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kathaelipwse · 18 days ago

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Mission: You || C. San

୨୧ Pairing: Choi San (ATEEZ) × Idol!Reader

𓂃🖊 Requested: Yes

𓂃🖊 Word Count: 7461 words | Reading Time: 27-ish mins

𓂃🖊 Trope: Variety Show Meet-Cute, Slow Burn to Lovers, Matchmade by Chaos

𓂃🖊 Warnings: Idolverse AU, Fluff overload, Minor angst, Secret dating, Mentions of illness (non-serious), NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

❄ Synopsis:

What started as a chaotic duo challenge on Running Man turns into something no script could ever write. With linked hands and stolen glances, Reader falls first… but San falls harder. From dessert deliveries to whispered confessions, their love grows behind the scenes—until it’s ready for the spotlight.

❄ Author’s Note:

This fic is my love letter to slow burn softness, variety show chaos, and San being the literal blueprint for green-flag energy. If you're into lowkey lovers turned “forever” soulmates, this one’s for you ♡♡♡

It started, as most memorable things do, with utter pandemonium. Bright studio lights assaulted your eyes, a cacophony of blaring horns threatened to burst your eardrums, and the iconic chant of “Running Man!” echoed through the cavernous set, sending a familiar thrill-cum-nervousness down your spine. You weren’t a stranger to the world of variety shows, your years as a solo idol having thrown you into the deep end of unexpected situations more times than you could count. Yet, this felt different. Larger in scale, undeniably rowdier, and carrying an undercurrent of delightful risk that made your palms slightly sweaty.

As your gaze swept across the line-up of fellow guests and the ever-energetic Running Man regulars, a particular figure caught your attention. Choi San. Even amidst the vibrant chaos, he stood out, dressed in a deceptively simple black tee that showcased the lean lines of his muscles and practical cargo pants. His smile, however, was anything but simple – wide, genuine, and radiating a mischievous energy that suggested he was not just ready for this madness, but actively anticipating it.

“Alright, everyone!” Yoo Jaesuk’s booming voice cut through the lingering cheers, his signature glasses glinting under the studio lights. “Welcome, welcome! Today’s episode theme is—Running Man Match-Made Mission!” A collective murmur rippled through the guests. Jaesuk’s grin widened. “Each guest will be randomly paired with one of our regulars or idols for a full-on couples-themed challenge. And yes,” he emphasized, drawing out the word for dramatic effect, “you’re stuck together. All. Day. Long.”

Your stomach executed a nervous flip. The prospect of being tethered to a complete stranger, especially in this unpredictable environment, was both exciting and slightly terrifying.

Behind Jaesuk, a massive screen flickered to life, displaying flashy spinning wheels adorned with cheesy pink hearts and cartoon cupids. One by one, the pairings were announced, each reveal met with a unique blend of screams, cheers, and bewildered laughter. You held your breath, a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within you.

And then, the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers once more: “Y/N and San!”

Your eyes widened. Before you could fully process the pairing, a figure was already moving towards you with that signature, captivating smirk playing on his lips. His dimples were deep parentheses framing his infectious grin, and the crinkles around his eyes hinted at a playful nature. You could practically see the word ‘trouble’ shimmering in the air around him.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” he said, his voice a pleasant baritone as he extended a hand towards you. His fingers were long and slender.

You took it, your own hand feeling surprisingly small in his firm grip. “Let’s not lose.” The words came out with more conviction than you initially felt.

He tilted his head, his dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Confident. I like that.”

☾ First Mission: Water Balloon Relay – Hands Linked

The producers were clearly not ones for subtlety. The moment the first mission was announced, you understood the true meaning of “stuck together.” Your hands were literally tied together with a surprisingly sturdy rope, San’s fingers interlaced snugly with yours. The starting whistle blew, and you were off, sprinting across a treacherously slippery field, a fragile water balloon balanced precariously between your backs. The combined awkwardness of being physically connected and the inherent instability of the task led to immediate chaos.

“Left, left—no, your other left!” San shouted, his laughter echoing across the field as your synchronized movements devolved into a series of stumbles and near-falls.

“You’re the one dragging me!” you retorted, your own laughter bubbling up despite the precarious situation.

“Because you’re slow!” he teased, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he tried to steer you.

“You’re a menace!”

“And you’re cute when you’re panicking,” he shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You faltered for a split second, the unexpected compliment sending a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks. You quickly forced your focus back onto the wobbling water balloon, determined not to be the one to drop it. San’s grin widened. He had definitely noticed your reaction.

☾ Second Mission: Couple Obstacle Course

The obstacle course was a grueling test of teamwork and endurance. You crawled through muddy tunnels, balanced on wobbly beams, and navigated a series of increasingly ridiculous challenges. In between gasping for air, San surprised you with unexpected moments of consideration.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern as he noticed you panting heavily after scaling a particularly high wall.

“A little out of breath. I’ll live,” you managed to say, wiping a stray strand of hair from your sweaty forehead.

Without a word, he reached into the waistband of his cargo pants and pulled out a small, folded towel. Gently, he reached out and dabbed at the sweat on your forehead. “Can’t have my partner collapsing on me.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gesture. “You’re… oddly gentle.” The playful image you had formed of him was slowly being chipped away by these surprising glimpses of a softer side.

He shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I can be sweet. Don’t tell anyone. It ruins my image.”

☾ Final Mission: Name Tag Ripping – Lovers’ Edition

The final mission descended into pure, unadulterated chaos. The field became a whirlwind of flailing limbs, desperate grabs, and the distinct ripping sound of name tags being torn away. Betrayals were rampant, alliances were formed and broken in seconds, and shouts of frustration and triumph filled the air.

“Stick with me,” San said, his tone suddenly lower, the playful energy replaced by a focused intensity. He moved with a surprising agility, ducking and weaving through the throng of contestants. He instinctively pulled you behind him, your back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist. It was a surprisingly intimate position amidst the mayhem.

He was fast. Incredibly fast. With a series of swift movements, he managed to rip two name tags in under a minute, his eyes sharp and alert as he scanned the surroundings for new targets.

You tried to contribute, reaching out to grab at passing name tags, but every time someone got remotely close to you, San was already there, effectively using his body as a shield.

“Let me at least do one!” you huffed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated against your back. “No way. You’re too pretty to get tackled.”

You rolled your eyes at the blatant flattery, but a warmth spread through your chest nonetheless. Your heart, you realized, was thudding at a rather alarming rate.

You and San didn’t emerge victorious, but as the exhausted contestants gathered backstage, the staff announced a special award: “Best Chemistry Award.” A collective cheer went up, and you couldn’t help but exchange a tired but genuine smile with San.

Backstage, sweaty and utterly drained, you found yourselves sitting side-by-side on a flimsy plastic bench. San nudged your shoulder with his, a comfortable silence settling between you.

“Today was fun,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Surprisingly,” you agreed, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “You’re not so bad.”

He leaned a little closer, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint. “Give me your number. I might need a partner for a rematch.”

You raised a playful eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me, Choi San?”

“Only if it’s working, Y/N.” His gaze held yours, and for a fleeting moment, the boisterous energy of the studio faded away, leaving only the two of you.

You pulled out your phone and handed it to him. He meticulously typed in his number, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips as he handed it back.

That night, as you lay in bed, your muscles protesting with every movement and your cheeks still slightly sore from all the smiling, your phone buzzed with a new notification.

San: Can’t wait for Round 2.

A soft smile bloomed on your face. It seemed, just as you had suspected, that the initial chaos was only the beginning.

It started, predictably, with a healthy dose of self-deprecation disguised as humor.

The morning after the Running Man episode aired, your phone vibrated with a text from San. Attached was a photographic masterpiece – a gloriously blurred shot of him mid-air during the water balloon relay, his limbs resembling a startled octopus. The caption was pure Choi San gold:

“Pretty sure this is the textbook definition of ‘grace under pressure.’ Thoughts?”

A snort escaped you, quickly escalating into full-blown laughter that echoed in your quiet apartment. You immediately saved the image under the contact name you’d just re-created by changing from 'San(ateez)' to : “San (Chaos Coordinator).”

From then on, your phone became a conduit for playful banter. Texts arrived at irregular intervals, snippets of his day, random observations about the world, and, of course, plenty of teasing directed your way (and vice versa).

San [1:03 PM]: “Just saw a replay of me almost taking out Kwangsoo during the name tag ripping. My ninja skills are truly underrated. Also, still accepting bubble tea as a reward for my heroic efforts.”

You [1:04 PM]: “Heroic? You mostly used me as a human shield. And if anyone deserves bubble tea, it’s me, for surviving your… enthusiastic protection.”

San [1:05 PM]: “Enthusiastic is one word for it. Another is ‘strategically brilliant.’ And you were a very effective, albeit occasionally vocal, shield. Still cute though.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile playing on your lips despite yourself. He had a knack for delivering compliments wrapped in playful insults that somehow didn't feel offensive. It was infuriatingly charming.

The texting soon evolved into calls, initially under the guise of post-show analysis. You’d dissect the chaotic missions, reliving the funniest blunders and the most shocking betrayals. But as the days turned into nights, the calls stretched longer, the topics broadened, and the laughter softened into comfortable silences. You found yourselves sharing vulnerabilities you hadn’t intended to reveal, whispered secrets under the cloak of anonymity that the late hour provided.

“You know,” he said one night, his voice a low hum that sent a strange flutter through your stomach, “for someone who throws such sharp shade in texts, you’re surprisingly… easy to talk to.”

You mumbled into your pillow, a blush creeping up your neck. “Don’t say things like that. You’ll inflate your already massive ego.”

“My ego is perfectly calibrated, thank you very much. And besides,” he countered, a playful lilt in his voice, “is it really so surprising? Maybe you just secretly enjoy my captivating presence, even through the cold barrier of technology.”

“Captivatingly annoying, maybe,” you retorted, but the warmth in your tone betrayed your words.

“…Maybe,” he conceded, a chuckle rumbling through the phone. Then, a beat of silence before he added, softer now, “But maybe… more than that too.”

One particularly draining Tuesday left you feeling like a deflated balloon. The relentless pressure of your solo comeback had reached a fever pitch. Practice had stretched into the early hours, your usually patient choreographer had sighed audibly at your repeated mistakes, and the internet was buzzing with malicious rumors. You retreated into yourself, offering clipped responses to concerned messages from your team.

That evening, the insistent ring of your doorbell broke the silence of your apartment. Confused, you opened the door to find a familiar delivery bag sitting on the mat. Inside, nestled amongst ice packs, was a container of your emergency comfort food – the triple chocolate fudge brownie from your favorite cafe. Tucked beneath it was a small, handwritten note.

“Consider this a strategic energy boost. Don’t let the noise get to you. -S ☀️”

Your carefully constructed composure crumbled. The unexpected kindness, the quiet understanding, it was almost too much.

Your phone buzzed.

San: Heard it was a rough day. Remember that even soloists have a support system. And mine includes the right to send emergency brownies. You good?

You typed a quick, shaky “Yeah, thank you,” before a second message popped up.

San: Good. Now eat. And maybe watch that ridiculous cat video we were laughing about yesterday. Distraction is key.

You didn’t mean for this connection to burrow so deeply. You were fiercely independent, wary of letting anyone get too close, especially another idol who understood the chaotic demands of your life all too well. Yet, San’s open sincerity, his ability to seamlessly blend playful teasing with genuine care, was disarming. He could turn a simple check-in into a lifeline, a shared laugh into a moment of unexpected intimacy.

And you were falling.

Not in a dramatic, head-over-heels rush, but in a slow, steady descent, each shared joke and thoughtful gesture acting like another step down a slippery slope.

That night, a voice note arrived, his tone low and laced with a comforting weariness that mirrored your own.

“Just wanted to say… you’re doing amazing, Y/N. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Get some rest. Proud of your resilience.”

You replayed it, the warmth of his words a soothing balm on your frayed nerves.

Taking a leap of faith, you recorded a reply, your voice barely a whisper. “Thanks, San. You always know what to say. Sleep well.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit send.

Five seconds later, a text popped up.

San: Just ‘San’ now? No more ‘Chaos Coordinator’? Am I losing my edge? 😉

You smiled into the darkness.

You: Only if you stop sending me blurry selfies and emergency brownies.

Another text arrived almost instantly.

San: Deal. But only if you promise to laugh at my questionable dance moves next time we meet.

You: Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Sannie.

The nickname slipped out effortlessly, a comfortable familiarity settling between you.

San: Sannie, huh? I like the sound of that.

And just like that, the playful jabs and late-night confessions had woven a thread between you, something far more intricate and potentially significant than a fleeting variety show partnership. The teasing hadn’t just been fun; it had been a subtle dance, a way of testing the waters, of building a connection that now felt undeniably real. The chaos of Running Man had faded, but the delightful, unpredictable chaos of your burgeoning relationship with Choi San was just beginning to unfold.

It began with the ephemeral intimacy of voice notes. Short, breathy messages sent and received in the dead of night, carrying the weight of unspoken feelings. Then came the hushed phone calls, a fragile thread connecting your separate worlds after the relentless demands of your schedules.

Soft, late-night whispers became your sanctuary. Stripped of the usual idol facade, there were no filters, no carefully constructed personas. Just sleepy confessions murmured under the covers, punctuated by shy laughter that felt stolen from the quiet hours when the rest of the world slept.

“Are you still awake?” he’d ask, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your phone and settled in your chest.

“Only because I’m talking to you,” you’d whisper back, the truth of your words surprising even yourself.

