#the best part is that she has no idea that this is her pattern

[madwomanwithawarehouse]

the thing about felicity smoak is that she will uproot her life to do something "sensible" when she's in an emotionally vulnerable state and then realize she's deeply bored with sensibility and jump at the chance to do anything interesting, regardless of its legality, safety, or how it affects her interpersonal relationships - until something bad happens then she starts the loop again

and i love that for her

[trevanent]

I think one thing I will say about the finale was that the most problematic aspect of the concept of the show was how it feels like they had to use the Fionna and Cake plot to Trojan horse a resolution to a swathe of loose ends Simon and Betty's arcs had. They pulled it off even better than I ever wanted to let myself hope for for the most part but I would say my main issue if anything was how cramped the finale felt when I think they could have left a lot more up to season 2 speculations (especially with the resolutions for the alt universes, they didn't really feel necessary when they basically just had to egg Scarab).

I feel I liked the understated melancholies of seeing Simon recontextualized and kinda infantilized in that temporary form hosting his mind, and some people have said the Casper and Nova thing felt hamfisted but I thought the vibes were too cute to care that it wasn't particularly "efficient" as far as metaphors go, but that does slow down the pace which probably crunched the ending a little harder :'). But it also worked in further showing the sad side-effect of the crown on Simon's relationships, including that of stunting his ability to have ever matured in his understandings of love and his relationship with Betty. I also think their last scene in the memory worked because it was Simon reconsidering how he viewed their relationship for the first time, even if his attempt to do for Betty what she did for him would have just been an inversion of their original flaw, the scene rests on them understanding it's unchangeable anyway, so that decision doesn't matter so much and it's not something for Simon to dwell on.

I also feel I liked the scene a lot in spite of how scarce it felt in the finale was because of what was most conspicuously unaddressed, which was just the sheer logistical impossibility of any different choices they made having possibly been any "better." It sticks out because Betty says they could have made better choices, which kinda seems to situate their relationship in a vacuum as if there wasn't a very high likelihood had they done anything different at that crossroads, they would have just been literally nuked into orbit regardless. Sure, it seems like enough time had passed for them to have worked out their relationship better at least and then died, but that kinda seems better by an arbitrarily less tragic amount, and really it seems the least tragic possibilities ever were either that they conceive their relationship more healthily, Simon finds the crown and protects Betty from exploding somehow and also doesn't warp her to the future, and they live some terrible survival life but at least they get a chance to live something kinda fulfilling and Betty probably would have taken care of Ice King decently for the remainder of her life once Simon was gone while also having a better understanding of what had happened to him. The only other hand would be that she also was still warped to the future he finds the crown but Simon had not enabled her self-sacrificial tendencies and so she becomes less undividedly obsessed with saving him and instead integrates into Ooo more properly and also accepts what had become of him (I find it hard to think she would have just let him die either way though lmao).

That all said, they had been around a long time to have reflected over everything. I think it is a bit of an issue that they don't really allude to that, but I find it easy to believe that they did recognize how thwarted a happy ending would ever be for them by all angles of their reality, yet they still had that tender ache of that simple and small tragedy just between them two that still exists within the torrent of catastrophe that engulfed them and the breadth of their fate. So much horror in their lives but they reconnect and find themselves primarily concerned with that last regret of not having been able to make the ideal relationship they quite thought they had.

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[meelusinee]

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

word count \ 3.7k | fluff & stuff | slash / mattheo riddle x reader

in which mattheo is absolutely in love with you before you two even talk for the first time (part one to lovesick!mattheo) author's note at the end!

part one | part two | part three | part four

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

Mattheo didn’t know much about love. 

Between being raised by a dictator and his craziest follower, he already didn’t have a very good start. Especially whenever he would get in trouble, the Cruciatus Curse was definitely no joke. Not to mention everyone pestering him about the legacy he led. News flash to the Gryffindors who would try to pick on him, he found it quite obvious that he was Voldemort’s son.

Suffice to say that he didn’t know much about love. He never had a true showcase of it, never had an example of it to compare to anything. The closest he ever had being another stunted teenager by the name of Theodore that considered him his brother, but even then there was still distance.

That was until he met you.

You, the most beautiful person he had ever met in his entire existence on this Earth. Anything he  lol looked at on you he would find absolutely perfect, from the color of your eyes to the way your hair bounced in the sunlight.

That alone made it hard to approach you. Your nice demeanor seemed to make it even harder.

So, he settled with admiring from afar. Mattheo knew your schedule, the classes that you would take and every time that it varied. He would subtly watch you in classes, hang around the same areas you did during your break periods, or even where you went for fun. And, to the best of his ability, he tried to avoid things that looked bad. No more fights or cursing, not unless he was truly provoked.

His mind also got its grubby hands on the idea of a journal. A place he could write about you freely, one he charmed so only he could read it. Entries, song ideas, anything he could think of. You made him an artist, you as his perfect muse.

And it all got even better when you two finally met.

You had just walked down to the courtyard, Mary Janes clacking along the rocks as you made your way over to a small pillar.

Recently, you noticed someone sitting by the pillars a lot more than usual. He was tall, his face usually covered by his brown curls as he wrote inna small journal he always carried with him. Said tall man with a face covered by his brown curls was your current potions partner, you had both been assigned to create a Liquid Luck potion.

“Hello?” you called out gently. face tilted down just a bit as you looked down at him. His eyes locked with yours when he looked up, the most beautiful shade of molten honey you had ever seen meeting your eyes. “Hi there, stranger.”

“Hello?” he whispered back at you, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. His face looked rather cute when it was all scrunched up like that, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m your Potions partner.” you said with a smile, flattening your skirt before moving to sit down next to him. “For the Liquid Luck project.”

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding as he closed his journal. It had a rather pretty leather cover, the pages aged and covered in ink from what you could tell. “Yeah, I remember. Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. “And you’re Mattheo.”

“Yes I am.” he said, a soft smile coming on his face as he heard that. He looked at you with something special in his eyes, eyes that carved themselves deep into your soul with the most intricate patterns you could think of.

The trance both of you seemed to be stuck in was broken when he cleared his throat, fingers tapping on his journal. “Did you have any ideas for the project?”

“Oh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yes, yes I do. I was thinking that we head to the library and research different potion methods and whatnot. Based on Slughorn’s instructions, I’m assuming that the instructions in the books won’t help much.”

“You’re a genius.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat as he began to sit up. “Do you want to go now?”

Mattheo thought that he was dreaming, if he was being honest.

The girl of his dreams, the girl that he had wrote almost obsessively day and night about for almost six years, that same girl was currently sitting across from him. Laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled at his joke, her voice sweet like a piece of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He didn’t even remember what he had joked about at this point, his mind turning to mush the moment he heard that sound pass your lips.

Those lips that haunted his dreams every single night, the image of them so plush and pure he wanted to worship them like one would a holy angel. They looked absolutely perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly as he rested his chin on his hand. He probably looked like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t mind. 

“I found something really interesting in this book  by the way,” you said, Mattheo’s eyes instantly darting to where your hands were resting on the page. “It says in the recipe that we need to juice a squill bulb, which most people just cut it for. But this recipe here notes that squeezing ingredients over a funnel gets more juice out.”

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered, his gaze looking at your face as you spoke. 

“Isn’t it?” you asked with a smile. “And here it says that adding the entire Murtlap makes the potion last longer, rather than just growth.”

“That’s also really interesting.” he whispered again, gaze still stuck on your face. You looked so pretty whenever you were concentrating on things, the way your eyebrows furrowed making him think of a million different songs and rhythms. 

“Is it?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered, looking at you with a small smile on his face. “I always found Potions an interesting topic.”

“Always is not a word. It’s more of a concept.” you said, humming as you continued reading the pages. Mattheo chuckled softly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. 

Theo was sitting in his bed reading a book, his curtains almost completely closed as he flipped between page to page. At least, he pretended to.

Recently, he had noticed Mattheo’s obsessive journaling habits. How his hands would be covered in ink by the time he was finished, or how he’d write until his new candle burnt out. Sometimes Mattheo would write even when the candle burnt out, instead opting for yet another one.

It was rather concerning to Theo, to say the least. Out of all of the things Mattheo could do, he was changing who he was. Self-improvement was one thing, but it seemed like he changed an obsession from fighting to writing.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Mattheo mumbled, looking back over at where Theo was sitting.

“I’m surprised you can,” Theo said under his breath, closing his book and standing up. “With how much you’ve been writing, I’d assume you get sucked in by a black hole sometime soon.”

“Oh hush,” he whispered, looking up from the journal. His hands were stained black and red with quill ink, the candle beside him still burning brightly. “Why do you keep staring at me? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“Your journal.” Theo smirked, walking behind Mattheo and placing his hands on his Mattheo’s shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Why would I tell you?” Mattheo grumbled, continuing to write in the journal. Theo’s eyes squinted as they tried to read whatever was on the page, but the words were too jumbled to make any sense to him. No doubt a charm.

“You charmed the journal?” Theo asked curiously, looking down at Mattheo.

“Like you care.” he whispered under his breath, the quill scratching loudly against the paper. The room was quiet other than that, nothing but the quill scratching and the candle crackling.

“I do.” Theo said, his voice a bit more stern. He pulled up a chair next to Mattheo, resting his elbow on the table. “Mattheo, you’re pushing everyone away. Even me, and it’s not healthy. All you do is write in this journal, it’s kind of worrying.”

“I just like writing,” Mattheo whispered, moving his legs to rest his knees near his chest.

“About what?” Theo asked, his voice more soft than teasing.

“You’ll judge.” Mattheo whispered again, flicking the quill back and forth as his eyes glanced over at Theo. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Theo whispered. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Mattheo sighed before turning to the journal, pressing his wand against it as the words came into view more clearly. His handwriting was a lot more cursive than Theo first remembered, no doubt changing the more he wrote. 

“It’s a journal about her,” Mattheo whispered, flipping through some of the pages. “Love letters, poems, songs and stuff.”

“Her?” Theo asked curiously. “Who’s her?”

“Her,” Mattheo muttered to Theo, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He looked like a blushing schoolboy who found his first love, it was rather cute to watch. “It’s, like, she’s a girl I just really like. I think about her a lot, you know? And I’m just trying to improve myself for her.”

“What’s her name?” Theo asked, resting his head against his hand as he crossed his legs.

“Y/N.” Mattheo sighed, like the word itself was a part of some holy prophecy. “She’s so beautiful, you know? Like something from heaven, just beautiful. And I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her?” Theo asked, a small smile on his face.

“We have this project together right now.” he said, chuckling softly as he spoke. He was so down bad. “She took me to the library to research more about potions. Merlin, she’s so smart Theo. She figured the reason why nobody could make the potion was because the instructions were wrong.”

“So you both started researching?” Theo asked.

“She researched, yeah,” Mattheo said, before chuckling again. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I kind of just sat watching her the entire time.” 

“Mattheo,” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” Mattheo protested.

“I’m not judging.” Theo chuckled, looking down at the journal. “I’m just confused on how you think you’ll get your girl if you can’t even talk to her. Journaling can only go so far.”

“I know,” Mattheo whispered, looking down at his journal again. “But it still helps.”

Theo nodded, looking down at the journal again. “What are you writing about right now?”

“Uh,” he muttered, looking at the pages. “It’s a song. She said something at the library that made me think of a song, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”  

“What’s it sound like.” Theo asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uhm,” he whispered, picking at his nails again as he pushed the journal towards Theo. He hummed softly as he picked it up, eyes squinting as he tried to read his handwriting.

Darling, just calm with your voice

Let your heart sing, how I always enjoy 

When you say “always” is not a word

You think love is a bit absurd.

“That’s really nice,” Theo said, looking up at Mattheo with a small smirk. “This is a lot better than I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

“What did you think I was writing about?” Mattheo asked confusedly.

“Dark magic or something.” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like you were possessed by a ghost to figure out how to resurrect themselves.”

Mattheo chuckled at that, taking his journal back. “I think you’ll find someone like this, you know. It makes life really nice.”

“Being in love?” Theo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mattheo whispered. “In love.”

“Well, there’s always an opportunity for that. And when it happens, it’ll happen.” Theo said, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But until then, there’s cigarettes.”

“You know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Mattheo snickered at that, using the lit candle to light his own cigarette.

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Mattheo had started working on your project. You had figured out how to maximize the efficiency of your potion brewing, including changing methods of brewing and preparing ingredients. After about three different trials, you had finally found the perfect way to brew the potion. 

“That’s perfect.” Mattheo smiled softly at you, chuckling softly as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, it looked like a regular potion to him. “I think that’s perfect, right?”

“That is perfect.” you said, giggling softly as his reaction You found it rather cute, if you were being honest. He seemed rather nervous around you. “Thank you for doing all of this with me, the potion work and all. Most people would probably just leave it to me, you know?”

“Why would they leave?” Mattheo asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrugged, looking down at the potion still set in the cauldron as you spoke. “I don’t really know. I guess people consider me weird or something like that. Someone said that I was whimsical once, I don’t think it was a nice way though.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Mattheo spat. He couldn’t understand the logic of that. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect. He would give anything in the world to hang out with you more often than he got too, and people gave that up for free? The thought was absolutely ridiculous.

You chuckled quietly at that, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I mean,” he paused, looking up at you like that was the most absurd thing in the entire world. He had a small flush on his face, no doubt questioning what he was going to say. “I mean, you’re such a nice person. And I think that hanging around you is comforting.”

“And I think that you’re rather sweet.” you chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile.

“I’m being serious!” Mattheo said, looking you in the eyes. You hadn’t heard him talk this much in the entire time that you had been working with him, and you especially didn’t expect it to be him defending you. “You’re just, like, you. Which is really sweet, you know? I really like you and your whimsy, or whatever they try to call you.”

You giggled again, smiling softly at him as you scooted a bit closer. “You’re rather nice yourself, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raising a pitch as he looked at the potion. “Do we need to test this?”

“I think so.” she nodded. “Do you want to do it?”

Mattheo looked at the potion, a small frown coming on her face. If anything went wrong with the podcast, he wouldn’t want you to be hurt by it. Which led to him nodding, the best option for him obviously being him taking the potion himself. 

“I’ll bottle it for you.” you said, grabbing the small ladle and pouring it inside the potion vial. “Here, one vial of Liquid Luck for you.”

Mattheo smiled softly as he took a sniff of it. “Is it meant to smell like something?”

“No, just air. I mean, clean air. Not like toxic air or anything.” you said, before ending your small speel. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

Mattheo nodded again, taking a swig of it before coughing. “That’s definitely hot.”

“It did just come off the cauldron.” you chuckled, fingers fidgeting slightly. “Do you feel lucky?”

Mattheo looked up at you with a look you could only describe as a lovesick puppy, a small flush covering his face as he admired you. You could only assume the amount of thoughts running through his mind were plenty, some very hard to sort through. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “Very lucky.”

You chuckled softly at that, your face flushing as you watched his eyes lock onto your lips. “Do I have something on my lips or something?”

“No,” he whispered softly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he spoke. “No, I just,”

“Something on my teeth?” you asked, shining your teeth to him.

“I want to kiss you.” he whispered. 

Your mouth closed again as you heard that, eyes locking onto his after he spoke. That didn’t last long though, as his eyes focused back on your lips again. “You what?”

“I want to kiss you.” he said a bit more clearly, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really want to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me.” you whispered softly to him, scooting a bit closer to him in return. 

Mattheo blinked for a couple of seconds, the shock of your answer plastered on his face. It filled you with a small sense of confidence, the blush on his face fueling your own. “I can?”

“You can.” you smiled.

Mattheo smiled brightly at that, the burn of it brighter than the sun sucking his lips in like a blackhole would. His lips immediately met yours, burning like fireworks against his skin. It was absolute bliss to him, burning through his skin and turning him into nothing but lovesick ash.

“Your lips are absolutely perfect, my love.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a gaze full of adoration. “So perfect.”

“Was your luck to try and kiss me, Riddle?” you chuckled softly at him. 

“This is the luckiest moment of my life.” he whispered. 

“Theo!” Mattheo spat out, opening the dorm room door as he stormed in. His palms looked sweaty, and his face was absolutely covered in a bright blush. 

“Mattheo.” Theo said his name back, closing his book as he looked at where Mattheo had stormed in. He looked absolutely wrecked, almost drenched in sweat. “You look like you just got your ass kicked on the Quidditch field.”

“I just,” he whispered, walking closer to Theo as he paced around the room. “I just kissed her.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked, a small smile crossing her face. “You kissed her?”

“It was so perfect.” he whispered, laying down on Theo’s bed. “Like, it was like her lips had a magnetic pull on me. I couldn’t stop for the next hour. A whole hour!”

“That’s wild, mate.” he chuckled softly, patting Mattheo on the head.

“It was just perfect,” he whispered under his breath, sighing softly. “Like, I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe like looking at a supernova for the first time.”

“You are down bad, Mattheo.” he chuckled softly at that, continuing to pat his friend on the head.

“And then we, after that right?” he said, the smile on his face only growing larger. “We snuck off to this broom closet. You know the ones. And we did, we had,” he paused, sighing in frustration as his words jumbled in his head. “You know?”

“I know.” Theo chuckled.

“I have a song idea again.” Mattheo said, sitting up again as he rushed to the journal he kept so dearly to his heart. “I will be dead to the world for the next few hours.”

“You want me to go tell Y/N that, lover boy?” Theo smirked.

“She can come in whenever.” Mattheo said, dipping his quill in black ink. “I already gave her our dormitory password.”

“You what?”

“I have a present for you.” Mattheo whispered under his breath, a small smile on his face as he walked towards you.

It was the 6 month anniversary of one of the happiest relationships you had ever been in. There was communication and there was love. Small dates near the Black Lake at midnight, with breakfast you stole from the Great Hall earlier. Times where he’d take you into town and let you dress up however you wanted, all on the cards he stole from Malfoy. Or small get-togethers like this, hangouts at the top of the Astronomy Tower. 

And the presents were always lovely. Small poems that he wrote for you, or love letters that he hand wrapped himself. A small blush or dress you had been eyeing for more than two seconds, or room decor that went with your forever indecisive aesthetics. 

“You do?” you giggled softly, gasping softly as he pulled out a small guitar. “A song?”

“I’ve written a couple for you,” he whispered. “And I wanted to sing them to you. For our anniversary.”

“I love you.” you giggled, smiling as he sat down.

He cleared his throat as he made sure the guitar was in tune, strumming a few chords before eventually developing a melody. It seemed almost hypnotic the way his hands moved, his voice humming along as he figured out the rhythm.

“Yesterday, I was a word. Left with no voice to speak it,” he hummed softly, his voice and the guitar both vibrating through the walls. You smiled brightly as you heard his voice, not realizing how pretty his voice actually sounded.

“Now I am a happy song, placed on the lips of a woman.” he sang, winking at you. He continued for a few lines, a small smirk growing on his lips as he got to the instrumental part.

“What are you going to sing next?” you asked, watching him giggle softly. “Seriously!”

“Patience,” he whispered, chuckling as he strung the melody again, his eyes darting down at the guitar. “Now she has me, under her skirt,”

“Mattheo!” you flushed, slapping his arm and breaking the rhythm of his song. “My skirt?”

The both of you burst out into a laugh at that, the sound breaking through the cold night air that breezed through the alcove you sat in. Or maybe you just felt warm in his presence, a constant feeling of love rushing through your body.

“Can I finish my song now?” he smirked.

“I suppose you could.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to sing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

my second post oh my GOD this one took a hot minute to get through. beta-reading and proof reading is definitely not my jam, and there's definitely things that i missed in this. but i hope it still works out well, especially the whole lovesick angle i was going for. if you guys haven't already, please please please go check out tamino's music. it is actually so. good. if you listen to hozier or adrianne lenker, i think you'd really like his songs (my favorites are the first disciple and habibi)

if you would like to read the second part, click here!

as always, please like, comment, and reblog! it really helps out, and i really appreciate everyone who does! if you guys have any requests or something you can request in the ask box!

[wileys-russo]

blurb idea! maybe mila gets into readers makeup and heels and clothes ? i'm thinking she's gotten herself a red lipstick and had fun 😂

a little red lipstick II l.williamson

part of the milaverse a little red lipstick II l.williamson

"-and it is my turn to pay next time less!" you warned your best friend who grinned as she shut off her engine in your driveway. "snooze you lose." the blonde teased, the two of you returning from a much needed spa day which the footballer had paid for before you could even blink.

"consider it your gift for giving me the most adorable god daughter in the world." the striker winked, locking her car as you made your way up to the front door, not even grabbing your house keys out before it swung open.

