⚠️⚠️

the two of you shared a few laughs before standing up on the empty space, held hands and started to jump in circles to celebrate your success 💃💃

yupp, y’all were never going back to that hellhole again

very stubborn at first, he wanted nothing to do with the game but then you held him at gunpoint by saying:

SUNOO:

"please just this once or else i'll revoke your mint choco ice cream rights 🔫🔫🔫"

"BUT IT'S SCARY IN THERE BABE :((("

"it won't be that scary sunshine, besides, i'll be ready to 🤜💥 yk?? trust me babe i would never let anyone hurt you <33"

kinda pissed since you blackmailed him into the place and also bc he wanted to play bumper cars and dance mania but he yea he caved in pretty quick 😋😋

(y/n let him play his games in peace tf >:(((( )

once you guys got in tho he realized how normal it was and that it was not terrifying at all

THE EPITOME OF CLINGY OMFG

he wouldn't stop back hugging you and you couldn't bring yourself to push him away to play the games so you just let him walk behind you with his arms on your shoulders 😩😩

(y'all were walking kinda funny but don't tell sunoo that 🤫🤫🤫)

yea the two of you ended up escaping with a whopping 2 hours and a few minutes

but it was the effort that counts so A+++++ for the both if you 😜👍👍👍

sane (3/3)

JUNGWON:

was the one who suggested going, he even searched on naver about really good escape room places to visit and was overall really looking forward it

he liked going to places and having fun with you so it wasn't a shock how his eyes were literally crescents and his dimples were so evident

yea he literally rushed the both of you to the place that you were the first in line 😵

while waiting for the staff to finish setting up he was playing with your connected hands like 🖐️✊🖐️✊ (so precious 💞💞)

"y/n why are you taking so long 😭😭 what if they close and we end up not solving a single lock, hurry up por favorrr 😩🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏"

when they finally lead you to the room he was kind of surprised that they had separated the two of you into different spaces (like the one with txt where they had the answers to the other member's puzzles yk???)

he was locked inside a telephone stand while you were handcuffed in the main room

dw the two of you reunited after a few minutes cause jungwon was rushing his lock to get to you 🤭

you both were progressing at an average pace and it made you guys a lot more closer (not that you guys weren't before but you get what i mean)

after you guys escaped the two of you went to eat curry and talked about the whole experience 😋✌️✌️✌️

this boy literally dragged you in the escape room with him

NIKI:

HE DIDN'T EVEN GIVE YOU TIME TO REFUSE HE JUST 😐👉🚪

"ok masterchefs, in order to test your abilities we must go through series of puzzles and make it out alive, understood?"

he tried ignoring how confused you were and went on to try and get you guys to escape

HE'S LAUGHING AT YOU FOR WHATEVER REASON AND OBV YOU LAUGH ASWELL CAUSE WHO WOULDN'T??? his laugh is so contagious pls 🤖🤖 he was so close to d wording cause he couldn't breathe from laughing too much

yea.. you guys spent so much time laughing at each other for being so dumb at this that you ended up playing 'till closing time

spoiler alert: he fails on doing anything cause the second you made eye contact with him this child collapses 😍🤩

GIRL SO EMBARRASSING 🤡🤡

THE STAFF KICKED THE BOTH OF YOU OUT AND NOW YOU GUYS WERE BANNED FROM THE PLACE ☠️☠️

"haunted house next weekend???"

"BET"

NOTE – god they were WAY funnier in my head but yeah.... i love them so much AND OMFG HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN HEESEUNG’S SELCAS LAST NIGHT???!?@??#?@?!?@ HE’S NOT REAL WTF ⁉️❓❓⁉️

also, idk why BUT EVERY TIME I SAVE A DRAFT the paragraphs get scrambled?? £!?) 6=6) 🤣😂💔💔🤣🤣😂💔 it's so annoying but anyways, ilysm pls stay safe and have a great day <33

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“So that’s how you want to play this, love?" | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey My Lovelies! I hope all is well today! I received a request ages ago from @activist-af to do something like this, as you will read below. I honestly aimed to fit the movie night theme in there but it was swallowed up pretty fast! I only meant for this fic to be 3000 or so words but, as it always seems to do, it got away from me.I truly hope that you enjoy this, you've given me an unwavering amount of support these past few months while I was battling a major bout of depression and writers block. I can't repay all the kindness and love you've given me but I hope this is a start! Much love darling! And much love to all of you lovelies! Please have a fantastic evening for me! <3

Please read before continuing: I usually wouldn't write this much before my story but I wanted to add this: this story is my first full blown smut. I'm honestly not sure how well it will go over but I tried to make it as loving and healing as I could. I take my writing very seriously. I know sex for many is a touchy subject, and that truly pains me. I sincerely hope every single one of you reading this feels all the love and saftey I tried to incorporate into this peace. I wish you an eternity of love and healing. Be safe my loves!

Request: "Could u do a mikaelson boys x reader? Any plot really, but I’d very much love it if it was a bit more Kol focused. there’s just such a lack of content for all three of them and I love your writing so much. If u need any plot point ideas maybe a movie night kinda thing? I really hold him a bit higher than the other boys. Or something similar to the fic with the Klaus + Eli being injured? Fluffy ending please, smut is fantastic too 🖤"

Description: Y/n is upset that the boys won't let her come on their mission with them, feeling isolated and useless. Kol is supposed to stay behind and watch out for her however things get heated after she tells him off.

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Fem!Reader, mainly Kol and Elijah

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!! This is a full blown smut, I honestly do not know how it happened, probably 4000/5000 words are pure sex scenes, also there's a bit of fighting/angst at the beginning of the first scene but it doesn't last

Word count: 5343 (I'm so sorry)

Tags: ANGST, SMUT (full on), FLUFF

(Pics aren't mine but the moodboard is :) )

“I really don’t see why you guys are leaving me behind, again,” you run an agitated hand through your hair, huffing indignantly at the two boys in front of you.

Yes, boys. Not men. If they aren't going to treat you like the full grown woman you are then no way in hell are you going to give them any validation either. Even in your head.

“It’s too dangerous,” Elijah’s chocolate eyes are stern, his hands clenching at his sides, “I can’t risk the witches doing anything to you as a way to get to us. You’re too important.”

Your chest warms slightly at his words but it isn’t enough to break down your resolve. Three hundred years under your belt; they’re going to need to do better than that if they want to keep you away. There are only so many times you can stay away from a fight, only so many times you can watch them come home hurt knowing that if you had gone with them then maybe you could have prevented it. You’re a family and you’re tired of feeling like you aren’t pulling your weight.

You narrow your eyes at the tall boy, still not man, trying to peer through all the red you’re seeing, “I’m not a child, Elijah.”

He stares right back, not backing down, his face cut like marble, unwavering. Beautiful but harsh. Stone. He wears a white shirt, the first button popped and the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His veins are prominent and tempting. Elijah means business. You swallow the lump in your throat, pushing away the heat growing in your stomach.

“Love, trust me, we know you aren't a child. Any other time I would gladly rip you upstairs and prove it. Right now, though, I agree with him. You’re staying here,” Klaus’ softer voice pulls your attention from your staring match with the eldest Mikaelson.

He has a leather jacket on, the material clinging tight to his arms, ready to burst. He’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his crystal eyes. He folds his arms neatly in front of him. He’s not going to budge either.

You scoff at him, shaking your head, “I want to come, Klaus. I need to.”

A new voice joins the three of you in the foyer, “I can make that happen, darling, but you’ve got to stay home with me if you want that.”

You don't even need to turn around to hear the smirk on Kol’s voice but you do anyway, meeting the youngest Mikaelson face to face. He has a grin on his lips, one that, in any other situation, would have you weak in the knees. He has a sweatshirt on and a pair of sleep shorts. He’s on babysitting duty, he doesn’t need anything else. You only roll your eyes at him before facing Elijah once more.

“I’m part of this family, too, you know. It should be my choice,” you have to will your voice not to crack, keeping your tone as low and as steady as you can, “I’m not useless, Elijah, as much as you’d obviously disagree.”

You rub your hands over your bare arms, fending off a sudden chill. You feel like there’s ice coursing through your veins. A traitorous tear tracks down your cheek but you make no move to get it. Elijah’s hardened face softens when he notices.

“Baby, come on,” he reaches to grab you but you step back, not allowing him to touch you.

He can’t do that, make the decisions for you. Maybe if you were still human it would be called for but now it’s not. Sure, you aren't a millennium like they are but you’re not a piece of glass either. You’re strong, whether they want to acknowledge it or not.

“Don’t, Elijah,” you back away further, your cheeks drenched but your eyes fierce, “I’ll see you guys in a few days. Be safe.”

You turn and walk away, ignoring all three brothers as they call out to you, heading up to your room before any of them decide to follow you. You close the door, not slamming it but not exactly shutting it gently either. You can hear Elijah sigh from the front hall and you know he’s tugging on his hair. Klaus swears, his frustrated voice floating up to your ears. More tears fall but you brush them away angrily, lifting a pillow from your bed and screaming into it. No doubt they can hear it but, right now, you couldn't care less. The front door shuts and your heart plummets.

You sit on the edge of your bed, gripping your dark comforter tightly. Usually you like being the one they take care of. You like being held, how small they make you feel. Right now, though, it’s too much.

A soft knock draws your attention to the door, Kol’s careful voice cutting through the wood, “darling?”

“Leave me alone, Kol,” you try your best to make your words harsh but you only sound tired.

“Not likely, love,” he presses, “you know I can go all night, now it’s up to you what that means.”

Your cheeks flush and, as if he can see you through the door, he chuckles. The sound echos through your chest, stirring the remains of anger and frustration and mixing them with something hot and untamed. You pull the door open, coming face to face with the smirking Mikaelson.

“Sorry you landed with babysitting duty, Kol, but I’ve kept myself alive for three hundred years now and I’m pretty sure I can handle two more days on my own. Why don’t you go help Elijah and Klaus, yeah? Seeing as you are the only three who can actually do any good. I’m clearly not strong enough to do anything so I’ll just sit here and look pretty and do absolutely nothing at all because I’m useless. Okay?”

With that you close the door in his face. Well, you try to but he wedges his body in the way so you can’t shut him out. Whatever smile had previously been on his face is long gone and in its place sits a deep frown. His brown eyes ice over slightly and he stands taller than he did mere seconds ago. You can feel a switch in the atmosphere and suddenly you’re face to face. You honestly can’t tell which one of you is more pissed off.

“So that’s how you want to play this, love,” he pushes closer to you, “you want to get angry, yeah? Alright darling, I can do that.”

You open your mouth to protest but before any profanities can fly out his lips are on yours, fierce and strong. He uses his foot to kick the door closed, slamming it into place. It’s done merely for effect. No one is home but the two of you. He spins you around aggressively, pushing you roughly against the hardwood. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, no doubt drawing blood. As if on cue a copper taste fills your mouth, drowning your senses in red. This time, though, the anger is mixed with a wicked kind of lust.

Your hands find his hair without your permission, tugging harshly at the roots. He groans into your mouth, a sound that makes you want to slap him across the face and wrap your legs around him all the same. His hand snakes around your waist, squeezing your hip with a fervour that will no doubt leave bruises that will take longer than usual to heal. He pushes against you, every single part of him rock hard.

“God fucking damnit, Kol,” his lips find your throat with painful ease, sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth in a way thats just this side of painful over pleasurable.

Right now, though, you crave every bit of pain that Kol lays on you. In a sick way you’re proving that you can take it. That you’re strong enough to do the things that they do. Another flash of red floods your vision when you think of the other two Mikaelson's who refused to let you help. You drag one of your hands down Kol’s back, scratching hard enough for him hiss against your neck.

He jerks away from you quickly, only long enough to rip the sweatshirt over his head before he attacks your neck again. He sinks his teeth in at the same moment he rips your tank top in half, lulling you into that sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, hate and lust once more. His shoulders are deliciously toned under your searching fingers and this time when you drag your nails down his back you know you draw blood. Serves him right anyway.

“Fuck, baby,” he wraps a hand around both of your wrists, pinning your hands above your head, “that kinda hurt.”

You want to claw the smirk off of his face. Or kiss it. You can’t quite decide. His other hand is slowly sliding up your back, inching towards the clasp of your bra. His eyes burn into yours, the inferno behind them nothing less than intense. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears so loud it’s almost hypnotic when combined with the tantalizing draw of his hand. It lulls you into a false sense of security, your eyelids heavy in anticipation. He stops moving when his fingers are about to undo the hooks.

He pushes his hips closer to yours, locking you between his body and the door. His stomach is hot against yours and cut like marble. Your fingers itch to feel every bump and dip with agonizing intricacy. Every inch of your skin is alight, every hair raised waiting for anything to happen. You can feel every breath he takes as if it’s your own, your covered breasts just barely grazing him with each rise and fall of his chest. It’s delicious torture.

“Before we go any further here, I need to know what you want. Do you want some quick fuck that’s going to leave you more angry when it’s done?” He rolls his hips against yours, sending sparks flying through your body at the first real touch you’ve had tonight, “or do you want me to make love to you like you know I can. And make all these terrible feelings go away. It’s your choice, darling?”

His words tangle and knot in the pit of your stomach, weaving through the white hot hatred that had been building in your stomach until it explodes. They hit you right at the source like missiles aimed with the utmost precision to destroy every bit of anger left in you. Tears prickle at the edge of your vision, your senses overloaded from the sudden loss of your fury. All that’s left in its wake is this gut wrenching feeling of not being good enough. It’s the original problem and he just effortlessly broke through to it.

“I,” you tug your bruised lip between your teeth, if only to keep it still, “make it go away, Kol. Please.”

“That’s all I want to do, darling.”

He releases your wrists, opting instead to haul your body into his arms and slamming his lips against yours once more. You waste no time running your freed fingers down his sculpted chest, admiring the way his muscles tense as he holds you up. You push yourself as close to his body as you can get, wrapping your legs around his taught stomach and clinging on for dear life. He kisses you slowly, as if drawing all the negative energy out of your body with his lips.

He walks the two of you backwards towards your bed, sitting on the edge, leaving you straddling his hips in the most delicious way. You push your hips to bring you closer together, wanting to feel every part of him that you can. He meets every movement with his own energy, wrapping an arm around you back to keep you pressed against him. Your body is warming up once more in his arms.

He pulls his lips from yours reluctantly, his hand snaking back to the clasp on your back, “this needs to go.”

You shiver at the light touch of his fingertips on your spine, arching with the click of the hooks coming undone. He pulls the lace from your chest slowly, his thumbs grazing down your arms, memorizing every inch of skin he can get his hands on. His eyes meet yours again and he drops the fabric on the ground next to your bed. His hands, now resting on your hips, trail fire up your stomach as they trace their way over your ribs.

“Kol, please,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, reveling in the warmth of his chest so close to your own, “I need you.”

There’s a glint in his eye again but this time you don’t want to slap him. No this time you want him to do heavenly things to every part of you. You want him to take the last remains of this awful feeling and snuff it out with his mouth. His hands finally crest the remainder of your ribcage, his thumbs teasing the underside of your breasts with tantalizingly careful circles. Tears sting your vision again from all the pent up energy inside of you.

“What shall I do, darling,” his thumbs draw along the sides of your breasts, stoking the untameable fire in the pit of your stomach once more, “tell me how you want me to touch you.”

