#i just wanna feel like this isn’t for nothing

[heartsriki]

ALWAYS YOURS, NEVER MINE ⌇늦은

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader (?) — featuring.. riki & jay word count: 3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ pt. 2, angst, high-school au!, gut-wrenching angst like trust, love triangle, crying, lots of selfishness coming from won, hurt no comfort..., one-sided love.

synopsis — why did jungwon hide rikis love letter to you? (PLEASE READ PART 1)

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊there were a lot of questions/asks for explanations from pt. 1 so here it is! guys lowkey started tearing up I'm so sorry jungwon biases... I couldn't help myself again...

5 months before…

Today was Jungwon’s worst day possible. He hadn’t done as well as he wanted on an important test—not a failing grade, but not perfect either. On top of that, he left his stuff somewhere and couldn’t remember where.

Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but right now, he felt helpless. Resting his head on his desk, he let the frustration settle in, feeling like he was slowly being submerged in water—until he felt a slight tug on his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head, only to see you, your hand still hovering above him. You flinched at his movement, clearly not expecting him to be awake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep, and your hair just looked so fluffy—” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other.

Jungwon just stared at you, silent.

You took his lack of response as a reason to keep going. “Anyway—I found this bag and recognized the name. Here you go!” You slung it over the back of his chair, grinning.

He glanced at the bag before looking back at you. You knew him? He didn’t know you.

The silence stretched, and you hummed, shifting awkwardly. He still hadn’t said thank you. You were about to excuse yourself when you caught a glimpse of the paper under his arms.

“Hey, a 75? That’s great! Man, I barely got a 65—you’re so smart. You wanna study sometime?”

Jungwon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the classroom door swung open.

“Y/N! We need you in the student council room—the boys are fighting again!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Without another word, you gave him a small wave, flashing a pretty smile before running off.

Jungwon raised his head, staring at the spot you had just been. “A 75 isn’t even good,” he murmured, resting his head back down. “What a weirdo.”

Yet, despite himself, he kept thinking back to that moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort. He also didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if he had really lost his stuff.

Days passed, and while he didn’t speak to you much, he saw you everywhere. Then, one day, as he strolled through the library, he spotted you working at the front desk.

He lingered behind a shelf, watching as you glanced around before sneaking to the back of the library.

Curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

Turning the corner, he caught you opening a small box, slipping a piece of paper inside. When you turned around, both of you flinched.

“Jungwon? What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? What’s in the box?”

Quickly, you stretched your arms out, blocking him. “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon smirked, trying to peek past you. “If it’s nothing, let me see.”

Before you could stop him, he had already snatched up the paper. You groaned, covering your face as he read it.

“You were embarrassed over cussing someone out for wearing the same headband as you on picture day?” His grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I talked about wearing that headband for weeks…” you mumbled, looking away.

For a moment, he stayed silent. And then—he burst out laughing. Full, unrestrained laughter—the kind he hadn’t had in ages.

From that day on, he stayed by your side.

Jungwon was well-known around school. Girls found him handsome, even flirted with him, guys thought he was pretty damn good at sports and cool to hang out with. But because of that pedestal, few ever approached him as a true friend.

You didn’t seem to care about all that.

Instead of just waving at him in the hallway, you ran up to him to rant about your day. Instead of borrowing a pencil and ignoring him for the rest of class, you swapped desk numbers just to sit beside him. Instead of leaving him alone when he shut down, you stayed. Always.

You became his best friend. And he was yours. Thats all he ever needed.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

February rolled around—the month of love. The halls were littered with Valentine’s posters, the air buzzing with excitement.

Jungwon didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d just hang out with you that day.

But when he sat down next to you in class, you were grinning at your phone, giggling.

He smiled. “What’s got you so giddy today, huh?”

You turned your screen toward him. “I got Riki’s contact today… look!”

Jungwon’s smile faltered. He glanced at the name on your screen. Ah. Right.

He forgot about your tiny crush on Riki.

Nodding, he turned to the window, pretending it didn’t bother him. But the dull thump in his chest told him otherwise. I guess you’ll be busy that day. How lame.

Later that day, he was on the soccer field when his phone vibrated. Seeing your name, he grinned stupidly and opened the message.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Jungwon stared at the screen.

Riki? Well. It was about time. He had been into you without a doubt.

Scoffing, Jungwon typed back.

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Jungwon frowned. You could be so oblivious sometimes. To more than one person.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

Setting his phone down, he exhaled sharply. He had a weird urge to see you. Maybe you wanted to talk about it.

He sighed, packing up his things and heading toward the library.

As he neared the back entrance, he spotted Riki slipping out. Their eyes met for a second, but neither spoke.

There was something in that look. Knowing.

Jungwon clenched his jaw and walked past him, slipping inside unnoticed.

Then, his eyes landed on the box.

For a split second, he hesitated. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

Glancing around, he reached inside. There were a lot of letters. But he found Riki’s almost immediately—a pink envelope decorated with tiny white hearts, his name written neatly on the front which was uncommon for love letters being left vulnerable in a box.

Jungwon stared at it. “What an idiot.”

Without thinking, he plucked it from the box, turning it over in his hands before slowly opening it.

Inside, a note.

Hey, I don’t really know how to start this. Okay, so… I think you’re really annoying. But for some reason, I like how annoying you are. You’re incredibly nosy, but I don’t mind when you peck at my life. I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I know how I feel now. I like you. A lot. Too much, actually. If you feel the same, then… I don’t know. You’ll know what to do. You always do. — N.R.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his temples.

If you knew about this, you’d be over the moon.

And yet—before he could stop himself—he shoved the letter into his bag.

Why?

He convinced himself it was to toy with you. Something deeper inside knew other wise.

When Jungwon saw you through the student council door, scanning through all the love letters, he felt a soft pang in his chest. You were looking for Riki’s… he knew it.

When he entered, he played it off—laughing, smiling—knowing he had the one thing you had been waiting for this entire year. But when the opportunity came to fess up, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

When Riki stepped in, both Jungwon and Riki locked eyes. It didn’t even last a second, but the way he looked at him… he knew. He definitely knew that Jungwon had grabbed the letter.

Jungwon excused himself, whispering, “Good luck,” into Riki’s ear. A small part of him meant it. It was more for you.

He walked slowly to the locker room, overthinking about you and Riki. Overthinking about you and himself. What is this? It hurt. It hurt so much.

He was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. It was Jay, another friend of his.

“Hey man, where’s your girlfriend?” Jay asked with a knowing grin.

Jungwon blinked, still walking toward the locker room. “Girlfriend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay sighed, glancing around before looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb. You know I’m talking about Y/N. Did you confess yet?”

Jungwon stopped, causing Jay to stumble a little. Jay looked at him, puzzled.

Confess. Did he like you? Is that what this is?

That’s what he thought about for the rest of the day.

He liked you.

He liked you.

He liked you. You. You. You.

He fumbled on the field, spaced out during conversations, and excused himself from after-practice hangouts.

When he got home, he immediately went to his room, throwing himself onto his bed and sighing at the ceiling. The moment of peace was interrupted by a vibration in his right hand. He brought his phone up to his face and saw your contact. You always called him after his practice.

He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“AHHHHHHH, Wonnie! You won’t believe it! He likes me back! Isn’t that crazy? For some reason, his love letter went missing—some weirdo took it. But he confessed to me!” you squealed from the other line.

He smiled a little at your happiness, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “That’s great Y/N… You guys dating now?”

“Actually, we’re taking things slow. He blabbed about needing to take care of something first.”

That made Jungwon sit up. “Take care of something?” he asked.

“Yeah. No clue, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting long enough—I can wait a little bit more.” You smiled to yourself.

Jungwon thought. Riki didn’t need to take care of something. He needed to take care of someone.

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Jungwon said, trying to sound reassuring.

You sighed at his words. “Thanks, I feel like the happiest girl in the world.”

Jungwon didn’t respond to that. “I’m pretty tired from practice. Talk to you later?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Wonnie! Of course—sleep well, alright?”

“…You too.”

And with that, he hung up.

Jungwon stared at his phone, the call screen fading to black as the weight in his chest settled in. His fingers curled around the device, gripping it tighter than necessary.

He likes me back!

Your words replayed in his head over and over, each time pressing harder against the part of him that had only just realized the truth.

He liked you.

And now, he was too late.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed before running a hand down his face. The ceiling blurred in his vision as he lay back down, feeling—what was this? Emptiness? Regret?

He wanted to be happy for you. He was happy for you. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends did. They supported each other, no matter what.

But then why did it feel like his heart was being squeezed in a way that left him breathless?

Riki still hadn’t officially asked you out. That was something, right? But Jungwon knew it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

He needed to take care of someone.

Jungwon scoffed to himself, letting his arm drape over his eyes.

Riki knew. He definitely knew.

And now, Jungwon had a choice to make.

Does he let this be? Pretend his feelings didn’t exist, swallow them whole, and stand by your side like he always had?

Or does he do something about it?

His fingers twitched at the thought, but deep down, he already knew his answer.

Jungwon had never been the type to back down from a challenge. But this—this wasn’t some game. This wasn’t a competition he could win just by trying harder, running faster, pushing himself more.

This was you.

And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

“Pass it!” Jungwon yelled across the field.

He had been practicing all morning, through breaks, and even during lunch. Soccer was his escape—the only thing that drowned out the noise in his head.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted a figure standing by the benches near his stuff.

Riki.

He stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady. His expression was unreadable, but Jungwon knew exactly why he was here.

Jungwon hesitated for only a second before calling for a break. With a deep sigh, he jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead before sitting down on the bench. He didn’t look at Riki, just grabbed his water bottle and took a sip.

Riki sat beside him, wasting no time.

“Do you know what happened to my letter?”

Jungwon glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the field. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” His voice was flat, expression unreadable.

Riki exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as if he expected that response. “Why?”

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the answer to that too.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The distant shouts of players and the sound of cleats against the field felt worlds away.

Finally, Jungwon sat up, patting his thigh before standing. “Is that it? I’m pretty busy.” He nodded toward the field, crossing his arms.

Riki stood too, this time meeting Jungwon’s gaze head-on. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“However you feel, take it out on me. Not her, she cares for you.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw.

Riki let the words linger before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jungwon watched him go, fingers tightening around his water bottle. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before kicking the bench. It barely moved, but it was enough to make his frustration bubble over.

Why did Riki have to say it like that? Like he was some selfish idiot who didn’t already know that? Like he didn’t already hate himself for it?

With a forced breath, he shook his head, pushing everything down, just like he always did. He had a game to focus on.

Without another glance at the benches, he jogged back onto the field, forcing himself to get lost in the only thing that still made sense.

A week after that encounter with Riki, Jungwon found himself in your room. He was doing homework while you sat beside him, pouting at your phone. He glanced at you and smiled.

“What are you grumbling about?” he asked.

You sighed, putting your phone down and continuing with your work. “It’s nothing…”

Jungwon raised a brow. He had never seen you this down before. “What? Tell me. You always tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed.

Pouting, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Riki… It’s been about a week, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Do you think he ghosted me?”

Jungwon stiffened. He had overheard from some guys that Riki had gotten into serious trouble with his parents and now had to work overtime at his part-time job. He sighed, looking at you. You were so obviously heartbroken. Should he tell you?

Or should he be selfish?

This was his chance. He could win you over. He could show you that he was here. That he would always be here.

He gulped, staring back down at his work. He was selfish—just for a moment. But then, he heard a broken sniffle come from you. His eyes snapped to you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, a fake smile on your face as if pretending everything was okay.

His heart dropped. Did Riki really mean that much to you?

Jungwon quickly moved next to you, guiding you to rest your head on his lap. Your cries softened as he gently patted your head, just like he always did.

He looked down at you—your eyes shut, your breathing slowing, the tension in your body fading. And then, softly, he spoke:

“I overheard that he got into some pretty big trouble and is working overtime at his job. He probably didn’t want to trouble you with that stupid mentality of his.”

Your eyes shot open. You turned your head, looking up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

In an instant, you shot up, grabbing your jacket and shoes. “Gosh, that jerk. Where does he work? I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Text me the address?” you said, pacing around the room.

Jungwon watched you, unable to find the right words. He wanted to stop you.

Before you could rush out the door, he stood up and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, confused. “Wonnie? What is it?”

“I—uhm.”

This was it. He should tell you now. If he didn’t, it would kill him. But as he looked at you—eager, desperate to see Riki—he exhaled and let go.

“Take your umbrella. It’s raining.”

You smiled, running past him to grab it. “Thanks! Leave whenever you want! And don’t forget to take some leftovers home!”

And just like that, you were gone.

Jungwon stood frozen, staring at the empty space you had just occupied. Slowly, his eyes wandered around your room.

The walls covered in posters. The notebooks scattered on your desk. The lingering scent of your perfume.

It was all so familiar.

His mind filled with memories—the time you both got front-row tickets to your favorite band and shouted while holding hands, the nights he stayed up to bring you food when you were sick, the first time you hugged him while crying into his chest.

And yet, despite all those moments, despite everything he had done for you… he never came to terms with his feelings.

A tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He wiped at it absently, staring at his damp fingers in disbelief.

Then, without warning, the tears came faster.

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop them, but his chest tightened, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, hands gripping the fabric of his pants as silent sobs racked his body.

It was too much.

The love he had buried.

The longing he had ignored.

The pain of watching you run to someone else.

He had lost you.

And the worst part?

You were never his to begin with.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.4

Chapter Four: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Bullying, Physicological Bullying, Mean Girls,

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Heads up, there’s a bully in this chapter but dw, you got Pedro on your side hehe. Again, this is all fictional. To any Cecilia’s out there in irl, no hate to you girl, I don’t even know you LOL.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: gold rush by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING  

The hum of set life surrounded you like a familiar melody—the rhythmic chatter of crew members, the distant clatter of equipment being adjusted, the occasional burst of laughter from someone off-camera. You moved through it all with ease, exchanging quick words with a fellow PA as you double-checked the last-minute details before call time.  

You didn’t notice him watching you.  

Pedro sat in the makeup chair, already in costume, his eyes drifting away from the mirror as Coco worked her hands through his hair. His body was still, but his mind was somewhere else. Or rather—on someone else.  

It was the way you tilted your head as someone from production rattled off instructions, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration. The way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, nodding once before offering a soft, assured smile. You weren’t just hearing what they were saying—you were listening, absorbing every detail like you belonged here. Like you had always belonged.  

He felt something tighten in his chest.  

God, you made him feel strange.  

It was the words that stuck in his throat when you were near, the way his pulse stuttered for no damn reason. The way his thoughts—usually so steady, so controlled—felt unruly around you. It was dizzying. Unsettling.  

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this. Since he’d been caught so completely off guard by someone.  

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking for you.  

In the crowd. In the moments between takes. In the quiet spaces where he thought maybe—just maybe—you were looking for him, too.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

Lunch break rolled around, bringing a much-needed lull in the day’s chaos. The crew scattered—some retreating to their trailers, others grabbing quick bites from catering, the energy shifting into something looser, more relaxed.  

Your phone buzzed just as you were sitting down at one of the outdoor tables, the screen lighting up with a message.  