"mama you're back! and you brought aunty lessi!" mila cheered happily, charging forward as you were rendered a little speechless by her appearance, alessia scooping her up as the two of you

"i see someone has gotten into her mama's makeup!" alessia didn't even try to hide her amusement at the sight of the very colourful four year old in her arms. "and heels! but can't run in em." mila huffed with a scowl.

"bubba where did you-why did you-" you grabbed her face in your hands, eyes scanning the somewhat clown like makeup slapped across her eyes, cheeks and lips.

"wanna be like you mama! a very pretty girl." mila beamed poking at your own cheeks. "someones been listening to leah." alessia smirked, quickly putting your daughter down after the unimpressed glare shot her way.

"come look at my art! did you and mummy a special picture." the two of you lurched forward unexpectantly as mila grabbed a hand each and tugged you both down the hallway.

though the moment you stepped inside your bedroom, the somewhat adorable innocence of your daughter playing dress up fell dead in the water.

"oo and that is aunty lessi's cue to leave! mil i will come and pick you up for our special aquarium date tomorrow...if you live to see it." alessia mumbled the last part, ducking down to kiss your daughters cheek and not even wasting her breath addressing you as your entire focus was trained to your once cream white wall.

"bye aunty lessi! love you!" mila called after the striker who was down the hall and out the door in a millisecond, clueless to your emotions as you stared in disbelief at the wall.

"mila. wheres mummy?" you asked calmly, jaw clenched and exhaling slowly through your nostrils, eyes still locked on the patterns scribbled in bright red lipsticks all over the once clean wall.

"playing her games and yelling at aunty gee! oh mummy said a bad word, a lot of bad words." mila relayed as you inhaled deeply, very slowly lowering yourself down to be at her level.

"mila. bubba what you did to the wall? was very naughty. when you want to draw you have your coloring books and your pens, you only use those, and never ever on a wall and especially not with mamas makeup. do you understand?" you spoke calmly but firmly, your stomach flipping at the immediate way the four year olds face fell and her bottom lip began to quiver.

"i'm sorry!" you almost fell backwards as tiny limbs locked around your neck in a steel tight hug. "i know. but what happens when we're naughty mil?" you gently wrenched her arms off you as much as it killed you to do so, using your thumb to wipe away the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

"timeout?" "timeout." you confirmed with a nod, standing back up and offering the tiny blonde your hand, preparing yourself for a tantrum but to both your surprise and relief it never came, mila taking your hand and allowing you to lead her away to the timeout corner.

"you're four years old, so four minutes. you stay sitting here with your bum on the floor and your back on the wall and you do not move until mama comes back and gets you, okay?" you reminded, mila nodding with a little half sob and sniffle, and again it took all of your willpower not to just crumble and scoop her back up.

but you knew you couldn't or else she'd never learn right from wrong, so with a countdown set on your phone you left her be, stomping away instead to go and strangle your wife who sure enough was exactly where you thought she'd be.

"leah catherine!" you yelled, almost kicking in the half open door to her office as the blonde didn't even flinch, back to you and clunky dyson headphones covering her ears, fifa loaded on the monitor in front of her as she sat with her feet up on her desk.

but that ignorance didn't last more than a few seconds once you'd burst in, headphones yanked right off her as the girl let out a yell of surprise, chair toppling over as your wife went thumping to the ground.

"babe what the fuck!" leah groaned clutching her side where the arm of the chair had dug in, scrambling for the controller which you swiftly kicked out of the way.

"i'm in the middle of a game!" leah whined, mouth forming an o at the way you stepped forward and yanked the chord out from the console sending everything black.

"where is our daughter leah?" "she's playing dress up! now why the hell did you-" "where is she playing leah?"

but finally glancing up and seeing the all too familiar look in your eyes your wife fell silent. "i'm beginning to think i'm in trouble." the blonde smiled nervously as she sat up and you laughed bitterly.

"oh that is not even the half of it leah!" but before you could really launch head first into the colossal lecture lingering on the tip of your tongue the timer for mila's timeout went.

"up. on your feet. come with me right now!"

scrambling and falling over herself in her haste your wife scurried after you as you stomped out of the office and back down the hall, coming to a stop back in front of your very somber looking four year old.

"aw bubba why are you crying what hap-" "leah!"

at the hiss of her voice your wife froze, looking back and meeting your sharp warning glare she retreated from where she'd been surging forward to wrap mila in a hug and stood awkwardly behind you instead.

"now, why did you have to go to timeout mila?" you asked softly, crouching down in front of your daughter who sniffled. "cause i did a naughty thing." mila wiped her nose on the collar of her shirt leaving a bright orange foundation stain that had you wincing at the thought of the work it would take to be rid of it.

"what was that?" "drew on the walls with mamas makeup."

"sorry you what-" with another harsh glare from you leah fell silent again, rocking back and forth on her feet with a guilty expression in her features, the pieces of the puzzle now slowly slotting together in her head.

"mama i'm really really really sorry." "i know you are baby, come here." with that you opened your arms and engulfed your daughter in a hug, her legs wrapping around you as you stood and picked her up with you.

"now. you and mama are gonna go clean up that pretty little face of yours bubba, and then we're gonna go get pizza for dinner-" the downtrodden look was wiped right off her face at those words, your wives too though that wouldn't last long.

"-and mummy is going to stay here by herself, have plain toast for dinner and clean the bedroom wall so she doesn't have to sleep on the sofa tonight!"

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

Summary: when Katie Jacob's gets abducted in a Mall, setting the clock for the BAU, who needs a legal favor, and it's been a year since the A.D.A. has know anything about Spencer Reid. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: pinning, SLOW BURN, maybe right moment?, angst bc i love angst wc: 4.6k! (i know so small comparing to part 1 bear with me) TW: cm canon typical violence, set in 05x3 "Seven seconds" (obviously lol), sexual violence, implied reader's dark past, glimpses of female rage. A/N: my idea for the serie is be taylor jenkins reid and have you question if lawyer reader exists or not (delusional bitch), english is not my first language and let's pretend it's proofread part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

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Spencer sat on the park bench reading a book while playing chess with Ethan, brilliant kid for his age and good opponent, not good enough though because when he cheered “I see checkmate in 5, What do you see?” It took Spencer one glance to calculate all the movements necessary.

“I see it in 3” he answered looking at his book again, the kid turned around the board and moved the pieces

“We've missed you out here” he said, staring at the board amazed.

“Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break”

“How come?” His hands froze on the book for a second before closing it.

Spencer had been clean for over a year now, it was 14 months and 2 weeks ago that he had freaked out after noticing his stash of Dialud was gone along with his needle. Where could he find more? Who knew about his addiction? Where was his stash? Who the fuck is Dr. Fitzgerald? Did you report him?

His first instinct was confronting you, given that you were the only person who found out his drugs that he knew, the first days he was a complete paranoid, he jumped every time Hotch called his name, or that Gideon looked at him a little too long.

At the end of the week he was thinking where he could find more, and when that thought scared him, he called the number of the card you had left in the same pocket his drugs used to be.

“Hello this is Dr. Fitzgerald” said a calm voice, it was 10 p.m. so there was a higher chance of going to voicemail, but he got an answer and the tremor of his hands got a little worse. Was it the anxiety or the withdrawal?

“Umm hello.. this is.. Dr.. this is Spencer Reid and someon-""I've been waiting for your call Dr Reid” the other line interrupted, he froze for a second.

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine. He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore.”

Fast forward, she helped him get clean and stay clean after Gideon left, getting tested regularly, and gave him the contact of the help group of FBI addicts. He was better, he was alive.

“So you gave up, too?”

“Just the opposite. I attempted to play Through every permutation of moves on a chessboard.”

“That's an infinite number of games.”

“It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large.”

“You couldn't have played through them all.”

“There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, And I'll tell you something– the more I played, The more I realized that every single match every single chess game, Is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, Patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, And I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the same patterns And expecting a different outcome.”

“That's because you haven't come up on Fridays or Mondays in a while” the way his eyebrows went up along his voice tone made him feel like he knew something that he didn't.

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

“There's this great player who comes around those days, she even brings the best pastries, and her games is similar to yours, always two or three moves ahead, she always beats everyone here… i think her boyfriend called her Buzz or something like that, like the Toy Story character”

“Buzz?… i don't really remember anyone with that nickname”

“It’s probably not that one but you don't know her because she started coming like 8 months ago.. I'm sure you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head that you're just sitting on, but when you meet her?” He made a dramatic pause “You'll have to play it.”

He glances at his watch to realize his 15 minute break is coming to an end. “I still use it. I just, uh... I apply it differently. I have to go. It's good seeing you.”

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That evening, the BAU was called in for a local case—a little girl, Katie, had been kidnapped from a busy mall. A week earlier, another girl had been taken from the same location and found dead hours later. Now, they were all racing against the clock.

Katie’s parents were desperate. As any parents would be in this situation, right? But when Hotch asked the father if either of them was having an affair—a routine question in abductions—the man took offense. Deep offense. So much so that he refused to let the FBI search their house.

Now, what kind of parent refuses to help the police find their missing child?

In a small surveillance room, Morgan and Reid sat with Garcia, who was visibly frustrated by the mall’s ancient security system. They were surrounded by screens displaying grainy footage from different angles—well, almost every angle. They had a single glimpse of Katie in one video, and then, seven seconds later, she was gone.

JJ and Prentiss were with the mother, aunt, and uncle, trying to get a read on the family dynamic. Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid had conducted a cognitive interview with Katie’s cousin. It had led nowhere.

“The family has refused permission to search the house,” Hotch announced as he stepped into the room.

“What do you mean they denied?” Morgan’s frustration was evident. “Your only child goes missing, and you refuse to collaborate?”

No one disagreed. They were all thinking the same thing.

“The cousin didn’t say much,” Reid added. “He was too distracted in the game room to notice anything.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “I’ll speak to the detectives, see if we can get a warrant.” His tone was firm, but they all knew time wasn’t on their side.

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Sir, I mean this in the best way possible, but it’s almost 8 p.m. I don’t think-”

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

All Reid and Garcia turned to him with identical looks. What do you mean you will handle it?

Hotch’s eyebrows furrowed, but after a moment, he gave a small nod and walked away. Morgan was already pulling out his phone.

“I have a contact,” he explained, dialing.

He put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a voice answered—sharp, direct, and all business.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

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It was late in the office; most people had already gone home, including your assistant Molly. All but Austin, who was still there because he had a lead on one of your cases. You knew he was still hanging around because, over a year ago, when someone had snuck into your office to harm you, you’d become a little paranoid. You’d gotten better, but Austin insisted on keeping you company, especially since your car was in the mechanic’s.

You were reviewing a legal brief, pen in hand, skimming the margins to jot down notes when the desk phone rang. Without looking up, you hit the speaker button with the tip of the pen.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

There was a beat of silence before a familiar voice cut in—smooth, direct, urgent.

Morgan called your name “Hey. We need a warrant. Fast.” You blinked, setting the pen down.

Reid and Garcia exchanged glances as Morgan jumped in without hesitation.

“Katie Jacobs. Eight years old. Abducted from a mall earlier tonight,” Morgan started, all business. “Another girl was taken from the same place a week ago—she was found dead hours later. We’re working against the clock.”

You frowned, swirling the pen, going through the multiple scenarios. You had heard about last week’s case, and how slow the police had moved back then.

“We’ve got mall surveillance footage,” Morgan pressed. “At first, we thought she just vanished, but Garcia finally pulled something from one of the side corridors. Katie wasn’t taken by force—she was walking calmly with someone.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around her pen. “Someone she knows.”

“Exactly,” Morgan confirmed. “That narrows it down to family or close acquaintances.” They all shared a silent thought. Family.

We know they’re hiding something,” Morgan corrected. “We just don’t have the probable cause to kick the door down.”

Garcia watched as Morgan paced slightly, his tone firm but urgent.

“That’s thin, Morgan,” Your voice came through the speaker, steady and unyielding.

“We don’t have time for airtight,” Morgan countered.

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t have time for me to get laughed out of a judge’s office, either. Refusing a search isn’t a crime, and suspicion alone doesn’t cut it. I need more.” You understood where the suspicious came from, how are you supposed to help them if they had nothing?

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then, another voice—one you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“99% of abducted children who are killed due within the first 24 hours” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to stay even. Spencer Reid. “75% within the first 3 hours, and what only law enforcement knows is Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour. We’re already past the three-hour mark. If we don’t act now, statistically speaking—”

“The likelihood of recovery drops exponentially,” You sighed, already standing up, ignoring how his voice sounded. So different. So… clean.

Your gaze flicked to the clock. 8:06 p.m. Damn it.

You grabbed a blank warrant form from her drawer and reached for a pen. “Send me the address and everything else you have. Give me 20 minutes.”

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

Austin raised an eyebrow from his seat. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”

You didn’t look up as you started writing. “I never was.”

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The courthouse was mostly deserted at this hour. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly, and the stillness of the evening was only interrupted by the sharp click of your heels on the polished floors followed by Austin’s boots toward the judge’s chambers.

“You sure you don’t want me to take this one? Sweet-talk her maybe?” he teased.

You shot him a look. “You think Judge Holloway is the type to be charmed? Plus, you’re a private investigator, not a lawyer.”  

“She’s not gonna like you showing up this late.”  

You didn’t miss a beat. “If she’s still up, she’ll make time for this.”  

Taking a steadying breath as you stopped in front of the door, you quickly ran through your notes, making sure you had every detail in order. Then, without hesitation, you pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Judge Evelyn Holloway’s chambers.  

Inside, the judge barely glanced up from her paperwork. “You have two minutes, Woodvale.”

Stepping forward, you set the warrant request on the desk. “Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour, but we have a child abduction case we’re working against the clock. A young girl, Katie Jacobs, was taken from a mall over three hours ago. We’ve obtained surveillance footage showing her walking with an individual—someone she likely knows. We believe the family is withholding information, and they’ve refused to allow us to search the residence.”

The judge narrowed his eyes, folding her hands on the desk. “And what do you propose I do about it? What evidence do you have to warrant a search?”

You kept your voice steady. “We have footage of the girl with someone who wasn’t a stranger, Your Honor. The parents are refusing cooperation, and the father was evasive when asked about possible affairs, which raises red flags about his involvement.”

Holloway sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s thin.” You were ready for that.

“I have the full footage from the mall security, including a timestamp showing the precise time the girl went missing. She is last seen walking calmly with someone she knows, most likely family.”

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you thought you were about to lose her. So you pulled Reid’s words from memory, adjusting them just enough to make them your own.

“Time is working against us. Statistics show that 99% of abducted children who are murdered lose their lives within the first 24 hours 75% within just the first three. And only law enforcement-”

She cut you off with a raised hand, signaling you to stop.

The judge exhaled through her nose, it was late and you were rambling about statistics and you knew she wanted you out as soon as possible when you started citing numbers. So pushing himself out of her chair with a slight groan. “Fine. Get me the paperwork. I’ll sign it—but you better have your ducks in a row.”

You nodded, her demeanor unflinching. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hours ahead of you. But you were used to this—fighting against the clock.

“Let’s move,” motioning to Austin. He gave you a small nod. “You got it.”

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Exactly 15 minutes after the call, 5 minutes earlier than promised, Morgan’s phone rang. He answered it without even looking. 

"You got your warrant. I'll meet you there," Alex’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike, just as expected.

Morgan exhaled, his relief barely hidden. "Thank you, Woody."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I owe you one," then hung up, turning to Reid.

“Tell Hotch we’re heading to the Jacobs’ house,” he instructed, already moving toward the door.

Spencer had been timing her. It wasn’t the first time he'd gotten caught up in the tense waiting game of law and order, but the pressure of it had a different weight today. The memory of your voice, clear and resolute, echoed in his mind, sharper than before.

For Reid, part of getting clean wasn't just the physical withdrawal—it was the emotional weight of confronting his mistakes. The memory of how he'd lashed out at you a year ago still haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? The hurt in your eyes, the way he dismissed you, the way it all spiraled… it wasn’t just the drugs that had made him say those things. And the fury he saw when you looked at him, Dialuid in hand, how you looked like a timing bomb when he was trying to see if he could talk to you, the tension in your shoulders, the lock in your jaw, the grip on the file. He’d been battling so much more since then, in his mind, you saved his life by doing what he couldn't do.

He’d rather die than relive that moment again, than say those things. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of another chaotic case, still carrying that guilt with him. He stayed behind Morgan for just a beat before pushing down his feelings and moving quickly. 

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The engine of Austin's bike rumbled to a stop as they pulled up in front of the house, where Morgan and Reid were standing in front of the black SUV. You slid off the back with practiced ease, taking off the helmet and letting your hair fall loose.

Austin followed your lead, taking his helmet off with a groan. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

You shot him a quick, sidelong glance, handing him the helmet, keeping your expression flat knowing he’s about to be a drama queen. “You’re not coming inside. The warrant’s for FBI and police only. Not P.I.s included”

Austin paused, a mock pout crossing his face. “Excuse me? I just got you here, through all that traffic, risking myself to get a speeding ticket and now I don’t get to search? This is the second time in the night that you P.I. shaming me. Do you hate me?”

“If I hated you I wouldn’t have bailed your ass out of jail… twice” you remark the last part. He had a talent for sticking his foot where he shouldn’t be, maybe that’s what makes him good at his job.

“You act like you wouldn’t do it a third time” he was mocking, but he was right, something you would never admit to him. 

You start walking to the house “Mhm.” you hum rolling your eyes, heading towards where Morgan and Reid were. 

You didn't expect him to be there, or maybe you did, maybe you wanted to see him and know what had happened to him since the last time you saw him. They were looking at you, Morgan with a curious already-profiling-you stare, while Reid expression was more… cautious. He looked so different, his cheekbones were prominent in an attractive way and not sickly, he had put on some healthy weight and was not fidgety. You were not mad anymore, because of course at the moment the hurt had turned into rage like it always does for you, but it was more because of phantoms than anything else. 

“Got your golden ticket” you said, avoiding Reid’s gaze as you pulled the warrant from the inner pocket of your gray coat and swung it toward them.

Morgan nodded “You staying?” He gestured with his head to Austin who was leaving.

“I have to make sure you find something, otherwise the judge will have my head for this,” you said dryly, shrugging as though the threat didn’t bother you, but there was a flicker of seriousness behind your words. You were only talking to him, which felt rude because Reid’s stare was locked in your profile. 

Reid was thinking how pretty you looked, how the black vest suited you, and he couldn’t ignore the fact you had changed your brown bag to a black one that looked nothing like his. Your white shirt and gray coat gave you an older, wiser look, but as Reid analyzed your features, he realized he didn’t even know how old you were. You couldn’t be older than him. Serious, sharp, and young... How was it possible for someone that young to be the A.D.A.?

Reid’s mind couldn’t let go of the numbers. The average age of an Assistant District Attorney in the U.S. is 36. You couldn’t be older than 25, and yet you were already in that position.

You glanced at him for a moment before stepping inside the house, feeling the weight of his stare. The look made him snap out of his trance-like state, and of course, his eidetic memory hated him, because for that brief second, he remembered how you had looked at him a year ago.

Morgan nodded and thanked you again before he and Reid walked into the house. You left the warrant on the hall table with a deliberate touch, your fingers lingering for just a moment—as if to remind yourself that you weren’t entirely done with this.

“Somebody lit a fire last night,” you heard Reid say.

“Well, there are dirty dishes for three in the kitchen, so they eat together as a family.” Morgan’s voice carried from the other room as they moved through the house, taking in the details.

If Katie was in danger, the signs wouldn’t be in plain sight. You had to look where they hid—where children kept their secrets. Their bedrooms.

“Hey, my favorite movie from when I was a kid.” Reid held up a DVD, turning it in his hands before pulling it from the player just as you passed by him, tugging on latex gloves before heading upstairs, you did feel a little guilty for not even looking or talking to him, but it was something you did unconsciously. 

“So they watch movies together, too,” Morgan mused. They were starting to build a picture of the family’s dynamic.

“By a fireplace in a house that’s straight out of a catalog,” Reid added. “Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this any cozier.”

“That’s what worries me.” There was weight in Morgan’s voice. A tension that sat between them.

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

When you first became a lawyer, you made a promise—never ignore a sign. Since then, you have gone further. You didn’t just refuse to ignore them; you searched for them. Hollow eyes. Unexplained bruises. Small bloodstains. You looked for them in teenagers, in young adults, in the elderly. But nothing—nothing—was more painful than a child who couldn’t speak up.

