#i would say id love answers but every answer i get with this series hurts me more

[red-dyed-sarumane]

like i said before i genuinely dont think we're getting the fuu song any time soon i think its more likely we get more info on the past group first maybe more on the current group too but i wonder if the fuu song is going to be part of one of those groups or is going to introduce a new one. clearly theres a lot we're missing with the past & honestly if the new timeline theory is correct then that group seems pretty solid to me. theres space in places for more absolutely as in what exactly lead to the events in oumen, & between oumen & laboratory unless labo is the one getting her to do the sacrifice but thats. a theory i'll have to look into when im not so tired, & after apoptosis theres a wide variety of ways to handle the aftermath of that although i dont know if that would be given a direct perspective or just reflected on by a future group. & of course theres really space between any of the songs that from lack of context we just dont see its there (as is standard with this series). & the past group is only STARTING to come together in a whole picture theres so much left to fill in there. but the girl in shoushitsu is also clearly part of a group herself & its not in direct contact with the other groups we currently know. whoever we'll meet in fuu could be part of any of those 3 groups or even some 4th one. i can go read over the lyrics again but i'll be real with u understanding shoushitsu by itself is a task. genuinely dont know if understanding shoushitsu or ashura is worse. it all remains to be seen but i am wondering now

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

-

part 5.5

[fourteentrout]

Hello and howdy! Your Secret Santa has returned! Sorry for the delay, there was an unfortunate accident with one of our gift-wrapping machines. No one was hurt, but an elf or two did end up wrapped in pretty paper and stuck with a bow.

Some questions to tide you over until Santa can remember where he put his list (also unfortunately lost in the incident):

What’s your favorite crack-ish ship or headcanon?

If there was a hill you would die on for ACOTAR, what would it be? Positive or negative!

What would Tamlin and Rhysand’s domestic relationship look like? How do you think they’d balance two very different courts and being High Lords with their own responsibilities, plus their relationship?

You might have mentioned this, but Santa is forgetful. Do you prefer pre-ACOTAR Tamsand or do you like the angst of ACOTAR/beyond Tamsand? How does Feyre fit into things, if at all?

Hello hello! What a pleasant surprise!

Ha, it's no problem. Those pesky gift wrapping machines can have a mind of their own.

My favorite crack headcanon is actually entirely separate from any of the characters i ship, and it's that Helion is Sellyn Drake, the romance novelist Nesta and Emerie like. I just think it's hysterical.

An ACOTAR hill I'd die on is that Sarah J did a ridiculous amount of ret-conning and character assassination after book 1 that completely changed the vibe of the series

Ooh a post-High Lord ascension domestic relationship. I like this question! I like to think that it would involve a lot of like covert meetings after big Courtly events. Sneaking away under the moonlight, sharing secret glances that no one else would notice, GIFT GIVING. ohhh my God the gift giving would be off the charts. Just little things every time they get to see each other. Tamlin palming off a spring-court style pastry when no-ones looking, Rhys slipping a little personalized journal into Tamlin's big coat pockets, that sort of thing.

But I also think, over time, they'd grow to simply talk to each other at these big events, not caring who sees. They'd stand side by side, seeming like "just friends" to passerby. But to them, because of their shared past, because of what they'd overcome, they'd be like "this is the most romantic we've ever been in public. I wonder if people will catch on." It's something neither of them would know how to feel about, I think. Part of them always just wants to blatantly be public about it--pda, being Official, that sort of thing. Hard launch. But part of them is also like, well what if that ruins it? What if it puts too much pressure on us to maintain this while we rule on opposite sides of the island? And like, how would it affect their behavior within the relationship? I feel like Tamlin's Not Great about public relationships because he just functions better when it's something that just belongs to him. I feel like Rhys isn't great about public relationships because he wants people to know TOO much, and that can lead to his logic getting a little wacked out.

I feel like I said I'd have more brevity the last time I answered. I fear I didn't accomplish that this time. I'm sorry.

And I like both pre- and post- acotar tamsand for different reasons! I like pre because a) they're usually happier, and while i do love Gay Angst, I also just love seeing them in a simpler time with less jaded personalities. Also, there's no need to work around feyre lol. I love post because the passion and feelings in general can often be a lot more vivid and like feral. And I kind of DO like it, contrary to my previous point, when Rhys is still obsessed DESPITE Feyre. Like he's just so insane about Tamlin that it surpasses the mating bond. Good shit. I like figuring out ways to get them together without him cheating on her, cause I'm not really a fan of that, but it can be harder than her just not existing, like in pre-canon stuff. But yeah enemies AND lovers? The anger-lust combo? Delectable.

So because I really love both, id say go for what you're comfortable with, but if you're able to find a workaround for Feyre without Rhys just straight up cheating on her...snaps to you. Either way I will eat up whatever you provide.

Sorry for rambling on again!!! Thank you so much for dropping back in. Have a great rest of your day/night!

[deadlykitten-404]

okay I know this show has been around for awhile, BUT I just binged Doona! and I need to talk about the ending bc I'm upset at how unsatisfying that was (spoilers under the cut)

okay so what was that?? I really thought that won-jun's miscommunication was going to be his resolved character arc but it wasn't?? like Doona went through so much and grew so much because of him (like it literally shows that she starts singing again because of him - as a side note I really liked how they used her ability to sing to physically show her burn out and anxiety and how she began to like herself and find joy in her music again with won-jun)

those last two episodes were difficult to sit through because why did he never grow like at all??? every time Doona sat him down and talked to him she was so honest with him and he wouldn't even give her the respect to answer? like I was hoping he would get over himself in the end and work with her where she was OR if he didn't change she would accept that he helped her grow and could acknowledge that he was stuck where he was and she could move on to do what's better for her life but instead he refuses to communicate and she still loves him???

it felt like such a weird ending because of won-jun's "I don't kiss my friends" and then he slept with her multiple times and with the couple rings like clearly he cared about her significantly, and I don't understand why her not being around him 24/7 was enough for him to give up on her. like, we see him writing to her so he clearly wanted to keep in touch, but at soon as she approaches him in the precious little time she has he's just like "nah, I'm good"????

she literally told him her manager would make them break up and then did everything in her power to stop that from happening and when it did happen he just,, what,, got intimidated by her?? got upset that she finally was pursuing the career that she loved (THAT HE ENCOURAGED HER TO FOLLOW????) AND THEN HE LEAVES FOR MILITARY??? like this man is physically running away and I still don't understand the reasoning behind him abandoning her like it just didn't feel in character like she opened up to him about her struggles and insecurities and he should have known that it would hurt her and if he regretted every moment since then why wouldn't he just go with her then when she directly stated that she had a plan to make it work

idk the ending scene where he finally admits that he regrets losing her was good, but I was just hoping that they would have had more of a conversation where he like straight up told her he would do what he needed to to meet her where she was but instead she just like forgives him. id say it was good to see him pursuing his career but it wasn't because it really felt like he was just leaving her behind.

I guess I just wish there was more scenes that explicitly showed that they were still together (or even if they were still wearing the rings!!) like the deleted final kiss scene helps a bit and it's implied that they at least still care for each other but he was so annoying and whiny the last two episodes he was frankly being really selfish and I was hoping that it would show how he grew in that so he could still be there for her. but I guess not.

I am happy that it implies that they manage to stay together but I don't like the way it got there. I wish there was one last episode that like actually explained all of that. (and also I've noticed that kdramas don't tend to show full conversation I think I also wish we got to see more of their resolution conversations on screen bc without it it's hard for me to understand why she's still putting so much effort into him)

having said all of this I really enjoyed this series and I really liked the characters and I really liked these two as a couple I just feel like the ending didn't do their story justice

[visionofhope04]

Neglected - Part 5

Sorry for the long wait! I just kinda didn’t really know how to make the reader’s and Jason’s conversation go but I got it! This is the last part of the series!!! I’m going to start working on a story based on this headcannon now. By the way, requests are open! Just no smut. Hope you enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (Current)

---

You had just got home after that long interview. It had taken about 45 minutes and you were exhausted. You didn’t know how you managed to make it through 10 minutes of it. The first few minutes were definitely tense and you knew the press would eat it up. You planned to come clean about your so called family in an interview, but you didn’t plan for it to be the first one ever. You couldn’t control your mouth and the truth just poured out of you. You were glad the interviewer dropped the subject when you asked.

After setting your things down, you dropped onto the couch and lifted your hand above your head. You were staring at the ceiling and contemplating life when your phone rang. You reluctantly hopped off the couch and sprinted to get it. You found it, accepted the call, and then held it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello Y/N, I just saw your interview. Care to explain why you didn’t tell me about it and Y/G/N?”

“Jason! I’m sorry-”

“Y/N I’m so proud of you." You were so shocked, you almost dropped your phone.

“What? You’re not mad I outed the family?” You said in disbelief.

“No, of course not! Why would I be mad? If anything, I’m glad you did that to them. They deserve it. I'm just a little disappointed you didn't tell me about Y/G/N.”

"Well to be fair it was all over the news."

"Well, I haven't had time to check lately."

“Touche. By the way, how is everyone?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I only tolerate them for the sake of the city.”

“Oh, okay well- wait, what happens if they find out about what I said?! They’re gonna ruin my image, the career that I literally just started, and practically the rest of my life! I-”

“Woah, calm down, relax. They won’t ruin anything.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“They won’t. Trust me. If they do try anything it will be suspicious. No one would believe them.”

You noticed it had become late and you really wanted to take a nap, so you decided it was time to hang up.

“I love you Jason, thank you for everything. I’m exhausted from that interview and I’d like to get a few hours of sleep in.”

“I love ya too sis, just don’t forget me alright?”

“How could I? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, don’t forget. Bye."

“Bye.”

Jason hung up and you placed your phone back down. You made your way to your room and gathered (the clothes u sleep with cuz we don’t judge here) and prepared to shower and then finally take a nap.

---

Timothy Drake sat at the desk in his room, working on cases and occasionally sipping the coffee he had made ten minutes prior. It was 4 PM and he had been working nonstop since he got back from patrol. He opened a new tab on his laptop and saw something rather concerning pop up. It was an article titled “THE WAYNES AREN’T WHO YOU THINK THEY ARE…” Tim clicked on the article and began to read.

---

Bruce had been working in his office when suddenly Tim barged through the door. Bruce’s head snapped up in alarm.

“Look at this!” Tim screeched.

“What is it?” Bruce asked as Tim stomped over to his desk and handed him the laptop.

“Y/N…” Bruce grumbled in annoyance. “Can you remove the article or at least hide it?”

“No, it would look too suspicious. It’s already viral and if it suddenly disappeared people would suspect we had something to do with it.”

“Ugh. Inform Dick and Damian about it. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay.” Tim agreed as he quickly snatched his laptop from Bruce and ran back to his room.

---

“What!?” Dick Grayson was shocked. Timothy had just filled him in on the whole news incident Y/N had caused. He was furious. How could Y/N do such a thing and not know how badly her words would hurt their reputation! She was just overreacting and now people would believe her lies. “What’s B going to do?”

“I don’t know, he said he’s taking care of it.”

“Alright, I’ll let Damian know.”

---

"What?" Damian said in shock. Dick had called him while he was walking Titus and explained the situation. How and why would you do this to them? Did you not know how badly this would affect them???

"B says he's taking care of it. Don't worry about it much Dami."

That eased his worries a bit. "Okay, goodbye Grayson."

---

You were startled awake by the sound of your phone ringing. Groaning, you got up and went to retrieve your phone. On the way there, you glanced at the clock and noticed the time. You had slept for way longer than you meant to. Assuming it was someone from Y/G/N checking on you, you answered.

“Hello?”

"Y/N, you can't talk about us like that-"

You cut Bruce off. "I can and I will." You then hung up on him.

You felt a sense of pride wash over you. You were proud of how far you've come over the years. Before you wouldn't dare disobey Bruce. But now you had the courage to cut him off and hang up on him! You then blocked his number as well as Dick's, Tim's, and Damian's.

---

For the next few months, they tried to contact you in every way they knew how. Unfortunately for them, you knew exactly how to avoid and ignore them. They tried to cancel you and make the public believe you were lying. That backfired on them due to Jason exposing their lies and confirming that they did in fact neglect you.

Wayne Enterprises' business started to drop by landslides. Not to the point of bankruptcy but to the point where they were no longer in the top 100. The public started to support you more and Y/G/N gained even more popularity. You were so happy about everything and all the support you were receiving.

Alfred had called you one day congratulating you. He apologized for not trying to get to know you and for letting them treat you that way. He asked if you would like to meet up with him sometime and start to get to know each other. You forgave him and agreed to meet up with him.

Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian never bothered you anymore after that and you finally got your happy ending.

---

I DID IT! ITS HERE! IT'S FINISHED! AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS!!! THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING SO SUPPORTIVE!!! If you're on the current tag list please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in all of my future DC works since this series is finished or if you'd like to just be tagged in certain works that only involve certain characters. If you want to be tagged in future works of mine please send it through asks.

