#but there's still so much hate in me and yes sometimes i'm not only containing it to my designated s2 hate group chat

[22ndnervousbreakdown]

Jim in good omens season 2 is so funny bc most of the fandom is like "oh gabriel is such prick but we love jim" and he's like. Literally the same just more stupid/oblivious, like he's still self-centred and he still has zero empathy and doesn't give a shit about others' feelings and if they're busy and still has no concept of personal borders, he just also asks dumber questions and has no clue what's going on around him.

All the other characters? Aziraphale? Crowley? Yassified fucking Beelzebub? They don't resemble themselves at all. Shreds of their characters left at best. Virtually the only thing they have in common with their s1 selves are names and appearances (partly. For some of them). And who's the only one who kinda retains his personality? The guy who lost his fucking memory and is perceived as a blank slate for 99% of the season. It's so ironic i can't.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

[lia-linny]

summary: Your boyfriend Minho comes home after a busy week and just wants to relax.

words: 0,8k

genre: fluff

"Ok im not letting you cook ever again."It was the first sentence your boyfriend uttered after entering your shared apartment.

You had offered to cook for him despite your lack of cooking skills. Minho had had a stressful week. From photo shoot to video shoot to dance practice to interviews. He hadn't had much time to relax so you had thought about taking at least a little stress off him. You had cleaned the whole apartment, fed and bathed the cats and last but not least you wanted to cook dinner for him.

Even though it was a bit late, you knew that minho hadn't eaten yet. So you sent your boyfriend a message about two hours ago and asked what he would like for dinner. His crative reply "I don't care" didn't really help you. So you decided to go off on your own, go to the supermarket and pick out everything for his favorite meal.

It already started badly, as it was quite late and half of the ingredients you needed were already sold out. But instead of seeing this as a sign to simply go with ramen or take out, you decide to improvise. What could possibly go wrong?

Quite a lot, as it turned out. Because that's how you ended up here. In the large kitchen of your apartment. There were ingredients and bowls everywhere. Everything was dirty, including you, and the ingredients that had ended up in the cooking pot were burned.

You were on the verge of tears when you heard the door open. Which could only mean that your boyfriend was home. Minho came into the kitchen after some time and snorted when he saw you standing there in such despair.

"Ok im not letting you cook ever again Jagiya." You just glared at him. He came over to you and ran his hand over your hair to remove what you thought was a little flour. A long, blessed sigh escaped you and you wrapped your arms around Minho's torso. He buried his face in your hair, laughing.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled against his neck.

"I just wanted to cook something for you because your week has been so stressful..." he laughed softly at your apologies.

"You're sweet... What do you say I order us dinner, clean up your mess and you take a shower in the meantime?" You just nod, but don't move, not yet ready to give up your boyfriend's body heat.

He breaks away from you and starts to order food for the two of you on his cell phone.

"Thank you for trying... with the cooking Jagiya." He doesn't look up from his cell phone. Not even when he adds:

"But please do me a favor and never touch our kitchen again. Especially not with the intention of cooking something, otherwise you'll probably burn down the building." He laughs lightly as your lips curl into a pout.

"I hate you, Minho." You grumble and head to the bathroom, where you take a much-needed shower while your boyfriend cleans up your kitchen grinningto himself.

Just as you finish, you hear Minho taking the food delivery. Exhausted, you plop down on one of the chairs at the dining table and wait until minho places two plates of food in front of you. One for you and one for him. He sits down opposite you and pulls his plate towards him, which contains a little less food than yours.

Sometimes it's hard for minho to show or express what a person means to him and little things like that have always been proof that he cares about you. You smile as Minho immediately starts shoveling the food into himself.

"Does it taste good?"

"Yes," he replies curtly and goes back to eating. You start eating too and you both enjoy the silence that has settled over your apartment. After dinner, you get ready for bed, still in silence, until you and your boyfriend finally slip under the covers.

You lie quietly and relaxed next to each other and are almost caught up in a dream when you feel your boyfriend wrap his arms around you.

"Thank you for always taking such good care of me and the cats." He whispers in your ear as he snuggles closer to you.

"And that you tried to cook... I really appreciate it all. I don't know what I would do without you." You turn into his embrace so that you can wrap your arms around him and that's enough for an answer. No words needed between you and Minho. Because you both know how deeply you care for each other.

You hear his breathing become more even and feel yourself relax more and more. The two of you snuggle together, nourished by each other's body heat, and soon drift off to sleep.

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

Dead Dove (Do Not Eat)

- Hozier x Fem!Reader

Summary: You, Andrew, and the band get together and play a drinking game involving fanfiction. what could go wrong?

Tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, drunken confessions, drunken kissing, no use of Y/N, FIC DOES NOT CONTAIN DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT, it was just a title i swear, written for fem!reader but could be gender neutral

Word Count: 3139

Author's Note: THEY CALL ME A CHIROPRACTOR THE WAY I'M BACK‼️‼️‼️ like for realsies. i know i keep coming back like once a month and saying "i'm back" but i mean it now. anyways! i wanted to thank @cervidaewasteland and @sillycartoonhozier for coming up with this concept, as well as @deprivedmusicaljunkie and @uprightpillar for betareading!!! hope you enjoy because this is lowkey a crackfic. also yes i know the format of the texting is weird, tumblr hates me

read on ao3!

as always, fic under the cut :3

Touring with your best friend since your late teens was genuinely a dream come true. The moment Andrew first offered you a spot in the band, over ten years ago when his debut album was released, you’d said yes. Your love of music (combined with your looming crush on Andrew) made the job as easy as breathing. You wouldn't trade this job for anything, no matter how routine being on the road might get.

Another concert wrapped up. Another mostly flawless performance (Andrew flubbed the words to Cherry Wine, but what else was new). Another stay at a hotel that you never would've picked if you had the choice. And most importantly, another bed with too-soft pillows that was calling your name. That was, until Larissa called it first. You turned to look at her from down the hallway, pausing as she sped up to meet you. Once she reached you, you continued your pace towards your hotel room.

"The band’s gonna go to Andrew's room, have a little celebration since we don't have to hit the road until the morning. Are you coming?" She walked beside you as she explained. You could hear the eagerness in her voice at the possibility of your presence. However, at the moment you were much more enthralled with the idea of getting a good night's sleep.

"I think I’ll have to pass. I'm pretty tired, I —" your sentence was cut off by a yawn, like your body was proving your point. "I might just turn in for the night.”

"Please? We're playing your favorite game!"

You stopped in your tracks upon hearing the teasing of your favorite pastime on tour: an admittedly juvenile game that the band had dubbed “Fanfiction Book Club”. One member of the band would find some outrageous fanfiction written about Andrew — usually one written with grammar mistakes and plot holes galore — and take turns reading it aloud. You laugh, you drink. More often than not, it resulted in tour buses full of hangovers the next day, but you never regretted a second of it.

Your favorite part was the fact that it made Andrew squirm. It was consensual, of course; half of the time playing the game was his idea, and you were sure that tonight was no different. He seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone else, laughing and blushing and sometimes even muttering an That's actually a good line.

"Hmm... oh, alright. I'll be there in a few minutes, just let me get changed so I'm not still in my concert attire.” You finally gave in, gesturing to your all-gray outfit left over from the performance less than an hour ago. Larissa didn't seem to care when you showed up, her eyes gleaming with excitement the second you agreed. You said farewell for now and rushed back over to your hotel room, texting Andrew on the way there.

Hey. U ready to read some teenage girl’s flawless writing about u?

This is what i was born to do

Of course I’m ready.

I’ll bet you € 20 they misuse Gaeilge

I’ll bet you €30 there’s only

one bed

You got changed into a much more comfortable outfit, a simple old t-shirt and some shorts, something you knew you'd soon change out of. It seemed that by the time you entered, all the other members of the band had already arrived, and you took the only empty spot. All squished into Andrew's hotel room, you were all sitting in a makeshift circle, going across the floor and onto his bed. Everyone already had a drink in hand, and feeling a little left out, you went to grab a can from the room’s mini-fridge. Andrew was already sitting in front of it, ready to distribute drinks to those who asked. He handed your drink to you instead, and you wanted to kick yourself over the fact that your heart fluttered when your hands brushed.

You quickly scanned the room, noticing the only empty space to sit was between Alex and Melissa. Sitting criss-crossed on the carpeted floor between the two, you watched as Alex stood up from his spot, commencing the events of the night.

“Welcome to Fanfiction Book Club, my fellow musicians. I found tonight's selection on the modern day Library of Alexandria: Wattpad.”

Alex was almost always the ringleader, being an absolute menace and finding the fanfiction. Andrew supplied the drinks and the hangout space. Everyone else brought their spirits. Everyone had their small habits to make the reading more enjoyable. Deepening their voice drastically whenever they had to read for Andrew. Making sure to pronounce every spelling error just as it's spelled. Giving “Y/N” the most outrageous name possible, so that Andrew was about to go on a date with “William Shakespeare”.

The story of the night featured the main character being Andrew's backup singer who was a decade younger than him. They hated each other at first, but after a night in which they shared a hotel bed (you owed Andrew that money later), feelings were beginning to be reconsidered. The band especially had fun with tonight's pick, with jokes ranging from cradle snatching to HR violations. Andrew laughed along with them, taking everything in stride and even taking quite a few drinks of his own. The phone got passed around, and you had made your way through more than one drink already from the sheer amount of fun you were having.

Andrew seemed especially flustered when the phone got around to you. You read out loud about how the main character had confessed her undying love for Andrew in a rainstorm, despite only knowing the man two months. Her pining couldn't even compare to yours, you thought as you read. Two months versus almost two decades. Unfortunately, there was also a pang of discomfort you could feel, as some of the words you were reading aloud actually resonated with your situation. It almost gave you shivers to read someone describe how “in love” a character was with Andrew, and express thoughts that had crossed your mind daily. I love your smile. Your eyes are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Your kindness is overpowering. How dare words on a screen — likely written at two in the morning by someone with nothing better to do — relate to your situation so deeply.

You were able to keep it together and not laugh, likely thanks to your comparison between the fanfic’s story and your own. You passed the phone back to Alex, who was much more inebriated than he was at the beginning of the game. By the time his phone got back to him, his words were slurring.

"Everybody listen! Here's where it gets good," Alex yelled, effectively shushing the room and capturing everyone's attention. You leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a sneak peek at the next few words as Alex read them. You couldn't resist a laugh as Alex read. "'Andrew leaned in, and as his lips met yours, he kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns—' Oh my god," Alex read before being stopped by his own chuckles. Poor man couldn't even finish the sentence. When your gaze jutted over to Andrew, he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had thrown the hood of his zip-up over his head, like his thought process was if you all couldn't see him, he couldn't feel the shame. Alex had no aversion to making Andrew cringe like this, and a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face as he read out the next segment.

“‘You never would have known it, but Andrew could touch a woman just how she wanted to be touched, and look at her like the way she's always wanted to be looked at.’ Want to teach me your ways, there, Andy?”

“That's kinda hot, actually,” you joked, turning to Melissa as you took a voluntary sip of your drink. Andrew coughed, followed by dropping the hood and taking a deep breath. This caught your attention; you assumed he had just had a moment where he was choking on his drink. You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Are you alright? He held up a thumbs up to reassure you, using his head to nod back towards Kellen, whose turn it was.

“Okay, here we go. ‘Your kissing quickened, until eventually his large hands were…’ oh, I don't think I can read that aloud,” Kellen said. He flashed the cellphone screen to Alex, who scanned the words on the screen, his eyes getting cartoonishly wide at the contents.

“And then they start having sex, so that, my friends,” he said, snatching up his phone from Kellen’s hands, “— is where we have to cut the story off.” This was met with groans, everyone upset that the game had come to a close.

“Additionally, if we go any further we run the risk of Andy turning the same shade as a stop sign,” Alex teased, gesturing to Andy who, true to Alex’s word, had now turned a bright shade of red. Eventually, the group conceded and began to leave the room, congratulating each other and laughing on their way out, sometimes mumbling a witty remark.

“Same time next week?” Rory asked as he left, followed by an agreement from Andrew. His exit meant you were the only two people left in the room. In the moment, you decided to make yourself at home, sitting at the foot of his bed and plopping your back onto the mattress.

“So… that was… quite the story, huh?” you said, stretching your arms out before crossing them over your chest. Andrew chuckled, nodding as he walked over and sat down beside you.

“Tell me about it. That had the grammar of someone who’s never heard the words ‘spell check’ before.”

"Plus, the way they wrote about you? It was like some... some cheesy BookTok romance novel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You scoffed, accompanied by an eye roll. Maybe it was his ego, or his intoxicated state, but he really couldn't see how absurd those words were.