Because they were small. Because someone older, someone stronger, was hurting them. There's nothing more hurtful than not being able to speak out, to say something and stand up for yourself. Except when someone did—someone saw the bruises, the fear, the signs—and they looked away deliberately. Because a child’s pain was inconvenient. Because it came with a mountain of paperwork no one wanted to touch.

You had spent your whole life making sure you never looked away.

That’s why you were hunched over the small desk in Katie’s bedroom, flipping through her drawings when Morgan and Reid entered the room. They started searching, their movements efficient and methodical.

“Katie’s been wetting her bed,” Reid said as he lifted the duvet, inspecting the mattress beneath it.

“A lot of six-year-olds do. Could be bad dreams,” Morgan replied, crouching beside you as he sifted through a pile of toys.

You considered that possibility—it was perfectly logical. In a perfect world.

“Some kids won’t get up at night because they’re afraid of the dark,” Reid added, his tone careful. Almost knowing.

“Or it could be a lot more complex than that.”

Morgan had found a doll. Not a Barbie missing a shoe or one that had simply been played with too much. No—this doll was different.

Its hair had been hacked off, jagged strands sticking out unevenly. Red marker smeared across its face like smeared blood. Its clothes were yanked askew, twisted, and wrong.

“Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves.” He took the doll in his hands like it was made of fine glass. 

“Reid, I know these signs-— acting out on her toys, wetting the bed. She's obviously covering up something about that necklace.”

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

“Well, this looks more like a man than a boy to me,” you said, holding up a drawing of a tall, shadowy figure towering over a small, crying child.

Morgan took it from your hands, his expression hardening as he analyzed the image.

“Psychology says drawing is a child’s way of channeling their inner world. Look at the strokes—how harsh they are,” you pointed to the dark, jagged lines forming the tall figure, then traced your finger over the smaller one. “And this looks like Katie to me. She forgot to draw the hands, which means she feels powerless… helpless.” 

Morgan took his phone out, dialing up “Hotch, we think Katie’s being molested,” Morgan said, his voice clipped. “And we both know the odds.”

A brief silence. Then Hotch’s response, firm and certain. “Most likely by someone under the same roof.”

He hung up, and both men started toward the door, their movements brisk with purpose. But you stayed behind for a moment, rooted in place, taking in the scene. Trying to quiet the distant sirens that echoed in your mind, the same ones always shouting when you were face to face with these situations. A loud pause—maybe out of respect for Katie and her pain, for everything she had been forced to endure.

From the doorway, Spencer glanced back. The dim light from the hallway cast your figure in stark contrast, outlining you in shadow—your form dark against the soft glow of the room. He couldn’t see your expression, couldn’t read your face. He focused on the way your hands curled into fists at your sides, the tight set of your shoulders.

And he wished—just for a second—that he could see more.

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You stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. By your side were Morgan, Jeremy, Katie’s cousin, and Reid.

Turns out, Katie’s uncle, Richard, was her abuser. A disgusting son of a bitch who deserved to rot in hell. And you were going to make sure he did. He had destroyed Katie’s childhood, probably more than just hers, shattering an entire family in the process. His own son, standing right next to you, was collateral damage he clearly hadn’t spared a thought for. And then there was his wife. The woman who had chosen to look away. Who had taken Katie and nearly gotten her killed, all for the pathetic, desperate hope that it would somehow stop her husband from creeping into little bedrooms at night. She deserved the same hell he did.

A stretcher rolled past, Katie’s small frame barely visible beneath the blankets as the paramedics guided her into the ambulance. Her mother clutched her tiny hand, whispering something—words meant to soothe, to promise safety.

A young voice cut through the air. “I heard her call my mom’s name. That’s what I remembered before.”

You closed your eyes, your mind already racing ahead. Your attorney brain was piecing it together, sketching out the battle that was coming. If the kid had heard it, that made him a witness to the abduction. His own mother had committed the crime against her niece. And God only knew what else he had seen—what else had been happening in that house—without fully understanding it.

“We get it, kid. That’s your mom,” Morgan said, his voice steady. But you knew the truth: if Jeremy could barely say those words to them, getting him to the stand in front of a jury would be another fight entirely.

The boy shifted on his feet, staring at the ambulance. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

If God existed, He had already been too cruel. He had let all of this happen. And you knew how these things worked—knew there was a very real chance that Katie’s parents, burdened with their own grief, would resent Jeremy by association. That they wouldn’t take him in. That he would be swallowed by the foster system.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

The sirens blared outside the mall, cutting through the air with urgency, but it was the ones inside your mind that were louder—screaming in the same rhythm, as if they were one and the same. Distant and deafening, they filled every corner of your head, drowning out everything but the grim reality unfolding before you.

“I don’t know, Jeremy,” Reid answered, his voice gentle. “But we’re gonna make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the ambulance. “Is Katie gonna be all right?”

You wished—desperately, violently—that you could tell him yes. That you could say it with certainty and make it true. But how could you give him something you didn’t have?

“She will, eventually,” Morgan said, his voice firm.

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

“Is she?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it—low, bitter, nearly spat out under your breath. Just quiet enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Just loud enough that Morgan did.

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

Your feet carried you toward the police car, toward the sick, selfish bastard they were shoving into the backseat. Your hand shot out, slamming the door closed—harder than necessary, just enough that it cracked against Richard’s face.

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

And for the first time, he realized just how much of a puzzle you really were.

Partially because, throughout all of this, you hadn’t looked at him once. Not when he entered the room, not when he spoke, not even now, standing just a few feet away.

Partially because your eyes, when he finally caught a glimpse of them, were full of something he rarely saw outside of a case like this. Pure, undiluted rage.

Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. Something personal.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　

part III　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[beefjumper]

Life Series but beefburgered

Hello my tumblr 👋 I'm not dead, I've just been fandom jumping then felt the urge to make somewhat of a reference sheet for the lifers for future use. Yap session about the designs below:

Grian: Very standard Grian. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one. I imagine the turtleneck being wide enough to hide his mouth behind as he stares menacingly into the distance. His eyebrows are practically fused with his eyes but it's probably best not to think about it too much. I have considered placing a literal waffle on the back of his head but it might be tedious to draw continuously.

Scar: Everytime I draw Scar he looks weird. It might be because I'm not too good with longer faces, but that's how I'd imagine the character looks like. I think I'll switch up this design a lot as his eyes and hair bug me sometimes. Maybe experiment with the scars too. Artists make him look really cool as an explosion victim.

Mumbo: The slicked back hair looks right. Extra strand sticking out to make him look a bit disheveled. I wonder if I should commit to making him look more goth/vampire-like. He gets a tiny mullet because it fits.

Jimmy: Wanted to make him look a bit bird-like so I tried to express that with the back of his head. I hope he looks pathetic enough.

Joel: Fairly shrek-like. I wanted to make him look grumpy so he has a shorter and broader build. Also decided that one green hair streak wasn't enough for my satisfaction. His brown coat has a honeycomb pattern, but that's not too obvious. Also, he is shorter than Lizzie.

Scott: Pretty sparkly guy. I wanted him to look quite friendly. He actually has thick eyelashes here instead of eyeshadow but I'm not against that idea either. Kind of miss his Last Life skin.

Impulse: I don't watch Impulse too much so this design was based on some common interpretations of him. The horns are a cute idea.

Skizz: Very standard Skizzleman design. The ripped sleeves and the arms are probably my favorite thing. Maybe I should add more hair on the arms.

Tango: People tend to draw him really different, so I took aspects from designs I liked and put it here. Both his sclera and shades ended up being red, but I thought the sclera was iconic and the design looks more interesting with shades on. I'm not sure if I'd prefer for Tango's hair to literally be made out of fire. I tried making it resemble fire instead.

Etho: Attempted to make him a contender for Top 10 Hottest Anime Men. I'm always interested to see how people work around his definitely unrecognizable Minecraft skin (sarcastic). Like other designs, I think I'll add a maple leaf on his clothes or something.

Bdubs: He looks more terrifying than I intended but that might be the point. Might change his hairstyle here. I'd like to draw his white-haired skin at some point.

Cleo: Very standard ZombieCleo design. The hair was based on their VTuber but I decided to use the clothes from their Minecraft skin. The stitches are the fun part. I might make her hair curlier.

Martyn: Very standard InTheLittleWood design. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×2. The little beard is a wonderful addition I think.

Ren: Picking between black or cyan shades was tough. He also gets an obligatory ponytail because uhm. Tail. Dog. Get it? I also took a good while figuring out how I should go about his ears. I wasn't satisfied with human ears but I needed the shades to fit somehow. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×3

Lizzie: Yes, I have watched Empires S1 and S2 and it shows. Whoever first decided to give Lizzie cat-like buns should be given an award. I like the idea of heart-shaped buns too so maybe I'll alternate on that.

BigB: Very standard Bigbst4tz2 design. Don't let his friendly interaction with Lizzie fool you but he tends to stare into your soul for uncomfortably long periods of time. The highlights in his eyes come and go.

Gem: Very standard GeminiTay design. She probably has my favorite skin among this batch. I heard there was a shortage of elf Gem (there isn't) and I have decided to contribute to that (because there's no such thing as too many elf Gems).

Pearl: Inside Pearl are two wolves and I decided to draw the one that's sopping wet. Her hair has a few crescent-shaped curls. I'm definitely looking forward to drawing her more intimidating side sometime.

Overall I was hoping to make the designs simple and mostly accurate to skins/pfps. Nothing too special, other than a few pointy ears I sprinkled around here and there. I might add more to the designs the more I draw them.

[digitaldaydreamm]

baby

babydaddy!rafe x reader

| summary | you try packing your things but rafe has other plans...

warnings: manipulation, cursing

a/n: part 2 is here!! don't worry, rafe and reader won't always be fighting, i don't plan on making another part to this lol, i promise to show the good sides of their relationship in the future (maybe some spicy content too *wink wink)so stay tuned... also my requests are open, send me your ideas for this pairing!! anything goes :)

masterlist

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the unmade bed and the open suitcase on the floor. You sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, clutching a shirt you’d been folding and unfolding for the past twenty minutes. Your thoughts were louder than the quiet hum of the fan overhead.

Rafe’s words from the night before echoed in your mind, harsh and unrelenting.

“You’re not taking Ellie.”

“You think you’re just gonna pack your shit and leave, like that’s a fucking option?”

“I’m not asking. You’re staying.”

Your fingers trembled as you tried to focus on folding another shirt, but you couldn’t drown out his voice. His anger. His control. Even now, hours later, the weight of it all sat heavy on your chest.

You didn’t know why you’d even started packing. You weren’t sure if it was defiance or desperation, but every time you tried to imagine walking out that door, you froze. You weren’t just leaving him; you were leaving behind the life you knew, the life you’d built around him.

Ellie stirred softly in her crib, and your eyes darted to her, heart aching. She didn’t understand any of this. She didn’t know why her mom was hesitating, why her dad’s voice had been sharp and unyielding the night before.

The sound of the front door opening made your stomach drop.

Your body went still, every muscle tensing as Rafe’s heavy boots thudded against the floor.

When the bedroom door opened, you didn’t look up, even as his presence filled the space.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice was sharp, each word cutting through the air like a knife.

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the pile of clothes in front of you. “I’m—”

“Packing?” he finished for you, his tone mocking. “Yeah, I can fucking see that. You think this is some kind of joke?”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

He strode further into the room, his hand brushing over the open suitcase before grabbing it and tossing it onto the floor. The sound made you flinch.

“You don’t get to leave, kid,” he said, his voice low and biting. “You don’t fucking pack up and walk out like it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you said softly, daring to meet his gaze.

“Oh, so you’ve thought this through? That it?” He folded his arms, his broad frame blocking out the light from the hallway. “You thought about what happens when you’re out there on your own? You thought about what you’re gonna do when shit gets hard and I’m not there to clean up your mess?”

“Rafe—”

“No,” he interrupted, his jaw tightening. “Don’t fucking ‘Rafe’ me right now. You think you can take Ellie and just… what? Run? Start over?”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak away,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Then what the fuck is this?” He gestured toward the clothes you’d been folding. “You just packing for fun?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I’m trying to do what’s best for Ellie,” you said quietly.

“Bullshit.” His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing. “You’re doing what’s easiest for you. Don’t pretend this is about her. Don’t fucking stand there and act like you’ve got some moral high ground, because you don’t.”

You stayed silent, your fingers clutching the fabric in your lap like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’ve done everything for you,” he said, his tone rough but steady. “Everything. And this is how you pay me back? By trying to fucking leave?”

“I told you, you don’t own me, Rafe,” you said softly, though your voice shook.

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “No, you’re right. I don’t. But you’re mine. And you’ve always known that. So don’t pull this shit and act like you’re some fucking martyr.”

Your breath hitched as he crouched in front of you, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his voice low but unyielding. “You’re staying. You and Ellie. End of story.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped you.

He reached out, his hand gripping your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not walking out on me,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve convinced yourself of. You’re not leaving. You think anyone else is gonna take care of you like I do? You think anyone else is gonna love you the way I do?”

Your chest felt tight, his words wrapping around you like a noose. You hated how easily he could make you doubt yourself, make you question everything you thought you knew.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You blinked, confused. “Say what?”

“That you’re staying.” His grip on your chin tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Say you’re not leaving.”

The tears spilled over now, and you felt yourself nodding despite the voice in your head screaming at you to stop. “I’m not leaving,” you whispered.

His expression softened just a fraction, and he released your chin, brushing your tears away with his thumb. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now put this shit away. You’re not going anywhere.”

You nodded again, your movements mechanical as you reached for the clothes scattered across the bed.

Rafe stood, watching you for a moment before stepping closer and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re done talking about this,” he said firmly. “Understand?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he said again, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment before he walked out, leaving you alone with the mess you’d made and the pieces of yourself you didn’t know how to put back together.

[natalicss]

Guilty Conscience

choi seunghyun x american pop star!reader

summary: you’ve been out of the public eye for five years. at the 2025 grammys, you’re making your comeback. unbeknownst to you, your ex boyfriend has been making his own comeback to the industry.

warnings: angst, american!reader, lots of mental health talk, depression, anxiety, toxic music industry, toxic industry IN GENERAL, breakup, i kinda rushed this so it sucks lowkey

word count: 5.5k

nat’s notes: hey y’all!! i wanted to get this out as soon as possible so HERE I AM!! this is my first t.o.p fic so i hope yall enjoyyyy. i kept it angsty because ive been writing too much happy shit. you’re welcome. hope you guys enjoy, if you don’t…idk don’t tell me. i’m not promising a part two to this, but…never say never - xoxo former belieber

You sat at the vanity in your greenroom. You watched as your hair dresser and makeup stylist worked their magic, elevating your features in the most beautiful ways. Meanwhile, your stylist rambled on about your outfit, talking about how it fit your body in all the right ways, and how difficult it was to tailor it the way you wanted. A joke thrown out about how high maintenance you are. You don’t really respond, smiling faintly as you look back at your reflection. 

Part of you couldn’t believe it. You were sitting in a greenroom, wearing custom designer wardrobe, getting your makeup and hair done by familiar faces, and within the hour you would be standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, all of whom had no idea you were there. Part of it felt normal. A familiar pattern easy to slip back into as if no time had passed. But that’s the thing, time had passed. Five years. Five years since your last tour. Five and a half since your last album. Five years since you disappeared from the media. Five years since your mental health had taken a detrimental turn and you needed to take care of yourself. Five years since you and your ex boyfriend broke up and never saw each other again. 

Your own decision to go off the radar for so long had nothing to do with your breakup, not really. The media had been cruel, talking about you in ways it hadn’t before. Talking about your greatest insecurities, nit-picking at every move you made on and off stage, spreading rumors about your romantic life (all of which were false, but fans didn’t care), people you thought were your friends had turned out to be frauds. The world of fame of glamour that was usually just that suddenly felt ugly and dark. You had to escape. Your breakup had only been collateral damage, both you and your ex wanting the same things, but somehow you both paid the price. 

The day you met him was a silly one. You were on a world tour, years ago. You had just made your big break, winning awards left and right, promoting a new album, traveling to places you’d never been. When you had a show in Seoul, you were ecstatic. The show itself was absolutely epic, and would go down in your music career as one of your best shows. Everything about it was perfect. From your vocals, to your dancers, to the lights, to the band, and to the crowd, it was legendary. 

It was after the show, you were drinking water as your manager excitedly told you someone wanted to meet you. She said it was a big name, and you urgently moved to follow her to find who exactly had come to your show. And there he was. Choi Seunghyun, but in that moment you knew him at T.O.P. You tried to maintain your excitement, but you were pretty sure he saw right through you. 

There was no intention behind his introduction. He had wanted to meet you after Kwon Ji-yong had played your song for him. She’s the next big thing, for sure, he’d said as he gestured to your album on his phone. Ji-yong had continued to rave about you, which only led to Seunghyun looking you up himself. He’d quickly become enamored. With your charm, your wittiness, your creative process, all of which was shown in your interviews and your videos. You were a force to be reckoned with, just like Ji-yong said, and Seunghyun had to know you. He had to see how your mind worked. All of his curiosity was purely about music, about the industry.

So, the two of you became friends, following each other on socials. And you’d be the one to text him first, thanking him for coming to your show. You liked to think that text was what sealed your fate. Your fate that you’d eventually fall in love with Seunghyun. A whirlwind romance. Unexpected, but it made more sense than anything else ever had. The media had not known about the two of you (a choice you both made, and later were grateful for). The softness he held for you and nobody else. The warmth of his voice when he called you daily. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he’d surprise you by showing up at your shows. Your hands in his hair as you helped him dye it different colors. Your voice when you sang him your newest love songs inspired by him. Your laugh when he’d wrap his arms around your waist and lift you in the air.

A whirlwind romance that ended in fire and ashes. 

You don’t know where exactly it had all gone to shit, for lack of better words. Was it the distance? Was it the scandals the two of you had faced at the same time? Was it the pressure of society weighing you both down? You weren’t quite sure. You’d been there for Seunghyun during his darkest days. You’d stop your life to live with him as long as he needed. You faced his guilt, his anger, his grief, his anxiety, all with him even when he pushed you away. It never deterred you. Seunghyun, at the time, could never understand. Why would you want to be burdened by him and his actions? Why wouldn’t you leave him? He had tried, begged you, pleaded you to leave him be. He knew you deserved better than him, but he was too selfish at the time to end it himself. He didn’t want you to leave him. 

And when your own world started to crumble, Seunghyun tried to be there with you.The media had pulled you apart at the seams. The fans that once adored you now treated you like you were a wicked witch. The fellow musicians who were your friends now stood back and watched as you struggled for air. They let you drown in the cruelty of the media. And what had you done? The truth was, well, nothing. You’d done nothing wrong, and somehow that was the worst thing you could have done. You were good, too good, so surely something must be wrong with you. 

And as Seunghyun watched the light drain from your eyes, a guilt riddled in his chest. He’d tried to be there for you, but his efforts fell short. You were both drowning. Your own worlds were suffocating you both. He could not save you, for he could not save himself. But you could not save you, either, for you were too busy saving him. When he realized this, the selfish feelings he had were suddenly burning him alive. He could not keep you. Not when you paid the price. 

That was five years ago. Five years ago, Choi Seunghyun had broken up with you in his home in Seoul. Five years ago, you begged him with tears to stay. You were too selfish to let him go. He had to be the selfless one, because if he wasn’t, he knew the world would lose you permanently. He’d rather you’d hate him and live than love him and rot. 

His efforts pulled off. You spent the next five years healing. Therapy, medication, meditation, yoga, music, spending time with family or friends, and just about every other coping mechanism you could try. You did it all. Two years ago you started writing music again. A year and a half ago, you’d started producing. A year ago, you started working with your team to start talking about a comeback. And now, here you were, at the Grammy’s, about to announce exactly that. You were back, ready to face the spotlight after so long of praying it’d never find you again. 

The setlist was simple. It’d start playing an old song of yours, your first hit that started your career, before glitching out. Then, the set would open up to reveal you under the flickering lights before your biggest song started. You were shaking, unable to focus on anything other than directly ahead of you. You didn’t even want to think of the song you were about to play, because of course your biggest hit would be a song about Seunghyun. It was the first song you wrote about him. It was upbeat, fun, energetic, sensual, and hit every mark that reminded you of Seunghyun. The song had skyrocketed your career even farther than anything you’d seen. You were already building a name for yourself, but this song had became the song that people associated with you when you were mentioned. If only they knew who you thought of.