His fingers dance closer to their target, each stroke driving your brain further into it’s Kol induced frenzy. All you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell is the boy in front of you.

“Kol,” his name falls from your lips in a desperate moan, “please just do something, god.”

He chuckles, a sound that flows like honey and wraps around every inch of you like silk. His eyes sear into your own, daring you to break his stare but you don’t. You can’t

“Well I could do this.”

His thumbs roll over your hardened nipples, as if to punctuate his words, and you see stars. You don’t even try to stop the moans that tumble from your lips, turning to clay in his hands. You give him free reign to mould your body in any way he desires, as long as hands never leave your skin. He pinches each bud between his fingers gently, pulling more praises from deep within you. His eyes never leave your face, drinking in each expression with unashamed greed.

“Or maybe I could do this.”

You know what’s coming when he leans forward, It’s quite clear what his intentions are. However, what you aren’t expecting is for the first gentle nip to send you so violently crashing over the edge that you have to squeeze your thighs around him to avoid falling off the bed. He doesn’t stop when you cry out and you don't want him to. Every swirl of his tongue around your nipple sends you spiraling further into the sweet oblivion he’s created just for you. He rocks his hips against yours while his mouth assaults you, pressing the delicious hardness against you while you fall apart.

He detaches his lips from your lips when you start to come down from your high, kissing his way up your sternum, over your collar bone, before settling on your throat.

“So beautiful darling,” he pulls your skin into his mouth as if he didn't just get enough just moments ago, “so damn beautiful.”

You press down on his hard length again, pulling a groan from deep within his chest, “I want all of you, Kol. Please.”

That's all the encouragement he needs to flip the two of you over and lay you on your back. He kneels between your legs, hooking his thumbs in your plaid sleep shorts and pulling them off much faster than he had down with your bra. He’s more than warmed up now, something that excites you to no end. You’re left laying in a pair of black lace panties that match the bra on your floor.

Kol’s eyes go dark at the sight, a growl that hardens your nipples again rumbling through the air. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling the lace off of you once more and adding it to the growing pile of clothes. He kisses the junction of your thigh next, sending electricity rippling through your body. It restarts the heat once more and the familiar wildfire rips through your abdomen. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to stand many more orgasms if each one is to be like the first.

“Please just make love to me, Kol, I need to feel you.”

He lifts his head from your thighs, a sight that you will never grow tired of, and his eyes set ablaze, “I was made for nothing more.”

Your heart flutters rapidly in your chest, a warmth spreading like butter over your bones. He kicks his own shorts and boxers off quickly, moving back up your body to rest between your legs. You drink in the heat radiating off his body, allowing it to soothe the remaining ache leftover from your small throw down. His one hand slips under your head, lacing through your hair gently. The other reaches between you, lining himself up against your opening. The slightest touch of him against you is enough to have you mewling his name already.

He teases you slightly, taking his sweet time before pushing in. The first thrust is pure magic, filling you in the way that only Kol can. Each of you boys feel different. Kol lights every one of your nerves on fire with his slow movements. He makes you feel every deliberate movement. He makes you know that every circle of his hips, every time he joins you together is done to perfection exactly how he intends. Kol makes you aware of your entire body and just how much control he has over it.

He pulls back slowly before thrusting back inside of you hard enough to rock your bed into the wall. You clench around him without warning, pulling your name from his lips with mouthwatering ease and sending small shocks through your lower half.

“Christ, baby,” he rocks his hips deeper into yours, burying himself all the way inside you, “how are you so close again already.”

You giggle quietly from underneath him, wrapping your legs around his hips and rolling your own to meet his thrusts. Your hands glide over his shoulders, soothing the scratches you left earlier. You draw his face to your own, pulling his lips down to graze yours. You want him to feel every word you say.

“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what you’re doing,” the end of your sentence is blurred with unrelenting moans.

His hand grabs your leg, pushing your knee to your chest before pushing you into the mattress with a world altering thrust, “you’re right darling, I just like to hear you say it.”

He closes the gap between your lips with another shattering push, your walls clenching harder than before around him again. You swallow each moan that slips from his mouth and into yours. His nutmeg scent clings to you and you know it will take days to scrub him off of you, not that you want to. You could very well spend the next century wrapped up in Kol in every single way possible.

He picks up the pace, slamming into you with controlled ease. Your hands lace through his hair, keeping him as close to you as possible. Your senses are overwhelmingly heightened, allowing you to feel every damned inch of him. You’re in serious danger of falling apart. The fiery ball in your stomach is at its peak once more. When he pulls your lip between his teeth, and you taste the crimson, it explodes.

This time you don't just see stars, you see the sun and the moon and every planet in the solar system. He continues to move in and out of you, drawing out the intensity of your orgasm as he rides his own out. You cling to him with everything you have, refusing to breathe anything but Kol. Everything in this moment is about him and the way he makes you feel. Nothing else matters anymore. Perhaps nothing even mattered before. All there is, all there has ever been, is this one moment.

When you finally land back on earth, he slowly pulls out of you, giving you one last taste of electricity before drawing you to lay on his chest. Your ears ring from the energy you just exerted at Kol’s mercy, your skin deliciously sticky against his own. You're completely and undeniably spent.

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you go to speak, “Kol.”

You feel the sharp inhale he takes rather than hear it. Before you can blink the fresh wave of tears away he’s flipped you around, laying between your legs again and propped up on his elbows. His face is pure concern, his eyebrows creased together in a way that makes you want to smooth every harsh line away. It makes you cry that much harder.

“Darling, talk to me,” he runs a soothing hand down your thigh, pulling you close to him, “what’s wrong baby?”

The tears pour faster at the gentle tone in his voice, drawing an answer to the surface before you even process what you’re saying, “Do they think I’m useless? Do you?”

Your voice is shattered, all the emotions from today coming together in yet another crescendo. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears, drowning out the sounds around you. It’s probably the reason you miss the footsteps pounding up the stairs. You can feel Kol’s soft caresses but just barely. The only thing registering in your mind is the feeling of being completely and utterly weak. Why do they keep you around if you can’t even hold your own?

“God’s no, never. Not even a little bit,” just as Kol speaks, the door opens.

Well, the door slams open, hitting the wall with a crack that echoes through the large house. Kol isn’t startled. He should be but he doesn’t even flinch at the bang. You, on the other hand, tense underneath him, the pounding in your ears still as intense as before. A woodsy scent flows through the now open doorway, pine mingling with your already nutty skin. The pieces start clicking together, albeit at a slower pace than you like.

You’re almost certain you know who’s in the doorway but you look anyway to make sure, “Elijah.”

His name is a whisper and it gets lost under Elijah's own words, his dark eyes searing into yours, “Kol, do you mind giving us a moment?”

Kol glances down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. You plead with him to stay but this is Kol, he’s your hell-raiser. He places a soft kiss on your forehead before he stands, still completely naked, and walks out of the room.

He pauses on the other side of the door, settling a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “careful brother, she scratches.”

Elijah shuts the door when he leaves, much gentler than he had been when opening. Your boys, always the ones for theatrics. He leans against the frame, folding his arms over his chest. You stand from the bed, trying to meet his height but failing. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand but it doesn’t do much to clear the droplets. He tracks your every movement with a fire raging behind his chocolate eyes. You’re painfully aware of how much of your skin is on display for him; that is, all of it.

“What,” you pause when your voice cracks, stealing a moment to compose yourself, “what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off saving the day.”

He pushes off the door, taking a few steps towards you. You can see he's fighting back a lot of primal instincts. He's as affected by your lack of clothes as you are. His eyes shift rapidly between his usual brown and a deeper coal colour. Despite the situation, you can’t help the heat seeping from between your thighs. He stops a few feet in front of you. There’s no way he can’t smell you right now.

“I was needed elsewhere,” his eyes dip down momentarily, his jaw clenching, “by someone infinitely more important.”

You watch him squeeze his fists together, forcing his eyes to remain on yours. The determination in them is unwavering and fierce. He takes another step towards you.

“It seemed important a few hours ago,” you drop your eyes to your feet, breaking his stare.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him and, in turn, igniting your body, “I assure you it was not nearly as important as making sure that you’re ok.”

Your throat tightens, aching with the promise of even more tears. You wish you could just stop. You’re not afraid to cry but usually you can control it. Right now you can’t. Everything has been building, every little insecurity has pooled, and today was the chip in the damn needed to make the whole thing collapse. It’s too much.

“I’m not,” you wrap your arms tight around yourself, gripping your arms with bruising strength to try and hold back the tremors, “ I am not okay Eli. I feel so helpless. Everytime you come home bleeding and exhausted and where am I?” You run a trembling hand through your mussed hair, yanking at the roots, “Here. Always just here, useless, letting you and Klaus and Kol take it all for me. Am I really that weak? That I’m just extra collateral damage to worry about? What is it, Elijah?”

The words pour from you, each one making him flinch like he’s being hit by an invisible enemy. Every syllable is a bullet to his chest. His body tenses further, his eyes no longer holding any trace of their usual warm brown. Instead they're pitch black, the veins under his eyes a deep plum. The veins in his arms pop as well, his fists iron tight. He curses under his breath when you finish. His voice is gravelly and scrapes the deepest pit of your soul.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, whatever resolve he had been clinging to snaps. He pulls you towards him, wrapping his strong hands around your hips and lifting you against him, giving you a second to wrap your bare legs around his clothed hips.

“Elijah, what are you doing?” You cling to his chest, trying to avoid tumbling out of his arms when he begins walking you towards your bed once more.

He doesn't answer your question, laying you down against your ruffled comforter, “You aren’t collateral damage, baby.”

His voice is the lowest you’ve ever heard it, emanating from somewhere deep inside him. He opens the first few buttons of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before making it even halfway down his chest. He drops it, much like he Kol had not long before, next to your bed. Kicking off his shoes, he kneels on the bed, coming to rest between your thighs. The heat emanating from you is now a furnace and it in no way goes unnoticed by him. His dark eyes swim across your naked body, drinking in every inch.

“Eli-” whatever you’re going to say is obliterated when he leans down and attaches his lips to the crook of your thigh, dangerously close to being exactly where you need him.

“You aren't weak,” he moves to your other thigh, nipping at the delicate skin and pulling unintelligible murmurs from your throat.

He kisses his way to your center, the anticipation growing like a knot in your stomach, begging to be unraveled once more. Even in the midst of falling apart you can’t get enough of these men. He lays a soft kiss against you, offering you the slightest glimpse of what you know his mouth can do. In the exact same way you had with Kol earlier, every part of you craves Elijah.

Your body arches willingly to meet the first swipe of his tongue, his name falling from your lips like a praise, “you aren't a burden to me, you beautiful creature.”

You cry out as he works his mouth expertly against you, his words humming ecstasy into your skin, melting away any trace of doubt in your mind. His arms wrap around your thighs, bringing you as close to his face as he can get you. The sight of him completely engulfed in your heat is almost enough alone to send you tumbling right there and then over the edge.

“You mean more to me than anything else on this fucking earth,” his dark eyes meet yours as he works you dangerously close to breaking before letting up once more, “and if I have to spend every hour for the next hundred years worshipping you to prove it then consider it done.”

He lowers his mouth against you harder, sucking your electrified warmth with renewed vigour. Your hands seek out his hair, tugging him against you and raising your hips to meet every pass of his tongue. The smell of pine trees and sex envelope you, brining you the closest yet to the kind of high only Elijah can draw from you. In this moment you’re nothing more than entirely his.

“I cannot lose you, baby,” he slips a few of his fingers inside you, “please let me protect you. I need to. Please.”

He curls his fingers just as the last syllable rolls off his tongue and into your core, shattering you into a million tiny pieces. Your hands fist his hair as your body clenches around his hand, pulling a delectable groan from his lips. Your third orgasm almost puts you to sleep on the spot, each of your muscles completely exhausted. Elijah watches you come undone the entire way through, nothing less than reverent awe locked on his face.

He wastes no time pulling your spent body into his arms, wrapping you as close to him as he can manage. You bury yourself against his neck, admiring how even the most unassuming parts of him have an undue amount of strength. He truly is your warrior.

“Eli,” you yawn into his chest, basking in the warmth of his skin, “I can protect myself.”

He tightens his arms around you, “I know you can, baby, but you shouldn't need to. I’ve been searching my entire life for a meaning. A thousand years of trying to be honorable. Then I found you and, all of a sudden, it all makes sense. All the searching and fighting and pain finally has a purpose: to protect you. Let me take it for you. Please.”

You’re speechless, there isn’t anything else to it. His words hit you with immense power, sinking into your skin and settling around your bones. You’re his, all of theirs, to watch over. You really didn't know he felt this strongly. You’ve always had to defend yourself. Perhaps you just aren't used to someone else being so willing to take on that task. Someone begging to take it.

He stands suddenly, with you still in his arms, and walks out of your room, starting down the hall. The faintest sound of rushing water fills your ears, lulling you into a welcome daze.

“Where are we going, Eli?” You have yet to open your eyes, stuck in the soft between being awake and falling asleep.

He kisses your forehead, resting his head on yours, “Niklaus said he wanted to take a bath, my love.”

[maplecornia]

chapter 34

𝔞/𝔫: this chapter will be in 3rd person POV

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.45K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear | @mangminnie | @pixiekooo | @cana

When was the moment he realized things were broken?

Driving down the dark streets, his hand clenches on the wheel of the car. Memories of past smiles, foreign whispers of love, someone's hand holding his while he couldn't feel more alone...

Maybe he always knew.

Maybe he just didn't want to admit it to himself.

Pausing in front of a stop sign, he looks over as his phone buzzes, a message popping up on the screen. He doesn't bother looking at it, he knows it's not going to say what he wants it to say.

Watching the blinking lights at an empty street, he considers running it. There's nobody else around. No one would even notice. Even if he somehow did get in an accident would it matter? At this point is there anyone left who cares? Once the light changes green, the thoughts disappear as though they had never existed in the first place.

Jimin, you knew this would happen eventually.

You made this game.

"Yen, what's your secret?"

How is she able to smile so brightly? He sees the darkness in her eyes, he sees the way she disappears into herself, he sees the struggle inside her as she fights to be happy every day.

So why? How is she so strong?

Why can't I be that strong?

Jimin thought he would be able to forget everything. He thought it wouldn't matter. All he wanted was someone to be beside him. All he wanted was to not feel alone. He didn't think that having someone beside him, knowing that they didn't love him, knowing that they were using him for everything else but love...

He didn't think it would make him feel cold, almost isolated.

And yet, he still doesn't want to let go.

When his phone buzzes once more, he looks over at the passenger seat, not paying attention to the road. He doesn't notice as he comes across another intersection. He doesn't notice the crosswalk, nor the woman who is crossing. He’s too focused on the name that flashes on his screen. Debating in his strangled min whether or not to answer.

When he reaches her, just a few feet away, may it be fate or destiny he turns away from the phone just in time to see the woman. Adrenaline pumping violently through his body, his eyes widen as she turns, hearing the roar of the engine and the screech of the tires. Instinct taking over his body, Jimin slams his foot on the brake, the car managing to squeal to a stop, just a few inches away from the frozen woman. In the few moments it takes for him to register her face, he's able to discern one thing.

Bright luminescent green eyes.