"C'mon, Andrew. 'Kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns'? Be for real. You would not kiss like that," you explained. Your sentence dissolved into a chuckle towards the end, likely because you had been made more giggly thanks to the alcohol in your system. Your laughs subsided when he asked you a question that was without a doubt a result of the alcohol in his system.

"Wanna put that to the test?"

You laughed again — now from nerves and not from amusement — and shook your head in disbelief. Did he actually just say that? Fully sitting up now, a confused look came across your face.

"Andrew, what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that you keep saying those descriptions are inaccurate. You don't know that.”

Could he really not see that those words were completely asinine?

“You really believe you… what was the line… ‘touch a woman just how she wants to be touched’ and all that crap?”

“Well, y’know, any man would like to believe that. Won't know until you try,” he said with a nonchalance to it that made you almost angry. It felt like a life or death decision was being thrown into your lap, and he couldn't care less.

You thought for a moment, weighing your options. It was just one kiss. Just to prove some stupid point. If anything more happened, it would be blamed on the alcohol. Even the worse outcome to saying ‘yes’ still meant you got to kiss the man you had been longing for. What did you have to lose?

“Fine, Andrew. You can kiss me.”

He nearly lunged at you, grabbing the sides of your face and smashing his lips into yours. You felt a jolt down your spine at the sudden sensation, kissing him back.

Holy shit, he really was kissing you with the passion of a thousand suns.

Kissing Andrew, your best friend as well as your boss, was, to put it lightly, playing with fire. There was something about his lips on yours that felt like burning. You were more than willing to step into the fire and let it consume you.

His tongue ran across your bottom lip, asking you for permission to enter, which you happily gave. His tongue explored your mouth, hungry to memorize every inch of you that was available. You relished in the feeling of his touch, letting him pull you closer. He grabbed onto your hips, your lips still interlocked as your hands made their way to his untamed curls. Trapping his legs between yours, you accepted as he pulled you into his lap and let you straddle him. A soft moan escaped you as you felt Andrew's sudden grasp of your ass, and you wanted to do something in return, but you came to a realization.

Andrew probably thinks there's no feelings involved.

As much as it pained you to do it, you leaned back, pulling away from the kiss.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait.”

Andrew blinked up at you, his lips now red and slightly swollen. If you didn't know any better, you’d say he looked a little worried.

“What's the matter? Did I not meet your expectations?”

“No, no. It was great, but,” you watched his lips curve into a cheeky smile. Grabbing the sides of his face was the only way you could get him to focus. “Andrew, wipe that smirk off your face. I’m trying to be serious here."

“I’m sorry, but it's hard to be serious in this position,” he replied as you looked down at him (for the first time, thanks to your height difference now being reversed). You paused in hopes of taking a mental picture of the image to save it in your psyche forever.

“Yeah, well, try your best.”

A sigh left you. Your brain tried to articulate how to tell him what you needed to get off your chest. Thanks to the alcohol, even when you did speak, it came out much more simplified than you had hoped.

“Okay. I like you. I really like you, and I have for a while. I feel so stupid for saying it, but I do. I couldn't let this continue without letting you know that.”

To your shock, Andrew's reaction to your confession was to… burst into laughter. It felt as though your heart could escape your chest at any moment, the nerves now hitting you all at once. Hastily, you said your thoughts out loud.

“You're laughing. Oh no, you're laughing. Shit, I’m an idiot, aren't I?”

“No, no, you're not, I promise,” Andrew replied, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, composing himself before meeting your gaze with a new sincerity in his eyes. “I’m only laughing because I’ve felt the exact same way. Also for a long time. Just never knew when the right time to tell you was. And tonight… the opportunity just arose.”

You gave him a calculating look, like you were trying to make everything make sense in your head.

“So we’ve both liked each other for close to a decade, just said nothing about it for years, basically wallowing in our own self pities, until you decided you had enough liquid courage in your system to finally hit on me? Because of a fanfiction?”

Andrew exhaled, giving you a defeated nod after essentially he had been called out.

“Sounds about right."

The situation was almost comical. Really comical, actually, and you now understood why Andrew’s first instinct was to laugh. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as you laughed into his hoodie. Of course he had liked you the whole time, how could you have been so oblivious? Once you fully composed yourself, you pulled away, shaking your head in disappointment. “God, what a couple of idiots we are.”

“A right pair of knobheads.”

Andrew smiled up at you, a dumb grin like an idea had popped into his head. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“I wanted to ask you this when we were much more sober, but I guess no time like the present, right?” Letting out a small sigh, he continued. You could see his cheeks flush again, like whatever he was going to say would make him more flustered than the fact that you were sitting in his lap. “Would… ehm… would you want to go out sometime? I don't need an answer now, if you want to just let me-”

“Yes. Yes, please. I would want nothing more than to go on a date with you.”

The goofiest grin spread across Andrew's face. You couldn't help but think he was adorable.

“Grand. I don't know what I would've done if you said no.”

“Shoving me off of you would've been the best option.”

“Yeah, probably.”

You both laughed together once again, before your giggles where cut off by a yawn. Seemed that the tiredness you were feeling before the whole ordeal was beginning to catch up to you.

“I guess that's a sign I should retire to my bed chambers, huh?” You lifted yourself off of him, moving so that you were now merely sitting next to him. Looking over at Andrew, you could tell he had an idea forming.

“Maybe you could just… sleep here tonight? No one needs to know, and if they question anything, I’ll just say you passed out and I didn't want to wake you.”

Another way your night began to overlap with fanfiction: there was only one bed. Sharing a bed with Andrew was an offer you simply couldn't refuse. You nodded.

“Let's get comfortable, then,” you mumbled, shimmying back until you took up one side of the bed. Andrew maneuvered himself backwards to get comfortable. You watched him lay down, both of you on opposite sides of the bed. Buried underneath the covers, you gazed at him as he did the same; he looked perfect. He raised an eyebrow at your staring and gestured for you to come closer. If you nodded any quicker, your head would’ve fallen off. You let the both of you get fully comfortable with one another, shifting to find the best position to cuddle in for the night. Once you found a way, Andrew made it work. He enveloped you, holding you to his chest with one arm and cradling your face with the other. You placed a hand on top of his.

“I always did like when they mentioned how big your hands are,” you murmured jokingly, your eyes already fluttering. In reply, Andrew rolled his eyes before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night, Andy,” you responded.

You had never felt more at peace.

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me(part 5) matt sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he wakes up and finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), dark themes, death, smut (not in this part)

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

matts pov.

"okay, you guys should feel different any minute now" Madi says before giving me a look. a look that says what I am doing is stupid. judging by the sadness that's roaming in my chest, I'm guessing y/n thinks its stupid too. why does she care, its not like she likes me, I think to myself. but even as I think it, I can't help but cringe at the loss of emotions I would have from getting rid of the bond. sure, it was annoying sometimes, but hell, Iife gets a little boring when you've been living for so long. its easy to go numb and become desensitized, and that's what made y/n an anomaly. even before the mating bond, she made me feel things. even things I didn't want to feel like annoyance and anger.

I look over at her and I can't help but stare. she's so pretty, I think even as the bond fades into a dull nothing.

"quite staring, your freaking me out" she says looking at me. I can see the tears in her eyes, and ,even though the bonds gone, I know she wishes there weren't any. I knew her and I knew that she didn't like to feel like others had power to make her sad or upset. she never wanted to lose control. I can't help but note how much I know about her. more than I thought I knew.

I look away and grab her arm and sigh at the fact that there are no tingles or heat that flash through me this time. "I'll take you home, it's been a long night." and so from there we head back to the car. shit, I almost forgot about chris. I open my phone to call him, but I see a text notification from him instead. "I'm going to stay, the spell could take all night for me" it says. I can't help but wonder how someone can take away the pain of losing a mate, but shrug it off. if I knew I'd be a magic user, not a vampire. and I wouldn't be standing here awkwardly with a girl I hated two days ago. a girl I wish I could comfort, but don't know how too. we climb in the van and I turn on the car. the hiss of the ac and the quiet hum of the radio are the only sounds in the car. she opens her mouth and closes it again. "what? what is it?" i sigh because the tension is killing me.

"if the bond is gone then why am I still sad?" she says quietly. I note the fact that this is the most vulnerable I've ever seen her. she's always had a strong front, and always had something smart to say. but now in the quiet that is my van, I feel like I see her, the real her.

"I don't know why." I say honestly, but cringe at the monotone way I say it. like I didn't care to know why she was upset, and right then I knew her walls were going to come back up before they even do. she shrugs and wipes her face once. "can I play music then, I don't like moping around." she sighs, grounding herself again. "I know you don't" I say softly "and yes you can, as long as you don't have shit music taste" I smirk at the end. teasing her is so much easier and more natural then whatever we've been doing the past 15 minutes. "Oh it's amazing, you're gonna wanna add my songs to your playlist when I'm done. " she takes the mood change and runs with it. she even laughs and I don't even try to stop myself from admiring her smile.

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

I pull into her house and all the lights are on and there are clanging noises coming from the inside of her home. its damn near 5 am and no one should be up that early on a Sunday morning. we were just having a good time, surprisingly, listening to music with each other. we both like the same kind of music and even though I acted like I hated her singing I didn't mind. but she wasn't singing now, she actually looked really scared.

"my dads home" she whispers and looks at me with wide glossy eyes. worry flutters in my chest at the sight of her being afraid. this guy must be bad news. "he rarely ever comes home" she says in the same quiet tone her eyes widening even further before she turns to me. "I thought Madi said she put a protection spell on me." she runs her hands through her hair and her breathing is picking up. if she keeps this up, she's going to have a panic attack.

" she did, okay, so you have nothing to worry about!" the words sound all wrong coming out of my mouth. I meant for them to come out comforting but instead they sound a bit like I just want her to shut up and get out of my car. why do I always have to sound so mean.

her breathing picks up more and she's crying now. "you don't know what he's like, matt! you've never met the guy. he doesn't want anything to do with me! and when he comes home, he's always drunk" she pauses and closes her eyes gasping for breath. "and he's mean!" she sobs. before I can stop myself I grab her face and guide her gaze away from the house to me. if she hadn't told me this, I would have never known she'd been hurt this way. I couldn't help but wonder how many times she came home to find a nightmare in her house.

"you don't have to be with that guy" I say slowly and nod my head before continuing

"just stay with me" I whisper.

@bbernard-03

@sturnthepot

@hoeformatt

@sturtriple16

@faygo-frog

@sturniol0s

@katie-tibo

@cindylcuwho

[chosaraki]

I love you... even when you scare me.

—————————————————————————

Daniel Park x R.femele.

—————————————————————————

The place was immersed in shadows.

The hanging lamp shuddered with the wind, throwing pale flashes on Daniel's face - the icy Daniel, cold as stone, with his eyes erased with emotion.

It was him.

But not him.

She had seen him like this before.

That time... when he broke a bully's arm without hesitation. When he looked at the fallen enemy as if he were garbage. When his eyes were empty, without fear, without hesitation - as if violence were the only language he knew.

And now, she saw him there again.

Covered with scratches, dry blood on the jaw, clenched fists.

Heavy breathing. Tense body.

Staring at her.

She instinctively retreated - not because she wanted to, but because something primal inside her screamed danger.

Daniel saw.

And something inside him broke.

- "Are you too... are you afraid of me?" - he asked in a low, hoarse voice. A mixture of pain and anger against oneself.

She wanted to deny it, but her silence gave her away.

Daniel approached slowly, like a wounded beast.

- "I became exactly what I hated the most... and now even you cringe when I get close."

- "Daniel... that's not it..." - she tried, with a trembling voice, watery eyes.

He laughed dryly. Not of joy. Of disbelief.

The anger was not against her. It was against himself - for letting that side of him escape again. For knowing it was dangerous... and even so, not being able to control it.

- "You should run away. I'm not good for being with someone like you."

But she didn't run away.

Even with the heart racing, even with fear.

She took a step forward.

- "Yes, I get scared sometimes... because you seem to get lost. But you come back. You always come back. And I still see you... even in that cold look. And I know you're screaming inside."

Daniel's eyes trembled.

It was at that moment that he collapsed.

- "You have no idea what it's like to hate yourself so much that you don't want to look at yourself in the mirror. I'm two monsters fighting inside me... and you're the only thing that still holds me."

In an impulse, he grabbed her by the waist.

Not with violence. But with despair.

Urgently.

She gasped, surprised, but couldn't resist.

Because even in that gloomy heat... it was still him.

He glued his forehead to hers, breathing against her lips.

The eyes are still intense, but now trembling with contained emotion.

- "Tell me I can still touch you..." - he whispered, almost begging.

- "You already touch me... even when you try to get away." - she replied, panting.

And then he kissed her.

It was a raw, desperate kiss, full of tension.