Pedro: Wanna grab a bite later?  

You smiled to yourself, thumbs already moving across the screen.  

You: I do, but I kinda wanna hang with my friends for a bit too.  

His response came almost immediately.  

Pedro: Oh yeah, of course. Mind if I tag along?

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want him there—but because you weren’t sure if he really wanted to be there.  

You: Are you sure? 

Pedro: Obviously.  

So that’s how Pedro Pascal ended up at lunch with you and your friends, settling into the group like he had always belonged there.  

He was easy to talk to, of course. He charmed his way through introductions, seamlessly jumping into conversations, laughing in all the right places, making everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. But his attention always had a way of drifting back to you.  

The way you scrunched your nose as you tried to pick apart a joke someone had made. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about some old inside story with your friends. The way you were currently demolishing a cookie like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.  

Pedro noticed.  

He didn’t say anything, but he noticed.  

His lips twitched as you took another enthusiastic bite, completely unaware of his amusement.  

There were other things, too—subtle things. The brush of his knee against yours under the table, lingering just a second longer than necessary. The way his fingers would graze your wrist when he leaned in to say something, as if testing the waters. The way his eyes would flick to your lips when you spoke before quickly darting away, as if he hadn’t meant to.  

And then, of course, there was the teasing.  

"Did you even taste that cookie, or did you just inhale it?" Pedro mused, finally breaking his silence, amusement lacing his voice.  

You swallowed the last bite, leveling him with a mock glare. "It’s really good."  

He smirked. "Clearly."  

"Don’t judge me."  

"Never." The word came softer than expected, a little too sincere for just teasing. His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

Your heart stuttered.  

He looked away first, but not before you caught the slightest hint of pink creeping up the tips of his ears. It was such a small thing—barely there, really—but you noticed. And it made something warm unfurl in your chest.  

The conversation around the table carried on, your friends swapping stories and teasing each other between bites of food. Pedro chimed in here and there, laughing along, but every now and then, you felt his gaze flick back to you.  

You were hyper-aware of him now. The way his arm rested casually on the back of your chair, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. The way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the table, his other hand occasionally brushing against yours as he reached for his drink.  

Then, he sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning slightly at the screen.  

"Ugh, my phone’s about to die."  

Without hesitation, you reached into your bag, pulling out your power bank and a charging cord. "Oh, no worries, here—use this."  

Pedro blinked, momentarily caught off guard.  

You handed it over without a second thought, already turning back to your food. But he didn’t move to plug his phone in right away. Instead, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression.  

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the charger, his touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.  

“You just carry this around with you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, something softer beneath the teasing edge.  

You shrugged, popping another bite of food into your mouth. “Yeah, of course. Never know when you might need it.”  

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything right away.  

Instead, he plugged in his phone, then glanced back at you, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe you.  

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Pedro exhaled a small laugh, tucking the power bank into his lap like it was something precious. "Nothing. You’re just—" He paused, searching for the right word, before finally settling on, "—thoughtful."  

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.  

You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. "It’s just a charger, Pedro."  

"Yeah," he murmured, still watching you. "I know."  

But his expression said something else entirely.

You weren’t sure what to do with that look—the quiet weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to be memorizing you like you were something worth studying. So, instead of dwelling on it, you reached into your bag and pulled out your notepad and pen.

Doodling had always been second nature to you. Something to keep your hands busy while your mind wandered. While your friends continued chatting, their voices washing over you in waves, you let your pen glide over the paper in absentminded strokes.

Pedro, however, wasn’t nearly as distracted.

From the corner of his eye, he watched, his attention flicking between you and the small spirals and shapes forming beneath your fingers. It was mesmerizing in a way he didn’t expect. The way your brow furrowed ever so slightly when you concentrated. The way your pen tapped softly against the pad before committing to a new line.

He shifted in his seat, subtly angling himself so he could get a better look.

It wasn’t just mindless scribbles.

You were sketching. Really sketching.

A rough outline of the restaurant table, the glasses, the crumpled napkins. And just beside that, the faint beginnings of a face—strong jaw, slightly furrowed brows, lips curved at the edges as if they were on the verge of a smirk.

His lips.

Pedro’s throat tightened.

"That me?" he asked, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear.

Your pen paused mid-stroke, and you glanced up at him, caught. He wasn’t teasing, not really. If anything, there was something almost—fond—about the way he was looking at you.

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

Pedro huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t know you could draw."

"It’s just something I do when I’m listening," you admitted, flipping the page like it was nothing.

But he didn’t think it was nothing.

He wanted to say something else, something lighthearted to keep you from looking so shy about it, but before he could, one of your friends called your name, pulling your attention away.

Pedro exhaled, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

Thoughtful. Talented.

Yeah. He was absolutely in trouble.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

The shift in the air was subtle at first, almost imperceptible.

But you felt it.

It was the way certain conversations would quiet just as you approached. The way people who had once been warm and welcoming now exchanged knowing glances when they thought you weren’t looking. The way whispers followed in your wake, hushed giggles that felt anything but good-natured.

And at the center of it all was Cecilia.

She was the kind of woman people noticed when she walked into a room—stunning, sharp-witted, and utterly ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

And for whatever reason, she had decided that you were a problem.

At first, it was small things. A pointed look. A lingering smirk. A brush of her shoulder against yours as she passed by.

But then, it escalated.

"Did you hear?" one of her friends whispered just loud enough as you walked by. "She totally forced her way onto this project. Some kind of nepotism thing, I bet."

"Ugh, so cringe," another voice giggled. "She acts all sweet, but like, we know the truth."

You gritted your teeth, kept your head down, and moved along.

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was. Psychological warfare disguised as petty gossip. You’d seen it before, and you'd see it again.

The worst part?

You refused to let it get to you.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Pedro noticed.

It started with the way you brushed things off too quickly, like you were trying not to care. The way your usual smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your laugh—one of his new favorite sounds—had dulled just a fraction, too forced, too polite.

And Pedro wasn’t an idiot.

He saw the way Cecilia and her group slinked around set like vipers, the way their eyes always seemed to flick toward you before whispering behind manicured hands.

It pissed him off.

But when he asked about it, you just waved it away.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You shrugged, reaching for a prop clipboard. “Just tired. Long day.”

Pedro arched a brow. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep.”

He studied you for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “You’re a terrible liar.”

That made you scoff. “I am fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “So, you’re totally cool with the whole… weird vibe around here lately?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

It was enough.

“Pedro,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t care what they think, okay? It’s just… you know how some people are. They get bored.”

“They get mean,” he corrected.

You frowned, looking away.

He softened, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the clipboard.

“It doesn’t suck,” you insisted. “Because I don’t care.”

Pedro’s stare was unwavering, but you held your ground.

Because if you admitted it did hurt—if you let yourself feel it—you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

And you weren’t going to let them win.

Pedro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. You don’t care," he murmured. "But if you ever do care… you’ll tell me, right?"

Something in your chest tightened at that.

You forced a small, teasing smile. “Wow, Pedro. That almost sounded like a serious conversation.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

And just like that, the tension cracked, relief flickering behind his gaze.

For now, he’d let you pretend you were fine.

But he’d also be watching.

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEEKEND…

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING

The next two days were a slow, grating kind of miserable.

It started with small things—so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have convinced yourself they were nothing. The way conversations would quiet just as you walked past, the barely-concealed laughter from across the room, the occasional, suspiciously misplaced item that had definitely been right where you left it.

It was the kind of thing that chipped away at you in small, insidious ways.

Like the way Cecilia and her friends would conveniently stand right where you needed to go, their backs turned but their voices just loud enough.

“I swear, some people just don’t belong here.”

You’d walk past without reacting, even as the words burrowed under your skin.

Or the way your neatly organized stack of call sheets had been mysteriously scattered all over the breakroom counter when you came back from a coffee run. No one claimed responsibility, but Cecilia had walked by, tossing you a slow, syrupy-sweet, “Oops, was that important?” before sauntering off.

You clenched your jaw. Breathed through it.

Not worth it.

But then there were the more deliberate moments.

Like the wardrobe rack incident.

You had been helping move costumes between trailers when Cecilia and one of her friends conveniently brushed past, sending a precariously hung dress tumbling to the ground.

“Oh no,” Cecilia pouted, pressing a hand to her chest with mock concern. “You should really be more careful.”

You bent to pick it up, biting back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. The last thing you needed was to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you smoothed out the fabric and rehung it.

Then, there was lunch.

You had been balancing a plate of food in one hand, your phone in the other, when one of Cecilia’s friends accidentally knocked your elbow in passing.

It was a tiny movement. Just enough to send your fork clattering to the floor, just enough to make you hesitate—because was it intentional? Or were you just being paranoid?

“Careful,” the girl sing-songed over her shoulder, giggling as she caught up with Cecilia.

You let out a slow breath. Swallowed back the lump in your throat.

Not worth it.

So you kept your head up, kept moving, kept going. You told yourself that if you didn’t acknowledge it, if you pretended it didn’t exist, then it couldn’t touch you.

Right?

But it did.

Because by the time you got back to your trailer that night, you had to sit on the edge of your bed and press the heels of your hands into your eyes, breathing slow, measured breaths to keep yourself from crying.

Because it was working.

Because no matter how much you told yourself you were fine, no matter how much you smiled and laughed and acted unbothered, the cracks were starting to show.

You barely had a moment to yourself.  

Between running last-minute errands for production, keeping up with the crew’s rapid-fire instructions, and dodging the subtle but constant hostility radiating from Cecilia and her group, you were stretched thin.  

The exhaustion was creeping in—settling in the space between your ribs, behind your eyes, in the way your shoulders sat just a little tighter than usual.  

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.  

So you pushed through, past the carefully calculated inconveniences. The way they always seemed to cut in front of you when you were in a hurry, the stolen side-eyes and smirks exchanged whenever you spoke in a group, the way your things somehow always ended up in different places than you’d left them.  

You pretended not to notice when Cecilia’s voice turned just a little too loud whenever she spoke to someone near you.  

"Oh my god, you know what I hate? When people think just anyone can belong in this industry. Like… babe, you’re only here because they needed extra hands. It’s cute, though."  

You told yourself not to react.  

Even when Daisy—who had been standing beside you, her grip tightening on her clipboard—made a noise that sounded a lot like she was about to launch herself across the room.  

“It’s whatever,” you had muttered, tugging her back before she could make a scene.  

Daisy had narrowed her eyes. “It’s not whatever. She’s being a bitch.”  

You had only sighed. “I know.”  

Omar wasn’t as easily convinced.  

The next morning, when you found him loitering near Cecilia’s usual coffee spot, arms crossed and expression unreadable, you had to physically drag him away before he did something stupid.  

“Do not get yourself in trouble over this.”  

“She’s messing with you,” he seethed. “I hate people like her.”  

“She’s not worth it,” you said, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too thin, too tight.  

Omar wasn’t buying it. “Okay, but are you okay?”  

You hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.  

The worst part wasn’t the pettiness or the whispered insults—it was the fact that it was working. That somehow, in all the noise and nonsense, they had managed to make you feel small.  

But admitting that felt too much like defeat.  

So you forced a smile. “I’m fine.”  

Omar gave you a long, knowing look before muttering something under his breath and stalking off.  

That afternoon, as you sat on a bench outside the studio, your notebook balanced on your lap, you felt a shadow fall over you.  

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice was soft.  

You glanced up, startled. “Oh. Hey.”  

His brows knit together. “You okay?”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“You’ve been… different.” His voice was measured, careful. “Quieter.”  

You tried to play it off, shaking your head with a small laugh. “I’m just tired. Long shoot days, you know how it is.”  

Pedro didn’t look convinced.  

For a moment, he just stood there, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze of his. Like he was sifting through the words you weren’t saying, trying to make sense of them.  

Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.  

Close enough that his arm brushed against yours.  

You tensed, just slightly, before exhaling.  

Neither of you spoke for a moment.  

Then—  

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding toward your notebook.  

You hesitated.  

It was just mindless doodles—tiny flowers curling around the corners of the pages, half-finished sketches of set pieces, a rough outline of something that might have been Pedro’s profile if you hadn’t abandoned it halfway through.  

You felt a little embarrassed, but you handed it to him anyway.  

Pedro flipped through the pages, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “These are really good.”  

You rolled your eyes. “They’re just sketches.”  

“Still,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the paper. “They’re yours.”  

There was something about the way he said it—soft, sincere—that made your stomach tighten.  

For the first time in two days, something in you eased.  

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

And when Pedro leaned in, just slightly, warmth radiating from his shoulder where it rested against yours, you didn’t move away.

Pedro was still flipping through your sketches when a sharp, saccharine voice cut through the air.  

“Oh wow, there you are, Pedro. I was wondering when you’d finally come up for air.”  

Cecilia.  

You felt your whole body go rigid.  

Pedro barely glanced up, his fingers still tracing one of your sketches absentmindedly. “Hey.” His voice was flat, distracted.  

She took a step closer, her presence invasive in a way that made your skin prickle. “I was just telling the others how dedicated you are to your work. You know, always finding ways to get into character.” Her gaze flicked toward you, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Even off set.”  

You swallowed hard.  

Your chest felt tight, exhaustion pressing against your ribs, making it harder to keep your expression neutral. You were already hanging by a thread, stretched too thin over the last two days, and Cecilia knew it. ��

Pedro, still looking down at your notebook, gave a vague hum of acknowledgment, barely engaging. It wasn’t the reaction Cecilia had been hoping for, and you could see it. The way her expression twitched for half a second before smoothing over again.  

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth curling. “It’s sweet, though. That you take the time to entertain people. I mean, it’s not like everyone gets that kind of attention from you.” She let out a light, airy laugh that made your stomach turn. “Guess it pays to be in the right place at the right time, huh?”  

The implication was clear.  

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react.  

But then—  

“Cecilia,” Pedro’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. His fingers tapped against the notebook, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”  

Cecilia blinked, all faux innocence. “What do you mean?”  

Pedro finally lifted his head, and when he met her gaze, something in his expression shifted—something sharp, something distinctly unimpressed.  

“I mean, what are you doing?” His voice was just as smooth as before, but there was weight behind it now. “Because if you’re here to talk about the shoot, you should probably be talking to the crew.”  

Cecilia’s smile faltered.  

It was subtle, but you caught it.  

She opened her mouth, probably to smooth things over, but Pedro was already looking back at you, tilting the notebook toward you slightly, as if she weren’t even standing there.  

“You should finish this one,” he murmured, tapping his finger against the half-finished sketch of his profile. “It’s really good.”  

You could feel Cecilia’s eyes burning into you, but Pedro wasn’t giving her anything to work with.  

Her lips parted, like she might try again, but then she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she let out a small, sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her eyes as she turned on her heel and stalked off.  

The moment she was gone, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your hands gripping your notebook a little tighter.  

Pedro glanced over, brow furrowed. “You okay?”  

You nodded, even though your throat was tight. “I just…” A deep inhale. “I think I need a break.”  

Pedro studied you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, resting his hand over yours where it lay against the bench.  

Warm. Steady.  

Grounding.  

“Let’s take one, then,” he murmured.  

