#this isnt my best and i could have kept painting it but i just... really didnt like it any more

[kittytheillustrator]

Another style practice attempt with Wangcian

Not so much done as much as I'm done looking at it

[liveyun]

EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn��t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

[tpwkwriter]

hiii so i have a request! Could you do one like still in harry's 1d days. So like y/n is louis sister and she has been friends with the band since the beginning and harry has been in love with her since he first laid eyes on her and all that. But he never told her because she always had a bf but those bfs would never treat her right like always ignoring her and flirting with other girls so harry kept this like journal where he wrote how in love he is with y/n and how he would treat her right, how he know everything about her all the little things and how no one could love her as much as he does. So then one day like during prince hair harry her and harry are sharing a hotel room with seperate beds (ofc haha, but because they have always been best friends) and y/n finds this journal and like reads all the things he has written and then she goes to him and is like "well, if i didnt know any better i would say mr styles has a crush on me" and he gets all nervous and says that it isnt just a crush and he is in love and that and then he asks "will you be my girlfriend. I cant' go another day of not kissing you, hugging you, touching you I cant stand you not being mine" and y/n finds it very sweet but she is very insecure and kind of rejects him in a nice way because she feel they will critisise her because they expect harry to be w a model and gorgeous girl and harry is tells her how beautiful she is and how he feel in love the moment they met and how it didnt matter what the world thought because no one can love her like he can and he know eveything about her so he asks again "will you let me be your boyfriend" and she finally agrees and then he holds her close and protectively and then y/n starts tearing up and says sorry because she was being silly and he says "dont be. Its not silly, baby. I'll be her to wipe every tear and to comfort you. Your heart is safe here, you are safe with me, my love" and then how they spend the first night together because well they share a hotel room and then the morning after harry saying how happy he is and how he has always dreamed about it and then they meet with the boys and tell em the news and they are all very happy and are like "about time" and yeah hope you understand it thank you again so much it would be great i feel its so cute! <3

Does he know?

OMGOMG THANK YOU FOR THISS!! the detail you put in and the image it painted in my head AHHH❤️

I’m so sorry this has taken so long!! I really wanted this to be perfect!! 🌷 but thank you for your patience It means the world x

Warnings: jealousy, mentions of toxic relationships, cussing, smutty themes if you squint, pent up emotions.

— — — — — — —

— early 2013 —

Harry’s fingers held a ballpoint pen between his fingers, the lined paper sat empty on the table adjacent to him.

There new album ‘midnight memories’ was due mid November of this year, he loved his job but these deadlines took the piss.

‘Fuck’ he whispered to himself, he didn’t realise the clock had gone over midnight.

The shared tourbus was at a halt for the night the rest of the four boys remained in there bunk and no one heard a peep from them through the rest of the night.

“Y’alright H?” Y/n said Peeling the curtain that separated the bunks to the lounging area of the bus, and pulling it back behind her.

“Sorry y/n, did i wake you?” He quietly asked, dropping his pen instantly.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t have a crush on y/n, she was also the youngest of the Tomlinson family so her and Harry grew up together at the same time and age, hitting each milestone and big birthdays together.

“No, no not at all” she waved, sitting on the sofa next to his.

“What y’doing awake still?” She asked, taking a sip of her water.

“Tryna get song ideas, getting absolutely nowhere” he said, crossing his arms back and leaning back on the cushions.

“What are you doing awake? He smirked.

“Can’t sleep, excited for tomorrow” she smiles.

“Haven’t seen you all on stage for a while” she added.

They sat and spoke for awhile, what y/n was oblivious of is how many ideas he was racking up watching her.

She reached her arm out to grab her water bottle, her wrist was exposed from her hoodie sleeve for a second, what Harry didn’t expect was to see an inky drawing.

“Is that a tattoo?” He asked.

“Oh this?” She askers pulling her hoodie up her arm.

“Yeah, me and Louis got matching a few days ago, a random spontaneous idea that popped into our heads” she laughed repressing the day her and her older brother got matching ‘28’ tats.

“It’s funny because ben, hasn’t even noticed it, and it’s like our 4th month together” y/n mentioned, a slight frown forming on her face.

Harry’s heart teared a tiny bit, she was still with this ‘Ben’ it was clear none of the boys got on with him, he wasn’t the bestest of boyfriend.

“Really?” He asked, eyes widening.

“Mmhmm, don’t know what to do about this whole Situation-ship thing”

“Well, do you love him?” He asked, fiddling with the hem of his band tee.

“I can’t say I do Harry” she sighed, “but there’s a part of me that feels bad” she added.

“Don’t feel bad, if it’s not meant to be, s’not meant to be”

All y/n wanted to do was scream out her attraction to him, something clicked in, the soft and gentle words he spoke, the way he still looked good at 1am after a busy day, the way he made a band tee look like piece of designer. Y/n wasn’t sure what happened.

Y/n soon enough found herself back in her bunk, trying to push down her sudden butterflies, hoping it’s just a 1am sleepy thought, the last thing she wants is to thirst over her brothers best friend.

When y/n and Harry exchanged there goodnights, he instantly got back to his paper.

‘Does he know’ he whispered.

‘Does he know’ he repeated.

‘Your secret tattoos?” He asked himself.

He instantly jotted these phrases to himself.

Harry tried to think to himself of the little things you do.

Maybe you could be his muse this time around?

—

It was 8:45am the next day the bus was off again at 5pm so for now they could relax.

Y/n believed she was alone on the bus, she thought the boys were out doing the coffee run, she thought wrong.

“But she doesn’t know who I am, and she doesn’t give a damn about me” she sang whole continuing to organise her suitcase on her bunk.

As the beats of ‘teenage dirtbag’ continue, she moves her body to beat and sing.

“Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag baaby” she sung.

“Y/n you may be a Tomlinson doesn’t mean you can sing like one though” he interrupted, almost kicking the tourbus door open and walking over to her bunk with her Starbucks in hand.

“Heeeey, I’m a lovely singer, it should be me selling out O2” she said with pride.

“She got you there tommo” Niall piped in walking in.

“See” she giggled.

“Thank you for this lou” she dragged taking a sip of her iced coffee.

“No problemo, me and and the lads are heading to the studio in a bit y’ can come if you want?” Louis offered sitting on his bunk opposite to y/n’s.

“Yeah will do” she answered.

At this point all boys were back on the bus enjoying some quality time together, but all Harry could think of was the remaining lyrics.

‘The songs that you sing when your all alone?’ He thought to himself, that’s a keeper.

——beginning of where we are 2014——

In past year y/n and Harry had become closer than ever, it’s was a night at the MSG, the boys opted on a hotel instead of the bus, to Louis’ dismay y/n and Harry were up for sharing a hotel.

“Neither of you better be doing anything” Louis called the opposite of the hotel door.

“Fuck sake lou, you can come in” she laughed, laying her head back on the hotel bed frame.

The door clicks open to see a wet head louis, who was still clad in his joggers and ‘the who’ tee.

“You nearly ready Harry!” He called, pulling his phone out and glancing the time.

“Yeah man” he said emerging from the bathroom.

“Have fun tonight guys” she called out as they both met each other at the door. “I’ll be sure to watch some shitty livestream of you all prancing about on stage” she laughed.

“Thanks love” Louis said rolling his eyes.

“See you y/n don’t get too lonely without us” Harry smirked flashing her a wink while adjusting his head scarf which kept his unruly curls at bay.

“Bye boys” she called as they slowly walked off and headed to the arena.

They had been gone about an hour and y/n knew they wouldn’t be back till maybe after midnight.

She decided to set down and get ready to stay in her bed and have a relaxed night.

When unpacking her bags and digging to find her favourite pyjamas she was sure she packed. A large ‘thump’ was heard the other side of the room.

“Shit” she jumped.

A relieved smile, when it was something falling out of Harry’s suitcase.

She turned her head and spotted a brown, leather notebook that was lying on the carpet by his bags.

Once y/n had picked out her pjs for the evening, she walked over to the bed she picked out in the hotel room.

She placed them down by her pillows and was about to reach out for her phone by the charging port until something about this note book, caught her eye, ‘one and only’ was scribed into the leather with black ink.

She knows she shouldn’t, she knows that not hers, that’s Harry’s, that’s his property not y/n’s but there was something pulling her in a feeling she couldn’t push down.

A shaky breath left her mouth as her fingers reached out towards the book in front of her.

She peeled back the smooth cover:

23rd of February 2013

Ben doesn’t know how lucky he is, such a smart, beautiful, caring woman, how could he take her for granted??.

Y/n’a heart was running a Marathon.

“No” she said louder than she anticipated.

She flicked to the next page:

28th February 2013

‘All of us were at the studio this evening I couldn’t stop staring at y/n, I feel terrible knowing it’s my best friends sister, but she is wonderful’

Her mind was now matching her palpitating heart, a million thoughts were being processed at that moment.

He really thought the same the whole time?

She quickly flicked another.

3rd of March 2013

Write a couple of songs for midnight memories is it bad to say there all inspired by one person.

If she was mine she wouldn’t be ignored or treated terribly, I hope Louis talks to her about this Ben.

Y/n did agree with this statement getting rid of Ben was the best thing she’s done.

But she didn’t know Harry was the one with a crush.

She couldn’t believe her eyes, he really felt the same? He really did like her? She was almost hyperventilating.

10th of March 2013

I’ve noticed when y/n gets anxious she plays with the ends of her hair, I wish I could just scoop her into my arms and tell her it’s going to be okay.

Ben is finally out the picture, hopefully she can be with someone who knows her self worth.

Her heart is beaming, butterflies fill each side of her tummy, her mind still feeling a little delusional and still very much in disbelief.

Maybe this was her sign to take there friendship another level up.

She slammed the cover over the paper and decided if she’d read anymore she’d become a crimson red mess.

She gently tucked it into the suitcase of where it fell and tried to go on as normal.

She decided to wait up for Harry and see what she could do about this, she couldn’t hide this any longer she wish she knew sooner about his little crush.

It was just past midnight and she heard the hotel room key click in approval.

A tired looking Harry appears.

“Y’alright” she quietly asked.

“Mmm” he hummed shutting the door behind him.

Y/n move to one side of her bed, and patted the empty space beside her, inviting him to join.

Wether it was just his sleepy mind, but he took no time and accepted her invitation.

Y/n let him adjust to the light, and get comfortable not wanting to overload him already.

“Y���okay” he asked, noticing her thinking face.

“Yeah” she smiled.

“Well if I didn’t know any better, than I think that you mr styles have a teeny crush” she said, a breathy laugh leaving her mouth.

His eyes widened, now it it was his time to go red.

“Wha-“ he nervously laughed.

“I guess y’right” he said looking straight ahead at the blank wall.

“Y/n, m’gonna be honest”

“I’m in love with you”

Y/n’s heart pounded inside her chest, this is real? This was real life, he admitted.

“Harry” she blushed.

“And I know, it’s probably weird, we’ve been friends for 4 years now and on a random night , I’m now saying this but, seeing you keep hurting yourself on these boys that don’t understand you, it hurts”

“Harry-“ her cheeks becoming a strawberry colour.

“Be my girlfriend?” Harry blurted.

Y/n’s ears almost burned at the question, Someone she actually had interest in liked her back? And wanted to be with her? She felt like. Lovesick teenager again.

She wanted this, more than ever.

But Louis.

Realistically there was nothing wrong with it, they were the same age, and both wanted it.

“I can’t stand another day, not touching you, not hugging you, not wiping your tears away” he added, which caused y/n’s thought process to halt.

“Harry, y’too good for me” she started, a glossy layer had formed over her eyes.

“Y’need someone better, your options are so big” she said head almost dropping to her lap.

“Hey” he said taking using his index finger and thumb to guide her chin up.

“What I’ve learnt is your the one I want, haven’t been able to settle because of you y/n”

“Be mine?” He asked once again leaning his forehead on hers using his free hand to wipe the tears away.

“Please” he whispered, this is all he’s wanted.

Worried that her words would fail her at that moment all she could do was frantically nod.

“Yeah?” He smiles, there noses basically touching at this point.

“Words baby, need y’words” he reminded.

“Yeah, yes harry yes” she smiled, tears still manage to cascade her cheeks.

“Thank fuck” he breathed, now hesitating to wrap his arm around the girl, oh how he’s longed to do that.

The girl crashes into his touch, not taking her time either.

“Your okay, y’safe in my arms love” he whispered into her hair, pressing his long awaited kisses.

— the following morning —

Both Harry and y/n were getting ready to meet the rest of the lads on the bus, which was round the back of the hotel.

“How are we gonna tell them?” Harry asked getting the rest of his stuff.

“They’ll understand, Louis will be unsure but he’s my brother he can’t hate me forever” she laughed.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and they made there way to the boys.

“Guys we have something to tell you all” y/n began.

— — — — —

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Monster mash

Synopsis: Vampire!Reader is captured and to be killed during the hunt. Jack and Ted to the rescue!

Jack Russell X Vampire!Reader (they/them), Platonic Ted friendship too

Sorry Avatar fans but the little werewolf guy got me (I have like 3 different vampire/werewolf blogs so this really isnt a surprise)

Sequel

The Bloodstone manor was a frankensteined mass of ancient wood, marble, concrete and metal. The old home was gutted and wired into the 21st century. There was a sprawling once overgrown garden reworked into a modernist labyrinth. With all the new amendments it was a marvel it'd retained even half of it's beauty. Though perhaps dangling from chains at the center of the maze did rob some of its charms for you.

Your arms ached after the hours hanging in that position as you tried another feeble attempt as tugging your hands free. Your toes could just barely scrape against the stone bellow and kept you from getting better leverage. Still you tried to pull yourself up the chain again even if you quickly slipped and snapped back down hard.

You yelped before you dropped your chin to your chest with a deep frustrated sigh. You'd been un-gagged once they'd hung you here, you could shout out? Though who amongst the guests would do anything but laugh at your predicament. Hell best they'd offer would be a swift end.

Your lament was interrupted by the sounds of someones approach. He moved slow and carefully into the circular garden you hung in. All hunters seemed to have striking appearances but you couldn't help appreciate his. Beautiful suit, salt and pepper hair swept neatly to the side and intricate paint framing a handsome face.

It was daft to be admiring your soon to be executioner but simple pleasures were all that remained now. So you would enjoy the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose and those dark eyes at now fixated on you.

You stared back at his now frozen form. It was a little amusing seeing him frozen mid stride like a cartoon character. Though levity turned sour quickly as you kept focus on him. The man seemed to grimace at you, a lip curling slightly before his face smoothed out again. You frowned, confused at him before he began walking towards you.

A shiver of panic ran through you. The chill of the night suddenly present and sending goosebumps across your skin. The fizzing ran to your fingers as you tugged more frantically on your restraints.

"Woah woah hey! hey!" Jack whispered as he came closer to the now frantic vampire. Verussa Bloodstone had made the horrible announcement that she'd had one caught as an extra surprise for everyone. Jack Russell had met a few in his years. Some blood crazed and beyond help but a few definitely worth protecting.