His lips were hot, hungry, as if trying to cling to the only thing that still kept him human.

His hands wrapped her tightly - a mixture of passion and fear.

And she responded softly, her hands trembling as she touched his face, as if she wanted to warm that heart that was already too cold inside.

He pressed her against the wet wall, the kiss deepening, breaths mixing.

There were no more words, only the sound of the contained desire, of the pain being purged in sincere touches, of the urgency of two hearts looking for each other in the middle of chaos.

But even in the midst of the intensity, he stopped.

His lips still close to hers, eyes closed, forehead leaning.

- "Forgive me for being like this."

- "You don't need to ask for forgiveness... just let me hold your hand until the end."

And he pulled her into a tight hug, hiding his face in her neck - not like a lover, but like a lost boy who finally found a home in the arms of those who understand him... even in the dark.

—————————————————————————

Daniel Park, taken by his dark and cold side, meets his girlfriend again in a dark basement after a violent confrontation. She, even scared, faces him with courage and empathy, showing that she still sees him behind the merciless mask. Dominated by the desperation of losing control and for fear of pushing her away, Daniel grabs her in an intense kiss, full of pain and desire. In the heat of the moment, between tension and affection, she consoles him with sincere words, proving that true love remains - even in the shadows.

—————————————————————————

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Crossed Lines

Some things are better left unsaid.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, angst, potentially triggering content, mentions of prostitution, fluff??, injury, I'm sorry for this one don't hate me

Length: 3k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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You never really thought of Jungkook as the jealous type- and maybe you're interpreting his foul mood entirely wrong too.

But you've got a feeling that his clear displeasure is mostly due to the very tall and very charismatic Alien who's been all over you ever since you woke up.

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't need help eating her food, Jin." Jungkook growls, eyes a vibrant green with a little red swirling around sometimes, as he watches you on the lap of the tall Alien currently feeding you. Jungkook's arms are crossed and he honestly looks ready to tear someone's throat out- and while you're still learning what the colors of his eyes might mean, you're starting to somewhat connect certain colors with certain feelings.

"Pah, just let me enjoy this before you take her away again!" The man named Seokjin whines, pulling you a little closer. "I can't believe you found such a sweet thing.. you don't even want her, just leave her here with me!" He complains, and Jungkook's eyes turn a little hotter in color, orange burning bright as his anger seems to rise. Why that might be you're not sure- you don't understand why he's not letting you stay here either. Seokjin seems like a nice person, and Yoongi, a cat-like Alien who'd taken care of you while you were resting, told you that the three of them are all very good friends. So why did Jungkook suddenly change his mind?

"Shut up." Jungkook barks under his breath, turning his face away. "…she can stay if she wants to. Who cares." He mumbles more or less, and at that, your heart skips a little uncomfortably. In a way, you knew he wanted to get rid of you sooner or later- but to hear it too, makes it all the more real. Maybe deep down, that small hidden innocence in you had thought he was warming up to you- but maybe that was just your imagination after all.

So you shrug, and look down at your plate of food, shaking your head when Jin offers you another piece to eat.

"I can't believe that you're worse than me, Jeon." Yoongi says, shaking his head in disappointment. "That was mean, even for my standards." He mentions from his spot near the only window in the small metal shed Jin lives in, his tail swaying a little. "Humans are sensitive. You can't just say things like that." He says, before he adjusts his position, crossing his legs.

Jungkook however just scoffs, and refuses to look at you.

You truly want to say something, but your voice just comes out horribly strained, making you cough- so you just leave it, trying to clear your throat, as Seokjin holds the inhaler you got from Yoongi to your lips.

Only that the hand is.. tattooed?

One look upwards and yes, there he is- it's actually Jungkook who acted so fast, eyes a slightly stressed pale blue, as he carefully helps you use the plastic container with the medicine inside, face a mix of worry and annoyance. You just let him, for now- and decide that maybe, this is his actual issue. You're now sick, you're gonna use up a lot more resources, let alone the cost of your medicine and everything. You're no use for him, only baggage.

Jungkook sighs, sits back down before he puts the inhaler away into his canvas bag. "If she wants to stay, she can, I guess.." He says, crossing his arms again. "If she wants to come with me, she can. It's whatever." He huffs, and Yoongi sighs to himself, while Seokjin chuckles.

"Well, I guess that's as much of an invitation as you'll get, little thing." He shrugs, looking down at you.

And this time, you don't feel like running after Jungkook like a lost dog.

So you just quietly shrug, and eat the rest of your meal.

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You're still hiding in Seokjin's bedroom, upset and saddened by the fact that Jungkook is truly preparing to leave you behind, when you hear someone walk through the pearl curtain that disconnects the bedroom from the main living area of the little house. "Here." He mumbles, throwing something on the bed- a plastic box, a rubber band around it to keep it shut, you guess.

You don't react, but you hear him sigh, as he sits down on the mattress, bed dipping down a little under his weight. "At least look at it, so I know I didn't buy the wrong shit." He huffs, and you roll your eyes, before taking the scratched up box, pulling the rubber band from it. And inside-

-are two, different colored knitting needles, a small pair of scissors, and two balls of grey, thick yarn.

"So?" He urges, and you can hear him play with the keychain in his hand a little. Is he nervous? Or just impatient?

What is he really thinking about you?

Why did he buy this, if he didn't at least mildly care about you?

You turn around towards him, and tap his shoulder to gain his attention- which you get, as he turns a little towards you- clearly caught off guard when you hug him. You want to see something- you need to check if your instincts are correct with this.

And when his arm- admittedly rather awkwardly- wraps around you and pats your back, you get your answer.

So you get up, put your clothes and the plastic box into a bag given to you by Jin, and stand by the pearl curtain quietly, nodding outside.

"Are you sure?" He asks, not getting up yet. "Jin's a good guy. Yoongi visits regularly, and he's got a human partner. Knows all about human health." He explains. "I mean, the planet's climate sucks, but it's at least somewhat peaceful." He says, and you just roll your eyes, and cross your arms. "..guess that's a no." He sighs to himself, though you don't miss the warmth in his eyes as he gets up, and takes your bag from you, walking out to say goodbye to Yoongi and Jin- well, mostly Jin. Yoongi just.. quietly bumps his head against yours and Jungkook's, before he simply leaves.

But Seokjin? He goes in for the hug, and it's honestly a little funny how annoyed Jungkook seems at that.

"You'll have to stay in contact!" Seokjin whines. "I need to know she's okay, and that she eats well, and that she's not getting lonely, or sad, or-" He rants, and Jungkook groans, clumsily taking your hand in his to pull you closer.

"Yeah yeah whatever, I'll look after her just fine." He argues, before he turns with you to walk off- letting you wave to Seokjin for a bit, before he tugs on your hand. "Look ahead. You'll trip otherwise." He scolds, though he keeps holding your hand-

The moment you're both back on the ship, he immediately runs an entire scan of the system and Ship's interior- telling you that he doesn't trust the mechanics on this planet too much, and that he wants to make sure they didn't leave anything here that doesn't belong. What exactly he means by that you're not sure- but after noticing how he even physically searches your room for anything off, especially the camera up in the corner, you're starting to have an idea of what he meant by that.

and it feels oddly kind, the way he keeps you both connected with a surprising tender amount of strength.

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"Do you want to stay here or come with me?" He asks, and you shrug, taking a blanket from the bed with you to instead walk closer to him. "…I really made you clingy now, didn't I?" He sighs to himself, looking at you a bit annoyed- though the faint pink-ish hue of his eyes gives you hope that he's just trying to act tough, and not genuinely upset over the fact that you'd like to keep him company from now on.

If Yoongi was correct, Jungkook simply has trouble attaching himself to others- the cat alien had told you that he didn't have the greatest upbringing, and that it left him with permanent scars.

Scars that one might not be able to see, but they're still there.

"Alright, let's see.." Jungkook mumbles to himself, as he logs into his system's autopilot, taking over the controls as he reads through all the info flying past on the screen. It's impressive to you how quickly he can seem to soak up any information practically flying past him, and it shows you just how long he's probably been doing this.

Yet, now that you think of it, you're not actually sure what exactly Jungkook does for a living, besides selling cargo here and there. But then again, should you really question it? He's putting food on the table, and gives you a safe place to stay. Better not ask too many questions, you tell yourself.

So you instead sit down somewhere near the windows, studying the pictures of the faded paper instruction manual that came in the plastic box of knitting stuff- the language foreign to you, though some words seem to click in your mind. It doesn't seem too hard to do, and considering that you've tried it in the past, it's not that difficult to pick back up where you left off years prior.

And the entire time, you don't even notice Jungkook occasionally watching you, the sight of you happily occupied with your new present doing something special to him. After all, usually, to his kind-

gifting things is considered something only mates do for one another.

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"Hey- come here for a second." Jungkook says one morning, urging you a bit closer as you enter the command center where he already sits in his usual seat, though he doesn't seem as relaxed as he's been these past few days.

Your throat has been healing well, and the entire ship by now is filling with your little animal shaped knitting work- one better than the last, after Jungkook had picked up some other colors of yarn for you at one re-fuel stop. It's been a good handful of days now- and you feel like you're actually getting comfortable with the Alien. "I'll be turning course today. I'm.. gonna leave you with Jin for a while." He says, and you instantly furrow your brows in confusion, unsure what's wrong.

"Why?" You ask, voice still a bit raspy, but it at least doesn't hurt as much to talk anymore.

Jungkook just sighs, looking away. "It's not for long, just a few weeks. I'll pick you up before the seasons change-" He explains, but you won't have it.

"That doesn't answer my question." You say, clearing your throat after somewhat getting that small sentence out. He runs his hands over his face.

"It's.. urgh, fuck!" He groans out agitated, and it's honestly both funny and a little unnerving to see Jungkook so.. embarrassed.

"I'm-… It's mating season for my kind." He huffs out defeated, arms crossed. "And since you're a female, it's kind of.. distracting." He explains, and you take that info in for a second.

And Bolku people are a proud but reserved kind, only really staying in pairs, never in groups. But Jungkook doesn't quite fit the visual characteristics, apart from his eyes- so maybe he's a hybrid too?

"Oh." You simply answer, unsure what else to say. Well, you didn't really think about that- but yeah, you remember reading something about Bolku people's.. well, mating traditions, so to speak. Not really because you ever thought anything of it- it was just interesting to find anything to read back on earth, and when you stumbled upon a common book about foreign galactic humanoid variants, you read through it.

It's how you know that Seokjin must've been some sort of human-Shairo hybrid; with his tall body and caring nature, but otherwise rather human appearance. The short, thick and scaled tail gave him away, mostly, and you read in your book back on earth how his kind has a problem with gender in their kind. They're mostly male- females are incredibly rare to be born for some unknown reason.

What's interesting now however, is how the past few days and Jungkook's actions during them, change in nature to you. The gift of the knitting stuff. The blankets he kept bringing to your room. The way he'd cuddle you throughout the journey through Cryon- all of it suddenly feels odd to you now that you know he's near his kind's mating season.

Does that mean that those weren't acts of kindness? That you weren't making any progress at all? That he was just..

..acting on instincts?

"I can just stay in my room again for the time being." You shrug, and he notices the way your posture and tone change. He's become quite good at reading your body language and subtle hints here and there- be it the tone of your voice, or the way you avoid eye contact, or how you'd change topic if he was to talk about something that made you uncomfortable. And right now, it seems as if he said something that made you almost.. defensive. And he's not sure what.

"No, I don't want to.. lock you in there again." He shakes his head. "You're not a prisoner anymore. Or anything similar." He denies.

"Then what am I?" You ask, looking at him- and he can't help but feel a little called out by you.

"That doesn't matter." He responds, but that's not enough for you anymore. You've become bold- mostly because you're not scared of him any longer, and because he's slowly, unknowingly, nurtured your will to survive back to life.

"It does to me." You croak out, coughing right after, making him cringe as his eyes turn a concerned blue hue. But he knows not to try and do anything right now- you're on edge, and he feels as if he's arguing with a cornered animal right now, any wrong move or word enough to set you off.

"Then what do you want to be?" He asks instead, making you look at him with a gaze that just screams uncertainty.

You don't know what you want to be. Especially not what you want to be to him.

When you came onto his ship, you didn't care what happened to you. You'd given up, you were ready to take whatever was thrown at you- but now you actually want to live. You want to be alive, and most importantly, you want to stay with him, and stay on this ship, and stay in this little space where everything seems okay. The amount of safety you feel here has spoiled you at this point, causing you to feel protective over it.

You don't want to stay with Seokjin, no matter how sweet and kind he is. He isn't Jungkook, and he isn't this ship.