And for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain on the pavement as the last of the crew wrapped up for the day. You were exhausted, your body aching from hours on set, but when Pedro leaned in—voice low and warm—you felt something in you unwind.  

“Wanna grab dinner before heading back?”  

You blinked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Like… out-out?”  

His lips quirked into a small smile, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. Out-out.”  

You hesitated, glancing around as crew members bustled past, some already heading toward the shuttle van waiting to take everyone back to the hotel. “But, like… what if people see me with you?”  

Pedro gave you a look. “So?”  

“So… you’re you,” you gestured vaguely at him, “and I’m just—”  

He cut you off with a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Nope. We’re not doing that again. You’re you. And I wanna have dinner with you. End of discussion.”  

The finality in his tone made your stomach flip.  

You bit your lip, then nodded. “…Okay.”  

Pedro’s face softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumped your shoulder lightly. “Good.”  

By the time you both made it to the shuttle van, most of the cast and crew were already piling in.  

Vanessa was the first to notice. She raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Ohhh, where are you two off to?”  

Before you could answer, Joseph leaned forward from his seat. “Are we witnessing a secret rendezvous?”  

Ebon chuckled, shaking his head. “A little late-night dinner date?”  

Coco, already buckled in, smirked knowingly. “Have funnnn,” she teased, dragging out the last syllable.  

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. Pedro, for his part, was completely unfazed, flashing them an easy smile as he opened the door for you. “Don’t wait up,” he called, earning a chorus of laughter and whistles from the others as he shut it behind you.  

The restaurant wasn’t far—a quiet little spot tucked away from the main streets. The walk there was peaceful, the city buzzing around you but never pressing in too close.  

Pedro, dressed down in a hoodie, jeans, a baseball cap, and his glasses, was trying his best to blend in. But even like this, effortlessly casual, he still had a presence. He still walked like he took up space, like the world had to move around him.  

The height difference was almost comical. You felt it every time he turned his head down to look at you, every time his arm brushed against yours.  

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.  

You glanced up at him, caught off guard. “What?”  

Pedro gave you a look, one that made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever act you thought you were pulling. “Cecilia.”  

Your stomach twisted.  

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal.”  

Pedro stopped walking.  

You took two more steps before realizing, turning back to find him standing there, arms crossed, brows drawn together in frustration.  

He looked at you, really looked at you. “Of course, it’s a big deal,” he said, voice quieter now but firm. “If it’s hurting you, it’s a big deal.”  

You swallowed.  

The weight of his concern settled over you, warm and heavy. No one had ever really said that before. That what you were feeling mattered. That you weren’t just overreacting.  

Something in your chest cracked open, just a little.  

“…I just don’t want to make a thing out of it,” you admitted, voice small.  

Pedro’s features softened. He stepped closer, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, either.”  

A lump formed in your throat.  

And then, just as easily as he had turned serious, he pulled back, tilting his head toward the restaurant. “C’mon. Food first, then we plot Cecilia’s demise.”  

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.  

Pedro grinned, pleased with himself, before nudging your shoulder with his own.  

And as you walked the rest of the way, some of the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The restaurant was dimly lit, warm and intimate in a way that made the rest of the world feel far away. Soft jazz hummed through the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. The hostess greeted you both with a polite smile, barely sparing a glance at Pedro—either because she didn’t recognize him or, more likely, was being professional about it.  

Pedro let you choose the table, and you picked one near the window, a cozy little booth that felt tucked away from the rest of the diners. As you slid into your seat, Pedro pulled off his cap, running a hand through his messy curls before setting it down on the table.  

He looked… comfortable. Relaxed. And yet, there was still something unreadable in his expression as he watched you settle in.  

“You know,” he started, leaning forward on his elbows, “I’m kind of mad at you.”  

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”  

“Because,” he huffed, “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days, and the first time it actually happens, it’s because some Mean Girls knockoff has been making your life miserable.”  

You snorted. “So dramatic.”  

“I am dramatic,” he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But seriously. I don’t like that it took this for me to get to steal you away.”  

There was something in the way he said it—lighthearted, sure, but laced with something else. Something quieter. More honest.  

Your stomach flipped.  

Before you could figure out how to respond, the waiter appeared, handing over menus. Pedro thanked him with a charming smile before glancing back at you. “What are you in the mood for?”  

You shrugged, scanning the options. “Something warm.”  

Pedro hummed. “Soup?”  

“Maybe.”  

“Or,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “we get a huge plate of pasta and reenact Lady and the Tramp.”  

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not.”  

Pedro placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. That was a little too fast. Like you’ve thought about rejecting me before.”  

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile threatening to break free. He made it so easy to forget the exhaustion pressing down on you, the weight of the last few days.  

The waiter came back, and you both placed your orders—him getting some kind of hearty stew, you settling on a creamy pasta dish. The conversation flowed as effortlessly as ever, touching on everything and nothing all at once.  

At some point, Pedro leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. His knee brushed against yours, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.  

“So.” His voice was softer now, less teasing. “Cecilia.”  

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Can we not?”  

“We can,” Pedro allowed. “But I still hate it.”  

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, tracing the fabric between your fingers. “It’s not like she’s saying anything outright cruel. Just little things. Looks. Comments. Stuff that doesn’t sound like much but still…”  

Pedro’s jaw ticked. His fingers drummed absently against the table. “That’s how people like her work. They know how to make you feel like you’re imagining it.”  

You swallowed, looking down. “Yeah.”  

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then—  

“Do you want me to talk to her?”  

Your head snapped up. “What? No.”  

Pedro tilted his head, eyeing you. “Why not?”  

“Because,” you exhaled sharply, “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”  

His gaze softened, a flicker of something fond in his eyes. “I know you don’t. But I also know that you’re tired. And I hate seeing you like this.”  

Something in you wavered.  

Pedro sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just—God, I don’t get it. How could anyone not adore you?”  

Your breath hitched.  

The words were so sincere, so effortless, like he wasn’t even trying to be charming—just saying what was in his heart.  

Heat crept up your neck. You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle in the middle of the table. “You’re biased.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”  

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”  

Pedro grinned. “And yet, here you are. Having dinner with me.”  

“Unfortunately.”  

He clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”  

The waiter arrived with your food, and Pedro’s dramatic antics were temporarily forgotten as the delicious aroma filled the air. As you picked up your fork, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand—just for a second, just long enough to send a small shiver up your spine.  

“Hey,” he murmured.  

You glanced up, and for the first time all day, you felt seen.  

“Don’t let her get to you,” Pedro said, voice gentle but firm. “You’re worth so much more than whatever bullshit she’s trying to pull.”  

Something tightened in your chest.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro studied you for a moment, then smiled. “Good.”  

The weight on your shoulders didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened, melted into something manageable under the glow of candlelight and Pedro’s unwavering attention. You let yourself relax, let yourself exist in this small, intimate moment where it was just the two of you, where the laughter was easy and the warmth between you was something real, something steady.  

Pedro caught your gaze mid-conversation, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in just slightly. “There she is.”  

You blinked, tilting your head. “What?”  

“That smile,” he said simply. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”  

Heat bloomed in your chest, warm and unfamiliar, something delicate but deep. You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” Pedro teased, mirroring your words from earlier, “here you are.”  

You shook your head, lips twitching. “Unfortunate, really.”  

Pedro pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Wow. First, I get turned down for Lady and the Tramp, and now this? My ego is in shambles.”  

You laughed, a real, unguarded sound, and he grinned like that was exactly what he was hoping for.  

The conversation stretched long into the night, ebbing and flowing between playful teasing and quiet sincerity. The kind of talk that felt effortless, that felt safe.  

Somewhere between the last bites of food and the soft hum of the restaurant around you, Pedro reached across the table, his fingers skimming yours. The touch was featherlight, a quiet question rather than a demand. You could have pulled away.  

But you didn’t.  

Instead, you let your fingers curl around his, grounding, steady.  

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just squeezed your hand, a silent promise, and you squeezed back.  

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of the city with it. The restaurant door shut softly behind you, leaving you and Pedro standing beneath the glow of streetlights, his cap pulled low, his glasses perched on his nose.  

It should have felt different—stepping back into reality after the small bubble of warmth inside the restaurant. But somehow, it didn’t.  

Pedro rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets. “Still okay?”  

You exhaled, watching as your breath curled into the night air. “Yeah,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “I think I am.”  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied.

It turns out Vanessa, Coco, Joseph and Ebon got dinner somewhere else in town away from the two of you and they were waiting already in the shuttle and as soon as you both stepped inside, the teasing started. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up,” Vanessa sang, kicking her feet up on the seat in front of her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Joseph smirked from his spot by the window, arms crossed over his chest. “How romantic was it, really? Scale of one to ten?”

Coco grinned. “I’m betting solid eight.” Ebon scoffed. “Nah, Pedro’s smooth—at least a nine.” Pedro sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys seriously have nothing better to do?” Vanessa waved a hand. “Nope. Now spill.” You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt as the van pulled away from the curb. “We ate dinner. Like normal people. And then we walked outside. Like normal people.” Coco squinted. “That’s exactly what someone who did kiss would say.” Pedro groaned, leaning his head back against the seat, while you fought the smile tugging at your lips. Joseph held out his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s be serious for a second. Was it cute at least?” You blinked at him. “Was what cute?” “The date—” “It wasn’t a date,” you and Pedro said at the same time. A pause.

Then Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest. “You’re already finishing each other’s sentences?” “Oh my God,” Pedro mumbled under his breath. The laughter rolled through the van, easy and infectious, and despite the relentless teasing, despite the way your face burned under their knowing looks, you couldn’t help but feel… good.

The knot in your chest—the one that had been coiled so tight these past few days—had loosened. Maybe not completely, but enough that breathing didn’t feel so hard. Pedro shifted beside you, turning his head so only you could hear him. “They’re never gonna let this go.” You sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” His shoulder brushed yours, a quiet reassurance, and when he spoke again, there was something soft in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” You hesitated. Because truthfully, the weight of the past few days still sat heavy on your shoulders. Cecilia had made sure of that. The quiet digs, the passive-aggressive comments, the knowing smirks—it was a kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones. But right now, in the warmth of this moment, with Pedro looking at you like he actually cared about the answer, you found yourself saying— “I think I will be.” Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied. It was a small thing—just a simple gesture, barely more than a shift of his head. But somehow, it carried more weight than it should have, like he was silently saying I see you. I hear you. You swallowed. It was nice to have a friend. But then—was that all this was? You glanced at him again, at the way he was sat with you so easily, like he’d always been meant to be there. At the way he felt beside you, like a quiet anchor in the storm of the last few days.

End Notes:

I told you there would be drama O_O

Again, no hate to any girlie named Cecilia, everyone calm.

Don’t worry girlies… it will turn out fine, mostly… I think… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

YA'LL SEEN THE TEASER TRAILER!?!?!? IM UNWELL AND DYING AND SO EXCITED AND I WANT TO MELT AND DIE VANESSA KIRBY YOU LUCKY WOMAN I WANNA KISS HIM TOO T^T

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

[tonysbed]

Secrets I keep | Part 10

Lando Norris x sister!reader

Max Fewtrell x norris!reader

summary: You and Max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

not proofread

series masterlist | previous | next

-

yn

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxfewtrell, landonorris and 638.946 others

yn sundays are race days 🏎️🤍

*tagged maxfewtrell, landonorris, kellypiquet*

kellypiquet my babies 🥹

landonorris 🧡🧡

maxfewtrell real flattering 😐

yn 😁😁

user where is alex??🥲

yn sick sadly :((

user oh noo, get well soon alexandrasaintmleux

alexandrasaintmleux thank you 🤍

user love their friendship sm

user p and the catsss

user the little hand i’m crying 🥹

-

You open the door to Max, who is holding his hands behind his back. “Don’t do that“ “Do what?” He scrunches his eyebrows “Hands behind your back. I’m a true crime listener, i’m always thinking about the worst case” Max slowly shows you his hands, a pink flower boquet is in his right hand and his phone is his left.

“I’m not sure how much damage flowers can do but.. Well you love flowers and now I made it awkward, haven’t I?”

You shake your head chuckling “Thank you.” You take the flowers off him and walk inside. Max follows you and makes his way to the kitchen, while you look for a vase in the living room.

P looks at you “What are those?” “Flowers, baby” “I know that” She says and puts her hands on her hips. In her size, an adorable sight. You smile and continue looking until you find one.

“Are they from max?” You nod “They are” “Like maxie gets for mom? Oh! So he loves you very much!” You look at the little girl “It’s just a nice gesture” P raised an eyebrow “Sure, miss almost kissed”

Your head snapped to her “What did you say?” “Nothing!” She goes back to playing with her toys and you make your way to the kitchen.

“Where’s Alexandra?” Max asked “Sick” You shrug. Max nods “Could you make P something to eat? She’ll be hungry soon and she is a nightmare when she’s hungry” You grimace. He chuckles but does it either way.

-

“So she is just sick?” Max asks, setting down food for P and sitting down next to you on the couch “mhm” You say, holding the bottle for the baby “I don’t believe it to be honest”

“No?” “No.” “Why?” You look at him with a knowing look “Ah. You told her” You blush a little and look back at the little human in your arms “Hey, i’m not mad you told her. But now it’s suspicious that she isn’t here” “That’s what I’m saying” You chuckle.

yn added to their story

-

“Are we gonna talk about this now or..”Max trails off. Max and Kelly already returned in the evening and picked the two kids up. Max was helping you clean up a bit because two young kids in the same space can be quite chaotic.

“We should..shouldn’t we” You sigh and stand up from where you put toys away. He nods and you both sit down on the couch once again.

You fidget with the hem of your sweatshirt “Do we wanna risk it or not? Is this worth it? Is probably what we should answer..right?” You nod “Yeah”

He looks at you “We can’t stay away from each other, and it’s killing me okay? I just..” He runs his hand over his face “This is all or nothing” You say quietly, which he nods to.

“We have to think about us..but..” “He’ll be okay. Your mom has a talent in calming and convincing her children. “ He says, reaching out to push a lose stand of hair behind your ear. You look up at him.

“he won’t leave you.” “You don’t know that, Max” “I do. Do you even know how much he loves you?” He smiles “You’re his person.” “Are you referring to Christina and meredith?” You smile “After you forced me to watch every season, can you blame me?”

“He’s my person too..” He nods “I know. And as long as we’re honest with him, he’ll be okay. We had our reasons to keep it this long but we didn’t go behind his back.”

You nod, your eyes focused on his. You lean in once again “If anyone calls, you’re not picking up and the door stays closed” He whispers, hand now resting on your cheek. You look into his eyes and stop moving.

“This would going behind his back tho, no?” You say quietly. Max squeezed his eyes shut and let his forehead meet yours “I have a feeling faith hates us” You chuckle “Why?” “Anytime we’re about to fucking finally kiss, something or someone stops us. Now that we’re finally here, you stop it again” He breaths.

“I’m sorry max, I can’t hurt him. Not after he reacted that badly to dan-“ Max pressed a finger to your lips “Don’t talk about him when i’m right here, please”

You nod pull away when your phone lights up in a notification. Max groans and you pick it up “It’s carlos..?” you say confused.

