#I feel like at some point she has to just. stop and hurl because what the FUCK. She KNEW things were fucked up. She DID.

[obessivedork]

Ada: maybe I should turn my personality off

Me (And my sole survivor): Absolutely NOT 😭😭😭🖤🖤🖤

#I will hand it to bethany esda for making that entire section getting to the mechanist OG fallout levels of fucked up in the right way #GOD. MARTA PROBABLY KNEW SOME OF THOSE PRISONERS #I feel like at some point she has to just. stop and hurl because what the FUCK. She KNEW things were fucked up. She DID. #Of course she did! But idk... I think she had this little bubble of 'well they wouldn't do this shit to their OWN citizens #this is JUST because we're Canadian and we're resisting occupation. Except Chinese americans obviously they're treated like shit too.' #and to have that burst for realsies by this quest? She's gonna have a long smoke and think by the ocean after this quest methinks #Not like. in game but cannonically to me she does #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #Ada is a sweetheart but I'm playing a stealth build so. Sorry you gotta go queen ily <3 <- does not gaf about companion perks

[angelfic]

— I MISS YOU, I’M SORRY.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: you haven’t seen theo since he supposedly left you to join the other side. now that he’s back and has revealed his true intentions to you, you’re finding it hard to be forgiving.

warnings: swearing, kissing, tiniest bit of angst, very unedited. not much else other than a whole load of waffle… my bad

author’s note: this is a sort of fix-it fic… kinda. yes I am very much stealing the essence (you could say) from marauders fics because I prefer writing those and yes it’s basically this drabble recycled and yes grimmauld place is still the order headquarters well into the war just don’t question my timeline and you’ll be fine ok ty enjoy xoxo

12 Grimmauld place feels unsettling at the best of times, what with the portrait of Walburga Black hurling insults at you every time her curtain slips open and the row of shrunken house-elf heads mounted on the wall. The Order of the Phoenix holding hushed up meetings in the dining room while you and your friends are forced to stay upstairs isn’t anything new or surprising, but the last few days feel different.

Instead of Mrs Weasley telling members of the Order to whisper when you, her kids and Harry and Hermione are in the room, she flaps about ordering them to stop talking altogether. At first you think you’re imagining it when her eyes flick over to you every time, until you bring it up to Ginny and Hermione.

“You’re not imagining it,” Hermione mutters as she shuts the door of the bedroom and casts a quick Muffliato charm before settling cross legged on the bed opposite you and Ginny. “I overheard Mrs Weasley and Tonks in the kitchen this morning, talking about how the Order is arranging transport for some Death Eater spies to come back here.”

You gasp, pretending to be scandalised. “You mean you were evesdropping. That’s not very prefect-y of you.” Ginny snorts at Hermione’s indignant glare and you can’t help cracking a smile at the way her cheeks have slightly reddened. “Sorry, sorry, you know I’m kidding. But what’s that got to do with her looking at me like I’ve gone through a personal tragedy?”

“Your ex-boyfriend did leave you to go join the Death Eaters,” Ginny points out. Hermione gapes at her, but Ginny merely throws her hands up in exasperation. “Well, he did! No point beating around the bush!”

A lump rises in your throat at the mention of Theodore. Truth be told, you’ve tried not to think about what happened since the last time you spoke about him. ‘Spoke’ being a strong word since it was mostly crying and sniffling and blowing your nose into tissue after tissue in Ginny’s room at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley had made your favourite dinner that night and brought you up a hot chocolate to make you feel better. And it really had- so much so that you refused to speak about him since.

You’re more angry than you are sad now, which makes you nod at Ginny’s words. “You’re right. He’s an arsehole, there’s no point in tip-toeing around it for my sake.” Hermione frowns a little, worry clear as day on her face, but you don’t stop talking. “Besides, we’re on opposite sides and this is a war happening. Not some silly, childish break-up. He chose to be a Death Eater and if we have to fight him, so be it.”

Hermione and Ginny stay quiet for a few seconds and watch you breathe heavily. Thankfully, before either of them can speak, Harry and Ron come bursting into the room.

“They’ve only gone and brought Death Eaters into the bloody building!” Ron shakes his head.

Harry snorts at Ron’s dramatics. “Ex-Death Eaters. Apparently. Still a bit dodgy, in fairness.”

“I thought they were spies,” you say, unable to help your curiosity as you stand up. Ginny and Hermione follow you out of the room as you all peak over the bannister to try and get a glimpse of the action downstairs. Annoyingly, there only seem to be a couple of dishevelled looking Order members milling around.

“Maybe Mrs Weasley and Tonks got it mixed up, or maybe they aren’t privy to what’s going on…” Hermione frowns, deep in thought. “I don’t think anyone but Dumbledore knows what’s actually going on.”

Harry makes an irritated sound. “What’s new?”

“Oh, by the way, Mum sent us up to get you lot for dinner,” Ron says absentmindedly as he tries to get a good look over your shoulder at whatever is happening in the hall downstairs. “Mind you, that was before all the Death Eater business so she’ll probably send us right back up.”

The five of you quickly shuffle downstairs to get to the dining room and while your stomach is growling loud enough to forget any thoughts of Order business, Ron and Harry linger in the hall a little in an attempt to get some answers. You don’t doubt Harry will get some, being the Chosen One and all.

You nudge and elbow your way into the dining room where you’re happily surprised to see a messy-haired Tonks yawning over a bowl of soup. She smiles sleepily when she spots the three of you.

“Hi, girls,” she mumbles through a yawn. “Merlin, I’m exhausted. I keep falling asleep in my soup. Good thing it’s mushroom.” She points to her newly platinum blonde hair that matches the contents of her bowl.

“Why’re you so tired?” Hermione asks as she ladles some soup into bowls for you, Ginny and herself. Her voice is quiet as not to attract attention from Mrs Weasley with her questioning. “Is it to do with tonight’s, uh, Order business?”

“Yep.”

Tonks looks as though she’s about to drift off and Ginny seems to jump at the opportunity to gather information.

“So, what are their names?” She gets straight to the point, glaring at you when you choke on your soup a little, not expecting her to be so blunt.

You and Hermione stop eating and wait with bated breath for Tonks to refuse to answer. She merely yawns again, before talking. “You’ll meet them soon enough.”

“Meet them?” you ask, unable to help yourself. “Aren’t they… uh, you know… dangerous?”

“Dumbledore doesn’t seem to think so,” Tonks says, shrugging. You grow a little frustrated at this, since Dumbledore isn’t exactly known for having straightforward plans. While you know his intentions are good, someone he thinks is safe could very well be the opposite. While you ponder this, Tonks’ next words quickly turn your irritation into shock. “The others were understandably quite wary, what with one of them being You-Know-Who’s son and everything, but…”

You feel a ringing in your ear and every word coming from Tonks may as well be directed to her mushroom soup because you aren’t listening anymore. You-Know-Who’s son. You haven’t seen Mattheo since term ended, and even then it was only from a distance. You hadn’t spoken to him since Theo revealed his Dark Mark to you and you’d since avoided his entire friend group like the plague. If Mattheo is in the building, you can only hope and pray that Theodore isn’t with him.

Vaguely aware of someone shaking you by the shoulder, you snap out of your thoughts. “Who else is with Mattheo?” you ask Tonks, your voice sounding rough to your own ears. She blinks through her sleepiness, slightly startled awake by your unwavering eye contact. “Voldemort’s son. Who’s with him? What do they look like?”

You’re so focused on getting an answer from Tonks, and Hermione and Ginny are clearly on the same page as you now since they’re both silent and waiting for a response, that none of you notice Mrs Weasley entering the dining room.

“Tonks, is he blonde or-?”

“Enough!” Mrs Weasley interrupts you hastily, making everyone jump. She sounds panicked, but the look she throws Tonks is stern, like a warning to keep silent. When she turns back to you however, her eyes soften and her voice is gentle, albeit with a hint of annoyance. “I asked Dumbledore not to bring them here while everyone was awake. I didn’t want you all upset again, dear. Look, you can have your dinner upstairs, I’ll bring it up to you!”

You’re grateful for her concern, but it’s a little hard to feel anything other than the pit in your stomach since she’s just confirmed what you were dreading.

Ginny speaks up first, angry on your behalf. “Mum, she deserves to know if that awful git is in the same house as her! I say she ought to go and deck him in the face.”

“Ginny!” Hermione looks at her in exasperation as Mrs Weasley gasps, horrified. “That sort of attitude isn’t going to help anyone.”

“You’re right,” you mumble, getting up from your seat.

Hermione lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“I should go and deck him in the face.”

Hermione’s sputtering falls to deaf ears as you abruptly leave your seat to go out into the hall, the scraping of chairs behind you indicating that everyone is following closely.

Realistically, you have no plans to actually hit Theodore. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever successfully landed a punch before in your life. This doesn’t stop you charging into the hallway and elbowing your way through the huddle of Order members to get to the door they seem to be crowded around.

Kingsley Shacklebolt is the last of them to stumble out of your way, clearly too surprised by your sudden presence to continue guarding the door. You raise a shaky hand to the doorknob and hesitate for a second, suddenly nervous. Kingsley takes this moment to snap out of his surprise and redirects his attentions to what you’re about to do next.

“My dear, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to-”

“Kingsley, do you have any idea why I’m standing here?” you say curtly, cutting him off.

He throws a quick glance at Mrs Weasley, almost as if it’s by reflex. Clearly she’s told more people than Dumbledore to keep word of Theodore far from you. “I, uhm, I may have heard a thing or two…”

“Right, so are you going to stop me entering this room, then?” you ask boldly. Your voice catches slightly on the end of your sentence and Kingsley falters a little.

“Well, really I should-“ he begins, eyes darting to your own slightly teary ones. He sighs. “No, I’m not. Just try not to hex the boy.”

He steps out of your way and you finally barge into room, the door swinging open as you stay lingering near the entrance. The room is just as dingy as the rest of the house, lit up by some candles dotted around the room

You first see Professor McGonagall getting up abruptly from her chair where she was previously sat next to a standing Dumbledore. He merely peers at you over his half moon spectacles and raises his eyebrows.

You suddenly feel a little silly, and rude for barging in like that. “Sorry, Professor Dumbledore, I-“

You stop talking when see movement on the other side of the room from the corner of your eye. Just as Tonks had said, Mattheo Riddle, son of Lord Voldemort is standing right there, flanked by Lorenzo Berkshire… and Theodore. Your mouth goes dry.

As soon as you catch his eye, he smiles broadly at you. You don’t return the gesture, taking his appearance in instead. He’s thinner than the last time you saw him. No visible injuries, but he’s definitely seen better days. His dirty blonde hair is overgrown and unruly as it falls into his eyes which, despite brightening up at your presence, are tired.

You keep your expression as impassive as you can, slightly angry with yourself at the twinge of concern you feel. It was all well and good interrupting whatever meeting was happening in here before you came in, but now that you’re here… you have no idea what to do or say.

Theo’s smile falters when you continue to stand there with clenched fists and a stony face and you’re tempted to just run out of the room when Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Well,” your Headmaster says pleasantly, as though you were all engaged in polite conversation rather than a strained silence. “This reunion was certainly a little earlier than anticipated, but I suppose that can’t be helped. I think we ought to give Mr Nott and Miss Y/L/N a moment alone.”

“Uh, can’t we stay in here too?” Lorenzo asks with a nervous chuckle, eyes darting to the watchful crowd standing right outside the door. You can’t blame him for wary, being an ex-Death Eater in a house full of Order members.

Mattheo nods, throwing an arm around Theodore’s shoulder, ignoring the glare he receives. “Yeah. These two won’t mind a bit of company. Right?” he asks you cheerfully. You blink at him.

“Relax, Berkshire,” Professor McGonagall says, rolling her eyes at the way Lorenzo has inched further into the room. She snaps her fingers to get them moving out the door. “Nobody is going to hex you, you silly boy.”

“Can’t say the same for Theo,” Mattheo mutters as he walks past you and follows everyone out, shutting the door.

You don’t really have any choice but to look at Theo now. He tries a smile again, despite the fact you’re not returning it and he takes a step towards you.

You immediately step back.

Theo flinches ever so slightly, his eyes unable to hide that he’s hurt.

Good, you think viciously.

Sighing, he looks at you imploringly like he wants to say something, but can’t find the words. “You’re angry with me,” he settles on muttering, his voice quiet in the dark room.

You let out a derisive laugh. “Angry? You worked that out, huh? Death-Eater’s didn’t completely addle your brain then, did they?”

“Darling, please let me explain,” Theo pleads, taking another few steps towards you.

Rather than stepping back, you whip out your wand and point it right at him. He doesn’t back away, merely raising his hands in surrender and arching an eyebrow as if to ask you if you’re serious. This angers you further.

“Do not call me darling,” you hiss, raising your wand further. Theo doesn’t react, as though he knows you’d never actually use magic to hurt him. Your hand trembles with the weight of the realisation that no, you wouldn’t hurt him. That you’ve actually been more worried that becoming a Death Eater would get him hurt than him betraying you. He left you with nothing but a cold goodbye and you still can’t help caring.

Feeling stupid, and a little bit pathetic, you drop your hand to your side and allow him to continue standing before you as he lowers his hands. You grit your teeth and cross your arms. “Explain.”

Theo lets out a relieved breath. “I never wanted to leave you,” he says, and you immediately roll your eyes. “I- no, look at me. I didn’t.”

“That doesn’t explain the fact that you did,” you deadpan, turning away to leave. Theo quickly reaches out to grasp both of your arms and gently turns you towards him.

You stiffen at the first physical contact you’ve had with him in months, your body betraying you and erupting goosebumps all over your arms in spite of your anger.

“I lied about it to protect you,” he whispers, peering at you through the strands of hair that are stubbornly falling into his eyes from weeks of neglect. Theo looks slightly pained and you recognise his expression to mean that he’s desperately trying to phrase his next words correctly. His eyes flick over to your right arm. No. To his left wrist, where you know his Dark Mark to be. “You can ask Dumbledore if you don’t believe me… Me and the others only ever took the Mark so we’d be able to spy on The D- on him.”

The relief hits you like a freight train and lightens your heavy chest all in one go. You hadn’t just felt betrayed by your boyfriend leaving you all those months ago. You had felt dread at the possibility of him joining a Pureblood supremacist’s cult. Dread at the idea that the views he’d shared with you were all lies and that he was a completely difference person to the one you loved.

Despite the relief, the sting of the breakup still lingers with you.

“That meant you had to be a prick when you left me?” you ask, voice shaking against your will. His eyes soften.

“Yes,” he says weakly. “How else could I have left you without worrying that… that he could use you against me if he found me out? I never wanted to take the Mark and it killed me when I saw the look on your face.”

Your scowl, trying your best to distract Theodore from the fact that your vision has gone blurry from the tears welling up in your eyes. By the look on his face, you doubt you’re doing a very good job. “Do you really think I would have cared about a fucking tattoo, if you had just told me the truth?”

“No, I know,” Theo sighs, absentmindedly drawing closer to you. “I’ll explain anything you want, but the work we did was too close to The Dark Lord to risk telling anyone about at the time. Dumbledore made me, Mattheo and Enzo swear not to say anything. It was safer that way.”

“Did you make an Unbreakable Vow?” you whisper, stiller than ever.