"I don't care!" You huff out at him, moving to sit in the middle of the control center, grabbing your blanket before you throw it over your head, and hiding underneath it as you sit down facing the large window, face barely exposed. "I'm staying." You growl to yourself, and Jungkook can't help the slight amusement tickling in his chest at the fact that you're starting to pick up on some of his own behaviors.

Though your growl is anything but intimidating. It's cute, but nothing dangerous at all.

"It's just for two weeks. Three at max." Jungkook sighs, turning on the autopilot before he walks closer, tip of his boot gently tapping your back. "Hey." He calls out, but you don't answer. "I'm talking to you."

"And I'm not." You respond, pulling the blanket close so he can't see you as he crouches down next to you to catch a glimpse. "You'll leave me there."

"I thought you wanted me to leave you?" He wonders in an oddly soft tone, but you can't help but feel as if this too is just his instincts, and not actually him.

"Shut up." You respond, and he laughs.

"You kind of sound like me." He tells you, sitting down in front of you with his legs crossed. "Doesn't fit you- so stop it." He argues, pulling on the blanket- but you got a steel hold of it. "Come on, stop being a brat-"

"No!" You bark out, scooting away from him a good bit.

"I'll pick you up again." He sighs. "Promise."

"Your promise is empty." You mumble, finally giving in as he manages to pull the edge of the blanket enough with his fingers to expose your face.

"How so?" He wonders, face clearly confused, and somewhat upset.

"Cause you said it!" You argue. "I'm distracting you because you're like- horny or whatever. That's not you. And when your.. mating season is over, you'll just.. leave me with Jin." You say, looking at the ground.

"How come you humans always get so horribly attached to things so easily?" He mumbles, as if he's mostly talking to himself- eyes distant as he looks at you, hands in his lap. "Attach yourself to Jin. Not me."

"Why?" You ask timidly, unsure what he's getting at. You're not even sure yourself what you're thinking of him. You don't know why you're so attached to him.

"Because he's.. a better fit." He shrugs. "He's nice. Knows human social norms, since he's partially human as well-"

"So are you though?" You ask, testing the waters, and the way he tenses up, eyes flashing a pale, unreadable color, gives you the answer you were looking for.

So he is a hybrid too.

Suddenly, his face seems angry, jaw clenched and tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he looks to the side, eyes a blazing red as he gets up and walks away. "I changed my mind." He says, tapping away on his control panel. "Go stay in your room or whatever. I don't give a shit." He growls, and for some reason, you suddenly feel guilty.

So you quietly leave, door hissing shut behind you-

before it clicks, small display near it offering only a single, pulsating message.

[Locked by Administrator]

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[citrusandcyanide]

Can't Lose You | L.G.

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x f!reader

an. This is my first fic since switching back to this blog and it's also my first Lip fic. I'm So happy to be writing again :,) . This idea won the poll but I'm still cooking up the rest. This will probably be 2-3 parts long. First part is mostly just background, but still got some angst. Would love feedback <3

Synopsis. College decisions are being sent out. Lip doesn't want to go to college unlike his best friend who has her mind set on leaving Chicago and her feelings for Lip behind.

words. 3k

Warnings. Unrequited feelings. angst, smoking, drinking, and angry lip.

Part 2 Part 3 (final)

“I got in,” Lip said standing in the doorway of his best friend's bedroom. You were laying on your bed with a book in your hand when he appeared suddenly in your room. Sitting up, you put the book down and turned towards the door. You gave Lip a confused look as he walks towards you. He sits on the bed beside you before continuing. “MIT. I got in.” 

“Mandy’s application really worked huh?” You were shocked. The situation was almost amusing. Mandy had submitted five college applications in his name. She told you before submitting them, even going as far as asking you to look over them to make sure they were good. Of course when you went to tell her the plagiarism was evident, she cursed you out and left offended. It was funny that one of them worked, but part of you was genuinely shocked. This meant an escape for Lip. A real chance of leaving Chicago and the south side behind, to move on and up. You were genuinely happy, excited even. Lip, on the other hand, didn’t look excited. It was clear by his expression that he was shocked, maybe even a little proud. But he also seemed unimpressed by the prospect of what this meant for his future. 

“You going?” You asked, hopeful that the answer would be yes. You contained your excitement, seeing that he was still unsure if this was good news. 

“Nah. You know I hate the Red Socks” Lip replied, earning a scoff from you. 

“That’s bullshit,” you replied, smacking him on the arm with the book you were reading. “Well, what about the others? Mandy said she was applying to five.” 

“Got three rejections, but uh, UChicago let me in,” He laid back on the bed, using his arm to prop him up. “And I’ve been thinking of all the shit you said about College being important and all.” 

“And?” you said, now looking down at him. You were hoping he would say he was going. Lip was one of the smartest people you know, but also the dumbest. He had an amazing brain but had no clue how to use it sometimes. It was the cause of the biggest tension in your friendship. You were just as smart as Lip, but it didn’t come so easy to you. You were a hard worker, but only because you had to be. It was the only way you saw yourself surviving. To get into college meant an escape from the Southside life and struggles. It was important to you. Lip knew it. He had to listen for the last two years as you stressed out over formulating the applications. He also had to witness a few panic attacks caused by it. College stood on an almost unreachable pedestal, but nothing could convince you you couldn’t reach it. 

You tried your hardest to convince Lip to at least try for the dream, but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t try. And yet the opportunity still was handed to him on a silver platter, like everything good in his life. Here he was, being handed salvation, and he was still going to deny it. A part of you was angry at that, but it was useless being frustrated with him. 

You couldn’t help but think about Mandy. If he really was considering going to college, it wouldn’t be because of you. It was because of Mandy. Lip may be your best friend, but Mandy has had all his attention recently. You told him to apply to college. Lip refused. Mandy applied for him and now he listens. 

It just added to how much you wanted to leave. Everytime you saw Mandy, you had to endure listening to her talk about Lip. The two of you were friends of course. You were thrilled to see her happy, but it still stung seeing her get to Lip instead of you. Lip, the boy down the street, your best friend since your parents moved in when you were young. The boy who stuck by your side through elementary and middle school when it was difficult to make other friends. The boy who took your first kiss in front of the whole school when other girls teased you for not having it yet. During middle school dances, the one who would sit on the bleachers with you instead of dancing. Who you’d spend all your time with. The one who’d sneak you out of your house late at night to smoke joints under the L. The boy you couldn’t help but love. 

He knew it, and you knew he did. It became all too obvious in high school. Lip had started dating girls fairly quickly. He’d spend more nights busy with other girls. It interrupted the time you got to spend together. You understood he had needs and you weren’t exactly wanting to become fuck buddies. So you let it be, trying to ignore the jealous pit in your stomach. 

It all boiled up until one day near the end of sophomore year. The two of you had made plans to hang out at his house, order some food and get high. When you got there, he wasn’t home. Ian and Fiona said they didn’t know where he was. You decided to wait awhile. Debbie had recruited you to play with dolls. When he got back, you had helped yourself to a bag of chips and a soda. He wasn’t alone. A girl you recognized from physics class was strung on his arm. He freezed when he made eye contact with you from your position on the couch. You heard him mutter “shit” under his breath. Your gaze shifted between the girl and Lip. You were beyond irritated, but you refused to show it. Instead you turned your head to the tv. 

“You gonna introduce us, Lip?” You asked, breaking the silence. He didn’t reply. The girl did instead. 

“Um, I’m Jenny… we know eachother from class,” Her tone was awkward, but you could tell she was genuinely trying to be nice. There was a small giggle when she spoke “I’m Lips girlfriend now.” 

Your head shot back up to look at Lip. Your eyes were wide. He didn’t tell you anything about this. He hadn’t even mentioned her to you before, let alone give you a heads up that he was gonna ditch you to spend time with her. Lip avoided your eyes. You were boiling now and Lip could feel it radiating off of you. 

“You could have told me you were bringing company. I would have brought more weed,” You said, the bitterness clearly evident in your tone. 

“Gross. I don’t smoke,” Jenny replied disgusted. You raised your eyebrows and nodded. 

“Real keeper, Lip,” You gave him a sarcastic smile. He scoffed.

“Just go home, kid. We’ll talk tomorrow, Okay?” Lip said before telling Jenny to go up the stairs to his room. You didn’t move from the couch. 

“No, I’ve been waiting here for hours. You could have at least given me a heads up that you were going to cancel. I could have gone home.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m telling you to do that now,” His voice had grown agitated. 

“What is up with you lately? We’ve barely seen eachother and the one day you suggest we actually hang out, you ditch me. Not cool, Gallagher.” 

“Give me a break,” He said running a hand through his hair. His leg was bounced anxiously. He kept looking back up the stairs to make sure Jenny was out of earshot. 

“Like that isn’t what I been doing,” You sat up to face him properly. “I’m trying to be understanding, but honestly I feel kind of neglected. We’re best friends, I think our friendship deserve a little effort put in to it, you know.” 

“Jesus, (Y/N). I’ve got a gorgeous girl waiting for me on my bed right now. Can this PLEASE wait till tomorrow?” Blood was starting to rush to his face. He wasn’t asking. He was ordering. It was like a hit to the chest, but it only fueled your anger.

“Could anything be more important to you than pussy, Lip,” You hissed. Your voice was getting louder with every sentence. “Certainly not your friends because you would have kept your dick in your pants for ONE fucking night to hang out with them.” 

“FUCK OFF, (Y/N),” He was fully yelling at this point. “It’s your issue for waiting so long. I can’t spend every day with you. You’re not the only person in my life. You don’t get to control how I spend my time! Fuck, you’re not my girlfriend. Stop expecting to be treated like you are.” 

“I am well-fucking-aware I’m not your girlfriend. You remind me every fucking day,” you screamed. Your vision blurred as tears began running down your face. You scowled at him. There was a moment of silence as you both realized what you said. Lip grew confused, his face contorted as he was trying to understand what was happening. Everything became dizzy. You took a deep breath and stepped back. You quickly gathered your stuff, wiping the tears away from your eyes. “Moments like these make wonder why I even want to be.” 

Lip was silent. He stared at the floor now. You waited for him to say something. Inside you were begging him to say something. Anything, to cut your embarrassment. He didn’t speak. So you left, wishing you had listened when he told you earlier. 

“God sometimes I really fucking hate you, Gallagher.”  

He showed up at your door the morning after to apologize. You both sat on your porch steps to talk. “She dumped me after you left. She, uh, heard how upset you were. Said something about ‘girls support girls’ and left.’” 

You laughed a little, but didn’t say anything. You were still really embarrassed about last night. An angry confession was not how you ever imagined Lip to find out about your crush. You let him speak. 

“Listen, I’m sorry for how I acted last night. How I’ve been acting. I didn’t mean to make you feel neglected,” Lip said, fiddling with the pack of cigarettes in his hand. You both were facing the house across the street, refusing to look at eachother. “And I’m sorry I blew you off. I take responsibility for that and promise I won’t do it again.” 

“Thank you,” You said quietly. This wasn’t your first fight with Lip. You’d have an argument, one of you would storm out, but by morning the other would always be waiting outside eachothers’ doors to apologize. This was just another one of those mornings. The difference was now he knew that you wished you were dating. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said that… stuff.” 

“Oh what? About wanting to be my girlfriend?” Lip looked at you and smirked. He took a cig out the box and put it between his lips. You groaned and put your head in your hands. Part of you was relieved he could joke about it. A bigger part of you was mortified. 

“We can like erase that from our memories. Please,” You pleaded. “I really prefer it if we never bring it up again.” 

Lip nodded. He offered you the box. You took a cigarette and reached for the lighter in your back pocket before lighting it. Lip took the lighter from you and did the same. 

“You know I don’t think it’s a good idea,” He said after a moment of silence. You looked at him with a pained look on your face. You felt your chest tighten. “The dating thing. I don’t like the idea.” 

“Way to rip my heart out of my chest,” You scoffed a little. You turned your face away from him. You didn’t want to lie. You felt your heart break a little at your words. There you were still hoping a part of him would like the idea. You should have prepared yourself for the rejection. 

“I don’t mean it like that.” He was looking at you fully now. “You’re too good for me, (Y/L/N).”  

“We’re good the way we are now. I don’t want to ruin that. If we date, we’ll break up, and hate each other. It’ll never be the same. This is better. Safer,” He continued once you looked back at him. “In short… I can’t lose you.” 

With that, you never talked about it again. Your feelings never dissolved, but you also never did anything about them. The conversation left you with some hope he felt the same, even if it wasn’t as much as you liked him. He kept quiet too, respecting your feelings. He never joked about it again. He kept his promise and spent more time with you, all until Karen and Mandy. You stayed clear of Karen all together, not wanting to get messed up in her shit, but Mandy was your friend. You weren’t going to abandon her because she started dating your best friend. She didn’t know about your feelings. No one did except you and Lip. 

