#pretend i remembered to post this on the 20th

[pichirobi]

evelyn's birthday 🌷

[jensthwa]

mountebank chem: epilogue (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x afab!rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 7.08k

WARNINGS & TAGS: attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov (both yunho's and reader's), use of fem pronouns for reader, the morning after and the day after that. reader and yunho are very in love is lowkey kind of gross everyone, kissing, fluff, dream-talk, yeosang talk too! a little bit of angst if you squint, decision making and finally standing up for yourself is hard and reader is doing their best, sukwon being a good brother and making reader cry, gyuri being a little shit, wooyoung being a little shit, seonghwa being a good friend, happy endings let's goooo.

NOTES: hi everyone! here's the epilogue i promised! like i've said in a few asks that i've gotten, there's a little bit of the next story here, just something so you all have context of it before going in. i don't know when that one is going to be up (i'm not really far along with it) but either way i want to thank all of you for the patience and the wait! i really loved writing mbc:'). this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: february 20th 2025.

taglist: @kyunlov, @tinyelfperson, @0115degrees, @daniela-f-uwu, @ultrapinkvoidbouquet, @kyeomooniee, @fairylover68, @sushiinmidnight, @qveenbunni, @calmoistorm, @potatomountain, @svintsandghosts, @lemonkait00, @blue5ummer, @fancypeacepersona, @hyukssunflower, @i-love-ateez, @alsomimi, @e3ellie, @st3ft0n3s, @hotteokkay, @xylatox, @honeybeehorizon, @hwallazia, @mady-66.

masterlist - part one - part two. part three. part four.

When Yunho wakes up, rested and naked, the room is dark. 

He turns to the side and the curtains are, of course, down but the thing is that he doesn’t remember closing them the night before. 

When he turns to where you’re supposed to be, the bed is made on your side and you’re not there. 

Strangely enough, he doesn’t panic. He is sure of what you both have, he trusts you enough to know you didn’t run away from him, from you two, again. 

Also, he can smell a mix of coffee and the turpentine-like smell of paint as he gets dressed with his boxers and the slacks he was wearing the night before after picking them up off the floor and going to the bathroom to wash his face. 

He pokes his face out to the living space and there’s a make-shift tarp on the floor, the furniture is moved around to make space for you and an easel. You’re sitting down on a wooden stool, painting away and he wonders if he just missed that last night or if he genuinely just passed out and didn't notice this much change. 

He clears his throat “Good morning, princess.” 

You jump a little, turning your head to look at him and there’s paint on your face and your hand when you wave at him. 

“Hi, Jeong.” 

“Seriously?” 

“What?” 

He chuckles “No cute nickname? Just Jeong?” 

“Well, that is your name, isn’t it?” You turn back and he catches that you’re pretending to focus on your painting, but you’re repassing the same painstrokes as before. 

“We’re going to have to work on it,” he lets out a sigh that turns into a yawn. “Sorry that I slept in on you. What time is it?” 

“Around three.” 

“In the afternoon?!” Yunho looks around for his phone but he locates the clock in the wall first and he confirms your words. “Princess, why didn’t you wake me up? We could’ve spent the day together…” 

“I rather you rest,” you shrug and he takes a few steps until he’s behind you, his hands immediately reaching out to touch you. He can’t help it, he wants to physically fuse into you but he compromises with nature and just massages your shoulders. “You have sectionals in two weeks, right?” 

He frowns at the reminder, a tiny smile on his lips a second later. 

“How do you know that?”

You stop the brush on the canvas and then look at him again, eyelashes batting with fake innocence. 

“I kind of bribed my assistant so she could bribe yours and now your general schedule is on my phone…” 

He fakes a gasp and he marvels in the pout he gets in return. 

“I needed to know when you were leaving the dorm this week!” 

“So you could drop the gift?” 

“Mhm,” you say, puckering your lips to ask for a kiss. He pretends to go for it and he truly pats his back for having a little of self-restraint when he dodges you to pretend he just thought about something. 

“Oh! That reminds me…” 

You huff in annoyance and interrupt whatever he’s about to say. 

“How did you know my room number and who let you in?” 

“I paid the receptionist and showed him proof that we were together,” he explains like it’s nothing and you huff again, amused this time. “Told him I wanted to surprise you.” 

“That’s so irresponsible.” 

Yunho reaches the box he left on the coffee table last night, opens it and pulls the polaroids out. 

“You dropped this off without any explanation! What are these?” 

When he turns around, you’re already painting again and he gets a five second look in his direction before you return your attention to your art. 

“Oh.” there’s a smile on your lips Yunho loves, although he’s not sure if it’s because you’re doing what you love or if you got reminded of something. “I was hoping you asked me about it. I, um, stayed at a resort during New Years, in Gangwondo.”

“Is this the first time we spent Chrismtas and New Years away from each other?” 

“Not the first time,” you muse and then shrug, “but definitely the first time in a long time, huh?” 

“I didn't like it.” 

“Why?” You look at him again and he sits on his knees on the couch like a neglected child, looking your way. You seem to find it endearing, because you laugh. “Because you didn't have anyone to kick under the table this year?” 

“That has never happened.” 

“Liar. Anyway, they have this winter festival that goes all the way until mid January and they have this… Traditional and modern fusion media dance performance that made me think of you. So I took some pictures of the dancers.” 

“So you just put them in the box because you took them while thinking of me?” 

There’s shyness painting your tone when you reply “Yeah.” 

His heart thumps happily inside his chest and he gets off the couch. 

“I love you.” 

You laugh again “I love you too, Yunho,” and, as you shake your head a little, you look in the kitchenette direction with your lips pointed at it. “I ordered some breakfast that you can heat up or you can give me… Twenty minutes and I can change and we can—” 

Yunho revels in the squeak of surprise you let out when he closes the distance, leans in and catches your lips in a short but firm kiss. 

“We can stay in all day if you want to.” He says and you kiss his lips one more time. 

“Okay,” you seem happy to have that option so he sees the moment you make the decision to not push going out at all. “There’s some clothes for you in the walk-in closet. I ordered them when I ordered all of this,” you point at the mess on the tarp and the floor, “I figured you might need them.”

“Thank you, my love.” He whispers and he pecks your lips before reaching for your nearly empty coffee cup. 

“There’s also one for you in the—” 

“I want this one,” he says, a sly smile on his lips and one of his hands returns to your shoulders to massage them. 

He takes a look at the canvas for once and he notices that, what he thought was a solid background color and some structure, has actually started to look like the view in front of you both, with the Namsan Tower in the back. 

“What about the CD?” 

“Hm?”

“Your gift,” he reminds you, “there’s also a CD.” 

“A mixtape, with songs that make me think of us.”

Yunho blows some air and he doesn’t have to look down to see you’re frowning at the sound “You’re a romantic.” 

“Do you want to die?” 

He laughs but doesn’t address the threat at all. Instead, the focus is on your art “The painting of us and the kids is beautiful,” he can feel your skin under his palm heat up at the compliment and it makes him smile. “This one is too.” 

“It all just flows so much smoothly when I don’t have to think about work or being home,” you admit, your body relaxing into his when he takes a sip of the cup and brings it around for you to do the same. “I want to stay here, with you, forever.” 

“And we can,” he murmurs into your head, leaving a kiss on your temple a second later. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I want to move out,” you say, your tone full of wishfulness and Yunho takes in a breath at what that could mean for you, “I want to quit my job.” 

“And what do you want to do for work, then?” He asks, already supporting the decision. “You want to paint?” 

You shake your head, looking up at him, a wishful glint in your eye “I want to be an art teacher.” 

“Oh?” 

“Do you want to work for your father?” 

“Not in a million years, I— Princess, don’t get mad for what I’m about to tell you, okay?”

You turn in the stool, looking up at him with an inquisitorial brow until he crouches down on the floor to meet your eye. 

“My plan has always been to pretend to work and go along with him until I graduate college. Then, I want to move away. I want to… I don’t know, get disowned?” 

Eyes widening, you take in a sharp breath and then cough into your hand. 

He offers you the cup so you can take the final sip out of it. 

“It’s part of why I went along with the PR relationship in the first place.” 

You nod and he gulps, staring as you get lost in thought for a second. 

“Why would I be mad?” 

“Because I sort of planned to use you?” 

“Not really, though. You wanted to use the relationship they threw us into?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s understandable, then. I… I understand.” This time, you’re the one gulping and he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “I, um, I’m not sure if I actually can go against my parents wishes and never see my brother again, Yun.” 

He shakes his head. “If you think for a second that Sukwon is going to give a fuck about your parents feelings, you’re wrong. I… Me and Gunho are not as close as I want us to be, you know? But we talk about things.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Sometimes,” his laugh lasts a few seconds only and then he clears his throat. “If there’s something I'm sure of, princess, is that your brother loves you with all his heart. If you want to step away from the family business, from your parents, he… He’ll understand.” 

You nod again. 

“And I’m not saying any of this because I want you to do the same things I want to do but I—” 

You interrupt him “What do you want to do?” 

“Huh?”

“Do you want to work as an engineer?” 

“Yes,” he breathes out and you smile, “but I also want to dance. Have an academy, maybe, but I need money and experience and a name.” 

“You already have a name.” 

“I need to make a name for myself, princess,” he explains and you nod like you already knew, because you probably did. “Get a stage name, maybe.” 

“Ha!” you laugh and he raises his eyebrows, amused by your reaction. “Maybe… Yunho the rakehell? Yunho… Oh! Yunho the bitchl—” 

“Stop that!” 

It seems like that joke is never to die down and he’s glad, he’s glad that he doesn’t take genuine offense in it anymore and he’s glad it makes you laugh in a way he wants to record and play on repeat forever. 

Grabbing his face, your thumbs brush against his cheeks and he can swear he has never felt so at ease until now. This, waking up and going out of the room to find you doing what you love. You, looking at him with some much love, it's hard to believe it took you both so long to leave your pride behind and work it out. 

“You are worth it, Yunho,” you whisper and he knows right away you’re referring to the fight you both had at the office, “and I have no idea how we’re going to make it, but we are. Of that I’m sure, my love. I trust you,” you brush his hair back and off his forehead, “I trust us.” 

He holds your face as well, the pad of his finger passing over the dry paint on your cheek.

“I trust us, too.” 

Before he can react, you’re smooching his lips again and he melts into the encounter, the passion of last night bleeding into his movements once again and painting him red when he gets on his knees and pulls you into his lap in a smooth motion. You yelp and laugh and then you moan into his mouth when his hands find your ass and his fingers dig into it through the jeans you’re wearing. 

Huh. 

You’re wearing jeans. 

They look so natural and good on you that he didn’t even notice it’s the first time he seeing you in jeans. 

“Again?” You ask, already winded and clinging onto him for dear life in a way that makes him laugh. He pulls back and finds you shyly smiling at him but it doesn’t really help your care that he can see right through the act. 

“Can you blame me?” 

“Yes, actually.” 

“Y/N…” 

“It was a joke,” you grab his shoulders to shake him to no avail and then before getting up you lean in to kiss his cheek in a manner so sweet that makes him all giddy, like a fool in love. Maybe because that’s what he is. “Take a shower.” 

“Take it with me.” He says, without thinking about it but one hundred percent meaning it. 

“I already showered.” 

He makes sure to scrunch his nose and make a funny face “Did you really?” 

It’s not really a surprise when you turn around from your painting and swipe your brush across his mouth. 

“I smell amazing and you smell like shit. Go and shower, Jeong.” 

He enjoys ticking you off a bit too much. Either way he laughs, the taste of paint on his tongue when he does and, when he gets up and goes to the bathroom, he hears the soft sound of your giggle and his heart feels full.  