Tag list: @fake-id-69 @pepelachanel @loxbbg @what-0-life @yoongi-holland @omnivorousfangirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @sexysamsungl @iceddonuts @buginetye @portrait-ninja @azazel-nyx @alculai @whitemanswhore14

[babygirlbenji]

I’ve Got You - Marcus Rashford

A/N: my first marcus imagine!!! i'm so sorry this is so late, and it gets so rushed towards the end. i really hope i've done this justice! i'm still getting to know marcus, so i hope this is okay 🥰

It had been a long time since Marcus had been able to go out and party with his friends. With international duty for the Euros and the devastating loss, swiftly followed by club duty only to be sidelined by his shoulder injury and pending surgery, Marcus wanted to let loose for a while and forget about his troubles.

‘Baby girl,’ his voice echoed throughout your shared flat, the last syllable elongated.

‘Yes, my love?’ You replied from the sofa, nose deep in one of your university textbooks. You third year of journalism was intense, but you still absolutely loved it. Your aspirations of being a news reporter for the Manchester Evening News were becoming more reachable with every term.

‘Have you seen my Balenciaga shirt? I swear I saw it in my wardrobe the other day.’ A snort left your lips.

‘You mean your floordrobe? I washed it, I put a load of whites in the other day. Should be either hanging up on the clothes line or folded in one of your drawers.’ Silence followed as Marcus searched for the elusive shirt, before he appeared in the hallway, dressed in black skinny jeans, the shirt he’d been looking for and his usual white Air Forces gifted to him by Nike a couple weeks previously. ‘You look like you’re going somewhere,’ you remarked. Marcus nodded, typing quickly on his phone before coming to sit next to you on the sofa.

‘Jesse, Jadon, Luke and I are going out for the evening, might be a late one. Fancy coming along?’ He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as you contemplated the offer.

‘I’d love to, but studying calls. I’ve got a presentation soon, so I need to prepare for it.’ His shoulders slouched. He loved partying, but nights out with you were always the best. You were responsible, but also knew how to have a good time. Knowing all the good clubs from your time at the University of Manchester was a huge plus.

You and Marcus had actually met at one of the clubs. It was your first year of university, and you were new to the area having moved up from the south to start your university career. Marcus had come to your rescue after seeing you being chatted up by a guy who wasn’t taking no for an answer. Having pretended to be your boyfriend to get the guy away from you, Marcus realised that he wanted to get to know you better. He asked for your number in a moment of brazen confidence, and had asked you out the day after when you’d both sobered up. You weren’t usually the type to pick up a guy while on a night out, but the stars aligned on that night, and you hadn’t looked back since.

Your thoughts were brought back to the current moment. Marcus was at the counter, looking for his keys, wallet, mask and ID.

‘Sure you don’t wanna come, love?’ He asked, bending down behind the sofa and wrapping you in his arms.

‘My heart says no but my head says yes.’ The two of you shared a laugh at your conflicting answer.

‘Alright, babe, my Uber will be here in a few minutes, I’ll see you later this evening, yeah?’ You turned your head to kiss his cheek, and he gently held your face to kiss your lips goodbye.

‘Be safe, text me if you want me to pick you up, yeah?’ You called after his retreating back as he hurried towards the door.

‘Will do, bubba, love you!’

‘Love you too, have fun!’ The door opened, and he left, the sound of a car door opening and closing following a short while later.

Facing a quiet evening ahead, you switched on Netflix and put on the new series of Unsolved Mysteries, which had been on your watch list ever since it was released the week before. Not bothering to cook, you ordered a pizza, and feasted by yourself as you filled your head with statistics, facts and opinions about the history of the BBC.

Your phone blared loudly beside you, your ringtone of September by Earth, Wind and Fire catching you unawares. Groaning and realising you must have fallen asleep on the sofa, you groggily picked it up, noting that the time was just past 2:30am.

‘Hello?’ you grumbled. A barrage of loud music, even louder voices and a car engine hit your ears, making you rub your forehead at the change of volume.

‘Y/N, it’s Jess, we’re about 5 minutes away, Rashy got himself really drunk,’ Jesse’s voice was slightly muffled, and you assumed that you were on speaker as he tried to wrestle his taller teammate into his seatbelt or something.

‘Okay, I’ll get stuff ready, see you soon.’ He thanked you and hung up, leaving you to hurry around to get a pair of joggers and a clean shirt from Marcus’s wardrobe, followed by a glass of water and made sure that there was a packet of painkiller ready for the morning when Marcus would no doubt have a pounding headache.

The buzzer to the apartment sounded, and you answered to allow Jesse and Jadon up, knowing that Marcus was too gone to know where his keys were. Shortly after, the doorbell rang and you hurried over to answer it.

‘Hey guys, thank you for bringing him home,’ you whispered, trying not to wake up your neighbours.

'Oh look, it's my babyyyy!' Marcus yelled loudly when he saw you. Even in his intoxicated state, and even with your hair in a messy bun, no makeup and bleary eyes from sleep, you were still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

'Shhh, Rash, neighbours,' Jadon winced.

'I need everyone to know that I was literally jumped by some random girl at the bar, but I pushed her away from me and was like "bore off, I have a girlfriend! And she's the love of my life! And I don't want anyone else!"' You didn't know whether to be thoroughly embarrassed, thoroughly amused or thoroughly endeared, so you just thanked the boys for bringing him home.

‘Safe trip home, guys.’ They closed the door behind you and you heard them head back downstairs. You put your arm around Marcus's shoulders and helped him inside.

The next step of the process was getting Marcus out of his party clothes. ‘Rashy, baby, I need you to help me get you undressed and into bed, okay?’ He grumbled to himself as he tried to get his arms and legs out of their respective holes of his shirt and jeans. It surprised you how an agile footballer could be so uncoordinated when inebriated.

‘Help,’ he mumbled. You were distinctly reminded of your six-year-old cousin you sometimes babysat, but decided not to say anything; you didn’t want to upset your boyfriend.

‘Alright, baby, arms up!’ He obeyed and lifted his arms up in the air, allowing you to finally take his shirt off. Tossing it into the laundry bin, you cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead. ‘I’ve got you, darling. There we go.’ His jeans came off soon after, leaving Marcus in his boxers, looking thoroughly exhausted.

‘Want cuddles,’ he slurred. You giggled.

‘Drink some water for me first?’ After some deliberation, you reached an agreement, and he drank a glass of water. ‘Okay baby, you feeling okay?’ To answer your question, Marcus flopped onto the sofa, completely passed out. ‘Guess we’re sleeping here tonight,’ you snorted to yourself, quickly fetching a blanket and a few extra pillows. Gently lifting his head up, you placed them under him, making sure he was lying so that he wouldn’t strain his neck or hurt his shoulder more. You carefully climbed in next to him, acting as the big spoon, and pulled him close to you.

‘Thank you, Y/N,’ a small voice whispered, still slightly slurred, but this time you assumed it was caused more by exhaustion than alcohol.

‘Always, darling.’

Needless to say, training for Marcus the next morning proved quite a challenge.

[watercolorfreckles]

The Villain and His Therapist - Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

"You know, that shade of pink looks lovely on you," Villain purred, descending the stairs to lean against the kitchen counter.

Juliet paused where she was scrambling eggs in a skillet and glanced down at her attire of soft blue pajama pants and oversized grey sweater. "I'm not wearing any pink," she said slowly, lifting her gaze to look at the Villain.

He'd just come down from a shower, dark locks of hair curling over his forehead. He smelled of her green apple shampoo. It made her insides swoop all funny.

Villain's lips tugged into an easy grin as he took one step closer, two. He paused directly in front of her to lift a hand, brushing his knuckles feather-light against her burning cheek.

"I was referring to your blush. It suits you quite beautifully." His voice was liquid gold. Her skin tingled beneath his touch.

Remembering herself, Juliet swatted his hand away and covered her cheeks with her palms. "I'm not blushing."

He didn't try to hide the amusement on his face.

"Mm, whatever were you thinking about, Doctor Meadows?" Villain took Juliet's hands to gently pry them away from her face, using the hold on her wrists to pull her closer.

Juliet sucked in a soft breath, looking up at him. The sun streaming through the window caught the highlights of his handsome face and illuminated his dark irises, turning them to molten amber.

"I...was...thinking about how gentle you can be. When you calmed me down that night, you were patient and sensitive; you displayed a lot of empathy and care. I'm really proud of you. You've come a long way."

Villain's grin grew a little softer as he tilted his head to the side, studying her face. The way he looked at her used to make her feel like prey being stalked by a lion. Now...it made her feel like she was the only thing in his universe.

Her stomach fluttered.

Juliet swallowed, continuing. "I imagine it isn't easy for you to be so vulnerable. I'm glad that you feel safe enough with me to be soft."

Villain brushed her fringe away from her face, tapping the side of her head. "That psychologist brain of yours never turns off, does it?"

She smiled sheepishly, gaze dipping down to the floor.

Villain's finger hooked under her chin, lifting it gently. "I never said I didn't like it. You are my therapist, after all."

Villain leaned in closer, eliciting the slightest hitch in her breath. He smiled, relishing her response.

His breath ghosted over her lips, leaving them tingling in anticipation.

"Yours?" she asked softly. Her mouth had gone dry.

"Would you like to be?"

Juliet's thoughts were rarely clear on her face. She was difficult to read under the years of training keeping her steady and prepared. Villain wanted to unpick that artificial calm from her; to map her every reaction. He wanted to watch her sigh and blush and smile...

"The eggs are going to burn," Juliet whispered, watching him.

Without taking his eyes off of her, Villain reached over her shoulder, turning off the stove. In one fluid movement, he turned with her, pressing her back against the counter.

If her cheeks were warm before, they were blazing now. Villain smiled again, this time something so fond it dazzled her senses. The world narrowed to just the two of them, flush together.

Juliet's hands fell against Villain's chest, lightly resting against the soft cotton of his shirt.

She breathed in his scent.

"Villain?"

"Mm?" he murmured, the hum of his voice vibrating against her palms.

"When your brother- What he said about how you feel...about me... Is it true?" She held his gaze, holding her breath.

"My sweet Juliet Meadows." His voice alone was enough to melt her. He took one of her hands with deliberate gentleness and placed a kiss against her fingers. "If only I were brave enough to say it out loud."

"You can say it in other ways," Juliet breathed.

His eyes gleamed.

"Oh I intend to," Villain said softly.

Villain's gaze flicked down to Juliet's lips. He kept one hand on her waist, slotting the other into her hair. He leaned in until their lips brushed. Pausing, he seemed to catch himself, probably remembering Juliet's comments in therapy about the importance of healthy communication.

He smiled again, sharp and beautiful. His warm breath grazed her skin while his thumb traced lazy circles against her jaw. "May I?" he whispered, his lips hovering just barely above hers.

Juliet opened her mouth to answer, and-

The door burst open.

Juliet jolted in surprise, panic shooting through her as she gripped Villain's arms before she caught sight of who was really at the door.

The figure was fitted in a deep red super-suit, a black mask concealing his identity.

She relaxed, releasing a breath through gritted teeth. "Hero?"

"Doctor Meadows," Hero said, relief flooding his expression. "I heard what happened to you on the news and with Supervillain's escape, I knew you were in danger so I-"

His eyes narrowed as he seemed to notice Villain for the first time. "You get away from her," he hissed marching closer, crimson beams of tech-powered energy sparking to life in his palms. "Let her go and get out."

Villain hardened at the sight of him in turn, straightening and pulling out an advanced weapon. "Now that's insulting, at least I was invited inside." His voice was smooth and dangerous. Chilling.

A far cry from the man who had held her close and smiled fondly only moments ago.

Juliet stepped between them, holding up a hand in each direction. "Stop."

"You invited him in? Doctor Meadows, he's Supervillain's brother! He's probably here to finish the job for him!"

"Oh that's rich," Villain interjected. "For all your self-righteous monologues begging me to change, to be better, when I actually try, you can't accept it."

"I'm not willing to bet Doctor Meadow's life on your 'moral awakening,'" Hero spat.

"Hero," Juliet said in the no-nonsense voice her job often required her to use. "Take a deep breath. Villain would never hurt me, you don't need to worry about that."

"He-"

"-is in rehabilitation," Juliet finished for him. "He is my patient, just as you are. He has made tremendous progress, you are in no position to discredit his reformation. I promise you that I am safe with him."

Hero stared, studying the pair. Villain's jaw was clenched, glaring hard at the hero. Juliet touched his shoulder and some of the tension immediately dissolved from him.

Hero extinguished the energy beams in his palms, shifting into a less guarded stance. He regarded them for a second longer.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"You want to prove you have good intentions? Help me find Supervillain and bring him in, for good this time," Hero said. "I can't do it alone."

Villain turned to look at Juliet. She stepped closer, taking his hand as she spoke.

"No. I don't want you to put yourself in a position where your recovery might be compromised again. You're too close to the situation to act rationally, and it would be too much of a trigger for you."

Villain's gaze softened as it landed on her, any hostility in his demeanor vanishing like it had never been there. He brushed her hair back with gentle fingers, leaning in. His thumb dipped down to graze her lips.

Villain kissed her cheek, her chin, the corner of her mouth. He straightened, eyes intent, looking like he wanted to kiss her properly--but not until they were alone.

When time would suspend like frost in the air and the moment would belong solely to the two of them, in the quiet and safety of each other.

Juliet's skin felt cold at the loss of his touch. Dread swirled in the pit of her stomach.

Villain turned to Hero, observing him for a moment before extending a hand to shake. "Deal."

