#how characters act differently from the normal universe

[cookiedough77]

been thinking about reverse adrien and plagg

so we're all on board with selectively mute adrien right? right. and plagg cant talk at all

so do they just sit around not talking the entire time? until adrien transforms? its just a thing i like to imagine

adrien detransforms and just plops on his couch and plagg does the same and they dont do much, and certainly dont talk, just kinda like do whatever they do in silence

[smile-files]

i continue to find ii3 baffling. why did they make it (this isn't to hate on the season, i'm genuinely curious)

[mydearestbeloved]

Imagine...

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: Implied Yandere (If you squint), mild grotesque imaginary of killing a magic beast

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

This is now officially a series! You can check "Trial Player AU" here: [Masterlist🦋✨️]

You never imagined your life would take such a drastic turn. One moment, you were typing away on your laptop, and the next, you found yourself in a universe where Hunters, dungeons, and magic were the norm.

As a casual fan of the manhwa, you were more than familiar with the storyline and its characters. But this was real, painfully real, and your heart raced in your chest as you tried to make sense of it all.

Isekai'd into the world of Solo Leveling was unexpected, but this?

This was even more bizarre.

___

Isekai stories were meant to be fun. A fresh start in a different world with cool powers and thrilling adventures, right?

[Congratulations!

You have been selected by the System for an exclusive test run.]

The first time you saw that message, you had no idea what it meant. But after receiving a few more cryptic messages and nearly dying in a lower-rank dungeon?

You would be foolish if continue that thought.

You weren’t just dropped into this world—you were the 'Trial Player'. A glitch, a test subject for the system before it latched onto its true player.

It sounded like a game, a brief test before things returned to normal.

Except now you’re stuck.

___

You didn’t want to interfere, to change the storyline you knew too well.

The system gave you powers once you started leveling up.

Since you weren’t a fighter by nature, learning how to defend yourself have been a whole other story. Healing however, had come to you almost too naturally. You were rather fortunate (or is it unfortunate?) in that regard, as you discovered early on that your specialized ability was more… versatile, than it seemed.

Simply put, they were dual-edged.

Healing and harming were two sides of the same coin—just a matter of intent.

You could heal yourself and allies just fine, but with enemies? The same touch that mended could also cause harm.

A giant serpent once learned that the hard way.

___

The cold wind brushed against your face as you stared down at the monstrous serpent writhing in its final throes. You hadn’t meant to do it that way—honestly, it was an accident.

You had only wanted to defend yourself, yet in an act of panic, you had somehow amplified the beast's venom glands, forcing it to produce venom at an uncontrollable rate to the point of overloading its own internal organs.

The monster literally drowned in its own deadly concoction.

As the hissing faded, you watched with wide eyes as the giant serpent collapsed, dead. A familiar notification dinged in the corner of your vision.

[Congratulations!

You have successfully defeated a C-Rank Venom Serpent!]

The cheerful tone that rang in your ears was far too enthusiastic for your liking.

[System will now place Blue Venom-Fanged Kasaka in its place.]

You let out a shaky breath, still in shock.

[You have just proven yourself to be quite entertaining,

Trial Player (Name)_

Shall we continue with more interesting challenges?]

What the hell just happened?

___

From the start, you’d made the decision to stay under the radar.

At first, it was overwhelming.

The system's notifications, the power you gained with each step, and the dangerous world you were thrust into were enough to make anyone completely lost their mind.

But, despite the insanity of your new reality, you had to admit you’d adapted rather well.

From that day forward, the system acted more like a mischievous partner than a mere overseer.

In fact, the system had seemed delighted by your attempts to remain discreet, since it was more than willing to help you falsify your ranking, allowing you to masquerade as a mere C-rank. Not that you cared much about rankings, but blending in was important, especially since you knew what was coming. You didn't want to stand out when the real chaos began.

The system had its reasons, no doubt, but you didn’t question it. As long as it kept your secret and allowed you to survive without drawing too much attention, you were content.

With your knowledge of the Solo Leveling storyline—albeit you still need to fill in some gaps in your memory here and there—you avoided changing the narrative too much. However, when it came to the protagonist, you found it difficult to completely stay away.

As a fan, you already knew what hardships awaited him, and as much as you tried not to interfere, your heart ached terribly seeing him suffer through his early days as an E-rank hunter.

Even knowing he’d become the world’s strongest eventually, you still found yourself lessening his burden.

You weren’t trying to change anything significant—just minor things. Healing him faster when he was injured and unconscious after dangerous raids, anonymously covering some of his mother's medical bills, leaving useful items at his doorstep. All of it was done behind the curtain, leaving no trace.

You kept your distance; each act was a silent tribute to a hero you believed deserved better.

Or maybe, it was because you saw something in him that reminded you of your own struggle—your own loneliness in this strange world.

After all, this wasn’t your story. It was his.

___

You vowed not to meddle in the timeline.

That was to say, you had no intention of getting involved in the main storyline.

So, when the time came for him to finally accept the system’s offer and became the player, the trial period for you ended.

The screens pop-ups ceased.

The missions vanished.

The system had gone silent.

You could finally step back, let him take the reins. You could enjoy the world for yourself, live your life in this reality.

Or so you thought.

___

It was supposed to be a quiet day, just like any other.

You found yourself wandering through a familiar street in Seoul, lost in thought.

You weren’t sure what it was that tipped you off—the weight of someone’s gaze on your back, perhaps—but when you turned around, your breath hitched.

Gaze locked in with sharp, glowing blue.

And a familiar chirp in your mind, as smug as ever.

[Fancy meeting you here,

Trial Player (Name)_ ]

Damnit, you sly—!

"‘Trial Player’, huh?"

You clenched your fists and bit your lip as his voice cut through your inner turmoil.

Stormy hues, and ebony locks that looked too fluffy not to touch.

Taller, and his voice deeper than the last time you heard him.

There was no way you could mistake him for someone else.

There was no way you could forget him.

Sung Jinwoo

The system hummed in amusement behind him, oddly pleased with itself.

A screen flickered in your periphery.

[Dear Trial Player, (Name)_

Be careful not to spill your secret to Player Sung Jinwoo,

else you may find the penalty quite costly.]

Playful, yet the warning echoed in your mind.

You had no idea what the system’s penalty might be, and you weren’t eager to find out.

“I’ve been wondering about the mysterious healer who’s been helping me. I guess I have my answer now.”

Calm, that tone of his was way too calm, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt your stomach drop. How much did he know? How long had he suspected—

“Don’t look so surprised,” Jinwoo continued with a chuckle, a small, dangerous tilt playing on his lips, “The system can be… revealing at times.”

The insufferable chirps like giggles in your ear following his statement made it clear—there was no escape now.

Sung Jinwoo knew, or at least, he knew enough.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Jinwoo said, stepping closer.

You instinctively took a step back.

"Join my party."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat instead.

“What?"

“I want you to join me,”

Jinwoo repeated with the same exact tone, as if that one sentence was enough for your mind to grasp at—whatever situation this had spiral to be.

Your brain scrambled for an answer. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. “I prefer staying out of the spotlight,” you muttered, trying to avoid his gaze.

Jinwoo leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think I’m going to let that happen.”

The system pinged again.

[Player Sung Jinwoo has extended a party invitation.]

“I didn’t agree to—”

The screen popped up again.

[Trial Player cannot refuse this invitation.]

You blinked at the screen, then at him.

Jinwoo kept his eyes on you—glowing in that beautiful, beautiful blue—practically daring you to refuse.

You felt trapped.

___

And that was how you found yourself reluctantly dragged into Sung Jinwoo’s (formerly solo) party.

You were supposed to be a background character at most, but now you were standing beside the future strongest hunter, going on raids, facing dungeon bosses, and… spending far too much time with him outside of said raids.

You don’t know why, but outside of dungeons were even worse. Jinwoo seemed to find excuses to be around you, despite your best efforts to avoid him. Whether it was casual visits to the same cafés you frequented or crossing paths in the market, he always seemed to be there at every turn. It was unsettling how often his gaze lingered on you, as if he was trying to unravel the very essence that made you, you.

Persistent, relentless, and far too observant for your liking. Jinwoo followed you, making sure you never slipped away, sticking close like your own personal shadow.

You might have laughed at the irony, if you were not the center of his attention.

Sung Jinwoo refused to leave you alone.

You weren't sure how he'd managed to pull you into his orbit, but he had, and now you were stuck in the very story you were trying to avoid.

A soft laugh; a rare sound that made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, My Healer.”

___

"Oh, what have I gotten myself into..." you muttered under your breath, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on you.

The system chimed in, always and without fail, far too gleeful for your liking.

[What indeed, Trial Player?

What indeed.]

You really, really, want to kick this damned system to space.

End Note:

Finally, I can sleep now...

Every related imagines I post after this WILL NOT follow any particular/chronological order.

[srslylini]

what made season 1 so stunningly good was that every scene could be explained with stuff that happened on screen.

Why did Vi know where to find Vander after Silco took him? well of course because of Ekko who was established in the first few minutes of the first episode to be the character to be on look out.

Why did Powder follow the others to the abandoned building? why because she wanted to feel useful, she wanted for her stuff to work and she wanted to help. She wanted to not be the Jinx. This was all established through character moments that were natural and normal human interactions.

Why did Mel invest in Jayce? Why because first of all her own mother sent her away so seeing Jayce's mother stand up for her son must've hit her. And we see her talking about having to find new investments. Of course she would. He sounds interesting enough. Why not try it? If it doesn't work banishment is still on the table.

Why did Viktor help Jayce? Because he didn't want to stand in Heimerdingers shadow as just an assistant anymore. He was sick and knew the problems of the undercity first hand, he wanted to help. Of course he would, if there was a chance hextech could do it.

Why did Marcus continue to help Silco even after Graysons death? Why, because of his daughter or course. He could be threatened, molded and used. He wanted to establish big things, and was hasty in his youth, and we see 1. Silco exploit that and 2. Marcus regret that.

Why did a shimmer induced Huck help Caitlyn out? Why because as early as the very first episode in Vanders first speaking scene he gets help from Vander and well why wouldn't he then show that help for Vi, knowing he can?

literally every scene makes sense, everything can be explained with stuff that we SEE in the show. There isn't anything "off screen" or just not there.

Now tell me

Why did Caitlyn suddenly switch sides again in season 2 act 2? Why and how did Mel know that her brother wasn't actually her brother? Why did she know how to solve the puzzle? Why is Viktor suddenly floating in the universe? Why does Ambessa just ignore her daughter being abscent outside of that one throw away line? Why do Maddie, Loris and Isha exist? Every chatacter existed for a reason that wasn't just Plot even if they sometimes were just for Plot in season 1. But Maddie, Loris and even ISHA for gods sake, really are just Plot. Isha not as much as Maddie and Loris and thank god for that but still, her character, while I still hope it isn't true, existed to die and further Jinx's pain.

it's just so ugh

Edit: A lot (and I mean a LOT) of people have told me how Kino did make sense and I agree with that now. Though I stand firm with my opinion that we should've gotten to know him before so we could have figured it out even easier with Mel, there were actually signs I didn't notice myself before. Thank's for that.

Plus I will not back down on the fact that Mel just knowing the solution to the puzzle "makes sense cause sHe WaS ShOwn TO Be gOoD WiTh PuZZLes" is stupid. Yes, I know she is smart and good with that. But that's like a whole different thing. It's such a leap I don't know how some of you don't see it.

[original-fangirl]

okay opinion incoming im sorry but genuinely ENOUGH with the modern companion thats just a quirky 20 something year old girl from current year who also happens to be the most special person ever born. how about we pick up ugg from caveman times next, hm? or maybe just some guy from like the 50s. maybe a young girl, but from the far far future? can they at least be totally unimportant to the universe, but important to the doctor none the less. i miss when the tardis team was a real mix of total randos, it felt believable that he'd find amazing intelligent people from every time to be his friends. the vibe was different when the companion was special in their own way, not forced to be by greater powers. i loved that rose was just like me when i was a kid; low income, totally normal day to day life, realistic messy home - but she was still brave & smart. ruby is like a pinterest perfect shiny smooth engineered companion to me idk, like her outfits colour co-ordinate with her perfect apartment? millie gibson didnt do a bad job acting at all but the character itself to me feels made to be a companion in a lab, not an organic person who just happened to come along for the ride. dare i say i think graham was a better companion, i just wish the writing had been better, i was actually so excited for an old man companion + young female doctor dynamic lol.

i think thats why jamie is my favourite, a scottish highlander from the 1700s who cant read & has no idea whats going on most of the time, but is the doctors best friend all the same & they have a real connection regardless. i feel like he brings ideas & perspective to situations the doctor wouldnt have otherwise thought of.

[seriiousgiirl]

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 ����𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. Three years after the harrowing events in Silent Hill, James Sunderland has survived the haunting memories of his past but carries the heavy burden of grief and guilt. Adopting Laura, James strives to create a normal life for them both, but the echoes of his former life linger, haunting him in moments of solitude.

As he navigates the challenges of fatherhood and a corporate job, James grapples with PTSD and the lingering shadows of his late wife, Mary. His daily interactions are fraught with anxiety, especially when it comes to Laura's teacher, Y/n. Young, vibrant, and filled with warmth. But as Y/n becomes an unexpected source of comfort and tension in James's life. He is drawn to her kindness and beauty, yet he feels undeserving of her attention, burdened by the ghosts of his past.

When Y/n reaches out with genuine concern for James's well-being, he wrestles with feelings of guilt, lust and longing, torn between the desire for connection and the fear of betraying Mary's memory. As James's pent-up frustrations bubble to the surface, he finds himself navigating a complicated emotional landscape where love, loss, and redemption intertwine.

❛ Part 2 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello everyone! After years of being more or less in the Silent Hill fandom, the remake rather inspired me... :') After seeing how cute James is in it, I felt like I was rediscovering his character. The story is a bit different from what we usually see, but I hope it will appeal to the (few, I don't think many would be interested in a silent hill fanfic) people who read it.

➜ ┊: chapter 1/?.

James woke up again, his body snapping upright in bed, his breath ragged and uneven as if he had just surfaced from drowning. His chest rose and fell with frantic breaths that refused to calm, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a prisoner desperate to escape. The room around him was silent, still, and blanketed in shadows, the faintest silver glow of the moon seeping through the thin, worn curtains. It painted his surroundings in an eerie light, enough to make out the vague shapes of his furniture but not enough to chase away the weight of the darkness.

He knew it was early—much too early. The alarm on his nightstand wouldn’t go off for hours, not until the unforgiving numbers clicked over to 7 a.m. He set it religiously, every night, clinging to the hope that one day he’d wake naturally to the sound, as if that simple act could restore some semblance of normalcy to his broken life. 

But that never happened.

James never woke peacefully anymore. His body, his mind, refused to grant him that mercy. Instead, he jolted awake in a cold sweat, his body rigid, his pulse racing. Each time, it felt as though he was being pulled from some unseen nightmare—ripped out of a hellish dreamscape that he couldn’t remember clearly but always left its mark. The fear, the panic, the suffocating sense of dread stayed with him, lingering like smoke in the air long after his eyes had adjusted to the dim glow of his bedroom.

He pressed his palm against his face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin. His body felt tense, coiled like a spring that had been wound too tightly. His muscles ached from the constant strain, from the battles he fought every night within the confines of his mind. The nightmares weren’t just dreams. They were fragments of a past that refused to stay buried, haunting him in the dead of night when the world outside was quiet and his mind had no distractions to keep the demons at bay.

The medication bottles on his bedside table gleamed faintly in the moonlight, their labels worn from use. He reached for them out of habit, his fingers brushing the cool surface, but he didn’t open them. No matter how many pills he swallowed, how many prescriptions doctors wrote, nothing ever worked. Sleep was supposed to be a sanctuary, a refuge from the waking world, but for James, it had become another battleground.

He let his hand drop back to his lap, staring down at his shaking fingers. He could feel the tension still coursing through him, the residue of whatever nightmare had dragged him awake. His body hadn’t yet realised he was safe, that it was just a dream, and the adrenaline still pumped through his veins. Every night, it was the same—this restless terror that clung to him, trapping him in a cycle he couldn’t escape. He longed for sleep, yet feared it in equal measure, knowing that the darkness of his subconscious held more horrors than the light of day ever could.

For a moment, he considered lying back down, closing his eyes, and trying again. 

But the thought alone made his stomach twist.

With a sigh, James decided to give up on sleep altogether. There was no use lying there, waiting for his heart to calm down or for the remnants of his nightmare to fade. His legs still trembled as he swung them over the side of the bed, the cool floor beneath him grounding him just enough to pull himself up. The shadows in the room seemed to shift as he stood, though he knew it was his mind playing tricks again. He had long stopped trusting the darkness.

He moved carefully, trying to stay silent as he made his way to the door, not wanting to wake Laura. She was the only constant in his life now, the only reason he hadn’t completely unravelled. But even the thought of her, sleeping peacefully down the hall, wasn’t enough to ease the tremor in his hands. As he stepped out of the bedroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards echoed too loud in the silence of the house, and for a fleeting moment, his breath hitched.

Sometimes, in these quiet hours, he could swear he heard them—the monsters. That same sickening creaking sound they made, their grotesque forms dragging across the cold. Or worse, the heavy, slow scrap of metal—a blade being dragged along the ground. His body tensed, instinctively waiting for the ominous presence of that thing— he came to call Pyramid Head. He hadn’t seen it in three years, but its presence still lingered, like a ghost lurking in the corners of his mind. His chest tightened as he imagined that scraping sound growing closer, louder, but he knew… or at least, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

On the worst days, though, it wasn’t just the monsters. 

Sometimes, he would hear her—Mary. Her voice, soft and sweet, like the Mary he remembered before everything went wrong, calling out to him. It always started the same way, a gentle whisper at first, like she was in the next room, waiting for him. And each time, it grew louder, more urgent, until it was a siren’s call, relentless and cruel. It was enough to make his heart stop, to make him question everything, and then he’d remember—he knew where that call would lead. Straight into oblivion. Straight into the abyss of his own guilt.

On other nights, he could swear he felt Maria—her warmth next to him in bed, the way her body would press against his. It was so vivid, so painfully real, as though she hadn’t died in his arms multiple times, as though Silent Hill hadn’t swallowed her whole. She had been a ghost, a reflection of everything he had lost, and yet… sometimes she felt alive in those moments. His doctors told him it was all hallucinations, the remnants of trauma deeply embedded in his mind. Certified and explained away in clinical terms, but knowing that didn’t change how real it felt in those fleeting, terrifying seconds.

Even now, as he stood in the hallway, his breath uneven, James couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere—beneath the layers of his fragile reality—the horrors were still there, watching, waiting.

James padded quietly into the kitchen, his bare feet brushing against the cool tiles as he reached for a glass. The water flowed smoothly from the tap, cool and refreshing, and he drank it straight, the crispness washing over him. It helped clear his mind, if only for a moment, pushing back the lingering echoes of the night’s terrors. 

After finishing the glass, he flicked on the small lamp in the living room, its soft glow spilling light across the space, chasing away the oppressive darkness. He made his way to the couch, settling himself in front of the window, where the city still lay shrouded in early morning silence. Outside, the world was just beginning to stir, but here in this moment, everything felt suspended in time.