Theo furrows his brows. “No, but-”

You pull away from him abruptly and back away to the door, ignoring the way his hands reach out in an attempt to hold your arms again. “Then I hope the information you got for Dumbledore was worth it.”

You don’t look back at him, nor do you check to see if anyone is in the hallway as you run upstairs and into your room, slamming the door shut as you lean against it, breathing heavily. You stay there for a while, reeling from your anger and irritation at the fact you still have to stay in this bloody house while Theodore’s in it.

The next few days are confusing to say the least. Theo doesn’t seem to have any plans to avoid you, but he respects your space.

Sort of.

He isn’t badgering you every second of the day, but somehow whichever room you’re in, he finds himself in as well. Whenever you try and reach for something, even if it’s not on a particularly high shelf, or particularly far away, Theo beats you to it, ever the gentleman.

It’s starting to unnerve you a little.

One particular afternoon, you walk into the kitchen hoping to make a cup of tea in peace. At the table sits Theo, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. When he spots you, he sits up straighter and you dawdle stupidly at the entrance.

Before you can snap out of it and remember what you came in here for, Theo gets up and walks over to the mugs. “Tea?” he asks politely, and, you think, a little hopefully.

“Will you make it and let me drink it alone?” you ask bluntly.

“I’ll make it and sit with you in silence,” he offers, undeterred despite your coldness.

Narrowing your eyes, you glance at the clock and sigh. It’s too early in the morning to put off having your tea, so you allow it. “Fine. Milk and-”

“Two sugars,” he cuts you off with an annoyingly smug smile. “I remember.”

You poke your cheek with your tongue, but stay silent as he turns his attentions to the kettle. Theo’s face quickly falls when he realises he has no idea how to use it. Your impassive expression almost cracks and you have to bite back a laugh as he examines the thing. Walking over to the counter, you drag the kettle so that it’s closer to you. And so you don’t have to be as close to Theo, but that’s besides the point.

“It’s already filled with water, you just need to flip the switch so it starts boiling,” you explain, pointing to the little part. Theo places his cigarette in between his lips as he furrows his brows, clearly skeptical of the muggle contraption. You suppose you can’t blame him since you, Hermione and Harry have had to explain the kettle to countless members of the Order since it was introduced to the house a few months ago.

You still don’t know where the plug socket is and considering the fact that Grimmauld Place has never inhabited muggles, you aren’t going to bother asking.

When Theo flicks the switch and sees the light turn red, a satisfied smile graces his lips where the cigarette still hangs. You look away from his mouth very quickly and go to sit down. Unable to leave without making things awkward, you decide the only thing to do is watch Theo make two cups of tea. He doesn’t need instruction since he knows exactly how you like it, but something catches in your throat when he uses a green mug. Your favourite colour.

The only sound in the kitchen is the clink of the spoon swirling in the cups and Theo soon brings both cups over with an incredibly concentrated frown to make sure there’s no spillages as he sets one down on the table. The other he hands to you himself and you have to clench your jaw when you grab it, your own hands brushing against his, which he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to move away.

“Thanks,” you mutter, trying to use the burning heat of the mug against your skin to distract from the fact that you have tingles.

“S’alright,” he replies, a barely restrained grin on his face. You narrow your eyes at him over the rim of the mug as you sip your tea.

Damn, you think to yourself. Why is it always so good when he makes it?

The two of you settle into a surprisingly comfortable silence as you drink your tea and he smokes. The puffs are very carefully directed away from you, but you can’t help wrinkling your nose out of habit. Back when you were still together, you were always firm about him cutting down and now you have to restrain yourself from reaching over and plucking the cigarette out of his lips to throw it away like you used to do with ease. He never objected.

Theo notices your looks all the same, and it’s almost like he’s reading your thoughts. He raises a brow, almost daring you to remove the cigarette yourself. “You want me to stop?”

“I don’t care,” you say in an attempt to sound nonchalant. Shrugging, you try your hardest not to react to his obvious bait, but it’s like a bloody reflex. “It’s your lungs on the line, not mine. If you want to lose five years off your life, then by all means, go ahead. I really couldn’t care-”

“As you wish,” he interrupts you, grinning like an idiot again. The next thing you know, he’s putting out the cigarette, and sipping his tea instead. He doesn’t even like tea.

“I didn’t say you had to stop,” you grumble, slightly pleased nonetheless.

He merely hums, taking a gulp of his tea. You accidentally let out a snort of laughter when he grimaces at the taste. Theo’s lips quirk up in amusement when you laugh, unrestrained and it’s only when you catch him staring at you that you quickly stop.

The smug expression on his face quickly returns as though he knows you’re finding it hard to be fully angry at him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you snap, drawing your knees up on your chair towards your chin. “You look stupid. And your hair is too long.”

Theo huffs out a surprised laugh. “My hair is too long?” he asks incredulously, reaching up to tug a piece down so it reaches the bottom of his nose. “Hm, you’re right. You cut it pretty good that one time. Would you do it again for me?”

“Mrs Weasley is better at it,” you say, chin jutting out stubbornly. “I’m sure she’d be delighted if you just ask.”

“The way she looks at me, I’d be lucky to get away with my head still attached to my body,” he drawls, wholly unimpressed by your suggestion. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I’m not done being angry with you yet,” you reply simply, draining the contents of your mug. “Trust me when I say you don’t want me anywhere near your head with a pair of scissors either.”

Theo nods slowly, a smile gracing his lips— strange, since you just threatened physical violence. “So, what I’m hearing is that you’re not going to be angry with me forever.”

“I- Well, I didn’t mean-” you stutter pointlessly, cutting yourself off with a sigh. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early for this, leave me alone.”

“That was the first cigarette I’ve had since before I left,” Theo says quietly, searching your face for a reaction, almost nervously.

You aren’t quite sure how to respond to this random piece of information and you find yourself floundering. “Uhm. Okay, good. That’s… Yeah, that’s great for you and your lungs, well done. Saves money too. They were actually, uh, saying on the news the other day that the average amount people spend on-”

“Darling, as much as I appreciate it, that’s not what I’m getting at,” he interrupts, the ghost of a smirk at his lips. You scowl at him for letting you go on for so long and motion for him to get to the bloody point. “Every time I brought a cigarette to my lips, I remembered you weren’t going to be there to nag me about it. It just feels pointless now.”

You stare at him. “Nice to know that my nagging was what you remembered me by.”

“That’s not-” Theo cuts himself off with a laugh that sounds halfway to a groan. “Merlin, you’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can get a word out, Harry walks in which you find odd considering it’s so early in the morning and him and Ron are usually only out of bed when Mrs Weasley yells them down for breakfast.

“Morning,” he says through a yawn. The greeting is directed at you, but he sends an expectant look at Theo right after. “Time to leave, Nott.

“Leave for where?” you ask before you can help yourself. You realise with a start that Harry and Theo are dressed and ready while you’re still in your pyjamas. “Where do you have to go?”

“Horcrux hunting,” Harry says flippantly, as though he’s just announced he’s going fishing. Hermione had filled you in on the information Theo and the others had ascertained from their time with Voldemort, but you didn’t even consider them or Harry would actually be going with the Order to find them. “Nott and the others know more than we do, so they’re coming with.”

You level a look at Theo, who seems to be pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. “Thanks for sharing that tiny tidbit of information, by the way,” you mutter sourly.

He winces, getting up slowly from his chair. “It, uh, didn’t seem that important. It’s only a quick little task anyway. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’m not stupid,” you scoff, standing up so you can attempt to look a little more dignified as you confront Theo. Harry, on the other hand, looks as though he regrets his decision to enter the kitchen in the first place. Despite this, you hadn’t missed the way he furrowed his brows when Theo spoke. “Even if Harry wasn’t looking at you like you were speaking gibberish, I would know that you’re lying. It’s a Horcrux you’re leaving to get. Not the weekly food shop.”

Harry snickers at this, though quickly turns it into a cough when Theo sends him a withering glare. Sighing, you decide to ignore him for the moment and turn to Harry instead

“Be safe,” you say, gentler than before. “And don’t be a hero, just try and get out of there safely.”

“Pfft,” Harry waves you off, a sarcastic tone entering his voice. “When have you known me to do that?”

You roll your eyes, cracking a smile as he walks away, supposedly to find the rest of the group.

“Don’t I get a ‘be safe’ as well?” Theo tries for a casual, joking voice. A hint of irritation seeps through it though. You shift on your feet a little awkwardly, slightly flustered at his obvious jealousy.

“Uhm, okay. Bye,” you say stiffly, fiddling with the loose string of your cardigan sleeve so you have something to do with your hands other than ball them up at your sides. Theo seems to be satisfied with the curt response, or more likely your lack of insults, and he nods, turning away to leave. As you watch him walk away, a familiar sense of anxiety bubbles up in your stomach and you blurt out the only thing you can think of. “Don’t die!”

He slowly turns around, very clearly holding back a grin. You think you might thump the boy. “Will you forgive me if I come back alive?”

“Well,” you huff, crossing your arms. As petty as it may be, you’ve always found it hard to loosen a grudge. You settle for a shrug instead. “Come back alive first and then I’ll see.”

Theo takes two steps forward and closes the short distance that was previously allowing you to keep a cool- well, cool-ish, head. He keeps both arms behind his back, however, as he dips his head down slightly.

“My sweet, stubborn girl,” Theo says in a low voice. His proximity flounders you for a moment and you don’t even protest that no, you’re not his anything. The way your breathing turns shallow would be contradicting that greatly though. “I’ll try my best. And if I don’t come back alive, I promise you can yell at my ghost.”

You scowl, and this time you actually do thump him on the arm. “You’re not funny, you idiot. Now, go. I can already hear Mattheo irritating the patience out of Harry.”

Theo gives you a little two-fingered salute and a wink before he walks away again, leaving you alone with a funny feeling in settling in your stomach.

You aren’t the only one who sits anxiously in the living room waiting for the group to return with the infamous Horcrux. Ron has eaten his way through three bowls of cereal and rapidly makes a start on his fourth while Hermione tries to distract herself with reading a book that she hasn’t noticed is upside down.

After another hour goes by, Ginny, who was previously pacing up and down the stairs, sighs and turns Hermione’s book the right way up which startles her, causing her to give up altogether.

You sit cross-legged and completely still, other than switching your legs every time one of them goes numb. Eventually, you get so sick of watching Mrs Weasley mop over the same spot on the floor for the fifth time that you jump up from your seat, causing her to start and knock over the bucket of dirty mop water all over the floor.

“Oh, dear,” she mutters, waving her wand and siphoning all the water up in a second.

“Sorry, Mrs Weasley,” you say, wincing. “I’m just a little stressed since it’s been ages already-”

You get cut off by Hermione gasping at the sound of the front door opening along with voices. She grips your arm tightly. “They’re back!”

Barely registering the pain of her nails digging into the skin of your arm, you waste no time in running into the hall with the others to greet everyone at the door. You can’t help the relieved smile on your face when you do a quick head count and find everyone present.

As you get closer, you see how exhausted they look. Not to mention the fact they’re dripping water all over the rug. Harry stands at the front of the group looking like he might collapse if he stands any longer and Hermione and Ron pick up on this as they rush over to help him inside.

As they stumble him across the hall, you stop craning your neck as Theo comes into view. The relief you previously felt leaves you faster than your body knows how to deal with and you have to force yourself to breathe when you take in the state of him.

At first glance he doesn’t look particularly worse than the rest. They all have a vaguely haunted look in their eyes along with a sickly pallor like they haven’t seen the sun in days.

But the way Mattheo and Lorenzo are holding him up brings attention to the fact that all of his weight is being put on one leg. The other, to your horror, has a deep, bloody gash trailing down his thigh and onto his calf. The sight of blood steadily dripping onto the floor below has you frozen, almost mesmerised in a terrible way, and it’s not until Dumbledore speaks that you snap out of it and to attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, if you could please fetch Madam Pomfrey for me,” Dumbledore asks, his voice a lot calmer than you feel. You nod, turning away quickly before Theo can see the panic which is probably clear as day on your face.

It takes a scary second to find Madam Pomfrey, but as soon as you do, she gets down to business preparing her supplies in the living room which is as far as Theo seems to be able to make it.

He lays on the sofa, breathing shallowly as Madam Pomfrey crouches down beside him to begin assessing the wound. Peering at it closely, she looks up at Dumbledore sharply. “Inferi?”

“I’m afraid so,” he replies solemnly and you let out a choked sort of whimper.

“Merlin,” Ron whispers, looking like he might be sick. Whether that’s because Madam Pomfrey is cleaning Theo’s leg, or because of the mention of Inferi, you aren’t sure. “What the hell were you guys doing?”

“All will be explained, Mr Weasley,” Dumbledore reassures him, looking over his spectacles. “However, I must insist that for now we allow dear Madam Pomfrey to tend to Mr Nott’s injuries.”

“Will you be able to heal him?” Mattheo asks, swallowing hard. The concern in his voice for his best friend has your heart clenching and you look to Madam Pomfrey just as earnestly for an answer.

“Yes, I dare say I can,” Madam Pomfrey says grimly, but she pulls out a couple little bottle of potions from her bag with a frown. “That doesn’t mean it won’t be extremely painful, unfortunately.”

“Can’t imagine what pain feels like,” Theo mumbles, shifting his position on the sofa slightly and wincing. His face goes whiter than before and he shuts his eyes tightly from the pain, but he still manages to talk, however hard it may be. “Not like I’ve just had Inferi mistaking my leg for their lunch.”

“No talking and no moving,” Madam Pomfrey instructs Theo, sending him a stern glare.

“Sorry-”

“Shhh!” you hiss, giving him a glare of your own. Theo’s eyes flutter open slightly and his lips quirk up when he sees you leaning over him as close as you can get without Madam Pomfrey shooing you away.

His smile quickly drops when Madam Pomfrey pours some purple liquid into the open wound, causing it to hiss and smoke. The groan that leaves Theo has you holding your breath and you fight the urge to shut your eyes and turn away.

“Merlin, I can’t watch,” Lorenzo gags, his skin turning even sicklier than before. Turning away, he holds onto Mattheo’s shoulder to steady himself, the latter looking more interested than anything as he peers at Theo’s sizzling cut. Lorenzo shakes his head and holds a hand over his mouth every time he can hear Madam Pomfrey pouring more of the potion. “Oh, God, that’s disgusting.”

“Mr Berkshire, if you are unable to watch, then don’t,” Madam Pomfrey snaps, screwing the bottle shut and grabbing another one. She waves her hand in an impatient shooing motion. “In fact, everyone out. Now! This isn’t a Quidditch match, for heaven’s sake!”

Dumbledore starts filing everyone out and you consider staying for a minute but Madam Pomfrey’s raised eyebrows have you hurtling out of the room with everyone else. Theo starts to say something, but a drop of something else makes him grit his teeth and the green smoke produced by the potion follows you out the door.

The next hour or so is filled with Harry, Mattheo and Lorenzo being fussed over by Mrs Weasley, who insists on them going up to bed once they’ve cleaned up and changed into dry clothing. Unfortunately for the rest of you, this means you won’t be getting an update any time soon. Dumbledore is, as always these days, nowhere to be seen.

“I wonder if they found the Horcrux,” you say under your breath to Hermione as she anxiously taps her foot against the kitchen floor.