In the silence that follows, Jimin breathes heavily, looking over his wheel almost hesitantly. He doesn't know if he hit her, all he's aware of is that she can no longer be seen through the windshield. Fear erupting in his nerves in waves, he frantically unbuckles with shaking fingers, opening the door and dashing to the front of the car. The buzzing phone now forgotten.

He pauses for a moment taking in the scene.

The good news is that he didn't hit her.

The bad news is Jimin quite possibly terrorized her beyond reality.

She’s fallen to the ground, bags of groceries scattered around her, her eyes wide and her entire body shaking. Her hands wrap around the gravel on the ground as she shivers, her lips moving as tears start to appear at her eyes, but no sound can be heard. Jimin notices the scratches her knees have endured from the fall, the way dark smudges of pavement have mixed with the tears on her cheeks, and the small drops of blood dripping from her hands so brutally ripping through the pieces of gravel and dirt.

Sighing, he kneels beside her, trying to gather her attention. It proves to be quite difficult considering the way her eyes are locked on the headlights of the car just a few inches away from her. She shivers as she contemplates how she could have died just a few moments ago and finds the thought far too horrifying to comprehend. Fear paralyzing her like a virus, Jimin has to take her by the shoulders to gather her attention.

And there they are again. Brilliant green eyes, golden flecks scattered within her irises. They meet his deep cinnamon ones, a spark reflected between the two of them. A spark only the heavens could have seen.

"Are you okay?"

Once Jimin speaks, in a soft hushed tone, the woman breaks out of her reverie. Her eyes well up in unspoken terror, and she starts to shake even more violently at the sight of someone next to her comforting her.

Why is it when we are at our most vulnerable, we find ourselves breaking when there is someone there to hold us?

Noticing her shivers, he removes his jacket and places it across her shoulders, trying desperately not to falter at the sight of panic in her eyes.

"It's okay, I'm here."

.

.

.

"Yes, I know I'm late but I'll be there soon."

Needless to say, Jimin finally figured out how to answer his phone.

He paces a few feet away from where he left the shivering woman, his heart clenching and unclenching in distress. When did it become such a chore to talk to her? When did he start regretting every moment spent with her?

Half listening to the pressed voice on the other line, he glances at the woman who pulls his coat tighter around her body, her face pale and eyes darting around in frantic panic. At the sight, his heart tightens in pain and he struggles to shove down his guilt.

It doesn't help matters when he hears the words on the other side of the line.

"What?"

As though he were stuck in a lucid dream he tries not to let the disappointment eat at him. It's not a big deal that she ate without him, after all, he was running quite late...

Why does it bother him so much?

Why does the thought make him feel alone?

Oh, I don't know Jimin, maybe it's the fact that she used you.

Again.

Your money, your love, your dedication, your time.

It was all a waste after all.

"No, it's fine. We'll see each other another time."

Jimin clenches his jaw at the sound of a male voice addressing her on the other line. Suspiciously close, dangerously close. Jimin doesn't bother asking who it is. He already knows the real reason. Taking a deep breath, he tries his hardest not to give in to the tears.

God, you're pathetic aren't you?

"Okay. I have to go now, but I'll see you soon."

No, you won't.

"I lo--"

The line cuts off before he can finish his sentence, and Jimin would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised. He holds the phone up for another moment as though waiting for a phantom to whisper the words he so longs to hear. Biting his bottom lip when it's clear they won't come, he pockets his phone and turns back to the woman on the bench.

Would she treat him the same?

If she were in this situation, what would she do?

Jimin knows these are desperate, ridiculous questions to ponder, but he can't help himself. He's too lost, too broken to wonder anything else. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he walks towards her, settling onto the bench seat beside her. He knows she overheard the conversation, he knows that every time he looked at her she glanced away as though being caught in a trap.

At this moment, however, he finds it very hard to care.

"Was that my fault?"

At the question, Jimin smiles almost bitterly.

"No, it was mine." He leans his head back, sighing as he stares at the dark sky. "I should've expected it."

At the nearly dejected statement, the woman can't help but look at him with concern. She recognizes the look in his eyes. The dark swirling pit of nothing. She's seen it reflected in her own. She hesitates before speaking once more.

"If you need somewhere to be, I'll be fine." Jimin looks her way incredulously, at the glance, she smiles nervously finding it hard to meet his eyes. "I can wait for a bus on my own--"

When she glances back his way, she doesn't expect him to be so close.

His face nearly inches away from hers, she could almost swear that her heart stopped for a fraction of a second from the shock. It's not a normal occurrence to have a nearly perfect man inches away from you.

But then again, what part of this situation is normal in her eyes anyway?

Oh God, all I wanted was to get some groceries.

Jimin stares at her with an unreadable gaze, his piercing eyes staring deep into hers. Perhaps it's an attempt to see into her soul, to find some part of her character reflected within him. There has to be a reason she looks so familiar, some form of explanation for why he feels as though he's known her all his life.

Why is it so comfortable to be around her?

"What is your name?"

The woman looks up at him with wide eyes, the iridescent green nearly blinding Jimin of all reason.

"Jocelynn."

Sliding his hand on the back of the bench as he leans closer to her, she avoids his eyes. Inwardly she prays that he doesn't hear her heartbeat increasing every second he is close to her.

"Jocelynn." At the sound of her name on his tongue, her stomach turns in on itself. Looking back at him she is surprised to find that his gaze has never strayed from hers. "You know that when it's this late, it's not smart to be on your own right?"

His voice is deep and husky, drawn to a near whisper that is hardly distinctive but manages to move every possible emotion present in her heart. Raising an eyebrow, Jocelynn tilts her head slightly.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You were alone."

If she expected him to be flustered, she couldn't have been more wrong. Instead, his eyes darken once more and he smiles half to himself.

"Maybe I don't want to be alone."

Another second, maybe Jimin would have leaned further. Another second and maybe he would have placed his lips on hers. Another second and perhaps he would have been able to forget just how empty he was, as long as he was holding another in his arms.

But when he sees the sad conjecture hidden within her eyes, he can't bring himself to use her in that way. For some unknown reason, he finds that he can't hurt her even if it means he'll feel whole.

Coming to his senses, he pulls away. The same space that was between them a few moments ago, opening once more. He leans forward resting his arms on his legs, his hands clenched tightly together, his heart playing games with his mind.

She's just a stranger, someone he met by some strange coincidence of the skies.

And yet, he can't bear to see that look in her eyes.

"You never told me your name."

Jimin turns to Jocelynn, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

"You don't know me?" he murmurs, obviously surprised, and probably wondering if she's lying. Jocelynn in turn rolls her eyes at the assumption that anyone would be oblivious to who he was, and Jimin can't help but feel amused.

"So what if I do? It's polite to introduce yourself to strangers you nearly run over." Jocelynn responds, her eyes glinting mischievously and Jimin can't help it.

He laughs.

Jocelynn smiles at the sight, almost proud that she was able to leech that out of him. After a moment, Jimin turns to her and extends his hand her way.

"My name is Jimin." When she doesn’t take it right away, he raises his eyebrow at her. In turn, she rolls her eyes before intertwining her hand with his and shaking it. Jimin can't help but think that her hand is soft, comforting, almost made to fit with his. Inwardly, he chastises himself for thinking that way.

When will he remember that fate and destiny don't exist?

Hasn't he been taught that enough?

"It's nice to meet you Jimin."

When she says his name, it's almost as though some invisible bind around his heart has been released. He's able to breathe for the first time, he's able to forget everything he's been harboring deep inside. Almost as though a simple utterance of his name on her tongue has set him free.

"I'm sorry I ruined your date." Jocelynn apologizes before pulling away, and Jimin considers scrambling to hold her hand tightly within his own. In order to refrain himself, he scratches the back of his neck as he shakes his head.

"It's not your fault, don't worry." He reassures her, and she bows her head, smiling to herself. Sighing, Jimin looks back up at the stars, finding it fascinating the way they can shine so bright from so far away. "If I'm being honest it was probably ruined before I met you."

"Do you mind saying why?" At the thought of showing her that vulnerable side of himself, he can feel the darkness start to taint the inner corners of his heart.

Why is it so frightening to reveal one's weakness?

Smiling almost bitterly, he avoids her eyes as he answers her.

"Have you ever had a relationship where you know you're being used, but you stay in it because you're afraid of being alone?"

Jocelynn flinches at the description, being reminded of a time way back where she had exactly that. Painful memories she had thought she had since buried ever since he was removed from her life. Moments she thought she had left behind the moment she promised she would move on.

"That's my relationship." Jimin continues, Jocelynn listening quietly beside him. "I mean it started nice enough. The usual honeymoon phase. She was sweet and funny. To top it off she was just drop-dead gorgeous, I thought I hit the gold mine. The luckiest guy in the world."

Though he doesn't look her way and she doesn't make a move to comfort him, somehow her presence beside him makes things easier for him. He doesn't feel as though someone is violating his memories, he doesn't feel as though she were a stranger. On the contrary, he feels as though this were a normal thing, as though he had been confiding in her all his life.

"Until I saw that she was only happy when she was taking from me. She used me for money, sex, love..."

It was all a lie.

Even now, Jimin can't bear to utter the words, instead they hang over his head. Unspoken but the reality hitting him like a grenade.

"Yeah, she was sweet all right. Like poison."

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head at himself. He never knew self-deprecation could hurt this much. Slowly building up each day until he threatens to break.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I don't even know you."

It's strange, he can't even confide in his friends. He doesn't even feel as though he's able to talk to Tae like he used to, why is it so easy for him to talk to Jocelynn? A person whom he met on a chance encounter, someone whom he didn't even know the name of until just a couple of seconds ago. They are little more than strangers, so how is this so easy?

At the question, Jocelynn smiles to herself, remembering something she had heard once before. From a mere child, and yet it was a child who was the first person to teach her she was never truly alone.

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to those you don't know. They don't have room to judge, they don't know what you did wrong or where you messed up. You may never see them again, so what harm is there in talking to them? That way you don't have to deal with the baggage following you around."

Jimin looks at her with surprise and finds that her gaze is far away. Those green eyes that are so calm and serene are now filled with unspoken tears and sparkling gems of pain.

"I'm not going to say some crappy thing like 'why don't you just leave' or 'she's toxic just drop her' because I know how hard that really is." She takes a deep breath to steady her nerves before continuing. "However, I know what it's like to be used and endure pain because you don't want to be alone. So I will say something to help you make up your mind."

When she meets his delicate tawny eyes with her tender green ones, he finds himself struck speechless. She looks at him almost as though she were afraid he'd break. As though he needed a shield to protect him at all costs and she would be willing to be that shield.

Since when was it Jimin who needed protecting?

"You deserve better."

"What?"

Jimin seems shocked, almost baffled at the notion. Jocelynn smiles almost bitterly to herself. Is that what she looked like when she was told the same thing? Was it so hard to believe that someone like her could deserve to be happy?

"No matter what you may tell yourself, you deserve love. You deserve to be loved. No matter what you think you may have done or how scared you are of being alone, you deserve to have someone reciprocate the love you give to them." Jocelynn holds her hands tightly together as she speaks, an attempt to refrain herself from reaching over and taking his within hers. Though she longs to give him some sort of comfort, she has to keep her distance. "From the way you're describing it...this relationship doesn't sound like it's love."

The silence that blossoms between them is one not easily broken. It's a silence filled with unspoken emotions, late realizations, and hard-won ignorance crumbling. When Jimin looks at her, he admires the way her face shines in the moonlight, her hair that tumbles down around her shoulders, the way she exuberates calm serenity that never thought he'd find.

Almost as if she were an angel sent for him.

When the bus pulls up in front of the two of them, Jimin finds that he doesn't want her to be a stranger. He doesn't want her to leave. He wants her to be around him, he wants her to know his burden. And above all...

He doesn't want to hide anymore.

"Just...think about it okay?" Jocelynn stands, sliding the jacket Jimin gave her not but a few moments ago off her shoulders and offering it up to him. "Here."

He sits there for a stunned moment, staring up at her and the jacket. Within his mind, he makes a quick decision, one that he sincerely hopes he doesn't regret.

Standing, he pushes the coat back to her and smiles.

"Keep it." He murmurs as her emerald eyes widen, a soft rosy hue threatening to erupt on her cheeks. Smiling to herself, she nods, holding the jacket close to her chest, before stepping back toward the bus.

"Thank you." She whispers back, turning on her heel and boarding the bus.

Leaving Jimin alone.

As the doors close, and the familiar hiss exuberates from the vehicle as it pulls away, Jimin stands there. He watches Jocelynn walk down the aisle, before settling into a seat beside a window. She presses her cheek against the cool glass before turning back to the jacket she holds in her hands. Jimin sees as she smiles to herself before holding it close to her heart, her face buried deep within the fabric.

He doesn't notice the grin on his face as he witnesses the pink blush on her cheeks, and the wide smile on her face as she pulls away. Her eyes sparkle with a joy he's only seen on TV screens, and in the back of his mind, he wonders if it's possible to keep that smile to himself. He wonders if she'd be willing to stay by him forever.

Then the bus is gone, she's gone, and he's left in the dust of forgotten memories and broken tears.

"No..." He murmurs, a smile playing at the memory of her green eyes.

"Thank you."

note: NEW CHARACTER ALERT!!! This character has a lot of background to do with Yen, which will be revealed later. I really like this chapter and enjoyed writing in a different POV for different characters. I think this is a nice view into Jimin's side of the story and hopefully we can expand on it soon. Anyways! Thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed!

chapter 35 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[qwanderer]

Loki in the Hall of Mirrors

This story is complicated. Not, like, as a plot, not particularly, but philosophically and thematically. It's got that great play of hero against villain that I love about the Loki story in general and that makes it all so divisive and messy. And I love it even more than I did on first watch.

The first time I watched the desert landing scene, I was like, "Wait? What happened to Allspeak?" because the people who live there don't seem to understand him. But on the second watch, I realized it could be a lack of context, rather than a break in translation. These people probably have an even chance of knowing nothing about Norse myth. Like, what if an alien came up to you and said "I am Boogle of Bofgar, I carry a burden"? You would still have questions like "What the hell is a boogle and why are you carrying your shit here?" So the basic dynamic of Allspeak is probably still functioning, and Loki probably understood their questions, but he was still trying to figure out how to answer when he got distracted by the TVA people.

It could even be an innate psychic ability rather than a magical one, as he seems to understand everyone in the TVA, including the man who can't be fluent in all languages like the field agents because he has never heard of a fish and the seemingly nonverbal robot. (Which of course makes me want Loki talking with Dum-E and the other shop bots! But I digress.)

Okay. I want to start talking about the next-level manipulation shit the TVA are pulling on Loki here. Time, as they say, moves differently in the TVA, and one might even assume that they can avoid having to deal with more variants at once than they can handle. And yet we see them dealing with exactly two other troublemakers during Loki's onboarding.

The first, I'm going to call little echo man.

Little echo man is incredibly annoying to Loki, because he does and says everything Loki might find himself inclined to do and say if he wanted to be difficult. Little echo man does these things in little annoying undignified ways, making them look silly and petulant. Little echo man protests and questions and pushes back, in his business suit and his long dark hair and pale skin, and clearly thinks everyone should treat him as important even though every indication is that he is an annoyance and an afterthought.