Somewhere between the clock striking 1 AM and the first hint of dawn painting the sky, the two of you carved out your own secret universe. It existed within the fragile signals of your phones, in the comfortable silences that spoke volumes, and in the unspoken space that hung heavy with a feeling neither of you dared to fully acknowledge.

Soon, the digital connection wasn't enough. The yearning for something tangible grew, a quiet ache that mirrored the exhaustion of your demanding lives. You started sneaking out.

Under the cloak of darkness, after grueling schedules and the watchful eyes of your teams, you’d orchestrate brief, clandestine meetings. Sometimes it was in the anonymity of his parked car, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. Other times, it was on a quiet rooftop, the city lights twinkling below like a silent audience to your unspoken connection. There were no cameras flashing, no stylists fussing, no managers hovering. Just him, often in comfortable sweatpants and a worn hoodie, his arms opening for you like he’d been waiting all day for that single embrace.

You didn’t talk much during those precious stolen moments. Sometimes, he’d simply pull you close, the solid warmth of his chest a grounding force against the constant whirlwind of your life. He’d rest his chin on your shoulder, swaying you gently in a silent rhythm as the city hummed its endless lullaby below.

“This,” he said once, his voice a low murmur against your ear, “this is my favorite part of the day.”

You didn't need to reply. His embrace said everything, and the quiet contentment that settled over you in his arms was an answer in itself.

Seven months passed in this delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered affections. Then, the calls stopped. A day of silence stretched into two, an unnerving void in your routine. A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach with each unanswered text.

Finally, desperation overriding your usual caution, you called his manager, your voice tight with forced casualness. That’s when you found out.

San was sick. Really sick. He’d been pushing himself relentlessly, fueled by the demands of his own packed schedule, skipping meals, ignoring persistent coughs and fatigue, and working through sheer exhaustion – a tragically familiar pattern in the idol world. But hearing it, knowing he was suffering alone, ignited a fierce protectiveness within you, bordering on anger.

You stormed into his dorm the next morning, a container of steaming soup clutched in your hand, your carefully constructed composure barely containing the storm of worry and frustration brewing inside you.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, his voice hoarse but a familiar teasing glint flickering in his tired eyes. He was pale, shadows under his eyes stark against his skin.

“You’re not fine. You look like a ghost who hasn’t slept in a week.” You placed the soup on his bedside table, your concern overriding your annoyance.

“You nag more than my manager,” he joked weakly, attempting a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

But the moment your hand instinctively reached out to touch his forehead, your brow furrowing in concern at the heat radiating from his skin, his playful facade crumbled. His eyes softened, a vulnerability you rarely saw in their depths surfacing.

“I like it though,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on your hand. “Your nagging, I mean.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your stern demeanor, but the corners of your lips twitched. You found a spoon in his cluttered kitchenette and began to gently feed him the soup you’d painstakingly made yourself – the same simple chicken and vegetable recipe your mother used to make when you were little and under the weather.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Yes, I did.” The words were firm, leaving no room for argument.

He paused, watching you intently as you carefully brought another spoonful to his lips. “Why?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Your heart pounded against your ribs. The answer was right there, clawing at your throat, desperate to be voiced.

Because I love you, you ridiculous, hardworking idiot.

Because being near you feels like finally coming home after a long journey.

Because the thought of you being sick and alone terrifies me more than any headline or scandal ever could.

But instead, your gaze flickered away, settling on the messy stack of books beside his bed. “No reason.” The lie felt heavy on your tongue.

He didn’t press, his gaze lingering on your averted face for a moment before his hand found yours on the blanket, his fingers wrapping around yours, warm and surprisingly steady despite his illness.

That night, you stayed. You sat beside his bed, watching his shallow breaths as he finally succumbed to sleep, his hair damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead. His grip on your hand remained unbroken, a silent anchor in the quiet room. It was in that stillness, watching his vulnerable form, that the undeniable truth solidified within you.

You didn’t just like Choi San. This went far beyond the playful banter and stolen kisses. You needed him, in a way that both terrified and exhilarated you. His well-being felt intrinsically linked to your own happiness.

And maybe, just maybe, the fragile vulnerability he’d shown you hinted that he needed you too.

But the weight of your intertwined careers, the potential fallout of a public relationship, pressed down on you, a suffocating reality. You couldn’t confess these burgeoning feelings, not yet, not when the stakes felt impossibly high. A love like this could shatter the carefully constructed worlds you had both fought so hard to build.

So instead, you leaned closer, your lips brushing against his forehead in a silent, chaste promise. “Sleep well, Sannie.”

And in the quiet darkness of his room, you hoped, with every fiber of your being, that he could somehow hear the unspoken “I love you” tucked between the silence and the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

The aftermath of San’s illness lingered like a comfortable silence. He had recovered physically, bouncing back with his usual boundless energy on stage and screen. But something had shifted beneath the surface. He was undeniably, irrevocably smitten. It was evident in the way his eyes lingered on you during your rare joint appearances, in the extra beat of hesitation before he spoke your name, even in the ridiculously lovesick emojis he’d occasionally slip into your late-night texts.

Of course, being Choi San, this newfound infatuation didn’t magically erase his inherent need to tease. If anything, it fueled it.

“Still haven’t replaced that lock screen of the puppy that looks suspiciously like Hongjoong with a picture of your infinitely more handsome variety show partner?” he’d smirk over a crackly FaceTime connection, his brow arched in playful challenge.

“For the tenth time, it’s a husky, and I never said it looked like—”

“The resemblance is uncanny. And your silence speaks volumes, Y/N-ssi. Volumes of unspoken admiration.”

“You’re incorrigible.” You rolled your eyes, a well-practiced maneuver by now.

“Incorrigibly charming, you mean.” His grin widened, showcasing those dimples that still had the power to make your stomach do a little flip.

But the teasing was a two-way street now, a comfortable dance of playful jabs and knowing glances. You found yourself emboldened, the walls you’d carefully constructed slowly crumbling under the weight of your growing feelings.

“You sure you’re not catching feelings, Choi San?” you’d ask casually during a brief backstage encounter, feigning nonchalance as you adjusted your microphone.

He’d lean in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Honey, I already caught them. You’re the one who’s been clearly infected with ‘San-itis’ for months.”

“‘San-itis’? Seriously?” You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

“It’s a highly contagious condition characterized by excessive smiling at my photos and an undeniable urge to hear my voice at all hours. Sound familiar, babe?”

The casual endearment made your heart skip a beat. “Babe? That’s new.”

He’d feign innocence, his eyes wide. “Slip of the tongue. My bad.”

“Say it again.” You challenged, meeting his gaze directly.

He’d chuckle, shaking his head. “Nope. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Coward,” you’d whisper, a playful smirk of your own.

Then came the unexpected gift of a free Sunday. A rare oasis in the desert of your schedules. No early morning shoots, no grueling dance practices, no blinding spotlight. Just the quiet promise of a day to yourself. You hadn’t seen San in what felt like an eternity (weeks just weeks), the demands of your respective comebacks keeping you frustratingly apart.

A sudden knock on your door startled you from your lazy morning routine. You peeked through the peephole and your breath hitched. There he was. Choi San. In faded black sweats and a familiar grey hoodie, his usually meticulously styled hair adorably messy, and that lazy, heart-stopping smile gracing his lips.

You couldn’t even pretend to be unaffected. The sight of him, so unexpectedly casual and real on your doorstep, sent a wave of longing crashing over you. Your heart ached with a tenderness you could no longer ignore.

“Movie?” he offered, holding up a small, hopeful smile.

“Only if you bring popcorn,” you managed to say, your voice betraying the tremor of your emotions.

“Already in my trusty backpack, right next to my extensive knowledge of cinematic masterpieces. A true romantic, wouldn’t you agree?” He winked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

He flopped onto your couch with his usual unceremonious grace, kicking his feet up onto your coffee table and casually throwing an arm over the backrest behind you, his fingers dangerously close to your hair. You tried, with every fiber of your being, to focus on the movie you’d selected. You really, truly did.

But the subtle brush of his thigh against yours sent jolts of electricity through you. The way his fingers occasionally toyed with the soft fabric of your sleeve was a tantalizing distraction. And the simple, undeniable fact of his presence beside you, a calming anchor in the often-turbulent sea of your thoughts, was almost unbearable in its intensity.

The carefully constructed dam of your unspoken feelings finally broke. The words tumbled out, a rush of vulnerability you couldn’t contain any longer.

“I love you. A lot. Maybe… maybe too much.”

The movie paused mid-explosion. San blinked, his playful expression instantly wiped clean, replaced by a look of intense focus. He stared at you for a long moment, his dark eyes searching yours.

Then, impossibly, his lips curved into that infuriatingly smug smirk again, but this time, it was softer, edged with something akin to relief.

“Wow,” he said, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “Beat me to it.”

You stared at him in a mixture of disbelief and horror. “Are you serious right now? You’ve been teasing me for weeks!”

He laughed, a full, warm sound that resonated deep within you, chasing away the last vestiges of your anxiety. And then, he reached for you, pulling you straight into his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a fierce tenderness, as if he’d been waiting an eternity to hold you this close.

“Y/N,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. “I’ve been yours since day one. That chaotic mess on Running Man? Yeah, that’s when you got me.”

You melted into him, your hands clutching at the soft fabric of his hoodie, your heart racing in sync with his against your ear. You tilted your head back, your gaze meeting his, and then, acting on an impulse you no longer felt the need to resist, you pressed a soft, reverent kiss to his jawline.

He turned his head just slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, and then his lips found yours. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, a gentle exploration. It was careful, like you both understood that this moment was a precipice, a point of no return after which your worlds would be irrevocably intertwined. And you didn’t want it any other way.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and your foreheads touching, you whispered against his cheek, the vulnerability raw and exposed.

“Don’t let go.”

San didn’t even hesitate. His arms tightened around you, his voice a low, unwavering promise against your ear.

“Never.”

The weeks that followed that whispered confession on your couch unfolded in a soft, almost dreamlike haze. Promises exchanged in hushed tones hung in the air, more binding than any contract. His kiss, tentative yet sure, had indeed turned your world inside out, leaving you breathless and wanting more. And in the quiet aftermath, you had both admitted the truth that had been simmering beneath the surface for months, the one thing that held the power to both elevate and shatter your carefully constructed lives:

You were undeniably, irrevocably in love.

But a love like yours, two prominent figures in the relentless world of K-pop, didn’t neatly fit into meticulously planned press schedules or precisely choreographed dance formations. It was a fragile bloom that needed to be shielded, tucked away from the harsh glare of public scrutiny, hidden behind hurried corners and the anonymity of zipped-up hoodies pulled low over your faces.

So, you dated quietly, your love story unfolding in stolen moments and hushed whispers. Only a select few were privy to your secret.

His members, surprisingly, had caught on with an almost unnerving speed. They’d exchanged knowing glances during your joint appearances, nudging each other when San’s gaze lingered on you for too long, and offering thinly veiled teasing about his sudden “variety show glow.”

“Hyung’s been staring at his phone like it’s the eighth wonder of the world,” Jongho had Stage whispered to Yunho during a music show rehearsal, earning a playful shove from San, who was indeed re-reading your latest text with a goofy grin plastered across his face.

Your closest friends, on the other hand, reacted with unrestrained glee the moment you finally confessed. There were squeals of delight, emphatic “I knew it!” declarations, and an abundance of celebratory emojis flooding your group chat.

“About damn time,” Wooyoung had muttered dramatically during one of ATEEZ’s rehearsals, rolling his eyes with mock exasperation as he watched San practically melt into a puddle of adoration every time your name was mentioned. “Seriously, the tension was thicker than Hongjoong-hyung’s eyeliner.” (sorry- I had to)

Your moments together were precious, stolen fragments of time carved out from your demanding schedules. Stolen glances exchanged from across crowded rooms during music show shoots, a silent language passing between you amidst the noise and flashing lights. His hand brushing deliberately against yours under the table during joint interviews, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of warmth through you. Late-night voice notes, his voice thick with sleep and laced with a soft “I miss you” that made your heart ache in the best possible way. Kisses snatched in the relative anonymity of deserted car parks – short, sweet, and breathless promises of more to come.

You even got matching phone charms, a small, tangible symbol of your secret connection. His was a tiny, cheerful sun. Yours, a delicate silver cloud with a tiny, mischievous lightning bolt.

“Weather opposites,” he’d teased, looping your charms together with a playful wink. “But always stuck side by side, weathering the storm together.”

San was fiercely devoted. No matter where his relentless schedule took him – across the country for a festival, overseas for a concert tour – he always answered your calls, his voice a familiar comfort across the miles. He curated playlists filled with songs that reminded him of you, sending them with heartfelt messages about lyrics that echoed your shared moments. He’d even orchestrate surprise drop-bys, sometimes just for a fleeting five minutes, just to hold your hand, look you in the eyes, and whisper, “You’re doing amazing. Just wanted you to know.”

And when the weight of his demanding life pressed down on him, when the relentless spotlight burned too bright and the pressure threatened to suffocate him, you knew how to break through the carefully constructed idol facade. You made him laugh. Really laugh. Loud, full, head-thrown-back laughter that crinkled the corners of his eyes and chased away the shadows.

“You’re magic,” he told you once, his voice husky with emotion after a particularly stressful day you’d managed to alleviate with a ridiculous string of animal memes and silly impressions.

Eventually, the constant need for secrecy began to wear on both of you. It wasn’t about craving the validation of a public announcement, although that thought lingered in the back of your minds. It was about the quiet exhaustion of constantly hiding a fundamental part of yourselves, of pretending that the most significant person in your life was just a friend, a colleague. It was about wanting to simply be yourselves, together, without the constant fear of discovery. It was about owning your truth, choosing each other openly, even if it meant facing the inevitable scrutiny.