“They did,” she says grimly, glancing impatiently at the clock. She has her thinking face on, brows furrowed and gaze distant. “It was in a cave in the middle of nowhere. Harry quickly told me before Mrs Weasley sent them off. I wonder when they’ll wake up though… They didn’t look too happy, and I have a feeling it wasn’t all to do with Nott.”

You nod slowly, a weight lifting off your chest despite the last part. If, after all this, they hadn’t retrieved the Horcrux, you think you’d probably have gone to the bloody cave yourself.

“Theodore’s resting now, anyway,” Hermione adds, giving you a quick glance as though she’s waiting for a reaction. You keep your face as impassive as you can, attempting a casual nod. “Madam Pomfrey says he’s healing nicely and his leg will be fine. It’ll just be a bit sore for a few days. I’m sure he’s awake if you want to go see him.”

“I might,” you mumble, shrugging. You try to sound flippant, but the urge to clamber out of your seat probably shows because Hermione rolls her eyes at you.

“Oh, why don’t you just put him out of his misery?” she asks, her words coming out at the speed of light, like she’s been wanting to say it for a while. You blink at her in shock. Sighing, she leans over the table and her tone becomes gentle. “I know he lied to you, and you should be angry with him for that! But… well, it’s been a really awkward few days with him asking us where you are every second of the day. And, technically, he was never really a Death Eater, he was helping our side!”

Hermione takes a deep breath and exhales, slumping back in her seat as she waits for your reaction. You try not to laugh. “How long have you been holding that one in?”

“Since the second he turned up here,” she says, sagely. “Now, don’t change the subject! Go and see him. Go on, off you go!”

You stand up, swiftly dodging Hermione’s flapping hands to try and rush you out the door. “Okay, I’m going. It’s probably about time anyway,” you grumble, a fond smile creeping up on you nonetheless.

Looking satisfied, Hermione stops trying to usher you out and you make your way over to the living room again. The door is open and you sigh with relief when you notice the room is empty, bar Theo who’s in the same position as he was the last time you saw him. His eyes are shut and you wonder if he’s sleeping until you step on a creaky floorboard and he cracks one eye open.

“Hey,” you say quietly, tip-toeing into the room to perch on the coffee table adjacent to the sofa. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” Theo replies, moving to sit up as much as he can. You suspect he’d have the same answer even if he was asleep. He looks a lot more awake than he did before and you feel your chest squeeze tightly when you realise how glad you are. Theo seems to notice this and he reaches over to hold one of your hands, detaching it from the way you grasp them both together. “I promised you I’d come back alive, didn’t I?”

You snort, shaking your head at his ability to be so chipper. “Alive and dripping blood all over the carpet. You know if Kreacher finds out it was you, he’ll murder you in your sleep, right?”

“It doesn’t count if I die now,” Theo protests, frowning as if you’re talking about a serious possibility and not joking. “Deal was you’d forgive me if I came back alive after finding the Horcrux, remember?”

“Hm,” you hum, pretending to think deeply about it as he rubs circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. It causes you to momentarily lose your focus. “What I remember saying is that I would think about it.”

Theo shakes his head, a look of mock concern overtaking his features. “I think the stress of my injury has gotten to your memory… What I remember is you vowing to forgive me the moment I stepped foot in this place.”

“I think Madam Pomfrey’s painkillers are getting to you,” you say drily, moving to kneel on the floor next to him.

“She didn’t use any,” Theo grumbles, looking mournfully at the bandages on his leg. “She’s really sadistic, I’m telling you.”

You laugh, ducking your head so you aren’t flustered by the way Theo’s eyes focus on your smile with a grin of his own.

“You know what she told me would help with the pain?” Theo asks quietly, his enviously long eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones as he looks down at you, almost nervously.

“Let me guess,” you say, sitting up so the distance between your faces is much shorter now. “A kiss to make it all better?”

“Healer’s orders,” he says, shrugging. His breathing quickens when you don’t move away and he swallows hard, eyes dropping lower to your mouth when you bite your lip to stop from cracking a smile. “I’m not saying you have to, but if you’re okay with going directly against her orders, then-”

You cut him off by pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and he inhales sharply, unmoving for a split second before parting his lips and deepening the kiss. Theo’s hands move to your waist where he uses his remaining strength to hoist you up onto the sofa next him, one of your legs thrown over his waist as you half-straddle him.

You gasp into his mouth when he nips at your bottom lip and the sound he makes in the back of his throat has your cheeks warming up and you kiss him harder. The fact it’s been so long since you’ve even been near him has you both kissing for what feels like hours and you only pull away when you need to breathe and you’re worried you’re leaning on Theo’s leg.

Pulling away, you scan Theo’s face and pause for a second to take in his beautiful features. His eyes are blown wide like he can’t believe he’s here with you, kissing you. A warm feeling starting in your stomach spreads all the way down to the tips of your fingers as he looks at you.

“Any other very important requests from the Healer?” you ask breathlessly, feeling a shiver run down your spine where Theo lightly skims his fingers. A dangerous smile overtakes his face and his lips, pink and swollen from kissing you, curve up, causing you to narrow your eyes at him.

“I think she mentioned something about a sponge bath?”

You whack his arm and he yelps, grabbing your wrist to stop you assaulting him further. “Hey, I’m an injured patient!”

“Your leg is injured, not your arm.”

“It is now,” he says, pouting as he rubs dramatically at his bicep where you lightly thumped him. He grumbles when you roll your eyes and press another kiss to his lips to get him to stop pouting. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Hm,” you hum, settling your face in his chest and sighing at the warmth of his arms, feeling him smile against your forehead where he kisses you.

© angelfic 2023.

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott smut #theodore nott

[violet-fluff]

💙 Levi x Sick! Reader

Pulling Through

“We should visit Y/N. It’s been a while.” Petra says sadly.

Gunther frowns. “You know Captain won’t let us. It seems like the better she gets, the more protective he is. Which I understand. It took so long for her to get better so he’s probably paranoid of her getting sick again.”

You caught a bad case of pneumonia, and at one point, the doctors didn’t think you would make it. Fortunately you did pull through and you felt like it was all because of Levi. He took care of you from the beginning. He made sure you took your medicine on the dot, bathed you, fed you and did everything in his will to keep you alive. Now you are in the recovery stage trying to get your strength back.

Petra feels sympathetic for her Captain as she knows how much he loves you. “Hanji told me before that Levi’s mother died due to sickness. It would have been awful if the same happened to Y/N.”

“If what happened to me?”

They all quickly snap their heads to the side and gasp when they see Levi rolling you in a wheelchair into the mess hall.

“Y/N!!” Petra squeals excitedly.

“Well look who decided to finally show up.” Eld jokes lightly as they all walk up to you.

You feel Levi’s hand stiffen on your shoulder as everyone gets closer, so you give his hand a light squeeze to tell him it was ok.

“I begged Levi to let me come out and get some fresh air. I feel better already!” You smile as you take in the sight of your friends who you’ve missed.

They all take in the sight of you as well. Their faces dropping slightly as they notice your thin frame from the weight you’ve lost, as well as your dark sunken eyes against your pale skin.

“Well it’s good to see you out and about.” Oluo announces happily, for once not uttering a sarcastic comment.

Levi grunts. “Ok brats, time to leave my wife alone. She needs to eat.”

You give the team a knowing smile and let Levi wheel you to the table. While you wait for Levi to finish making your soup, you catch up with your friends.

“I’m so glad you’re ok.” Petra croaks out, trying to not cry.

You lean over to hug her. “Don’t cry it’s okay.”

Oluo rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you’re back so now I don’t have to listen to Petra’s girly gossip anymore.”

Gunther snorts a laugh. “It’s weird you say that because from the looks of it, you love the gossip.”

Petra sighs. “Bet you didn’t miss these bozos.”

You laugh. “I miss everything. Time seemed to fly by for me though. I can’t believe I’ve been down for two months now.”

“It was a long two months without one of our favorite captains. Also, there was no one to protect us from Captain Levi’s harsh training.” Eld says.

“It was much needed training.” Levi scolds as he walks back in with a bowl of soup.

Due to muscle pain and weakness, Levi has to hold the bowl for you but you were able to lift the spoon to feed yourself. You were only able to eat half of the bowl before becoming full.

“Please, Love, just eat a few more spoons for me.” Levi begs with a sigh.

Petra has to cover her mouth to stop herself from squealing while the guys look at each other awkwardly as they have never witnessed their captain so lovey-dovey.

After eating a few more spoons to make Levi content, you yawn. “I’m tired. Can you take me back to the room?”

Levi nods and grabs the handles of your wheelchair.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow.” You wave goodbye to your team.

Everyone watches as Levi wheels you away, as well as kissing the top of your head.

Petra watches with love-struck eyes. “I’m so happy for them. I hope I find love like that one day.”

Oluo scoffs and then hurls over as she elbows him in the stomach.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi attack on titan #attack on titan #captain levi

[storiesiwrite]

Set-up ☾ Chwe Hansol

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining

Word count: 3864

Summary: In which Hansol gets set up by his friends (Jeonghan, mainly) on a movie-night date with you.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Hansol sets foot in your apartment, two pints of Ben and Jerry’s in his hands, with the genuine expectation that today is going to be a group hangout. 

After all, the plan has been to have a movie night at your place along with Wonwoo, Joshua, Jeonghan, and Minghao. But when an hour has passed and there are no signs of the others—only text messages from them, saying that they all suddenly have other pressing matters to attend to—Hansol begins feeling anxious. 

And when Hansol feels anxious, he can’t stay still.

You’re in the kitchen, fetching plates and putting them on the counter alongside the takeout you ordered earlier, oblivious to the way he’s walking back and forth in the living room. Realization dawns on him, slow and dreadful.

Have the others... have they set him up on a date with you?

Panic seizes him. He tries to remain calm, tries to convince himself that his thoughts can’t be any more wrong. But still, he remains unswayed. And so he proceeds to the restroom, locks the door, and dials the person he suspects orchestrated the whole thing.

It takes only one ring for Jeonghan to pick up the phone, as if he’s been waiting for the call.

“Hello?”

“What’s this?” Hansol hisses. “Has this been the plan all along?”

A chuckle from the other end. “Hello to you, too. Are you in the bathroom right now? You sound so... echoey.”

“What exactly did you mean you can’t come?” He asks, pacing back and forth yet again. “I was at your place literally this morning. You told me to go to her place first and that you’d catch up.”

“I just remembered I have to pick up some letters and deliveries I got over the weekend.”

Hansol stops moving. “It’s Sunday. Post offices are closed.”

A long silence. “Anyway... how is she?”

“Dude, don’t switch the subject.” Closing his eyes, Hansol rubs the bridge of his nose. He somehow has the feeling that Jeonghan’s also dissuaded everyone else from coming, because what are the odds that four people bail on a hangout that has been long planned? 

“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan concedes. “I simply told the others of my plan and they all agreed to it immediately. But shouldn’t you be thanking me, instead? Isn’t this the scenario that you’ve always imagined and wanted realized?” 

Yes, Hansol has to admit. This is the scenario, in which he gets to spend time with you after having maintained a crush on you so great that he feels embarrassed simply thinking about it. He can hear the smugness in his friend’s voice, can visualize the smirk that settles upon his features. 

At times like this, he feels like hurling a pillow at Jeonghan’s face.

He remains silent instead, leaning his head on the wall as Jeonghan continues, nonchalant. “You’ve once hinted that you want to ask her out, but you never know how. So consider this skipping a step.” 

Damn. He hates the way Jeonghan reads him and his feelings like an open book—feelings he tries so hard to hide behind that veneer of calm he always wears. But more than that, he hates the fact that Jeonghan is right.

Hansol isn’t one to be overly expressive of how he feels, but there’s no denying that he really, really likes you. 

He supposes he should feel grateful for ‘skipping a step,’ as Jeonghan put it. Skipping the mustering-the-courage-to-ask-you-out part and plunging straight into the going-on-a-date part. Though perhaps, a little warning would be nice.

Because if this were an actual date—that is to say, one you’d both actually planned beforehand—he would’ve brought along flowers. He remembers accompanying you as you swung by the local florist weeks ago and pointed out facts about the plants that were on display all over the small shop. Jasmine, he remembers, is your favorite kind, for its sweet scent and its white petals that are soft to the touch.

And if this were an actual date, he would’ve dressed up more appropriately. Before going to your place, he spent a long time deciding on what to wear, trying on one sweater just to change to another with a different color; the mess that is his apparels currently still lying strewn across his apartment floor is proof enough. He spent a long time staring at his own reflection in the mirror, worrying about the little flecks on his face that he doesn’t like. 

He wonders now what you think of them. He wonders what you think of him. 

“Is she aware of this?” is all Hansol can say.

“Nope,” Jeonghan replies. And, as if he can sense Hansol’s doubts, he adds, “don’t worry, Sol. You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. Say hi to her for me, would you?” Another voice he recognizes—Minghao’s. Hansol curses. I knew it. 

Jeonghan lets out a laugh. “Now, get out there before she thinks you’re bailing on her, too.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

“Hey,” you call out when Hansol saunters into the living room, your eyes glued to the tv, remote in one hand as you sift through some movies. “The food is ready. I’m thinking that maybe we can eat while watching.”

He doesn’t answer. When you turn back to look at him, your smile falls. “Is everything... is everything okay? You look slightly pale.”

An expression flickers across his face, so briefly you can’t gauge it. Then he gestures to his phone. “It’s just something from work that I need to get done. Nothing to worry about, really.” 

You can’t help the worry that makes its way to your voice. “You sure about that? I’d totally understand. I mean, I know this isn’t exactly what we planned in the group chat, what with the others not showing up.” A nervous laugh as you stand up from the couch where you’ve been sitting. “It’s completely okay if you wanna take a rain check.”

He shakes his head as he moves closer to you, sliding his phone in his back pocket. “No, no. No worries. I actually don’t mind. Do you?”

“Not at all,” you reply, though you can’t seem to drown out your nerves. The fact that you’re alone with Hansol...

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t put too much thought into it. But this is Hansol, and it feels too much like a date. 

It’s stupid, really, the fact that you’ve been into him since the day you met him for the first time. He’s a neighbor who lives only a few streets away from you, but you hadn’t been properly introduced to each other all those months ago; you never had the chance.

That is, until the day you saw him in a supermarket just around your block and mustered the courage to strike up a conversation with him. He immediately recognized you, said you were the girl who always had her purple headphones on, and you’d laughed. 

You’d never been one to fall for someone so quickly, but you felt your heart flutter the way it never had before. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to care about the things you said, how he respectful he was. Or the way he seemed to notice and remember such a trivial thing about you even without knowing who you were.

That marked the beginning of everything. Through him, you met Jeonghan and Joshua, and you introduced him to your closest friends, Wonwoo and Minghao, too. An odd bunch, all of you, but everyone got along really well, and it wasn’t long before you all began keeping your Saturdays free for group get-togethers.

It certainly wasn’t long before this silly, little crush of yours developed into something more. 

You decided Hansol never had to find out. And he never would, if the others always tag along during the meet-ups. But then this happens, and you have the sinking feeling that Jeonghan is behind it. (After all, he was the person who figured out how you feel and asked you outright just to confirm his suspicions. He’s the kind of person who revels in the fact that he’s right, and as much as you hate to admit it, he always is.)

