#i guess it's more likely than you'd think

[svgarseason]

𖹭 cw: fluff, suggestive, mdni

You really threw a wrench in mean bf sukuna's plans when you totally forgot about Valentine's day. You told him from the start that you didn't care about stuff like that, but he thought you were just playing the Cool Girl™. Realistically, all girls care about that shit. It's ingrained in their fluffy, pink, little brains, right? You're going to be mad as hell when he tricks you into believing he's completely ignored your first Valentine's day together.

That works just fine for mean bf sukuna, who just so happens to think you're super hot when you're mad. So, he ignores you all day while he shops. He smirks to himself as he thinks about how you must be scowling at your phone screen, waiting for a text that never comes. He outright laughs when he imagines the shock on your face when you see what he has planned for you. Maybe you'll do that thing where you bang your fists on his chest while he pulls your body against his. Maybe your eyes will be shiny with tears when you look up at him and say, "I thought you forgot!"

Turns out he's the one scowling at the screen when the whole day passes without a peep from you until you text him "picking me up?" Just before your shift ends.

"Yeah, I guess," he grumbles as he types it out. What kind of passive aggressive, feminine sorcery is this anyway?

His scowl only deepens as he listens to you chatter on about your busy day the whole ride home. You don't seem angry at all. In fact, you plop down next to him on the couch, as usual, practically sitting on top of him as you giggle at the TV and dig into your dinner. You don't even notice that he hasn't touched his own food. He's actually getting pissed in a serious way. And he looks it, even more so than usual, you notice. You fucking finally notice. "What's your problem?" You ask around a mouthful of your favorite takeout.

"Tch, nothing," he says, crossing his arms and looking away. Is he... is he really pouting?

"If you say so," you shrug. You know better than to press him too much, unless you want him angrier and even less prone to discussion. "I'm gonna get changed," you say as you stand to head towards the bedroom.

"No!" He says, just a little too loud.

"Why not?" You ask narrowing your eyes at him over your shoulder.

He would have physically stopped you, but you're a little too small and a little too quick not to slip through his grasping fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask, standing in your bedroom doorway staring at the array of pink and red bags, flowers, your favorite candies and snacks.

mean bf sukuna winces at the sight of the veritable mountain of gifts he had spent the day heaping on the linens. He may have gotten a little carried away, but he kept thinking of things. That bag you pointed out at the mall. And the necklace. And the sunglasses. Then he remembered you said you wanted to go to that concert, so he got tucked the tickets into your card. Then he thought you'd want to wear those shoes you pointed out.

"Oh, my god," you say in a small voice. "It's Valentine's day. I totally forgot."

You turn to him, but the apology that was on your lips dies in a fit of laughter when you see his face is as red as the gift wrap.

"You'll pay for that, brat," he growls as he tosses you right on top of the pile, fully intent on getting his money's worth out of you.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Random question, could you give some ideas on Irish names your family may have in the 1950-60s? I got a character with an Irish grandpa with 9 brothers and sisters (3 brothers and 6 sisters) and I only got the oldest sister name (soairse) and his name (Caine). I guess I could just name the rest some form of jack and Margret since those seem to be popular, but I wanted to see if there were some “interesting” names you found in your family tree that maybe one of the siblings got named after some ancestor?

Firstly for the sake of clarity: I'm American, not Irish. All of my ancestors for the last 4-5 generations have lived here, and while I like learning about the language/music/culture, I am absolutely not an expert. I HIGHLY recommend getting a sensitivity reader, I'm sure someone in the comments can wave at you if they're willing to take on the job.

Second, Triple-check the spelling, pronunciation, meaning and provenance of any names you do choose, and ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TRUST ANY BABY NAME WEBSITES, they're basically all AI slop at best. The best written-down lists and meanings are actually on Wikipedia.

Third: If you want to learn more Irish names, you can look up the names of like, any Irish musician or artist. I think spotify still has Genre Playlists, if you look up "Irish Folk" you'll get a shitload of names of Real Irish people- and hey, if Hirohiko Akari can name all his characters after 80's pop bands, you can make a subtle ref to modern musicians. Also you'll get a bunch of fun music! --- So while I was writing this, I somewhat departed from the intent of this response, and am putting the last point under a cut because the post got long. And weird.

So there is a thing in Irish-american families, and I think it's true in the British isles still where there are "Family Names", where the same set of first names is recycled over and over and over across generations. My dad's family has exactly three male names that they rotate through over the generations: Roy, Emmet and Jack*. In that order, where the son takes the father's first name as his middle name. My great-grandfather was Roy Jack Surname, my grandfather was Emmet Roy Surname, and my dad is Jack Emmet. My sister and I were AFAB, so the names skipped us and my male cousin in my generation is now Roy Jack. In the event that there are more than three living men with the same surname in the family, that's when they start reaching for the Given Names Of In-Laws We Like and might introduce a new name into the lineup.

*Names changed for privacy above and hereafter, but you get the idea.

So if any of your characters are descendants of that grandpa? They may share a first or middle name with one of his siblings. in fact, they may share the SAME first and middle name with a living relative, and be called "Junior" or "Young Firstname" to distinguish them from the relative they were named after.

My mom's family is from England and has a similar tradition: any new girl born into that family gets a name that is based on the name of one of her living female relatives, usually by sharing the same first letter or syllable. Elanor after Eloise, Vivian after Virginia, and also Jenny after Virgnia via 'Ginny' and every variation of Margret ever, which there are way more of than you'd think.

I cannot recommend doing what they did with Male names though: Name literally every boy Bob* for like five generations, and distinguish individuals by middle name (Bob-Howard and Bob-Benjamin) surname (Bob-Jones and Bob-Bailey) or Honorific (Captain Bob, Dr. Bob, Bob Jr.) when yelling out the kitchen window.

Most families have to good sense to not have the same name repeated in a generation, even if it has a shitload of nicknames. A mother and daughter might both be Margrets (with different nicknames), but two sisters or cousins wouldn't be.

If you've got in-laws you like, but their surname didn't carry over to their kids, you can also just use their surname as a first name! "Regan" is a first and last name, as are Riley and Bailey. This works out in some cases but not in others:

I have a pretty rare surname- last time I checked, there's only 14 people with it worldwide. It's similar to two other VERY COMMON Irish Surnames, but spelled different and from a different region. It's also Very Definitely A Surname- nobody would see my surname alone and think its a firstname.

Since I don't want to bandy it about, we'll pretend that it's "Breathnach", which has a similar vibe.

My Iowa family is Enormous and all descended from my Great-Aunt Lilyanne, Emmet-Roy's sister. Being a good catholic girl, Lillyanne took her husband's surname when she married, and most of her descendants still have that surname, and none have Breathnach.

After the last of my grandfathers grandchildren were born my Iowa family was sad- all but one of Emmet-Roy's grandchildren was female, and my male cousin has his father's surname. Assuming that we would all marry and take our spouses names, the Iowa family despaired that that the Breathnach name would die out!

So one of my second cousins decided that she would Carry On The Family Name, by giving it to the son she was carrying as a Firstname.

Yeah.

Being "Breathnach Surname" is bad enough, but this was compounded by the fact that the Iowa family's surname is Thomas.

YEAH.

My poor cousin Beathnach Thomas, who always has to re-do his paperwork because NOBODY ever puts the names in the correct boxes, who had his first name printed on every jersey he ever had because the uniform place went "that can't be right!", who cant buy his own beer because he's had so many drivers licenses confiscated because liquor store owners and bartenders think his ID is a fake, who has to not only spell his name to everyone he meets, but explain it too.

Then I made it worse.

I ran into cousin Beathnach in Bozeman, Montana quite by accident a few years ago, and while catching up, I mentioned that I was married.

"You know, it's a real hassle, but I'm kind of glad I've got the name I do. I'd heard you sister changed her name, and now with you married- I'd be sad to think we were running out of Breathnachs, you know?" he laughed.

I had to explain.

I married the most wonderful man in the world, who has an extremely common first and last name. Which was kind of a problem, because he shares it with some truly rotten people that always come up during background checks and he has have to explain he's not THAT asshole. It also sounds like and is only a letter or two off a lot of other very common names so his mail is constantly sent awry.

My husband will shortly abandon his too-common-for-comfort surname and become the newest Breathnach, taking the total to 15 (the paperwork takes a while).

...So the name lives on through us anyway, and poor cousin Breathnach Thomas went through all that for no reason. He got very quiet, got up from the table and walked outside to the veranda of the restaurant we were in to stare into the picturesque scenery for a while.

"Well, it's not like people change their first names..." he sighed, when he returned to the table.

"...You know how my sister changed her name? She only changed her first name. She's still a Breathnach." I explained quietly.

I've never seen a man look so haunted.

"I know lots of people who've changed their first names, actually. Mostly for transgender reasons, but a bunch because they just didn't like the one they were given." I added, because if he's going to get his world turned over, it's best to flip it all at once.

His brow furrowed at the ponderous speed of a continental collision, approaching the idea with caution. "...I'll have to think about it."

It's been about a year, but since then, I'll get a text from him every few weeks, auditioning a new given name. I do my best to be fair- I give him the meanings of those names, how they're likely to be misconstrued (some are tolerable annoyances, some pose a safety risk), and if he'd be sharing that name with anybody notable or troublesome. The first few were clearly based on Breathnach, but he began to branch out, and the trend of names has indicated that the idea of Naming Himself is causing my cousin to examine himself, and come to some Realizations (TM).

I realize I have gotten completely off-topic from your actual ask, but I urge you to really get into the nuance of nomencalture, because a name can tell a fascinating story.

[f1fantasys]

Thought you were mine all along, guess I was wrong - Part 4

Summary - events following that morning.

Warnings - smut, f! receiving oral, p in v sex, ANGST.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

''Mmm, yeah, got it'' he said, deep British accent coming through.

You winced at the hurt look in his eyes before he shook his head, a look of disgust thrown your way.

You wanted to react, almost justify yourself, but you held back.

Lando had no right to react like this. Why did he think it was okay when he did it, but not when you did? Still, it didn't make it easier being in this situation. You didn't sleep with Mitch to get a reaction from Lando. You slept with him because you were a vulnerable and emotional roller coaster and he happened to be there for you.

Time stood still for a couple of minutes, Lando's eyes turned shades darker, having an anger you'd never seen before, not at anyone else and certainly not towards you.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, you slammed the door closed on him. Not interested in what he had to say, no matter how wrong it felt to shut him out like this.

You turned towards Mitch who was still lying in bed, concern etched over his face as you leaned your body back, trembling at how the last few minutes unfolded.

''You okay?'' Mitch asked, climbing out of bed and working on wearing his clothes again.

You couldn't have reacted faster if you wanted to, because desperate to stop him, you lunged forward, stooping him from getting dressed.

''Stay? Please'' you whispered, afraid he'd say no. This probably wasn't a good idea but your body was craving a good fuck, and fortunately or unfortunately, Mitch was at your service, hopefully.

But he smiled, before his hands were on your thighs, lifting you up before practically throwing you on the bed.

Hovering above you, Mitch leaned down to feverishly kiss you, sloppy but slow, tongues battling each other while his hands roamed your body, ripping his t-shirt off of you.

You groaned at the feeling of his hot tongue lapping at your hardened nipples, gripping at his hair tightly in the hopes he'd give you more than that.

''Please, Mitch'' you begged.

He kept his eyes on yours as he moved his mouth lower down your torso, spreading your legs wide apart before finally giving your cunt the attention it craved.

''Fuck'' you hissed, fisting the bed sheets as his tongue devoured your pussy, bruising your clit because he was relentless, and not wasting time in thrusting two fingers through your hole.

''Yes, please, oh god'' you moaned, already feeling an impending orgasm, and with a few flicks on your clit, you were gushing all over his face, though he didn't slow down one bit.

''Need you, please'' you whined breathlessly, quickly following up with more moans.

''Know you got one more in you before I fuck you'' he said, his roughly morning voice turning you on even more.

''Hmm, want y-'' you were cut off quickly when Mitch added a third finger to the mix, each thrust brushing against your g-spot which had you let out a series of pornographic moans, and in no time another orgasm took over your body, your fluids oozing out of you as he licked you clean of every drop.

''Such a fucking good girl'' he praised you, bringing his lips up to yours for a peck before shoving his glistening fingers into your mouth.

You don't know where you got the sudden burst of energy from, but you somehow managed to flip your positions so you were now straddling him, but, before you could even make a move or comprehend what was happening, Mitch had lined his dick with your cunt before thrusting up harshly.

It took a few relentless thrusts from him for your brain to catch up to what was happening. ''Fuck, Mitch, condom!'' you all but yelled as he suddenly stopped his movements, slipping out of you with ease.

''Shit'' he hissed, as you quickly climbed off him and reached for the packet on his side table.

You ripped it open eagerly before sliding it down his thick shaft, quickly resuming your position, and sinking down on him again.

You moaned at the feeling, walls clenching almost painfully around him as you started a quick pace, nails digging into his shoulders as you held on to him sliding up and down his dick.

''That's it, fuck, so tight'' he mumbled, pulling you down for a dirty kiss and bring his hand up to pinch your clit.

''Fuck, Mitch'' you panted, another orgasm threatening to take over your body that already felt like jelly so Mitch had to meet your halfway, thrusting his hips into your brutally.

You were done for when he leaned forward and bit down on your nipples, rolling them between his lips before swirling his tongue around the buds. Your orgasm gushing through you as your body collapsed down onto his, as he picked up the pace, chasing his own high now.

Your mid blanked, body shaking, and before you knew it Mitch had swapped your positions, him now towering over you as he pounded in and out of your cunt. You could feel his dick start to twitch, the feeling of it sending your body over the edge again as you cried out his name, and it wasn't long after that he followed behind you, his hips jittering as he came inside the condom before letting all his weight fall on you.

A sheen of sweat had long covered both your bodies, and the cool air now that you came down from your high had you both shivering.

Eventually, Mitch pulled out, helped you clean up, and gave you a quick pep talk on how not to get your heart broken. It was all good humor but he cared about you, and you were just grateful he was there. You didn't know when next you'd see him, but you'd both agreed to keep in touch more often.

The flight back to Monaco had your mind spiraling. You wanted to hate Lando, be mad at him, but you couldn't. He'd become a constant in your life and now with everything going on, you don't know if you'd every recover from losing someone like him. He quickly became your world, neither you nor him realizing it.

The weeks that went by after were a blur. You felt like you were functioning on auto-pilot - just for the sake of it. More often that not, your Instagram was filled with new Lando and Magui pictures, the it couple at the moment.

A random Tuesday night there was a knock at your door. It was well past 12am, and when you opened the door all the air left your lungs.

Lando stood there, a Quadrant tracksuit and backwards cap. Looking sexy as fuck.

''Can we...talk?''

You let out your breath, tears already prickling your eyes because of the sensitive soul you were. You knew you'd have to face him at some point at the races, but right now you now you wished you had a bit more time to build up a few blocks to protect your heart.

''There really isn't anything to say...'' you said, not moving to let him in.

He gave you pleading eyes, and eventually you stepped to the side, letting him walk in to your lounge.

There was a time where as soon as his foot was through the door, he's be kissing you senseless before throwing you over his shoulder, walking to your bedroom to fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

Not tonight though.

You sat at opposite ends of a couch.

Finally, he broke the silence with a chuckle, quoting you, and catching you off guard.

''There really isn't anything to say..yeah..easy for you to say, what with fucking Mitch so quickly''

''Lando seriously, grow the fuck up. How is it okay for you to move on, and not okay for me to?''

''Move on from what? We were nothing, it was just sex''

His words crushed your heart, but you held back your tears because he didn't deserve to see you like this.

''Yeah, exactly, it was just sex, so why is me fucking Mitch at the minute a problem? you said, voice like stone.

''You're over reacting'' he sighed, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair.

''Am I? You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk''

He stayed silent.