So, one quiet afternoon, curled up on his comfortable couch, the sunlight streaming through the window casting a soft glow on his relaxed features, you made a decision. You reached for your phone, snapped a soft selfie – you nestled in his familiar black hoodie, his cheek pressed gently against your temple, both of you wearing the unguarded smiles that bloomed only when you were together.

The caption was simple, a quiet nod to the beginning of your story:

“My lucky mission partner 💫”

Within minutes, the internet exploded. Notifications flooded your phone, a tidal wave of comments, shares, and frantic messages. Fans flooded the comments section with a mix of shock, speculation, and surprisingly, a significant amount of heartfelt support. The Running Man cast group chat lit up with a flurry of congratulatory (and teasing) texts. His members started yelling excitedly in their own chaotic group chat, a string of celebratory emojis accompanying their bewildered questions.

But you? You simply looked up at him, your heart overflowing with a quiet joy. He met your gaze, a soft understanding passing between you, and then he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver of happiness through you, “the whole world knows I’m yours.”

Months had spun by in a blissful blur since that public declaration of your relationship. The initial storm of media attention had gradually subsided, replaced by a wave of overwhelming support from fans who had witnessed your connection blossom from that first chaotic episode of Running Man. And now, in a delightful twist of fate, you found yourselves back where it all began.

Stepping onto the familiar Running Man set, this time hand-in-hand and undeniably, officially a couple, felt surreal. The moment you two walked through the entrance, the cast erupted into a cacophony of disbelief and celebratory shouts.

“WAIT—NO WAY!” Kwangsoo’s jaw practically hit the floor, his eyes wide with comical shock.

“WE DID THIS!!” HaHa jumped up and down, pointing between the two of you with triumphant glee.

“THE POWER OF RUNNING MAN LOVE IS REAL!!” Song Jihyo exclaimed, a rare and genuine smile gracing her usually stoic face.

“SOMEONE ROLL THE FOOTAGE! WE NEED A MONTAGE!” Yoo Jaesuk bellowed, his arms flailing dramatically.

And cue the dramatic flashback. The giant screen behind you flickered to life, showcasing a hilarious and heartwarming montage of your first episode together – the awkwardness of the handcuffs, the playful bickering during the water balloon relay, San’s surprisingly protective stance during the name-tag ripping, the stolen glances, the undeniable spark that had flickered between you amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, everyone wanted to take credit for your relationship.

Ji Sukjin, with his characteristic bluster, insisted he was the one who “saw it first,” recalling some vague comment he’d made about your “potential” during a break.

HaHa swore up and down that he’d subtly advised San to text you after the show, embellishing the story with dramatic hand gestures and exaggerated winks.

And Yoo Jaesuk, ever the master of ceremonies, simply pointed at the two of you with a smug grin and yelled, “You’re welcome, Korea! Running Man: Bringing hearts together, one ridiculous mission at a time!”

The games commenced, a nostalgic echo of your first encounter. The producers, clearly capitalizing on the full-circle moment, resurrected familiar couple-style missions: a slippery obstacle course that had you clinging to each other for dear life, a trivia battle where your combined knowledge (and strategic whispering) proved surprisingly effective, and of course, the iconic name-tag ripping war – now imbued with a whole new level of playful tension.

San still pretended to be your fierce rival, playing up the competitiveness for the cameras with exaggerated growls and mock threats. But this time, he didn’t even bother to convincingly hide the way he deliberately slowed down, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he let you snatch his name tag (again).

You playfully smacked his shoulder, a wide grin on your own face. “You let me rip it off again! You’re supposed to be trying!”

He just grinned back, that infuriatingly charming dimple on full display. “You looked way too happy to ruin the moment. Besides…” he leaned in close, whispering into your ear, just loud enough for the mic to pick up, “I’m whipped. What do you want me to do?”

The rest of the cast groaned and playfully jeered at your blatant affection.

“Is this Running Man or Running Romance?!” Kwangsoo wailed, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Can we get a spinoff show just for them? ‘Running in Love’?” Somin suggested, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Y’all are making us single people suffer!” Jongkook grumbled, though even he couldn’t suppress a small smile.

During the interview segments, you found yourself instinctively leaning into his side, a comfortable habit formed over months of quiet intimacy. He’d gently adjust your microphone, his touch lingering for a fleeting moment, a silent reassurance under the watchful eyes of the cameras. You both wore matching smiles, a radiant glow of happiness that seemed to emanate from within, creating your own little world amidst the usual Running Man chaos.

The viewer comments online exploded once again, this time with an overwhelming wave of adoration and heart emojis.

Fan 1: “THE CHEMISTRY IS INSANE. They’re even more in love now, it’s beautiful!”

Fan 2: “They look so effortlessly happy together, it actually makes my heart ache with secondhand joy.”

Fan 3: “I’M CRYING OVER THIS REUNION OMG. My original Running Man ship has sailed and reached the cutest destination!”

Then, as the episode drew to a close, Yoo Jaesuk, ever the master of the unexpected, cleared his throat with a dramatic flourish, his eyebrow raised in that signature mischievous way.

“So…” he began, his gaze sweeping between the two of you, a pregnant pause hanging in the air. “Now that we’ve witnessed the full circle of your Running Man romance… should we be expecting a wedding special anytime soon?”

The entire room fell silent, all eyes fixed on you and San. The usual boisterous energy of the set seemed to hold its breath.

San blinked, a slow, thoughtful smile spreading across his face. He turned slightly, looking directly into the camera, his gaze steady and sincere.

“Ask me again in a few years,” he said, his voice a low, confident murmur.

Cue:

The cast erupting into another round of excited screams and playful teasing.

You grinning, a blush creeping up your neck as you playfully nudged his side.

San throwing a protective arm around your shoulders, his laughter echoing through the studio as you simply leaned into his embrace, content in the warmth of his smile and the irresistible charm of his dimples.

And the screen faded to black, leaving viewers with a tantalizing question mark hanging in the air:

“TO BE CONTINUED?”

Three years had painted a rich tapestry onto the foundation laid in that chaotic studio. Three years of stolen kisses squeezed between the relentless demands of your schedules. Three years of sleepy morning voice notes that chased away the lingering darkness and midnight giggles shared like precious secrets. Three years of stolen glances across crowded award show venues, of shared playlists that spoke a language only you understood, of secret codes whispered into the phone, and quiet promises murmured under starry skies.

It wasn’t a fleeting infatuation anymore. It was real. Solid as the intertwined fingers resting on the console between you. Soft as the comfortable silences that settled between you. Steady as the unwavering beat of your hearts when you were near.

And today, as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, it felt as though the universe itself had decided to pause, to hold its breath just for the two of you.

You and San were parked in his car near the coast, the sky a breathtaking canvas dipped in sherbet hues of orange, pink, and lavender, the sun melting gently into the vast expanse of the sea. There were no flashing cameras, no bustling idol chaos, no ever-present entourage. Just two souls in a car, fingers interlaced, the soft melody of a shared favorite song drifting from the speakers, and hearts brimming with a love that had weathered every storm.

You leaned against the cool leather of the passenger seat, your voice quiet as you gazed at the mesmerizing sunset. “Isn’t it wild?”

He chuckled softly beside you, his thumb brushing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “One silly mission… and here we are.”

“You mean the mission where you tried to drown me with strategically aimed water balloons and shrieked every time I got within a five-foot radius?” you teased, a fond smile gracing your lips.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Hey, I was in character. Besides, you wiped my sweat like a pro and… I distinctly remember letting you win that last name tag battle.”

You laughed, the sound light and airy in the quiet car. “You let me? You were practically running in slow motion!”

He shrugged again, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “You looked cute when you were determined.”

You turned to face him fully, your eyes shining with a depth that went far beyond nostalgic reminiscing. “Thank you, San. For always showing up for me, even when it felt impossible. For always… choosing me, amidst all the noise.”

San’s gaze held yours, a warmth radiating from his dark eyes that made you feel like you held the entire universe within your embrace. He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his hand then cupping your cheek with a tenderness that still made your heart flutter after all this time.

“You were the best thing I never planned for, Y/N-ah,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek softly.

“The best plot twist in my entire story,” you echoed, leaning into his touch.

The gentle sea breeze carried his next words like a precious secret, whispered into the fading light. “I’ve been thinking…”

He paused, his gaze dropping to your intertwined hands before meeting your eyes again, a newfound seriousness in their depths. “Long-term. You and me. Forever kind of things.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a wave of emotion washing over you. He leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours, his warm breath feathering against your lips.

“You sure?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You know all my embarrassing habits now. The way I steal the covers, my questionable singing in the shower…”

He grinned, that familiar, heart-melting dimple appearing. “And I snore, remember? Loudly. Enough to rival a small engine.”

You chuckled, a genuine, happy sound. “I’ll take your snoring over silence any day, Choi San.”

As the last sliver of the sun kissed the horizon, painting the sky in the deep, velvety hues of dusk, his hands moved from your face, gently framing it as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was soft and tender, a silent promise of forever. Then, with a careful and loving motion, he shifted you from the passenger seat, drawing you onto his lap, your legs straddling his as the kiss deepened, a sweet and intimate moment shared in the quiet sanctuary of the car.

Pulling back slightly, his voice, low and steady, he said:

“Running Man was the mission.”

His eyes, filled with a love that transcended the chaos and the fame, held yours captive across the close confines of the car.

“You were always the prize.”

THE END.

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gimmick-blog-bracket · 8 months ago

Text

@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@official-boob-posts

This blog was featured in the video ‘Depths Of The Tumblr Gimmick Blog Iceberg’ on the YouTube channel ‘STRANGE ÆONS.’

Boobs ( . )( . )

#round 4 #tumblr tournament #polls #gimmick blog

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solxamber · 7 months ago

Note

Hi! Can I have a request for skully j. graves with a fem reader? (romantic)

Where his s/o wears a clothing style like sally? Since skully clothing is like skellington, she even wore makeup up like sally's! Imagine the couple wears like jack skellington and sally <3

Bonus: reader shyly asked if Sally can make a clothing style like hers AHHHH cute interaction with her 😭💕

Skully J. Graves x reader

I hope it's not too ooc and I hope you like it <3

It’s a crisp, shadowy evening in Halloween Town, and the air practically hums with excitement. The strange blend of mystery and delight is palpable—especially with Halloween just around the corner. You and Skully have been together for a while now, and tonight, you’re ready to take the plunge and ask Sally something you’ve been thinking about for ages.

With a deep breath, you approach Sally as she sits under a gnarled tree, busy at work stitching up a new creation. She hums softly to herself, her needlework delicate and precise. There’s something serene about her, something calming—though, as you sneak a glance back at Skully bouncing on his feet with excitement, you realize not everything about Halloween Town is peaceful.

“Um, Sally?” you call out, walking up with a shy smile. “Can I ask you something?”

Sally looks up from her sewing, her expression warm and welcoming. “Of course. What is it?”

Feeling a bit self-conscious, you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve. “I… I’ve always loved your dress, and your whole look, really. I was wondering if… if you could help me make something similar?”

Sally’s eyes light up with surprise and pleasure. “You want to make a dress like mine?” she asks, setting aside her needle and thread. “I’d be more than happy to help.”

Her excitement makes you feel a bit more comfortable, and you sit down beside her as she explains how she pieces together scraps of fabric and stitches them by hand. She’s patient as she teaches you, her soft voice guiding you through each step.

“It’s all about finding pieces that fit together,” she says, threading a needle with ease. “Just like how you and Skully do. You complement each other well.”

That comment makes you blush, but you smile in return. “Thank you, Sally. This means a lot.”

Sally’s hand gently rests on yours, offering a kind smile. “It’s no trouble at all. I’m just glad you’re making something that feels true to you.”

The next few days are spent working on the dress, with Sally guiding you and encouraging your creativity. And when you finally finish, you feel a sense of pride that matches the joy in your heart. The dress is a patchwork of colors, stitched together like pieces of a story, and it’s perfect. To complete the look, you add a bit of makeup to match Sally’s iconic stitched appearance.

As you step out wearing the dress for the first time, Skully’s reaction is immediate and unmistakable. His wide eyes, slack jaw, and dramatic gasp make you laugh, though his sheer excitement is impossible to ignore.

“My dear,” Skully exclaims, rushing over to you with a flourish. “You… you look absolutely stunning! Truly, a masterpiece! This—this is the most splendid thing I’ve ever seen!”

His excitable energy radiates from him, and his hands flutter around you like he’s unsure where to start with his compliments. “The stitching, the colors, the sheer brilliance of it all!” he continues, twirling you around to get the full effect. “You’ve captured the essence of Halloween Town itself!”

You can’t help but grin at his reaction, feeling the warmth of his admiration. “It’s thanks to Sally,” you say modestly. “She helped me put it all together.”

“Ah, but it’s you who brings it to life!” Skully declares, grabbing your hand and twirling you in a playful spin. “You, my love, are a true artist.”

As the evening continues, the two of you walk hand in hand through Halloween Town, an eye-catching pair with your Jack and Sally-inspired looks. The town’s usual eerie glow seems even more magical tonight, and the townspeople can’t help but notice. Some smile and wave, while others chuckle at Skully’s over-the-top commentary about how “perfectly terrifying” the two of you look together.

When you reach the iconic hill with its curled peak, Skully pauses, his hand still clasped in yours. He turns to you with a wide grin, his excitement now tempered by a softer, more heartfelt emotion.

“I have to say,” he begins, his voice still brimming with energy, “you’ve made this town feel even more magical. It’s always been my home, but with you here, it’s… it’s like the spirit of Halloween itself is stronger.”