Sorry I haven't posted in so loooong. I kept putting off writing this bc I was worried id mess it up lol. This is officially the longest series I've posted so far (the rest of my snippets have 3 parts or less) so wooo! Let me know if you want to see more :)

General Taglist: @writing-on-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter , @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees , @thelazywitchphotographer , @deadlygemuwu, @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost , @tobeornottobeateacher , @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @thanatoastie , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , (@distractedlydistracted i think forgot to tag you in the last part, oops)

You're on this list if you've asked to be tagged in any of my stories. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed. :)

Edit: the tags weren't working so I redid them through mobile, let me know if it worked!

[chanheeinc]

hi dear! can i request painter¡kevin x writer¡reader? have a nice day <33

Painter¡Kevin and Writer¡YN

Word Count: 500

Warnings: slight angst

Genre: fluff

You were his muse. Your boyfriend of three years. Every painting had some element to tie back to you. Various shades objects and figurines representing things you were into at the time, it became a game for you to try and find things about yourself in these pictures. That’s why when you finally finish the new novel you’ve been working on, you feel terrible. Kevin bounces up to you asking which character he is, you had no answer. You’re story was a horror book, you wouldn’t want to think about you love narrowly escaping death. His face drops when he realizes he’s not in your book, he’s not in your mind.

The rest of the week was cold. You opened the fridge to feel warmth. Kevin’s eyes would hardly met yours, you needed to explain yourself. It’s such a simple reason, you’re being ridiculous. You sit next to your boyfriend on the couch, he’s sketching his next idea carefully, you wonder if you’d even be apart of it now.

“Kev, can I talk to you?” You don’t make eye contact, there is some random series playing so you concentrate on the characters instead.

“Go ahead.” His voice was a whisper, if you hadn’t been so nervous you’d probably have missed it.

“The reason your not in my book,”. His breathing seemed to stop. “Is because I didn’t want to think about you getting hurt.”

“Oh thank god.” He laughs. You turn to him with a confused expression.” I thought you were about to break up with me.”

“What!? No! Never!” You move close to him, holding his hands for the first time in what seems like forever.

“I don’t mind not being in your story, your reaction just scared me. I didn’t want to say anything in case that meant the end. Id rather live in silence than not be by your side.” He kisses your forehead.

“I think we are both a tad bit dramatic.” You laugh.

“That’s what being artsy means babe.”

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

[tyb1]

If It’s The Right Thing To Do.

Part 1

Words: 2118

Character: Seth Clearwater 

 Note: let’s imagine your Sam’s little sister 

Series List

Dialogue prompt: “What? Why would I want to go over there? If I go over there Sam would smell vampires all over me. Aren’t you guys traitors anyway.” I scoffed, I was two seconds away from hanging up the phone on him since they did leave me behind.”

*this is my first twilight imagine so be nice :)*

I stretched every muscle in my body to grab my phone that was sitting on the desk by the bed. I looked at the caller ID but it was from a number that I didn't recognize. My mom always told me not to answer those calls but I did anyway. I had the sudden urge to be bold today.

"Hello?" I rolled back on my bed to finish the stale popcorn that was at least 3 hours old.

"(Y/N)!" the voice spoke frantically over the phone. "(Y/N)....is this (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!"

I sat up on the bed trying to stop my heart from beating out of my chest. The voice sounds panic so it caused me to be panic. The voice from the phone sounded so familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"This is she....why?"

(Y/N)! This is Jake! Listen, I need you to make your way over to the Cullens house!"

"What? Why would I want to go over there? If I go over there Sam would smell vampires all over me. Aren't you guys traitors anyway." I scoffed, I was two seconds away from hanging up the phone on him since they left me behind.

I heard Jacob huff over the phone. Then the phone sounded like someone grabbed a piece of paper and started crumbling it over the microphone. I lay back down on my bed the anxiety in my chest slowly fading away. "Listen Jake I don't have time for games I-"

"Shut up the hell up Jacob! (Y/N)! It's Leah, get your ass over to the Cullens now!" And just like that, the phone hung up without any explanation as to why I have to go to the Cullens.

I sat my phone back on the desk. There was no way in hell I could go to the Cullens. For one Sam wasn't on patrol tonight and two he would smell them on me if I ever decided to come back. "Those are two good reasons for me to stay in tonight." But why would they call me to come over to the Cullens when they knew for a fact I wasn't allowed near them........."

Seth

I jumped from my bed throwing on a hoodie and some pajama pants. I could barely maintain my breathing, There was something wrong with Seth I just felt it in my soul. Something bad probably happened to him and I wasn't there to prevent it.

I slowly walked out of my room seeing that all the lights were off. The door to Sam's and Emily's room was slightly opened. The sound of Sam's snores filled the air. I slowly closed the door then crept down the hallway to the keys.

"We only have one chance to let's make the most of it," I muttered to myself, I grabbed the keys from the shelf while trying not to step on the wood that creaked. I quickly made my way to the back door closing it softly.

"Okay, now the easy part is over." All I had to do now was get in my car and drive to the Cullens. What I was doing right now could coat me all the respect the pack has for me. If I stepped off this property Sam could label me as a traitor right along with Jake, Seth, and Leah.

"It's now or never if Sam hates me for what I'm doing so be it. Seth needs me right now." I mustered up all my courage to drive off the reserve. The drive to the Cullens was so agonizing. The only thing I could think about was the fight that caused us to be distant. We've never fought and when we did we'd make up instantly. This time I was the cause of it, his heart broke in front of me and I did nothing about it. I never meant to say the harsh words but I wanted him to hurt just like he was hurting me.

*Flashback*

I ran behind Seth as he ran behind Jacob. He claimed that he was leaving my brother's pack to join Jacobs pack because "it was the right thing to do". At first, I thought he was being delusional but now that I'm running after him I knew he was being serious.

"Seth come back!" He stopped running causing me to bump into his toned back.

He grabbed my shoulders trying to turn me back towards the reservation."No (Y/N)! I have to do this, go back to Sam!"

I bit his hand then shoved him away."I'm not staying there unless you're with me, Seth!" He shook his head then ran farther into the woods.

"Seth if you leave me then I'll never forgive you!" I began to cry then the cries became sobs. I watched him through my blurry vision as he stopped mid-run. I knew if he stepped foot off the reserve onto the Cullens I would never see him again. Sam would ban me from ever seeing him again because he turned his back on the pack.

Jacob appeared behind a tree watching the whole situation."Seth, are you willing to go against your family, the pack, and your sister?"

Seth turned to Jacob with fire in his eyes. "If it's the right thing to do."

"You'd even turn your back on (Y/N)?"

Seth turned to me, staring into my eyes. It was like I didn't recognize him anymore. Those bubbly brown eyes of his were no longer the same.

"Like I said if it's the right thing to do."

My whole world stopped. Hearing those words come out of my lover's mouth felt like someone just gutted my heart out. My heart was telling me to say one thing while my brain was telling me to say another.

"Seth Clearwater, I hate you!" The words felt so wrong but so right at the same time. I turned my back to him so he wouldn't see me cry anymore.

"You don't mean that (Y/N)! You love me!"

I turned to him with pure hate in my eyes. "I can't love someone who's dead to me."

I ran as fast as my legs could take me. I heard him running after me screaming his voice cracking every time he called out to me. I never looked behind he was a traitor now and he said it to the world, his back was now turned on me.

*EOF*

I wiped the tears from my face as I drove farther off the reserve. Seth and I bond was stronger than any other relationship in the pack. We went from friends to lovers to enemies by force. Now I have to face him. It'll be the first time we've spoken in 2 months.

I got out of the car with my heart pounding profusely. I looked up at the house, Jasper, and Emmet stood at the door to greet me. I nodded to both of them then made my way to the living room. Jacob was sitting on the couch nervously shaking his leg while Bella was pacing back and forth. A piercing scream came out of nowhere. Everyone turned their attention upstairs to where the scream came from. I knew something was up when I saw Rosalie with a guilty expression on her face.

"What happened......why did that sound like Seth?" I didn't bother to sit nor make friends with them. I walk straight into the living room each step I took became bolder and bolder. I sat there staring at them but no one was talking so I decided to make my way upstairs where the scream came from.

Jacob ran to grab me before I could make it to where Seth was. I turned to glare at him as he tightened his grip around my arm."(Y/N)! Wait! Don't go up there not just yet....wait until Carlisle gives us the clear."

"Then tell me what happened to him, Jake."

Jacob sighed, "Listen Bella and I got into an argument things got a bit out of hand and Seth got hurt."

"How did Seth get hurt?"

"Bella accidentally threw him into a tree."

I shot a glare at Bella. "How do you accidentally throw someone into a tree!"

"(Y/N) I honestly didn't mean to. I'm so sorry I don't know what else to do." Bella walked over to me with an apologetic look. The glare that was cast upon my face never left.

I looked around at all the Cullens and Jake "None of you tried to stop her. You just let her throw someone who is so innocent and pure into a fucking tree."

I left without saying another word to them. The journey to the room felt so long but yet it was so short. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans before I knocked on the door. I heard groans from the other side of the door. My heart sank when I heard him scream again. The door opened revealing Carlisle and Esme, they were both smiling sweetly at me.

Esme hugged me which I gladly returned back. "(Y/N) it's so good to see you. I'm sorry that we had to meet again in unfortunate circumstances."

"I know, I would come to visit more often but my brother would have my head." I began to shift uncomfortably on my feet. I tried to peek behind them but Carlisle's tall built body blocked my way.

Carlisle coughed, "We're trying to make him as comfortable as possible but you can have a minute with him." He stepped aside letting me into the room. "We also gave him some morphine to ease the pain so he may be a tad bit sleepy."

I nodded my head before I entered the room. My gaze was fixed on the floorboard. I was too scared to look at him.

"(Y/N), I'm so happy to see you."

I gasped when I saw his bruised chest. I ran over to the side of the bed where he laid. The little skin that was showing was now purple, blue, and swollen the rest was covered with bandages. I went to touch his arm to comfort him but he pulled back screaming out in pain."Seth! Are you okay? Oh my god look at your chest!"

"(Y/N) you actually came!" I could tell from his eyes that he was still in disbelief that I was standing in front of him.

"Of course I would come." I began to run my hair through his hair trying to make him as comfortable as possible. I sat down near him being careful not to touch any of his body parts.

"I'm tired (Y/N)...please stay here until I wake up."

I jumped from the bed staring at him as if he had lost his mind. "There's no way I can stay here without Sam knowing that I am missing Seth, I have to go back."

He placed his bruised hand on top of mine trying to intertwine them. Seth had a genuine smile on his face, "Don't go, stay here. I'll deal with Sam once I wake up."

I sighed as I looked back and forth between the door and Seth. I didn't want to leave him but I couldn't afford Sam coming out here dragging me back home. Everyone would look at me with disgust if they smelled the Cullens on me.

"Seth I honestly don't know if this is the right thing to do."

"Trust me (Y/N) it's the right thing to do."

I laughed at his corny remark. I knew without asking him, that was our way of making up since the fight. Seth rolled the blankets off of him ushering me to get under. At first, I wanted to reject but I knew he would somehow convince me that it was okay. I rested my head on the pillow that was next to his. I immediately relaxed once I felt the heat from his body come upon mine.

Seth sighed, he tried to roll over to face me but I placed my hand on his cheek to stop him.

"What are you trying to do?"

He grunted, "I'm trying to apologize for what I said two weeks ago."

I placed a chaste kiss on his lips, he laughed sweetly then kissed me back.

"I guess I'm forgiven."

"I could never be mad at you Seth Clearwater."

If I was being honest with myself I was actually contradicting myself.  At first, I was really mad at him. I even went as far as to rip up our pictures. Now looking back I actually regret everything I said to him and did. "Seth I'm sorry too, I should have never said the things I said."

He laughed, "It's okay, I could never be mad at you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)"

[potofbees]

Favorite Half-life Game(s)

Favorite Moment from the series

Favorite Side/Lesser Known Characters

Cool fact or headcanon you like?