“What does he say?”

“How does everyone figure this out?” Max whines “It’s not like we were very subtle. The only one who really didn’t notice was Lando. And probably keegan cause he’s just..keegan” Max laughs “Yeah.”

“Oscar actually asked me about it when you two used to race in renault together” “Really?” “Mhm.”

“I’ll have to text lando that mom is coming. And the way I know her, she’s bringing dad”

“Yeah. But back to the original question..”

“Do you think we’re worth it? Are you ready for the confrontation with Lando?” You ask him “I am if you are” You smile lightly “Then we’re doing it?” “I guess we are. Better us than Da- the man who shall not be named.” You laugh “He’s not voldemort.” “He’s still a dick.”

-

-

The short time to Wednesday felt like forever. Lando kept trying to get out of you why your parents were coming. The only answer he got was “Why shouldn’t they?”

Lando was slowly going crazy. If they act like this, there must be something wrong. The last time everyone was this secretive, it only meant something bad.

So it was no wonder that Lando hadn’t slept when you picked up your parents from the airport “Hello my babies” Ciska pulls you both into a hug “Hey mom” “Hey” You both say. Adam pulls you and then Lando into a hug after you pulled away from Ciska.

“Let’s go shall we?” You say nervously. You walk next to your mother “Can someone tell me now why you’re here? It’s really worrying me” Lando says exhausted as you stop next to his car.

Adam looks at Ciska, who shrugs a bit “It’s nothing to loose your mind over. It is just better when we’re here. We’re going out tonight.” Lando eyes him “Going out?”

“Yes, at a restaurant. Let’s go now!” Ciska clapped in her hands.Lando helps them with their luggage as you sit in the backseat which your mother joins you in. She takes your hand and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

-

As you put on your jacket, Ciska stands in the doorway “He’s going straight there?” You nod “He’s meeting us there” “Have you told lando that max is coming?” You nod again “He knows. But he doesn’t know why”

You say with a shaky voice. Ciska stands behind you, hands on your shoulders “We’re here. And if this is what really matters, he’ll accept it. You don’t even know how much he loves you” “I’ve been hearing that a few times recently” You chuckle.

“Then it must be true. There’s nothing that could separate you two.” She kisses the side of your head and you walk into the hallway, where lando and adam are waiting by the front door, deep in conversation about the season.

“Ah! You’re finally here. Let’s go!”

-

f1gossip

f1gossip Lando norris, Yn norris, their Parents and Max fewtrell were seen tonight at a restaurant out in monaco! Fans seem to think, for a good reason, that this is about Yn’s tweet two days ago.

user max keeps showing up at their family dinners 😂

user chaos pure

user am I the only one who saw the video of Max and yn walking together??

user right? They seem to finally getting along

user finally no more war 😂

-

After you ordered, silence filled the table “So? We’re not here for no reason at all, are we?” Lando asked, playing with his napkin. Ciska looks at you.

“I wanted to talk to you..about something” Lando raised an eyebrow “And you needed Mom and dad for that? And Max?” “Yeah. Well mom and dad are just a safety measure.” Lando laughs “From me? Okay.”

“Lando.” Ciska warns “Okay okay. Tell me” “So uhm.. this actually goes a bit back in time.. way back actually..” You fidget “Have you broken something?” “No” Lando raised an eyebrow, still confused.

“Will you let her speak” Adam says now, taking a sip of his drink. Lando nods and looks at you “Uhm..So I uh.. Like someone” Lando nods “Okay? What does that have to do with me? It’s not Daniel, or?” You shake your head.

“Thank god. I love him as a friend but for my sister? Wasn’t so happy but it only matters what you want” He shrugs. You glance at Max, who returns the look and you look back at Lando.

Lando scrunched his eyebrows together but doesn’t say anything “I only really want to tell you and approach this because otherwise Daniel would and I don’t want you to find out from someone else and O don’t wanna loose you,so i’m telling you now, but I like max and he likes me and we’ve liked each other for a long time but we didn’t wanna go behind your back and-“ Lando sits up and blinks in surprise at your sudden fast pace confession “Hey hey hey, breath jesus”

You stop talking and look at him, tears welling up “You like Max?” He looks at him “You like her?” Max nods, lips pressed together. You clench your jaw “Please don’t hate me” Lando looks at you “What? Hate you?”

A tear rolls down your cheek “Yn no” He gently grabs your hand and pulls you out of your chair into his arms. His hand cradles your hand and the other arm tightens around you “I could never hate you.” He pulls away and holds your face in his hands “How long have you..”

“Since.. uhm” “since we were sixteen” Max mumbles, loud enough for all of you to hear. Landos eyes soften “Why didn’t you say anything?” “I didn’t wanna ruin your friendship or.. our relationship” Lando keeps wiping the coming tears.

“I just want you to be honest, not hide yourself from me. I thought we were over that?” He sighs “You told everyone i’m off limits!” “Think. Have I told Max?” He looks at Max “Have I told you that?” Max thinks for a moment but shakes his head.

“Why did you think that is?” He looks at you “Why do you think carlos texted you?” You looked at him schockrd “What?” “I’ve known for a bit. It clicked when Daniel made a backhanded comment at the dinner. I can’t recall what exactly he said but you and Alexandra looked at each other and after that she kept glancing at max”

“So alexandra-“ “No I would’ve figured it out myself. At least when max started hating Daniel out of thin air. He didn’t hate him, he was jealous. And why do you think was keegan in your business?”

“You set him up?” “Made him act clueless and all. I wanted to confirm my suspicions. And don’t worry, I get why you didn’t tell me”

“See?” Ciska now says, smiling. Lando wiped the last of your tears and moves to hug Max.

“I don’t have to give you the speech do I?” He asked with raised eyebrows “No, No. I got it” Max says, raising his hands.

“Good. Oh the foods here!” He says excitedly as the waiter sets the plates down. You smile at him and sit back down next to Max. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze and a warm smile.

-

After everyone had finished their food, Lando looks around. His face was reflecting that he was deep in thought.

“Lan? Everything okay?” “Daniel was about to tell me because he was hurt, right?” You nod “I think so..why?” “Just asking. Now he’s gonna hear a few things from me when he tells me. Guess who my new guest will be for the next grand prix” He smiles mischievously.

“Lando, no big scene.” You say, tilting your head “Yn. He tried to mess with you, hurt you by telling me. You think i’m just gonna let him? What would you do in my situation?”

You stay quiet, knowing you would do the same. Lando nods “See?”

-

yn

liked by danielriccardo, landonorris, maxfewtrell and 739.634 others

yn it’s race week 🤭

alexandrasaintmleux see you soon ❤️

yn ❤️

landonorris why always these random pictures? Why not the good ones you took of me?

yn I’m your sister, not your photographer.

landonorris 😐

user Daniel liked ahhh

user you think you’re the biggest mclaren fan and then there’s yn

-

I don’t like this chapter at all.. And lando is not as stupid as we thought.. and what in gods name is he planning? 😧

[signanothername]

That most recent comic holy shit…

I love the way you characterize Dream, and I love that he has an angry side. Honestly I think he has every right to be angry— at Nightmare and at the world at large— after all the shit he’s been put through.

Of course if he ever takes his anger out on like Ink or Blue that’s not very healthy, but I believe he can learn better coping mechanisms with the help of his friends. I just think that Dream truly deserves to get angry and let himself vocalize it sometimes.

Context

Thank you! I absolutely adore Dream and actually wanna make him a bit more.. bitter dhhdgxgz

Like I’m all for kind loving Dream and that’s how I characterize him, but all the shit that happened with the twins as children couldn’t just possibly affect Nightmare alone, Dream also was abused, was hurt, was taken advantage of, and with how Dream always keeps it inside? Pretending to be the positivity guardian that has to feel happy all the time? that absolutely has to make a bit of resentment boil inside

And to me, that resentment isn’t even towards Nightmare, as much as Nightmare abuses Dream emotionally, Dream’s resentment isn’t towards him, it’s just towards everything, every little thing leading up to this moment of his life, the villagers, the incident, his entrapment in stone, etc

And that turns to unresolved anger that just stirrs inside him each time something bad happens, whether to him, or his loved ones

Unfortunately, cause that anger is unresolved, it’s destructive, it isn’t just directed towards Nightmare whenever he emotionally manipulates him, it can suddenly blow even towards people who didn’t even do anything to Dream at all, or even when it blows against Nightmare, his anger can make him say or do things that he deeply regrets, Dream can sometimes even blame Nightmare for things that were out of his twin’s control (like Nim’s death) because Dream needs to blame someone for how everything just collapsed in their lives, whether blaming himself, or his twin, or the villagers who are already long dead

To put it very simply, his anger isn’t healthy at all, it’s very destructive, and it’s even one of the many reasons his relationship with Nightmare never gets better

Nightmare both hates Dream’s anger, yet relishes in it

But yeah, I agree, I think Dream deserves to feel his anger after everything he’s gone through, but until he learns how to have a better and healthier outlet, his anger is nothing short of a destruction weapon in itself

[come-as-you-are-111]

Something About Tonight

Warnings: Nothing! Kissing (if u count that)

Chris picks you up at 11:47 PM—just like always. No text, no call. Just the sound of his car pulling up outside your place, headlights cutting through the dark.

And, like always, you get in.

These late-night drives started months ago—just the two of you, nowhere to go, nowhere to be. Just music playing low, the hum of the engine, and the kind of silence that never felt awkward.

But tonight?

Tonight feels different.

Chris barely looks at you when you slide into the passenger seat. His fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter, his jaw a little sharper in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

You watch him as he drives, the city lights streaking across his face. “You good?”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

You don’t buy it.

Something’s off.

And then—out of nowhere—Chris pulls over. Just parks the car on the side of some empty road, the neon glow of a gas station sign flickering in the distance.

Your heartbeat kicks up. “What are we doing?”

Chris runs a hand over his face, then exhales—slow, steady, like he’s trying to think.

“There’s something I gotta say,” he mutters, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

You straighten, pulse thrumming in your ears. “Okay…”

He doesn’t look at you—not yet. Just keeps staring straight ahead, like if he meets your eyes, he won’t be able to say it.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, shaking his head. “Like, I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to say it, but every time I see you, it just—” He cuts himself off with a sharp breath.

Your chest tightens. “Chris—”

“I like you.” The words come out rushed, unsteady. “Like, a lot. And I know we’ve been doing this whole ‘friends’ thing, but I can’t—” He finally looks at you, and damn.

His eyes? They’re so intense.

Like he’s been holding this in for too long, like he’s barely holding himself back now.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Because what the hell are you supposed to say when your best friend—when Chris—is looking at you like this?

“…Say something,” he murmurs, voice lower now.

You don’t think. Don’t hesitate.

You just lean in.

And when your lips brush—just barely—Chris moves.

Hand slipping behind your neck, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The kiss isn’t soft—it’s messy, desperate, like he’s making up for lost time. Like he’s afraid this might not happen again.

A/n: Hi my lil monsters! How we likey? First Chris fic (and I promise there’s a lot more to come) I’m trying to write a full fic for everyone on my master list. Send in any request if u wanna!

Love ya, Twilight

Taglist:

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun

[caitchercatlady]

Sleeping Over at Ramshackle w/Cater

If there’s anything that Cater loves more than MagiCam, it’s being able to use social media for school projects. The professor assigns students to incorporate how astrology can relate to the daily lives of people? Cater will cut this like a slice of freshly made cake.

Cater wants to hold a sleepover with his fellow third years, but not everyone is keen on the idea. It’s a shame. But then, Cater gets a new idea.

“Prefecty!” he cheers when you pick up his call. “Listen, I’m a bit of a bind. I got this assignment for Astrology class, and I need a place to hang to get it done. You’re not busy this weekend, are you?”

As far as you know, you’re not. Also, what’s the harm in having Cater over, especially if it’s for classwork? You permit him to stay.

“OMG! You’re the best, bestie! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Whatever that means.

The evening comes just as fast as Cater’s assignment arrangement. Speaking of Cater, he’s not a moment late when he arrives on Ramshackle’s doorsteps. You’re astonished at the amount of things he’s brought with him from his own room at Heartslabyul. Not only that, but his selfie stick is in recording mode for his phone, charger attached, too.

“Hey, boo! Let’s get this party started! Oh, don’t worry. This is not a livestream. That ruins the whole point of the project.”

“Which is what exactly?” you question.

“So Trein wants us to relate the night sky to our everyday activities. What better way to do that than to have a party involving the night? True, it’s a little early for stars, but what’s the point of waiting for the fun to happen, right, Prefect?”

“I guess so.”

“And unlike my dorm’s Unbirthday Parties, we got some of my faves to munch on.” Cater plops the cooler onto the Ramshackle kitchen counter.

“Oh, I already got some--”

“Don’t worry. We’ll add those, too. You wanna help me make some buffalo wings?”

Grim’s ears perk at “buffalo wings,” and you’ll live to regret not saying yes to Cater’s offer as far as the little cat beast is concerned. Granted, the wings have been bought frozen from the Foothill Town market, but at least your oven can hold them all enough for the party of three. As the wings cook, it’s sour and sweet smell fills the air space of the dorm. It makes Grim melt into the floorboards. Half an hour later, the wings are fully cooked, drizzled with sauce by you and Cater, and ready to eat. You two bring out the other snacks, and it becomes a banquet.

“See, besties? There’s nothing better than a sleepover pici-nic!” Cater says to the phone camera. Thankfully, for you, Cater’s not entirely wrapped up in the screen. He sticks the selfie stick in the cushions, facing it towards you and him. He smirks as he holds up a wing to your mouth. “Nom, nom, Prefecty. Have a bite.”

Your cheeks flush. “Do I have to?”

“If Prefect doesn’t wanna, I will!” cheers Grim. “I’m always up for food.”

Cater’s face drops. “Sorry, Grim, but I need a cute face for this one.”

“What? How dare you call me not cute!”

“Come on, Prefect. One shot is all I need. I’m not asking for any fan service.”

You heavily sigh and give in. Cater holds up the wing to your lips, smirking. You take the bite out of the buffalo wing, but the ripping of the meat off the bone isn’t graceful. This only makes Cater laugh.

Click! goes the camera.

“And that’s how you know when a wing is at peak deliciousness,” he says, winking at his phone. He takes another screenshot.

You feel lightheaded knowing that this footage is going to be used in his assignment somehow. Even Grim is snickering. You knock the little monster’s head into the pudding.

After filling their stomachs with tastiness, the sun is setting in the horizon. Cater indicates that it’s time to finally dress up for the occasion, so they can have more fun, comfort style. You come out of your room in your baggy Ramshackle supplied pajamas and walk down the stairs to find Cater not there. Doesn’t he want to do more sleepover stuff? What is he doing and where is he?

You call for Cater back upstairs. He doesn’t respond. The guest room door is open. You peek in to only find it empty. Yes, Cater’s belongings are scattered about, but he’s not there. You notice that the washroom door is open with steam coming out of it. Are you really going to check if he’s in there? What if he’s still dressing?

You approach the room and lean against the wall on the outside. You can hear him talking, and you know for sure it’s to no one except the camera. “Cater?” you call out.