And then you get him back like ten minutes later, by turning off the light in the bathroom and almost giving him a heart attack at the sudden loss of it. He breathes out an exaggerated sigh and, when you turn them back on, he turns around and watches you through the glass divider. 

Unfortunately for you, the glass is frosted from his chest down, but you lean against the marble counter and eye him suggestively nonetheless. He continues with his shower as if this is the most normal scenario ever for the two of you. 

It feels like it, anyway. 

“Can I help you, princess?” 

“Tomorrow I’ll go home,” you start, not a question or a request, but a fact. “I’ll go home and I'm going to sit with them all at dinner and let them hear what I’m going to do from now on. They don’t need to know that I’m going to take classes—” 

“You are?” 

Humming, you nod once and then twice after a second of looking at the floor, determination in your stare when you look up at him again. “I’m going to get a bachelor’s in art education, maybe just art first. It’ll take time but…” You shrug. 

“But you’ll be doing what makes you happy.” He finishes for you. 

“Yeah,” you return softly, “and I'll be detached from my family’s hip eventually.” 

“One will argue,” he says, closing his eyes to avoid shampoo to get into them, “that you’re already pretty independent.” 

“While doing my work and my brother’s work, sure,” you smile, “but not when it comes to living on my own.” 

An idea crosses his mind and colors his cheeks, so he hums “You’ll be lonely.” 

“I already feel that way at home… But I do love the idea of having a space all for myself.” 

He hums again and then wipes the water from his eyes to send you a look. 

“How much do you love it?” 

“Jeong,” you say, laughing when you finally get what he’s suggesting, “we’re not moving in together.” 

He pouts. 

“Yet.” 

He smiles at you again. 

“Besides,” turning around, you let out a tired sigh when you catch the paint on your face and then you open the faucet to clean it off, “then Yeosang would miss you too much and he’ll blame me. I don’t want your friend to hate me.”

“He would never—” 

You don’t let him dismantle your excuses “What is he up to with that documentary, anyway?” 

He closes the shower and reaches for a towel the next second, not even bothering fully covering himself up when he gets out and you send him a look through the mirror, one he can’t decide if it’s in reproach or if it’s charged with something else. Probably both. 

But he plays coy and tries his best to answer your question as he secures the towel around his hips. 

“He’s doing this documentary about dance, he’s been working on it for a while. Obviously I’m the star of it,” he watches you roll your eyes and he bumps your arm with his in retaliation. “But my co-stars are taking all of his attention now. It’s kind of annoying.” 

“And he finds them— your co-stars I mean,” your eyes roll again, “at the club?” 

Yunho barely helps the laugh that spills out of his lips.

“No, um, that’s a completely different story. He keeps saying that he needs to film this one girl for the documentary but we all stopped believing him when he almost got beat up for filming her,” he explains, his hands brushing his wet hair back, “and he went back to do it again anyway.” 

Your hip connects to the countertop again, your back to the mirror “So he’s in love?” 

“I don’t think so. I think he’s… Intrigued.” 

“Is she an exotic dancer or something?” 

“What?” 

“What?” you return, shrugging, “nothing wrong with stripping for a living.”

“I know, that’s not what I meant—” 

“Do you have something against strippers, Yunho?” Your eyes narrow at him. 

“N-no, of course I—”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“Princess…” He breathes out another laugh, a nervous chuckle this time. “Stop teasing me.” 

Your frown slowly breaks into a smile and he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“But you look so cute when you’re flustered!”

He stops messing with his hair to grab your hips and make sure you have nowhere to go, trapped between his body and the cold marble behind you. 

“I’m not cute,” he says, low, almost in a whisper, “and I showered.” 

“Yunho… Are you not hungry at all? You have to eat something.” 

He wants to laugh again but he stops himself, his hands roaming your front and slipping to your legs when he kneels a little “Hm, I’m starving.” 

Gasping when he kisses your middle through your shirt, you push him away with feign distress written all over your expression. 

“Jeong!” 

He gets back up again “What?” 

“Are you going to be this much of a troublemaker when we live together? I have things to do!” 

He stops, his hands holding your hips still and then you gasp again when he tugs and presses you against his body. 

“You said when.” 

You gulp “I know what I said.” 

“You’re making plans for the future and I’m in them.” 

“Well,” you titter with a nervous glint in your eye, but your chin is up the next second, “you know what? Yeah. Yes, I am, because I love—” 

He presses his lips against yours before you finish your sentence and when he pulls away you push on his chest again. 

“Annoying.” You say but you don’t mean it and he laughs, his arms going around you before you melt into his embrace fully. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Mhm.” 

You think about it, he can feel you thinking as he rocks you both from side to side “No,” you finally say, in a whisper and then your next words come out firmer. “No, I need to do this on my own. I would love to see you later tomorrow night, though.” 

“Hm, I have practice and then I promised to help Gyuri move in with Wooyoung but I can tell them that I’m in love and busy.” 

“No, no,” you pull back, smiling a little, “Can I… I mean, I can help.”

He smiles as well “You want to?” 

You nod. 

“She has a bunch of shit but San is moving most of the stuff because, partially, it’s his fault she has to move, so.” 

“Hm, how so?”

“Gyuri and his girlfriend live together, for years now, and now they want to move in with each other so Gyuri is forced to live with the embodiment of mischief while she finds an apartment she can afford.” 

You laugh “I don’t think it bothers her that much.” 

“Why?” He frowns and, at his question, you give him an incredulous look. “Why?” 

“Baby, oh my God.” 

He lets you go and you push him away fully, getting out of the bathroom. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” 

“Figure it out, dummy!” 

He’s truly, genuinely and utterly confused, but the smile on his face hardly goes down as he watches you sit down in front of your painting again, from the bathroom door’s threshold. 

And his heart aches for the pain you’re probably going to endure the next day. 

When you enter the code to your front door, bag in hand, it’s almost lunch time. You didn’t let them know you’ll be returning today but you’re sure the way your suitcase falls at the dining room’s entrance is enough to alert them. Sukwon jumps a little, your mother lets out a scream and your father looks up from his phone slowly, gives you a look, and then looks back down. 

“Oh, great, you’re back. Y/N, next time would you please let me know when you’re showing up so I can schedule your appointments accordingly— Kim Y/N!” 

Your mother's scandalized scream is not what surprises you. What surprises you is the hug Sukwon gets up to give you, a tight squeeze that you smile into and then make a face at when he pulls away. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to just you. “Don’t let her tell you otherwise.” 

Nodding, you finally face your mother whose jaw is almost hitting the floor by now. Your father, as usual, is unbothered and tapping his fingers against the glass of the table, impatiently waiting for his food. 

“Why do you mutilate yourself like this? And without notifying your team, nonetheless! We’ll have to… Get you some hair extensions for the shoot that you have—”

“No.”

She pauses, her jaw ticking and her eyebrow raising in warning. A few months ago, the mere thought of upsetting her would’ve sent you into a panic attack. Now, you stand your ground and curve your lips with pride, lift your chin up with courage and hold the handle of your suitcase a little tighter because you need it, because your hands tremble a little. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said no,” you repeat yourself and your tone gains you your father's attention. “I’m sure the public can survive a haircut, mom. Can you?” 

“Kim Y/N do not talk to me like that!” 

She steps your way and your brother steps a side, giving you a wide eyed look that can only mean a here she goes again and you purse your lips to stop yourself from nervously laughing at it. 

“You cut your hair, you leave for three months and come back all… All chubby,” oh, my god, “and you dare to speak to me that way?!” 

The mention of your weight does send a little panic cruising through you. It has your father huffing from his seat and your brother snapping his head rapidly in your mother’s direction, a frown creasing his eyebrows and you can tell he’s about to say something but you stop him with a shake of your head.

And then you laugh. 

You taste something bitter in your mouth and you can see the exact moment she notices her words are not affecting you the way they usually do. 

“I think it’s time I move out,” you start, with a tiny, sardonic smile on your lips, “and I also think it is also time you think about the way you speak to me, mother. And I think you,” you turn to your father, “need to think about all the times you allowed her to talk to me that way.”

Your dad looks up, raises his eyebrows, hums and then looks back down again. 

“Sure thing.” He says. 

“What is happening right now?” your mother asks, a nervous chuckle coming out of her and after that she moves her hand, dismissing your point and turning to go to her seat again. “You’re talking nonsense. Go upstairs and wash. You’re obviously not having dinner, I hope.” 

She’s always doing it on purpose, bringing you down like that on purpose, but right now? Right now she craves vengeance. You notice it in the way she looks for your reaction when she looks up. 

“I am having dinner. Not here, not with you, not anymore.” 

Your mother sighs, rubs her forehead with her thumb and her index “Kim Y/N, I beg, stop terrorizing me and—” 

“She’s moving in with me.” 

You turn to Sukwon, he gives you a look to signal you to follow his lead. 

“She’s a little bit too grown up and independent to live under your roof still, mom. Dad?” He asks and your father looks up. “Don’t you agree?” 

“Well,” your father cleans his throat, his back hitting the back of his chair as he thinks it over, “she is capable of being on her own. Besides, her room can make a wonderful office for you, dear.” 

“Her room is staying hers because she’s not going anywhere!” Your mom stands up again, voice dark and tone painted over with something you’ve never even heard before. Not coming from her, at least: Fear. “Why do you suddenly want to move out? Is there…” She closes her mouth and then gulps, breathing out a laugh the next second. “Are you running away with someone, Y/N? Is that it? Did you fall in love on your little trip? You’re promised to someone!” 

“Promised? I am not promised because we’re in the twenty-first century, mom!” 

“To Yunho, Y/N! Don’t be stupid and tell your little fling to get lost!”

“Mom…” Sukwon warns but she laughs again, indignant. 

“What? She knows this already. How would the Jeong’s feel if—” 

“I don’t care what they feel!” 

Your voice resonates in the room, it shuts everyone up, it makes your mom take a step back and your father blocks his phone, finally interested in what’s going on. 

“I am with Yunho.” 

Your mother smiles a second too late at what you said and opens her mouth, but you interrupt whatever nonsense she’s about to spew out. 

“I am with him but not because you or his mother planned it. I’m not trying to fullfill your little fucked up fantasy—” 

“Y/N!” She gasps at the cursing but you continue nonetheless. 

“I am with him because I love him. I love him and he loves me and we are together because, against all odds, we ended up bonding and finding comfort and solace in each other. We made the choice, we did,” you insist on it, to let her know that it doesn’t matter if you two being together is exactly what she wanted, the final say is on you and Yunho alone. “I have something you two could never have and that’s companionship and true understanding that’s not rutted in power or in money. He… He made me realize we’re so much more than this.” You move your hands in the space between you and the rest of the room and your father hums a bitter sound in return.

“This,” your father gets up from his seat, hands going in the pockets of his dress pants and eyebrows raised with a sardonic edge to them that pisses you off, “is your family.”

“I know and that makes it worse,” you nod and the slow anger showing in his expressions grows just a tad bit more, so you go on before anyone else can interrupt you again. “Here’s what’s going to happen from now on, dad; If you want me to, I’ll keep working at the company, but Sukwon's responsibilities are solely his from now on,”  you turn to your brother and he gives a fake pout but then he nods. “My job is simple, my job should allow me to focus on what I really want and, once I get what I really want, I'll make sure to find someone who can fit my spot so seemingly you won't even notice I'm gone.”

“I thought that what you wanted was to work for this company, Y/N.” Your father says.

“I thought so too,” you murmur back to him before shrugging, “but now I’m not so sure.” 