Would you keep a vortigaunt as a roommate or have a pet headcrab? Both are friendly, btw!

i dont have a lot of coherent thoughts but these were fun to answer 👍👍 o7 THANK U for questions

1) ok fav game DEFINITELY halflife 2 itll probably always be my fav game all time. i am playing it as i write this its just one of those games that feels new and fun to play every time

i imagine once i finally get around to playing half:life alyx it will be my favorite just cause ive seen such good things about it and how its the best vr game of all time and how genuinely immersive it is and all these wonderful tiny details and the story and etc etc i need to play this game or im going to explode. watched the ending cutscene and it made me realize how mentally ill i am abt this series

2) oh god favorite moment i have so many but probably in hl2 barney's "fuck you" to dr breen that gets cut off so they can keep the games rating. always love devs skating around that 18+/mature rating

3) favorite side character(s), father grigori i have no specific reasons i just like him a lot, also not really a side character but judith mossman she gets such a bad rep i would treat her right. girl i would make a character analysis on u that is respectful of ur character development

FUNNY answer however. is specifically the fisherman from the later lost coast tech demo/cut level from hl2

this is peak character design. it cant get better than this sorry character designers uve been outmatched. he means so much to me

4) fav fact is a loaded question because i know an ungodly amount of information about the halflife games but ill say it has to be that the packs of houndeyes in the first game take naps. theyr sleepy

also fact specifically for U is that there were cut easter eggs for the would-be dreamcast port of the first game and this specific one i remember is that sometimes when u broke a supply crate a sonic adventure disc would be one of the items that fell out. never became official but theres videos of it its so funny

i also really like the headcanon that gordon uses ASL. im taking a class on it i really just think sign language should be taught more and should just generally be more common for accessibility reasons so i think its swag when people headcanon silent protags as using sign language

5) HARD question i love all the aliens in these games but id say vortigaunt cause i have like an embarrassing little detail that when i played the black mesa remake i got the pacifist achievement for interloper without knowing it existed because i didnt wanna kill any of the vortigaunts :( they were my buddies in the 2nd game i just could not hurt them. they would be such a great friend. plus i already have cats so i dont need another feral beast that latches onto me yknow

THANK u for questions btw this was fun i gotta send u more funny questions

[todorokibois]

{1} - Spring Day

Reincarnation AU - Part of the Spring Day Series

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Possible Smut (In later chapters)

Pairing: Itadori Yuuji X Reader X Ryomen Sukuna

Words: 5,059

A/n: I just recently got into Jujutsu Kaisen but I love it so much already! Ever since I watched episode four and five this little idea has been running around in my mind, and I've seen a few others do an au like this so I decided I'd give it a shot. I’m still learning all the rules and stuff of the world, so please bear with me. Some of the characters may be ooc for the time being, as well as for plot purposes. I hope you enjoy what I have planned, and please do let me know what you think of this. Feedback is always greatly appreciated!

Summary: Being Yuuji’s best friend? Piece of cake. However, you never expected to be the reincarnation of Sukuna’s former lover. - You promised each other forever, but forever came.

Note: The characters are all aged up for this fic, so now they will be in university.

You can still remember the first day you met Itadori Yuuji like it was yesterday. Nothing really eventful happened on that day, but you know that it’s one you’ll never forget, for he’s your best friend and you are his. In fact, having just entered middle school at the time, he was one of the first friends you ever made at your new school. 

He seemed impressed by how unafraid you were of the supernatural, the two of you spouting ghost stories to one another during lunch every day. Each day was a competition to see who could freak the other one out the most with an even gorier horror story every lunch period. So far, your record is thirty to twenty-nine in your favour, with more ties than you can count.

Soon enough, middle school came and went, and then the two of you found out that you were to go to the same high school. Both of you were excited that you would know at least one person, not to mention that that person is your best friend. At least you wouldn’t have to give up your daily routine with him. Needless to say, it came as quite a shock to Yuuji when you stopped coming to school about halfway through your first year.

Even though the two of you continued to text every day since your transfer, things never felt the same to either of you. Every time Yuuji asked what school you transferred to, you’d brush off the question, or give him a fake school name. He knows they’re fake since the one time he wanted to surprise you after school one day by visiting you, but when he went inside and checked the registry, your name wasn’t even close to being listed there.

That was a small rough patch in your relationship. Yuuji was hurt that you would lie to him like that, and it took about a week before you could cheer him up again. He just had to see you in person, that was the only way he would stop moping about. That, and he jokingly said it would be the only way he’d forgive you.

Again, as the two of you were walking around the shopping district, he asked you which high school you transferred to. Well, you couldn’t exactly tell him you transferred to a school that teaches you how to become a jujutsu sorcerer, now could you? So, you gave a vague description of the place, stating that you honestly always forget the name, but it’s hidden somewhere in the mountains surrounding Tokyo. Regardless, he made you promise that he could come visit at some point.

Every day, you miss him, just as he misses you, and every day you wish you could see more of him. Despite the amount of trips you plan together, nothing can replace no longer seeing each other every day. Oh well, at least you still keep in touch.

Yuuji never told you, but it was pure agony for him when you left without a clue as to where you’d gone. The fact that you couldn’t answer him for a few days made him go crazy. When he finally got an answer, it felt as if the world had finally started moving again, because to him, you are his entire world.

He doesn’t exactly know when his platonic feelings towards you turned more romantic, but he knows that they’ve never gone away, no matter how many years have passed. Perhaps it was that time in your second year of middle school when you tricked him into playing shogi with you, a game you had convinced him he could beat you at, only to be severely disappointed. How was he to know you were the best in the year when you had never mentioned it before that day? Or perhaps it was that one day during the summer break before the start of high school when the two of you were running through the park, laughing at each other as the sunlight reflected off of your hair, lighting up your eyes in a way he’d never seen before. Either way, he knows he’s been in love with you for a long time now, and he’d never do anything to jeopardize your friendship. He just hopes that someday, his feelings are returned.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t get to spend as much time with Yuuji over the break as you wanted to, what with your duties and all. However, you’re hoping you’ll be able to soon. You wanted to see him one last time before he started university, but unfortunately you couldn’t. Weeks passed, and you finally made plans to visit him a few months into the semester, but you had to cancel due to a last minute mission you got thrown on. Little did you know what would happen that night.

Earlier that evening, you had gotten a voicemail from Yuuji, informing you that his grandfather had died. You managed to take a detour long enough to call him back, making sure that he’s okay and letting him know that you’re sorry for his loss. His grandfather was the closest family he had left, so you know that as soon as you’re done with this mission, you’re going to see him. He told you he was fine, but you want to make sure. After all, you know how he can get.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you focus in on the task at hand. Clearing this abandoned building will be easy for you, nothing you haven’t done before. All there are are two level two curses to take care of, piece of cake. You only wish it was located closer to where Yuuji is, that way you could get to him sooner.

It took a few years, but you managed to quickly work your way up to a grade one sorcerer. You’re a very quick learner, and the fact that you already had strong reflexes thanks to always competing with Yuuji helped a great deal. You’re only surprised your mother kept her family secret for so long. However, you’re grateful for how long she kept it secret, because if she had revealed it sooner, you might not have met Yuuji, and you don’t know where you’d be today without him in your life.

With a sigh, you enter the building. Shifting your gaze around, you begin to hunt the curses currently within the vicinity. It doesn’t take you long to find the first one, quickly disposing of it before it even has the chance to retaliate. Locating the second takes a little bit longer than anticipated, but eventually you find it, preparing yourself to take this one down just as you did the first.

“Man, you really are one ugly thing, aren’t you?” You tut, shaking your head.

The curse in question did not seem to like your words, letting out a screech and lunging for you in the next moment. Quickly dodging, you parry the curse’s attack, managing to sever one of its many limbs before jumping back and keeping a bit of distance between the two of you. You’re just about to jump in for another attack when you falter, a sudden wave of specialized curse energy pulsing throughout your entire body.

Taking advantage of your momentary loss of composure, the curse lunges at you. You just manage to block the blunt of the attack, still getting a small scrape on your cheek in the process. You curse.

Another two minutes pass by and you’re finally able to dispose of the second level two. Immediately, the air in the building seems lighter, and you know you’ve cleared all the required curses and purified the space. Breathing a sigh of relief you head towards the exit, ready to be clear of this building once and for all. 

As soon as you step outside, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, signalling that you’re getting a call. Thinking it to be Yuuji, you don’t even bother checking the caller id before answering right away.

“Hello?” You say, just as you hear the door fall shut behind you.

“(Y/n)! So glad you answered on the first ring,” the voice of your personal teacher and trainer, Gojo Satoru answers in a chipper voice. “Listen, I have some news for you.”

“Listen, teach, if you’re just gonna tell me about the mochi you bought today-“

“Ryomen Sukuna has been released,” he cuts you off, and you can only freeze in your tracks as your breath hitches in your throat. “We currently have control of his vessel.”

“What happened?” You ask, steadying yourself with your back against the side of the building you’ve just exited.

“Ah, nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about,” Gojo assures you. “We had it under control.”

“We?” Your brow quirks slightly even though he can’t see it.

“Yeah, Fushiguro and I,” he replies. “Well, it was mainly me, but who’s keeping score?” You can faintly hear grumbling in the background and then a chuckle from Gojo. “Anyways, best return to campus as soon as possible.”

“I can’t,” comes your immediate response.

There’s silence for a moment until, “and why’s that?”

“I have to go visit Yuuji,” you bring a hand up to rub at your temples. This conversation is giving you a headache.

“You mentioned he lives near Sendai, correct?” Gojo inquires.

“That’s correct,” you confirm, “why?”

“The incident was near there, so you can’t come, it’s not safe for you,” he explains.

You scoff, “since when have you ever been concerned for my safety?”

“I’m offended,” he feigns hurt. “As your teacher, I’m always concerned for your safety.”

“Bullshit,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Anyways, that’s all the more reason I should go and see him. Now I have two reasons to make sure he’s okay.”

You hear a deep sigh on the other end before Gojo is speaking once more, “listen, (Y/n), you know I’m not usually one to be a stickler for rules and such, and I hate enforcing things, but I’m going to need you to get back to campus and wait in your dorm until I come get you.”

“But-“

“That’s an order,” his voice is firm, and you know that there’s no arguing with him once he’s made up his mind.

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing yourself off of the wall in order to head to the train station. “Will you at least tell me the name of Sukuna’s vessel?”

“All in due time,” he says, sounding too cheerful for the current events which have just taken place this evening. “See you back at the academy!”

Without another word, the line goes dead and you know he’s ended the call to avoid answering any more of your questions.

Letting out another sigh, you tuck your phone away in your pocket. You sent a quick text to Yuuji beforehand, just explaining that something came up and you’re still thinking of him during this time. You hope you can see him soon.

The ride back to campus is spent thinking about the effects of Sukuna now being released. You know the elders will probably fight to execute whoever the poor idiot is that ingested his finger. Knowing Gojo, he’d fight against whatever the elders decide to do. You’re just hoping that whoever the idiot is that turned out to be Sukuna’s vessel is strong enough to both contain and control him.

Making it back to campus, you immediately head to your room, just as Gojo had instructed you to do. Figuring you have enough time before he comes calling, you take a quick shower, washing off the dirt and grime from the events of this evening. Once done, you change into some comfortable clothes and lay down on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you wait for Gojo to appear.

It’s not until noon the next day when Gojo finally shows up at your door.

“Took you long enough, I’m starving,” you grumble, noticing he’s carrying what looks like two prepackaged lunches in his hands.

“You could have gone out for food, you know,” he chuckles, already moving to sit down in your desk chair.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was told to ‘wait in my room and await further instructions,’” you cross your arms, allowing your door to fall shut as you return to sitting on your bed.

“Details, details,” he waves you off as you grab one of the lunches he hands you. “Anyways, I came to update my favourite student about what’s going on.”

You simply quirk a brow at him as you open your lunch, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, for starters I’ve delayed the inevitable,” he begins, to which you only give him a look. He goes on to explain that the vessel will most likely be joining the other first years in training to become a sorcerer until the proper time comes. “I’ve basically convinced the elders to allow the vessel to consume all of Sukuna’s fingers before being executed.”

“Okay, and?” You stare at him expectantly.

“Please, do hold your applause,” he grins, expression only faltering slightly when you continue to remain silent after a few moments. “Geez, tough crowd. Anyways, I thought you’d be more happy about this.”

“I only feel bad for the poor idiot who got involved in all of this,” you sigh, continuing to place food in your mouth while chewing thoughtfully.

“Oh, he’s an idiot alright,” Gojo chuckles.

“And who exactly is he?” You tilt your head slightly, looking at him expectantly.

Gojo lets out a deliberate yawn while standing up, stretching his arms above his head, “would you look at that? I’m late for a meeting with the principle. Toodles!”

Without another word, he vanishes from your room, only leaving you just as frustrated with him as you were before, with many more unanswered questions building in your mind. It’s just like him to do this to you, too. Always keeping information this important from you until you’re thrust upon a situation where you’re forced to confront the facts of the matter. You just hope that this is another one of his stupid training exercises and not him purposely avoiding telling you straight up who the vessel is. You also hope whoever the vessel is, is someone you don’t know since it’ll probably make it easier when the time comes. Still, knowing Gojo, he probably will come up with a plan to save the poor soul set for execution even after everything is said and done. If the poor boy even lives that long.

Finishing up your lunch, you decide to head towards the principle’s office. You are technically considered a first year in the university courses, so maybe you’ll have a chance to sneak a look at the vessel if you’re lucky. Besides, Gojo did mention something about Fushiguro and you meeting up with the other new first year tomorrow, so you want intel on what’s happening in regards to that.

Just as you raise your hand to knock on the principle’s door Gojo opens it as if he was expecting you. You attempt to sneak a glance past him but to no avail, only causing him to chuckle as he steps into the hallway and shuts the door behind him.

“How can I help you, my dear student?” He smiles, leaning against the now closed door.

“When are we meeting the new girl, and is the vessel accompanying us?” Your questions are direct and straight to the point.

“Ah, yes, Nobara,” Gojo nods. “Unfortunately, you won’t be accompanying us guys to meet up with her tomorrow, you have another mission to attend to.”

“Since when?” You scoff.

“Since now,” he singsongs. “Level one curse spotted at an old primary school. I would take care of it myself, but as you know, I care deeply about every single one of my students so I must be there to meet Nobara on her first day! Besides, you’re the only one I trust to do this assignment right now.”