He stops talking to himself. “Hey, Prefect! Do you need something?”

“I was wondering if you were dressed yet.”

“Oh yeah! Sorry about that. You can come in! I’m decent.”

You peek through the doorway, and there Cater is, standing in front of the mirror in the most multi-shade of brown pajamas you’ve ever seen. You admit to yourself that this is the last kind of nightwear you expected from influence-obsessed Cay Cay. “Don’t tell me you went live in my washroom.”

“Of course not,” he replies. “Sorry, Prefecty. I was taking some selfies in here for the assignment. Then, I turned the video back on when I started drying my hair. I forgot how much time passed.”

You suppose that’s a relief.

“Well, now that my hair is dry, let’s go look at the stars together.”

Oh, that’s right. He’s supposed to relate his lessons to this event he decided to throw. Cater takes you by the hand and pulls you to the guest room, where the curtains are apart enough to see the cloudless sky. “Yas! The stars are out!” He switches the camera from selfie view to the opposite as the lens catches the white dots in the sky. “Yeah, partying is fun and all, but there’s nothing better than chilling with your besties in the quiet. See, all of the bright lights up there are all friends, and they love shining in place, bringing peace to the world. That’s all they need to do. We should take inspiration from them and remember the quiet moments, too.”

“Do you believe that, Cater?”

“Aw, you’re trying to make me cry, aren’t you, bestie? Of course, I do.”

The quiet swirls around you both like fireflies on a summer evening. Cater whispers out his constellation knowledge, pointing to every little light in the night sky. The round of ASMR starts out with you nodding and saying the words “cool” and “amazing.” A minute goes by, and it has you going, “Mmhmm.” A few more minutes go by, and your eyes can barely stay open. Cater’s voice is so soothing that you end up falling onto his shoulder for support. You forget that this is slightly caught on camera, but will you even care anyway? What’s Cater gonna do? Embarrass you in front of his third year class?

He does find this “too adorbs” to ignore, and a few selfies are caught of this. However, he respects you enough to put you under the covers of the guest bed to have you rest. When Cater is ready to hit the hay, he takes the other half, above the sheets. He whispers to the video his project conclusion, puts all of his equipment to the side, and he joins you in dreamland. He’s sure that this is an A+ in the hole, not only for grades, but perhaps in human connection, too.

[mins-fins]

˖ ࣪ .  the happiest day

❝ for on its wing was dark alloy, and as it fluttered-fell, an essence-powerful to destroy, a soul that knew it well. ❞ ─ edgar allan poe , 1827

warnings swearing, explicit language, implied sexual content, infidelity (sorta), unhealthy relationships, mentions of drug use, drinking, fighting, and one mention of child abuse. word count 7.3k.

JENO ABOUT FAINTS.

“i will have you know that you have the right to remain silent” detective qian crosses his arms above his chest, a spine-chilling, egregious figure intimidatingly prominent before him. it should instill its own feat of comfort, being met with somebody whose main course is to bring justice, gather evidence and solve the crime.

jeno feels all frightened, however, it’s the law, and you were..

“i’m sorry, it’s just a bit—“

“feel free to take your breaks” the crack of a few knuckles, jeno flinches, it’s cold, sweat endures across his perversely brisk skin, the perspiration clearly not giving him the best possible appearance. he already spent a good few hours sobbing his eyes out, sclera’s red beyond repair.

jeno braces himself, there isn’t going to be a hard hit, not a punch, nothing of innate violence, it’s just.. this.

“i wanna help any way i can”.

“of course, i’ll have you know that you are not under investigation for murder, this is basic interrogation protocol we do to everybody”.

“okay”.

jeno is unaware of why he whispers, afraid of something.

“what was your relationship with the victim?”

jeno pauses, the was is particularly perturbing in this instance, a term which jumps out and broadens the true occurrences of this situation. it dawns on him strangely, almost steadily, most would say several hours have already passed, but jeno barely perceives such a time gap until it suddenly consumes his reality overwhelmingly.

you were alive. then you were dead. now he’s here.

“we were friends, very close friends, i.. uh— i had a crush on him”.

it’s a bit embarrassing, juvenile, cheeks all pink in that inherently boyish constraint. jeno is often commended for his honesty, but for the longest time he could never really admit it to anybody, not even you yourself. yet everybody was aware, batted their knowing eyes and curt grins, those are simply the certain things you expect from people when you exhibit such damning behavior.

detective qian’s eyes practically glow at the given information, as if he had just struck gold, jeno barely even stated much..

well he supposes it is much, to him and the now warming blood in his heart.

“had?”

jeno is unsure what extent of the past tense he is even referring to, ‘had’ could encapsulate many things, your death, or the fact that he supposedly got over you.

he decides the second option is the most suitable.

“it was a childhood thing really, i grew out of it over time”.

terrific save jeno.

“huh” he doesn’t believe jeno, the discrete cock of his eyebrow is a bright, loud indication. “was that an unrequited crush?”

well jeno didn’t exactly expect that, it would be terrible for him if it had been, a true spurring detail that could easily brand him as suspect number one, a murder of outrage, jeno is sure that’s probably the easiest notice one could grab.

“well i don’t.. he never said, actually? we didn’t date ever we just— but i guess we kind of did have a relationship..”

you never named it anything, perhaps you simply enjoyed muddling things for him, jeno was enamored, you apparently had that all figured out at every singular glance.

“y/n didn’t like labels” he blurts, a bit outmoded, you would presumably be the slightest irritated at such a soundless giving of details, you’d glare, decorating the surface with the sheer docility your eyes hold. jeno always loved your eyes, they’ve been very intriguing for the several years you two had known each other. “and he wanted someone else anyway, didn’t even have to say it”.

jeno tries so hard, yet the explicit disdain pervades throughout his speech, his very own reply resulting in a slight agonizing squint. he too earns a squint, from the detective, much of an information dump, a scornful expression merely hidden with a sweet smile. “huh, well he seems a bit complicated”.

the chuckle jeno produces is comically dry, the true amusement impeding this situation could not be any farther away. “i didn’t hold it against him”.

“right, so what about the others then?”

“hm?”

“perhaps a disgruntled ex, a crazy one night stand, you have any names for me?”

well of course, he was so pissed when i came around, it would only make sense that he—

“no” jeno swallows, shaking his head. “yeah y/n has a couple terrible exes but they weren’t invited to the party, and if they did somehow show up he would’ve had someone kick them out anyway”.

jeno didn’t tell a whole lie, it was merely partial, a statement not all littered with fallacies. there’s an intolerable stir in his stomach when he even muses on throwing one of them under the bus, he’s sure they are all aware in their own right, every single one of them was there, present, but he feels much too..

he does the speculative squint, the narrowing of his eyes signaling suspicion over a claim that appears much too feasible in jeno’s own eyes,

but perhaps he doesn’t have much of an investigative mind.

“and when y/n passed?”

“i was.. god mark and hyuck were going at each other and jaemin was laughing instead of helping, chenle was cheering and i was trying to calm them down cause y/n would’ve never forgiven them if they got into a fist fight at his party” jeno slightly snickers at the recollection of you, of course you would be worrying over the state of your party rather than mark and donghyuck getting into a fist fight, you already had your bets set on mark winning anyway. “jisung was getting overwhelmed so he went upstairs and—“

“ah” but then the detective’s eyes widen, it is all for a simple reason really. “do you happen to recall where huang renjun was?”

jeno blanks. he.. doesn’t. that’s a bit strange.

he peers for a second too little, as if the moment will appear before his eyes in the manner of some movie flashback. he sees it all; mark and donghyuck screaming at the highest capacity their lungs could offer, jaemin watching with eyes encapsulated by his pure entertainment, chenle giggling, jisung practically on the verge of tears watching, jeno forcing himself in between the two quarreling.

huh. renjun wasn’t there.

he presumes his memory must be off.

“i don’t remember him being there now that i think about it..” jeno’s head is pivoting much too rapidly, growing dizzy despite the lack of clear movement. “i mean he did seem a little angry all night, his answers were snappy but i didn’t think much of it? sometimes he gets overwhelmed easily, besides renjun couldn’t—“

jeno stops himself.

what is he thinking? renjun is capable of a lot more than people expect, innocence never his forte.

“well i’m just curious, you’re much more honest than your little friend”.

now jeno is wondering how donghyuck must’ve relayed it.

but that contains little of true scrutiny, he wasn’t entirely honest either.

~

jeno had his final conversation with you not even an hour before you had been discovered.

11:16, he remembers, by that point in time his head had begun pounding, repetitive melodies drowning into the ear ringing background which he took in as his own. jungwoo had swayed his whole and dumped a shortened story about your clash with donghyuck because of course you two argued, jeno failed to completely hear it all.

“i think i might die”.

always the ever so spectacular, you slapped a hand over your forehead, a tentative habit made to supposedly aid with headaches. you mused to jeno that whenever your father had done it back in your turbulently ‘pain-stricken’ childhood all of the agony erased straight away, he is beginning to wonder how many of those moments could even be clarified in truth. your dad has irked him in every moment, as a child, even too in adulthood.

you were strange, in a frankly striking way which has always interested him.

“don’t do that, does it really even help?”

“you won’t know until you try it”.

jeno had tried it, having almost burst into tears once when he was going through one of the worst fevers life could offer.

it didn’t do shit, but at least you were there to cushion the pain and listen in on the endless rambling paired with sobbing that took place. you let him cry into your shoulder for hours before he was finally ready to take a nap, overwhelmed by it all.

“kinda looks like you’re just hurting yourself”.

“it’s a bit ironic”.

jeno does not recollect the moments in time that led to you two holding hands, but it began much rapidly and never had a sure explanation in his mind. “why’d you two fight again?”

you crinkled your nose at his tone, as if feigning annoyance. “there wasn’t even a reason, we just fight to fight really, sometimes i think it’s embedded in us or some shit”.

jeno has to admit, he giggled at that one.

“seriously, i’m so.. i don’t know, it’s always a thing with us, we argue and we just act like it’s normal”.

“well it sort of is for you two isn’t it?”

you squeezed his hand discreetly, almost glaring, though your eyes reserved that beauty they had in every gaze, jeno may have been just the slightest smitten. “i do love hyuck, you know, i get on his nerves and he gets on mine but it’s all in the name of sport or whatever, debating.. he doesn’t hate me”.

right, donghyuck had been careless with his words but when is he not? it could simply be the effects of knowing someone so closely for that long, but jeno was always aware he’s been a softie, never the toughest type, just stubborn.

“that’s a way to say it”.

“he was drunk”.

it was a minuscule moment where jeno heard you be unsure of yourself, that is much too atypical, he simply perceived everything as planned out in your very mind. “what the fuck am i even saying right? i need to lie down, vomit everything”.

you waved a shy hand as if surrendering, finally allowing your fingers to slip from jeno’s, he about complained, yet he stopped himself.

you rubbed your temples, one, two, three times, then your arms dropped where they had remained prior to the turbulent hand holding. “yeah, think i just miss my bed”.

“you alright?”

“of course i am, just got too drunk” jeno never assumed such a statement would ever escape your mouth, he always assumed your go to would be do now think later.

he realized then, and carries now, that such a prospect could not have been further from every other thing true to your nature.

of course he had to discern such a thing too late.

“do you want me to go with..?”

“no no it’s fine i’m not gonna sleep” you seemed as though you could slip at any moment, eyes having already begun to flutter, yet you pursued on. “a few minutes, i’ll come back downstairs, i’m sure you guys can entertain yourselves without me”.

a few minutes. a. few. minutes.

jeno blinked, a tight breath kept in his throat, he wanted to grab your hand, maybe follow behind you like a lost puppy for the rest of the party.

he should’ve.

“i’ll be fine, don’t worry about me”.

but jeno did, in every waking moment he had that sneaking voice alerting him that he should brood on the singular things you say. sometimes he wishes his mind didn’t expand in such a manner, there is only so much sure worrying you could do over so many words.

“you sure you won’t fall asleep?”

“yes, i have a sure point” you leaned in, a kiss on his cheek, your signature. “love you”.

“love you too”.

then jeno observed you rush upstairs, yearning to follow you, fingers hesitantly pinching at one another. he should have followed you.

he did not, alone time is alone time and you certainly did need it after hours spent downstairs practically driving yourself to insanity.

he supposes much more faith should be put in his own judgement.

JENO PRESUMES HIS MEMORY JUST ACTS AGAINST HIS WILL in most important moments, when he attempts to have a sane conversation with somebody or is simply trying to study, perhaps take an innocent shower. no. his mind dizzies with flurries images he feigns ignorance too, aptly spacing out midway through very pertinent minutes of life he shouldn’t be taking for granted. his pride shatters at each recollection, it’s humiliating, future mind readers possibly having a laugh at the dreadful nature reeling in his head.

jeno remembers the day you two slept together for the first time almost perfectly.

it happens to be that way due to the gravity that night holds, amusingly enough.

just blinks before his eyes every now and then, startling him at even the most mundane of moments, he’s beginning to believe he’s been rendered abnormal.

he almost too often harks back on it all, you pressing him into the doorframe, hands steady on his hips, then they began roaming, curving nails carving marks into its seams and hasty hands meandering to virtually rip his shirt from his chest. tripping over your very feet as you journeyed to his bedroom, disorderly, tangled, done through frankly idiotic giggles and extensive lip biting.

jeno recalls assuming such all to be a dream when it had happened, it’s the person he’d been essentially in love with for a time he barely comprehends displaying his innate desire point blank.

well it couldn’t have been any more crystalline.

jeno still presumed it was a dream whilst you two lied together, the flat of your palm resting atop his encased heart, the quickening beats per minute would have easily been observed, even soundly. you gazed up at the insipid ceiling, jeno’s vision continued blurring for some odd reason.

“how long were you planning on doing that?”

jeno glanced in your direction, immediately entranced by the just how simply you could behold such looks. the whole universe could be portrayed by the hue of your eyes alone, it’s fascinating, jeno could stare in them for hours.

your awareness appeared brightly, displayed in the manner you flicked him in the forehead, drawing a yelp. “you alive in there?”

“let a guy breathe dammit”.

“was it all you ever wished for?”

jeno always regarded himself as exceptionally hopeful, a true man of his word, all bright despite the disdain the world so tried to push atop him.

his eyebrows furrowed, they were never all detailed, jeno assumed the highest point possible would be imminent rejection, his virtue had torturously beaten such a thing into his head until he figuratively bled out on the floor with the blurring image of you beholding his gaze.

but you were there in his bed, jeno got the memo way too late.

it didn’t matter then, though.

“not exactly, more of dreamed”.

“wow, you weren’t wishing on a shooting star every night awaiting this very moment?”

jeno allowed a snort, what mattered was your delivery, not much pertaining to the true amusement the joke could hold in another setting. he just thought you were funny, explicitly funny, bounded to extensive sarcasm and self serving quips.

“you’re so full of yourself”.

your stare from that day was one jeno struggled to decode, jeno can visualize it all, your rings, a barrage of gold and silver that somehow fit together, your eyes, a massive spiral akin to photos captured of the milky way, the initial quirks of your smile which he couldn’t help but shy away from.

that hadn’t been the end of your night, though.

and jeno also had an inherent intrigue in something else his eyes could not even be forcefully pried away from.

he just couldn’t decipher why such a sight angered him as much as he recalls.