A bit of pregnant silence passes. The air feels thick now that you told them your terms, your plan or what you allowed them to hear of it anyways. Like you told your boyfriend, there’s no need for them to know that you want to take classes or teach. 

You’ll just do it. No need for their approval.  

But your mother still grasps at the control she had on you three months ago. She holds on to it, desperately and, if you were someone else and the situation was any different, you would probably admire the strength it takes to stay this egotistical and delusional until the end. 

She doesn’t seem to understand that her only daughter is running away from her. You’re not sure she cares, either and it hurts because, deep down, you expected to walk off with redemption on her side. 

Sometimes, there’s no redemption at all from the people who hurt you. 

And that’s also okay. 

“Are you done?” She asks, looking around. “Are you all done with this nonsense?” 

Taking in a breath, you try to tell her that what you said it’s what’s going to happen but she is not having it. 

“No,” her finger is up and you raise your eyebrow at it, which gains you a raise on hers in return. “No. You’re not looking for a replacement and no you’re not moving out. That’s insane, Kim Y/N, that’s—” 

“What’s my favorite color?” You interrupt to ask her and she stops, opening and closing her mouth while searching for an answer. “What’s my favorite sweet?” 

“You don’t have one.” 

“I do, I actually have two. What’s my favorite book? Movie? Song?” You turn to your dad this time. “What’s my favorite marketing strategy? Do you even know that one?” 

Silence. 

“You don’t know me enough to want to keep me here. I understand why you might think you do, but you don’t. Because, guess what? I’m an adult.”

Your mother opens her mouth and closes it again when you shake your head. 

And although you’re not speaking to her anymore, you keep looking at your mother straight in the eye and you’re able to catch the exact moment she realizes she lost. 

She lost. 

“I’m an adult with a paying job and savings you didn’t need to know anything about. So you either take it or leave it. Dad?” 

“You want me to decide now?” 

You let out a bitter laugh “You can do whatever you want. Just know that I’m not settling for anything else but what I told you. I can either train someone or you can fire me and I can look for a new job,” you explain, “but either way I’m out of here.” 

Your mother sighs and then mutters under her breath, but you catch it “What is everyone going to say?” 

“I don’t care,” you tell her again and at the response she looks up, startled, like she didn’t expect you to keep going. “Now, I hope you have a lovely lunchr.”

You’re positively shaking when you step into the hallway and through the front door again, with your suitcase in your hand still and no actual plan on where you want to go. Maybe back to the hotel?

Mind reeling, it finally registers the fact that your mother turned to your father and pleaded him to do something for the sake of the family's image just before you stepped foot outside of the house. It was a screech of don't let her go, do something! laced with clear selfish concern. 

You feel panic rising, closing your throat up and you feel lost, lost in what you just did, lost in what it actually means for you. 

“Hey, hey.” Sukwon catches up to you quickly, his keys in his hands, his breath jagged like he escaped your mother’s claws because that’s probably what happened. “Sell out! You needed to signal me when you wanted to leave, dumbass!” 

His eyes linger on your trembling hands when he takes the suitcase from you and you do your best to steady them. 

“You didn’t have anything to eat.” 

“I know. Where are you going?” 

“To… I don’t really know. Yunho’s dorm?” 

Sukwon laughs. 

“You have a house, you know.”

“I think I’m very much homeless right now. I’m getting trapped and probably thrown in a cell if I go back inside.” You swallow tightly as the realization washes over you. “She’s so mad.” 

“My house,” he clarifies, rolling his eyes. “I told them you’re moving in with me, didn’t I?” 

“Sukwon…” 

“I meant it,” there’s something soft in his eyes before he turns to open the main gate so you can both walk up to his car. “You can stay with me. Like you said, you’re grown and I won't have to look after you anymore.” 

“Pfft,” that brings out a genuine laugh out of you, “anymore.” 

“I remember running behind you in the garden because you couldn't keep still the second you learned how to walk!” 

You look at him with a pout as he opens the trunk, throwing your bag in it without any care in the world. 

Like an older brother would. 

If your eyes turn watery, you make sure to swallow back the emotion before he can figure out why. 

“Can I have my own room?” 

“You have a room there already,” he admits, shrugging. “I mean, I thought about you when buying the apartment. Guhno usually stays there but I’m sure he can take the couch when he comes over and— Aw, Y/N!” 

By the time he closes the trunk, you’re already crying. A little, enough for him to notice it. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Open the door.” 

“I’m so telling Yunho you cried!” 

“Leave him out of it!” You push his shoulder, quickly getting into the car when he unblocks the doors and he does the same. “He’s staying over whenever he wants, by the way.” 

Sukwon laughs, his eyes wide when he turns to you “Not a chance in hell, Kim Y/N.”

“Okay, then your boyfriend is not staying over either!” 

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” 

You muse, trying not to laugh “I’m telling Gunho oppa you’re denying your love to my face.”

Your brother lets out a sigh and then you squeak when he pulls your hair, playfully, before looking at you with the most sincere stare Kim Sukwon has probably given anyone ever. 

“I’m really proud of you, kid.” 

Pouting again, you look away and through the window as he pulls out of the curb and into the streets, the house you grew up in quickly fading into the background and your heart thumping hard against your ribs. 

“Are you crying again?” 

“Ugh,” you turn to him, tears running down your cheeks and a smile pulling at your lips, “you’re so annoying.” 

Your clothes are now in your room at Sukwon’s (and yours) apartment, in the walk-in closet. Your brother's taste is nothing short of luxurious and obnoxious and the room is decorated in a way you would never think of decorating it but he swears he has someone who can fix it for me if he wants to.

He forgets that you already know Seonghwa but it's okay, because when you show up at Gyuri’s old apartment, you make sure to find him to tell him just that. 

“I've literally told him that we both know Yunho and each other. Wasn't he the one who gave you my number?” Seonghwa asks, mouth hanging open a bit in surprise. 

“He did, yes.” 

Seonghwa huffs in amusement and you shrug a little “Well, do you want me to work in your room?” He asks after a few seconds and you smile, considering. 

“I think I’m going to do it myself, Hwa.” 

At the nickname, his smile widens and he nods. You think he’s about to say something else, however your attention drifts from your newfound friend and your eyes search for Yunho in the middle of the room, on the floor, as he takes a piece of furniture apart. 

He’s wearing a dark grey crewneck that makes him look so deliciously good you can’t barely help your staring. There’s not one ounce of shame on your body and you’re sure it shows on your face because Seonghwa laughs besides you. 

“So I didn’t paint over the tree,” he says and you frown, turning to him, “but I take you reconsidered my point anyway?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“It’s not going to happen,” the mockery in his tone while he tries to make an impression of you doesn’t offend you because you can see the intention behind it and it makes you laugh, roll your eyes and close your arms over your chest, like a child who just got caught. “It’s not going to happen, my ass. Look at you!” 

“So I was wrong, who cares?” 

“I do, I love being right.” 

“He does,” Wooyoung comes into view from the kitchen, a drop of sweet doing his temple and into his cheek that Seonghwa wipes away like it’s nothing. “But I can say I called it first, remember? I’m never wrong.”

“You most certainly are,” Hwa says and you laugh at the expression Wooyoung makes to his friend, offended. Seonghwa turns to you. “He’s wrong most of the time.” 

“Okay, that’s it, you’re helping me with the weird spice rack she insists on taking.” Wooyoung takes his elder arm and pulls, making you laugh and Seonghwa gasps. 

“You’ve been working on that all afternoon!”

“She installed it herself so it’s all wonky, Hwa.” 

Gyuri screams from behind a pile of clothes. You can't even see her even though you know she's standing up. “It is not wonky, Jung Wooyoung!” 

Pursing your lips so you don't laugh at her predicament, you watch as Wooyoung silently communicates to Seonghwa that the space rack is, in fact, wonky and then you jump a little when arms close around you from behind. 

“Stop complaining, Woo, you're going to have the pleasure to install it however you want later.” Yunho's voice is close to your ear and you hug the arms that hold you, melting into the embrace. 

Gyuri laughs sharply when she registers what he said and Wooyoung makes a face at your boyfriend “I hate it here.” 

“Sure you do, Wooyoung.” You nod at him, joking even though you don’t know him that well, and Seonghwa joins the tiny laugh you let out at the face Wooyoung gives you. 

“I truly did not need a new addition to the group if I was going to get bullied by them as well.” 

You fake offense, laughing a second later and Yunho swats a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he passes by you both and into the kitchen again. Seonghwa rolls his eyes before following Wooyoung into the kitchen as well. 

Yunho breathes out, his lips finding your cheek “How are you feeling?” 

Turning to him, you smile a little. You know he’s asking about what went a little earlier today. 

“I’m good, baby,” you whisper back, leaning in a little and kissing him tenderly on the lips. He reciprocates but when you pull away you can see the concern in his eyes. “I promise. I already knew how she was going to react.” 

“Me too but that doesn’t make it any less fucked up, Princess.” 

“I know,” letting out a sigh, you turn to the living room again and the corners of your lips lift at the mess. “But I’m out of the house and I’m alright now.” 

“My mom texted me to congratulate us.” 

“Oh?” You don’t turn to him again but your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did you answer?” 

“No,” he breathes out a laugh, “but I should.”

“We can’t run from them forever, Yun,” you feel him nod against you and, finally, you turn around completely to face him. His hands find your waist, his lips curve as he watches you over and you do the same. “Also, you’re banned from my house.” 

His smile drops. 

“Huh?” 

“Sukwon doesn’t want you sleeping over.” 

“What did I do?” 

You hear someone laughing behind you and Gyuri comes into view a second later “You’re the official boyfriend now, Yunho, you lost your sleeping over privileges.” 

“I never had them to begin with!” 

“Well—” The sound of glass breaking stops her in her tracks and she goes a little pale at what it means. “Call the police, I’m committing a murder and then turning myself in.” 

And then she disappears into the kitchen as well. Faintly, you can hear Seonghwa laughing. You hold onto Yunho, fingers threading softly into the strands of hair on his neck. 

“They’re not helping us when we move in together.” 

Yunho laughs. 

“When we move in together we’re going to hire professionals.” 

“Exactly.” 

“And Seonghwa can do the interior design of the main part of the house but we can handle our room and studios by ourselves.” 

“Mhm.” 

There’s that slight glint of concern that crosses his expression again when you take in a deep breath, but you shake your head so he can let go of it. 

“We’ll be okay, Yun. We are okay.” 

You watch him swallow tightly but then he nods. There’s a lot you both should be concerned about right now but, as you hear Wooyoung scream from the kitchen and a loud smack against the wall nearest to you, you both silently decide to be in the moment. 

It doesn’t really matter what hardships you go through, as long as you’re together. 

“Against all odds,” you insist, “we’ll be alright.” 

I love them and I'm so sad to let them go but hey! that's life! If you read all the way down hear, thank you so, so much. Don't be afraid to go into my askbox to make comments, suggestions, etc! I will take everything into account for my other stories. Thank you!

© jensthwa, 2025.