"I am unarmed, please be still!" He whispered over the rattling of the chains. He cringed, first at the sound then at the reddening skin around their hold. The vampires body was filthy, clothing tattered and hair greasy. How long had they been captured for? There was no blood on them, had they not fought back?

The vampire's body stopped thrashing a moment and they snapped a wide expression to him. He felt a lump in his throat. Even hanging there they were a vision, with beautiful sad eyes staring back at him. The momentum from their struggled kept their body turning. They kept shifting their head to try keep him in sight. Jack moved into view, circling to keep himself visible to them as he looked up at the chain's mechanism.

You watched the man with uncertain eyes. His quizzical expression as he took in the chain, the stone above it was affixed to, it's anchoring. Your heart rate settled as you observed him, his calaveras paint made the little changes to his expression more visible in the low light. He didn't look like was going to strike a blow any time soon.

"My names Jack...Um...can I just..." He stammered as he stepped closer. You remained frozen, raising an eyebrow to him. "I'm going to see if I can get you down..." He continued, mumbling his words.

Jack stepped in closer again, meeting your eyes again with his hands raised. Waiting for permission to touch you?

"Please." You said, not liking how horse it came out in front of this hunter. Then his face split into a crooked smile that sent butterflies straight to your stomach.

Meanwhile Jack tried to stop the shake from his hands as he wrapped his arms around their legs and lifted. He was momentarily surprised by the cool sensation before he realized he'd made contact with your bare legs.

"Mierda, sorry..." Jack said as he tried to adjust his hold. His lift took the weight from your arms and you couldn't help a groan that escaped your lips. The ache in your arms relieved a moment you relaxed in his hold despite your sudden nerves.

"Y/n." You said, still keeping your eyes on him.

His hands felt hot against your skin and sent a buzz through you. This close you could catch the scent of him easier. It was intoxicating, one part deep forest in the rain with a touch of musk and something warm. It awakened an entirely different hunger.

Jack tried desperately to avoid your gaze locked on him, instead focusing on the chain. He felt bad enough for gripping your thigh even if your sigh proved he'd helped ease the pain. Still it was no time to be ogling you especially in such a compromised position.

"With the slack, do you think you could free your hands?" Jack asked. You shifted in his grip, leaning into him as you tried to tug the knotted chain. You could feel the heat radiating from him but tried to remain focused on the task at hand.

Your scent all but consumed Jack now. His face so close to the base of your throat and chest. It took enormous will power for him not to nestle in closer and take it in. He felt embarrassed enough with how fast his heart was pounding, he didn't want to add to that.

"Someone's coming." You whispered. You paused your attempt to quiet the rattling and listened out. Past Jack's heartbeat you heard another, slower and approaching.

Jack cursed, lowering your legs slowly and gently before shifting away. A panic bubbled in you again. He was going to leave you here? Of course he was, he was a hunter wasn't he? Then he turned back, soft hazel eyes locking onto yours.

"I'm here for my friend, Ted, I'll draw them off, find him then we'll come back for you okay?" He promised with a sincerity in his smile that had you convinced in a second. You nodded, smiling tightly back at him.

Jack ran off into the maze, shoes slapping loudly against stone. The approaching hunter veered off course and you listened to them fade away. Then you were alone again, pain singing loudly up your arms.

You started swinging your legs. At first in some attempt for escape but it gradually grew into a way to waste a little time. Ticking like a pendulum in the growing chill of the night. You hoped Jack would be back before your arms died entirely.

You were brought out of your daze by a fresh scent lilting through the breeze. The familiar notes of nature but different, fresher somehow? You stilled your waving legs, letting your rocking slow until you were hanging rigid.

The smell lingered, strong and close but you couldn't hear the pattering of Jack. Though as you strained you did hear another heart approach. Then another behind you beating strong and steady. You were going to try turn when another hunter entered the circle.

He wasn't Jack. He was taller, broader and his smirk was cruel. He stalked forward like a predator, eyes raking up and down his prey. You squirmed under his gaze and let out a low hiss.

"Well, pretty sure you were meant to be a prize for the winner~" He purred as he approached. He put a hand on your hip before harshly pushing you. The chain spun you in circles as he laughed.

"Oh this is just too good!" He jeered. You thrashed violently, trying harder to pull free.

In glimpses you saw his laughing face, then something looming behind him, then a mass of roots and nature and blazing red eyes. Then he was screaming in a burst of bright flame, flesh searing and turning to ash in the claws of the hunts real target. A creature unlike any you'd encountered before but that held that same earthy scent Jack had.

"...Ted?" You breathed out. You had to suppress a squeak when the creatures massive head snapped up to you. The pieces seemed to fall in place in that second as Ted's face shifted, his eyes softening to you.

"Ted!" You smiled gently as his great clawed hand reached to you, stilling your spinning with the ease of just one finger. "Your friend Jack was here."

Ted's eyes widened and a low grumbling came from deep in his chest. He sounded surprised but appreciative, though whatever words were in the rumble escaped your ears. You didn't even have to ask as his other hand gripped the chain. It melted away and you dropped to your feet, what was left clattering from your wrists to the stone floor.

Your balance was gone and you tipped forward on unsteady legs. Ted's hand was raised still and you caught yourself on his thumb. He looked to you with sympathetic eyes as you tried to stretch out the strain in your shoulders.

"Thank you Ted," You said, patting his hand as you tried your legs again. More stable this time you took a few steps and feeling seemed to return to you. "We should stay low, avoid the hunters until we can find your friend?" You asked.

Ted nodded deeply shifting back the way he'd come, pausing briefly and looking over his shoulder to you. You jogged after him, glad for him accepting to your tagging along.

You shifted quietly through the maze, listening carefully before taking corners. It was harder for Ted, the bloodstone was affixed to his shoulder and seemed to be causing some amount of pain. Every few steps he growled against the sting.

Another hunter passed ahead and Ted grabbed your body in one hand. He dove back into the shrubbery with you now dangling in his hand. It was odd to be held by him, feeling more like hanging from a tree limb than a hand. Vines and moss seemed to grown against his skin, little glimpses of flowering plants amongst blades of grass up against his shoulders. He was a lovely creature and the idea of the others hunting him made you suddenly furious.

Ted made an odd grumble turning slightly. You wanted to ask but where sure now you'd only be met with more grumbling growls. He let out a louder roar pushing a clawed hand through the shrubbery.

You primed yourself to pounce out for a fight but the rumbling in Ted's chest sounded more like a pleasant chuckle.

"Hey! hey! What's up?" Jack cooed. Through the ivy Jack met eyes with his old friend, a delighted smile spreading across his face. He reassured him through the small space before Jack spied Ted's other hand.

"Oh you found them! Good good, this makes things a whole lot easier!" He grinned up at you with a slight wave. You returned it, wobbling unsteadily in Ted's grip, before holding back onto his hand.

"Oh...um Ted? Maybe you could let them down again?" Jack smiled nervously. Ted rumbled a response but gently placed you back on your feet. "Well yes but they are okay now, right?"

Jack's eyes met your confused expression.

"You understand him?" You asked.

"Yes of course." Jack answered matter of factlly before moving on to share his plan. You shrugged to yourself before you heard another approach.

Jack and Ted both reacted too. Ted immediately had you by the shoulders and was pulling you off to hide again, whilst Jack scrambled away. You ran along side Ted keeping pace with his strides. He wailed again as the bloodstone burned against his skin.

Pity for him swelled again. Ted was being so kind to you, he didn't deserve to be trapped in here in so much pain. Jack at least understood that too but why was still a mystery. Hunters of the past may have had a different code but these days it was kill first ask questions never. Why was he different?

You hid again against the smooth stone peaking into the gloom for anyone sneaking up on you both. Ted slumped against the ivy with a groan. Still he kept an eye down the other side with his back to you. You were glad he seemed to trust you, it'd been a while since you'd had a real ally.

Ted's claw hooked your arm, tugging you towards the shrubbery. You turned spying the bearded hunter approaching it. You stiffened ready to pounce if he drew too close but he was distracted. Another hunter yelled to him and he spun.

Ted reached a hand out gripping the hunters head and setting it ablaze. You leapt out to the other hissing and bearing fangs but stilled. Her weapons were lowered and her hands raised so you snapped your mouth shut. Ted roared furiously at her but she remained still, then she addressed him.

"Your friend is waiting for you both." She explained.

Ted grumbled pleasantly his body relaxing as Elsa lead you both back through the labyrinth. You jogged on the rear keeping a head spinning back for the other hunters. You could hear them all around, approaching the thundering footsteps of your new friend as he ran.

An explosion rang out ahead of you, Elsa diving to the side as some rumble from the wall bust out towards her. You slowed to a stop as Ted ran ahead to the gash in the external wall. Elsa flung a grapple out pulling the stone from his back as he ran out.

He bellowed pleasantly and you couldn't help but laugh. Elsa and Jack beamed as you jogged towards the hole. The stone shone on the floor, angry red light that made your eyes water. You practically snarled as you passed it and sprinted across the grass.

You paused when you heard a strange sound, followed by a grunt. Where was Jack? In the gloom you could make out the hunters circled around him, prone on the ground. What was he doing?

"Ted! Ted stop!" You called quietly as you tried to catch up to him. He stilled vines whipping out from his body as he turned. Ted chirped and tilted his head to you.

"Jack! Something happened he's still back there." You exclaimed. Ted made a groaning sound before he scooped you up again. You'd stopped being surprised by this now and instead gripped onto the moss of his back when he placed you there. He could be surprisingly nimble for such a large creature, moving swiftly back through the labyrinth and up to the manor.

"Wait stop here." You called slipping down off his back to land on the ground. "I'll sneak in here, we have to figure out how to go about this without getting caught again."

Ted grumbled some approval looking around before pointing off to the glass domed roof. You nodded and he jogged off towards it as you kept low around the side of the building. There were windows and doors but the likely hood of an alarm being triggered was high.

It took some time by you found your way to an open door. An elderly man walked through and past into the halls of the home. You wedged a foot in the gap letting him walk on before slipping through.

For an awful few moments you worried an alarm would blare. That they somehow had more security that would descend on you again. Had you fought harder, risked killing those who hunted you first maybe you'd never have ended up here. Then again if you had perhaps you'd still be alone.

All signs showed you were too late. A commotion in one of the rooms drew your focus and you slipped in with armored figures before the doors shut. Jack was gone and Elsa remained in a cage at the center looking terrified. The other figures spun around the room but missed your sudden appearance. It was only when a werewolf dropped from the ceiling you realized you were the least of their concerns right now.

You rushed the cage as attention fell upon the figure tearing into the security. You could barely take your eyes off the attack. Wild fur, pointed ears, snarling and claws. All was a blur of motion and snapping.

"Elsa!" You called to her. She was already moving to climb out of the cage but you bent the bars ahead of her. She frowned a little but smiled to you with a curt nod. She clambered out as your eyes focused again on the werewolf, preparing to fight back if it came to that. Something in it's scent caught you then, a warm musk and his face still painted.

"Christ is that Jack?" You asked watching again as the werewolf leapt to another foe. Elsa didn't respond just rushing to the wall to grab a sword before the hunter in white reappeared. It had to be right?

You sensed the hunter diving to the side as they took a swing. You tucked and rolled bashing into the wall. You looked up stunned feeling the nights events hitting you harder now than before.

The bloodstone matriarch was in front of you the vibrant stone flashing and you hit the wall again. You let out a shriek and collapsed to the ground, black spotting in your vision as you spied Jack hurling himself at her.

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

Jack awoke as he did most nights after a full moon, though maybe feeling a little worse than normal. His body ached from the change, his mind reeling and confused as he tried to piece together the events that lead him here.

A soft song drifted on the morning breeze as he groaned pulling himself out towards Ted. He struggled to his feet, cloak wrapped around his naked body against the morning chill. Ted offered him tea and he took it moving to sit with his friend as he recollected himself.

His hands shook. Elsa? He'd been trapped in there with her. He asked Ted but his conscious was clear. She was fine and well back at the manor. Ted and him joked as he began to feel more himself. The night coming back to him in reverse he was startled by another thought.

"Wait our new friend, y/n, the vampire?" He asked Ted in a sudden panic. Ted shifted his leg chirping an explanation. He'd smashed into the estate, scooped up this one and took them with him as he ran off to find Jack. They now laid curled up in the shade Ted provided at his feet. Sleeping soundly in the dewy grass it seemed.

Jack admired their peaceful expression before Ted mumbled something. Jack felt the heat rise to his cheeks and he huffed.

"No! I was just worried they were still caught is all." He grumbled, crossing the cloak in tighter as he buried himself in the tea. Still considering Ted seemed to have taken a liking to their new friend, perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to convince them to come along?

[nightmarist]

For the artist questions, 6, 21 and 30 if you dont mind

6. What’s your least favorite thing to draw?

Ironically what people tell me to draw.

It's my love-hate with commissions, where I can need the money but dread what people are going to pay me to draw. However, I do like requests, there's a semantic difference in my brain for a request bc usually requests are framed in ways that people want me to draw something they think would match my art or think I the artist would enjoy drawing vs commissions where people want something I just couldnt care less about but Have to do it.

Since I've gotten more established professionally IRL I get to be more choosy about what I take on as commission, so I might just endup doing a whole "I'll only do commissions if I actually like your idea" since I do want to be paid for my work and I do think people have really cool ideas I would love to pry out of their tangled brains and put to paper or canvas or whatever. But even then, If I do really love someone's idea, I mean. Fuck it. I'd love to do it. I love making things for people and giving them away. The fleeting aspects of art can be art too.

21. Do you like to challenge yourself?

Yes !!! I constantly do shitty little sketches and go to drawing tutorials, ask my art instructor and professor friends for tips, tricks, ideas etc. I do a lot of exercises and recently I've become much less afraid of creating backgrounds now that I have a better grasp how to make them. Similarly I'm trying to figure out painting more, which is both fun and challenging.

I don't want to do Just realism, I would love to experiment with other styles. Now that I have actual income, I can "waste" resources (paint, canvases, etc) practicing. Usually the issue is, if I make something, I can't buy back the things I used to make it, and therefore can't continue making. One of the big reasons I've been doing so much more art lately than the past decade.

30. What inspires you to not just make art, but to be a better artist?

How do you define it? Is it what's the most realistic? I can do realism. I have. Ive been doing it since I was a young teenager, I had galleries and awards and was paid hundreds to nearly a thousand dollars for pieces. My parents kept all the money. Now that I'm an adult, no one gives a shit that some thirty year old man can paint a realistic portrait of a celebrity. It only mattered when I was 13 and 14 using a program no one ever heard of (paint tool sai) or didnt think photoshop could be anything but a photo editor. Realism isnt fun, anyway, at least not anymore for me.

I do think that things like "the basics" - anatomy and realism, still life, color theory, perspective, all should be learned to learn how to make compelling art. But they dont have to be used in polished, aesthetically pleasing ways. Once you learn how and why "oh these colors clash and make people turn away from how jarring they are" you can use that. "These perspective lines are weird" can be just as compelling when you have the knowledge to fuck around with it.

I think the thing for me is, after having collaborated with so many other artists IRL and seeing their work, art is so much more than being "good" or "better" or "best" — it's expression. What you express, how you express it, those are each personal things.