''Like i said, i have nothing to say. You're the one who decided to stop...the sex, whatever..so why are you here?''

Lando's eyes found yours with a look you couldn't place, anger? hurt? pleading? you weren't sure.

''Lando'' you pressed, standing up, hoping he'd get the hint and leave because you were this close to breaking down.

''Magui's pregnant''

2 words.

2 words that threw you off. You body suddenly feeling like jelly, and not in a good way. Your mind went back to all the good times you had with him. How you more than often allowed yourself to picture an actual future with Lando because he always promised you the world and more. He tret you with such an intensity that wouldn't be there if you were regular fuck buddies. There was almost so much more with him. And it wasn't like you jumped straight into bed the first time you saw him. No. You'd become such close friends, who grew into a friends with benefits relationship. You'd respected him too much to only want him for a shag. And now he confirmed that it was just that. A good shag from time to time.

''What?'' you barely whispered, sitting down again, a few tears rolling down your cheek as your whole body heated up.

''Yeah...'' he said, before he got up, and without looking back at you, walked out of your apartment.

You sat there in shock, a wave of sadness washing over you as your body trembled. It was truly over. He was having a baby with someone else. You couldn't help but let a few sobs leave your body, your heart aching in a way you never thought possible. Also, what did he gain by telling you this and walking out on you?

As you went to bed that night, another thought crossed your mind and broke you even more. It had only been around 5 weeks since Lando said he was seeing Magui. Surely she couldn't already be pregnant, right?

Unless they got together while the two of you were still...

Another wreck of sobs took over. You'd never labelled whatever you had going on, and you never discussed exclusivity. You certainly hadn't gotten with anyone else, but now with everything going on, you felt like a fool. He was Lando Norris. Of course girls were throwing themselves at him, and would he really deny them all just because of you?

You didn't think so.

A/N - hope you all enjoyed this twist!! Let me know what you think.

Taglist - @somanyfandomsbruh @lanf1an @annimausi @ernegren @plotpal @hurtblossom @rbv3rstappen @tylerstacobell @wanderingreigns @bowielovesyou @alexanderachillesisgay @sarx164 @xoxomansee @hurtblossom @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @msimpala-67 @jxnellat @chlmtfilms @abq654 @ernegren @stav2004 @myformula1addiction @ayap4paya @l0nelyhe4rts-club @callsignwidow widow-cevans meglouise00 @hoeforsirius @hahdb8 @cmleitora @oscahpastry @maxv33rstappen @saythename-sm

[ventique18]

~ Unwilting Flower~ 🐉🌸

It's Valentine's Day. Your friends are giving each other flowers just for the heck of it, because if they're not going to celebrate it, who else would? You yourself are already committed, but real friends don't exclude anyone. So that means you're part of their celebration too.

And you could only guess what the exact thought process is going on in his head when your darling-- your Valentine Malleus Draconia's delightful smile turns into a deep scowl the moment he sees you carrying a bundle of assorted flora in your arms.

"Hmph. Wait for a moment."

He disappears without your confirmation. Why, is he jealous? You shrug and thought you'd just let him simmer down on his own-- you have nothing to feel guilty about. He knows your bonds with your friends are strictly platonic. If he feels jealous in any way, he could just join your merry band of flower giving, present something to everyone, and receive some himself.

... And then you arrive at your classroom for that hour... to a blossom of multicolored roses decorating your desk; as gaudy as a flower cake, with only a few inches of blank space left in the middle. As if the decorator only realized at the last second that you're supposed to be studying and not gardening.

You can't help but feel everyone's gaze on you throughout the entire lecture, naturally.

But that's not even the end of it. Random bursts of flower petals would shower on you when you enter a room. A student you don't know the name of would present you a bouquet of various knickknacks for seemingly no reason. (You note that they're all suspiciously wearing Diasomnia uniform.) And flowers start blooming at your feet when you accompany Grim to the field for his Spelldrive practice.

But the straw on the camel's back is when you go back home. Right there, in the dead center of your lounge, sitting pretty and sipping tea-- is the main culprit. Surrounded by what you would guess are thousands, and thousands, of roses.

Ever the pleasant look on his face, he smiles slowly at you with a clink of his teacup. "Did you like my little surprise for you?"

"Little--"

You have to remind yourself that this man has no common sense.

You refuse to sit next to him even as he discreetly pats the empty space on the couch. "Well, I appreciate it. It really made me feel the depth of your love for me--"

"The depth of my love? If you believe it so, then I must offer you more posthaste--"

"That's, that's exactly my reservation... I think you don't need to be this excessive. I mean," You gesture helplessly to the roses around you, "It'll make me sad when all of this wilts."

You see him surprised for a second. Does he finally understand? Did he get that the cleanup will be a huge pain? You live alone, and you're sure as hell Grim wouldn't be willing to help play janitor for an entire day.

"Then," he grins at you amusedly, as if you just asked if he knew how to spell his name, "If you wish to be reminded of my devotion to you every waking day, then it'll be child's play for me to ensure than not a single petal wilts for as long as you live."

No! Absolutely not!

"Hornton. I thought you'd have understood who I am at this point." You look away from him, a bit nervous to be rejecting his efforts when he looks so earnest in trying to win your approval. "You know I'd rather spend time with you. A little bit of wine and dine, maybe? Maybe watch a cheesy movie or two."

He pauses. Looks at you seriously. He seems to have caught on.

He stands up, and every blossom in the room-- every rose petal on the carpet and every vine that carefully lined the curtains, disappears with a sparkle. Devoid of the sudden fancy, only the bare homeliness of your dorm remains.

He doesn't walk to you, but he attracts your gaze anyway. "My apologies. I seemed to have focused on satisfying myself, rather than think of what would satisfy you."

You smile reassuringly. "It's alright. I know how hard you try."

It's you who finally approaches. You stop in front of him, then take his hands in yours. He returns the gesture by affectionately rubbing the tips of your fingers, and there you're reminded of how much heavier he can show love through little actions like this, compared with the pomp of public exhibitions.

You entwine your fingers together.

"But why the sudden display? Were you jealous?" You ask.

He urges you to sit down with him. "Jealous?"

"That our friends gave me flowers."

Our friends. The corners of his lips quirks up at that; in his eyes, it's the little considerate messages that you weave in your words that makes you stand out from everyone else.

"No. In fact I'm delighted that they appreciate you. It's just..."

"Just..?"

"... That I saw Schoenheit behind you, carrying a much larger bouquet than you were. I thought he did not deserve to be the most appreciated person in this place."

"... And so you... tried to one-up him by doing all that for me?"

He nods.

And you laugh.

"What's so amusing?"

He really doesn't realize how funny he is sometimes. You cover a hand to your mouth to try and slow down the giggles. "You're so unpredictable. I just can't correctly guess what goes on in your head."

"It's you who's unpredictable."

"Then that's good, isn't it? We have an eternity to try and decipher what each other's thinking." Your gaze roams; settling on his tea gone cold, "Then at the end of the world... we can reveal our answers and decide who got each other most accurately."

The crinkles on his brows slowly smoothen when he takes in your words. His hands unconsciously trail to the inside of his coat; toying with something as he wonders idly.

"... I have something for you." He says solemnly.

You stop giggling, but the smile remains on your face. "Don't tell me it's another Valentine's token. Maybe chocolate?"

He grins, but doesn't answer you. Instead, his hands wander to your jacket; fingers expertly pinning something on the lapel. Just above your left breast.

"A gift for you, but a promise to myself as well."

It's a brooch. Perhaps a bit more simple in design-- a tasteful black with a muted sheen of alexandrite-- definitely not themed around the gaudy red of Valentine's, but very distinctively him.

"May I always be the one closest to your heart, and though our bodies may decay before the end of time..."

You press his hands closer to your chest; determined not to let go as you finish his promise for him. For yourself.

"May this unwilting flower bear witness to the many promises we will make, and how we stayed true to all of them."

[akutasoda]

all for you

synopsis - they'll always love you so dearly

includes - mydei, anaxagoras, phainon

warnings - gn!reader, maybe ooc, fluff, slight crack, wc - 1.5k

a/n: what is this? i couldn't tell you- at best it's a silly little piece i thought of the other day ;;

mydei ★↷

mydei stared you down with a scowl.

all you could do was ignore his scowling and continue on with your task, which was easier said than done as even after all this time, mydei still had a glare that still could affect you - at most it gave you a slightly discomfited feeling but you could always dismiss it.

it wasn't uncommon knowledge that mydei often put himself in uncertain situations, always with a confidence that made it seem like nothing to him. whether that was a result of his own curse or the years of experience he had with those same scenarios was an equal guess.

regardless of which, namely the former, mydei occasionally faced some particularly tricky situations which would result in your worrying.

it was hard not to, even if you were well aware of his curse, the idea of him getting hurt was still enough to bubble some concerns of yours to the surface. mydei always insisted he was fine but that was never enough to soothe your worries.

you continued to make an effort to check for any outstanding injuries that he still may have sustained, none of any potentials would've been fatal but you still wanted to make sure there was absolutely nothing.

if anything, it was almost routine at this point. mydei would get into some kind of altercation and immediately seek you out afterwards. no matter how much he acted like it was a bother or claimed it was unnecessary, he always sought out comfort in your embrace, entrusting you with seeing him at his lowest.

“you worry about me too much” mydei's scowl barely wavered, his eyes still constantly looking at you and only you

you fought back a scoff, “if you're aware then you should watch that heedlessness of yours”

mydei studied your face, taking note on the seriousness you portrayed. he'd be lying if he didn't think your concern for him was endearing, even throughout the constant reminders to you, he found it somewhat charming that you still bothered to care for him in that sense.

there was a few moments of silence before mydei broke the standoff. it was his turn to scoff at you as he abruptly pulled you into a hug with little resistance on your end, “fine, but no promises”

you knew that was the best that you would get from him in words.

anaxagoras ★↷

a long sigh was drawn out from you as your eyes flicked over to observe what anaxagoras was doing - it didn't shock you to see that he was doing exactly the same as what he was doing the last time you checked.

you couldn't exactly recall how long it had been since you'd idly sat beside him. originally your plan was to simply pay anaxagoras a visit as you were passing by, but while you dropped by he had informed you that he was finishing up soon so he'd leave with you. so you saw no harm in complying and waiting around for him.

although, looking back, you realise how foolish of a decision it was. whether it was anaxagoras having a different concept of what “soon” meant, or it was a case of him getting too engrossed back into his work, you weren't too sure. but whatever it was, it was now the cause of your boredom as you waited.

you'd waited too long for him by now to simply turn away and leave without him - you'd made a much earlier attempt but anaxagoras had stopped you, reassuring you he'd be finished some time soon, another case where more insistence on your end would've saved you from waiting longer.

in complete honesty, you never understood anaxagoras.

he always struck as the type of person who much preferred his own company rather than others and it certainly stood true in quite a few cases. anaxagoras also always made it very clear that he had little tolerance for those who held little competence and broke the rules he always went on about.

perhaps it was the fact that you never broke any of those rules that was the reason why he didn't mind you hanging around.

“if you have time to stare, then you have time to talk” anaxagoras's voice snapped you out your daze “speak what's on your mind”

it took a moment to formulate a response on your end after being abruptly caught off guard, although all you managed to get across was a short response claiming it was nothing major - something that was met by a glower on the scholar's end.

anaxagoras soon followed up by announcing that he was finally finished, making a vague signal for the two of you to leave and you joined him. you filled the spot beside him but for some reason, your previous train of thought was still occupying your mind.

after a brief moment you decided there was no harm in asking, which led to you poising the question about why he insisted on you waiting around for him.

he paused for a moment, looking over to you and stopping in his tracks, something you mimicked in turn,

“that's because you're more favourable to me, a preferable appearance in my life”

you looked at him in disbelief, while it certainly was a conclusion that you did entertain on occasion, the idea that anaxagoras did see you as a potential friend, but you always assumed that was too far fetched so being an acquaintance of his was enough for you.

he looked at you, a quizzical almost judgemental look reflected upon his features,

“i thought it was common knowledge for you”

all you could do was stare vacantly at him still, his words still barely processing in your mind as you watched him leave - the rare, sincere smile that fixed its way onto his face going completely unnoticed by anyone.

phainon ★↷

you'd been assisting aglaea throughout the day, a few jobs here and then that needed to be done but nothing too major.

more frequently as the day progressed however, you caught aglaea stopping occasionally, almost as if she was checking for something but anytime you asked if everything was alright she would brush it off and continue on as normal.

you believed her at first as you had no reason to doubt her but soon you found yourself feeling a pair of eyes on you sometimes, coinciding with aglaea stopping in her duties. it happened too frequently to be a pure coincidence but you still attempted to brush it off as you doubted it was anything of concern considering how aglaea kept brushing it off as well.

but eventually you caught her smiling a bit, a smile that felt more knowing than you would've liked - almost as if she knew something you didn't.

you soon observed aglaea delighting in your apparent obliviousness as she began making audible comments to you ranging from “did you see that?” to “do you really have no clue?”

in some sense, it was starting to creep you out as each time left you more questions and unease than answers. thankfully, eventually, aglaea decided to ease your worries with the next time she sensed it, she stopped and so did you, aglaea moved closer to you before talking in a hush,

“he's looking at you again”

arguably that creeped you out more but your gaze followed the direction she was pointing in and suddenly it all became clear again.

not too far from where you were, phainon was watching you. as soon as you locked eyes with him, phainon gave you a sincere smile and waved quickly before looking away and walking off.

you looked back to aglaea, “has he been doing that the whole time i've been with you?”

she hummed slightly in agreement, “most likely, he probably just wants to check up on you without interrupting” aglaea paused for a moment, “besides he has his own tasks to attend too”

you looked back to where he was a moment ago, the spot now vacant, now you were determined to catch him again.

a task that proved to be rather easy now that you knew what was going on as not too long after you caught him again, phainon then giving the same response as before before disappearing again. in a way it was sweet, the idea that he was watching to make sure everything was okay with you and presumably wanting to see you throughout the day without interfering.

after all, phainon always cherished being by your side, complete infatuated with your presence.

additionally it became very clear that phainon was mainly doing so because he clearly missed your presence, which was confirmed from the moment you departed from aglaea for the day and phainon took the moment to show up again. taking your hand in his with the biggest smile he'd shown all day.

[marshemillow]

OH MY GOD pigeon I'm so glad you mentioned Scott Cawthon, because this also fucking boils my blood.

My guess as to why hp has a much worse reputation than fnaf is probably due to the fact that jkr is much louder in her filth whereas Cawthon kinda backed off after his controversy started, but even still...how come paying money for security breach or into the pit is not considered being queerphobic, but even just MENTIONING harry potter without burning it at the stake is enough to get you branded a transphobe for life?? Cawthon gave no indication that he would stop supporting republicans with thousands of his own dollars after we found out he did it multiple times!!! You'd think GIVING HIM MONEY would be at least as frowned upon as admitting you don't hate harry potter!!!

Like, someone on this post said that it's still bad to talk about harry potter in fandom because it makes the series more famous?? And I just??? Dude, it's HARRY POTTER!!! I guarentee that fandom is not contributing to its fame any more than the mainstream has already gotten it!!! And even if it did, you're far more likely to get someone who can just tell you not to support jkr than you are a terf who's actually pleasant to talk to!!!

I don't think I've EVER seen a worse example of grasping at straws, and that's really saying something considering I've been on the piss on the poor website for ten years.

Fandom Problem #6201:

Enjoyment is not endorsement, enjoyment is not endorsement, enjoyment is not endorsement, 👏 ENJOYMENT 👏 IS 👏 NOT 👏 ENDORSEMENT 👏

Just because I enjoy something that was made by a shitty person, that does not mean that I, too, am a shitty person. Nor does that mean I condone everything the creator has done/will do. I just like something they made. That's it.