Lip was the only thing tethering you to Chicago, but he was spending less and less time with you again as senior year was coming to an end. You tried to move on, but this boy was genuinely the only person you could tolerate in your high school. The prospect of college meant the chance to forget your feelings for him. If Lip left for college, maybe you’d both move on for good. You’d be too busy with college to bother with each other. High school was a nightmare with your unrequited feelings for Philip Gallagher and you were sick of it. 

“Did you get any news back?” Lip asked you. He was fully laying on your bed now. You looked at him and shook your head. 

“Few rejections, but I haven’t heard from my reach school yet,” you replied, shifting your position so he could lay more comfortably. 

“They’d be stupid to reject you,” he responded. He picked up the book you were reading to examine it. 

“Yeah we’ll see,” you shrugged. “I hear back from my dream school any day now. SAIC let me in though.” 

“At the art institute?” Lip looked back at you as he asked. “I thought you don’t want to go to school in Chicago.”

“I don’t, but thought I’d give it a shot. I enjoy the campus, and the museum is a big plus.” 

“You know I’d hate to have you leave me here, (Y/L/N),” Lip said, looking back at the ceiling. Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You shrugged it off and tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. He can’t say that shit. Not when he’s the only one who could convince me to stay. 

“If you go to Massachusetts, you’d be leaving too, Loser. We’d be even.” You sighed. “Besides, I got my eyes set on California. No way am I tolerating another winter here.”

The conversation ended at that. Lip stayed over until it was dark. Before leaving, he brought up a new topic. 

“You heard about the school dance next Friday?” He asked practically halfway out the door. You nodded. “Interested in going at all?”

“Are you not taking Mandy?” You asked back. Lip shook his head in reply. 

“She’s busy that night. I thought it’d be fun to go just you and me, like we used to.”

“And get high on the fields? Can’t we do that anywhere else?” You asked, grimacing. 

Lip scoffed and shook his head. “It’s the last dance of high school. I thought that’d mean something to you. For old times sake.” 

You smiled. You liked being asked to go. You hadn’t gone to many dances since high school started. It would be nice to have a night with the two of you without Mandy. You could pretend that nothing had changed since you were kids. 

—

Of course things had to change, and they were about to. You were at your mailbox holding your Berkeley acceptance in hand. The paper seemed to glow. This was it. Your ticket out of here. You practically fell to your knees reading it. Your hands were shaking too much to read anymore than the congratulations written at the top of the page. Time slowed as you began to imagine a life outside of Chicago. Your life away from the South Side, away from your school, away from your family, away from Lip. It was hard to imagine what that would look like. Lip had been by your side through everything. You grew up together. All your core memories involved him. Moving was what you wanted but you couldn’t help but grieve your time with Lip. But leaving was necessary, you couldn’t live ignoring your feelings any longer. You had to go. 

You stayed at your mail box for a while. Your eyes stayed glued to the acceptance letter until you heard a familiar voice call out to you from a few houses down. 

“You okay there, (Y/N)?” Lip shouts, standing in his front yard. His sudden presence snaps you out of your thoughts. You folded the paper up and shoved it back in the envelope before walking over to the Gallagher home. 

“Totally fine,” You half smiled, opening the gate to enter his yard. You tried desperately to shake off your visible grief. You just wanted to celebrate and spend time with your best friend. “Great even. I need a drink.” 

Lip let out a laugh and let you inside. With no further questions, you entered the house, grabbed two beers out of the fridge and made your way up the stairs into Lip’s room. Meanwhile, Lip’s eyes never left the envelope that you held in your hand.

[jaylienpotter]

Conceited

Jegulus one-shot

Warning: Lily Evans bashing (kinda)

"Why don't you give me a chance? Even to be friends?!"

Regulus turned around and walked towards the source of the noise. He knew that voice very well.

"I hate you, Potter!"

Seemed like Black's crush was getting rejected again. Part of him was sad for his brother's best friend, another, more selfish side of him, was relieved.

"Why?! What did I ever do to you? I know I was a prick to Snape sometimes-"

"You're a bully!"

"I'm not a bully! Snape isn't stupid, nor weak, nor innocent. He does the exact same thing we did to him! He's not a victim." He wasn't wrong, to be a bully meant it was one-sided. Snape and Potter were more like mortal enemies.

"Even then, you're still a rich, obnoxious, arrogant, selfish prat who doesn't shut up about himself! You're so bloody conceited!"

That hit. He could see the hurt in those dark brown eyes. People didn't know the effort the tanned skinned boy put into helping others, making sure everyone is happy, included, safe. He could have all eyes on him yet no one noticed. Except Reg. He noticed James.

"That's not true." The pair turned to him in surprise, pale hands becoming fidgety with the sudden notion of being watched. He kind of regretted speaking up.

"James doesn't talk about himself. Yes, he's sometimes a bit obnoxious and loud, and he does talk a lot but it's never centered around himself. You're getting confused with my brother, Evans."

"Oh, please. Those two are the same. You're not in Gryffindor, you don't hear them all the time." Right, but he did hear from the boy in private. In their late night talks that started after Sirius ran away. Because James didn't want Reg to feel alone. He noticed. He cared. He helped.

"What does he say then? About himself. Not about his friends. Or the stupid pranks they all pull." He dragged the word 'all', making it a point that it didn't count.

"Do you know his favourite colour? Favourite animal? Favourite classes and professors? His grades? How many people he's dated? Anything about his home life? His life goals and dreams?" It was too late to back out, the rant had begun, and you bet Blacks finish what they start.

"Because I don't think so. He might talk a shit lot, but it's about his group plans, his friends, making jokes, making others laugh when feeling like shit as so many do nowadays," himself included. "It takes a lot to get him to talk about himself as an individual, actually. You would know if you gave him a chance. But for someone so against judgemental people, you really do focus on his appearance." Green eyes wide, pink lips shut tight. Regulus contained his smirk.

"He's a good person. A great friend. Selfless and caring despite being from an old pureblood family. And he fights for what he thinks is right. He fights for others. With his big personality comes a big heart. So if you don't make space for the love he has to offer just because you think you don't believe he has it in him, he's not the conceited one." Red hair nearly flew with Lily's stormed exit. She hadn't liked their interaction in the slightest. It was better that way. She wasn't deserving.

Piercing dark eyes were burning a whole through black curls. Reg avoided James's gaze, afraid of what he'd say. He only faced him when he felt the boy closer, and he could swear Potter's eyes were sparkling.

"You meant that...?"

"Of course. You care so much about everyone else that you forget yourself. You couldn't tell me what you wanted to do in the future because it would depend on what your friends decided to do with their lives. You're the most selfless person I know, and if she thinks otherwise, she doesn't deserve your love or friendship."

Silence. He really wanted the older boy to say something, but he just stared, lips slightly parted. Icy blue eyes looked away, shoulders tensing from the attention.

Warm strong arms surrounded his small figure, nearly making him halt. But Potter's sweet, intoxicating smell had him relax and melt in his arms, wrapping his much slimmer ones around his tanned waist.

"Thanks, Reggie." His heart skipped a beat at the nickname and he hoped James didn't feel it against his own chest. He was also thankful to have his face covered, absolutely certain that his white cheeks had turned fully pink.

[missalenkos]

Today, I was rewatching The Hunger Games and watching the love triangle between Peeta, Katniss and Gale got me thinking of the last lines of Mockingjay and one of the main reasons I love Shenko so much (yeah, there's a connection, I promise).

"On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself".

There are loads of differences between the situations and characters, I know that. I also know Shepards can be different personality-wise depending on the background we choose, if we tend more to paragon or renegade and so on. However, I still think they all share the fact that there's a huge responsibility on their shoulders and that they all will do whatever it takes to end the Reapers. Yeah, Paragon/Renegade Shepard will have different ways of going about that but, despite what our personal headcanons might be, the truth is that in-game, all Shepards end up working for Cerberus and destroying the Alpha Relay because that's what they think they NEED to do. We also talk a lot in fandom about how Shepard seems (maybe unknowingly) almost suicidal in the sense that they will throw themselves almost blindingly into anything because, again, that's what they NEED to do.

And, of course, it couldn't be any other way, because as Anderson says in the opening scene of ME1, that's the only kind of person that can protect the galaxy.

However, although they are special, the people surrounding them are almost as equally important and while, yes, it's great and necessary to have all kind of friends and companions, what they really need is a cornerstone, someone to hold the kite so they won't drift too far away, someone who can contain their fire so they won't end up burning. Being that cornerstone is not easy, because, sometimes it will mean saying "yes, let's freaking steal the Normandy" and "let's go on a crazy adventure", but sometimes it will also mean asking the hard questions, calling them on their bullshit or saying "lets stay home for dinner (because you need to get some actual rest)".

And that's Kaidan. No one could be that cornerstone better than him because he's thoughtful, caring, gentle, capable, straight forward but ready to own his mistakes, has himself already sorted out and has his own moral compass.

People like to hate him for this, but I'm 100% convinced that it's actually what Shepard needs in the long-run.

Actually, he's the only companion that was hand-picked by Anderson, and I'm sure he knew exactly what he was doing there by having him in the same crew as Shepard.

And, well, that's it. Just another reason to love our canadian biotic brought to you by Katniss Everdeen 🤷🏻‍♀️

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Throwing out this "Thing I'll Probably Never Write!" before my brain craps out on me again.

So.

No matter how much/how little basis it has in canon, I'm almost always playing with the idea that First Mama Nie could only have one kid -> they hired a surrogate for a second child -> she's cute as fuck, they form a throuple -> she dies in childbirth -> First Mama Nie and Papa Nie love the kid anyway and raise him up as a full son until their own deaths.

So what if, like, they didn't do that? They don't hate him, and they don't get rid of him because as she was dying, his mother begged them not to, they just kinda... can't stand to be around him. It's too hard to look at him, this tiny sickly thing that cost them their beloved, so they hand him off to the servants as much as possible.

And of course this leaked into the sect as well. Mingjue straight up dislikes him because he 'killed' er-niang, and except for his designated caretakers, most everyone else either avoids him or picks on him, so he kind of becomes the sect ghost. So, not as brutal as what Jin Guangyao and Mo Xuanyu ended up going through when they joined the Jin sect, but still a pretty miserable way to grow up.

Aaaand then I'm gonna pull in that donghua semi-crack headcanon about Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang being cousins via their mothers.

So Huaisang's position in the sect is... he's just there. Mostly being ignored, sometimes getting yelled at or shoved aside. Then Meng Yao shows up and takes the same "sect leader's sidekick" role he had in canon. And it's not like the people who were assholes in canon have any higher opinion of him here, but they can pick on him and use his status to pick on Huaisang too, in a "lol, the sect leader even likes some son of a whore better than you" way, after all, they contain multitudes in levels of dickishness.

Anyway, Meng Yao doesn't actually meet Huaisang for awhile (and has likely been avoiding doing so, not wanting to tank what goodwill he's built by being associated with him), but when they finally do cross paths, he's taken aback by how much Huaisang looks like Meng Shi.

He still can't let himself be seen talking to Huaisang, but now he has incentive to start weaseling information about the late er-furen. Why, yes, she had mentioned searching for a sister in the past. Had been rather excited when zongzhu and da-furen had offered sect resources to help, even. She only got sidetracked from it when the pregnancy began to go south for her.

Hm.

This… this could be useful.

Even if he clearly doesn't like his half-brother, on the rare occasion the subject of his parents had come up, Mingjue had clearly held affection for his second mother. perhaps Meng Yao can leverage this for a little better social standing, if he words things carefully.

And it partially works! He's no longer just "the son of a whore," he's now "the son of er-furen's beloved long lost sister," with the bonus that he wasn't 'responsible' for his mother's death, Jin Guangshan's being a neglectful cad was.

This only improves his station, of course, not Huaisang's.

And Meng Yao is fine with that.

At least at first.

Then the guilt starts to creep in.

He's had to step on people before to keep himself safe, but usually they'd at least done something to make him feel like they deserved it. This is the first time he's used the bad situation of someone completely harmless for his own gain, and it feels a lot ickier than he'd like.

(And apparently Meng Yao's guilt got to me too, because I can't leave that plotbunny on such a depressing note. Even if things stay bad between the brothers, the cousins should at least make friends.)

[karliahs]

fic writer interview!!

tysm @plusultraetc for the tag!! <3

How many works do you have on AO3?

50 exactly!

What's your total AO3 word count?