Perhaps he's a plant, and perhaps he's just a variant of an annoying but predictable regular they see who they lined up at the same time on purpose. But he is on purpose. Everything he does screams directly at Loki, "Don't do this."

We'll get to the second convenient intersection later.

The most obvious layer of manipulation is simply the beraucracy. They put him up against a series of obstacles which he needs to deal with to get anywhere else, and nothing he does can get him past those obstacles except compliance. All of these obstacles have personality, but they are not personable. They treat Loki like a bag of trash they have been tasked with taking to the curb. Annoying, distasteful, but ultimately routine. His silver tongue isn't going to get him anywhere because these people simply don't care.

I think a lot of these he just goes along with to see where it gets him, since at this point he still believes he has his magic in reserve. But the fact that he steps through the robot fryer even though he thinks he might be a robot without knowing (as others have pointed out, he spent thousands of years as a frost giant without knowing it, and he's recently spent time in the control of the being who shaped Nebula) is a testament to how deep they've already got their hooks in him.

They treat the robot fryer like it's routine, but come the next obstacle, they kill little echo man like it's routine, too. Because he didn't comply.

Loki is slowly being ironed flat to thread into their compliance mill.

And then - I love this, because it reminds me of one of my favorites among the multiplicity of Lokis, GoS!Loki - they put this line in as punctuation between the impersonal, compliance, don't phase of their manipulation and everything that comes after it.

When he's set before the judge, someone actually paying some attention to him, this is his chance to use his silver tongue on someone who will listen. But, although the judge listens, she treats him the same as all the other obstacles have - like listening is a distasteful chore she would like to be done with.

So it seems like the perfect moment for a dramatic escape. Except his magic is gone.

"It's not your story," the judge says. "It never was."

That hammers in all the worst things Loki has ever believed about himself - that he stands in the shadows of others, that he will never have the central place he was raised to desire, that he is, and always will be, a villain to be vanquished rather than a person with choices and agency.

Enter Mobius.

Mobius is a big echo.

He draws all the attention in a room. He is everything that Loki wishes to be - he is powerful, informed, prepared, in control. Capable of charming the judge. And most importantly, he is actively interested in Loki.

At this point in Loki's journey - both in the show and in his life - that has to be irresistible.

So Mobius is in a perfect position to wrap Loki right around his pinky finger.

He listens to Loki without shutting him down, the way all the obstacles have. When Loki tells Mobius he's going to burn down the TVA, Mobius suggests a couple of places he might want to start. One concrete, small, mischievous. One an indication that he's open to Loki doing larger, more significant things here in the future.

He shows Loki his own past and future - but carefully edited, to paint a particular picture.

So many echoes, so many reflections - Loki is in a house of mirrors. Lost, disoriented. Distorted one way, then the other. Magnified and examined.

Loki snarks, and Mobius comments, "Makes you sound smart." Affirms Loki for that little mischievous bit of personality.

Mobius shows Loki some of the most terrible things he's done, and questions them. Pushes Loki away from them. Then changes direction before he can get too heavy-handed, to basically fangirl over the DB Cooper adventure. That's mischief. That's good. I like that.

Punishes him for a small infraction, just to remind him who is in control and that even looking threatening could be seen as a problem.

I think it was at about this point that I got hard reminded of the dynamics of the show White Collar. It's a buddy cop show on a basic level and sometimes the relationship can be very sweet, but sometimes Peter spends one too many times reminding Neal that he can send him back to prison any time he wants and the power dynamic shows its messed up edges.

Mobius is part of the machine, and the machine is doing terrible things to Loki, but I have at least a sliver of hope that the relationship could gain more balance - more genuine balance, not based on the faux freedom that Loki has gained by the end of the episode. There's something to be said for making changes to a system from within that system, but for that to be meaningful change, Mobius would have to change as a person.

Anyway, this current nastily powerful Mobius pushes Loki as hard as he can, and then is conveniently interrupted by the actions of another variant, leaving Loki alone with his remote.

It could easily have been on purpose. The only thing Loki learns by escaping that room is that the TVA is more powerful than any force in the universe, in his experience.

Let's talk about the other Loki variant for a minute. It took me until the second viewing to realize the symbolism of leaving a small child the only survivor in a place of worship, then giving her something to turn her blue.

Odin said he found Loki in a temple, in the aftermath of a battle.

It's actually frighteningly easy to imagine how a distraught Loki could get to a place where he feels the need to genuinely burn down the TVA, and kill every agent in it. Because the TVA put certain clips in his little future show, focusing on the death of his mother, the way his own actions affected it, and the futility and brutality of his own death at the hands of Thanos.

They don't show him the destruction of Asgard, his own role in helping save the evacuees, and the way Thanos decimated the population of that transport before it could even reach Earth. They don't show him the devastation of his home or his capacity to do good.

A Loki who knows that the power of the TVA exists and that he has the capacity to be Asgard's heroic savior would do anything to get that power and save his people.

But we haven't met that Loki yet. I'm sure we will, and it's going to be exhilarating.

This Loki is being taught the importance of control over little things, and so when he gets his collar off and onto that guard, he toys with her, just to see that he can. They have been toying with him and it's oh so satisfying to turn the tables. But it's still compliance in its own way, the petty little mischief that Mobius has been steering him towards.

Loki has been given just enough freedom, just enough choices, that it seems like his own choice to watch the rest of the slide show and come to the obvious conclusion - there's no "out" to go to. His life has gone on without him, and ended. And there's really no point in his trying to fix it. No putting things back the way they were.

So he admits to Mobius - the person who has listened hardest, probably, besides his mother - he admits that he is small and scared and lashing out. That he doesn't know what to do.

Of course, this is when Mobius introduces the task the TVA has for Loki - to take down his other self.

Oh, I can't wait for the next episode! I want to know where this is going.

(I've popped in some panels from Loki: Agent of Asgard because it's my favorite and the show is giving me feelings about it.)

[lozzypoz321]

VICTORIA IS HERE WITH A REQUEST! :D could you write something with chris evans x teen!co-star!reader where one of the readers family members gets hospitalized, and the reader can't go and see them since they're filming the movie, so the reader gets very sad? and then chris comforts them all fluffy-like,, thank youuu you wonderful human :)))

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: thank you for sending this request in! I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you like it!

Warnings: injury, crying, angst with a happy ending

Chris Evans| Pain at a distance

-

You looked at your phone puzzled when your dad’s contact popped up on your iPhone home screen in the middle of filming a scene with your castmates Chris and Sebastian. He knew not to call you when you were working so it must be important.

“Sorry, it’ll be quick” you promised the Russo’s and slid your index finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?” Without missing a beat he quickly scrambled the words out, not bothering to breathe between them. So much that you couldn’t understand what he was saying. “Dad, I can’t hear what you're saying. Can you slow down?”

The sob you heard on the other line made your eyebrows knit in confusion. “Y- your mother- she- she’s in hospital, I’m sorry Y/N”

Your eyes, which were originally trained on the actors and actresses who were scrambling about trying to get ready for the retake, were now unfocused and staring at a blank spot on the floor. Furious tears threatening to spill any second. Your throat burned dry with dehydration and you struggled to remember how to speak, instead focusing on the thoughts that raced through your mind: all the possibilities that could happen to your mom.

Would you see her again? Would you talk to her again? Would you even remember her face?

Filming had taken up so much of your mind recently that you’d forgotten to even call your parents in the last few weeks. Was this your punishment? Were you such a bad daughter that the world had decided to take away one of your parents?

You’d always had more than one parental figure. When you were away from home Scarlett and Chris had always been there for you, helping you study when you had the chance, giving you advice on your career and even stopping you from going skydiving with Tom Holland (you weren’t old enough anyway) So they were always looking out for you as a parent would but, you didn’t even want to think about losing one.

“W- wha’?” You brain seemed to be going a million miles an hour and your mouth moved on its own accord, barely even pronouncing the word properly for your dad to understand it.

“She- she- there was an accident (Y/N)”

Without meaning to, you dropped your phone. Hand going slack and your brain not comprehending what was happening. As soon as the crack erupted through the room, every pair of eyes travelled to you. Chris’s eyes were filled with concern before he even saw the tears in your eyes, he knew when you were upset, and now it was so obvious to him that he was surprised nobody else there didn’t even notice it.

But before he could set down the shield he was currently strapping to his arm in preparation you were gone, phone discarded and props left were they were.

Looking around he saw you discussing something with the Rusos, pity found in their eyes.

“I’m sorry Y/N but we’ve got to finish this movie in the next few weeks, you being gone would mean we’d have to postpone the movie for another 8 months”

You sighed in defeat, desperately fighting off the tears that threatened to show. “O- okay, I understand”

-

For the next few months, your personality outside of filming had dramatically changed. You were no longer making stupid jokes at meals or asking people to binge-watch movies with you when you weren’t working or even doing joke interviews with your cast members for tiktoks. You hadn’t told them for the simple reason you didn’t want pity, because if they felt sorry for you that meant that this whole thing was real. That your mom was in the hospital, that she wasn’t at your home where she should be, and that you couldn’t even see her at all. To say they were concerned would be an understatement, especially Chris, he knew your bubbly personality was changing and he wasn’t going to sit back and watch.

“Hey Y/N, it’s Chris” the knock on the door startled you out of your day dreaming. “Oh um.. come in” you called out, wondering why he was here. He never went to your trailer, instead, it was always you going to his, asking to hang out.

The door creaked open and he entered the trailer, a small smile on his lips yet a serious look in his eyes.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. Why was he here? Without invitation he sat at the adage of your bed and faced you, his features not changing, “what’s going on with you?”

“Huh?”

“Y/N, your not yourself, what’s happening?” Realisation kicked in as the question left his mouth, and your throat immediately went dry. So that’s why he was here, he was confronting you. “N- none of your business” you attempted to get off your bed and walk out the door but he grabbed your wrist and held you in place, “(Y/N) please don’t push me away, I want to help you. Please, let me help you”

The words repeated in your mind for a second before out of nowhere you burst into tears. The situation finally settling in, your mom was in his hospital and you couldn’t even see her. And there was also a possibility you wouldn’t even see her again. “I- I don’t know what to do Chris”

His eyes softened and he stood up to engulf you in a hug that made you feel safer. “What’s going on (Y/N)?” His gentle tone made your breathing deepen as you attempted to calm down so you could comply and tell him the news you had received less than a week ago

“M- my mom-“ you cut yourself in a hiccough that wracked your body “she- shes in hospital and I don’t- I don’t know if she’ll make it and I can’t even see her because of this st- stupid filming!”

Your building up anger didn’t seem to phase Chris at all, as you felt his arms envelope around you even tighter, you felt his chin rest upon the top of your head, making you attempt to calm down. “I’m, so so, sorry (Y/N) but she’s gonna be okay, you’ll see her again sweetheart”

“I- I can’t, the Russos told me I couldn’t, we’ve gotta finish filming,” you told the older man, refusing to let the dread overcome you once again. Without moving you could feel him shake his head slightly in response “no, I’ll speak to them (Y/N), everything’s gonna be okay”

He released you from the confines of the hug but still kept his hand on your shoulders, giving you a small reassuring smile making you nod slightly, grateful that you had such a good friend and parental figure in your time of need, “thank you Chris, I mean it”

“It’s okay (Y/N), I’ll always be here”

-

@rooskaya-yelena @deephideoutmilkshake @kidney9-9 @marvel-ous-hobbit @snarky--starky @rae-is-typing @stargazingfangirl18 @canadianhufflepuffavenger @herecomesthewriterwitch @every-marveler-ever @js3639

[thejoshscogin]

In most tragic events, both global and regional, I typically like to do my part to assist or help, while remaining in the background. Whether it is donating money, protesting, physically building houses, traveling out to give food and water to people, or any other potential aid I am able to contribute...these are done as “under the radar” as possible. Because, I am not usually a fan of the “look at me“ spotlight mentality, while the issues of the world should be getting the spotlight.

Now, I understand it is 2020 and “If you didn’t Gram it, it didn’t happen!“ but as a very private-introvert with a very strong moral compass, I personally don’t need the verification from social media to affirm my actions. Or, to put it more correctly, I don’t need the verification of social media to stroke an ego. In short, social media can often (but not always) take advantage of the “Never let a good crisis go to waste“ dogma. It can feel more about gaining “LIKES” and followers and a general “look at what I did“ pat-on-the-back, than focusing on the real issue at hand.

With all of that being said, this time it feels different. I’m still contributing in areas that I’m able, but the overwhelming morality of making it clear where I stand, outweighs the morality of not seeking vanity/self-aggrandizement. Obviously I’m still NOT here for vanity/self-aggrandizement but keeping in the background doesn’t feel like the correct path to take on this particular event dealing with race and humanity. So let me be clear.

The short version goes like this…

- I support Black Lives Matter! (duh)

- I support peaceful protests of civilians.

- I don’t support the violent looting and destruction of properties, but I understand them. I’ll speak more on that later.

- I don’t support the riots brought on by the police.

- I don’t support any authoritarian/dictator/tyrant in office that tries to hinder or remove our freedom of speech.

The long version goes like this…

I love America, or to put it more correctly, I love the potential of America. I have been fortunate enough to travel around the world many, many times (sweet brag Josh 😑) and there are so many wonderful places on this planet I would love to live but I always return home, to America.

We are not perfect (duh, no country is) and the harsh truth is that we will probably never fully end racism. I reckon there will always be idiots who hate other humans for something as pointless as skin color or as trivial as “Your pants are too tight.” or (insert any other juvenile scenario) but as Americans, if we feel like those idiots have become the people in power (police, leaders, presidents etc etc.) we have the right to freedom of speech. We have the right to voice our feelings against authority, and make a change. We have the right to protest.

Now let me be very clear, I am a full believer in peace! I believe that hate breeds more hate. I believe that violence breeds more violence. So, when these protests turn into looting and destruction of properties, it can feel like those people have lost the focus of the original task at hand. However, I also understand that when the pendulum has been so far on one side for so long, it is only natural for it to swing to the other side with brute force. Also, when the (very) peaceful protests of people like Colin Kaepernick are ignored, and in many ways punished, I can fully understand why stronger actions are felt justified and needed.

As Americans, we have the right to raise our voice when we see something needs to be corrected. So, when the peaceful, “indoor voice”, of the calm and collected Kaepernick doesn’t reach the ears of the giants in power ...or to put it more correctly, when it reaches the ears of the giants in power and yet, is completely ignored... it is only a matter of time before America feels like only a scream will suffice.

We must not forget that Kaepernick originally sat on the bench during the national anthem. It was only later that he decided it would be MORE respectful if he joined his team mates on the field and simply took a knee. I don’t know how he could have protested in a more peaceful (and respectful) way. That was like 4 or maybe 5 years ago, and yet, here we are. He tried. He gave peace a chance. Yet, here we are.

The cyclical tragedy of what happened to George Floyd is a real shame to the American powers that be. If only real measures and actions would’ve been taken from the lessons that should have been learned from Breonna Taylor or Freddie Gray or Eric Garner or Michael Brown or any of these people below (to name a few) with very similar scenarios.