They had moved far away from Silent Hill, away from Maine altogether, as if he was still trying to escape the town’s haunting pull. When Laura had expressed her desire for a place near the coast, saying she wanted to feel the warmth of the sun and breathe in the salty scent of the ocean, he had obliged her wishes. It was the least he could do for the little girl who had become his lifeline, the one bright spot in his otherwise dark world. It had taken time, but he had learned to appreciate the small things—like the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the way the sunlight danced on the water’s surface.

He pulled his journal from the side table, the worn leather cover familiar against his fingers. The pages were filled with thoughts, memories, and an ongoing dialogue with himself—one that his doctor had encouraged. Writing was meant to help him sort through his feelings, to separate reality from the nightmares that still clung to him like shadows. It was a way to document the moments that felt tangible, grounding him in the present.

With the pen poised above the page, he took a deep breath, letting the silence of the morning wrap around him. 

Date: [XX/10/1993]

Another night of waking up in a cold sweat. The dreams feel heavier lately, more vivid. I can still hear Mary’s voice sometimes, like she’s calling out to me. I know it’s not real, but the longing… It’s hard to escape. I need to remember that I’m here now. That I have Laura. She needs me to be present. I need to plan my day—take her to the beach, show her the tide pools, maybe? She deserves to explore, to laugh, to feel alive. Maybe it will help me too.

James paused, staring at the words he’d just written. The ink was still wet, and he felt the weight of each line pressing against his chest, a mixture of hope and dread swirling within him. 

He continued, allowing his thoughts to flow onto the page.

I’ve been thinking about the way the ocean looks at dawn. It’s a beautiful sight, the horizon slowly illuminated by the first light of day. I want to share that with Laura. She deserves to see the world as it is. Maybe if I can show her that, it’ll help me remember what it feels like to be alive, too.

He turned the page, feeling the familiar texture beneath his fingertips, grounding him in a moment that felt too fragile. The nightmares are starting to blur again. It’s like I’m drifting between memories and dreams. I know I should talk to Dr. Fischer about it, but I hate feeling so exposed. Every time I sit across from him, it’s like peeling back layers of skin. I don’t want to keep reliving the past, but I also know I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s a part of me now—part of what makes me who I am.

But sometimes, I wonder if I’m doing enough. If I’m enough. Laura is so full of life—she deserves happiness, yet I feel like a ghost in my own home. The laughter that fills this place is often followed by a silence that weighs heavily on me, as if I’m a spectator in my own life, watching a play where I don’t belong. 

He paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, fighting against the swell of loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him. 

Some days, I can still hear Mary’s laughter, the way it used to light up the room, but now it’s a whisper in the wind. I wish I could reach out to her, ask her for forgiveness, tell her how much I miss her. But she’s gone, and I’m left with nothing but my guilt and the memories that won’t let me go. It’s a bitter irony—I have another chance at life with Laura, yet I feel more alone than ever.

I thought time would heal me, that the scars would fade, but each day feels like a new reminder of what I’ve lost. I watch Laura play, her laughter cutting through the silence, and it fills me with joy and pain all at once. I want to protect her, to shield her from the darkness I carry. But how can I do that when I’m still fighting my own battles?

Anyway, plan for today: Take Laura to the beach, explore the tide pools, and have a picnic.

As he continued to write, the rhythm of his thoughts began to settle, the initial chaos giving way to clarity. He documented everything he hoped to achieve that day, the things that could distract him. 

After some time, the soft patter of small feet echoed in the hallway, and Laura emerged from her room, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She settled next to James on the couch, curling her legs beneath her as she leaned against his shoulder, still waking up. 

“Did you even sleep at all?” she mumbled, her voice thick with the remnants of slumber. 

James chuckled softly, the sound warm and gentle. “Just a little. You know how it is,” he replied, glancing down at her. The early morning light filtered through the window, illuminating her features and casting a soft glow around them. 

“Not again,” Laura sighed, shaking her head in mock exasperation. “You should really take better care of yourself, you know.”

James smiled, closing his journal and setting it aside, feeling the comforting weight of their shared silence. His relationship with Laura had evolved significantly since that first day they met. In the beginning, there was an undeniable tension, a wall between them built from grief and uncertainty. Laura had been sharp-tongued and defiant, often testing his patience with her stubbornness. But over time, that wall had crumbled, brick by brick, revealing a bond that had become more profound and genuine. 

“Maybe I just like the quiet,” he teased, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. “It gives me time to think.”

Laura rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, right. More like you spend it worrying about everything,” she shot back, her familiar sass coming through. But he could sense the softness in her demeanour, the way she had begun to let him in, and it filled him with gratitude.

There were still moments when she wouldn’t call him “Dad”—it felt too heavy, too final—but there had been instances where the word slipped out, once or twice. The first time he had felt a rush of warmth and something almost like fear at her words. It had caught him off guard, pulling at his heartstrings in a way he hadn’t expected. It was one night after a particularly rough day at school. 

The kids had been relentless, and when she had come home, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She had cried so much that night, seeking solace in his arms, and in that moment of vulnerability, she had whispered it—Dad—like it was a fragile promise, something she wanted to believe in.

He had held her tightly, whispering reassurances as she poured out her heart. It was one of the hardest days for both of them, but that single word had changed everything, reinforcing their bond in ways he never thought possible. 

The shrill sound of James’s alarm cut through the quiet morning, signalling that it was finally 7 a.m. He groaned softly, the sudden noise pulling him from the lingering remnants of his thoughts. “Time to get moving,” he muttered to himself before swinging his legs off the couch and standing up.

“Laura,” he called out gently, “you need to get ready for school.” 

Laura groaned but slowly pushed herself upright, her hair sticking up in tousled spikes. “Do I have to?” she whined, rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, you do,” James replied with a chuckle, heading into the kitchen to start breakfast. He could already hear her muttering under her breath as she dragged herself away from the comfort of the couch, but he couldn’t help but smile at her antics. As he prepared breakfast, the scent of eggs and toast filled the air, mixing with the cool October breeze that slipped in through the slightly ajar window. 

He could hear the soft shuffle of Laura getting ready in the background, her footsteps echoing through the hallway.

When breakfast was ready, he set the table, placing a plate in front of her just as she joined him. They ate together in comfortable silence, the clinking of forks the only sound between them for a few moments. 

“So, there’s this kid in class…” Laura began, her voice a mix of enthusiasm and worry. As she recounted her stories, James listened attentively, nodding along as she shared her concerns about a class project and the kids who were teasing her again. She spoke with an earnestness that made him proud, she was a smart little girl.

“...and I do think the teacher likes me a lot,” she finished, her voice dropping slightly, smiling shyly.

James reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on hers. “You’re doing great, Laura. I’m so proud of you,” he encouraged, hoping to convey his support. 

Once they finished breakfast, he cleared the table while she dashed back to her room to grab her backpack. The familiar morning routine helped ground him, a stark contrast to the chaos that often filled his mind.

Then, James returned to his room, feeling the familiar weight of his thoughts returning. He turned on the water for a shower, the warm spray washing over him, almost as if he were trying to cleanse himself of his sins and guilt. Each droplet felt like it could wash away a little more of his guilt, his pain, and his memories.

After his shower, he stood in front of the mirror, towel drying his ash-blond hair and tidying it up, shaving his stubble. The cold air from outside seeped through the window, sending a shiver down his spine as he dressed for the day. He pulled on a simple shirt and jeans. 

But as James stood in front of his closet, the morning light filtering through the curtains, his gaze fell upon his signature khaki jacket hanging quietly amidst his other clothes. For a moment, he hesitated, his heart tightening.

The jacket felt heavy with the weight of the past. He recalled the feel of it against his skin as he navigated the fog-laden streets, the chill of the air contrasting sharply with the warmth it provided. It had shielded him from the elements, yes, but it had also cloaked him in the pain of his choices, the guilt that clung to him like a second skin. 

James swallowed hard, staring at the jacket, the muted fabric whispering secrets of the past. He could almost hear the echoes of Mary’s voice, feel the pang of loss that accompanied every memory. It was as if the jacket was tainted, infused with the blood and tears of that time—but also her scent, her warmth and gentle touch.

Perhaps… Today, he could indulge himself.

He took a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety that rose within him. This jacket is just a piece of clothing, James, he reminded himself, yet it felt like so much more. With a decisive moment, he pulled it from the hanger and slipped it on, the familiar weight settling comfortably on his shoulders. 

James looked at himself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was a man still fighting battles. With a shameful sigh, he adjusted the collar, feeling the jacket’s fabric against his skin. When he stepped outside, the brisk October wind greeted him, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside. 

Laura stood at the door, a look of surprise mixed with concern crossing her face.

“Why are you still wearing that jacket?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gestured to the fabric. “You know… after everything that happened in...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name of the haunting town.

James shrugged, a faint smile creeping onto his face. “I still like it. It’s comfortable.” 

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “You’re so weird, James,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder as they made their way down the path toward the car.

“Weird or not, let’s get you to school on time little girl,” he said, his tone quite firm. Together, they stepped into the brisk morning air, ready to face whatever the day had in store.

‧───────────────

Dropping Laura off at school had become a routine, but for James, it was anything but simple. As they approached the bustling entrance, he felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a sense of dread creeping over him like a heavy fog. It wasn’t the school itself or the noise of children chattering and laughing; it was the attention he attracted.

In a small town where traditional family structures were the norm, a single father with a daughter who didn’t even remotely resemble him stood out like a sore thumb. James had chosen to keep his past private, and he was grateful that Laura’s adoption remained a secret. He avoided any conversations that might lead to questions about their relationship or as to why he was alone, fearing the scrutiny that came with revealing the truth. After all, in the eyes of the world, he was just a man dropping off his daughter, and that was how he wanted it to stay.

As they parked and stepped out of the car, the sun shone brightly, but it felt cold against his skin. He could already sense the gazes of the mothers lingering on him as he helped Laura with her backpack. Their eyes were sharp, curious, sizing him up like sharks circling prey, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of vulnerability. James kept his head down, focusing on Laura as she adjusted her straps and prepared to head inside.

“Have a good day, okay?” he said, forcing a smile as she turned to him, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she waved goodbye.

“Bye, James!” she called, her voice full of cheer as she dashed toward the school gates, her ponytail swinging behind her. 

With her back turned, James felt the full weight of the mothers’ stares. He could almost hear the whispers beneath their breath, speculating about him—why he was alone, where Laura’s mother was, and why they didn’t look alike. It was all too easy to imagine the conclusions they would jump to, and he wanted no part of it. 

Every step he took toward his car felt like walking through a minefield. He avoided eye contact at all costs, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground as he navigated through the throngs of parents and children. Conversations buzzed around him, but he focused solely on his breathing, trying to ignore the anxiety tightening around his chest.

As he passed a small group of mothers standing near the entrance, he couldn’t help but catch snippets of their conversations, even as he tried to block them out.

“Did you see him? He looks so sad,” one of them whispered, her voice dripping with faux concern. “Who could leave such a handsome man alone?”

James felt a familiar flush creep up his neck, a mix of embarrassment and irritation. He quickened his pace, but their comments followed him like shadows.

“I know, right? A single father is so sexy,” another chimed in. “I wish my husband was as committed to our son’s school life.”

He clenched his jaw, biting back a retort. The last thing he wanted was to be part of their gossip, yet he was helpless against the words that floated through the air like smoke. Each compliment felt like a reminder of everything he wanted to avoid—attention, scrutiny, and the inevitable questions.

As he reached the edge of the parking lot, he heard another mother say, “I heard there’s a parents-teacher meeting tonight. Can you imagine? He’ll probably be all alone again. It’s such a shame.”

The words hit him like a cold slap, and he paused, taking a moment to gather himself. The thought of attending the meeting, sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over him. Why did they have to bring that up now?

He finally reached his car, fumbling for his keys in his pocket as he tried to push the whispers from his mind. The weight of judgement lingered in the air, but he didn’t look back. He slipped into the driver’s seat, exhaling slowly as he gripped the steering wheel. “Just another day,” he murmured to himself, willing his heart to calm. 

James had avoided women religiously since he came back, erecting barriers around himself that felt both protective and suffocating. The loss of Mary had left a gaping hole in his heart, one that he couldn’t bear to fill with anyone else. Allowing himself to indulge in the warmth of another felt like an insult to her memory.

In the years following her death, he had retreated into himself, building walls high enough to keep the world—and the painful reminders of his past—at bay. He threw himself into fatherhood, pouring all his energy into raising Laura and ensuring she felt loved and secure. She was his anchor, the one bright spot in the dark fog of his grief. Yet, in avoiding connections with women, he had inadvertently created a deep well of pent-up frustrations within himself—frustrations that simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Every time he caught himself looking at a woman, whether it was a fleeting glance at a passerby or—especially a longer gaze at Laura’s teacher during a school event, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. What am I doing? He would ask himself, immediately diverting his eyes, as if the very act of looking was a betrayal of the love he once held dear. He had convinced himself that he wasn’t ready to move forward, but in truth, he was terrified of what that would mean. 

In the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the weight of his solitude. The nights grew long and lonely, and sometimes he found himself longing for the comfort of another person—a hand to hold, a voice to soothe him. 

But the thought of crossing that line felt insurmountable, like stepping onto a precipice with no way back. He often wondered if this self-imposed exile was healthy or just a way of avoiding the inevitable. Deep down, he knew that if he ever did let someone in, it would come with a torrent of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face—the guilt, the grief, and the fear of moving on without forgetting.

Sometimes, when the darkness of the night enveloped him and the oppressive solitude weighed heavily upon his chest, James found himself struggling to resist his deepest, most shameful urges. Alone in the dim light of his bedroom, the air thick with silence, he would reach for the only source of warmth he had left—his own body.

But every time he started to jerk himself, trying to think about anyone other than Mary, he would falter. His thoughts would slip, no matter how hard he tried to redirect them. The moment he ventured into the realm of fantasy, attempting to conjure images of the warmth he longed for, his mind would betray him. Instead of the embrace of another, he would see Mary’s face—her soft smile, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, the lightness in her laughter that had once filled their home. The memory of her enveloped him, suffocating and punishing him in its intensity, and he would feel a deep-seated shame clawing at his insides.

But jerking off while thinking about his dead wife, the one he had killed, felt utterly wrong. 

With a trembling hand, he'd stroke his hardening cock, trying to drown out the memories that haunted him. But no matter how hard he tried to push them away, they always crept back in, taking over his mind and filling him with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Images of Mary would flood his vision, her soft smile and sparkling eyes etched into his mind, along with the lightness of her laughter that once filled their home.

As he stroked faster, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, he could feel the pressure building inside him. But just as he was about to reach the edge of ecstasy, he would see her face again, and the guilt would consume him. How could he possibly find pleasure in this, knowing what he had done to her? 

The guilt was overwhelming, flooding his senses as he would try to push it all away, but it clung to him like a shadow. Tears would fill his eyes, hot and stinging, blurring his vision as the shame washed over him. He would cry, feeling pathetic and broken, as if indulging in his own body was another betrayal on a long list he had made in his mind. How could I even think of anyone else? He would chastise himself, the guilt wrapping around his heart like a vice, squeezing tighter until it became unbearable.

Knowing that he could never truly find solace in this act, James would eventually release his warm cum spilling onto his hand and stomach. But even in the aftermath of his orgasm, the guilt remained, and he would lie there, spent and broken, wondering how he could ever redeem himself.

It was a cycle of longing and despair that left him feeling more isolated than before. He would swipe at his tears, but they would keep coming, relentless and unyielding. The echoes of his cries seemed to linger in the air, a haunting reminder that he was still trapped in a cycle of grief that he could never escape…

‧───────────────

The day had finally drawn to a close, and the muted hum of office chatter began to fade as the fluorescent lights overhead flickered in their final moments. James gathered his belongings, the familiar weight of his briefcase resting heavily in his hand. The corporate world had wrapped around him like a well-worn coat, the same job he had held before, one that felt both calming and predictable. 

It paid well enough to keep the bills at bay and provided a stable life for him and Laura, allowing him to indulge her little whims—the occasional treat, a new book or doll, or even a day out at the beach. 

As he waved goodbye to his coworkers, offering polite smiles and half-hearted chuckles, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of isolation. Their lives seemed so vibrant, filled with laughter and casual conversations about weekend plans, while he felt like an outsider peering in. Part of him wished he could simply slip away unnoticed, disappearing into the anonymity of the evening. But the thought of the upcoming parent-teacher meeting loomed over him like a dark cloud, the spectre of his insecurities rising to the surface. 

What if Laura’s teacher had concerns about her progress? What if she brought up issues he was completely unaware of? The prospect of engaging in a discussion that could highlight his shortcomings as a parent filled him with an unfamiliar anxiety. He recalled how he had struggled to help her with her homework due to his absent mind, the frustration evident in both their faces as they would argue over James’ implications. Laura would always end up saying that she wished she had a better family…

As he walked through the now empty parking lot, James’s mind drifted to the scenario of the meeting. Maybe it was a bit late, and he secretly hoped Laura’s teacher wouldn’t want to linger past the working usual hour to talk with him. He envisioned himself slipping away, feigning an urgent call or an unforeseen obligation, but guilt gnawed at him, tugging at his conscience. 

He couldn’t let Laura down; she had come to rely on him, and he owed it to her to at least try.

“Just get through it,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as if to clear the impending doubts swirling in his mind. The crisp October air washed over him like a cleansing wave, invigorating him for just a moment. Inhaling deeply, he felt the coolness slice through the tension that had built up in his chest throughout the day, if only temporarily.

Sliding into the driver’s seat of his ageing car, he turned the key in the ignition, the familiar rumble reassuring him, if only slightly. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard; he still had a little time before he needed to pick Laura up from school. As he drove toward the school, the streets blurred by in a rush of colors, and he allowed himself to mentally prepare for the meeting. 

Maybe he could muster enough courage by the time he arrived, but deep down, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this meeting would push him closer to confronting the ghosts of his past—something he had been desperately trying to avoid.

Thoughts of Mary flitted through his mind, uninvited yet persistent. What would she think of him now? Would she be proud of how he was trying to raise Laura, or would she shake her head in disappointment? These questions haunted him as he navigated the familiar streets. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions roiling within him. 

The school building came into view, and he parked in a spot near the entrance. As he sat there for a moment, staring at the looming structure that housed his daughter’s daily adventures. With a deep breath, he pushed open the car door, stepping out into the cool evening air. 

As he approached the entrance, he reminded himself that this was part of the job of being a parent—a role he was still desperately trying to fully embrace. After all, it was true she deserved more than a father lost in his own grief.

As he approached the school gate, he spotted her standing there, the last child waiting to be picked up. His heart sank at the sight; he had hoped to arrive earlier, to be there for her when the final bell rang. A wave of guilt washed over him, but when Laura turned and her face lit up with a smile, that guilt was momentarily pushed aside.

At least she wasn’t angry. 

“James!” she called out, her voice bright and cheerful, as she stretched out her hand toward him. He could see a small backpack slung over her shoulder, and his heart swelled at how she looked—so much like a little girl embracing the world, unbothered by the worries that often plagued him.

“Hey,” he replied, kneeling slightly to take her small hand in his. 

As he thanked the school attendant, a friendly woman with kind eyes who had watched over Laura, he glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her teacher. He didn’t see anyone lingering by the entrance, and a relieved sigh escaped him. Perhaps she had decided to leave, not waiting for him to discuss whatever concerns she may have had about Laura. That was one less thing for him to handle, and he felt a slight weight lift off his shoulders.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” he suggested, his tone light as he turned to lead Laura away. The sight of her eager nod and bright smile made his heart feel lighter, even if just for a moment. He began to walk toward the car, feeling a sense of normalcy return to him—until a soft voice called out behind him.