234,906, almost half of which (110k) was written/posted this year. insane!!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

darken your door (12,832)

walk a mile (5642)

swan dive (4857)

rescue (3905)

something else to pretend (3,572)

there's a theme here and it's bnha fics i wrote in 2019/2020

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes!! with several asterisks i'll get into in a minute. i try to respond to every comment i get because:

i genuinely really appreciate that anyone takes the time to tell me they liked a fic when they could just consume it and say nothing with 0 consequences, so i want to say thank you

some comments have a rly big impact on me - change the way i feel about stuff, contain phrases i remember for a really long time, make me cry, etc - and just like how if someone writes a fic that impacts me then i want to tell them, i want to tell people how much their comment mattered

i often only figure out why i did something or made certain choices in a fic until someone prompts me to talk about it. it's such a useful exercise for understanding my own work better

i genuinely adore rambling about my fics, it's arguably more fun than writing them in the first place

it's really nice getting to chat to commenters and get to know people!

however. there is a 3-4 year period where i didn't reply to any comments at all because i got overwhelmed and then felt like it was too late to try and catch up. this still haunts me a little bit because i got some really lovely impactful comments in that era but it just feels too weird to reply literally like 5 years late 😭

2nd asterisk is some fics i feel kind of embarrassed about and so don't reply to comments on, 3rd is that i'm bad at managing my comments inbox so i'm sure i miss people out by accident sometimes, and 4th is that if i don't have anything nice to say then i won't respond...i get almost no comments i think are intentionally meant to be rude, but sometimes i get ones that rankle for one reason or another and i won't reply if i'm just gonna be tetchy bc again, i don't think they're meant badly

so very much a yes in theory but not in practice 😂

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

bargaining chips i think. the funny thing about that series is that in some ways i think things would ultimately turn out better than in canon (there's a reason the 2nd fic has akechi promise to contact ren if he does survive, a thing that would have paid off in the 3rd fic i never finished). but as of bargaining chips it's very much...this is the POV of a person who thinks the only power they have left in the world is to hurt people

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

my usual ending is like bittersweet and/or hopeful, so for example i feel a lot of things about the cathertic (for me at least) endings for redux and something else to pretend and unwanted, but idk if they can exactly be called happy.

going to my pure silly fluff fics instead where we pretty much start happy and end happy: to work, to rest which ends with the gang being happy about stickers, or class pets which ends with class a getting three (3) cats

Do you write crossovers?

nope!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not really! probably the closest was someone commenting on pathologised with just "WHERE IS YUSUKE?" in all caps 🙄 "why isn't my fave dude in your fic" is not a genre of comment i enjoy, though it's usually phrased more politely than that at least

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nope!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of, though it's apparently fairly rampant in bnha fandom with those "what if deku [x]" youtube videos. i think those are reserved for fics with actual plots though

Have you ever had a fic translated?

i think i've been asked for permission for people to do so before, but i don't think i've ever actually seen anything posted...someone did translate a little section of one fic into spanish in a bookmarker comment once, which was very fun because i remember little bits of spanish from school & years of sporadic duolingo

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no but i think it would be so fun 👀

What's your all-time favorite ship?

mannnn i just cannot care about romantic ships the way that seems to be so ubiquitous in fandom. even when i try and write romance it ends up as like ambigious tenderness or Friendship With Vibes. the few times i've even written kissing it's been just a build up to a kiss after which the fic immediately fades to black, which is really funny in retrospect like...buddy, is that because you stop caring about what's happening once the kissing starts?

i am fond of erasermic, jontim and shindeku, though i enjoy them as platonic dynamics pretty much the same amount

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

it mostly doesn't bother me to have tons of unfinished WIPs, i don't really put that expectation that everything i start will or should get finished/posted.

so the only one that genuinely bugs me is the third fic in seen and not heard, because i feel like i kind of promised it to people and then didn't deliver, and because it would have properly concluded a series i know a few people really connected with...and because the draft got to like 80% done but i could just never finish it off in a way i was happy with. maybe someday though

there's also a more recent bnha fic draft that i am really fond of in some ways, but i just could not take the discourse i think it would inspire. i might finish it just for me someday

What are your writing strengths?

cribbing all these from comments honestly but i think i'm pretty good at real-feeling emotional responses to situations. emotional realism, maybe? and writing introspection/people thinking and feeling things in general.

my characterisation gets complimented a fair bit, which is funny bc i think i actually take a lot of liberties with canon characters, but i guess i'm decent at couching those liberties in a way that makes it pass muster most of the time. like passing off a counterfeit watch as genuine

i'm somewhat good with grounding things in sensory detail, but that's one of those things i think i'll always be trying to get better at

What are your writing weaknesses?

i've never met a plot in my life and i don't want to. i also can't write longfic. in real-world terms i'm a short story writer and not a novelist - all those structural narrative things people do to make a long-form story work are just mystifying to me. part of that is just driven by what interests me though - i don't read a lot of plotty longfic either

i'm also still working on improving syntax and flow in my prose in general, but that's another one of those endless projects i think

oh also having more than two people in a prolonged dialogue scene is wildly difficult to me

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i have no thoughts on this matter!

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

merlin! i wrote probably bad merlin fic on ff.net back when i was like 15/16. it's actually the reason i joined tumblr in the first place, bc my fave merlin fic writer had a tumblr and i got curious

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

i'd like to write more about my silly little video game OCs. i've dabbled in it a bit before but i've never really invested in it because i know no one would read it/care. but i'm getting better at writing for myself and it is really fun to have records of these OCs that i love, so i hope i can write some stuff about the protag i make for new dragon age that i'll inevitably get deeply attached to

it's also kind of wild to me that i've never written for homestuck or dangan ronpa given the impact those two things had on my psyche

What's your favorite fic you've written?

my answer to this changes depending on the day but right now...something else to pretend my beloved

wow that got long. not tagging anyone but if you'd like to do it, consider yourself tagged!

[trauma-official]

I was trying to write a letter to be the opening for one of my books, I'm not sure how is it. But I hope it makes at least a bit of sense and wanted to see if the jugde tumblr would aprove. It's a direct translation, only changing small things so it might 'sound' a bit robotic. But the words in the original are better I promise ✋😭

"Dear Amiira

Do you remember the good times we had? The nights we would watch the stars until your mother scolded us to go to bed? The cold winter days when we would snuggle under the blanket until the sun warmed us?

Unfortunately, those days will not come back, my amiira, not now, and perhaps not ever. You know I have never been good at goodbyes, they are too depressing and I have never been good at containing my fervent emotions and warm tears. However, I am here to tell you what I could not before, when everything was fine and this was confidential information, now just mere whispers of misfortune.

A colleague of mine, Oliver, he was there some time ago. Do you remember him? He came to visit us for Christmas last year. He was as thin as a stray dog, and always very unusual in his speech.

He worked with me, remember? He was phenomenal at everything he set out to do, even though it was difficult to maintain constant conversations for long.

He was... interesting, to say the least. The things he researched always brought disgusted looks to the other geneticists in the room. I was, perhaps, his only friend at work. He used to listen to me, even when I said exactly the same things that he ignored from the other voices in the hallways.

I always saw potential in that mind. It was strangely fascinating to watch him discuss the most varied subjects. I could see his eyes shining when I smiled while he talked about things so horrific that they would rival those in that movie we watched, The Human Centipede, if I remember the name correctly.

Maybe that was the mistake, letting him get lost in those macabre fantasies. . .

About 3 weeks ago, I took some things to the lab at his request. I found it strange. It wasn't his habit to ask for things. Much less things so... specific.

I tried to warn him about the dangers of experimenting, of acting like a mad scientist. But for the first time... he didn't listen to me...

I still remember it perfectly. It was February 14th, Valentine's Day, your favorite holiday, even though you always hated romance.

Everyone was agitated, distressed even, so much sad news to be told behind so many papers; there wasn't a soul in that place who didn't want to be back home, with the people they loved, far from this disturbing loneliness.

I remember it well. He was aimless, pale as he dragged himself like a corpse down the hallway.

-Oliver, are you okay?

I remember asking, leaving a clipboard with the information of one of mine's on a counter that I don't even remember exactly when it was put there.

-What happened to your face?

Another unanswered question, my eyes drawn to the bite on his cheek, it was bleeding and his eyes were completely red in a tone I had never seen before.

-I knew those rats were going to be a problem!

That's what I said at the time. He lived with rats, he usually caught them from the sewers when he couldn't convince others that it would be a good investment. I even bought one for him once, but he died less than a week later.

I still remember holding his hands, looking for other injuries. I'm not a veterinarian, nor did I study like your mother, but you don't have to be a genius like you to know that the bite of an animal - especially a sewer animal - when it pierces the skin is harmful. Well, if a human (yes, I know we are animals too, there's no need to correct me in your mind, as I know you do every time) bites another, there are also problems, imagine one with so many diseases?

The memories fade sometimes, but I know I took him to the hospital, afraid that he would get sick. He didn't help, having to be practically dragged and carried. Saying strange things.

-You have such beautiful skin.

-I wonder what your meat tastes like.

They are just the ones I remember, hearing him mumble incessantly and lethargically the whole time.

I confess to you, I was scared. Very scared. He was like a little brother to me, I was so worried about him and his mental state, that I didn't even notice when he scratched me. Your mother was quick to notice when I came back from the hospital, late for the dinner you two tried so hard to make.

I'm so sorry, I should have noticed before, all these deaths... The newspapers will try to hide it, but I'm not an idiot, much less you, since you take after your mother so much. Please, my flower, don't leave the house, stock up and plant as much as you can, learn everything you can, and use your intelligence for something greater.

Use me as a guinea pig if you need to, I don't care anymore. Every day I feel feelings and desires that only don't come true for hummingbird beats. I can't live in a society like this, and I don't even know if I'll ever be able to go back to being who I am.

Lock me in the basement with your mother. She would certainly call it romanticism, but for now I just hope you don't die. You are strong, intelligent... much more than I ever was. Partly because of your mother, you inherited everything I wanted from her, except perhaps your harsh humor. Your acidity certainly runs in my family.

Until you find a cure, until death chases you uncontrollably, until you can escape this hell and be happy... until then, I will be here. My memories are few compared to everything you have been through, a lively and beautiful girl. You will become a woman just like your mother, I am sure of that.

It's a shame I can't be here to see you grow up, that kind of thing takes time. So I thought I could leave this here for you. When you doubt yourself, when you feel lost or alone... do you remember that drawer in my room that I asked you not to rummage through because your mother and I kept important work things there?

We lied.

You probably already know that, of course.

But you were always so obedient. In the drawer are the diaries that your mother and I wrote, from our childhood to the present day. It's a little habit that brought us together. We marked pages that were too deep, too personal, but in the end we always read each other's diaries, lying down together, while we talked about the words and resolved anything that was pending.

Maybe that's where your taste for writing came from. Your poems are always so carefully crafted, like the gates of paradise. If you feel lonely, read them too. Write them down too. It's wonderfully liberating to put words to feelings, and it can help you understand what's wrong in the future.

Anyway, whatever you do, wherever you are... I'll always think of you, my little jasmine; you and your mother have always been everything to me.

With love: Your Dada."

[chameleonspell]

HTDC commentary - 35: steam

[Looking back at HTDC after ten years: comments on lore, character notes, influences, art, whatever. May contain spoilers for later chapters.]

chapter text: 35: steam

In which Julan tries to be helpful, and Iriel reacts badly.

“He must have very limited horizons for a thief, this Caryarel.” muttered Julan. “Was he just starting out? Maybe he’ll go wild and take a spoon, next. Anyway, don’t you think he’d have sold the stupid bowl on, by now?” “That’s what we’re here to find out.” “Yeah, well.” Julan surveyed the mouldering cluster of huts that comprised the bedraggled little fishing village. “If I were a desperate criminal, on the run with my precious hoard of… pottery… I wouldn’t hide out in Gnaar Mok. Because then I would be in Gnaar Mok. With my bowl, yes, but still. In Gnaar Mok. Am I missing something, here?”

I should apologise for the fact that shortly after I condemned using content from the mod, half this chapter is just reworkings of Julan's comments on the Caryarel quest, because I still think they're funny. But see, I worked really hard on making Julan's comments on the Imperial Cult questline funny, because otherwise he would do nothing but complain all the time, which would be boring. So instead, I had him veer between exasperated flights of fancy, and full-on troll-mode. I still haven't written him commentary on Legion quests, though, because I don't want to make the Imperial Legion funny, and I don't like playing as the sort of character who'd go to Morrowind, and join the bloody Legion. Maybe I'll think of a way to approach it, some day, but I wouldn't hold your breath.

Also, "mouldering cluster of huts" is quite nice, excellent unpleasant mouthfeel.

“Why didn’t he sell the thing? He took the risk of stealing it, just to carry it off to Gnaar Mok and keep it in his shack? Was he obsessed with it? Maybe we’re only getting a tiny glimpse of something, here. The tragic love story of a man and his bowl, cruelly parted by–”

It's very cheap humour, taking pot-shots at nonsensical video-game quests, and I know that. I'm not proud of it, but it IS fun to write.