I'm not racist if I like HP Lovecraft's works, I'm not transphobic if I like Harry Potter, I'm not an abuser if I like a Picasso painting. I'm allowed to like things while still acknowledging that the creator was 100%, a terrible person.

If you lack so much nuance and critical thinking that you going to judge my character simply for what I enjoy and not me as a person, then clearly you're the one with the problem.

[loves-alibi]

skyglow - prologue

pairing: ex-partner!simon riley x detective!reader summary: The 141 responds to a hostage call from an android. wordcount: 4.0k warnings: death, murder, murder of a child (the murder is not described), blood, vomit, injury, f!reader

series masterlist

November 04, 2177

Metropolitan Police are the first to the scene. Holotape has been set up around the townhouse, its projections flickering in the heavy rain.

"Are they already inside?" You ask.

Simon grunts, "No. The 'droid's waiting."

Simon lazily points to the front garden where— lo and behold —the family android is waiting, rain pouring down its still frame. The android is the one that called the police. It had reported a hostage situation. That was about fifteen minutes ago. You and Simon were finishing up a nearby call when the report came in. Now you'd just have to wait for the rest of the 141 to show up.

There's a knock on the passenger side window. Your head snaps over to see a cop, a few years older than you, chewing at his lip impatiently. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the tinted window rolls down to reveal Simon, inches from the poor guy's face. Who could blame him? Simon's not exactly the friendliest looking fellow. After working with him for three years and being his friend for just as long, it's still hard not to let your nerves get the best of you at the sight of his famous scowl.

"What?" Simon barks.

"'Droid's not lettin' us in," the cop says, voice raised to be heard over the constant pitter patter, "Says it 'as to consult with you first."

Simon nods and rolls the window back up. "Do we wait?"

You shake your head, "Let's talk to the android, get a head start."

Simon follows your lead. The crowd of cops part as they see you approaching, you'd like to think it's because they respect your position, but the way their eyes flicker above your head says otherwise. Through the thinning crowd you see the holotape, and before it an indignant-looking rookie. She stops you from crossing it with a hand on your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon tense, his hands flexing by his sides.

"Only authorized personnel past this point, ma'am," she says, a self-congratulatory grin on her face.

"Oi," Simon draws her attention. In his hand is his badge. "We are the authorized personnel."

The kid looks like she doesn't know whether to shit herself or geek out. Unfortunately, she decides on the latter. Follows you and Simon through the holotape, she says,"The 141, right? It is an honor to meet you. I-I'd love to do what you all do one day. Do you have any advice?"

Simon sends you a cheeky grin. Are you gonna do it or should I?

She continues, "I mean, unless there are openings now. If so, I'd love to put my name—"

"Listen," you interrupt, "Now isn't the time."

She stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to keep talking. The kid is determined, you'll give her that. It takes a good thirty seconds for her to realize that you're dismissing her, and she retreats, tail tucked firmly between her legs.

"Were you like that when you were a rookie?" Simon muses.

"God, I hope not."

The android greets you and Simon with a polite nod. As it turns to you, you pause. Half of its jaw hangs off of its hinges. Shot off, if you had to guess by the subtle melting of the plastic around the damage. Whoever is inside is armed, though not well. Any well-respected gun is a dual-chamber, one holding specialized ammunition for androids, and the other holding normal rounds. While the android-specific ammunition can kill humans, the far-cheaper ammunition for humans can only partially damage androids. The android must have been shot with normal rounds if it was damaged so little.

It's a household unit, that much you can tell by its plain uniform. It's one of the more popular models, male in appearance with a young, pleasant face and bright blue eyes to compliment its dark, perfectly combed hair. At least, its hair is normally perfect. Its synthetic style is currently reduced to a wet mop, not that the android minds.

"Good evening, officers," the android greets. "I presume you're the specialists I am meant to speak with."

"We are," you nod to the open door of the house, just a few feet away. "What's going on?"

"At approximately 1900, Mr. Sterling locked himself, his wife, and son in the furnace room, located in the basement of the house. He has stated his intent to harm."

"He's the one that shot you?"

The android nods, "He has a pistol, I could provide the make, model, and year manufactured if—"

"No need," you turn to Simon, "Go tell them he's got a kid in there." Simon nods and heads back to where the officers have crowded around the holotape. "Has he listed conditions?"

"I am unaware of any."

"Any reason why he'd do this? Drugs?"

"Mr. Sterling does not partake in prohibited substances."

"Nothing?"

"As I said—"

"No coke, alcohol, blink?"

Androids don't take offense. They can't. It's not within their programming to feel anything that isn't the cold indifference of their code. However, as the android before you cocks its head, you think you've finally cracked the code on how to piss one off. "As I said, Mr. Sterling doesn't partake in prohibited substances."

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder. You don't flinch. "Price and the others are delayed. Heavy traffic."

"Can't they fly?"

The android responds before Simon can. "London traffic regulations prohibits motor air travel if rain conditions surpass 3.8 millimeters per hour, and—" The android pauses, its head tilting as it calculates, "We are currently experiencing rain of 4.7 millimeters per hour."

"Thanks, genius." You sigh. "We have all we need from you. You're dismissed. Sergeant Garrick is going to download your data once he gets here."

The android nods. It knows what you actually mean– that it'll be checked for cracks. That's Kyle Garrick's specialty— programming. Every case, he checks the involved androids' coding for possible cracks. Ideally, he would be here checking the android before you and Simon head in. Though, as the android walks away, its face blanking as it enters idling mode, you fear that's not possible.

You turn back to Simon. He's a mess, hair matted to his face and water clumping his eyelashes together. You can't imagine you look much better. Over his shoulder, you see the expectant eyes of overeager officers.

"We can't wait for them." You pull your watch to your mouth and utter into it, "Price."

After a moment, the watch crackles and from it emits a deep voice, "Go for Price."

"It's a hostage situation. Sterling's armed and with his wife and son. No clear motive. Possibly a mental crisis. Permission to proceed?"

There's silence on the other line. Then: "With caution, lieutenant."

"Copy that." With a hand on the watch, you end the call.

The townhouse looks like any other. While it's unfamiliar to the average London resident living in the residential high-rises, work has granted you the privilege to glimpse into the past. Few residential districts of London were able to be preserved over the last century. While London's climate-adaptation efforts were hailed by the rest of the world, the city is a shadow of the images painted of it in history books. Only the buildings deemed most culturally significant were saved from rising sea levels, with the rest being built over and forgotten by the masses. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling must pull in some major cash to afford a home in a coveted intact neighborhood.

Inside is even more impressive. The Sterlings' home has a warmth to it you long to find in your own flat. Christ, you take a deep breath through your nose. The air even smells like freshly baked bread. You could get used to a place like this. Unfortunately, there's a job to do.

Sweeping the floor turns out to be useless. All that's found are signs of a loving home, albeit a neat home. The android already said that the Sterlings were in the basement. Still, something tells you to sweep this place closely.

"There's nothing," Simon says, as though he's reading your thoughts. He places a picture of the family back on the bookshelf across the far wall.

"I know," you say. "Doesn't feel right, though. I mean… Sterling just snaps?"

Simon shrugs, head tilting towards the basement door, closed and begging to be explored. "We could ask him ourselves."

You take one last, long look at the living space. It disturbs you, thinking about how quickly Sterling was throwing his life away. What had happened? You reach for the doorknob, eyes still scanning the room, when fingers dig into the flesh of your wrist.

Simon juts his chin to the doorknob, mere millimeters from your fingertips. "Look," he utters.

On the doorknob is a smudge of pink, recognizable in an instant to any Londoner. "Blink," you sigh. "The 'droid said Sterling was clean."

Simon lets go with a shrug. He runs his fingers through the powder. It's stark against his alabaster skin. "New development, maybe. Did it mention any possible stressors? Lay-offs? Affairs?"

You shake you head. "Doesn't matter. Now we have an unstable perp."

Blink perps are always the most difficult to work with, often disoriented and confused. While blink provides users a feeling of euphoria, it comes at the cost of temporary short-term memory loss. In high energy clubs, it's a godsend. Partiers love the euphoria and the temporary ability to not have to worry about life. Out of the club though, it's a headache for you. Blink perps are more stressed, which leads to instability, which leads to violence. If Sterling was using blink for the first time, there's not telling what he'll do.

Not much is visible in the basement, but you peek a strip of light poking out from under what looks like a door. You glance at Simon over your shoulder. He nods and follows you down the stairs, steps as light as possible. From behind, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, then the click of metal. You pull out your own gun.

Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. You reach for the doorknob, but before your fingers brush the cool metal, a harsh voice calls from the other side: "Don't bother! It's locked."

Simon is staring at you, head cocked to the side. You lift a finger up from your gun. I got this.

"Mr. Sterling, is everything alright? Your android is worried. It sent me to check up on you."

In the moment it takes for him to answer, a sniffle fills the air. A sense of relief washes over you. It seems he hasn't harmed his family just yet. Who knows for how long though.

"Can you unlock the door?"

More silence, then: "Why?"

"I want to help you," you smile, hoping that it makes you at least sound cheery. The truth is, your heart is beating faster than you'd like to admit. "I can't do that with the door closed."

Sterling goes quiet. You count the seconds. One… two… three… ten… twenty. Simon sighs, "We can't wait."

Your head snaps to Simon as you plaster a hand to his face. Simon looks confused for a moment, before his eyes also widen. As he stiffens, your hand remains pressed against his mouth, stubble ticking the sensitive skin of your palm. All you can do is pray that Sterling didn't hear Simon, or that if he did, he's too high to realize that he's outnumbered.

"You're not alone." Harsh. Accusatory. Aggressive. Well, shit. Your heart pounds in your chest. "You didn't say you weren't alone."

The door against your cheek thuds. Simon pulls your hand away. You jump back and cringe as behind the door, the sound of feet pacing across the floor becomes evident.

"Mr. Sterling," you keep your tone light, "I need you to stay calm."

"Calm? I'm calm! I'm very, very calm." The pacing picks up.

Simon leans into you. His breath fans across the skin of your neck, "What are we doing here?" He speaks softly, like he hadn't already compromised the safety of those hostages.

"Mr. Sterling, could— could I come in?" More silence. You place your gun in Simon's hand. He's looking at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm unarmed. My partner's gonna stay out here. I just want to talk."

Blood rushes in your ears, making it near-impossible to hear through the door. Nothing. Though, you suppose that's better than the pacing. It means Sterling's thinking, which means he's not hurting anyone.

You count again. One… two… three… four…

"O-okay." Bingo. "But just you! And no gun!"

"Just me. And no gun," you repeat. "I'm right outside the door. Could you let me in?"

"Where's the other guy?"

You glance at Simon, just a few feet back and scowling like a petulant child. Unfortunately for him, you're just as stubborn and you outrank him. He has no choice but to retreat to the stairs at the far end of the room, but not before taking your gun off of your hands. You nod at Simon once more in reassurance. His finger twitches on the grip of your pistol, though he makes no move to stop you.

"He's at the other end of the room, Mr. Sterling."

Silence. Only the sounds of your breathing and the shuffle of Simon's clothes as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then—

They're tucked into the corner of the room— mother and son huddled as close as humanly possible. Their sniffles are clearer now that the door's open, now that you're inside.

Sterling is the perfect image of a loving husband and father. Well-dressed, unassuming, and spectacled. You wouldn't look twice if you saw him on the street. Except, behind his glasses are eyes as wild as a caged animal.

"Hi, there," you smile at him despite the gun pointed square at your chest. Even with your bulletproof vest, a shot this close would not be pretty.

"You're a cop," Sterling accuses, his tone sharp, more angry than afraid.

"I work with androids," a truth by omission. "Yours called us to make sure that you were okay."

Multiple sets of footsteps thud through the door. The rest of the 141, you assume, confirmed by the familiar sets of voices that follow.

"What the hell is that?"

Sterling jabs his gun in your direction. From the corner of the room, his wife whimpers, "Oh God."

A mistake. The gun goes from you to her. Your eyes follow the direction of his aim, and fuck. Mrs. Sterling is draping herself over her son, her body trembling as she stares down the barrel of her husband's gun. The sight makes you queasy, but you suppress the feeling. There's no time for that.

"Honey," she pleads, "Put the—"

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Sterling takes a step in their direction. You follow frantically, and the gun bounces to you for a moment, but goes right back to Mrs. Sterling. "I need to—"

There's a commotion outside, louder voices. Price and Simon arguing. Their voices grow in volume until they're right against the door. Someone pounds on the door. Sterling glares at you.

"I thought your friend was gonna stay back," Sterling spits. "You lied."

You shake your head instinctively, "No, I never lied to—"

He lunges at you. Something hard slams against your temple, and the world goes black.

*****

Time is a fickle thing. Even more fickle when you've had consciousness ripped away from you. It feels like you've been laying on the ground for eons. Consciousness comes back to you in parts. First comes the recognition that you're alive— awake. Then the remembrance that you were knocked out. Finally your senses.

The shock of the cold floor is the first thing you notice. Then the painthat comes from being pistol whipped. Then the silence— that's what prompts your movement. It's tough. Your limbs don't want to listen to you, and when you try to push yourself up, your hands slip on something slick.

A deep voice curses, then softly calls your name. You pay no mind to it though, as you slowly manage to push yourself up to sitting. It takes a great deal of effort, and your head pounds the whole way up, but you manage. And—

"Oh shit." You mutter. The words tumble clumsily over your lazy tongue. Your sluggishness is as syrupy as the pool of blood that you sit in, coating your hands, your arms, torso, and— fuck —even the side of your face.

Someone calls your voice again. John Price, you dully realize as he appears in the corner of your vision.

"Whose…" you start, "Whose— oh."

It's funny how the body can process things before the mind. It's a primal instinct from the days where the two-legged beings we call humans were more beast than civil. They're helpful, necessary even. A child's cry. Fear of snakes. Fight-or-flight. Act first, then think. What that means for you, in this damp and cold basement, is that vomit, angrily acidic, bubbles up and out onto the floor before you can even process that there are not one, not two, but three motionless bodies before you, oozing blood into the very puddle which you are resting in.

Mr. Sterling— or what's left of him —is closest to you. His eyes are still open, glassy in the way that fresh corpses are, when you could easily mistake them for alive. There's no mistaking Sterling though, not with the bullet hole smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

You quickly fix your eyes back on the floor. A mistake. It's not just blood anymore, but a sickening combination of blood and half-digested mush.

"I—uhm… gonna…" You gag. For an awful moment, it seems as though you're going to vomit again. "…outside." You gasp finally.

John says your name again, softer. He places his hands on your back, keeping you planted on the ground. The ground covered in blood. The blood of Mr. Sterling, and his wife and son who he—

John tilts your head with a soft hand on your chin. You're looking at him now. His face is soft, so soft. You never thought he could look so demure. It does little to ease the ache in your chest. "Come help," he says to someone you can't see. John stands you up and moves you to another set of hands.

Simon. You recognize him by touch alone, soft, but undercut by the natural brutishness that a man like him could never escape.

He leads you up the stairs and back into the main floor of the house where a baker's dozen cops are searching. They freeze at the sound of the door creaking open. They do little to conceal their shock. While you can't see yourself, you don't exactly blame them. The right half of your face itches where the Sterlings' blood has tried into a tacky sludge. The rest of your body isn't fairing much better, blood and bile cover more of you than not.

You stop at the top of the stairs, eyes moving lazily from one officer to the next. As your eyes leave each one, it's like a spell breaks, and they go right back to whatever work they were doing, or they at least pretendto. You envy their nonchalance as much as you hate it.

The rookie's there too, the last one whose eyes you lock, but unlike the others you hold her gaze. Her mouth hangs wide open, and the evidence bag in her hand is entirely forgotten as she stares at you like some sort of sideshow attraction.

"So," you say. Her eyes widen. "You still want my advice?"

Simon pulls you away before she could stutter out an answer. "Come on," he coos, "Let's get some air, yeah?"