His words touch you deeply, and you step closer, resting your head on his chest as he wraps his arm around you. “I feel the same way,” you admit softly. “Halloween Town has never felt more like home than when I’m with you.”

Skully pulls you in tighter, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” he says dramatically, looking out over the eerie landscape. “The King of Halloween and his perfect Queen.”

You laugh at his flair, though the sentiment warms you from the inside out. You chuckle, your voice filled with affection. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As the two of you stand there, the glow of Halloween Town casting long shadows, you realize that this is where you’re meant to be. With Skully by your side, everything feels like it’s fallen into place—just like the pieces of the patchwork dress you now wear.

And in true Skully fashion, as he sweeps you up into his arms for a grand twirl, you realize that his dramatic flair and excitable nature make every day with him an adventure. A perfect, spooky, and utterly charming adventure.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst skully x reader #twst skully #skully x reader #skully j graves #skully j. graves #skully j. graves x reader #skully j graves x reader

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pricetagged · 6 months ago

Text

lorica

Dark November nights aren't safe, especially not for women lingering outside pubs. A taxi should get you home, and it would have if you'd remembered to double-check the license plates.

Here is 2.2k drabbly nonsense since I feel bad about my month-long lack of posting. Ghost/Reader/Price (with implied 141/Reader at the end).

Content: Dark, MDNI, kidnapping, threat of violence, guns, body neutral, f-reader, unedited.

_____________________

White whisps danced and swirled in the air before you, your breath given substance in the chill of the night.

You shuffled from foot to foot, cold air and anxiety swirling in a discomforting soup that sunk down to your bones A glance up and down the street confirmed that yes, your taxi still hadn't arrived. You unlocked your phone once more, foolish in the hope that staring at the screen would make the car appear sooner. The little black icon on the app mocked you. Your driver is 2.6km away!

A sudden cheer split the silence, flooding from the frosted windows of The White Hart. You and your friends had agreed to leave by 8 p.m., hoping to avoid the jeering and jostling of impassioned football fans. A quiet drink after work was one thing; you hadn't, however, planned on lingering to catch up with the Premier League. The noise of rowdy punters and drunk men spilled once more into the street behind you, making your heart race a little. They were just watching a match, just in their cups…

But standing solitary as you were in the dimly lit street it reminded you that you were alone.

A single streetlight buzzed and flickered its dim companionship.

You could see your breath puffing out in front of you, white on black as the night stretched on. Perhaps you should've agreed to the lift that your friends' offered, cursing your politeness. Don't want to inconvenience you! I'm headed in the opposite direction - let me just call a cab. Dark nights weren't often kind to lone women. Winter, too. It left you shivering, trussed up in fleecy fabrics as the wind bit at your numb nose and made your eyes stream. You looked like some soft, gentle thing huddled in a doorstep, hoping to pass the night safely. You panted a little, unease quickening your breath. The misty vapor furled upwards; you imagined it carrying off your hopes. Your desperation. Please, let this car arrive. Let me get home.

A nondescript black car slowed along the curbside, wheels slick and splashing in the stagnant water gathered by the gutters. You caught the tail end of the license plates, mud splattered yes, but you could see some numbers and letters shining through. Finally. You puffed out your relief, tucking your phone away as you reached for the door. Prayer answered, it seemed.

A wave of warm air kissed your cheeks as you slid in, dry and comfortable.

'Hi, how's it going? 2350, right?' You sent a half-glance at the driver, pulling your seatbelt on as you waited for confirmation.

The gears of the belt buckle clicked in the silence. Heavy, noticeable silence.

Turning back towards the front seat, your polite smile wavered slightly. The driver was a big man. Strange that you hadn’t noticed it before, but he was hulking in the seat, shoulders stretching beyond the limits of the side panels. You swallowed slightly as you noticed the headrest barely brushing the nape of his neck.

Two unwavering, dark eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror.

'Uh…' you faltered slightly, perched like bird in the backseat eager to take off, feathers ruffling and twitching. 'This is- you're the car I called? Confirmation number 2350?'

You could feel your face heating -from the chill outside, the AC inside, the mounting embarrassment - skin feeling itchy and tight. Still, you were reluctant to break his gaze. Your instincts sparked, flared to life illuminating only the thought to keep him in your sights. You felt altogether too cramped in the car, his presence spilling across the back seats.

'Yeah, 2350,' his voice rumbled over the hum of the engine. 'Tha's right.'

He made no move, didn't even blink as he stared you down. You could just about make out the arch of blond eyebrows, the craggy lines of a well-worn face but a black barrier mask halted any further consideration. You cracked first, glancing down to his thick, gloved hand resting on the gearstick. The entire dash was dark, no blue light or luminosity from his phone. No digital dials or screens anywhere.

'Aren't you gonna type it in the app? Confirm it from your end?' You hoped he didn’t notice the shake in your voice, unease plucking at your vocal chords weaving nerves into noise.

'Waitin' on yer rideshare, aren't I?'

'I didn't book a rideshare, this is just-' You cut yourself off as your numb, clumsy fingers groped for your phone. 'Let me check, I should've just booked a solo journey-'

'No need, 's'a busy night. Friday. Match on, lots of punters.' His voice was deep, tumbling like gravel from his chest. It was disjointing, actually, with his mouth covered and the lights off. His voice seemed to echo around, filling all the dark curves and corners of the car's interior. Coming from nowhere but this beast of a man with no mouth.

You shook off the thought like waterdrops from your hair. He was just a working man. Big, yes, gruff, but no need to tar him with the sticky, resinous pitch of your paranoia.

'Yer lucky to get a ride,' he continued. 'Car pool's better than standin' out in the street by y'rself. S'not safe.'

You relaxed a little into the seat, tension trickling away. Slightly. It lingered still at the base of your spine, on the back of your neck.

'Right,' you puffed out a breath as you slid your hand from your pocket. 'Do you know how long they'll be? It's just that I've been out since work this morning and I'm looking to get home sharpish.'

He snorted at that, loud and curt, "'e'll be out when he's out. Someone waitin' for ya to get home, or wot?'

'No,' you hesitated, awkwardness cutting you short, 'sorry. Just tired.'

He hummed at that, flicking his eyes around the silent street outside. Murky, orange light cut through the condensation of the pub windows, casting a faint haze on the shutters and bars of the nearby shops. All closed for the night. All empty.

'Wot you doin' out by y'rself anyway?'

Odd. He didn't seem the type for small talk.

'I wasn't out by myself,' you cringed at how pandering it seemed. How you felt you had to justify yourself. 'Was out for drinks with some colleagues and friends.'

He huffed at that, muttering something too low for you to hear. It made you prickle, for sure that it was at your expense. Maybe you should stick in your earphones, stop talking and just treat this like the transaction that it was. You drummed your fingers against the door panel, breath fogging up the window as you stared out aimlessly.

A few beats passed like that, quiet settling uncomfortably in the car like an itchy blanket. You could feel it, wanted to shift away or throw it off or something, but a glance outside at the damp, litter-strewn street kept you still. Better just to endure the discomfort if it got you home.

The snick of the locks disengaging made you jolt, drowsiness dispersing at the sudden shock of cool air from in front.

A man, almost as tall and broad as your driver, settled into the front passenger seat. His eyes, flinty under his stern brow, mapped the length and breadth of your bundled form. His lips twitched under his mustache, amusement or disbelief carved into the burgeoning smile.

'What's this, then? Picked up a stray?'

You bristled a little, scintilla of apprehension raising the hairs on your arms. They shared a look, something warm and familiar passing between them as the idling engine hummed back to life. They sat in front, black-clad and broad shoulder to broad shoulder nearly blocking your entire view of the dash.

'It's your rideshare, in't it?' the driver grunted as he pulled away from the curb.

'Booked a cab, did you sweetheart?' the stranger turned to you, strong face in profile. You could make out fragments - high nose bridge, dark hair, mutton chops obscuring most of his face. The darkness veiled the details, like staring at a painting through gauze. He was the image, the impression of a man, yes, but distant. Unsettling.

'Clearly,' tiredness and nerves made you sharp. Brittle. You sunk further into the seat, clutching your bag on your lap. As if it could act as a barrier. A shield.

A string of tension hummed, taut and quavering. You tried to ignore, watching streetlamps blur together outside, it but it whirred high and distracting. They noticed it too, you thought, shoulders squaring up as muscles tensed and flexed. The stranger huffed through his nose, proud and steady as an ox. You swore that you heard the driver chuckle under his breath, a low hehehe as he indicated right and turned off from the M60.

'Testy one, I see,' he hummed, disapproving. 'Gonna have to fix that attitude.'

The string snapped, you snapped, 'Look, Sir, I'm not trying to be rude, but I don't fancy a chat. I'm just trying to get home.'

You fumbled in your bag for your earphones, hoping to drown out any awkward silences or terse comments.

'Alright, that's enough of that. Simon, pull over.'

You looked up, half in alarm and half at the authoritative tone of his voice. The driver, Simon apparently, swerved into the hard shoulder with a 'roger that'.

The tattoo beat of your heart drowned out your thoughts, heavy thumps rushing past your ears and thrumming down to your fingertips. You scrambled for the doorhandle, scratching clumsily like a mouse.

'What are you doing? Is this some kind of Chuckle Brothers double act because if so, it's not funny,' your words fell like fragile little shards, hoping to cut but shattering in the air. Your pitch rose, 'You want the bag, my things? I'll report you, you shouldn't be fucking working this job.'

Your phone felt heavy in your hand, shaking fingers missing the keypad as you tried to type the password.

The stranger sighed heavily, patronising. Like you were inconveniencing him in some way. You licked you lips and glanced up, ready to run your mouth again as the app loaded.

A steely glint by the central console strangled the words in your throat.

'Didn't want to have to do this sweetheart,' the stranger's lips quirked up in a sad, half-smile. You scanned his face, seeing no note of hesitation. Just cool, steady eyes and that stupid, fake smile. 'Hand that over, nice and easy.'

Neurons fired, trying to make connections or plans. Trying to assess. Here you were, alone in a car with two strange men. You shouldn't hand your phone to them, you could barely feel your fingers anymore, never mind unfurl them from the edges of the case. If you handed over your phone - your lifeline- then what?

If you didn't hand it over, you had the answer to that question from the barrel of the gun pointed your way.

You stared at it, dull silver in the dark. Like a cynosure, it pulled your gaze towards it. A sick facsimile of the North Star, leading you away from safety and further into the den of the wolves ahead.

Your animal instincts screamed, struggled, but lost as you passed your phone into his large, calloused grasp.

'Good girl,' he smiled fully then, round cheeks and bright eyes masking the coldness beneath. 'Don't get fussy now - Simon, the locks - just sit tight and you'll be home in no time.'

You tugged futilely at the handle, useless now that Simon had engaged the child-safety lock.

'I don't live down this way, I- this is not the right way,' you licked your lips again, mouth dry and bitter with the taste of rising bile. You could see, now, that you wouldn't be going home that night. Your next words tasted acrid, tinged with defeat. 'Why are you doing this?'

'Thought ya wanted to come wiv us,' Simon's gravelly voice cut in, amusement warming the pitch into something mocking. 'Why else jump into a strange car?'

'You said you were my taxi, you confirmed-'

'Did I?' you saw his eyebrow quirk, dead predator eyes meeting yours once more through the rear-view mirror. 'Not very good at lookin' after y'rself, are ya?'

Your quick little breaths fogged up the window beside you. It was hard to see, hard to think. But clearly, not thinking had brought you this far. You didn’t think to accept your friends' offer, didn’t think to properly check the license plates, didn't think open the app and check the journey status.

There must have been something of surrender in the tremble of your lips. In the flickering of your wide, glossy eyes. It scented the air, whetting the appetite of the beasts in front of you, swirling around their chops.

'S'alright, love. We'll get ya home. Get ya taken care of.'

Lacrima painted your lash line, salty and hot as it brimmed over and down your cheeks.

You heard a rustle, felt a rough thumb brushing at your tears. The stranger had reached back, large hand nudging your face back up to look at him.

'No more tears, now, c'mon,' he dug his into the corner of your mouth, tugging your lips into a coy, marionette simper. 'Smile, sweetheart. The rest of the boys are dying to meet you.'

________________________________

Bit rushed, but hey 🤷‍♀️. This has probs been done before but here's my spin. Apologies for the lack of fics lately! Feel like I'm getting my groove back so should have some actual content out soon.

#yeah idk simon and price were on a mission and are using a stolen car #and poor little reader got all mixed in it #simon is an opportunist ey #báirseach writes #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley/reader #captain john price #john price/reader #john price x reader #simon riley/john price/reader #dark 141 #reader x 141 #dark fic

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girlbeyondthegrave · 8 months ago

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The Parallels Between Astrid and Lydia and What They Say About Beetlebabes: A Metaphorical Interpretation of the Final Dream Sequence

I previously made a post where I wrote about my interpretation of the dream sequence being inspired by Lydia and Astrid’s literal futures following the film, but after reading @theblacklistforever97 ‘s metaphorical interpretation of the final scene, I wanted to explore what messages Burton may be trying to convey. I think that we can find a strong message when we look at how Astrid’s time in the film parallels her mother’s experiences as a teenager.

The main takeaway from the linked post is that dream sequences often reveal the inner desires of characters, but I think that the parallels between mother and daughter can, too.

As teenagers, both characters are strange and unusual in their own rights. Lydia is iconically goth and melancholy with fascinations with death and photography, while Astrid reads classic Russian literature and wears edgy clothing. Both are shown to not fit in with people that are considered “normal.” Yet they want to feel embraced and have someone truly see them.