I realised just now, checking the details of this quest, that I fucked up! Iriel isn't supposed to know that Caryarel is in Gnaar Mok at all, because Kaye never told him that. I should have included some incredibly awkward scene where he finds that out from another Altmer ex-pat. PLOT HOLE, this is why you should never re-read your own work.

“I think you’re reading a little too much into this.” “That’s because you’ve never known the depths of boredom you can sink to, alone in the Grazelands. Sometimes reading too much into things was all that kept me going.” He handed the bowl back to Iriel. “To be honest, I’ve never been this far from home before. Not like you - you’ve lived in three different countries, now! So, what do you think of Morrowind? Resdayn, I mean. Morrowind is what the n'wah called it. I try to call it Resdayn, but I always forget, since everyone calls it Morrowind now. Yet another reason to hate the Empire! Taking our names, even! But anyway… do you like it here?”

You can see Julan's in his chipper, talkative, very-slightly-manic mode, jumping from topic to topic. Someone read him as having ADHD once, and while people can read whatever they'd like into him, I'm not sure I agree that's how his brain is working. At times like these, I can see where the impression might come from, but the root causes are different, under the hood. Here, he's mostly just trying hard to be sociable and funny, to engage with Iriel - notice that he's apparently coming off his Ashlander Children rant-modes, which tend to involve some degree of alcohol.

Iriel gave him a sidelong glance. “You’d have thrown the Imperial criminal garbage a welcoming party, would you? I thought you said Ashlanders hated foreigners.

The majority of Iriel's interactions with Dunmer so far have been Camonna Tong, who hate foreigners loudly and violently. He has no reason to think Ashlanders are going to be any better, and part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop with Julan, for the friendly veneer to wear off in favour of racial slurs.

“I… uh… well… that would certainly be the… traditional view on the matter. But I told you, I don’t hate outlanders, as long as they’re not invading us and forcing their culture on us. You shouldn’t expect all Ashlanders to have the same opinion on everything, you know! We do have minds of our own!”

Obviously Julan gets uncomfortable and deflective, if pushed to admit that he disagrees with standard Ashlander opinion. Notice how he immediately moves to position himself as part of an "us" who is being invaded and culturally repressed by outlanders. Who is this "us", exactly? If it's Dunmer as a whole, then House Dunmer are the biggest perpetrators of invasion and cultural repression against Ashlanders, far more so than the Empire. If it's Ashlanders, then he's eliding his own outcast status, again. I don't think Julan needs to be 100% ideologically coherent and logically watertight at all times for his concerns to be real and his anger to be legitimate, but sometimes it seems like he's arguing with himself, more than anyone else.

“So you’d like more foreigners in Morrowind, would you?”

Iriel deliberately poking the sore spot, because if his new pal is going to turn out to be a xenophobic asshole, he'd like to know now, before he invests any more time.

Ire sees all Dunmeri hatred of foreigners as racism, though it's actually more complicated than that. You do have to take the power dynamic into account - Morrowind is a colonised land, and for Vvardenfell in particular, the Imperial incursion was only 13 years ago, the wounds still very fresh. It's not racist to be mad about foreigners invading you and kicking you off your land to build military bases.

It's just that... with most Dunmer, you get the impression that they'd be racist to everyone anyway, with or without a "legitimate" reason like invasion. Look at how they treat the foreigners they have power over, especially their constant, horrendous racism against the Khajiit and Argonians whom they kidnap and enslave. They're rude and abrasive to everyone else, including Dunmer not born in Morrowind, and I'm not even touching the fact that their foreigner-slur sounds upsettingly close to the n-word.

As an Altmer, Iriel's in a strange position, technically being on the same level as the Dunmer, a member of an Imperial colonised land. But Altmer, even defeated by the Empire, retain a certain status via their historical dominance, ongoing cultural influence and self-mythology as descendants of the Aldmer. While it doesn't give him much real power in a place like Vvardenfell, and feels to him as if it has the opposite effect when Camonna Tong target him, Iriel certainly benefits from Altmeri privilege. People - even the Tong! - treat him far better than they would a Khajiit or an Argonian in the same position.

“I didn’t say that, but… I mean…” Julan was frowning, considering the question far more seriously than Ire had intended him to. “I’d like to learn more about other places. I read some stuff in a book, once, but then Mother found it, and threw it on the fire.”

Along with the opening of Vvardenfell to Imperial mining and colonisation in 3E 414 came a huge influx of non-Dunmer, turning a near-racially-homogenous place into somewhere where, just over a decade later, only 1 in 2 people were Dunmeri. Julan was nine years old in 3E 414 and, out in the wastes, only knew something had changed when the missionaries and Legionaries started to appear. Those foreigners were unambiguously bad, to be sure, but later, other foreigners travelled through the area, and they were just... people. Strange-looking people, with weird accents and clothes. People he got yelled at for talking to, but Mother also thought books about foreign countries were dangerous, and he'd already figured out she was full of shit on that point. Maybe Julan would like more foreigners in Morrowind, maybe that would be interesting? He's experimenting with the idea, knowing it's "wrong" according to his sources of received wisdom, but struggling to justify to himself why that would be the case.

Sometimes I fantasise about travelling, and seeing all the other amazing lands out there. Of course, it’ll never happen. I have duties, responsibilities. I can’t just… walk away. Find a boat, and… sail off into the horizon…” He stared dreamily out across the murky water.

This line hurts so much worse if you're re-reading the fic. But... this is why Julan argues with Iriel when Ire claims Julan would never leave Vvardenfell with him. Julan wants to leave Vvardenfell, has always wanted to leave Vvardenfell! There's just always been a million reasons lining up in front of him, telling him that everything will fall apart, if he does. But he's not, y'know, happy about that.

Ire followed his gaze to the lumpen mass of rusted towers visible amongst the trees.

This is the screenshot in my tumblr header image: the Dwemer ruin of Aleft, as seen from the Gnaar Mok docks.

“How will we know till we look? Anyway, I bet you’re smarter than anyone else who’s been in there. You might find stuff they missed!”

He's really trying, huh? Full puppy-dog mode, full loyal supportive friend who believes in you, and definitely isn't just trying to talk you up, because he saw you collapsed in a mess of heartbreak and skooma-drool the other night!

Ire snorted, but allowed himself to be flattered without further protest.

It was almost starting to work, too. But now, a few things are going to happen to ruin his mood.

“Move!!” Julan hurled himself sideways into Iriel, who found himself thrown into the wall, but out of range of the Steam Centurion’s giant spherical fist, which came crashing down onto Julan’s shoulder. Fortunately, he was ready for it, and moved with the blow, twisting low, so that most of the force glanced off his pauldron. The construct tilted forwards, centre of gravity skewed. “Now!!” Julan yelled, driving his chitin blade at the joint of its leg.

Look, Ma! I'm writing a fight scene! It's not the best fight scene ever, these sentences definitely need some tightening up, but at least I'm not evading it completely!

Let the record additionally show that the first time Iriel got up close and personal with a Steam Centurion, he was fighting for his life, and very specifically trying NOT to get fisted by it.

Julan had got to [...] disable a few Centurion Spiders with well-placed kicks.

They're just like metal mudcrabs! Shani informs me that only outlanders and idiots get killed by mudcrabs. Every Dunmeri child is taught early on how to kick them sharply onto their backs, so they can't do anything to you.

He’s not going to give up, is he? Is it because of those stupid clannfears, he thinks he has to prove himself, over and over? Auri-El…

Orrrrr, maybe he's just doing his job, and you're feeling guilty for taking him somewhere you knew could be dangerous, with no real plan for if things went south?

Iriel mostly uses non-fantasy swears, but at some point I realised "Auri-El" sounded hilariously like "bloody hell", so I had to let him have that one.

If he had been alone, Ire would have been long gone, under cover of invisibility.

Iriel can't use his regular escape mechanisms without leaving Julan to die. Invisibility is passive and individualistic, it enacts no change on the world, and can't do anything to help others, only yourself. It's all about avoiding risk, but if Iriel wants to keep Julan alive, he's going to have to do something risky, instead.

I'm sure he rationalises the bravery of this away, later. He just didn't want to get saddled with the guilt of Julan's death! But a coward would have abandoned Julan, and blamed the Ashlander for his own suicidal recklessness. In the heat of the moment, Ire's first instinct was to preserve life.

he dashed forwards and threw his arms round Julan, pulling him into the sphere of pink light he was focusing.

Watch out Julan, it's the gay agenda!

(The gay agenda: not die)

He had expected Almsivi Intervention to return them to Ald'ruhn, but sunlight and running water instead of ash storms and wind ruled that out. Then he recognised the Temple courtyard. He was in Balmora again. Shit. We were too far south.

Again with the teleportation drama; it's so easy to do, though! Almsivi Intervention isn't based on the closest beacon, it's by demarcated zone, and you can easily assume you'll go to one beacon, when in fact, you're across the border and into the zone of another beacon that's even further away.

although part of his brain was wistfully considering how long it’d been since he was last wrapped around someone like this, Julan was stirring, and this wasn’t really the time or the place. Or the person, he told himself.

[...]

Julan opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He pushed himself up to sitting, his face a picture of confusion. Then he saw Ire, and, comprehension dawning, grinned sheepishly. Blood trickled down over his lip. Iriel had an overpowering desire to hit him.

Iriel is being forcefully reminded that other people are complicated. Horribly complicated, and dangerous in more ways than one. Iriel doesn't want to have some idiot's death on his conscience, and he definitely doesn't want to start feeling attracted to Julan, because that's an even worse threat to his soap-bubble mental stability.

(Hitting Julan would not have helped. Hitting Julan would have done the opposite of helped. It might have precipitated the guy's bisexual crisis twenty-three chapters earlier, but it wouldn't have helped.)

He settled for shouting, instead.

“You idiot! You utter, fuckwitted, shit-for-brains… warrior!! What is wrong with you, do you have some kind of death wish? I can’t handle this, I can’t… don’t you dare ask me to keep…” He broke off, frustrated at his inability to express himself and the unshed tears burning behind his eyes.

And here's the rest of the steam, escaping the valve. Ire loses his shit totally disproportionately, but the pressure's been building up ever since he took Julan on.

Quick note: at no point in the fight did Julan actually refuse to fall back, he never even got a chance to try. The thing that Iriel is claiming to be angry about, is not a thing that happened, or the thing he's actually angry about.

I can’t deal with this. When he comes back, I’ll tell him he has to leave. It’s not just the fighting, it’s everything. I’m too used to being on my own. This is too much pressure. We’re too different. I feel like he’s judging me all the time, my skooma, my sexuality, my past, my decisions… I don’t need this.

It's The Being Perceived.

Being perceived when you hate yourself feels like being judged and criticised, even when they're not actually doing that, even when they're being nice and trying to help.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the glass, and her eyeballs began to slide around her face, then he realised something wasn’t right. His head felt heavy. He tried to stand, and everything lurched blurrily sideways. Sottilde calling, “I’m really sorry, Ire!” was the last thing he heard.

People think I had Iriel get roofied a lot, but actually, this is the only time it happens! All the other times, people only TRY to roofie him, but he doesn't fall for it! Iriel is an alchemist, so he knows how this stuff works, and forever after, is paying careful attention to weird undertones in his drinks.

What's Sottilde even doing to him, anyway? It must be Drain Fatigue, because while Damage Fatigue is a possible effect, there are no ingredients that work to make a valid potion for it, and anyway, it's permanent, and they're only trying to knock him out, not give him chronic fatigue syndrome.

Ire's drinking shein, which is comberry wine, and comberries already have a Drain Fatigue property, so maybe Sottilde would only need to add one extra ingredient? There are several possible options: Bonemeal (please no, Ire's suffered enough, plus I don't think it would dissolve), Guar or Kagouti Hide (again, challenging to hide in a drink), various Bitter Coast mushrooms (maybe, I guess?), but the likeliest option for Tilde to have on hand would be marshmerrow. Would a little marshmerrow juice squeezed into comberry wine work to cause instant knock-out?

Honest answer: no. You need alchemical equipment and processes to draw out and magnify the qualities of ingredients enough to have the effect of potions. Tilde's no alchemist, so probably Habasi gave her a pre-made potion to put in Ire's wine. Much as I enjoy the idea of every meal in Morrowind having the equivalent of complicated drug interactions to beware of, eg: it's safe to put hackle-lo on a kwama egg, but only if the egg is small. If the egg is big, you will be instantly paralysed.

Conveniently for Morrowind drink-spikers, shein also drains Intelligence, which makes it very funny that Ire likes it, or at least, prefers it over the other noxious brews available in Morrowind taverns. Skooma does the same thing. Go on, babe, nuke your one semi-decent stat! It's like the opposite of a Magical Girl Transformation: a Scientific Boy Regression.