The air in question is cold, wet, and altogether not very pleasing. Simon sits you on the front steps of the house, on the side so officers can mill in and out as they please. He lowers himself down next to you, gently putting an arm around your shoulders. The half-hug is nice. Simon traces gentle circles on your shoulder. The feel of his fingertips is muddled by the many layers you don to keep warm, though it still soothes. You could easily lose yourself, but the stench of blood keeps you grounded. Keeps your heart aching and the tears flowing.

A gentle ding, pulls you to focus. Instead, Simon shuffles next to you. "Commissioner," he grumbles, holding his watch to his mouth.

"Price says you can answer—"

"One moment, sir," Simon covers the watch and gives you an apologetic look. "I'll be inside. Get me if… you know."

Without Simon, there's nothing to ward away your thoughts— your memories of what just occurred. That damp basement. The family in the corner. Of waking up in a pool of blood— their blood, still coating your entire body, soaking your clothes and skin and bones.

You vomit again, on the well-trimmed but muddy lawn of the Sterlings.

Between heaves, the sound of squelching footsteps approaches. "Lieutenant," a monotonous voice says. Great. The last think you want to deal with is the 'droid. "Do you need assistance?"

"No," you spit.

"Are you certain? I can provide medications to relieve any nausea. Or perhaps a sedative for emotional distress."

Distress. You tilt your head up to look at the android. It's squatting in front of you, perfectly stable on the uneven ground. The android's face is just as calm and cool as it had been earlier. It must know what happened, everyone knows. But it's an android. It doesn't— can't be affected by grief in the same way. It simply compartmentalizes it. The android's brain— processor —just takes whatever horrors it sees and converts it to ones and zeroes, letting it sit and rot in its memory unit until the android inevitably ends up in the landfill or nicked by some Old London junker.

You can't say you don't envy it. What would it be like to not have to feel? To care?

"Go away," you say. The android doesn't move. "I said go away!"

You throw a punch at the android. A proper right hook to its impervious face. It feels nice, a rewarding thing to do because it forces the damn thing to acknowledge that something is wrong.

Then it feels bad, quite bad. Painful, actually, as your fist slams against the hard plastic casing of the android and the layers of metal mechanisms underneath. During their career, the 141 has often mocked the many poor suckers who believed themselves strong enough to go toe-to-toe with an android. They don't understand how the machines work, how they're built.

Something fractures in your hand. Something important, no doubt, but that's a problem for later, because what you need right now is to curl up on the Sterling's wet lawn and scream. The latter you actually do, releasing a cry so carnal it makes your head spin.

The android doesn't ask if you need any more assistance. It observes you silently for a moment, unable to understand your pain, oblivious to the curse it is to feel. Finally, as though it stored all the data it needs from your outburst, the android nods cordially. "If you need assistance, lieutenant, do not hesitate to ask."

Its white shoes sink into the muddy lawn with each step, but the android moves as though its just any normal London street. Each step stains the canvas material more and more. Watching, you wonder just how long it'll take for the stains to come out.

[jazzy96scorpio]

Hii could you please write something? Pedro x reader.

The reader is an actress just like him, they've been dating for a while, while there have been rumors about their relationship, they haven't made it public (yet), both of them want privacy. Some fans spot them sharing a kiss, going to do the groceries, dinner dates together (anything you want).

One day while the reader is doing an Instagram live cooking with her followers Pedro comes in and he's all touchy and goofy while she's all shy. Like when they're not right in front of the phone peeps see their reflection on something kissing

Caught on Camera

You were an actress, not exactly so famous, but you were working. Then you met Pedro on a movie set, and BAM! Instant connection. You guys fell hard, like, really hard, and fast. But you also decided pretty early on to keep things quiet. You both really valued having some privacy and wanted to let your relationship grow without everyone watching.

Of course, being in the public eye meant you weren't completely off the radar. Fans are like detectives, seriously! You'd get spotted grabbing groceries together, or out for dinner, even just sharing a car ride. A quick hug here, a laugh there – little moments that ended up as blurry pics online. The rumors started flying.

Were you two together? Everyone had an opinion. But you played it cool. Never confirmed, never denied. Your relationship was yours, and you were going to protect it.

Until one day.

You were in your kitchen, mid-Instagram live cooking session. Flour dusts your apron, and you're smiling warmly at the comments scrolling by.

You: "Hey everyone, welcome back to my little kitchen! For those of you who are new here, I'm [Y/N], and I love sharing my favorite recipes with you all. Tonight, we're making a delicious and easy pasta dish – perfect for a weeknight meal. So, let's get started! First, we need..."

Suddenly, the kitchen door swings open and Pedro walks in, grinning. He's carrying a bouquet of red roses.

Pedro: "Surprise!"

Your eyes widen, your cheeks flushing a delicate pink. You stammer slightly, then quickly whisper his name under your breath so the live audience doesn't catch it.

You: (Whispering) "Pedro! I'm going live on Instagram! Be quiet!"

Pedro: (Whispering back, but loud enough for the microphone to pick up a little)

"I missed you so much! And I'm starving!"

You give him a playful nudge, trying to hide your amusement from the camera.

You: (To the live audience, a little flustered) "Oh, uh, it seems I have a visitor. I apologize."

Then you walked closer to Pedro, hiding you two from the camera view.

(To Pedro, in a lower voice) "What are you doing here? I thought you were on set until tomorrow."

He leaned closer and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, careful not to smudge any makeup.

"Couldn't stay away. Missed my favorite chef. And these," He gestures to the roses, "are for the most beautiful woman I know."

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently closer. You lean into him, a shy smile playing on your lips.

You: "You're going to make me blush on live stream."

Pedro: (Nuzzling your hair) "Is that so bad? I think you look adorable when you blush."

He playfully starts tasting the sauce you've been working on.

Pedro: "Mmm, it's amazing. Maybe I should stick around and be your sous chef."

Unaware to you both, the camera is catching more than you realize. A reflection in the stainless steel backsplash shows you sharing a quick, passionate kiss. The live chat explodes.

💬OMG! Did you guys see that?!

💬WE GOT YOU!

💬Finally! They're so cute!

💬#PedroAnd[Y/N]Confirmed

You, still flustered, glance at your phone. The comments are flying by a mile a minute.

You started laughing nervously.

"Okay, okay, you caught us. Hi everyone! Yes, this is Pedro. And yes," You take his hand, intertwining your fingers "we're together."

Pedro: (Smiling warmly at you) "We wanted to keep things private for a while, but… I guess the cat's out of the bag now."

You: "We appreciate all the love and support. And thank you for respecting our privacy until now. Now, back to this pasta…"

The live chat continues to buzz with excitement, filled with congratulatory messages and heart emojis.

Thank you for your request 💜

I hope so you are gonna like it. I apologize if it's too short 🫣

[crushoncaleb]

Be my valentine

Rafayel x reader

Fluff

1.4k words

You try to ask Rafayel to be your valentine. The keyword is try.

A/N. First time I have written something for a holiday or event and actually managed to post it in time! Basically, I couldn't sleep, and Rafayel possessed me. Hope y'all enjoy!

Is this...rejection?

You'd spent some time planning it, even bribed Thomas to get Rafayel the day off. But when you and Rafayel arrived at your usual spot at the beach. He didn't seem to take note of the seagulls at all.

The seagulls you had somehow managed to train into landing in the right order so the letters you stuck to them would ask him to be your valentine. Now, you'd be the first to admit, the whole plan was a little crazy, but with your and Rafayel's history and connection to the seagulls choir, you'd thought it would be cute.

If it had been any more subtle, you might've believed he genuinely missed it. But it's quite hard to believe someone like Rafayel would not see the literal seagull choir the two of you were here to visit. So naturally, you had to assume he was letting you down easy.

Even being let down easy hurt. It completely blindsided you. You were absolutely certain something had been brewing between you and the artist. Hell, last time you'd spent time with him after wearing new perfume, he'd spent about an hour shoving his face against you to breathe you in. You were SO certain that crossed the line of platonic.

You start questioning if perhaps you'd been reading social interactions wrong your entire life, as next to you, Rafayel starts getting antsy.

"Cutie, as much as the sky is beautiful today and I would love to spend time staring at it with you, we should go get lunch now. Thomas' endless texting has tired me out, and I'm huungry. " He speaks, his tone light and whiney as always, and for a second, you consider him world's greatest actor.

You decide that what you felt for Rafayel combined with the effort you'd put into this plan was worth the risk of heartbreak, so in a final effort to get him to acknowledge you, you speak up.

"Don't you want to see your trusty choir first? They're right there behind you. I'm sure they've missed their conductor." You're not sure if you manage to keep your tone quite as light and playful as intended, desperation tinging the edges of your words, but you've spoken them, now he HAS to respond.

A pause, anticipation clogs your veins, and you practically feel your blood pressure rising. "...there's a boat ride with a buffet that might be nice today, since the weather is so nice and all."

Your eyebrows raise, the casual tone of his voice so steady that you almost start questioning if you even did bring it up at all. But the quick look he takes at you and the way he turns away tells you he is definitely doing this on purpose.

It was truly rejection then, your stomach twists and a buffet and a boat ride with Rafayel suddenly sound daunting. You could get over rejection, but maybe not within 10 minutes.

"Hmm, that sounds nice but I'm actually starting to feel a little off," you muse on your excuse "I think I might head home a little earlier than planned today, Rafayel, rain check?"

He turns to face you now, slowly. Eyes wide and brows furrowed, expression reminiscent of that time you gave him a single apple when he checked himself into the hospital. A mix between shock, offense, and a silent command to change your mind.

He grabs your wrist and starts pulling you along. His expression changes in a heartbeat, and it's like you never said anything.

"They apparently have like a super long waiting list, but I got in pretty easily. Guess being well known does have its perks after all, huh?" He keeps talking in that same casual tone of his, which is starting to frustrate you to no end.

"Rafayel, I get that a rain check for the boat might not be easy if it's like that, but I really need to go home." You plead, trying to pull yourself out of his grip but he just turns to you, gives you that same expression that you're convinced only Rafayel can make properly, and then keeps going like you never opened your mouth.

You're baffled at his behavior, and by the time you recover, the two of you are making your way onto the boat.

"Now, I'm going to need you to stop looking so surprised, cutie." He reaches out to gently smooth his fingers over the muscles of your brows, which you will admit are a little tense from how you've had them raised the entire way here. "I need you looking as cute as you always do for the pictures we're gonna take here."

It was one thing to completely ignore what was practically a confession, another to blatantly ignore your request to go home, but the audacity to tell you to not be surprised at his antics? That was too far.

He tries to pull you along again, but you hold steady. He shoots you a questioning look. As if you're the one acting out of the ordinary.

"Rafayel, I want to go home," and you're proud of yourself for standing on business, convinced there is no way for him to just ignore that. In your defense, he doesn't.

Instead, he huffs, his gorgeous features taking on that oh so familiar, annoyed expression. His response is a short "no, you don't" before he takes a step closer to you, only to link your arms and pull you along with the new leverage that gives him.

Then, before you know it, you're standing at the front of the boat as it slides through the water. With no way home except a very prolonged dive.

Rafayel entertains you, and the entire situation had been confusing enough to distract you from his blatant rejection, but now that his weird behavior seems to be settling, reality starts creeping in. You're stuck with him now, so you'll have to keep yourself together until you manage to get off this boat. How vexing.

His first cough doesn't shake you out of the deep thoughts you're in and neither does the second so, Rafayel resorts to nudging you with his elbow when a red fish surfaces with a bottle in its mouth.

You look at him, but he pointedly looks away, like he didn't just practically poke your ribs out. When you lean towards the railing, the fish jumps, and the bottle flies towards you.

You're not actually in the mood to catch it, but your hunter instincts kick in, and in the blink of an eye, the intricate glass bottle is in your hands. You can see a note neatly curled up and tied with a bow, resting inside it.

"Wow, cutie, those are some reflexes." Rafayel feigns being impressed and then presses on. "You should open it. You won the bottle's secrets fair and square once you saved its life."

You narrow your eyes at him. This could not possibly have been more obviously set up by him. Though you will say, his sheer determination to have things go his way is admirable.

You comply, already knowing the only other option was to face his huffing and puffing before then having to comply after all.

The cork takes more effort to open than you'd like, and Rafayel smiles fondly at the slight flush that rises on your face in result. Once you unroll the note, though, your eyes widen.

There, in Rafayel's eclectic handwriting are the very words you'd strung up on your seagulls.

A beat passes, and Rafayel looks at you expectantly. A cute expression on his face, and for a second, you are torn between accepting just to keep him looking like that and raining down righteous retribution on him.

You decide you'd do both. "Rafayel, of course I'll be your valentine, but did you really ha-" his lips halt yours before you could complain at all and you feel said complaints melting away.

The kiss is sweet, Rafayel brings you into his arms as he starts to deepen it, you'd always suspected he'd be a needy kisser, but he pulls away before he gets carried away.

"Sorry, cutie. Couldn't have you interfering with my plans though, you have no idea how long I've waited to make this move." His voice sounds breathy, and his eyes don't leave your lips. His words are so sweet you could almost ignore how he's pretending this was your fault. Almost.

Yet, you'll let it slide. Because as he leans in for another kiss, you just can't find it in yourself to be upset with him.

[cantfightmoonlight]

"I mean rich people's are," She countered. "Your mom sounds like a smart lady, but I also think you get it off your chest? People might not like it, but the second you say it, it's out there. Your words no longer belong to just you anymore and, in a way, that's kinda freeing? You're not bound to them and they aren't weighing as much on you when they're out there," She reasoned. "But, thank you. I think I think so too."

"Why?" She blinked over at him genuinely curious. "I mean I get wanting to help kids, totally. It wasn't easy growing up out there either, being what I was and not knowing what I was, so I'm glad someone is helping the kids here. But, why do you volunteer so much? It's great. But, it does seem like a lot," She observed. "I should hope so! It's wasn't exactly cheap to get and am I?" She smiled up at him at that, having not thought of herself as funny before, though she liked it. It was a good compliment and she wouldn't mind hearing more about how funny she was. "I'm pretty sure I can see both sides though," She tilted her head to side to side to get a good look at both sides of his face before she added, "They've very symmetrical. Have you considered modeling before? And it's a plan," She beamed over at him. Though, her face did fall a tad when he told her he could tell him about it. "I don't really know where to begin? I guess I could say I might be a tiny bit in danger, but sh! Don't tell anybody," She held her finger up to her lips as she drunkenly stumbled a tad to the right. "It would be? I mean you would be? But, you barely know me yet?"

"Why'd you name him Badger? She's a Bernese mountain dog and also a rescue. I wasn't actually planning on adopting her? It's sort of a funny story. But, Paws and Claws was holding an adoption event on the Green and she escaped and sort of found me. Though, me too! Especially kebabs, but also burgers and fries. Have you been to Tatli yet? We have a whole bunch of finger food you can pick up from the window after dark. Are you? You really are the joiner, huh?"

"It kinda was as a therapist and all. That and I'm pretty sure I made things a whole lot worse for people rather than better with the whole retreat," Her face drooped even more at the thought. "Why didn't you? I think you'd make a good wrestler. Oh. Really? It sounds sort of fun to me, but what do I know? And you're on," Her face lit up once more, having feeling she'd have a lot of a fun at the gym with him. "Probably not, but you could try it. Though, I make no promises that I wouldn't make fun of you a little bit if you wear one of those white spandex suits."

Efe smiled. "Hey, that's fair. If it helped you, that's a good thing. But I lived in a big city for ten years. Nobody's apartment's that nice," he joked. "I think some people do try to be. Just want a rise or whatever. Hell. My mom used to tell me if you don't have something nice to say, don't say it. I don't have to sugarcoat if I just keep it to myself, I guess. What if you flipped that, though? What do you have to gain by telling it? I had to teach myself to think that way. To tell people what you want them to know so something good might come out of it. We can't afford to leave things unsaid anymore around here. S'why honesty is admirable, I think." He was rambling a little bit, buzzed, but he hoped he was making some kind of sense.