Now I don’t even claim to know how to instantly fix these problems, but there are a few basic things that sure seem like it would have at least helped. First of all, people should have been fired! I’m not just talking about the individuals directly dealing with the deaths, they should be in jail, but I’m talking about any and all police officers who had a history of racism or known violent tendencies, they should have been fired, all across the nation. Secondly, real actions should have been taken after these events. I understand that eventually things like body cameras etc. came into affect but what’s the point, if it’s okay to just turn them off whenever they feel like it, with no repercussions in doing so.

Side Note: Hey cops, if you feel the need to turn your cameras off, then you are doing something wrong. If you feel the need to cover up your badge in anyway, then you are doing something wrong. If you feel the need to force other people with cameras to leave the scene, then you are doing something wrong. And there should be deep and drastic consequences for any cops doing any of the above mentioned. Also, to be clear, I am not necessarily anti-cop (in theory). I know a few cops and in fact, I feel like some of our other issues of today’s police force might have been sorted or at least minimized if, a long time ago, we would have paid cops a whole lot more money. But that’s a topic for another time and not on social media. End of side note:

1991 is the first scenario I can personally remember of police brutality of an unarmed black man that became very publicized. If only dramatic measures would have been taken from the lessons that should have been learned from way back when Rodney King was in the spotlight. Imagine what nearly 30 years of progress would look like today if we would have started it back then. Our situation now, would be very different and I could assume many lives would have been spared and generally just an overall quality-of-life would be better. Shame on the powers that be, that nearly 30 years later we are still watching, shot for shot, the exact same movie unfold again and again. It blows my mind that we are still dealing with the vastness of this issue.

So where do we go from here? What are some productive steps towards ending police brutality on black people? Well, unfortunately, the quickest and most sustainable solutions would have to come from the top. If the police chiefs of the nation would fire all of the racist idiots, there would be an instant and obvious difference in the right direction. I have more thoughts on that but, assuming there is no Chief of police reading this, I’ll save you the time...

As civilians, there are still things that can be done to assist the steps to getting us further towards the right direction. Since the majority of the people reading this are most likely NOT the closed-minded-racists who are the problems, the solutions can seem less direct but every step (big or small) in the correct direction adds up.

In the short term, I think the most direct thing you can do is to donate money or protest if you are able. If you are someone in power then you should fire all the racist idiots. I’m not just talking about the police force. If you are an employer of any sort, you should remove the bad apples and do your best to never hire them in the first place.

In the long term I think the best actions are to vote! Or, to put it more correctly, study up on politicians, know where they stand on topics that are important to you, and then VOTE! Please, for the love of America, don’t JUST VOTE without the due diligence. Vote big, like the presidential candidates etc. Vote small, like local jurisdictions and authorities etc. Lastly, I think it is very important to mix and mingle with folks outside of your top 8. It will do you good, it will do our country good. As I mentioned before, if you are reading this then you’re likely already fairly open minded but just remember, it can be a subtle and steady danger to ONLY communicate with the same inner sanctum of people that believe the exact same intricacies as you do. Communicate with lots of people, with lots of backgrounds. Diversify, and remember, communication is a dialogue not a monologue.

There are so many other things that can be done. These are just the first few that popped in my head.

Last thing and then I’m out. I do believe we will come out on the other side of this better than when we went in. The death of George Floyd is a tragedy and it is compounded by all of the previous tragedies that took place before him, regardless if they got publicity or not. But, look around, we are not sitting idly by.

When we all share the same voice and sing the same song, the mountains can be moved.

I would love to, in my lifetime, live in a country where every human felt safe, respected and appreciated. I would love to, in my lifetime, live in a nation where we celebrated all of our extensive differences. I would love to, in my lifetime, live in a land where the police were there to protect and the police were there serve. And I would love to, in my lifetime, have all humans feel truly equal. Change is coming. Or, to put it more correctly, change is upon us.

Sincerely,

Josh Scogin

“Your old road is rapidly agin'

Please get out of the new one

If you can't lend your hand

For the times they are a-changin' “

-Bob Dylan

[starrysebastians]

painkillers and something more [one shot]

pairing : bucky barnes x reader

summary : lingering glances and subtle touches are fine, but all it takes is a little injury to turn whatever this is into something more

a/n : listen this one shot wasn't planned but i'm on antibiotics and painkillers right now and instead of letting myself die i wrote this . so basically hurt and comfort and fluff to end my suffering (mentions of injury)

word count : 1.8k

When the end credits of the movie he was watching ended and he didn't have the will to get up from his comfy position on the couch to grab the other remote and turn the TV off, so James Barnes is currently facing a beaming blue screen — has been for at least a whole hour. It makes a buzzing sound he has now gotten used to, because he kinda likes having a background noise to avoid facing the deep and abyssal silence being awake in the middle of the night always brings. Tonight wasn't particularly plagued with nightmares, but the previous ones, and months of recons and missions have messed up his sleeping schedule enough for him to finally take Sam's advice and watch the numerous movies he recommended him to catch-up on the 21st century culture.

His eyes are now focused on a book, one he found lying on a table, the bookmark next to it rather than in between the pages so he figured the person reading it was done. There's a shuffling coming from the hall that makes him perk up, the book closing on the finger he put between the pages.

Muffled voices, a groan, and it's getting closer.

"C'mon, let's get you on the couch. I'll get you your meds." Bucky identifies it as Sam's voice, although it is softer than it usually is when he's joking around, lighter than it is over the coms during a mission. It has the same he uses when he tries to comfort someone after innocent bystanders were a mission's collateral damages, or when Wanda has a nightmares. "Here."

The ceiling lamp flickers on, making the little reading lamp next to Bucky's couch useless. Even when he is wide awake, he usually likes staying in the dark when it's nighttime. It helps with schedules and not getting completely disoriented, seeing the sky go from purple and pink to dark blue splattered in white dots to soft orange and light blue. Artificial lightning all night long just messes with your mind.

Shifting in his seat so that he can turn his head and observe the hall leading to the living room — more like a living floor, by the way, he frowns upon you and Sam. Rather, Sam holding you by the waist, walking ever so slowly as if you were gonna collapse as soon as he let you go. Bucky stands up straighter, a million questions popping up in his head — were you on a mission? no, you had one that lasted longer than usual because Fury needed you and you returned two weeks ago, and all you did the past few days was help run recon, collect intel… nothing to get hurt over.

He and Sam share a look, and he's not quite sure what that expression on his face is.

"Here. Just lie down," Sam says with his soft voice again as you tumble on the couch, hands on the leather to steady you as you try and lay down as gently as possible. "I'll be right back." Another pointed look at Bucky, and this time he slowly rises from his seat, taking two hesitant steps.

It's not that you and him are not close — in fact, he would say you're one of the persons he likes the most here. You work with SHIELD, but also with them, it depends on the missions and he likes how you're free to work with any organisation you like. You're independent, and not often in the compound. He enjoys watching you work and fight because you're so skilled it's impressive for a normal, non-enhanced human being, but maybe it's just everything about you he deems worthy of being stared at all day long.

There has been different moments shared. Unwinding times in comfortable silence and missions aftermaths, bundled up in soft blankets in the living room or numbly sitting in the quinjet as it flew back towards the compound. Briefing sessions, some with too many things at stake to share a joke, others where you both shared smirks and twinkling looks. One where you accidentally bumped your leg against his, that time Steve was explaining how you were going to take down a weapon-dealing business, which is a pretty easy task for all of you, and you decided your leg was going to stay right here. You even made the wise decision of hooking your feet around his leg, the warmth emitting from your tangled legs making Bucky bite his lip in order to stop a smile from breaking out on his face. You didn't hide yours.

There are also times when you don't get to bump into each other for months. Exhausting months when you both are on missions, deep down undercover — especially you, because the winter soldier's face, albeit masks and tricks existing, is well-known, contrary to yours which has been well-protected by every intelligence agency you have served. During those months, sometimes you're scared he's going to forget about you and your fleeting glances ; he's scared you're too busy with work for him to ever cross your mind. And you never really talk, you both just flirt and smirk and wink and sometimes it feels like it has to evolve into something more, but it has always been enough.

But you're currently moaning from pain on the couch right next to him and his face hurts from frowning so hard.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Another two steps (strides) towards you, a hesitant hand hovering next to you, not knowing where to go to provide comfort without hurting you further. You turn your head toward the sound of his voice, painfully, and squint as if everything was blurry.

"Hi," you drawl out, a lazy smile on your face. "I missed you."

A flutter in the stomach, a soft and content sigh.

"I missed you too. What happened? I thought you didn't have any mission coming up?"

"I didn't," you say and he frowns. "Remember that undercover mission where I got shot last month?" He nods and you wince before continuing. His gaze falls on your hip, because he remembers that gunshot, a bit too well. "Well, maybe I didn't really follow the doctor's orders. I mean, I did. I just got back to work too early. But it wasn't that deep. Like a flesh wound. But, anyway." Another wince. "Turns out it got a little infected. So I'm back on antibiotics and painkillers for a week."

It physically hurts him too, to see your glazed and glossy eyes, constant frown and lips turned downwards, but he still chuckles at your rambling, and the fact that you couldn't stand to stay on bed rest for more than two days. He crouches down next to you, pushing a strand of hair out of your eyes because you've been trying to get rid off it for the past minute by blowing air on it, but it just doesn't work.

"Yeah well please try and listen, next time," Sam's voice is back, and you just know he rolled his eyes. The sound of boxes and a glass clinking against the table can be heard, and he lays a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Here's the doctor's prescription. Antibiotics, painkillers, water. She probably won't sleep tonight." He crouches down too, a hand resting on her forearm. "I'm gonna let Tin Man here keep you company, alright? If I don't wake up for training tomorrow, Steve is gonna have my head."

You hum distractedly as you watch Bucky fumble with the prescription and meticulously prepare your pills, tongue stuck out as his blue eyes are squinted. Cleaning out his weapons probably doesn't require as much attention and care, and you can't help but laugh at his expression. A super-soldier, being able to aim at an enemy's head without even sparing him a glance, but putting so much effort into getting your meds right, and it makes your chest swell with something you can't quite place, but it's warm, definitely warm. Burning. He perks up at the sound of your laugh, only to send you a glare, and then a few seconds later he proudly hands you the right amount of pills.

"Thank you," you say with a smile, a hand lingering a bit too long on his skin. He helps you get propped up against the cosy and snug cushions and while you take your meds, he's busy finding you a soft and fluffy blanket, resting it on top of you.

"Here." He's sitting next to you again, leaning more and more every time you let a groan escape your lips.

"Would you mind knocking me off so I can sleep?"

An amused chuckle but a fond movement of the head, from left to right.

"You weren't sleeping?" You talk again.

He shakes his head again. "Nah. I was catching up on Sam's movie recommendation list."

"Can you put something on?"

It takes you ten minutes to decide on Blade Runner, and in fear of hurting you, he slides down against the couch again, his head thrown back a little and you can see his face if you look down, the colors displayed on the TV screen dancing across his soft and tired features. He's just so pretty.

You extend your left arm, and it is dangling from the couch, fingers softly brushing Bucky's shoulders. Scratching his neck, his ear. Running through his shiny locks, the smell of his shampoo invading your senses. He cranes his neck backwards to get a better look at you, and he notices your smile and the glinting in your eyes from upside down. You hum as his flesh hand grab yours, thumb stroking your skin. He lets it rest on his shoulder again, putting his attention back to the movie playing in front of him.

It takes another twenty minutes of gentle fingers running on his skin, insistent staring at his neck, back muscles, hair and shoulders, for you to talk again, painkillers having kicked in.

"Please come and lie with me. You're not gonna hurt me," your voice can't compete with the fight scene on screen, but you're leaning right next to his ear, and if he doesn't move for a second, he certainly heard you. "Hold me?"

This is the something more you have both been yearning for. There wasn't any moment that was right before, but this one is.

It takes a few minutes for the two of you to find a position that doesn't hurt your hip, lots of groans and painful winces. But then you're lying between his legs, back resting against his toned abdomen, head nestled in the crook of his neck with strands probably tickling his skin but he doesn't say anything because he likes the smell of your shampoo too, and he's warmer than the blanket.

That something more, the next step in a dynamic based on small smiles across the quinjet and subtly tangled legs, is going to have to wait until you don't have to ingest the highest dose of painkillers humanly possible to move without wincing, but it is there. Hanging in the air, waiting to be seized. In the way Bucky holds you, runs the back of his flesh hand up and down your arm, and softly kisses your neck.

[addictofsupernatural]

The Southsider (pt. 7)

Sweet Pea x reader

Chapter Summary: It seems like a normal day to y/n, until she sees an unfamiliar car in the parking lot. But she decides to play it smart and make a call.

Word Count: 2007

Chapter 1 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 8

You put Sweet Pea's flannel in your backpack and headed to school. You slipped on your jacket and got to school with a pep in your step. You thought that everything was fine, put you saw one Reggie Mantle walking the halls.

Veronica and Betty came up to you. "Do my eyes deceive me? Why is he here?" Veronica asks.

"I was hoping you guys would tell me." You frown.

"Let's go before he sees you." Betty says, to which you respond by nodding. Unfortunately he sees the three of you leaving and decided to follow.

Veronica sent a text to Archie. Before he could get straight to you, Archie steps in his way at the last minute. You let out a smile. "Easy Reggie. I don't think she wants to see you."

"I know, I came to apologise." He looked at you, as if he wanted you to help him, but you just stood there. You didn't care what he had to say, what he did was unforgivable. He brought up the worst times in your life, just to seem superior.

He tried getting closer to you, but Archie pushed him off. "Look, I realized that what I did was pretty douchey. I was too focused on the Southside, but you've been in the Northside for so long that you're basically one of us." He gave you a nervous smile. "I'm sorry."

You said nothing. You're basically one of us? You felt madder than you've ever felt within this week. After the exposing, the letter, the bullying, this pissed you off the most. He wasn't sorry for what he put you through. He was sorry because he now thought of you as a Northside.

Sweet Pea spotted you in the hallway, instantly smiling. But that smile faded when he saw Archie pushing away Reggie while Betty and Veronica were beside you. As he got closer to protect you, he saw you walk straight up to Reggie and gripped his collar, punching him in the face.

He fell to the ground. Sweet Pea stopped in his tracks, definitely not expecting that. He then saw Archie putting his hands on your shoulders, which snapped him back to reality. As he kept walking he heard Archie say "I could say that I was the one who did it."

"No, it's fine. I'll deal with Principal Weatherbee when he gets me."

Sweet Pea then reached you. "Are you okay?" He put his hand on your arm.

"Yeah I'm fine." You smiled at him.

"Hate to break up this convo," Veronica said, smiling. "But we will be stealing your girlfriend. Bye now." And with that Veronica and Betty led you to the school library, where you all sat down and you told them about your date.

"You're kidding right?" Veronica asked.

You shook your head, feeling the blush grow on your face. "That's so romantic." Betty fawned.

"Who knew such a dark, brooding person could have a soft side to him."

"Just because he's not the boy next door doesn't mean that he isn't a sweet person, V." You said.

"She's right." Betty said. "Jughead is a lot more sentimental when it's just us two."

"See?" You teased.

"Hey, don't hate on Archiekins just because he's not afraid to be affectionate in front of others." Veronica sat back in her seat.

"So what if they have some pride? It just makes it all the more cuter when they show some bashfulness." You enjoyed being able to talk about stuff like this with them.

Meanwhile, Sweet Pea and Archie stared at one Reggie Mantle on the ground. "Get up." Sweet Pea said.