[peachhcs]

will’s 20th → social media post

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

a happy birthday post from samy to will :)

will’s birthday SNUCK UP on me so i’m sorry i'm posting this a day late :(( but i saw the ask and im cooking on a fic rn too!! so like dw!!! i am posting for will's bday!!! just a day behind :(( ugh school is so busy atm that i haven't had time to properly write anything at all

au masterlist

samyhughes a huge happy birthday to my favorite person. 20’s never looked so good on you 🩷 thank you for everything and being my rock. i wouldn’t know what i’d do without you. 🩷

view all comments

hannahduke SO CUTE AWW THE THROWBACKS

hannahduke mom and dad fr

| samyhughes LMAOOO please

nick_moldenhauer these are crazyyy pics wow

| samyhughes gotta give the fans something :)

| user1 PLEASE she knows us so well

user2 awww happy birthday will!!!

user3 i love them smmm

edwards.73 HAPY BIRTHDAY OLD MAN welcome to the club

| _willsmith2 thanks man!!

markestapa where do you find these 😭

| samyhughes facebook is my bestie

lhughes_06 20?!!! wow i feel ancient

| samyhughes u are ancient

| lhughes_06 leave me alone

jackhughes happy bday smitty celebrate hard today

| _willsmith2 oh i will

gabeperreault44 OH HELL NAHHHH why am i in this 😭😭

| samyhughes #committed #rolleagles

| gabeperreault44 i hate you

| _willsmith2 i think it's a great picture

ryan.leno_4 why would you do this to us

| samyhughes do what??

| ryan.leno_4 happy birthday to smitty ig

| _willsmith2 damn tough love

user4 these throwbacks are SENDING me

user5 the boys being mad about pic 3 HAHAH

jacob_fowler24 ok where is me

| samyhughes sorry jake :(((

aram_minnetian that photo haunts me i can't

| samyhughes remember when i took it??

| aram_minnetian yeah i do actually

thombordeleau_ HATS OFF TO PUP!! welcome to the old club

| _willsmith2 says the 23 year old who pretends he's still in college

| eklund_72 DAMN

| thombordeleau_ ok wtf

rutgermcgroarty happy birthday king

| _willsmith2 thank ya rut!!

_willvote wasn't i in the bday post last year too???

| ryan.leno_4 YES we were smh

| samyhughes hey not my fault y'all lived together for two years

eklund_72 happy birthday little pup mwah mwah

| _willsmith2 thank u!

emmagcooper these are so funny wow

| samyhughes perks of being my best friend for 20 years and having ancient photos

blairestevenson y'all are sooo cute aw

| samyhughes i love u

user6 the rare photos she must have of all of them...

user7 i need samy to make a spam account where she just posts rare photos of the guys for us

zeevbuium28 what a studddd happy birthday smitty

| _willsmith2 thank yaaa z right back at ya

drewf2 me when i see myself in the post 😳

| samyhughes surprise shawttyyyy

_quinnhughes u always do ppl so dirty with these

| samyhughes and what about it???

graceccsmith aww love!! so cute samy!

| samyhughes i love u gracie!!!

mackcelebrini SMITTY RARES SMITTY RARES

| _willsmith2 they'll be posting these realll soon

jameshagens_4 obligatory girlfriend bday post

| samyhughes shhhh

teddystiga_ #commitment season

| samyhughes #rolleagles

marcieevans11 happy birthday to the guy my best friend was in love with and never wanted to admitted and always said it was nothing

| samyhughes NOW not too much now

| ryan.leno_4 GAGGED OMG

| gabeperreault44 too good wow

| drewf2 is she lying???

| aram_minnetian CLOCKED HER TEA

| _willsmith2 oh!

user8 PLEASE MARCIE'S COMMENT

| user9 oh i knowwwww

_willsmith2 i love you so much you mean the world to me ❤️ so glad i get to celebrate with you

| samyhughes i love you so much ur so awesome and amazing

[elfanonymous]

a tiktoker posted that biden should “remember his squatters rights” and its legitimately the ONLY funny meme ive seen about the election

I love to imagine biden sitting in his office with all the lights off pretending hes not in there on jan 20th 💀

[kaleidomoony]

CHARACTER ANALYSIS OF THE DISTORTIONIST

Featuring Market pliers

(CW: I TRY MY BEST TO STAY AS CANON AS POSSIBLE, BUT THE STORY HAS SO LITTLE INFO, SO PLS TAKE EVERYTHING WITH A GRAIN OF SALT)

Good evening everybody! Welcome back to another episode of Luce talking about their hyperfixation on The Distortionist and trying to milk as much information as possible related to a fucking almost 6 minute MV made by a vocaloid producer which most likely doesn’t care about the characters anymore (which is honestly ok, PLEASE don’t attack Ghost in any way for not giving more content, as they don’t owe us anything)

To understand a character as complex yet as unknown as Christopher, we have to try dechiper his actions and every minuscule thing he did, both in the MV and the small rants Ghost has made years ago about this character. (I wanted to write about more characters, but there is barely any lore about the antagonist, which ofc makes every other character’s lore even more impossible to understand or learn). As even a character has the name “Actions Speak Louder Than Words” which is very true in this context, as the way people act, even when pretending, always present their true colours, no matter if it’s all a lie or not. (WARNING! I know Ghost made Christopher for the haha funnies, but these were 3AM rambles cuz I had a vision and decided to analyze this guy like an English Teacher analyzing why the carpet is red even though it has no symbolism yet they always find ONE SINGLE MEANING TO EVERYTHING)

Personality and mindset

Christopher is, just as you’ve seen in the MV, a metaphor for a manipulative person who always gaslights his way out of things (ex: how he broke the mirrors, which we’ll talk about that in more detail on the next heading), which obviously makes him a very awful person, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Most don’t think about this, but people aren’t born awful, they learn in life to be like that, whether it’s from people they trust, trying to fit in, or as a defence mechanism. In the rant, it is explained that Christopher tries to trick Lilia (MC of The Distortionist game) into remaining in his manor. From what I understood, Christopher isn’t an awful person because he finds joy in that, he’s neither a grumpy, evil villain who wants to ruin others’ joy, nor a sadistic ‘yandere’, but he is an insecure teenage boy who finds the only way in ‘winning’ life is to be selfish. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he doesn’t care about anybody, from what I remember from an old tumblr post by Ghost that I tried to find desperately for this analysis (but couldn’t find), I remember somebody asked them what the difference about Ray from Communications case 1 and Christopher is, and Ghost said that Christopher can feel care and even love for another person (PLEASE TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT SINCE I’M NOT SURE IF MY MIND INVENTED IT OR IF IT IS TRUE, So please don’t take my info as canon). I believe Christopher learned the hard way how to keep others ‘close’ to him (probably due to childhood trauma idk), which is the reason why he’s manipulative and has a habit of gaslighting. He’s also seen as being very emotionally immature, blaming everything and everyone on things he’s done, which is most likely given by both his age, status and decade he was alive in. (Him being a young man, not even an adult ; living in a mansion which most likely means he’s rich, and we all know that people who get fed with a golden spoon without caring where the golden spoon came from act ; he’s most likely from the late 19th-early 20th century, and because of how close minded people were back then, he most likely believed how he was acting was ‘alright’, and even if he knew that he was harming others by how he was acting, he still felt ‘entitled’/too insecure to stop it. Overall, he’s not a good person, but he has a reason for the way he acts. He’s not pure evil as the fandom makes him look, but he’s still a VERY awful tough cookie.

Mirrors and Symbolisms (MV)

This is only my opinion, as there’s no canon reason for the music video and what happened there. Christopher looks more ‘charming’ and has a more ‘appealing’ character design compared to other characters for a very clever reason (i think this is the only canon thing IDK THO). His face, even if it has a cheshire cat smile, looks relatively “handsome” to most (personally I don’t find him handsome, but by the way everyone in the fandom had at least a crush on him once in their lifetime, I could probably safely say he’s handsome, or charming), with his ‘rosy’ (charred black) cheeks and his big eyelashes, as well as his fluffy hair, and much more, for the reason that he’s supposed to gain other people’s trust more easily, and in psychology, everyone (even animals) are more attracted to people/things we deem ‘beautiful’, since they don’t appear as hostile as others. Christopher is meant to appear like a nice chap who would salute you everyday, but only to have an ugly side, which is his charred version which we can see at the end of the mv). The twisted spine the fandom always jokes about is not scoliosis, but is a metaphor of how he twists his words to make him appear like the victim/innocent one in the situation. The mirrors, although unlikely to be canon, is a metaphor for the people who see past his ‘gentlemanly’ facade, and trying to show his true self (which is the charred version of him I mentioned earlier). The end of the mv is more quiet as a way to symbolise that the mc aka the viewer doesn’t believe his words anymore, and as a final grip to try and get the viewer back, he chants the same words that the viewer got used to as being lies, and we finally leave him to ‘rot’ in misery (unless you keep listening/watching the mv lol)

IN CONCLUSION

The character is still very vague, so don’t be ashamed to create as many versions of him as possible, it’s quite amazing to imagine a character that’s morally grey (like Christopher) as either a chaotic boy who only wants to have fun or a grumpy old man. The sky is the limit! And I have to admit, Christopher is probably mischaracterised here too, as I’m not his creator, Ghost is, and they know better than me about this guy.

On a final note, Subscribe to ChrissyPie so we can defeat T Frances

~This is Kaleidomoony signing out

[ghostlystuffidk]

Explaining myself for why I choose ruddiger to be a snake rather than a raccoon in my headcanons (even though no one asked!)

(FYI one of my headcanons is that varian was born a girl and is pretending to be a boy kinda like mulan??? If you know what I mean???)

Raccoons were brought to Europe in the 20th century Tangled is set before the 20th century.

There is a symbol called Ouroboros that is a snake eating its tail, the symbol has ties into alchemy and represents death, rebirth and journey (if I’m not mistaken.)

I was also inspired by Eve from the bible as she is the mother of all living however I wanted to make it so Varians creations saw her as the mother of all.

The Ouroboros symbol goes hard.

…yeah that’s all that I can remember I made the original post late at night for me so I forgot to write down all my reasons ☹️

(Edit: it’s now also inspired by Medusa cuz I thought “lol how cool would it be if she was able to turn people to stone like Medusa? That’d be cool af.”

[timetravellingtelepath]

Preserve history and historical buildings even if we don't necessarily agree with them... It's the theme of memory again and a faint, perhaps unintentional, reference to the cultural revolution and destruction of the 4 olds (culture, religion etc).

While I don't know enough about Japanese history to comment on what the fighting was exactly over and Google isn't being particularly helpful (there is a murakami city in Japan, but not China, and no linjue temple... So perhaps allegories to real places. Judging by the clothing, it's at least 20th century and since these are the impacts of more recent events, something similar to the cultural revolution though more local scale occurred). The timelines don't perfectly add up (depends on the architects ages), but for the purpose of the post, let's pretend they do.

If I'm reading the subtext right and this is an allegory to that chaotic time, then the manhua is telling us preservation of culture is important but revitalisation is even more so. It sounds obvious, but deliberate destruction happens all the time to show a society is moving forward and is overcoming the past. Sometimes it's necessary (think Berlin wall) other times it's detrimental to historical understanding and acceptance of the past. Many times the architectural and societal upheaval incorporate the old but in a dehumanising and disrespectful way - - such as the crusades damaging (or if it's too beautiful to, sticking beliefs over) pre-existing Islamic architecture.

This shift in attitude is progressive for these characters at a time when China was rapidly transforming (70s+) and soon to expand it's trade to the world (90s). China saw modernist construction on a rapid pace in the Greater Bay Area, so 'transforming' rather than brown-fielding redundant buildings is forward thinking and creates points of interest that draws people in. After a time of destruction is reconstruction, and here we are being told not to neglect the past, that it still influences us today (well we definitely know that's the case with CXS waiting for his parents and LG diving back for Xiaoshi). But further than that, it's rebuilding and repurposing what we had to make a new present to live in. It's another way of saying; we'll always remember, but it's time to move on.

[weekendpassrevoked]

Easy's Songbird - Chapter 20

authors note: some bs i pulled out of my ass so i can properly transition to the beast the next 3-4 chapters are gonna be lol

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Camp Mackall, North Carolina, June 20th, 1943

Everyday Isabella was in the army it reminded her more and more of the sayings her mother would tell her.

