#this is becoming more and more of an issue

[sunderwight]

scum villain fairytale AU where every night, the beautiful yet cruel peak lord Shen Qingqiu transforms from his regal self into modern nerd Shen Yuan (complete with physical and wardrobe changes).

to keep the secret of his transformations, Shen Qingqiu has taken to locking himself up at night. so every night for the past few weeks, Shen Yuan has awakened to find himself chained and kept prisoner in the bamboo house. since he can't ask anyone, he has no idea that he turns back into someone else come morning, he just thinks he's being drugged or something and that this is his entire transmigration experience -- a prisoner of someone he never sees or interacts with, presumably being fed and bathed while he's unconscious somehow since he hasn't died and doesn't stink, who also hasn't seen sunlight since all of this began.

anyway one day Shen Qingqiu gets distracted and doesn't do the chains up properly (qi deviation issues most likely), and Shen Yuan manages to escape just before dawn. he doesn't completely get away because Shen Qingqiu did set up a last ditch imprisonment array that teleports Shen Yuan back into the house before he can leave the property line, but he gets outside and he calls for help.

disciple Luo Binghe (out early because he got sent to do nine million chores all night and didn't sleep to begin with) sees this thin and obviously frightened young man (in chains!) break out of his master's house and plea for assistance, only to be swallowed up by what looks like some kind of sinister magical effect and vanish.

curiosity piqued, the next night, Luo Binghe masters some of his fear of his harsh shizun and sneaks over to the bamboo house. it takes a few nights more for him to actually work up the nerve to actually peek into one of the windows.

to his astonishment, he sees the young man obviously being held captive inside. what's going on? is it a demon? but then, why would Shen Qingqiu hold him captive instead of just killing him? Luo Binghe is still barely young enough to want to give his cruel master some benefit of the doubt, out of hope for his own prospects if nothing else, but this seems pretty fucked up. especially since the chained man is so pretty, and so scantily clad (shorts and t-shirt)...

anyway, Shen Yuan notices Binghe and starts calling out to him for help. but this frightens Luo Binghe off, because he doesn't know that Shen Qingqiu won't hear and come running. he feels badly though and eventually does go back, and after Shen Yuan assures him that no matter how he screams or begs for help he's sure no one will come (until Binghe, no one ever has), Luo Binghe cautiously stays put and starts talking to him. after a while the young disciple can only conclude that his master must be going down the mountain to spend his nights at the brothels. no one has seen him leave for such trips in months, but he must have discovered a way to do so more secretively.

Shen Yuan has figured out since long ago that he transmigrated, although he doesn't know the setting, so he knows he can't entirely explain his situation to this random teenager. he also knows that there's a chance -- though it seems remote -- that the boy has something to do with his captivity, and isn't just the innocent bystander he seems to be. but with little to loose he's more inclined to trust and hope that this might give him an opportunity to escape.

meanwhile Luo Binghe is still cautious that this strange man might be a demon of some kind, or a trap or test on Shen Qingqiu's part, so he doesn't give his real name or tell Shen Yuan anything about the sect. gradually he becomes convinced of Shen Yuan's sincerity, even though he still doesn't dare go against Shen Qingqiu or actually set foot inside the house.

time passes, and Luo Binghe's visits become more regular. despite the lack of rescue, even just having someone to talk to is such a massive improvement that Shen Yuan doesn't complain. before long he gets the impression that this boy's situation isn't even much better than his own, as he is constantly sporting some bruise or visible injury or another, and offhandedly describes a lot of treatment that sounds frankly horrific as if he thinks it's simply normal. he figures he's in a cultivation setting and some kind of sect, though, and after a while he begins imparting tips and tricks and whatever he can think of to fill the silence with his mystery visitor.

this is eventually how he figures out that he's trapped in the world of PIDW, even if he doesn't quite figure out where or who with yet. because Luo Binghe describes some aspects of cultivation that would only apply to that hack job the author made of cultivation systems. which is a good thing because it lets Shen Yuan offer more specific advice, and also begin to try and make plans.

if he's imprisoned by cultivators, then one day Luo Binghe will probably arrive as part of his eradication of the sects. maybe Shen Yuan can beg mercy from him?

this becomes such an important fantasy that Shen Yuan begins to describe it to his little visitor, playing it off that he sometimes gets "visions" (and trying to help the poor kid some more, given that both of them are in danger in a stallion novel where no man is liable to live long in the protagonist's orbit).

at first Luo Binghe thinks that Shen Yuan has somehow figured out who he is, when the man begins to tell him stories of some great person of destiny who has the same name as him. but by then he's hooked so even though it's risky, he still keeps going back to the bamboo house at night, and after a few weeks he concludes that Shen Yuan really doesn't seem to realize that the name of his imagined demon emperor has anything to do with his visitor. he even describes Luo Binghe's own background and troubles to him, but offhandedly, as if he is just picking up loose details about someone else from a story or dream. even when Shen Yuan observes that the Luo Binghe of his stories has some similarities to the Luo Binghe outside the window, his does this in such a way that it just seems to emphasize that he has no idea that these "visions" he's started having are connected to his visitor. or that the villain Shen Qingqiu he describes is in fact his captor.

Luo Binghe guesses that these visions might be the reason Shen Qingqiu has locked Shen Yuan away. perhaps he is some kind of magical creature, if not a demon, and cultivators can benefit from stealing energy or blood or... other unsavory things from him, although Luo Binghe doesn't think Shen Yuan's predictions sound very accurate. he's still trying to figure it out when, in fact, one of those predictions comes true.

Shen Qingqiu declares that he's going into seclusion, and disappears into the lingxi caves. with him he takes a large box (big enough to hold a man and with vents on the sides), that he moves and handles himself, even though secluded cultivation doesn't usually call for a lot of luggage. from the box, just faintly, Luo Binghe imagines he hears the clink of chains. (Shen Qingqiu plans to lock himself into it every night.)

that night, when Luo Binghe goes to the bamboo house, he finds it completely empty. it's empty again the next night, too, no matter which windows he approaches. as the nights drag on he even grows bold enough to break into the bamboo house, but there's nobody inside.

Shen Qingqiu must have taken his prisoner with him into the caves. Luo Binghe cannot think of a reason to do that which is not nefarious, and he struggles to sleep each night, imagining terrible things that his cruel master could be doing to Shen Yuan as part of his efforts to improve his own cultivation. he can only pray that none of it proves fatal.

being locked in a box at night is pretty bad, but luckily one of the corners was kind of shoddily made, so Shen Yuan manages to get out of it after the second night. he's still chained and he can't leave the circle of an array Shen Qingqiu set up, but the cave is at least a change of scenery. Shen Yuan even feels inspired to attempt some cultivating of his own, although he worries that he's been moved to this weird place because someone caught his little visitor coming to the window, and he hopes that if so, no one has punished the boy (he knows that's a slim hope, given the kind of micro infractions his visitor has apparently been beaten over).

of course, there's a rampaging Liu Qingge qi deviating in the caves, so Shen Yuan gets to deal with that. Liu Qingge thinks he's having some kind of lingering fever dream when he gets rescued by some weird pervert at night, only to come to his senses and find he's being berated by a wild-eyed Shen Qingqiu instead.

Shen Qingqiu is not happy that Liu Qingge's rampage put him in proximity with his incredibly pathetic werewolf curse, the only relief is that the idiot seemed to be too out-of-his head from a qi deviation to remember most of it. and also apparently his "other self" saved the man's life, which Shen Qingqiu is just going to attribute to dumb luck. Shen Qingqiu is 100% convinced that this curse he's under is designed to get him killed or disgraced.

meanwhile, despite his fears about Shen Yuan's state, Luo Binghe does remember that the man told him about a demon attack that followed Shen Qingqiu going into seclusion. he's not sure what to expect, but somehow he isn't as surprised as he should be when Sha Hualing and her goon squad turn up. he is grimly terrified when the fighting tournament starts, and he sees the demon who matches the description of the one he's meant to fight and he can't imagine that working out in his favor... but Shen Yuan was perfectly adamant that despite the difficulty, Luo Binghe would win.

if he wins, does that mean the rest of it comes true? that Luo Binghe is a half heavenly demon, that he will one day become the strongest person alive, emperor of the three realms and owner of the largest harem ever to exist? the one person Shen Yuan seems to think might rescue him from his prison?

the idea of it (well, some of it) gets Luo Binghe through his fight. and then of course Meng Mo shows up, and Shen Yuan is pulled into the subsequent dream and figures out who is "mysterious visitor" really is and is kind of like, oh shit I gave Luo Binghe spoilers about his own destiny. shit. well. done is done...?

Luo Binghe is alright with most of it though. the Abyss sounds deeply unpleasant and he doesn't actually want any wives (so many nights spying on Shen Yuan lounging around in barely nothing and some chains have definitely led to some epiphanies on his part), but if Shen Yuan says he can survive it, he believes him.

and then he will rescue Shen Yuan. after the Abyss he's also completely sold on ruining and killing Shen Qingqiu too. there are no downsides and this plan cannot possibly go awry!

[leighsartworks216]

Kiss Me

Sylus x fem!Reader

I need to go back to bed ough

Warnings: fluff, light angst, drunkenness, drinking, crying, cuddling, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues

Word Count: 975

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Sylus holds a wine glass in one hand, holding it to the side as you climb onto his lap. Legs on either side of his, body arched to align with his, face ducked down to stay close to his; you truly are a sight to behold.

"Kiss me," you demand. Your hands trace his jaw, feeling his skin, the warmth underneath it.

He grins softly. It's not quite a smirk, though it holds that same smug amusement. His hand holds your hip respectfully. Fingers tug down the hem of your dress to keep you decent.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetie."

You frown. "Why not?"

Oh, you sweet thing. Your eyes keep flickering about his face, lingering on his lips, his eyes, his lips again. He takes his sweet time sipping from his glass. A slight tint of red stains his lips, licked away by his tongue. He can see the way your eyes glaze over as you stare.

"You're drunk," he reminds you. "You almost polished off my nice, expensive wine. Did you forget?"

The wine wasn't important. It was expensive, aged to perfection, sitting on the rack waiting for the best occasion - and you had him refill your glass before he even finished his.

He doesn't envy the headache you'll have come morning.

Your thumbs run along the flat of his cheeks, stroking back to his sideburns, before you slip your hands around his neck and into his hair. You scratch so sweetly at his scalp. He should stop it, stop you from so effortlessly turning him into putty under your attention. But he doesn't.

You brush your nose against his. Your breath carries the subtle notes of the wine with it. "'M not that drunk. And you're pretty... Kiss me, please."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Something dark flashes across his eyes. A fleeting shadow. If it were not his lap you were in right now, how quickly would anyone else give in to you, with you so demanding and beautiful? "Because you're drunk," he insists again, softly.

You huff in annoyance. "Is that the only reason you're gonna give me? Told you already, I'm not that drunk."

"It's the fact you've been drinking at all, sweetie." You roll your eyes, turning your head away at the rejection. He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, drawing your attention back to him. "I want you to be completely sober for our first kiss. Is that such a bad thing?"

You blink at him dumbly for a moment. "First kiss?"

"Mhm."

A beat, and then those gorgeous lips are curling into a wicked little grin. "'First' implies that there'd be more."

He releases your chin to brush loose strands of hair from your face. "And I want you to be sober enough to remember every single one."

"But if we kissed now..." You lean into his touch like a cat, rubbing your cheek against his hand before he can pull it away. "... we could have another first kiss later."

He chuckles. "You really want this, don't you, kitten?"

You whine with a nod. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you draw yourself into him, resting your head on his shoulder and nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt.

"Sometimes it feels hard to love you," you admit in a whisper. "You have everything. And I have nothing. Nothing to give you to- to make it worthwhile. Cuz that's what you deserve."

His heart aches. He sets his glass aside to hug you in return. Your words become slurred as you continue speaking, slow and messy. But genuine. He wishes he had the will to silence you now, to hear it all when you're of sound mind. But he's weak to this truth and the desire to hear it at your most vulnerable.

"But I want to... I want to love you so bad. And I do. So much... But I have nothing. The only thing I can give you is..." You wave a hand limply at your body. "This mess."

You sigh, hiding your face in his warm neck. He leans his head on yours. You sniffle quietly.

"Would kissing me make you happy?"

He squeezes his arms tighter around you. Readjusts so you're sitting more comfortably across his lap instead of straddling him. He even grabs a blanket with his Evol to wrap it around your shoulders, tucking the corners in so you're protected from the cold in your little black dress that drives him wild.

"Being near you makes me happy," he answers. "Seeing you, hearing you, talking with you - everything about you makes me happy. I don't need your body to be happy. You don't need to throw yourself at me to love me."

You sniffle again. Hot droplets of water fall to his skin. Your voice shakes. "But would kissing me make you happy?"

"When you're sober," he begins slowly, carefully, "and I kiss you for the first time, I'll be the happiest man in the universe."

"Really?"

He gently pulls you from his neck. You've got tears already staining your cheeks. Makeup running, lip trembling. You're so beautiful.

He leans in. Your breath hitches in your throat, though he can't tell if it's from excitement or to fight back another sob. His lips brush your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, squeezing out tears that gather on his lips. They linger there for several seconds, before he finally pulls away. His hand comes up to hold your other cheek, wiping away the evidence of your overwhelming emotions.

"If you can remember that, you can cash it in for the real deal," he says, teasing and light, but with the weight of genuine care and concern. "Alright?"