Lydia’s family writes her off as weird, and when she starts to bond with the Maitlands, they vanish for three months. She feels used after the incident at dinner.

As soon as Beetlejuice looks at her, he’s interested. His full attention is on her. He says she looked like someone he can relate to, and when Lydia basically says she wants to die, he’s genuinely taken aback. He doesn’t have to offer to talk about that with her, but he does. Beetlejuice genuinely values Lydia’s life, and he wants her to live it. There’s also no mention of marriage during that first encounter. He just wants Lydia to let him out—no mentions of being out permanently either.

But in their next encounter, Beetlejuice wants out for good, and he chooses Lydia to be tethered to in marriage. He’s downright gleeful when she talks to him again. It’s entirely possible that Beetlejuice only wanted to be out permanently after he met Lydia, and he’s enamored with her. We know now that he’s gone 600 years without romantic love, and that reframes his eagerness to marry her. He’s been carrying that ring around for hundreds of years, and he finally found someone he thinks is worthy of having it.

People could argue that Beetlejuice was using Lydia and had no real romantic interest in her, but after the sequel, there’s no denying that he has sincere feelings for Lydia. I detail a lot of his and Lydia’s moments in a separate post, but TLDR: Beetlejuice calls Lydia the love of his life and waits for her. He absolutely adores this woman, and he just wants to be with her.

Astrid’s relationship with Jeremy serves as a foil to Lydia and Beetlejuice’s. Jeremy feigns interest in Astrid to manipulate her into trusting him. He values her life only in the sense that he wants to take it for himself. He appeals to her desire for someone to understand her, but it’s not genuine. He lies about the incantation and uses Astrid’s desire for closure regarding her father to get what he wants. He had no intentions of being with Astrid; just using her for his own gain.

There’s only one man who behaves similarly to Jeremy in the film, and it’s not Beetlejuice—it’s Rory. While Jeremy wants to literally take control of Astrid’s life, Rory figuratively controls Lydia’s. He guilts her, he manipulates her, and Lydia has lost a lot of the spunk and fire she had as a teenager. Rory appeals to her emotions just like Jeremy does with Astrid so he can reach his own goals. He doesn’t believe in Lydia, doesn’t listen to her. It’s all an act to get to her money, just like Jeremy pretends to be the caring living boy to get Astrid to sign her life away.

If we look at the dream sequence metaphorically, the parallels between Astrid and Lydia make a solid case that Astrid is meant to reflect Lydia’s inner desires. Dream Astrid meets someone that matches her eccentric energy, who truly sees her, and they get to live happily ever after. Let’s also note that the boy is wearing a vampire costume, a monster that’s known for invoking fear, yet that’s the moment that captivates Dream Astrid. And even when a monstrous BabyJuice pops out of her, she smiles and accepts him as her own.

Beetlejuice sends a clear message here: if Lydia wants to feel fully seen and appreciated, she needs to find someone that matches her energy. He wants to be that someone, and he’s proven that his affections are far more genuine than Rory’s. He’s already accepted her, but she needs to accept him, too. He truly believes that if she can accept the connection they have, he will make her happy.

#beetlebabes #beetlelyds #beetlejuice #beetz #Beetlejuice beetlejuice #Beetlejuice spoilers #Beetlejuice x Lydia #Astrid Deetz #character analysis #film analysis

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day0fnight · 6 months ago

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life is strange: double exposure

- max caulfield and safi llewellyn fayyad

#life is strange: double exposure #life is strange #lis double exposure #lis #max caulfield #safi llewellyn fayyad #life is strange: double exposure icons #life is strange icons #lis double exposure icons #lis icons #max caulfield icons #safi llewellyn fayyad icons #max caulfield and safi llewellyn fayyad matching icons #game icons #matching icons #icons

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jhyoos · 4 months ago

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Dreams Come True

Chapter 2: Ain’t It Funny?

modern au! hockey star! vi x idol! reader

summary: reader finally debuts and so does vi’s hockey career.

notes: thank you everyone for the likes on chapter 1! im forever grateful! your debut song is eung eung by apink

chapters: one, two, christmas special, three, four, five

The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-the ceiling windows of the practice room caught the streaks of your newly dyed and styled hair. You barely noticed, too focused on the beat of the music echoing through the room. Your movements sharp, deliberate, a reflection of the countless hours you’d poured into perfecting every detail of the choreography.

It’s been a year since Vi broke up with you and your debut was a few weeks away. The past year has been nothing but training, practicing, filming the music video and singing in the studio. You loved every second of it especially since you’ve got to spent it with Mel, who was now your roommate.

Everything about you had changed

Your hair, now a honey blonde to match with your girl group concept, but you loved it. It matched you perfectly and the way the stylist styled it made you love it even more.

The shy yet unsure trainee from a year ago was gone, replaced with someone confident, determined, and unyielding.

“(Y/N), let’s take a break,” Mel called, tossing you a water bottle. You caught it and sank onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall. Mel plopped down beside you, just as sweaty but somehow still composed.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Mel said, nudging your shoulder. “We all are. This group wouldn’t be the same without you.”

You gave a small smile, though your thoughts wandered. Over the past year, you’ve thrown yourself into work, and it had paid off. You’d managed to finish your senior year online, earning your diploma in the midst of grueling rehearsals.

But the cost had been steep. You haven’t spoken to Vi since the night of your fight. You cut ties completely, deleting Vi’s number, ignoring her messages, and avoiding the hockey rink on campus like the black plague. The one exception was her little sister, Jinx.

You and Jinx had stayed in touch, her chaotic energy and blunt humor was a strange comfort to you during the hardest days.

Vi’s knuckles tightened around the edge of the rink’s barrier as the shrill sound of coach’s whistle echoed through the air. The icy chill of the arena bit at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. Hockey had always been her escape, her channeling every emotion she didn’t have the words to express. This past year, it became her lifeline.

Her rise to fame was meteoric. Every game she played brought her closer to being a national icon. Sport channels ran highlight reels of her devastating slap shots and lightening fast reflexes. Articles praised her for her aggressive, no-nonsense playing style, calling her a future legend. Fans chanted her name at every match, holding up signs with slogans like “Vi the Viper”

But beneath all the accolades and the roaring crowd, Vi was suffocating.

Off the ice, her life was a stark contrast to the glory of the rink. She had shut herself off from almost everyone, retreating behind a wall of icy indifference. Ellie, her team captain, noticed it first.

“Vi you’re late again dude,” Ellie said one afternoon after practice, her tone exasperated.

Vi shrugged, tossing her gear into her locker. “What the big deal? I’m here aren’t I?”

“The big deal,” Ellie said sharply “Is that you’re not yourself. You’re snapping at everyone, skipping team meetings to fuck bitches, and whatever else you’re doing…it’s affecting the team and you clearly”

Vi didn’t answer. What could she say? She didn’t have the energy to explain the gnawing emptiness that had settled in her chest since she walked away from (Y/N).

She threw herself into hockey and nothing else . Relationships? She didn’t do those anymore. They were messy too much effort. Instead she indulged herself in the occasional fan hookups—fleeting, physical distractions with no strings attached.

The backstage area buzzed with frantic energy. Stylist and coordinators darted around, fixing last minute touches on hair, makeup and outfits. You sat in front of a massive mirror, your heart pounding as you stared at your reflection. Your shimmering gold and white stage outfit fit you perfectly, the intricate details catching the glow of the lights above.

You hair was curled into bombshell curls. It was a far cry from how you used to wear it, but it fit you so much. It fit the new version of yourself you had fought so hard to become.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity. “You’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself. “You’ve waiting for this moment your whole life.”

A ping broke through your thoughts, and you glanced at your phone. It was a message from Jinx.

Tinker ⚙️💙: I managed to get tickets! I can’t wait to see you!

A smile appeared on your face as you looked at the message. Before you could respond, your manager, Steb, opened the door to your group’s dressing room.

“It’s time. Let’s get it!”

You stood at your cue, beside your group members. Each member was a picture of poise, yet the air buzzed with nervous energy. You had all practiced for this moment relentlessly, and now it was finally here—your debut showcase.

You smoothed down your outfit, your fingers trembling slightly. You had never felt so ready, yet so terrified. You stole a glance at Mel, who was adjusting her mic and grinning like this was just another practice session. “You okay,” Mel asked, nudging you gently.

“I think I’m about to throw up,” you admitted with a shaky laugh.

Mel snorted “Don’t you dare. Not in these outfits. You’re gonna be amazing.”

Right on cue, the lights dimmed, the massive LED screens lit up with the group’s logo, and a promotional teaser video played, showcasing their intense training and concept behind their debut.

You stood offstage with your group, your heart hammering in your chest as the intro to your group song began. You looked at your members and nodded, each of them silently reassuring the other. Together you all stepped into the spotlight, the stage exploding with sound.

The music started, and you moved effortlessly into position with your group, your heart racing but your movements steady. The debut stage was every bit of dazzling as you imagined: the flashing spotlights, the booming bass that seemed to shake the air, and the sea of glowing lights from fans cheering for them.

Your voice cut through the instrumental, smooth and powerful as you sang the first verse. Your dance steps were sharp yet fluid, your stage presence magnetic. You waited your whole life, and nothing could break your focus.

Until your eyes scanned the crowd.

In the middle of the second verse, you just got done with your line, staring into the camera. But out of curiosity, you looked down at the front row, your eyes naturally drawn to Jinx’s bright excitable movements. You smiled briefly before turning your gaze to the rest of the audience. That’s when you froze for the briefest of moments.

There, beside Jinx, hidden beneath a hoodie and cap was her.

Vi.

taglist : @lilttblog @alex-thegiraffeboyy @tobiotruther @krilara @snowbunnyboo @veladeangl @kl1q @maruiin

#vi fanfic #arcane season one #arcane fandom #vi arcane #singer #idol #x reader #vi headcanons #arcane fanfic #arcane #lesbians #bisexual #mel merdada #jinx arcane #jinx #vi and jinx

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watchnrant · 7 months ago

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Agatha All Along Episode 6: Easter Eggs & References

Tower Reversed

Lilia’s Tarot Readings Are Weaving a Magical Web

Alright, folks, if you’ve been keeping track, Lilia’s tarot card game in Agatha All Along is officially on another level. In Episode 6, while doing a reading at William’s bar mitzvah, she drops “The Tower Reversed.” Now, if you’ve been paying attention to the tarot cards scattered throughout the series—and the promo cards (yes, they did that)—you know there’s more to it than a casual reading.

“The Tower” card? That blue crown we saw Teen rocking at the end of Episode 5? Yep, same one. And we’ve already seen the High Priestess tying back to Jennifer Kale in Episode 2 and the Knight of Wands matching up with Alice Wu-Gulliver in Episode 5.

So, what’s up with the Tower reversed? Well, it’s all about dodging disaster or going through a huge personal transformation—totally fitting for where things are heading in this magical chaos. Trust me, if Lilia’s pulling cards, it’s a sign things are about to go down (or maybe up?).

Early Argento Vibes

A Nod to the Master of Horror

So, in Episode 6 of Agatha All Along, we catch William complimenting Lilia’s palm reading tent, calling it “very early Argento.” Horror buffs, you know the deal—this is a clear shoutout to Dario Argento, the horror maestro behind classics like Deep Red, Tenebrae, and Phenomena. Argento’s influence is all about eerie atmospheres and vibrant, unsettling visuals, and it looks like Agatha All Along is taking a page straight out of his spooky playbook.

Split Souls

Lilia’s Crystal Ball Teases William’s Dual Identity with a Sneaky Tarot Twist

When Lilia tells William his lifeline is broken in two, take a good look at her crystal ball. You’ll catch a glimpse of William as Billy, rocking his now iconic hoodie and sweater. That’s a nod to his future goth teen look as Billy Maximoff! What’s even cooler? The reflection is upside down, with the Tower and Wheel of Fortune cards inverted behind him. Those tarot reversals are no accident—they’re setting up some major life-altering moments for William. Lilia’s reading hints that his lifeline is split, describing it as “a new you,” but we know it’s a sign of something much bigger—William’s fate as someone who’s destined to hold two souls in one body, creating his dual identity.

Teen’s Sigil

Lilia’s Crafty Magic at Work

Alright, Agatha All Along fans, Episode 6 just dropped a major witchy bomb—Lilia is the one who cast Teen’s sigil, hiding William’s true identity from every witch out there, including herself. This little spellwork went down right before Billy Maximoff’s spirit took over William’s empty body. So, if you’re wondering why Wanda couldn’t track down her kid in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, this is your answer: the sigil was already in place long before Billy inhabited that body. Lilia’s magic game is seriously next-level, and it’s all part of the tangled web we’re unraveling.

Radio Echoes

A Throwback to WandaVision’s First Episode

As the Hex is shrinking and William is traveling home from his bar mitzvah with his parents at the beginning of Agatha All Along episode 6, they can hear both Vision and Wanda's voices on the radio. Likewise, the dialogue is specifically from the very first episode of WandaVision and its I Love Lucy/Dick Van Dyke Show homage. This aligns with the broadcasts that were picked up by SWORD agents outside the Hex, as was discovered by Darcy Lewis and Agent Jimmy Woo.

Alice Wu-Gulliver’s Fate Flip

From Eastview Cop to Agatha’s Victim

In Agatha All Along, we get some juicy flashbacks that show William Kaplan was already connected to every witch in Agatha’s new coven long before the magic hit the fan. During his bar mitzvah, he got a hand reading from Lilia Calderu, and he was apparently a loyal subscriber to Jennifer Kale’s YouTube channel—where magic meets skincare (because who doesn’t love a good mystical exfoliant?). But here’s the twist: Alice Wu-Gulliver, who later becomes one of Agatha’s coven members, was actually the cop on the scene when William’s accident happened, working for the Eastview PD.