“you know what? we should go out”.

“go out? it’s almost midnight”.

but you’d already rolled out of your very comfortable spot in his bed, leaning over onto the floor where you began collecting the strewn variety in which your clothes littered around. it was all so simple to you, nothing of the innate embarrassment jeno could not his showcasing of.

you clicked your tongue, nose scrunched at the wrinkled nature your shirt posed. “it needs to be romantic, okay? can't believe i haven’t taken you out yet”.

“you don’t have to..”

you glanced again, almost amused before whistling. “what kind of person would i be? dinner is only a sure”.

“dinner? at this time?”

you tutted, willfully ignoring such a question as you stared down the articles of clothing, momentarily, jeno observed regret in your eyes, but then you smiled, as if nothing had happened at all, little lapse in your judgment. “you haven’t eaten dinner today, right? okay, i’m gonna go home and change into something more fitting, you wait for a phone call from me”.

jeno digested such said information gradually, as if somebody’s life was on the line or you could even really bide your time in that particular situation. you allowed the silence to hang, not one distinct blink that jeno can recall glimpsing, just.. staring.

occasionally, even without fault, you displayed a coy eeriness.

then the smile appeared once again, vibrant, way too pretty. “i’m taking you out on a date, stupid, wear something nice”.

it was all puerile, the way jeno grew flustered at the rustic words, his smile so faint-hearted, so cute. being treated is sweet, dates are absolutely to die for, if you hadn’t been there he would have little choice but to giggle to his heart’s content.

he may have been much too smitten by then.

FALLING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH FOR A GOOD THREE AND A HALF months should be the most impractical of tasks to successfully accomplish, but you have never enjoyed taking no for an answer. jeno could mark several days leading up to that discrete moment that he assumed it was a farce, the dramatics of it all have always been your favorite, however, speculation drives you, countless people with your name on their tongue akin to adrenaline, a fix, the sort of drug you don’t just get from guys in shady alleyways, you have to do big to earn the attention you want, your sights had already been set.

it may have been one of your worst addictions, yet everybody handed such a fix to you on a silver platter. it extended from strangers to even those who were extensively close, donghyuck and chenle simply couldn’t resist, they presumed that you not being around meant that you would never figure out the tales they spewed.

but the words falling into your hands was inevitable.

well someone did know where you had disappeared off to in that time, jeno was aware because he kept most quiet during lunch story times, only ever observing idly, biting his tongue in order for the truth to not aptly slip from his lips. donghyuck and chenle spouted their ridiculous stories while jisung scrunched his nose because he liked to believe you were all perfect, the edges which rid your personality were nothing to the golden shade he admired you.

not even jeno was that naive.

“if it really was an overdose than his parents probably would’ve bled our ears to death with the news”.

“what makes you think they didn’t just cover it all up so their little gala would be spotless?”

“he didn’t even go!”

“well that proves my point genius!”

he thinks they were much too into it.

jaemin rolled his eyes at the remarks and went back to cooing at the stupid photos of his cats he adored so much, he always attempted the mysterious approach, jeno knew he had little of that in his true personality, he was simply peculiar in his own sense.

renjun sneered, the claims entertaining though increasingly tedious to hear of every single day. jisung kept the sugarcoating to an all time high, of course he did because how else would he cope? jeno loves jisung, but he could just never understand the leaps his mind had to take in order to paint you in such a bright light.

he remembers what you said a good month before your.. ‘break’ (if it could even be called that).

“what makes you think i can’t just disappear? pull a houdini and walk into a box to never come out?”

jeno gazed, your dazzling flair displayed in the manner you motioned your hands, like you really were about to pull a houdini and escape from handcuffs. you have wanted to be many things, an author, a magician, perhaps an actor, anything that would piss off your father extensively, witness such a turning frown sprout on his face when you became something he detested.

you adored his bubbling anger.

“well for starters, your parents would never support such a thing”.

“they don’t have to, they don’t know the half of it”.

jeno supposes you did have several secrets, but how much could your parents not know? sometimes he thinks they have cameras behind their eyes, especially your father, he can’t even begin to envision your relation, it’s all looks, your father’s got nothing of a picturesque personality.

you, however, had all of it.

“how dishonest can you be with your parents before they catch on?”

your smile from that specific moment perturbs jeno, strangely, there’s a possible horror there he lingers on for a sheer moment, then it all muddles itself into nothing. he stared at you, attempting to gauge out something from the shadow which cascaded over your intent.

“you’d be surprised”.

“but you’re so..”

jeno did not collect his words in time, instead remaining silently gobsmacked despite his clear desire to say something. the hefty terms sat atop his tongue, you didn’t long for the answer, rushing on over to the widely expanded kitchen where you began rummaging through cabinets.

“i’m so? don’t you go silent on me now”.

“so bright, yeah that’s the word.. it’d be a little useless knowing everybody would suspect something sinister”.

your eyes glistened with an ingrained want, a glowing need jeno didn’t need extensive academic credentials to understand. “well i want the attention, for one”.

of course, jeno was too busy observing other things to grasp that one.

the locket had been there for a while, jeno didn’t get you that. totally platonic friends can gift their fellow friends gifts such as that, but the heart and pristine golden engravings purportedly glared in his direction, as if mocking. messing around with others was a given, jeno should’ve known somebody else could capture your attention in such a fashion, get you a gift which practically screamed i’m better than you in his face.

every time he glanced, a confining curl of unwritten envy stabbed at his stomach, the gleam at the corner of his eye always alerting him that ‘exclusive’ was not a word in your vocabulary.

he tried to ignore it.

“seriously?”

you hummed, all cute, then holding up a vintage porcelain plate, the ridges a gold akin to your locket branded in a stylish circle. your nails did nothing against the ridges, it’s likeness reminded jeno of several old paintings, the same kind which adorned the walls of your parents home. “do you wanna know what’s special about this plate, jeno?”

jeno snorted, your smile remained, your surveying eyes fixed on the material which could only produce a giggle. jeno has had bright knowledge of your various laughs, you have certain ones you love to simply sprout. your giggles are important because he’s aware they’re genuine, your laughter is always transfixed on something, someone.

for the certain person, your laughter echoes distinctly.

only one of those laughs was ever as vibrant, though,

and it wasn’t for jeno.

“enlighten me”.

“this plate is a family showpiece, it carries a stupid amount of worth, the shit goes for five thousand at best, dad had it and his daddy had it and his daddy had it and so on and so forth, mother treats it as more of a child than me”.

“is this a story?”

“it’s pertinent” you very gently placed the valuable piece onto the counter, delicately, too out of fashion for somebody in your caliber. “if my parents care about this little plate so much, whose to say they’ll even notice i’m gone?”

“a plate is your ticket to disappearing?”

“it’s an idea”.

the apparent idea was an evident success, just how was the strange outcome.

when the two week mark passed, jeno realized you really did pull it off, disappearing without anybody.. including your parents, realizing where you had gone.

scratching behind his ear, he adjoined the conversation. “wouldn’t he be at the lake house then?”

donghyuck scoffed, squeezing his cheeks into an astounding vice grip; jeno didn’t recall him ever being particularly strong, but the shit hurt. “that’s the most obvious of places, it’s why we already verified he isn’t there!”

“maybe he left the country, went on an abrupt vacation”.

“by himself?”

“what is he, twelve? y/n can handle his own shit”.

“is this all you guys are gonna talk about? i’d rather hear mark impersonate a weatherman” renjun’s complaining was on par with how the whole situation stood out.

it wasn’t expressly urgent, not because you carried little importance, but because he knew you. you’d show up and create a spectacle for the love of everything dramatic, that’s just how you were.

jeno guesses he should’ve seen it coming.

YOU ALWAYS DID ENJOY A GOOD MYSTERY, AND LUCKILY YOU HAD BEEN BORN INTO a life which offered you several millions, enough for a fully crowded library in at least one of your parents assorted properties, an innate privilege most can dream of. it’s entertainment at its finest, you would always muse. someone dies, there’s a cast of quirky characters, maybe they’re trapped on a train, an island, snowed in at some tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, it’s fun when there’s a stake.

there always is one with you.

when you were younger, you wanted to be an author, your mother went to college in hopes of someday getting out a book of her own. jeno only bears such facts in his mind due to your unabashed declaring of them to him whenever you decide you want to spend a good moment up in the clouds.

i found one of moms old drafts once, i thought it was genius, the best writing ever, i kept going back for seconds, all greedy and shit, you know? she wanted to write, but she ended up stuck with dad, stuck doing nothing important, left dreaming about the life she could’ve had if she kept punching at barriers. she made me think i could be an author too, then dad found out i said such a thing, of course he did cause he’d never let me live in peace, made sure i wouldn’t ever think of putting pen to paper, broke my right wrist, said if i cried he’d ‘make me wish i were dead’.

a typical person who understood what they truly experienced wouldn’t brush it off with a mere hand and some terse chuckles, as if it were funny, humorous, amusing, not extensively concerning because your parents should not be breaking your bones for something so small.

cannabis is where the true honesty lies.

that’s terrifying, something along those lines jeno had muttered, his reminiscing can be shifty, blurred.

but he does recall you laughing at it all, your ‘childhood memories’ holding nothing of the vibrance they should, especially for somebody in your situation.

“well at least i have money” and the books continued stacking, as if you were to climb them like a leader. jeno read the fine print embroidered over the covers as best he could, eyes opting to squint instead in order for the terms to appear somewhat readable. head up in the clouds, he snorted at nothing, merely your stack of several books, the stupid stack which practically towered over you, a staggering six feet.. or he thinks, jeno must’ve been too high, numbers appearing as whatever they pleased. “all because my daddy made an investment when he was eighteen, the wonders of the world!”

you had that knack, rambling, droning on and on about shit jeno could only stare idly at. occasionally his brain erased terms of importance, streaming words blurring into an extensive ear ringing pattern. he listened in various moments, wavering in and out of seeming consciousness.

you loved to talk, jeno always enjoyed listening.

giggles are endless when the weed settles, and jeno will admit that they were so fucking cute, it wasn’t just the expanded affection coloring his brain, anybody could admit you produced adorable noises. “well someday it may all just go”.

“when that happens i may just have to go with it”.

jeno recalls choking on nothing, the words slightly brightening despite the effect drugs clearly have on auditory nerves.. mostly. “is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise! anyway, let me tell you all there is about crooked house!”

it was a threat, not in the typical way threats are fashioned, and you could dish out some good ultimatums when you desired, it’s why jisung always jumped at the sight of your strangely crafted smile. jeno had no true fear of you, not whilst you lived anyway, you were simply.. well a bit freakish, not in accordance with someone like jaemin, jeno couldn’t exactly interpret the many lines which dealt themselves across your skin, all that determination instead focused on other aspects.

kissing was nice, giggling over weed as you two acted like everything was real and the illusion held up in some manner jeno almost wishes could crowd his facade. it was no secret that exclusivity made you feel all terribly, your stomach curling with that stupid heat which rendered one bed sick all day. you truly enjoyed the whole acting approach, it is not as if you were some emotionless bastard, far from it in fact, you just mused that life was too short for relationships to keep you bound indefinitely.

jeno simply got wrapped up in what you described as “all tumultuous”, enthralled by the picture of you, various perks he had been hooked upon ever since he realized that you do not have feelings like that for your regular platonic best friend when your in high school and he’s branded as whorish.

and every single time he glanced at the locket, he would hope to retch it all up, he couldn’t fathom such a gift simply tightening itself around his point of respiration. his gaze trained on it in every particular moment of importance, carvings taunting him.

“we should make cookies” you lept from your spot instantly, almost tripping straight into a shelf, about putting a wood shaped hole in your head. “we need to make oatmeal chocolate chip this time”.

“can you even walk?”

“i don’t need my legs to make cookies” and then you stumbled over, hands bracing his own as you wrestled when pulling him upward, jeno doing his own purposeful hard work in order to bruise your attempt a few, just to play with you. “hey, i’m not playing around here”.

“but it’s so fun”.

jeno really assumed the locket was nothing,

it was too much.

“you won’t get any, then”.

“but i have to do all the work!”

it was an unfortunate night of messes, the cookies turned out good, you knocked out in a matter of minutes, snuggled against his side with occasional shivers alerting him that you had not just silently passed in your sleep, the rise and fall of your chest keeping the warmth around him elevated.

jeno supposes you may have been closer to other people, but a fucking locket doesn’t mean anything, not in comparison to baking cookies while exchanging kisses in a kitchen, snickering over inside jokes nobody else would ever recognize though you were both high out of your minds, disoriented beyond relief.

or maybe that is just what most people think when they get caught up in a situation they don’t have control over, with the huge glaring issue of not knowing how much you understand the person you’re infatuated by.

a lot of it keeps pounding into his head, continuous, a good add on to regrets his conscious delivers.

“HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP THIS UP?” BECAUSE DONGHYUCK ALWAYS TOOK THE blunt approach when it came to whatever the fuck you two had going on, a sore subject that he had his clear suspicions about but uttered on a small-scale. crushes are their own feat of normalcy, yet donghyuck was aware you weren’t the most regular of people, so was jeno and chenle and mark and jaemin and renjun, maybe jisung kept the wool over his eyes, but that’s jisung, jeno perceived that as a simple rite of passage, he was mostly akin to your shadow more than anything.

“ugh, what now?”

“why so annoyed, jeno? it’s not like you to suddenly be so inattentive with these things”.

“it’s cause his feelings are too big”.

“fuck you”.

“ouch! my heart!” donghyuck opted for a performance bit, a hand placed atop his heart, his figure falling backward onto various cushions, presumably feigning death, abject despair from words jeno usually didn’t speak, even when they were irritating him with their consistent kissy noises and pairing eyebrow raises. “how rude jeno, you killed him!”

“he deserved it”.

when donghyuck rose again, he swooped his head upward and fixed his hair, not even a strand meeting fingertips. then his arms propped up over the advanced table and he narrowed his eyes, the extensive attention on jeno. “seriously, it’s a good maybe two weeks before y/n decides he wants to hop on another one”.

“that’s a little ironic coming from you—“

“this is about y/n, not me, you can’t talk about morals to me”.

“yeah but i can talk about hypocrisy”.

“do you even know what that means? you ever open a dictionary, chenle? or did you have a nanny do it for you? little bitch..”

“oh no jeno is y/n’s little bitch”.

jeno scrunched his nose, the language nothing of a bother yet having met his senses in various rushing fashions, that may have just been the wine, donghyuck and his stupid wine collection which always pinched at his throat unbearably. how he even drank that stuff is beyond jeno’s comprehension.

he was about to say something, perhaps a week argument in his favor, but renjun of all people beat him to it.

“that’s much more up jisung’s alley”.

“hey! don’t get on jisung’s case, he’s a baby”.

“a tall eighteen year old baby, why don’t i get his treatment?”

“you’re a literal monster, at least jisung has redeeming qualities”.