Still, you held your head high as you heard the cue. You could hear one song start, causing the crowd to go quiet. It only took a moment before they began to scream in realization. You sucked in a heavy breath, watching as the lights began to flicker, the set began to move, the audio began to malfunction, and the crowd got louder. It all came to a head as everything went quiet. A spotlight shined on you as you smirked at the camera. The crowd goes ballistic. Screaming, cheering, gasps of surprise coming from the guests of the night. You soaked in the cheers, the exact shot of energy you needed. You looked around, your confidence growing as you finally felt something you hadn’t in a long time. You felt like you belonged.

“Did you miss me?”

Choi Seunghyun was going about his own day. He’d been busy, of late. Interviews, working on his own music for the future, photoshoots. He’d been out of the public eye for so long, and he still was unsure of it all. Still, he was finding his footing in a world he once loved so much. His first step was acting. The perception had been mixed, at first, but now he was seeing the positives again. Something he hadn’t seen in years. 

He was in between meetings, taking a quick break. He was sitting in an office, alone, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. Part of him loved seeing all the positive feedback, the love he’d gotten for his new role, the support for the future of his career. But part of it still settled uneasy on his chest. Seeing comments about his past reminded him of the guilt he’d tried so hard to move on from. Ignoring it was difficult, but he managed to do well most days.

Then, on his instagram explore page, he saw a familiar face. Yours.

He clicked on it.

There you were, standing on a stage. For a moment, he thought this was an old clip, but he knew it wasn’t because your hair was not that length the last time he saw you. He looked at the caption. Y/N MAKES COMEBACK AT THE GRAMMYS. PERFORMS HER BIGGEST HITS ALONG WITH NEW SINGLE.

He’d never admit how quickly he opened YouTube. 

Seunghyun felt all of the air in his longs dissipate as he stared at his phone screen. As the music of the song you wrote for him began to play. You looked different. Your eyes filled with a familiar light, something that hadn’t been there when you packed your things from his home. You looked healthier. Lighter. The weight of the media no longer crushing your bones like before. As the song started and your dancers moved with you, Seunghyun was mesmerized. The same way he was when he’d visit your shows. The way you move so effortlessly. The flirtation in your lyrics, when you’d lean against another dancer and let them sway your hips. The way you still sang it was better than the recording, in his opinion. He still new every word. He found himself mouthing them as he watched you command the stage like you never left.

For a moment, he felt jealous of you. The way it seemed like time hadn’t affected you like it did him. The way you seemed so…okay. He wasn’t okay. He had changed so much over the years, even more so when he finally bit the bullet and said goodbye. He wasn’t the same man he was. But you still looked the same. You had the same smile. The same choreography. The same dancers. You just looked…better.

“Did you miss me?” 

Your voice rang in his ears, the words feeling like a mockery of how he felt. Teasing the way he sat there staring at the screen with conflicted emotions swirling in his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had seen him. His return to the industry. He’d wondered if you saw the articles months ago, or if you’d seen him in Squid Game first. He’d wondered if you saw the interviews he’d just done, or if you’d somehow manage to dodge anything relating to your ex lover. Maybe you were the luckier one out of the two of them. 

A familiar ache in his chest continued to build as he watched your performance. As you danced on stage with dancers he’d recognized from as far back as when he met you. As you sang to a crowd of your musical peers who’d either had your back or stabbed it. As you commanded the stage with a new level of confidence he’d hadn’t seen you wear in years. He felt that ache. He felt the way his heart pounded against his ribcage. How his lungs suddenly felt like they couldn’t hold enough air. How his eyes burned because he couldn’t blink. He could only stare.

As the song ended, the cameras cut to the various artists there, cheering and screaming loudly for you. A sense of pride washed over Seunghyun. This was the praise you’d deserved. To be recognized by some of the biggest stars in the industry. To be admired by the people again. It was all right there for you, waiting for you. Something he was sure you didn’t expect, but he did. 

As your dancers started to move away, you started walking to the second stage in the midst of the tables of guests. One dancer hands you a jacket to cover up, and you come to a microphone. A slow song starts playing. Seunghyun closes his eyes tightly as he realizes this was one of the last songs you’d released. It was a breakup song. A song filled with his promises he broke and your shattered heart left in between the lyrics. He had hardly listened to it since it was released, the memories of your breakup coming in every time.

You had stared at him with doe-eyes, but he refused to look at you. He couldn’t. Not when he finally had just enough strength to let you go. He knew one look at your heart broken face would have him retracting, falling to the floor and hugging your body as he begs you to forgive him and forget what he’d said. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t keep you, no matter how much he wanted to.

You’d been living with him in Seoul for a while. Mostly to help him with his struggles, a choice you made without him asking. Your undying loyalty for him trumping any other option. The media’s cruelty towards you had started sometime after. You put on a brave face, at first, but as time passed by and their criticisms were more so filled with hate, your facade cracked. Seunghyun watched helplessly. He couldn’t save you. Not like this. He’d tried, but no words and no comfort were there. He was so broken, so lost within himself in the worst ways that he couldn’t even reach for your hand as you sobbed next to him at night. 

But you, you always did. You wiped his tears when he cried to you. You whispered sweet nothings to him to reassure him that he was deserving of good things. You made his favorite meals, or ordered them if you didn’t know how. You surprised him with small gifts. You loved him so seamlessly, so effortlessly, so loudly…Seunghyun didn’t understand why he couldn’t be as good to you as you were to him. 

And then, as he stood a few feet away from you, looking out a window, the guilt seemed to chew at his organs. The deafening silence felt cold. We can’t do this anymore, he had whispered to you. Your breath hitched, your soft eyes suddenly swimming with something else.

“Why?” Your voice came out in soft concern. “Seunghyun, what happened?” You were more worried about him. Because of course you were. Your love for him, your loyalty, it all seemed to matter more to you than anything.

Seunghyun closed his eyes tight as he tried to erase the way your voice sounded. “We aren’t good for eachother.” Was all he could say. His own voice would betray him if he said more.

You shook your head. You got up from the couch you’d previously been sitting on, walking closer to your boyfriend. He refuse to look at you. He was staring out at the city. A city he almost despised now. A world he had grown a resentment towards after it tore you apart. Him? Fine. He’d take his guilt and he’d drown in it again and again until it melted off his skin and left him nothing but bones. But you? You were different. You were better. You deserved better.

“I can’t help you,” He says softly, a quiet confession. “I can’t be the partner you need.”

It was almost naive of you, the way you only batted your eyes at him and shook your head. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. This was some sick joke. Or maybe Seunghyun saw something in the media about him that made him feel insecure. You weren’t sure, but you knew that this couldn’t be it. Not like this. You reached for his arm, your fingers delicately touching his skin. “Seunghyun-” You flinched as he pulled away from your grasp. He’d never done that before, not even when the two of you got into your fights.

“This isn’t a discussion.” He said. His tone turned harsh, a way for him to get through this without shattering at your feet. It was another thing he didn’t do often with you. Sure, when you fought sometimes things got loud, shouting at each other to try and get your thoughts heard and understood. But the sting felt harsher here. You felt your eyes starting to burn as tears built up. You were so confused. This morning, the two of you were wrapped in each others arms, nothing more than tangled limbs and kisses with swollen lips. You two were smiling, your hands tracing each others bare skin. You two were happy, you thought. How could so much have changed in this short amount of time?

Seunghyun felt like he was going to throw up. Every part of his body screamed at him to shut the fuck up, change his mind, wrap you in his arms and throw the both of you back in the bed and stay there until your lips were bruised and your hands were molded to each other. Despite every urge, every instinct, every thought telling him to stop, he didn’t. He looked at you now, clenching his jaw hard as he watched the fat tears roll down your face.

“This isn’t working out. We aren’t working out.” He gestured to the air between you. Air that was usually warm and comforting had now became cold and suffocating. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You watched as he turned away from you, walking in the direction of your shared bedroom. Another emotion ate at you now. Rage boiled under your skin as you started storming after him. “What the hell is happening!?” You threw your hands in the air as you walked into the room. Confusion, frustration, it all swam in your expression as you looked at him. “You can’t do what anymore? I haven’t asked anything from you!”

That was true, and part of that was the problem. You never asked anything from him, because you knew how much he had on his own plate. Instead, you took what you could from him, accepting the little-to-no affection he’d give you most days. You accepted the uglier versions of him. The darker versions people in the industry hadn’t seen before. You accepted the days you’d go without seeing Seunghyun, knowing he was out somewhere coping in awful ways while you sat in your home and waited. You accepted the tears that he’d shed over his mistakes. You accepted the anger that came out at sudden moments, all swirled in with guilt. You took it all without a single complaint, and you loved him so deeply and so openly it hurt him more. Because he couldn’t do that for you. He couldn’t show his love for you in the ways you needed it. You were just to blind to see it.

Seunghyun ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I know, it’s not like that, okay? I just can’t-”

“Can’t what?” You walked closer, your eyes wide with desperation as you looked at him. You studied his face for anything at all. Something to explain this. Something that’d give away his thoughts. You wanted to understand. “What did I do? What can I do? Please, just talk to me. Please.” You begged. Your voice croaked as you tried to fight back your own sobs. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”

This time, Seunghyun is the one that’s fighting back his sobs. He swallows painfully has he shakes his head at you. His heart was tearing apart. “Y/N,” He whispered. You stared at him, watching as he slowly shook his head. Somehow that spoke more words than anything either of you could say. It wasn’t up to you. He’d made his choice.

That felt like a lifetime ago, and yet he still remembered it like it was yesterday.

The breakup song wasn’t a ballad. In fact it had an almost upbeat tune behind it as you sang. Different emotions swirling in every lyric. Anger, desperation, bargaining, all of the same emotions you’d felt the very night your relationship fell apart. You sang alone on the little stage, moving around to sing at the crowd, but oftentimes your eyes remained on the camera in front of you. It felt as if you sang to him directly, all these years later. Reminding him. Reminding him how you would have stayed if he had asked. How you were always his even if he was not always yours. 

He clenched his jaw as he watched. Every time the camera switched to focus on the crowd or your band was a blessing. A second of freedom from the raw emotions you’d seemed to dig up when singing this song. It was like you were reliving it too. Just like he was. Both of you still stuck in that bedroom. Your voice still pleading for understanding. His body still yearning. His eyes avoiding you. His words shattering reality.

And when the song finally ended, Seunghyun couldn’t breathe. He wanted it to be over. He could click away, he knows that. But he doesn’t. He watches as the crowd cheers your name, and the cameras focus on the darkness of the room. A mystery lurking behind the scenes as people wondered what song you’d perform next.

The unfamiliar intro of another song began. Almost all vocals, the dancers crowded around your body, and you’re staring directly at the camera. The crowd goes wild as your dancers crowd around you, their hands dragging all over your body as you pose. A  beat hits, the lights go out. Seunghyun watches. Another beat, the lights flash on, and you start singing again. A new song, your first song in five years. You start a new complicated dance routine, your body moving naturally with every line.

Seunghyun listened closely to the words. His mouth went dry as he began to register the words. Your comeback song was filled with confidence, but it had a meaning behind it. Seunghyun started to blink, tapping his phone to rewind ten seconds to listen again. Seunghyun felt like throwing up. He very well might. You singing a song about loving someone, despite the way the both of you are, well, not very good for each other. Felt oddly on the nose. The sound of the song was much more your style. Pop with electronic flares, music with fun beats and catchy chorus’s that fueled your dancers. Sensuality flowing through you.

It dawned on him, then. Realization. You were back. You weren’t hiding from the industry, and in a way, you weren’t hiding from him. Whatever had changed between five years ago and now…he knew it was clear. You’d found yourself, just like he’d hoped. You were ethereal as you moved around the stage. You were confident, strong, sexy, absolutely perfect. He couldn’t help but smirk, his chest swelling with pride. 

He’d always been proud of you. You’d always been freakishly talented. Your creative abilities amazed him. It’s what drew him to you in the first place. Even after all this time, you hadn’t lost that flare. That spark. He saw it, even now, as you struck a pose in the center of the stage, finishing the song. Everybody cheered. Everybody was on their feet, clapping and loudly yelling in appreciation. It had been a surprise for all of them, and seemingly everybody loved it. You were breathing heavily, and he could see it. Underneath the emotional layers you wore on stage, he could see the nerves that had seemed to finally relax. He could see your eyes studying every face. Your lips curling up in a wide smile.

You’d made it. Just like he knew you would. 

As the video ended, Seunghyun reopened instagram. It was still sitting on the same post. A news source that had already started making articles to explain how big of a deal this was. He could see comments piling up in excitement. You were breaking the internet, though that didn’t surprise him at all. A gentle, sad, soft smile on his face, Seunghyun double tapped the screen. A heart was on the middle of his screen, covering you for only a second, before he clicked his phone off. He looked up as someone walked in, telling him it was time for the next meeting. He stood up, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, nodding politely.

You were basking in after parties. 

Your music friends invited you out immediately, knowing you hadn’t been to one of these events in so long. You accepted, feeling deserving after making a comeback in a very loud way. Everyone was congratulating you, telling you how proud they were, how they couldn’t wait to hear what was next, and just about every other compliment imaginable. You let yourself accept them. It was praise you were no longer used to, but you’d be damned if you didn’t let yourself have it all for one night.

So, here you were, at some expensive hotel rented out by some super star for the party, dancing your heart out in a short sparkly dress, holding your third or fourth glass of champagne. You were having the time of your life. In your hiatus, you’d taken a lot of time for yourself. To learn to love yourself, to have more confidence in you and your choices. You took time to learn that the media was always going to be cruel; you just had to choose if you’d let it eat you alive or if you’d rise above it. It seems you’d finally learned how to do the latter. 

You’d also made the choice to stay off social media. You’d had side profiles to watch things, but you’d made the choice to focus on real life. It was an effort to keep the critiques and harsh words to a minimum for the last few years. Your team posted photos of your choice, let you pick the captions, they posted stories and such for you, but overall you remained off line. Until tonight, I guess. You had ended up sitting on a couch after dancing to way too many songs with your friends. You hiccuped, opening social media apps to see the reviews thus far.

Twitter, X, whatever, had been an expected mix. People mostly excited seeing you around again, looking happy and alive. Enthusiasm over the new music coming later in the year. There were the random haters, but you knew now to scroll past if it wasn’t meaningful or progressive in any way. 

Tiktok was already swimming with edits. You giggled at the comments, knowing how absolutely wild fans could get on there. You didn’t stay there long, worried you’d start overthinking the way you looked in certain frames. Silly things you can’t control. You were confident in your appearance and your stage presence now. Something you lacked before. But the nerves still ate at you, even if only slightly. It was progress, something that’d take time and more performances to work through. You closed the app to move on to another one.

Instagram comments flooded your page. You hadn’t posted anything yet, but people were already raving about you. Part of you was surprised. Sure, you knew some people would be happy, but the overwhelming amounts of love you were receiving was still unexpected. Even with years of therapy and self-help, you weren’t sure many people would care about you anymore. It felt nice to be proven otherwise. To prove the dark parts of you that still lingered wrong. 

You were looking at posts about you. From fanpages to news articles. Some included clips of your performance, some just random stills. You were smiling softly. People wanted more from you. They were ready for the single, the album, even a tour if thats what you chose. It all sparked a familiar joy in you. A familiar excitement that had been buried under years of torment from the media. But you weren’t letting it control you. Not anymore. 

Then, by chance, as you scrolled through the recommended posts on your explore page, you saw something.

Liked by ttt and others

You blinked, thinking it was the champagne making you read it wrong. You read it again. And again. And again. ttt. T.O.P. Choi Seunghyun. Suddenly you felt remarkably sober.

Admittedly, you stopped keeping up with him after Still Life came out. Your friends and people around you told you it wasn’t good for you, and they were right. You’d spent years waiting for him to come back to you. Waiting for him to check in. Send a postcard. Anything. You couldn’t fully heal while holding out for him. So you had to stop. You had to pull away even when every part of you hated the idea. 

And now you were staring at his instagram username like it’d just kicked you in the stomach. It felt that way too. 

You clicked his name. The air kicked out of your lungs as you looked at a photo of him with purple hair, painted nails, wearing a teal sweatshirt with the number 230. You’d heard he’d been in Squid Game, but you’d chosen to avoid it and Netflix entirely for the foreseeable future. 

This leads you to a spiral, in the middle of an afterparty, googling your ex boyfriend and seeing all the things he’d been up to while you were gone. From his wine company to dearMoon to Squid Game. His interviews were filled with remorse and nerves. You hated how you still felt empathy for him. You hated how deeply you related to every sentence. You hated how even after all this time it felt like the two of you spoke the same language. 

But you also had felt a smile form as you read his hopes for the future. As you saw photos of him. Clips of him doing press for the show. He was slowly coming out of the shell he’d been forced into. And he was still beautiful. Still soft and warm in the ways you remembered. You’d wanted this for him for so long, so of course you found yourself looking at photos of him with a level of fondness that felt unfamiliar now.

And as you stared at the video and series of photos of Seunghyun on Squid Games’s instagram account, you pondered your next move. What were the chances he’d see it? Slim, considering the post was a few days old. What were the chances fans would see it? Less slim, considering they’d be watching your moves now. So, you did the logical thing. You liked the image, a heart forming over Seunghyun’s face for a moment. Then, to cover your tracks, you liked a few more Squid Game posts. You’re just a fan of the show, you could say if people talked too much. You even were sure to follow Lee Jung Jae to make it more passable. Sure, your team and your friends would know the real reasonings, but it wasn’t obvious to anyone else.

Other than Seunghyun, of course, who saw it a few days later.

[itsswritten]

gone. | 3

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 5.9K

Warnings: Slight angst, drinking alcohol, nightmares, slight mentions of death.

Summary: Sometimes it take's heartbreak to move on...or to realise what you've always had.

<< Previous Part

To celebrate your return, Mor insisted on a night out at Rita's. Despite your lingering exhaustion and the pull of a quiet weekend begging you to spend it sleeping and reading, you didn’t have the heart to say no to her.

That evening, you prioritised finishing your reports before joining your friends at Rita's. You had always been exceptionally dutiful in your role, taking immense pride in your responsibilities. Though Mor grumbled at your decision to work, she reluctantly agreed to meet you there later, with the rest of the group.

As you worked alone, you cherished the moments of silence. After six months of solitude, acclimatising to the hustle and bustle of family life was both exciting and well… exhausting. And navigating your relationship with Azriel wasn’t the easiest, you were trying, trying really hard in fact. And although you had fallen into old patterns, it was still a little awkward at times. 

Azriel had perhaps had the most enjoyable week he’d experienced since you’d left all those months ago. Everyone had noticed how the tension had eased from his shoulders, warmth had returned to his eyes and how finally, his lips would pull into a full smile again. Azriel hadn’t allowed himself a moment of happiness since you left, in fact he quickly realised in your absence how you were the cause of most of his smiles. So your eagerness to mend a bridge between you both had been greatly appreciated, and he had relished in having your company back.

Yet, despite the familiarity in your interactions– friendly banter, teasing laughter and comforting silence. Azriel still felt the weight of your confession, and what it had done to him. How it had peeled back the layers on himself, revealing something that threatened the very dynamic you had begged for when you came back.

Best friends again?

Your words reverberated in his mind, a relentless echo of your plea. Azriel had teetered on the edge of refusal, almost said no, on the brink of voicing his own desire for something more. Admitting that just being friends would no longer be enough. But he found himself frozen under your vulnerable gaze, he had faltered, he too, consumed with the fear of unsettling the delicate relationship between you. The idea of risking your friendship was too daunting, too uncertain. It was safer to remain friends, safer to keep things as they were.

So he had remained silent.

Azriel took another sip of his drink, listening to his family laughing around their designated table at Rita’s. You weren’t here yet, your usual spot next to him and Mor still empty. Mor had mentioned you were wrapping up some work, and a part of him couldn't shake the urge to seek you out. He was contemplating sending his shadows to check on you. 

Again.

His shadows had been silent watchers since you came back, although you hadn’t you seemed to mind. In fact after spending six months with a few of the smoky tendrils, you actually welcomed their company. Each morning, you were greeted by at least one shadow curling around your cheek, or if you were away from the group for too long, a shadowy companion would appear to give you a light whispery kiss on your skin.

Whether they acted of their own accord or at Azriel's behest remained unclear to you.

He had always been protective of his family, but it only intensified with you since your return. It becoming somewhat obsessive. He couldn’t stop himself though, and you hadn’t rejected his shadows yet, so he took that as silent confirmation that he could continue.

“Gods, the girl has always known how to dress.” Amren said approvingly, her words pulling Azriel out of his thoughts. He followed her gaze to the entrance of Ritas, where a familiar figure seemed to capture the attention of the room.

You.