And just when you think you’ve seen it all, the show flips the script. In Episode 5, Alice tries to cast out Evanora Harkness’s ghost from Agatha’s body, sacrificing herself in the process. Agatha, being the power-hungry witch she is, siphons all of Alice’s magic and life force, leaving her for dead. It’s a full-circle moment: Alice witnesses William’s last breath, and years later, Billy Maximoff, reborn in William’s body, ends up watching Alice’s tragic end. It’s a fate-twisting, time-bending move that shows the witchy web Agatha’s been spinning all along.

Whispers of Billy and Tommy

William Encounters Familiar Voices

Right after William's heart stops beating after the car crash, Billy and Tommy Maximoff's voices can be heard telling each other goodnight right before they disappear as Wanda brought down the Hex in WandaVision. However, Billy was able to find William's body as the closest empty vessel to inhabit, resulting in the split life that was foretold by Lilia at the bar mitzvah. However, there's hasn't been any indication as to what might have happened to Tommy's soul, revealed to be Billy's reason for walking down the Witches' Road.

Billy’s New Identity Unlocked

A Classic Wiccan Origin Twist in the MCU

Alright, MCU fans, they did it. When Billy wakes up in the hospital in Agatha All Along, he looks down and spots a medical bracelet with the last name “Kaplan.” That’s right—the show is borrowing straight from the comics, confirming that Billy Maximoff’s spirit has found its new home in the body of Billy Kaplan, just like in the original Marvel lore. And those familiar faces? William’s Jewish parents, Jeff and Rebecca Kaplan, are a perfect match for their comic book counterparts.

William’s Wall of Wonders

Hidden Gems of Magic and Adventure

As Billy explores William’s room, it’s like a trip down the ultimate retro rabbit hole. The walls are covered with posters from magic-infused and adventure-packed classics like Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, The Black Cauldron, and Bedknobs and Broomsticks. There’s even a poster for The Goonies—only, it’s oddly titled The Goofballs. Clearly, William had a thing for the magical and mysterious. And judging by his magic-themed bar mitzvah, he was all in on the fantasy vibes. Fast forward three years, and Billy’s transformed the room to reflect his Hex obsession and deep dive into witchcraft lore.

The Westview Conspiracy

Billy Unveils What Really Happened with the Hex

When Billy shows his boyfriend Eddie his deep dive into the Hex, Eddie drops some serious intel: the Westview incident was officially explained away as an “Avengers training exercise gone wrong.” But Billy’s no rookie—he’s figured out the real story. Thanks to his research and a sharp eye for runes hidden within the Hex, Billy’s convinced that magic—not a superhero blunder—is behind the entire event. Talk about peeling back the layers of a cover-up!

Guess Who’s Back? It’s Ralph!

Westview’s Ultimate Insider Spills the Tea

In a shady parking garage meetup, Billy’s mystery Reddit contact is revealed, and—surprise—it’s Evan Peters’ Ralph Bohner. You remember him—the guy from WandaVision who got duped into being fake Pietro and Agatha’s puppet husband. Now, he’s left Westview behind, still haunted by the mind games he endured during the Hex. And with this new alliance, it’s clear he’s ready to spill some secrets.

What Really Happened to Sparky?

The Chilling Backstory You Didn’t See Coming

Brace yourselves—Ralph Bohner drops a bombshell about Sparky, the beloved dog from WandaVision. Remember when Agatha claimed she killed Sparky? Turns out, she forced Ralph to do the dirty work, making him poison the poor pup. It’s a gut-punch revelation that takes Agatha’s villainy to the next level. As if hexing an entire town wasn’t enough, she also made Ralph, under her control, hurt the most innocent of creatures.

The Soundtrack of the Witches’ Road

Lorna Wu’s Magic Tune Takes Center Stage

In Agatha All Along Episode 6, as Billy digs into the mysteries surrounding the Hex and Agatha Harkness, Lorna Wu’s rendition of the “Witches’ Road Ballad” plays in the background. We first heard it performed in reverse during Episode 4 when Lorna’s daughter Alice and the rest of the coven sang it. But now, for the first time, we’re hearing the actual rock ballad as it was meant to be played. It’s eerie, it’s epic, and it’s the perfect witchy vibe for the MCU’s spookiest storyline yet.

Billy’s Deep Dive Begins

333 Clues & a Hex of a Search

When Billy kicks off his search into Agatha Harkness, he types “Agatha Harkness Ancient Witch” into Looky and, surprise surprise, he gets exactly 333 partial results. And, if you’ve been paying attention, that 3:33 clock time from Episode 1’s interrogation scene suddenly clicks into place—definitely no coincidence there!

Among the search results, Billy stumbles upon The Macabre Wiki, an encyclopedia “created by two blood witches from Salem” that covers all things that go bump in the night. There’s also a Witchy Resource page that casually drops some intel about ancient witches and warlocks being “not well documented traditionally” (big shocker, right?) and hints that these mystical types have good reasons for keeping their secrets.

But here’s the real kicker—Billy finds an entry on how witches can choose their age and appearance, stopping their aging at will to stay looking thirty-something for centuries. Talk about defying time!

Finally, he hits up Dreadit and finds threads speculating on the Salem Witch Trials (SWT for short). One user points out that there are actual reports of witches surviving drowning and burning. Looks like Agatha’s ancient game of hide and seek is about to unravel, and Billy’s just getting started.

Agatha’s Dark Digital Footprint

From Salem to Jolene—The Witch Is Everywhere

As Billy dives deep into Agatha Harkness’s past, he uncovers some serious historical tea. He stumbles upon threads in the DreadIt forum—an underground community where users like “witchygirlblack” and “4thlevelwarlock” speculate about witches surviving the Salem Witch Trials. One post even mentions Evanora Harkness’s coven and hints that some of the young children escaped. When user “SamSamwitch” drops an image of Agatha Harkness, Billy follows the trail using Looky image search. What he finds is wild.

The search leads him to the Bellecross Daily Tribune, revealing that Agatha was listed as a missing resident after the Hindenburg disaster. But that’s not all—Billy finds a 1972 surveillance photo on a site claiming to show Dolly Parton with the “real Jolene.” Yep, someone’s suggesting Agatha was the homewrecker behind that iconic song, stirring up trouble with Dolly’s husband.

Digging deeper, Billy lands on Brujapedia, the self-proclaimed “Encyclopedia of Witches.” The site lays it all out—Agatha’s been spotted throughout history, from The Titanic to Nashville, Tennessee, in 1973. And the kicker? She’s got some seriously dark credentials: murdering her coven, possessing succubus powers, and being the only known survivor of the Witches’ Road.

As Billy reads on, Lorna’s Ballad starts playing, and he realizes he’s just scratched the surface of Agatha’s long, twisted legacy. This witch’s been weaving her chaos for centuries, and it’s all right there for anyone willing to follow the digital breadcrumbs.

Agatha’s Fashion Swipe

Ralph’s Family Reunion Just Got Weird

In Agatha All Along Episode 1, when we revisit the interrogation scene through Billy’s eyes, we finally get the full picture of Agatha’s antics. Turns out, while she was under the spell thinking she was a detective, she was rocking a “Bohner Family Reunion” shirt the entire time. Looks like Agatha’s not above a little wardrobe theft—especially when it involves messing with Ralph’s life even more.

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phantobats · 8 months ago

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Hi! Hi! Hi! I was wondering if I could get some comic recs? I'm particularly into Batman but more of him actually working alone- as much as llove the batfam, my mind can't keep up when there's too many characters, you know? I can just barely finish any Justice League comic.

A lot of comics are poorly characterized. I still shiver at the thought of All Star Batman and Robin. Seeing how your views match a lot with mine, l'd appreciate some recs!

Hi, sweetheart! Of course I can.

I get that sometimes comics with a huge cast of characters can be very overwhelming, so no worries, I've got you.

Here are my own personal favorite comics focused on Bruce/Batman:

Batman: Ego (2000)

Batman: Ego dives deep into Bruce Wayne's psyche, exploring his inner conflict between being Batman and his more compassionate, human side. This introspective one-shot is about Bruce trying to reconcile his mission with the toll it takes on his mental health. It's not overly dark, focusing instead on the emotional and psychological weight of being Batman.

A series that fully focuses on Batman is the Batman: The Legends of the Dark Knight comic series. I totally recommend reading through it, but here are my favorite storylines within the series:

Prey ( Issues #11-15 )

Prey is an underrated psychological thriller featuring Hugo Strange as the villain. The story emphasizes Batman's tactics, his psychology, and his early struggles in Gotham. It's well-paced, focusing entirely on Batman and his developing relationship with the GCPD.

Gothic ( Issues #6-10 )

Batman: Gothic is filled with symbolism and metaphysical elements that explore Bruce Wayne’s traumatic past and his drive as Batman. It’s very much a story about Batman’s mind, his motivations, and the weight of his mission, with a heavy focus on the noir aspect of the character.

Batman: Ghosts (1995)

Batman: Ghosts is a retelling of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol with Batman as Scrooge. It features Bruce Wayne being visited by three spirits who force him to reflect on his life choices and mission as Batman. This is a more introspective story that emphasizes Bruce's inner struggle, not unlike Batman: Ego. It explores his guilt and the cost of his crusade against crime, though with a more optimistic tone.

Batman: Blind Justice (1989)

Written by the screenwriter of Tim Burton’s Batman, Blind Justice is a detective story with strong psychological elements. It focuses on Bruce Wayne more than his alter ego and explores his sense of guilt, responsibility, and the price of being Batman

However, if you do feel like reading more light-hearted series/comics, here are two I've recently finished and had so much fun reading:

Batman: Gotham Adventures (1998-2003)

Batman: Gotham Adventures is a comic series that spun out of Batman: The Animated Series and continued the tone, character designs, and storytelling style of the show. It is a more all-ages-friendly series, with self-contained issues that often focus on Batman solving crimes, battling his iconic rogues' gallery, and protecting Gotham City. The series mixes action with the detective work that defined the animated series, showcasing Batman as a sharp investigator and a moral force in a crime-ridden city.

Joker: One Operation Joker ( 2021– )

Joker: One Operation Joker is a humorous and highly unconventional take on the Batman-Joker dynamic. The premise is wildly different from typical Batman stories: after an accident during one of their confrontations, Batman is transformed into a baby. The Joker, of all people, takes on the role of caregiver, with his new goal being to raise baby Bruce Wayne back into adulthood—while maintaining his usual chaotic nature.

Don't hesitate to DM/ask for more! And if you'd like to ramble together over some of them, since you did mention having similar views, definitely don't shy back from sending me a text!

#batman #dc comics #batfamily #bruce wayne #comic recommendations #comics #detective comics #batman comics #aria recs

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agent-calivide · 1 month ago

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I was absolutely GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure over @stellar-collective 's I Expect You to Haunt AU... so much so that I made design concepts for each of my main AU's- that being Spitfire, Sphinx (Zoraxis Seraphina), and Fan Letters

The ones where Seraphina dies are very loosey-goosey and would likely fall into a completely different AU because they mess with other characters' continuity, but I have too many brain bees and will simply perish if I don't yap /j

Content warning: Blood, death, murder, grief, insanity, things you'd expect of a ghost hunting au

GHA Agent: Seraphina Ardeat

Firstly- the "most canon" one for lack of a better description. Seraphina's a member of the GHA, having recently joined in her early 20's. All her life, she's been followed by death. Not in that those around her die- well, that too- but in that she really shouldn't be alive right now. She ran away from home and her parents died in a tragic murder, she moved out of her apartment building into a house and every resident there died from a gas leak the night she moved out, one time she missed her turn-off to go to work and had to reroute only to hear on the news that there was a ten-car pile up with no survivors due to a semi-truck's breaks giving out.

While she's not certain, she's pretty sure she pissed off a ghost somewhere along the lines, but she has no clue how or when it could have happened.

The ghost in question is Zor (typical Phoenix problems), who at this point is mostly trying to kill Seraphina due to the principle of the matter. She should have died when she was fifteen, the fact she was sauntering around in her 20's was insulting. Even they can't recall why they detest her so, they just know they feel indescribable rage at her existence. (I'm thinking it's *something* with Valeri Vitti, but, you know, a century between when she'd hypothetically be alive and Seraphina makes that tricky to figure out).

Seraphina, not wanting to die young, signed up to work at the GHA to learn how to protect herself mostly, but she also finds peace in helping Spirits find rest. It's satisfying to help those who are scared and angry find calm and safety in this afterlife.

Phina's approach to ghost hunting is... matching energy. A great thing in theory, as she openly coddles ghosts that are clearly frightened, especially child ghosts, but she has absolutely cursed out a ghost that was choosing to be particularly nasty (Zor included.) Despite the fact she has keep pockets, she has a thigh-satchel full of duplicate and triplicate materials, lighters, salt, incense, what have you. This is because, the one time she met Zor truly face to face, she nearly died due to not having access to fire to ward the spirit away. She survived by the skin of her teeth, but is deeply paranoid about being prepared now.

Now I heard you like AU's so I'm putting AU's in your AU's! These are separated because they mess with ships (namely Handler and Juniper in the Fan Letters section) and I wasn't sure if that was chill so I separated them just so if that's a squick you could skip it.

