#'rain has a unique smell'

[puncivilian]

Writing a semi realistic sci fi universe will have you asking shit like 'do we have a standard for building living spaces in space or is that still to be decided?'

[laesas]

As someone who definitely doesn't count as an A/B/O enjoyer it's still super interesting to me just how much influence it has over wider fandom and fanfiction. Like as soon as you're "in the know" it's just absolutely everywhere.

[cakegatedisaster]

Do you think some omegas dislike their scent

OMG OMEGA VERSE DISCUSSION MY BELOVED

The THOUGHTS I have about this stuff... Anyway YES I DO think some Omegas hate their scent, likely due to some traumatic event where it was used against them of a smell that reminds them too much of a real-life item or something.

INVERSELY I like the idea that no one can actually smell themselves unless they're pumping out some really intense feelings, which means that they have to rely on others to tell them what they smell like, which is even BETTER if you smell different to every person you mean something different to, meaning those who really truly love you could never hate your scent because it's simply something they love.

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[theveryworstthing]

SpaceDancer's request for parasitic roses and Camille Alexander's request for unicorn fops created Angelique.

i now present my newest Charming Little Freak ✨

Angelique is one of those beings that isn't cleanly classified as a fae or a demon. he/it/whatever (roses are perfect plants and so it mostly goes by the pronouns common for the additional sex of his host body in human society because they couldn't care less) is a Rampant. a type of sapient parasitic rose that, over time, transforms the body of their host from a simple quadruped beast to bipedal humanoid (kinda) monster. every Rampant seems to mold themselves into unique forms, and designs often carry over if they somehow manage to get "uprooted" without dying and have to start over with a new flesh body. if Rampants stay rooted then they're borderline immortal even though their hosts are...dead? it's unclear. the Rampant certainly carries memories of what it was like being an animal and their flesh and blood is altered, but alive. the body keeps the score whether they like it or not. but the beast itself, its mind, dies quickly after a Rampant takes root. either from the trauma from becoming a Flowerbed or from the Rampant purposefully putting a thorn through its brain. whether fae or demon, Rampants take. they do not possess. they do not imprison.

Angelique currently lives in a small dying village, spending his time checking in on the aging population as a kind of town housemaid/caretaker and tending to his flower shop/apothecary. most people would say that having a creature like him around isn't a great idea, but this eldritch horror has basically been adopted by every lonely old person in town so good luck getting rid of him.

Fun Facts:

he loves nice soft clothes, meat (blood sausage is his favorite), and (in spite of his goth everything all the time) sunlight.

buzzing sounds make him flustered while prolonged exposure to cut grass smells and cold weather make him anxious.

he's an scary good climber and will forgo a door if he knows someone is on a higher floor of a building and he sees an open window.

always well hydrated. carries around a flask of water at all times and likes to sit outside naked when it rains.

he has many little leafy assistants which are also just him. he's like an octopus. the people in the community assign them all little names and give them unique decorations and he thinks it's really cute.

what is he getting out of staying in this village? none of your business.

he's currently in a weird situationship with 2 local gravekeepers from rival graveyards/religions and the recently widowed agnostic town doctor. everyone in this polycule hates everyone else but him. he's also friends with benefits with my character Brooke, who finds all of this hilarious and is eager to hear about the latest disaster every time he passes through town.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[petriwriting]

Amortentia - Theodore Nott X Reader

Summary: Learning about amortentia in class

“And with the correct blend of ingridients, does anyone know what is created?” Professor snape asks in his brass tone. A hufflepuff girl raises her hand very hesitantly. “Yes?” He points to to the girl with a gesture. “It’s a live potion.” She says tenderly. “Correct.” Snape retorts, before awarding hufflepuff house a whole 5 points.

You and Theo are standing next to each other, curiously gazing at the cauldron that’s emitting a pink glow very curiously. “The two of you,” professor snape gestures again. You and Theo are first in disbelief, but then you each step forward. “One at a time, I want you to lean forward and describe to me the distinct scent of this potion.” He says.