You nod. "Alright."

He draws you back into him. "Now get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @leiakitty @loliesaregreat

[dduane]

Hi, *insert childhood adoration here* just got home from work and don't really have access to true coherent thought. Um. Okay.

Do you know why sometimes, books in a series, from the same publisher, will be in two different sizes? My sister and I figured out that sometimes the exact same book from the same publisher will have two different thicknesses of paper and so one will be slightly thicker, but we can't work out the height and width thing. Same cover design type, like, same edition. Just. One of them is bigger. Do you know why?

Thanks for the wizard books that first made friends of my cousin and me.

First: you're very welcome. I'm glad to have been of service.

On the size question, though: This is one of the Great Imponderables that drives books' writers at least as far around the bend as their readers.

Now there are some explanations that make at least some kind of sense. Sometimes, for example, even within a single edition of a single book, there may be difference-in-thickness issues for some concrete reason: the challenge is discovering which reason (assuming the publisher hasn't themselves told you about it, which is likely to be the case about 99% of the time). ...A common problem is when, for some reason to do with ongoing geopolitical crap or national/international crises, the price of paper changes suddenly. This will cause publishers to try to reduce costs on a book by (the next time it goes back to press) changing the paper quality for something thinner. One of these changes might come between volumes of a series, which is why you might suddenly get a difference between the paper quality of book 5 and book 6 of what's otherwise supposed to be a unified set.

(There's also a similar weirdness in which going up a level of paper thickness will allow your publisher to shove a book of a given length into a slightly higher price point. So, whammo, it happens, and no one bothers consulting you about this detail.)

Or alternately: All of a sudden, somebody at your publisher decides that your series needs to be packaged in a slightly different format that—for reasons that possibly no one in the field even fully understands—is becoming associated with better sales at some other publisher (or some other imprint at your own publisher). So, bang, between one book of a series and the next, the next volume to come out is a quarter inch taller or half an inch wider. And/or 15% thicker (because the pulp of the paper involved has had more air pumped into it than previously). And your books will continue to look like that until some other fad or trend at the packaging end affects them.

(Or alternately, it doesn't affect them, because your publisher's focus has changed in some inexplicable way—or the in-house accountants have crunched their numbers in some new manner—and they've decided your books aren't worth spending the format-change money on.)

(sigh) Tl:dr; There's no damn telling. (It's vanishingly rare that anybody tells us, anyway.) And I wish I had a clearer answer for you than this. Apologies. :/

[rose-writes-for-march]

March for More: Little Prince

MASTERPOST

If there was anything Phantom hated the most about being crowned king—

“Your Eternity, it is with great respect that I summon you here today for a formal audience.” Ra’s al Ghul says, bent over in a formal bow from where he stands just beyond the barrier of the summoning circle.

—it was this bastard.

“al Ghul.” He greets with a scowl, “What a surprise. I thought you might’ve gone and Ended already, given how long it's been since you bothered me last.”

The man jerks upright from his bow, a frown on his face though Phantom knows it isn't directed at him, and waves a hand behind him in a 'come here' gesture. Phantom follows the movement, spotting a boy in... armor(?) being forcibly escorted forward. Phantom is almost impressed by the fight the boy is giving, having at least ten men trying to so much as move him beside the old man.

"Ra's. We've talked about this, haven't we? I don't take sacrifices." Phantom growls, voice edging into ghost speak at the blatant disrespect the old man is showing. "I should kill you for bringing one before me—"

"Apologies, Your Eternity, for interrupting, but this boy is no sacrifice." Ra's cuts him off, body angled to glare at the boy while keeping the King in his sights. He moves his hand slightly, and the escorts reluctantly back off. As soon as one man's hold slackens, the boy growls and forces the rest off of him with an impressive efficiency. As the fight continues, Ra's addresses the king again, "This is my grandson, Damian al Ghul, I trust you remember him?"

And, unfortunately, Phantom does.

It wasn't that long ago for Phantom, thanks to time shenanigans. A summoning not unlike this one, when Phantom was freshly crowned and still finding his footing, had seen Phantom in this very room before this very boy—only many years younger than he currently is. Phantom is as livid now as he was then when presented with a kid and a marriage proposal.

"Is this some joke to you, Ra's al Ghul? Surely you understand your offense." Phantom can feel his features distorting, fingers blackening into claws, eyes thinning into slits, crown flaring from a soft borealis to a piercing ice. "My demands were simple, were they not? My patience is not as eternal as my reign, and should you offend me further, it will become as nonexistent as you'll find yourself."

"Your Eternity—"

"Your demands were met," Damian interrupts, standing tall under the full force of Phantom's misplaced ire as his eyes whip toward him. He stands beside his grandfather willingly, despite the earlier fuss, looking much more put together than the disgrace beside him.

He seems to have straightened out his suit, and at his feet sit the majority of his escorts, all properly knocked out. Phantom considers him for a moment, "Met, huh? And how is that? I remember my demands were to never be bothered with such a thing again, and yet here you both stand."

Ra's seems properly subdued under Phantom's ire as he always is by the end of their talks. It's gotten almost fun to watch the man back down when he knows he's lost. But Damian, for some Ancients-damned reason, seems to want to force the issue. "I admit you're right; the demands of that summoning were met. However, the requests of this summoning have changed."

Now curious and somewhat impressed by the boy, Phantom lets his features fall back into uncanny rather than monstrous. Plus, he is kind of required to hear the requests, no matter how much he'd rather skip it and get this over with. "Fine, let's get this over with, I suppose."

Damian bows and Ra's follows his lead a second later. Once they are both in position, Damian speaks, "Great King of Eternity, Savior of the Dead and Forgotten, I offer my body and soul to you in full trust and respect." He lifts his head, meeting Phantom's as he continues the formal spiel, "Allow to me the honor of your name and title, the right to you and your people, and your trust so that I may ask of you a favor in return."

Phantom can feel the proposal just beyond his skin, like the whisper of wind playing in his hair and spelling out shivers on his spine. It is an honest proposal, proper etiquette and intention behind every word. It makes Phantom even more curious.

"You must be desperate or stupid," he says, not yet accepting the whispers on his skin, not until he knows the favor, "You are no longer a child and are now doing this willingly, or as willing as you can. Tell me your wants, and I will consider."

Damian fully raises from the bow, Ra's doing the same before walking forward to take Phantoms attention. "Your Eternity, I wish to—"

Phantom holds up a hand, "I did not ask you. You'd be a fool to think I'd let you ask me of anything, vermin, regardless of the summoning rules." He turns back to Damian, offering a hand to tell him to continue where he was so rudely cut off.

Damian glares at Ra's as he sulks, but doesn't pay him any mind as he steps forward and meets Phantom's eyes again. "I fight under Lady Gotham's name to protect her and her people from those that would cause harm." Oh, Phantom knows of them. Lady Gotham's Knights, a famous bunch among the ghosts of Gotham, for good reason. "Recently, she has come under attack from a foe that neither my allies nor I can defeat. For giving myself to you, I would ask you to rid of this foe."

Phantom almost laughs. Such a small favor, such a silly thing to ask for a practical god of the underworld. He lets his mouth tilt into a grin, "So the answer is desperate, huh. I do not accept." With an easy motion, Phantom removes the proposal from his skin and with it the binding of the summoning.

Damian seems to lose the composure he's kept such good control of, a deep glare on his face and a growl splitting his lips. Before he can get too angry, Phantom speaks again, "I will help Lady Gotham without the need of your sacrifice. She is one of mine and has claimed you, Little Prince, which makes you mine as well. Now, what am I fighting?"

[specialgradefckr]

Catching Strays

Satoru Gojo is rich. Obscenely so.

But he's also busy - too busy to have time to meet someone and go through all the song and dance of dating and having a relationship.

The hookups... even being a certified fantastic top tier lay, it's just not doing it for him anymore.

He wants that connection. The intimacy. The personal knowledge and inside jokes and soft affection that comes with a relationship.

And sure, some of it is on him. He's got a fun personality - jokes and jibes and little remarks that he really doesn't mean badly, but tend to be taken in certain ways.

("That's a lot of words to say I'm an asshole." His last potential date had snapped. "Even with a face like yours, people have standards. My life doesn't revolve around you.")

Really, he's nice when you get to know him! But he's also lonely, and bored, and every hobby he tries out never lasts more than a couple days.

It's hard, being as naturally talented and intuitive and as intelligent as him. Everything gets old so fast. It's all too easy.

Gets him wound up. He's got so much energy. And the one thing that never gets old to him? Other people.

So when he meets new people he can be sort of... overwhelming. Overly familiar. Annoying. Clingy.

(Okay, maybe he's a little bitter about how that last one. He'd offered to pay her bills! Why was she so worked up over her dumb career? He had way more money, and he was plenty generous with it!)

Lately, he's been toying with a different solution to his problems - hybrids.

They're like people, just basically as pets (which sounds a little messed up when he thinks about it, so he promptly stops thinking, and the problem goes away) - companions who can live with him, eat with him at mealtimes, cuddle up and even provide some intimacy.

That sort of thing is apparently frowned on, but who cares? It's not like he'd ever force anyone. One look at him and they'd be begging for it.

Do you ever think about anyone besides yourself? You're going to wake up alone one day, with no one to put up with your selfishness.

And besides, they'd live together! They'd become friends naturally!

Yeah... a pet would be great for a busy guy like him. Just some cute thing sitting and waiting for him at home, ready to jump on him as soon as he's back.

("Gojo, you barely take care of yourself. You think you can take care of another person?"

"Please, I've looked this up! Cat hybrids are especially independent. Come on, can't you see me with a cute little kitty curled up in my lap?"

"You're actually hopeless.")

Shoko doesn't know what she's talking about. He can be responsible, he simply chooses not to, because life is easier that way. But cats are easy to take care of!

He just has to find the right one. He's been to a couple shelters, but none of the hybrids there have spoken to him.

It's kitten season, apparently - they're really pushing the young ones on him. But Satoru, despite what Shoko thinks, is responsible. He's looking for something older, mature, able to take care of itself (and also consent).

And what does he see as he strolls through a less-wealthy part of town on his way to his favorite ramen shop?

A cute little stray, big pleading eyes and a sign saying "Anything Helps", tail curled up around you as you look up hopefully to passing strangers.

His heart squeezes a little at the sight. There's a small dish in front of you with a scattering of spare change.

Satoru stops, mid-stride, backing up and grinning down at you.

Looks like it's this kitty's lucky day.

So... it turns out it's not so simple to adopt a stray hybrid.

It's a little annoying. You're a sorry, scraggly thing, begging for scraps in a dingy side corner.

And yet you seem to take some kind of issue with his generous offer of adoption.

Satoru supposes he can forgive you for not trusting a stranger, but he brought you out for ramen! You sat with him for the whole meal! That's longer than ninety percent of his dates have tolerated him!

Deep down, some voice is echoing the same old taunts in different words.

Even a stray off the street doesn't want your company. The best you can do is bribe people to love you, and even with all your money, the love runs out quick.

Funny how the voice sounds a lot like his mother! When talking to his dad, of course. Not him. His parents both loved him.

They'd sent him to the most expensive schools, bought him all the latest and greatest of everything, gave him a penthouse and a vacation home as a graduation gift.

Only, it was sort of big for him to live in all by himself. Satoru tries explaining it to you, but you're reluctant for some reason.

It's hard to tell, between all your stammering and nervous trailing off. How you seemed to stare at him, distracted by his beauty.

Heh. He does get that a lot. But you're the cutest, sweetest, most darling creature he's ever laid eyes on, all pathetic and needy-eyed, and he's not going home without a kitty today.

"What do I have to do to make you come with me?" Satoru says it bluntly. "I have money. All the money you could ever want. You can eat bluefin tuna every day-"

"I eat the blue tunas all the time," You interrupt him eagerly, "The ones in the can!"

"Not those - it's - listen, just tell me you'll come back with me!" He really wants to take you home now. You're just too cute.

Your ears droop (oh my GOD it's so adorable), "I'm sorry, I... I don't know. I need to get back to my spot before Suguru comes looking for me."

A dark feeling seems to creep over him like a shadow. You have an owner? And he's making you beg out on the streets?

Well, you are a very convincing cutie. But Satoru doesn't support scam artists! He makes you eat canned tuna.

You do seem to be in relatively good condition, though, now that he takes a second look at you. No fresh cuts or bruises, not a scratch. Your clothes are worn and dirty but you're surprisingly well groomed otherwise.

"And you want to go back with him? I'm way richer," Satoru says, crossing his arms, looking down at you over his glasses.

"Oh, uh, Suguru is also a stray," You say sheepishly, tail swaying gently, "He's my friend. He takes care of me, I could never leave him behind."

Something twists in his chest. You didn't want to leave your friend - that was why.

One pet was already a reach for him, really. But taking in you both?

Give it up already. You're not capable of love. You aren't capable of caring about anyone besides yourself. You're selfish, and you're fine with it.

You'll die alone, Gojo.

He smiles at you, a wide, easy grin.

"I've got room for two."

[teachablr-moment]

I have been feeling this. Lo siento muy fuerte desde que hago @inspired-lesson-plans el año pasado.

In my unresearched opinion, two of the most powerful non-chemical drugs have to be money and external validation.