“i have many redeeming qualities! i’m chivalrous!”

jeno is sure chenle could not spout the definition of that word even at gunpoint, all crossed arms and large mouthed when it mattered, because being right in comparison to donghyuck was all that mattered.

“renjun called jisung a bitch, i think he should get booted from the group” jaemin aimed his glass in the former’s direction, shaking his head, his attachment is all obvious, not much of a glare yet enough for jeno to have unraveled a mere animosity. jaemin can be uncanny, yes, but jaemin doesn’t typically hate. “and hyuck called y/n a slut”.

“i didn’t say that!”

“it was implied”.

“implied my ass it’s nothing no one else hasn’t said before, mark didn’t even show up!”

jeno squinted, that was strange, even with his stance on things, the whole thing was a tradition most of them took with true pride, drinking in a circle accompanied by your friends who aren’t exactly friends in the general sense of the word is something most people cannot resist, jisung only avoided such a custom because he didn’t want to drink underage, a rule follower from birth. mark not showing up was weird but jeno guessed he had more important things to do which did not include a group of them shaming you before him.

it was the first of those meetings which did not include you, peculiarly enough because you and hyuck pretty much started the whole thing, a bit ironic considering all you two did was argue when the terrible wine finally settled.

everyone enjoyed watching.

“mark is probably sick of your shit”.

“and y/n’s also literally missing! for all we know he’s dead in mexico or something..”

“you don’t seem that concerned, it won’t be long until you see him in hell”.

“anyway” donghyuck waved his hand renjun’s way, ignoring him with the smile that always sprouted when he was drunk. “jeno, i’m just looking out for you, y/n’s like a shark, you know? he’ll drain you of all your life and then leave you all dry when there are bigger fish around”.

“could you get that cushion for me?”

“smother him!”

chenle glanced donghyuck’s way. “i can’t say i didn’t see it coming”.

donghyuck again fainted over the couch, his heart having stopped at such rough words from those who were meant to be his coveted friends till death or whatever. maybe mark should have been there, he’s the only one jeno has recollection of being to calm them down, you were always the catalyst for blow ups, it caused something of a terrific spike in your heart, all smiles as you watched everybody grow more agitated.

“think you’re the last person on earth who should complain about someone sleeping around, hyuckie”.

“don’t call me that”.

“no seriously, you wanna be all big and bad, what if y/n was here, huh? you’re no better than jisung, don’t even have the guts to say it to his face”.

jeno’s eyes passed over the two arguing, there was no contest, jaemin would beat donghyuck to a pulp, all for him having a big mouth, at least you could put up a good fight, donghyuck wished. “what’s wrong with telling the truth?”

“y/n would kick your ass”.

“well he isn’t here to kick my ass, maybe you could do it for him, hm? if jeno won’t do the pleasure”.

jeno clicked his tongue, it was too late by then, one in the morning, rounding the corner halfway to two, he decided it was the perfect time to exit. if donghyuck ended up getting punched by jaemin like he so dearly wished then chenle would send him the video, maybe renjun would giggle or something, jeno couldn’t even say he was entirely against it, most of the debacle was hilarious.

“if you do get into it i don’t wanna be here for that”.

“but what if you need to hold hyuckie back when he throws a punch?”

“i said don’t call me that”.

“well what are you gonna do about it?”

“ladies please!”

jeno hummed, offering his best eye smile despite the overwhelming situation. “i’m sure y/n will send a postcard or something, you two do all the damage you desire”.

“wait why are you leaving me with them?” renjun whined. “take me with you please!”

“good night, renjun”.

he’s sure renjun cursed him to hell that night, and maybe he deserved it, not entirely.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK SOMEBODY WOULD GAIN FROM MURDERING Y/N?” JENO HAS NEVER THOUGHT detectives could truly have that horrific look in their eyes, all of it beholding a degree of barbarity he typically never witnesses in men, but he guesses he has only gazed upon men who had no true terrible intent, jeno realizes he would never recognize if he were looking the murderer in the face that night, and that’s masquerading well in a crowd. he blinks, he doesn’t have to think for that one.

“satisfaction” he drawls. “it probably would’ve been momentary, maybe they didn’t want to kill him but—“ then he gets a look, jeno knows that look because every time jaemin says something that doesn’t really make sense he can’t help but gaze that way. “i mean, i don’t even know what i’m saying, i’m sorry i haven’t slept at all”.

“usually people are more honest when they’re exhausted” jeno supposes his inhale is too loud in the room’s expanse, because the detective does that smile thing which freaks him out, eyes rid of their typical color, as if they’re pitch black. “and honesty is the key in an investigation”.

jeno bites the inside of his cheek, he begins scratching at the junction his wrist shares to his hand. “think, i’m sure you all have interesting answers”.

“well throwing our lives to shit for one” jeno winces, the continuous scratching made for good pain. “of course y/n wasn’t the greatest but he also wasn’t the spawn of satan, he wouldn’t invite people who despised him to his birthday party”.

“so what gives you the impression that one of you didn’t do it?”

jeno almost flinches, he barely keeps it all together, hands kept clasped together like he’s on life support, glued shut, he can’t pull them apart. he blinks, two separate blinks as if he’s some idiot who cannot comprehend big words. “like.. the seven of us?”

“if people who hated him weren’t there then they possibly couldn’t have done it, right? you know people are most likely to be murdered by someone they know well in comparison to some one off enemy”.

jeno’s eye twitches, donghyuck probably knew that, heck you probably knew yourself, courtesy of the many detective stories you two can’t help but have littering across your shelves. “well i don’t.. i just can’t see one of them doing it, i know that probably isn’t a good answer but i can’t imagine fucking— renjun grabbing a knife and stabbing y/n like seven times”.

his eyes again light up, he gets too excited over things he shouldn’t, but he guesses being a detective entails that, excitement for words which don’t come out completely right, eyes all glowy like some over obsessed teenager. “well maybe that’s just an indication that you don’t know your friends as well as you may think, time means nothing when you all have secrets”.

jeno remains silent, a bad sign.

“you know what was missing when y/n died?” his fingers poke at a certain file, his eyes do not stray off jeno, however, his lips do that side hook upward, all cocky, a sham. “no i really want you to take a guess”.

“i have nothing in mind”.

the detective decides to drop a crystal clear picture of the crime scene before him, jeno instinctively moves back in his seat, but there is also another photo there, a photo of your college id.

the fucking locket.

jeno is sure he’s paled, as if he’s seen a ghost.

the detective whistles, drawing a figurative circle around your neck, pointed in a very specific direction. “you wouldn’t happen to know who got him this locket, do you?”

well jeno guesses this is a good time to be honest.

“no, i’m sure one of them knows, but it’s not me”.

“ah, maybe you should swear an oath on that, then”.

jeno isn’t sure he can swear on anything, not on his parents, nor on god or the law or anything credible, he didn’t do anything, he’s sure none of them did either but how is he supposed to trust them?

he knows them, he knows enough.

of course jeno’s a coward, not jisung cowardly but he presumes he could make a good stance on that point. there are too many other issues for him to be worrying about stupid things like lockets or if you actually loved or not or—

when jeno leaves that interrogation room, he craves to just bash his head in on the nearest wall, images of the locket flashing in his brain like some stupid movie.

he’s sure he has a migraine creeping up on him.

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you broke me first

part 33

authors note: i’m back, what’d i miss

Zoe sat at her desk at work, staring at the blank screen. She had an article to write, but her mind was elseware - specifically, the text messages from Cillian she received this morning.

She thought about it as she got dressed, as she combed her hair, as she tried to find shoes that went with her outfit. She thought about it so much, she burnt her toast in the toaster and almost left the house with Scout still out in the backyard.

She ended up making another piece of toast; she was nauseous again, probably because of how her morning went. She inhaled it as she drove to the office, wiping the crumbs off her shirt as she parked and speed-walked into the building, hoping she got to her desk before anyone noticed she was 20 minutes late.

Once she made it to her office, she closed the door and sunk into her chair with a sigh of relief. She made it; she was behind on all her assignments and now she can hide out until 5, keep the office door closed, put her head down and just work. Shen she can leave and dwell on this some more.

That was the plan, at least.

And, you should know by now, nothing in Zoe’s life ever goes to plan.

Which brings us here, 12:30pm, with Zoe staring at her blank word document and her mind on Cillian.

Her phone buzzed. Her heart dropped, but saw Dana’s name and released the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

dana: hey! leaving pilates now, you still want to meet for lunch? Wanna do the cafe on the corner by your office?

Zoe quickly replied with a yes, and grabbed her bag. She put on her sunglasses and slowly opened her office door, peeking out to see if anyone was there.

Empty hallway. The front door is right there. A quick getaway. I can do this, Zoe thought.

“Excuse me, Zoe, do you have a minute?”

wrong.

Zoe turned around and saw Donna there with a legal pad and pen in her hand. She looked like she was about to go into Zoe’s office.

“Hey! I actually don’t, I gotta run to a lunch meeting..” Zoe lied.

“Oh great! With who?” Donna countered.

“Uh.. Emma Stone’s manager. Still hasn’t gotten back to me with a date yet. Gonna get one today.”

Donna’s smile faltered. She blinked and broke eye contact, giving off the feeling that she knew she was being lied to.

“…okay. I still need a lot of stuff from you, the Jennifer Garner storyboard you wanted to do… I can’t pitch anything to her people without a gameplan- ”

“I got it Donna, don’t worry. I’ll get it to you today,” Zoe asserted. Shit, i haven’t even started that.

“Let me know if you need Mia to take some stuff off your plate, the junior writers are here to help” Donna said, walking away coldly.

whatever. i’ll deal with that later.

—————-

Zoe sipped her iced tea and poked her overpriced salad with her fork. She had three, maybe four bites tops. She had no appetite.

She just told Dana everything, and she currently had her phone looking at the texts that Cillian sent.

“that is… so bizzare,” Dana replied, handing the phone back to Zoe. “It’s like night and day. This isn’t the man that picked us up from the bar that night. He sounds like a dick.”

“I was scared of this happening..He assured me that it wouldn’t. And here we are,” Zoe said, sighing.

“Have you texted him back? or called him?”

“no, he told me not to.” Upon hearing that, Dana’s hand fell to the table.

“Zoe, for God’s sakes, stop letting a man tell you what to do.”

“Dana, don’t start..” Zoe groaned.

“No Zo, i’m serious. Don’t let this scrub drag you from across the world. It’s not fair and i’m sick of it. You are an amazing girl and my best friend. He should be so disgustingly in love with you that your phone doesn’t stop going off from texts and phone calls. You helped him out so much in such a short time, helped him organize his new house while he’s off filming, and he talks to you like that? Beat him at his own game. If he wants to be cold and tell you not to text him? fine. but YOU go out and live your life. don’t sit at work dwelling over this. Don’t text, don’t call, don’t think about him -”

“Dana i’m staying at his house,” Zoe interrupted.

“GOOD. Stay there until he kicks you out. Look at you, I bet you got no work done today, right? because he has this much control over your emotions, all the way from across the ocean. Put yourself first babe,” Dana begged.

“It’s not that easy, Dana, I…I really opened up to him…”

“Just because you opened up to him, does not mean that you are obligated to put up with being treated like this. I’m serious, i’d make him sweat this. Fine, don’t contact him until he contacts you. But let’s go out later. Let’s have FUN. We’re young and pretty and live in one of the best cities in the world…. and you’re staying in a mansion for free. Hello???” Dana added, trying to lighten the situation.

Zoe sighed. She knew Dana was right, she didn’t deserve to be talked to like that. But Dana also knew how insecure she was, and how this will effect her for months. She wasn’t strong like Dana was and she knew that.

“Zoe,” Dana said, interrupting Zoe’s thoughts. “look at me.”

Zoe took her eyes off her sad salad and looked at Dana, bracing for whatever she was going to throw at her next.

“Do you remember when you told me you were visiting your sister, and when you both picked up Sophie from daycare, the teacher said she was being really bad and was ‘being like a brat’?”

Zoe stared at her. “yes.

“And what did you do?”

Zoe knew where this was going. “I told the teacher to never speak about my neice like that again.”

“….and? i think you’re leaving a part out” Dana hinted.

Zoe sighed. “And i said if she ever called her a brat again, she can have a meeting with me, her aunt who is 10 times more bratier than her and knows how to punch.” Zoe concluded.

“There you go,” Dana said. “How would you feel if one day, Sophie’s boyfriend talks to her like this. How would you feel? what would you tell her? Why can’t you take that advice for yourself?” Dana smiled, reaching across the table and squeezing Zoe’s hand. “You know, you’re someone’s daughter too. Someone’s aunt, someone’s sister… someone’s friend,” Dana said softly. “I know if i came to you with this, you’d tell me exactly what to do. I just want you to want more and better for yourself. I don’t want you putting up with this kind of stuff. Or this kind of treatment from him… or ANYONE, in any type of relationship in your life, wether it be boyfriends, friends, work relationships… put yourself first. Please. I love you.”

Zoe blinked back tears. She was right. Dana was right. She won’t admit it out loud, but she was right.

“Ok,” Zoe whispered. “you’re right. i don’t have control. over anything. including my emotions. It ends here,” Zoe said with a sigh.

“I’m here for you,” Dana said. “no matter what. You. First. No exceptions.”

“What do i do when he calls?”

“Just be short and to the point. that this isn’t going to fly if this is how it’s going to be. and if he can’t handle it - BYEEEEE” Dana said, yelling the last part, causing some people to turn and look.

Zoe couldn’t hold back from laughing. She loved Dana for this exact reason. She was the perfect cheerleader.

“Okay, okay!!” Zoe said, picking up her glass, holding it out. “here’s to me, and me only”

“and that big ass house you’re staying in until he royally kicks your ass out” Dana replied, clinking her glass against Zoe’s.

——————-

Zoe had just gotten back from a run when he called.

Shit, shit, okay, okay, Zoe thought, placing Scout’s leash on the counter. she took a deep breath and hit the green “accept”

“hello?”

“hey! I haven’t heard from you all day”

“sorry. I was busy.” Zoe replied coldly.

“oh.. anything good?” Cill responded.

“Work. Stayed late to catch up on stuff. Went for a run with your dog.”

“my dog?” Cillian replied. “okay, okay. how was work?”

“fine.”

Cillian knew something was wrong. “what’s wrong, bunny?”

“I’m just tired, i want to go to bed. I had a long day”

“okay, well go take a bath and relax. I have another late night ahead of me.”

“Yea? another cast dinner?” Zoe spit out before she realized what she was saying.

“Oh yea, you saw those pics i assume,” Cillian chuckled nervously. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Cill. enjoy your dinner. I’m taking care of everything for you back here. Tell Lizzie I said hi,” Zoe said before hanging up the phone.

Zoe dropped the phone on the counter as if it was on fire. Her heart was pounding so fast, she couldn’t believe she just said that.

Her phone buzzed a minute later:

Cill: baby, stop. don’t let those thoughts get in your head. i love you.

Something about him texting her immediately after felt … empowering?

Zoe didn’t respond. If he wanted to go to another dinner with Lizzie Longlegs, that’s his prerogative. She had a shower to take and her own dinner to date to go on.