He got up. "Are you going to tell Principal Weatherbee?" Archie asked.

"Nah, it's cool. Once she realizes where she belongs it'll be fine." Reggie smirked. He decided that he was going about this the wrong way. He tried to humiliate you, but others had your back. But if you were turn your back on the Southside, that'll really hurt them.

Sweet Pea was about to punch Reggie himself, but Archie put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. The bell then rang, and everybody went back to class.

Toni and Cheryl, who seemed to be getting closer, were begging to have you tell them about the date. You decided to play with them, denying their requests. It wasn't like you cared for Betty and Veronica more, but you knew that they would make fun of Sweet Pea.

You only dropped little teasers to what happened, until you finally said "You should ask Fangs. He was there, even if he wasn't." They looked at you, confused. You just giggled. Oh Fangs.

When lunch arrived, you took the flannel and looked for Sweet Pea, finding him on his way to his table. "Sorry, I forgot to give this back to you."

He smiled and took it. "It looked better on you anyway."

"I kind of doubt that. I kind of find the flannels on you pretty hot." You reached up and was about to kiss him, but was interrupted.

"Oh, there you guys are!" Betty said, dragging Jughead along with her. Sweet Pea backed away from your touch, causing you to huff. He heard the huff, and held back a smile. He had that affect on you then. "So I had the most amazing idea in class. I thought that we could all go on a double date." She smiled as Jughead looked at her, surprised.

You didn't know how you thought about this idea. Jughead was like a brother to you, and going on a double date with him in it was a bit weird.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Bets." Jughead said.

"Yeah, I agree with Jones."

"Come on guys, it'll be fun. Right, y/i?"

You looked at Sweet Pea, who shook his head. You then turned back to an eager Betty. "Uh, sorry B, but I have work later on today."

"Do you have work tomorrow?"

"Well, no but-"

"Then it's settled. The four of us will go on a double date tomorrow at Pop's. I can't wait." And with that they left.

You gave Sweet Pea an apologetic smile. "This isn't a good idea."

"I'm sorry. Let's just make the most out of it, yeah? I honestly didn't think it was a good idea either." He huffed and nodded his head. You kissed his jaw, then the side of his mouth. "Thank you."

He looked down at you and smiled before giving you a quick hug and walking away.

When school ended you headed to Pop's, greeting FP with a smile. "Well, what's got you so chirpy?" He smiled at you, glad that you were doing better.

You shrugged, thinking of Sweet Pea. "Oh, y'know, I'm just happy with my life right now."

"Well I'm glad that you're doing better now."

"Yup. Sweets has been helping me out the whole time." This got his attention.

"Sweets, huh? You've been spending a hell lot of time with him."

"Well yeah." You grabbed some ordered food. "I'd hope I'm allowed to spend some time with my boyfriend." He looked at you, shocked as you quickly sped walked away from him to deliver the food.

As you came back he stopped you from grabbing other plates. "What the hell you just say?" He quietly asked.

"FP it's not a big deal."

"Not a-"

"Let's not overreact, okay?" You put a hand on his shoulder. "He has been there for me every step of the way. He has done nothing but helped me when I needed it. Give him a break."

You took the food and served some people. He huffed. "Fine, but I'm having a little talk with that boy."

"Believe me, there are some worse guys I know out there."

His fatherly instincts seemed to still be intact. "Like who?"

Just then Reggie walked in, smirking when he saw you. "Like him."

He sat down to where the counter was, looking at you expectantly. You gave FP a look, and he nodded. You went to the back to help Pop make some milkshakes while FP went up to him. "What can I get you?"

"Is y/n here?"

"She's busy, I'll be serving you." He narrowed his eyes at him.

"Shame. She's pretty hot in the uniform, don't you think?" Reggie knew what he was doing. He knew he was talking to the serpent king. He wanted to test him, test if the Southside king could keep it together.

"I think she likes to be treated respectfully. Now what would you like to drink?" FP was trying his best not to punch this kid in the face.

"Chocolate milkshake. Extra cherries. Have y/n bring it out if you can." He nodded and headed to the back.

He went up to you and watched you make a chocolate milkshake. "I heard everything." You said, not looking up from your work.

"I am so close to spitting in this boy's drink."

You smiled. "Why don't we just act like we did?" You finished the milkshake, adding three cherries on top and handing it to FP.

He gave it to Reggie. "Here you go kiddo. I added a little something to it, just for you." He gave him a smile, leaving Reggie to look at his drink suspiciously. You passed by with two other milkshakes in your hand and gave him a smirk, causing him to be even more suspicious.

As you were heading back to behind the counter, Reggie grabbed your arm. "Excuse me," He said. "I'd like to order something."

FP then grabbed your other arm and pulled you away. "And what would you like to order?" FP asked.

He ordered, smirking at you everytime you passed by. Soon Jughead came around the time you were going on your break, so you went and sat with him as you took your break. Then Sweet Pea came to say hi to you. When you ended your break, Sweet Pea was about to leave before FP slid next to him in the booth. "Not so fast, boy. I'm on my break, and we need to have a little talk."

Sweet Pea squirmed in his seat. "I heard you and y/n are dating now." Jughead tried hiding his smile and obnoxiously slurped on his milkshake. "If I so much as hear or see anything that I don't like you doing towards her, you're a dead man."

He nodded. "Understood."

"But right now, we've got a more pressing issue. You see that boy?" He pointed to Reggie, Sweet Pea nodded. "He's been coming onto y/n the whole time."

"And the hierarchy of high school jocks strike again." Jughead said.

"Damn Northsiders! Always trying to take things that don't belong to them!" Sweet Pea tried to get out of the booth to confront the Bulldog, but FP pushed him back.

"Easy boy, you don't want to make a scene. Just keep an eye on him when you guys are at school. You too, Jug. We need to take care of her." The boys agreed.

Sweet Pea then decided to take off. He said goodbye to you while giving you a side hug and a kiss on the cheek. This angered Reggie, which led to him leaving Pop's.

Soon your shift ended and you walked home. When you got to your house, you saw two cars parked in the driveway. One of them you recognized as your aunt's. The other you didn't know. You scoped out the car, seeing a ghoulies jacket on one of the seats through the window. You then called Sweet Pea.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when he picked up the phone.

"Pea, we've got a problem. The ghoulies are at my house, and for some reason out of any possible time my aunt's home too."

...

"No, I'm standing outside."

...

"Okay, I'm going inside."

...

"I have to, they could be hurting her!"

...

"I'm just going to stall until you guys get here."

...

"I will. Bye."

You then hung up the phone. You took a deep inhale and exhale, and opened the door.

-------

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The small lump in the corner that was Dorothy only seemed briefly startled when Glinda came to get her the following morning. However, she was far more surprised when instead, she went to the Tin Man's cell.

"So we're going to do a thing," the blonde witch began uneasily. "You… have to have figured out by now that we can't just let you run around willy nilly. You attacked Nessa more than once, and the threats you made were pretty graphictitious! So while I-"

"HMMHHPHH!" he growled through the makeshift gag.

"Enough of that, now," she warned in a sing-song, as if scolding a small child. "Anyway, you're going to be moved upstairs into one of the other rooms, and I'm going to try to tinker with you for a while. Maybe it'll do some good, maybe not. But all the same, I think we should give it the old Shiz try, don't you?"

Clearing her throat, Dorothy approached the bars and whispered meekly, "You aren't going to hurt him, are you? I kn- I know he hasn't been kind to you, but he's been most kind to me!"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," she replied in a soft, consoling tone. "I can't promise what I do won't hurt, but I'm not going to do anything purely to hurt him. My hope is that I can help him some way or other. And if I can't… well, I guess we could just pop him right back into this cell afterward. No harm done."

Then Glinda unlocked the cell and went inside, securing manacles around his wrists and arms and legs — ones not bolted to the wall. Once he was secure enough that he could not escape or attack, she released him from the wall and stood back, raising her wand.

"Alright, let's try this one again… bubblitio!" Nothing. She took a deep, calming breath and attempted, "Bulbulious bubblissimo! Bumbulous bumbletonia! Spheroidimax voluminia!"

"Uhmmm," the Scarecrow that was Fiyero said as Glinda waved her wand frantically. "None of those sound like very magical words."

Her lips pouted at him and her brow furrowed. "And just whom amongst us is a witch? You? I don't believe so!"

"You're not much of one, either," the Lion grumbled lazily from atop his paws.

"Hey! That isn't very kind!"

"I'm not much of a Lion myself; no offense was intended."

Shrugging that off, she narrowed her eyes and tried the first word again, focusing hard. "BUBBLITIO!"

This time, an almost invisible pink film began to wrap itself around Boq. His metallic eyes went as wide as could be to see the magic actually taking shape this time, and he looked at Glinda with a mixture of anger and betrayal. But she did not acknowledge his gaze, and merely sighed.

"You brought this on yourself." When he didn't react, she shook her head sadly and began to back out of the cell, wand raised to direct the bubble she had formed. "A pity, a real pity, Biq."

He only began to struggle and grunt once the bubble began to move him, muffled though his cries were. Casting a semi-apologetic look over her shoulder at the others, she continued to bounce him up the stairs.

"You and I need to have some serious discussion, little boy of tin. And why don't we try out some things from the Grimmerie, too? That sounds like so much fun!"

                                               ~ o ~

Elphaba only waited a few minutes after Glinda left to slip down into the dungeons. Both the Lion and Dorothy recoiled to see her, tall and imposing, green and black, framed by the stone doorway. Fiyero, of course, merely watched all parties with curiosity.

"H-Hello," Dorothy attempted in a nervous tone. "Is… is it alright if I ask-"

"Not yet," Elphaba said, dragging a simple wooden chair from the table by far wall over to the Lion's cell — a few inches out of reach of his claws should he suddenly decide to take an idle swipe at her. But she did not sit just yet. Instead, she opened Fiyero's cage, and simply stood back to let him exit.

"Much obliged," was all he said, cheerful as ever.

"What?!" Dorothy gasped in a hushed voice, watching him fetch two other chairs from the table. "Wh- but I… I thought you were going to let me out if I behaved, I didn't… you aren't even shackling him! I don't understand!"

"No, you don't," the witch said evenly, tossing the same old cuffs through for her to put onto herself. Her eyes were sad and wary, but she did as she was silently bade. As her captor unlocked the door, she went on, "But you will. If you listen, and try not to ask too many questions, I think you'll find you understand a great deal…"

                                              ~ o ~

Hours passed, and Glinda found herself flummoxed. She had paged through every single page of the Grimmerie, skimming the contents with her eyes, and she was no closer to finding anything that would make any difference as far as Boq was concerned. This was made all the more frustrating by the fact that she was not nearly so adept at Lurlinic as her chartreuse counterpart, and the meaning of certain phrases or passages eluded her. Still, she had been hoping that persistence would pay off where education failed.

"Fine," she finally sighed, drooping against the arm of the chair she had sank down into already, the book hanging limply from her hand. "I know a spell cannot be undone once it's cast, but there has to be a way to… to de-tinnify you! Something in here, not to undo the spell exactly, but that would still turn you into a normal Munchkin again!"

Of course, Tin Man had nothing to say. At no point had Glinda felt comfortable removing his restraints, so she hadn't. His large, sad eyes continued to follow her everywhere while she stood to replace the book on a table, as if pleading with her to see more than was visible.

"Enough, Biq. I don't care how long you give me the puppy dog eyes."

Still he stared. Bitter tears began to slide down his cheeks as he sat in the chair opposite her, unable to do anything else.

"You'll only rust if you keep that up." Throwing up her hands, she snapped, "What did you think would happen?! The moment Nessa lets you go, you start to run away? To what, find me?" She let out a blast of laughter. "Hate to break it to you, Munchkin Boy, but I've never even had the tiniest shred of interest in you! Just because you liked me doesn't mean I had to like you back!"

His face turned away. She wanted to feel less hatred, less annoyance at his attitude and more compassion toward his obvious grief, but it wasn't going to happen. Even though Nessa had done things to him that weren't fair, there were reasons for that. And she intended to set the record straight.

"I should have been this honest with you from the beginning," she confessed. "You… you really don't deserve it now, but you did then, and… and so did Nessa. That part is your fault; I know there had to have been a thousand times you could have told her you weren't interested, and all you did was go along for the ride. And then you complained too late, and… well…"

A muffled sob filled the room. To try and put some distance between herself and the source of her annoyance and grief, she crossed to the window, grasping the ledge and staring out over the jagged rocks of the Kells both near and distant, down at the village of Kiamo Ko.

"I know Nessa shouldn't have trapped you in Munchkinland or cast any spells on you that she didn't understand; nobody's saying any different. But does that really make it right for you to try to kill her? None of us is free from guilt for this, Tinny. I wasn't honest with you, and you weren't honest with Nessa. So easy to start out that way, huh? Best of intentions. And we really loused things up." Turning again, she fixed him with a curious gaze, wringing her wand in her nervous hands. "Isn't it funny how Nessa was the only one who was honest from the beginning? She may have failed in other areas, but by golly, she was always truthful about her feelings for you. Just… funny."

Then she strode closer and spat at him, "But all you know how to do is lie. You lied to Nessarose about your feelings for her, and you lied to Dorothy about Elphaba and I." When recognition sparked behind his eyes, she growled, "Yes, that's right! I know all about that! How could you tell her she and I are… that we would do things like that? To a girl barely old enough to start holding hands?! Shame on you! Makes me wonder if you ever did have a heart in the first place!"

Things were going nowhere fast. Grunting in sheer annoyance, she made a couple of quick swishes with her wand and wrapped his chair with more ropes.

"Obviously, I can't do much for you right now. But I'll… I'll try again tomorrow, I guess. Sorry." The last word might have sounded insincere, but Glinda meant it deep down. She didn't even wait for a response before grabbing up the Grimmerie and heading for the door; even if he did respond, it wouldn't be anything worth hearing.

Within minutes, she was descending back to the dungeons again, having stashed the book somewhere safe. Though she had high hopes everything would have gone well with their other prisoners, she could not risk the Lion pouncing on her and stealing their most powerful artefact.

The scene laid out before her was an interesting one, to be sure. Fiyero was sitting lazily in a chair near Elphaba's, and the Lion was lying in the cage with his great, shaggy head on his paws. The manacled Dorothy, however, was cross-legged in her seat, leaned forward with rapt attention. This was obviously the greatest number of direct answers she had ever received from anyone since being tossed into Oz, and she was drinking them in like a parched wanderer of the Shifting Sands.

"Well, I think you're very brave to try and rescue them," she was assuring Elphaba. "What I don't understand is, why does the Wizard want them to be silent in the first place? Surely he can be the President without doing that, he already is one and they haven't bothered him so far!"

"President?" Fiyero asked, the word sounding as unfamiliar coming from him as it did in Glinda's ears. But Elphaba answered her question instead of focusing on Fiyero's remark.

"He needed a scapegoat — no offense to Dr. Dillamond. As I said, we've had a few droughts, and the Wizard hasn't handled the economic recession very well. It was either start squandering his treasury to balance things out, or find something to distract the citizens of Oz, to keep them from blaming him and rioting. It's a calculated diversionary tactic."