Of course money is necessary for survival in the world today. But it's hard to look at the lives of people who have much more money than they need and not notice that they seem to be addicted to it. Like, there's a very clear line of thought in the back half of the Bible that if you have more than you need, that's because you are blessed and you have an obligation to give it away. I don't think this is just like a moral issue either, I think it was actually the health of the community and even of the individual having too much money is bad for you.

Similarly, external validation is necessary. When one is growing up. We absolutely need to be given unconditional love throughout our lives, but in addition to that, we need to be praised when we are doing good. Our brains are hardwired to be rewarded for learning. Being praised for our accomplishments in the eyes of others is a kind of learning. External validation helps keep our Brain properly tuned so that we know we are doing good according to others, rather than according to our internal echo chamber.

Growing up, I got small amounts of external validation for the things that I made. I mostly just loved creating, but I especially loved sharing what I made. But I very rarely shared because I was very embarrassed. And yeah, it was absolutely cringe. But in college, my friends and I would share our adolescent cringe creations and we would laugh together.

But nothing I did ever got a big response until I started posting lesson plans on Tumblr. And it felt amazing. Kind of tough not to just neglect everything else I am doing in order to keep on creating and posting. But that's not healthy. I need money, I need to get out of the house, and they need to not be glued to my activity page, refreshing every few minutes to see whether or not I am losing engagement.

Our brains evolved to live in social spaces in the physical world, not the digital. We are very poorly adapted to the massive Rush of attention that can come from going viral.

So spare a thought for The unfortunately wealthy, especially those who make their living through attention on any kind of public media. It's like being a professional drug addict. It's not surprising that many of them become amateur drug addicts as well. I probably would, if I had that kind of strain.

i do write for attention, actually, because that's a normal reason to create art

[rhyrhy]

Venom in the veins 🕸️

Spider!Ellie x Fem Villain reader

✦ Synopsis: When trust is broken, and alliances shift. Your local friendly neighborhood spiderwoman! is forced to choose between her love and loyalty!

✦ Warnings: enemies to lovers to enemies..? Angst, violence, death/grief , language, romantic tension, familial issues. 5k words.

A/n: thank you to @s0phi3w4lt3n , because their lovely brain is helping make this possible. This is chapters 1-2. (3-7 will be separate posts!) + Ellie’s suit desc is based off this beautiful art!

October 5th

I guess I finally understand what it means to wear the weight of something bigger than yourself.

Nobody tells you how lonely this gets. They say it’s a responsibility. A privilege. But nobody warns you about the nights when your body’s so sore you can’t move, or when you have to smile at people who would hate you if they knew the whole truth.

And the worst part? I should’ve seen it coming.

I should’ve known the second I woke up with a spider bite the size of a penny and a bad feeling in my gut.

But I was just a dumb kid clinging to Joel’s leg in the ER, sure I was about to drop dead…

Being a hero wasn’t as simple as they made it look in the comics she read. It wasn’t just about the mask—it was about juggling the power, the responsibility, and the weight of knowing that, at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

And in the end? It was always a game of masks. Who’s hiding behind them, and who’s fooling who?

Ellie wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.

Especially not when she had a spider bite the , wrapped in white gauze and held together with SpongeBob bandages that did little to ease her nerves. Her pain tolerance wasn’t exactly low, but weren’t black widows deadly? She could still feel the long-gone venom burning in her bloodstream—or maybe she just thought she did.

“Joel, I’m too young to die!” A younger Ellie whined, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

“You aren’t dying. They said you’ll be sore at most.” He sighed, patting her head.

“Dramatic” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the distraught figure clinging to him like she truly believed her life depended on it. Eleanor “Ellie” Anna Williams, at the ripe age of twelve, gave her adoptive father more wrinkles than he could count.

This time, it wasn’t a scraped knee from wobbly attempts at skateboarding, or a burn on her forearm from trying to make him breakfast. It was a spider bite. She didn’t get a good look when she flung her head after the sting set in, but she was almost certain what that eight-legged creature was that had crept onto her hand while she doodled on her notebook in science class.

She rambled about it the whole way from the school’s nursing office to the emergency room. Not even the radio could drown out the frantic girl, who loved all things nature—as long as it wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d just learned to use a training bra. She couldn’t die now.

“I’m not?” she said, her green watery eyes looking up at him.

“No. Weren’t you listening to what the nice lady said? The one in blue scrubs?”

To be honest, she wasn’t. However, she did remember the woman he was referring to—and the way she made her heart race. Even now, as a young adult, Ellie would bring her up when questioned about her gay awakening.

“You’re goin’ to be fine kiddo” He bent down to her level, his Texan accent dragging out his “n”s.

Comforting her had become something Joel mastered over the years. Trying to navigate Ellie’s spectrum between smart mouth and nervous breakdowns wasn’t easy for a man in his early thirties. But he’d found a way to wedge himself somewhere right in the middle—right where she needed him.

If there was one thing Ellie learned quickly, it was that Joel knew best. With legs full of scars and scrapes and a pair of worn-out Converse that Joel begged her to throw away, Eleanor—who preferred just ‘Ellie’—skated into her high school years.

Going from Little Orphan Annie, which she hated when assholes at school called her that, to your average teenager in the big city of Seattle, everything was completely normal.

Except it wasn’t. At all.

In fact, nothing about Ellie was normal. But the unusual started small—extremely small—and Ellie didn’t know any better. At first, she thought it was just the weed she smoked with Jesse still messing with her system.

Because ever since that fateful day in seventh grade, weird, borderline supernatural things had started happening.

She couldn’t tell you exactly how it all started—at least, not without cringing through the many, many journals she kept as a teenager—but somewhere in the mess of scribbled notes and half-finished sketches, there was an entry about a joke gone wrong.

One night, on a dare to see how long she could hold a handstand, Ellie found herself upside down—only she wasn’t just balancing. She was walking. On her ceiling.

The next morning, she convinced herself it was just some weird, half-awake dream. But when she tried it again—yeah, no. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Holy shit!” she blurted out, stumbling back to the ground.

“Language!” Joel’s voice rang out from the living room, blissfully unaware of the very sticky situation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ellie swallowed, staring at her feet. “Holy shit…” she whispered again, this time to herself.

For a while, she tried to ignore it. Between figuring out her sexuality and preparing for an upcoming science fair, she had enough on her plate. So when weird things happened—like catching something mid-fall way too fast or feeling vibrations through the walls—she brushed it off.

But the signs were getting harder to ignore. Especially when she asked Riley if she could hear that sound—

—and Riley just stared at her.

“Hear what?” Riley asked, setting up their volcano project.

“That—” Ellie waved her hand vaguely. “You seriously don’t hear it?”

Riley squinted. “Williams, I love you, but you have absolutely lost it.”

Ellie would’ve argued back, but the sound was coming from three tables down.

“Booger-eater James?” Riley snorted, nodding toward the kid hunched over a glass box of spiders. Not sure how that was science experiment. “He’s just standing there. With his creepy crawlers. I pray for him once we hit eleventh grade—he’s never getting a girlfriend.”

Panic set in—sudden and overwhelming—as her mind spiraled. Was this some weird side effect of the bite? Or was it something worse? She thought about her biological family, about the things she didn’t know, about the one thing she did worry about when it came to her health.

These were crazy person signs, right? Or worse—crazy person genes running through her blood. Torn between telling a school counselor or just locking herself in the bathroom to cry, Ellie excused herself from Riley and approached the table. But the closer she got, the louder the sound became. A crawling, chittering hum that made her stomach flip.

There was no way she was communicating with something that had more than two eyes and eight legs. An arachnid, for crying out loud.

Don’t get her wrong, Ellie loved science. But people who claimed this kind of stuff? They got laughed out of programs. Stripped of titles, accreditations. Blacklisted. Snow White talking to animals was one thing. A teenage girl talking to spiders? That was an entirely different planet.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

The heightened senses. The weird reflexes. And that bite mark—the one she was so sure would scar? It was completely gone the next morning when her bandage fell off in the shower.

What started as a sneaking suspicion was quickly turning into a daunting realization.

Ellie tried to ignore it. She really, really did.

For the next few weeks, she chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, anything that made more sense than the alternative. But the signs weren’t stopping. If anything, they were getting worse.

The way her body moved before she even had time to think. The way she could feel things that weren’t there—like the vibrations of footsteps before someone entered a room. The way her grip had changed—how she accidentally shattered a glass one night at dinner, how the basketball stuck to her hand a second too long in gym class.

She stopped journaling about it. She stopped mentioning it to Riley. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. this was so , so much worse than the time she wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table until she finished her brussels sprouts.

And that was how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window one night, hoodie zipped up, black Converse laced tight.

Sneaking out wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before. Skating out to meet Jesse, tagging walls in alleyways. But this?

This wasn’t just sneaking out.

That night, she got her first real taste of herself without the skintight suit she now wears like a badge.

Little did she know at the time, how important that near miss would be.

“Glad nobody saw that.” An embarrassed Ellie giggled to herself, standing to her feet after stumbling for the hundredth time.

Parkour always seemed a little odd to her—she preferred her guitar or a late-night reading session, but those seemed to lay still on her bookshelf nowadays. I mean, who wanted to potentially hurt themselves running along buildings, jumping from concrete to concrete, brick to brick? Short answer: she did.

Long answer: the stairwell right behind her apartment building, leading to the city’s rooftops. Mariano’s, her favorite pizza joint that always closed way too early in her opinion, the old library that closed down only to be replaced a few doors down, and the laundromat. Dusting off her jeans, she’d do this for what felt like hours.

The back and forth would make normal civilians sick—feet swollen to hell. But for Ellie, after a fight with Joel about curfew or an unnecessarily long school day, as soon as the sun set, this was her heaven.

She wasn’t normal. She’d established that a long time ago. But it’s not like she could exactly tell people she could do these kinds of things. They’d look at her the way Riley did. A FYI, she was so right about James—after graduation, he still never got a girlfriend.

Ellie, on the other hand, had quite a few up until graduation.

A shared kiss with Riley, a faded stick-and-poke cat the girl in her art class gave her, and her unforgettable first time with the first girl she could truly say she loved: Dina.

To say “fair share” was a bit of an understatement. It was more about quality than quantity. Her building real connections, some still lingering around. Some took the high road, choosing to stay the bitter ex. But Ellie didn’t see it like that. She appreciated the good and the bad, even if she did have to get a real tattoo over that stick-and-poke cat.

But times like these, where she let her feet carry her across the city, were when she was allowed to forget about all that, leave it in the past where it belonged, and focus on the future. But even with her tassel turned, she always found herself in that alleyway, climbing up that same fire escape to get to the roof.

The city lights below flickered like distant stars. So many people, but none of them knew her name. Maybe that was for the best. In this city, the only person Ellie needed to be was herself.

The wind against her skin felt sharper tonight, like she could almost taste the city’s pulse. A distant car honked, but she didn’t hear it the same way anymore. It was all part of the rhythm, the energy that seemed to flow through her, the way the rooftops called her to them.

For now, the rooftops were hers. But she knew, deep down, that wouldn’t last forever. Heroes, villains—one day, someone would come looking for her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe.

Freshly graduated, Ellie was hanging out with friends at her favorite pizza joint, the smell of pepperoni filling the air, and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. It was one of those normal, relaxed nights. nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way at first.

But when a hooded figure paced back and forth in front of their table for the fourth time, Ellie couldn’t help but feel a cold chill run down her spine. Her green eyes snapped to the sound, hands slowly lowering the slice of pizza she’d been about to take a bite of.

“That young man stole my purse!” A woman’s voice broke through the hum of the restaurant, her trembling hands pointing toward the culprit.

Ellie’s green gaze snapped to the man now hurrying down the sidewalk, his steps quick, his movements too frantic. The adrenaline surged through her as she pushed her chair back and stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. She didn’t wear her mask yet, but the sensation of needing to act was unmistakable.

She couldn’t just let it go.

The man was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ellie darted into the street, weaving between pedestrians like a blur, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the city’s noise. When she reached him, she tackled him with everything she had, the force knocking the purse out of his hand and sending him stumbling backward.

He didn’t stick around to fight back. In a flash, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows before Ellie could react.

She stood there, chest heaving as she clutched the purse in her hands. The woman, now catching up to her, approached with wide eyes.

“You got it back!” The woman gasped, her voice thick with relief.

Ellie smiled awkwardly, handing the purse back to her. “I… I guess I did.” Heart still racing.

Before she could say more, the woman pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie froze, not knowing what to do. She had no idea this small act of kindness would cause a strange warmth to spread through her chest.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Ellie gently pulled back, her heart still racing. She was pretty sure she was just a regular girl, with no superpowers or any big secret to her name. But in that moment, the feeling of doing the right thing—of helping someone in need—felt bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she was crazy. But a little bit of crazy could do good.

And Ellie? She loved justice.

“Bullshit. No way you tackled him like that.” Abby’s voice rang out, interrupting Ellie’s storytelling.

“Alright, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m telling you, I kicked ass.” Ellie laughed, holding the door open for the tall blonde.

“Uh huh. Sure, Williams.” Abby huffed, walking past her into the bookstore. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang out above them, a small sound that felt like a second home.

Ellie inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smell of ink and crisp pages being turned. She loved it here, more than the silly pictures of cats online, which, in the Williams world, meant a lot.

Abby, tall and always a step ahead in the teasing department, fell into step beside her. One of the few friends Ellie could confide in. Even if that came with endless ribbing. Ellie could admit that she’d told the “first save” story a million times, but it was one of the few she could tell without giving herself away—without breaking her promise. The promise she made to herself when she officially earned her title as ‘hero.’