“Cool,” Hansol now says with a shrug, oblivious to what is running through your mind. A smile settles on his face, one so small and private that you can’t help the warmth that spreads across your cheeks as you look away.

Damn.

When you say nothing in return—because how can you, especially when he’s looking at you like that?—he takes it as a sign to continue. “I don’t know what to watch, though. I feel like I’ve seen too many things already. You have any ideas?”

“Um... what about Ghibli films?” You suggest, fiddling with the remote in your hands. “They’re your favorites, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I was thinking of watching your favorites instead. Or something you’ve always wanted to watch but never got around to.”

You turn to him to answer, only to find that he’s standing mere paces away from you. Your breath catches a little, and as your eyes meet his, you hope Hansol doesn’t see through you. 

He’s so close. So close that for the briefest moment, you let yourself wonder how it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through his dark brown hair. You wonder what his hands would feel like tied to your own, or against your cheeks—

Nope. It’s precisely thoughts like these that drive a friendship to ruin.

“So what do you have in mind?” Hansol prompts again in a quieter voice, that beautiful, timid smile of his never leaving his features.

“I’m... Well, I like rom-coms, which I know aren’t exactly your thing—”

“Hey, I do watch and enjoy rom-coms from time to time,” Hansol says, feigning offense, and you laugh. 

“Wait, wait. I change my mind. I’ve been wanting to watch this new Rian Johnson movie.” You plop down on the couch and, using the remote, click on the search button. “The sequel to ‘Knives Out’. I forgot what it’s called though...”

“Isn’t it called ‘Glass Onion’?” Hansol asks as he sits down right next to you. You try not to think about how close his body is to yours; even just the slightest shift and you’d graze him. You focus on the gleam in his eyes instead, the excitement that takes over him when he talks about movies.

“Yeah! Exactly.” 

“I watched the trailer yesterday,” he says. “It looked good. Let’s go with that one, then.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

It’s only been five minutes into the movie, and Hansol has finished devouring his Chinese takeout already.

“Whoa, slow down there,” you say, smiling. “Someone’s hungry.”

Hansol nods, setting down his takeout box on the table in front of him. “So hungry.”

“Did you not eat lunch?”

“Well... actually, I did.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Swung by McDonalds to grab two double-cheeseburgers and fries. Was that all? Oh yeah, and a vanilla milkshake, too. But my point still stands.”

And there it is, that infectious, broad grin he loves to see. “Hansol!”

“What? I can’t help it.” He leans back against the sofa and adds, in a murmur, “I eat quite a lot.”

“I know. That’s why I ordered extras for you.”

At that, Hansol smiles to himself. It does something to him, the fact that you care and pick up on trivial details like that. Such a small thing, really, but it makes him happy. You make him happy. 

The rest of the movie feels like a blur. At some point, Hansol loses track of its plot and no longer bothers trying to keep up. It’s hard, he realizes, to keep his eyes on the screen when you’re right there, beside him, so much more interesting than any film—or anything in general—can ever be. 

He watches as you make fun of the ridiculous accent that detective, Benoit Blanc, has, smiling as you try (and fail) to imitate it in between fits of laughter. How someone can be so lovely is beyond him.

It’s always been crystal clear to him, the fact that he’s fallen for you, but this—always finding new things about someone that make him fall for them over and over—is new. Foreign. 

And he’s in deep. 

So buried in his thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize you’ve turned to your side, looking at him like you just said something and you’re expecting him to reply. 

“Hm?” He asks.

“Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

He’s quiet, trying to form a response. “I’ve been enjoying the movie.”

“But you always make some sort of commentary whenever you watch movies. I can tell something’s on your mind.” 

True, he wishes he could say. You’re constantly running through my mind, do you know that? 

Before he has the chance to deny it, you continue. “We can watch something else, or even stop watching altogether, if that’s what you prefer. I really don’t mind, Sol.” 

Putting the takeout box on the table, you grab the remote to change the channel. And Hansol, acting on impulse, quickly leans forward and lightly grabs your hand to stop you.

You turn your head, your gaze meeting his. Something inscrutable flickers across your face. He’s never seen it up close; he’s never been this close to you, in fact, and it takes everything in him to remain steady despite his heart beating like a frenzy. You’re so close he can see the beautiful, dark specks in your eyes, so, so close he can easily lean in to kiss you—

Chwe Hansol, you’re an idiot, he thinks, stopping himself in his track of mind. He can feel warmth creeping up his neck, unwelcome. This is highly inappropriate and too intimate for someone who only sees you as a friend. You’ve gone and made her uncomfortable, and now she’s going to think you’re being too forward. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And yet, you stay put, not letting go. He’d like to think that’s an invitation to stay where he is, but he knows better. So he retracts his hand from yours and retreats. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking,” he apologizes profusely, panic throwing his thoughts into disarray. “I probably wasn’t even thinking, and I just grabbed your hand like that and I’m just so sorry—”

But then you reach out and grab his hand, in a move that silences and unravels him bit by bit. “It’s really okay.” 

“It is?”

Your smile is timid. You intertwine your fingers with his, slowly and hesitantly, like you’re not sure if this is what you should be doing. Adorable, how shy you’re being right now; he’s never imagined he would have that sort of effect on you. 

“Is this okay?” It’s your turn to ask. 

The grin on his face is the widest he’s ever had. “It’s more than okay.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

If you’re being honest, none of this turns out the way you expected it would. 

Earlier this evening, when you got texts from everyone else saying they were bailing, you thought the night would fizzle out quickly. You imagined Hansol would grow bored without the other boys and scour for a reason to immediately head home. 

And yet, here you are, watching a movie beside him while holding his hand. Holding his hand. 

It feels surreal, the sensation of his skin against yours. A part of you wishes to believe that this is real, that perhaps your feelings for him aren’t as unrequited as they seem. But another, greater part of you fears that this is just a friendly gesture. Friends hold hands, don’t they?

But not Hansol. You know for a fact that he never gets touchy when he’s with his female friends. He keeps his distance out of respect, allowing only the occasional hug and not much more. 

Perhaps this is a sign that he likes you, too. Or perhaps, this is just his way of saying that he sees you as a friend around whom he can be comfortable. Unfortunately for you, the latter seems more plausible.

Before you let yourself fall into an overanalyzing spiral, you stand up, rather abruptly, from the couch and turn to face him. You miss his touch the moment you let go. “I think it’s time we eat the ice cream. Don’t you?”

He blinks. His eyes flicker to the spot on his hand where yours was. “Uh, um. Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, I’ll be back real quick.” You dart away without waiting for his response.

The kitchen provides some sort of refuge, albeit temporary. Refuge against... whatever it was that led you both to holding hands. The situation feels like traversing across an unfamiliar territory, the lines between the old and the new blurring, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

Do you like the feeling of his touch on your hand? Of course. Does said feeling render you so nervous you feel like combusting at any moment? Absolutely.

Hence, the kitchen. Away from Hansol.

Your hands have gone all clammy. You wipe them on the rough surface of your jeans, trying to focus. What are you supposed to be doing in the kitchen, again? Ah, right. To take the Ben and Jerry’s out of the fridge. Right.

“I’ll grab the spoons.” Hansol’s voice. Soft, and yet you almost jump at the sound of it, the tension increasing tenfold at his presence. 

Perhaps he realizes what’s going on, because he’s looking at you and asks, “Did I startle you?”

He did startle you. Though not as much as this very moment, when he walks towards you and lightly grabs your hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he continues with an apologetic look. Your mind seems to register nothing else but his touch. His thumb, now tracing patterns across the back of your hand. “You alright?” 

All you can do is nod. Hansol stays silent, patiently waiting. He doesn’t seem all that convinced.

“I’m nervous, actually. I’ve never had a boy hold my hand before,” you finally confess with embarrassment.

He looks surprised. “Never?”

“Never. I’ve had crushes before, yes, but I’ve never acted upon them. I just… admire them from afar and wait until the feelings fade.”

“Really? I find that rather hard to believe, coming from someone as amazing as you.”

God. He really has no right saying things like that and expecting you not to blush. “What about you?”

“I think the first and only time I held someone’s hand was when I was in second grade,” Hansol says. “There was this girl who asked me to be her boyfriend. I didn’t know what it all meant, how a relationship worked. I was so clueless I just went with it when she grabbed my hand.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, imagining Hansol at the age of seven. You briefly wonder how he was back then, if much has changed. “Is that really the only time?”

“Yeah, it is.” He shakes his head and smiles at the memory. This is the first time he opens up about his dating life; you’ve only gleaned very few things from the others, but never directly from him. “I never dated anyone. It’s always been clear to me that I wanted time to myself before I start dating someone.”

A pause. “And now?”

He contemplates for a moment before saying, “That’s no longer what I want.”

“No?” 

"No,” he replies, not meeting your eyes. Both of you stay that way, wrapped in comfortable silence that stretches for a moment or two before it breaks.

“Thank you,” Hansol begins, moving closer. He never once lets go of your hand.

Your brow furrows in confusion. “For what?”

“For, um, for tonight.” He sounds so terribly shy, unlike his usual carefree self. “And for letting me hold your hand.”

Your heart warms at that. “Why wouldn’t I let you?”

He offers you a sheepish smile. “I guess… I guess I never thought you liked me like that.” “Like what?” You ask, though you damn well know the answer. And he damn well knows he doesn’t have to explain to you what he means. 

It’s written plainly all over you, in the way your gaze keeps searching for him in a room. In the way you become a nervous mess whenever he’s near, as much as you try to hide it under the semblance of calm and all those foolish, lighthearted jokes. In the way your heart is currently beating so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. 

And when he leans forward, his face a mere breath away from yours, your heart threatens to stop altogether.

“Like this,” Hansol murmurs, tipping your chin up with his fingers. And slowly, his lips meet yours in a kiss.

You’d be outright lying if you said you hadn’t envisioned this scenario many times before; this moment feels like visiting a recurring dream. But you never imagined he would kiss this way, tenderly and softly, his soft yet strong hand caressing your jaw. You’ve barely processed what’s happening when he draws away from you.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” he admits in a low voice, looking at your lips like he longs for them. 

You don’t know how or why; perhaps it’s his confession that drives you onward, gives you the courage to take a plunge and utter these next words. “What took you so long?”

He takes that as a sign to pull you in and kiss you once more, deeper this time. Closing your eyes, you kiss him back, cautiously at first, and then with an eagerness and yearning—the kind that leaves you and your emotions naked, exposed. It’s frightening, really, willingly giving your whole heart to someone who’s stolen fragments of it since the moment you met them.

Yet you’ll learn to realize, in the months to come, that it is in the best way possible, because it’s under Hansol’s touch that you feel safe and grounded. He has a way of making you laugh with his awkwardness and wits, lifting you up during the stormiest of days and the darkest of nights. And, above all else, he appreciates you, makes you feel heard and seen for who you truly are. Loved for who you truly are.

But for now, you try to bask in the feeling of his lips on yours. 

Your back hits the kitchen counter as you gently tug Hansol closer to you, and he snakes his hands behind you to rest them on the tabletop, framing you. Unlike the first time, he now kisses you like he can’t get enough of you, and you kiss him over and over until you’re both breathless.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. And then softly laughs. 

“What?” You ask him.

His voice is hoarse as he says, “I guess we have to thank Jeonghan for this.”

You can’t help grinning at that, your eyes closed. “I guess we do.”

#seventeen #vernon #chwe hansol #hansol vernon chwe #vernon fanfic #chwe hansol fanfic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #vernon imagines #chwe hansol imagines #vernon x reader #chwe hansol x reader #scoups #joshua hong #jeonghan #wen junhui #hoshi #wonwoo #woozi #minghao #mingyu #dokyeom #seungkwan #dino

[shikishake]

ik we're all freaking out about the ruby breakdown, and rightfully so it was an amazing scene but like.

I feel like ruby didn't go far enough, weirdly.

like don't get me wrong she said some nasty shit to her friends and was altogether very loudly not okay but, like, what I REALLY wanted is for her to be inarticularly screaming and yelling and hurling vile shit at her team for failing her or jaune for failing her or something in furious frustration. and we ain't getting that, and I feel like that's kind of the point.

a big part of ruby's character is that she isn't allowed to break down. she isn't supposed to be hurt. she isn't supposed to lose hope, or need help, or need someone to lean on. she's the one who picks the others up when they're down, if she lets herself even stumble then everything will go to shit.

and like the worst part is is she's RIGHT. multiple times she's been the only one that seemed to be capable of moving while everyone else fuckin breaks. the truth about ozpin, brunswick farms, argus, splitting from ironwood at the end of vol 7. every time things go wrong everyone around her breaks and it's only ruby being able to keep going that stops them from just giving up entirely.

ruby isn't allowed to be hurt. she has to bear the burden of making the big decisions for the group, and when things go wrong she isn't allowed to be upset about it. she has to keep going, because if things go wrong and she's not there to pick up the pieces, no one else will.

so even at her lowest, even when she's supposed to be snapping, she isn't allowed to REALLY snap. she bites her tongue, she holds back. because, though she said stuff that wasn't acceptable, the reality is that there were things that came to mind that would have been much worse and much more raw than what she DID say. when jaune gets in her face and blames her for the paper pleasers' destruction, for neo, for the fall of atlas and them ending up in the ever after, she doesn't bite back even though she really, really could have.

she could have pointed out the fact that everyone has pushed the responsibility of making decisions on her for the past few volumes, only speaking up when the choices she's been forced to make or the plans she's cobbled together don't work out. she could have pointed out the reality that even though jaune is also supposed to be a leader, he hasn't held up that responsibility in any major way for a while now. jaune didn't come up with a better plan for atlas. jaune didn't have a better way to deal with ironwood. they're supposed to be equals, but ruby has had to shoulder the responsibility of effectively being ozpin's replacement while jaune gets to just be one of the team.

but she doesn't. because she's not supposed to. her role in the group is to take the responsibility, take the blame, and not to make a fuss about it.

so it makes sense. but I really, really wanted her to throw it back in their faces. I really wanted her to say that if she failed so badly, let's see them do better. I wanted her to say "fuck it, I'm done. you guys figure it out."

because even if she fucked up, even if her plans didn't work out, nobody else was even trying.

edit: for the record this ain't me blaming the rest of the gang. ruby shouldering all the responsibility is just as much because she hasn't communicated her own feelings to her friends as it is that they've been letting ruby take charge. I just wanted to point out that I kind of felt frustrated that ruby's breakdown wasn't meaner, and that it fit.

doesn't mean there isn't a small, petty part of me that wanted her to spit in their faces. but that's my own trauma clouding my judgment.

idk where I'm going with this. I just have a lot of Feelings about ruby and her situation rn I guess.

#ruby rose #rwby #rwby9 #rwby spoilers

[voltstone]

scav·eng·er | TWDG Retelling | 3

WINTER'S BITE

she starts to slip away. feels numb.

[2,274] [May.04.2024]

— — —

I've been figuring out how to pace this fic, and there will be 21 parts. (…or more.) However, I will post the story in full on Tumblr. Cuz turns out, the total character limit is 4 million?? Which. I don't need that much. Lol.

Anyway, hope you enjoy.