Art isn't just painting. Or embroidery. Or convention. Its this lady in town who makes full body puppet costumes out of scrap blankets and broken ceramics. Is this old woman in the country side who makes masks out of paper and crayons. Its a local punk who learned to silk screen their own T shirts with weird shit.

I guess more or less being a "better" artist for me is coming to understand that there's no actual such thing. You can have your own personal goals, set them, and make them.

In addition, "every artwork is practice for the next"

It's a perpetual cultivated skill that, when you look back, there will always be something you could have done "better"

[zvdvdlvr]

⭐ -> star! ships. send your sexuality, gender, and a description of yourself and what fandoms you're in. ( as long as i'm in said fandom lol ) ill ship you with 1 or 2 characters!

I'm a straight female and my pronouns are she/her. I'm in the Harry Potter, marvel and stranger things fandoms!

I'm fairly introverted and it takes me a while to warm up to people. I love reading, my room is filled with stacks of books. I especially enjoy mysteries, poetry and Russian literature!I adore adventures, witty and playful banter, pulling harmless pranks, joking around and having indepth discussions on anything and everything. I love helping out and people come to me to vent or for advice and comfort. I'd consider myself really smart and I'm very ambitious; I love being the best at everything I do. I daydream a lot and I'm a hopeless romantic! I enjoy all forms of art and I have quite a few creative hobbies! I'm 5'9 and I have long and curly dark brown hair and brown eyes. I dress mostly in relaxed suits, blazers and coats and I love the occasional dress or sweaters layered over a white button down! I'm a taurus and a ravenclaw

Thank you very much!! Congrats on the milestone, here's to so many more followers ❤️

Thank you so much :((( <333

I do apologize though if this is bad, as i have never done this before. I love seeing those posts witg like people requesting ships with themselves and other characters and i thought it was cool so i wanted to try and im rambling but you get the point

From the MCU, i ship you with:

Loki Laufeyson

and

Peter Parker/Spiderman

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 would definately have you read to him on a lazy morning/midday! Loki would love hearing about any random thoughts/daydreams you have. Would 100 percent help you decide on outfits and collaborate with you every once in awhile. When you and Loki inevitably find yourselves in Avenger's tower, you both would definately pull a couple pranks ( loki would probably take the fall for you lol ). Any drawing or sketch you gift Loki would be kept in a special spot and would never be crinkled, lost, or torn. I feel like you and loki would probably banter quite a bit ( nothing harmful! ) just to hear your smart remarks- Loki loves what your brain can come up with in the heat of the moment!!

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 would fanboy over the way you dress since he isnt one to dress up unless theres a really good reason and overall you just look good🤷. If its tom holland spidey you like, peter would tell you about his spiderman thang when you started dating or whatvs idk. WORSHIPS the advice you give him- and probably says some 'damn thats pretty smart why didn't i think about that?' when you put in your two cents about his issues. OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAY I HAVE AN IDEA THAT I MIGHT WRITE A BLIRB OR SMTH ABOUT: when you paint realistic portraits and you need like a change of scenery or just something natural to take inspiration from, peter would have you pack up some water bottles, cups, snacks, your canvases, and paints in a drawstring and swing to a relatively natural environemnt ( i.e: a minimal amount of buildings, yada yada yada) and talk to you or listen to music while you painted

From the Stranger Things universe I ship you with...

Steve Harrington

i <3 my babyboy

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 ( season 2+ ) would looooove taking it slow and letting you warm up to him- trust is important. His rich ass would probably buy you blazers/suit jackets/ basically anything you want. Would probably ask you to draw random things he thinks about during the day. Such a worrywart tbh- especially when you drive to that one diner in town without telling anyone so you could get a shake and basket-o-fries and brush up on your Russian readings. Super protective as well. If you were with him and Robin during their little Scoops Troops thing: expect him to hold on to you while hugging just a little longer.

From Marauders era Harry potter universei ship you with

Remus Lupin

loml tbh

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 is lowkey a quiet guy with people he doesn't know. Understands social cues ( specifically yours ) and can easily calm you down if you have anxiety about something. Would probably tell you about Moony on accident, but would be happy that you knew so he didn't have to keep lying to you. Would rant and vent about all the dumb shit James n Sirius do and how Remus gets frustrated thaf Peter just follows them instead of saying what he needs to say. Compliments your dressing style and admires from afar. Would watch over your shoulder as you sketch/draw, loving watching the way your hand moves in a way that could create such a pretty thing. Please climb a tree and hang out with him

Golden trio era:

George Weasley

silly billy georgey porgey

𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 would be a big fan of pulling pranks with you, even if you don't want to do take the blame for it. Could sit and watch you make art for hours <3. Sorry not sorry would call you his little arm rest. Absentmindedly braids your hair when he's bored ( he knows how to braid because Ginny went through a phase when she was a kid when she wanted her hair braided 25/8). Loves hearing you talk about your ambitions and goals, and helping you when you're indescisive. You'd get a sweater from Molly and thats when you knew you were part if the family

𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧 𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 <33

[moomoorare]

i remember when i was making a painting i kept adding colors and then i hated the thing so i shoved it into a plastic bag and left it on the side of the room, where no one should reach it. In theory. Then months pass and i move from my grandma's top floor room to the other's. and i leave things behind. That painting as well. It wasnt even permanent at the time, just for the summer bc of the heat it reached 40°c in there so. Yeah. I moved. Anyways. I go to the room one night and , things feel different and then yeah. They went through my things. Which is a thing i hate SO DEEPLY. It's a boundary i take seriously. And j see that ugly painting first in a guest bedroom. Hidden at the top of a wooden structure. Then it's in the kitchen. I was SO angry that the ugly thing was hung there, which isn't ugly okay, i still hate it, it's full of hate and anger for me. That i stormed up to the bedroom and in the heat i painted another one. Which was so much prettier and better . And j brought it downstairs. I even painted the paper wrap with little flowers. And i gave it to my grandparents. "I see you have that there, now you can swap it with this" i don't remember the answer. I was just. Really hurt that my boundaries were crossed like that. It wasnt just hidden away. It was smugged with red and blue paint all over, angry markings. And there it was hung like.it w as the best thing ever. And sure it could have been for them. Whatever

This isnt a post about ' oh even things that you make that you think are ugly can be beautiful to someone else' yes. That's true. That's not the point. The point is that my privacy, my boundary, was crossed. And that no matter how much love and appreciation that dumb painting got. It wasnt supposed to be seen by anyone anyway. It was CLEARLY stashed away. Ready to be thrown away. And the hurt and annoyance i feel about it are valid. Because. They have so many paintings ive made for them hung in the living room, everywhere. But that one fucking painting was not supposed to be touched. And yet. My grandma went and rummaged through MY things. Personal belongings, like it was just paper in a bin. That's what infuriates me. The total lack of respect of boundaries. And that shit runs through the family because my mother does the same. One time she even stole a nail polish, lovingly displayed on a shelf with my other pretty things, (it was gifted to me by my best friend, who i see like 3 times a year, maybe, because she lives oversea now). And this nail polish, it was lilac and sparkly . I find in the bathroom at home all black and dirty. So I'm rightfully angry and go to my mother to ask about it. "Oh yeah you can have it back, it's not the color i wanted anyway". After it's been ruined, used and dirtied. Like. it's been like 5 years and I'm still SO angry about it. And it's always happening with some stupid shit like a vase or doodles. Fuck

[goblinselfshippr]

2/2 of me projecting onto a game and character that really isnt that deep (it is to ME) i think this is way longer than the first sorry. (Part 1 here)

PS- if it isn't clear at this point I'm saying that wizard training causes c-ptsd because that cannot be good for your health. So "Delusion" being a prerequisite to Conjuring (I have no idea if this is a "correct" term, I personally take no offense to it, but lmk if you do, I guess). Some evidence: you can summon minions to help fight with you if you choose- which was the main reason I kept Myth when I took the personality quiz instead of switching to Ice (previously my fave school). Now these minions are common enemies in the game like haunted dolls, trolls, and Cyclops (does that have a plural?? Idk) with one main difference: the ones you summon look different from the actual enemies. Most notable is that the minions aren't as big as the actual enemies. There are slight color differences too, but their height is way more noticeable. Cyclops are usually like 2 players tall, but Cyclops Minions are maybe 1.3 players tall.

And yeah yeah yeah its to differentiate between the spells. Shut up. We are choosing to ignore reality. ANYWAY.

Conjuration is described as "where shadowy forms of thought become real" and "when imagination becomes too fanciful and whimsical these dreams take on life and run loose." SO LIKE. All the Myth bosses and allies must've been somebody's imaginary friends at one time. It would explain why there are bosses or characters with familiar names but don't quite fit their tales- for example, Apollo is a rooster who fucks your shit UP.

Yes I swear we are coming back around to Cyrus, I can't control how my brain categorizes things. There's not a lot said about his family other than they aren't really there. He's left alone from presumably a young age because his father is some big name battlemage, there's zero mention of a mother figure, and his brother would rather play in a graveyard (also convinced Cyrus was afraid of his own shadow as a kid bc I wouldn't put it past Mal to actually summon a demon under his bed). He hides in his room and either paints his daydreams or reads fantasy novels.

Omg he just like me fr except instead of painting I write fanfic that no one ever reads. It’s for my eyes only

From my own experience, you get lonely and bored, and you want friends, but never learn. And his father doesn't sound like the most supportive guy in the world- he seems kind of salty that neither of his kids want to practice Pyromancy like him. So poor Cy was probably just dismissed and ignored and had to go back to his sanctuary.

Cyrus doesn't actually become interested in any sort of spell casting until he's like 18-19, and Mal gets his ass kicked by a Conjurer. Bro really said "damn I can make my daydreams fight for me?" And just did that for the rest of his life, LOL. Wish that were me.

Cyrus is (admittedly) not the best teacher. Like, yeah, he's a dick but most people can think of at least one teacher in their life that everyone called an asshole that they eventually grew to appreciate even if it wasn't personally true. Cyrus, on the other hand, straight up begs you to leave him alone (same). Like the only time he speaks to you is when you irritate him enough or he suddenly remembers you exist. And I'm pretty sure at one point he even tells you he forgot you were in his class. -1000/10 teacher. Problematic fave. I would either hate him or only like him because he leaves me the hell alone. So what is he doing if not dutifully teaching his students?

According to his about page, enjoying the quiet or researching. Doubt. But then, daydreaming until you summon something could likely count as research for Myth. So yeah I think the reason why he's a massive douchebag is because he found a way to profit off his maladaptive daydreaming, and the only downside is he has to tell a couple of kids to scram every now and then. I guess I could have just lead with that. Rip.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

okay hear me out... i KNOW love triangle trope isnt everyones cup of tea.... BUT i cant help but think of an au where kate has always had (very secret, very pushed down, very hidden) feelings for deena. but i still want sameena. but i crave the angst. Thoughts?

Thoughts?? well...

here's a one shot about it!

(@sam-frasers i think you were interested in this one? 👀)

Summary: Simon has three best friends, and they're all falling in love... with the wrong girl. Deena has a crush on Sam. Sam thinks she has a crush on Kate. Kate really doesn't want to have a crush on Deena. And Simon is in the middle of it with a plan to make everyone happy.

(Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, High School, Platonic Relationships, Love Triangles, Useless Lesbians, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Fluff and Humor)

Simon was confused. That wasn’t an extremely unusual feeling, but this was an extraordinary situation. He had three best friends, and he loved the three of them more than anything in the world, but they were also driving him crazy. He had always tried to be the best friend he could possibly be, and help his friends in everything he could, but this was something he had no idea how to fix.

He met Kate first, on the very first day of school, back when she was still an inch taller than him. He had annoyed her until she had decided they would be friends forever, and he couldn’t have been happier. Some time later, Kate introduced him to Deena, and warned him not to mess with her. A warning he promptly ignored. Then, when the grumpy curly-haired girl burst out laughing at one of his jokes, he knew they’d always be friends. Lastly, he had found Sam by himself. He heard somebody crying in the girl’s bathroom and he simply walked in, determined to help. Sam had been crying for a reason he couldn’t remember clearly anymore but was willing to bet had something to do with her mother. He had taken her hand and led her back to Kate and Deena. The rest, as they say, was history.

Except for the fact that, as soon as they all started high school, the girls somehow, someway, collectively decided to lose their minds and not warn him in the slightest. By the time junior year rolled around, everything blew up in their faces.

Everything started with Deena, surprisingly, considering she was usually the best at hiding her feelings. One day, the two of them were sitting on the bleachers, watching Kate and Sam practice with the other cheerleaders, and Deena punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What the fuck dude?” He exclaimed, rubbed his arm, and turned to look at Deena.

“Were you staring at Sam?” the brunette asked him.

“No!” He replied. “I’m trying to telepathically tell the coach to let me join the cheerleaders. What’s up with your violence?”

“I’m sorry,” Deena mumbled. “I don't know what's happening to me. It’s just… Sam.”

“What happens with Sam?”

“I don’t know!” Deena whispered and avoided his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about her, and I’m suddenly nervous when she’s close to me. It feels good but also like I might be sick.”

“Oh…”

“If you tell anyone I will kill you though,” Deena said, finally looking back at Simon’s eyes and his understanding smile.

“I won’t say anything, I promise,” He said.

--

Simon kept his promise. Not because he didn’t want to say anything, but because as soon as he tried, his plan backfired.

“Hey Sam, can I ask you something?” Simon said.

“Sure. What’s up?” Sam replied, without looking up from her work. It was just the second time that Simon asked her to paint his nails for him, and she didn’t want to make any mistakes.

“What do you think it means when you can’t stop thinking about someone,” he told her with a sly smile, “and they suddenly make you nervous. And they make you feel really good but also a little bit sick.”

“Oh my God,” Sam whispered, and looked up at him with a face of pure terror. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Simon pouted, seeing half of his finger smeared with black nail polish and Sam’s hands shaking.

“That I have a crush on Kate?” Sam explained. “I mean, not a crush crush, you know? Like, a little crush, like maybe I never wanted to be a cheerleader, I just wanted to be close to Kate, you know?”

“Huh,” Simon squinted his eyes, wondering what little crush really meant in Sam’s mind, and worried about how complicated the little world around him was getting.

--

Simon considered all three girls his best friends, but he’d always have a special connection with Kate. They were platonic soulmates in a way just a little more perfect than when it came to Sam and Deena. Not that he’d ever say it out loud. So, he knew he had to do something. Only Kate would know what to do. When the time was right, and the two of them were hanging out by themselves one day, he simply asked.

“Do you like something? I mean, someone? Is there a person, girl, someone you like? I mean, romantically? Like-”

“Simon,” Kate interrupted her with a roll of her eyes. “I get it. Yes, there’s someone, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Is it me?!” Simon asked, beyond distressed at the simple idea of how complicated everything could get. But a simple look from Kate told him he was wrong. “Okay, no. But why doesn’t it matter? Isn’t that like the most important thing in high school?”

“No,” Kate scoffed. “The most important thing is getting perfect grades, succeeding in as many extracurriculars as possible, building up my resume, taking every chance and opportunity to become a star, and leaving Shadyside forever and… okay, fine, I like Deena.”