Any protests you had soon die in your throat at his last statement. Though still ticked off you won’t get to go with them, you understand why he’s chosen you. Besides, this is your job, and you know it will help with your training.

“Fine,” you grumble, “but I still want to meet the new kids.”

“All in due time,” he waves you off with the same words he told you last night. “Now you better get planning before that curse gets too out of hand! I’ll text you the details!”

“Yeah, yeah,” this time it’s your turn to wave him off as you turn around and start walking back to your dorm to grab your stuff, muttering under your breath, “you old croon.”

The offended gasp you hear behind you is enough to drown out the sound of the principle’s door opening once more, two people stepping out to join Gojo in the hallway.

“Who’s that?” Itadori asks Gojo as they watch your retreating form disappear behind a corner.

“One of my best students,” Gojo hums proudly in response.

“Funny, she looks just like my best friend-“

“C’mon, I’ll show you to your dorm!” Gojo cuts him off before he can finish his sentence, leading him down the hallway in the opposite direction to which you disappeared in, Itadori not being able to do much else but follow close behind.

Sure enough, about twenty minutes later Gojo sends you a text with all the details you’ll need to exercise the curse tomorrow at the primary school. You plan to leave early in the morning since it’ll take you at least an hour or two to get to the location, and then another hour or two to get back. You also want to see if you can catch the guys before they leave, see if you can introduce yourself to one of the two newbies at least.

Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t seem like the luck of coincidence is on your side in the morning as you prepare to leave campus. Letting out a small sigh, you make your way to the train station, ready to begin your mission for the day and get it over with as soon as you can. Perhaps you can time things just right so that you get back to campus around the same time that they do. After all, this task should be a walk in the park.

Oh, how wrong you are.

Not only did it take you three hours to arrive to the primary school, but the curse, which was supposed to be one level one turned out to be two level one curses sharing the vicinity. They cornered you and you ended up getting thrown harshly against the wall, causing your whole body to ache all over once you finally managed to exercise the curses. You’re pretty sure you pulled a few muscles in the process, too, and the amount of scrapes and bruises you acquired since the other day has tripled. Damn Gojo.

Limping back to the train station, you check your phone. Speaking of your personal trainer, he’s been keeping you up to date with the newbies all throughout the day, though he keeps referring to the boy as ‘the vessel’. Furrowing your brow, you find it strange how he hasn’t told you the boy’s name yet, only making you believe that it probably is someone you know. There’s still a tiny sliver of you that’s hoping Gojo is just testing your deduction skills, but at this point, that’s probably not the case.

Sitting down in the first free seat you find, you text him back. Almost immediately you get a response, letting you know that the two newbies have just passed their first test and that you should be proud of your fellow students. You play along with his enthusiasm for the time being, being obviously sarcastic in your responses, but Gojo doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seems as if he’s amused by your reactions, only serving to irritate you further.

By the time you get back to campus, you’re drained. All you want to do is take a nice, warm shower, curl up in a ball on your bed and sleep. You don’t even care if you miss meeting the new students. That’s how your day is going so far. Besides, it’s getting late and they don’t seem to be back yet. There’s always tomorrow.

Except, you don’t get to meet them the next day, nor the day after that. It takes a full week before you even cross paths with Nobara, and even still, the meeting seems rushed. Luckily, you manage to properly introduce yourself to her the day after that one, but for some reason, Sukuna’s vessel just keeps eluding you. That, or someone is purposely keeping the two of you apart. It’s not until two weeks after that fateful day has passed that you finally get your answer.

The three first years have been tasked with handling a few curses at a juvenile detention centre while you accompany Gojo on one of his missions at the same time. You’re getting real tired of his antics, every time you ask him about the boy who’s Sukuna’s vessel he answers you either cryptically, or changes the subject. The worst is when he ignores your inquiries all together. You’re hoping to get some information out of him this evening though, otherwise you might just sneak over to ‘see’ Megumi one day and actually go to see his neighbour who just so happens to be the vessel.

Another reason why you’re in a bit of a grumpy mood recently is that Yuuji seems to be distancing himself from you. Your conversations are very dry as of late, and he doesn’t seem to want to tell you what’s going on in his life. There’s even been a few day where you’ve tried to sneak away to go visit him, but each time, Gojo has stopped you in some way or other. You’re convinced he’s hiding something, but you don’t want to accept the reality he’s been presenting to you as of late.

“(Y/n), I need you to focus,” Gojo snaps his fingers in front of your face, successfully startling you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” you blink a few times to clear your head, needing to focus since this is a serious task for the both of you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, the two of you now continuing to move through the labyrinth laid out before you, having yet to stumble upon any one of the four special grade curses you’re supposed to be exercising.

“Just fine,” you sigh before muttering out, “it’s not like I’m going to get answers anyways.”

“Now, now, you don’t know that for sure,” he grins, hands in his pockets as he walks beside you nonchalantly.

“Considering every time I bring up the new guy you avoid the topic, I’d say, yeah,” you peek around the corner before confirming the hallway is clear, turning back to face Gojo who already seems to be looking at you amusedly, “I do know.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet,” he hums.

“There’s not much to go on,” you reply.

“Oh, I believe there’s plenty,”

“Yeah, well, that’s cause you already know everything there is to know about this subject,” you huff.

“Oh, you flatter me so,” he chuckles, only causing you to roll your eyes at him in exasperation.

“Well, I suppose there is one question I have for you, teach,” you start to say, until you finally come across one of the special grade curses. 

The two of you quickly press your backs against the wall, preparing to attack. Gojo gives you the go ahead to attack first, and you do, using his quick distraction of walking out and gaining the curse’s attention to sneak up on it and destroy it. No more than two minutes pass and you’ve succeeded.

“What’s the question?” Gojo calls your attention back to him as you both continue on through the hallway.

“On the day he was released, I felt a sudden wave of specialized curse energy ripple through me, almost as if there had been a part of it dormant that had suddenly been awoken,” you say, turning to look at his face in order to gage his reaction. “Is that normal, considering how far I was from the main site?”

“Hmm,” he brings a hand up to cup his chin in his fingers, contemplating the new information you’ve provided him. He only wishes you would have told him sooner. “Considering the distance and Sukuna’s total power, it’s not that surprising.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. “However, since at the time it was only one-twentieth of his power over that great of a distance, that is very odd. Considering that you know our reputation with strangeness in this trade, this makes it even stranger. Has it happened at any other point in time after that?”

Your brow furrows as you contemplate his question. “Actually, yeah, now that I think about it. I think it was a day or two after the initial release.”

“Huh, interesting,” he hums once more, a slight frown pulling at his lips as he considers what this means. Looks like his original hunch was correct as both these surges you’ve felt correspond with Itadori ingesting one of Sukuna’s fingers.

“What, exactly, is interesting?” You stare at him expectantly.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself with for the time being,” he assures you, just as another one of the special grade curses jumps out at the two of you. In an instant, Gojo has eliminated the threat, neither of you faltering in your steps down the hall.

“You know, sometimes I swear you take the phrase ‘having blind faith’ too seriously,” you let out a long breath.

He laughs at this, “what makes you say that?”

You just raise a brow at him in response, the look on your face enough to convey your thoughts. He laughs once more.

“Nothing wrong with having a little faith in me, you know,” he jokes as you two near the centre of the building where you can feel major curse energy pouring out.

You say nothing, opting to shake your head at him in response as you ready yourselves to enter the main room. Slowly opening the doors, you walk in, the two of you scanning the room for either of the final two curses that have still yet to show themselves. 

All is silent for a few moments until you feel a pang reverberate through you, the familiar feeling of specialized curse energy flowing throughout your whole being. Your eyes widen as this one far exceeded the power of the first two.

“Hey, uh, teach?” Gojo pauses mid-step as he observes you, hearing the uncertainty in your voice. “It just happened again.”

As soon as those words leave your lips, the final two curses you’ve been hunting for pop out of nowhere and attack the both of you. The one closest to you manages to knock you into Gojo, him steadying you as the two curses near the both of you to attack.

“(Y/n), I’m sending you to where the first years are, I have a bad feeling something terrible has happened,” he says lowly in your ear.

“What? Right now?” You don’t even have time to look at him incredulously as you both jump in opposite directions to avoid the attacks of the curses.

“Right now,” he confirms. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle these two clowns.”

The curses growl at him as he says those words, with him managing to split one of them in half in the next moment.

“I wasn’t,” you reply, unamused.

“Well, best hurry, wouldn’t want Sukuna wrecking havoc,” he grins at you and something clicks in your mind.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you growl. “At least tell me the name of his vessel!”

“You already know it,” is the last thing you hear before your vision shifts, you now standing on a path outside in an unfamiliar area.

You mentally curse him as you collect your bearings, noticing Megumi standing across from you, facing towards you as another man stands between the two of you with his back turned to you. You’d recognize that back anywhere, not to mention the hair. Now you’re really mentally cursing your teacher.

You remain still, noticing how Megumi darts his gaze over to you as if to tell you not to move. Assessing the situation, you begin to plot your best course of action as you see drops of blood dripping onto the ground near Sukuna’s feet. A quick scope of the area has your eyes widening slightly, telling yourself to remain calm as you see a heart laying in the grass as if it was tossed carelessly off to the side.

Of course, Sukuna felt your presence before even bothering to turn to look at you. At the moment, he’s more focused on talking to Megumi, then he can deal with this newer secondary presence, no matter how familiar it seems. He can feel the eyes trailing over his back before he even sees them, but your voice has him halting his actions momentarily.

“Damn, Yuuji, I leave you alone for two weeks and you decide to get tattoos?” Your voice is light, playful even, despite the grim situation you know that you’ve been thrust into.

Megumi shoots you a cautious look as you both notice Sukuna tense slightly between the two of you, before standing up straighter and rolling his shoulders once. A chuckle escapes him, causing you and Megumi to share another concerned look between you both before his movements catch your eyes.

Sukuna would recognize that voice anywhere. Oh, how cruel fate can be.

Turning deliberately slow, he faces towards you, eyes roaming over your figure and nearly sending a shiver down your spine until they come to lock with yours. With a smirk on his features, he licks his lips, “(Y/n).”

[iamtheblondestblonde]

The Clark Kent Effect

Part One

AN: So this is meant to be the beginning of a (semi short) series, depending on how well it’s received. Feedback is therefore more than appreciated and always remember I love reading tags. Feel free to message me or send me anons as well, every interaction makes my day :) 

To all my American followers: please go vote tomorrow, I don’t even live there but I still know how important it is.

Word Count: 2.9k (short boi)

Warnings: alcohol and one swear word maybe? 

Part Two

My other writing can be found here

While your costume had seemed like a great idea two days ago you now thought differently.

Technically it was a great costume, but only because you hadn’t exactly planned on needing to step out of the club to make an angry phone call. Alas here you were, legs shaking and teeth clattering because of your stupidly short dress, this situation the last nail in the coffin that would finally pronounce your disaster with Colin dead for good. You weren’t sad about it in the least, only cold. If only you’d thought of grabbing your jacket on your way outside this wouldn’t be as bad, it was the end of October and you were in New York after all, but you’d been so angry to see his caller ID on your screen that you’d stormed out without thinking, which you now deeply regretted.

Stepping back inside was like heaven and running into a wall at the same time, if said wall was made out of hot air and the smell of sweat, hairspray and alcohol. You really shouldn’t be happy about stuffy air, but at least you weren’t shivering anymore so you were going to mark it down as a success in your books. Since the restrooms were close to your right you made a quick detour, checking if everything was still where it was supposed to be.

At least your boobs hadn’t fallen out yet and you dismissed the judgy stares in the restroom as you readjusted your cleavage and reapplied your bold red lipstick. Normally you’d stare as well, not judging but usually intrigued by women who portrayed such confidence but tonight you were one of these women and you wouldn’t let anyone else ruin it. You’d earned a good night out after finally escaping Colin’s manipulative fuckboy ways and telling him to get lost for good.

So with your chin up and your shoulders straight you stepped out of the restroom, determined to find your group of friends again so you could get drunk and finally have a good time. It took a bit longer than you’d like to admit, your heels only barely giving your tiny frame a height advantage but then you finally spotted the fluffy halo of your best friend. After making sure that it was really her – there were enough angels in this room to make any priest happy after all – you quickly made your way over to her.

Or at least you tried.

You’d only gotten a few steps in when your heel got caught in the costume of a guy dressed up as mummy – which really only consisted of his regular clothes and what you estimated to be about three rolls of toilet paper – and you stumbled. You could already see yourself in the emergency room of the closest hospital with a broken nose from crashing to the ground, blood running down your face and staining your already red dress. Perhaps you could play it off as a part of your costume but it’d still hurt and your night would definitely be over.

But none of that happened because you were saved by a very handsome Superman. He’d stood with his back to you, you’d definitely spotted his broad shoulders underneath the stretched blue fabric earlier, but he’d turned in your direction right before gravity had decided to take its toll on you. Apparently his costume was justified though, because he caught you with cat-like reflexes, wrapping his hands around your arms and pulling you back towards an upright position before anything damaging could happen.

He was a lot taller than you so the first thing you really noticed of him was his throat and perhaps you really should’ve dressed up as a vampire because you noticed that he had a very sexy throat, if that was even a thing. Your weird thoughts were interrupted by him chuckling though and your gaze quickly snapped up to meet his and you really weren’t sure if you should congratulate or scold yourself for how you’d managed to end up in his arms.