The Sphinx

The Sphinx is a strange specter, having died somewhere in the late 60’s to early 70’s. In life, she was known by the name Seraphina and wanted to be a fashion designer, and immensely looked up to the works of the Fabricator before her unfortunate, seemingly self-inflicted demise. It was hard to find anything more than old posters and newspapers, but over time Seraphina’s portfolio looked damn near like a reflection of her icon’s. But it wasn’t enough, she needed more.

She started going by a unique pen-name herself, the Sphinx, and got enthralled by the Fabricator’s designs, both her more artistic works, and her death traps, but the Sphinx put her own twist on the artful designs. Riddled throughout the traps she would make out of hypothetical self indulgence and morbid curiosity, she wrote out riddles to give clues on how to save oneself from the puzzles. A fun little twist with her own flavor, if you will. But it still. Wasn't. Enough.

Her obsession with the Fabricator reached such degrees, she had to check out her old workshop. If for nothing else, self satisfaction. She managed to get in and out with inspiration relatively unscathed, maybe a few too many needles in her arms but such was messing with spirits, but she didn't realize what a dangerous decision she made. Messing with the dead had consequences. Especially Zor's dead. One day, while making her own puzzle room with various traps very similar to the Fabricator's, the doors locked automatically, and she had no key to open them. Initially, she tried to call for help with a landline, but those were cut, and she was left with no contact and no way out in a room full of deadly puzzles she made herself.

But she didn't get killed by that, no, that would be too simple. Instead, a gnawing, sickening voice clawed inside her skull drove her to absolute madness, telling her to just give in and set off one of her traps. Hours turned to days turned to weeks, but her body was not giving in. Something wanted her to die by her own devices. But, the Sphinx was nothing if not stubborn, and refused to be killed by her own work. Instead of standing in front of a swinging ax she rigged, she clawed at her own face, through her own skull, and tried to pry the voice out of her head.

When her body was found, nobody could quite tell what caused the deep, gaping wound in her face. It didn't look like anything in the room, if anything it seemed she dug into her skull with nothing but her hands.

Now, the Sphinx haunts her workshop, much like her idol. Due to her peculiar nature, she can only speak in riddles, unable to form normal sentences due to the weeks of madness she endured leading up to her death.

She can only be seen in reflections, particularly the reflections of blades she refused to use to take her own life, and cameras catch her image well enough. While she's not a kind spirit, she gets nothing out of simply killing victims. If they die, she'd only enjoy it at the hands of one of her contraptions, the strange devices always seemingly reset even without the interference of humans doing so.

The police and GHA alike have tried to remove them from the premises, but no one has survived the attempt.

The last one is an Au merger between I Expect You to Haunt and my personal AU, Fan Letters.

The Green Widow: Aka Seraphina Juniper

In the 1940's, renowned actor John Juniper was killed in a theater fire, much to the shock and horror of actors and theater goers alike. However, it did not hit anyone as hard as it hit his wife, Seraphina Juniper. Having spent a lot of time working for the GHA, though she didn't divulge that part of her life to her husband, Seraphina hopefully checked the remains of the theater for any sign her husband was there.

Unfortunately, there was little to no response. Of course, the issue was that John was a new ghost, he wasn't sure how to indicate he was there, even as he stood in front of his wife and begged for her to see him, her gaze simply passed through him. Having believed he passed on, Seraphina fell into indescribable grief, hollowly meandering the halls of her and John's manor with the likeness of a ghost long before her body died.

She completely disengaged from life, something that a certain spectre delighted in. Much like "canon" Seraphina, Zor had been trying and failing to kill Mrs. Juniper for years, she was too much of a thorn in their side due to her work with the GHA. However, they were hoping for the obnoxious actor and his wife to get killed in that fire, as she was supposed to be in attendance but ended up getting called out to another GHA case right before the show.

Tired of being haunted by death, Seraphina all but withered away in her and Juniper's home, her official cause of death being failure to thrive. Unfortunately, her grief had consumed her to such a degree that she was unable to pass into the next life, and instead haunts these halls, unable to leave them.

If you listen closely, you can still hear her sobs and wails, a never ending grief that not only haunts the manor, but lingers in the hearts of any trespassers whom may intrude on her estate. She can be caught on vintage cameras with old film, but digital cameras can't pick up her image, and some say if you turn on the record player in John's office you can hear her voice ever so softly singing along.

Sometimes, if you go to the home theater in their estate, you can see the projector running, but no movie is ever put in.

Even when she makes her physical form visible, it's hard to see anything more than her eyes and her blue night robe due to how she completely wasted away, her soul reflecting what little was left of her body by the time she finally passed.

#ieytd #i expect you to die #ieytd fandom #agent phoenix #I expect you to haunt au #I hope this is okay #no i can't be normal about AU's #I'm coming for the pirate au next mark my words /lh #calivide art

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hyunpic · 28 days ago

Note

Feel free to ignore but have you ever assigned pitbull songs to skz? (Hanjitonin here)

omg i love this question so much that i thought about it for over 24 hours and i have finally come to my conclusion about the songs!!!

bang chan: castle made of sand! i feel like this song is comforting which chan is to so many stays! and the lyrics to me are very much chan

lino: rain over me “i like my women sexy classy sassy” hello he’s talking about lino here i love my lino who’s sexy classy sassy 💁‍♀️

changbin: fireball!! one of changbin best qualities are wiggles. also the instrumental and beat in this song is soooo fun and changbin is just a fun lil guy to me and even tho this song is about partying i strangely feel like it would be a really good song to work out to

hyunjin: the most obvious choice: on the floor!!!! my dancer!!! the life of the party at those versace parties like this song just belongs to him. and i think hyunjin is an icon and he deserves one of the most iconic pitbull songs. also im assigning him wild wild love too cause his love can’t be tamed i think these lyrics are very hyunjin

jisung: hey baby! [drop it to the floor] another fun little guy. deserves a fun song!!!!! and after learning he likes to twerk for skz in secret, drop it to the floor sounds accurate

felix: give me everything - pitbull rhymes kodak with kodak here and ive heard felix rhyming the same word with each other before when he raps. its during that song with nayeon i think and i was like that’s sooo pitbull of him. also this is an energetic song and good vibes only which is felix to me!!

seungmin: feel this moment! i wanted to assign him a song with a strong singer on the track cause he’s a singer who sings!!!!!!! so there’s really no other pitbull song that matches it better than the song with christina aguilera.

jeongin: hotel room service! this is just a cheeky song and i feel like jeongin got that cheeky vibe about him some times 😌

#hanjitonin #answered

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five-oh-thirst · 8 months ago

Text

In Your Head

Pairing: Fox/Thorn

Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.

Tags & Warnings: 18+, character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump

Word Count: 6.4k

Notes: So, this is a fic I wrote on my non-cloneshipping blog, and I repurposed it into a cloneship fic. All that I ask is that you please don't go looking for the original. I want to keep my two identities a secret. Thank you in advance 💙🫶💙

Read on AO3

Music Vibe:

Fox sat hunched over his desk and anxiously rapped his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He'd read the report five times now and each pass yielded the same results. His CC number was littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember any of it.

He looked up at the chronometer again and shook his head. Time had moved, but he hadn't. He'd been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report stated otherwise.

It wasn't just the strange lost time that concerned Fox either, or the fact that his CC number was in a report. That was normal. What bothered him about this report was the fact that it clearly stated in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone.

And no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn't remember it. He hadn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp put the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.

Fox rapped his stylus faster and tapped his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he?

The Coruscant Guard had stunned countless rowdy reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even 'bad' clones deserved to explain their actions, but those were few and far between.

It must've been a mistake–a typo. There had to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number was in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he had this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not have been a mistake.

The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company–one of Rex's men. Fox had sent a simple comm message to Rex offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worried him. It wasn't like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.

Fox dropped the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaked when he leaned back. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and brushed the damp curls out of his eyes. It must have been a mistake. There was no other explanation.

He didn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must've been a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he didn't get the best sleep. His caf was cold, so obviously time had passed since he last filled it.

The data-pad dinged and Fox leaned forward to see what the notification was for. He sighed and tapped on the icon to open it, and his brows furrowed as he read the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident was now available and had been attached to the report.

Fox huffed. This should clear up everything. He tapped the icon to play the recording and watched intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'd have a stern talking to later on… but it wasn't.

Fox's breath hitched and his eyes widened. That wasn't some random corrie. That was him. That was his armor. He had the fleeting thought that someone had stolen his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realized he was still wearing it. He hadn't taken it off since he put it on that morning.

Panic rose in his gut and he continued to watch the recording. He flinched at the moment he pulled the trigger–a blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.

That explained why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea before the incident, Fox don't! stabbed him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an already egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed was ARC-5555–Fives–one of Rex's best men.

Fox only remembered the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other–because of him.

Fox had seen and read enough. It was him, he knew that much, but he still didn't remember being there. He didn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It was like he was sleepwalking, even though not a single clone out of millions had ever been noted to do so on record.

He found it even more odd that he was on-scene for the shooting and then left. It wasn't like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thought about it, he didn't even write this report. If he didn't, then who did?

Fox yelled in frustration and kicked the leg of his desk. Why couldn't he remember? How could he have forgotten he shot and killed a brother? How could he have forgotten Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he have forgotten leaving his office or coming back?

Fox felt sick. Not only had he killed a brother, but he also killed one of Rex's–a beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox didn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he did.

Fox pulled a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserted one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicked and he pulled it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clinked together as he searched for a specific one.

Finding it, he pulled it out of the drawer and placed it on his desk. He leaned down to grab a glass, hesitated, then closed the drawer without taking it. He twisted the cap off the bottle, grabbed the neck, and tilted the opening to his lips. It was time to forget even more.

"Fox?" Thorn whispered as he peered into the dark office. "Are you in here?"

Fox groaned in response. His torso rested on top of his desk and the side of his face lay on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.

Thorn sighed and shook his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"

"Go away," Fox said, his words slurred and his body twitched.

Thorn ignored Fox's inebriated order and pulled up a chair to sit opposite the desk. "Talk to me."

"Nothin'... to talk about."

"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn said. He grabbed the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and set it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"

Fox slowly picked his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggled to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he spat, then laid his head back down on the desk so the room would stop spinning.

Thorn tapped his fingers against the desk surface next to Fox's head to get his attention and Fox flinched at the magnified sound. "I read the report."

Fox groaned, but this time with more indignation.

Thorn crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "I've got all night."

"You're so… annoying," Fox said as he slowly picked his head back up to look at his stupid boyfriend. "You know… that?"

Thorn smirked. "Part of my charm."

"Kark… ing… banthas… have more charm." Fox's head swayed as he tried to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."

Thorn rolled his eyes. "You're getting off topic."

"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asked. He reached for the bottle and Thorn leaned over to move it again.

"You killed a vod," Thorn said flatly.

Fox huffed. "What... do you… know about it?"

"Nothing," Thorn said with a shrug. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."

Fox reached for the bottle again and Thorn moved it again. "I'm… not effective."

Thorn raised an eyebrow, stifling a chuckle. "Yeah, I can see that. You can't even talk straight."

"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox said, then reached for the bottle once more.

"Really?" Thorn asked, clearly annoyed at the silent game they were playing. He lifted the bottle out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"

Fox smirked through heavy-lidded eyes. "Sure."

Thorn placed the bottle back down onto the desk and pushed it towards Fox. Fox grabbed it, sat back in his chair, and shot the last burning drops down his throat, then slammed the empty bottle down onto the desk.

"Talk," Thorn said. "Why'd you kill a vod?"

Fox chuckled. "I don't know."

Thorn knitted his brow. "This isn't a game, Fox."

"Nah," Fox said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."

Thorn tilted his head to the side and studied Fox for a moment. Even when drunk, Fox usually made some sense, but this particular time he was making zero sense. It wasn't that hard of a question, but his avoidance of answering it was making Thorn worry.

There was something Fox wasn't telling him and he needed to know what it was to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard wasn't going to get anyone anywhere fast.

"Fox," Thorn prodded.

"Don't Fox me," Fox said. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"

"Alright, I get it," Thorn said. "Just tell me what happened."

Fox shrugged. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember shooting a vod?"

"Nope."

Thorn pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"

"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox said, his agitation grew at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounded his fists onto the desk, causing Thorn to flinch.

"Easy, cyare," Thorn soothed. He reached out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."

"No!" Fox yelled. His body jerked weakly as he batted Thorn's hand away. "Is snot. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"

Thorn realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with Fox this drunk and worked up, so he decided to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he said before getting up from his chair. He looked down at Fox's dilapidated state, shook his head, then turned to leave.

"Bring me… more booze," Fox said.

Thorn turned around and scoffed. "You don't need any more of that."

Fox grabbed the empty bottle and threw it towards Thorn, but it hit the wall by the door instead and shattered into a million pieces. "Shabuir."

Thorn sighed. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turned back towards the door and left Fox alone in his office.

Fox grumbled and laid his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He wasn't truly angry at Thorn, as annoying as he was. No. He was angry at himself. Angry that he couldn't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he couldn't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain refused to put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where had his memory gone? Had it grown legs and walked away from him? Had it left him or did he leave it? Was that even possible?

Fox would stay lying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back was beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guessed. He needed to try and make it to his couch where he could stretch out and fall asleep.

At least while asleep, he wouldn't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then his beloved Thorn butted in and ruined it further.

Fox tried to peel himself off his desk, but his body was heavy. He managed to sit up, but then slumped back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groaned at the pain and rubbed the aching spot.

When he opened his eyes, the room was spinning, and it made him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckled to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hadn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.