Simon hummed and nodded his head slowly, trying to act like his mind wasn’t blown with the effort of doing the math necessary to understand what was going on. “Really?” He asked as delicately as possible.

“No!” Kate scoffed again, but then slightly softened. “Okay, maybe. I don’t know. It’s complicated, okay? Deena is the only girl I tolerate. She’s just… different.”

“Alright…” Simon continued to nod in his most inconspicuous way. “What about Sam?”

“What about her?”

“Nothing! Nothing,” Sam shook his head and did his best at changing the subject as quickly as possible.

--

For a long time, nothing really changed. Not drastically, at least.

Kate became cheerleading captain, and Sam trailed after her like a lost puppy. Deena joined band, and constantly messed up while staring at Sam in her cheerleading outfit. Worst case scenario, Kate let another girl fall because she had been staring at Deena in her band uniform. In the middle of it all was Simon, now the official school mascot and sweating through the green paint on his face while trying to decode the complicated dynamic revolving around him.

Considering that none of the girls seemed willing to do something about their feelings, Simon determined that only he could solve this puzzle. He started paying closer attention to his best friends, taking notes in one of his notebooks, and doing some… experiments.

To give Kate and Deena a moment of privacy, he asked Sam to paint all his nails like a rainbow, which took a lot of time but also ended up being a lot of fun for them, but not enough for the other two girls, who ended up in a huge fight at the end of their afternoon by themselves. Next, he let Kate and Sam have a moment to themselves by spilling his green face paint on Deena’s hat, having to run away from her for a while, and having to wash the stupid hat for her afterward. Neither Simon nor the hat suffered permanent damage, but when they got all together again, the other two girls weren’t speaking to each other and Sam was on the verge of tears.

Perhaps it was because it was the first idea that popped into his mind when Deena was the first one to admit her feelings. Maybe it just made more sense for some inexplicable reasons. Or he felt protective of Kate and frustrated by the other girls’ obliviousness. But he had a tiny little favoritism for seeing Sam and Deena together. So, if he went a little out of his way on his third experiment, well, he had his reasons. Besides, his brother Tommy had gotten that pair of concert tickets almost for free and Kate didn’t even like that band at all.

--

“How could you?” was the first thing Kate said to Simon when she showed up at his house the night of the concert.

“Come in, m’lady,” Simon invited her in with a dramatic gesture and she playfully swatted his arm.

When the two of them got comfortable on the living room couch, she repeated her question. “How could you? Give the tickets to Sam and Deena, I mean. You know I like Deena.”

“Do you?”

“Excuse me?”

Simon took a deep breath and considered his options, if he said the wrong thing, he could be in trouble. But he was so confident he knew his best friend and things had to go back to making sense again. “I mean,” Simon stuttered a little, “No offense to Deena, I love Deena, but don’t you think you deserve better?”

That surprised Kate, who widened her eyes and couldn’t help but laugh. She could tell he was just trying to make her laugh, both of them were well aware that despite her tough exterior, deep down, Deena was one of the best people they had ever met.

“It’s complicated,” Kate sighed. “I’ve known Deena my entire life, she’s my best friend, and it’s hard to draw the line, you know? If she’s the only girl I sort of like, that I tolerate, and doesn’t annoy the shit out of me, then I guessed I really liked her. But it’s supposed to be more than that, right? And then, I don’t know, Sam. Something changed. I had a feeling she was stealing my best friend, I got jealous, and I thought that must mean I’m in love with Deena.”

“But you aren’t?” Simon tilted his head and waited for an answer but, after a couple of seconds of silence, he felt compelled to add. “It’s okay if you don’t know. If I’ve learned something these past months is that all four of us are pretty stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, dumbass,” Kate scoffed.

That made the boy laugh happily and wrap an arm around Kate’s shoulders. “I’m going to ignore all those times you called Deena your best friend,” he said, “so I can ask, are you going to be okay?”

“Of course,” Kate replied, as confidently as she could. “I mean, do you see me crying around for Deena, of all people?”

“She’s not so bad.”

“Not what I want to hear right now, Simon.”

“She’s the worst,” Simon grimaced and shook his head, “Sam will probably hate her!”

Kate laughed along with him, and leaned into his embrace. She had a lot to think about, and maybe some of it would hurt, but the simple idea of starting to move on from her confusing crush on Deena already made her feel like a weight lifted off her shoulders.

“You know? I kind of hate that those two will make a stupidly good couple,” Kate said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Simon replied with a fond chuckle. “Well, let’s see how their date tonight goes. Worst case scenario, you and Sam still have a chance.”

“Wait what?!”

--

After the concert was over, Sam and Deena picked up cheeseburgers for dinner and drove around Shadyside until they settled on the side of the road to sit on the hood of Deena’s car and talk with each other about every little thing they could think of. At the beginning of the night, Deena had been a bundle of nerves about her not-exactly-a-date with her crush. During the concert, she felt on cloud nine, watching Sam sing and dance to her heart's content. By the time the concert was over, Deena had regained her confidence, she was feeling more certain than ever about her feelings for Sam, and nothing could ruin her night. Besides, it was Sam’s turn to freak out.

The blonde had started her day completely calm and relaxed, simply excited to enjoy a concert with one of her best friends. But then, during the actual concert, something had changed. Maybe it had been the way Deena looked at her, as if she really was everything she thought she could never be for somebody. But maybe it had a lot to do with the way she felt with Deena that night. She felt free, happy, so much like herself, like never before. Sam realized that must have been the first time the two of them spent so much time by themselves and, as much as she adored her other friends, she was happy to be just with Deena right then and there. When they locked eyes during her favorite song, for a second, Sam’s entire life stopped making sense, and by the next terrifying second, everything clicked in a completely new way. She couldn’t look at Deena the same, couldn’t stop overthinking every look, every smile, every touch. She felt almost unbearably happy, and like she could be sick at any minute.

“Can I confess something?” Sam said during a lull in their conversation, not long after Deena found the guts to take her hand and make both of them realize how perfectly they fit together.

“Anything,” Deena smiled at her.

“I thought Kate and you were dating.”

The idea made Deena chuckle. “Really?”

“Yeah… And I wasn’t exactly happy about that,” Sam nodded, and attempted a laugh that came out more than a little sad. Her blue eyes were especially vulnerable when she met Deena’s eyes again. “It was very confusing, really. I felt a little excluded, maybe jealous. I thought ‘why not me?’ And I didn’t know what to do with those feelings. So I might have believed for a little while that I liked Kate…”

“Oh…”

“But I don’t!” Sam quickly blurted out to avoid making things worse. “I don’t. I just… I admire her. Don’t tell her I said that though. I’m realizing maybe I didn’t want to date her, I only wanted to be more like her because, well, maybe then you’d like me.”

“Oh,” Deena whispered. Suddenly a lot of things were making a lot of sense, but all of that could wait. If Sam was saying what she thought she was… “Sam, can I kiss you?” Deena asked, feeling her heart beating faster and louder than ever before.

The gorgeous smile that Sam sent her way was almost the best thing Deena had ever experienced. Almost, because a second later Sam was kissing her. Sam was kissing her and absolutely everything in their lives, even if just for a second, made perfect sense.

[thechangeling]

Tell me a story

Ty doesn't believe in fate.

A shout out to @ilikebooks8 for convincing me to make a fanfic about autistic!Eleanor Blackthorn. Autism is genetic so it makes sense for Ty to have autistic ancestors. If you are autistic I guarentee you have someone in your family who is also autistic they just haven't been diagnosed yet. For me, I've got my dad.

Cw: mentions of ableism, abuse and the death of a minor character. Very anti Andrew Blackthorn.

"Tell me a story," Tiberius' asked, in that mature, matter- of-fact way he spoke. Ty was only eight but already he sounded like a boy twice his age in terms of his vocabulary and the way he spoke.

Although he still had the voice of a child which was rather amusing. Eleanor turned to face her son with a groan as she felt searing pain shoot through her bones. She had been laying down all day due to feeling extremely unwell. The noises and lights of the outside world were especially brutal, but she had gotten used to it overtime. She had learned to cope. To smile and nod and make eye contact. To control her movements and still her hands and laugh at their jokes.

Eleanor played the part of the proper shadowhunter and the dutiful wife, the attentive mother. It didn't matter that it had changed her. Had completely turned her into a different person, someone harsher and colder. Someone who was so quick to anger and venomous hatred.

Someone who only knew how to be in pain.

She always tried to not let that side of her show to her children. They didn't deserve it. But the past few weeks in particular had been brutal. Her body felt broken and it was becoming harder and harder to put up that facade.

She faced Ty with the best fake smile she could muster. "Which story would you like to hear?" He climbed up on the bed beside her and sat down in an odd twisted position where his legs were in a W position. He began tapping his hands on his knees as he appeared to contemplate his choices.

Eleanor could remember a time when she was younger when she used to do that. Before her parents had stopped her. She knew she should really tell Tiberius off to discourage him from doing these things in public. He was so blatent and open in a way that frightened and almost angered her. There was no telling what kind of reaction The Clave might have.

She didnt want him to end up with the dregs, or worse.

"I don't know," Ty said finally scrunching up his eyebrows. "I can't think of one right now. Could you make one up?" Eleanor smiled in spite of herself. She had always loved making up stories ever since she was a kid. She had always been a creative person, painting and drawing as often as she could. Shadowhunters didn't really appreciate a creative streak.

Eleanor nodded. "Ok sure, let's see." She took a breath, trying to ignore the agony spreading through her back and shoulders. "Once upon a time there was a prince who was trapped in a tower that was guarded by an evil ogar. The prince had been rumored to have special powers so he was forced by his parents to stay locked away in the tower forever to keep him safe. He wasnt allowed to make friends with any other children so he grew up alone. Teaching himself how to read and write and playing games to amuse himself."

Ty rolled his eyes. "Isn't that rather cliche? The whole prince trapped in a tower story? I've definitely heard that before."

Eleanor laughed. "Where did you hear the word cliche Tiberius?" Ty shrugged, not seeing the amusement in the situation.

"It was in a book. Can you keep going?" He whined impatiently. "I wanna hear the rest."

Eleanor sighed, shaking her head good naturedly. "Alright then. So the prince was trapped for a very long time. Then one day a mysterious adventurer came exploring nearby the tower."

"Can it be a detective?" Ty interrupted, bouncing up and down. He had been obsessed with Clue lately.

"Alright sure, it was a detective. He was searching the answers to a murder mystery. The murder of a young women."  Ty instantly looked interested. Perhaps murder was not the best subject for a story being told to an eight year old, but Ty was a shadowhunter. They were trained to deal with blood and death.

"His was searching for information and came across the tower," she continued. So he decided to investigate. He snuck passed the ogar and into the tower, where he was ambushed by the prince!"

Ty gasped excitedly, wriggling in place. "What happened next? Did they fight?"

Eleanor opened her mouth to continue, but then the bedroom door flew open, startling them both.

It was Andrew. Instantly Ty shrunk himself down, hunching his shoulders. Eleanor knew that Ty didn't always get along with his father but she knew Andrew still loved him deep down. He glared at them both.

"Ty your mother is meant to be resting," he said pointedly.

Eleanor shook her head. "Oh no it's alright. He wasn't bothering me." Andrew didn't seem to hear her.

"Tiberius let's go," he said harshly. Ty hesitated for a moment, looking up at her.

"But I wanna hear the rest of the story!" He protested. "I wanna know what happens to the prince!" Eleanor sighed solemnly. She didn't want to disappoint Ty, but she was feeling pretty worn out.

"Another time baby," she assured him. "I promise."

But unfortunately she never got the chance. She never got the chance because little did they know, Eleanor Blackthorn had cancer. Something that silent brothers couldn't cure. Something that shadowhunters were powerless against.

"What are you thinking about ?" Kit murmered from his spot curled up against Ty's chest. His breath tickled Ty's chin.

Ty paused, not quite sure how to answer. They were lying on the roof of the LA institute again. It was their special spot. Kit had suggested a night of star gazing for a date since the weather was nice.

Things has been a little weird between them lately. Kit had been pretending that everything was fine and he was unfazed, but Ty could tell that something was bothering him. And he had a feeling he knew what it was.

At Magnus and Alec's anniversary party, Jace made a joke about how Kit and Ty would probably be the next ones to get married and Ty immediately went into a blind panic. He completely froze up at the mention of marriage. At the mention of him getting married. His body instantly went into a complete overload almost as if he was on the verge of a meltdown.

He didn't take the time to think about any of it. He just snapped and yelled that he wasn't getting married. That he wasn't ever getting married. Ty wasnt even sure where it came from. Kit was pretending like it wasnt a big deal but Ty knew he was hurting. He could tell.

Ty traced a pattern across Kit's arm. "Honestly it was nothing," he assured him. "I just-." Ty stared at Kit, studying his face. The curve of his lips, the adorable blush of his cheeks and the tiny beauty mark under his eye that Ty loved to fixate on. Everything ached, but it was a good kind of ache.

Ty loved him.

"I just want to stay like this forever," he murmered. "Here with you, where I feel safe and warm. And loved." Ty nuzzled his nose against Kit's. "I want to be with you forever."

Kit smiled distantly before breaking into a slight frown. "Then why don't you wanna marry me?" He asked sadly. And Ty could instantly hear the old ghosts of self loathing and insecurity still haunting Kit's thoughts.

Ty sighed. "It has nothing to do with you I promise. I just really don't want to get married and I'm not even fully certain of why exactly."

Kit stroked his cheek slowly. "Is it the idea of a big wedding? Because we don't have to do that you know. We can totally just skip it," he said assuredly.

Ty shook his head. "That's part of it but it isn't the only reason." He paused to contemplate what exactly it was that was making him feel this way, feel so afraid.

Strangely enough, Ty kept coming back to his mother. His mother who was always a little peculiar in private. Who always seemed sad and exhausted even before the silent brothers diagnosed her. Who was constantly going along with whatever her husband wanted for whatever reason. Because she assumed he knew what he was doing? Because she didn't want to make waves in a society so rigid and obsessed with conformity?

Ty had been considering it more and more lately.

He sat up, displacing Kit from where he was resting. "I think my mother was like me," Ty admitted in a shakey voice. "I think she was autistic and that's why she ended up in the situations she did."

"Ok?" Kit looked confused. "But that still doesn't explain-."

Ty interrupted him. "She was trying so hard to fit in and do the right thing and she would just let him control her. She kept compromising for him because she thought that's what she was supposed to do and also because despite it all I think she really loved him! And it made her so stupid!" Ty shouted.

"I just don't want to become trapped like that," he confessed.

Kit was silent for a moment, just staring at him with a puzzled expression. "Ok, but Ty you realize that I'm not your dad right? Like I would never try and control you or make you into something you're not. I'm not trying to own you, I'm trying to love you!" He argued. "Ty, marriage isnt supposed to trap you. It's about making our relationship into an Offical legal thing that everyone's forced to acknowledge and accept."

Kit took Ty's hand in his. "It's about making each other family."

Ty looked away. He couldn't meet Kit's eyes when he was staring at him looking so hopeful and desperate. It did strange things to Ty's insides. He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching up his face along with his fists for a moment before letting go.