Efe laughed at that, throwing back his head. "Yeah. Yeah. I volunteer everywhere. It's why I have so many charity 5K t-shirts. But I help teens with their homework. There's this mentorship program that leans toward humans. It can be tough growing up here. Not feeling...special. I read to the little kids sometimes too. Whatever I can." He shook his head. "I mean, you have a damn cute nose, but it's not just the nose. You're also nice. And funny," he hummed. "And that's just one side of me. But yeah. Yeah. Right! I'll text you. Tomorrow. We can...we can plan it." He gave a sharp nod. "Well, you can tell me whatever you want to tell me about it. But it'd be sad if you left." He shrugged.

Efe smiled, giving a low chuckle. "Badger likes to play. He doesn't really get that fetch requires letting go of the ball, though. What breed is she? Badger's a little bit of everything. He's a rescue." He nodded along. "Uh huh. Uh huh. See, table manners are something different. I eat with my hands all the time," he joked. "But sure. Jonah's a cool guy. We're in the Coalition together."

Efe caught the way her face changed, and he allowed his own features to soften to match. "Oh. Well, it's not your fault nobody in this town wants to go to it. Therapy, I mean. Besides, everyone's good at something. And that doesn't have to be what you do for a living. I thought I was going to be a professional wrestler." He sighed, giving a shrug. "I mean, it was less of that and more of this...competitive thing. They knew each other as kids, so they were always trying to one-up each other. I found it sort of exhausting, to be honest." He sniffed. "Hey! Gym date!" He grinned before half-singing a little more. "Last Dance, last chance for....Yeah, I won that talent show, and now everyone wants to be my talent agent. I don't think disco's my genre, do you?"

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader there's no smut in this one just a sliiiight mention of it, this is just drama and angst because this chapter will tell a lot about their future relationship! contains mentions of anxiety too.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[5.5k words ]♡― i can't believe that so many people like gameboy, like, that's crazy! thanks for everyone's support. to those who ask to be added to the taglist, it warms my heart. if you want to talk about the story or anything else, i'm open to questions and conversation! don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two] ♡ [part three]

You're scared of heights, that's vertigo You wanted lights, go see a show You ran away, that's touch and go You're scared of love, well, aren't we all?

What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into two days, then three, then four. Before you even realized it, seeing him had become part of your routine, like breathing—natural, inevitable, and far too easy to justify.

Today, though, your mind was anywhere but on him. Mrs. Baek had scheduled a meeting, nothing more, nothing less. You and Hyunjin were goofing around, hands clasped as you twirled like a chaotic, offbeat version of Jack and Rose at a third-rate ballroom. Seungmin doubled over laughing, because of course he did. That was just your dynamic—ridiculous by nature, friends for life.

Then, everything stopped. A chorus of surprised gasps cut through the room, followed by an eruption of chatter that made your spinning halt. Confused, you glanced around, searching for the source of the commotion—until you saw her. Mrs. Baek stood at the front, and next to her…

No. Absolutely not.

Your stomach flipped as your eyes landed on him. Standing there with his head tilted slightly downward, one hand gripping the opposite arm—ridiculously muscular, by the way—Bangchan looked unfairly good in a black T-shirt that was doing the bare minimum to cover anything.

Your gaze flickered to Hyunjin, then to Seungmin, silently demanding an explanation, but before either of them could speak, Mrs. Baek’s voice cut through the haze of your disbelief.

“…which is why we now have a new student to take care of the sound design. Welcome, Bangchan.”

And then—anger.

The girls whispered like they’d just witnessed the famous idol in the world. Bangchan basked in the attention, grinning at them, then at the guys. And then, of course, his eyes found you. One brow lifted, pure challenge.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Sound design? Since when?” you weren’t really expecting an answer, but Hyunjin, ever the dependable sidekick, squeezed your shoulder and offered a half-smile.

“It’s kinda his and Jisung’s thing,” he said, arms crossed as he observed Bangchan effortlessly charm his way through the group. “Jisung’s drowning in work this semester, so I guess that’s why.”

Oh, how nice. How convenient. You couldn’t care less. It was one thing sneaking around with him in secret. It was another for him to invade your space. Your special space. And worse—acting like he belonged there.

As soon as the group began to break apart, you made your exit, feet moving fast. The last thing you needed was—

“Running away already?”

You stopped dead, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Spinning on your heel, you found Bangchan standing there, arms crossed, smirking like he had all the time in the world.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you shot back.

“Ouch.” he clutched his chest, faking a wince. “You look angry.”

“Oh, do I?” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “That’s because I am.”

Lucky for him, the corridor was empty—just the theater crew lingering in the distance.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you demanded.

“Gonna need you to be more specific.”

You inhaled sharply. “Seriously? Sound design? You don’t even like theater.”

He took a step closer, brows furrowing.

“How would you know? We’re not friends.” the way he said it was off—something about his tone made your stomach twist. But you ignored it. “And if you actually bothered to find out, you’d know that, shockingly, I do this for real.”

You hated being proven wrong. But you especially hated being proven wrong by Bangchan.

“Look,” you sighed, arms crossing. “I don’t know what your game is, okay? But just… don’t mess things up. I like them the way they are.”

Bangchan nodded, slow and deliberate. But something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable. His stomach clenched, and he didn’t like the reason why. Because the way you said it, like having him here without sex was some kind of inconvenience, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” his voice dropped an octave, sharp and cold. He met your gaze head-on, not an ounce of warmth left. “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

And just like a punch to the gut left hanging in the air, he was gone. No rush, no glance back—just the weight of his words lingering between you.

Things were a mess, and you needed to get a grip. Studying, focusing—doing something that wasn’t theater or… well, him. The last few days had blurred together, your attention split in ways you weren’t used to. And you hated it.

The library was too quiet, the kind of silence that crawled under your skin. Three art history books sat open in front of you, mocking your lack of focus. It was ridiculous. How the hell had you let some guy scramble your brain like this? That wasn’t you. It had never been you.

Frustration boiled over, and before you knew it, you snapped one of the books shut, the sharp thud cutting through the silence.

“Jesus. What did the book ever do to you?”

The voice came from behind you, smooth and amused. You barely looked up before Mingyu’s face came into view. It hit you then—how distracted you’d been at the fundraiser. Otherwise, you definitely would have noticed him before. That annoyingly charming, white-knight smile. Tanned skin. Muscles for days.

He grinned, leaning over your table, arms flexing just enough to be intentional.

“Sorry. My head's a mess.”

Mingyu nodded, taking in your exasperated, borderline fried expression. “Yeah, you look like it,” he said with a knowing half-smile, sliding into the empty chair across from you like he belonged there. No permission needed.

You sighed, gesturing vaguely at the books. “Just trying to focus.”

His smirk deepened. “Right. Because nothing says laser focus like slamming a textbook shut like it just insulted your mother.”

You huffed, but the corner of your mouth twitched.

“Well, since you’re clearly on the verge of a breakdown, I have an idea.” He leaned back, stretching in a way that was both casual and strategic. “A coffee. On me.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but your phone vibrated against the table, barely visible beneath the stack of books. A quick glance at the screen. One new message.

Bangchan: my dorm. 30 min.

Your pulse jumped. Short. Direct. No room for misinterpretation.

“Everything okay?” Mingyu’s voice pulled you back, his eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah, yeah.” you laughed, maybe too lightly. “Just… distracted. Coffee sounds good.”

His grin widened. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

“Just let me put this back…” you grabbed one of the books, heading for the shelf when your phone buzzed again.

Bangchan: ignoring me?

You exhaled, fingers hovering over the screen.

You: I can't. I have plans.

A pause. Then—

Bangchan: ok.

You pressed your forehead against the bookshelf, inhaling deeply, willing away the strange tightness in your stomach. It was ridiculous. It was just a text.

When you returned, Mingyu was still at the table, casually texting someone. He looked up as you approached, grinning. “Everything good?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, forcing a smile.

He was nice enough to grab your bag and help carry your notebooks, the easy charm of someone who had probably been effortlessly handsome his whole life. The café wasn’t far—just a short walk from campus—but the crowd made it feel like the busiest spot in town.

Mingyu picked a table near the entrance, the air thick with the smell of espresso and fresh pastries. Strawberry sponge cake. Cinnamon rolls. Chocolate mousse cupcakes. The kind of place that made you want to abandon all responsibilities and drown yourself in sugar.

And yet, as you sat down, all you could think about was the ok.

Mingyu ordered coffee for you both but went the extra mile, adding a slice of strawberry shortcake to share.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” you smiled, wrapping your hands around your cup, already feeling the caffeine seep into your system like a lifeline.

He shrugged. “I wanted to. You looked like you needed something sweet.”

You caught the double meaning but let it slide. He was being nice, and you weren’t in the mood to overanalyze. “Right. So… football?” Smooth. Real smooth.

Mingyu didn’t seem to mind. “Going well. We’re set for the next game, and if we keep this up, the next university sponsorship should be ours.”

“That’s great, Mingyu.”

“Yeah, but I heard drama class was saved. Good news, huh?”

“Great news. We’ve got enough for now.” you took a bite of cake, letting the sugar melt on your tongue. Mingyu watched you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’m happy for you. Getting the basketball team to sell brownies half-naked must’ve been a real passion project.”

You laughed. “It was, but that wasn’t me. That was Bangchan.”

It felt strange, saying his name out loud. Different when he wasn’t there.

Mingyu frowned, arms crossing over the table.

“Bangchan did that?” his brows knitted together, skepticism lacing his tone.

You shrugged, taking another bite of cake. “That’s what I heard. Why? You guys friends?” the idea alone made your stomach twist in an oddly unpleasant way.

“No. Not even close.” he laughed, shaking his head as if the thought was ridiculous. “Just curious.”

“Well, instead of wasting brain cells on him, you should try this.” you pushed the plate slightly toward him. “It’s actually amazing.”

Mingyu picked up a fork, took a bite, and let out an appreciative groan. You grinned, clapping your hands as if you had just won a bet, then promptly stole another piece for yourself.

Being with him was easy—effortless, even. A surprising friendship you hadn't expected but didn’t mind one bit.

Back at the dorm, Eunji and Sohee were curled up on the couch, sharing a bucket of popcorn while a movie played on the laptop. Your casual entrance was met with two pairs of curious eyes locking onto you like detectives sniffing out a case.

“Where have you been?” Eunji narrowed her eyes, her fingers pausing mid-popcorn grab.

“Why?” you laughed, kicking off your shoes.

“You’ve been acting weird,” she accused, tilting her head. “Always busy, barely around.”

“Sorry, I... I've just been very busy. The theater is eating me up. And there's the exams...”

Sohee smirked. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

“What?” you instinctively sniffed your shirt, the rich aroma of espresso lingering faintly.

Eunji gasped, scandalized. “You totally went out with someone!”

Sohee just shook her head knowingly, already seeing through you. “Liar.”

“Alright, fine! I got coffee with Mingyu. Happy now?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Sohee’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Mingyu from the soccer team?”

Eunji, on the other hand, nearly leaped off the couch. “Girl, you rocked it! I knew you had game, but Mingyu? That man is fine.”

You groaned, already regretting your life choices. “It wasn’t a thing, okay? We’re friends. We had coffee. That’s it.”

Eunji scoffed, dramatic as ever. “Honey, nothing with Mingyu is just coffee. That man doesn’t do casual.” she clasped her hands together like she was already planning your wedding.

You sighed, exasperated. “Make her stop.” you turned to Sohee, your last hope. 

But Sohee just smirked. “I mean… she’s not wrong.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Oh my God.”

“Look, you’ve been drowning in rehearsals and exams. Maybe this is a good thing,” Sohee added, ever the voice of reason.

A good thing. That uneasy feeling crawled up your spine again.

Because the problem wasn’t Mingyu.

Because you had met someone. Someone who already occupied every corner of your mind. Someone who texted you with demands instead of invitations. Someone who kissed like it was the only language he spoke.

And that someone sure as hell wasn’t Mingyu.

“Alright, I’m done.” you grabbed your things and stood up. “I’m taking a shower. Goodnight.”

Before they could say another word, you ducked into your room, shutting the door behind you.

Now, if only you could shut off your thoughts just as easily.

It was lunchtime, and the table was buzzing with chatter. It had been nearly two days since you’d heard from Bangchan. Odd, right? The silence felt almost intentional. No texts, no glances that said too much.

You were sharing a basket of French fries with Hyunjin when suddenly, that topic came up. Jisung was DJing at another party this weekend, and everyone was planning to go. Of course, Eunji—bless her heart and big mouth—decided now was the time to bring up the perfect subject.

“You should invite Mingyu, now that you’re going out and all.”

You nearly choked on a fry, coughing like you’d just inhaled a cloud of smoke. Hyunjin slapped your back, but you could feel all eyes on you as the table went silent, then turned to look in your direction.

Bangchan, seated across from you, slouched in his chair like he didn’t care. But you knew better. The tension radiating from him was like a ticking time bomb.

“You’re seeing Mingyu?” Hyunjin’s voice dripped with mock disbelief. “How am I your best friend, and this is news to me?”

Great. Just great. The whole table was waiting for an answer, and suddenly, everything felt like it was about to spiral out of control.

“Going out with Mingyu? Really?” Changbin raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “I thought you had better taste, bro.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not dating anyone!” you shot back, finally managing to catch your breath after the shock of the conversation.

“Sure, sure. But you two went out the other day, didn’t you?” Eunji grinned, clearly enjoying every second of it.

You felt it before you saw it: Bangchan’s eyes, burning into the side of your head. His silence wasn’t just a void, it was a warning, sharp and heavy. You should’ve felt guilty—after all, you had brushed him aside for Mingyu.

“But we’re not together,” you quickly clarified, hoping to quell whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes. “And he’s practically at every party anyway. It’s not like he’s not going to show up.”

Eunji wasn’t buying it. “Still should invite him, though.”

Hyunjin tossed an arm around your shoulders, all casual but still sorta protective. “Alright, stop messing with my girl,” he said, voice light but you could tell he wasn’t having it.

You muttered a quick ‘thank you,’ relieved when the focus shifted away from you. Your thoughts drifted as you nibbled on the end of your fry, mind half on your food, half on the tension buzzing at the table. 

Bangchan, though, wasn't as distracted. He sat there, twisting his tongue inside his cheek, fighting off the surge of frustration coiling in his gut. The thought of you with Mingyu? It hit him like a wrecking ball. Not just because you had ditched him for the guy, but Mingyu.

He could hardly keep his anger in check. Only his closest friends knew the history between the two of them—and no one, especially not you, would ever guess how deep that hatred ran.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. Without a word, he stood, breaking the rhythm of the conversation.

“Leaving already?” Changbin asked, raising an eyebrow. Lunch still had half an hour left, but Bangchan didn’t seem to care.

“Yeah, gotta handle something,” he muttered, his voice sharp enough to make everyone shut up for a second.

The group barely noticed his departure. You certainly didn’t. After all, it wasn’t like anything was out of the ordinary. Right?

The days were flying by, and with every one that passed, the auditions loomed closer. The lineup was finally set—each student would perform next Friday, the day before Jisung’s party. No pressure or anything. Your nerves were on high alert, and anxiety was practically gnawing at your bones.

And then there was Bangchan. Or rather, the lack of him. You hadn’t heard a word from him in days. During the rare times you actually sat with the guys for lunch, his seat was just... empty. And you pretended not to care, stealing quick glances and keeping your mouth shut.

Most of your free time was spent holed up in the library, pretending to study, or locked in your room, trying to convince yourself that, yes, you could totally make it through the semester without crumbling under stress. Mingyu had texted you a few times, but you’d dodged his messages so hard that even you felt guilty about it.