:)

— — —

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

[Previous] | [Next] | [First Chapter]

“Christa. Talk to me.”

.

Rain to sleet, then ice, then snow.

.

That's what she tells her, with the hunt—rabbit—over a smoldering fire that's more smoke than it is flame.

It's nights like these where Christa sinks down into the same spiral, and Clementine can't help but to join her. This is habit for them. It’s a cliffside to slip over. Christa sinks the more it rains, or whenever a promising meal decides to revoke that promise. She catches Clementine when her eyes stray often, to another…viable meal. Except that meal would likely kill Christa. She can’t have it. Will never have it. It is sin. Utterly depraved.

And it is, already, a deep scar in Clementine’s psyche, a disfigurement in her morality. 

Together, they’ve gone past not knowing. They know. They do, from the way she’s found normalcy in this, down to the cravings. Some walkers are a means to warm her tongue. Others are to claw down her throat. Many are sour in taste as much as smell; they’re the most palatable. Then there’s the few, where the citrus is a twinge, and the iron is all she cared for.

She’s degenerate. Christa isn’t much better for what she’s done. 

So Clementine waits with her. In the rain. In front of a meal that’s too close to revoke itself for either or their liking.

The night blooms a dark cloud. Winter’s breath bathes down her neck.

.

As they begin to encroach upon the winter months, the habit finds them with terrifying ease.

.

Clementine finds a cliff. There's only water after that. It pulls her under before she's thrashing, because she was right… In the year before, Clementine was right.

Her body fights the current. Tries to, anyway. Hurling herself off an edge, down onto concrete, would've done her better.

. . .

THE CRAVING DID NOT LEAVE

. . .

There is a cabin in the woods.

A man named Pete, then another named Luke, bring her there.

Her mind staggers. Christa's name alone is a thorned reminder of last night and its dismal downpour. Her memory, it scathes her. So Clementine doesn't ask. She doesn't bother telling the men about her.

Then there's the dog bite on Clementine’s arm.

It hurts like a bitch. Will probably scar like one too.

.

Somewhere in a staggering haze, Clementine falls. She still smells the earth when she wakes, minutes later.

In the split moment before her eyes crack open, anyway, because she's surrounded, and there's a rifle looming dead center between those eyes of hers.

.

The walker in her wants it to fire, and for her to feel the ground again. Or, well, the fall back to it, if not the ground itself.

The human in her doesn't want that. Not at all. She wants to breathe.

.

The scavenger can't decide. It's a confused smear between the two, and before she has the chance to fit the gun in her mouth or snap at any of them to point the thing away…

It fires.

Just past her arm. And the world blears. Their voices don't stop shrilling, and the wind doesn't cease its sharp whisper—not until well into the argument. Doctor included, because there's a doctor, and Clementine loathes the subtle shade of alcohol—medical—that reeks off his hands.

.

"With a bite like that…, could be anything."

.

Her head lobs the longest eye-roll. Because, sure, while the dog stripped her arm the same way she's ravaged bodies before, Clementine has a bite to compare. At her shoulder, so this doctor of theirs has some reference.

.

She doesn't show it, though. The bite.

Because there's a doubt, and it screams that these people…, they wouldn't care how aged the bite is.

So Clementine finds herself locked in their stupid shed for the night, with a throbbing arm. Which still hurts like a bitch, even if she's half-dead, half-alive, or something another.

.

It doesn't take long before she decides to claw her way out. Her scavenger's strength reels from her hands—a strength, which, she discovered in time, behind Christa's back. As a mild, silent exploration. And it rattles to mind. Cauterizes Clementine, almost, in its ferocity. She thinks to the few logs she’s turned over. Other feats as well where her body burned, and it burned hot, before the world gave way. So her teeth bare, and her hands burn. She's able to break the board and drywall holding the shed's gashed hole together. It only takes a few tugs, a sturdy leg against the wall, and then a line of sweat.

Thereafter, Clementine slinks off into the night.

She ducks away from the windows, and finds another gash in a wall—this time around, to the cabin's crawlspace. Despite what she'd figure, it's this where Clementine regrets not tearing the shed apart for an actual tool, or anything like that, to work the nails out. Her strength does all it needs to. This drywall comes apart easily.

A hammer would've helped her avoid the splinters, though. And, perhaps, the gouge her fragile knife left behind too. The trapdoor and its lock are not kind to her.

The cuts are nagging as she roams the cabin for a needle, then bandages, and—despite herself—the reeking alcohol.

.

"You're not supposed to be in here. "I'm not supposed to talk to you. My dad can't know."

.

By the time she returns to the shed, it's after making a new friend.

Clementine hopes so, anyway.

It's the one thing that prevails louder than the waking famine in her stomach.

.

"I'll help you."

. "I'm Sarah." "I'm Clementine."

.

Her arm is mangled together by lousy stitchwork, but she is an unsupervised child, and her arm was frayed open, so Clementine thinks it good enough.

Peace doesn't last for long. She can't find a rhythm to it—the silent harmony she'd be wrapping the wound to—, because she drops the bandages in her haste, and there to greet her is a decayed arm sprung from the gash in the wall.

A walker.

Relatively fresh. Angry too.

She finds a way to bludgeon it. Not before she's slung against another wall, and the lone shelf topples over its head. Glass shatters. Clementine hears it bite into her shoes, though none of it breaks through. None of it teethes into her heel.

And she finds the hammer with splintered hands. The gouge is restless down the handle.

Clementine nails the walker, and makes sure to tunnel a hole deep in its head.

Before its chest.

Down to its beltline.

.

Famine flares up her throat. It gnashes a gluttony down her tongue.

The blood the walker leaks isn't as dark as it could be. There's still red to it. The body itself isn't warm, and she avoids where the rain sopped its way through. Because the man he once was died with an array of bullets spat across his chest, and she doesn't want to bite one for herself after all—not quite yet.

.

It's the first body where Clementine isn't overrun by anguish.

There is only satiation. She doesn't think to cry.

.

A door does close, in the distance.

.

"I'm just— I'm just checking, okay?! It doesn't hurt to check!"

.

Clementine freezes mid-bite.

Panic strikes her. She knows there's the blood on her hands, and every puncture her teeth has left behind along the body.

Her first instinct is wipe her mouth clean. And as their strides plunder across the clearing, Clementine stumbles back. Far from the body. She keeps the hammer tight in her hands, just in case one of them—any of them—realize what she is, what she's done, and knows the dark smudge on her sleeve, it's what cleansed her mouth.

.

The doors open.

All they see is a girl trembling in the corner, with the walker collapsed at the center of it all. Her arm has been tended to, yes. She must have wiped her mouth clean enough—none notice.

Guilt pales them in the face for leaving her like this. (Beneath her skin, Clementine teems to dive back to her meal.) A poor little girl who was just mauled by a dog. Left out in the rain, no less. (She does wonder if her hunger extends to dead animals as well.) And all they did was barricade her in here. All responsible-like, or something.

(She doesn’t really care. They’ve only proven Christa’s spiral right. There is no one left. Trust calls itself a snare, yet it bites like steel-jaw.)

.

"I'm still. Not. Bitten. I never was."

.

The bite on Clementine shoulder has made a liar of her.

…but also, technically not.

Clementine has decided it’s a language thing. A semantic issue. And not her problem, except for when it is.

.

She ignores when they begin to fume over the stitches. She's simply too exhausted to really bother.

Luke does offer her a meal. He asks if she's hungry.

And Clementine is, in arguably the worst way. However, she wonders about what meal he has.

.

The curiosity is enough to follow him to the kitchen.

Where the doctor berates. Because her friend is his daughter. Sarah. And she’s…different. Somehow. Even though she’s inherited the same long face, and the same hair, and eyes, Sarah is different, she’s one ordeal away before she ceases to function, and now it’s Clementine’s problem, and all it took was asking for a stupid bottle of alcohol to stop herself from keeling over.

Even though the girl was reading about trans-dimensional body-snatchers when Clementine met her—whatever those are—, while she’s only read about unicorns with a crisis solved in ten pages.

And she’s the cannibal. So checkmate, Carlos.

.

…Clementine bites her tongue. He sees the frenetic storm within her. It brews a bleaker agony, and it’s all down the fine line between that tongue’s wit and her mind’s hemorrhage. 

He doesn’t ask. Leaves her instead to in Luke’s company, which is also meek—more guilt-ridden than it is a daughter’s passivity.

.

That second dinner's served in a nice, warm bowl. Clementine doesn't take much to conversation. She only knows food, and the stew finds its place with the gore she's already swallowed.

And so she sleeps that night, rather comfortably. Feeding both the human and the walker is a miracle to the scavenger.

Clementine thinks she ought to do it more often.

.

In the morning, she rises early in the promise there will be more. Fish. Down by the same river, to which she finds herself mulling over rather excitedly, and with those drawls of thought are…walkers. Whether Clementine could find the time to slip away, into the woods.

Pete leads the way to the river. Nick sulks ahead.

She listens idly to Pete and his anecdotes about hunting, and cowardice, the humility between. There’s a humanity too there, somewhere. 

Her nose begins to guide her best, however, because she smells the walkers, and the bodies, long before Nick sees them, long before he calls for his uncle.

.

There are many bodies.

Too many to keep track, and one of them—a walker—finds Pete. Bites him.

.

Clementine helps.

Doesn't know why, but also does. It's a conflation between compassion and a cruel inquisitivity.

Nick is left to scramble for his own veil of refuge, and she's led again by Pete, blindly in the other direction.

.

They find an abandoned truck. It smells stale, and there’s an itch down her nose which scathes her, in her throat, when she tries to swallow clean air. Pete tries to do the same. That may be the panic, however, or the denial.

The human does everything she can to help again, from handing over a saw, and water, to mere conversation.

The walker waits. Doesn’t sleep. 

Pete begins to smell like them. That citrus. It's ripe. He would be warm. Very, very warm. Better than what she just had in the night prior, and knowing that has her deliberate. Almost…hope the man succumbs.

.

"I'm scared, Clementine… "Jesus, I'm scared."

.

One half of her croons with him. The other half doesn't know what to say. It's just hungry again.

It always is. There's no… There's no cease.

Clementine doesn't know if there ever would be, even if there's a friendly face dying before her eyes. Just as there is now.

.

She wonders had Lee died after this hunger found her, what she would've done.

If Clementine would've left him to turn, and… A-And just—

.

No.

.

She— She wouldn't have. Never. The human screams so. It writhes in her heart. It’s blindsided.

.

Yet when Pete tells her to run, she does. For the worst reason.

Clementine doesn't want that side of her to prove her wrong.

When Pete tells her to run, she can't really believe she wouldn't have, so she doesn't risk the chance.

.

Clementine wishes Nick had just shot her with the damn rifle.

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

[Previous] | [Next] | [First Chapter]

#twdgscav fic #volt's library #twdg #twdg 2 #fanfiction #twdg fanfiction #twdg clementine #twdg christa #twdg luke #twdg carlos #twdg sarah #twdg kenny #twdg pete #twdg lee #cannibalism

[thekpopgossip]

HYBE and Min Hee Jin Round 3...

Things are getting really messy between HYBE and ADOR CEO Min Hee Jin, who is getting sued by her employer. She did a press conference today, playing the victim and showing her bruised ego (which seems to be the main cause of this whole fiasco). It was embarrassing to the point of me feeling bad for her lawyer, who tried to stop her from talking nonsense and hurling insults at everyone.

Apparanetley her trying to go independent and backstabbing HYBE, while simultaneously accusing all the sub-labels of copying her ideas, wasn't bad enough, we now know she really is dumb trusting shamans to advise her on business deals. She was crying during the press-con saying: “I feel like they all want me to die. If I suddenly die, will everyone be happy? That’s honestly what I think. I don’t read all the articles and comments. If I do, I can’t live. I wonder if anyone can handle this much distress in a short period of time.” She added, “I am also human, and it’s not confirmed that I’m guilty. I think I’m innocent.” Mind you, she caused all this mess herself and is now getting sued by HYBE who will likely destroy her.

To this point, HYBE is not innocent in this debacle either, they gave her a label, gave her 20 % company shares, gave her Source Music trainees, gave her free control over NewJeans and are now also acting like victims. Those guys enabled her behavior and are now surprised she would try to go independent. Min Hee Jin also addressed some HYBE accusations, like her saying BTS copied her ideas. “Everything that HYBE is saying is a lie. I’ve never said BTS copied me. I want to ask HYBE why they made everything like this and try to ruin me”. Because you tried to go against the company?

I believe that part though, HYBE is playing dirty games here trying to get every fandom to attack her, but again, she caused this herself, when she publicly stated that ILLIT was a copy of NewJeans (which is true, but you don't say that ish out loud).

She also said, she had nothing to do with Source Music disbanding G-Friend, which I also believe. That was a money decision, they wanted a new group that could become a million seller, so LE SSERAFIM was born, and since BTS was going on army hiatus, they needed new groups quick to fill the void. However, pedo Min Hee Jin wouldn't be herself without also mentioning that NJ Minji was the only Source Music trainee she liked (the others were too old), and that she was even prettier when she was younger. She makes it so easy to hate her. MHJ was also majorly pissed that LE SSERAFIM debuted before NewJeans, which became a huge issue internally in the company.

In the press-con she also repeatedly called herself the mother of NewJeans, and that she gave birth to the group. “NewJeans and I have something more than what you would know. They always tell me that they thank me and love me. Hanni told me that she’d come over to me. Haerin is usually like a cat and doesn’t speak a lot, but she called me and told me that she couldn’t come up with the words to text me. She said that she just wanted to hear my voice. Haerin cried for 20 whole minutes” Min bursts into tears. “She told me that she thanks me so much because I helped her through hard times. She said that she wants to tell everyone what happened. The members’ mothers are so worried that I’m going to kill myself. But why would I? I’m going to say everything that I have in my heart. Do you know what Park Ji-won said to the mothers? He said that he’s not going to talk to them, just to ADOR. And they say that they care about NewJeans? I don’t care whether they sue me for libel.” - She's so fucking creepy, as if she didn't make the girls sing "Cookie".

She also went full egomaniac, saying: “It’s not me that turned my back on HYBE, it’s HYBE that betrayed me. It used me to the fullest and now wants to take me down because I don’t listen to them. No one has done what I have done during the 30 years in K-pop. But HYBE is trying to kill someone who’s done what I have as the head of a subsidiary. I’m the only one in the history of the entertainment industry to have reached such results in 2 years, my only crime is being good at my own job.”

At this point, I just feel bad for the idols and staff caught in between all this. HYBE is greedy and wanted their own NewJeans and MHJ tried to backstab her own bosses - now things are falling apart. NJ has a comeback in May too, no idea how this will end for them and whether they will stay at HYBE or go with "mom" MHJ.

#min hee jin #hybe #ador #kpop #newjeans #le sserafim #illit #bts #Bang Si-hyuk

[fxchild]

The Switch

Miles Fairchild x fem!reader

Chapter five: apology accepted

Miles pov

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm laying on my bed with my lamp light on wide awake. It's 12:30 in the morning which means only another hour until Y/n gets home. I've had a bad feeling in my gut all morning and I think it's trying to tell me something. I honestly don't even know why I'm THIS concerned. I've never even talked to girls and all of the sudden she has my full attention. I think what I need is another get away, maybe she'll be gone by then and I won't have to be breathing down her neck.

My thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. Hoping it was Y/n calling I ran to pick it up. "Hello?" I say eager to hear the voice on the other line.

"Miles?" I hear a girl's voice slurred with a lot of loud voices in the back. "Can you hear me alright?" She asked sounding scared.

"Yeah I can hear you fine, what's going on?" Can she stop asking dumbass questions and get to the point?

"Yeah um, I need you to pick me up. The party is getting bad and I can't drive and there are a bunch of creepy people here and I'm really scared-" she is spiraling at this point so I cut her off.

"Jesus are you serious Y/n? Give me the address, I'll write it down and I'll be there, how long does it take to get there?" I assure and ask her.

"About an hour and 15. The address is 1127 Plymouth drive." She replies as I write it down.

"I'll be there just don't talk to anyone and sit in front of the house or something." I tell her while putting my shoes and jacket on over my red sweater. We disconnect on the phone and I leave to go find a cab. I was lucky there was some around especially the fact it was so late.

I arrived at the house and she wasn't lying, the party was fucking insane. If I wasn't here to pick her up I would have partied now. I looked around the yard to see Y/n almost passed out on the front steps leaning against the railing.

"Y/n!" I shouted to her and her eyes immediately burst open looking for me. She gets up and almost falls down the steps walking crookedly towards me. I catch her as she almost falls. "What the hell happened to you?" I ask, surprised she would be this irresponsible. She doesn't answer just slurs a little and we go to find her car. She may have lost almost all consciousness but at least she didn't lose her keys. I put her in the back seat so she can get some sleep while we're driving. I'm kind of nervous because I have only got a few driving lessons but we make it back home safe. Nice to say I'm NEVER driving again.

I lift her out of the back seat and I can smell all sorts of alcohol on her breath. She is mumbling but I can sort of understand what she is saying. It's along the lines of, "puke, hair, hold, and-" fuck. She started vomiting everywhere and it smelled like shit. I held her hair and looked away while she gagged everything up on the grass. She started sobbing uncontrollably and hugged me with a tight grip.

Her legs started to get weak so I helped her up and walked her back to her room. I let her get changed while I stood outside her room. She walks up to the door and starts to talk with a little slur.

"Thank you, Miles. I know you don't know how to be social, but I really appreciate it." She says starting to cry again. I smile to myself just a little bit not letting her words sink in too much. I sit outside her door for a little while just in case she needs to throw up again. Though I really don't think she can because it looked like she hurled all of Thanksgiving dinner. She kept me awake with her loud throaty sobs but soon enough she fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your pov

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up at 6am with my head pounding like crazy. I tried to remember what happened last night but all I remember was taking shots. I get up to go to the bathroom to brush my teeth because it reeks like throw up.

Walking out of my room I see from the corner of my eye a sleeping Miles up against the wall next to my door. I don't want to disturb his sleep now with my nasty breath so I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I'm heading back to my room I see Miles is no longer there. I don't think about it too much cause I'm too hung over to care about anything right now. I stay in my pajamas because who really cares what I wear?

I go downstairs to see if Miles is with Flora but I see no sign of him. He probably went back to his room to sleep and I don't blame him. Flora is finishing up her paper I assigned her from the book I gave her yesterday while I'm reading books trying to figure out how to get rid of a hangover.

It's been over an hour and Miles still hasn't come down to watch Flora. I'm in the middle of reading her paper and I can't focus because I'm wondering if I did something wrong. I don't think I said anything to him when I came back but I honestly can't believe I drove home drunk and I'm not dead. Maybe I got a ride from Erick or something and I said a snarky comment when I came back into the house?

It's been another half hour and Miles finally comes down like it could've taken him any fucking longer. As soon as I heard footsteps to the room entrance I turned my head so quickly it almost snapped. Miles doesn't look mad, which is good because I really don't want him mad. I'm sitting at a table with Flora who is next to me while Miles is behind me his hands gripping the back of my chair.

"Morning Flora, Y/n." He says groggily.

I didn't say anything because I was really close to passing out and didn't even think I could get another word out of my mouth. Flora on the other hand, is jumping for joy when she sees him because she hated doing the paperwork I assigned. By the time Flora finished her work it was 11:30 am and she had the rest of the day to do whatever she wanted. I, myself didn't have any work to do either so I decided I was going to go upstairs and sleep until dinner. I told Miles I was going to be in my room doing school work and only come get me if it is very urgent. He just nodded his head and I went to my room giddy for my sleep.

I woke up around 5pm because I had a bad dream. I don't understand why I had a nightmare because I hadn't had one for a few days and now I'm suddenly getting them again? It wasn't crazy bad but honestly I'd rather not have a dream at all.

I head to the dining room for dinner and I see Flora and Ms. Grose there but no Miles. He comes 2 minutes after I do and we have dinner. It's kind of awkward because to Ms. Grose and Miles it's obvious I had a rough night last night and I'm probably not gonna be allowed for another, "family function" until the day I die.

After dinner I followed Miles to his room to ask about last night. "Hey," I said knocking on his door, "can I come in?" I ask. "Yeah, sure." He replies back.

"So I don't know what happened last night, if I did anything wrong but I feel like there's been tension all day between us and I really wanna know if I did something bad." I blurted out really fast because I'm nervous about his reaction.

"Okay, well," he starts, with eyebrows raised kind of amused, "at almost one in the morning, you call me, drunk, telling you to pick you up from some party because you are scared and can't drive home. Then when I pick you up I have to drive back, which I didn't know how to do. Finally when we got home you puked everywhere and cried yourself to sleep. So yeah, I'd say you were a little irresponsible." He says in a, "I told you, you shouldn't have gone to that party" tone. I look at him with pure shock and embarrassment. I honestly can't believe I did all that but now it's starting to come back to me.

"Oh fuck, Miles I'm really sorry about that. If I could make it up to you please tell me how." I said feeling really guilty.

He pauses for a moment looking at my eyes, lips, then to the floor. He curls his lips into a smile but doesn't say anything. Finally he looks at me and says, "Doesn't matter anyways, I'm probably going to be leaving again for a little bit soon. Need to clear my head, you know?"

I scoff at him. "Seriously?" I ask. "You just came back less than a week ago and you already want to leave?" I say annoyed, crossing my arms.

"Does it matter?" He spurts back.

"Well I mean a little." I say. "Flora loves you and when you leave, I'm not gonna hear the last of it. She'll be really upset. And I was just starting to get to know you, I just think you should think about it a little bit." I say walking out of the room.

I'm not gonna lie, Miles is cute. Really cute, nevermind, Miles is fucking hot. I really don't want him to leave or else I'll lose my mind. I'm not sure if he finds me attractive but maybe tomorrow I'll try to convince him another way to stick around for a little longer..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys, sorry I was supposed to post this a few days ago but I've been super busy ! I hope you liked this chapter and I wanted to say tysm for the support ! It means a lot to me and I hope we continue to grow as this series goes on. Again tysm n bye 🩷🩷

#miles fairchild #the turning #miles fairchild x reader #finn wolfhard #fanfic #miles fairchild smut #fxchild #the switch

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I read your fic Anhedonia a couple days ago and lemme tell you IT STAYS ON MY MF MIND. How she gives him absolutely nothing and he’s begging like ‘wtf can I do to get a reaction, a sound, anything’ I’m hhhhhh; obsessed, to say the least.

So I just basically wanted to know what it was like for Ghost and how he reacted when he was finally able to catch her before her morning diddles and really get a reaction out of her?

(Please I’m hungry, I’ll take crumbs at this point)

Aahhh I'm so glad! That fic is one of the meanest things I've written 🫣 Crumbs below the cut!

As almost always in my stories, we only see reader's pov but it's quite clear Ghost is just smitten with this soldier lady.

When she gets injured, it rips Ghost apart because even if he appears cold and calculative, he wants to ensure that no one gets hurt under his command. It pains him as a leader to see that his subordinate came so close to death; it pains him as a man to see that the woman he has a soft spot for almost got killed.

We can see Ghost's true feelings in his behavior: he tries to protect her, visits her when she's recovering, asks how she is, mourns how hard it is to get to know her and quite literally offers himself to her. He actually begs her to become his sweetheart and pet.

But what does she do? She returns the favor by hurling insults at him, playing games with him, telling half-truths etc. I think reader in this story is almost like a woman version of Ghost: she doesn't show weakness, doesn't show her cards, is cold and even mean, keeps everyone at a distance... but on the inside, she's suffering. And Ghost sees that. I think in some way, he's trying to redeem himself by saving reader from her own cruelty.

So, when Ghost sees what her "trick" is and what a petty, stupid thing it is to do in the first place, he's riled. And not just riled; he's fucking PISSED.

Why the fuck did they have to go through all this fuss when all he wanted to do was cherish her and make her feel good? She could've just surrendered to his command, on the field and in the bed – everyone would've been happier! So why in the bloody hell did she make them both go through all this stupid bloody mess?

His reaction is summarized in this line: “-- he pleasures himself, angry as fuck and as relieved as anyone could be when they find out that their heartthrob is just a delightful little minx instead of a cruel, heartless woman.”

Ghost has tried to be nice and gentle with her, but she makes it so damn difficult. He finally retaliates when she’s helpless and leaves her on the bed in a degraded and humiliated state - he's been played long enough and thinks it's only fair that he gives her a taste of her own medicine for once. (A good call because it works like a charm!)

The SECOND she calls for him and shows some fragility, the minute those walls crumble, Ghost returns. That’s the actual shift in the whole story, I think. She finally confesses that he’s a good leader, and he returns her authentic kindness tenfold. The first time they share a bed together is not to have more mad sex but to have a hug, some cuddles and a civil, adult conversation. She falls asleep from exhaustion and relief, and Ghost couldn’t be happier that this firebrand of a woman has finally stopped fighting (because that means he can stop fighting too).

When reader wakes up, these two are finally able to meet each other without pretenses. I'm sure they will have the most emotional, intense, slow, sloppy, tender sex, perhaps even share a laugh or two! And I just know Ghost will tease her when she surrenders to him – literally lies under him while he pushes himself inside.

"Why did you have to be so bloody difficult," he might say, followed by "Could’ve had all of this days ago, you silly little minx..." And she can see he’s smiling because he’s lifted the mask just enough to kiss her in between the thrusts – and there’s no more competing, no one’s on their knees, there’s no mirrors and no toys, there’s just them being wholly present. She might answer something like "Guess I had to make you work for it…?" (which of course turns Ghost into a grunting puddle, but this time, he’s not angry, only very much in love ❤️)

#answered #anhedonia

[snubulous]

chapter 379 overview

hold on to your butts, because this is going to be a long one.

major spoilers ahead.

I just want to open by saying that this is one of the best chapters we’ve been given in a while, and that there is a shit-ton of information to unpack from all of it.

We start off at central hospital, the one location of this battle where the fight has ended and now everyone is focused on getting treatment for the wounded.

There is emphasis on sheltering everyone from the coming storm, a ‘no man left behind’ sort of policy that represents changing views and attitudes that are in conflict with bnha’s society’s obsession with leaving behind the undesirables and hoping they go away. Remember that this is only the people at the hospital who now hold this view, meaning that society itself is a long ways away from changing-but these protesters may become a catalyst later on for greater change.

We get some Lady Nagant crumbs on how she became a part of this battle. Her connection with midoriya is what drives her right now, the only person who tried to reach out to her when she was having a moral dilemma.

How rock lock somehow has info on the state of the battle at U.A. despite the communication problems is beyond me, but because he isn’t very specific on how detailed that info really is I guess I can let it slide.

Rock lock saying here that the “battle has reached a point where we’re now relying on midoriya izuku” is honestly kind of heartbreaking. izuku shouldn’t be burdened with the fate of japan, but despite everyone’s best efforts they just couldn’t reach him when he needs it most - bakugo in his half dead state, monoma and aizawa being swarmed, mirio being unable to keep up. This might also be supposed to represent how the hero commission has placed too much emphasis on using hero students, still inexperienced teenagers, to lead the battle, and how the experienced pros have been forced to pick up the slack, only to fail.

For those of you who are confused like I was when I first saw this panel, the object in the black panel is supposed to be rippling water. A clear reference to the butterfly effect, how the past actions of hawks and midoriya is affecting Nagant now.

Shigaraki, or more likely afo here, recognizes that Nagant has shot him and loses his shit, screaming her name. the Shigafo connection becomes increasingly unstable. midoriya stops to steady himself for a moment. What I want to focus on here is the very tentative smile from midoriya, who had to hide his face earlier because he was unable to smile in the face of the situation. Is he feeling a little hopeful now? very likely.

This here is the start of the real highlight of this chapter.

afo loses his goddamn mind, screaming and hurling petty insults at shigaraki, calling him a piece of trash. Not only is he fed up with being unable to fully tame shigaraki, but he becomes desperate as his real body is now on borrowed time and he only has one last chance to somehow subdue shigaraki using his real body before he’s stuck inside of shigaraki for good.

to see shigaraki now saying that he recognized that he was just a pawn to afo is… shocking at first glance. Though it makes sense once you realize that afo and shigaraki have been sharing a body for over a month now, their minds closer than ever. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been sharing memories, intentions, feelings… not to mention that when the merger first began, shigaraki voiced his anger at losing his autonomy right from the start. He wanted afo’s power, sure, but not at the cost of losing himself. Whenever shigaraki feels like he’s been wronged, he never takes it sitting down-he goes on the offensive. It is one of his defining character traits, and we see it play out again and again and again. For every blow that is dealt, he deals one in turn. He doesn’t care who it is, either.

Shigaraki would know that afo was smart, having been his mentee for most of his life, and that he would need to hide his “origin” from afo in order to successfully overpower him. So this “sudden” rebellion isn’t sudden at all, and has been coming for a long time now.

afo strangely enough uses videogame-speak to describe shigaraki’s body as “lagging”. is this just the translation or are you telling me that afo uses videogame slang too? horrifying.

Kurogiri rebels a direct order, valuing shigaraki above all else. If it wasn’t obvious before, kurogiri doesn’t give a damn about afo and instead bonded with shigaraki.

Shirakumo also seems to continue making brief appearances, still present but unable to break free. I can’t say for sure if one will win over the other, or if there will be a merger.

Shigaraki’s goal, which before was simply to destroy, changes into “to destroy everything that has to do with that house”. Shigaraki has finally obtained a clear goal and purpose, something obtainable that can drive him further.

the chapter ends with midoriya moving himself and shigaraki down to the ground, somewhere where they can fight without hurting others. Though i’d bet that the heroes still standing are going to find some way to butt in.

Overall a great chapter, very solid, still more to unpack that I probably missed. Waiting patiently for the next one.

#bnha #bnha meta #mha meta #mha #tomura shigaraki #lady nagant #midoriya izuku #afo #shigafo #bnha 379 #kurogiri

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

hey idk if you're still doing asks, if not feel dream to ignore this, but how would fo4 companions react to Sole mid combat saying "this bitch empty yeet" and throwing their empty gun at a raider hitting them right in the face

Yup. Still doing reacts! Just a little slowly!! I know I just posted a react and I like to space them out, but imma gonna release this one early for you!!! 💖💖💖

Sole was in the middle of an intense battle with her companion. As she was mowing down raiders one by one, she realized that she had run out of ammo right as a burly raider was charging at them. Rather than reload her gun or pull out another weapon, she instead shouted “This bitch is empty, YEET!” And hurled it light speed at said raider. They stopped and stumbled back, hands over their face with a shout.