Trying again, Fox planted his hands squarely on his desk and rocked to push himself out of the chair. He tried once and couldn't get it. He tried twice and still couldn't get it. He tried thrice and finally, he was on his feet, although he used a little too much force and fell forward onto his desk. Maybe it was better if he crawled to the couch instead of walking there. He let the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he was sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.

He leaned past the desk and turned his head to see where the couch was, but he leaned a little too far and slumped over onto the ground. He groaned. This was a terrible idea. He wished he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he had to make it on his own.

With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolled himself onto his stomach and crawled towards the couch. Usually, it was closer, but right now it felt klicks away. Maker, he was tired. Why did he put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why couldn't it come to him?

Someone should've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic was too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continued to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scooted closer. With one final push, he made it, but accidentally bumped his head against the leg. He cursed it again.

Now, it was just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he could finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial was causing him grief. Why was it so high up? Why was the floor so far down? Why wouldn't the room stop spinning?

He wished he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body was heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabbed one of the cushions, pulled himself up, and flopped onto the couch.

Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolled off of his stomach and settled himself with his back against the back of the couch so he didn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, it didn't sound like such a bad idea.

He chuckled to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him if he left him like that. Only his boyfriend would find a way into the afterlife and kill him all over again for being such an idiot. Although, to Fox, it was a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.

Even if they tried to hide it from everyone, they were still a couple. Some days, when they fought, it didn't feel like it, but when push came to shove, there was no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together and falling in love, he figured.

Fox released a wide yawn that made his stomach churn, but he was happy that his body wanted to rest. With a few slow breaths, he let himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he would wake up and finally remember or if his memory would still be adrift.

Fox groaned as he stirred from his sleep. He slowly opened one eye and saw that it was still dark out, which meant either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He didn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle.

Even more surprising was the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also meant Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him–the idiot. He'd need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he saw him.

Fox carefully shifted to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounded from the hangover. He hadn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'd have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was.

Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looked around the room but frowned when he saw the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. He wouldn't buy another one of those anytime soon. Such a shame.

With a deep breath, Fox hoisted himself up off the couch and grabbed the arm to steady his shaky legs. He didn't feel woozy, but his body still felt heavy, like there were rocks in his head weighing him down.

He rolled his neck, then his shoulders, and then arched his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae made a popping sound and he groaned. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch sleeping was still not as nice as a bunk. He needed some ibuprofen.

Fox hobbled his way to the refresher connected to his office and was–once again–thankful for the amenities he had access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would've been embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself.

Thorn would've gotten a good laugh, though, the jerk. He would have said something stupid just to piss him off. But that was the game they chose to play because Fox had embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.

Fox stepped into the refresher without flipping the light switch on and twisted the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cupped the rushing water in his hands and splashed it onto his face. The cool water felt good on his hot skin and soothed his throbbing headache.

He splashed the water on his face a few more times and then used one last good splash to smooth over his unruly curls. He patted his face dry with the towel and stared at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection was… off.

Fox rubbed the towel across his face again, thinking he had some water stuck in his eyes that made his vision blurry, but the reflection still looked odd. He then used the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that didn't clear it either.

Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opened the mirror cabinet and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen. He popped a few and swallowed them dry, wincing as he felt them go down his throat, and then closed the cabinet.

Hi Fox, a voice said.

Fox startled and stumbled back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" He turned his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he wasn't there. "Thorn?" he called, but there was no answer.

He peeked his head out of the refresher to see if there was anyone in his office, but it was still dark and empty. It was just him; he was alone. He'd never had a hangover that made him hear things before. At least not that he remembered. Fox's heart raced with adrenaline.

Fox, the voice said.

Fox flinched at the sound of his name and whipped his head around to try and find who was calling his name, but there was still no one there. "Thorn," Fox said with a warning tone. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you if–"

So, you like to kill, huh? the voice said.

Fox froze and his blood ran cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, yet he was still alone in the refresher. His instincts screamed at him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he was hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't have been hearing voices, or at least he didn't think he should've been hearing voices.

Fox closed his eyes took a couple deep breaths to calm himself and hoped that whatever it was would go away.

It's rude to ignore people, you know, the voice said. Especially dead people.

Yup, he was crazy. He was one hundred percent certified crazy. Not only was he hearing voices, but he was hearing voices of the dead . What had he done while he was drunk and asleep? Conjured a demon? Summoned a spirit? Invited a deity to chat over some caf? The other option was that he was still plastered and hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sounded equally as insane, but did they make any less sense than him hearing voices?

"Whatever you are," Fox said. "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."

Fox pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the refresher door to leave, but it slid shut before he could exit. He stared at the closed door and took another deep breath, then released it slowly.

He slid his hands over his holsters, but the blasters were missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he never noticed. He mentally kicked himself for being so absentminded as to leave them on the couch, but in his defense, there weren't many who would attack him in his own office.

Fox ran his tongue across his teeth and puffed his chest out before turning around to face whatever was messing with him, but when he did, there was no one else in the refresher besides himself. He bit his lip and nodded his head.

It must've been a dream. He was living in a dream and he couldn't wake up. That had to be the answer. There was no other explanation. Once he woke up, he was going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this nuttiness wasn't worth the trip.

I'm still waiting, the voice said impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?

Fox gritted his teeth and thought for a moment. If he answered the voice of the dead, was something bad going to happen to him? It wasn't like his life could get any worse. He was already a dog of the Republic, he'd shot and killed a brother, and he was probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There wasn't much else they could do to him.

Fox was startled at the sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… a clone he killed. Fox's heartbeat pounded ferociously in his ears.

He took a few steps towards the sink and peered into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came into the refresher that it didn't dawn on him to wonder what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right.

He stared at his reflection, and tilted his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studied the image, and then his eyes grew wide when he realized that the reflection hadn't followed the tilt of his head. He moved in closer.

Boo, the reflection said with a smirk.

"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screamed and out of reflex, he punched the mirror, cracking it. He heaved in heavy breaths and pulled his fist out of the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.

The reflection sighed and sidestepped into the part of the mirror that wasn't as broken. Really?

Fox was on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline took control of every muscle in his body. His reflection was talking to him. It was moving without him. But it wasn't even him. He could see that now.

Fox took a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor was white, like a shiny's, their head was shaven, and they had a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw dropped. It was him . It was the clone he'd shot and killed.

Figure it out yet? the reflection asked, sounding bored.

"You're…" Fox tried to speak, but he still wasn't sure what he was actually seeing.

The name's Fives, the reflection said while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember since you killed me.

Fox was speechless and wide-eyed. He felt sick to his stomach. He knew who Fives was, but he still didn't remember shooting him. He never even met him, and the only images he had of him were in his ARC armor, not whatever he was wearing now.

Fox thought back to the recording that was attached to the report and remembered seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He had found it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.

"This isn't real," Fox said as he backed away from the mirror. " You're not real! You're dead!"

The reflection snorted. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?

"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yelled, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touched the hard durasteel wall and he slid down it until he was sitting on the floor.

Don't remember? the reflection asked. You shot me! How could you forget that?

Fox pulled his knees to his chest, clasped his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yelled again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"

I'm not leaving, the voice said. Not until you remember what you did to me.

"Go away!" Fox screamed. "Leave me alone!" His breathing became labored and he felt like he was going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."

Oh, Fox, the reflection chuckled, then pushed itself out of the mirror and folded its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.

The next two rotations had Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror wasn't just a voice anymore. It was a full-body apparition that followed him around wherever he went. He couldn't even take a piss without that thing watching him.

He still wondered if it was the actual Fives or if it was just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he felt for killing the clone. He wanted to tell Thorn about it, but even he had limits on disbelief, and besides that, he was at some senate event so he hadn't seen him since he threw the bottle at him.

Hour after hour, the apparition asked Fox if he remembered killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still had the same answer–no. Maker, he wished it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it was just for a couple of minutes. He needed peace.

There was nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watched him from across the room with its cold, dark, dead eyes and smug expression. If this was the real Fives, then he didn't understand why Rex liked him so much. He was an annoying piece of work for sure.

However, the third rotation was strangely quiet. The apparition was nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox was taking the much-needed alone time to catch up on the reports he'd been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There was always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thought.

Fox looked up from his data-pad when he heard a soft knock on his office door frame.

"I brought you some caf," Thorn said with a smile. "Can I come in?"

Fox nodded. He was glad Thorn was back from the event, even if he didn't say it out loud.

Thorn walked into the office, placed the cup down in front of Fox, and sat leisurely on the corner of his desk.

Fox grabbed the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhaled its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"

Thorn snorted. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name-calling."

Fox winced at the vague memory, then took a sip. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."

"Your di'kut," Fox smirked.

Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asked as it appeared next to Fox.

Fox startled and accidentally dropped the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"

Thorn also startled and jumped off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"

Fox sighed. "Yeah. Just grab me a towel, will ya?"

Thorn walked off towards the refresher to grab a towel.

He seems like a nice vod, the apparition said as it watched Thorn with interest. Is he your cyare?

Fox chose to ignore the question and the ghost.

You know, the apparition continued. It hopped up onto the desk to sit in front of Fox, legs dangling over the edge. I had a cyare once–actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?

Fox glared at the apparition and snarled. "Don't you touch him!"

The apparition chuckled. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reached out to touch Fox, but its hand went straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your cyare.

Fox continued to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition said. Thorn was more than just his boyfriend, but this was his issue to deal with, and he wasn't going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him.

Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation went a long way in his mind. He just needed Thorn to see it once, then he could feel safe again–feel normal again.

"Fox?" Thorn asked with concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Fox grabbed the towel and patted himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Thorn didn't look convinced, but he also didn't argue.

I'm not fine, the apparition said. I'm dead.

Fox wanted to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room made him wonder. He turned his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Thorn asked, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing," Fox said and tossed the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Never mind."

"Fox," Thorn said hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."

Yeah, Fox, the apparition added. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue. Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.

"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaimed as he slammed his fists onto the desk. Thorn flinched and Fox bit his tongue and sighed. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."

Thorn still didn't look convinced, and he shook his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."

I don't, the apparition said. You shot me.

"Thanks," Fox said. His eye twitched. It was hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it was even harder when he had two people talking to him at once and only one of them was actually there.

"I'm here if you need me," Thorn said. He placed a firm but gentle hand on Fox's shoulder and squeezed. "Even if you just want to talk."

You can talk to me too, the apparition said.

"I appreciate that," Fox said, trying to give him the best fake smile he could muster.

Thorn threw Fox another look of concern but turned and left his office all the same.

Fox immediately turned his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"

No, the apparition said. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.

Fox dropped his head onto his desk and yelled in frustration.

The apparition hopped off the desk and knelt so its face was on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispered. And I'll go away.

Fox clutched the side of his head with his hands. "I'm trying," he choked out. "But I can't remember."

It had been a week and Fox was on the verge of losing himself. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He couldn't do anything. The reports were piling up and questions were being asked. Thorn continued to pry, and he appreciated the thought, but he wished he'd just drop it.

Every time Thorn came into his office or snuggled into his arms in bed, the apparition stared at him like he was a piece of meat. Fox knew the apparition couldn't hurt Thorn, at least, that was what he'd been made to believe, but what if he was wrong? What if it could hurt Thorn?

He couldn't let it get Thorn. It could torment him all it wanted, it could even kill him if it wanted to, but he would not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn was too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hadn't killed any clones. He probably hadn't killed anyone.

There was no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It was Fox the apparition wanted. The clone's blood was on his hands, not Thorn's. Thorn had nothing to do with any of this and Fox would do anything to protect him. He would die for Thorn in a heartbeat.

Hi Fox, the apparition said while leaning against the door frame of the office.

"What do you want?" Fox said with disdain from where he sat behind his desk.

The truth, the apparition said with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.

"Like I've said," Fox said. "I still don't remember."

Not good enough, the apparition said as it pushed itself off the door frame and approached Fox's desk.

Fox stood up, his chair violently scraping across the floor. "I won't let you hurt Thorn."

What are you talking about? the apparition asked.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox yelled. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."

Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunted. You seem a little off today.

"Get out of my head!" Fox clutched the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"

What's the matter? the apparition taunted further. I've never seen you so unhinged before.

"Leave me alone!"

C'mon, Fox. The apparition walked closer. Just tell me.

Fox drew one of his blasters and pointed it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"

Whoa, there, the apparition said, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.

Fox breathed heavily. "I'm warning you!"

You won't shoot me, the apparition smirked. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yelled, then fired a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watched as the apparition fell to its knees and clutched at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting–Thorn?

Fox panted as his senses began to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipated, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping the bleeding hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted his face as he looked at Fox.

No. This couldn't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he just shoot his lover? But it was the ghost! The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.

"Fox," Thorn gasped. "Why?"

At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox had done hit him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widened, tears brimming at the surface, and his voice quivered. "Thorn?"

Thorn collapsed forward onto the floor and Fox rushed to his side.

"No, no, no, no," Fox rambled as he rolled Thorn over and applied pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yelled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears fell from Fox's eyes as he tried desperately to explain.

Thorn reached up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabbed it with his own.

"I'm… sorry," Thorn said weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand dropped as his body went limp and he breathed his last breath.

"Where's my medic!" Fox yelled, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, cyare." He pulled Thorn's lifeless body close to his chest and rocked him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

The apparition appeared once again, crouched down in front of Fox, and looked apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shook its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.

Fox looked at the apparition. He was still in shock.

Oh well, the apparition said with a smirk. A vod for a vod. At least you'll remember killing this one.

Tagging a few people who were interested: @brokenphoenix99

#thirsty writes #in your head #fox/thorn #commander fox #commander thorn #the clone wars #star wars #cloneship #cloneshipping #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #Spotify

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