"I just don't want to let someone have power over me in that way," he explained. Kit sighed, then smiled softly before leaning forward to rest his forehead against Ty's. Ty let out a little moan as he let the tension release from his body with a sigh. Kit placed his hand over Ty's heart.

"But don't you get it Ty?" He asked softly. "You already have, whether you meant to or not. I'm in your system sweetheart, in your blood just like you're in mine." Ty felt him smile. "Like we were made for each other. Like we've spent our entire lives waiting for each other."

Ty pulled away from him. "No I don't believe that," he stated firmly. "I don't believe in fate or destiny or soulmates. I think it's an overt  romanticization of life and the human condition which can have disastrous consequences. It leads people to believe that they are somehow incomplete without a romantic partner which is incredibly problematic." Ty realized he was probably going on a bit of a tangent as he was known to do. But he couldn't be bothered to care.

Kit pouted a little. "Yeah I get that. But I don't know. I like to romanticize things in life. After everything that I've been through, I guess it just makes things feel better you know?" Kit glanced at him hopefully."I don't care if you don't believe in any of those things. I do. And despite what you might believe, you aren't always right about everything," Kit said pointedly.

Ty scowled at him. Kit was undeterred. "And I get that you're coming at this from a scary trauma place. I understand that. I have those too. But you don't have to be afraid of me," he pleaded.

Ty couldn't resist reaching out and touching him, pushing a curly lock of hair behind his ear. "Can I maybe think about it?" Kit smiled and snuggled up against Ty's chest again. "Of course," he murmered. Ty leaned back and resumed his earlier position, staring up at the sky.

He nuzzled his face against Kit's hair. "I'm glad you're not mad at me anymore," said Ty.

Kit snorted, turning to face Ty. "I'm never mad at you love. It's pretty much impossible." Ty grinned and leaned forward to kiss him slowly, savoring the feeling of Kit's lips against his.

Kit broke off and kissed Ty's cheek, then his orbital bone. Ty giggled and closed his eyes which prompted Kit to place a kiss on each of his eyelids.

"I love every inch of you," Kit whispered. Ty couldn't speak. He was too overwhelmed. He just wrapped his arms around Kit even tighter and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

They lay in peaceful silence for several moments before Kit spoke.

"Tell me a story."

In case you missed it, the story Eleanor was telling Ty is the story of kitty in Lady Midnight basically. Also. Not me projecting my fear of marriage onto my comfort character! 😂

Tag list: (lmk if you wanna be added/removed) @playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @knifescythe @ti-bae-rius @dianasarrow @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies @zfoxdraws @julieandthefandoms @older-brother-kit @ilikebooks8 @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @heloisacosta23 @adoravel-fenomeno @eutonyinwhisper

[omegawolverine]

Plesse tell me about queerness in the get down!!

okay okay queerness in the get down let's fuckn goooo

disclaimer: I havent watched this show in full for like 5 months at least, probably gonna get something wrong and/or forget some more important bits. also this wasnt proof read I just word vomited

tws: period typical homophobia, abuse mention, f slur use, bury your gays trope, overdose mention, mention of a creepy possible age gap (the age gap hasnt been confirmed so that's why its possible), cops

going from least to most prominent queer characters, let's start with mylene cruz!

so, from the beginning of this show she has an established romantic relationship with ezekiel (although the status of their actual relationship changes frequently throughout the show) and though this was a relationship she was hesitant to pursue, it is clear that she does have romantic feelings for him and if not for them both having growing careers in very different music genres (zeke specifically working in a genre that she repeatedly labels as bad because she thinks they're ruining records + that it isnt real music because they're using someone elses piece and rapping over it, that's not really important here tho lol) they probably wouldve had a much healthier, smooth sailing romance. that being said theres a few things that happen in the show that, while not explicitly clear, or even really good coding at that—to the point where you wont catch if you really arent looking for it (and trust me, I always look for coding, hers was just so little that it flew over my head until I saw someone else mention it)—are still cool to think about!

so, for starters, I wanna mention the toy box performance, which was performed by mylene and regina, who are best friends. that's all cool and shit, and you dont really think much about it...until you hear about the fact that the show runners purposely colored a lot of the scenes in that performance with the bi colors. like. the writers after the show ended basically said "oh yeah there was plans to make her coding more explicit, but our shit got cancelled soooo" and then dropped the fact that she was gonna be bi (or at least implies bi) in the series, which puts a new twist on a few things.

now, besides the bi coloring in the background of the toy box performance (which was mostly on scenes with her and regina, which involved a lot of uh,, lowkey lewd dancing. with each other. in very revealing outfits. wooooo), there's her music! I dont tend to read too much into this one bc, like I said before, her coding is fucking light and the writers themselves said they didnt really get to do much with it, but I think some stuff with her music is interesting. specifically how her, yolanda and regina's song set me free blew up because dizzee, resident (lowkey enby coded) bicon, got their song played in a queer club. also that the song was majorly important to dizzee and started playing literally right as he kissed a boy for the first time and realized "oh shit I like boys that's bonkers". also that the song can be taken in a gay way since literally the entire thing is about becoming your true self, fully and unapologetically, which is what both dizzee and mylene's entire character arcs are about. dizzee (and a lot of other queer people, apparently), heard this song about being set free and it resonated with them so much that they got that shit most of its popularity.

speaking of dizzee and mylene, they parallel each other a lot in the way that their arcs are about them realizing who they are, coming into themselves and no longer just letting people treat them like shit in a sense (dizzee starting to tell people essentially that they can call him weird all they want, they can make fun of how he acts, what he likes, how he dresses, etc. but he likes how he is and quite literally saying "it's okay to be an alien" as he has consistently compared himself to one throughout the show vs mylene learning that if she wants to be a disco singer she needs to put her foot down, not let anyone, not even the love of her life, not even her abusive father, stop her from achieving her dreams, etc. and continuing to pursue her career with or without their support). one more little parallel that I think is interesting is during I think s2 towards the end of the show is when dizzee and thor are shown together having fun with each other, painting all over the building and each other and are basically just being happy and in love together and then they have these clips of them being interspersed with clips of mylene at a party where she is starting to realize that if she wants to get anywhere she needs to be her own main priority and that she needs to put her career and her dream, which is what makes her the happiest, above all else if she wants to succeed. idk I just think how the show made these two into a weird parallel, accidental or not, is neat. maybe not an explicitly queer parallel, but I think at least how her music and whatnot helped dizzee, the main queer character in this show, blossom, is important.

moving on we got shaolin fantastic also known as "oh no your internalized homophobia is showing-"

so, heres a quick list of...interesting shao facts:

Consistently referred to as fag/faggot (shaolin fanfaggot is my personal favorite); he gets really defensive about this despite nobody actually thinking he's queer, it's just people being assholes to be assholes, and he is the only character consistently referred to using a slur, especially a homophobic one, especially for a "straight" character. dizzee, a canonically queer character, is called a fag less than shaolin is even though dizzee actively goes to gay clubs, has a not so secret dude he "hangs out with" and wont let anyone properly meet, paints his nails, wears less than straight clothes even by the 70s standards and is just all around the definition of fucking queer (and I mean like in the weird way, not the gay way). in fact theres only like once I can remember him being called a fag and it had nothing to do with him actually being gay it was literally just like thrown out there the same way you would call someone a bitch.

Has only shown sexual interest in women, yet refuses to have deeper relationships with women in general (possibly because of trauma but who knows) but takes his relationships with his "brothers", specifically zeke, very seriously

Tells zeke and zeke ONLY his real name when zeke was planning to stop being his friend bc shao more or less got boo boo, a like 14 year old black kid, arrested for selling hard drugs; he was clearly scared and trying to do anything to keep zeke around, literally chasing him down the street and hounding him until he got zeke to stop and argue with him

Kept threatening to beat up zeke in the end but couldn't actually bring himself to do so, instead saying that zeke is "fucking lucky" before walking away

Let's zeke get away with things that nobody else can, in general just has a weird soft spot for ezekiel that he shows with nobody else

when shao found dizzee with thor in a vaguely compromising situation (like they were just shirtless covered in paint sleeping next to each other but shao had also seen everything they painted on the walls ((which some of it was sus)), it was clear they had painted on each others bodies and dizzee had been routinely disappearing with this guy for weeks now yet not producing nearly as much art, at least, as far as we audience members know) he didnt judge him but instead, waited for him to get cleaned up and then told him something along the lines of "theres a reason why im so secretive blah blah blah [not everyone needs to know everything about me]", which, in context, kinda implies that he might be a lil. a lil homiesexual. jus a lil.

whenever even the possibility of zeke leaving him comes up he absolutely loses it. he has literally cost ezekiel life changing opportunities because he thought zeke would just up and leave him for them. this could be abandonment issues bc he's a severely traumatized character, and that probably does contribute to it, but it also is just not a reaction he has to any of their other friends just randomly dipping in and out of his life soooooo

generally speaking, this mfer has got either bisexual with a big hard on for zeke coding or homosexual with terrible internalized homophobia and still a hard on for zeke coding. either fucking way, that nigga gay. he gay as hell. gay as fuck man. there wasn't really much to analyze here tbh bc the coding is just so fucking obvious if you look for it or you are/have been a gay person who's dealt with at least a little bit of internalized homophobia.

also, just a sidenote, idk how fucking old shao, but I'm praying hes like at max 19 bc I'm pretty sure zeke is a minor in this show and shao definetly is not so the whole him being heavily implied to have a crush on ezekiel thing is kinda. oof. not oof if zeke is like 17 but any younger than that? OOF.

edit: apparently the characters are only supposed to be a year apart in age but i had no clue about that before writing this post and since shaos age was never actually stated in the show i naturally assumed he was an adult since his actor Looks Like An Adult. this is definetly on me to a certain extent, but i also never saw anything about this when trying to find our their ages so 🤷‍♀️ maybe i just didnt look deep enough, sorry!

now moving on to the main event...marcus dizzee kipling :]

so, first things first, let's talk enby coding bc him being bisexual was already confirmed!

um, to start off, I just wanna say I dont think this enby coding was intentional or even really coding, it's just moreso me being a dizzee kin on main and knowing as a transmasc enby he has very transmasc enby vibes. for example:

cool, gender neutral nickname that everyone calls him

paints nails various different colors

the whole wardrobe is just a transmasc enby heaven...fishnet shirts, jean overalls, jackets and cuffed pants galore, the big colorful pins, etc

gender neutral hairstyle (when I had my fro it was very sexy and made it easy to transition between hyper masc and vaguely fem, which is pog)

comparing himself to/representing himself consistently with an alien character (though this is meant to represent his sexuality, it could also double as a gender thing too, not neccesarily bc of the whole nonbinary alien trope but bc an enby who likes aliens might heavily identify or compare themselves to whatever their idea of an alien is, whether that just be a genderless entity or a motherfucker with fly style and no need to be perceived as anything other Wacky As Hell)

moving on from there, let's talk about how his queerness is presented to us and how, while it may be a really good piece of representation, especially coming from netflix, it still lacks in A Lot of places.

so, let's start with good things!

i personally really like the get down's queer rep with dizzee bc it's (for the most part) nonsexualized and very very soft, about dizzee figuring himself out and realizing there is a place where he fits in, and about two teenagers in the 70s falling in love over their shared passion for street art. it also features an interracial couple where both boys challenge stereotypes both about queer men and men of color, which is epic poggers and very sexy. this piece of rep specifically is very important to me bc I am a queer black person and even tho interracial relationships are mostly normalized now, I've still had people give me shit for primarily dating white people in a town that is...primarily white lol

mm anyways, I can also appreciate how in the get down, dizzee being represented by rumi the alien is not a thing specifically related to gender (as it often is) and instead is about his sexuality and just in general weirdness and how it has led to him being alienated amongst his peers, poc or otherwise. him seeing himself as an alien is not about just his queerness, which is important, it is about him being a queer black man who talks different, acts different, dresses different and is "soft"—he isnt a walking black male stereotype and he wouldnt have been seen as masculine back in the 70s by any stretch of the imagination. this can be relatable to a wide spectrum of queer poc, from queer black men currently who still have to deal with this shit or to people like myself who are afab neurodivergent mixed race enbies that have always been signaled out as weird and alienated for it. dizzee is god rep bc while he has a small part in this show, his parts are very impactful, hard hitting and show queer poc of all ages that they arent alone and that it's okay to "weird", you just need to embrace it because somebody will love you for you, as thor did for dizzee.

that being said theres um. some minor problemas here,,,

namely:

dizzee and thors first kiss

the lack of development this pairing got

the way dizzee was confirmed bisexual off screen, he never said the words himself, just showed interest in both genders

the way dizzee and thor were never even confirmed boyfriends or just fwb so most of the fandom just calls them boyfriends bc Why Not

dizzee was implied fucking DEAD??? AT THE END OF THE SERIES?????? AND THOR WAS IMPLIED ARRESTED?????????????

now, these might have been things that wouldve been fine had the show been given it's full run but it wasnt which is why we are now left with probelms.

so, from the top, let's go over these: dizzee and thor's first (and only "on screen") kiss was one that was shown in a montage of other queer people making over and doing other vaguely romantic/sexual things, one of those things being a whole ass naked titty being mouthed at, but the actual kiss...was just not shown? like they really did just say "yes they kissed <3 you know this from the context clues of it being in a montage with kissing, hickey giving and titty sucking <3 but no we will not show it <3" LIKE HELLO? I SAW A NAKED BOOBIE BUT NOT TWO MEN KISS??? HUH????????

also, dizzee and thor were both fucking high as hell during this bit like this isnt a terrible thing but it's also like sometimes you do shit when you're high that you wouldnt do sober and they just never kissed again on screen so like?? like idk that's not that bad but it does kinda irk me since they deadass got no other on screen intimacy after that unless you including painting on eacher other or sleeping next to each other on a shitty mattress but not touching at all during it bc they were both at opposite ends of the mattress like half way off it

so yeah, that was trash. then we got lack of development, which kinda goes with the "dizzee being a bisexual but he never says it in canon" thing cause like...okay dizzee was already sort of a side character from the get go like he wasnt the mc by any means, but he became way more of a background character as things continued until we basically only saw him for performances or when he was with thor, yet they got no fucking development as a pairing other than "dizzee realize he gay, he like thor, he and thor spend time together and ig probably do some gay stuff but we dont really know bc we only ever see them do graffiti together now" like?? tf am I supposed to do with that shit. answer. quickly. and then theres dizzee not being confirmed bisexual, which is just a running problem with shows literally doing everything to say a character is bi except for having the character just...say they're bi? which would be so easy? like a good way dizzee and thor couldve had some development is by thor teaching dizzee things about the queer community that he didnt even know existed, thor couldve helped him understand what being bi meant and helped him label himself and whatnot but instead we got an off screen confirmation that the writers had bisexual in mind when writing him. which is garbagé.

the whole thor and dizzee never having a confirmed relationship status is also a development problem cause like literally nobody knows if they were just friends who made out, maybe fucked, who knows, or if they were dating bc dizzee does give a love confession but a love confession doesn't mean there is a relationship, especially since thor didn't say he was in love either (as far as I remember, I could be wrong, plus whether or not that really happened or was apart of dizzee literally overdosing during a performance is unclear so 🤪)

and now for the biggest issue...bury your gays trope.