“Mr. Sunderland!” 

Here’s an expansion on James' perception of you:

James turned, the sound of your voice pulling him back from his thoughts. You were striding toward him, your expression a mix of determination and urgency, the late afternoon light catching in your soft hair. 

There was something striking about your presence that always made his heart race, even amidst the rising anxiety he felt at these interactions. It was as if you carried a warmth with you, an energy that seemed to radiate in the space around you, igniting a flicker of something long dormant within him.

“I was just about to leave,” you said, a hint of breathlessness in your tone as you approached. “I wanted to talk to you before you went. Is this a good time?” You looked unsure.

James glanced at Laura, who was watching the exchange with curious eyes. He felt the familiar knot of anxiety twist in his stomach but nodded, trying to mask his apprehension with a calm demeanour. “Sure, I have a moment.”

“Laura’s been doing really well, by the way,” you continued, your voice lightening as you spoke about his daughter. “She’s incredibly bright and has made some good friends this semester. I’m really proud of her progress.”

James felt a flicker of warmth at your praise. He was grateful to see Laura thriving, especially after the rough patches they had navigated together. “Thank you. I know she’s been working hard,” he replied, glancing down at her, who was beaming at your words.

“But…” you paused, your tone shifting slightly. “There are some areas where she might need a bit more support. I think if we work together, we can help her really shine.”

James felt a wave of gratitude and unease wash over him. While he wanted to support Laura, the idea of deeper involvement with her teaching felt daunting. “What do you suggest?”

Your eyes met his, and he felt a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability in that gaze. You began outlining a few ideas, your passion for teaching evident in your animated gestures. He found himself hanging on your words, drawn in by the way you spoke.

As you began to speak about Laura’s progress, he couldn't help but take in the little details—the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about the kids, the way your hands moved animatedly as you explained your thoughts, and the curve of your soft pink lips. It struck him how youthful and beautiful you looked, filled with a vibrancy that he found both comforting and terrifying. 

He had known you for years since Laura started school, but he had always kept his distance, avoiding lingering too long in your presence. Every encounter felt like a double-edged sword; he wanted to connect, to know you better, but the fear of what that meant held him back. Your passion for teaching shone through, and it was evident that you genuinely cared for each child, especially his daughter. 

Yet, for James, that made you all the more dangerous.  It was a kind of warmth that he couldn’t dare to approach or touch, as if it would burn his skin. Your laughter and bright smiles were like sunlight piercing through the clouds, illuminating the shadows that loomed over his heart. 

But it also reminded him of how far removed he was from that happiness. 

The innocence and light you carried felt worlds away from the darkness he had endured. It made him question if he was even deserving of your kindness, let alone your attention—even if it was strictly professional. You had a purity about you that felt both inviting and forbidding. It was the kind of innocence that reminded him of everything he had hoped for once—everything he felt unworthy of now. How could someone like you, who radiated joy and hope, ever understand the darkness that clung to him? The guilt and despair that wrapped around his heart like a vice? 

Yet, as you continued, he realised that part of him didn’t want this moment to end. Just a short while ago, he had dreaded this conversation, but now he found himself wishing to listen to your soft voice all night long.

As you concluded your thoughts about Laura, your smile remained bright, and for a moment, James caught himself wishing he could linger just a bit longer in your presence, absorbing the warmth you exuded. But the instinct to retreat kicked in, a familiar defence mechanism rising to shield him from the vulnerability he felt around you. 

“Thanks for the feedback,” he said, forcing a smile as he tried to mask the storm of emotions brewing inside him. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

You smiled back, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—curiosity, concern? 

He couldn’t quite decipher it. 

As you stood there, a moment of silence stretched between you, and James noticed a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You looked shy, as if you were unsure whether you were crossing a line by speaking up. 

“Mr. Sunderland,” you began, your voice soft, “are you okay? I’ve noticed you’ve looked... a bit tired lately.” 

The question caught him off guard, and for a fleeting moment, he found himself wondering if it was painfully oblivious or truly observant of the details that everyone else seemed to overlook. But quickly, he concluded that he must have been projecting his exhaustion more than he realised, and he must definitely look tired. 

The question wasn’t intimate.

He forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of your concern. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied too quickly, dismissing your worry as he nodded almost vigorously. “Just, you know, work and everything.” 

For a heartbeat, you searched his face, perhaps hoping to see something more, a glimpse of the truth that lay beneath his carefully crafted exterior. But after a moment of hesitation, you seemed to accept his response. You nodded, though there was still a hint of worry shadowing your features. 

“If you or Laura need anything, please let me know,” you insisted gently. “I’d be more than happy to help.” 

The kindness in your offer made his chest tighten, his heart pounding with a mix of gratitude and desire. He appreciated it, truly, but it also fueled the raging fire of lust that had consumed him. Here you were, simply trying to be helpful, and yet he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have you all to himself, to explore every inch of your body and lose himself in your embrace.

His mind raced with vivid, graphic images of you—unbuttoning your shirt, revealing your tantalising curves; running his hands over your smooth skin; kissing and licking your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He could almost taste the sweet moan that would escape your parted lips, the moan of a woman ready to surrender to his sinful, wanton needs. The very idea of it made his breath catch in his throat and his cock twitch in his pants.

He felt like a beast, a predator stalking its prey, as he watched you. Every move you made was a tease, every word you spoke a seductive whisper that echoed in his mind and stoked the flames of his desire. You were a forbidden, irresistible delight that he craved with every fibre of his being.

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper and his voice painfully strained. “That means a lot.” He managed to nod, hoping to convey his gratitude without revealing the turmoil churning inside him.

James' lips curled into a polite smile, but his dark thoughts raged like wildfire beneath the surface. He tried to ignore the forced gentleness of his own tone, reminding himself that he was only being polite. Yet, every word he uttered was weighed down by heavy lust for you, and the knowledge that he should never let these desires surface again.

As you stood there, a mixture of warmth and uncertainty radiating from your presence, he felt a pang of regret. You were offering him a lifeline, yet he felt as though he was dragging you into a murky depth he didn’t know how to escape. The moment hung between you, a fragile thread of connection that he wanted to reach for, yet feared would only end in disappointment. In your eyes, he saw kindness, concern, and a spark of something he dared not acknowledge. But with every passing second, he also felt the walls he had built around himself begin to tremble, as if you might be the catalyst for change he had been both longing for and dreading.

“I should go,” you said, breaking the silence, and James felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment wash over him.

“Right,” he replied, forcing his mind to focus on the present. “Thank you Miss, and have a good night.”

You offered him one last warm smile before turning to leave, and he watched you go, feeling the weight of what had happened. The kindness you had shown him stirred something deep within—a longing he couldn’t quite satisfy.

[thenationofzaun]

Arcane Season 2: Episode 7 rant

"Arcane Season 2 may have been rushed but episode 7 was the best of the series!" "Arcane 2x7 was so beautiful and the closest to Season 1's vibes!" "Episode 7 was the only good part of Season 2!"

Anyway, Episode 7 was terrible and here's why:

- Multiverses are a sign of creative bankruptcy. Leave shit like that for fanfiction. Or at the very least, non-canon supplementary material. Highjacking an entire episode of the FINAL act for an AU "what if?" in an already rushed and overstuffed season was an idiotic choice. They essentially left only 2 episodes for Act 3 to resolve a multitude of different plotlines, character arcs, and relationships. All for "alternate timeline" drivel that caters to the lowest common denominator.

- The Piltover/Zaun conflict resolution shown in this episode is incredibly insulting. The way a show writer explains it (1:49:00), Vi's death and martyrdom makes people from both cities reevaluate their lives and come together to build a better future. This is implied by Marcus's devastated face when he finds Powder crying over Vi's dead body. This tragedy apparently made Piltover see the error of their ways and decide to turn over a new leaf. In this timeline, Silco also found the apology letter Vander wrote him and forgave Vander. Let's break down why this is insulting. The very first scene of the series shows enforcers brutally killing Zaunites on the bridge without any remorse, and in front of their children. When the kids blow up Jayce's lab, the enforcers chase them down and attempt to arrest them, despite them being kids. Later, Marcus and his enforcers ruthlessly abuse and threaten Zaunites while looking for the children, whom he refers to as "four sump rats". Piltover's Council have no problem with this, as every single one of them bar Heimerdinger urges the enforcers to "turn the Undercity upside down". Marcus later throws Vi into a horrible dark shithole of a prison where she is tortured for years while he lives a cushy life as Sheriff in Piltover. Yeah. So the idea that the death of one "sump rat" would make this 200-year old corrupt, classist, authoritarian and evil government who, up till now, have never given a single fuck about the children of Zaun, turn a new leaf is laughable. Remember when Aang suggested showing Firelord Ozai baby photos to make him good again and everyone rightfully laughed at him? How is a show for 7 year olds more mature than this so-called adult show? This isn't even touching how offensive it is that the lesbian kid's death makes the world a paradise. It was not intentionally homophobic as this plotline was the lesbian writer, Amanda Overton's idea (she said so in the video I linked). But lesbian writer or not, intentional or not, this shit is so sloppy and insulting. Embarrassing that she didn't realize how this would come across in the show.

- People like this episode for Ekko/Jinx shipping fanservice, but their relationship isn't even explored in the main story. This girl Ekko is making out with isn't Jinx. She has been stripped of everything unique about Jinx that actually make her who she is. This is Powder, who's somehow perfectly sane and normal, who has fuckall to do with the Jinx we actually know. Ekko's relationship with our Jinx has zero organic or believable development. He never reacts to her becoming a symbol for Zaun. He never reacts to his Firelight lieutenant's change of heart towards Jinx. He and all the Firelights just suddenly have no problem teaming up with Jinx despite her spending years murdering them and their friends. Jinx never even spared a single thought for Ekko throughout the entire show. She blows him up in 1x07, then never mentions nor thinks about him again until 2x09. If she thinks he's dead, she sure shows zero guilt about it. She doesn't seem to give a fuck about that boy lol. The writers did not have the talent to explore the complexities of this relationship within the main universe, so they crafted a convenient alternate universe where nothing went wrong and absolutely nothing too dark or complicated stands in the way of an Ekko/Jinx romance. Because who needs writing that actually grapples with the complexity of a broken friendship and two people who have hurt each other irreparably, when you can just make them kiss in an uncomplicated, unchallenging, unserious lighthearted AU? This is supposed to be the tragic romance everyone's raving about? "Ekko/Jinx would work so well if Jinx wasn't Jinx and was a completely different character😍" Lol.

- "Didn't he try to kill you?!" Who are you talking to Ekko? If you are talking to Silco, then this is a massive plot hole. Ekko shouldn't know that Vander tried to kill Silco. According to Season 1, that shit took place in the far past and Vander never told anyone about it, owing to the fact that the kids had no idea who Silco was. Season 2 retcons that and says that Vander tried to kill Silco after the bridge incident and the kids all knew Silco, which is a blatant plot hole that contradicts Season 1. If Ekko's talking to Vander and Silco just assumed he was talking to him, that makes a bit more sense. But it doesn't explain why none of the characters question why this kid who's known them for years is asking bizarre offensive questions that he should already know the answers to. Instead of "the greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive" corny ass bullshit line, Silco should have said "Excuse me? We've been together for years and you've never had an issue before. Why bring up such a thing now? Is there something wrong, Ekko?" Same goes for Powder forgiving Ekko so quick after the horribly offensive shit he said to her for no reason, that he didn't give any explanation for ("Vi's dead? Was it you??!!!").

- Powder being revealed to still have the Hex crystals at the end of the episode. Let me get this straight: Powder accidentally drops a Hex crystal that explodes the building. This gets Vi killed. Enforcers arrive at the scene and find all the kids. Presumably, they know that the kids were there robbing the place. They never search the kids and confiscate the other crystals from Powder? What do they even think caused the explosion? Do they never investigate? Why are the remnants of the exploded crystal STILL embedded into the wall for Ekko to find? If the enforcers found it, they would surely have removed it right? You mean to tell me they either knowingly left that extremely dangerous shit there, or they never even found them in the first place? 100/10 logic.

- Powder being a perfectly healthy and sane girl despite growing up in Zaun, witnessing the death of her parents, and inadvertently causing the death of her beloved sister (remember, it was Powder who accidentally dropped the crystal which then exploded). This is a Powder who was already very insecure, already being belittled by Mylo, and already desperately attached to her sister. Powder who was already having hallucinations on the bridge as a toddler, and then in episode 3 when she's left alone in the Last Drop, before accidentally killing Mylo and Claggor. You're telling me this Powder accidentally kills HER SISTER VI, and she grows up fine with no guilt? Her guilt over killing Mylo and Claggor was crippling. You could argue that Mylo learned the error of his ways and comforted Powder, no one disparagingly called her a "jinx" ever again, and everyone raised her with love. Except...... Silco did all of those things in Season 1, and she still struggled with guilt and psychosis. Damn, I guess it really was The Big Bad Man at the root of all her mental health problems. Fuck complex gray writing I guess. Season 1 shows us that she already had hallucinations as a small child and in episode 3 before the deaths of Mylo and Claggor. But here in this AU she has none? I guess there really were anti-psychotic drugs and therapy in Piltover all along, which they generously shared with the sump rat who exploded a building instead of throwing her in jail like their pre-character assassination Season 1 selves would have done. And Vander, Silco, Mylo, and Claggor all somehow gained amazing skills at raising a traumatized mentally ill child riddled with guilt from accidentally killing her sister, and their combined efforts with the help of Piltovian Mental Health Awareness campaigns cured all of Powder's mental problems. Hurrah.

- Heimerdinger's pointless death that nobody ever mentions or cares about ever again. Jayce and Viktor never find out about it. He was their mentor for years. The character assassination of Heimerdinger in general was insane. In Season 1, he was staunchly against the Hexcore and wanted to destroy it, citing the devastating Rune Wars that he is a traumatized survivor of. Just seeing the Hexcore was enough to give him flashbacks. He pointed out the danger of the Hextech gemstone. He was booted off the Council by Jayce, which was a huge dramatic betrayal, and prompted him to travel to the Undercity and face the product of his failings as a ruler. And in Season 2? He never reacts to the Council's death who were bombed WITH THE HEXTECH GEMSTONE. Three of his colleagues fucking died and he's cracking shitty jokes. (Who even found it funny when Heimerdinger snuck into the lab then kept dropping shit and saying "ball sockets!" Who is this humour for? Three year olds?) He doesn't have any opinions on Jayce using the Hexcore, the thing he was so terrified of, to save Viktor's life. His reaction to Viktor now being fused with the Hexcore is non-existent. He and Jayce never discuss the betrayal nor the Council nor the current political situation between Piltover and Zaun. Viktor ascends to godhood and looks very reminiscent of the destructive mages in Heimer's flashbacks, but Heimer never reacts to this either. What a fucking waste. His death in episode 7 was contrived and meaningless.

- Mage Viktor letting Jayce suffer and go insane for weeks surviving off scraps, then walk for miles and climb up to the top of the Hexgate on a broken leg, all to meet Mage Viktor anyway. Why didn't this mf just immediately reveal himself to Jayce, tell him everything, help him up to the top of the Hexgate and show him all the petrified bodies, and give him the Mercury Hammer? He needed Jayce to do all that shit by himself because? I swear Mage Viktor's convoluted time-travelling plan makes less sense the more you think about it.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Regarding the post about Marinette being punished for trusting people and the response to it, this is something I always have trouble explaining because it sounds callous? But fictional characters aren't people. It's not that their lives just so happen to get in the way leading to something bad happened the writers decided that should happen, and it's important that you stop and ask WHY this happens. If the camera is "on" per se, people assume it's relevant and will tie into something larger. So like if the camera is on and all we see is Alya revealing her identity and then the result is she's outed in the same way she was in Heroes Day, the audience naturally concludes it's connected and thus realizes the lesson is either "Alya learns she shouldn't share her identity" OR "Marinette learns she shouldn't trust people" or both.

Secret identities are a great example of this phenomenon. We're NOT shown every time a villain's plan is foiled because they didn't know the heroe's identity, we ARE shown every time a heroe's identity causes friction in their lives. As such, large parts of the audience think of secret identites as inconveniences because that's what's shown (not just in Miraculous Ladybug, in tons of other shows)

Like you are supposed to make connections in Television about what's being shown to you that no one would make in real life (or at the very least no one SHOULD make in real life) because there's a limited space to tell the story and the audience is assuming the writers aren't wasting our time.

If these were real people it would be unreasonable to say because people have their own lives Marinette can't trust them, but in a story where Marinette is the main character who is explicitly always supposed that's. An accurate way to read the story!

And I also understand that this is a very boring construction if you're making headcanons or thinking about these characters! But that's a different lens, it doesn't make the broader writing lens invalid. You're speaking different languages at that point.

Anyway I hope that helps someone, that's my two cents

You summed it up perfectly! There's a ton of valid criticism to be had of Miraculous, but you can tell from the narrative framing that almost all of it comes down to writing choices and not things that are supposed to be seen as in-universe issues even though a lot of fans treat them as such. It's really weird to see things like people complaining about everything revolving around Marinette as if it's a personal flaw of hers and not the result of her being the main character in a fictional world. "Main Character Syndrome" literally pulls its name from the fact that this is how main characters work in a lot of media. It's a flaw when a real person does it, but in terms of story telling, it's extremely normal - and often good story telling - to have everything revolve around your main character or a core cast.

The issue with Miraculous is that they chose a lot of poor conflicts if they wanted Marinette to be the one and only main character, but that's not her fault. She didn't decide to have the rules around identities make no sense. The writers did. She didn't decide to make the main villain Adrien's dad while also keeping Adrien from being involved in the story. The writers did. The list goes on and on and, because none of it reflects badly on Marinette in the writers' eyes, the show doesn't act like Marinette is in the wrong. Remember, these are the same writers who think that Derision was a great episode that added depth to Marinette instead of destroying her character and making her look unhinged. Their judgement is clearly a little skewed.

While the writers love to make bad plot choices, they are generally using proper story telling language to make those choices, which is why I can tell you how characters' actions are intended to be read. The Rena Furtive and Nino example is a great one because it allows me to show that the writers do understand how to set things up. In fact, once they've decided that they're going to do a thing, they pretty much always set it up at a basic level. It's rarely spectacular and often frustrating, but it's never shocking.

In Rocketear, Alya promises Marinette that Nino will never learn about Rena Furtive. The episode then ends with her breaking that promise via the following exchange:

Alya: (sighs) I'm still Rena Rouge. (Nino gasps.) But now I'm in hiding and that's why Ladybug asked me not to tell anyone. Nino: But why are you telling me if no one's supposed to know? Is Ladybug cool with this? Alya: I can't hide it from you, because I love you, Nino, and we share everything.

Look at how this confession is presented. Look at what the dialogue focuses on. When Marinette confessed her identity to Alya, it was all about the confession and supporting Marinette. There was no discussion of this being a problem for Chat Noir or anything like that because - in the writers' eyes - that wasn't a problem for some reason. This is why Chat Noir almost instantly absolves Ladybug of blame once he finds out about the identity reveal (see: Hack-San.) The writers didn't want it to be an issue so it wasn't:

Ladybug: I'm really sorry, Cat Noir. I should've told you. I mean, if I found out that you told someone about your secret identity, I'd... probably be upset, too. I'm really sorry I hurt your feelings. Cat Noir: You didn't hurt my feelings. You did everything right

But when Alya confesses her identity to Nino, the conversation is not just about her confession. It's about her confession and how she's not supposed to do this. That's why Nino's response is not loving support. Instead, he asks if this is a good idea and if Ladybug knows.