Dressed in a black lacy number, you exuded an alluring energy. In fact you always had, but Azriel in all his centuries of knowing you had done a remarkable job of ignoring it. The dress was classy in shape, but the sheerness added that Night Court sex appeal you always carried so well. A little black thong and bralette peeked through the sheer fabric, while the lace hugged all your curves.

You had always captured the attention of everyone, a trait of yours that had only become more endearing to Azriel as the years went on. But previously, he would bury those thoughts and feelings in the darkest recesses of his mind, never to be touched. Them only slipping out occasionally in his dreams.

Those particular dreams had plagued his sleep for centuries now, his deepest desires burying themselves in his consciousness to slide out when he drifted into a slumber. His suppressed desires manifesting themselves in vivid dreams, visions of you that often made him struggle with what was real or illusion. 

Some dreams were innocent, filled with whispered conversations under the starry nights. Dreams of taking you flying while your melodic laugh filled his ears. It was those nights he slept soundly, his mind surrendering to the hazy false reality.

There were also those darker dreams. More forbidden. 

The kind that made it hard for him to look at you the next day. It was those dreams he struggled to stir from, the kind of dreams where he’d find you waiting for him in his bed, or where he’d wake still hearing your moans and the taste of you on his lips. 

He’d had more of those dreams since you’d come back, and he knew he would definitely have that problem tonight after seeing you in that dress.

Was it really a problem though?

He couldn’t pretend that those dreams weren’t some of his favourites. As guilty as they made him feel.

And now, after everything. Knowing that there had been a possibility you could have been his, that feeling you, tasting you could have been his reality– he found it hard to steer his gaze. Hard to ignore your allure. Hard to believe he ever could have been so blind.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

His shadows coiled round his ear to chant, it was information he didn’t need. Because he already knew how beautiful you were. 

He watched as you sauntered in, flashing a smile and small wave to regulars you recognised. A male had reached out, gently tugging on your arm for your attention, Azriel swore he heard him beg you to come dance.

“Maybe later,” you replied sweetly.

He was glad you rejected that male, glad he didn’t have to watch you dance with someone else, not that he had a right to feel that way. Azriel’s eyes followed the sway of your dress as it cascaded down to calf-length. He was mesmerised by you, and when he caught your scent he had to stop a quiet groan rolling up his throat.

Careful Azriel, you’re almost salivating there. It was Rhys’ talons that had clawed on Azriel’s mind, only for him to tease as soon as he was granted access.

Azriel shot Rhys a dark glare.

Fuck off.

Rhys merely laughed into Azriel’s mind. I’m just reminding you, that’s not how you look at a friend.

I said fuck off.

How you stayed composed all those centuries, to merely crumble now I’ll never understand.

Azriel was fast to push Rhys out his mind, while you took your seat beside him. “I got you a drink,” Azriel said to you, pushing your favourite cocktail your way.

“Thanks Az,” you beamed, picking the glass up to sip of the sweet concoction. A soft giggle left your lips as one of his shadows, coiled round the glass up your hand, to greet and pepper you with kisses.

He wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked, the words on the tip of his tongue but there was this fear holding him back. 

“ME-OWW, I want a bite of you!” Mor teased, her fingers grabbing your waist pulling you closer to her on the bench.

“Was that Orion giving you those sex-eyes?” she spoke loudly, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. She had clearly seen the interaction you’d had with an old admirer of yours. 

You shrugged nonchalantly in response, opting to sip your drink instead of answer.

“We aren’t the only ones to have missed you it seems.” Nesta purred from across the table, joining in on Mor’s suggestiveness.

“Put the poor male out of his misery and fuck him already.” Amren smirked, stating an obvious solution.

The table erupted in amusement, words of encouragement and teasing remarks filling the air. It was definitely an option, one worth considering. Especially after that crushing rejection from Azriel.

And Orion was undeniably attractive. He had that deep dark tan with vibrant blond hair that offered a stark contrast to Azriel. It would be a welcome distraction.

However he could never match Azriel’s beauty. 

You noticed how strikingly handsome Azriel was looking tonight, dressed in all black just like you. Always so smart and chic, the pair of you always dressed that way. Mor had pointed out years ago, you both always seemed to coordinate effortlessly. Her comment had sparked a glimmer of hope within you, something you had desperately clung to. That maybe yours and Azriel’s connection was deeper, and a small part of you had fantasised at the possibility that maybe you were mates. 

In the end it had just been wishful thinking. Fulled by your own affection and longing. You and Azriel were fated to be only friends.

And that would be enough.

You rolled your bottom lip into your mouth, glancing behind you with Mor to look at the male. A large shit-eating grin on his face as he winked at you. He was quite the charmer.

“Hmmm maybe,” you replied to your friends quietly as you turned back to face them, Mor bumping her shoulder with yours gently in response. 

Maybe this was how you would move on from Azriel? By getting under someone else. 

You’re not sure why you felt compelled to look, why you cared what he thought, but your gaze steered to your side. Gazing up at your handsome darked-haired friend. Azriel’s eyes were already on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that caught you off guard. 

He didn’t appear impressed, neither angry nor happy. “You’re too good for him,” he stated quietly, before taking a sip of his drink again.

You wanted to respond, ask what he meant by that. Ask why he even cared, why it even mattered. Casual rendezvous’ didn’t hold some kind of standards, and your partners didn’t need to meet whatever expectations Azriel suddenly had for you.

“Oh shut it Az! She deserves to get laid, she didn’t get to have any fun on her trip and that was six months long!” Mor reiterated her rhetoric from the other day.

You rolled your eyes, about to interject to remind her once again you were not on some half-year vacation.

“It was not some trip but a high-stakes mission yadda yadda” Mor chimed, mimicking you.

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing, the female really knew how to open you up. Her teasing, her probing, was relentless to some. But had always worked on you. Pulling back those walls. 

Giving her a playful glint you spoke, “I almost had some fun if you must know.”

For some reason, you found yourself stealing a glance at Azriel, curious about his reaction. He had never taken an interest in your romantic encounters in the past, so his sudden attention confused you. 

Azriel tensed at your words, chewing the inside of his cheek before taking another sip of his drink. It was Rhys that was watching him with that infamous smirk. Azriel wanted to wipe it clean off his brother’s face.

I told you to fuck off.

Rhys only laughed back into his brother's mind.

“Give me all the details.” Mor squealed, clasping your hands in hers.

You shrugged, your lips curing into a soft smirk, retelling how you had met this mysterious male on your travels. “He was really cute…handsome…had these gorgeous eyes,” you sighed dramatically, your eyes gazing off into the distance, hand on your heart. “But he was the enemy, so I had to kill him.”

Your friends laughed in response, some of them shaking their heads in disbelief. Nesta leaned across the table with a dark glint in her eye, “You could have had a bit of fun first.”

You scoffed playfully at the notion, hand waving in the air dismissively. “Etiquette darling. I don’t like playing with my food before eating,” you purred.

Nesta shook her head with a smirk, “I’ve missed you, come dance.”

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a command when it came to Nesta and dancing. You rose from your seat, Mor and Feyre joining you eagerly as you made your way into the crowd, letting the music engulf you.

Azriel’s eyes, though, stayed glued on you.

"She's not going anywhere, Az," Cassian chuckled, downing the rest of his drink. It was easy for Cassian to assume Azriel’s obsessive nature had spun from your absence, from your dangerous mission, just Azriel’s natural protectiveness of all his family members, but of course that wasn’t the only reason.

He couldn't help but watch you, captivated by every movement. Not when you looked like that, when you moved like that, smelt like that.

Your confession had torn him a part, shattered his perception, forcing him to confront feelings he'd long buried. Make him acknowledge a possible reality he never considered himself worthy of. Azriel couldn't shake the image of what could have been, a world where it would have been your body swaying against his tonight.

Cassian had smacked his empty glass on the table now, shouting that he’d get another round in as he walked over to the bar.

“So what are you going to do, Azriel?” Rhys then asked, his own eyes never leaving Feyre who was dancing drunkenly with you.

Azriel glanced briefly at Amren, who remained at the table, swirling her drink absently. She didn't meet his gaze, clearly uninterested in being dragged into the complexities of her family's relationships.

"I don’t think you'll have four centuries to pine for her this time," Rhys remarked quietly. "I don’t think she'll wait that long."

Azriel drew in a sharp breath at Rhys’ words, his gaze still tracing the contours of your form. His breath caught as he realised your eyes had found him from across the crowded room. A soft smile forming on your lips, prompting him to give you one back in return.

If this was all he could have of you. Would it be enough?

❊

“Az…”

He heard someone calling his name. That familiar melodic tone.

“…Azriel wake up,” that soft sweet voice sang to him. 

Only that voice could pull him from his deepest dreams and nightmares. 

Azriel stirred, his consciousness slowly emerging from the recesses of sleep. Blinking groggily, he glanced around his dimly lit room, his mind clouded with confusion. 

His head throbbed faintly, a dull ache pulsating behind his temples. Had he drank too much? He couldn't remember.

He turned on his side to face where your voice had called him, only to find you laying beside him. Why were you here? What had happened last night?

There was a soft smile gracing your lips. You were adorned in a delicate white nightgown, that seemed to shimmer in the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. You were a vision of ethereal beauty— and you were in his bed. A sight that left Azriel momentarily breathless.

How had this come to be?

You were so close to him, only a breath away from his face. So close, he could feel the warmth radiating from your body. For a fleeting moment, he almost let himself get lost in your gaze. Those eyes, he loved so much. He often dreamt of them, lost himself in them, and searched for them in a crowded room. He loved the way they crinkled when you laughed. A sight he would never tire from seeing.

His mind was reeling though, he couldn't recall getting into bed. Or when you joined him.

"It's time, Az..." you whispered.

Azriel didn’t understand.

"Time for what?" Azriel mumbled, his brow furrowing in bewilderment.

Your words were sickly sweet, dripping with an unsettling ambiguity that sent shivers down his spine. But before he could make sense of them, your fingers were threading through his hair, and he found himself paralysed by the intimacy of the touch.

"It's just time," you murmured softly, your smile masking a deeper sorrow. Your voice echoing through the caverns of his mind like a haunting melody. 

But time for what? 

Azriel's confusion deepened, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong, he could sense it. 

Where were his shadows?

Before he could question you further, he watched as you closed the small gap between you, pressing your lips to his.

As your lips met, there was a sensation of weightlessness over Azriel. As if he was suspended in a realm where time held no sway. It was silent, peaceful and felt endless. He wasn’t sure why or how this was happening, but he couldn’t bring himself to question. Couldn’t bring himself to break away.

No, not now. Not now he had you. 

His heart swelled with a mixture of joy and disbelief. You were finally his, finally in his arms.

He felt you against him. Your body plush to his, melting into his touch. A warmth vibrated through his chest, as your breaths mingled. Azriel’s arms wrapped around you tighter, as if terrified this would all slip away. 

Wait, something was wrong. But Azriel, lost to your touch, couldn’t remember what.

The softness of your kisses against his lips was like a sweet melody, stirring something deep within him. He craved more, his hunger for you insatiable, as if he could never get enough to quench the burning desire within him.

This was what he had been searching for all those years. All those times he got it wrong, thinking it was someone else. It had in fact been right in front of him the whole time– you. 

He could feel you pulling away. Azriel looked at you now, noticing that sorrowful expression on your face again.

“It’s time…I have to move on now,” you smiled sadly.

 "Move on...what do you mean?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I've waited so long, Az...too long," you replied, your words laced with a haunting sense of finality.

Unable to find the right words, Azriel watched helplessly as you began to slip away, sliding out of his arms and off the bed. He tried to move, tried to grab you, stop you, pull you back but you were slipping through his fingers like water.

A cold breeze swept through the room, sending goosebumps over his body. The air seemed to grow thicker, heavier, as if the very atmosphere was connected with your emotion. 

Panic gripped his chest, like a claw had clasped his heart and it was squeezing it with every heartbeat. Desperation was flooding his senses as he reached out for you, his voice cracking with emotion. Something was wrong.

“Wait don’t leave y/n, I’ve been meaning to tell you–”

"Will you make me wait another 400 years, Azriel?" your voice echoed in his mind, the haunting tone of your voice shaking him.

His body felt as if it were encased in stone, every movement sluggish and strained. No matter how hard he tried to rise from the bed, he could only manage to shift to its edge, his limbs refusing to obey his desperate commands.

In the doorway of his room, you stood, your form bathed in an eerie half-light that cast strange shadows across your face. Fear etched lines of worry into your features, your eyes wide with a terror that mirrored his own.

Something was wrong. You needed to come back to him, back to his arms where it was safe.

"I may not live that long," you cried out, your voice raw with anguish, the sound of it tearing at his soul.

Azriel tried again, ragging his limbs to try to get closer to you. Then in that moment, time itself seemed to warp and twist, as if the hands of fate were turning the clock.

Azriel could only watch in horror as you began to age before his eyes, each passing second drawing lines of time upon your skin. Your once youthful visage contorted and twisted, suddenly you began to wither, flesh peeling away like petals from a dying flower.

Your scream was piercing through his skull, your hands trying to hold onto the pieces of flesh that were burning away until there was nothing left. 

Tears were streaming down his face as Azriel stumbled off his bed, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency. His rapid uncoordinated footsteps matched his heartbeat. He felt drugged. But that didn’t matter, he needed to find you. He ran out of his room into a darkness that seemed to swallow him whole, his voice a desperate plea echoing through the empty halls.

"Come back...please," he cried out, his words carried away by the chilling breeze that surrounded him. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, his limbs weighed down by a crushing weight. "I won't make you wait…please...please," he begged, his voice suffocating with painful emotion.

“Azriel…” he heard a voice.

“Y/n,” he cried out again. But only darkness answered him.

“Azriel! Wake up!” It wasn’t your voice, no, someone was shouting. Someone was shaking him.

Suddenly the darkness faded, and the face of his brother speckled into his vision. Rhys had his hands gripped to the side of Azriel’s face.

Rhys and Mor had stayed up for the night, lounging with some faerie wine, reminiscing as the house slept silently. But then they’d hear screaming, and before they could even move Azriel had stumbled down the hall screeching your name. It was clear to Rhys, that Azriel was entrapped in some disorientating nightmare, and he had used his talons to pull him from the deathly grips of the dream.

“It’s a dream brother, only a dream” he tried to reassure him.

But Azriel’s eyes were searching, looking for you. 

Azriel was slumped on the floor, his knees under him. Rhys and Mor pulled him against a wall, hoping the cool stone would bring him to his senses. His shadows were frantically buzzing around him. Attempting but failing to console him.

“Where is y/n?” he managed to choke out.

Not here, not here, not here. His shadows whispered in his ear.

Mor stepped forward, concern on her face “She’s with Orion. You know this…” she spoke softly.

Slowly slivers of reality seemed to sink into place. His dream had felt like eternity, and yet it had only been a few hours since you had all left Rita’s. 

No you hadn’t left, you had stayed. Stayed with him, stayed with Orion.

He had been too late. Too late to find the courage, too late to speak his truth.

That male. Orion, had found you on the dance floor. Ensnared your attention for the evening, had charmed you. Charmed you enough that you hadn’t returned with your family, that you had stayed to seek the comfort of him that night.

Not Azriel. He had been too late.

Azriel had curled in on himself, knees brought to his chest as sobs began to rack through his body. The talons of the nightmare still clung to him, dragging him back into its clutches. Senseless words left his lips, your name rolling off his tongue repetitively.

"I was too late…" he cried, his voice choking with anguish. "Rhys, you have to save her… she… her face… Rhys… she was dying."

“I think you might need to call for y/n, Rhys,” Mor suggested, her concern evident as she crouched near Azriel. He was trapped in a dreamlike state, caught between the realms of reality and imagination. When she reached out to touch him, he only flinched away, lost in his own torment.

Azriel was drenched in sweat, his body burning with fever as he struggled to distinguish between what was real and what was not. As much as Rhys tried, Azriel’s mind was a mess. He couldn’t decipher what was right in front of him and what was in his mind. 

To him you were gone, he’d seen it with his own eyes. He had failed you. 

"What's going on?" Your voice cut through the tense air, drawing the attention of Mor and Rhys.

You stood in the doorway of the lounge, your hair tousled and your nightgown askew as if someone had forcefully dragged you from the depths of your own dreams. In fact that is exactly what had happened. Azriel’s shadows were circling you, pulling and tugging you relentlessly, just as they had awoken you.

You could tell from their desperate plea something was wrong, and it had only taken you a matter of seconds to run from your room.

"We thought... I thought you'd gone home with—" Rhys began, but you shook your head, your expression filled with concern as you took in Azriel's state. Without hesitation, you moved quickly to kneel beside him.

You could have gone home with Orion, almost did. Was tempted, but there was something about the way Azriel had looked at you as they all departed for the night that had gnawed at you. A look of a broken male. His expression, a mixture of sadness…and well, longing. It was confusing.

And unfair. He had rejected you after all.

Yet, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that you couldn’t ignore. Despite his rejection, your heart ached for him. After an hour in Orion's company at the bar, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. So you called it a night and came home.

It had been a long time since you’d seen Azriel caught in a state like this. Azriel didn’t sleep much, but when he did there had been a few times in your years of knowing him that he'd find himself trapped in the liminal space between dreams and reality.

“Hey Az…” you moved to the space in front of him, crouching between the space of his kness. His eyes were skittish, looking at you but through you. It was as if he didn't register your presence at all, trapped in a world of his own making.

“I waited too long…” he breathed out, his fingers tangled in his hair pulling and ragging at the strands.

“Azriel,” you spoke gently but firmly, your voice a lifeline in the darkness that engulfed him. You needed to coax him out of this. “It wasn’t real, only a dream”

A torrent of incomprehensible words spilled from his lips, and you exchanged a glance with Rhys and Mor, who stood nearby, frozen in place. 

Over the centuries of being part of this family, you'd all encountered moments like these. Moments where the nightmares and traumas racked over you. However, Azriel had always been more private about his inner turmoil. You realised that this might be the first time Rhys and Mor had witnessed this part of him.

It wasn’t your first time, though. One of the earliest moments you realised you loved Azriel was after he had helped you through a debilitating nightmare, one that had left you screaming in your sleep. From then on, he had always been there to offer comfort in those dark moments. 

And you had always been there for him in return.

“I’ve got this…” you reassured them with a soft smile, and they nodded, reluctantly leaving the room. They didn’t want to abandon Azriel in such a state, but they trusted you, trusted that you would only ask this of them if it was for Azriel’s best interest.

You waited for them to leave, the room enveloped in a heavy silence, save for Azriel's incoherent whispers that echoed off the walls.

“I was too late…” he repeated, his voice strained.

“Hmmm were you? What were you late for Azriel?” Again you voice, firm but sweet resounding through the room. 

He blinked, finally recognising your presence. His brows furrowed as tears streamed down his face.

“I lost you, I was too late” he choked out.

“You haven't lost me, Az. I'm right here,” you reassured him, your voice a soothing balm.

But Azriel shook his head, haunted by the vivid memory of seeing you slip away before him.

“Tell him, tell him I’m right here.” You spoke, this time towards his shadows.

She’s here. She’s here. They sang.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he listened to his shadows. They had never deceived him before, always guiding him with honesty. So surely what they were saying was true?

You tilted your head slightly, a soft smile gracing your lips as you reached for his hand. His eyes widened at your touch, but he didn’t recoil. He watched as you gently placed his hand against your chest, just above your heart.

Real, real, real. His shadows continued to sing in his ear. Their own feather-light touches caressing his body, cooling him down.

He could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch.

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. The vibrations of your heart were sobering under his palm. And there was something about the way this felt, so different to the version of you in his dream. Everything was heightened, every sense felt multiplied.

“I’m real Az, and I’m here. It was just a dream, okay?”

Azriel felt a shaky breath leave his lips as his own breathing synced with yours. His rapid heartbeat gradually slowed to match the steady rhythm of yours.

You weren’t gone. But you had chosen someone else. 

“But…but you chose someone else,” he sputtered out.

You weren’t sure what he meant. Whether this someone else was what he had dreamed of, or if he meant Orion. But you leaned forward, drawing closer until your faces were mere inches apart, so close that he wouldn’t be able to look away.

“I’ll always choose you, Azriel.” It was the truth. You knew he needed to hear this, he needed reassurance to pull him from the grasp of his nightmare, but it was also unequivocally true. You would always choose him.

You had tonight.

In the opportunity of comfort and pleasure of another, you had chosen Azriel. Even in his rejection. Even if that made you a fool. You would always choose him.

“Really?”

“Always.”