during the season 2 finale, dizzee and thor are chased by cops after they are found doing graffiti, one of the cops is able to catch thor while the other chases dizzee into a train tunnel and there is a train seen headed straight for him before the show cuts to black on a train horn. the show writers claim that if they had gotten another season, dizzee wouldve been alive but since they didnt and since that's essentially super fan trivia knowledge, most people dont fucking know that and instead had to watch a black queer teenager chose death over being fucking arrested by a white cop. on top of that, thor didnt see any of that shit because he was caught and the cop started hauling him off while dizzee was still being chased so thor literally has no clue where his friend/possible boyfriend fucking is or that he's likely dead in a goddamn tunnel all alone, unless you count the fucking pig that chased him in there who wouldve died too. this shows rep was so fucking good as far as most shows go on not having major fucking problems, on not being toxic and over sexualized, etc, etc. and then they just. killed a black queer teenager for no fucking reason. like it was literally the last episode ever, it would add nothing to the plot, it would just devastate fans and devastate it fucking did. I dont cry easy but seeing a character I identified with, who I had hyperfixated on, die because he'd rather that than be arrested is terrible. it fucking sucked.

so yeah. that's my all too extensive thoughts/analysis on the get down's queerness. theres definitely stuff I missed, or misinterpreted, or looked too much into, etc, etc., but this was a fun thing to spend time writing sooo yeah!! thanks for the ask anon, sorry this was just a big rambley info dump, but hopefully you get some enjoyment out of it since it took like 3 hours at least 😭😭 feel free to ask clarifying questions lol

[majimemegoro]

a tour of okudera’s house

come on in, comrades ! i turned my brightness all the way up in the game settings and I’ll be giving a tour of okudera’s house in crummy photos of my screen because my playstation never connects to internet.  theres some weird stuff, come see. I’m looking for any and all observations & fact-checking, so pipe up if you notice anything !

ok we just came in the front door and turned right. here we can see his gun and a lightswitch, as well as this little countertop that has: worn cutting board, hacksaw (probably for cutting through bones), a hammer and some other stuff idk. Maybe the little cans in the corner are gun oil. (is that a thing?)

in the corner above the door theres tins, pristine ‘kamuro life’ boxes, and a Meat Hook.

lets look to the left a little.we can see fish drying (not so visible in this pic, but they’ve been gutted and are being held open by sticks so the air goes inside). a big orange blanket. rope.

moving past the orange blanket, we have a ladder on the ground, presumably the indoor ladder because i think theres one outside too. and beside the closet door theres this little shelf. It has four books on it - one on top like it was recently being read - and a little white mug with a handle. (if anyone can go in game and figure out what the books are, I will legit give you a free commission - check out my art at @otorno​)

on the other side of the closet door we have a small cabinet matching the cabinets near the front door. On it is an old-school oil lamp and two potatoes (??????). Beside it is a cardboard box with a bunch of newspapers and, some more potatos. (Please if anyone knows what could be going on here... explain. arent potatos suposed to be stored out of the light ??? are they not potatos ?) You can also see that some parts of the wall is insulated with twigs which is pretty cool.

above this we can see a little shelf with what looks like some paint/chemical/glue/wd40 stuff and perhaps a small toolbox or money box. hung on the wall beside the shelf are these white things. which I have no idea what they are. my best guess is some kind of sand weights, maybe for pullies or something, but i don’t know what they would be for.

this is the whole wall furthest from the front door. the thing in the foreground is a rope and hook over the fire, for hanging a pot on. this wall feat. a bear skin, miscellaneous boxes and baskets (and a small upholstered seat maybe?), and....

a shelf with a basket and a bunch of matching rounded-square receptacles of some kind. I don’t think theyre dishes because the bowls are somewhere else. maybe theyre for early spring planting. Theres also a grimy little towel. sorry this photo is incredibly blurry.

now we’ll stand in that corner and look out slightly in the direction of the front wall. we can see a bunch of crates, a stool, and a fine metal shovel, probably for shovelling ashes. Just past them theres this cloth handing on a stand-up frame, which is baffling to me. if anyone has guesses about what that is for, please let me know.

now the front door is on the far left. on the right we can see the top of the cloth on the standing frame. before us we can see: a fancy shelf with some drawers and a bit of firewood on top, a twig broom (looks homemade), two planks of recovered wood, some other stuff we’ll get to later, a *~*mysterious orange wall bucket*~* and a shelf over the door.

This is the fancy set of shelves. I bet mr okudera keeps his ammo in some of those little drawers. The weird orange curves in the top middle are strings binding bunches of kindling. we can see the broom again, as well as some shiny containers and some bottles.

closeup on the bottles. looks like alcohol but i guess some could be medicines or something else? weigh in please. I can’t read the labels but maybe someone else could go in-game and try. we also have the dishes he feeds saejima in.

now as promised, some details on the wall with the front door. (Recall you can see a bit of the front door on the left, so we’re now looking down at the house’s front wall.) We have a bucket with a tiny bit of water in it, a barrel, a bear trap, sack of “Ready To Eat COMPLETE MEAL Made in USA” which apparently is like.... war rations (??). another crate. And the thing on top of the barrel, which looks like a small wooden cylinder on a long thin handle. it seems to have a little spout on the side opposite the handle, unless its just the handle coming through. im very interested to hear if anyone knows what this. Note also that the items are up on a raised plank floor because the front part of the house has a bare dirt floor ! brrr!

look up ! this is still the front wall, but above the barrel and above the shelf we can see electrical wiring going from the switch (out of frame to the left) to the lightbulb (out of frame behind and above us). At the point of the roof there is a vent for the smoke to escape. And a set of OARS!!!! does okudera have a little boat that he uses in the summer ??? he must. that’s exciting news.

if we turn around to face the back of the house, and look slightly up, what a view we get! theres a little glass window at the top back,and in the middle we get a) the hanging lightbulb, and b) this huge wooden apparatus hanging right in the middle. it’s over the fire - my mom proposed that it’s maybe for smoking meat ? I wonder why he isnt using it though. it’s attached to the ceiling with ropes, and looks like it can be descended at will. If it’s for storage, why isnt he keeping anything up there? its a good spot for a boat, though I don’t know how strong those ropes are.... PS it looks like there might be an upper loft area, behind the horizontal beam and by the window, but there isnt one unfortunately.

now were standing int the front door and looking down a bit. mr okudera stores firewood under the floor, it looks like.

heres the guy himself and a generic view on the mats and cushions. the cushions are red with a paler red pattern, and look like they’ve seen better days, as do the mats. (re: mats & sleeping, the thick quilt thing saejima has when he first wakes up is nowhere visible here. kept in the closet during the day? also, it’s a bulky item. does okduera really have more than two? somebodys gonna have to go cold or pair up...)

can someone please explain whats going on with the fireplace. it looks like a cast iron bowl on a stand, with flat wood in it. how is that? are there coals in the bowl or something? note that he isnt cooking now.

Thanks for visiting Okudera’s House With Me ! please let me know anything you noticed or share any thoughts. have a good day.

[baubabble]

“Subtle Differences” Part II - Hotch x F!Reader

PART I  FINAL PART

Summary:  As you continue working the case in Seattle, you begin to notice more and more that Hotch is staying close to you. With the occasional glance, you start to think that maybe his feelings are real, but doubts start to creep up. When another woman goes missing, you and the team must connect the dots faster to save her and find the unsub before it’s too late. 

Word Count: 3743

Warning: Typical CM Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Honest Man” by Ben Platt

Note: Ooh, part 2! This one is the “filler” i guess. Part three is when we get the team in action and a little more hotch x reader moments that I love. That should be up later this week! Also, I have watched this show A LOT, but presenting profiles isnt easy so i did my best. Also, the painting i reference is not real.

-------

The two of you worked in silence for a while as you tried to wrap your heads around the beginnings of a workable profile. 

As you both sat alone in the conference room, you could occasionally feel Hotch glancing over at you, but you were determined to keep your focus on the task at hand. This wasn’t like him to keep somewhat distracted while at work. Then again, he was never one to really show any kind of interest outside of work either. Something had changed, but you weren’t what it was yet. 

Half an hour later and Spencer and Rossi arrived. “Well, doesn’t this look cozy,” Rossi said as he pushed into the conference room, the doctor following right after.

You didn’t bother in acknowledging his snide comment as you continued to focus on the photos spread out before you on the board. Perotta had brought the maps Hotch had requested and Spencer immediately grabbed his red marker and began his geographical profile.

“All three victims were taken outside of very public places,” Spencer said, gaining the attention of the team. “Mason from outside a church she visited weekly, Rayna from a parking lot across from a major shopping center, and Lisa from outside the public library. Whoever the unsub is, he’s not afraid to take risks in the abduction.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you asked, glancing around at your colleagues. 

“It can be either,” said Reid, tucking his hands into his pockets. “However, considering that no witnesses have come forward, he must be using a rather convincing ruse.” 

“Or he’s threatening them with a weapon,” Hotch added. Spencer nodded in agreement.

“Something else isn’t sitting well with me,” you revealed. “This method of killing...it seems like you would need to practice it before, right? Maybe not the wax on the body, but at least using it as a method of asphyxiation.”

“You think he’s done it before?” Rossi inquired. 

“It’s a possibility,” you said. Hotch nodded and hit the call button on the phone. 

“Speak and be heard!” Garcia said.

“Garcia, I need to know if there have been any other murders in the past that resemble the unsub’s method,” Hotch said. 

“As in just the wax in the throat or the whole enchilada?” she asked, causing Rossi to smile. 

“I think we would have noticed the rest of the ritual, so focus on just the method of killing,” you added. 

“I will dig and dig until I can dig no longer. Hit you back!” Garcia said as she hung up. 

As everyone got back to work, you got up to get yourself some much-needed caffeine. As you waited for it to brew, you tapped the pen in your hand against the countertop, trying to organize your thoughts. There had to be more to the killings instead of just replicating a piece of art. The woman in the painting had no discernible features so he wasn’t trying to get her exactly right. There had to be another reason for picking three different women from three different places. The mystery was gnawing at the back of your brain. 

“You look like you’re overthinking.” You turned to see Perotta leaning in the doorway of the break room.

“Just thinking, actually,” you said, grabbing a cup and pouring your coffee. “There are just a lot of things that are bothering me about this one.”

“Don’t all of them bother you?” he asked with a slight chuckle. You shrugged. 

“Unfortunately, you get used to it,” you said, moving past him. Perotta kept close to you.

“Have you always been in the BAU, Agent (Y/L/N)?” he asked, halting you in your step with a hand on your arm. You took a step back, letting his arm slide off of yours. 

“No, I used to be a part of an anti-terrorism task force for a while before I transferred,” you explained. Perotta nodded thoughtfully. 

“Wanted to get less action?” he asked, with a half-smile. 

“More, actually,” Hotch said as he interrupted the two of you. Perotta turned to your boss and you saw him swallow thickly as Aaron Hotchner stared him down.

“Huh, who would’ve thought,” Perotta said, glancing back at you, but you kept your arms close to you and didn’t bother smiling back. 

“The others are back,” Hotch said, pulling your attention. You nodded and turned away from Perotta. Hotch followed you back to the crowded conference room. He walked behind you, keeping a hand on the small of your back. 

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, acknowledging his perfect timing. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmured to you as he held open the door and waited for you to walk through before following afterward, letting his hand fall away. As you joined the rest of the team, you instantly knew something was up. Based on JJ’s concerned face, it wasn’t good. 

“What happened?” you asked, taking your seat between Morgan and Hotch. 

“The unsub has taken another woman,” Spencer revealed.

“Already?” you asked, surprised. “Lisa wasn’t even missing two days. The others were taken a week apart.” 

“He’s increasing his abduction time,” Rossi said, flicking through the file.

“Most likely because he thinks he’s running out of time to perfect his replication of the original painting,” Reid said, twirling a pen around in his slender hands. “Though, I am still not sure what connects all the victims together.”

“I may have an answer for you, Doctor,” Garcia’s voice lit up the room from the phone in the center of the round table. 

“What did you find out, Mama?” Derek asked. 

“Well, honey, I have unearthed something rather interesting. All three of the victims were what you would call art connoisseurs. They all belonged to the same club that focused on fundraising for the arts and preserving historical pieces.”

“Garcia, is the membership for this club exclusive?” Spencer asked. 

“Not at all. In fact, the list of members and donators are both available on the club’s website.”

“Considering he didn’t abduct them from their homes, he has to be getting their routines elsewhere,” you said. 

“Do we have any information on the newest victim?” Prentiss asked. 

“Her name is Allison Wilson, she’s twenty-four-years old from Port Angeles, and she was taken outside of her gym,” said Garcia. 

“Another public place,” Rossi realized. “In the middle of the day too while cops are out in higher numbers. And we thought he was being bold before.” 

“Was Allison a part of this art club, too?” Hotch asked. 

“Yes,” Garcia confirmed. “A newer member from the looks of it as she just moved to the area.” 

“Okay, well if they’re not getting their addresses from the site, then the unsub knows when and where they’ll be,” Prentiss said with a sigh. “Garcia do we have any idea how he’s getting their information?” 

“Not yet, but I am working on it,” Penelope said. “I will hit you back once I figure it out,” Garcia said in goodbye and there was a collective sigh within the group. 

“Okay,” Hotch said, “I think we have enough to deliver the profile.” 

------

Once Perotta had wrangled his officers, your team presented the profile. 

“We’re looking for a white male in his early thirties,” Hotch began, pulling the whole room’s attention.

“We believe he has created a scenario in his mind based on a single work of art in which he sees himself as a sort of reaper type character,” Emily added.

“He is posing his victims in the same way as the woman depicted in the Italian painting. “Manto di cera” or “Shroud of Wax”,” Spence continued. 

“The painting is set to be on full display at the Seattle Art Museum later this week,” you said, stepping forward. “We believe that the final victim he abducted, Allison Wilson, is going to be his final piece of art.”

“So, what was the point of the other three women?” An officer asked. 

“Mason, Rayna, and Lisa can be considered his trial runs. All of it in order to perfect his masterpiece,” Rossi said.

“He is an unhinged individual and will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to make sure he gets what he wants,” Derek said. “You should consider him armed, dangerous, and not afraid to die by suicide or suicide by cop.” 

“This unsub thinks of these women as less than human so there is a good chance that he has a negative history with one,” JJ added, “maybe a girlfriend or even his mother.”

“Whoever this man is, he is connected to the art community here in Seattle,” Hotch said, finishing up. “We’ve set up a tip line, but we are going to have to rely on his previous victims to locate him and Allison Wilson. Thank you.” Perotta then dispersed his officers and everyone got to work on trying to track down the unsub.

“(Y/N) was right, this guy has to have priors,” Morgan said once you and the rest of the team returned to the conference room. “There is no way that he just woke up one day and decided to kill. Not like this.” 

“We should look for any non-lethal incidents,” Reid said, “he may have tried to strangle someone first.” 

“I’ll get Garcia on it,” Hotch said as he hit the call button. 