Dorothy bobbed her shoes-that-wouldn't-come-off up and down and frowned down toward the stone floor. "My Uncle Henry says we're just coming out of another one of those 'recessions', too. I don't know much about it, except that we haven't had much to eat, or money for new clothes. That's why..." She bit her bottom lip.

"Go on," Glinda said gently a moment later, startling her and the Lion very slightly. "That's why…?"

"Oh… hullo, Miss Glinda. W-well, I know it's silly, what with everything you're troubled with. But I should like to have my gingham dress back, if we c-can manage it. Aunt Em had to henpeck Uncle Henry for weeks to buy that, because she said a girl ought to have a proper dress for Easter Sunday! A-and the thought of going home without it..."

Once she had shaken off wondering what "gingham" and "Easter Sunday" might mean, Glinda was a little shocked to see that Dorothy looked ashamed. It spoke volumes about her family; she was less afraid of her their reaction and more worried about disappointing them, inconveniencing those she loved.

"There, there," she shushed her as she walked over to pet along her shoulders. The girl sighed despondently, but did at least seem calmed. "If the rest of our plans work out, I promise we'll search the palace. And if we can't turn it up, we'll make you two new dresses! The best Oz has to offer!"

Though she rolled her eyes, Elphaba refrained from commenting on whether or not she considered this important enough to discuss. Instead, she told the young lady, "For now, I'd like an answer."

"Answer? Oh…" She gulped, glancing over at Fiyero and back. "I'm just a girl, I can't fight, or use magic, or do anything useful. What difference does it make if I join you?"

"I'm not saying you have to face the Wizard head-on," Elphaba assured her. "Just don't get in our way. Your moral support is better than opposition."

Glaring at Elphaba for the callous way she had phrased things, Glinda added, "And you'll be plenty useful! Besides, we don't only want you around because of that — we like you! Don't we, Elphie?" No response. Glinda kicked her. "Don't we?"

"I don't dislike her," she offered more truthfully. "Other than that nasty business of trying to kill me."

"You know we're pals, Dorothy," Fiyero put in, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "I owe you for rescuing me from that cornfield, at the very least! But I can't ignore how badly the Wizard's treated my old classmates. Ooh, it chafes my straw! So I'm sorry to say it, but if you keep supporting him…"

At that, Dorothy quickly shook her head and said, "No, no, I'd never dream of saying it's alright! What all he's done, and then lied about it all to me! I don't understand how he came to be in charge of Oz in the first place, an old humbug like him!"

The two witches shared a weary look. Never had they expected to be history teachers when they enrolled at Shiz, but that seemed to be their fate for the afternoon.

"Let's go upstairs to get something to eat," Elphaba recommended gruffly, pushing to stand. "Nessa should have one of her infernal stews ready to force down."

"Can you bring me back some infernal stew?" Lion asked as they stood. "I'm so hungry; milk only goes so far for a full-grown Lion, and I don't much care for vegetables. Even an old bone would be something."

"Of course," Glinda told him. "We'll bring it with us when we return Dorothy."

As they ascended the steps, Elphaba began, "The Wizard came to us… oh, a couple of decades ago. We were all too young to remember what the time before he ruled was like, I'm afraid — but we know from our studies that our previous queen, Ozma the Billious, had left behind a newborn when she was poisoned; we don't know the gender, there was no formal announcement — already unusual in and of itself. But it's assumed it was a succeeding princess, because that child vanished when the Wizard flew into our world in a foreign contraption the likes of which we had never seen before."

"Poisoned?!" Dorothy gasped.

"Yes," Glinda supplied. "A pretty unregal way to die, isn't it? Her husband was supposed to look after the heir, but… well, he died, too. Boating accident. Worse yet, nobody knows how it was done, or who's responsible for either deaths or the baby disappearing. Still a mystery."

"But… but that's how my parents died," Dorothy was breathing. "On a boat. Imagine that."

Elphaba was shaking her head. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn it was all the Wizard and Morrible's doing. True, he had not arrived yet when the Ozma line ended, but who's to say he hadn't arranged for it beforehand? Or his 'secretary' could have been laying the groundwork."

"Conspiracy theories are fun, aren't they?" Fiyero observed with a light chuckle. "But it might be smarter to stick to what we know, and what we have to do."

"Right. Go on, then."

Somehow, his painted-on eyebrows arched high. "Me? You know what kind of student I was!" But he shrugged and went on, anyway. "Simple, really. Everyone thought the old Wizard was magical because he flew into our world from another, and that made it pretty easy for him to claim the empty throne. Right place, right time."

Head shaking much like Elphaba's, which amused Glinda to notice, Dorothy said, "If he really did kill either of them… oh, even the baby… that's one of the most awful things I've ever heard! And he's never been thrown in jail?"

"How can we? He's the jailor." Elphaba huffed in annoyance as they came to the kitchen and pushed inside. "And there's nothing we can do to prove what he's done, either way. At least Glinda and I are witnesses to the way he tricked us into transforming the Monkeys. If there are any witnesses to his alleged murders, I haven't found them, and I doubt they'll come forward now."

"Such light conversation," Nessa observed as she toiled over the stove. "I was just standing here, lamenting that you two have taken the more interesting jobs and left me to be scullery maid, but perhaps I haven't missed anything, after all."

"You haven't," Glinda sighed, breathing in deeply. "Mmm, that smells good… I'm starvatiously hungry!"

Dorothy glanced down at the plates and silverware laid out for the four of them who actually owned stomachs, then back up to Elphaba. "Can you at least move my handcuffs in front of me so I don't need help to eat?"

As no one much wanted to spoonfeed her again, they relented, and Dorothy did her best not to drip on her dress as they discussed all that had transpired. Nessa looked morose when Glinda reported her failing at improving Boq's outlook on life or his physical condition, but did not say a word; she seemed entirely defeated in that area. Privately, Glinda thought that was for the best - the faster she moved on, the better. Even if she was somewhat spoiled, she deserved better than a man who wanted to chop her head off.

"I'm not sure what I can do for you," Dorothy finally told them as Glinda and Elphaba were washing the dishes and Nessa was disposing of the scraps. "But if you'll just… help me with two things, I'll do whatever I can, anything at all!"

"The shoes and the dress?" Elphaba guessed.

"Oh… three things." When the green lips pursed, she rushed ahead, "I forgot about the dress already! The other thing was to help me get home, if you can. Of c-course, I'm only asking you to try your best, you know. If you can't, well… then I guess I'll live here forever with these heavy shoes weighing me down."

"That, we will promise," Glinda said for all of them. Elphaba shot her a look, but she ignored it. "We'll do what we can, and if we can't, then we'll figure out somewhere for you to stay in Oz. Deal?"

"Deal." She held out her manacles to be unlocked, and they blinked at her. Slowly, an inch at a time, she lowered them as she whispered, "Oh… am… I still… going back to the dungeons?"

Glancing at the other two briefly to gauge their responses, Glinda then walked over and freed her. Dorothy turned a smiling face up toward her that was so earnest she couldn't help but grin back. "Good. I'll just take you to get washed up again — even if you'll have to hang your feet out of the tub."

As they walked down the hallway, Dorothy slipped her hand into Glinda's, which surprised her very slightly. But she squeezed it in comfort; she could only assume the girl was still scared of the big, drafty castle, and the less alone she felt, the better.

"Miss Glinda… thank you so much. I know we've only just met, but I… feel like you're how I'd like my mother to have been, if I could remember her."

"M-mother?!" Glinda burst out in mild surprise.

"OH! Oh, is that not alright?" she breathed. "Of c-course, I didn't mean to say you're old enough to be my mother! Not a w-woman so young and lovely as you, not at all! But only… you're so kind, and thoughtful, and I'm sure it's because of you that I'm not a prisoner anymore. I can't believe I was ever afraid of you, or thought you were a deviant!"

Entirely mollified, the Witch of the North had to chuckle — mostly in chagrin at her own overreaction. "Fine, fine, I'm glad to have helped how I could. You are a sweet little thing, all in all, aren't you?" As they came again to the bath, she said, "Of course, I can't promise you anything… certainly not that we'll live to see the end of this fight with the Wizard, or that we'll find a way to send you back to Amerikansas, but…"

"You'll do your best," Dorothy finished for her, squeezing her hand again before she began to help heating the water. "That's all a girl can ask."

                                              ~ o ~

"...and that was the last spell I tried," Glinda was telling Elphaba as they fell to the task that they had both been putting off for far too long: unpacking. It had taken some careful plotting to retrieve their few effects from the cave behind Wicca Falls, and since then too much had been transpiring to worry about opening the pair of disparate trunks and making a good run at their contents. Presently, half of what they owned was strewn across the bed, the rest either hung up properly in one of the wardrobes or stacked on the vanity. Privately, Glinda lamented not being able to use said vanity for its intended purposes, but there was no place for that type of "vanity" in their current lives.

"I can't say I'm surprised, Glinda. You know that spells can't be undone, and it's slippery work even changing them somewhat the way we already have with Boq. Tampering further… if we do succeed, he'll either wind up dead, or completely unrecognisable."

A sigh welled up powerfully from the pit of her stomach, but ended up sounding pathetic and soft when it came forth. "You're probably right, but I'd still appreciate it if you could take a look for yourself. I mean, you're clearly the better witch between us, right?"

"Only through study," she hedged. Then she stood a little straighter, shooting over her shoulder, "At what point did we start embracing the word 'witch' instead of hating it? When did that happen?"

"Search me, Elphie; I just work here."

Tutting briefly, Elphaba laid out a few of her older school effects from within her travelling cloak. A sniffle threatened to break free from Glinda when she recognised the Shiz guidebook, small bound leather tome that it was, lying next to the green bottle and a few spare coins that weren't even accepted outside the Emerald City as valid currency. Much though she protested, her Elphie truly was a sentimental creature.

Something stirred in the back of her mind. It took her a long second or two for it to bob its meandering way along to the front, and until that point, she hadn't even been sure what the stirring was in relation to.

"Nessarose isn't much of a witch at all," her roommate was saying as she put away a few of her dresses, more neatly into one of their closets than previously. Plenty of room to work with in there, now that they had cleared away some of the decrepit old junk. "However, I think she might have an aptitude for magic if she works on it as hard as she's worked at making her awful stew into tolerable stew. Just needs a swift kick in the-"

"That bottle."

"Hm?" Glancing down, she picked the bottle back up, then stared over its mouth at Glinda. "What about this bottle?"

"Didn't you tell me once before that it was… important to you, for some reason?" Even now, Glinda was still barely aware of why this mattered, but the threads were beginning to weave themselves together now.

"I did. It was my mother's. Father would often tell me that it was a prized possession, and she never wanted to be apart from it. When he would ask, she would simply state that it reminded her of her firstborn, but…" One shoulder rose and fell. "I got the feeling that wasn't the full story. Or at least, old Frex didn't believe it was."

"Hm."

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing." Keeping her tone carefully distant, aloof, she went on, "Just that… it looks conveniently similarly to the bottle the Wizard was drinking from when we dropped in on him."

Elphaba started, glancing between her and the bottle. "Really? Well, it's just a green bottle… no label to say what's in it. Could have been just a similar shape."

"No, not similar. The same. I'm telling you, whatever's in his, or used to be in yours, it's the exact same type of bottle, shape and colour."

This silence was a bit longer and quieter than the previous one. Glinda wouldn't have guessed that silences could be quieter or louder; they were either silent or they weren't. Until now.

"No. Well, I mean… maybe she visited the Emerald City. Could have been anything."

"Could have."

"Then why are you bringing this up? We have a lot to do."

"Elphie…"

Exasperated, she threw up both hands. "What am I supposed to do? How do you want me to react to this news? So my mother and the Wizard both have identical vessels for holding liquor. Big twigging deal. Dorothy and Nessa both have shiny shoes; maybe they're related."

"They are. The shoes, not Dorothy and Nessa," she snapped when Elphaba raised her eyebrows at her. "Both are because of our spells! So they are connected! And it might be the same with the Wiz-"

"I don't believe you really believe this, this… what was it Fiyero said? 'Conspiracy theories'. That's what you're spinning. Wilder and more fanciful by the minute, if you think I'm going to follow your logic to where it's leading."

Glinda's hands went to her waist, impatient at the attitude she was receiving. "I'm not outright saying anything! Just bringing up possibilities! What you do with them is up to you!" When she got no answer right away, she approached Elphaba, grasping her forearms to stop her from continuing to dig in her closet. "Elphaba, please? Just… doesn't it sound like something we ought to try figuring out?"

"Maybe. Another time."

"But we don't have-"

"I need to finish this. Either with your help, or without. But for now, I can't…" A slight flicker of pain showed in her eyes before she mastered it, suppressed it and returned her features to their quickly-becoming-normal steely resolve. "We need to worry about how we're going to depose the Wizard and bring peace to the Animals. That's first. Secondarily, we have to keep an eye on Dorothy, and look through the Grimmerie for the sake of a stupid, ungrateful wretch of a tin can."

Feeling stupid for having brought the whole thing up, Glinda strode for the door. "Fine, Elphie. I can tell when I'm not wanted around. I'll see you at supper."

As she slipped out of the room, she just scarcely caught Elphaba's sigh. She probably felt bad for being unpleasant just then, but couldn't quite find the humility to chase after her. Maybe that was for the best; this way, they could both have a few minutes with their own thoughts to ponder the situation and to let their tempers settle.

But she certainly wasn't going to let the matter drop. Not if it meant what she thought it might.

                                              To Be Continued…

[awed-frog]

So, the cuestion about writing it's just... I love writing, I love reading, I love my ideas and I really believe they're good ideas, but I can't finish them and I really don't know why. I thought maybe it was bc I had to plan them better, or bc I had to let myself just write and see what happens in the moment; I thought maybe the problem it's that I should tell them in a different way (like for a comic that then I could draw) but nothing I do works and it really hurts

Hi there! Thanks for writing back! So, what you’re describing is really a common feeling - I think most writers or artists have felt this way and can recognize what you’re describing. I’m going to talk about my experience, and I hope you can find something that you can relate to and that can be helpful to you.

The tl;dr part is, I think there are many possible causes for not being able to finish a story. Here are a few of them:

you’re having technical problems

you’re too much of a perfectionist 

you can’t put on paper what’s in your head

you’re having what I call ‘the Vermeer problem’

you have too many ideas for other stories and can’t focus

you’re experiencing a lack of support for your writing

you are bored with your own story

you’re afraid to finish the story

you can’t finish the story

you can’t tell these things apart

Let’s have a look at them, and remember - I’m talking about my experience here, so this might not apply to you at all. I’m just talking into the void hoping this will help you in some way.

1) This is the most common problem for someone who’s only just starting out. You know your beginning should capture the readers’ attention, but you don’t know how to make that happen. You know the ending should be spectacular and magically solve every issue, but you don’t know how to get there. Since we are rarely taught creative writing in school, this is completely normal, and there’s no easy way to get past it. Like for everything else, you’ll need a lot of practice, and maybe some kind of formal instruction (for instance, this is a good book, but there are many more). So, you know - do what works for you. Maybe join a writers’ club, or an online challenge. Read and reread books you like, and remember to read them ‘with the mind-set of a carpenter looking at trees,’ as Terry Pratchett put it. If you can, write every day - I find codas are a great way to practice, get better and get read (and if you’re comfortable to, you can ask your readers for pointers or criticism). Not being very good at writing is a big problem, but it’s also a problem you can solve. 