Nick Valentine: “Right. Because that was very effective, give them a good enough headache to send them out.” Finishes off the raider with his revolver. “Did you play those carnival games with the pins and baseballs often before the war Kid? Or was this just lady lucks doing?”

Piper Wright: “Oh wow, geez Blue. Nice shot but uh, what did that do to help in the long run?” Finishes the raider off with her own gun. “Maybe try something else next time? Something more effective.”

Codsworth: “Oh, well. That’s sure one way to do it I suppose…” Buzzsaws and burns the raider to death. “But Mum, you might want to take some rest before we go on. That certainly didn’t seem like a good move on your part.”

Preston Garvey: “General? Oh wow, good shot there, in a way…” Shoots down the raider and looks between the two. “Not the bestest idea you’ve had yet. That precise aim however, could be used in other ways.”

Curie: “Did you mean to do that Madame? You hit them right in the face but it had very little effect other than a bloody nose.” Points at the raider before shooting them with her pistol. “Are you feeling alright? Maybe we can take a break until you are feeling better?”

Cait: “What the hell? Why don’t ya just reload the blasted gun?” Charges at the raider with her bat swinging, hitting until they stop moving. “Unless you did that so I could have all the fun, you might want to improve your battle methods.”

Deacon: “Great work there David, you really took out Goliath with one stone.” Shoots the tumbling raider in the head. “Think you can pull that off again later? Just not while we are on the brink of death, that is. Otherwise it’s a sweet trick we can put to use.”

Danse: “Solider!?” Guns down the raider, whirling around to face Sole. “Why did you that? That was tactically ineffective and irresponsible. Next time, try reloading your weapon or switching to hand to hand instead of resorting to… that.” (He’s just jealous Sole has such a good throwing aim)

Hancock: “Haha, nice aim you got there!” Dives forwards to finish off the raider by shanking them. “No tactical judgment from me sister, as long as you don't get yourself or me killed in the end.”

MacCready: “Oh yeah Boss, that was much better then reloading the damn gun…” Quickly shoots the raider while they stumble back. “But I have to admit, that was a pretty sweet hit. Could make some extra caps with an aim like that.”

X6: Blinks, looking between Sole and the raider. “Ma'am, I do not see how that was more effective then simply reloading your gun.” Draws out his pistol and finishes the raider off. “Maybe you need a rest before we continue on our mission.”

Strong: Smashes the raider to bits. “Stupid human! Why do that when it only hurt them a little bit? Why not shoot or smash the puny raider? BE BETTER HUMAN!!” Storms off in pure disappointment.

Dogmeat: “Wooof!!” Runs up and bites the raider, dragging them to the ground before snapping their neck. “Bork?” Obediently picks up Soles gun and brings it back to her with confused puppy eyes, wondering why she didn’t just shoot the raider.

Moral Of The Story: Sometimes you realize your the only one with brain cells in your friend group when they do something stupid, other times you all collectively share one. (Unless you don’t have friends, then your on your own bro)

#fallout #fo4 #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #curie #piper wright #john hancock #nick valentine #fallout companions #deacon fallout 4 #deacon fo4 #fallout danse #paladin danse #danse #strong #robert maccready #x6 88 #cait #fo4 curie #fallout 4 curie #codsworth #preston garvey

[lollytea]

So, I‘ve been blessed with the opportunity to reread every fucked up movie post, and… does Camila know it exists and that her kids made it? And if she does, did she watch it? Because I can just imagine her handing off the cam like aw, look at them having fun and being creative :) thinking it‘s gonna be something like most „movies“ shot by kids - something that was fun to make, but doesn‘t really have anything else going for it. And meanwhile, Movie by Gus13 exists.

Camila was probably invited to the grand premiere of Gus's fucked up movie, which was just the cast, herself and Vee all huddled together on the living room couch. She was honored to attend! She thought Gus making a little movie was adorable and it was just so sweet how the other kids all particpated!

But then they pressed play and Camila. Was. Horrified.

Where the fuck do you think that grey streak in her hair came from? That was all Gus's fucked up movie's doing.

But it's like....as disturbed as she was, Camila sat through the whole thing because Gus and the others had worked so hard on it and she didn't want to hurt their feelings. But then it was over and she wanted to cry....or scream....or hurl. Or all three. But the kids all turned to her expectantly, eager to hear her thoughts and Vee was giving her a pointed look to please be nice so she just had to grit her teeth and smile like "it was...wonderful :))))))"

Camila simply never speaks of Gus's fucked up movie ever again. She doesn't rewatch it, she doesn't think about it, she represses everything about it.

She's not exactly tech savvy so I don't see her ever stumbling upon the online mystery. So she mostly remains in blissful ignorance that it's this whole thing.

At one point, there's these conspiracy theorists who have visited Gravesfield for their YouTube documentary on Gus's fucked up movie and they're interviewing random citizens about the film. Camila is stopped outside the supermarket and they start bombarding her with questions and she's mostly bewildered and has no idea what they're talking about. That is until one of them pulls out their phone and opens it up on the movie and shows it to Camila. Literally the first five seconds before anything even happens induces a visceral reaction. Camila freaks out, slapping the phone out of the kid's hand, yells "NO! NOT AGAIN!! NEVER AGAIN!!" And hurries away without further comment.

Camila's freakout is included in the YouTube video once it's posted and this only ADDS to the insane amount of theories. Some people think her reaction is really suspicious. She's a local after all so she must know something. Why was she playing dumb at first? She clearly knew exactly what the movie was. Could it be....the origins of the movie are something far more sinister than we could ever imagine....are the people of Greavesfield hiding something from us? 😱 (NOT CLICKBAIT)

#Gus's fucked up movie

[regina-cordium]

trick....or treat...

First of all, the most important thing:

some candy to enjoy while reading.

This got a lot longer than it has any right to be. Whoops.

Spot wants it on the record that he was forced to be here.

Ever since returning to New York for his grad degree, Jack has been hell bent on him “getting the Boston out of his system,” or something dumb like that. Spot doesn’t get how a Halloween party in Jack and Charlie’s shoebox apartment counts towards that goal, but whatever. He’s mostly here because Charlie and Ma asked, and also Katherine pointed out it’d be hilarious to watch Jack trip over himself all night trying to impress Davey.

And the free booze. The free booze is vital.

So now he’s leaning up against the wall nursing a lukewarm beer and trying not to get crushed by what feels like the entirety of Manhattan crammed into such a small apartment. How the hell Jack even knows so many people, Spot will never know. What he does know is that he’s starting to get uncomfortable and hungry, and is probably five minutes away from snapping at someone for, like, existing.

“Three o’clock – Jack is about to eat shit,” a voice suddenly says from beside him. Spot does not jump, thank you very much, but he does lift his head in time to watch Jack trip over his own stupid cowboy hat; Davey is rushing forward to help Jack up, but is definitely also laughing at him.

“You always know what to get me,” Spot says, turning to Mack with a grin. She’s dressed as a baseball player, arms hooked around a bat she’s got across her shoulders. She’s also giving him an unimpressed lookover, rude.

“What are you even supposed to be?” she asks, brows raised.

“I’m a lumberjack.” Jack said he wouldn’t let Spot through the door if he wasn’t wearing a costume, so Spot just threw on the closest he could get to the Bounty paper towel dude.

“You wore that exact outfit to Stray’s birthday two weeks ago,” Mack points out, still deeply unimpressed.

Spot opens his mouth to make a sarcastic comment, but he’s drowned out by the sound of cheers and Jack going, “There he fucking is!”

He and Mack both look over to where Jack’s got his arms around someone Spot thinks he recognizes. The guy is wearing a red leather jacket covered in patches, black leather pants, sunglasses that look like they’re shaped like flames, and has red and yellow hair. There’s something written on his face, but he’s swallowed by a group hug before Spot can make it out.

“Who the fuck is that?” he asks.

“Hard to tell, but I think that was Dominic.”

Spot frowns. “Why do I know that name?”

“He’s been attached to Lucky’s hip since undergrad,” Mack explains, swinging her bat down to lean on. “They’re in the same math program or whatever. I think he was Jack’s roommate too? I dunno.”

“I thought he was blond?”

Mack raises an eyebrow, which Spot ignores. “It’s Halloween, dude. He probably dyed his hair. If you’re so curious, why don’t you go talk to him instead of haunting the corner.”

“I’m not haunting –” He breaks off as Mack plants a hand between his shoulder blades and shoves him, hurling him into someone. Spot turns to flip her off; Mack just blows him a kiss, because she’s an asshole.

“You good?” a voice asks.

Spot turns back to the person he knocked into, intending to apologize, but he stops when he realizes the person is Dominic. Spot sends another dirty look over his shoulder at Mack, but she’s gone.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry ‘bout that, my friend is a dick.”

Up close, Spot can see that Dominic has the number 9 on one cheek and 5 on the other, his glasses are, in fact, shaped like flames, and his blond roots are obvious under the red.

Dominic, for his part, looks extremely amused. “Hey, you’re Jack’s brother, right?”

“Spot,” he introduces, holding out a hand.

“Nice to meet’cha. I’m Dominic, but everyone calls me Racetrack.”

Spot is not distracted by his brother’s old roommate’s hands, because that would be weird and also fucking cliche.

Pulling himself together, because only one Larkin kid gets to be a disaster about hot boys and Jack has that shit on lockdown, Spot says, “Weird fucking nickname.”

Instead of being offended, like most people are when Spot speaks, Racetrack just throws his head back and laughs (Spot is not distracted by the long column of his throat.) “What, weirder than Spot?” he asks.

Spot can’t exactly argue with that, so he quickly changes track. “What’re you supposed to be, anyway? Ain’t you hot in all that leather?”

“I’m hot out of the leather, too,” Racetrack says with a smirk, causing Spot to choke on the sip of beer he’d just taken. Racetrack laughs again as he unhelpfully pats Spot on the back. “I think you’re supposed to drink that, not inhale it.”

“Fuck you,” Spot wheezes.

Racetrack seems to finally take pity, because he finally answers Spot’s question. “I’m Lightning McQueen!”

Spot stares at him for a moment. Racetrack grins back.

“Like. From that Disney movie?” Spot finally asks.

“First of all, it’s a Pixar movie, and don’t let Jack hear you get the two confused,” Racetrack corrects. “Second, yes.”

“What the fuck?”

“Dude, my name’s Racetrack. I had to.”

“You absolutely didn’t.”

Racetrack sighs dramatically (Spot gets the feeling he does everything dramatically).

“You sound like Albert,” he pouts and goddamn it, Spot can’t even pretend he doesn’t find it absolutely adorable. Fucker.

“I’d be offended by the comparison,” Spot says, thinking about all the dumb shit Albert got up to in high school, “but for once in my life, I agree with him.”

“Well, you’re not even wearing a costume, so I win by default.”

Spot can’t help but snort. “That’s not how that works, first of all. Second, I am. I’m a lumberjack.”

“You look like you belong at some hipster bar that’s got overpriced drinks and too much wood paneling.”

“Okay, now I’m offended,” Spot says, but there’s a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. Racetrack seems to notice it, because his own grows.

“You wanna get something to eat?” Racetrack asks suddenly. Spot’s glad he’s finished his beer, because we would’ve definitely choked again.

Instead, he raises an eyebrow and says, “You mean ditch my brother’s party to hang out with someone I don’t even know?”

Racetrack rolls his eyes. “You’re not even enjoying yourself.”

“Fuck off, maybe I’m having the goddamn time of my life,” Spot argues, just to argue.

“You’re not.” It’s so matter of fact that Spot is taken aback. “‘Sides, Jack never gets enough food for these things and you were here before me, so if I’m hungry then you are too.”

Spot had actually forgotten he was even hungry, but now that it’s been brought up he’s suddenly fucking starving.

“Fine,” he finally relents, unable to stop his smile when Racetrack pumps his fists. “But only because I’m fucking starving. You just happened to be the first person to say anything.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Spotty!” Racetrack laughs as he leads them through the crowd. “You up for Chinese?”

#me: oh i'll just write short lil things #also me: writes 1100 words in 30 minutes #anyway #newsies #sprace #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #also no race is NOT called anthony #i have a first cousin named anthony and i refuse to let those streams cross #HOWEVER to keep with the spirit of the thing i have given him a name from WAY further up the family tree #my writing #signed and delivered #undescribed1mage

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 185 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: cutting the jasmine in my garden.

"So when she turned and saw them standing there, so official in their vests and helmets, what else was she to think? Ah, thank goodness, it flitted through her mind as Tina felt herself relax, whatever it is, someone is taking care of it. Because that’s what they were for, to take care of these problems, to shuffle people away for their own protection, and keep the world working as it should be." There is an episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, when Will and Carlton drive the car of a friend of the Banks' family somewhere to meet up, and being two black young men in a nice car, they of course get pulled over. Will already knows what this means, but Carlton (while being black has still lived a rather privileged life because of his dad's wealth, private school, country club, a butler etc.) was super oblivious about the officer's suspicions and intentions. I always have to think of this episode when I think about MAG 185.

"This did not happen to people like her." I mean, I do think MAG 185 isn't about the typical racial profiling per se, more about it happening to people who think of themselves to be so privileged and safe from police brutality, that they never would have guessed it could also happen to them?

"It had all been there, all of it. Her life, her loves, her choices, her mistakes. No details spared, no nasty inference ignored." That's one of the domains, that can't be sorted that easily. This is clearly Eye, and even before Tina was arrested she felt like being watched. Then the identical looking police men who arrested her sound like the Stranger. That thing with the world just carrying on without her and even if there are people noticing, they antagonize her like the girl hurling a stone at her and the father quickly shooing her away in terror could be Lonely?

"'None of these things are illegal,' she had said." And Spiral?

Hmm, I mean yeah, that statement had rather few fantastical things happening which makes it seem more realistic and not like a supernatural, impossible twisting of reality.

MARTIN: "No it’s just… Is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?" JON: [Amused] "I forgot that’s a new experience for you." MARTIN: "Excuse me?" JON: "You have to remember I’ve had this for years. Right from the start, it’s always been ‘Archivist’ this and ‘Archivist’ that. All these weird, awful creatures assuming I’m ‘in’ on all the secrets. Even when they were trying to kill me, they treated me like I was a… a peer." Hm yeah, we know it because we're seen primarily Jon's story, but there are big chunks of information missing for Martin (especially S3 and 4). Even though he was there when he was been addressed as "Archivist" for the first time. Or for the first two times? Elias singing "dear Archivist" at Jon's birthday, and then when Prentiss texted him (lol, that sounds funny...)

JON: "Not all of them. And now? Sure the power’s shifted, it’s all politeness and respect, but it still feels just like more of the same. I guess I just stopped caring at some point. Besides they are technically right, I am one of them. To a degree." Yeah, in the beginning they were like "Ohhhh, did I hurt the poor young Archivist? What'cha gonna do? You're gonna cry? Gonna run to Elias?". Then after the coma it's suddenly "What are you doing... Stop it!" and now they're full on Schrödinger's douchbag with "Pls don't kill me, I didn't mean it! It was just a joke!"