“Ready when you are,” Garcia answered. 

“Garcia, I need you to look for any past police reports where female victims were strangled or suffocated. Not just crimes that seem similar to the wax," Hotch said, reading through the file again. 

You watched as his brows pulled together and all you wanted to do was to reach out and smooth down the crease that had formed. You knew stress was all a part of the job, especially when it came to Aaron. He never got a break and when cases arose like this one where there were more questions than answers, it took its toll.

At that moment, you wished for a Hail Mary. You wanted to save Allison, of course, but a simple answer or even just a bit of good news would lessen the weight on Aaron's shoulders.

As if feeling your eyes on him, Hotch looked up. Your (Y/E/C) eyes met his dark ones and for a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. His eyes glanced down your face for a fraction of a second before he looked away. You didn't even realize Penelope was speaking again.

"Okay, I've been running searches for both kinds of crimes that correlate with the profile, but so far, I got zilch," Garcia said.

"Great," JJ groaned, "another dead end."

“However, fear not, my friends, as I do have something else," added Garcia.

“You figured out where the wax came from?” Reid asked. You looked at him, unaware he had even asked her to look into that in the first place. You also realized that it was something you should have thought of yourself. Your frown didn’t go unnoticed by Morgan who lightly kicked your foot under the table. You nodded to him, assuring him you were alright. 

“Not exactly,” Garcia said. “The wax itself is pretty generic. You can get it from multiple different suppliers, but the pigment used in it to make that blood-red color is not sold by the companies. It is an oxidized clay that is regulated and sold from a local artist and I have just sent his name and address to you...now!”

“Morgan, Prentiss,” Hotch addressed, “go pick up the owner and bring him back. JJ, Dave, get in touch with Allison Wilson’s family. Reid, (Y/L/N), keep working on trying to figure out how the unsub is finding his victims from the club.”

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asked. 

“I’m going to call and get a warrant for the owners of the charity club,” Hotch said as he stood and exited the room, followed closely by the others.

You and Spencer sat in silence for a few minutes before he swiveled his chair in your direction. "Is there something going on with you?" Reid asked, peering at you over the knee he had propped up on his chair.

“What do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

“I don’t know, something just seems...different about you,” said Reid as he stared at you with that signature confused look of his. 

“Don’t profile me, Spencer,” you said, leaning back in your chair. 

“I’m not!” he said, “but I am your friend and I can tell there is something up.” You turned back towards, sighing. Spencer never missed anything. 

“Hotch is keeping me under evaluation this case,” you said and he immediately understood. 

“I know,” said Reid, “I had to do the same after getting shot. Emily had to do it too.” 

“I feel like every move I make… I feel as if I am under a microscope.” 

“It’s procedure, (Y/N). Look on the bright side, at least Strauss isn’t doing the evaluation,” Spencer said, trying to lighten the mood. That got you to smile and Reid brightened. “See, I knew I could make you do that,” he said, twirling his finger in front of your face. You playfully swatted his hand away. 

“Thanks, Reid.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink and got up to go stare at the board once again. 

Looking out at the precinct through the glass walls, you could see Hotch in the Captain’s office. He paced while speaking on the phone. Spencer’s words resonated in your mind as you watched your boss. At first, you thought that maybe he had chosen to take on the responsibility of your evaluation to be closer to you, but now you weren’t so sure. What if it was just procedure after all and you were only reading into it? It wouldn’t be the first time that you read signals wrong. For being a profiler, when it came to your own love life, you could be pretty clueless. 

Eventually, Hotch rejoined you and Reid. “Did you get the warrant?” Reid asked, looking over his shoulder as Hotch took a seat. 

“Judge wouldn’t approve it,” Hotch sighed, “said because the website is public domain, anyone could have access and that it wasn’t enough probable cause to warrant a search and seizure.” 

“Great,” you said, “so now we just have to hope the clay guy gives us something.” 

“Do you think he’s a part of this?” Spencer asked. You shook your head. 

“No, but he has to know something. Considering how much wax has been used, and not to mention Rossi believes the unsub had trial runs… He must have bought more pigment than the shop’s usual customers.” 

“But why would he even leave a paper trail for something as easy as a red dye? You can practically make it out of anything?” Reid asked. 

“Because not everyone is as smart as you, Reid,” you said and he smiled shyly, turning back to the board to start laying out the hunting grounds. You looked at Hotch and he was smiling at you, thankful for you praising the doctor. You quirked a brow in question but he just shook his head, returning to his work. You turned away before the blush that welled in your cheeks became more apparent. 

“You guys need anything?” Perotta said as he pushed open the door and leaned in, 

“We’re fine for now,” Hotch said, his tone filled with dismissal. Perotta pursed his lips, but nodded and left, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

“I don’t like him,” Spencer said quietly, his back still turned to you and Hotch.

“I second that,” you muttered. 

“You are both correct,” finished Hotch and Spencer slightly turned to look at you with amusement in your eyes. You couldn’t help the laugh that flew from your throat. Spencer chuckled quietly next to you as you tried to get yourself under control. Hotch watched you, completely enamored by the way your face lit up with a smile as you found him humorous. It was better than any drug he could think of, seeing that smile of yours. 

------

It was a little less than an hour later that the others came back with the shop owner.

The man, Terry Owens, looked nervous as Morgan took him into the interrogation room. His demeanor alone as he walked into the station was enough for you to know immediately that this was not your unsub.

As JJ continued speaking with the Wilson family, you went to observe the interrogation. Spencer and Emily were going over new evidence while you stood next to Hotch on the other side of the two-way mirror. Morgan and Rossi entered the room, taking a seat across from Owens. 

You watched closely as they asked their questions. You could tell that both Morgan and Rossi made the man nervous. He would flinch slightly any time Morgan raised his voice or Rossi shifted in his seat. You and Hotch didn’t say anything as you observed, but the closeness to him was tugging at your mind as you tried to stay focused.

You weren’t focusing on what your team members were asking the man, but rather how he responded to each question. Owens was sweating even though they chilled the room for him. He began slurring his words as he struggled to find answers for each inquiry thrown at him. When Rossi presented Owens with the crime scene photos, the shop owner nearly turned green. Pushing up his sleeves, he took slow breaths, trying to calm down. That is when you noticed the burn marks on his skin. 

They were slight and faded, but from your time with anti-terrorism, you knew the signs of torture immediately. You turned to your boss. “Hotch, I think I know what’s going on,” you said.

“You saw something?” he asked softly. 

“I think he’s been tortured by the unsub,” you explained. Hotch turned his attention back to the interrogation room for a moment before nodding at you. Sweeping past him, you entered the room. Morgan and Rossi looked at you and then got up and stood back, giving you room to work. “Hi, Terry,” you greeted with a warm smile. “I’m SSA (Y/L/N) and I think I know what happened to you.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked nervously. 

“The marks on your arms,” you said, gesturing to the exposed skin. He looked down and his eyes closed as his jaw went rigid. “Terry, look at me.” He did. “Those burns are from hot wax, right?” Owens nodded. “He hurt you to get you to not talk to anyone. He poured the wax on you to make sure you knew that if you talked, you would end up like the women he was killing.”

“I didn’t know he was going to kill them,” Owens said. “Please, I just thought he was into something weird, you know? Like a fetish or some kind of performance art. I’ve seen things like that before. I never imagined…” he trailed off, his hands shaking. You reached out and placed your hands over his. 

“You’re okay,” you promised him. “Terry, nobody is going to hurt you again. He is not going to be able to get to you anymore, but I need his name. He has another woman with him now. Her name is Allison and she’s only twenty-four-years old. She has a little sister named Cailey and a mom and dad who are worried sick about her. If we don’t find her, she’s going to end up like these women too.” You placed the other three photos before him again. “They didn’t deserve to die like this and neither does Allison Wilson.” 

Owens met your eyes, nearly pleading. “I don’t know his name,” he said. “He always paid in cash and he threatened me anytime I asked any personal questions.” 

“Is there anything you can tell me about him? The smallest thing can make a difference.” Owens thought for a moment before he straightened up. 

“I once heard him on the phone,” he said. “I was preparing his new order and someone called him. He was talking to them on speaker and they didn’t say a name, but they called him by a nickname.” 

“What was it?” you asked. 

“Galahad,” Owens said. 

“Like the Knights of the Roundtable?” you asked, turning over your shoulder to look at Morgan and Rossi, confused. Morgan, however, was shaking his head. 

“That’s what Lisa Bracken’s neighbor called the delivery guy that delivered Lisa’s artwork,” Morgan said before he and Rossi were moving out the door. You turned back to Owens. 

“You did great, Terry,” you said. “We’re gonna get him.” You didn’t wait for his response as you followed Morgan and Rossi back into the conference room. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Morgan was already saying as you pushed through the door. 

“Got something for me?” Garcia asked on the other line. 

“The unsub is a delivery guy that delivers specialty art pieces. He works for Ground Express,” Morgan said. 

“Okay that is a pretty big company, honey, you’re gonna have to give me a little bit more than that,” Penelope said. 

“Garcia, look for drivers that are specifically assigned to the dumping zones. He may be dumping their bodies during a route,” Spencer said. 

“Okay, one second…” she said as her hands flew over her keyboard. “Okay, I have four men that work that specific route. Two of them are way too young, the third is African American…” she paused for a second. “And the fourth fits our profile perfectly.”

“Garcia, I need a name,” you said. 

“Alan Rhett,” Garcia announced. “He owned an apartment downtown but was evicted two months ago and now he rents a loft space in Belltown. Oh,” she said. 

“What is it?” asked Rossi.

“He uses his own truck for deliveries and he hasn’t been to work in a few days.” 

“Garcia, send us the address,” Hotch ordered. 

“Already did,” she said. “Be safe, my friends, and go get him.” 

“Will do, Mama,” Morgan said as he ended the call. 

“Gear up,” Hotch said, “We’ll leave in five.” The team dispersed immediately. As you headed for the lockers to grab your vest, a phantom pain echoed through your injury site, but you took a deep breath and tried to center yourself. You were ready for the field, you had to be. Shutting out the echos of gunfire in your mind, you secured your sidearm and went to gear up. You weren’t going to let him kill another woman, not if you could help it.

[sunnydaisy1]

Just a Cold

MARK SLOAN X READER

REQUEST: Could you do one for when Mark is the reader is sick, but is doing everything to not have him notice. Then ends up getting worse. Sorry hope this makes sense lol :)- Anonymous

A/N: I loved this request sooo much! I wasn’t sure whether you wanted Mark and the reader to be in a relationship or not so I kinda did it like they might be but it could also be just flirting idk? I hope I wrote it okay and that you enjoy it :)