When she was learning directly from Colonel Sink, she would remember “El Diablo sabe más por viejo que por Diablo.”

When she was doing whatever stupid maneuver Sobel came up with, it was “Uno no pide un favor con el revólver en la mano.”

Her favorite was personally when she would close her mouth tight and drag her hand over it as if she was zipping them closed.

All this to say, her mother would hate the army.

Too many rules, too many men shouting, and not enough common sense. 

Still, Isabella liked to think her mother was proud of her. Maybe not thrilled that her daughter was jumping out of airplanes and patching up bullet wounds, but proud all the same. Proud that she stood her ground. That she stayed kind.

That she kept her mouth shut when it mattered most.

Because if there was one thing Isabella had learned in the last few weeks—especially now that she was juggling both field training and S-2 intelligence work—it was that silence could be the sharpest weapon in her arsenal. Not out of fear, but out of precision. Observation. Timing.

The medic didn’t speak unless it was to save a life, and the analyst didn’t speak unless it was to confirm one.

Isabella Vega, as it turned out, had become both.

The balance wasn’t easy. One minute she was hauling a stretcher across uneven terrain with Gene, sweat stinging her eyes and mud up to her calves, and the next she was hunched over a coded German dispatch in the corner of the S-2 office, decoding troop movements with only a half-sharpened pencil and a cup of water. Nixon had quickly found out that coffee only made her sleepy after he found her knocked out at her desk, much to her embarrassment and his amusement.

Sometimes it felt like she was living two lives. In one, she was Birdie—the medic, the kid sister of Easy Company, the one who sang when the fire died low and patched up busted knuckles after training brawls. In the other, she was Corporal Vega—linguist, analyst, quietly pulling threads from intercepted messages while the officers pretended she was just another cog in the machine.

Both were true. Both were exhausting.

Today had been one of the harder days. Morning drills under Sobel’s gruff eye, then a mid-day scramble to assist with a real twisted ankle during a live-fire run, and now—her current reality—perched at a rickety desk in the S-2 office, redacting sections of a translated message for the fifth time because Nixon said it “read too academic.”

She was chewing on the edge of her eraser when Nixon finally looked up from his papers.

“You ever take a break, kid?

She glanced up, eyes dry. “Not if I can help it.”

He grunted, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve got something coming down the pipeline. Big one. You’ll be looped in early.”

That got her attention.

“Bigger than Sicily?”

His gaze flicked up, sharp. “Don’t ask questions like that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

But she already knew the answer. The tension in the camp lately, the increasingly vague orders, the whispered rumors among the officers—it was all pointing toward something massive. Something decisive. And she was being pulled deeper into the storm.

“Pack up,” Nixon said finally. “You're being reassigned for the next forty-eight hours. Temporary transfer to regimental HQ up in Raleigh. They want your analysis on some comms that came in from London.”

Isabella blinked. “Alone?”

“Not alone. But without Easy. You’ll bunk with the WAC unit posted there. Should be familiar territory.”

She nodded slowly, heart sinking a little. Forty-eight hours away from her boys. From Easy.

From home.

—

She didn’t say anything about the assignment as she returned to the barracks. Just smiled when Luz made some joke about how she was “starting to look like Nixon’s favorite child” and dodged Liebgott’s probing questions with a well-timed comment about his godawful handwriting.

That night, while everyone else snored or muttered in their sleep, she packed her things quietly, folding her medic satchel next to the folder Nixon had handed her under the table. The barracks smelled like sweat and damp boots and home. She hated leaving it—even for two days. 

Quietly, she grabbed her things and headed out of the barracks. Isabella took a quick peek back at the men before closing the door, saying a quick prayer for them before leaving.

The WAC quarters were unfamiliar—too clean, too quiet, too... feminine. After months of living with men whose idea of personal hygiene often stopped at "less muddy than yesterday," the meticulously maintained bunks and subtle scent of powder and perfume felt almost alien.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she approached the car assigned to drive her all the way to Raleigh. She quickly greeted the driver and they headed off in a cloud of smoke hard to see in the dark.

Isabella sat on the edge of her assigned cot, uniform still crisp despite the early hour, her small bag of personal items at her feet. The women around her moved with efficient purpose, some nodding politely as they passed, others watching with barely concealed curiosity.

"You must be Corporal Vega."

She looked up to find a woman in a WAC uniform standing before her, dark hair pulled back into a perfect regulation style, insignia identifying her as a lieutenant.

"Yes, ma'am," Isabella replied, rising to attention.

"Lieutenant Emerson. I've been told to expect you." Her eyes flickered over Isabella's uniform, noting the jump wings and medic insignia. "Quite the collection of qualifications you're sporting."

Isabella remained at attention, unsure of the proper protocol with another female officer. Her experience with military women had been limited to brief encounters at medical training facilities before she had left for Toccoa.

"At ease, Corporal. We're not quite as rigid here as your paratroopers." There was a hint of amusement in Lieutenant Emerson's voice. "I understand you're here for a special assignment with intelligence."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Your workspace is being prepared. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. The women here have been briefed that you're working on a classified matter and won't pry." She paused, her expression becoming slightly more personable. "Though I can't promise they won't be curious. We don't get many female paratroopers through here."

"I understand, ma'am."

Lieutenant Emerson nodded, then hesitated. "If I may ask, off the record... what's it like? Being the only woman in an airborne company?"

Isabella considered her response carefully. "Different than I expected, ma'am. Better in some ways. Harder in others."

"I can imagine." The lieutenant checked her watch. "Major Horton will expect you at 0800. Building C, room 204. I suggest you take the time to settle in and grab breakfast before reporting."

With that, the lieutenant departed, leaving Isabella alone again amid the unfamiliar surroundings.

"So you're the paratrooper."

Isabella turned to find another WAC approaching—this one younger, closer to her own age, with bright eyes and a friendly smile.

"Sergeant Kellianne Dixon," she introduced herself. "But everyone calls me Kelli."

"Corporal Isabella Vega," Isabella replied, accepting the offered handshake.

"I know." Kelli's smile widened at Isabella's surprise. "Word travels fast when there's a woman doing something no other woman has done before. You're something of a legend among us."

Isabella felt her cheeks warm. "Hardly a legend."

"Are you kidding? Project Blitz is all anyone could talk about when the rumors first started. A woman paratrooper? And not just any paratrooper, but one working in intelligence too?" Becca lowered her voice. "Some of the girls were convinced it was all propaganda. Until now."

Isabella hadn't considered how her role might be perceived by other women in service. In fact, Isabella had no idea that Project Blitz was known outside of the 101st. The idea that they saw her as some kind of trailblazer was both flattering and slightly uncomfortable.

"It's just a job," she said finally. "Not so different from what you do here."

Kelli laughed. "Except for the jumping out of airplanes part. And the living with 150 men part. And the—"

"Okay, maybe a little different," Isabella conceded with a small smile.

"Breakfast?" Kelli offered. "I can show you around before you have to report."

Isabella nodded, grateful for the friendly face. "Lead the way."

The intelligence office at regimental headquarters was larger and more formal than Nixon's cluttered workspace. Maps lined the walls, desks arranged in neat rows, officers and enlisted personnel moving purposefully between stations. The air hummed with quiet efficiency, punctuated by the clack of typewriters and murmur of low conversations.

Major Horton, whom Isabella recognized from her initial assessment at Camp Mackall, looked up from his desk as she entered and reported as ordered.

"Corporal Vega. Right on time." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, sit."

As she settled into the offered seat, she noticed several folders stacked neatly before him, each marked with various classification stamps.

"Lieutenant Nixon speaks highly of your analytical abilities," Major Horton began, his tone businesslike but not unfriendly. "Particularly your work on patterns in communication and, of course, your language skills."

"Thank you, sir."

"Your assignment here is straightforward but sensitive." He tapped the top folder. "We've received a series of intercepted communications from our counterparts in London. German and Italian transmissions, primarily, with what appears to be embedded code work. Most of it has been translated already, but we're seeing inconsistencies in the patterns—possible indicators of deception."

Isabella nodded, her interest piqued. "You want a fresh analysis."

"Precisely. Sometimes a new set of eyes can spot what others have missed." He slid the folder toward her. "You'll be working in a secure room down the hall. Everything stays there—no notes leave, no discussions outside that room."

"Understood, sir."

Major Horton leaned forward slightly, his expression becoming more serious. "This isn't just an exercise, Corporal. Your analysis will be incorporated into actual operational planning. Lives depend on accurate intelligence."

The weight of the responsibility settled on her shoulders, but Isabella met his gaze steadily. "I understand, sir."

He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "Lieutenant Wilson will show you to your workspace and brief you on security protocols."

As she followed the lieutenant down the hallway, Isabella felt a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. This was different from her work with Nixon, which had still maintained some connection to her life with Easy Company. Here, she was fully immersed in the intelligence world, her other identity temporarily set aside.

The secure room was small but well-equipped—a solid desk, good lighting, reference materials on shelves lining one wall. Lieutenant Wilson explained the security procedures briefly: all materials stayed in the room, the door remained locked at all times, and she would be given scheduled breaks for meals and rest.

"Questions?" he asked as he prepared to leave her to her work.

Isabella shook her head. "No, sir."

"Very well. Someone will come for you at noon for lunch." He paused at the door. "Good luck, Corporal."

Left alone with the classified materials, Isabella took a deep breath and opened the first folder. The initial documents were intercepted German communications, similar to what she'd worked with before but more extensive. She scanned them quickly, getting a feel for the content before diving deeper.

As she worked, the outside world gradually faded away. The familiar rhythm of analysis took over—translating, comparing, identifying patterns, flagging anomalies. She had always been good with patterns, she had a knack for repetition although her disadvantage with numbers would sometimes add an error or two into her work. The rhythm of the repetition and patterns felt a lot like reading sheet music, and she got lost into her work. Time slipped by unnoticed as she filled pages with notes, cross-referencing between documents, building a mental map of the intelligence picture.

Hours later, a knock at the door startled her from her concentration. Lieutenant Wilson had returned, informing her it was noon. Isabella blinked in surprise, having lost all track of time.

The mess hall was another reminder of how different this assignment was. Unlike the raucous, crowded tables of Easy Company's dining area, the officers' mess at headquarters was relatively quiet, conversations conducted in measured tones, silverware clinking gently against plates.

Kelli waved her over to a table where several other WAC’s were seated, their curious gazes following Isabella as she approached with her tray.

"How's the secret mission going?" Becca asked with a teasing smile as Isabella sat down.

"Can't say," Isabella replied automatically, then softened it with a small smile. "But it's... interesting."

"Everything here is 'interesting' and 'can't say,'" one of the other women commented wryly. "You'll fit right in."

The conversation flowed more easily than Isabella had expected, the women asking about her training, her experiences as a medic, carefully avoiding anything that might touch on classified matters. It was strange, talking with other women after so long in the exclusively male environment of Easy Company. Their references, their humor, their perspectives—all subtly different from what she'd grown accustomed to.

"Do you miss it?" Becca asked suddenly. "Home, I mean. Your family."

Isabella hesitated, the question catching her off guard. Among the men of Easy, homesickness was acknowledged but rarely discussed directly. It was too raw, too personal.

"Every day," she admitted finally. "But Easy Company—my unit—they've become a kind of family too."

The women nodded in understanding, several exchanging knowing glances.

"It's the same here," Kelli said. "Different from home, but... you find your people."

"It’s all men?" another WAC asked.

Isabella nodded. "All of them."

"Must be tough," the woman commented. "Being the only woman."

Isabella shrugged. "It was, at first. But now... they're just my brothers. Annoying sometimes, protective others, but mostly just... there. Reliable."