MARTIN: "It’s not the same. I’m still just your ‘plus one’." JON: [Amusedly] "Don’t put yourself down. It’s not your fault you’re a bit overshadowed. I am such a very big deal after all." MARTIN: "Oh, very big arse, more like it." Lol

JON: "Either way, even if I wasn’t here, I don’t think you’d be in any danger. Not anymore. I wasn’t sure when we first started out, I hadn’t properly, er… looked into it, as it were. But now I’m certain." Still, I think Jon actually did mean the "I won't let it [harm you]" in MAG 161. He would have fought tooth and nail if he had to in order to protect Martin.

MARTIN: "I’m one of them." JON: "One of… us." MARTIN: "That’s not as comforting as you think it is." JON: "Doesn’t mean it’s not true though." Still a bit in denial^^

MARTIN: "Even though I didn’t ask for it? Did nothing to deserve it?" JON: "‘Deserve’. Huh. Now there’s a word that always causes trouble." MARTIN: "Don’t be patronising." JON: "I just mean that nobody here deserves the position they’ve found themselves in, not really. I suppose a few may have asked for it, sought it out even, but far more didn’t. They just made the wrong choices for the right reasons. Or even the right choices. But ones that still led them here in the end." NOT REALLY! Also, yes, more philosophizing about morals, I love that shit!

INSPECTOR: "Argh! Look, you can’t know if they’re all guilty, alright? It’s just about evidence…" Right, so if that one's here in this domain, then was Tina in the statement really that innocent? "None of these things are illegal" can mean a lot of things.

INSPECTOR: "Hey, fuck you, you scrawny little tit! What the hell do you know?" Luckily, there are a lot of awful people out there who, sooner or later, will show their true face in public (And then this becomes a whole new problem when the majority of society can’t understand why that was wrong...). Also, we got a bit of physical description of Jon there! I never really gave anything to Nikola's "little Archivist" in MAG 97, I thought she meant it in a belittling way. But Jon get's called "little" again, so I guess there's something to it xD Also, we knew he's not the fittest since he gets tired from carrying a metal pipe around, but another confirmation here, boy's scrawny!

MARTIN: "No, you were right to. That’s… that’s a lot of power to have to deal with. Lot of responsibility." JON: "Yes, thank you, Uncle Ben." MARTIN: [Chuckle] "Pop culture? Really?" JON: "I’m allowed to know what Spiderman is." Even if Jon embodies this old fashioned dark academia look, I don't think that's him at all and people just misjudge him. He's been a bookworm in his childhood after all!

MARTIN: "Not helping people is still a decision, isn’t it?" JON: "Well, you saw Jordan, I’m not sure ‘helping’ is –" MARTIN: "I know, I know, not the right word. Ignoring them then." JON: "Yes. It’s a choice I’ve been making a lot recently." MARTIN: "I guess we should get used to it. Knowing that all these awful things are happening for our benefit." JON: "Maybe it’s better if it never gets comfortable." MARTIN: "Maybe." Huh, that's a thought you can convert to rl. The luxury we live in first world countries is sustained at poorer country's cost. And it's so hard to fight this, to try and get resources, which were traded fairly or get them locally. And if you can find something like that, then you need to be able to afford it because these things are of course a lot more expensive than the exploited thing.

Heh, how that familiar Lonely squealing already starts and Martin immediately noticing^^

That is a really cool cliffhanger. Not only teasing Martin's domain, but Martin and Jon being separated in a Lonely domain, again!  

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 185 #tma #tma spoilers

[majorbaby]

hello I would like to hear your thoughts on himbo trapper

Thank you for the question! it's a long one: TL;DR: I don’t hate himbo Trapper, sometimes I even enjoy it, but I think it’s a shallow interpretation and I’m a bit defensive of him because I think there’s plenty of evidence in the source to support a reading of him as being intelligent. Also I blabbed on about some of the other popular fanon characterizations of him that I see as being similarly flat.

On its face, i’m a fan of the himbo trapper concept and i see where it comes from:

He can’t play solitaire

Hawkeye: “You big, dumb strong silent types”

And imo, the strongest piece of evidence: when it comes to shenanigans/schemes, if he’s not the straight brawn to hawkeye’s brain (requiem for a lightweight), it’s always the case that hawkeye that comes up with the plan and trapper who helps him execute it - too many examples to name because this is practically every single episode they appear in 

And for fun, I’m fine with the stereotype because on the whole, it’s meant to be a positive thing. We have women to thank for taking a masculinized version of the term ‘bimbo’ - which has always been a pejorative hurled at women who are conventionally hot and therefore ‘stupid’, sexually promiscuous or just enticing to men - and immediately elevating it to the point where it’s not just seen as positive, it’s seen as highly desirable. A himbo will treat you right and won’t manipulate you, while also being a hot piece of ass - imo Trapper fits some of that criteria on screen but tbf, he’s also cheating on his wife and I think we’re meant to assume that she’s unaware of that, which I think is somewhat manipulative of him. Idk, I don’t have enough information about that. 

But there’s a few pieces of his characterization that are in direct conflict with the himbo archetype - as a society I think we value STEM a lot, so there’s this general idea that people in the medical field are ‘smarter’ than your average person but at the same time fatphobia, racism, ableism and misogyny are still rampant in medical settings leading to entire populations receiving sub-par care so… I don’t think you must accept that doctor = an intellectual in general. There’s different ways to be smart! Your having gone to medical school clearly doesn’t exempt you from being a critical consumer of all the medical texts you’ve read and being able to situate them in a socio-economic and political context when providing care. 

All of this to preface my saying that: he’s a surgeon. He’s at least intelligent enough in one way to be a surgeon and a good one at that, while recognizing that that isn’t the only thing I’m basing my argument on. 

He’s emotionally intelligent:

In Ceasefire he has the opportunity to gloat about his being right about there being no end to the conflict after having been openly doubtful the whole episode, but he knows that it’s not the time and he even encourages Hawkeye to remain optimistic – a truly  brainrot-inducing moment (affectionate) if there ever was one

Operation Noselift he’s just as earnest as Hawkeye trying to get Private Someguy (id remember his name) to accept himself as he is without going under the knife

Check-up don’t even talk to me about Check-up!!! Trapper could’ve accepted “you let me lean on you” as is. I mean, I think they both know what Hawkeye means by that and so do we the audience but I think his “What?” is making space for Hawkeye to be Hawkeye and spill his guts about his feelings because that is what Hawkeye needs; he does the same with Margaret, albeit while she is drunk off her ass, later on in the episode which is a nice moment for them because she reveals something (she’s playing house with Frank because he’s around) that I don’t think she’s ready to accept for herself, but Trapper listens to her. 

Bombed which gave me Trapper/Margaret brainrot, yeah he starts off hitting on her but he stops when she asks him too and he still picks up that she needs comfort, makes her laugh and reassures her that he’s coming from a good place. That is what I get from his suggestion that they cuddle and I think Margaret does too because she accepts. 

Kim - we learn he can be emotionally vulnerable even with his wife who, up til this point, is represented as something of a thorn in his side at worst, an ambiguous off-screen figure at best. 

These are some of the examples that stand out to me but there are many examples of his good bedside manner and empathy that he freely extends to one-off characters like Young-Hi and George. 

He’s pretty much toe-to-toe with Hawkeye in terms of witty dialogue, it’s just that he doesn’t often get the last word nor the spotlight. The role of the Trapper character is that of a follower to Hawkeye’s lead in their comedic and heroic scenes. Like if he comes off as being not quite as smart as Hawkeye (which I wouldn’t say is the case) then I think it’s a matter of their being deuteragonist and protagonist respectively, and the show playing up the ‘best surgeon in the army’ angle for Hawkeye in part as a way to save him from being disciplined for insubordination multiple times. 

And finally, I think it’s worth mentioning that at the onset of American involvement in the Korean War, the American public was generally supportive. That support eroded over time but I do think that the American government, in the 50s and also to this day, goes to significant lengths to circulate pro-war propaganda and convince its citizens that war is only way. During the Gelbart years (S1-4) there was strong, consistent anti-military messaging that extended to critique of traditional masculinity in general – this frequently manifests in how Trapper and Hawkeye are positioned on moral high ground vs. Frank, Margaret and the military. So like, Trapper was a part of all that. He was, at the very least, in league with the popular ACAB Hawkeye, Queer Hawkeye and general Rabble Rouser Hawkeye that are favourites of the fandom – I think it takes a certain degree of intelligence, whether emotional or intellectual, to resist and undermine state propaganda, especially at your own personal expense. And I’m giving that to Trapper because he was around when the show was aware of itself being specifically anti-US-imperialism, rather than just generally anti-war or even anti-death later on - which isn’t ‘less smart’ it’s just more vague and there’s less of a specific effort made by the state to brainwash citizens into thinking otherwise. There is a moment where Trapper appears to betray his moral and political (i’m using ‘political’ very loosely here) leanings when he goes to (presumably) kill the soldier in Radar’s Report but that is by far the exception not the rule and furthermore I’m not saying that people who are duped by the state and/or corporate entities into buying into the cycle of violence are “stupid” but I do think you have to actively fight against such indoctrination and one of the ways of doing that, aside from just being a compassionate person, is by learning to think critically for yourself. And I’m assuming Trapper has done one or both because he is as consistent as Hawkeye is in living those values. It helps that they have good chemistry and they’re bored and sticking it to the army is fun for them but imo they go pretty far sometimes just ‘for fun’. 

So, Trapper is a technically competent surgeon, is emotionally intelligent and has come to reject some of the values that are pretty well ingrained in the society he’s grown up in. I don’t hate himbo trapper but I don’t think he’s stupid. Far from it. 

Here are my less objective thoughts on the himbo trapper phenomenon and also have some straightforward trapper defense squad messaging: I’m generally interested in pointing out trends in fandom, although I admit that my tolerance for content I don’t vibe with has lessened significantly the more time I’ve been active in mash fandom (we’re coming up on one year of straight obsession) – but from what I can remember about the popular, general portrayals of Trapper in fandom that I don’t see as having much footing in the canon: he’s a himbo, he broke Hawkeye’s heart, he’s homophobic (HATE), he’s hypersexual, he can be violent, he ‘doesn’t do feelings’, he’s not good with words… everyone is entitled to their opinion but the more I reflect on Trapper, the more I watch his episodes, the more I’ve come to question a lot of these interpretations. I’ve already talked about him being a himbo, I’m not convinced he broke Hawkeye’s heart any more than Kyung-Soon or Carlye and I am certain it’s not intended to be a romantic breakup, he’s in league with Hawkeye in George – I’m not telling you what you can and can’t indulge in but, yk Hawkeye actually has a line to the effect of ‘i live with two dudes don’t call me a fairy’ and that’s got way more of a no-homo vibe to it than anything Trapper ever says. 

He’s not any more sexual than Hawkeye is, not even because he has a big dick. Hawkeye and BJ both throw punches at some point and I also wouldn’t argue that that makes them ‘violent’ in general, but Trapper who doesn’t do it at all is the violent one. There are plenty of ways to be vulnerable and forthcoming and emotional without spilling your guts and anyway anyone could read as repressed when you hold them up next to Hawkeye Pierce. An emotionally repressed man could not extend an olive branch to Frank Burns nor could he write his wife an earnest letter in the hopes that he will be able to adopt and raise an orphan child nor could he be shown to have such a clear investment in outcomes during the episodes where there’s no clear, tangible goal to Hawkeye’s schemes. 

This has turned into a critique of some of the more uncharitable interpretations of the character, on the list of which ‘himbo’ isn’t really all that bad. But I still think it flattens his character somewhat, like all these other interpretations do, and I can easily pick out a few examples of his canonical portrayal which challenge it. So while I’m not denouncing it completely because I think it can be fun and in the grand scheme of things, people can like whatever they want to like, I am sometimes inclined to gently push back on it. 

#it just so happens to be #trapper tuesday #but i let myself really sink my teeth into this as a reward for shipping a huge product on time #trapper john mcintyre #mash #meta #trapper meta #majorbaby.txt #replies

[theroyalsims]

AN IRATE XIMENA BEGS THE PAPARAZZI: “LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Uh-oh. Looks like Ximena has had it with the pesky photographers!

Prince Alistair’s girlfriend, Ximena Kalarmy, was photographed this morning on her way to the shops, and let’s just say, it wasn’t such a pleasant experience altogether.

Although being followed by photographers has quickly become part of Ximena’s daily life after she and Prince Alistair went public with their relationship, things seem to only get worse for the feisty brunette.

While on her way to a nearby grocery store, she was cornered by a crowd of about twenty photographers and reporters, hoping to (at least) get a peep out of her. Ximena has been incredibly tight-lipped throughout her love affair with the Queen’s eldest son, but today, she finally snapped. 

A video of Ximena shows her angrily telling the paparazzi to “back off.” The photographers, perhaps encouraged by her response, ended up hounding her even harder. At some point, Ximena was heard saying, “please, I’m begging you, just leave me alone,” before running into the store. Things got so bad that the store’s manager had to step in and help Ximena out.

The paparazzi continued to take her photos, albeit from a distance, as she walked all the way back to her flat.

Ximena has not been given her own protection officer despite the daily struggles she experiences with the paparazzi, and she probably shouldn’t expect to receive one until Alistair puts a ring on her finger. One royal expert shares:

“Royal protection officers are publicly funded, elite security experts that are tasked to protect members of the Royal Family. They cannot be loaned out to friends or girlfriends or whatever. So unless she’s a royal fiancée, Ximena must bear the consequences of dating a Prince on her own. She can always pay for her own bodyguard. No one’s stopping her.”

Ximena’s appearance also caused some chatter online. The hashtag #WhyXimena trended on social media. One post in particular that has since garnered over 15,000 shares and even more likes read:

“What does Alistair see in her? She’s so frumpy. She’s not at all pretty. Plus, she could stand to lose a few pounds, if you know what I mean? I don’t get it. She’s so plain. She’s a 6, tops, and I’m being very generous. #WhyXimena.”

Another post reads:

“Chipped blue nails? Unkempt hair? Ill-fitting clothes? And you’re telling me this social-climbing nobody is dating a Prince? #WhyXimena #AlistairWakeUp

Ximena wore rolled skinny jeans which she paired with a plaid shirt and a tank. She also went bare faced, with not a drop of make-up on, for her trip to buy groceries.

However, not everyone is hating on Ximena. One writer posted:

“The level of pettiness and nastiness hurled against Ximena is disgusting, and I suspect is all because of jealousy. She’s dating a Prince. You’re not. The Prince liked her because she’s genuine and kind, which, again, you’re all obviously not. ‘Why Ximena?’ I think the better question is ‘Why Alistair?’ Here, we have a beautiful, independent, and confident woman. Any man she dates should realise that they’re lucky enough to have her in their life. Alistair should thank his lucky stars that he found a woman brave enough to take him on. Leave Ximena alone. You have no idea what she’s going through.”

Poor Ximena. And this thing with royal girlfriends/boyfriends not being given protection officers is a little alarming and should absolutely be reconsidered. It feels like it was just yesterday when Clive was driven away by this very same unwelcome press intrusion. It would be utterly sad if Alistair and Ximena suffer the same fate. 

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #simblr #ts4 simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal legacy #alistair #ximena #mystory