You both sat there for a while, Azriel syncing his breathing to yours as the cloudiness of his vision cleared and he began to feel reality pinching him. It felt so real, that nightmare. A version of his future he never wanted to face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, gently moving his hand from your chest as embarrassment seemed to finally wash over him.

“Don’t ever apologise for this, Az,” you spoke softly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I just mean I’m sorry for everything, for hurting you before, for not seeing what was right in front of me all along, for not being honest…”

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him, but you let him speak.

“I’ve been trying to find the right words to say to you for the past six months.” He laughed then, not the laugh you loved. A self-deprecating laugh that made your chest ache. “I had six months to find the right words, and I was still too late…” he trailed off, his voice heavy.

“Ever since Mor introduced you almost four centuries ago, you’ve had me mesmerised. I thank the stars every day you came into my life…”

You thanked the stars everyday for him too.

“Azriel, I feel the same…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“No, I don’t think you understand, y/n. I adore you. I’ve always adored you.” Azriel's voice wavered slightly as he spoke, his hands trembling as he reached out to take yours. 

He hesitated with his words, still struggling to find the right way to say this. You felt the roughness of his scars against your soft skin, but it was welcome, you had always found his hands beautiful. His touch, comforting. 

Right now though, something felt different. 

The way Azriel was looking at you was unlike anything you had seen before. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you.

“You are so wonderful, so beautiful, smart, hilarious. You’re the best of all of us.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, it was a notion your family had always told you. Azriel through the years, claiming that statement more times than you could count. But this time the words felt different, they weighed heavier, they revealed so much more. And you feel your cheeks heating under his intense stare.

“You are. You’re the best of us, better than me. Too good for me.”

“Azriel…” you said softly,

“That’s why your confession came as a shock, I just never considered myself good enough for you. Never thought I’d be the kind of male worthy of you.”

You felt your throat tighten at the idea. The thought that Azriel had never considered himself good enough for you, when he was exactly everything you wanted and needed.

“I’ve been deflecting my feelings for years, ignoring them, because I didn’t think I deserved you…”

Azriel's hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.

"But I don't want to waste any more time," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know you were with Orion–”

“There’s no one else,” you cut him off quickly, the realisation dawning on you. A realisation of what was happening, what your dear friend was admitting. Something you had hoped and wished for so long.

Your heart was now the rapid one and you could feel it beating through your chest. 

"If there's a chance for us, I want us to take it." Azriel concluded, his confession final.

"Really, Az?" your bottom lip quivered slightly, your eyes becoming glassy as tears threatened to spill.

"Really, my love."

“I love you…” The words tumbled from your lips, soft and heartfelt.

With gentle strength, he pulled you into his embrace, your head finding its place in the curve of his neck. He inhaled deeply, savouring the familiar scent of you.

“I love you more than words can express, more than you may ever realise,” he whispered, his voice brimming with tenderness. “And I promise to make up for lost time.”

You leaned back slightly, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile was on his lips, one you gave back, as a tear rolled down your cheek. He moved gently then, leaning down to press a tender kiss where the salty tear had escaped. 

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, a force he had ignored for hundreds of years, his lips found yours in a long-awaited embrace. Time seemed to slow as you shared that kiss, your lips melting into one another. Finally, the kiss seemed to speak of. 

This was it. 

This would be enough, because this was everything.

fin.

a/n: Sorry to make you all wait so long for this! I was in a really bad writing slump, and wasn't sure how to make this work, still not 100% on it but hey-ho (but thank you to my love, @illyrianbitch for her continuous support every time I changed my mind and scrapped an idea lol, and to @milswrites for her lovely words that helped me get out of my slump) Anyway I hope you all got the ending you wanted ;) but yeah let me know if you want any one-shots from these two! I'd be happy to explore their dynamic a little more if you've got a scenario in mind <3

Forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @milswrites @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound @amberlynn98 @marscardigan

[gnohomotho]

HEAR ME OUT

This request that i have is so cheesy but sounds so good in my mind, forgive me 😭😫

Junho and reader doing like a private first impression thing like u know where the bride and groom are standing back to back and then they turn around. And like Junho is mesmerised has tears is his eyes

Like i literally only have the most cheesy and romantic ideas in my mind i CANNOT help it

Btw love your works 😜😚😚😚❤️❤️

I did my best, Anon, your message truly made my day. ♥ :D I hope I didn't overdo it, then again, cheese is my livelihood. Sorry for any oddities or spelling mistakes, I'm a bit in the trenches today. :c

It's a bit longer with some wedding dress backstory and getting ready, but I think the good part is there. :3 I hope you enjoy! ♥♥♥

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The Moment I Saw You

Pairing: Jun-ho x almostwife!fem!reader Summary: And you thought the dress shopping would be hard. The first impression you wished to give your husband-to-be went differently than expected, and you are swimming in a sea of love and bliss. Warnings: Remember that one modded Skyrim playthrough where the player accidentally glitched the cheese-wheel summoning spell and drowned the whole town in cheese? Well, that's what's happening here, but worse. Fluff! Fluff! More fluff! Word count: 2.7k

Everything should have been perfect.

You were picking the dress, and it was taking long. You were standing in the bridal shop, unable to choose, tired, wanting to go home. The person looking back at you in the mirror didn’t look like a bride to you. Even though everything was in place, it felt…wrong. Fake, somehow. Ill-fitting. The shop assistant was very kind, you thought her patient – but even she could see you were not exactly the glowing bride-to-be she was used to. Nor anything like the shiny photographs littered across the front desk.  

Your close friend was there with you, trying her best, you could hear her rummaging through the dresses again, muttering – “puffy sleeves, prom dress, no, no, no, form fitting…” She had the fervour of a very hungry owl searching for that one mouse that got away. “Dumb…long…short…dear god do people actually wear this…oooh, shiny…no…hmmm…” She was already buckling under the weight of all the new ones she picked out for you.

“Hey, Y/N, are you sure you don’t like this one?” She held up a gorgeous gown, white as snow, silk, smooth, reflecting light with a soft plunge of a neckline, and a revealed back. The skirt fell in a mermaid style, you could look like a gorgeous datura flower at the bottom.

“No, no, I’m not sure…not…” You think of yourself in the dress and frown. Your husband to be…Your Jun-ho…should he see you like this? He should see the most beautiful version of you on such a day – and yet you felt more like he was going to run away the moment he laid eyes you.

“Please? How about this one?” Your friend holds up her second choice. The dress is half lace, intricately woven with flowers and soft curling patterns, with off-the-shoulder milky sleeves, a lovely bodice and a small ribbon on the back. The veil would hide more of you, you think. But still. You eye the skirt, its velvety material falling almost straight down. You know you’d be leaving nothing to the imagination and wonder, what if this is all a mistake? What if he made a gigantic mistake, from the very first moment he met you? The first date? The first touch? What if you’ve been unknowingly deceiving him, and now he’ll see you for what you are, what you look like, inside and out? You can’t hide in white.

Your friend walks up to you and gently takes your hand to help you off the platform. She guides you away from the mirrors. As she walks you to the changing room, she is slowly stroking your hand, noticing you are beginning to resemble a vibrating ball of nerves.

“Y/N, if you keep frowning like that, I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pay for extra retouching of all the new wrinkles.” She tried to joke but immediately noticed that it was neither the time nor place and changed her demeanour. You sit, feeling the small bench weigh down with you as she does too, and gently hold your stomach as you speak. You’re unsure which one of you will get the hint first, but you’re pushing it out into the back of your mind as far as you can.

“I just…” You try to speak but the words come out all wrong. “I don’t think he’ll…he’ll be so disappointed.” You sigh and trace both hands down your face to calm down and wipe the stress away, but it clings to every molecule of your skin. “Jun-ho isn’t the type to…” No, all wrong. “It’s not the dresses, it’s me.” Gosh darn it, the tears begin to form. “It’s just me.”

“Hey, hey…darling…” your friend begins stroking the back of your hand as she holds your palm. She is warm and reassuring, but you struggle to believe her.

“It’s ok. It’s ok to be nervous. But you’re beautiful, no matter the dress. To be honest,” she looks around with added drama, as if feigning trying not to be heard, “I don’t think any of the dresses could do you justice and you should just walk out there stark naked if you want them to see how gorgeous you are,” she laughs and squeezes your hand, you look up and let yourself rest with her reassuring, peaceful smile that reaches her lowered eyes now directly resting on you. Although you’re not hugging, you feel held.

Her eyes move to your hand resting on your stomach and you could swear you saw a glint sparkle in their corner and her lashes seem to fall far slower as she blinks, but says nothing. She is so very thoughtful, you think.

“Look, if I know anything about Jun-ho, which isn’t much” she continues, “that man is head over heels for you and the moment you said “yes” I don’t think he’s heard any other words of any language since.”

You let out a small chuckle through another tear. She continues, knowing she’s on a the right path, knuckle punching every guard on the proverbial way.

“I know you’ve walked past this shop year after year, before any of this, and I know you loved the dresses for their beauty, their, elegance, their promise. Y/N, you told me yourself, what was it…winter…”

“Winter dresses,” you chime in quietly. Barely a whisper. Breathing in, you try to remember those cold walks.

“I walked past, and I tried to look at the winter dresses when I knew the shop was closed. The ones with those gorgeous, long skirts, heavy velvety fabric where they met the skin, forming an A shape towards the waist.” You didn’t tell her that you liked both their protectiveness and the fact that if you decided to dramatically fall into a dark body of water, their puffiness and beauty would truly make the moment worth it. You continued after another less shaky but still reserved breath: “Hugged it and up there, the white enveloping the chest – perhaps with lace across the collarbones, but skin hidden, just a touch away…” you let yourself sink into the memory, far before you met Jun-ho, your husband to be. “With that veil that resembled a winter cape from a Russian fairytale.”

“There’s my little Vasilisa,” your friend laughed and stood up. “I’ll be right back, no eloping!”

You sat there, hand still resting on your belly, worried, excited, feeling as if you’re living someone else’s life. Thinking of what Jun-ho must be doing and feeling. Feeling worse and worse, as if you don’t deserve this life.

You quickly pull out your phone to check the time and melt. You have no idea how Jun-ho's timing is always so perfect, but only a minute or two ago, the words:

"Hey, sweet [diminutive version of Y/N], are you ok? Sorry, just wanted to check on you. I hope the dresses are treating you well! Tell [friend] to look after my wife!” light up your screen.

Another message lit up immediately after: “*wife-to-be, I just can’t stop saying it, sorry! I love you, Y/N.”

The smile that spreads from the corner of your mouth and butterflies that saunter from your stomach almost pushed all the anxiety off a cliff. But it still clung to the edge.

Your friend waltzed in and to your utter disbelief, she held up the perfect dress.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The click of your pearl-white heels was the only thing to be heard across the grass. You focused on their soft step and keeping your balance. Your heart was fluttering out of its chest, your stomach was doing its best to leave the building in excitement, in fear, in anticipation – the train of your dress followed you with a soft sliding murmur and the skirt gently touched each flower on the way. You were so glad he chose to do it this way, away from others. Flowers, a shield of wise oak trees. Bird chatter, a gentle breeze on your flushed cheeks, that’s all you truly needed. That, and him.

“I want to be the only one to see you, Y/N. The only one to witness the first sight of my wife.”

The sweetheart neckline clung to your collarbones, the off-the-shoulder fabric neatly stacked in on itself was cuddling your back and shoulders, light and nearly translucent. It rested on your skin as a light lover’s touch. The beautiful, laced veil, floating with you as well as behind you was hiding, yet still accentuating your shining hair with small white flowers nestled between locks. It fell periodically across your back and your shoulders, resting on your collarbones with each step. The heavy fabric of the dress which clung to your waist and fell once more felt cool and warm at the same time, giving you an air of ethereal slow motion. You looked like you belonged in a winter forest. A vision of indescribable, untouchable beauty. The wind gently played with your hair, as if longing to caress you as much as the man in front of you.

As you walked, the form of your husband-to-be materialised in front of you, facing the other way. Although there were many other features around, each quite beautiful, you had no eyes for them. Slowly, meticulously, as if not to scare him, you walked up the small hill towards him and lingered behind him. He hasn’t seen you, but he knows you’re there – his back is giving away the quickness of his breathing and his attempts to steady it down. Please breathe, my love…” Your thoughts leave their nerves at bay and soften into nothing but care and love for him. Finally, as lightly as a feather, you rest your back against his, feeling his breath quicken once more and his entire form tense and release, as if wishing to melt into you.

Jun-ho almost hesitates, but slowly, in what is trying to be a level manner, speaks.

“On the count of three, Y/N?”

You breathe out a tiny chuckle. Ever the pragmatic yet meticulous man.

“One…” you say almost in unison.

Your breath quickens, your heart is racing ten miles a minute, the dress seems to be tighter and tighter and the birds louder and louder yet so far away.

“Two…” he says alone and you whisper with him, mind turning to mushy cotton but enveloped in such a warm feeling of bliss.

Jun-ho takes in a last, heavy breath and as he lets it out…

“Three.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You turn around in unison and both stand frozen in the moment.

Your eyes meet.

Jun-ho stands utterly transfixed, trying to take you in, all of you, in your entirety at once. But his eyes cannot contain you, so he keeps glitching, his hands that he wished to extend to you the moment you turned, are shivering and tense.

His soft gaze tries to dart and look at you from a different side, angle, but he cannot. You’re…you’re a vision that he cannot and will not disentangle from.

As his eyes are trying to take in every inch of you and warming his heart with every molecule he manages to snatch from the photons reflecting your form, his heart is firmly on its way out of his chest.

You hear nothing but your breath now, you’re looking up into his eyes, inches away from his face, which is frozen and beginning to tear at itself. As if a mask was cracking in nothing but a barrage of indescribable beauty and feeling.

Jun-ho slowly lifts a shivering hand to his mouth and rests it across his face, fingers almost up to his eyes, as if shielding both you and him from the raw, sheer affection that has swept him off his feet – and you, you are both the waves he’s drowning in and the only lifeboat on the sea.

“Y/N…” he barely chokes out in a whisper.

“Y/N…you…you look...” his hand is joined by his other, slowly laying each palm and finger against themselves under his lips. Jun-ho doesn’t know why he cannot control his expression, a wide smile is fighting to be seen, his eyes and heart are tearing at him in springs of bliss and absolute adoration as he wishes to scoop you up to him and melt into you, squeeze you so tight you won’t know where you stop and he begins.

But you are…untouchable as this vision before him. As he steadies himself, he tries to breathe, getting a breath caught in his throat. He finally looks away and you worry, worry your worst fears came true. Worry that the girl sitting in the bridal shop holding her stomach was correct.

But on second look, he is…oh gosh…” The mixture of worry and unexpected relief, bundled up in nothing but affection and deep care threaten to drive you to both laugh and tear up.

“Jun-ho…!” A hushed whisper from your tender lips brings him back to you, turning his head slowly back. He meets your gaze with reserved fear, one eye – look away – second eye – look away – both – remain with you. You see now, with warmth growing in your chest and flutters dancing across your skin, why he was shielding his mouth, then face, then needing to look away entirely. You take both his hands into yours, caressing each finger lovingly as you lower them down to your waist. You envelop his hands, still caressing each knuckle with the ball of your thumb.

“Jun-ho, my love…” you say slowly, levelly, in a low whisper. “My sweet love…it’s alright.”

Jun-ho cannot help it, the sides of his eyes are fully sparkling now. Your eyes are fully transfixed on his own and guide his gaze into you, and he smiles that wide smile you have grown to love so dearly. Jun-ho’s eyes are now fully glistening like still lakes under a full moon.

“I cannot believe you’re here. I---I---cannot believe…it’s…you…with me…My…My…”

Jun-ho cannot speak further but you feel the hands in your tender embrace reciprocate a grip far more secure and loving than you could ever wish for. As protective as it was reassuring. Jun-ho always held you as if you could slip away at any moment, but so tenderly that should you do so, you’d be protected and enveloped in loving warmth to the very end.

“Your wife. My darling. My husband.” Your face softened as you let the words slide across your lips and into the chasm between you, creating the gentlest of bridges.

“My---wife…” Jun-ho lets out an untangled breath of relief, the full smile finally taking over his face. Sparkles turning to tears fall at the same moment, as if a weight both descended from and knocked the air out of him in a single moment.

“You’re…you’re so beautiful. My love. My everything. You are…you are everything.” He’s still smiling as the small specks run down his cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. I love you. I’m so glad. So glad. So happy. I don’t know how to---can I…can I touch you?”

As the lightly shivering voice in contrast to his imposing, beautiful form reached your ears, you lightly caressed his cheek, and he leaned into your palm immediately.

“Of course, Jun-ho.”

Without a second to spare, he lovingly, gently, as lightly as he could in his given disposition, cupped your face and gave you the longest, most tender of kisses. Slowly his hands trailed to your waist, brushing, as if making sure you weren’t going to disappear or turn into a beautiful dream.

Finally, Jun-ho everso carefully took you in fully. Without warning but still tenderly, Jun-ho lifted you up to him, as if you and your dress were as light as the breeze playing with your hair. In one movement he twirled around with you, letting your dress get caught in the moment and carried by motion, his gorgeous wife, his Y/N, nought but his – giggling in his arms, a vision of angelic beauty in his embrace – and he caught himself laughing with you, in nothing but pure bliss. As he let you down just as gently, his touch lingered – he didn’t want to let you go for one second.

Squeezing his hand, you nudged your face closer to his, beckoning without words; he covered the remaining distance.

You felt his lips brush against your own – top, then bottom, then both – before resting on yours fully. Tenderly. Reservedly. Lovingly. You placed a soft kiss where they lingered and Jun-ho finally let himself melt into you fully, kissing you as if you harboured the last bastion of oxygen in the depths of the ocean, as if you were the only thing on this Earth that he wanted, needed, yearned and lived for.    

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[jackiespurnell]

it's just pretend, right? - part three (fake dating au jackie taylor x fem reader)

part one part two

summary: jackie’s boyfriend cheated on her with her best friend, and what kind of teammate would you be if you didn’t help her out?

tw: none

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its been about three weeks since you and jackie started fake dating and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. from the car rides with her to and from school to the heated make out session that you both deemed were for ‘practice’ (even though you’re not entirely sure what it was the two of you were practicing for), you were having the time of your life with her.

right now, you were currently sitting on jackie’s bed, your legs wrapped around her waist, her hands placed on your hips, and your tongue down her throat. pure fucking heaven.

“fuck” you hear her murmur. “you’re a good kisser, you know?” she says against your mouth, and you feel her lips form a smile against yours. “mm, you too.” you tell her, scooting further in her lap. you weren’t sure exactly what you two were doing, but you were sure having fun with it.

she flopped down to lay her head on her pillows, and pulled you down with her from your shirt. she sucked onto your tongue, biting down on your bottom lip. “damn, taylor” you tease. “didn’t realize you were so freaky.”

she just keeps kissing you, harder and sloppier, and it felt good. 

eventually, you pull away, resting your head on her chest, immediately taking your hand in hers. “your hand is warm” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hand. “and you’re cold.” “i’m always cold, baby.”

oh, yeah. and there was that, too. the pet names. she calls you things like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ but baby. that was her favorite. and yours too, to be honest. especially when you two are kissing and she murmurs it against your lips and you feel her voice vibrate against your lips and oh, you could die right there and you’d die happy. 

“hey can i talk to you about something?” she asks, tracing little patterns into her skin. you let out a little hum as to say ‘yes, sure, talk to me about whatever, talk to me for the rest of your life’.

you can’t help but hope she’s asking something about the two of you. like, maybe she wants to get together for real. maybe she wants to be able to kiss you for real and not just for fake. maybe she wants to be able to able to call her your actual girlfriend, to tell you how much she loves you. or maybe that’s what she’s going to say right now. that she loves you. maybe-

“i’m thinking about forgiving shauna”

wait, what the fuck?

“forgiving her? why?” you try to sound calm, which you’re obviously not, but maybe jackie has a really good reason for this. what that reason could be, you have no idea, but you’re hoping it’s something good. 

“i mean, she literally got with your boyfriend. that’s messed up.”

“and i know that, but like, she’s my best friend. i miss her. and besides, she sends me like, twenty apology messages a day. her and jeff aren’t even booking up anymore. i think she really is sorry.”

you pull out from her embrace, and you sit up. you feel her hesitation to let go out of you, and part of you wants to crawl back into her arms and never let go but the other part of you is absolutely pissed that jackie’s even considering getting back in touch with shauna. “wait, you still get her messages? you told me you blocked her.” jackie bites her lip softly in the way she usually does whenever she's feeling awkward, and you internally curse yourself for thinking about how cute it is when you’re supposed to be frustrated with her.