These things are getting focused on because the writers are telling you that this is a bad thing. It's supposed to feel ominous. When I first watched Rocketear, I assumed that the season was going to end with Gabriel getting the fox off of Alya due to Nino because that was an obvious way to raise the stakes and they'd just heavily implied that Nino knowing would be a bad thing. I was, unfortunately, right. The only on screen consequence of Nino knowing is that he outs Alya to everyone in an incredibly forced series of events (see: Strikeback):

(Ryuko successfully prevents the Roue de Paris from hitting them, yet, it flies to the direction where Rena Furtive is. This causes Carapace to panic.) Carapace: Rena! (takes out his shield) Shell-ter! (Carapace's superpower successfully prevents the Ferris wheel from hitting Rena Furtive on top of the Tour Montparnasse. But the information of Rena Furtive's active status shocks the heroes, as well as Shadow Moth.) The heroes: Rena?! Shadow Moth: (from the top of the Eiffel Tower) She's still active?

Of course the Ferris Wheel goes straight for Alya's hiding spot and of course Nino screams her name before casting his power and of course the villain overhears it. It's all so forced and unnatural, which should make it glaringly obvious how much the writers wanted this to happen. This wasn't something they were kind of forced to do because it made sense for the narrative and they wanted to tell a good story. Instead, they wrote an awkward series of events because they really, really, really wanted Nino knowing to be a bad thing that outs Alya so that Marinette loses all of the miraculous even though none of this makes much sense.

How the hell did Gabriel hear Nino's shout from so far away? Is he able to overhear everything the heroes are saying? How does Nino even know that Alya is hiding there? And since when was a Ferris Wheel a threat to these guys? Your girlfriend is a magical girl and she's in her magical girl form, dude. You could drop a building on her and she'd be fine, a thing you have to know because this scene literally goes on to have Chat Noir go flying into a building, hitting it so hard the cement literally cracks, and no one really cares. I guess it's fine if Adrien is a punching bag, but Alya must be protected at all costs...

Anyway, while the above series of events was annoying, none of it was surprising. In fact, it would have all be perfectly predictable even if Alya outing herself was that treated as a more neutral event. Her choice leading to bad things falls perfectly in line with a truly bizarre running theme in the show: outing your identity to the person you love romantically is a bad thing that leads to bad consequences. That's why Chat Blanc and Ephemeral ended the world and why Nino knowing cost Ladybug the fox and why the character they call Joan of Arc has to give up her miraculous to be with her love and why the Kwami's have this absolutely asinine dialogue in Kwamis' Choice:

Plagg: Sugarcube! Having to force them to choose between love and their mission is just awful! Maybe Master Fu was wrong to choose them. Tikki: No, they’re made for each other. Love is what gives them their strength. Plagg: But the impossible part of that love is destroying them, and I know a thing or two about destruction. Tikki: (sighs heavily) What can we do? Plagg: We must free them of that impossible choice. We must… free them of us.

This is the voice of the author telling you that outing the identities is not and never will be a good choice for the love square. Never mind that Alya is allowed to know Marinette's identity or that Gabriel finding out is what actually ended the world in the alternate timelines or that Felix outted himself in public but is still wielding or that freaking Gabriel was allowed to know half of the temp heroes' identities while they were still actively wielding. For some reason, those things don't matter to the narrative, probably because romantic love wasn't involved. The "identity reveals are a bad thing" rule only seems to apply when romantic love is a key element to the point where it's a reoccurring theme in this supposed power of love show.

[cloudyluun]

Indigo

Summary: Famous singers Y/N and Harry Styles were once inseparable—until they weren’t. Their love was a wildfire: beautiful, reckless, impossible to contain. But when the flames died down, all that was left was ashes and silence.

A year later, they find themselves on the same stage, under the same lights, in front of the entire world. Y/N has a song to sing—a song about him. A song about what could have been, what wasn’t, and what will never be.

And for the first time since she walked away, Harry has no choice but to listen. Based on this request.

A/N: Oh, you wanted pain? You wanted heartbreak, regret, emotional devastation? Say. Less. 😈

This is for the angst lovers. The ones who thrive off right person/wrong time. The ones who scream “JUST COMMUNICATE” at fictional characters but also eat up every miscommunication trope like it’s their last meal.

You must listen to Indigo while reading. Like, I’m not even kidding. Play it, stare at the ceiling dramatically, and let the suffering consume you. 💔✨

Also, if you’re mad at me after this… fair. But don’t act like you didn’t ask for it. 😘

Word Count: 4,4k

Warnings:

Angst. Like, an unbearable amount.

Famous exes who never got closure.

Emotional damage. (Both theirs and yours.)

Regret, heartbreak, longing.

No happy ending. (Yes, I’m serious. No last-minute fix. Just vibes and suffering.)

Mentions of fame, media speculation, public scrutiny.

Lyrics used as emotional weapons.

Read at your own risk. Prepare to feel things. 😈

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The air was thick with the scent of hairspray, expensive perfume, and anticipation. That electric kind, the kind that settled heavy in your chest, thick in your throat, pressing into the spaces between your ribs.

The kind you had no choice but to swallow down.

A makeup artist dabbed concealer under your eyes, but it wouldn’t do much. Not really. The exhaustion wasn’t just skin deep, it had settled in your bones, wrapped itself around your body like a second skin. You weren’t sure if it was from the jet lag, the rehearsals, the weight of tonight, or a combination of all three.

Maybe you should have said no.

But how could you? This was the biggest night in music, and turning it down would have been like signing a confession letter that you weren’t over it, over him.

No. You weren’t giving them that narrative.

Even if every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run.

You were perched in a chair in the backstage dressing area, surrounded by the hum of the industry’s elite—stylists, managers, artists, publicists all fluttering around like moths to a flame. Everyone had a role to play, a script to follow. Yours was simple.

Smile. Walk the carpet. Perform. Leave.

And, most importantly, ignore Harry Styles.

Which, under normal circumstances, was easy.

But tonight? Tonight, it was impossible.

Because he was here.

And he was everywhere.

He was on the giant posters lining the walls of the venue. He was in the conversations drifting past you in hushed excitement. He was in the setlist, just two performances after yours.

And now—now, he was right there.

You felt him before you saw him.

A shift in the air. A current of static crawling across your skin.

And then, as if the universe had no regard for your well-being, someone moved just enough to give you a clear view across the dressing area, and there he was.

Harry.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

He looked different. Not in the obvious ways, he was still devastatingly Harry. Same green eyes, same sharp jawline, same damn hands in his pockets stance that had driven you insane for years.

But he wasn’t the same.

Maybe it was the way his mouth was set, not quite a frown but far from a smile. Maybe it was the way his curls were shorter than the last time you saw him. Maybe it was in his posture—tense, coiled like a wire stretched too thin.

Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you.

Because he did look at you.

Not long, not obviously, not in a way anyone else would catch.

But enough.

Enough for a flicker of something unreadable to pass through his expression. Enough for a memory—a thousand memories—to spark between you in the space of a heartbeat.

And then just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

You exhaled. Slowly. Carefully. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

"Are you nervous?"

You blinked, the voice pulling you back to reality. Your stylist, pinning the final touch to your outfit, watching you with knowing eyes.

You forced a small, practiced smile. The kind you’d perfected in interviews. "No."

The lie tasted like metal on your tongue.

She smirked, but didn’t push.

"Your set is after intermission," she reminded you, standing back to check her work. "Then Harry’s is right after yours. So don’t disappear, okay? No sneaking off."

You hummed noncommittally, but you weren’t sure you believed yourself.

"By the way"—she glanced at the seating chart displayed on her phone—"looks like he’s sitting frontrow."

A knot formed in your stomach.

Front row. Direct line of sight.

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away.

You shouldn’t care. You should be indifferent, aloof, unbothered.

But you weren’t.

And you knew why.

You knew what was coming.

Because tonight—tonight, he was going to hear it.

Your song.

Your confession.

Your heartbreak, wrapped in melody and laid bare for the world.

And for the first time since you walked away from him, Harry Styles was going to know exactly what he did to you. 

But would he?

Would he truly understand?

Or would he just sit there, front row, watching you like you were nothing more than another performance—another artist on the lineup, another song that would trend for a week before fading into the noise of everything else?

Would he even realize that every note, every lyric, was a wound you never let heal?

You didn’t know.

But you knew this: once upon a time, you were everything.

It had started the way most things in the industry did—slowly, then all at once.

Banter in interviews. Side glances during afterparties. His name appearing in your text messages more often than it should.

Harry was easy to be around. He made you laugh in moments that didn’t call for it, made you feel weightless in a world that was always trying to pull you under.

The first time you met, you had rolled your eyes at something he said—something cocky, something ridiculous.

"You always this charming?" you had quipped.

He had grinned. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

You were magnetic, drawn together in ways that felt too good, too right, too fucking inevitable.

It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

Because love with him? Love with him was never quiet.

God, the highs were blinding.

Late-night studio sessions that bled into sunrise, your laughter echoing through dimly lit recording booths. Harry sprawled out on the couch, guitar resting on his chest, humming unfinished melodies between sips of whiskey.

"Sing it again," he would say, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep.

And you would.

Because you’d sing anything for him.

The first time he kissed you, it was backstage at an award show. He had just won Album of the Year, and you had thrown your arms around his neck, whispering something against his skin that neither of you would remember.

He kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it.

And from that moment on, you were his.

But Harry was never just yours.

And maybe that was the problem.

It was easy to pretend it wasn’t coming apart.

Even when the fights started. Even when the space between you stretched too thin, pulled too tight, ready to snap.

It started with late nights that turned into early mornings alone.

It started with unanswered texts, with Harry missing dinner plans, with half-assed apologies that never quite felt whole.

"You can’t keep doing this," you had said one night, exhaustion weighing down every word.

He had sighed, running a hand through his curls. "I know, love. Just—just one more session. I’ll be home soon."

He never was.

The tabloids didn’t help. The endless speculation, the headlines dissecting your every move, turning your love into a spectacle.

Some nights, you would see a photo of him leaving a club, laughing with someone who wasn’t you and you would wonder if he ever felt as alone as you did.

But the worst part?

The worst part was that he never noticed.

He never saw that you were slipping through his fingers, little by little, night after night, until there was barely anything left to hold onto.

You had asked him to fight for you.

You had stood in the doorway of the home you were supposed to share, your suitcase half-zipped, your heart half-broken.

"Tell me I’m wrong," you had whispered. "Tell me I’m overreacting."

Harry had stood there, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

"You’re not wrong," he had admitted.

It was the first time in your entire relationship that he hadn’t tried to charm his way out of an argument. That he hadn’t begged you to stay.

And somehow, that was worse.

"Then fight for me," you had pleaded, voice shaking. "Tell me to stay, Harry."

His throat bobbed. His fingers twitched.

But he didn’t say it.

Not in the way you needed.

Not in the way that mattered.

"If you walk away now," you had told him, heart pounding, voice breaking, eyes burning, "I won’t wait for you."

Silence.

Long. Painful.

And then, the worst fucking words you had ever heard.

"Maybe you shouldn’t."

And just like that, you were done.

For the first time, he didn’t stop you.

The weight of the memory settled heavy in your chest, pressing against your ribs.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that leaving had been the right choice. That it had been necessary.

And maybe it had.

But tonight you were about to rip that wound open all over again.

Because the truth was, Harry might not have fought for you then.

But tonight, when the stage lights flickered to life and the first chords of Indigo filled the arena—

He would have no choice but to listen.

--

The air in the venue shifted the second the first note rang out.

A single piano chord, haunting and slow, echoed through the arena, the kind of sound that curled around the ribcage and settled deep. The kind of sound that made everything else go quiet.

You stepped forward.

The crowd roared, thousands of voices screaming your name, but it all felt distant like white noise beneath the weight pressing against your chest.

Because none of them knew.

None of them understood what this song really was.

But he did.

The camera cut to the front row, where Harry Styles sat frozen.

For the first time that night, his expression wasn’t carefully curated charm. It wasn’t polite, or unreadable, or distant.

It was wrecked.

Jaw tight. Knuckles white where his hands gripped his thighs.

His lips barely parted, as if he had just remembered how to breathe.

He knew.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before you parted your lips—

And you sang.

"And I know you're worried at night / I won't find my way..."

The words fell from your mouth like something fragile, something breaking apart mid-air.

The audience sighed in unison, as if they could feel it, too.

But Harry—Harry looked like the breath had been punched from his lungs.

Because he knew exactly where those lines had come from.

You had always been terrified of being alone.

The kind of alone that didn’t just mean an empty house or a quiet room. The kind that crept into your bones even when you were surrounded by people.

He had known that.

And for a while, he had promised—sworn—that you’d never have to feel that way again.

"You’re alright, love," he had murmured once, voice thick with sleep, his arm draped over your waist. "You’ll always be alright. I’ve got you."

You had believed him.

Maybe that was the cruelest part.

Because when you needed him most, he hadn’t been there.

Your voice didn’t waver.

Not yet.

You kept singing, pushing through, letting the melody wrap around the memories like silk.

"My head says I should've never left / And then my feet will soon lead to my death..."

Harry’s throat bobbed.

His fingers twitched against his knee, like he was fighting the urge to move, to do something.

But he didn’t.

Because that was the thing about Harry, he was always just a second too late.

You had waited.

You had stood in that doorway, your suitcase by your side, waiting for him to tell you not to go.

You had needed him to give you something— anything.

But he had just stared at you, eyes stormy, fists clenched at his sides.

"I can’t—" he had started, voice thick, torn between emotion and exhaustion.

"You won’t," you had corrected.

And he hadn’t argued.

That had been the worst part.

The chorus climbed higher, each note sharper than the last.

"I used to shine bright like gold / Now I'm all indigo."

It echoed. Reverberated.

The crowd swayed, entranced by the weight of it.

But Harry looked like he was drowning.

His lips pressed together, his jaw clenched so tight you thought he might break his teeth.

Because he understood it now.

You hadn’t just left.

You had lost yourself.

And he had been the one to turn you blue.

"You don’t get it," you had whispered one night, voice raw, your hands balled into fists at your sides.

Harry had sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Then tell me, love. Tell me what you need."

You had swallowed down the lump in your throat.

"I need you to choose me."

Something flickered across his expression. Something sharp.

"That's not fair," he had murmured.

Your breath had caught.

And maybe that was when you knew.

Maybe that was when you realized you would never come first.

The song swelled.

Your voice cracked on the next lyric, but you pushed through, letting the tremor in your voice become part of the story.

"I think it’s time that I went home."

The moment shattered something.

A slow, invisible break, one only the two of you could feel.

Because this was it.

This was your closure.

Your goodbye.

And Harry knew it.

His hand finally moved—just barely—fingers twitching, shifting toward where his ring should have been.

But it wasn’t there.

Because he had taken it off.

Because he had let you slip through his fingers.

And now—now, all he could do was watch.

The last chord faded, soft, lingering.

The arena was silent. For just a moment.

Then the crowd erupted.

A standing ovation. Cheers. Flashes of camera lights.

And through it all, you lifted your eyes toward the front row.

Your gaze locked onto Harry’s.

He was still staring.

Still frozen.

Still reeling.

And for the first time in years, he looked at you the way he had always meant to.

Like he finally understood.

Like he finally saw you.

Your chest ached.

Because you should have felt victorious. Powerful.

But all you felt was tired.

So you looked away first.

And then, without another glance, you walked off the stage.

The applause followed you down the hall, echoing off the walls, loud, deafening, hollow.

Your breath was uneven. Your fingers trembled. The adrenaline still buzzed beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the high people always talked about. It wasn’t the euphoric rush of a perfect performance.

It was exhaustion.

It was the weight of him still pressing against your ribs, suffocating, drowning you in a sea of memories you had spent so long trying to escape.

You kept walking. Past the stagehands, the producers, the people offering breathless congratulations you barely registered.

All you wanted was to get to your dressing room. To lock the door. To close your eyes.

To forget how he looked at you.

But of course, the universe didn’t believe in mercy.

Because the second you turned the corner—

Harry was there.

He was waiting.

Leaning against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, hands still shoved into his pockets like he hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes coming undone.

Like he hadn’t just sat there, front row, watching you bleed your heartbreak into a song.

But you knew better.

You saw it in the way his chest rose and fell a little too quickly. In the way his jaw was still tight, his fingers flexing at his sides like he had no idea what to do with them.

In the way his eyes found yours immediately, unflinching, unreadable.

You exhaled slowly. Braced yourself.

Then—silence.

The kind that was too heavy. The kind that made your throat tighten, your pulse hammer against your ribs.

Because what was there left to say?

You almost turned away. Almost walked past him, because this wasn’t a conversation you needed to have.

But before you could take a single step, his voice—hoarse, quiet—stopped you in your tracks.

"Was that song for me?"

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t know the answer.

But because the answer wouldn’t change anything.

And still you looked at him.

Met his gaze, even as something sharp twisted in your stomach, even as his green eyes flickered with something dangerously close to regret.

"It was for me," you said finally, your voice even. Careful. True.

A flicker of something crossed his face.

Something that almost looked like pain.

Another silence.

Thick. Suffocating. Unforgiving.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you broke.

And maybe that was the problem—you had always been two people too stubborn to bend, too proud to reach for each other first.

Harry swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You knew what was coming before he said it.

"I should have stopped you."

It wasn’t an apology.

It wasn’t a plea.

It was just the truth.

Your chest ached. A deep, familiar ache.

One you had buried. One you had ignored. One that had been waiting for the moment to resurface.

"Yeah."

Your lips tilted, just slightly. A sad, barely-there smile. The kind people gave when they already knew how the story ended.

"But you didn’t."

The words hung between you, suspended in time.

His shoulders tensed. His fingers twitched.

But he didn’t argue.

Because he couldn’t.

Because this was where you had always been leading.

Not to some grand reconciliation.

Not to some last-minute, dramatic love confession that would undo all the damage, erase all the nights spent apart, rewrite the ending to something less tragic.

No.

This was closure.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

You stepped back first.

A breath. A beat. A quiet kind of surrender.

Then, softly—"Goodbye, Harry."

His lips parted. His chest rose, fell. Like he wanted to stop you.

Like he wanted to change his mind.

Like he wanted to say all the things he never did.

But he didn’t.

And you—you didn’t wait.

You turned.

And this time, he let you go.

The door closed behind you with a quiet click.

That was it.

No last-minute chase. No fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you back. No whispered stay.

Just silence.

Harry stood there for a long time, his hands still shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You were gone.

And this time, you weren’t coming back.

--

The performance was already going viral before you even made it back to your hotel room.

Within minutes, Twitter had been set on fire.

#Y/NIndigoLive was trending worldwide.

“Indigo isn’t just a song. It’s a confession.”

“Y/N’s voice breaking on ‘I think it’s time that I went home’ absolutely ruined me.”

“Harry’s face during the performance… yeah, that man is NOT okay.”

The side-by-side clips were everywhere.

Your voice, raw and aching.

Harry, sitting in the front row, completely still.

One video had racked up a million views in less than an hour. A slow-motion zoom-in of his fingers twitching against his knee, his jaw tightening when you sang:

"I used to shine bright like gold / Now I’m all indigo."