The handsome stranger was wearing glasses in true Clark Kent fashion and his hair was better than any DC artist could have dreamed of, perfectly tousled in the way that showed that he liked to run his hands through it and you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t tempted to do the same. In the dim lighting of the club you couldn’t make out the color of his eyes behind his glasses but they could honestly be yellow and he’d still be hot as fuck.

Sometime during your almost-fall your hands had ended up on his chest and you really should be embarrassed about the fact that you were practically feeling him up but somehow you couldn’t find yourself to care enough to let go. You relaxed your hands from the tight grasp they had on his shirt and instead carefully splayed them out on his chest as if you were going to push yourself off of him but not really doing so. With how you were pressed against him you could feel the heat radiating through his shirt and how firm his body was, his muscular built more and more evident with every passing second. His hands had started to wander as well, moving up from the side of your arms towards the top of your shoulders, the size of them burning itself into your mind as you just stared at each other.

If one were to ask you what day it was right this moment, you honestly wouldn’t be able to answer them despite everyone in this club dressed in Halloween costumes. Mozart himself could have returned from the dead to perform “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” with a string quartett in the middle of this dancefloor and you probably wouldn’t have noticed right now, too caught up in the eyes of this handsome stranger.

When he reached up with one of his hands to adjust the little devil’s horns on top of your head you blinked in surprise, finally snapping out of your daze.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry, I totally didn’t mean to crash into you but my heel got caught and-“, you began to ramble, your sense of common decency finally kicking in but he only laughed and since neither of you had taken a step backwards yet you could feel it rumbling through his chest.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind having beautiful girls quite literally falling for me”, he joked and if he were any other guy you probably would’ve scoffed at his choice of words but somehow the boyish charm worked well for him and you found yourself grinning as you came up with a response.

“Mmm let’s hope this isn’t a normal occurrence for you because I’m not a fan of getting caught in traffic.” You finally found the strength to take a, very reluctant, step back, untangling yourself from his grasp and dropping your hands but still smiling up at him. He definitely had the potential to be your catch for the night. You could really use the distraction after all.

Your blissful thoughts were interrupted by someone tugging at your arm though, a look over your shoulder revealing a pouting angel dressed in white and with a bouncing halo. It seemed like Emily had found you instead after you’d gotten distracted by your hero.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over the place for you”, she whined and you could tell by her slurred words that she’d gotten quite the head start while you were outside on your phone as she was well on her way to get plastered. Otherwise she never would’ve interrupted a conversation with a hot guy either, it was an unspoken wingwoman rule after all.      

“Come on, Dana just brought a new round of shots and you need to catch up!” And with that she tightened her grip on your wrist and pulled you away. You barely managed to tell the handsome stranger to come find you later before he disappeared between the writhing bodies and was out of your sight.

Way too many shots later you found yourself on the dance floor, intoxicated and having a great time.

Your thoughts hadn’t wandered to Superman in quite a while, too consumed by alcohol and the thumping beat of the music, until you spotted him leaning against the banister of the top floor, drink in one hand and definitely watching you. Again, this would be creepy if he were anyone else but in this case it only made you appreciate the current sensual song even more, your eyes never leaving his as you moved your body to the beat. You were planning on going home with him later either way, you could tease him a little more before then, show him what he could have if he played his cards right.

He was still watching you a couple of songs later when your throat had gotten dry and your heels were starting to grow uncomfortable. In need of a break you pointed towards the bar, hoping that he’d understand and when he nodded you smiled brightly, excusing yourself from your group of friends so you could grab some water. You were done drinking for tonight, much more exciting things laying ahead of you and you wanted to be sober for them.

Water was apparently a welcome change from the regular orders the bartenders got because you were served immediately, a cool bottle set in front of you seconds later. You checked over your shoulder before taking a sip, spotting your Superman as he made his way towards you with a smile, one you returned before turning back around to climb on the stool that had just freed up so you could give your feet a well-deserved break.

When you felt a tap on your shoulder you fully expected it to be the hot guy, your most dazzling smile instantly on your lips as you turned around but it quickly fell off your face as you realized who it really was.

When you were younger you’d often imagined yourself in this moment, thought of what you’d say when you’d finally see him again after all this time apart. A small part of you had pined after him for years and fantasies of how your eyes would meet from across the room and how everything else would stop mattering had filled your daydreams once upon a time. But as you looked at him now there were no butterflies, no fireworks and you could still hear some remix of “Monster Mash” blaring over the speakers, the world was definitely still turning.

Perhaps you’d built up what had been between the two of you in your mind in the years of his absence, put him on a pedestal – he deserved to be one though because through everything he had been nothing short of a great guy – but as you looked at him you realized that all that was in the past. There was just a warm afterglow of what once was. As you looked at him now, there was absolutely no doubt that you didn’t love Anthony Beauvillier anymore.

“I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but wow Y/N you look great”, his familiar voice met your ears and it took you a second to realize that he’d slipped into French, the way the two of you had done countless times as teenagers.

You probably resembled a fish with the way you were opening and closing your mouth without saying anything but you couldn’t help yourself. Seeing Tito in this club had hit you like a fright train and you hadn’t expected it at all, which only made it worse.

Almost 20 Million people lived in New York State and over 8.3 Million in New York City alone. Brooklyn housed well over 500.000 people as well and yet you still managed to run into your ex in this club, despite the both of you growing up in Québec. If you were any good at math you would calculate the probability of this happening but you’d always sucked at it and it really wouldn’t help your situation either. You reminded yourself that you both worked here now but that was absolutely beside the point.

Before you managed to embarrass yourself even further you shook your head to clear your thoughts, smiling at the guy who had once held your heart before making the break into the NHL. He was dressed as a boy scout, with medals pinned to his shirt, the scarf thingy and everything and the costume was so incredibly him that you immediately felt catapulted back into your teenage years. It was easy to fall back into your old routine then.

“Oh yeah, do you think your Mom would still speak so highly of me if she saw me dressed as a slutty devil?”, you joked and he threw his head back in laughter, taking you even more by surprise when he threw his arms around you in a hug. It was a bit awkward with you sitting on the bar stool and all and it made you realize that he himself didn’t even feel the same anymore, his career of being a professional athlete shaping his body into a much more bulkier version of the one you were used to.

As you looked over his shoulder you caught the gaze of your Superman and your thoughts immediately returned to him. What must he be thinking of you hugging another stranger at the bar after telling him to come see you? The confusion was evident of his face, a crease between his eyebrows giving his thoughts away and you noticed how he scrunched up his nose in a very cute way so you immediately pulled back from Tito, reaching up to adjust your horns as a disguise for your sudden movement.

“So, did you finally manage to make your dreams of living and working in New York City come true?”, he asked as he took a step closer to let someone else pass by and you nodded, amazed that he still remembered after all these years. He really was one of the good guys.

“Yep, I finally made it, although it’s not as glamorous as I thought it would be. But maybe that’s only us working class people, I’m sure it’s a lot different in your line of work.” Thankfully he picked up on your teasing and wasn’t insulted, only laughing even more as he finally had the space to move next to you so he could look at the crowd as well.

“Speaking of work..”, he trailed off as he switched back to English and to your utter disbelief he waved your Superman over. Superman was reluctant to move at first, that much you could tell by looking at him, and since you watched him extra closely you were probably the only one to catch him flinching a little as Tito threw his arm around his shoulders but his confused expression was obvious as he looked between the two of you.

“Y/N, this is my teammate and best friend Mat, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Mat, this is my ex Y/N. You’ve also heard of her.”

Of course you’d heard of Mathew Barzal, last year’s Calder winner and rising star among the NHL’s elite players but it seemed like you were a victim of the Clark Kent Effect because you hadn’t recognized him at all with the glasses on.

Now your Superman had a name but the only thing you could focus on were the words “best friend”. No matter how hot Mat was and how much you’d wanted him before, very much imagining him helping you out of your tight dress, you couldn’t do that to Tito.

Mat seemed to come to the same realization as you because he plastered what could only be described as a business smile on his face, extending his hand for you to shake. You took it, relishing in the way his warm palm felt against yours and allowing yourself to enjoy his touch one last time before letting go and smiling at him with sad eyes as you introduced yourself.

Tito stayed to order a drink, pulling Mat and you into a conversation and therefore preventing your escape and while that was already bad enough in itself, he unknowingly took your breath away when he asked Mat:

“Hey, did you ever find that hot klutz you told me about? The one that fell into your arms earlier?”

Tito had his back towards the both of you so he didn’t see the way Mat looked down at you with sad eyes as well before pulling himself together and responding:

“Yeah, but turns out she’s not available after all.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur, you’d returned to alcohol after saying goodbye to Tito and Mat and promising Tito to stay in touch, so you barely remembered climbing into an uber hours later and only really came to your senses when you chugged a water bottle in your kitchen.

“Wait, weren’t you planning on going home with that hot Superman you mentioned earlier? What happened to him?”, Emily asked from her spot on the couch, her usual spot after a night out since your apartment was closer.

“I guess he left”, you answered, not really willing to go into any details right now.

“Aw, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

And wasn’t that the truth.

[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

Part Five

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: New characters, yay! Just an fyi but I would like to start posting one chapter every week... thots?? Also, I've been thinking of adding a taglist? sksk I know it would be small but I personally love to get tagged when new chapters come out for my faves. If that's something ya'll would like comment so I know!! Alright, back to your regularly scheduled program :)

----

Literature was next. Now this? This you could handle. Always being a bit of an avid reader, you could devour a novel in one night --- and you often did. Finding the hidden meanings between the lines of text, like unwrapping a present, gave you a thrill. You were the person who could debate for hours about the meaning of a symbol in a book, as annoying as that is to everyone else.

Maybe it was the promise of escape, where you could be transplanted into another world, detached from your own, that appealed so much to you about reading. You could lose yourself, feeling the rush of the love affair or the thrill of a dangerous adventure. Coupled with your analytical nature, you felt more than at home in a literature classroom.

With this in mind, you make your way to your next class with more vigor than usual. When you arrive and take a seat, you pull out your materials and wait for class to begin.

Several minutes later, your professor walks to the podium in the front of the room to introduce herself. After several minutes of reviewing the syllabus, she explains the structure of the class. You were to be placed in small groups, to discuss the readings and write a paper at the end of the semester. This made you a little nervous --- having to rely on others to some capacity for your grade always gave you a bit of anxiety.

She began reading out the names of the students belonging to each group, so you listen carefully as to not miss your own name despite your anxious thoughts swirling inside your head.

“... Eum Hee-Young, Gal Ae-Cha, Ree Mun-Hee, you are group seven. Kim Seokjin, Y/l/n y/f/n, Kim Namjoon, you are group eight. Ok Youngsoo…” her voice fades off as you glance around the room, trying to meet the gazes of other searching eyes as your group was announced.

Your eyes meet those of a guy who looked maybe a year or two older than you, with round, wire frame glasses. His mahogany hair was pushed off of his forehead, parted to the side giving him a youthful but put-together look. He holds up eight fingers, looking at you expectedly, and you nod quickly. He picks up his belongings, preparing to move to you as you had empty space in the seats around you. As he slings his backpack over a shoulder, you scan your eyes around the room to try to catch the other member of your group.

To your surprise, your eyes meet those of the same boy you had ogled over yesterday in your calculus class, before it had started. You shyly hold up your own eight fingers, to which he gives a decisive nod to, and begins to make his way to you as well. You can’t help but notice the planes of his back as he bends down to grab his backpack, his wide shoulders tilting making them seem even larger. He is wearing a simple blue button down and jeans, but even through that you could tell his shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, making him have the perfect masculine inverted triangular build.

Slightly embarrassed at your thoughts, you glance at your other partner, now close to you. His oversized yellow knit sweater swallowed him a little, but with the glasses gave him a cute bookish look. His large frame juxtaposed his cute appearance --- he was on the taller side and seemed built as well. You made eye contact, and gestured to the seat next to you for him to sit. The other boy now approaching, you both watch as he takes the other open seat in front of you.

Your group now assembled, you tune back into your professor who was explaining the first text you were to read together. She told you that it was a short love story that relied heavily on symbolism and became a prominent symbol in and of itself in movies and television. Your first assignment was to analyze the symbolism of the text, and come to a more complex conclusion than what the surface of the text presents. You could feel yourself becoming slightly excited to jump into the assignment as she explained.

“You will be given the rest of class to get acquainted with your group members. They will be permanent, bar any issues that may arise. The first assignment is due at the end of next class. While on this first assignment I will be more lenient with grading, please do your best and set a good standard for your groups. Okay, go ahead everyone,” she finishes.

At her dismissal of your attention, you glance back at your group members. The boy with glasses speaks first. “I’m Namjoon, nice to meet you guys.”

“Seokjin, or just Jin,” the other boy gives.

“I’m y/n, nice to meet you both.”

“So, what year and major are you? I’m a third year, and a journalism major,” Namjoon offers. As he speaks, he gives you both a grin that displays deep dimples on both cheeks. He was very cute, you decided. He had a nerdy charm to him, with a build on the beefy side that made you want to cuddle him.

“I’m a first year… and to tell the truth I haven’t decided on a major yet,” you admit, but give them both a smile.