But here, in the bookstore, she could nerd out all she wanted. No secrets to hide, no need to pretend. She could throw in the subtle bragging without fear of it getting back to the wrong people.

Ellie wasn’t a huge talker. She preferred humming to herself or getting lost in her own thoughts. As she scrolled past the comic book section, her fingers brushing against the glossy covers of vibrant colors and bubble letters, she was suddenly back in time. A place of nostalgia. Staying up way past her bedtime, reading comics under the covers with a trusty red flashlight.

When the small tv in the corner of the store caught her attention. A new report, crime in the city’s streets. detailing the latest wave of crime sweeping through the city. From petty purse snatching to stolen identities—and sometimes, even lives. It was all too familiar.

“This just in: Another robbery in the city’s streets. Police are still on the lookout for the suspect,” the newscaster announced.

She hated it, the fear in people’s eyes. The feeling of a warm blanket being ripped off all because a few people probably weren’t hugged enough as kids. If anybody knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie, and what she didn’t do was use that and take it out on the world. The last thing she expected years from this moment is trying to be understanding with the one who did.

If anyone knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to lash out at the world.

In fact, the last thing she ever expected, years from this moment, was to try and understand the person behind the violence.

“Jesus, this city’s falling apart,” Abby muttered, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

It made her sick. The injustice. The feeling of helplessness.

“Sometimes, people just need to learn the world doesn’t owe them anything,”

Abby looked over at her, but Ellie kept her eyes on the chaos. The sirens were already wailing in the distance, but they’d never get there in time—not when the damage had already been done. And when the cops finally showed up. Just yellow police, tape and tears.

“Scary, huh?” Abby said, standing beside her, arms crossed. She shot a glance at the scene before turning back to Ellie. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they always show up too late. After the damage’s already done. It’s like they just don’t care enough to stop it before it gets out of hand. Makes you wonder if anyone’s actually doing anything about it.”

Abby sighed in agreement. “Someone should.”

Ellie’s mind wandered then, as it often did in moments like this. She’d seen it all too many times—the heroes who talked big but never seemed to get things done. But the ones who really caught her attention were the ones who operated in the shadows. The ones who didn’t care about fame or recognition.

Her thoughts drifted to The Phantom—a mysterious figure who’d been cleaning up the streets for years. Nobody knew their true identity, and that was the way they liked it. No flashy costumes, no headlines, just quiet, effective justice. They worked in the shadows, out of sight, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Maybe someone like that could show up,” Ellie murmured. “Someone who teaches people the lesson that their actions have consequences. Not just words, but real, lasting consequences.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, casting her a sideways glance. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’d want to be like them? A shadowy figure, handing out justice however you see fit?”

“Maybe. I mean, someone has to.”

And someone did. She did, she had to. things quickly escalated from saving purses to kittens out of trees you name it Ellie was there.

So what about the fabric hung deep in her closet. The one she mentions hundreds of times in her journals throughout the years.

Well, It wasn’t like she had a fancy suit. No, Ellie had to make do. Her costume came from a combination of chance and necessity. Absolutely one of those “it just happened” moments that ended up being so much more.

It started with a hand-me-down.

After one night where she barely managed to escape with a bruised arm and a scraped knee, Ellie found herself on the edge of the city. In a forgotten corner of a local alley, tucked behind an old, unused storage unit, Ellie found a discarded suit. It was a mix of gray, black, and green fabric—more rugged than sleek, a little worn out, but something about it screamed potential. Her hand reached out for it, like she could feel the joy she’d bring with it on her skin.

fit like a second skin. It didn’t stand out too much, which was good; Ellie didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. The colors worked too—gray for blending in, black for stealth, and green because… well, why not? It matched her eyes.

One afternoon, Ellie had found herself standing outside a local store, looking out over the city, when a voice caught her attention. It was a soft voice, one that belonged to a little girl.

“How’d you get up there? You move like a spider.”

Ellie smiled beneath her mask, thinking about the first time she made the jump to scale a building. She was very clumsy, but she’d learned quickly. It was funny, she hadn’t really thought much about it until now. A spider… That’s what had started this whole thing.

The bite she thought would kill her.

“What’s your name, hero?” the little girl asked, her wide eyes.

Ellie hesitated. A name?… A spider? This was a loaded question. But That’s what they called her, wasn’t it? She was just some kid trying to do right by the world.

“Spider… uh… girl… woman!” She blurted out, almost embarrassed. Hoping it sounded cool, so in the moment, she went with it.

“Spider Woman. Yeah, that’s it.”

She didn’t mind the title. It was fitting, simple.

Spider-woman. Silly, right? It sounded like something out of the DC Comics stacked in her room. And she loved it.

The name was sung like gospel on the news, printed in bold ink for those who still bothered with newspapers.

On one channel, a reporter stood in front of a cityscape, microphone in hand.

“The masked vigilante, called ‘Spider-Woman’ by the public, continues to stir-up debate. Some call her a hero, while others question if she’s just another masked threat. We hit the streets of Seattle to hear what the people really have to say.”

Cop, off duty: “Look, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them. Vigilante or not, she’s got a record, and that means trouble.”

Masked kid in a homemade costume: “She’s like, a ninja or something! I think she’s cool!”

Teen girl with dyed hair: “She’s kind of badass, not gonna lie.” She shrugged.

younger woman with a toddler: “Are you kidding? She’s the only one out here actually doing something! You ever had a gun in your face? ‘Cause I have. If she’s around, I know I’m making it home.”

The tv Cuts back to the news anchor at the desk, straightening their papers.

“You heard it here folks! Love her or hate her, one thing’s for sure. she’s out there. And she’s just getting started.” The news reporter finished.

But every hero had their villain.

And Ellie? She was crushing on hers.

With Brown hair tied back, wheels skimming smoothly across the pavement. No suit today, just a hoodie and jeans, her usual off-duty attire. As a creature of habit, she skated her way to the bookstore like clockwork, the same route.

Had she finished the last two comics she bought? Absolutely. A little faster than intended. But a five-minute ride was nothing for a girl who spent most of her nights swinging across the city, trying to do right by the world. In her own way.

The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed with life, familiar shop signs blurring past her periphery—the record store with the neon “Vinyl Lives” sign, the café that always smelled like burnt coffee, and the corner thrift shop with racks of clothes spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then—“Shit—!”

Ellie barely had time to swerve, nearly colliding with someone standing dead center in her path.

“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

The person barely reacted. Headphones on, phone in hand, just a slight jerk of the shoulder to let her pass. like they’d done it a thousand times.

Ellie shot them one last glance, catching just a flicker of their face. The shape of their eyes, the calm in their posture despite the near collision. No sense of surprise, Weird. Most people flinched.

Shaking it off, she kicked forward again, hitting the sidewalk with a small exhale. Board tucked under her arm, she pulled open the door to the bookstore, the familiar jingle of the bell bringing an easy grin to her face.

“Like clockwork. You are so predictable, Williams,” Josh, the store clerk, greeted from behind the counter.

“What can I say?” Ellie shrugged, stepping inside. “When you’re a comic book connoisseur—”

“—It becomes a lifestyle,” Josh finished, smirking. “Indeed you are.”

Ellie chuckled, already making her way toward the shelves, completely unaware that the person she nearly crashed into was about to become a permanent part of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did you.

Just few moments before …

“What an idiot,” a deep voice muttered, entering the back alley. Away from prying eyes.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the brick wall beside him. “She was skating. God, do you ever lighten—��

His hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind you. Not a threat. Not yet.

Your mouth shut. Swallowing your retort.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Thinking. Shit. Your gut told you to argue, to roll your shoulders back and step away. But you didn’t.

She wasn’t. You knew that. But your world didn’t allow second guesses.

Unlike Ellie, there were no scraped knees followed by fatherly reassurances. No kissing boo-boos, no gentle words. Hell, in your world, mistakes didn’t just hurt. They burned.

And the man towering over you now, eyes sharp as a blade’s, wasn’t the type to let things slide. The city dubbed him Red Hand, a name spoken in hushed whispers.

But you just settled for—

“Will you relax, old man? I get it.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away.

Old man. Boss. Everything but Dad. He didn’t deserve that title. Maybe once, when you were too young to know better. But now? Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw anything close to affection in his eyes. Sure, you’d hear a gruff, “You did good, kid,” now and then—but only after running his errands. Only when you were useful.

That’s how this started. You don’t grow a hatred for the world overnight. It’s molded into you when you’re most likely to sponge it all up. Seeing people for what they really are, learning early that it’s survival, not love.

Your real parents? Nothing but a shadow of the past. A blanket. A half-hearted note. A promise that you’d be “taken care of.” Not loved. Not held. Just… handled.

And he did. In his way. He didn’t mark your growth on a doorframe. He didn’t pack lunches with little notes that said, “Have a great day, love you.”

No, that was too soft. The Red Hand was feared. With just a snap of his fingers, his problems were taken care of—no questions asked.

At first, you weren’t sure who they were—the ones who carried out his orders, the ones who came and went like shadows. Or why he always denied your late-night tea parties with Mr. Bear.

One eye missing. Fur worn and faded from too many hugs. The first toy he’d ever bought you. Well, stolen. But it was a gift nonetheless.

You used to crack your bedroom door open at night, small fingers barely making a sound as you peeked through the gap. Trying to make out the hushed conversations happening just a few feet away.

Never catching much. But it was whispered for a reason. And even as a kid, you knew better than to ask.

Then came second grade. You walked through the door with puffy eyes and a fresh bruise on your cheek. He barely looked up from his paper as he slid an ice pack across the table.

“And did you hit them back?”

Your small legs dangled off the couch as you shook your head. “No…”

The paper rustled as he set it down, finally looking at you. “C’mere, kid. Let me show you something.”

And he did. With careful, practiced movements, he taught you where to aim. How to make it count. Jabs, punches.

“Those little shits won’t bug you too much after this.”

You learned quickly. Not just how to hit, but when. Where. How to read a room. How to never show weakness.

Because in his world? Weakness was a death sentence.

So no, there were no bedtime stories. No reassurances whispered into your hair. Just lessons. And you learned them all. After all, it paid to be useful. Even if that meant the occasional run to the principal’s office

The city doesn’t care. People don’t care. They’re too busy fighting to stay on top. So why bother trying to be something else? Why bother saving anyone when they’ll just let you down? He’d shown you what the world truly was. A place where you had to take what you wanted.

A place where you had to survive, no matter the cost.

You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. Why did they leave? Why did he allow you to stay? What was that gnawing feeling deep in your gut? You’d stopped wondering about what could be, what should be. This was it. This was all there was.

And as Ellie’s world spun with hope, with the promise of doing right, yours had long since given up. Because in your world, saving lives wasn’t enough. The world didn’t reward you for being a hero. No. It rewarded you for knowing when to stop asking, when to take what you were given.

Dressed in black, learning what was most important: to keep moving.

To be continued …..

Line dividers | 2 | 3

Ellie m.list

Taglist @0h-basic

[seongwars]

strangers by nature | viii

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Rating: NC-17 Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 5.5K Warnings: fluff, mentions of infidelity

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“You’ll need extensive physical therapy,” Dr. Jang said, flipping through his chart the day Mingi was to be discharged. 

“Walking will be difficult at first. You’ll experience weakness, dizziness, and possibly some coordination issues.”

Mrs. Song let out a sharp breath, bringing a hand up to her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. Beside her, Mr. Song reached over and placed a firm, reassuring hand on her arm. They had known this was coming, yet hearing it aloud made it all the more real.

“We’ll have to make arrangements,” his mother replied. “Oh, if he’s going to struggle, we can have the physical therapist come to the house.”

“There’s no need,” Mingi rasped, glancing over at you. “Y/N can help me.”

The entire room fell silent.

Dr. Jang stopped mid-page, his eyes flickering up over his glasses. The nurse who had been taking discharge notes blinked so fast it was almost comical. Even Mr. Song, ever composed, arched an eyebrow in surprise.

“W-What? Me?” you stammered, pointing to yourself as if there had been some mistake.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like your help,” Mingi repeated, his voice steadier now, as if the decision had already been made in his mind. There was something almost… gentle in the way he looked at you.

You stared at him in disbelief. Mingi, the man who never wanted anything to do with you, was asking for your help? 

“Mingi, are you sure?”

Mrs. Song was still staring at him like he had grown a second head. “But you always—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. 

“You’ve never liked being…helped. You always insist on doing things yourself.”

Mingi exhaled, leaning back against the pillows, his fingers twitching slightly against the blanket. “I know,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. 

“But things are different now.”

And for some reason, the way he said it made it feel like he wasn’t just talking about his injury.

You pulled up to the entrance, cutting the engine before stepping out to grab Mingi’s crutches from the backseat. By now, the visits were becoming routine, but each time, it still struck you as surreal.

You turned to him, holding out the crutches. “Do you need anything else? I can grab a wheelchair if you want.”

Mingi shook his head. “No thanks, I’ve got it.”

Then, to your complete and utter bewilderment, he smiled—small, unguarded, but warm in a way you’d never quite seen before. The sight of it sent a strange flutter through your chest, something unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome.

Before you could process it, his hand brushed against your arm, a brief touch that sent a gentle warmth trailing in its wake. His fingers lingered just long enough to make you wonder if it was intentional before he gave your arm a light squeeze—as if he were telling you he’d see you soon.