"Is he crying???" one tweet read.

Another: “No but the way his throat bobbed like he was trying not to break down???? HELP????”

Even worse—someone had caught the backstage moment.

The footage was shaky, taken from down the hall, but it was clear enough.

The way he stood there, waiting for you. The way you faced him, expression unreadable. The way he stepped forward, hesitated—like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

And then—the way you walked away.

"The way she says goodbye but never looks back… they’re actually killing me."

"I feel SICK watching this. He just LET HER GO???"

Somewhere, someone had already slowed it down. Had already looped the footage to overlap with the most devastating part of your song.

"I should have stopped you." "Yeah." "But you didn’t."

And in the final frame—Harry still standing there. Frozen.

Watching you leave.

--

He saw the clips. The headlines. The frantic speculation.

He saw his own face in the screenshots—the way he had looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers all over again.

His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Jeff: Are you okay? Call me.

Mitch: You good, mate?

His sister. His mum. His friends.

Everyone had something to say.

But Harry had nothing.

He sat in the dim glow of his hotel room, his phone heavy in his palm, the screen reflecting back everything he already knew.

He had spent a year trying to move forward, trying to not think about it. Trying to convince himself that what happened had been inevitable.

That he had made peace with it.

But watching you on that stage—watching you sing the words you never got to say—it was like watching a mirror shatter, every carefully placed piece falling apart in real time.

His thumb hovered over your name in his contacts.

He could call.

He could text.

He could type something—anything.

But what would he even say?

That he was sorry? That he had been wrong?

That he should have fought for you, should have chased after you, should have never let you leave in the first place?

Would it even matter now?

Or was he too late?

The cursor blinked in the empty message box.

He exhaled.

And then—slowly, painfully, deliberately—he locked his phone and set it face-down on the nightstand.

He didn’t type the message.

He didn’t send it.

Because the truth was—

He could have stopped you.

But he didn’t.

And now, it was too late.

--

The next morning, the tabloids were relentless.

Every article dissected the performance, the song, the moment.

“Indigo: A Song of Regret, or a Final Goodbye?”

“Harry Styles Watches Y/N’s Performance Like a Man Who Knows He Messed Up.”

“A Love Story Left Unfinished.”

But you didn’t read them.

You didn’t check Twitter.

You didn’t answer your phone.

You just packed your bags, slipped on your sunglasses, and left the hotel without looking back.

Harry was somewhere in that same building.

Maybe he was awake, scrolling through the same headlines. Maybe he was still in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying your voice in his head.

Maybe he was standing at his window, watching the city move below him.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you weren’t going to see him again.

You stepped into the car, pulling the door shut behind you.

And as the driver pulled away, you let your head fall back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut, the last line of the song still ringing in your ears.

"I used to shine bright like gold. Now I’m all indigo."

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

@donutsandpalmtrees

@panini

@mads3502

@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@one-sweet-gubler

@rizosrizos26

@ciriceimpera

@everyscarisahealingplace

@hello-heyhi

@sexymfharriet

@lizsogolden

@hannah9921

@chicabonitasblog

@huhidontknowstuff

@berrywoods1245

@jennovaaa

@angeldavis777

@prettygurl-2009

@almostcontentcreator

@run-for-the-hills

@maudie-duan

@dipmeinhoneyh

[jd-loves-fiction]

Did I say 2 reqs, I meant 3. This is gonna be a more specific one

You already know. Boothill, Gallagher, Blade, Aventurine and Ratio meeting reader of another universe and this reader almost the complete opposite of the one from their world with a different story and different circumstances.

(For more context HSR universe reader is more child-like, reckless, clearly teen aged, seeking parental validation a lot, Impulsive and just over all immature as expected from a kid.

Meanwhile this other universe reader is the same age but they are a lot more responsible, mature, basically parents the people around them, grumpy but caring (basically if you mixed Blade and Ratio personality-wise))

🌑it never eeeenndsss!! 😭(havin the time of my life) ALSO CAN YOU TELL I HAVE FAVORITES :D (maybe i should write a character study thing with Ratio too.... i like him a lot more than i realized)

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Eerie as hell, very freaked out

Like, who is this child and why do they look like you??

Obviously likes your normal self better, OBVIOUSLY

This is just weird :( you should be acting like a kid, because that's what you are, not... whatever this is

Unsettled through every enteraction with this other version of yourself, always a little distant - just can't get used to the change

Once its all over, he let's you get away with a lot more than usual (which was already a lot) and scolds you a lot less

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Feels a strange sort of longing - this is what you could've been like

He sees it as the version of you, you should've turned into if you'd have a relatively pain-free life

If makes him ache in a way he hasn't been able to process yet

Lingers a lot on the possibilities - would you have never met him like this? Would that have been better for you?

Slips into self-deprication alarmingly quickly

Once it's over, he turns very introspective for a few days after

Before returning to his quiet, grumpy self, only change being he tries to make your life a little easier in all the subtle ways he can

✦ 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 ✦

Definitely see the Dr. Ratio things and it freaks him out a little

He has to deal with one doctor, and now there's two?? (affectionate)

Isn't entirely pleased with the change - you're a lot less like him this was and he doesn't like it

Aven likes being able to relate to you and connect to you though your similarities (even if most of the things you have in common are undoubtedly negative)

Your similarities also help him lead you away from the worst stuff he's experienced walking the same path as you - like this though? He can't lead you, he doesn't know how and therefore feels as if he can't protect you

Spoils you like hell once the situation is solved, buying you anything you want and encouraging your childishness and recklessness - definitely not healthy, but he likes you better when you're similar

Totally has nothing to do with him seeing his younger self in you and wanting to vicariously heal himself through healing you oh my god this man needs so much therapy

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Appreciates the help? but is conflicted about the whole thing

Sure, you're being a lot more helpful than usual (or this version of you is, rather) and more well behaved on top of that, and he appreciates that BUT it's weird

It's just weird - you're a kid. You're supposed to act like him, you don't need to be good and helpful for him to enjoy having you around

Subtly urges this other version of yourself to relax a little and let loose, more so just to see if they would - they don't. He's quite surprised by it

He though they would when given the chance, that this serious version of yourself was just acting this way becasue they had to and would revert to your normal way of acting when given the chance

The thought that the you he knows isn't necessarily the you, you were meant to be is troubling

The following days, he has a troubled look in his eye but brushes you off when you try to pry

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 ✦

It's like looking into a mirror...... he's not a fan

Not in a self-centered 'I'm the only one who can act like that' kind of way, more so in 'why the hell is a kid acting like this' kind of way

Despite what some people would have you believe, Dr. Ratio is actually incrediby caring - he's just on the spectrum (that part is headcanon but tale as old as time)

His life's mission is to spread his knowledge to everyone isntead of monopolising it like the Genius Society is doing

So in a way, it's good to see you follow some of his lessons and act like he sometimes suggests you do

But it feels so damn wrong it just doesn't sit right with him

He wants you to grow to appreciate his lessons when the time is right and you're grown enough to understand them yourself

This just feels like you skipped that teenage rebellion stage that he feels is important to go through

Plus, the slight chip on his shoulder he still carries from being rejected by the Genius Society tells him, the world doesn't need more Ratio's (🥺)

Strangely encourages your misbehavior in the days to come, turns a blind eye to your troublemaking and lightens up on the lessons

The whole ordeal has him appreciating the teenage part of development more than before

AHEM - Valentine event here ;)

[1-800-local-slut]

hey 👀, so hear me out 😘 . So think about this .... bubblegum from adventure time inspired reader in invincible. Okey so everybody knows how kind, intelligent, and responsible she is , but also with a darker, more authoritarian side. She is a brilliant inventor and leader, deeply protective of her people . Bubblegum is since a morally gray character that needs a mark grayson to help her better understand and work better with others . Am thinking similar to adventure time she holds a deep love for her people(humanity) that she more than willing to do many actions that are seen as inhuman inorder to protect earth from enemies. We can even explore the type of horrible things she does to certain people like in adventure time . She's always in belief that she is doing the right thing . I kinda really wanna see the characters from the invincible universe reaction to her personality . Bubblegum is such a girlboss and world class tyrant that she would dominate in the invincible universe. But every girlboss needs a man like mark who will try to straighten her out and love her anyways .

Of course I can beautiful! So sorry for the delay, work been kicking my ass 😭😭😭. But I love the way you think, this one is gonna be a little bit different, I had to make a way for the reader to capture that leadership/motherhood vibe of PB (my goat) so please read the note!

Warnings: morally gray reader, Mark loves your crazy ass, slight body horror (body snatching) but nothing too crazy <3, Kate and Shapesmith are victims of you

IMPORTANT NOTE: the reader is an observer. You're an alien whose job is literally to observe, but you grew to love Earth. You don't have crazy powers other than the powers of science and some different anatomy, but you took the form of a human when you chose to live on Earth. Also not to sound too weird BUT the reader has no physical body that can be seen by the human eye. So, you can take over any sentient life form you want. You instead took over the body of a random girl who passed away and have been living your own life. I know it's weird, but it feels very PB like to me.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

🍬 Mark loves your little crazy ass! You're a little bit weird; he's noticed that. You have a tendency to spy on people. When he comes in and sees you sitting in meditation, eyes completely white he knows what you're doing. He calls it spying, you call it 'keeping an eye on things'

🍬He's quickly found there's almost two you's. The you who is a normal girl, who likes sleeping, social media, online shopping, reading, all the normal stuff

Then there's you who is...different. The you who's a scientist with some disturbing shit in your basement, you who spies on the people of Earth and has no issue putting people in prison until they learn your lesson. You see no issue with any of your actions, no matter how many human rights acts you violate. Besides, what are they gonna do? Arrest you?

🍬Cecil quickly learned he has no power over you. Not when you can literally take over the body of anyone you wanted and just do whatever. You could be you today and the President tomorrow morning. The government is aware of you and just has to be happy that you're on Earth's defense team.

🍬Mark falling for you was so unexpected. He's Invincible, the symbol of free will. He's all for 'let Earth figure it out', where you've used unsavory tactics to steer the people of Earth clear out of the path of self-destruction multiple times

🍬 The issue was, Mark was so in love with you that he didn't see your plans sometimes until it was too late.

🍬You don't feel the same at first. You're capable of loving but at the moment you just didn't feel like being in a relationship

🍬 Mark didn't see the 'evil' in you, not until you and Kate got into it. More so she got mad, you brushed her off and everyone was a bit weirded out. But you did something good. Kate's feelings were hurt, yes. But Multipaul was back in jail where he needed to be

It all started when you and Paul 'coincidentally' crossed paths. Next thing everyone knew, you were dating an assassin who suddenly wasn't so keen on killing. You never seemed too interested in him anyways, more so keeping him distracted.

Mark noticed it when you two were on FaceTime one night. Paul was there, happy to see you. You were mixing together two liquids when he eagerly called your name from a different room. You slammed the beaker down onto the table, Mark jumped from over the phone.

"Yes baby?" You called back through gritted teeth. But when Paul did come in, you greeted him with a hug and a kiss like you weren't just annoyed fifteen seconds ago. It took some convincing, but you eventually got him to leave you alone for just long enough

In truth, you just needed to keep Paul busy. Long enough for him to stop killing. From there, all he needed to do was keep blowing off his bosses. Like a love sick fool. As long as you kept kissing him with those bubblegum flavored lips he didn't even notice the pressure mounting on his shoulders

Eventually, Paul's status as a top assassin didn't matter when his loyalty was being questioned. It was kill or be killed. One kill, just one good one to reassert his loyalty.

🍬 But someone tipped off the police, and so off to jail he went. Through methods unknown to you, Kate convinced herself it was all your fault. All you did was date the guy to stop him from killing people, which led to him being forced into a crime and then put back into prison even though he was trying to turn his life around only for you to use his arrest as an excuse to cut him loose. God forbid women had ambition!

🍬 The fallout was bad. But you just stared at Kate. Letting her rage at you about how you sold him out and let him get arrested and 'how could you break his heart?!'

"Kate, I really liked Paul! Why would I stay with someone who would kill the moment things get to be too much? That's not safe for me. I'm sorry you feel upset, but there's just nothing I could do." You flipped through your text book before scribbling notes in the pages of your notebooks. Ex in maximum prison or not, you still had college to finish.

"Don't give me that shit! I have you figured out! You set him up, no one knew about that job!" The woman was in your face; finger pointed in your chest. You peered at her over your glasses, before you looked down and continued your studies.

"I didn't even know about it." You responded evenly. Everyone in the room could see your patience running thin. Mark felt the skin on his neck tingle, he knew something was about to go down

"Okay girl. You told him to stop killing but you knew the league would go after him! You just let him destroy himself."

The moment she said that your patience ran out. The air shifted. You sat up straighter in your seat. You even folded your hands. Rex came downstairs with some loud comment before Monster Girl quickly shushed him. Everyone waiting with bated breath.

"Did I destroy him?" You asked, taking off your reading glasses and folding them onto the counter you were sitting at. The tone was inquisitive, like you were really curious even though you already knew the answer.

"Did I destroy your brother, who chose to kill someone? Did I destroy your assassin brother who was killing important political figures and allowing corrupt leaders to take their spots which created more struggle for the impoverished? I further corrupted your already morally unsound brother?"

No one moved. No one even breathed. Kate's face was flushed, tears brimming in her eyes as her breath quivered. She looked around the room, only for her own teammates to avoid her gaze. As if to say 'I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole'. Even the birds outside stopped chirping while you sat patiently waiting for her response.

"Don't talk to her like that!" And here goes Immortal. Now Mark respects Immortal just fine; he's fought for humanity for thousands of years with nothing but pain as his reward. But this was a fight Immortal should've kept out of. Everyone knows, if your girlfriend is losing an argument don't jump in. Because that makes her look like she can't stand her own ground.

"Then maybe she shouldn't have invited herself to a conversation with nothing to do with her. What happened with Paul and I is between Paul and I."

Mark hated to admit you were right. Paul was dangerous. No matter how many chances the government, Cecil, Kate, even Immortal tried, he just didn't stop. He didn't want to stop. And you didn't do anything. Even if you did sell him out, you called the police to prevent a murder that would sow political discourse. As much as it sucked, Paul needed to go to jail.

Love is strong, but it ain't that strong. If Paul wanted to change, he would've changed.

🍬 Later that day, when you were in your office Mark popped in

"Hey Mark! What's up?" You chirped playfully, taking off your goggles and gloves.

"Nothing. I just wanted to know if we could talk about today." Mark rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. You tilted your head, face riddled with confusion.

"About today? Sure, why though?"

"Well...did you, you know? Did you do it, I mean."

"Do what?"

He sighed. He couldn't say it, didn't want to say it but he wanted to know. He needed to know.

"Did you set up Paul?" He asked exasperated. Silence settled over the cold steel lab. The only noise was the bubbling of your beaker. You stared at him with no readable expression, almost chilling him to his core.

"Hmmmm. No. I didn't. Paul destroyed himself. Now, if that's all you came to ask me, I am going to ask you to leave. I'm working."

Mark couldn't explain the feeling he got. He couldn't explain the pang in his ribs. It was cold in the room, and looking at you as you snapped your goggles on, he was almost unable to recognize you.

And Mark hated to say, he'd never been more attracted to you.

🍬 As he spent more time with you, he knew he was in trouble. You were cool, smart, friendly, but you didn't hide who you were. Without shame, you were 100% yourself even if it was a tough call. You make the hard choices Mark can't bring himself to make.

🍬 He couldn't stop loving you. He couldn't stop no matter what he tried. What made it hard was that you weren't evil. You were just smart. You made choices to protect whoever you cared about and like you always say, what people don't know can't hurt them. Which is where your next morally reprehensive action came into play.

🍬 You got caught with a needle and Shapesmith's unconscious body in your lab.

🍬 The tube attached at the bottom was filled with the green liquid that was essentially his blood.

🍬 It was a sight that freaked out everyone when they caught you

"What are you doing?!" Rex asked from your doorway. You pulled the needle from Shapesmith's arm and looked up from where you were extracting the needle.

Silence as you scanned the mortified faces of each of the guardian's looking on in horror.

"Nothing too crazy." You replied nonchalantly. As if you were too focused to even try and make an excuse. Which would be pointless seeing as you were literally caught holding the needle.

"Girlfriend this looks really weird. Are you stealing samples of Shapesmith's DNA?" Eve asked from the door, pushing her way to the front of the group. She was probably your closest friend and even she didn't know all the weird shit you do.

"Yes." You continued your work, pulling out a small wipe. You disinfected the area. The skin healed instantly.

"What the fuck?! Why?!" Monster Girl asked, literally mortified.

"Why are you all in my house right now?" Which honestly seemed like a better question for you to ask. You were a young woman, where a bunch of adults just barged into your home. Mind you, this was your private lab.

The question was pointed, as if they were inconveniencing you.

"What is wrong with you?!"

Upon seeing Kate, you just sighed. You pushed your goggles up onto your hair, like a headband before putting the small vial into a test tube holder.

"Listen. I don't exactly have the time to explain the complexities of scientific exploration to all of you."

"You aren't the smartest in the room, we aren't stupid. You know there's no valid explanation for this."

You chuckled at the comment about you not being the smartest. You pushed yourself onto your lab table, carefully placing the thickness of your thighs on the table in between the mass of beakers. Mark was ashamed of how his heart thumped in his chest at the condescending look in your eyes. As if the suggestion that you weren't the smartest was truly the dumbest thing you've ever heard.

"I actually am though. I'm a genius. Why are you all here?"

"What- because you're stealing his DNA?! He's unconscious!" Rex gestured wildly, looking around to see if anyone else to see this insanity.

"Oh please. He's fine. He asked for my help, he asked for this. He just didn't understand what he was asking me to do."

"Like hell he asked for this." Monster Girl scoffed, looking at you like she was ready to haul you off to the GDA. Even with this many people coming down on you, you stood tall against them.

"He's knocked out! What type of help could you be giving him?" Eve attempted to reason.

Mark blinked hard. Eve was right. But if you say that he asked then who were they to call you a liar? You were a genius. His palms pressed to his eyes, like he was attempting to disappear into the background. Somehow, in some way, the Guardians knew Mark had a way about him. You'd almost become his responsibility in a way, the make sure you didn't fly off the handle and do something crazy.

Even though you had far more power over him. Like now, when you were sitting on the table with the dark skin of your thighs revealed. Mark was tempted to just usher everyone out and leave you to your business.

Something about him calmed you, quelled your determined spirit to take a break before doing something insane from stress.

Your hands searched around behind you for a file or something.

You found the heavy folder and dropped it on your lap.

"Shapesmith asked me to help him increase his powers. So, I agreed to help and asked if he was okay with mild sedation. I'm trying to help him stretch far enough without him ending up in pieces. Maybe fortify his core.

Also, it wouldn't be bad to have a sample of his DNA incase those sequids return. I get DNA incase of emergency. He gets stronger. It's a win win."

But Mark knew you better than that. Knew better than to just accept the first explanation because that's the answer that would create the least amount of damage. He stepped forward into your lab, and you met his eyes.

"Does he know your keeping his DNA to experiment incase of the sequids?"

"He didn't ask what I'd be doing with it!"

"Oh my God!" Monster Girl threw her hands up, as if to say she was done with the conversation, done with the madness.