Not that he seemed to care. The guy was persistent. He still wanted to take you out, get to know you, charm his way into... whatever he was aiming for. Just today, he’d invited you to join him and the soccer team at some bar near campus. Apparently, they were celebrating a big win—not that you had a single clue who they even played against.

You needed to get out. Desperately. But showing up solo to a team hangout? That was a level of confidence even you didn’t have. So, naturally, you did what any sane person would—you called your emergency contact.

Hyunjin picked up before the second ring.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to return from the dead,” he drawled.

“Yeah, yeah. Roast me later. Right now, I need a favor.”

“Hm. Depends.”

“There’ll be drinks,” you baited, already knowing his answer.

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if I go, you have to give me the full rundown on whatever mess you’ve got going on with Mingyu.”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back like the universe was punishing you. “Ugh. Deal.”

Satisfied, you threw on a black fit—strappy top, skirt, boots, plus a long-sleeved cardigan for balance—and grabbed your phone to text Hyunjin.

And that’s when you saw him.

Bangchan.

Walking toward his dorm, jacket slung over his shoulder, bag in one hand. The second he spotted you, it was like his brain hit a hard reset. Blue screen. No thoughts, just you.

You, on the other hand? You just…froze. Phone still hovering mid-air like you were trying to signal the mothership.

He looked good, annoyingly so—tired, sure, but with that effortlessly undone look that made you want to fix things that weren’t even broken. And judging by the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you looking this good either.

You could practically hear the battle happening in his head. Logic telling him to keep walking. Instinct screaming at him to drag you somewhere private and remind you exactly why you shouldn’t be ignoring him.

But no. Neither of you moved. Just standing there, locked in some ridiculous silent standoff from across the way.

That is, until a hand brushed against yours.

“Took you long enough,” Hyunjin teased, but his voice trailed off the second he noticed who had stolen your attention. His steps slowed, eyes flicking between you and Bangchan like he’d just walked into the middle of a soap opera.

You bit back a smirk, shoving down the weird twist in your stomach. “Shall we?”

Hyunjin hesitated, still piecing things together. Then, with a last glance at Bangchan—who looked like he was about two seconds away from saying something he’d regret—he sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, brows still furrowed. “Let’s go.”

The moment you step into the bar, Mingyu zeroes in on you like a man on a mission—half-drunk, half-thrilled, and entirely shameless about how his gaze drags over you. He grins, tells you how gorgeous you look, and hands you a shot of soju like it’s a requirement for entry.

Hyunjin, of course, fits right in immediately, the social butterfly that he is. Meanwhile, you start to relax, the initial nerves fading as the drinks flow and the unfamiliar space becomes less intimidating. Mingyu’s friends are nice—too nice. The kind of nice that feels like they're sizing you up, like you’re some kind of prize waiting to be claimed. Mingyu’s prize.

The room is loud, buzzing with alcohol-fueled laughter and drunken debates, but your thoughts are fixated on something else. Someone else. And damn it, Mingyu is right there, flashing that easy smile, brushing his fingers against yours like it’s an accident every single time. Complimenting you in ways that should make your stomach flip.

But all you can think about is the guy who hasn’t spoken to you in days. The one who supposedly doesn’t want you anymore.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

With a frustrated sigh, you push back your chair and stand. You’re not even tipsy, but everything suddenly feels too hot, too suffocating.

“I need water,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else, and head for the bar before you do something stupid.

Mingyu appeared at your side, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world.

"All good?"

You forced a smile, gripping the cool glass of water like it could ground you. "Yeah. Just needed something cold."

"Glad you came," he said, smirking slightly as he looked down at you.

He’s the one you should want, the one who actually wants you.

Your gaze flickered to his lips. A bad idea waiting to happen.

Mingyu caught the hesitation, eyes darkening as he glanced between your lips and your eyes. You barely had time to register what was happening before your hands found his shoulders, his lips pressing against yours.

The guys erupted in cheers, their drunken approval ringing out across the bar.

And after that, a blur of stolen kisses, too much soju, and voices too loud to ignore.

The night air was crisp against your flushed skin as you and Hyunjin walked back toward campus. The distant hum of the city buzzed in your ears, the alcohol still warm in your veins, though the high of the night had started to fade. Your heels clicked against the pavement, and Hyunjin, ever the gentleman, walked just a step closer in case you stumbled.

“You good?” he asked, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

You hummed a response, not trusting yourself to say anything else. Your mind was a tangled mess of soju, Mingyu’s lips, and something deeper—something you weren’t ready to admit.

Hyunjin let the silence settle for a moment before he spoke again. “If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. Here it comes. “If it’s about Mingyu, I—”

“It’s not.” he cut you off, tone softer than before. “It’s about Bangchan.”

Your stomach twisted.

You stopped walking, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your hands fidgeted, grasping for something—anything—to ground you. “Why would you ask that?” you muttered, trying to play it off, but even you could hear the slight tremble in your voice.

Hyunjin tilted his head, studying you. “I figured it all out.”

A sharp inhale stung your chest, and before you could even think of a response, it hit you. The overwhelming, suffocating weight of everything you’d been trying to bury. The frustration, the confusion, the way he made you feel like you were something and nothing all at once.

“Oh, shit,” Hyunjin muttered, eyes widening as the tears spilled over. “Come here.”

He pulled you into his chest, letting you press your face into his shoulder. You clung to his jacket, shaking as silent sobs wracked through you. Half-drunk, half-heartbroken, you let yourself break in the only safe place you had at that moment—Hyunjin’s arms.

“I don’t— I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” you mumbled against the fabric of his hoodie, voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin sighed, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

But it wasn’t okay. None of it was.

After a few minutes, he gently pulled away and wordlessly handed you a bottle of water he’d bought from a vending machine nearby. You took it with shaky hands, gulping down the cool liquid as if it could wash away the lump in your throat.

As you wiped your eyes, Hyunjin leaned against the streetlamp, watching you carefully. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you and Bangchan?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I wish I knew.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

With a deep, shaky breath, you finally let it spill. “It started as something casual. No expectations.” your fingers tightened around the water bottle. “But then he started pulling away. And I don’t know if it’s because he got bored, or if I did something wrong, or if this was always the plan. I don’t even know if I want more, but the fact that I’m this messed up over it?” you scoffed, blinking back fresh tears. “That has to mean something, right?”

Hyunjin exhaled, his gaze thoughtful. “Damn.”

You let out a wet laugh. “That’s all you got?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? That doesn’t sound casual to me.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew that. You knew that. But hearing it out loud made it real in a way you weren’t ready for.

You swallowed hard, voice small. “I got myself into this mess. I was the one who asked him to keep it a secret.”

Hyunjin frowned, his posture shifting. “Why?”

“Because I was scared,” you admitted, the words raw in your throat. “Scared of what people would say. Scared of the judgment. You know how it is—girls get torn apart for way less. And I worked too hard, cared too much to be reduced to just that girl who’s hooking up with Bangchan.” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “And now? Now I don’t even know how to deal with it. Because I was supposed to hate him, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment, his usual teasing gone. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. But you also don’t have to go through this alone.”

Your throat tightened. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” he bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’re just in deep.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into his warmth as you both started walking again.

“Look, I don’t have the answers. But I do know you’re not crazy for feeling this way.” he squeezed your shoulder. “And if he’s too much of an idiot to see what he has, then maybe you should let him be the one losing sleep over it.”

You sniffled, managing a weak smile. “You’re my soulmate, Hyun.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, flashing you a grin. “Now drink your water before you pass out, drama queen.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and for the first time that night, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

The day had finally arrived. Showtime. No matter how many times you’d done this, stepping on stage always felt like a first-time, heart-in-your-throat kind of thing.

Up in the audience, Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Sohee were posted a few rows above Mrs. Baek, waiting for you to do your thing. No pressure.

Backstage was quiet—eerily so. You sat there, taking slow, deep breaths, wiping your sweaty palms against your thighs like a seasoned pro in pre-show anxiety management. You were next. Three minutes. One shot. No room for mediocrity.

You’d chosen a song that wasn’t just sentimental—it was a statement. A vocal rollercoaster that climbed from deep, rich lows to a falsetto so clean it could cut glass. If you were going to go down, at least you’d do it swinging.

Reaching into your bag for your water bottle, you were mid-sip when movement in the distance caught your attention.

And just like that, reality glitched. Bangchan.

It was almost ridiculous how unreal he looked, like a mirage conjured from some fever dream. You hadn’t seen him in days, and yet here he was, strolling in like he hadn’t been living rent-free in your mind this whole damn time.

Laptop in hand, fingers flying across the keyboard, looking every bit the sound tech genius he was. You hadn’t expected him to actually show up for this gig, but—oh, look—there he was, punching buttons like he was defusing a bomb.

Then, he saw you. And something shifted.

His fingers stilled, tightening around the laptop.

The air was heavy. The tension was palpable. Whatever was going on between you two didn’t need words—it was written in every sharp breath, every stolen glance.

And just like that, your pre-show jitters had a new contender.

"Hi," you muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Bangchan gave you a small, polite smile—too polite. Something about it felt off. The usual spark in his eyes? Gone. And that was all it took for reality to sink in.

So that’s it, huh?

The game was over. You had your answer. He was done, and honestly? You couldn’t even be mad—because weren’t you just as much to blame?

Mrs. Baek’s voice cut through the buzzing in your head, thanking the student who had just finished performing. You’re next.

You turned away from Bangchan, unscrewed your water bottle, and took a long sip, willing yourself to focus. Breathe. Lock in. You’ve got this.

Then it happened. A warm touch on your waist—his touch.

Your body betrayed you instantly, heat rippling through your skin like a live wire. It had been days, and yet, all it took was this—a single touch—to remind you how much you’d missed him.

You spun around, frowning, swallowing hard as your gaze locked onto his.

Bangchan didn’t back down. If anything, he doubled down.

His arm lifted, caging you in the small space between you and the backstage wall, pulling your bodies so close it was downright insane. His head tilted slightly, studying you, reading every little reaction like he already knew the ending to this story.

Without warning, Bangchan crashed his lips onto yours, his free hand gripping your waist like he had no plans of letting go. His palm slid up your back, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt, branding heat into your skin.

You barely had time to process before his tongue was in your mouth, claiming, demanding—like he was making up for every second of distance between you.

A sound slipped past your lips—a mix between a sigh and a moan, involuntary, unstoppable.

God, you hated how easily he unraveled you. And worse? You loved it too.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatshirt, yanking him closer—like you needed him just a little closer, just a little longer. Your lips moved in sync, deepening the moment, drowning out everything else.

Then—

Mrs. Baek’s voice rang through the backstage, shouting your name.

Then reality crashed back in.

But instead of nerves clawing at your stomach, instead of the suffocating pressure you’d felt moments ago, there was something lighter—something electric. Like a field of wildflowers blooming where anxiety used to sit.

You pulled back, panting, heart racing, but this time? You were smiling. Bangchan, just as breathless, leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Break a leg," he murmured.

And just like that, you knew you would.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely

[creatur3featur3]

Who's There? p2

word count: 3.3k

warnings/triggers: descriptions of injures and blood, past trauma and childhood abandonment. If any of these topics trigger you please take care of yourself and know you are reading this by choice!

A/N: okay so this was just meant to be another drabble but ended up turning into a whole other possible series– genuinely loved writing about blind reader's perception of the world, Sevika's a little more harsh in this part but I wanted to try and get her a little more realistic and accurate to how she is in the show so :3

So maybe you hadn't been taking care of yourself, at all.

It wasn't your fault, not entirely that is- sure you had ran into some kids who apparently ran the street you were on, whatever that meant- and maybe they had messed you up pretty bad, but you felt fine, so what harm was really done?

You felt for the familiar steps of the abandoned shop you had made your home of sorts, touching the cold concrete with your palms, sliding your finger steps against it as you sat down with a soft sigh. You brought your right hand up to your scalp, running through your hair, feeling for anything that necessarily hurt.

You winced over a particular spot on your head, not the back but sort of in the middle of your head, feeling a bit of your flesh underneath your hair, covering up the crime. You groaned softly, the adrenaline had faded as quickly as it had came, maybe even a bit faster now that you think about it. You could feel the soreness in your cheek that had been kicked once they had knocked you down, the scrapes on your knees fresh and aching, your head- throbbing in pain.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and measured, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the deep, pulsing ache settling into your bones. The cool night air brushed against your skin, a small relief against the heat of fresh wounds.

Your fingers ghosted over the split in your lip, the swelling already setting in. You tasted iron, metallic and bitter, as you swallowed around the tightness in your throat. It wasn't the worst you'd ever been hurt, but the lack of sight made it all the more disorienting. You couldn't even begin to guess how bad you looked. Not that it mattered.

Still, you tilted your face upward, letting the faint breeze trace over you like a phantom touch, grounding yourself. You ran your fingers over the concrete beneath you again, mapping out the small cracks and ridges, reminding yourself you were here. Alive. Hurting, sure—but alive.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your pocket, fingers brushing against the few belongings you carried with you. Nothing useful, not really. No bandages, no water. Just a few coins, a torn piece of cloth, and the unmistakable smoothness of a key that didn’t fit any door you had access to anymore.

You sighed. You needed to clean yourself up, but there wasn’t much you could do without help. And help wasn’t exactly easy to come by.

Still, you pressed your palm against the wound on your head, hissing at the sharp sting, and leaned back against the shop’s cold, crumbling wall. You’d make it through the night. You always did.

Didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell.

You swallowed, throat dry and parched, shit when was the last time you had water? You doubted anyone smart enough in the Undercity would give you water, let alone feel any sympathy for you, but what was the harm in trying? Getting beat up anymore than anymore?

You sighed softly, hands covering what would've been your eyes before you groaned and stood up, making your way to the stalls, the familiar sound of the filled space already filling your ears.

As you arrived the lively chatter immediately filled your senses, feeling people brush against you, muttered apologies, people stepping on your feet.

Way out of your element, that's for sure.

You tried to push past people, trying to find the familiar feeling of sanded down worn wood under your fingertips, trying to smell for the scent of freshly baked pastries and meat.

The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, warm bread, and something sharper—spices, maybe, or the tang of unwashed bodies pressed too close together. Every sound came at you from a different angle: the clatter of coins on wooden counters, the sharp bark of a vendor advertising his wares, the low murmur of haggling. It was overwhelming, but you pushed through, shoulders tight, hands outstretched just enough to feel for something familiar without making yourself a target.

Someone brushed against you—too hard, intentional. A hand lingered at your side, too close to your pockets. You jerked away instinctively, lips curling in frustration. Pickpockets. You weren’t exactly worth robbing, but that never stopped anyone from trying.

You kept moving.

Your fingers skimmed over rough fabric, then polished metal, then finally—wood. Sanded smooth by years of use, slightly sticky from the heat and the sweat of too many hands. You inhaled deeply, catching the scent of something fresh, something warm. Bread.

You exhaled, relief loosening the tightness in your chest, just a little.

“Hey,” you murmured, voice rough from disuse.

The vendor, a woman by the sound of her sigh, barely spared you a second of silence before responding. “If you’re not buying, keep moving.”

You wet your lips, tasting dried blood. “I just… water. Do you—”

A scoff. “And what do I get in return, huh?”

Your fingers curled over the edge of the stall. “Nothing. Just… just a little water.”

A pause. Then the sound of something heavy being set down. The air shifted as she leaned in, voice dropping lower. “You look like hell. Not my problem, but I’d rather not have a half-dead body next to my bread.”

Hope flickered, fragile and brief. “So—”

“Five coins.”

Your stomach sank. You reached into your pocket, running your fingers over the few coins you had. Not five. Not even close.

Silence stretched between you. The vendor sighed again, impatient. “Well?”

You swallowed hard. You could beg. Or you could steal. Neither option sat well.

But your throat burned, and the day wasn’t getting any easier.

What now?

“I'll- i'll just go, sorry for wasting your time,” you quickly muttered, too rushed to be casual and too shaky to be denied you were frustrated. You quickly turned and walked off, trying to push past the sea of bodies, ignoring the vendors' calls of asking you to come back or pause.