2) Being a perfectionist is one of those things that often trips you up more than it helps you, and there are some areas of your life - relationships, foreign languages, writing - where you have to let go of it. If this is an issue for you, remember that everyone is crap when they start out (do you know the original lyrics to Beatles classic Yesterday? ew!) and maybe experiment with breathing exercises, with yoga, or try writing with a soundtrack to get out of your mind a little. So, really - I’m not saying perfectionism is bad, but save it for your baking efforts and last drafts - your first draft gets to be as crappy as it likes.

3) This is a very common problem. When you do creative things, be it writing music or quilting, there’s often a great deal of anxiety and dissatisfaction in finally starting a project because the more your work, the less it looks the way you’d imagined it would. Sometimes I write something that’s supposed to be sad, or that was hilarious and sexy inside my head, and the I reread it and it’s just - flat. This happens to virtually everyone, but there’s something very important we need to remember: in the words of Jim Sollisch, “Writing is the art of figuring out what you know, not the process of recording what you already know”. Think about it like this: the inside of your head is a different country. Writing down a story is like finally getting to that city you’ve been wanting to visit for ages and ages - sure, you’ve seen all the IG pictures and you’ve planned your visit and you’ve fainted and drooled over museum websites and recipes of traditional dishes, but now you’re here, and it’s real, and it’s different. You’re here, and maybe it’s raining, and maybe that famous art gallery is closed on Sundays, and maybe that blueberry pie is way, way too sweet for your taste, but still - you’re here. Isn’t it wonderful? You can smell this city and walk down its street and discover small secret corners you never even knew existed and maybe fall in love with this one person you never ever thought you’d meet. So this, to me, is a necessary step to writing: to accept that daydreaming is good, that planning can be useful, but when the time comes, you have to let go of all of that and discover the reality of what your story is like.

4) I don’t know if you read Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring - it’s a favourite of mine, and I reread it a couple of times because I love how she writes UST, how understated and yet vibrantly present the feeling is. And anyway, towards the end of the book, the portrait is finished - this one, I mean -

- and everybody says Vermeer should finally sell it and start painting something else - only, Vermeer is not happy. He takes to spending hours in his studio - not painting, not working - just staring at the thing, because it’s beautiful and balanced and textbook perfect, but something is missing and he doesn’t know what (if you haven’t, please read the book and find out how he solves this, because it’s really beautiful). This is a feeling I often have when I read a first draft - everything that I wanted in there is in there, but something still feels - off. And here, I think, there’s no magic way of solving the problem - you can either ask a beta for help, and hope they see it, or you can keep working on it (and reading other stuff, and practicing, and getting better) until you see it yourself. 

5) This is another familiar feeling: you start writing something and BAM, you’re distracted by something else. And here, you need to find out what kind of person you are, because some blessed people can work on two projects at once, and others just can’t. Me, I always fool myself and think, ‘I’ll just work on both things, a week has seven days, how hard can it be’ - but nope. Right now, for instance, I’ve got about thirty books of Roman history on my desk because there was this story screaming at me and deafening me and I really wanted to get it out of my head, but today I’m finally giving up and bringing all that stuff back to the library and accepting this is not going to happen - not right now. Not as long as I’m writing a different story and I’m in a completely different headspace. And if you’re the same way - just keep a folder, or a notebook, and fill it with these half ideas and pieces of dialogue and then put them out of your mind. One story at a time - that’s a good and reasonable goal. Because another problem of a beautiful and tantalizing scenario popping into your mind when you’re struggling to finish a chapter for something else is - that other thing is automatically going to look more appealing, because it’s not real, because it’s untested, because you haven’t ruined it yet. And that’s why you’re tempted to abandon that stupid thing you’ve got in your hands that’s not working and go pursue something else. But, again, that’s probably not the best idea. Sometimes you just need to see a story through, no matter what.

6) That said, it’s hard to finish a story when you’re keeping it to yourself. I used to be paranoid about sharing things, but fanfiction helped me to appreciate the importance of feedback. So even if you’re writing original fiction, it could be a good idea to give fanfiction a try - signing up for a bang could help you to stay motivated and focused (you’ll have a beta, and maybe an artist!), and writing codas will usually get you some attention, because many people will automatically look for codas and ‘missing scenes’ after the end of an episode. If you’re not interested in that, consider sharing your work with a friend, a teacher, or a writers’ group. 

7) This is a tough one. Maybe you’re writing fanfiction and fall out of love with the show. Maybe you’re writing original fiction but you’re no longer interested in the story. It’s okay - not every story is meant to be. You’re allowed to give up (and you never know - there are writers who go back to their manuscripts ten years later, so I would advise against burning everything in a fit or rage). The trick here is giving up for the right reasons, so before you decide to walk away, look at your story again and ask yourself: what is it that’s not working? Could this get better with a new, exciting character? Should I drop this stale plot twist? Go with a different ending? If you can get your mojo back by shifting the pieces around, give it another try; but if the whole thing’s just a chore, and you simply lost interest, move on.

8) Many of us have a problem with endings. Ending a story usually means leaving your characters behind, and close a period of your life. If you write longer stories, fics and novels are like songs - they’re usually tied to very specific moments, and in letting them go you also let a part of yourself go. Plus, there’s always a lot of pressure on getting the ending right, because that can make or break a story, and it’s often the moment when big things happen - maybe there’s a slowburn that’s getting real, and you’re afraid the long awaited kiss won’t measure up to the fireworks display you implicitly promised your readers. Or maybe someone’s dying, and you’re not ready to say goodbye. Or maybe the big plot twist you’ve been teasing forever and ever just seems childish now, and you’re not sure how to make it more impressive. Whatever the reason, endings are hard. But, again, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. A lot of things can change between your first and last draft, so you have some time there. If you’re writing fanfiction, your readers will appreciate to finally know what happens, and if you’re hoping to publish your manuscript, an editor will probably help you to shift things around and make them better. Plus, as difficult as it is to say goodbye to this world you know intimately well, there’s also a sense of relief in finishing anything that takes up so much of your time and soul. It feels good. So: breathe. Relax. Write. 

9) A distinct problem is that you objectively can’t finish the story, or even get past the middle, or past two pages of heartbreaking dialogue, because you simply don’t know enough about that world yet. You have this great idea but you’d need to be an expert in microbiology, or cordon bleu cuisine, or deep space, to make it work. Or maybe you’re daydreaming about your very own Westeros, but your writing keeps getting interrupted by stupid, yet necessary details (how far away are these two cities? how fast can horses travel? what kind of swear words would a character with a made-up religion use?). If you’re devoted to your story, and determined to make it work, you’ll need to do research and plan and get answers to your questions before starting to write too extensively, because the wrong scientific detail can make your entire plot collapse. And the thing is, doing research is not always possible. Maybe you don’t have time right now, or access to the right resources (speaking of, there are some excellent blogs here on tumblr that will help you with making stuff more believable - a favourite of mine is @howtofightwrite). So, it’s painful, but there are some projects that need to be postponed, and others that will probably never happen at all. 

10) Finally, a big problem is that sometimes it’s hard to tell these things apart. Are you bored with your story because you can’t write a certain scene, or is it just a boring story? Are you being a perfectionist, or is this chapter actually out of balance and weird? Is this ambitious story too much for your current skills and knowledge, or are you just giving up? There is no easy answer to these questions, which is why I think it’s important to not walk away too easily - maybe come back when you’re in a better mood, or change your writing soundtrack, or set up a fake interview with yourself explaining why you’re so happy your novel is now taught in every school in America. If you can’t write, try drawing. If you can’t draw, create a moodboard for your characters, or a fake Wikipedia entry for your imaginary country. Play around with your story. Switch POVs. Create walls. Write scenes you won’t necessarily include in your final draft - get your characters trapped in an elevator, have them fired, have them hurt someone, or reminisce on childhood memories, or trudge through a really bad day. Go through writing prompts or shower thoughts or creepy Wikipedia entries and write something about that. Try to truly be honest with yourself, day after day (maybe keep a diary?), so you can get better at understanding whether it’s time to power through or time to take a break. 

Finally, I think that engaging in creative activities, whatever they may be, should be a way to make your life better, not worse. There are times when you’re just not inspired, times when you have zero ideas and zero wish to write or art or do anything, times when it’s actually better to focus on other things - your studies, your work, traveling, relationships - so that one day you’ll have something to write about. And that’s okay. Writing is like life - it’s messy, and it changes, and you change, and you just have to be patient with yourself and find a balance between loving the hell out of it and not take it too seriously. I hope this could help with getting you started, and I wish you all the best for your life and those stories crowding inside you, waiting to be told.

[citkats]

Love, Victor and it's problems

Hello! First post here! I know this isn't a movie, instead of a show, but I feel like I have a few things I have the urge to spill out, so here it goes.

I've watched both seasons of Love, Victor and finished the second one the day it came out, June 11. It's now June, 26 and I've let a few thoughts and problems I've had about the show sit in my brain for a while now but they're starting to get antsy. Is the show really that serious to pick it apart and point out its flaws? No, it's supposed to be a cute little show about a boy exploring his sexuality, and I know that. But man I can't help myself, what else am I suppose to do this summer anyway? So, that being said, let's get started!

Actually, before I start I just wanted to get out of the way that I am a queer girl myself, who is also a teenager, so that is the type of viewpoint I am watching this show through. Do with that what you will :D Now we can get started, here are the three main problems I had with the show;

i. The Writing

The writing of this show is... something else to say the least. It has its good moments for sure, but man is it hard to get through an episode without cringing once or twice. Now I am no writer myself, so I can't judge too hard, but I wish the show didn't try to fit in so many pop culture references and twitter lingo to try and appeal to teens. It's so obvious while watching that the writers themselves only have a vague idea on how to use it. There is a scene of the show that is going around on twitter, instagram and tiktok where a character says something along the lines of "We stan you!" and "We're all gay AF!" (link below for the whole video).

.... like... what? My god my body collapsed in on itself when I heard that. I think the writers maybe tried to make the line of "We're gay AF" as a cringy joke to show how oblivious the character was, but the line "We will forever stan you" shows how oblivious the writers are to the use of the word "stan", or at least that's how it came off the way the actor said it. The line is said with no implication that it's supposed to be cringy or something to laugh at. I don't know if the writers were aware at the time that this is something teenagers do not say about or to their friends unless they purposely want to sound out of touch. Someone in the replies even said "In real life that won't happen ever" and they're correct. This is just one instance where the writing feels shaky but there are many more sprinkled throughout the show. This probably is super nitpicky but it's just so prevalent in the show that I felt that I had to write about it.

ii. The Love Interests

Now on to another problem, The characters of Rahim & Benji. Let's start off with Benji. He serves as the love interest for the main character Victor, which is fine! It's great! Except it isn't because that's all Benji is... a love interest. He barely has any personality and the only three things I know about him are that he is gay, is in a band, and is a recovering alcoholic. With those three things, there is so much to do with his character. They mention in the show that his dad wasn't too happy when he came out, and brought him to a strip club in order to make him "straight". I thought maybe the show would show how his relationship with his dad has been damaged and how they're slowly trying to repair it, or maybe Benji doesn't want to forgive his dad and all! But no, the restaurant scene comes and everything seems fine like something as traumatic as your own father refusing to accept your sexuality and trying to convince you to be someone else never happened. If you're going to make your character go through something like that, it would be good to show its consequences, not to sweep it under the rug! In the first half of the season, if I remember correctly, we see almost every character in a different location doing their own storyline, except Benji, who only exists at school and in the coffee shop to show that he's Victor's boyfriend. I don't think there's a single scene where it's just Benji alone doing something that doesn't involve Victor. It isn't until the later episodes where he gets his own plotline, one that revolves around him being a recovering alcoholic and being 1 year sober. Now don't even get me started on this... the fact they waited a whole season and a half to get to this huge revelation?? This is a big part of Benji that he kept secret and they could do so much with it, but it ends up being just a plot device so that Victor can break up with him and end the season on a cliffhanger. It seems like every one of Benji's plot points is to benefit Victor in some way (all except for the band, but they also never expand on that either so :/). The other couples, for example, Lake & Felix, have their own problems and stuff they're going through, not just things to benefit their love interest story. I get that Victor is the main character, but if this show is about him discovering his sexuality, should his love interest be a huge part of that? Shouldn't there be more focused on his love interest rather on his best friend? I don't know that's just how I view it.

Rahim is Victor's second love interest who is introduced halfway through the second season in the episode called Sincerely Rahim. He, like Benji, the only purpose of his character is to serve as a love interest for Victor and create a love triangle that can end season 2 on a cliffhanger, just like season 1 did. The show cared even less about Rahim than they cared about Benji since they didn't even bother to show his coming-out scene. It sucks because he comes from a Muslim family and that coming out scene could've been really meaningful, for once showing a Muslim family being accepting of a gay son instead of shunning them, which is how the media normally portrays Muslim families.

iii. The couple bias

Probably my biggest problem with this show is the clear bias to the straight couples compared to the main gay couple of the show. Like I said before, Benji being a shell of a character compared to everyone else, I don't think that's a coincidence. I am aware that there was at least one gay writer on the team, but they didn't seem to make up the majority. It's obvious the writers felt more comfortable writing straight characters and couples (eg, Victor and Mia as a couple for the majority of season one) which is fine, but if you're writing a show with a gay couple in it then get gay writers who will actually understand and have an easier more natural approach to them. This is why I think diversity in the writer's room is just as important as diversity on screen. You can put a gay character in your show but if they're written by a straight person it's not going to feel authentic and can easily fall into stereotypes. But that's a conversation for another time.

Some other small problems I had but weren't worth a whole section

-The lack of sapphic women. I think they might start a wlw plotline the next season with Lake but man.. took them two seasons in a show that's suppose to be a representation to even hint at a sapphic relationship.

-Benji's timeline for his alcoholism... if he's 16 now (junior) and been sober for a year... that means he entered rehab when he was 15... which means he's been drinking heavily since he was like 14, so much so they had to put him in rehab?? Are his parents really that neglectful? This why I am so confused about his parents because what his dad did to him was awful and yet when they show Benji's parents, his mother seems to adore him and they are both extremely welcoming to Victor. The only reason I see why he would start drinking at such a young age is that he felt bad because of his sexuality... but man, at 14 do you even understand what's going on enough to be like "this is bad I should drown my sorrows in booze".... idk such a strange timeline.

-They didn't keep up Rahim's texts to Victor, it was one and done. I get that it was supposed to be like continuity with what Simon did to Bram and then what Victor did to Simon but it felt so forced that I wish they didn't do it at all. Felt like they just left it hanging there.... ok I will admit it is really nitpicky and I'll stop now I promise!

So... that's it! I know this can come off as annoying or I'm giving huge pessimist vibes because of this but I swear me having long rants about how I feel about a show's problems is rare. Normally I like deconstructing the parts I did like rather than the parts I didn't. I do think this show is cute and serves its purpose of entertaining, and I don't hold anything against someone who enjoys it! I can easily see this being someone's comfort show, and that's completely fine. I also realize that I did dig into the writers quite a lot here, so I just want to make it clear that in no way am I questioning their talent (one is a new york times bestseller and two others have been nominated for Emmys). Hopefully, my posts in the future will be more positive but for now, I hope this deconstruction was decent!