"Well...I guess if he asked." With that, Eve too was done. She lifted herself off the ground and flew away. She was against barging into your home in the first place, certain you weren't doing anything bad. And then she said she was leaving if it turned out it was just nonsense.

"Dude...this is freaky. I'm out." Rex followed Eve. They were probably gonna go get food, burgers sounded good. Eventually you were the only two left with an unconscious Shapesmith behind you.

You gave him big eyes, that looked at him like you were playfully begging him. A look that made him feel like you were the only two people in the world.

"Are you mad at me too?"

Mark sighed, running a hand over his face. He leaned back against the table, before folding his arms over his chest. He could be mad. Probably should be. But he just...couldn't.

"No. But I think we should talk about informed consent."

You gave him a big grin that made his ears turn red, as Shapesmith let out a soft groan from the bed.

"If I have the time." You tease, knocking one of your legs into him. Hopping off the table, you went and sat by Shapesmith's bed.

"Did it work? Have I been transformed into Mega-Shapesmith?" He asked, hopeful and you placed a gentle hand on his arm. You looked at him like a doctor looks at a brave child after surgery. Your eyes were filled with appreciation and tender care.

"Not yet. But you're on your way hon."

🍬 You didn't really have incidents after that. Or maybe Mark just didn't catch you in the middle of anything bad again.

🍬 You just continued doing what you were doing. Sometimes you did confide in Mark, to which he was able to steer you in an ethical direction. Like asking before you use someone's blood in an experiment or telling someone if you feel like maybe you'll sew a tracker into their neck while they sleep.

🍬 Even though you'll probably do it anyways.

🍬 Mark was scared you'd never like him back. Was scared that you'd never feel the same and he'd just be left feeling hurt.

🍬 He was scared until he saw you looking at him. You were looking at him, with this look in your big brown eyes. That seemed like you were scared but helpless about it

🍬 It wasn't until one night when you did confess.

You two sat in his bedroom one night, eating pizza and conversating about everything and nothing. You showed him the new purse you wanted. He showed you the new sweater he got at the mall that he thought was really cool.

Until you were quiet. You two were sitting on his bed, you were fidgeting with the pink of your braids with curled ends as if something weighed on your mind.

"Mark. I am a genius."

Mark looked up from his phone, to see you sitting with your eyes trained on your lap. Because you don't blush, he listened closely to see if your heart was speeding up.

"I kinda know that by now."

"No. Well yes." You uncharacteristically tripped over your words, a frazzled expression before you cleared your throat. Mark raised an eyebrow at you, lifting his paper plate off his chest.

"I mean. I...I am smart. But I still have feelings. Like love. Almost like how I love chocolate. Speaking of chocolate, did you know there's a chemical in chocolate that boost endorphins, which is why chocolate creates a feeling as exhilarating as love? It's also found in peas which is funny because I don't like peas-"

Mark laughed, rolling off of his back and onto his stomach. You stared at him, looking almost offended.

"What's going on with you?"

Your face crinkled in embarrasment.

"You suck!" You assaulted him with a pillow through a self-depracating laugh, and he swore he saw tears brimming in your eyes. He caught the pillow before he stopped laughing completely.

"Why?" He asked, rolling onto his side and watching you with gentle eyes. You sat quietly on the bed, fidgeting with your fingers.

"Eve told me...that it wasn't good to contain my feelings for you. She advised me to tell you how I feel and junk. I don't know. I like you."

🍬 It took him a second to process that you just said that but from there he pulled you into his arms and that was that

🍬 You two enter a normal-ish relationship. You're still weird. Still you. But you reach for Mark in a way you never had before. You're more vulnerable with him. You let him see you cry from stress, let him help you with the mundane of your life (doing your hair, laundry, organizing your makeup) but you also let him provide insight on some of your choices

🍬 You're still you though. And there was a whole year of you two knowing each other before dating. He learned some nasty things you'd done in the past.

🍬 You lobotomized a terroristic supervillian who has been in a care facility since then

🍬 You worked harder during the war. Crafting robots, chemical warfare, anything that could kill the crazy versions of your boyfriend. It did disturb Mark to see the number of ways you could kill him if you just gave it the smallest effort.

🍬 Those tiny robots who latched onto the variants before implanting a chip into their spine were the scariest by far. A chip that detonated once they destroyed said robots.

🍬 Sadly, your powers were in science. You could fight, but you couldn't fight off three variants at once. You barely managed to kill one and almost blew yourself up in the process. But you were hospitalized for the rest of the war and spent all that time stewing in anger from all of your bones being broken. Also, from your lab blowing up when you had to try and kill three Marks

🍬 When everything settled down, you kicked yourself. How could you not have seen Angstrom Levy coming? Mark assured you there was nothing you could've done. You did good enough. You killed seven with your robots, one on your own, better than quite a few. Better than Kate and Immortal anyways.

🍬 After a while things went back to normal. Mark and you were enjoying your lives together

🍬 You often stay up working late, and Mark brings you food.

🍬 You make modifications to his suit, which Art didn't love at first but you just ignored him

🍬 You were a huge help with Oliver too, who caught some sort of mild sickness that Mark brung home from space with him

🍬 You took such good care of him that Mark for a moment pictured having genius babies with you

🍬 Oliver loves you too! You're a great sister-in-law to him. You've even changed you and Mark's plans to take Oliver something fun with you. The trampoline park won him over, especially when you two broke the rules Mark set to ensure neither of you got injured. Even when you two endured the scolding together while Mark carried you through the air and Oliver flew beside you two

🍬 Debbie was a little freaked out by you at first but she came around. Now Mark thinks she likes you more than him.

🍬 He keeps you in check. You keep him confident. A day doesn't go by where you don't tell Mark he can do anything. Afterall, he pulled you. That's an accomplishment!

🍬 You're his safe space. He doesn't have to be ashamed that he can't always be present because you understand him. He's busy, your busy. When he's off battling whatever, your providing support from home. Or when he's in space dealing with some nonsense you always welcome him back with open arms

🍬 Mark also understands that you need space sometimes to do what you're doing in peace. So, if he disappears for a while, or you disappear for a while you both understand there's a reason for it.

🍬 Mark loves you. The crazy parts, the fun parts, even the side of you that commits what he's sure are crimes against humanity. Your heart is in the right place and that's all that matters to him.

🍬 Mark loves your crazy ass. Even if you are a little bit weird.

[twilightkitkat]

Thinking about the role of the "love interest" in superhero media and how poolverine subverts this.

The "love interest" in most movies is just a placeholder. Boring. Tame, Predictable.

This is especially true in action media, wherein romance takes a backseat and is often seen as an add-on rather than a main plot point. Romance is either a source of conflict or motivation that serves to drive a character arc forward, but no more or less.

Take, for example, Vanessa. I love her character. Her personality and character are fascinating. However, especially in Deadpool 2 and 3, she serves more as a device to move the plot forward rather than a genuine character. The first movie established her character and importance, so it's understandable why Wade chose to hide his identity and how he slowly came to terms with his new identity. She helped move his character arc of self-acceptance forward, yes, but she also existed as her own entity.

In the movies after this, she isn't treated with the same care. She's used as a central motivation in Deadpool 2, a force that drives Wade to save Russel and confront Cable when his character motivations aren't easily tied to morals. However, that's it. She isn't fighting alongside him or given the same treatment as the other important "family" characters. In Deadpool 3, she's treated with even less care, only having short scenes at the beginning and end of the movie to give Wade a representation of "home."

This isn't to say Vanessa isn't an important character and shouldn't be treated as such. However, the purpose of having a "love interest" in an action movie's plot isn't just to have someone to love. It's almost always to have someone who can be kidnapped or killed to spring the main character into action. It's someone who fades to the sidelines so the main character can show off while showcasing their relationship success.

Consider this: in all of the Marvel comic universes, Deadpool and Wolverine have had many different partners. Different names, different faces. It's common for the "love interest" of a superhero to be seen as an accessory that changes shape depending on the comic artist or franchise. After all, they don't need a cohesive identity to serve their purpose as a "general, digestible reason for the main character to act."

Everyone understands how love can cause people to do crazy things. There is no further elaboration needed, even for morally grey or black characters. It's an easy way to make an understandable motive for the audience. Suspension of disbelief.

And yet, the superheroes remain the same. They get to keep their identity throughout different media. It's always Wolverine and Deadpool. Logan and Wade. Even if they have slightly different plotlines, their core characteristics and intrinsic identity are constant.

Logan could have Jean Gray. Or Mariko. Or Silver Fox. He can have anyone play the role of "love interest," a role that can be shapen by a ball of clay and changed entirely to fit the narrative.

But his "rival" and "best friend" in the multiverse will always be Deadpool. They're notorious for being referenced in each other's media. For fighting. For working together. They are A Set.

This is why I'm so much more drawn to Poolverine than other ships. Wade has different love interests depending on the media type. So does Logan. I can't tie in knowledge from different interpretations into the romance because the love interests are fluid. But with each other, they interact in almost every universe. Have a consistent bond. A "standard." They're soulmates, in a way, forever destined to meet and be important to each other.

This is setting aside how female love interests are treated in male-oriented media in general. They're normally seen as someone to be protected, to stay at home, and welcome back the hero when they return. Some are allowed to be strong, to have abilities, but rarely ever do they stand on equal footing with the male main character. Not where it matters.

This is exhibited in both Wolverine and Deadpool's movies. Vanessa is introduced as a "badass," someone who's part of the underworld and knows how to fight, yet she's often placed in the damsel in distress position. She could match Wade before his mutation, maybe, but after he dons the mask and becomes Deadpool, his work is over her pay grade. The same happens with Mariko in the Wolverine movie: she's initially introduced as someone who can fight, but Logan ends up protecting her almost entirely and is responsible for rescuing her from her kidnapping at the end.

It creates an emotional rift between the side of the "hero" and the side of the "love interest," because it feels like they aren't fighting together for the same cause. It feels like the love interest is treated more as a "reward" for the hero to come back to after saving the world rather than a person.

When the entire movie follows the perspective of the main character as they fight, and action scenes are primarily used to invoke emotion, it feels lackluster to have the love interest stay at home. The most intense moments of emotional connection are typically portrayed between the hero and someone else who understands their suffering who they're trying to reach, such as a villain or rival or friend.

Love interests are never on the same "playing field" as the main character and thus can't relate to their struggle. The director tells the audience that they should be happy or sad when a love interest is on screen, but they don't show the same level of emotional depth when the main point of an action movie is action. The entire premise of the main character is action, and yet the love interest is absent from it. Or a victim rather than a player.

This is why Poolverine subverts this trope. You have two people, each with their own franchise and life. Each with their own skills. Each with similarly powerful abilities.

They are equals and are treated as such by the narrative. They take each other seriously and have an emotional connection because they understand each other's suffering. They both are out on the battlefield, fighting the same war and overcoming their differences. They both are allowed to have "cool" scenes and "sad" scenes and "funny" scenes. They both are given the spotlight to experience character growth and have their own unique internal conflict because they both are strong characters who are narratively important.

They both have chemistry. Which is nearly impossible to attain when the love interest isn't even in the lab.

[kp-alice]

The Puppy With an MAcc

Summary: Despite officially retiring as a professional dominatrix months ago, there's one client you've decided to keep. Maybe it's because of the generous amount he pays, or maybe, just maybe, it's more than that. With the lines between the two of you continuously blurring, you can't help but return every time.

AKA a hopelessly devoted accountant!sub!Yunho x hesitantly-in-love!dom!f!reader

Word count: 5 150

Warnings: non-sexual dominance (kneeling, various acts of service, pet names - Miss, Puppy, etc.), crying, implied minor age difference (like 3-4 years but both characters are in their 20s), basically just two cowards in love who are too scared to admit their feelings to each other but love to indulge in non-committal domesticity

A/N: This fic is the second part of my sub!Yunho Kinktober 2024! The event's masterlist can be found here.

A/N 2: MAcc = Master of Accountancy (I think?? if I got it wrong, please correct me!!)

Your "dominatrix era", as your close friends liked to call it, was pretty short-lived, to say the least.

Well, it's not like you intended on making it your full-time job for the rest of time, anyway. Really, at the core of it, it was mostly just curiosity you wished to sate before getting out into the real world after university. Because of this, you didn't exactly focus on "expanding your empire", keeping only a handful of clients you'd found nice enough to deal with on a semi-regular basis.

The first few months were fun, to say the least. After all, how could you not feel excited at the thought of ordering wealthy men around for money? It made you giddy just thinking about it - you, a normal uni student, making powerful guys crawl around like dogs and thank you for it at the end of each session. Not to mention how good it felt to see them enjoying it too, all that stiffness in their shoulders and the frowns on their faces vanishing a minute into your session. And though a lot of what you did could be described as sexual in nature, you never actually had sex with anyone, keeping things as professional as can be. In a weird way, all of it felt more like a therapy session than stereotypical sex work.

But, as with everything else, even your little side gig had to come to an end a little less than a year later. Because while everything was fun and paid more than enough, you really couldn't see yourself doing this work long-term. Even with just a handful of clients, eventually, taking care of them started to take a mental toll on you. You tried to separate work from personal life, you really did, but as time went on and you got to know them a bit more personally, it was just not possible anymore. Even outside of your dominatrix persona, you felt burdened with each client's struggles and stories, eventually overwhelmed to the point of quitting.

And so, after a few weeks of careful consideration, you finally sent out your goodbye letters to all of them.

Well, all of them except one.

Jeong Yunho was one of the last clients to request your services, sparing him your initial awkwardness when you were just starting out. The first thing you noticed about him was his age - in comparison to your other clients, you were surprised to learn he was just three years older than you. The next thing was his profession. Despite his relatively young age, he had already established himself as the local manager of one of the biggest accounting firms in the country, earning him both a nice sum of money as well as unbearable loads of stress.

Which is exactly what brought him to you.

Unlike your other clients, Yunho didn't overload you with random bits of his tragic past and complaints about his depressing marriage. No, no, his case was much simpler than that.

"I don't know," Yunho shrugged nonchalantly at your question, letting you tuck him into bed, "I get really stressed from making all the big decisions at work and I love powerful women. It just felt natural to combine the two."

Somehow, it was exactly that reasoning that had made you keep him even months after quitting.

You didn't tell him he was the only one left, though. Didn't want to make it weird or make him think there was something deeper to your decision. Your dynamic was perfect just the way it was, and despite its deep and stable foundations, you still didn't dare risk breaking it in any way.

Another thing that set Yunho apart were his requests. Unlike your other clients, his preferences had stayed pretty much the same since the first time you'd talked to him. He liked it when you visited his apartment instead of just some random hotel, and when you wore clothes that could pass as everyday attire rather than the stereotypical leather and latex. His scenes were nothing short of domestic, either. You always felt like a husband from the 50s, coming home to his loving and generous wife after a long day of work (classes) and letting her shower him with affection and praise.

Much like today, as you yet again found yourself on an all-too-familiar doorstep. It had been a few weeks since your last visit, and you had to admit, you'd really missed Yunho during that time. The longer pause wasn't intentional on either side, mind you. It was just a case of his busy schedule clashing with your finals week and the mandatory week-long recuperative period that followed. Now that you were back, however, you couldn't help the small smile on your lips, looking forward to whatever awaited you inside.

Not to mention this visit would mark your first anniversary with Yunho as your client (though you couldn't dwell on that too much in order to keep those incessant butterflies in your stomach at bay).

You didn't have to knock or ring the doorbell. Instead, you fished out your very own key that Yunho had given you a few weeks back. A sign of his trust and how welcome you'd always be in his home, as he'd described it.

Any other potential thoughts were quickly halted, though, as the door suddenly swung open, revealing a very excited-looking Yunho.

"You're here!" He exclaimed excitedly, flashing you a big grin. He stood like that for a second, just watching you in what appeared to be awe before suddenly straightening up again and stepping to the side. "Oh, right, sorry. Come in!"

You let out a small chuckle at his antics, an undeniable warmth blooming in your chest at the mere sight of him.

The next steps were pretty much automatic at this point. First, Yunho helped you remove your coat and hung it up for you. Then, he knelt down, letting you lean on his shoulder for support while he slipped your heels off and neatly set them aside.

"Good boy," you cooed enthusiastically, moving your hand up from his shoulder to ruffle his hair slightly. "Always so happy to see me, hm? Are you all ready for tonight or should I go wait in the living room?"

He quickly shook his head at the suggestion. "No, no, it's okay! Everything should be ready, me included. Oh, and I made you your favorite today, just how you like it! You know the one, the- the..."

You watched him try to finish his thought, but it was too late. In just a few moments, Yunho's eyes glazed over the same way you'd witnessed many times before. He was still present, yet his gaze grew a bit distant, retreating into himself to adjust to the sudden change. A change he clearly needed a lot, considering all it took for him to slip into subspace was the small ritual he'd always done to welcome you into his home.

But just as quickly as his voice trailed off and his eyes lost focus, he snapped back to reality, almost startled by the sudden clarity in his mind.

And there it was. All of his personal and work-related worries had been set aside, making his head feel almost overwhelmingly light and empty in comparison to his day-to-day state.

"What is..." He began, making you follow his line of sight, "what's that?"

A fond smile spread across your lips at the innocent curiosity in his eyes, realizing he was looking at the gift bag in your hand.

"Just a small gift I got for you, Puppy," you spoke softly, watching his eyes widen.

"Wait, for me?!" He asked excitedly, though you could sense a hint of uncertainty in his voice as if he didn't dare believe it just yet.

"Yes, hun, for you," you confirmed, unable to stop yourself from ruffling his hair again with your free hand. "But we'll get to that later, okay? How about you show me what you cooked for us tonight first?"

It didn't surprise you to find out Yunho had already eaten before you arrived. Sometimes, if he was still lucid enough, he'd eat alongside you and chat about random things that came to mind. Usually, though, he'd just eat in advance so that he could fully relax and focus on you only.

You sat at the small dining table, zeroed in on the delicious dish in front of you. Over time, as Yunho began cooking for you more and more frequently as a show of gratitude, you noticed a considerable improvement in his skills. Not that he was bad before, of course not, but now? It almost felt illegal to be paid for your services in both money and food this good.

In Yunho's eyes, though, it was all worth it. The time he'd spend cooking for you helped him ease into the scene, in a way. Even just preparing all this for you felt extremely calming, knowing how much you'd always compliment him and how appreciative you were.

Much like right now, as he sat on the floor next to your chair, cheek resting against your thigh. His eyes were closed as you ran your hand through his silky hair, muttering small words of praise every now and then. This part of your evenings was one of his absolute favorites, as he truly got to just think about nothing. No work or family issues could reach him here. All he had to do was just lean against you and focus on your soft voice and loving touch.

Sometimes (not that he'd ever admit it), when he couldn't sleep at night and felt extra lonely, he'd try petting his hair just like you always did. He'd try to think about your words of praise to force out all the negative thoughts clouding his mind. And yet, it could never compare to the real thing. The warmth of your fingertips just felt different and he could never quite replicate your voice in his head for it to be satisfying enough.

After a while of not thinking at all, Yunho liked to talk. A lot.

While he cleaned up in the kitchen, you let yourself get comfortable on his couch, propping your back up with some extra pillows since you knew you'd be here a while. Like usual, you'd put on a skirt today too, knowing it was the most convenient option considering what was in store for the two of you.

A minute or two later, Yunho emerged from the kitchen, the content smile on his lips spreading even wider at the sight of you. Without an ounce of hesitance, he walked up to the couch, looming over you with his tall self for just a second before dropping down to his knees again.