“i did, i swear i did. but…then i unblocked her. you know, just to see if she really did feel bad. and she does! i’m not saying i have to be like, best friends with her again but i just wanna start talking with her.”

“but i don’t understand!” you say, trying not to get upset, knowing that it’s not your place to get upset. “how could you want to associate yourself with someone who screwed you over that badly?”

maybe you were being irrational. maybe you were being too harsh. maybe you were just scared that if jackie accepts shauna’s apology she’s no longer going to need you. maybe you’re scared that you’re never going to get to feel her lips on yours again. maybe you’re scared that this pretend relationship thing is really just that. pretend.

“it’s really none of your business!” she snaps. and damn, you’d be lying if you said that didn’t hurt. “none of my business? none of my fucking business? wow. don’t forget, we’re only doing this because of what she did to you! i’m only here right now because of how she screwed you over. so, yeah, it kind of is my business because now i’m listening to you talk about how you’re going to take that traitor back as a friend. i mean, do you realize how that sounds?”

“oh my god, fuck you!” she scoffs. “you’re not here because of shauna, you’re way because you got caught doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing, which, in case you forgot, was snooping on my conversation, and you needed an easy way out. you started this. you are the reason that you’re here right now, and if i want to take back my best friend, then i’m going to.”

yeah, fuck this.

“whatever, jackie.” you roll your eyes, getting up from her bed. if she didn’t want to listen, there was nothing you could do about it. “do whatever you want. see if i fucking care.”

and as you slammed the door to her room shut, you almost believed it.

the next day, you had practice. and while typically you looked forward to being back on the field, today was not your day, it really wasn’t. because practice meant seeing jackie. and seeing jackie means remembering just how badly you fucked things up between the two of you yesterday.

now, technically, you know that you were in the right. sure, you didn’t know that much about shauna and outside of the whole jeff drama, she seems like a decent person, but still. you knew jackie deserved better than that. but you understand why jackie got so defensive. and you really do want to apologize, especially because you know jackie isn’t going to apologize first, she’s way too stubborn.

but then again, so are you.

so, you go through all of practice without talking to jackie. without even looking at her, which was honestly, a bigger struggle than it should’ve been. the only thing keeping you from staring was the hope that maybe she was the one staring at you. which was less likely to happen than you wanted, which is why not looking was the best option. so you could pretend. pretend like she really was in love with you. in love with you like you were in love with her.

after practice, you head back to the locker room and once again, you hear arguing. how fucking ironic.

and you know that obviously, obviously, you shouldn’t go check it out, your nosy ass is the only reason you’re in this situation in the first place, it’s the reason why you’re all mopy and heartbroken and depressed, it’s a terrible idea, a really fucking terrible idea. but then again being nosy was also the reason you even know how jackie tastes; it’s the only reason you’ve even gotten close to real dating. yes, it caused a lot of bad, but it also caused some good….

it’s like they said. curiosity killed the cat. and you always were a cat person.

so, you go closer to the noise, hiding behind the lockers, listening to see who it was arguing. and of course - of fucking course - it was jackie. honestly, you’re surprised it took you this long to figure it out. you’d recognize that voice anywhere. the same one that whimpered into your mouth whenever you’d thrust your tongue into her mouth, the same one that made the prettiest fucking nosies whenever you climbed onto her lap and placed kisses on her neck. of course you’d recognize it was her. and then you heard shauna’s voice and of course you’re pissed cause why did she actually go through with talking to shauna but then you realize wait she’s mad at shauna. 

“you know i wanted to be your friend again, i really fucking wanted to, and she told me not be, and i didn’t listen, cause i just wanted my best friend back, but you know what? she was right about you!” jackie yells, and you can hear the tremble in her voice, and you know she’s seconds away from crying, and the only thing going through your mind is how much you fucking hate shauna.

“oh, if your pretty little girlfriend is so fucking right then why are you here? why not go running back to her, huh? if i’m so in the wrong, why are you still here? face it, jackie - you just miss the version of me that listened to whatever you said. you miss the version of me that did whatever it was you wanted. do you realize how i felt when you started dating the guy i liked - which by the way, i know damn well i wanted him way longer than you did - just to turn around and say you’re fucking gay? what the hell, jackie! i mean, were you just using him? the same fucking way you did to me? all you ever care about is yourself and your popularity. and now it’s finally catching up to you. and if your little girlfriend can’t see that, well then give it time because she will and she’ll leave and maybe then you’ll finally grow up and see it’s not always about you.”

oh yeah. you definitely hate shauna fucking shipman.

“i think you should fucking go.” you tell shauna, walking up from behind the locker. you see the look ot jackie’s face, the tears falling down her eyes, and it breaks your heart. 

“and if you really think jackie’s the one who needs to change, i think you take a look in the fucking mirror, because she isn’t the one who got with her best friend’s boyfriend, is she, shauna? no. she isn’t. but she is the one who stood by you every day for twelve years. she’s the girl who called you her best friend. she’s the fucking person who was willing to forgive you even after you had sex with her goddamn boyfriend because you were feeling insecure and jealous because she fucking missed you. because she’s such a good friend. she is the best person i’ve ever met in my life and it’s not because of the fact that she’s hot, or popular, or the captain of the goddamn soccer team. it’s because she’s a good person. it’s because she makes me happy, it’s because i’m fucking in love with her. and i really, really hope one day you’re able to understand and appreciate her even half as much as i do. so, like i said, you should really. fucking. go.”

and the look on shauna’s face? fucking priceless.

the second shauna leaves, you pull jackie into a hug and she immediately starts crying. you stroke her hair softly and press kisses onto the crown of her head, hoping that maybe the soft affection will take away some of the pain, even just a little bit.

“thank you.” jackie says softly. “no one’s ever stood up for me like that before.”

“yeah, well, i’d do it again in a heartbeat.” you pull away slightly to get a better look at her face. she was still crying, but it was less now, and of course she still looked adorable even with her tear stained face. you push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “come on jackie, let me take you home.”

the car ride home was pretty silent. you weren’t sure if she wanted to talk yet, so you didn’t try and pressure her. things still were kind of awkward between the two of you, but you had a feeling it was better now. you let yourself stare at jackie during red lights and sometimes, you would feel her eyes on you as well. you noticed how she was twirling her hair, one of her nervous habits, and you hated how sad she looked. still, you knew you couldn’t just fix things, no matter how badly you wanted to. you knew it would take time. but you were patient. or, at least, you could try to be. for jackie.

you eventually arrived at her house and instead of saying goodbye and leaving your car, she hesitated for a moment.

“can i ask you a question?” 

“yeah, go ahead.”

“did….did you mean it, back there, when you said you were in love with me.”

if she asked you this twenty four hours ago, your immediate response would be to deny it, to say it was just for show, that you didn’t mean it and everything is still just pretend because you were too scared of rejection - but this isn’t twenty four hours ago, this is now, and right now you couldn’t care less if she rejects you. you just need her to know how much she means to you.

“yeah. yeah, i fucking meant it.”

and with that she smiles, and you can’t imagine a feeling better than this. because right now, nothing else matters, except for you and jackie. jackie, your favorite person. jackie, the girl sitting in your car. jackie, the girl you’re in love with.

“that’s good. cause i’m in love with you too.”

────୨ৎ────────

[kikitakite]

I saw your callout in the Gale tag for that one user (no comment on them, tho ty for the callout bc i'd seen them in the notes of my fics) and was curious if you could elaborate on some of the Mystra incidents you described towards the end of the post? I'm new to the lore of the setting and find it hard to research (which makes sense given its importance to dnd), so I've heard a lot of conflicting things about Mystra's portrayal in the wider series. No pressure, obviously!

No problem! And yea, I've seen her arguing in the posts of a few people I follow or just Gale-related posts I find interesting. Usually I don't get involved in stuff like this, but I noticed a constant pattern and then all the homophobic shit so I went off a little.

Unfortunately it's hard to find exact examples of the Mystra lore because certain modules aren't very popular or even free to access, but if you're interested the best way to learn about her is by reading the Elminster novels. There's twelve total, dating all the way back to 1994, and they detail Elminster's adventures. I'll be honest though, some of them are a hard read and written through the lens of a man who's admitted very creative, but also has a lot of problematic ideas.

In the first book Elminster is a child. His entire town gets wiped out by mages, thereby making him hostile toward magic. He sneaks into Mystra's temple to deface her statue one night, but she appears before him and basically gaslights him into learning magic and becoming her rare Chosen. He becomes a wizard and cleric basically overnight, until eventually he multiclasses into pretty much every class type in DnD. As you can imagine a lot of players aren't too fond of Elminster, as he's a well known self-insert of the author and pretty annoying to run into during campaigns. None of my dungeon masters like him anyway.

He also becomes one of Mystra's most loyal followers, but she fucks with him over and over, turning him into a woman to teach him a lesson and SLEEPING with him in that form, berating him when he struggles with the torture he endures when he gets stuck in the hells, making him reproduce without his knowledge and getting jealous when he gives his partners more attention. Because she's a very jealous goddess, which I think the game vaguely touches on but not really.

I wish I had the time to flip through all the novels and give exact citations but the best I can do is suggest them, because they're so eye opening. She's considered a neutral good goddess, but neutral gods often do terrible things for the sake of their domain. I think it needs to be noted that Mystra, as with all gods in the pantheon, only cares about her portfolio. She isn't wrong for that, but it doesn't mean she's blameless when she messes with people's lives. She's done a lot of good but she's also made horrible decisions, especially where her followers are concerned.

For example, Elminster having children he doesn't know about. He has a daughter named Narnra. Her conception was... pretty fucked up. Basically a song dragon named Ammaratha Cyndusk was an occasional lover of Elminster's (he has a lot of those because of course he does) and she wanted to bear his child, but since he's a Chosen of Mystra he can control his fertility. Magic birth control, basically. He didn't want a kid so Ammaratha went behind his back to learn a counterspell that would make him fertile during sex. The man she asked refused to teach her because...duh that's messed up, but then Mystra intervened and told him to teach her the spell because she wanted Elminster's "seed to spread". Ammaratha never told him and neither did Mystra. No matter what the reasons, that was NOT consensual on Elminster's part, and it happened two more times, resulting in two more daughters with different women. If I remember correctly Elminster did eventually find out waaaaay later when they were all adults, but it never amounted to anything.

The sisters I was taking about are the Seven Sisters, Mystra's "daughters". And I put "daughters" in quotations because Mystra possessed the body of a woman named Elué and impregnated her without her consent. She slept with the woman's husband (again, while possessing her body) and made them sire seven children. This of course lead to Elué's death because the constant flow of magic in her body was too much for her to handle. Her grieving husband broke after she died and eventually left, abandoning his daughters and earning Mystra's scorn...as if he was in the wrong. The sisters were then orphaned and raised by foster families.

That said, most of the awful things anyone can say about Mystra were the doings of her previous incarnations so ultimately it doesn't apply to the Mystra of BG3. In fact, this third Mystra is supposed to be a new and improved goddess who's nicer to her followers. So her portrayal in BG3 annoyed a lot of DnD fans. I should also point out that Mystra has two types of fans: ones who will defend everything she does, even when it's fucked up beyond all comprehension, and the ones who will tell you she's a true neutral goddess capable of good and bad. I'm the latter. There are plenty examples of Mystra sticking her neck out for innocents, but there's also examples of her doing the most horrendous shit imaginable.

A lot of veteran players, at least the ones I know, are upset with the portrayal of Mystra in BG3 because her plan to end the Absolute is, quite frankly, stupid. Your party is the best chance anyone has of ending the threat, but she asks Gale to nuke himself and possibly tens of thousands, which makes no sense because she could've just sent her mages/clerics to deal with the problem. And there was no guarantee the bomb would've worked anyway. She put all the responsibility on one man and it DEFINITELY comes off as vindictive. That isn't out if character for her but she's not SUPPOSED to be that bad anymore. For a lot of DnD players it felt like she was reverting back to her old habits.

I think there's also a part in the game where you can directly ask Gale why she doesn't just blip the Absolute out of existence and he says something like, "She could but Ao won't allow it." That was also really strange for a lot of veteran players to hear because Gale drops Ao's name like it's nothing. Most people (especially if they're new to the franchise) wouldn't know this but most people in Faerûn don't know who Ao is! Because he wiped people's memories of his existence! I suppose it does make sense for Gale to know that name, since Mystra probably explained the pantheon to him, but it's VERY unlikely tav would know it. So during that conversation all I could picture was tav tilting their head like, "Huh? Who? Whaaa?"

And on top of that......Ao absolutely WOULD allow it because the Absolute effects the Weave and every other god! It had the potential to ruin the balance of the universe, which makes Ao a very angry boy. Balance is one of the ONLY things he cares about. The Dead Three were stealing souls and worshippers, which gods needs to survive, and dying gods disrupts the balance. It's a whole circle of chaos. So the only conclusion left for me to extrapolate is this: Mystra just really, really wanted Gale to kill himself to prove his devotion to her. Which...isn't great. Bad look for her.

It's kind of like how Raphael thinks the Crown of Karsus is going to help him end the Blood War and take over the hells. DnD players laughed during his epilogue because...no it won't lol. He doesn't stand a chance even with the crown. He's arrogant and he's gonna get slapped by his daddy and all the other archdevils, the same way Gale gets slapped by Mystra if he ascends. Even the Absolute ending of the game wouldn't last long because the gods would go to war with the Dead Three, wipe them out and rebuild Faerûn, which has happened many times in past DnD campaigns. Mystra alone has torn worlds apart and glued them back together. The main crisis of BG3 is saving the world you live in or everybody dies. For the gods it's just a Tuesday. I mean look at how Withers owns the Dead Three with a wave of his hand at the end of the game. Mystra COULD'VE killed the Absolute, just as she could've removed the orb from Gale's chest the moment it happened. She just didn't WANT to. She wanted him to die. She wanted him to chastise himself. She wanted him to suffer and come crawling back to her as an obedient follower. She wanted him to learn a harsh and honestly unfair lesson, which is a terrible throwback to her previous incarnations.

[https-kittyx3]

pls pls pls could you write a poly!odypen x reader? I really loved your Telemachus story!!! :D

we will fall in love with you again

TEEHEE thank you very much, i wasnt so proud of that so i'm glad you loved it!!

also poly odypen request???!?!? YES. UESUESUEUSEUSYESUEYS i really really want more Epic requests aaahh i am obsessed with writing stuff about it. i have multiple hermes fics i started and never finished lmao

btw i swear i've seen you in the tags before, you should totally write epic the musical fics!! i'm curious about the one you said you have based on your self insert >:3

also this is kinda angsty i think? but it leads up to fluff!! i promise i won't break your heart <3

not proofread at all, excuse is in the tags lolol

lowercase intended || art cred

all throughout your life, you would have never expected what kind of relationship you'd have in your adulthood. younger you would imagine settling down with someone you fell in love with, living in a house together and spending the last of your days side by side.

the idea of having two lovers was the last thing you'd think about. it wasn't even something you knew you were capable of — loving two people at the same time? wouldn't it be unfair if you ended up loving one more than the other?

as much as that worry was understandable, it'd never end up becoming a problem; odysseus and penelope both earned your affections equally. they've both been your friends since what felt like the beginning of time - you never kept anything from each other, always made time for one another, and never had trouble speaking your minds... until things became complicated.

you tried so desperately to ignore it—the growing feelings you felt towards both of your best friends. it was anxiety inducing, especially since it was overly clear that the two were interested in each other. no matter the way it went, someone was going to be heartbroken. someone was going to be sad and the three of you could never be the same. it was agonizing to think about, to imagine the outcomes - you adore them both, to lose what you have would be your biggest regret.

ignoring your feelings seemed like the best bet for the longest time, but there was always that pang in your chest every time they'd talk about each other to you that reminded you of your own heart.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"it's endearing how awkward he gets," penelope airily chuckles as she folds strands of her hair over and over in a pattern to create a braid, "sometimes, it's like he can barely form words around me... i wonder if that means he feels the same."

you feel yourself biting the inside of your cheek, carefully braiding the other side of penelope's hair for her. it was a mindless action the two of you fell into as you chatted together. all you manage to give her is a hum, your heart growing a tad heavy once again. penelope shifts, almost as if she senses your hesitation.

"is something the matter?" she questions with concern, tying the ends of her hair together to keep the braid from coming undone. penelope's always been the one who can read your emotions — it's one of the many things that made you fall for her. she's gentle, earnest... there isn't a chance in the underworld that she'd ignore your sadness. as your friend, she's here for you. she always has been.

you gaze at her slowly, almost afraid to look her in the eye - you could break at any moment, admit everything you're feeling, and ruin all you're familiar with. you don't want that, even if it leads to an eternity of heartache.

"of course! i apologize, i'm just distracted..." you sheepishly admit, finishing the other part of her braid. you let your hands fall away and sit in the grass below, a few strands nestling between your fingers. you grip onto them, pulling blades from their roots.

penelope sighs, having heard this time and time again over the course of your friendship. it wasn't uncommon for you to dismiss her concern, just to pop up later needing to vent - she understands it, even. so, she picks at the grass with you, but instead grabbing a flower that grows in the grass beneath you both.

she leans over you, gently placing the flower's stem behind your ear with ease. penelope then places her palm against your cheek, directing your gaze towards her with a soft touch. you feel yourself flush under her eyes and touch, your cheeks warming against her palm — part of you wonders if she notices the way you react to these small touches, and if she knows how you feel underneath your veil.

"you know you can talk to me about anything," penelope whispers with softened eyes. behind that kindness lingers her own conflict, confusion, and fear - but it wasn't known to you in this moment. in hindsight, perhaps it would've been more obvious if you looked deeper. if only you had talked to her then and there, taking up that sincere offer, things would've been more simple.

instead, your lovesick-ridden mind came up with the silliest thing you could have said;

"penelope, you're so sweet i could kiss you." you speak before you're able to think about how that sounds. you mean it as a joke... mostly, but in the moment it was meant as a way to accentuate how kind she is. instead, and with the amount of passion you spoke those words, it came off as a genuine confession.

and it's clear that penelope took it that way, with how quickly her cheeks darken in red. you pull back immediately, throwing in an awkward laugh as you gently push her hand down.

"i'm kidding! you're just... so kind. i don't know what i'd do without you."

inwardly, you sigh in relief as you watch her relax. crisis averted, you think. penelope responds with a laugh — a genuine giggle, a jingle of joy — it warms your heart faster than your face.

"likewise." she speaks with a gorgeous smile.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"i just... i don't know what to say to her!" odysseus rambles on and on about penelope, occasionally asking for your thoughts on what he should do or say, all while swinging a stick at a tree as if he were fighting a massive creature. at the same time, he paces back and forth while looking up at you from where you sit on that same tree. your legs dangle from the lowest branch, hands gripping it tightly so you don't fall. it's a rather sturdy tree - an olive tree, specifically. the one where the three of you tend to spend your spare time together, though these days it's more often just two. becoming too busy is inevitable, after all.

this day was not one of those, however. penelope is to meet the two of you any minute now, though it's becoming apparent that she's been swept away by something or other - leaving you, odysseus, and the complicated feelings within.

even though you have feelings for both of them, having only one or the other around stresses you out. you're so unstable with your feelings and thoughts that you barely trusted yourself to stay quiet about them.

"what would you do?" odysseus tosses the stick to the side, plopping down against the trunk right under the branch you sit on.

"what would i do about what?" you question, not realizing that odysseus had been talking on and on as you zoned out from above. at this point in time, you were being no better than a certain goddess who was hopeless when it came to love advice. odysseus raises a brow up at you, "about... confessing your feelings?"

"oh!" you sit up straight, a panicked look on your face that is almost comical, "what feelings? i don't have any feelings for anyone!"

odysseus snorts, resting his head against the trunk, "i was talking about confessing my feelings for penelope, but... now it sounds like you might fancy someone." odysseus teases you, but it's not so clear in the moment — you feel caught, like all your thoughts had been read and exposed. your heart picks up in pace as you shift awkwardly, trying to think up any excuse to get out of this topic, before you realize that you're leaning on nothing but air.

you fail to catch yourself before you're falling backwards towards the ground, letting out a scream as you brace for impact. you're lucky you're only so far from the ground, because any further would've been death for you.

odysseus catches you swiftly, feeling lucky that he was right below you. he didn't even have to get up to snatch you from the air — all he had to do was lean forwards and pull you against his chest to cushion your fall.

and cushion, it did. your head falls against his collarbone, and your back lands right against his torso. his arms are wrapped securely around your chest, holding you up as you lean your head back to take a look at his face.