It was fleeting, gone too soon, but the feeling remained, leaving you gripping the car door handle as if it were the only thing keeping you steady.

Mingi had never smiled at you before. 

The whole drive home, you were lost in thought, your hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Confused didn’t even begin to cover it. Lately, everything about Mingi had been confusing.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then it became impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just the way he looked at you now—like he was seeing you for the first time, rather than through you. It was how he acted. How he hovered. 

He followed you around the penthouse like a puppy. If you turned around too quickly, he was there, standing just a few feet away. If you rounded a corner, you nearly crashed into him. It was like he was always waiting for something. 

Waiting for you.

You could almost see it—the imaginary puppy ears perking up, the wagging tail swishing behind him, hoping you’d notice that he was there. 

And as if that weren’t strange enough, he’d also become…talkative. Well, in his own way. Mingi had started initiating conversations with you through animal facts, seemingly random tidbits of knowledge he’d been holding in until they just slipped out. 

“Did you know that vampire bats share their food with other vampire bats?”

“What?” You blinked at him, holding your fork mid bite. 

“They, um…they regurgitate blood for bats that didn’t eat.” His voice was quiet and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if this was something you’d want to hear but hoped you might find it interesting.

You blinked at him, trying to decide if this was some kind of weird joke. But there was no teasing in his expression—just an earnest kind of hopefulness, like he wanted you to acknowledge his effort.

Like he wanted you to know he was trying.

“Oh…” You let out a small laugh, tilting your head at him. “Are you telling me I don’t eat enough?”

Mingi’s ears tinged pink as he gave a small, sheepish nod. 

“Kind of…” he admitted, shifting awkwardly. 

“I noticed that sometimes you skip meals when you’re busy or stressed.” His voice dropped slightly, almost as if he was embarrassed to say it aloud. 

“It’s not good for you.”

Another instance, you were humming to yourself as you sorted through the laundry, tossing a few shirts into the washing machine. The penthouse was quiet, save for the whir of the dryer running in the background. You reached for the basket when—

“Did you know that wombats poop in cubes?”

You yelped, throwing your laundry into the air as you spun around. Mingi stood just a few feet away, wide-eyed, his hands hovering awkwardly in front of him like he wasn’t sure whether to help or apologize.

“Mingi!” you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “You scared me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, shifting on his feet. “The sugar cubes you put in your tea reminded me of wombat poop for some reason.”

You shook your head as you stepped into the lift back to the penthouse. You weren’t sure how you felt about your husband’s newfound attitude. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful—Mingi had finally woken up, and that should have been enough. 

The moment you kicked off your shoes in the foyer, Mrs. Ha, the chef, scurried over, her eyes darting between you and the hallway like she was still in the habit of speaking cautiously.  

“Oh, Ms. Y/N!” she whispered urgently, clutching her apron. “How was he?”

You let out a sharp exhale, still trying to make sense of it yourself. “Weird,” you hissed, picking up your pace to match hers as you both hurried toward the kitchen.

“He smiled at me. And—” You hesitated for a second before lowering your voice. “He squeezed my arm.”

Mrs. Ha gasped so dramatically you thought she might faint. “No.” She shook her head as if refusing to believe it.

“I know,” you muttered, half-joking, but not really. “He used to pretend I didn't exist. Now he’s…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

Warm? Inviting? Considerate?

It felt strange to say out loud, but stranger still that it might actually be true.

Mrs. Ha grabbed your wrist as if trying to steady herself, or maybe you. “Ms. Y/N,” she said gravely, “do you think he hit his head too hard?”

You swallowed, the thought lingering in your mind longer than it should. Mingi’s accident had been severe. He’d been unconscious for months and it was a miracle he woke up at all. 

And yet, this wasn’t just waking up. This was different. The Mingi you knew had been cold, distant, cruel even. He never touched you unless absolutely necessary, never smiled at you unless it was laced with sarcasm or condescension. But today?

Today, he’d looked at you like he actually saw you.

Could head trauma really alter someone’s personality that drastically? Had the accident shaken something loose inside him?

“Can you believe he asked me about plants?” Yohan scoffed, handing you a cup of tea as you stepped into the kitchen.

“Mingi and plants.” He shook his head in disbelief, leaning against the counter. “I can’t believe he’s actually considering keeping something alive besides himself.”

You snorted, though the humor was short-lived. The shift in Mingi’s behavior was too drastic, too unnatural. You took a sip of your tea, the warmth doing little to ease the uncertainty. This new Mingi was too good to be true, and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Mingi’s kindness, his warmth—it didn’t make sense. Not when he had spent so long resenting you.

“This morning, he casually mentioned that zebras can’t sleep alone,” you murmured, tapping your fingers against the cup. 

“Well he said he’s looking forward to dinner!” Mrs. Ha interjected. 

“Three months ago, he barely spoke to anyone, including Y/N and now he’s making conversation?” Yohan shook his head, placing a hand on his hip. 

“This is suspicious.”

No one wanted to say it out loud, but you all felt the same way. Mingi’s recovery wasn’t just physical. He was changing, bit by bit. And for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t for the worse.

⋆

“Your grip strength is starting to improve, as well as the mobility on your left side. Soon, you won’t need the crutches anymore,” Dr. Lim noted encouragingly.

Mingi exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he steadied himself. The session had been brutal, as they always were, but hearing that he was making progress gave him a small sense of victory.

“That’s it for today. We’ll see you next week.” The physical therapist gave him a nod of approval before turning away, already moving on to his next patient.

Mingi nodded, gripping his crutches tightly as he made his way toward the exit. Every movement still felt like an uphill battle. He had spent the last two months relearning how to move, how to function without feeling like his own body was working against him. The physical therapy sessions were grueling, pushing him to his limits, but he refused to back down.

The accident had nearly killed him. Three broken ribs, a fractured femur, and nerve damage. Though it wasn’t extensive, it was enough to remind him that no matter how much he pushed, there were still limits. 

And he hated that.

He hated the way his body trembled when he overexerted himself, the way his right arm sometimes felt too weak to grip things properly. He hated that he still struggled to get up without support, that simple tasks took twice the effort they used to. 

But he didn’t hate the way you anticipated his struggles before he could voice them. The way you reached for his arm before he could stumble, or placed things in a way that made it easier for him to access. And he didn’t hate how easily you entertained his ramblings, even when they were about the most mundane things.

For an hour and a half each week, he hated being away from you.

Because no matter how frustrating the setbacks were, no matter how exhausting the battle of recovery became, seeing you at the end of each session reminded him of his purpose and his promise to Hongjoong and Wooyoung. 

The thought of going home had him biting back a grin as he adjusted his crutches and made his way out of the rehabilitation center. He was already looking forward to sliding into the passenger seat beside you, exaggerating the difficulty of his new balance exercises and guessing what Mrs. Ha had whipped up today.

The anticipation carried him forward until it came to a screeching halt.

The moment he stepped into the rotunda, his fingers instinctively tightened around the crutches, his body going rigid. The hospital lobby was a blur of white coats and murmured conversations, but all he could focus on was the figure standing in front of him.

Ahri.

Her arms were crossed, her manicured nails tapping impatiently against her sleeve. She looked annoyed with her lips pressed into a thin line as her sharp gaze raked over him. 

The sight of her made something curdle in his stomach—something sharp, bitter, and unwelcome.

“What are you doing here?” Mingi asked flatly.

Ahri scoffed, stepping closer. “Are you seriously asking me that? You’ve been avoiding me ever since you woke up.”

“Maybe that should tell you something,” he muttered, but he already knew Ahri wouldn’t take the hint.

Ahri rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Mingi. Don’t act like this. We need to talk.”

“No,” he said simply, his grip tightening around the crutches until his knuckles turned white. 

“We really don’t.”

“You’re being dramatic. I was worried about you—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice low, firm. 

Ahri’s mouth opened, then closed. For the first time, she looked uncertain, like she hadn’t expected him to be this direct. Her expression faltered for a split second, But then, just as quickly, she recovered, her lips curling into a sneer.

“So that’s how it is?” she scoffed. “You wake up and suddenly forget about us? Is it because you want to play house with her?”

Mingi’s jaw tensed but his silence spoke volumes.

“What’s wrong with that?” he replied quietly. 

That made her pause. Just for a second. But then she shook her head, scoffing again like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

“Oh, give me a break,” she snapped. “You spent so long telling me how miserable you were, how you were trapped with her.” She let out a bitter laugh. 

“But now what? You wake up from a coma and suddenly, she’s the one you want? You told me you wished you’d never married her, that you never loved her.” 

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to something softer, something almost pleading as if she could still reach him. 

“Mingi, you told me I was the only thing that made you happy.”

And maybe, once, he had believed that.

Maybe, once, he had convinced himself that Ahri was the answer, the escape he craved, the proof that he was still alive, still capable of feeling something. But standing here now, after dying and coming back, after losing everything and being given a second chance, he saw it for what it truly was.

A mistake. A desperate attempt to outrun his own self-destruction.

But you—you had always been real. And this time, he wasn’t going to run.

This time, he was going to love you the way he should have all along.

“You weren’t,” he said steadily. “You never were.”

Ahri’s face twisted, something wounded flickering across her features before it morphed into anger. 

“Bullshit! If that were true, then why did you keep coming back to me?”

"You were there when it was easy, Ahri. When it was fun. But when I was lying in that hospital bed, barely clinging to life, you were nowhere to be found."

Ahri’s lips parted, but no words came out.

“And you know what? I don’t blame you,” Mingi said, tilting his head. 

“Because we were never real, were we? We were just two selfish people feeding off each other’s worst impulses.” He exhaled sharply, as if the weight of it all was finally lifting off his chest. 

“I don’t owe you anything.”

People turned, pausing in their tracks, stealing glances at the commotion, but Mingi could care less. Instead, he stepped past her without another glance, heading toward the one person who mattered—

You.

"You think you can just walk away from me?" Ahri's voice rose, sharp and unhinged. 

Mingi didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all. 

And that set her off. 

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

Her lips curled, a smirk. "You think a self-respecting woman like Choi Y/N would want you?" She let out a breathless, almost manic laugh, her eyes glinting with something unhinged. 

"Especially when you fucked me on your wedding night!"

A murmur rippled through the gathering crowd. Gasps. A sharp intake of breath. Someone muttering under their breath. But Ahri was past caring. Her hands trembled at her sides, whether from rage or something deeper, something uglier, even she wasn’t sure.

“You threw her away like she was nothing. And now, you think you can just have her?”

Ahri let out a broken laugh, something desperate and wild. 

"She’s stronger than you ever gave her credit for." Ahri’s voice turned quiet, almost pitying.

“She doesn’t need you."

Mingi’s breath hitched, and for the first time since this entire confrontation began, doubt slithered in, coiling tight around his chest.

Because what if Ahri was right?

What if you never forgave him? What if everything he had done, all the cruel words, all the neglect, had built a wall so high between you that he’d never be able to climb over it?

He remembered the way you had looked at him when he was just a clumsy, oversized puppy, tail wagging, tongue lolling, no words to defend himself—only his actions. And still, still, you had cared for him. Fed him. Sheltered him. Loved him, even when you hadn’t known it was him.

Mingi clenched his jaw. He could fix this.

Because if he had been capable of love then, stripped of his pride and his excuses, then he was capable of love now. And he would prove it to you. No matter what it took.

He would not lose you.

"Ms. Jeong," a voice said smoothly, "I suggest you leave before you embarrass yourself any further."

Mingi tensed. He didn’t need to turn to know what he’d see—that infuriatingly calm expression, always so composed, so sure with his stupid face and stupid hair.

Seonghwa.

The hospital director's voice was calm, but the authority behind it was unmistakable. He stepped into Ahri’s path, yet the weight of his presence alone was enough to send a chill through the air.

Ahri whirled on him. "Stay out of this, Park Seonghwa!" she snapped. "This has nothing to do with you!"

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. "You’re causing a disturbance in my hospital. That makes it my problem."

Her chest rose and fell with sharp, angry breaths, but Seonghwa remained unfazed.

"You’re humiliating yourself. If you don’t leave, I’ll have security escort you out."

Ahri’s lips parted, her eyes darting between Seonghwa and Mingi, as if searching for an opening—one last attempt to regain control of the situation. But Mingi had already turned his back, walking toward the exit. Toward you.

And you—you had just barely managed to keep your knees from buckling.

You had been standing just around the corner, heart in your throat, ears ringing with every word that had left Mingi’s mouth.

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

You didn’t have an answer for that. Not yet.

But Mingi, your husband, the same man who once treated your marriage like a prison sentence—was choosing you.

Your phone chimed, interrupting your conversation with Yohan and Mrs. Ha.

Pick up Mingi.

“Has it already been an hour and a half?” Yohan sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Mrs. Ha chuckled as she wiped her hands on her apron, already turning back to the half-prepped vegetables on the counter. 

“Time flies when you’re talking shit, I guess,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone.

Conversations like these had once been a source of relief, a safe space where you, Yohan, and Mrs. Ha could freely air out your frustrations about Mingi and his insufferable attitude. It had been cathartic, a necessary way to bond over shared grievances, particularly in the way he ignored Yohan’s presence, dismissed Mrs. Ha’s kindness, and, worst of all, the way he had treated you.

The usual satisfaction of venting was absent, replaced instead by something heavier. 

Guilt.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered now, softer, searching, as if trying to memorize every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. Like he was looking for something—hoping for something.