This, too, was one of Yunho's interesting, distinct traits. Whenever he could, he'd find himself on the ground, looking up at you with nothing but utter devotion.

"People always marvel at how tall I am," Yunho muttered, nuzzling his face into your hand while you finished your meal. "And it's really flattering, don't get me wrong! It's just that... sometimes, I also want to feel small, you know? Even if it means I have to literally kneel down in front of someone."

"So? How have you been?" Yunho began, flashing you a bright smile. As tentatively as always, his hands reached for your left foot, giving you enough time to stop him (even though you never did). "I want to hear everything."

You groaned. "Ugh, don't even get me started. Remember the professor I told you about last time and how he can never grade our papers on time? Guess what? We're still waiting! I swear we've collectively sent him like a hundred emails already and he's still acting like he doesn't see them."

Yunho hums thoughtfully at your words, brows furrowing as he keeps massaging your leg, going up to your calf now. "That really sucks, I'm sorry. I'm sure it's gonna be fine, though. He'll probably be more lenient because of the delay, not to mention you always ace all your classes anyways."

Your leg involuntarily jolted as he grazed a particularly ticklish spot, making him giggle. "Thanks, I really hope so too," you replied, trying to stay focused despite his skilled hands. "It's still nothing in comparison to our dorms, though."

Yunho shot you an inquisitive look, urging you to keep going.

"I mean, it's nothing too shocking, they're just raising the rent again for the second time this year. I really shouldn't be surprised at this point, but just- I wish they were at least honest about being greedy instead of making up random excuses as to why we have to pay even more outrageous prices than before."

"You know I'd love to help you with that if you want-"

"Puppy," you warned in a stern voice, making him immediately hush and drop his head. "We've talked about this, remember? You already pay me more than enough, I can't ask you for any more than that. Besides, the rent thing is an issue of principle, not finances."

"I know," Yunho sighed, halting his movements. "I just want you to be happy and pursue your dreams without having to worry about things like money."

"Yuyu," you cooed, leaning down to tuck his hair behind his ear. "I know you want to help, but please believe me when I say you're already doing more than enough. Not just because of the money, but because of your company in general, okay? I always look forward to spending time with you and I'm really thankful we get to meet like this. Seeing you happy makes me happier than any sum of money you could possibly offer."

There was silence for a moment as Yunho took your words in, still gently holding onto your foot to stay grounded. But even with his head dropped down, you could see his lips begin to tremble, fighting back tears.

It had been a while since he'd got to talk to someone so openly and vulnerably. To just say whatever was on his mind without fearing it would be somehow used against him later. To be appreciated so genuinely without any ulterior motives from the other side.

Sniffling quietly, his hands resumed their work, taking hold of your other leg to massage it as well.

"Thank you, Miss," he said in a mere whisper, afraid his voice would break if he spoke any louder.

"Of course, Yu," you muttered back. "You'll always be my good boy, always," you reassured him lovingly, giving him a playful nudge with your now-free foot. The effect was immediate as a small smile spread across his lips, lighting up his teary eyes again as he looked up at you adoringly.

Oh, how he'd missed you.

After a good while of just talking about anything and everything that came to mind, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence. Yunho's hands rested on your shins while you pet his head on your thighs. His breathing had evened out over time, and you could see the way his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy. It was time to sleep.

This was usually considered the end of your sessions, where you'd help him get dressed for bed and caress his hair until he'd doze off. He always felt really sad when you left and he hated going to bed alone, so this solved both of those issues. Besides, you had to admit that the sight of someone as overworked as him sleeping so peacefully did something for your soul as well.

"Alright, Puppy," you began softly, making Yunho lift his head up, "let's get you to bed, shall we?"

Ever the good boy, he gave you a sleepy but content nod.

Happy with his agreement, you were about to stand up and lead him to the bedroom, but quickly paused in your tracks.

The softest kissing sounds echoed through the living room, one for each of your knees.

Yunho quickly sensed your tension and looked up at you in confusion, which then turned into alarm.

"I-I'm so sorry Miss, I should have asked for permission!" He rambled in panic, leaning back on his haunches to give you as much space as he could. "I guess I spaced out a little too much and forgot myself for a moment, it happened without me meaning to, I'm really sorry-"

"Yuyu," you interrupted him gently, fighting the smile on your lips, "relax, it's okay."

Yet another thing you really cherished about the man before you. No matter what, he always asked for permission when trying something new. Sometimes, he'd even ask with things you had already agreed on in previous sessions, just to be sure. So to see him get flustered the one time he accidentally got too carried away and forgot to do so? It was strangely endearing, to be honest.

Had you had any suspicions that this wasn't a mere accident, that this was simply Yunho's way of "sneakily" pushing your boundaries, your reaction would have been much more different. You weren't afraid of stopping a session mid-way through and banning your client on the spot; you'd done it before.

But seeing the genuine panic written all over the man's face, clearly scared of upsetting you? He was nothing short of adorable, looking like a small, frightened animal.

"But- but I," Yunho tried again, but stopped at your firm gaze.

"I said it's okay, you're not in trouble," you repeated. "...Besides, it was actually quite cute. Maybe I'll even let you do it again in the future."

Oh God.

After calming your precious puppy down, you walked him down the hall to his bedroom (well, you walked; he decided to crawl instead - after shyly getting your permission, of course).

"Think you can change yourself, hun?" You asked him as he sat down on the bed, patiently awaiting further instructions.

While he always tried to be good for you and not feel entitled to anything, he visibly deflated at your words. "Why? I mean- I definitely can if you want me to, but..."

It took all your willpower not to cave at his puppy eyes.

Alas, you had more important things to sort out.

"The gift, remember?"

And that was all you needed to say for Yunho to immediately jump into action.

The second time you entered his bedroom, this time with the gift bag in hand, Yunho was tucked in bed and ready to go. His clothes were neatly folded on a nearby chair, exchanged for a set of comfy-looking pajamas. He perked up at the sight of you, sitting up and making more space for you by the edge.

"Ready for your present, Pup?" You asked giddily, wanting to hear him say it out loud despite the obvious curiosity and excitement in his eyes.

"Yes, please!" Yunho beamed at you as you sat down next to him, trying to resist peeking into the bag before he was properly allowed to.

But as you finally handed him the bag, his features turned sad, a small pout on his face.

"What is it, Yu?" You asked, worried at the sudden change in tone.

He let out a deep sigh, cheeks warming. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything back. I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate and the internet didn't give me a clear answer either so I panicked. I hope it doesn't look like I don't appreciate your services or anything, that's not it at all, I swear!"

You let out an amused chuckle. "Sweetheart, I'd never think that about you. You already show me enough gratitude as is. Besides, this wasn't even supposed to be a gift exchange in the first place. I just saw something online and it made me think of you so I bought it. I'm not expecting anything in return."

Whether you said something after that or not, Yunho wasn't sure. His mind had already stopped at the mention of you thinking about him outside of work.

Sure, he did that all the time when it came to you, using you as a source of comfort to cling onto whenever he had an especially hard time at work. Whenever he had to stay in his office late into the night, or heard his subordinates gossip about him, only to give him smiles and compliments the second they noticed him, thoughts of you were the only thing that could ground him again. And even when he was doing alright, he still liked to think about you, reminiscing on your past sessions and looking forward to the next. But to have you do the same with him?! Yunho's heart felt like it would leap out of his chest if he didn't calm down soon.

"...Well? Aren't you gonna open it?" You nudged his thigh with your hand, a playful glint in your eyes. "You looked so excited before, don't you want to see what's inside?"

Yunho didn't need any further enticing, flashing you a big grin before he finally reached into the bag. Inside, he found a pretty, dusty pink box with an unknown brand name embossed into its center.

With shaky hands, he lifted the lid.

"What do you think?" You asked, nervously scanning his face.

Yunho was frozen, stuck staring at the custom-made leather collar. Attached to it was a silver tag gleaming in the dim bedroom lights, the word "YUYU" engraved into it staring right back at him.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" You spoke again, trying to hide your growing concern. "We can totally return it if you don't like it, I won't be-"

All the words died in your throat as Yunho suddenly lifted his head, looking right into your eyes as his bottom lip trembled, fighting back tears. The second he spoke, however, they spilled over anyway.

"It's perfect."

"Oh, Puppy," you cooed as a sob ripped through him, bringing him into a tight embrace. The anxiety weighing down on your chest immediately dropped at his words, making you sigh in relief. His hands clutched at your shirt, almost desperately so, wetting your shoulder as he sniffled in your hold.

You stayed like that for a moment or two, soft snivels and affectionate whispers filling the room.

"I- I've never," Yunho began, but quickly stopped again, hiding his face in the crook of your neck some more. It was right then that you'd noticed the unusual proximity between the two of you, never staying this close for more than a second or two when he occasionally hugged you goodbye instead of you tucking him in. But now, it felt as though you were enveloped in him, his comforting warmth and light cologne all around you.

"It's okay, hun," you encouraged him gently, "take your time."

Yunho exhaled heavily, as if steeling himself for whatever he was going to say next.

"It's just- this is everything I've ever wanted but never actually dared wish for, and now that it's real, now that you're real, I don't even know what to say."

Reluctantly pulling away from your embrace, he reached back to retrieve a few tissues from the bedside table. "Every day, I have so many people relying on me, so many people waiting for me to make a mistake so that they could take my place, have to deal with so many awful clients while acting like none of it affects me, and it's just- it's so hard. I've always wanted to have someone who I could be vulnerable with, who I could confide in without fearing they'd use it against me later, but it always seemed too good for me. And then you appeared, and you've made my life so much more bearable, made me look forward to every day because it meant I'd get to see you soon again. No amount of words or money could ever match just how thankful I am for you, seriously."

"Yunho..."

Stunned by the sudden confession, you silently sat and processed his words. Yunho just smiled at your shocked expression, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I know this is a lot to unload on you so suddenly, so please don't feel like you have to respond to any of this right now. We can just brush past this and never discuss it again, I won't be upset. It's just something I've been thinking about a lot lately, and seeing you care for me so honestly made me finally tell you, I guess. Like I said, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but just know that if there's anything, and I mean anything, that I could do for you, just say it and I'll do it. Even if it's something small, like confiding in me the way I do with you, I'm always here for you."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his offer, unconvinced. "I'm not really sure you want that, Yu. All of my problems are pretty repetitive and boring, not to mention how annoying and stubborn I can get when stressed. Wouldn't want to break the illusion you have of me, you know?"

...A hand gingerly grabbed yours.

"And what if I tell you that's exactly what I want?" Yunho challenged, a more genuine, playful smile on his lips this time. "I'm not stupid, Y/N. I know you're much more than the persona you put on when you visit me. I want to know the real you, good and bad included - if you'll let me, that is. You already have the keys to the apartment, don't you? My home is open to you anytime, even outside of our sessions."

Just as Yunho had said, this was a lot to unpack on the spot.

And yet, somehow, deep down in your heart, you already knew your answer to his confession, even if you didn't fully want to admit to it just yet.

"I mean," you began hesitantly, mulling everything over as carefully as you could, "there's no harm in trying it, right?"

Yunho's eyes lit up at your words, looking at you hopefully.

"Besides, I come here so often it feels like a second home anyway."

He gave you a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, same here."

"What do you mean?" You asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Exactly what I said before - you." His grip on your hand tightened, the other pointing to the collar sitting in front of him. "I've found my second home in you."

Silence.

It felt as though the Earth had stopped spinning for a second. Everything around you faded into nothingness, leaving you to stare into his eyes.

You don't know for sure how his lips ended up on yours, but judging by the surprised noise coming from him, it must have been you who'd initiated the kiss. Not a second later, however, he replied with matching enthusiasm, resting his palm against your thigh to lean in even closer.

In spite of every cell in your body screaming at you to stay, you eventually pulled away, giving the two of you a chance to breathe. Yunho's gaze was nothing short of reverent, looking at you like you've hung the stars in the sky.

"So? Would you like to try on your present?"

Yunho refused to believe any of this was real.

No matter how much you tried to convince him to take it off, Yunho refused to sleep without his collar. Looking at the way it pressed into his neck when he lay down, you knew there was no way it could be comfortable to sleep in. And yet, Yunho insisted that it was fine, that it actually felt nice despite the way it was smothering his Adam's apple. In the end, you had no option but to concede, tucking your overgrown puppy into bed with the collar still around his neck.

But as you were about to get up to turn the lights off, a hand grabbed yours to stop you. You looked back down at Yunho, being met with his signature pout and teary eyes.

"I know this is a lot to ask, especially considering how much I've asked of you today already, but... stay? Please?"

You gave him a long look, considering your options. Or pretending to consider them, rather, since there was no way you'd be able to deny him anything right now.

"Only because you've been such a sweet boy today, okay?" You said, trying to sound reluctant even though you weren't fooling anyone.

You quickly excused yourself to the bathroom, boldly taking one of Yunho's sleep shirts with you to change into.

Despite his eyelids growing heavier by the second, Yunho bravely fought to keep them up until you'd arrive, sighing in relief when the bathroom door opened again.

No more words were needed as you plopped down next to him, joining him under the blankets before moving to rest your head on his chest. Despite no visible reaction from him, you could hear his racing heartbeat below you, making a soft smile creep up on your lips.

Within the next two minutes, you heard his heart eventually calm down again, breaths evening out as he fell asleep. It took you a while longer to follow, mind struggling to relax with so many thoughts racing through it. What did all of today mean for your relationship? How professional will you be able to stay with him after this? You should probably tell him you haven't had any other clients for months now, shouldn't you.

No use worrying about it now, you suppose. All of those concerns can be solved only once Yunho wakes up again. And until then, you have no choice but to enjoy whatever it is that you have right now, no matter how ambiguous.

Snuggling further into his chest, you finally doze off as well.

Whatever this is, it's perfect.

taglist: @justconniez @domribo @another-random-fanfic-blog

Thank you for reading! And remember, feedback is always very appreciated! <3

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 8

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

⚠️Caution before reading⚠️

There's some deep conversations in this chapter so I advise to read with caution. A warning is there's heavy talk of Woojin, please remember the names and faces used here are just that, names and faces, and in no way reflect the real people the characters are based after. The actions, views, personalities and characteristics of these characters do not in any way shape or form reflect their real selves. This story is all for fun so please keep it that way. No hate. It took me a good two days to write this chapter with many breaks in between. I wasn't sure how I should write Y/n's backstory and had decided on trying to make it more relatable. For anyone who's used to reading my stories either on here or other platforms know I write a lot of things based on my own personal experiences so I can write better endings especially with comfort characters. This series is no different. Please know that I did exaggerate parts of it and everything that happened was years ago and I have gotten away from it. Thank you now please enjoy.

Chapter 8

Y/n’s dry heat lasted four days. Four days of them all taking turns cuddling with her in the nest keeping her fed and hydrated. Every morning and night Minho would kick everyone out of the den and apply the creams to her now mostly healed wounds and make sure she takes her medicine before helping her change into new clothes having been sweating through the previous ones each time. 

The worst day had to have been the second when she became super emotionless and just seemed to be a shell of a person. Her scent even became almost nonexistent. But they stayed with her especially when it caused her to sub-drop that night and they barely got any sleep trying to make sure she didn’t drop too deeply. 

They all slept in the nest with her every night, well except for Hyunjin. He didn’t come home the first night and snuck in the second night when they were all dealing with Y/n’s sub-drop. It was the third morning when her scent went back to normal from it that his beta started telling him she’s his fated mate causing his stomach to drop and his heart to ache. 

He would go downstairs occasionally, pretending to grab a drink or food and would subtly check in on her. That night he silently cried himself to sleep on the couch wanting to be close to her but knew he had fucked up. The fourth night after he cried himself to sleep again Changbin grabbed him from the couch and carried him to join everyone else in the nest. 

Hyunjin woke up the fifth morning in the nest with Jeongin hovering over him curiously. “Hi Innie.” 

“You better apologize to her.” The alpha tries to act dominant but it doesn’t last long as he pounces on him. “I’ve missed you, I hate when you act like that.” 

“I’ll apologize, I promise.” Hyunjin pulls the pup closer to him, happy to be with his mates again. 

“Mins going to kick us out soon to do what he needs to.” Jeongin whispers nuzzling into the betas neck.

And the youngest was right, as soon after Minho kicked them all out and moved to the omega to wake her up. “Come on kitten.”

“Let me sleep, Min.” She rolls over.

“Look at me, omega.” He places a hand in her hair and rubs gently as she whines and looks up at him.

The alpha sighs in relief when he sees her eyes are no longer foggy as they have been.

“You okay baby?”

“My body aches a bit.” She yawns and stretches. “And I need a shower.”

He smiles down at her, happy the dry heat is over. “How about a bubble bath instead? I don’t think any of us are ready for you to be alone quite yet.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve established already that you need to take me on a date first before you can get my clothes off.” She smirks causing him to give an evil grin.

“Kitten, I’ve been taking your clothes off for the last four days.”

“Yah!” She blushes in embarrassment and quickly covers her face with one of the nearby blankets. “I’m sorry you guys had to do all of that.” She whimpers and Minho grabs the top of the blanket pulling it down to see her face.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, baby.” His hand finds its way back into her hair. “You never have to apologize for things like this. We’ll take care of you, always, no matter what. It’s what packs do, especially for their mates.”

“But I’m not even pack.” She frowns. “And I’m not mated to you guys.”

“You are pack, no one can say otherwise.” He smiles at her. “And we’ll get you mated to us soon enough.”

She blushes again and he can’t help but fawn over how cute she is as he moves his hands down to her sides and starts tickling her.

“No, Min, stop.” She laughs trying to wiggle away from him.

“Only if you promise to stop frowning so much.”

“Okay, okay, I give.” She giggles, he stops and smiles down at her.

“There’s that beautiful smile.” 

Chan pokes his head in the door. “I heard her laughing, I’m guessing it’s over?”

“Yeah.” Y/n sits up properly and the alpha sighs walking into the room moving to the nest. 

“You scared us a little, baby girl.” He pulls her to his chest. “But you’re good now and that’s what matters. How are you feeling?”

“A bit achy and in need of a shower.”

Chan frowns a little at this. “How about a bubble bath?”

“That’s what I told her too.” Minho smiles.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need all of you sitting in the bathroom while I take a bath. I think I’ll be okay alone.” 

“For our sanity, please just let one of us sit in there with you.” Chan tries to negotiate. 

“Fine.” The omega crosses her arms. “But it’s going to be Felix who does.”

“Deal.” Both alphas agree.

“I’ll go start it and let Lix know.” Minho stands up.

“Make sure to use Hyunjins expensive bath salts and bubbles.” Chan smirks. “He deserves it after how he was acting.”

Minho nods with a smirk and leaves the den and Chan turns back to the girl.

“My memories are a bit hazy from the last few days but I remember Seungmin helping me when it first started.” She whispers. “But I don’t remember Hyunjin ever being around. Is he still not happy?”

“Well I’ll tell you this.” The alpha coos at her. “Jinnie cried himself to sleep on the couch the last two nights and Bin had to bring him to the nest last night. He hasn’t said anything about you being her for the last two days and considering that and the fact that he was not so subtly trying to check on you, I think he’s realized how badly he fucked up. Just like Minnie did.” 

Y/n nods but also feels guilty for being the reason the oldest beta was crying himself to sleep.

“Sooo…” she rings her fingers together. “What’s going to happen now?” 