It was fine, fantastic actually, you didn't need the pity of others, all you had to do was look in the right places. You'd find something-

Eventually.

You sat down back on the familiar steps in front of the abandoned shop, body aching with every turn or breath, lungs protesting heavily, muscles burning and yelling at you to stop, the feeling of your ratty hair falling in front of your face.

You were pathetic, you knew it, strangers knew it, even the air seemed to know it, giving you a gentle breeze, making you aware of the cooling blood on your body. You sat there, just thinking.

You were never cut out for the Undercity, Nobody's going to give a damn that you can't see.

You choked on your breath

You're just easy pickings for everyone else, someone to take from and never to give to

You sniffled, No- you were not going to cry, not here, not anywhere– But your body protested, chemicals stirring in your brain.

You hiccuped, it was stupid that your brain told you that you wanted to cry, you had no eyes, nothing to give your tears an escape from– but god, you wish you could, you wish you could cry your heart out.

You tilted your head back, pressing your palms against your face as if that could somehow push down the overwhelming weight settling in your chest. The lump in your throat ached, your breath shuddering, sharp and uneven. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

You curled in on yourself, fingers gripping at your arms, at the torn fabric of your sleeves, at anything that could ground you. But there was nothing—no comfort, no warmth, just the cold press of concrete at your back and the distant hum of the city that had already decided you weren’t worth a damn.

You sniffled again, swallowing down another hiccup. You weren’t going to cry.

You couldn’t cry.

But god, the ache in your chest was unbearable.

A noise pulled you from your spiral—a soft shuffle of movement nearby. Not the restless stir of rats in the gutters, not the distant murmur of passing strangers. Someone was close.

Too close.

Your muscles tensed, instinct flaring to life, but you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just listened.

Then—

A sigh. Low, tired.

“You look like hell.”

The voice was unfamiliar. Rough around the edges, not unkind but not exactly gentle either. You straightened slightly, gripping the step beneath you. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or wary.

“Yeah?” Your voice came out hoarse, brittle. “You and everyone else seem real keen on reminding me of that today.”

A short chuckle, humorless. Then the sound of fabric shifting, the scrape of something solid against the ground.

A bottle—water—was pressed against your hand.

You froze.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” the stranger muttered. “Just drink.”

You hesitated. This could be a trick. A setup. Nothing in the Undercity came without a price.

But your throat burned. And right now, you didn’t care about consequences.

You took the bottle. Unscrewed the cap with trembling fingers.

And drank.

You sensed the person sit down next to you as you chugged down the water, slowing it as fast as you could, not caring to savor the sensation as you finally brought the bottle away from your lips and sighing deeply. You couldn't help the relieved smile that tugged at your lips, though you tensed up again, scooting away from the person next to you.

You heard them shift as well, maybe looking at you or body facing towards you, the soft sound of mechanical whirring fanning by your ears.

“Do you really not recognize me?” They asked, you quickly studying the voice, noticing it was rough but not rough in the sense that it was masculine.

Your fingers tightened around the empty bottle as your breath caught in your throat. That voice—gravelly but familiar, softened just enough around the edges that it sent something twisting deep in your gut. The mechanical whir of her prosthetic arm confirmed it before your brain even had time to process the weight of her words.

Sevika.

You hadn't heard that voice in—god, how long had it been? Months? Years? Time blurred together when you were barely scraping by.

Your shoulders stiffened as you swallowed, lips pressing into a thin line. “Didn’t think you’d care if I did.” Your words came out sharper than you meant, but you didn’t take them back.

Sevika huffed, low and unimpressed. “Right. Because I just hand out water to every half-dead idiot I find on the street.”

You turned your head slightly toward her, listening for any sign of insincerity. But Sevika was always hard to read, even back then. And now? You weren’t sure what she wanted.

“So what?” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “You disappear without a word, and now you expect me to—what? Catch up? Pretend you didn’t just drop off the face of the Undercity?”

Sevika exhaled, long and slow. “Didn’t think you’d care if I did.”

Your jaw clenched. Bitch. Throwing your own words back at you like that.

A silence stretched between you, thick with things left unsaid.

Finally, you sighed, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Where the hell have you been?”

For the first time, Sevika hesitated. Then—

“Cleaning up someone else’s mess,” she muttered. “It’s what I do best.”

That wasn’t an answer. Not really. But it was all she was willing to give.

You scoffed. “Yeah? And now you’re back. What, got tired of playing cleanup and decided to dig through the trash instead?”

A short chuckle. “Something like that.”

You could feel her watching you. Studying you, like she was trying to piece together what the hell happened to you in her absence. Like she had a right to wonder.

You turned away, setting the empty bottle beside you. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

Another pause. Then the soft click of metal fingers tapping against the step.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I did.”

And that? That was the real problem.

Maybe you were mad, no you were mad, frustrated, furious even. “What? So you came back to play hero again? Just like last time?” you suddenly spat, the words had sat in your belly and hurled up like vomit.

You heard Sevika shift, an uneasy kind of way, followed by a soft sigh, “I told you the day I met you, no strings, no trust, no nothing.”

You bit at your bottom lip, the taste of blood coating your tongue, “So what? I was just supposed to figure out how to live by myself? You know how hard it is for me Sevika, even with you around to help.” You huffed, months of frustration bubbling up.

The words poured out of you before you could stop them, burning as they left your lips. You hated the way your voice shook, hated how raw your throat felt—not just from thirst or exhaustion, but from everything. From months of trying to survive without her. From nights spent pressed against cold stone, whispering curses to no one. From the way her absence had scraped at an old wound you thought had scabbed over years ago.

Sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with something you couldn't quite name—frustration? Annoyance? Guilt? No, not guilt. Sevika didn’t do guilt.

"Don’t do that," she muttered, the metallic fingers of her prosthetic clicking against the step between you. "Don't act like I owed you anything."

You laughed, short and humorless. "Owed me? Fuck you, Sevika." Your hands curled into fists in your lap. "You don’t just get to walk into someone’s life, make them think—make them feel like they’re not completely fucking alone, and then just leave like it didn’t mean anything."

Sevika let out a long breath, and for a second, she didn’t say anything. And that silence? It only made your blood boil more.

"So what?" she finally said, voice edged with irritation. "You expected me to stick around forever? Hold your damn hand every time things got rough?"

Your teeth clenched. "I expected you to tell me you were leaving," you snapped. "I expected you to give a shit."

Sevika scoffed, shifting beside you. "I told you, no strings. That was the deal."

"Yeah, well, fuck your deal." You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears. "You were the closest thing I had to someone who actually gave a damn, Sev. And you left. You left me just like—”

You stopped yourself, breath hitching.

Just like them.

Just like the people who were supposed to take care of you. The ones who saw you as a burden, as something easier to abandon than deal with.

Your chest tightened painfully. You shook your head, biting down the emotion threatening to spill over.

"You don’t get to be pissed at me for surviving the only way I knew how," Sevika said, her voice lower now, steadier. "You wanted someone to save you? Then you put your trust in the wrong person."

You swallowed hard, your nails digging into your palms. "I didn’t need you to save me," you muttered. "I just needed you to stay."

Sevika was quiet again. But this time, it wasn’t the silence of someone who didn’t care. It was the silence of someone who knew—someone who understood exactly what you meant, even if she’d never admit it.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

Sevika exhaled, the sound slow and measured, but you could hear the frustration creeping in. “You think you’re the only one who’s had to claw their way through this place?” she muttered. “The Undercity doesn’t give a shit about any of us. You either learn to stand on your own, or you get swallowed whole.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “Yeah?” Your voice was tight, sharp, cutting. “And I guess leaving me for dead was just part of the fucking lesson, huh?”

Sevika let out a short, humorless chuckle. “I never promised you anything. Never said I’d be the one holding you up. You got too comfortable, that’s not my problem.”

Your breath hitched, something in your chest twisting so violently it made you ache. “I didn’t get comfortable—I trusted you.” Your voice cracked, just slightly, but you pushed past it. “And you threw me away like I was nothing.”

Sevika sighed, like she was already tired of this conversation. “I didn’t throw you away. I left because I had to. I don’t have time to babysit a blind kid who doesn’t know how to keep their head down.”

That one hit. Hard.

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, swallowing down the bitterness on your tongue. Then, slowly, you nodded.

“Right,” you murmured, voice eerily calm. “Fuck you, Sevika.”

You turned on your heel, ignoring the sharp protest from your aching muscles, forcing yourself to push past the sting in your throat. You had nothing left to say. Nothing left to give.

Sevika didn’t call after you. Didn’t stop you.

You didn’t expect her to.

You didn't get fair, you knew you wouldn't as soon as you stood up, but you had to get away, get away from all the bullshit.

“Like she was the one babysitting me,” you scoffed softly, it felt like half the time you two were together you were the one taking care of her.

Just some blind kid huh? you thought sourly, letting out a humorless laugh, at least I didn't need to run away from my problems at 41. But who were you kidding? You had been running away from your problems since you were 8, shit– even before then.

Your footsteps were uneven, dragging slightly as you pushed forward, away from Sevika, away from everything that felt like it was caving in around you. The noise of the Undercity was a distant hum in your ears, your mind too busy looping over every bitter word, every sharp-edged memory that clawed its way to the surface.

Just some blind kid, huh?

You scoffed again, but it came out weaker this time, like your body was already giving up on keeping up the act. You had done just fine without her before. You could do it again.

But your limbs felt heavier with each step, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your head still ached, the throbbing worse now, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You could feel dried blood caked against your skin, the sting of scrapes and bruises making themselves known now that the adrenaline had worn off.

Still, you kept walking. Because if you stopped, you’d think too much. And if you thought too much, you’d break.

You turned into an alleyway, the air damp and stale, the scent of rot and rust thick. It was quieter here, the distant hum of voices fading slightly. The ground beneath you felt uneven, trash scattered along the edges, the walls rough against your fingertips as you reached out blindly for balance.

Your breathing was uneven now, shallow. The world tilted slightly.

Fuck.

You reached up, pressing a hand against your forehead, but it did nothing to stop the spinning. Your stomach churned, your entire body screaming at you to stop, to rest, to let go.

You didn’t mean to fall.

But your knees buckled before you could stop them, and you barely registered the way your body crumpled against the cold ground.

For a moment, you tried to push yourself back up. But your muscles refused.

Too much. Everything was too much.

Your fingers curled weakly against the cracked pavement as your mind swam, flashes of memories slipping in between the exhaustion. The feeling of a hand gripping your wrist too tight, the echo of a door slamming shut, the familiar emptiness of being left behind.

Again. Again. Again.

Your breath shuddered, but your body was already betraying you, pulling you under.

You weren’t even sure when sleep finally took you.

All you knew was the darkness was quiet.

And for once, that wasn’t so bad.

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 138

jack had your valentine's day planned out long before the day arrived. a cute little picnic out in the february sun, with all of your favorite snacks and possibly even some painting. but when the day finally arrived, you both woke up to a storm.

typical jack to not check the weather beforehand.

however, the day was far from ruined. instead, you had your picnic in jack's living room, spending the day listening to the raindrops against the windows and just enjoying each others' presence. jack eventually brought out his old photo albums from when he and his brothers were still kids – ones you had never seen before, because otherwise you would've been obsessing over them every day up until now.

"this is from luke's tenth birthday," jack said, pointing at a picture of his brother with his face stuffed full of cake. in the next one, a dalmatian was licking whipped cream off his face. "our dog, amber. not nearly as calm as you could think from just looking at her."

"she looks sweet, though," you commented, eyes flickering over another picture of amber fast asleep in jack's embrace.

"her looks betray her." jack shuffled a little closer to you on the couch, side of his head leaning against yours. "i've been thinking about getting a new one, actually."

"a dog?"

"no, a new brother." he hissed when your elbow thrust into his side. "maybe not a dalmatian specifically, but… i don't know. i've just thought about it."

the next page showed a few pictures of jack on a stage, sitting in front of a grand piano in a pretty suit. he can't have been more than 13, and your eyebrows rose at the sight. "a piano man, huh?"

he rolled his eyes. "mom forced me to take classes. i hated it at first, but then…" he shrugged. "i kept it up for five years, and it grew on me. it was kind of nice to have something else to focus on other than hockey."

you never could've guessed that he would have done something like that. jack was so sporty, a very typical jock boy – he seemed more likely to be the one making fun of the music nerds than be one himself.

even when you'd spent so much time with him, you realized that you still had so much to learn about him; so many new sides to discover, so many layers to unravel.

frightening? no, exciting.

"i remember this one time when i was fourteen… quinn and luke were at some friend's house, so i was the only child at home. and our parents were fighting." your gaze fell to his hand which was resting all lonely on his thigh, so you took it in yours. "they were, like, yelling and everything. and i couldn't do anything about it. so i just sat down at the piano at home, and… played." you could feel the shakiness in the deep breath he took, but you didn't say anything, instead settling for a squeeze of his hand. "i think i did it to drown out the sound. it was the only thing i could control."

of course. his need for stability and to always be in control was deeply rooted in him. it made so much sense being put in perspective with your relationship; he craved the stability of knowing you're there with him and he hated the way you pulled away, leaving him unsure.

"what made you quit?" you hummed after a few long moments of silence.

"hockey was getting more serious… and the guys on the team didn't really think it was cool to spend my free time learning how to play classical pieces."

"i'm sure you still remember something," you said, head resting on his shoulder. "you should play for me sometime."

"i promise." he kissed the top of your head before flipping over to the last page of the book, revealing even more pictures of little jack – this time with a big, red bruise on the side of his cheek and boxing gloves covering his hands. "oh, right. i used to box."

"oh, you were a little fighter, huh?" you joked. "how come?"

"hockey wasn't enough. i wanted to be physical off the ice, too." his tone was lighthearted, yet there was a hint of sincerity in it. "something about it made me feel… invincible, you know? knowing that i could take a hit and still stand to deliver one of my own."

"uh uh. sounds totally sane."

he reached up to flick your forehead with his fingers, before giving your hand a gentle squeeze as an apology. "i guess, as a kid, i felt… powerless? a lot of the time. especially when my parents argued. and boxing helped with that," he said, and you could feel him nodding along to his words. "once, my dad came home from a night out with a black eye, and i've never felt so useless. i wanted to be able to fight back for him. or myself. or anyone else who needs it."

you want to protect them, you thought to yourself. his protective instinct was clear as day – even in the way he couldn't not be there for you, even when you said you didn't need a relationship or someone to take care of you.

he didn't fight just to fight. he fought to protect. it was the same thing with his fight at the first game of his you attended; he punched that rangers player to protect his teammate, not because he wanted to injure him.

"my coaches told me that i had to quit once i joined the ntdp, though. it made sense, since i never thought i'd have to use it in real life," jack said with a shrug. "so i didn't argue. but, in some twisted way, boxing made me less physical on the ice. like i had an outlet, somewhere to just let it all go, so i could just skate away from arguments on the ice."

"you're a good man, jack hughes," you said, leaning slightly to the side so that you could look up at him, glistening eyes studying his features. "you know that, right?"

he paused for a few moments, merely breathing as his gaze fell on you. "i'm good because of you. you make me want to be good."

[nightscythe]

light sides of the primarchs' relationships

happy valentine’s day!! this one is a bit happier than the 'dark sides' one for obvious reasons. as always just my opinion. if there is anything else you would like to see, let me know! enjoy!!

18+, it's not necessarily nsfw but suggestive themes. based on pre-heresy interpretations.