Or maybe it was the way he hesitated before speaking, as if he wanted to be understood but didn’t know how. As if he was afraid that one wrong step would send him tumbling right back into the version of himself you had every reason to despise.

And that’s what made your chest ache.

You sighed, grabbing your keys from the counter and with a quick farewell to Yohan and Mrs. Ha, you made your way down to the garage. The drive to the hospital was quiet, the high rises casting fleeting shadows as you navigated the city streets.

Your mind wandered. Mingi was still a mess of contradictions—still the person who had hurt you more than anyone else ever had. And yet, in the past two months, something had shifted. He’d been different.

You weren’t sure what that meant for you, if it meant anything at all.

Pulling into the hospital lot, you glanced at the time. You were early. With minutes to spare, you found yourself hesitating, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. You could just wait here, let Mingi find his way out like always. 

But today, something in you wavered.

Maybe, just this once, you’d meet him halfway.

Sighing, you turned off the engine and walked into the hospital. The automatic doors parted soundlessly as you entered, the sterile scent of antiseptic and faint traces of coffee from the café wrapping around you. 

You weaved through the familiar hallways toward the rehabilitation center, past patients in wheelchairs and staff exchanging clipped instructions.

And then—

"You think you can just walk away from me?"

You stopped.

Ahri.

Her voice carried through the clinic, too loud, too reckless for a public space, but she didn’t seem to care.

A few steps ahead, just past a row of columns, Mingi stood—partially obscured, his broad shoulders stiff with tension. Ahri stood in front of him, heaving with anger, her expression twisted into something between fury and despair.

Your instincts told you to walk away before you were pulled into something you weren’t meant to witness. But your feet wouldn’t move. Instead, you ducked behind the corner, pressing yourself against the wall, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

You sucked in a breath. That stopped Mingi and Ahri knew it. You peeked out just enough to catch the smirk curling at the edges of her lips and the cruel glint in her eyes.

"You think a self-respecting woman like Choi Y/N would want you? You fucked me on your wedding night!"

The words slammed into you, knocking the air from your lungs. You had known what you were getting into when your parents arranged your marriage to Mingi. You had no illusions about love or loyalty, not when his heart had already belonged to someone else. You had told yourself his affair with Ahri didn’t matter, that you weren’t some naive child clinging to false hope.

But hearing the words now, so bluntly and irrevocably, felt different. It was like an old wound you thought had scarred over, threatening to tear open all over again.

A murmur of voices rippled through the onlookers—gasps, hushed whispers, stolen glances exchanged in uneasy silence. Mingi remained frozen, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful, his fists curling and uncurling around his crutches.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, nails pressing crescent marks into your skin. The way Mingi stood there, facing Ahri’s wrath without backing down, without crumbling the way you might have expected, made your chest tighten.

For the first time in your marriage, Mingi was choosing you.

The realization sent a flutter through you, foreign and unwelcome and you had to keep your knees from buckling beneath you. 

This wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was something.

Swallowing hard, you spun on your heel and hurried back to your car. By the time you reached the door, your hands fumbled slightly, a little shaky as you slid inside and shut yourself away from the world.  

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the strange, fluttery feeling in your chest to go away. But it lingered, stubborn and insistent, curling around the edges of your thoughts. Ahri’s words still echoed in your mind, but even louder—more impossible to ignore—was the quiet whisper of, What if?

What if Mingi really was choosing you?

Not out of obligation. Not because there was no one else left. But because he wanted to.

A breathy laugh escaped you, more out of disbelief than amusement. 

“What do you think, Maro?”

The name slipped out before you could stop it, but it felt natural, like Maro was still here, curled up beside you, tail wagging, waiting for you to spill your heart out. 

You swallowed, gripping the steering wheel as if it could ground you. 

“It’s stupid, right?” Your voice was tentative as you leaned your head against the headrest. 

“It doesn’t change anything. Just because he—” You stopped, shook your head, trying to chase away the warmth threatening to creep in.

“It doesn’t mean I should believe in something that’s never been real.”

You could imagine Maro pressing his head into your palm like he understood everything you couldn’t say. Like he was telling you that you didn’t have to figure it all out alone.

“God, I don’t even know what's happening anymore.”

A sudden, sharp knock against the window jolted you upright. Your heart lurched into your throat as you turned, only to find Mingi standing just outside, giving you a small wave. Your face burned. Huffing, you fumbled for the lock with clumsy fingers before scrambling out of the car. 

“I got it,” Mingi said with a chuckle, adjusting his grip on his crutches. His voice was light, but his gaze lingered on you, studying you with an expression softer than you were used to.

“You okay?”

You forced a small smile, brushing imaginary dust off your sleeves in an attempt to steady yourself. “Yeah, just tired.”

Mingi didn’t look convinced. He lingered for a second longer, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to press further. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, nodded, and slid into the passenger seat.

The drive home passed in a blur. The streetlights stretched long across the pavement, casting soft, flickering patterns against the windshield, but you were lost in the whirlwind of thoughts brewing in your mind.

Did he really love you?

⋆

"Y/N…can you call my phone? I can’t seem to find it."

Mingi had been more flustered than usual lately—not that he wanted to admit. The accident had left him disoriented, but it was unlike him to be clumsy. But lately, he kept doing things that frustrated him to no end like pushing against a pull door and standing there and now, misplacing his phone for the third time this week. 

He was also never one to ask for help—especially from you.

Before the accident, he had gone out of his way to keep his distance. He had made it clear he wanted nothing from you, and you had gotten the message. Eventually, you stopped offering. And for a while, that’s what he thought he wanted.

Now, he couldn’t stand the thought of it.

If you were in the kitchen, he was suddenly rummaging through the cabinets for a snack he didn’t actually want. If you were on the couch, he was sitting on the opposite end, scrolling through his phone but not really paying attention to it. 

And if you got up to leave the room? Well…so did he.

Because he wasn’t afraid of being clingy. Not with you. Not when the thought of you leaving, of not having you here, was far scarier than anything else.

You nodded, pressing the call button as Mingi shuffled past you, disappearing into his room. Your gaze lingered on the doorway long after he was gone.

For the duration of your marriage, you had never once stepped foot inside this room. The door had always remained shut, a silent boundary he had drawn long before he ever knew you. A reminder that no matter what legal document bound you together, there would always be parts of him you would never reach.

But as you took a step forward, following the faint sound of his phone vibrating somewhere in the great beyond, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d let you glimpse into the parts of himself he had kept locked away.  

You stood hesitantly by the threshold watching your husband rifling through his laundry, digging through pockets, and muttering to himself under his breath. The Mingi you had married would’ve cursed under his breath, thrown something, or blamed someone else for his misplaced phone. 

But this version of him? He simply kept looking, patient and persistent.

His room was dimly lit with the faint scent of paint and cologne filling the space. Canvases leaned against the walls, some vibrant and abstract, others more detailed and unfinished sketches scattered across his desk.  

Your gaze landed on a small canvas resting on the edge of his desk. The soft eyes and the cheeky glint, the little nose, and that signature smile. It wasn’t finished, but there was no mistaking it.

Maro.

“There it is,” Mingi muttered, plucking his phone from the ground next to his bed.

As he swiped the screen to end the call, his gaze flickered toward you, then followed yours to the canvas on his desk. He watched you carefully, half-expecting sadness, maybe even confusion. But instead there was something unexpectedly tender. 

And then you looked at him, and Mingi felt it.

Why did you have to look at him like that? Like he had done something right for once. Like you saw him in a way that made his heart squeeze. His ears burned. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I… picked up painting,” he admitted. “My physical therapist said it’d help with motor skills and strengthening my hands and fingers.” 

He swallowed. “I hope you don’t mind that I painted Maro. I… I wasn’t sure if I got the eyes right,” he admitted, almost shyly. 

You stepped closer, drawn in by the familiar shape on the canvas. “It looks just like him,” you murmured, reaching out to trace the dried brushstrokes with your fingertips. The texture of the paint, the careful detail—Mingi had poured himself into this.

Mingi let out a sigh of relief but then, as if realizing something, tensed again a second later. “I—uh, it was supposed to be a surprise,” he blurted out, his eyes widening slightly, as if he’d just realized his mistake.

You blinked up at him. “A surprise?”

“For you,” he admitted, shifting awkwardly. His fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. 

“I wanted to give it to you when I felt like it was perfect. But, um… I guess I kind of ruined that, huh?” He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head.

“You painted this for me?”

He peeked at you through his lashes, leaving something softer and more vulnerable in its place as he gave you a small nod.

“I just… I know how much you loved—love Maro, and I thought maybe… you’d want something to keep. Something I made for you.”

Something only for you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Oh. Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice and the way he’d poured so much of himself into a piece just for you was overwhelming. 

“Oh, Mingi…” you breathed.

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and impossible to name. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could do was stare at him—the quiet hope in his eyes, the way he watched you like he wasn’t sure what you’d do next.

“I love it,” you said, and you meant it. Not just the painting, but the thought behind it. It was just a painting. But it wasn’t. It was a piece of him—his effort, his sincerity, his quiet way of saying what he couldn’t put into words.

“Thank you.”

The words felt small, insufficient for the weight of what he had given you. But then he smiled—a slow, relieved, utterly radiant smile that knocked the breath from your lungs.

And suddenly, the moment stretched—too long, too precarious.

Your eyes flickered around the room, a sharp awareness settling over you. Mingi’s room. When did he get so close? When did you even come in here?

“I should…” You cleared your throat, glancing toward the door. “I should let you get back to painting.”

Before he could say anything, you turned, slipping out of the room, closing the door gently behind you. For a moment, you leaned against it, trying to steady the sudden pounding in your chest. But before you could make sense of anything—

The door creaked open.

“Wait.”

You turned, as Mingi poked his head out. There was a hint of bashfulness in the way his fingers gripped the doorframe, but his eyes held no hesitation.

“…You can leave it open.”

<< vii | ix >>

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@sanniesbum @tyudearyous @kang-ulzzang @scary-thingz @painted-hills

@kyomiingi @tournesol155 @bee-gremlin @sutskyu @fleuresjay

@http-gyu @ishz @park-simphwa @moonsanshine @drinkingrumandcocacola

@innocygnet @jaeyunlvrs @shanabtsarmy @soso59love-blog @plum-stxr

@vcutparis @kaituyyn @blvckarabixnvoid @amazaynaastha

[nenoname]

Stan and Soos' sorta-Dad and Sonployee relationship

We of course have Soos assigning Stan as his father figure the moment he got hired

But Stan holds that moment dear too, with Soos becoming his main source of company after the Mystery Shack, his first big success, was starting to hit rock bottom. And he made sure to keep the screwdriver that led Soos to him for a decade which unfortunately gets stolen by a certain time traveler...

(Their meeting being a paradox of Soos' family leading him to them is super sweet too!)

Playing one game of catch with their dads still was a dream for both of them, even when it was clear that it'll never happen, even when Soos knows that the Pines are his family and he shouldn't care about that biological deadbeat, even when Filbrick threw Stan away like trash.

But both of them end up finding closure with each other anyway.

Along with Stan likely teaching him how to fix golf carts (to the point that Soos is pretty skilled at it now), he also taught him boxing and tried to do something about his birthday, which is another sore spot for the both of them.

In the Sooscast, we have Stan continuing with the podcast despite learning this horrifying truth/not understanding what the hell is going on.

Noticeably, we see that Stan is a lot more lenient on Soos in comparison to Dipper, mostly because Stan doesn't project most of his issues onto him. (Not that he's immune from chores or shitty tasks but that's the burden of being a sonployee...)

And in NWHS, Stan trusts him to guard the lab with no questions asked (even if that ended up being foiled by Soos loving Mabel and Dipper too)

The comic story is Soos helping Stan regain and continue one of his childhood dreams, with the website having Stan continuing to draw on the Stan o' War.

And while unfortunately most of their father-son relationship content is at the end or after the series, Alex still said a lot about them in the commentary and interviews!

Before they met, Soos was someone who appeared to only really have his Abuelita and cousin, while Stan had.... a baby goat. And a disappearing frilly lizard.

We have Stan claiming that the reason why he never had children was because of his own dad and that money is basically his child (which just loops around back to his money obsession being his desire to get back his family)

But even still, he passes down the Shack and fez to Soos with barely any pause, the fez in particular being tied up with a lot of complex emotions. But Soos getting his own suit fitted just for him and not being pressured to wear a girdle to hide his weight kinda symbolizes to me that the role of Mr Mystery is now free from that baggage.

And whenever we'd end up getting Stan o' War stories, I'm sure the two of them are gonna get way more father-son moments

(Filbrick's impact on Stan post, Stan projecting on Dipper post)

[thealchemistbae]

Cosmic Clout: Astrological Indicators of Social Media Fame 📲👑✨

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

✨: Mercury - Uranus Aspects (The Digital Genius)

Mercury conjunct, trine, or sextile Uranus -> Quick witted, ahead of trends, and innovative in communication. These people say things others wish they could articulate, often leading to viral content.

Mercury square or opposite Uranus -> Unpredictable, controversial, and shock-value communication. Unexpected tweets or videos can skyrocket them into relevance.

✨: Venus in Aspect to Neptune (The Internet's Dream Aesthetic)

Venus conjunct, trine or sextile Neptune -> Ethereal, captivating beauty or aesthetic that resonates with online audiences. Could be a "Pinterest girl" or someone whose visuals always go viral.