“Ah, hoobae, you are lucky you are with us pros then! I’m a fourth year, and a business major,” Seokjin says with a wide smile.

“Sunbaenim, are you in calculus before this? I thought I recognized you from there,” you downplay a little. You knew he was in that class since you had spent time checking him out in it, but didn’t want to seem creepy.

“I have a recognizable face.” At this he gives a smug look, but is clearly using a joking tone. “Yeah, calculus with Yoo at nine?”

“Yep. That guy goes so fast,” you frown. “But anyways, how do you guys feel about this assignment?”

Namjoon enters the conversation again, “Honestly I’m kind of excited for it. It’s been a while since I’ve done any reading that isn’t research related, which kind of sucks.”

“That does suck. I love to read, that’s why I took this class, actually,” you empathize.

“Yeah? What do you like to read?” Namjoon leans towards you a bit, excited at the prospect of talking about reading it seems.

“Oh, um… I’d say my favorite genre is probably any type of fantasy, I like being able to be in a different world for a bit. Oh, I also like historical pieces, that stuff is always so interesting.” You were a little hesitant to share, afraid he’d judge your preferences.

“I love historical pieces. I think that’s one of the things that lead me into journalism actually, it’s basically writing history for those in the future to look back on. I just think that’s really cool.” His eyes seemed glitter as he talked about something he was obviously passionate about. You felt yourself developing a soft spot for the boy, finding his friendly disposition and slightly nerdy personality to be incredibly endearing. It didn’t hurt he was also very attractive.

“What about you sunbaenim? Do you like to read?” you ask Seokjin, whose head was oscillating between you and Namjoon.

Surprised the attention shifted to him, his eyes widened to give him an owlish look. You are really surrounded by some beautiful men, you think. What do they put in the water here? It would be normal to run across a cute guy here or there, but this is kind of ridiculous. Seokjin himself has a face that is so beautiful it looks like it should have been carved out of marble!

Focus! You have to scold yourself. The boy you were just admiring in your head is now answering your question and you are too distracted to even process what he’s saying.

“... not too crazy, occasionally I guess…” His body language told you that he was slightly embarrassed at not being as enthusiastic a reader as you and Namjoon.

“I’m sure you have hobbies that are cooler than reading then, if I was athletic or creative I wouldn’t read so much either! Namjoon-sunbaenim, I’m sure you agree,” you encourage with a smile, wanting Namjoon to follow suit in making Seokjin feel comfortable.

Thankfully, he catches on quick. “Oh, yeah, I am way too clumsy to do anything more high stakes than page turning,” He chuckles. You and Seokjin both smile at Namjoon’s subtle self-deprecation. They both were sweet, you think. Your earlier fears about working with others subside. “I guess I could say that I do have another hobby though, I actually help out at the school’s radio station for fun,” Namjoon adds shyly.

Jin tilts his head in surprise. “Oh really? I have a friend who…”

He gets abruptly cut off by the professor’s voice echoing through the room, which causes him to stop his thought.

“Hopefully everyone is acquainted now, and is ready to get to work next class. I expect good things from you all this semester. You are dismissed,” your professor says with finality.

The three of you quickly gather your things, ready to merge with the swarm of students streaming out of the door. You give them both a smile, and say, “It was nice meeting you both. See you next class!” to which they give their own farewell.

As you leave, you check your phone out of habit. It seems your intuition is right, as usual.

*Miss me yet?*

Does Taehyung really have nothing better to do?

*What exactly is there to miss?*

You hope that after your curt response he’d get the memo. This guy is such a fuckboy, you think. While you don’t know why he set his sights on you for now, you hope he gets bored soon. While you give that tough persona to him, the truth is you are more sensitive than that. The idea of being used for sex once and then discarded was unappealing, and Taehyung seemed like the type to do just that.

----

Finally home after attending two more classes for the day, which were thankfully much less eventful, you slip off your shoes and let your bag slide off your shoulder to thunk on the floor. You were tired. And hungry, apparently, because your stomach makes some concerning noises as soon as you slip your light jacket off. You make your way to the kitchen at the sound, ready to make a nice dinner and decompress.

When you get there, you see one of your new roommates sitting at the stools for your kitchen counter. This roommate was one that you had connected with immediately, drawn to her blunt but fun-loving aura. Her short stature, shorter than average, gave no warning for her and ‘gives-no-fucks’ attitude. You could tell however, that inside she had a soft heart. Even in your short time together, you had seen glimpses of it here and there.

You learned when you had met that she had moved to Korea from America last year, making her a second year at your university. Her features stood out from the crowd, with brown skin and large curls that framed her face in a halo. She was really quite beautiful. Tia, but called Bean by her friends, which now included you, made you feel welcomed to campus and you were thankful for her.

Wanting to not scare her as you walked into the kitchen, you gave her a greeting. Her head pops up from where it was buried in her phone, which had been drawing her into her own world.

“Hey chickie. Long day?” she asks. Apparently your exhaustion was pretty obvious if she could tell right off the bat. You sigh, bending over to pull some vegetables out of the fridge.

“I just want to know who let me schedule four classes on Tuesdays. They should be in jail,” you complain.

She gives you an amused look, watching you now stand at the cutting board to prepare your food. “I think that person was you, sweet thing.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. If I could go back in time and slap my past self I would,” you grown with your head tipped back. She lets out a laugh at your expense.

“Don’t laugh at me unnie! I’m going to pass away from exhaustion over here!” you try to say seriously, but can’t help but let out a little giggle. “What were you doing with your head buried in your phone, huh? Are you talking to someone?” you tease, pointing your knife at her with your other hand on your hip.

“Why, do you wish it was you?” She wiggles her eyebrows, giving you a side smirk. You knew she was deflecting, so you lift your eyebrow and give her a flat expression, waiting for her real answer. “Ugh, it’s nothing. There was just this really cute girl in my class today, and I tried talking to her but she didn’t really seem like she liked me… and I may have just been looking at her social media,” Tia admitted.

Now at the stove, stirring your dinner, you look over your shoulder to say something that would hopefully ease her anxiety. “You know that you can come on strong sometimes, maybe she’s just a little shy, ya know? Maybe try again with a softer approach,” you offer. “What is there not to like?”

She gives you a wide grin to match your own at your last remark. You both giggle, any tension in the air from Tia’s concerns gone. Dinner now finished, you grab two bowls and serve you both. You both slip into easy banter, almost like you two have been friends for years. You hope that you will be, someday.

[sincerelyella]

Always Remember Us This Way Part 2

Book: The Royal Heir (AU)

Pairings: Liam x MC (Ella); Drake x OC (Alyssa Devereaux Walker)

Song Inspiration: Always Remember Us This Way by Lady Gaga

Characters belong to Pixelberry; MC Queen Ella Rys and Malia Rys belong to me; Alyssa Walker belongs to the amazing @burnsoslow and used with permission in this series.

Catch up here

A/N: In celebration of King Liam and Queen Ella’s baby girl being born in TRH2 I wanted to write something to commemorate it (kinda). Some things are canon, but don’t expect it to follow the book much.

Big thank you to @burnsoslow for reading over this and editing and making suggestions so I don’t sound like a crazy person.

Warnings: TW: angst; TW: blood; TW: childbirth complications; TW: possible major character death. There are mentions of real medical emergencies and procedures, if this is a trigger for you please don’t read any further. Also, I do not work in a maternity unit at my hospital so please excuse any inaccuracies.

Words: 2481

Liam sat in the corner of the suite that was originally assigned to Ella in the maternity unit. He sat next to his newborn daughter, Malia, occasionally checking on her if she whined or cried. The nursing staff had started checking on both him and Malia, feeding her formula or changing her diaper. He was thankful for the help since he couldn’t seem to function. He hardly spoke to anyone, he didn’t call anybody; all he could do was sit and stare at Malia.

He kept thinking about Ella; the last time he saw her smile, the last time he kissed her mouth, the last words she said to him, the last time he heard her sing.

So when I’m all choked up, And I can’t find the words

Every time we say goodbye, Baby, it hurts

It had been about an hour or so since he last saw his wife, he couldn’t get the last image of her out of his mind. She was extremely pale, unconscious, with her mouth open. Her beautiful face looked so … lifeless. Liam leaned forward in his chair, hands covering his face as he started to sob. He didn’t know how long he sat there crying; his whole body heaved as he tried to suck in air. She made me promise to save our baby. He knew this is what she would have wanted, but why? He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked at Malia again, reaching over to touch her little body. Somehow, being close to his baby girl made him feel closer to her mother, and it gave him some peace. “I’m sorry I let you down, princess,” he whispered shakily as he tried to hold back a sob. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. We were supposed to be happy together. We were supposed to take you … home … ” he trailed off and sucked in a breath to hold in the tears.

When you look at me, And the whole world fades

I’ll always remember us this way

Suddenly, his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Drake’s face on the caller ID. He swiped to answer and just held the phone to his ear, unable to say the words.

“Li?”

Liam mustered all the energy he could, but his voice still cracked as he spoke. “Drake.”

“Liam. What’s going on?” Drake could sense it; he heard the wavering in Liam’s response. Something wasn’t right, and his best friend had never called him and Alyssa after leaving for the hospital. He heard Liam’s erratic breathing on the other end of the phone. “Liam! What is it? Is it the baby?”

Liam broke down on the phone. He couldn’t speak; he just cried and didn’t give a damn who heard him. He could vaguely hear Drake on the other end panicking, then hanging up abruptly. Liam let the phone fall from his ear to the floor. I shouldn’t have answered that.

**

Drake hastily hung up on Liam. Why did no one call me?! What the fuck is happening? Drake fumbled with the phone. His mind was going a mile-a-minute after hearing his best friend lose control of his emotions. The always stoic king wouldn’t just display his emotions like that in public ... unless it had something to do with his family. He wasn’t sure what to think or how bad it was going to be. He dialed Bastien’s number and waited … and waited … and waited. He growled, cursing under his breath as he hung up.

“Drake? Why are you growling? Did you get in touch with Liam?” Alyssa walked out from the bedroom, seeing her husband’s panic stricken face, and her eyes widened. “What’s going on? Is it the baby?!”

“I-I don’t know! I called Liam and he …” he trailed off, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“He what?” Alyssa’s heart filled with dread, the pregnancy hormones didn’t help matters. She hastily walked to her him and placed her hands on his cheeks to look at her. Her husband rarely cried, and right now, he was very close to it.

“I don’t know, Lyss,” he whispered. “I asked … about the baby … and he completely lost it on the phone.”

Alyssa gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes immediately watering. “Oh my God, do you think it’s Ella? We have to go!”

Drake sprang up from the couch and fell into step with his wife who rushed to the front door. He grabbed his keys from the kitchen island, and the pair made their way to the truck to head for the hospital.

**

There was a knock on the door of the maternity suite, and Liam snapped his head up, opening his eyes. He blinked to refocus and saw Dr. Ramirez standing there, studying him with a worried look. Liam stood abruptly, trying to wake himself up. “I-I’m sorry … I must have fallen asleep.” He wrinkled his brow. “Where is my wife?”

Dr. Ramirez stepped forward. “Her Majesty was bleeding profusely. I apologize if you were removed from the room but- ”

“It’s fine, doctor, but my wife?” He punctuated the last few words. “I want …” He took a breath in and let it out slowly to control the overwhelming emotion building in his chest. “I … need … to see her.” He didn’t want words right now; he just wanted to see Ella.

Dr. Ramirez nodded in understanding. “I can take you to her now; the nurses will watch Malia here.”

Liam nodded and turned to Malia before leaving. “Daddy will be back soon; I love you.” He gently kissed his daughter on the forehead before following Dr. Ramirez to the intensive care unit, Bastien following close behind.

As they walked, Liam turned to Bastien.

“Your Majesty?”

“Please have guards outside of Malia’s room.”

Bastien nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Once they reached the ICU, Liam was taken to a large area that had no patients. “Why are all the rooms empty?”

“This wing has been cleared out so that Her Majesty is the only one here.”

Liam nodded, his anxiety rising as they got closer to a single area of the unit that looked like it was occupied.

Dr. Ramirez stopped in front of a door with a guard standing outside of it and turned to Liam. “She is stabilized for now; however, we admitted her here so we can watch her closely. I just wanted to warn you, Your Majesty” - Dr. Ramirez placed a hand on Liam’s arm to get him to look at her - “She has a lot of wires around her, she’s getting medication and blood, and she isn’t awake yet. It might be a little … overwhelming for you.”

Liam nodded and waved his hand so the guard would move. He slowly turned the knob and peered inside. He felt tears of joy, relief, and the pain from being so close to losing her fall from his eyes as he walked towards the bed and grasped her small hand in his. Liam leaned over to kiss her lips, cheeks, forehead … any part he could reach, he kissed. “I thought I lost you, I love you, don’t leave me again,” he whispered in between kisses. He vowed to himself that he would never take another day with her, his family, for granted.

He finally sat back in the chair next to the bed, put their intertwined hands on his forehead and thanked God she was still there with him.

A knock pulled him out of his moment and Dr. Ramirez walked inside. “Your Majesty, are you ready for me to answer some questions now?”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry … I just needed to … see her,” he croaked as the lump grew in his throat.