"looks like i fell for you, heheh..." what an awful joke for an awkward situation. odysseus does the same as penelope had done — he takes your joke as a poorly veiled confession, and as much as it may be, it's not something you want to admit right after he finished talking about his feelings for someone else. that 'someone else' being your mutual companion, your third member. your best friend.

ugh. what a situation to get yourself into.

odysseus' eyes are wide and cautious, but not for long as you sit yourself up with the dismissal wave of your hands, "no, no... that came out weird! i was doing a joke, but it was bad timing..!"

oddly enough, you see odysseus' face fall into a neutral expression for a faint moment, before glowing up and into a hearty laugh. similarly to penelope, again, it warms you to hear him laugh so sincerely. he finds you funny, and that brings you joy.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

despite all the signs of the mutual feelings between the three of you, it'd be a good while before things are finally shared. the next few years are spent pining after each other, battling that inner anxiety, and finally... admitting it to yourselves.

your heart is big enough for both of them, and it's something you have grown to come to terms with. all of that confusion and inner conflict subsided into an understanding, regardless of how anxiety-inducing it all still was. penelope and odysseus were simply just the most open about their feelings for each other at first. it took you a bit more time to finally open up, but once you did, you were surprised at how open the both of them were to you.

it was exciting to finally be able to express your feelings to them, to finally be able to tell them how in love with them you are without being afraid of losing them.

unbeknownst to you, it was an internal battle for the two of them as well. that feeling of loving two people at once, yet not knowing what to do about it for the fear of losing both of them.

the three of you, now together as one, share more love between you than anyone has ever seen. even athena, whose lifespan escapes the confines of time, has never witnessed such an incredible bond as yours. she's also heard endless stories about your romance from odysseus, who can't find it in him to stop talking about you and penelope — but who can blame him? he's blessed with two of the best partners he could have asked for.

even as you three grow older, take over more dire responsibilities, and marry one another, your love never wavers.

even after penelope bears a child, after the dread of a war looms ever closer, and odysseus is swept off to save the lives of many — your bond is true.

it's ever lasting.

he'll come back to his spouses and son, whether the gods want him to or not.

[mymoshangthoughts]

oki i know we've all just chosen to accept that beatings are a part of demon mating culture and like, i dont think thats 100% wrong, but also thinking about linguang-jun's reaction to seeing shang qinghua beaten at the ascension incident, im kinda hesitant to fall into it 100%

oki my biggest defense for it being a demon-culture thing is that sha hualing didn't show any disagreement when mobei jun suggested "three beatings a day" in that particularly hilarious conversation, but that's honestly pretty thin. we know that she loves binghe and she never makes any attempt to fight him or to have him fight her. if anything, she strives to avoid it

there's also the possibility that the 'beating' that linguang-jun witnessed the conclusion of was a particularly unromantic one via demon standards. he saw shang qinghua and said "oh you were clearly displeased with him" so mayyybbee there's something to the pattern of bruises that speaks to intent but again, that's pretty thin

so might i suggest, from my humble little insane brain, that rather than beatings being a demon-culture thing, mobei jun is just fucking weird

oki bear with me oki but i rlly like this idea a lot LOL

im not even saying that mobei jun is a sadist (altho def not opposed to that), im saying that my socially awkward icy demon lord just straight up has no good concept of how to get the attention of his intended and this is sincerely his best effort. there's no research, no demon custom, no human custom, it's just mobei jun desperately screaming "look at meeeeeee pleaaassseeee" in his own extremely unique way that fucking no one understands

i would defend that this is likely due to his fucked up childhood and trust issues. like maybe linguang-jun isolated him to such an extent that mobei-jun winds up relatively divorced from his own culture for courting and doesnt even fucking know the first thing about it. maybe he has some twisted history of "look the only time i was shown affection was during martial training, which were basically beatings, so beatings = affection, yeah?" or maybe he's just so stupid and desperate that he has no fucking idea and no real plan, he's just trying to get shang qinghua's attention by any means necessary

i sort of like a mixture of all of the above. like linguang jun was the only person who showed him more typical signs of affection, and that was the prelude to betrayal. so mobei jun doesnt trust those types of affectionate gestures. but when he received martial training, either from his uncle or in one of the handful of times he'd seen his father, it was at least useful. like he can remember getting beaten and know there was an honesty to it. beating him made him stronger, being strong helped him to survive, it was the truest affection he's received in his life. and look, mobei jun hasn't exactly put all of that together all of that in as many words, but the effect is long lasting. and not all of shang qinghua's beatings were out of affection either. ultimately, there's this suspicious as fuck cultivator who's groveling at his feet and mobei-jun isnt exactly keen on humanity to begin with. and with shang qinghua prone to more typical shows of affection, the way his uncle was before the Betrayal? he's not going to be tricked again! he'll beat the human into submission to prove that he's strong and he's not a small defenseless child anymore who can be so ruthlessly abandoned! but then he really does start to develop feelings for shang qinghua and really does want his attention and qinghua simply wont look at him. sure, he'll throw out a million words of groveling and acting pathetic, but what does any of that even fucking mean?! does qinghua only see him as a king? does qinghua even see him as that or is he waiting for a chance to betray him? how can he get shang qinghua's attention? how can he keep him? and so he thinks about his only fond memories of 'affection' and starts the habit of beating qinghua lightly three times a day. it's gotta work. it totally has to work. it MUST be working, bc qinghua just told the demon emperor that acting pathetic is a way of showing affection!!! SO CLEARLY QINGHUA MUST LOOK AT HIM NOW RIGHT?!!? but their relationship just doesnt seem to be progressing and after the qinghua saves him from falling, mobei jun now has a brand new "height of being show affection" memory to cling to but its... very much the opposite of his memories of being beaten. and a whole lot better too. being caught by shang qinghua and protected in that way has his heart thudding every time he remembers it and suddenly beating qinghua has lost its appeal. how can he do something for qinghua that matches that feeling??? because now it feels poultry to offer qinghua mere beatings when those barely even seem enjoyable for qinghua anyway??? and he doesnt particularly enjoy qinghua acting pathetic for him either, even if he knows theres affection behind the gesture, and qinghua always acts extra pathetic during beatings so thats another reason to lay off. so mobei jun is in the middle of contemplating this shit and stops beating qinghua so much when suddenly its time for his ascension ceremony and he drags qinghua there with him and now qinghua is talking about leaving him and mobei jun's heart just about shatters. is it because he laid off on the beatings? is it because qinghua was always planning to betray him, the way he always feared? is it because mobei jun misread this whole thing? in front of his dead fathers door, a man who never gave much of a fuck about him, while anticipating the arrival of his horrible uncle, vulnerable and reminded of every reason he's never trusted traditional shows of intimacy and so he tells qinghua to fuck off, beats him without any affectionate intentions, and greets his uncle in heartbroken misery. but then qinghua COMES BACK WHEN HE NEEDS HIM and he apparently always hated the beatings which is a blow but also now QINGHUA IS LEAVING HIM AGAIN AND THIS IS HELL, MOBEI IS IN HELL RN.

and not to mention, he witnessed linguang-jun beating shang qinghua and suddenly, he doesnt even know why he ever thought beatings were all that affectionate either because this is horrible and he hates it and mobei jun is Not Equipped To Cope With Guilt, it's not something he's been trained in and he is not coping with ANY of this well tbh, not his uncle, not his heartbreak, and he just wants the familiarity of shang qinghua's normal pathetic behavior. something normal. something to ground him. but shang qinghua is not normal right now and he's still planning to LEAVE and mobei jun is all panic, no thoughts. and now shang qinghua is saying shit like "you only beat me cuz i was easy-going and weak" and ow? that hurts? and then shang qinghua is saying he was only ever indulging mobei jun and OW? THAT HURTS?! and mobei jun is prideful and in pain and upset so he's relying on familiar emotions. being angry. being prideful. being haughty. pretending he has any control over this situation. unsure how to act outside of their normal dynamic. unsure how to respond to this very different side of qinghua. but no matter what he says, qinghua is leaving. qinghua pinches his cheeks and insults him and calls him spoiled even when he's seen directly how his own uncle treats him and calls himself his father in front of the room where his father lies dead and yeah, it hurts when qinghua pinches his cheeks. not just the physical pain, but the knowledge that qinghua wants to hurt him. that hurts most of all and it's pathetic but mobei jun's head is swimming with the knowledge that maybe violence was never a good idea between them but what else can he do in this situation? he's completely out of his depth! so he threatens qinghua not to leave and he still LEAVES

so now he's trying to find qinghua and the entire time his mind is a complete mess of emotions because was he wrong all this time and qinghua cannot be gone, thats unacceptable, and what can he offer to make qinghua stay? how can he possibly not lose this person?? and the best he can think of is to let qinghua hurt him in return, let him get his licks in, and maybe that will help

but shang qinghua doesnt hit him when offered and qinghua seems a bit scared of him and for the first time ever that seems kinda fucking awful and mobei jun is out of his depth, but the warmth he feels when shang qinghua wont hit him is really... something. and maybe theres a lot more shows of affection he should be learning, like the feeling when someone could hit you but chooses not to. and look, he's starting from abysmal standards. and yeah, when shang qinghua suggests he cook for him that sounds weird and demeaning and mobei jun instinctively wants to turn it down

but when he thinks about how it might be a way to show affection that they both appreciate, he's really determined to see it through

anyway thats a verrrryyyyy long over-explanation as to why i dont think the beatings are demon culture, i think mobei jun is just a terminally awkward traumatized weirdo who doesnt know how to communicate

[ladykailitha]

Murder in the Heartland Part 1

Here it is, the most wonderfully insane idea I've ever come up with and I've had some whoppers (Steve in a mental institution and Vecna's Timeloop from Hell for example). This is still the wildest. Only that's a twist that's coming up way down the line. My wonderful discord peeps @forgottenkanji, @dreamercec, @bookworm0690 know all, but you'd have to join my discord to be in on the secret (there are other lurkers there who might know, but they might not *shrug*).

Summary: When a serial killer strikes Hawkins, the police zero in on Eddie Munson. But when the last would-be victim Robin Buckley says that it Jason Carver who was trying to kill her and not Eddie, the police are further put in their place by an anonymous tipper who did all the work they should have done instead of going after clearly innocent Eddie. So Eddie becomes a PI to find this anonymous tipper. Featuring Mystery Writer Steve, who will play into the later plot. ;)

You will see snippets of Steve as the story goes on, but it will be Eddie's story for about 2/3 of it. It is also set in canon time for reasons that will become clear as the story goes on.

~

Interviewer: I’m here with Steve Harrington who has put just put out his seven novel in the thrilling Joe Keery books, ‘The Hollow Promise’. How are you this morning?

Steve chuckled: I’m tired. I’m a writer, I spend all my nights writing and my days sleeping, so this is a little outside my normal waking hours.

Interviewer: Gosh I wish I could do that, but I chose to have a morning talk show instead. Won’t you tell the listeners about your latest book.”

Steve: It’s about a series of murders in a small town and our hero comes to town to investigate and finds a bigger mystery than he anticipated.

~

Eddie’s life went to hell the day Steve Harrington blew town. Not that he would find that out until years later. But then again people were more preoccupied with Robin Buckley swearing up and down that Jason Carver who had been trying to kill her and not Eddie than remember a kid being thrown out of his parents place for being gay so... yeah.

Well, okay, so his life had been hell a little bit before Steve blew town. But that wasn’t as interesting an opening as the day Steve blew town. So he still had a flare for the dramatic, sue him. After all it was that flare that made him become a private investigator in the first place.

When Chrissy Cunningham had been murdered just after Eddie dealt her Special K, that made him the prime suspect in her death.

Which, rude.

She had been dealing with some pretty fucked up shit. Like being queer in a small town levels of shit on top of her mom being constantly on about her weight and her boyfriend pressuring her wear a promise ring. In high school.

Then another student died. A boy on the basketball team, Patrick McKinney, who someone else claimed had bought steroids off Eddie. Which couldn’t have been true, not if it was performance enhancing drugs. He had offered to sell them to high schoolers when he first started dealing, but Rick assured him he already had someone for that.

Then another girl died. Someone Eddie hadn’t known. He knew of her. But she wasn’t even in any of his classes, in any of his senior years. She also didn’t do drugs. Hell, Molly Masters was a known Straight Edger. She wouldn’t have gone near Eddie unless she wanted to throw hands.

Which is why he was blamed for her death, actually. They insinuated that she had finally had enough of his drug dealing ways and had gone after him.

He even had an alibi for that one, not that it mattered. Playing in front of five random drunks and a stingy ass bartender wasn’t exactly as air tight as it could have been. Because as far as witnesses go, they were pretty shit.

Then Barb Holland died. And that was a kick in the teeth. He knew who she was but only in a tenuous ‘best friend of the girlfriend of the most popular boy in school’ kind of way. Eddie was starting to see the pattern, even if the cops didn’t.

Then the final one which ended in the death of Jason Carver, Chrissy’s boyfriend. Only Robin Buckley was still very much alive.

But for the those first three days, she was in a coma. So the police spun the narrative that Eddie had been trying to kill her when Jason had interrupted them; saving her life, but losing his in the process.

Until she woke up and blew the whole investigation out of the water.

“I’m telling you Jason Carver was trying to kill me,” she said for the tenth time to a motley crew of Hopper, Powell, and Callahan from her hospital bed.

“Now why would he go and do a thing like that for?” Powell huffed. “Jason was a good, upstanding young man. Captain of the basketball team. He loved Chrissy. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not for anything.”

Robin let out a long sigh of frustration and buried her head in her hands. She looked up at them, weighing her options before she finally snapped, “Because I’m a lesbian!”

They stared at her blankly.

“Apparently Chrissy was too and that’s why he killed her.”

“You telling me that Jason Carver, all American boy next door was a murderer killing queer kids?” Callahan huffed in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

“And I’m telling you it’s true,” Robin hissed. “Plus whoever saved my life and killed the rat bastard wasn’t Eddie Munson.” She crossed her arms over her chest and settled into the bed, grumpy.

Hopper pinched his nose. “Let’s say we follow this line of inquiry, why do you believe Eddie Munson wasn’t involved at all. You keep saying you never saw your rescuer’s face.”

She looked up at him like he was stupid. “Because the guy that took the bat to Jason’s head was wearing a short sleeve shirt.”

The cops all looked at each other in confusion.

Robin threw her arms up in the air. “No tattoos, assholes! Eddie very famously has bats on his...” she looked at her own arms for a second, “right forearm. And whoever this Jesus with a bat was, he didn’t have any tattoos on his arm.”

“Robin!” her mother admonished. Melissa Buckley was there to ensure that the police didn’t try and twist Robin’s words into saying something that wasn’t true.

Robin just shrugged, unrepentant. They were being assholes and someone should tell them to their faces.

“Well, shit!” Powell snapped, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “If it wasn’t Eddie then who the fuck was it?”

Just then the door to Robin’s room burst open, startling all those inside. Officer Glenn Daniels came running up to Chief Hopper, a large envelope in his hands.

“Florence got this this morning,” Daniels said, panting for breath. “And we wanted to verify its authenticity before bringing it to you. So me and couple of the other officers looked into it.”

Hopper opened the envelope, his eyes growing wider the more and more he looked through it. “And how much it of is accurate?”

“All of it.”

“There is no way,” Hopper growled, slamming the envelope on Powell’s chest. “No evidence is that air tight. There must be some kind mistake or error in there somewhere.”

Powell took the envelope and looked down into it. His eyebrows shot up. “There are actual fucking writings by Carver in here. Where the hell did they find those?”

Daniels just shook his head. “Whoever found this shit was meticulous. There are no other fingerprints than Jason’s on anything. But there is a letter.”

Powell went searching through the envelope and pulled it out, handing it to the Chief, who read it, mumbling to himself.

“Well, as much as I would like to say the bastard is wrong,” Hopper said with a resigned sigh. “He’s not. Or she or whatever. They’re not wrong. The victims wouldn’t have gotten justice, not with them being queer. Jason would have been lauded a hero and paraded in the streets for taking out the trash.”

“‘To the police,” Powell read out loud. “I am sending you all the evidence you failed to collect when you were too busy trying to pin these murders on an innocent man. It didn’t take a lot to realize the true connection the victims had. I’m just sorry I was too late to save Molly Masters. She didn’t deserve to die in that horrible way.

“Once I figured out who it was, I knew that there would be no justice for these kids. Not when Jason Carver was who he was, and why he was killing his peers. So I quietly compiled all the evidence I could. His journals. His distinct lack of alibis for any of the murders. His emotional connection to the first victim, his girlfriend, Chrissy Cunningham.

“I’m just glad I was able to stop him from killing that final girl. But if she did die later, I hope Carver rots in the hell of his own making. No one deserves to die because of who they love.

“-Jason’s Executioner.”

“Well, that ain’t creepy as shit,” Callahan said sarcastically. “Well it’s not as though we could have used any of this evidence anyway.”

“And when is Eddie Munson being released?” Melissa huffed, pulling herself up to her nearly six feet of height.

Hopper blinked at her for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand the question, ma’am.”

“That boy is innocent!” Melissa said sternly. “And what? You’re going to just sweep this all under the rug and leave Jason Carver’s reputation intact?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hopper replied, low and dangerous. “And I don’t appreciate you putting words into my mouth.”

Melissa crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down.

“He is innocent of the murders, yes,” he said, “but he still sold an underaged girl ketamine. And last time I checked that was still very much against the law.”

“I don’t believe you actually have proof of that,” Melissa said with a winning smile.

“He confessed,” Powell said in confusion. “We have it on record of him confessing to selling the drugs.” He put his hands on his hips. “There’s no way he’s not going away for the drugs.”

“Under duress,” Melissa said smugly. “Which any lawyer worth his salt will get tossed out in a heartbeat. You have nothing on the boy and you know it.”

Robin grinned up at her. “Isn’t she so cool? And she’s my mom!”

“Stop calling him a boy!” Callahan hissed. “He’s twenty! He knew full well what he was doing and I’m not going to stand here and let you pretend otherwise.”

Melissa scoffed, eyeing him up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I’d call your dog to heel there, Chief, we wouldn’t want me to scream police intimidation, now would we?”

“Don’t make me arrest you, Mel,” Hopper growled. “Again.”

Melissa grinned up at the chief. They had been on very opposite sides of the Vietnam War. Him having been in the army and her having been in the protests against the War. Hawks and Doves.

“And just what would be the charge this time, Chief?” she asked with a wink.

Hopper squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them slowly. He let out a long exasperated sigh. “Eddie Munson will be released without charges by the end of today.”

But before his underlings could protest he held up his hands. “It’s either release him and sweep under the rug that some rank amateur or we don’t release him and Melissa here goes to the press about how we put away an innocent man and get the national media up in our business.”

They stared at him for a moment before they grumbling agreed. Hopper bid the Buckleys goodbye and then led his officers out the room.

So how did Eddie know all this? He talked to Hopper, Daniels and the Buckleys and while some details varied they pretty much confirmed that how it went down and how Eddie got out on a ‘technicality’ as the cops were calling it.

When he stepped out into the fresh air outside of the jail with Wayne waiting for him, he took a deep breath and let it go.

“I don’t know how you can stand living in this hell hole,” he groused as he hopped into Wayne’s truck.

“Can’t afford to leave,” Wayne huffed and started the truck. “If I could scrape up the money to get out of here, I would and I’d take you with me.”

Eddie gave his uncle’s shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe I’ll be able to get a job and get enough money for both of us out.”

“If wishes were horses,” Wayne said ruefully as he pulled out into traffic. “I’m just glad you were released without charges.”

“You and me both, old man,” Eddie huffed. “I was sure I was going to be Reading, Pennsylvania, Short Line and B&O railroaded.”

“Good thing Melissa Buckley was there when they interrogated her daughter,” Wayne growled. “Or you might still be sitting in that cell.”

“I hope you sent her flowers,” Eddie said. “She certainly deserves it.”

“Delilahs and some of my grandma’s shortbread,” Wayne confirmed. “I even offered to help out any handwork they may need in the future too. And if I were you I’d offer your way around an engine too.”

Eddie saluted. “Aye, Aye!”

Wayne snorted. “If the way she tells it is true, some rookie wannabe detective is the one that provided the most damning evidence against that Carver kid.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Eddie said with a snort. “These backwater cops wouldn’t know their ass from their elbow.”

“Still it makes you wonder who it was...” Wayne said softly as they turned into the trailer park.

“It certainly does that,” Eddie agreed. “It certainly does that.”

~

I am ridiculously pleased with the railroad joke. It still makes me smile every time.

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