Venus square or opposite Neptune -> Aesthetic is either heavily romanticized or misunderstood. Could face issues with online image distortion but still maintains an allure that keeps people watching.

✨: Pluto in the 3rd House (The Power Communicator)

Transformative words and an intense online presence. This placement gives someone a "cult following" on social media. Think deep, thought-provoking captions, tweets that make people overanalyze, or content that feels almost hypnotic.

✨: Midheaven Aspects to Outer Planets (Public Destiny Tied to Digital Influence)

Midheaven conjunct Uranus -> Sudden and unexpected fame, often through a viral moment. Their career path is unconventional and influenced by digital culture.

Midheaven conjunct or trine Neptune -> Fame built on a dreamy, illusory persona. Think influencers who cultivate a mystical, artistic, or unattainable aesthetic.

Midheaven square Pluto -> Extreme love-hate relationship with fame. They either go viral for something transformative or controversial, or they're polarizing figures online.

✨: 11th House Stellium (Digital Influence & Mass Following)

The 11th house rules large audiences, networking, and digital spaces. A stellium (3 or more planets) here indicates someone who naturally attracts an online following.

Mars in the 11th -> Aggressive networking, viral for bold takes.

Venus in the 11th -> Likeable, people want to befriend or copy them.

Neptune in the 11th -> Mysterious and aspirational. People project fantasies onto them.

✨: 3rd House - Uranus Connections (Innovative Speech & Online Impact)

Uranus in the 3rd House -> Unfiltered, unpredictable, and highly engaging content style. Their posts tend to either spark trends or controversy.

Uranus trine/sextile Mercury -> Naturally goes viral due to a unique way of speaking or delivering messages.

Uranus square Mercury -> Can have a love/hate relationship with how their words are received. One tweet could launch a career or a scandal.

✨: North Node in the 10th or 11th House (Destined for Digital Recognition)

10th house North Node -> Meant for public recognition; social media is often the catalyst.

11th house North Node -> Fame comes through networking, online communities, or being the voice of an era.

✨: Transits That Spark Social Media Success

Jupiter transiting the 10th house -> Major career breakthroughs, public expansion, viral moments.

Uranus conjunct Midheaven -> Sudden, unexpected fame (often through the internet)

Neptune transiting the 1st house -> A period where they become idealized, aesthetic-focused, or seen as a fantasy figure.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

I’m sure there is more but honestly this is all I have for now. Enjoy ⚡️

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

✨

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a "Jealous" Character

Jealousy - a negative emotion in which a person feels anger and resentment about something another person has.

For instance, you might feel emotional jealousy when your best friend at work gets a promotion you thought you deserved.

Romantic jealousy might arise from seeing your partner enjoy the company of another person.

You might have experienced sibling rivalry as a child, competing with your brothers or sisters out of jealousy for the affection of your parents.

Signs of Jealousy

Jealousy is a complex emotion, and it exhibits itself in various ways. These are just 3 key signs to keep in mind:

Distrust: Suppose you’re in a monogamous relationship with your significant other. Every time you see them interact with someone they might feel attracted to, you lash out at them for committing an act of sexual or emotional infidelity. This jealous behavior proceeds from a complete lack of trust in their love and respect for you.

Insecurity: Jealousy comes from seeing a real or perceived threat to your valued relationships. This might exhibit itself in an extreme sense of dependency on another person. To overcome jealousy, examine and conquer insecurities like these.

Irritability: Jealous thoughts often correlate to a notable rise in irritability. This type of reactive jealousy makes it more likely you’ll lash out at a close friend, coworker, or loved one of whom you’re jealous.

How to Deal With Jealousy

You will likely experience jealousy at some point in your life—the important thing is how you handle it. Keep these tips in mind as you strive to overcome the “green-eyed monster” in a healthy way:

Analyze underlying issues. Evaluate your basic attachment style to determine whether you’re getting what you need out of your relationships. Jealous feelings arise from deep-rooted fears. For example, you might have an unexamined fear of abandonment leading you to lash out at your friends and romantic partners for spending time with other people. If you analyze where this fear comes from, you’ll have a better chance of moving past it.

Build trust. Suspicious jealousy arises when people are in the dark about another person’s intentions or behavior. If it’s appropriate, express to your friends, family members, and romantic partners you want to improve your ability to trust them. Overcoming jealousy requires growing past your own insecurities and letting other people prove you can rely on and trust them.

Heal from past wounds. Real and lasting pain is often at the root of jealous individuals’ negative behavior and emotions. Suppose someone watched their longtime romantic partner commit sexual infidelity with another close friend. They might develop a sense of sexual jealousy in future relationships even if their new partner has no intention of cheating. Taking the time to heal from past wounds like these will help you work toward healthier relationships.

Prioritize open communication. Social psychology indicates people are more likely to become jealous when they refrain from communicating. In your friendships and romantic relationships, keep lines of communication open. Be honest with yourself and with each other. Openness builds trust, and trust stops jealousy in its tracks.

Seek mental health care. Speak with a mental health professional to examine why you experience jealousy in the way you do. Both cognitive behavioral therapy and medical intervention through psychiatry can help you overcome your jealous feelings.

Some Causes of Jealousy

Feelings of jealousy arise from feelings of insecurity.

Low self-esteem and a lack of contentment with your own life and relationships make it very easy to become jealous of others who seem to have it all.

While different types of jealousy might manifest in unique ways, they all grow from these basic feelings of inadequacy.

Sometimes clinical conditions like anxiety, borderline personality disorder, depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), or even schizophrenia deserve attribution for a person’s jealousy. 

Mental health issues like these can distort how you think in a negative way, exacerbating jealous tendencies into a unique pathology of their own right (morbid jealousy).

Why Is Jealousy Harmful?

Pathological jealousy can disrupt or even destroy close relationships you have with loved ones.

For that matter, obsessional negative thoughts will jeopardize your own happiness, self-worth, and sense of well-being. 

Building trust and practicing compassion toward yourself and others, alongside psychotherapy, can help you put your jealous behavior to a rest.

Jealousy vs. Envy

People often treat jealousy and envy as synonyms, but there are important individual differences between these two mainstays of human behavior.

While both jealousy and envy revolve around coveting something one doesn’t have.

Jealousy focuses more on the anger or resentment of this feeling.

Envy, by contrast, is the feeling itself.

For example, suppose a family member dies and leaves your sibling a much larger sum of money than they did to you. If you’re primarily an envious person, you’d spend most of your time wishing you had the money. If you’re primarily a jealous person, you’d fixate and obsess over how unfair it was your sibling got the money instead of you.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[horreurscopes]

i wish having to remind someone something three or five or fifteen times or however many it takes until they remember it on their own was more destigmatized within the framework of disability accomodations

like i understand the emotional significance given to the act of remembering, i have myself have had the kneejerk reaction that maybe i'm not as important to someone as they say i am if they forget something i asked of them or told them. i get it. but that's like. a societal expectation that isnt necessarily true, you know.much like eye contact to mean you are listening or a smile to mean you are friendly. like, yeah, of course an asshole who isn't listening to you might not make eye contact, but that doesn't mean that every single time someone isn't making eye contact it means they are an asshole.

to me disposition is much more important than memory, especially in the realm of boundaries and cohabitation, like: let's say you don't like it when your partner puts their shoes on the bed. extremely reasonable thing to ask them not to do, and something that, if not done, would very quickly become a point of contention because them continuing to do the thing you asked them not to is interpreted as a dismissal of your feelings and a violation of a reasonable boundary. and i know a lot of people themselves already struggle putting up boundaries and enforcing them and are extremely reactive to anything that can be interpreted as a boundary being crossed, and this can be super hard to deal with. but like. disabilities ARE hard to deal with, you know, they are frustrating and they might slow you down or inconvenience you, and that's just part of the deal! is it really an accomodation if the line is drawn at whatever arbitrary point someone decides they're done accommodating? do you walk alongside a person on crutches for three blocks and then are like, ok, i've accommodated you enough, time to go at my pace now?

and yes, yes, i know "i forgot" or "i didn't know" can be used to truly harm someone else in a number of infinitely nuanced scenarios. context clues, people. to me that's where disposition comes in and separates "literally struggles to remember" from "disrespecting and pushing boundary", and i think that separation, albeit fuzzy for people who strongly correlate memory and respect, can be learned?

if my partner was like, "hey, don't put your shoes on the bed!" then a respectful disposition towards their boundaries would immediately make me go, "oh no! sorry i forgot! here, i will stop doing it immediatly, and if necessary amend the damage of me forgetting (in this analogy, washing the sheets)". and if this has to happen thirteen times before i remember on my own, i would feel truly bad about it because i'm letting my loved one down even though it's something i legitimately can't control. i don't know! it's the "if you cared, you would remember" unstoppable force vs "if you cared, you'd cut me some slack for not remembering" immovable object, it's hard. like thats what i mean by context clues, what is more likely: that a person who in every other way has shown up for you has suddenly become toxic/selfish/abusive specifically about shoes on the bed, or that they struggle to remember?

i don't know man. the way i see it, ultimately it's a lot more feasible to adjust your expectations of what someone loving you and caring about you will look like and how it shows up in their behavior, than it is to literally force yourself to remember something. and my memory issues are not even that bad! after the fifth or sixth reminder something will generally stick around (unless it's a situation that does not happen often, in which case the large stretches of time in between might hinder my progress), and like someone might just decide the rest of the Me is not worth the trouble, and that's their prerogative, but i do think it says more about them than it does about me.

everyone's always up for disability rights until it becomes inconvenient or clashes with their idea of what "good behavior" should look like. like i can't help but think that if this is something that *i* struggle with socially, i can't imagine what people who have a legitimately debilitating memory disability, who may need to be reminded forever, feel like every day of their damn lives

[celestialtarot11]

Levels of sadism, narcissism, and lack of empathy seen in a chart

Hey y'all! Today we're discussing some more deeper themes in a chart posting to sadism, lack of empathy, and overall just signs to be cautious of in an individual. This doesn't mean it's 100% accurate, after all it's a study I find intriguing. Not everyone with these placements are inherently bad. Enjoy! 🤍

So, a big planet we may not think to look at is Neptune. We think Mars, Saturn and Pluto are only responsible for this, and while I agree to an extent, Neptune may have tricks hiding up its sleeve.

When Neptune is in hard aspects with Sun, moon, Venus, mars, Saturn and Pluto in an individual's chart this can point to a need over drowning oneself in pleasure. They find it exhilarating to fantasize about power, control, and dominance. Neptune knows no bounds, and it causes what we identify as taboo or unconventional to come up consciously. When it struggles to express itself, the energy itself can become weakened, callous, and detrimental.

For example, Neptune touching Mars 5h can point to someone with outstanding faithfulness to a religion, cult, political party, etc depending on other aspects and placements of course. The native can be blind irresponsibly to the opinions of others, driven by his need for validation and power. I've seen how rigid, fixed, and persuasive these placements can be in terms of their thinking, and also, delusional. Their way of thinking is sadistic in the way they derive pleasure from seeing others succumb to their ways of thinking, like treating others as objects to not just destroy, but change.

Neptune is just as powerful as Saturn, Pluto, or mars here. It knows no bounds, and it permeates our subconscious. It has a persuasive effect, on what we choose to believe and our expression. When paired with a volatile sign or placement, it's even more amplified in the way these individuals will seek to find pleasure in hurting others.

While I understand one placement of Neptune isn't enough to suggest strong levels of sadism, we have to look at other planets as well for a sense of grandeur, manipulation and a need for validation and control.

Jupiter conj/ squaring any personal planet can create a sense of someone being on a high horse. They can walk and act as if they truly know better, and struggle to accept multiple perspectives as the truth. They can be rigid to change, and find amusement in seeing those fall behind, wanting to be ahead themselves. They have a heightened need for control, stability and safety at the expense of others. They have a sense of superiority and intellect, and can be entitled.

For example Jupiter conj Chiron inflates ones insecurity, pains, and anguish. This can create a need for control, for perfectionism and establishing importance in a society or community. For example, let's take the position of Mars here. Mars in Leo 12h further amplifies sadistic tendencies, and when in a fire sign its expression is loud, fiery, and destructive. Even narcissistic for a sense of greed, and control. This can result in someone who is critical, argumentative, and can even result to petty games to win.

Jupiter conj/square sun, moon, Venus, mercury: Inflated sense of intelligence, asserts their opinion as the only opinion, and does not like authority. They can be seen as controlling in relationships, and have a lot of drama surrounding it.

Mars debilitated or afflicted can also cause this as well. Mars in Taurus, squaring Saturn can make for someone with incredible sadistic tendencies, or lack of regard for emotional states of others. In some cases, we can see this as positive, like becoming a philosopher and seeing suffering as a factor for ones growth. But on the other hand, you have someone motivated by patriarchal means to assert their self serving opinions. Someone who does not necessarily care for those below, as long as the issue never affects them.

Mars square moon is someone who is volatile, prone to anger issues, discontentment in the home. Someone who can make it all about themselves, when others are in pain. It reminds me of: misery likes company. This native can go on to force themselves into places they don't belong as well, separating communities of people, creating divide, not union. They have a strong contempt for anything serving others than themselves. Also, since moon is here describing femininity, if they are a man and have this placement they are likely to objectify, diminish women's rights, and believe that sex is a sin but they themselves participate in sex.