*WHY ISNT THERE A CONCERNED MARK GIF WHERE HE ISNT CRYING URGH*

I blinked my eyes open as sun shot through the blinds into my room, glaring across the white and grey walls. I groaned and rolled over, covering my face with a pillow as i slammed the alarm clock off. A vicious cough ripped through me and I winced, my chest contracting and sharp pains running through my head. It was my own fault really, i had gotten off work a little earlier than usual and decided to go for a walk while it was still light out. My downfall really was when I had decided against bringing a coat, instead trusting the stupid jumper I was wearing to keep me warm. The weather had looked nice enough to begin with but after 20 minutes the sky had decided to chuck buckets of water down on me and I was drenched, resulting in the now painful cold I had given myself. I opened my eyes again and looked at the clock, trying to turn the minutes back to give me more sleep. When this failed, I rolled out of my fluffy, lucious cloud of a bed and walked to the bathroom, hoping a warm shower would wake me up and heal my blocked sinuses. I rubbed my eyes as I stepped into the tiled room, looking at the mirror. My reflection wasn't too bad although I could see my eyes were a little puffy and my nose was sporting a tinge of flaring red. Sighing, I turned the shower on and undressed, pulling my hair up into a bun and stepping into the relaxing steamy fumes. When I had finished getting ready and had grabbed a breakfast bar that would end up ignored in my locker, I trudged out the door, locking it behind me and starting the 10 minute walk to the hospital. I really hoped I would have time to grab some medicine before rounds but I doubted it, seeing as I had spent way too long dying in the shower. A strong breeze ripped past me and I shuddered, pulling my coat closer to me and trying to hold down the scratching cough at the back of my throat. I soon arrived at the hospital doors and gladly went inside, thankful for the shelter against the weather. I walked slowly to the residents' locker room, smiling at a few nurses as they walked past. The room was bustling with noise as I entered and a few people called out my name but I just smiled, making my way over to my locker next to Alex. He turned to face me once he saw me coming over and chuckled at my pained expression. "You look like crap." He said as I stripped off my jacket and jumper, pulling my scrubs over the long sleeved shirt I thankfully wore. "Thanks so much Karev." I hissed, now pulling off my trousers and yanking on the rougher blue scrub ones. "No worries Y/N." He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes, sitting down next to him. The locker room seemed to be getting louder by the second and I shut my eyes, trying to block out the dull pain in my head. I stayed like that for a few minutes until I felt Alex nudge me, "Come on don't want the interns slacking off." I nodded and groaned, standing up. We walked side by side until we reached the nurse's station and he went off to torment his group of suck ups. I gathered the folders with patient info and dragged myself over to my 4 interns who stared at me. "What are you waiting for?" I said harshly and they scampered, heading off to the first patient's room as I followed behind. I wasn't usually that harsh with the interns but I was strict and they behaved well, eager to learn. I tried my best to educate them but sometimes they really got on my nerves. Once we made our way into the first patient's room, the interns lined up by the door while I walked to the bed. "Goodmorning Mr Davis, how are you doing today?" I asked softly, trying to hide my running nose. "Alright, hurts a little but it's getting better." I nodded and looked over to one of my interns, "Johnson?" At once the intern started pratlling on about Mr Davis' case and I nodded along, half listening to him, half trying not to close my eyes. He stopped talking fairly quickly and I nodded, "well done, we need hourly checkups on Mr Davis' vitals for the next few days but you should be ready to go home in a few days." I directed the last part at the patient who nodded and smiled. I walked out the room and passed the interns out the patient folders. The next patient was Mrs Walker who had recently had a rhinoplasty to fix her incredibly wonky broken nose from falling off a ladder while painting her house. It had been a simple case but there were complications in the OR and she was now under careful watch. I noticed Mark standing in the corner of the room and I winced, hoping he would ignore me. I walked to the corner of the room by the door and stood a little away from the patient, listening drowsily to the interns. "Morning Y/N." A voice behind me whispered and my heart picked up pace when I recognised Mark's flirty tone. "Sloan." I said curtly, trying to disguise my illness because I know he would make a big deal out of it and really it was nothing. "Ouch, what's got your panties in a twist today?" Mark teased, easily letting the dirty words roll off his tongue. "Nothing." I retorted, not daring to look Mark in the eye. I could feel the warmth of his body behind me and I wanted so desperately to reach out and let his comforting hold engulf me but I couldn't, not wanting him to make a big deal. "If you say so missy." He replied, whispering close to my ear. Despite my cold, I could feel heat rush through my body at Mark's seductive words. Normally I could retort with a witty remark but today the only thing my brain could focus on was the increasing ache in my bones. "Mark if you have finished flirting with Dr L/N, we have other patients to attend to." Derek called out, and I blushed, not even realising he had come into the room. "See you later L/N." Mark said as he left the room, leaving me wanting his heat back. The rest of rounds passed by incredibly slow and I now sat in the locker room again, trying to catch up on forms and paperwork that needed filling out. I had turned most of the lights off so the room was darker and was nursing a warm coffee in my hands. The soothing silence was helping to ease the growing ache in my head but the incessant coughing wasn't letting up. Suddenly, my pager started beeping and I groaned, putting my hot drink down and speed walking to Bailey. I was almost in the patient's room when I spotted Mark coming out of another room a few doors down and I quickly leaped into a supply closet before he could see me. I really loved Mark but he didn't need to see me when I was all runny nosed and coughing like a diseased hag. I waited 20 seconds, counting in my head before opening the door again and checking the coast was clear. It was so I walked out and over to Bailey's patient's room where she stood, talking to him about his upcoming surgery. She shot me daggers when I entered the room and I mouthed a sorry before explaining to Mr Morrison the risks. At lunchtime, I had just finished with a code blue, hoping to head to a dark, quiet space away from distractions. I was just stepping around a corner when I bumped into a solid chest, immediately apologising before looking up to see who it was. "Oh, Mark." I said, scanning the area to look for a way out and avoiding his gorgeous eyes. "Sorry about that Y/N, seems I have a knack for bumping into pretty women going for their lunch." I nodded absent-mindedly, trying to get away. "Right yeah urm I need to go." I said, going to walk past Mark but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "Woah woah woah what's the matter?" He asked, instantly concerned at my dismissal of his flirting. "Nothing." I said and he shook his head, bending his head down to meet my averting gaze. "You said that earlier." Mark continued, both hands now on my arms as he kept me still. "mm." I hummed, staring at the wall behind Mark. "You sure you're okay, you look a bit like your going to throw up." He said, concern lacing his voice. "No Im fine." I said, smiling weakly before scooting off down the halls leaving a worried plastic surgeon behind. For the rest of the afternoon, I sat on the bottom floor filling out charts. My headache and coughs had been getting progressively worse to the point where I could barely move due to my body aching so much. Luckily I wasn't in any surgeries today and Bailey hadn't been so much on my heels today although Mark had paged me a few times to the Attending room which I ignored. He had spotted me earlier after Mer had wanted me in the research room but I had run down the halls back here before he could catch me. I knew it was only a matter of time before he sought me out. I was almost done filling out the last chart when the door swung open and a familiar head of peppered hair came through the doors. I cringed inwardly and tried to make myslef as small as possible in the gap between the two hospital beds. I waited, trying to control my laboured breathing as he walked nearer, calling out my name. I closed my eyes shut as he closed in on my position. "Y/N?" Mark asked as he spotted my feet poking out from between the two beds. I winced at his voice and he ducked down, crouching in front of me and placing a hand on each of my bent knees. "Y/N?" He asked again and I opened my eyes. He sucked in a breath and immediately tried to bring me closer to him but I groaned. "No please Mark it hurts." I whispered, my voice just a croak. "Jesus Y/N you look like a ghost." Mark said, his face serious and eyes kind. I tried to smile but I couldn't manage, my head flaring up with every movement. Mark gathered the charts I had lying around me and placed them on the nearby bed before squatting back down. "Hey let's get you out of here." He softly said, but I shook my head, sniffling and wincing at the ache. "Come on, I'll help you." He continued, placing a hand on my warm cheek. I looked into his eyes and gave in, nodding slightly. Mark wrapped an arm around my waist and put another on my hip as he helped lift me up, careful to not be to rough. "That's it." He softly spoke, my hands resting on his upper arms for support. As soon as I was standing he brought me into his chest, resting his head on top of mine and stroking my back softly. I closed my eyes and breathed in his comforting scent, relaxing into the warmth. I felt Mark's hand smooth my hair and kiss the top of my head before he whispered, "Why didn't you tell me you were ill?" He stepped back slightly but still held me close, looking into my eyes. "I didn't want to bother you, it's not that bad." I replied, slightly shaky. "Y/N..." Mark said, brushing my hair behind my ear and cupping my face. "What bother's me is not knowing your ill and not being able to help." He said, bringing me back into his arms. "Im sorry." I said, nuzzling into his neck. "It's okay, let's get you into bed." Mark replied, kissing my forehead. Mark had ended up persuading me to go to his house, and I was currently stood in his bathroom, a towel wrapped around me. The steam from the hot shower had freed up my nose a little but the throbbing in my head hadn't let up yet. I walked into Mark's bedroom, rubbing my eyes. "Hey." Mark smirked, making me open my eyes to see his stupid self standing there with a cheeky grin as his eyes ran up and down my body. "My eyes are up here." I said quietly, making him chuckle and a small smile come across my face. "You know I think my towel on you is my new favourite look of yours." Mark said as he watched me walk across the carpeted floor to him. I narrowed my eyes at him and sniffled, holding onto the white fluffy towel that just surpassed my bum tightly. "If I wasn't so ill right now Sloan, I'd punch that pretty little grin off of your face." I hissed, taking the sweatpants and tshirt out of his hands. "Oh so you think I'm pretty then?" Mark teased, eyes still wandering. "Piss off." I said, watching Mark as he smirked wider and I headed into the bathroom again, closing the door. When I had managed to pull the black tshirt on, I looked at the sweatpants and groaned, resenting having to struggle into another item of huge clothing. It was worse than putting leggings on after swimming. I had panties on and Mark's tshirt came down to my mid thigh so I unlocked the door, hoping Mark had a pair of shorts I could wear. As soon as I stepped out, Mark sat up on the bed, eyes raking my body yet again. "Jeez Y/N you think you were trying to kill a man." He said as I walked towards him, cradeling the sweatpants. I was exhausted and couldn't think of any remark so just stuck my hands out, extending the sweatpants to Mark. "I'm too tired to put them on." I said quietly before a violent cough coursed through my body. "Okay come here." Mark said and sat me down on the bed, taking the sweatpants. I expected him to walk off to get some shorts but he crouched down in front of me and lifted my ankle into the cuff of the sweatpants. I blushed and muttered, "thanks." Mark just grinned and winked cheekily, making my face flush even more. He brought the sweatpants to my knees before asking me to stand up which I did. He went to take them up further and started lifting the tshirt before I grabbed his hands. "I think I can do the rest." I said softly, rolling my eyes at Mark's constant dirty flirting. "Worth a try." He remarked, brushing the hair out my face. Once I had gotten the sweatpants on and had gulped down 2 glasses of water and some medicine, I walked back from the hallway to Mark's room, seeing him lying in the bed with his pyjamas on. I yawned and smiled sleepily. "Gonna come join me missy?" He asked, flicking the duvet off to reveal his tartan clad legs and comfy bed. I nodded, dragging myself to the other side of the bed and climbing in before resting next to Mark. He chuckled and lifted me slightly, laying my head down on his chest and wrapping my arm around his waist while he hugged mine. I sighed contently and snuggled into his warming body, letting waves of sleepiness wash over me, lulling me to sleep. Mark turned the bedside light off and kissed the top of my head, whispering, "Night love." I smiled and closed my eyes, drifting off. 

[kanohivolitakk]

Miserix!

YOOO I was hoping someone would send me Miserix for the ask game. He's one of my favorite characters ever since I was a wee lass yet I almost never talk about him for one reason or another. So this is good opportunity to give my Miserix related thoughts.

Content warning for suicide mention in one of the last points btw.

For starters, I find Miserix to be a rather interesting character. This is due to his backstory of being the disgraced former leader of Makuta who was overthrown by Teri and being exiled, desiring. Miserix has this...certain aura of intrigue and mystery due has this...aura of mystery and superiority surrounding him. He isnt a mysterious character by any stretch of imagination, but he def has a vibe of mystery to him.

I love his design so much...Hes a big large dragon with such a kickass design, can you say no to that. I also love how he was designed by a 12 year old girl.

Speaking of...CAN I JUST SAY I LOVE HOW MISERIX CANONICALLY HAS HIS DEFAULT FORM BEING A GIANT RED DRAGON BECAUSE HE FEELS THAT WILL GIVE HIM A SENSE LF SUPERIORITY (+ he likes dragons and feels comfortable in being a dragon form as such). This is why I love this dragon man so much, talk about a chad.

One of the reasons Miserix sticks with me is because of him being one of the few truly neutral characters in the series. Like sure he is a big angry dragon who hates Teridax and wants it all to be destroyed but I don't necessarily think he's evil per say, just someone whose mind was warped by revenge (and even if youd count him as a villain hes different from most other villains). Helps a lot that the object of his revenge was the main villain by say.

Him being an angry dragon who wants revenge is so fucking cathartic and I love it. Since like, sometimes you just want to go apeshit at those who hurt you, ya know. You Miserix, kill Terry like you want to!! Again what a chad!!!

Miserix is one of the most tragic characters in the series when you dissect him. Like, guy was loyal to his duty and mission, was betrayed by his most trusted lietnuant and then almost killed. And that betrayal and isolation degraded his mind to the point he's jusr a mindless beast who wants revenge at this point. And its so sad, especially when you wonder how much he changed due to these experiences.

Speaking of....I think about pre!exile Miserix a lot. Given how the Miserix we see in canon is...heavily affected by Teridax betrayal I wonder what he was before that. What did he value, how did he operate the Brotherhood? Was he deeply focused in his duty or did he have time for other interests and having meaningful relationships? What was his relationship with Teridax like before the latter betrayed him? What about the rest of the Brotherhood? How much did he change, did he have any values or was he just a mindless rage monster? There's so much room for interpretationand speculation and to headcanon and I love that.

The mainthing I can think of is... Pre!Exile Miserix is very driven by duty. Like, in Mutran Chronicles its made clear how he was very invested in his duty and believed in balance and order. It made him having this sense of ...goodness I guess??? Or at the very least that his arrogance was kept in check unlike the rest of the Makuta.

When I was younger I was very "UWU Miserix was good the other Makuta were evil f*cktwits who betrayed him" for a very long time but honestly rereading Mutran Chronicles made me realize that while he certainly had some kind of moral code he was messed up too (see how he convinced Takadox to act as a spy). Like, Miserix was like, lawful neutral at best (chaotic good if you want to stretch it) Def had a moral code to an extent but was not above shady actions.

Speaking of...I kiiinda ship Miserix/Takadox because of those lines that established Miserix hired Takadox to act as Barraki spy in Mutran Chronicles. Like the way Takadox looked at Miserix with concern when the Barraki were leaving the meeting w the BOM just really made me interested in their dynamic despite the fact we know NEXT TO NOTHING ABOUT IT. but the little we know gives so much potential for them to hacing a really interesting dynamic. Its a shame that Takadox yeeted off in FOF before he could interactwith his former emplyoer, it wouldve given interesting insight into the two.

I aggressively headcanon that Miserix was the first Makuta ever created, and possibly one of Mata Nuis first creations [since iirg MN created the Makuta while Great Spirits and Artakha created most of the GSR species ]

As a kid I seriously thought Miserix was a girl for a while because his name + design were kinda feminine for my child mind fsr. Because of this misconception I had of him as a child, I have ended up in headcanoning him as nonbinary (either genderfluid or bigender to be more specific, leaning towards the latter tbh). He would more or less default to he/him pronouns due to being more used to them but wouldn't mind being refered with feminine or genderneutral pronouns. That being said, he would probably be VERY against being refered with it/its pronouns due to seeing it as dehumanizing.

Also on a "baby me saw Miserix design as androgynous" I heavily hc his voice as androgynous too. Angry, low and booming yes, but in a way that doesn't sound too masculine. This is tve main reason I'm mixed on his voice in the Ignition stop motion: its too masculine for my taste (that being said the voice sounds super jnique and I always hcd Miserix having a rather unique sounding voice soo)

Break from headcanons and thoughts to say: MISERIX HAS SOME OF THE MOST BADASS LINES IN THE SERIES. So much of his lines are so badass and he def has a lot of my favorite quotes in series. Just so much confidence and badassness oozing him.

I find the fact Miserix was turned into a painting by Teridax incredibly funny. Also cant believe paintings are canon in Bionicle.

I think about post-canon Miserix a lot. Now that Teridax is dead, what now? Where would he go there? Would he still be rage-filled monster ,now just having no purpose for his rage? Or would he just wander purposlessly,feeling like theres no reason for him to exist? Regardless, there would be this emptiness... At some point Miserix whole existence became fixated on Teridax so like....When Teri died it was kinda..what then. Post canon Miserix is by far one of the more interesting post canon characters given how much it wouldve affected him. Eh, knowing how Greg writes hed either done "Miserix is driven mad/still rage filled" in the laziest way possible, come up some really stupid and convoluted thing that was out of tje blue or have him being killed off by Velika or one of his cronies instead of exploring his character in any meaninful way.

On a related note, can we talk about how its canon that in one universe Miserix loosing his purpose made him so depressed he killed himself? I think about that sometimesand just...man guy really was driven by having a duty and purpose.Again, makes me wonder what happened with prime!timeline Miserix post canon.

All in all ,Miserix is great and criminally underrated. Hes both a character thats incredibly simple(angry dragon who wants to kill Teridax) but has potential for complexity in him thanks to all the potential his story has. His story is a tragic one, being given a duty he was willing to commit to his fullest, only to be betrayed by his kind and casted away, this slowly turning him into a rage-obsessed monster we see today.Miserix is such a great and interesting character, and I wish more of the fandom paid attention to him.

[bibbawrites]

Hey, so I’m having a really shit day, having had multiple panic attacks... can you maybe write something about Owen comforting you and just cuddling to make you feel better? Pretty please

hey darling, i’m sorry to hear you’re having a bad day, i hope you feel a little bit better soon maybe take the night to yourself, watch a movie and relax, have a nice warm bath/shower, just try to reset a bit 

this is pretty short and isnt the best cause i rushed it a little bit so that i could post it for you when you needed it, but i hope it helps at least a little bit x 

love you <3

“I never want to leave this bed.” You mumbled, your head pressed into your boyfriend Owen’s bare chest. He chuckled. 

“You don’t have to. We could make a whole life here.” He whispered, his fingers tracing a pattern on the small of your back. 

“Really?” You questioned. “You promise?” 

“I promise. We have Netflix and comfy blankets and your secret snack drawer that we both know I know about but both pretend I don’t.” He said and you giggled. There was a reason why you kept filling the drawer with snacks that were “Owen Safe” as you liked to call them. 

“What else?” You asked. 

“Hmm, well I can do this.” He tangled his fingers through your hair, scraping his nails along your scalp. “And then afterwards I can braid your hair. Oh and I bet you can reach a nail polish bottle so that you can paint my nails. Or if you’d let me leave the bed I can go find one and a face mask and a bottle of the good wine. And if you’re feeling up to it we can go have a nice long, hot bath later, with a bath bomb and so many bubbles we can barely see each other, and one of those calming candles.” 

“Can we just cuddle tonight? All of that stuff sounds amazing but I’m just too mentally exhausted.” You replied, snuggling closer to him. He hummed in response, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. 

“Of course we can baby. Whatever you need.”