“You’re gonna get washed up and it’s the last day you need to take the antibiotics and do the creams.” He explained. “And then we’re gonna sit down as a pack and discuss everything.” 

She nods and starts to overthink about how the pack meeting will go but doesn’t get to worry for long as Felix rushes in tackling her into the nest.

“Hi sunshine.” He purrs. “I’m so glad to see you’re better now.” 

“Hi Lixie.” She nuzzles into him.

The older omega turns to Chan. “Can I take her now?” 

The alpha can’t help but smile at the two. “Yes baby, you can take her.” 

Felix grabs her hand, dragging her out of the nest and into the large bathroom on the first floor where Minho is just turning the taps off for the bath. The room smells of bath salts and the tub is full of bubbles. 

“I put your clothes on the counter.” Minho motions. “And I’ll be back afterwards to help you apply the creams. Lix keep an eye on her. Shout if you guys need anything.”

 Felix turns away as she strips and gets into the bath and once she tells him he’s good he sits against the wall next to the tub and talks with her as she soaks. He helps her wash her back then her hair and once she was ready to get out he left to get Minho again as she dried off and changed into shorts and a bra for the alpha to help her with the creams one last time and after getting her shirt on they head into the dining room.

“Y/n.” Seungmin comes over to her. “I’m really sorry…”

The omega hugs him tightly, surprising him. “It’s okay.” He relaxes and hugs her back. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course pup.” He buries his nose into her neck.

“I’m also really sorry for how I acted.” Hyunjin stands nearby. “I know it’s going to take some time with everything I said but I’ll work on it as I know now that you are our omega.”

Y/n smiles at him and nods as Seungmin lets her go and everyone moves to sit around the table to discuss everything. 

“So first things first Y/n.” Chan starts, sitting across from her. “You wanted to tell us about what happened before we found you. If you’re not ready yet that’s okay, just let us know when you are.”

“Hyunjin and Seungmin also wanted to explain themselves for how they acted.” Changbin explains, sitting between the two betas. “It will also help give you some understanding about the pack's history.”

Seungmin sighs, leaning back against the chair. “As you saw in the pictures in the tenth bedroom upstairs, we had another pack member, another alpha. That was his room.”

“His name was Woojin.” Hyunjin crosses his arms. “It was back before all of us officially became each other's mates but we had all been discussing it as we understood we were each other's fated mates. We had also all agreed we would be looking for you, our fated omega.”

“But Woojin had other ideas.” Felix growls which was the first time she’s ever heard something like that from him.

“Woojin didn’t see omegas the same way as we do.” Hyunjin watches the omega like beta. “He was very much not accepting of how Felix is when he finally had the confidence to explain his omega tendencies to us.”

Y/n grabs the other omega’s hand for both his and hers comfort. 

“We also saw it very quickly as he had started treating Lix poorly.” Jeongin grits his teeth. “Was treating him as though he wasn’t a person and we couldn’t accept that.”

“I understand that.” She whispers looking down at her and Felix’s intertwined hands. 

All of their hearts break hearing her words. 

“Innie was a late presenter and was a pretty fresh alpha at the time.” Minho pulls the youngest to him. “Because of it he was still learning but he knew to be protective of Lix as though he was his omega and it caused a nasty fight to break out.”

“We knew we couldn’t keep someone like him around.” Chan’s fist is clenched on the table. “We told him he had to leave which caused an even worse fight.”

“There was blood.” Jisung shudders. “And later we found out he had assaulted someone in town.”

“That’s why we keep his room off limits.” Seungmin motions upstairs. “Whatever he left and any photos with him in it the alphas packed up in boxes and left them in there.”

“After that we all agreed for our sake that eight is fate.” Hyunjin whispers. “Why Minnie and I weren’t happy about your presence here. We were afraid of something like that again. Getting attached just for you to do something to hurt us and leave.”

Y/n nods in understanding, unsure what to even say after hearing all of that as she’s still looking down at hers and Felix’s hands. She tried to speak a few times, opening her mouth only for nothing to be said.

Chan gets up and walks over to her chair pulling it out a bit so he can kneel in front of her. “What’s going on in that head of yours, baby girl?”

“A lot.” She mumbles looking at him. “Everything you guys had said as well as me trying to figure out how to tell you my situation.”

“You don’t have to tell us yet if you aren’t ready.” 

“No.” She shakes her head. “You guys need to know.”

“Are you sure?” Felix squeezes her hand. 

She nods and Jisung scoots over to the empty chair on his other side so Chan can take his seat to be next to the omega. 

“Like Innie, I presented late.” She sighs. “My family consists of mostly betas. The only alphas being my grandfather, uncle and youngest cousin. I’m the only omega in several generations in the whole pack. Both my parents, older brother and four younger siblings are all betas. As well as the rest of my aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. Most other pack members are betas with the occasional alpha.We all originally thought I was one too until I was seventeen and had my first heat. Even before then though I was treated differently.”

“My grandfather is the pack alpha. I was the oldest girl so there were a lot of expectations put on me that I was never able to meet. From a young age, every family or pack event I was the one to do everything. Clean, help cook, set everything up while all the other kids got to play. They would tell me to do several things at the same time and if I didn’t get something done in the time they wanted because I was doing the other stuff first I was reprimanded and punished. If my older brother tried to help me I was reprimanded or punished for putting my load on him instead of just doing it myself.”

“What would they do?” Jisung asks, leaning his head on Chan's arm. 

“At first it was just more chores that would just get stupider, like dust underneath of the dining table or not let me play with the other kids at all or say I didn’t deserve presents on Christmas and my birthday.” She sighs. “As I got older it became I wasn’t allowed to eat or no one was to talk to me for the whole day. Then it was all of that and I was locked in the basement away from everyone for a few hours. Nothing to really physically harm me as my grandfather wanted to look good as the pack alpha.”

Chan looks down at her still slightly bruised wrist with a raised brow. “I’ll get to that.” She whispers. “Everyone in our pack lived in the neighborhood so we were to always put on an act that we were the perfect family.” Y/n couldn’t help but to chuckle as she shook her head. “But we were far from that. My older brother never wanted to come around so my family would use the excuse of how hardworking he is, being busy with school and work. My parents separated and my dad left the pack and mated with an alpha female ten years younger than him and had my four younger siblings. My mom was a verbally, emotionally and mentally abusive alcoholic and anytime she fucked up, pissing her parents off they took it out on me. Would ignore me for weeks or months until I apologized, for I never even knew what, just for it to happen again not long after. Would “forget” to pick me up from school, leaving me there after they’d get my cousins. Prioritized everything my cousins had over anything I had. The worst having been the first time she went to rehab when I was fourteen.”

The omega takes in a deep breath as Felix pulls her closer to him for comfort and Chan places a hand on her thigh. “When I presented my family’s first reaction was to find a doctor who would administer the suppressant injections. The pack didn’t know and they were gonna make sure it stayed that way so every month, on the first, I was taken to that doctor to get the injection done. Wasn’t pleasant, it was painful, felt like it was burning in my veins for the first twenty four hours. I still went to school and graduated high school, even took a year of college. My mom was the main one who kept my food intake restricted to protein shakes and salads. Said that if I ate anything other than that then I would start to become curvier like an omega and they couldn’t have that. She got worse and she went to rehab for the second time when I was nineteen. Then again when I was twenty, then twenty two.”

“And again last week.” The boys were all shocked by this as their eyes widened. “My grandparents said I should stay with them while she's there since my older brother is nowhere to be found. Well at least that’s what they think, he was fed up with them and our mom that he moved to the northern side of Seoul and cut contact with all of them, but I’m the only one who knows that as he’s only kept in contact with me for the last year. He had tried to stay around as long as he could for my sake but he just couldn’t. I don't blame him. I should have realized that staying with my grandparents was a bad idea… They treated me as their maid and slave. I was fed up after the first day and told them I was going back to my house, that I’d be fine by myself. My grandfather said I don’t get to talk to them like that and how I’m a spoiled little bitch that they’ve been going easy on. How they’ve been so nice to me to help keep the illusion that I’m a beta but what they were telling me to do was how an actual omega is to be treated and I should act like one. I yelled at them about how they hate me being an omega and won’t let me be my true self so why would they treat me as such now?”

“That really pissed my grandfather off since he grabbed my wrist as hard as he could, dragging me across the house before… throwing me down the basement stairs. He continued to yell at me as I had gotten up trying to run up the stairs and maybe get past him but he blocked my exit causing me to run into him. After I fell back onto the top step he kicked me in the ribs pushing me down the concrete stairs again, hitting every step on the way down to the bottom. He shut and locked the door and turned the power off down there.” Y/n could feel how angry they all are at this point, the alphas growling softly, the betas clenching their fists, jaws locked, and Felix is now holding her protectively. “Even though I couldn’t see I could feel the bruising and the gash on my arm bleeding. I was kept down there for three days in complete darkness, with nothing to eat or drink. The day you found me was my aunt's birthday so they were letting me out to set up and prepare for it. It was the only opportunity I had so as soon as I was let upstairs I ran for it out the door, only able to grab my car keys on my way out. They yelled at me that if I leave then to never come back, saying that the family and pack would be better off without me. I drove as far as I could with what gas I had left. I thought about going to my brothers but I knew I didn’t even have enough gas to make it to the city or any money to get more. So when my car dinged in need of gas I pulled over as the first public place I saw.”

“The park.” Jisung is in tears as he clings onto Chan and Y/n nodes as she can feel Felix shaking as he holds her, knowing he’s also crying as he buries his face in her neck.

“What would you have done if we hadn’t been there?” Chan grips her thigh. 

“I honestly don’t know.” She whispers and grabs his hand trying to hold back her own tears.

“What do you wanna do now?” Minho hugs Jisung from behind as he leans over to look at her. “If you wish, we can take you to your brother's place.”

“Minho?” Jeongin lowly growls. 

“No Innie, he’s right.” Changbin sighs. “We said it was up to you, pretty girl. If you want to stay you’re welcome to but we aren’t going to force you. So we can take you to your brother if that’s what you want.”

“But you have to promise to keep in touch with us if you do.” Hyunjin smiles at her.

“You guys truly want me to stay?” She looks at each of them in hope. “All of you?”

They all nod in agreement giving a course of ‘yes’s’.

“Then I’d like to please stay.” She whispers and they all sigh in relief. “Is there any chance I’d be able to call my brother though, so I can tell him what happened and that I’m alright?”

“Of course, baby girl.” Chan lifts her chin to look at him. “Just let one of us know when and you can use our phones to do so.”

“We need to take you to get clothes here soon, while we do that we can get you a new phone set up too.” Jeongin stands up and comes around to pull her from Felix to hug her. “That way you will be able to stay in contact with him. You’re safe now, we promise that you’ll never have to go back to your grandparents again. You’re a part of our pack now.”

“Thank you.” She tears up.

Tag list: @pixie0627 @sinfulfic @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl

@blindspot143 @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55

@hwangrfrnd @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound

@galaxy4489 @kayleefriedchicken @lostgirlinthewoodss @catkight @royal-shinigami

@notevenheretbh1 @passionandsuga @m00njinnie @sukss

[novlr]

How do you write an unreliable narrator in a way that actually feels clever and not just confusing or annoying? I want readers to realize something’s off without hitting them over the head with it, and still keep them hooked enough to want to figure it out.

I’m an absolute sucker for an unreliable narrator. I find them completely frustrating and endlessly entertaining. When you read a book, and you just know that something doesn’t quite add up, and you start to question the nature of the reality of the story you’re reading? Mwah. Chef’s kiss.

Sometimes unreliable narrators are obvious. Other times there are just hints. It could be a detail that contradicts an earlier scene. A character who reacts oddly to what should be normal. And then, slowly, you realise you can’t trust the very person telling you the story. An unreliable narrator transforms readers from passive observers into active participants, forcing them to become detectives in their own reading experience.

What is an unreliable narrator?

An unreliable narrator is the voice of your story whose credibility has been compromised. They might be lying deliberately to conceal a truth, or completely unintentionally. What makes them fascinating is that they are telling their version of a truth or attempting to create one, even if that truth doesn’t match reality.

Unlike traditional narrators who serve as trusted guides through a story, unreliable narrators force readers to question everything they’re told. This means that the real story often lives in the gaps between what the narrator says and what the reader comes to understand is actually true.

It’s like a friend telling you their breakup story; their version of events might be completely honest from their perspective, but you know you’re only getting one side of the story. Unreliable narrators remind us that truth is often subjective, and that everyone is the hero of their own story.

Types of unreliable narrators

There is no definitive type of unreliable narrator, so the first step is to understand their role in the story and what you want their version of the truth to mean. Here are some common types:

The deliberate liar consciously misleads readers.

The self-deceiver believes their own false narrative.

The mentally compromised has their perception affected by illness, injury, or trauma.

The naïve observer lacks the experience to understand what they’re seeing.

The morally ambiguous has values that skew their interpretation of events.

Each of these types of unreliable narrator serves a different purpose and will change the tone of your narrative. For example, a deliberate liar is often used in thriller and mystery stories where readers must untangle truth from deception, while a naïve observer might be used for dramatic irony. A mentally compromised narrator might lead readers through a haunting exploration of perception, reality, and the self, whereas a self-deceiver might highlight wider social issues in their story world as their illusions gradually crumble.

So, how do you actually write an unreliable narrator?

Writing an unreliable narrator is a delicate balancing act. You need to give your readers enough truth to keep them invested, enough lies to make them question everything, and enough clues that they can piece together what’s really happening. The trick isn’t just about deceiving your reader, but about making that deception meaningful (and entertaining).

Let’s look at some of the more universal techniques:

Build credibility before breaking it

Start by establishing your narrator’s voice as trustworthy. Let readers settle into believing what they’re told. This makes the eventual revelation of unreliability more impactful. Show your narrator being accurate about small details or making reasonable observations before introducing elements that challenge their reliability.

Leave breadcrumbs

Plant subtle inconsistencies throughout your narrative. These should be small enough that readers might miss them on first reading, but obvious enough to create that satisfying “aha” moment when the truth is revealed,, like contradictions in the narrator’s version of events, other characters reacting to the narrator’s version of reality, or something that runs counter to the reality of the reader.

The power of perspective

Remember that unreliable narration is fundamentally about perspective. Your narrator isn’t necessarily lying; they’re telling their truth, even if it doesn’t align with objective reality. Show how their personal biases, experiences, and limitations colour their interpretation of events.

Build tension through uncertainty

Use your narrator’s unreliability to build tension. When readers begin to doubt the narrator, every new piece of information becomes suspect. This creates a self-perpetuating cycle of uncertainty that keeps readers engaged. But make sure you keep it balanced. Give readers enough reason to doubt your narrator without completely destroying their credibility too early.

The art of the reveal

The trickiest part of writing any unreliable narrator is deciding what the best time to reveal it is. And it does have to be considered carefully. Do you want a dramatic singular reveal, a gradual reveal with an “aha” moment, or to never explicitly confirm it, leaving readers to decide?

Remember: the goal isn’t simply to trick readers, but to explore deeper truths about perception, reality, and human nature. The best unreliable narrators make us question not just the story, but our own assumptions about truth and reliability. So make sure you consider that when you decide whether you need a reveal or not.

Keep your inconsistency consistent

Even unreliable narrators need to follow internal logic. Their unreliability should make sense within the context of their character and the situations they find themselves in. A narrator with memory issues should consistently show those issues. A deliberate liar should have clear motivations for their deception.

[kalinara]

I had a completely different post to accompany this image. Then my brain decided to stall on what Scott is actually saying here.

"Allowed."

Being with the Champions is not the first time that Scott's been ABLE to relax, no, it's the first time he's been ALLOWED to relax.

I've always thought using Scott in the Champions was a brilliant move, because it allowed us to see a side of the character that we've never seen before. Even beyond what we got in All New X-Men and his solo series.

Scott in ANXM and his solo series was a fun addition to the modern Marvel Universe, but there was nothing really surprising about it. The Scott we see there is the Scott we pretty much expected to see: uptight, tense, very oriented toward responsibility and guilt. It's rougher for him now than the original 60s run because he has to deal with carrying his future self's perceived and actual sins. But it's the same deal. It doesn't really change how we see the original comics.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy those stories very much. I am a Scott fan after all, and I never get tired of seeing my favorite character being recognizably himself.

But Champions was the first time someone did something honestly and truly different with that version of the character. On multiple levels.

The first, of course, is that we've never seen ANY version of Scott on ANY of the more broad Marvel Universe teams before. Hank and Logan are frequent faces on Avenger teams. Storm, Rogue, even Havok have popped up in the broader Marvel Universe. But for whatever reason, despite being a fairly iconic character in his own right, Scott's never made the leap.

(Kind of like Kitty Pryde, I realize. Kitty is probably THE iconic X-Men for a few generations, and I can't remember her ever getting to be on a non-X team either. Though I may be forgetting something.)

So already, we have Scott in a brand new context: a team that isn't just mutants and mutant issues. A team where he's not automatically set in a leadership role. A team that's not instantly hated wherever they go. It's novel.

But the second part of it is that this is a set-up that only could have worked with the time displaced version of the character. Leaving aside, of course, the current events of the comic which would have made adult Scott joining any kind of Avenger-satellite team impossible - even if they WERE on good terms, the thrust of the story we got in Champions really required Scott to be a child.

Because the revelatory part of Scott in Champions wasn't just seeing him extracted a bit from the burdens of the mutant cause and not shoved into a leadership position. It wasn't even getting to see Scott talking like a forty year old and completely failing at acting like a normal kid. As fun as that is.

The revelatory part is how much Scott sincerely wanted to act like a kid.

Scott doesn't know how to Halloween. And it's tragic and hilarious and utterly expected. But he TRIED. He put on a fake mustache! That's a costume! He WANTED to do Halloween with his friends!

Scott in the 1960s comics kept himself somewhat isolated from the team. And it was clearly a choice: there was no doubt that Jean, Hank, Bobby and Warren were happy to include him any time he was willing and would have been very willing to have him around more.

But in Champions, we actually get to see Scott WILLINGLY and HAPPILY watching tv with his team, sitting in on karaoke with his team, playing laser tag with his team. And he loves it. Even when he has no idea how being a kid actually works.

And THAT recontextualizes everything we've seen in the 1960s comics (and any other time we revisit that era.) Because it's clear now that as much as Scott chose to isolate himself at that time, it's because he felt like he had to. NOT because he wanted to.

Scott might well have been "able" to relax with the Original Five. IF he thought he was "allowed" to be. IF he weren't their leader. IF he weren't put in that position of authority. If, for example, it had been Jean in that role from the beginning - Jean, who is socially capable, emotionally aware, and generally has a good grasp on how to be both one of the senior members of the team when needed, but part of the group and have fun when not - then maybe Scott's original experiences could have been very different.

But Xavier chose Scott, because Scott already had the skill set that Xavier thought was needed for the role. The fact that Scott had those skills because he had no choice BUT to develop them, thanks to a string of abusive authority figures. The fact that Scott DIDN'T have the social skill set to deal with being (further) set apart from his peers, or any idea how to balance the burdens of responsibility with any other aspect of a healthy life. That apparently never occurred to him.

By giving us this new context, Champions completely justifies the entire "bringing the O5 to the future" storyarc and I'm thrilled that it hasn't been forgotten.

And if Xavier ever does deign to come back to Earth after fucking off to be the Prince Consort of the Space Bird Empire, I hope they egg his house.