"Brothers," Kelli repeated with a smile. "That's a good way to put it."

As lunch concluded and Isabella prepared to return to her assigned work, she found herself reflecting on the conversation. She'd never articulated her relationship with Easy Company quite that way before, even to herself. But it was true—they had become her brothers in all the ways that mattered. Family chosen by circumstance rather than blood, but family nonetheless.

The afternoon passed in much the same way as the morning, deep in concentration over the intercepted communications. But now, as she worked, Isabella found her analytical approach shifting slightly. Reading between the lines, looking for the human element behind the coded messages—what were these German and Italian officers thinking, feeling, fearing?

By the time Lieutenant Wilson returned to escort her to dinner, Isabella had filled several pages with notes and was beginning to see a pattern emerging from the seemingly disparate communications.

"Making progress?" he asked as they walked toward the mess hall.

"Yes, sir," she replied, careful not to share specifics. "It's coming together."

That evening, back in the WAC quarters, Isabella found herself unexpectedly drawn into their social circle. After months of male companionship, the feminine energy was both foreign and comfortingly familiar. They talked about home, about their work (in carefully vague terms), about the books they missed reading and the music they hoped to hear again when the war ended.

It reminded her of evenings with Sina, of the easy camaraderie she'd once taken for granted. These women understood certain things the men of Easy never could—the unique challenges of being female in a military designed by and for men, the balancing act between maintaining femininity and meeting the demands of service.

Yet even as she enjoyed their company, Isabella felt the quiet pull of absence. She missed Gene's steady presence, Luz's irreverent humor, Liebgott's sharp observations, Malarkey's earnest questions. She missed the familiar sounds and smells of her barracks, the rhythms of Easy Company life that had become her new normal.

Two worlds, equally real, equally important. The challenge wasn't choosing between them, she realized, but learning to move fluidly between them—carrying pieces of each wherever she went.

That night, as she lay in the unfamiliar bunk listening to the soft breathing of the women around her, Isabella's thoughts turned to what waited across the ocean. Sicily, according to the intelligence she'd been analyzing. An invasion that would put theory into practice, training into reality.

When that day came, these separate worlds—medic and analyst, Easy Company and intelligence operations—would collide in ways she couldn't fully anticipate. She would need to draw on every skill, every experience, every relationship she'd cultivated.

But for now, in the quiet darkness of the WAC quarters, Isabella allowed herself a moment of simple gratitude. For the opportunity to serve in these diverse capacities. For the chance to contribute her unique skills to the war effort. For the relationships—with Easy Company, with Nixon, and now with these women—that sustained her through the challenges.

The second day of her temporary assignment passed much like the first, immersed in the detailed work of intelligence analysis. By mid-afternoon, Isabella had compiled her findings into a concise report, identifying what she believed was a deliberate deception campaign in the German communications—false information designed to obscure the true defensive preparations along Sicily's coastline.

Tomorrow would bring more analysis, more piecing together of the complex puzzle before her. But tonight, she would rest, carrying both her worlds with her into dreams of home.

---------------------------------------------------

She presented her analysis to Major Horton with the quiet confidence she'd developed working with Nixon. The major listened attentively, occasionally asking clarifying questions but otherwise allowing her to walk through her reasoning without interruption.

"Impressive work, Corporal," he said when she had finished. "Your perspective on the potential deception elements is particularly valuable. Lieutenant Nixon was right about your analytical capabilities."

"Thank you, sir."

"I understand you're due back at Camp Mackall tomorrow morning," he continued, gathering her report. "A transport has been arranged. 0600 departure."

Isabella nodded, a mixture of relief and pride washing over her. The assignment had been challenging but fulfilling—a chance to prove herself in a different arena, to contribute directly to operational planning through her unique skills.

"One more thing," Major Horton added as she prepared to leave. "Colonel Sink requested an update on your progress with the intelligence training. I'll be informing him that you've exceeded expectations."

The unexpected praise caught her off guard. "Thank you, sir."

Major Horton nodded dismissively, already turning his attention to other matters. "That will be all, Corporal."

That evening, as she packed her few belongings in preparation for her return to Camp Mackall, Isabella found herself approached by Kelli once more.

"So you're heading back tomorrow," the sergeant said, sitting beside her on the empty bunk.

"Back to mud, mosquitoes, and men with questionable hygiene," Isabella confirmed with a small smile.

Kelli laughed. "You almost sound happy about it."

"I guess I am," Isabella admitted. "I mean, this has been... nice. Different. But Easy is..."

"Home," Kelli finished for her.

Isabella nodded, surprised by how right the word felt. "Yeah. Home."

"Well, don't be a stranger," Kelli said, handing her a small envelope. "Some of us get weekend passes to town occasionally. Maybe we could meet up sometime."

Isabella accepted the envelope, touched by the gesture. Inside was a note with Kelli's information—a way to maintain contact beyond this brief assignment.

"I'd like that," she said sincerely.

As she settled into her bunk for her final night away from Easy Company, Isabella found her thoughts returning to the dual nature of her service. The past forty-eight hours had given her a glimpse of a different path—one where her intelligence work was her primary function, where she operated in the structured world of headquarters rather than the chaotic environment of a combat unit.

It wasn't a path she wanted, she realized. The analytical work was stimulating, yes, but it was the integration of her roles—medic and intelligence asset, caregiver and observer—that gave her service its unique value. Her place was with Easy Company, balancing both aspects of her duty, leveraging her diverse skills in direct support of the men who would jump with her into whatever waited ahead.

Tomorrow she would return to Camp Mackall, to the familiar faces and routines of Easy Company. She would resume her training with Gene, her sessions with Nixon, her careful navigation between her worlds. And she would do so with renewed clarity about her purpose—not torn between roles but strengthened by their integration.

The truck rattled over the uneven road, jostling Isabella against the wooden bench as it made its way back to Camp Mackall. She watched the landscape pass by through the open back, the early morning light filtering through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the ground.

Sicily waited across the ocean. Combat loomed on the horizon. But tonight, Isabella slept soundly, confident in her path forward.

------------------------------‐----------------------------

Her mind was already shifting gears, moving from the analytical focus of the past forty-eight hours back to the practical concerns of Easy Company life. Had there been training injuries while she was gone? Would Nixon want an immediate report on her temporary assignment? Had Sobel invented some new form of torment in her absence?

As the truck turned onto the familiar road leading into camp, Isabella felt a surprising surge of anticipation. Two days away had been longer than she'd expected, the separation from her unit more noticeable than she'd anticipated.

The vehicle rolled to a stop near the company area, and Isabella jumped down, bag in hand. The camp was already awake and active, men moving between buildings, the sounds of morning drills carrying from the training fields.

She made her way toward the barracks, nodding to soldiers from other companies who passed by. As she approached Easy's area, a familiar figure emerged from the doorway—Gene, medical bag in hand, clearly headed out for morning sick call.

He spotted her immediately, his face breaking into a rare, genuine smile.

"Welcome back, chérie," he greeted as she approached. "Camp's been quiet without you."

"Quiet, huh?" she replied, falling into step beside him. "Should I be worried?"

Gene shook his head. "Just the usual. Sobel had us running tactical exercises yesterday. No major injuries, though Luz nearly took a branch to the face during a night patrol."

The simple exchange—this easy return to their professional shorthand—felt unexpectedly comforting after two days in unfamiliar surroundings.

"Anything I should know about?" she asked, gesturing toward his medical bag.

"Just routine. Spence has a persistent cough I've been monitoring. Randleman needed stitches after a training accident, but it's healing clean." He glanced at her, his expression shifting to quiet assessment. "How was your assignment?"

Isabella shrugged, keeping her response deliberately vague. "Different. Interesting. Lots of paperwork."

Gene nodded, accepting the non-answer without pressing further—one of the many reasons she valued their partnership.

"Nixon's looking for you," he added as they neared the medical station. "Said to send you his way when you got back."

She wasn't surprised. Nixon would want a full debriefing on her work at headquarters, especially given the nature of the intelligence she'd been analyzing.

"I'll find him after I drop my things," she promised.

As they parted ways, Isabella continued toward the barracks, eager to set down her bag and reconnect with the familiar rhythms of company life. She pushed open the door to find the space largely empty—most of the men already at morning PT or assigned duties—except for Liebgott, who was seated on his bunk, cleaning his rifle with methodical precision.

He looked up as she entered, his expression shifting from surprise to something more complex.

"Well, look who decided to come back," he said, setting aside his cleaning rod. "Thought maybe they'd permanently reassigned you to officer country."

There was something in his tone—not quite accusation, but a hint of... what? Annoyance? Concern? It was hard to pinpoint.

"Just temporary," she replied, moving to her bunk and setting down her bag. "Paperwork and meetings. Nothing exciting."

Liebgott studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Two days for paperwork, huh?"

Isabella met his gaze steadily, recognizing the challenge beneath the casual question. "That's right."

A beat of silence passed between them, laden with unspoken tensions. Then, abruptly, Liebgott's expression cleared.

"Well, you missed a hell of a show last night," he said, returning to his rifle. "Luz did an impression of Sobel that nearly got him court-martialed when Sobel walked in. Would've been worth it, though."

Just like that, the moment of tension dissolved, replaced by the easy camaraderie that had become their normal state. Isabella smiled, grateful for the return to familiar ground.

"Sorry I missed it," she said, beginning to unpack her few belongings. "Anything else happen while I was gone?"

Liebgott shrugged. "Usual bullshit. Oh, and Gene had to stitch up Bull's arm after he caught it on some barbed wire. Made a mess, but Gene fixed him up good."

Isabella nodded, making a mental note to check on Bull later. "Everyone else alright?"

"Guarnere got a letter from home. His brother's shipping out to Europe. Skip won twenty bucks off Penkala in poker, then lost thirty to Martin." Liebgott paused, then added with a slight smirk, "And we all learned that you apparently snore."

She shot him a glare. "I do not."

"How would you know? You're asleep," he countered. "Luz said it sounds like 'a small dog dreaming of chasing rabbits.' His words, not mine."

Isabella rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. This—the teasing, the everyday updates, the shared inside jokes—was what she'd missed most during her brief assignment away.

"Anyway," Liebgott continued, seemingly satisfied that the natural order had been restored, "Nixon's been asking about you. Twice yesterday, once already this morning."

"So I've heard," she replied, closing her now-empty bag. "Guess I should go find him."

Liebgott nodded, returning to his rifle cleaning. But as she turned to leave, he spoke again, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of something more serious.

"Easy wasn't the same without you, Birdie," he said, not looking up from his work. "Too damn quiet."

The simple statement caught her off guard—a rare moment of direct sentiment from Liebgott, who typically buried such feelings beneath layers of sarcasm and sharp wit.

"Well," she replied after a moment, eyes fond and ears burning, "I'm back now."

He glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly. "Yeah. You are."

As Isabella made her way across the camp toward the S-2 office, she found herself reflecting on those simple exchanges—with Gene, with Liebgott. The ease with which she'd slipped back into Easy Company life, the quiet acknowledgment of her absence, the unspoken welcome of her return.

This, she realized, was what had been missing during her temporary assignment. Not just the familiar faces and routines, but the sense of belonging—of being known, valued, missed.

Colonel Sink had once told her that a soldier's greatest strength came not from physical prowess or tactical skill, but from the bonds formed with their unit. "When the bullets start flying," he'd said, "you fight for the ones beside you. Not for some abstract cause, but for the flesh and blood soldiers sharing your foxhole."

She understood that now more deeply than ever. Her analytical skills made her valuable to intelligence operations, her medical training made her essential to the company's combat readiness, but it was her place within Easy—the relationships, the trust, the shared experiences—that defined her service most fundamentally.