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the lion: the ultimate protector. you'd never feel unsafe in his presence. not just from legitimate threats, but.. waking up in the morning to find his arms around you, eyes watching you, lips ghosting your hair as though he would never be able to let you go. you're minding your own business reading a book or listening to others talk, and even though he's on the other side of the room he's still watching, calculating, making sure every single person near you is treating you well. if anyone did try anything? nice knowing them. you become his priority. his endless war. nothing will ever harm you again, except maybe him, on his endless war with making you feel every ounce of pleasure the universe can offer. ;)

fulgrim: is also your best friend, but not in the typical guy way. he's literally invested in every single one of your stories, he knows everyone's little secret, he comes back to you with tales he's learnt and weekly scandalous gossip. he knows everything about you. it's not even deliberate either, he's just so in sync with you that he could take a wild guess and still get it right. nights together can feature many things, all of which are thoroughly enjoyed due to his ability to perfect every single thing he does, but knowing there will never be a time you cannot talk to him about something? knowing he'd give you the best advice, more accurate responses, it's very comforting.

perty: you know everything with him is genuine. he would never lie to you, and that may be hard to swallow at first, but really? its a godsend. he'd not try to make you feel better by telling you a slight truth, he'd rather help you to move past it, work on the issue, etc. and that's why, a long way down the line when he does give you infrequent but honest words about his love for you, it means more than anything. there is not someone in the galaxy that you could trust more than this man, not with your life, your secrets, or your heart. and really, it would only ever get stronger over time.

the khan: enjoyably unpredictable. a man who values freedom always would be. he uses his instincts in everything and therefore it may not always be easy to know what he's going to do next. would encourage you to do things you may never have thought about, shows you new parts of the galaxy and introduces you to topics and concepts you knew nothing about before him. for that reason, he's an absolute storm when you are alone. completely unpredictable and completely dedicated to pleasing you. he's also just enjoyable to be around. he may be a touch arrogant and quick tempered, but he's witty, sarcastic, and excellent with his successful attempts to rile you up with teases.

leman: his love is very pure and built on a huge amount of respect. small gifts, tokens of appreciation, oh its all coming out with him. 'made me think of you' type thing and it's the most beautifully designed canvas that you know he wouldn't have just stumbled across. of course this is very different to how everyone else sees him, and no one would believe you. uses that to his advantage. loses all sense of practicality though when it comes to you and would probably show you 110% of his emotions even when he didn't intend to. his heart is in it, no half measures, you're his entire world now and as long as you will let him, he will love you for the rest of his life.

dorn: he is cold, but there is that burning fire that rages beneath. and when the cracks are fully formed? its impossible to ignore. he will not say I love you, but show you he loves you. there are never ups and downs, no maybes - its always a definite. if you need something? he gets it. you are worried about something? there is no need to worry for it any longer. he plans, he knows what to do to help you, he would never give reason to doubt that 1. he could protect you, and 2. his unwavering loyalty to you. does everything in his power to please you, particularly in the physical manner. when he's around, everything feels intense, and its oh so hard to ignore.

curze: he's trying. he is. you can see it each day. sometimes its not obvious, but he really does watch other people and try to imitate what they do to show you the love you deserve. because in his mind? you deserve it all. would he ever tell you that. no. he'd find it stupid. he'd rather keep it all to himself. but sometimes he bottles too much inside and it all comes out, all at once, every feeling he has. in that moment he just needs someone to hold him, reassure him, and be there to feel the love that follows. of course it isn't conventional, but even if he just taught you tarot, explained his twisted thoughts, tried to show you your fate - he's sharing a part of him that he'd not let another see.

sanguinius: effortlessly devoted, but not in the obsessive, overbearing way. you can see it in his eyes. he doesn't need to worship the ground you walk on or call in a choir to sing about you, you can just feel it. the small gestures. something so meaningful but so tiny that it almost snaps reality. helping you to braid your hair. trying his best to help you with something that he could have just ignored. listening to you with intent - not because he loves you so much he doesn't want to look away, but because he wants to hear you. listen to you. understand everything he can about you. it's so natural to him and warms you every time. something something doesn't care what time of the month it is either.

ferrus: always pushes you to be the best version of yourself. of course I have covered the bad side of this, but provided it's tamed, he understands there are limits, it can be rewarding. he will always reassure you that he doesn't need you to be perfect to love you, and would always encourage you to make decisions which benefited you - not anyone else. you'd also get to see his emotions, a rarity, knowing he only trusts so many to see him like that. a national accompaniment to this is that he pays a lot of attention to you. knows you extremely well. so if you ever argue, or don't talk for whatever reason.. be sure to engage the full ferrus apology - bedroom and all. crafts you really nice things too (of course)

angron: love is the only quiet he gets from pain. when you see him at ease, even for only a few moments, you can rest assured knowing that you were helping him. when he holds your hand, when he stands before you and defends you with his whole being, when he lets you fall into his arms and hesitantly wraps them around you. you know then that it's true. because he wouldn't do that for anyone else, and he couldn't physically do that if he did not have a moment of reprieve. and he knew as well that you gave him a chance, saw him for more than what everyone else did. that means more to him that anything.

rob: truly appreciates you. like, will show you, will make sure you know, will do anything in his power to make sure you're aware that the only reason he has an ounce of sanity left is because of you. you're the only person he will pause everything for, he will turn everything off to listen to you and your thoughts, he will actively seek your opinion on things he knows you would be happy to give it on, etctec. he just treats you like an equal. and considering who he is, that may be hard. but he does value you. yes he is pulled in every direction by all his duties but he knows where the limit is, and if either of you are reaching it, he will do what he can to make sure you feel happy and secure.

morty: it's those quiet moments that really stand out. when he lets his guard down for just a second, when he finally trusts you and knows that he would give his life for you until the very end. it wouldn't be easy for him to admit, and he probably never would admit it, but that one moment where he finally relaxes his shoulders and just lets you carry his burdens with him? it really does show a lot. and he would give everything for you. not even an ounce would be spared. it's easy to see it when he says it, that he loves you, even if he doesn't know the true meaning of the word. may not be conventional love, but to him, its everything.

magnus: there is not another who could love as much as he could. it's that simple. he's so utterly in love with you that he'd move heaven and earth just to see you smile. for a man with so many things going on, so many things to remember and do, he still keeps you at the very top of everything. finds little things for you that he'd think you like. recounts stories to see your smile. lays beside you and holds your hand whilst you tell him what's on your mind. it's routine for him, he does it without even thinking. nothing, and that is a hard nothing, will ever make him as happy as you do, and even when you're not around everyone hears your name, little snippets of his love for you, how much you mean to him, etc. he's so enamoured, so trusting, so in awe, that everything you do means something to him.

horus: incredibly intuitive and knows what you need before you do. has the tea and some fruit in his hands before you'd even mentioned you were thinking of having some. had someone prepare you a bath before you even said you were stressed. brought you some flowers when you were feeling down. cancels all his plans because you need someone with you. he does it to show he cares, knowing that sometimes he can be distant or busy, and it can be incredibly effective. also holds you incredibly tight. like your hand, when he embraces you, etcetc, it's like you're his security blanket in a way, which seems stupid because why does he need one, but actually he finds a lot of comfort in your presence.

lorgar: perfect if you want to be worshipped. that's how he'd treat you. and yes this has a dark side. but limited, not indulged or used for bad purposes, a good balance can be met. he's soft. his world would crumble without you. his exterior and how others view him is so different to what he's like with you that it seems wrong. but you are his everything. he would tell you it every day. he'd make sure you never forgot it. it may not be evidential to everyone, he's not proclaiming his love and devotion to anyone he sees, but to you its obvious. a silent prayer for your protection each day. for your good health. for anything he can do for you. and you'd know he'd burn worlds for you - just use that for the right purposes.

vulkan: a kind soul meant for love. he's not obsessed and devoted. he's not silent and brooding. he's what you think of when you have soulmate in mind. it seems to just come natural to him. he's your best friend, your lover, your everything - and he takes pride in that. he'd not need to burn worlds for you, he'd not watch you from the other side of the room without a world, he'd be beside you with his hand gently rested on you. it's just... normal? is that bad to say? but like the version of normal you always wanted, the normal in romance novels which warped our perceptions of relationships. you know. cute.

corax: incredibly loyal. quietly loving you from a distance until he's with you, then he's far more passionate and open. he's not one to have elaborate gestures done in your name, he probably wouldn't even do more than speak in a normal tone whenever others are around. but you know he's there. a brush of your hand with his when you look uncomfortable or worried. a glance in your direction every so often if you are separated. he'd always find his way back to you though, and you always know he's there at your side. and yes, very passionate when it's just you two, so much so you'd have first doubted it was the same person. he just saves it all for you. especially few things he's picked up along the way he thinks you may enjoy.

alpharius: you could never doubt his love. he'd never let you. it's so obvious that it's what makes telling him apart so simple. he just can't deny it when he's around you, he can't resist it at all. love is in everything he does. his touches as he walks past. his names for you. his insistence on always having you in his arms. it can be endearing. it is nice knowing that you are so loved, never a doubt in your mind that he does care. and if you do doubt him? he will change that. you won't ever doubt him again. you don't ever need to worry about his love for you, it won't change. he'll never stop loving you.

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

[cars2-renaissance]

Oh shit you guys I woke up this morning with another headcanon. Ughhhhhhhh this one really fucked me up. I’m gonna post it under a cut cause theres discussion about death and su*cidal ideation and it’s just super depressing. So please don’t read if you’re not in a good headspace.

I think this is the worst one yet. It's just pain.

So I always noticed that Finn is really quiet in Big Ben when they're tied up. Mater is talking back to the lemons and engaging with them but Finn is COMPLETELY silent.

Now maybe it's cause he's an experienced agent and knows not to open his big mouth. But when has Finn ever not been on the spot with these jokers? Why is he so quiet and resigned here?

He's resigned! He doesn't even try to escape. He's glad that Mater makes it out (maybe??) but after that, he's just like oh well guess I'll die?

Finn is incredibly crafty with cheating death. I mean just look at the oil rig scene. Even after the extreme shock of seeing Leland dead, he's still able to make split second decisions to save himself and make it out. And that was when it was just his life on the line! He doesn't even seem to care about Holley's life at all in this scene! And this is the same car who seemed genuinely gutted by seeing the wgp racers getting their engines blown in the second race, these random strangers he doesn't know. You can't tell me he doesn't care about others!

So what the FUCK did they do to him to break him that much??

Well. They had him prisoner and while they kept Mater gassed the whole time in between races, we don't know what happened to Finn or Holley. We don't know that they were unconscious the entire time. But we do know certain among the lemons are complete sadists. I've wondered for a while if they filmed what they did to Leland. Zündapp wasn't there for it and he seemed to take personal satisfaction in the aftermath. It's completely plausible that Grem recorded the whole thing even to just show the professor later.

But you know who they would take particular delight in showing a snuff tape of Leland Turbo to?

Finn.

And that would be enough to keep him quiet in Big Ben, to want nothing more than to die there, crushed to death just like Leland, because he deserved it after not getting there in time to save him. He wanted to die there so bad that even Holley's life didn't matter. And when he did get out of that situation (thanks to Holley), the only thing on his mind was going after Zündapp.

They just found out there is an actual bomb attached to Mater and he's heading for a highly populated civilian area IN LONDON FOR CRYING OUT LOUD; this is likely Finn's home town. You'd think he'd stop at nothing to go take care of that situation and not leave it to the total newbie.

But no. He is out for BLOOD against Zündapp. Holley can save London—who CARES about London or any of these cars he's gotten close to over the past two weeks—Zündapp is on the loose and Finn is not going to let that slide. He puts himself in deaths door yet again to catch this motherfucker. He barely flinches while getting heavy artillery shot at him. And his grand solution at the end is to blow them all the fuck up.

The size of that explosion SHOULD have killed them all. Finn was more than willing to kill himself if it meant Zündapp died with him, plus Tony Trihull who at this point he probably knows is the location of Leland's death. They can all just get blown to hell.

But he and Zündapp survive somehow—I don't think the same can be said for Trihull—and we see them later, finally pulling up to the races. We also see that Zündapp is completely tangled in Finn's grapple lines in ways that could only be possible if he was flipped around multiple times in all directions. Finn got him to the bomb site but not before beating the ever loving shit out of him. He is FURIOUS and doesn't bat an eye when Holley tases a car in full custody. Because it's Zündapp, and Finn only just stopped short of killing him.

Finn is a hot mess throughout the movie. He takes unbelievable risks and pulls ridiculous stunts. BUT he always has it pretty under control and above all, he shows genuine care for those around him. But there is a definite shift in his values and goals after Big Ben. There's a real possibility that it's because he had to watch Leland die in that window of time.

I hate this headcanon so much but I had to write it out this morning

This was all just off the top of my head a few minutes after waking up, haunted by this headcanon, so I’ll go back and rewatch the scene to see if anything sticks out to me. I’ve combed over the opening of the movie so many times to analyse it but I want to go over the Big Ben scene again to comb over it too cause it’s got a lot packed into it.

But yeah. Happy Valentine’s Day y’all!

[marzipanilla]

once more the lines between what convos we're having where are blurring in my brain lol

There was that .5 seconds at the beginning of S2 where Mark DID agree to be on Cecil's leash, and is he just like foaming at the mouth wishing for those days back? Like you HAD a chance to have some control of that kid and you totally lost it by trying to heavy hand him with the memory of his dad. I guess 'go to college w your gf and take some time off' was the extent of Cecil trying to reign Mark in politely, and now he's just going full throttle on the fuck you too.

Plus, is the show going to acknowledge how scared Cecil is about Mark constantly breaking in to see him and the fact he CONSTANTLY TELEPORTS DIRECTLY INTO DEBBIE'S HOUSE and is actively spying on her like. sir. you too are a fucking uncontrollable menace. Maybe let's parallel that? How dare Mark do the things you constantly do to his family! Maybe think about what you WERE teaching him.

Mark and Even pulling an 'I'm on vacation' a la Nolan during their date about the portal that opens up next to them is WILD. Like oh ? Helping people is such a fucking chore is it? And like yeah, be annoyed it disrupts your life! But- if it annoys you so fucking much, WHY ARE YOU DOING IT? Tell me why you two WANT to be heroes goddamn it!

In the comic it was stated that they were going to use 'hologram' tech from the GDA to make Oliver not appear purple, but since the Graysons have a much more contentious relationship w Cecil in the show (don't get me wrong the Mark - Cecil ear bug breakup DOES happen they just were never so buddy buddy) it seems like they just didn't want to bring up the idea that Cecil was helping them I guess ?? I mean, Cecil is the one who does all the paperwork so Debbie can adopt Oliver in the comics as well. They are so far removed from each other in the comics its funny, like she full on calls him Mr Stedman and he calls her Ms Grayson like those two have NEVER interacted for more than five seconds in the comic while the show implies all this insane shit that we never see lol

Is Amazon producing or just distributing? I haven't looked too much into the studio behind the actual animation, though I know it is small. If this show is a big draw for them (and idk if it actually is) you'd think they'd be willing to spend some fucking money on it. I will never not be bitter over the rings of power budget. refuse to watch that show, never will- but all that money that could have gone to other projects- like damn. Where's the billion dollar animation budget timeline, universe. WHERE

It does seem to really be some control thing for Cecil, bc he has finally met people he can't control. And this is a guy who is used to the 'most powerful' superhero team on the planet doing whatever he says! Like sir, you can talk all you want about saving the world vs being good people (a very easily debatable topic already imo), but at the end of the day it seems like you're more annoyed people aren't coming when you call. Is the real reason you keep bringing Donald back bc you didn't decide to retire him yet ?? like ??

Invincible lives in this weird space in my brain where I'm like, are you trying to say 'haha isn't this all fucked up actually look at how BAD these outcomes would be' and 'actually these ARE the ideas and morals I think heroes could represent' and BOTH ideas just fall a little flat bc it's like.. I can argue either way, but not well- so it's not like you're making a compelling or full argument. And there could be an intended ambiguity in asking certain questions but not providing the answers to questions in a text, but it VERY MUCH feels like Invincible wants me to have a clear stance on things except it can't tell me what those stances are, bc they don't know.

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.