Anyway. Like when I had him get hit onna head, this feels a bit like the author intervening to do a "mean thing" to Iriel. Usually, you want the unpleasant things that happen to a character to be powered solely by the inexorable machinery of their own flaws and mistakes catching up with them, but I had to do something drastic, here. Iriel was recoiling hard from having a companion, from that constant scrutiny, someone always looking over his shoulder. The character, left to his own devices, wanted to dump Julan and run away to lie alone in a swamp for a week, just to get over the amount of social interaction he'd been forced to endure. I don't want him doing that just yet, so he's getting kidnapped.

That, or cruel tarhiel picks random ways to have Iriel black out, when they can't think how to end a chapter; you decide.

next: 36: clean previous: 34: medicine

[ama--ryllis]

Rather Be, Rather be

part 1

Warnings:not proofread, contains triggering subjects, read at your own risks. Cheap ass german btw manga spoilers

Half of this was made a lot later, so, apologies if they are a few incoherence. Enjoy!

You walked next to isagi, the first match was in ten days, you were simply walking in silence, both with one earphone. You grabbed the hair tie around your wrist and started tying up your hair in a small ponytail. You yawned before holding the door open for Yoichi, walking inside the cafeteria with him. You went to sit at a table, while isagi went to get his meal, you took out your phone, scrolling through some messages. Mostly from your mom, sometimes Anri, but that was pretty rare. Someone sat in front of you and it wasn't Yoichi, you raised your gaze to be met with micheal's, you raised an eyebrow at him. "Why hello" he said, that fake ass smile still attached to his face, you didn't answer at first but you gave him a little wave. When isagi arrived, he sat next to you, placing his plate, while he took out the earphone you gave him, handing it to you. Yoichi looked at your lack of food " not hungry ?" You shook your head, while he raised his shoulder, pretty much ignoring kaiser. "I simply accompanied you here so i wouldn't spend the evening in my room" he nodded, before placing his chopstick on the rest. "That's understandable, anyway, what training did you do today?" He asked, legitimately curious "i did core strength and dribbling" he chuckled "just sharpening your best skills gain, mhm ?" He had managed to get out a little smile out of you "yea.."

"dribbling huh ?"

A voice behind you said, one you knew a little too well, you looked over your shoulder only to be met with a pair of teal eyes. "Rin..." He didn't say anything else "you should sharpen your other skills instead" he said, still with his emotionless face. "I do, i do, but just not today" you said of a gentle voice, your features softening around the itoshi, when he sat down next to you, you rested your head on his shoulder, while he rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, he didn't move, acting as if he didn't care ( he does care). As for kaiser, that was sitting in front of you, was smiling, 'that fake ass'.

You lifted your gaze to cross the blond, letting it linger far too long on his his.

'wait a damn minute..'

'that look he had...'

"micheal...?"

His lips tugged into a smirk, raising an eyebrow.

"calling me by my first name now, what is it ?"

You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone

"can we talk later..alone"

"oh ? Sure hübsch" ( i'm so sorry if i didn't spell it right, i'm sure it means pretty but correct me if it doesn't)

"i'll come get you.."

For once, the blond was actually quite cooperative, simply nodding and walked off.

"Say rin ?"

He hummed

"did you see it too ?"

"...yes"

I nodded, raised my head from his shoulder and stretched my arms out a little.

"i'll see you two another time, i have to go talk to choppy hair"

Yoichi snickered, but as you walked away he glared at rin, the two didn't get along that well, but not the kind like shidou and rin. The older player got up and walked away with his empty plate, leaving rin lost in thought.

As for you, the quiet sound of your shoes hitting the ground couod be heard, you were walking quite fast to reach choppy hair's room. You walked past many, many doors until you reached the desired one.

Although you asked him to talk, you felt quite nervous about this, but you knocked. It didn't take long before the blond opened the door, inviting you in, you nodded and walked in.

"you seemed serious about talking to me earlier, what is it "

"micheal, i know it might be indiscreet to ask this, but i'll get to the point"

...

He stayed silent

"why do you hate yourself?"

Kaiser swore he felt his breathing stop hearing your question. You're right, why did he hate himself, he didn't even know.. No that's not true, he knows why, but he doesn't want to admit.

"why do you wanna know that ? You care about me, hübsch?"

He responded, still with that cocky smile of his, but his gaze crossed your again, contrary to his, the energy you gave off, you were dead serious.

That's when it hit him, you were being for real, real, you actually cared, being that sassy exterior, you fucking cared. That's what made it harder for him to say it...but guess what ? He did it anyway.

"because i'm not good enough, if i don't get better then my career will just go down...i need to surpass N-"

"that's the problem, setting goals for yourself is fine, it'a good even. But if you can't do it now, take a step back to take two forward. You're allowed to rest micheal, but i can tell, that's not the only thing bothering you, is it"

That wasn't even a question, he couldn't answer that, he knew that you already know, but, now did he expect you to hint towards it ? No he fucking didn't.

The more his eyes loosed themselves in yours, the more he felt like you read him as an open book.

"body dismorphia? It isn't easy, is it ?"

He didn't answer, but what purpose would it do anyway, you already knew the answers to all that.

" why?"

....

"why do you ask me all this when you know the answer ?"

"because i want to know how you feel it"

..

"but micheal, it i'll be fine, so hang on a little longer, mkay ?"

What followed after this was the last thing he expected, his forehead was resting on your shoulder, and he broke. The tears, they spilled out, he just couldn't anymore, he felt your arms around him.

'oh, as much as this comforts him, he'd rather be, rather be, somebody else'

_________________________________________

Thank you for reading up until now, now, this story was not necessarily romantic with micheal, but more platonic. Hopefully you weren't disappointed.

[sariahsue]

Jealousy Ch 2

Adrien's point of view

(Chapter one (Marinette's pov) here. Please note that I started this story in the ancient days of May 2021.)

---

Chat Noir almost always felt at home in Marinette's room. It was cozy and warm, lined with layers of fabric, like she was building a soft den. It was so different from his own old and sterile room. His windows let him see outside at the same time they reminded him he would always be disconnected from it. Marinette leaned against him, but tonight, no matter how close he physically was to her, he felt like they were on opposite sides of glass.

Their playing cards had been knocked out of their piles by Marinette's victory dance. A container of leftover noodles lay empty on its side. And Chat Noir held steady against Marinette's weight as she relaxed into his side.

There were so many things he couldn't tell her. So many things he wanted her to understand. "Hey, Bug?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Aren't you asking something now?" she joked. "Sure."

He hesitated. Asking was only a few steps removed from the forbidden act of telling. (Not his name. Not how many days it had been since he'd last had dinner with his father, or been given a hug.) He wanted to ask why she'd taken down all her pictures of Adrien. What had he done as his civilian self that had upset her so much? She stayed perfectly polite to him at school.

Instead he asked, "If it weren't for that other guy, do you think you would have fallen for me?"

Marinette leaned away. It wasn't the first time he'd asked a variation of this question. It was almost always on his mind. His rival.

"Um... do you want to play another round of Uno," she deflected, "or should we do something else?"

"Marinette, I'm serious. Would you have?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, I guess. Video games? I have UMS 4."

"Really, that's it? You guess? That's not a real answer."

"Please, chaton. Don't do this to yourself."

He selfishly slid closer to her. Not many people allowed him to be in their space like this, and the need to touch her was too much. If she felt like he was chasing her, she didn't complain. A reminder that at least someone wanted him around.

He didn't stop until he could feel her comfortable body heat against his side again. "I just want to know."

He'd expected a simple yes or no.

"You're kind and compassionate. You're reliable. You're funny." She stopped, taking care to find her next words. He thought she would just tell him no. "We have such a strong connection, and I trust you with my life. You're brave. You're my best friend."

Marinette's voice dropped for the devastating truth. "It would have been so easy. That's the real answer."

Chat Noir struggled to stay still, focusing on not hugging her, not crying, not moving. Even if she didn't love him back, she did in some way love him. She just… loved someone else more. Differently. Who was it? Adrien watched her at school. He knew Alya teased her constantly about her love life and Marinette's inability to talk to the mysterious boy who'd so effortlessly caught her attention. Adrien never overheard his name, though he'd tried.

"So why haven't you talked to him yet?" Chat Noir asked.

"What?"

"If you'd pick him over all that, then you must like him a lot, but you aren't together."

Marinette shifted, looking at him for the first time since gifting him a list of her favorite things about him (a gift he didn't deserve). "And I can't imagine anyone rejecting you, so you must not have asked him out yet."

"I'm... very awkward around him. I'm pretty sure I make him uncomfortable sometimes."

"I doubt it," he said. "So who is he?" Another question he hadn't been able to ask before. But he was tired of the glass in between them. If he couldn't be with her, maybe knowing more about her would help. This nameless boy was such a huge part of her life.

And one of the biggest obstacles in his.

Marinette got up and walked away, her back to him. "We shouldn't be talking about this."

"Why not?"

"Because I hate this!" Her face was pained as she turned to him. "I hate hurting you every time you bring it up."

The headless mannequin was suddenly very interesting. Father didn't have his own mannequin until he was nearly 18. Marinette was more passionate and more talented.

"I'm only curious," he lied. He felt like a bad friend for pushing, but there was only so much he could learn about her from studying the decor in her room. "I just want to know what type of person attracts Ladybug. That's all." And find out what he still lacked.

"I'll tell you under two conditions. One, you stop asking about it. Two, you don't laugh at me."

"Laugh?" he asked. "Why would I laugh?"

"Because you're going to think it's a celebrity crush, and it's not."

He waved to distract her from his face. He hoped it was neutral, but he couldn't be sure. A celebrity? She had a crush on some random celebrity? That's who his competition was?

Marinette groaned. "Adrien Agreste."

He didn't think. Didn't realize he'd stood up until he was walking toward her. The glass was shattering. "Plagg, claws in!"

"NO!" she shrieked, snapping her eyes shut. Had she seen? "What are you doing? Put your suit back on!"

"No."

"I'm not going to look at you."

Plagg bobbed back and forth between the two of them, then flew off to find Tikki. That was as close to permission as he was going to give.

"You have to retransform." Her commanding tone was at odds with the way she backed up, flinching away from him until she hit her desk, hiding her face in an effort to protect him. Or maybe herself.

"No," he repeated, "not until you look."

"You'll have to," she said. "You can't walk out my front door and let people see you. You'll have to leave the way you came in."

"You're just going to keep your eyes closed for the rest of the night?"

She nodded.

Adrien walked over to her, his socked feet stepping lightly over the remains of their time together. He wrapped her in a loose hug, and then waited. After a few seconds, Marinette dropped her hands from her face and sunk into him. He took that as permission to hug her the way he'd always wanted, like he was never going to let her go.

Maybe he didn't have to.

He was the boy. The rival. The obstacle. She could know all of him, and he wouldn't have to feel so fragmented and broken. There would be nothing left to come between them, if only she would open her eyes.

Marinette shivered in his arms. His fire dimmed, replaced with softness at her worry. It was so much better to hold her without thick armor in the way, just a few layers of fabric.

He wouldn't force her to look, but he wasn't above leading her for once. He could tell himself that it would be an advantage, tactically, for her to know who he was. It would strengthen their partnership, but really, he just needed her to know him.

"I'm not opening my eyes," she said.

"Then please just listen to my voice. I won't tell you my name, but please just listen?"

She pushed her face into his neck, skin to skin, and breathed deeply, nodding. Adrien wanted to drop his head on top of hers, but instead only leaned down, letting her hair brush his cheek. Almost nothing in between them.

"When I'm not transformed, I'm much quieter."

"A quiet Chat Noir?" Marinette teased. "What must that be like?"

"I don't show off either. I try to avoid attention, actually. I get too much of it."

Marinette didn't ask him why, though he'd expected it. He hoped it was because she was trying to figure it out despite herself.

"Did you know that we know each other outside the masks? We go to the same school."

He stopped, letting her come to the truth if she was ready. Despite what he wanted, and how desperately he needed to be seen by her, this ultimately had to be her choice. If she wanted to understand, she would.

Marinette's fingers started to roam, first to his ungloved hand, maybe testing to see if he really was detransformed. The hairs on his forearms raised as she drew a line from his wrist to the edges of his rolled up sleeves. Over and across, to his shoulders, a breathless slide along his collarbone, then down the buttons of his shirt, then back up to his shoulders as she breathed into his neck, and her eyelashes tickled him as she opened her eyes.

She wouldn't be able to see his face, but she knew. He rested his head on hers, strengthening his hold on her.

"You're kind and compassionate," he said. "You're brave and creative and amazing. It was so easy to fall in love with you, Marinette."

Her hands slid from his shoulders and wrapped around his neck, holding him just as tightly as he held her. "I love you too, Adrien."