Venus conj. Saturn is all about the oppression of women in a males chart. He seeks control, and is vengeful and bitter with rejection from females. When in a water sign he's impatient, controlling of women's needs and desires, and is hypocritical. He lacks structure, emotional maturity, and can present himself as ''stunted.'' When Venus is in scorpio, he becomes obsessive and controlling the way the women see him, and think of him. When in cancer, he requires validation from women yet is callous to them. When in Pisces, he enforces strict standards and delusional ideas of perfectionism on women. These are the men who marry for status as well, lineage, and legacy, not always for the romance.

Capricorn can also suggest sadism, lack of empathy. They have a strict regime, and their need for control stems from pushing others away. They want to stay safe and comfortable with themselves to the point of abandoning relationships. They are the kind to think that no one is looking out for yourself but you, and it can be pessimistic.

Lastly, an afflicted 4h can suggest manipulation learned in the home for ways to get by. It can signify being put in an institution/family situation, when they were younger, and have had to learn tactics to separate themselves from others.

Thank ya’ll for reading! Let me know if you’d like a part 2 on this 🤍 please feel free to like reblog & comment to support!

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[writingmeraki]

take me back — c.sc ft k.mg (TEASER)

❝ in which with some people you meet, you learn they are better off as memories.

( or growing up you thought the one who you considered your dearest would stick with you till the end of time but turns out life doesn't work that way and along the way, you find solace in the least expected of places and people perhaps. )

pairings : seungcheol x reader, mingyu x reader, best friend seungcheol, enemy mingyu. genre : angst, romance, bits of humour, fluff, coming of age. warnings : mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, cusses, lots of relation issues, people are mean too,crisis (plenty) about life and all its ugly ( as well as good) points, lots of cameos from svt members and my loml @etherealyoungk :) inspired by — the night we met by lord huron. a/n at end, pls do read <3

w.c : 1.1k for the teaser | estimated 15-20k for final. | note : in "[__]" are the ages !

❝ I HAD ALL — seven to fifteen.

[ begin : seven ]

You knew it was always a wonder how you'd end up becoming friends with him. Even though he was your age, same class, similarly missing teeth, unruly hair, and curiosity that would annoy impatient adults (those who had a longing for their now gone childhood) about how you wanted to know everything about the humongous world and all its tidbits.

Choi Seungcheol. The dimple, wide eyed boy who you found a little suspicious the first time you saw him. He looked a little too happy for someone sitting in the math class early in the morning. Or maybe it was just you who disliked the subject hence you were not as happy as usual having to study it first thing in the morning.

Then again, he was a new student too. After the class ended, everyone seemed to be enticed with him and rushed forward to be his friend, perhaps best friend too.

You were too focused on packing your bag, making sure not to forget your favorite purple pen that you didn’t see who stood in front of you.

“Hi!” Startled, you dropped it on the floor and frowned as it rolled beneath the desk. Annoyed, you looked up at the person, eyes narrowing more once you saw who it was.

“You scared me.” When his smile dimmed down, so did his dimples disappear and he sort of looked like your grandma’s puppy when he would get scolded which made you feel bad for him, in this situation, you felt bad.

“Sorry I didn't mean to, I just wanted to ask if we could be friends.” He murmured to you as he bent down to pick up your pen and handed it to you. “Here. Oh, pretty color!”

Surprised at his words and even more at his compliment, you couldn’t help but grin back at him and nodded, “Isn’t it?! I have more like this and the red is even prettier with sparkles!”

“Woah, red is my favorite color!”

“Mine too along with purple of course!”

You gasped as your eyes widened, all feelings that may have arised of annoyance disappeared.

“What’s your name?”

You said your name, the grin on your face not leaving.

“Can we-can we be friends then? I don’t know anyone except you now.”

And with a nod, you raised your hand for a handshake,

“Okay, new friend.”

Both of you giggled as you shook hands and that day, you went home with a new friend to introduce to your dad.

[ intermission : fifteen. ]

Seungcheol became captain of the boys soccer team and you honestly couldn’t be more proud of him. You were someone who knew about his love for soccer since the very first day and even were someone to help him practice at times so it was no surprise to you he’d become the captain.

But with this newfound title, also came the new friends. Friends you did not expect but you couldn’t say you didn’t like them.

Joshua was sweet actually, as sweet as a fifteen year old boy can be. Probably the nicest out of the whole bunch. Jeonghan was annoying but nonetheless he knew when to shut up if it got too much. Vernon and Soonyoung were petty and pesky and you think one of these days you might just ‘accidentally’ put green dye in their shampoos. The worst was surprisingly not these two but Mingyu. He downright had a distaste and was always clear about it.

And one thing your father thought you was to treat people the way they treat you, so if he was going to be a bitch to you, you’d be a bigger one. He played the part of being a dog almost too well, his floppy hair and puppy eyes at times convinced you he was likely one in his past life. Too bad he also carried the personality of one to this lifetime.

But still, Seungcheol was your best friend. The others, well they were your friends ( you doubted that with Mingyu) but not the type to just greet you, you guys hung out and had fun, except when Mingyu picked fights with you, but it was still fun.

Does knowing someone longer in your life automatically make them of more importance than someone who comes later?

Perhaps it was why you were not able to declare anyone else your best friend because indeed you knew him the longest.

“Okay cut it off you two.” There he finally came, arm over your shoulder and he looked between his two best friends fighting.

Your arms were crossed as you continued to glare at the boy in front of you. He decided to pick a fight and while you were trying not to lose your patience.

You looked up at Seungcheol and he was smiling at you, shaking his head lightly.

“Why are you both always at each other's neck?”

“You mean why is Mingyu so obsessed with me that he can't help but intervene in every thing I do?”

You smirked and blinked innocently, turning to look at Mingyu whose face twitched in annoyance as he rolled his eyes and pushed back his hair.

“Yeah right as if anyone would even want to keep up with you.”

“Mm but see Cheol has…for almost eight years now.”

You mocked him, childishly poking your tongue out. He glared at you, ready to retort as fast as you finished the sentence.

“Again? Knock it out, come on.” Seungcheol cut him off before another screaming match would happen. You truly wondered how the heck did he even become friends with that.

He came after you, he became friends just because of a sport and somehow he was a good friend, dare you say a best friend of his.

Maybe you were petty for feeling like that but you couldn't help it.

You knew him longer. Mingyu came afterwards.

“You two are my best friends, it's sad to see you not get along well.”

You paused. Stopping in your tracks and then you realized that you'd both been walking already with Mingyu trailing along.

Best friend…friends?

“What's wrong?” Seungcheol asked concerned as you blinked up at him as if you'd heard wrong and he looked at you in confusion wondering if he said something wrong.

You pretended to ignore the faint murmur of the word everything falling out from the boy who was beside Seungcheol.

“It's getting late…I should uh…go, Dad will get worried.”

It was as though those three words seemed to affect you. Maybe you were being overdramatic.

But, all the years you made friends, you only declared one of them your best friend. A title you thought was supposed to be reserved for one person.

You learnt that, perhaps knowing someone longer did not mean they would hold more importance than those who came after.

They would hold the same. Or less.

And maybe, that title itself did not have to be held for one person, having more than one didn't seem all too bad…right?

perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @cherrylovescheol

( if you want to be added for this specific fic, just send an ask/reply to this !)

a/n : thank you to my biggest motivator @etherealyoungk for helping me and motivating me to write. i love you so much. and yes this is my comeback fic HAHAHA, i decided if we're gonna be back, might as well be something huge!! this fic means a lot to me and by releasing this teaser i'm hoping it gives me the motivation to fully finish this. i promise u it will get so much better :") i just dk how teasers work im so sorry :") looking forward to writing again and i truly missed you all. mwah <3

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2025

feedback is always appreciated 💌

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !

[lucysarah-c]

How do you think Levi will react when his partner gets jealous with his past flings? Like they know that it means nothing and he was just a playboy back then and he is being serious with them but who isnt get jealous at the thought of other women had him before them

Hi! How are you?

Funny enough, this actually happened in one of my fics (Holy Ground, ch. 18) haha. Believe it or not, I think Levi is someone who doesn’t handle jealousy scenes very well. Some couples find it—if it’s not actually toxic and just an occasional thing—almost funny, even endearing. But Levi? He doesn’t find them endearing at all haha. I can just picture him going, "Me? For real? You’re making a jealousy scene over me? I barely tolerate people, I’m grumpy, blunt, and I talk to almost no one on a daily basis. And you’re doubting me?" Almost like saying, "I’d get it if I were someone more outgoing or charming—like Eyebrows, who smiles at every stranger—but me?"

If the jealousy is about something he did before they were even together, oh boy hahaha. At first, he wouldn’t even take it seriously, but once he realizes she actually means it? Levi would be like, "You’ve gotta be kidding me." I think I’ve mentioned this before, but Levi is not only extremely secretive about his past—he’s also deeply mistrustful about it. If he opens up about his past or past relationships, it’s because he’s trying to share a piece of himself. But at the same time, Levi knows he did a lot of shit as a young man haha. Still, in his mind, it’s his shit. His mistakes. His past. I feel like he has this mentality of, "I did what I had to do in the shitty situation I was in. And despite all that, I turned out… somehow decent." So if someone tries to use his past against him—either to lecture him or to get jealous over it—not only are they shutting down any chance of him opening up again, but he’s not going to take it nicely. I can definitely see him getting defensive, like:

"I didn’t have parents to tell me what was good for me or to lecture me. Don’t try to take on that role now, because I don’t need it—and it’s not your damn place."

At first, he might brush it off as a joke. Like, "Are you serious? Don’t be stupid. Who cares about that? You have me now—isn’t that what matters? I was with them when I didn’t even know how to clean my ass properly. I’m with you now, as an adult." Maybe he’d even play along a little, pulling her back to him, getting that sassy edge in his tone—"Didn’t you love all the things I know how to do thanks to them? You sure seemed grateful last night." But if he realizes she’s genuinely upset? That’s when he might actually get mad lol.

Of course, he understands that jealousy isn’t something a person can just turn off. He’d probably try to talk it out because, in his mind, the real issue here isn’t the past—it’s trust. "She doesn’t trust me." And that’s the real problem, right? But at the same time, he’s not going to tolerate it if it becomes a habit. Like, Levi can be controlling, but don’t try to control him haha. I have this feeling that when Levi enters a relationship—especially as a Captain—it’s because he’s looking for some kind of happiness, some calm in the chaos of his life. He doesn’t want it to turn into a constant argument over who he’s been with or who he talked to.

I think that’s everything! <3 Hope you like it!

[hug-me-hard-so-i-dont-forget-you]

Can we talk about Buck's abandonment issues for a minute? You're probably thinking "Yeah his parents were neglectful and Maddie keeps running away." But there's so much more:

First and foremost we see two scenes where his parents are giving him attention but only in a negative light. All the while they're not telling him WHY they're upset/disappointed in him.

Then of course, there's the many times he's lost/had to say goodbye to Maddie. (Not pictured: when she ran away to Boston)

Then we've got any and all friends/relationships he had when travelling from Pennsylvania to LA.

Then we've got Abby leaving, without telling him beforehand, for an indeterminate amount of time. Leaving him to haunt her apartment and then forcing him to rescue her fiancé that she somehow acquired while never actually out right breaking up with Buck.

Next is Redmond 'Red' Walker. The man Buck warms up to very quickly and whom he sees as his future self: a man who's truly, completely alone in the world.

THEN his friends who only show up to ask for his sperm, make him be the go-between when they have a fight, and then make him deliver the baby and ruin his couch. And he held his biological child in his arms with tears in his eyes and just never saw him again. They never even mention it again.

GIVE THIS MAN A BABY

Then, of course we have his older brother, Daniel. Basically the only reason Buck was even born. The person his family kept from him for nearly 30 years. And no, he didn't particularly abandon him but he was given all of this information in one afternoon and that's a lot to process.

And we can't not mention Chris. He lost him once before, blaming himself the whole time. He wasn't even the one to find him in the end so he never really got that closure.

And we talk about how heartbroken Eddie was about Chris leaving but what about Buck?? He was basically a second father for him. Not only that, but he was the last one to speak to him before he walked out. Eddie threw a Hail Mary by calling Buck, asking him to do "what you always do." Only this time it didn't work and he 'failed.'

We get another instance of Buck learning way too much information in one night: not only discovering that he likes Tommy, but the fact that he likes guys AT ALL. He goes through an identity crisis and has a bit of a panic attack. And what does Tommy do in response? Leaves him outside of the restaurant on their first date. Then, 6 months in, Buck thinks he's in love and asks him to move in, complete with heart eyes and oblivion. And instead of going their date that night Tommy decides to break up with him. I understand his reasoning: knowing Buck is just a baby gay and needs to find himself a bit more before settling down. But Buck is also a 3-braincelled puppydog when he's infatuated and he needs to be handled gently or else he's gonna use up the city's flour supply, baking away his temptations.

And now he's losing his absolute best friend. The one he works with, eats dinner with, co-parents a child with, facetimes/texts/calls during the rare times they're NOT together. The one who restarted his heart after getting struck by the same bolt of lightning. The one who wasn't in his coma dream because without Buck his life went to shit. The one who immediately accepted him when he came out, encouraged him to give it a try with Tommy, and then supported him after the breakup when he was going through withdrawals. The one that he can't imagine his life without because he has become such an integral part of every aspect of his life.

I'm surprised this man has kept it together this long and hasn't shut everyone out completely. My heart hurts just thinking about it.