As she approached the S-2 office, preparing to report to Nixon on her temporary assignment, Isabella carried that understanding with her. She would continue to balance her dual roles, to move between her worlds as duty required. But she would do so anchored by the knowledge that she had found her place—her home—with Easy Company.

taglist: @malarkgirlypop, @darling-heffron

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

translations: 'el Diablo sabe mas por viejo que por Diabo' - The Devil knows more because he's old than from being the Devil

'uno no pide un favor con el revolver en la mano' - One doesn't ask a favor with a revolver in hand

---------------------------------------------------

[intothedraft]

Chapter 3, Part 1: Worst Birthday Ever

Our protagonist and her sister have been kidnapped. Their social worker is dead. The source of the mysterious noises remains unknown.

Time for a flashback!

It was not easy for Layane to remember the events that had happened before she had been abandoned at the care home, but a few disconnected memories swam through her mind.

Wait... is it a flashback?

The whole point of the timestamps is to ground whatever is happening, so why does the chapter open like this? Just get on with it!

I do love that Layane's parents abandoned their kids right outside the care home, like they'd done some research and figured it was the best place for them to grow up. I'm sure that made sense to me as a teenager.

She knew that the day after whatever had happened to their house had happened it had been her seventh birthday.

This is phrased in such a way that I can't tell if Layane's birthday is 20th or 21st September. I know this won't make a difference to the story, but why bother mentioning it?

I assume she means her birthday is the 20th, so she was abandoned on her seventh birthday.

The childishly excited seven-year-old Layane had not been able to sleep.

Again... we know Layane is a small child. The timestamps told us. And then the narration told us again. You do not need to hammer it in any more, the nail has already fallen through the other side of the fucking board.

Layane hears someone at the door, and her father answers it. She doesn't realise it's odd for someone to be coming round at midnight, because she's six, and carries on playing.

She hears two voices: her father's voice, and an unknown woman. She ignores them until the voices start to sound worried, and then she stops playing and leaves her room to check what's going on.

Her initial thought had been that perhaps this woman was bringing over a present for her, and she wanted to catch a glimpse.

This would have made a lot more sense as the motivation for Layane to follow the voices, rather than ignoring them until they sounded 'worried', but never mind.

Layane peers down through the bannisters, and sees a beautiful, blond-haired woman in a huge coat. Her hair is long, which I guess means characters are allowed to have hair that is both long AND blond in this version. The woman is tall, around a head taller than Layane's father, and Layane has no idea who she is.

The woman’s voice was light and she had a strong accent that Layane couldn’t place. She couldn’t hear a lot of what she was saying, or perhaps she simply could no longer remember it. The only words she could remember didn’t make anything any clearer to her, but rather confused her further, “She’s very angry.”

Yeah, sure, Layane can still remember a conversation she had over a month before this about a fucking box, but she can't remember what this woman was saying to her father the night her life was destroyed.

I know, I know, I said I was going to stop questioning that. But still... what is the point of framing the flashbacks with timestamps if they are written like this?

Moving on. I wonder who 'she' is. HMMMMM.

Layane tries to listen in, which suggests she simply couldn't hear the conversation, and the reference to her forgetting about it in the present was completely unnecessary. Then Clemant starts crying, and Layane runs back to her room and pretends to be asleep so her parents don't catch her staying up so late.

[Layane] kept an eye on the door as she heard her mother sleepily walk over to Clemant’s crib to pick her up. As the noises receded, Layane was tempted to return to her post and listen in to her father’s conversation. However, the shutting of the front door told her that the mysterious woman had left, and that the talk was over. She quickly returned to playing with her toys, when her father came into her room.

I know she's six (or maybe seven, depending on the time) but Layane explicitly didn't want her parents to catch her up past her bedtime. Why would she go back to playing right after the front door shut?

“Can’t sleep?” he said kindly. Layane noticed that he was holding a glass of water. “No,” she giggled. Simon smiled kindly. “Well, who could blame you? You have a very exciting day tomorrow!” He walked over to her bed and sat down next to her. “Have a drink, and try to get to sleep. The quicker you fall asleep, the shorter time it will be before tomorrow.”

Me, writing every single version of this: let's drug these kids so they fall asleep!

I'm not kidding.

“Goodnight, love,” Simon said. He kissed her forehead and started to walk out of the room. “Sweet dreams.” And then Layane must have fallen asleep, because that was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the morning on the cold, gravel ground in front of the care-home.

Goodnight, kiddo. Big day tomorrow! [Drugs Layane and abandons her in front of a care home.]

What a horrible fucking birthday. You know what would have made sense, sixteen-year-old El? Having the story open on Layane's birthday. She probably hates that day.

I'm unsure why this scene includes Layane's father, rather than her mother, who was established as more important to the plot from the beginning. If this scene was reframed around Layane overhearing a 'scary' conversation between her mother and a stranger right before her parents abandoned her, and her mother caught her listening in, I could have included the 'angels are watching over you' line here. Yeah, I'd have to rejig things a bit, but this scene appearing in this chapter (as opposed to earlier) doesn't add much to the story.

Never mind. I'm pretty sure Layane's father is in this scene for one of two reasons:

I realised he was irrelevant and wanted to correct this by including one (1) scene with him, just to prove to readers he exists

I wanted this scene to be interrupted by Clemant crying, and I couldn't imagine a baby's father going to check on them at night, rather than its mother

Sad.

Anyway, we switch to the present. It's four in the morning. Layane is in the boot of a car, scouring through her memories of the day before the abandonment to try to work out what's going on.

I don't hate that. It does make sense for Layane to think back to that day to try to explain her present situation, given the letter. What doesn't make sense is interrupting Layane's kidnap with a 700 word flashback, whose only purpose is to introduce a mysterious woman who 1) isn't the focus of most of the flashback and 2) could have been mentioned earlier.

The woman, of course, became part of the Netflix Unsolved episode that is Layane's life, after Layane gave her description to the police. Unfortunately (and predictably), no one ever found her.

Layane had always thought that [the woman] would be easy to find as she looked distinctive, but soon began to assume that she had imagined her. That was the theory the police had – that something traumatic had happened to Layane and the memory had been replaced with one of a kind-looking woman appearing at the door.

Yeah... the only distinctive thing about the woman was her height. I really should have spent more time on her, rather than Layane playing with her toys and using over 30 words to say, 'The next day was Layane's birthday and she was excited'. The way Layane described her didn't particularly make her sound 'kind', either.

I'm not sure why I didn't have Layane walk downstairs and interrupt the conversation, thinking that the woman was going to give her a present. It would have made a lot more sense than this.

[The police] thought that the one line of hers that she remembered – “She is angry�� – had been a sign of this.

This leads directly on from the last paragraph and, gotta be honest, I don't know what I mean. What did the police think happened? What would this false memory of a stranger be covering up? What does Layane think it's covering up?

I don't think I could answer this question in 2010. I certainly can't now.

Anyway. Layane is quite sure the person who threw her in the boot was a man, because she heard his voice. She wonders if the woman is one of the other people Sue saw around the cars.

For the past decade, she had been working at the same assumption that the police had: that the memory of the woman had been false. Maybe even a dream. But now, when she had nothing else to go on, she used the memory to explain what might have happened. Someone, another woman, was angry with Simon. Possibly Nicola, too. They had killed them both, and abandoned Layane and Clemant outside the care-home. Why they didn’t kill the children too was a mystery, but the theory did explain why the house was full of water – the killer (or killers) wanted to destroy the evidence. What went unexplained was how they filled the house.

This is what the whole present day section of this chapter has been like so far. Layane has been kidnapped, is literally tied up in the boot of a car, has no idea where her sister is, but the chapter is just her calmly considering what happened ten years ago, in prose that reads like I'm being paid by the word.

(When I recently made a post on @gr8writingtips about shortening a 170,000 word draft to 100,000 words, a lot of people responded, "HOW?" If you, reader of this blog, were one of them, I guess now you know.)

I'm not sure where to start with the 'assumption'. This suggests that Layane's understanding of what happened to her parents went something like:

Layane, as a seven-year-old, remembers seeing a stranger talking to her dad the day her parents abandoned them. She's seven, so I assume all she knows is, "A woman came round, talked to my dad, then we were abandoned and our parents are gone."

The police look into this and can't find any evidence this woman exists, so someone (police, counsellor, social worker?) tells Layane that she must have imagined it to cover up 'something traumatic'.

Layane now thinks the woman does not exist. It's unclear what she thinks happened to her parents, but she is told something traumatic happened and seems to agree with this assessment.

For some reason, despite this, she still thinks her parents are alive.

Over the years Layane starts to hate her parents. She hardly views them as her parents, just two assholes who abandoned them.

But... she still thinks she imagined the woman at the door, maybe to cover up something traumatic. Her parents are totally fine, though!

The story opens. Layane gets a letter purporting to be from her mother. For some reason, Layane is convinced Nicola is overseas even though the letter does not state this, and the envelope wasn't addressed so someone would have had to stick it through the letterbox. Ignoring that - this is yet more proof that Layane's parents are fine. Assholes.

Now Layane been kidnapped, and even though there is exactly zero evidence the mysterious woman is involved, the kidnap is somehow proof that the woman was real this whole time AND Layane's parents are dead! Have been for years!

Even though before she received the letter, Layane had no proof they were alive, anyway.

Also, I guess Nicola isn't overseas anymore.

I don't fucking know.

The car had been moving without stopping for a long time, probably because the men don’t want to be caught by the police, she thought.

Thanks, I was wondering why they hadn't pulled over for a McDonalds yet.

The narration tells us that Layane is panicked, which is handy, because otherwise I wouldn't be able to tell. She starts to feel sick from the motion of the car, but somehow this ends up distracting from the 'panic' because it's mentioned once then forgotten, and has no impact on what Layane does for the rest of the scene. There's a large bag in the boot with her, and she could have started freaking out, first terrified that Clemant might be inside, and then, when she realises it's something hard, weapons that will be used against her if she can't get to them first with her useless, tied hands. Instead, the bag is simply described as 'uncomfortable'.

While I'm sure that's true, the tone this sets is definitely less, 'violent kidnap', more, 'travel-sick in a packed car on a roadtrip'.

Instead of investigating the bag, or trying to loosen her ties, or anything else, Layane stays quiet and waits for the kidnappers to speak, because she's hoping one of them will As You Know, Bob their whole plan so she knows what's going on.

In the earlier drafts, it probably would have happened. Here, it doesn't.

Is this growth?

Muffled voices came from the front of the car. Layane tried to listen in, but found that she couldn’t make out their words. They were mumbling, as if not wanting her to hear them. She managed to distinguish that there were both male and female voices coming from the front of the car, leaving her to wonder if one of them was the mystery woman.

WOMEN? In MY hivemind?

That's a bit mean of me. I don't know that they're a Hivemind yet, maybe we've reached the draft where they have distinct personalities!

(I'm not going to hold my breath.)

The chapter doesn't end here, but there's a page break, then a rapid scene change, and 3,000 more words before the next chapter. To save this from becoming very, very long, let's stop here.