“I understand; please don’t apologize.” She pulled a chair up to sit in front of him. “So I’ll explain what happened. You can ask me whatever comes to your mind.”

Liam nodded.

“Her Majesty had a retained placenta. This means that the sac that held Malia was supposed to come out just a little while after Malia was born. But in Her Majesty’s case, it didn’t. A small piece of it was attached to the wall of her uterus.”

“How … did that happen?”

“Unfortunately, the causes are still unknown. There are risk factors for it, but she didn’t have any of them when I was seeing her throughout her pregnancy. The only thing that I can think of was that her labor was somewhat long and extremely difficult for her. That could have played a factor.”

“Okay, so she’s not bleeding right now?”

“Well, after childbirth she will be bleeding; that’s normal. The problem was that her placenta needed to be removed and that area cauterized. We gave her medication to stop the hemorrhage from that area. She was bleeding entirely too much, so much so that her blood pressure dropped to a dangerous level and her heart rate spiked.”

“Is that why she was …” His eyes welled up again, and he clenched his jaw to stop them from falling. “Is that why she was … unconscious and pale?”

Dr. Ramirez nodded. “Yes, the blood loss made her pass out, and that’s the reason her blood pressure was so low. She had a lot less blood volume in her body than normal, and her heart was beating faster to compensate.”

Liam nodded again.

“She has a blood transfusion going right now. We’ll see how she does with that and recheck her.”

“When do you think she’ll … wake up?”

“It’s hard to say, her vitals are stable right now; and we took her off oxygen a little bit ago.”

“Thank you … so much for saving … my wife.” His voice hitched at his last words, and he cleared his throat. “I thought I’d lost her …”

“Please don’t thank me, Your Majesty. This is my job, and it’s an honor to be her doctor.” She gave him a small smile. “She means a lot to all of us as well.” Liam smiled in understanding. His wife took the hospital on as her personal project when she became queen. She made it her mission to assist with quality assurance and worked with many doctors and nurses to improve hospital flow and policies. Dr. Ramirez paused and cleared her throat before she got emotional. “Now, you know how to get in touch with me should you have any questions or concerns?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Dr. Ramirez curtsied and left the room, while Bastien poked his head inside. “I’m sorry about this, sir, but Drake has called me nonstop. What do you want me to tell him?”

“I’ll call him and tell him what happened.”

Bastien nodded and closed the door behind him.

**

Drake and Alyssa ran into the hospital, looking for the maternity unit.

“There!” Drake yelled and they rushed to the front desk.

“Excuse me,” Alyssa said, out of breath, to the secretary at the desk. “We’re here to see Queen Ella. We know she went into labor earlier this morning.”

“How are you related to Her Majesty?”

“We are her best friends, practically family. I expect you’ll see us on the security clearance list.” Alyssa said in a firm tone, setting her lips in a hard line. “King Liam hasn’t been answering our calls. W-we need to see her!” Her voice cracked, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall.

Drake gently held his wife and rubbed her shoulders.

“I need to check with protocol, ma’am. I’m very sorry about this, but … the royal family have certain security measures in place.” The secretary gave them an apologetic look.

“It’s fine, thank you. We’ll wait over here,” Drake coaxed his wife to sit on one of the chairs in the family waiting area.

“We’re her family, Drake.” Alyssa wailed. “We should be able to see her!”

“Shhh, I know, but if something happened to her or the baby, they’re going to be extremely cautious.” He regretted his words immediately as he watched Alyssa begin to cry into her hands. He pulled her into his arms and stroked her back as he let her cry.

“D-did you try … calling Bastien … again?” she sniffled into his chest.

“I’ll try again, baby,” he assured her, as he dug into his pocket, fishing for his phone. He pressed Bastien’s number and hoped that damn man answered his phone this time.

“Drake.” He heard Bastien’s lowered voice on the other end of the line.

“Bastien! What the fuck is going on? Why haven’t you answered my calls?!” Drake forgot where he was as he shouted; his voice carried through the halls.

“I’m sorry, Drake, but we … didn’t have any answers and His Majesty was-”

Drake sighed in frustration. “Just … where is he, Bastien? Where is Ella? And the baby?”

Drake heard a beeping on his phone and looked down to see that Liam was calling him. “Bas, Liam is calling-”

“You need to answer that.” Bastien promptly hung up, and Drake answered Liam’s call.

“Li. Where are you? Lyss and I are here in the maternity unit.”

He heard his brother sigh on the other end of the phone. “I’m in the ICU … with Ella.”

“Th-the … what?!”

“I’ll explain everything when you get here. We’re on the fourth floor.”

“We’re on the way.” He hung up and slowly met Alyssa’s stare.

“What did he say?”

Drake took a deep breath in and let it out. “Liam is on the fourth floor-”

“Why? What’s on the fourth floor?”

He paused for a moment, looking at his wife. “He’s in the ICU … with Ella.”

Alyssa’s jaw went slack. “THE ICU?!” Faster than he had ever seen her, she bolted up and ran for the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly.

“Alyssa.” Drake grabbed her hand and held it. “Don’t panic! It��s not good for you or our baby.”

“Don’t panic? Do you know what the ICU is?!” Her lower lip trembled.

“Liam actually was able to actually speak without crying, Lyssa,” he said, trying to calm her down. “I’m hoping that means things are better than they were when I first talked to him.”

The elevators dinged open and they both filed in, pressing the button for the fourth floor. As soon as the elevator doors reopened, Alyssa raced to the nurse’s station.

“We’re here for Queen Ella; the King called us!” Alyssa panted, gripping the counter tightly.

Drake grabbed her quickly and pulled her to him.

“Hey guys.”

Drake and Alyssa turned to see Liam, standing there with puffy, bloodshot eyes, shirt wrinkled and untucked, and his hair disheveled … like he had been running his hands through it all day.

“Wh-where is she, Liam?”

[dangerous-disposition]

On Tragedy vs. Bad Endings

[Image ID: user @frostyfrogz​ replied to your post “my mag171 #thots: I fully agree with. I love jonmartin I want nothing but the best for them. I know my answer today was an obvious twisting of dialogue but its just frustrating sometimes because it seems like people dont understand some sort of tragedy will indeed happen. I have never and will never suggest that something will happen to Jon and Martin’s relationship I’ve just been saying the shows not going to end well no matter what.]

So I have a lot of thoughts about this very subject, and too much for the replies on my post, so allow me to try to articulate what I mean, and what a lot of us mean when we say “it does not make sense for either Jon or Martin to turn evil in the end,” even in a show that has been advertised from day one as a tragedy.

First of all, no one thinks this is going to end happy. The few who do are usually unaware that this show is billed as a tragedy, and are quick to be corrected. I didn’t know it was a tragedy until I was on season 3 and someone told me. It’s overall just best to assume that the OP knows it’s not going to be a happy ending, because “reminding” people or “explaining” to people that the ending is going to be sad is a fast way from people to get annoyed and defensive.

Anyway! It appears, above all, that people have either fundamentally different ideas of what a tragedy is or accomplishes, or that people have a fundamentally flawed understanding of tragedy and it’s place as a narrative device/theme.

My thoughts are that tragedies hurt, and tragedies can be devastating, but they have to have a message and they should not be cruel to the audience.

A cruel ending would involve leading the audience to believe one thing for the entire book, show, movie, podcast, what have you, just to rip it away at the last minute like a big “fuck you” to the audience. Those sorts of endings are inherently mocking of the audience, and ultimately disrespectful. The only people in the audience that “benefit” from this sort of writing are the cynics who spent the entire show talking down to everyone for seeing the silver lining in the impending tragedy, even if, up until the finale, the silver lining was always part of the narrative. Like it took actual twisting and outright ignoring of the narrative as it’s written to be cynical and sceptical all the way until the end.

That is, plain and simple, bad writing. Jonny Sims is not a bad writer.

Now tragedies often have “happy endings,” they just also have an element of sadness colouring that ending. A good, tragic ending should, in my opinion, feel bittersweet. We should see it coming, we should know it will hurt, but it should be for the greater good and should further the narrative that has been told from the beginning.

I said a few weeks ago that a tragic ending without a silver lining is just torture porn, and I stand by it.

Now, if Jon or Martin are revealed to be Actually Evil in the end, where is the silver lining in that? What narrative has even possibly hinted at this outcome, without putting on cynic glasses?

Every single plot point and plot “twist” in TMA has been clearly detailed, never relegated to pure subtext that you would have to comb through a single interraction and analyzing the tone in which it was said (which could easily be actor shortcomings or error). They have always been obvious, at least in hindsight. This is why, for a while, I subscribed to the Web!Martin theory, but due to recent episodes I’m more inclined to believe those “obvious things” were red herrings.

Throughout The Magnus Archives, the common theme in every. Single. Season finale is that “we are stronger together.” What do I mean by that? Well, here’s the general idea:

Season 1: The one time someone gets separated by the group for any significant length of time, like I mean the main group, she gets killed by the NotThem and replaced.

Season 2: Jon is alone, due to his intense paranoia and his reluctance to reach out for help. This leads to a disastrous series of events that leaves him a suspect of murder, and his friends even more doubtful of his character.

Season 3: In the episode just before they deal with the Unknowing, Jon literally says that isolation was his downfall, and he was going to work on trusting his friends more. When they got separated during the Unknowing, things went to shit. When they found each other again, they were able to rally and they “succeeded.” Conversely, they are also teamed up with Melanie and Martin who hung back to bring down Elias. They were successful, working as teams on separate objectives, etc.

Season 4: This is, by far, their most “successful” feats while simultaneously their least. The whole season was again showing the downfalls of isolation. In the season finale, Jon has Basira and Daisy’s help, and while bolstering himself with their strength, and the strength in his conviction to save Martin to be with Martin, Jon was successful in stopping Peter Lukas and saving Martin. Conversely, Martin and Jon’s isolation in Scotland could be, theoretically, implicated in how Jonah Magnus was able to succeed in the end like that.

Now evidence of this same train of thought in season 5? Jon literally says it: Gertrude would not have done well in this post-apocalyptic world, because she had no friendships, no anchors, no reason to stay human. And then Jon says “you are my reason” to Martin.

It is in the text of the story that the only way to succeed, or win, or survive, is through trust, friendship, and love. One of the main factors in so many of the statements, on why the statement givers succumbed to the fear in their story, for even a moment, had to do with very little personal ties to anyone else. Many of the statements feature isolation and, as Jon put it, “lack of corroboration.” On the flipside, many of the statements that ended with the statement giver escaping successfully, and surviving long enough to be reached out to for follow-up questions, involved them having close personal ties to someone else that kept them safe, somehow. Like the girl from Italy; remembering her mom saved her from the Lonely. Or, more ridiculously, the guy and his dog that escaped the spiral because he was so distracted by his dog and had to be home for dinner. In MAG170, it was Martin’s love for Jon, and his trust in the love from Jon and his friends, that saved him from the Lonely again. Jon’s incredible amount of love, and respect, and trust in his friends is what’s kept him from becoming another Jared Hopworth or Jude Perry. In MAG155, Cost of Living, he expresses open disgust in how that particular avatar of The End justified her actions, killing and killing and killing again because she viewed herself as more worthy of life than that person. In that same episode, he talks of not blinding himself because he hopes to use his powers to protect his friends, that without them they’re too vulnerable. Honestly, this is the same reason Peter Lukas is unsuccessful, because Martin only helped him at all to protect his friends. The fact that he didn’t see his failure coming was hilarious.

Gerry said in Family Business that there is no “entities of love”, and that might be true, but love and trust is literally what saves you from fear. How many of us deal with things that are scary in our lives, if only because we have some level of trust in the people or things around us. How many of us have been brought out of a panic attack by someone we love and trust?

So all of this has been presented to us, over and over and over again, which is what I, and others, mean when we say “it does not make sense for one of them to be evil.” That’s what we mean when we say “it would be Bad Writing to make one of them evil in the end.” The entire show has driven home the message that we need love, we need personal connections to survive fear. To rip that away from the main characters at the last minute and call it “tragedy” would be a spit in the face of every single listener who took the story at face value, without picking it apart and reading lines out of context. And Jonny Sims and Alex J. Newall have both said they hate lazy writing.

Now, none of the JonMartin fans I follow are deluding themselves to think this show will have a happy ending outside of very self-indulgent fix-it au fanfics.

The way I see this going down is that Jon and Martin will figure out how to put the world back to the way it was, but Jon will not be able to be part of the new world with Martin. That’s the tragedy; that the world gets saved, and Jon helps save it, but he doesn’t get to benefit from his efforts in any way. The tragedy is Jon loves Martin so much, and they deserve their happy ending, but they don’t get it. But, they still saved the world so others can have their happy endings.

Idk about you, but between the “Jon turns evil in the end” and “Jon stays good and sacrifices himself to save the world” endings, only one of them has me in tears right now as I type this out, and it’s not the former.

I’m not against sad endings,I’m against bad endings that punish the audience for having even a bittersweet hope. I’m against sad endings that are just sad for the sake of being sad, with zero pay-off or reason to happen, especially when those endings throw out 5 years of hard work.

And hey, I might just be forced to eat my words in the end, but not before I fly all the way to England and make Jonny Sims eat a knuckle sandwich.

This was a lot longer than I meant for it to be, but I just have a lot of feelings.