He didn’t need to know her “date” was Dana.

———————

Cillian stared at his phone, at the last message she sent to Zoe. She had her read receipts on, and it clearly stated it was read shortly after he sent it … no response.

Cillian was getting a sinking feeling in his stomach, like Zoe was mad at him but not wanting to talk it out with him.

His anxiety peaked because this is exactly what happened with his ex wife.

He picked up the phone to call her again when Hannah came into the hotel room, unannounced.

“Hey Cill! got a minute?”

Cillian sighed and looked at the watch. “it’s nearly 1am Hannah, can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Just wanted to let you know filming got pushed back for tomorrow - well technically today. They need additional clearance for the horses, and they shouldn’t have it until 3 or 4pm. so you have a free day until then, but the cast wants to get together at about noon if that’s good?” Hannah replied sweetly.

“uh, yea sure. that’s fine. I wanna get some sleep though..” Cillian said, hoping she’d get the hint.

She did. “Say no more i’m out. sleep good! i’ll check in tomorrow at about 10 to make sure wardrobe and stuff is here for you. goodnight!” Hannah said, leaving.

She walked across the hall to her room and sat at the small table and pulled out her phone, dialing the number she had come to memorize over the last week.

“Hey, Tara? It’s Hannah over at Elite… those pictures you got of the cast the other night was PERFECT… do you think you can do it again?…. no no, no cast this time… this time, it’ll be just Cillian Murphy and Lizzie Hughes solo… yup. A day date. can it make the next day press?….. you’re the best. Thanks Tara,” Hannah said, hanging up the phone.

tags: @lau219 @cillianmurphyvevo @bleakmidwinter00 @amelyyyyyyy @teawonderfultea-blog1 @lavender-haze-01 @cillianinlove @supershadowymiraclestudent @shopgirl6us

[claradesvoeux]

>At his warm, gentle touch, she raises her gaze from the floor to meet his glance, hesitantly, and she blinks furiously to see through the tears now pooling, stinging in her eyes. She can feel the heat trailing down her cheeks, a waste of warmth that will hurt later when the ice forms on her skin, but she herself is frozen and cannot move to wipe away the tears.

>For a moment, gazing fearfully back at him, her blood runs cold. There is no malice in his face, no sign of anger that she can see. He doesn’t look disgusted either, though she’s never been terribly good at reading people and Graham is certainly better at managing his expressions than she is.

>But if Graham wouldn’t have anyone punished for buggery, and… he said something about all this makes sense? She really isn’t sure in which way he means that, but for a moment she allows herself to be hopeful despite the sickening churning, the anxiety that sits like a ball of lead in her stomach, that things will be alright, that this isn’t the end for her.

>She had hoped, perhaps naïvely, that the worry would dissipate once she’d managed to be brave like Miss EJ, if she ever was able to tell someone else. Would that fear of discovery, perception, disgust, melt away if she could somehow put it to words on her own terms, and save herself the risk of unwanted exposure? And she finds now that Graham knows that she does not feel less scared.

>She finds she is trembling, her shoulders are shaking, and she is fighting back a sob.

>The fear is still there, yes, but Graham is quite remarkably doing nothing. He hasn’t slapped her or rung the bell for a steward to remove her from the ship or told her to pack her things and remove her epaulettes. She feels like a bug under the magnifying glass of the world. She feels that people of dignified society will see her for what she is, small, not at all like them, bizarre in shape and appearance, behaving in a way they cannot understand, justifying the mysteries of her mind through the lens of the animal.

>She feels guilt, and she feels some form of shame within herself. Graham has responded so calmly and rationally, and yet she cannot fathom that he is not repulsed, at the very least perplexed by this oddity of her nature. He must merely hide it well. It’s by no means an underestimation of Graham’s capabilities that she does not believe him—the picture of masculinity, the perfect example of what she should have made herself to be—capable of understanding properly what is going through her head.

>She leans her head forward to rest against Graham’s shoulder, the tears still coming. Her hands to her face, still shaking, she struggles to compose herself, to speak, to respond.

>And yet despite this assumption, that he does not understand, and can’t possibly really grasp the depth or pain of it, or why she is like this… he is still here. He is standing before her; they are both still in her cabin, and he has embraced her as a friend despite it all.

I- I don’t kn-know… I think there’s s-somethin’ wrong w’me Graham

>Her voice hitches, it is thick with the sobs she is biting back.

I d- I don’t wanna f-feel like this but I- I tried ignorin’ it n’s j- it just gets worse

>She can’t hold herself together anymore, and the sobs come freely, tears streaming faster down her cheeks, and she lets them fall, doesn’t wipe them away.

I d-don’t wanna hafta do this, I don’t wanna be b-brave like Miss EJ said, I just wish I was normal, but even then’s.. ‘s wishin’ I was just.. a proper girl

>Her hair has gotten quite long in the winter, down to her shoulders, enough that she can excuse drawing it back with a ribbon and say it’s for the convenience when surely it would be simpler to cut it off, but catching sight of herself in the mirror she still feels like screaming in frustration. It’s not right, it’s too short, it’s not her, it’s not pretty like it should be.

>It would be so much easier to wish just to be a normal man, a proper lieutenant, not a sodomite or whatever else she’s dealing with now, but to do so is more painful than she cares to think about. If she were to wish for normalcy, to never endure this pain, it would be that she should be a normal girl. And that is perhaps how she knows that it will not go away.

@chasdesvoeux

His discharge from the sickbay has left Graham somewhat disorientated. After all he has not received any new orders on where to stay now.

He didn't doubt that in the meantime a new lieutenant has been granted an in-field promotion to fill the gap left by his... disappearance. That's simply what the protocol requires in situations like that, to keep the chain of command intact. His property was either stashed away for his relatives or distributed among the crew already, his cabin handed over to his successor.

He had no reason to seek out this place again. The mere idea of bickering with someone who has clearly earned his promotion over a cot and a wardrobe was ridiculous to him. He has had his fair share of cockfights with other officers before, thus, had no interest in adding another to this useless list.

And yet he found himself standing in front of the familiar door again, still somewhat wobbly on his legs. Despite the daily examinations he had no confidence that he would ever make a full recovery but also knew that he should be thankful for still being able to walk at all.

After a moment of consideration, he knocked at the door.

[mapsareforbraindeads]

me when i’m thinking about asking for help but i remember that the last time i told the doctors i was suicidal they said that i wasn’t a danger to myself because my sh wasn’t deep enough

[dykedvonte]

I think it’s so ironic that the Pony Express escapes a lot if not all blame in discussion. I can’t even say I am excused from it but it’s just how hard people circle back to the characters alone without considering the environment they were made to be in.

Why would they design a ship where only two of the rooms lock? Not the bathroom? Not the sleeping quarters? We assume that all the companies in the universe are this shallow and careless to their workers but we explicitly know the Pony Express in extra vile. They are fed processed slop pack they can’t even really cook and the ration of those pack is meager at best. They hired and made people with a plethora of conflicting demeanors and beliefs work together on a mission where cohesion is important if not an outright necessity and punish them for not being happy about it. There’s no social protocols, not chain of command other than Captain’s word/choice and the only way to enforce that is with a literal firearm. They don’t allow them to celebrate freely and even took away leisure activities that would make them less stir crazy. They are only allowed a few hours of sleep despite their being no other real responsibilities or work on the ship, no matter the position or its importance. With any crew, with any level of synergy, this was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

I’m not saying characters that made mistakes didn’t make huge ones, but I think part of the horror is that at least for some (this is targeting Jimathan) those mistakes are partly made by a force of the hand. There’s a running theme of lack of choice and being forced into something and the very nature of how The Pony Express expected them to function plays a big part.

[hyohaehyuk]

Lovingly gazing into your coworkers eyes while he's talking about the sexual and emotional tension of your characters is crazy 🙃

JA: Yeah, and then also playing that off against that tension and the aftermath of some of those fights. It suddenly rebuilds this sexual and emotional tension. Like you said, you get to explore the breadth of a relationship. But yeah, they’re each other’s endgame, aren’t they? In the books, they always come home to each other. I think it’s telling that that seems to be the denouement or the end of a lot of the novels: Louis and Lestat being petty and in love.

cut via wolfganglestat

transcriptions by greedandenby

Full video (unfortunately i can't find the original source so i am linking 2 videos posted by fans on yt):

Interview With The Vampire | Nicole Drum from Comicbook.com talks with Jacob Anderson and Sam Reid

[waywardstation]

hi! i havent been on tumblr in a Hot minute but i wanted to come here JUST to tell you that hfbe might be my fave pla fic ive read ao far! the worldbuilding and the characterization of everyone just feels so so right i fall in love

i reread it on ao3 and even tho its not completed its still a joy to reread everytime

Hello hello!! Anon you have no idea how much it meant to me to get to read this. Knowing I put something out there that you wanted to back to and reread means A LOT.

I’m glad you like it so much but man I have been editing the first two chapters (fixing errors, making characters say and do things that are more in line with how I write them now, and just adding scenes in between to help things seem more clear or hit harder), and I’m like man this really isn’t that good haha.

It’s fun to see how much I think I’ve improved since I’ve started trying to write fanfics (I wasn’t aware of how obsessed I had been with commas and run-on sentences at the start lol)

So reading this nice message really gives me such a boost of motivation. I’m so glad you like the worldbuilding, and it makes me excited to get more out because later chapters are when I really introduce specifics on a lot of things. Namely the Pearl Clan’s hunting parties, that has been my favorite.

Now I just gotta get more out! Hoping to put more out for you to read soon kind anon, I really appreciate that you find it’s something you like to reread!

For now, here is a snippet below the cut; I am unsure if I have shared this before, but it’s a scene where Ingo is preparing to advocate for the Clan to use pokeballs to store their pokemon in, so that there is less food consumption (as in HFBE, it’s emphasized that pokeballs put pokemon into a stasis where they don’t need to eat, drink, sleep, etc. for as long as they’re in them. Ingo does it with his pokemon, and he wants the clan to do it too, for their own sakes).

Wording is subject to change (VERY MUCH SO), but enjoy!

—————

“Excuse me Miss Irida, but may we talk for a moment?”

The Pearl Clan leader turned back to see Ingo – he was trailing behind the group, purposefully so. He had been waiting for the right moment to approach her.

“Right now?” Irida’s eyes flickered back over the tops of people’s heads, up towards the communal hall at the top of the hill. “I’m sorry, but can it wait until after the meeting?”

“It is actually about the meeting.” Ingo’s grey eyes were unwavering, waiting — he wanted to ask her something. And Ingo was not one to usually ask for things.

“Ok,” She relented, pausing in the snow both so he could catch up, and they could have their conversation with some privacy. “You have until we reach the hall.”

“Thank you, I assure you it will be quick.” Ingo fell into step beside her, shuffling through the snow as they now both trailed behind the group heading towards the warm hall. He kept his head tilted down just like her, using the brim of his hat to protect against the wind and snowfall. “I, well… I am planning to re-propose a proposition at this meeting tonight. I’d like to make another attempt at advocating for the use of pokeballs.”

“Tonight? Are you serious?” Irida lowered her voice for his sake, looking back between him and the group. How could he possibly think about proposing that when this meeting was for them to discuss how to prepare for this famine? “I’m saying this not as your leader but as your friend, Ingo; now is absolutely not a good time for that. Everyone is already going into this meeting angry. And if you try and start this again, they’re going to-”

Irida took a deep breath; she was already getting stressed over it.

“You know how people are going to react to that. You know who it’s going to upset, Ingo. Especially after last time. And you said you’d let it go.”

“I am well aware of what I said and I intended to stick to it, but these circumstances have changed our tracks, and I believe this may save us from derailing!” Ingo whispered back. He kept throwing quick glances at the nearing hall, gauging how much time he had left to persuade her. “Pokeballs can help us much more than the clan realizes – I’m confident that this can bring us closer to a solution, if not at least be a part of one!”

Irritation and confusion were replaced with genuine curiosity, but a fleck of doubt hesitantly followed after. Irida shook her head, not understanding. “How could they possibly help with all of this?”

“I will explain that in the meeting.” Having conquered the snowy hill, the two reached the warm light that spilled through the hall’s windows to project onto the snow. “But to do that, I need to actually present my proposal, and I’m afraid that will be difficult with the elders tonight. I am trying this for the fourth time now, and I’m aware of how this will most likely be received. I expect they’ll call to send me back to my seat before I even start.”

Ingo paused just outside the doors, waiting for Irida to go in first — she could do so and end the conversation right now if she wanted to, but she didn’t. Instead she stood there, staring at their fading shoeprints in the snow.

Irida could see why he approached her about this now, and a part of her felt sorry for him. “So you want me to vouch for you.”

“Not the proposal itself. Just the time to talk.”

[alaskan-wallflower]

this is a rant more for myself than anything so ignore this if you want, idc, this is me blabbing but i wish the outsiders show itself would say something about how horrible some of the fans act. like most of these fans frequent the show and have seen the show nearly every weekend, or maybe even more than that. the actors know who some of these “fans” are, and are clearly uncomfortable (i don’t think it’s a coincidence when half the cast will come out in the pouring, freezing rain on any other day, but you have some of these groups come in and suddenly nobody comes out—idk that’s just what i’ve heard thru the grapevine though, i seriously don’t keep track of who stage doors when so i may be wrong) but for i don’t think y’all would lose any fans for telling people to be normal to your employees, and even if you did, there are literally thousands of other fans, and i’d say good riddance anyway.

idk, the way the show lets their cast get treated bugs me. like you have fans following jason home/to his train, people trying to give josh and brent homemade food and then getting offended when they say no to the point they send drunken voicemails over instagram to the point one of them ACTUALLY APOLOGIZES to them, people mobbing brody and forcing themselves down his throat to the point he’s having a panic attack and said mobbing gets to the point that security from another show has to intervene, people giving melody pictures of her in a bikini to sign, people saying that the actors are asking to be sexualized because “they’re fit and wear tight costumes”, and probably SO much more and it still won’t be addressed? that’s just so sad to have this be the way aspiring new actors are being introduced to life on broadway.

and i know it can be argued that “oh, alaska, they cant do anything about what people say online!” but they can start by addressing the problem at hand. the way the show allows their employees to be treated at large is just beyond me. i wish they’d start banning people, or maybe even say something themselves instead of leaving it to melody to have to keep addressing this shit because gods bless her, i would NEVER be able to keep doing this if i was in her shoes. idk why they’re leaving it up to the cast to say “maybe being disgusting pigs isn’t a good idea”. because again, y’all ain’t gonna lose any fans by telling people to be normal and by starting to take action against some of these people. in fact, to me, you’d earn more support by doing so, and for the people who stop supporting it, there are thousands upon thousands of people still willing to support the show.

idk. again, this is a rant for me and me personally, agree or disagree, idc, i just didn’t wanna rant in the tags of my last post. i feel like i needed to make an actual post.

[arolesbianism]

Despite how much I suffered making my last isat au Aris sprite redraw, I decided to do it again and once again went through hell doing it. There’s like a billion mistakes in this (such as her having the wrong arm rip) but at the end of the day I’m still happy with how it turned out :]

[weezerlvr228]

hi fam !!