[verdemoun]

I love your au but can we have some angst?? How often do they cry??

oh boi i love angst

hosea cried learning about what happened to dutch. he didn't want to and he hated himself for it but he will always love dutch and it hurt knowing dutch became the very opposite of what he believed in. it devastated him in a way he didn't know he could feel grief anymore. much like how dutch was there for him when he mourned bessie, bessie had to be there for him when he mourned dutch or the sheer overwhelming depression might have killed him.

sean cries because he misses karen. in typical sean fashion he tries to pretend everything is okay but see post for details alcohol isn't enough to stop him crying over how much he misses karen. he doesn't cry over the gang so much because in a way he feels morbidly lucky for escaping seeing the gang fall apart. his death truly marked the end of the gang's golden era.

but you know what really fucked up the whole lot of them? going to a little field that used to be part of beecher's hope, all hyped up ready to be reunited with the powerhouse that is abigail marston nee roberts in the modern era equivalent of 1910 and instead, a tiny little girl still holding the teddy, stuffed squirrel her dad gave her appears out of thin air. the lost marston daughter, who died at aged 3, standing in front of them asking for her mom and dad

they try to tell her it's okay and she's safe but she doesn't know any of them. john never spoke softly about the gang, his family. he repressed it and tried to forget and as a result his daughter stares wide-eyed at the gang as terrifying as strangers. the gang literally faced with the fact john has been actively trying not to remember them.

sadie adler, who has not cried since the day the grief of losing her husband turned into rage, has to remove herself. abigail marston jr's nickname is addie as a direct nod to how much sadie adler helped the marstons build a new life. she held that little girl as an infant, and played with her as she grew into a toddler. she sobs because that little girl is so scared she doesn't recognize her auntie sadie and she can't even hold her to comfort her

arthur is able to convince addie marston she's safe by drawing her mama and dad and very gently explaining he's her dad's brother. he's her uncle arthur, who she's never met or heard stories about, but she doesn't need to be scared because her daddy will be there soon and uncle arthur's going to take care of her until then.

they manage to get her home and she almost immediately falls asleep still clutching her stuffed squirrel dressed as a cowboy.

arthur is fucking ruined. he isn't crying, he's weeping. it's the grief he felt all those years after losing isaac: losing a child. his brother lost a child and somewhere across time his brother is having to dig her grave alone and mourn her while she's safely tucked into arthur's bed. arthur has no way to tell him she's safe, she'll be protected and cared for until he's there because the canon era gang don't know the timewarp exists after death. he has no way to talk to him, to be there for him as someone who understands that grief. his little brother is as alone as arthur was when he went through mourning isaac and arthur can't do a damned thing about it because the cruelest irony of the timewarp is knowing what the surviving gang members are going through and not being able to do a damned thing to stop or change it.

charles has to cry silently, because he doesn't want arthur to hear and try to console him. he knows there is nothing he can do or say that will comfort arthur and that ruins him. even for those who escaped, those who lived a life after the VDLs, death still haunts them. there's nothing and no one to blame for addie marston dying at aged 3. she died of an unknown illness, like so many children in the early 20th century, and now they have to pretend they're okay for her sake and each other's sake.

[shakespearefreak]

I know it's January, but December was so busy and hectic that I still have holiday posting to catch up on! Please bear with me and pretend it's still December 😅

On Dec. 20th I took Samantha to a local theater’s version of A Christmas Carol! We both loved it, and afterward we talked with some of the cast... many remembered me from previous years (most of the main roles are played by the same actors every year)! Christmas Present hugged me like 5 times and told me that his character would LOVE my earrings, which is such a high compliment, and Christmas Past and I talked politics and how revolutionary the story feels this year, and then got into a discussion about American Girl dolls (she said Kirsten was always her personal favorite, then grinned and indicated her own blonde hair).

The only downside was Jacob Marley’s actor left before I could catch him, but Belle and Past said that if I came back after the next day's show, they’d let him know I was looking for him and where I’d be waiting for him. So I did, and I swear, he's such a lovely man... his face lit up when he saw me and he called out "Marley!" He apologized for missing me the day before, and we talked a bit about Christmas shopping and (again) the current political climate, because it really is such an inherently political show and unfortunately deeply relevant to what's going on in the US right now. Plus I showed him my Christmas Carol-inspired tattoo (I'd shown it to him last year, but we'd been outside at night so he couldn't really see it). He loved the design so much, he asked if he could take some photos of it, which I of course agreed to. I also got my annual Jacob Marley hug, which is good, because it's gotten to the point where my Christmas isn't complete without it. 🥰

(Pictured: Sam at the merch table posing with her own copy of the novella, and by the Capitol Building on the way back.)

BONUS:

The earrings Christmas Present liked so much! They're mismatched on purpose (I usually wear one stud-style earring and one long dangling one).

[meggiejolly]

More from the Roswell, NM RWRB AU When I posted the last scene, I said I would post the next one next week... It has been more than a week, but it is still next week, so I'm counting this. If you wan to know some of the background for this AU or read some of the snippets I posted from it for WIP Wednesday in the last few weeks, click here. You can read the entire new scene (and all the other's I've posted so far) here.

Note: This is the Max and Michael version of the scene where June takes Alex jogging.

Max and Michael don't really feel like the jogging type to me, to be honest, so I figured this would feel a little more in character. I've never been to a shooting range or even held a gun and I never plan to, so this probably wasn't very accurate. I'm sorry about that.

Usually Michael’s brain handles about a thousand thoughts at once and he can burry specific ones relatively well with his tried and true methods. Even when that's not the case, he can usually focus on other things. He’s rarely ever able to only focus on one thing at time anyways. 

But the kiss. The kiss cannot be pushed back and no matter what else he tries to focus on, it always finds its way back to the front of Michael’s mind. 

He tries sitting in on meetings in the west wing but the memory of Alex’ lips on his makes it impossible to even pretend to focus and eventually Jenna chases him away. 

He calculates and recalculates poll predictions but every time he remembers, that Alex had disappeared from the party without a trace by the time Michael had made it back inside, he gets another contradictory result. 

His last semester starts, he goes to class, takes notes and pretends to help Isobel plan his graduation dinner. But when he wants to go over his notes again after class they are even more of a mess than usual and he can’t make sense of them. 

He drinks too much coffee and ads too much acetone to it, but none of it helps. His mind always goes back under the linden tree and to Alex' hands in his hair. 

He still doesn't know what to make of it, what it all means. He just knows that it makes the chaos in his mind feel different. The kiss changed something, but he doesn't know what and how and he probably should talk to someone about it, but he signed that NDA and also telling Isobel or, worse, Max would be a whole thing and he can't face that right now. He kind of wants to talk to Alex, while being afraid of it at the same time. Not that he has that option, because Alex hasn't reacted to any of Michael's attempts to contact him since the kiss. He's almost considering texting Maria, but that just seems too awkward to even fathom and he doesn't have any way to contact Liz or Gregory. 

So instead he paces and can't focus and wonders what it all means. Was Alex planing this? Was it just some drunken mistake? Is he embarrassed? Was it some sort of prank? 

His thoughts and pacing get interrupted by a very annoyed Max one afternoon, who barges into his room. "I've been trying to write, but I can feel you pacing from across the hall. What the fuck is wrong with you? You've been a mess since New Year's."

Michael just shrugs, but forces himself to sit down. 

Max sighs dramatically. "Okay, that's it. Come one, we'll get your dad's keycard and go to the shooting range. You obviously need to get some energy out." 

“I'm not a some hyperactive toddler!"

Keep reading on AO3

Tag list under the cut. If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know. 

@thekiranzm28 @idealuk @angrycowboy @granfalloontje @dabb444@mimi-and-the-next-20th-century

[luvbites]

at this point i just str8 up dont wanna see another post joking abt how crazy or scary it is to have a baby or husband idc. do u rly need to reblog a 7th version of the same thing for the 20th week in a row after uve already seen it passed around to every one of ur mutuals every time before like OHM Yarrr Saurrr funnhyyehhhH Hehehee ive nevr hard that one b4 n ITs thts SO tru bc like ohm..g.... the patriarchy remember? im sorry but i cant pretend this is still subversive and silly at some point we need to just be like... oh wait this sorta sucks now

[inspired-lesson-plans]

Congratulations to History Doodles, winner of the first Tournament of Plans!

To celebrate, here are a few items from my own childhood which may be historically relevant one day.

I don't have many doodles from my childhood. I'm pretty sure some of my high school drawings have survived, and I will post them if I ever find them. But let's work with these few items from my 3rd(?) grade class.

The rattlesnake was a fun little art project. I actually remember it quite well! It's a sheet of nylon with a hand-drawn image outlined in transparent glue (probably traced over a pencil image). The glue formed barriers that allowed us kids to paint the fields with watercolor. I suppose it's historical value might be in the association of rattlesnakes with diamond patterns and saguaro cactus.

Mortal Kombat Trilogy was a huge part of my childhood. It was my first video game other than used NES games, and the night we got it (big Hanukkah present), we only had 1 controller, but my brothers and I took turns playing the 1-player mode for hours. I cannot imagine how many hours I put into that game, but I do know that we had 2 other code books that are at least as frayed from use as this one. Future historians could write volumes about the sociopolitical implications of a child in 1997 devoting so many waking hours to pretend ninjas fighting pretend gods with supernatural powers.

Finally, the picture. Apples have been associated with education for most of the 20th century, but this is especially true for elementary school because it's cute. And let's be real, I was a cute kid.

What do You have to share?

Reblog with your childhood doodles and items, and what historical significance they might have!

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

@venusdebotticelli replied to your post “okay but those days. we were literally all high....”:

And then november 20th came like a frying pan to the face, or hmmmm... a rusty nail to the spleen 🫠

​god that also caused emotions i had never felt before and didn't think were even possible. i started crying in frustration and disappointment. it dawned on me with incredible clarity how it's possible to believe that a final episode is actually bad on purpose and the fake one while the real one will air next week, because part of my brain could only do denial while the rest of my brain was like 'whoa' - like, of course i never believed it, but my brain was like 'i understand how people would believe that now'. it clicked in me that when reality is stupid enough stupidity is the most logical reaction. because accepting that finale as real was just outside of my brain's ability to process things.

i also wasn't fucking entirely inside my body for a while after watching the episode? i remember very clearly going to the kitchen and tell my mom about how bad the finale was, while feeling like i was slightly to the side of my body.

the incestuous vibes? dean jr? the wig? jared padalecki thanking the audience while jensen ackles looks like a kidnapped person forced to make a video where he pretends to be fine? none of those things have evoked emotions felt before by humanity

[skznccmlee]

Vent post (and it's long)

I don't thing anyone reads it

I'm gonna murder everything and then myself

I miss my friends too much I wanna talk to them

I don't think I can't stand not being there in chat with my squirrel (best friend) on Christmas

And you know what's worse??? Today's December 20th, my ex's birthday

And you don't get how fucking much I miss her, but I think he moved on from me so I don't think it's correct to text him saying "Happy Birthday" or something

AND

TO MAKE THINGS WORSE

On December 24th will be the 1 year anniversary of the first time we started dating

And I just pretend to anyone I don't miss him and I am fine when the truth is I just wanna be with her again

And it's so heartbreaking for me to wake up everyday and see how much messages from my friends, from our group chat and from my squirrel I have, and not being able to text them back

And it's so heartbreaking for me feeling like the world is moving on without me

Do they even miss me? I miss them, but do they miss me back? Do they even care about how I am? Do they even remember my simple existence? The people I care about, care about me? I don't think they do. Most of the time I don't feel they do

I think they are fine without me, or even better than with me

Cuz who could miss me? I'm literally the most uninteresting, annoying person in the whole world

Who could miss someone who needs affection constantly? Who could miss someone who sometimes feels good and the other minute they're crying? Who could miss someone who cries for literally everything? Who could miss someone whose taste in literally whatever, books, movies, series, games, music, dance style is different from literally everyone? Who could miss someone who everyday thinks you stopped loving them just for a minimal thing? Who could miss someone who eats chocolate and bubblegum the whole day to deal with anxiety? Who could miss someone like me?

I think no one