“Yes professor,” you say. “I’ll go first.” Theodore says. She leans forward into the cauldron, and a pleasant scent fills his senses. “It’s like,” he pursed his lips in thought before continuing. “Lavendar… Cloves, and fresh rain.” He says finally.

“Very well, your turn ms/mr L/N.”

You step forward just has Theodore had, and take a moment to inhale. “. . .It’s warm, it smells like a campfire, cedar… and lemongrass, old books, tobacco.” It was an odd but unique mix that was comforting, familiar almost.

“Does anyone know why Mr. Nott and Mr/Ms L/N are picking up these particular scents?” Professor snape asks. Expecting someone to answer. You step forward after a bit of awkward silence. For a brilliant potions master, he could sure be intimidating sometimes. You could recall from this last lecture; “The scents are whatever the person thinks to be attractive or alluring.” You explain. Professor snape nods. “Excellent.” He cooes.

Your house is awarded 10 points. The remainder of the class felt like a blur, you were tired less engaged during the second half of the class, though when dismissed you were finally able to sigh in relief.

Theodore, whom had been your best friend since your first year noticed the shift in your mood. “You okay?” He says, packing his satchel with his potion making tools for class, his textbook and notes. “Yeah, just tired is all.” You said quietly, gathering your things as well.

“Maybe you can get some rest this afternoon then.” Theodore offered gently. He had always been kind to you in that way. “Maybe.” You lean back putting your hands on the table, brushing theo’s hand which was already there.

Although this was an accident you felt a jolt of energy and your heart began to race. The busy classroom died down until it was just the two of you standing there in an empty classroom. He didn’t move his hand. You smiled softly.

He caught your eyes, his gaze was soft and he slowly leaned in, taking a auick peek at your lips. You did the same until your faces were inches apart.

You would have totally kissed. If it were the poor kid who forgot his book who came back into the classroom. You each pulled away slightly as the student uttered a quick “so sorry.” And rushed back outside.

You and theo chuckled. You liked being so close to him. You could smell that funny scent from the potion from the first part of class start to fill your senses, campfire… cedar… lemongrass… old books… tobacco. You brushed it off, thinking maybe it was some coincidental thing. Or a mind trick. But professor snap had did away with the cauldron and the concoction already… it was strange. You were rattled in thoughts.

“Well, I ought to get going.” Theodore said. “Meet me outside common room tonight, 8 O’clock, and we’ll chat then. Yeah?” He offered. You were still enamored with yourself. “Yeah, Yeah that sounds great.”

“I’ll see you then.” Theodore said slowly making his way away. It took you a few seconds before you realized what was happening. The scent was there when you were about to kiss him, it wasn’t just the cauldron.. and you thought back to when you had answered professor snape. It hit you all at once in a sudden moment, you facepalmed and laughed in disbelief at yourself. It’s smells like whatever is attractive for you, it smells like someone you love… And you were in love, oh Merlin were you in love.

What you did not consider, was what Theodore was thinking. And how you were wearing lavender and clove scented perfume that day.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

heyy i just found your blog and read your stuff about touya/dabi and i actually love all of that, do you write headcannons too? because your way of playing dabi is so unique and canon. if you do i was thinking about his s/o being part of the LOV, like last joined. thank u so much if you’re gonna take it!!

yes i can! hope this is what you imagined non 💌 thank you for the love

DABI HEADCANONS !

touya tdrk x reader

headcanons for his s/o being apart of the league with him

not inspired by a particular song :(

- touya definitely doesn’t bat you match of an eye when you first join. he figures that everyone has their reasons for joining the league. you don’t get in the way of his, and he won’t give a rats ass about yours.

- it was never apart of his plan to care about someone the way he cares about you. he’s the type to care but show it in small ways. he gave you his coat once when you came back from the pouring rain, and claimed he didn’t want to hear any annoying coughs or sniffles from you the next day.

- you confuse his heart and he hates it. you two find yourself on some rooftop, talking about your reasons, your life and how you ended up here. you fully expect him to be an asshole- and he is- shrugging and telling you that thats how life is. but he also has enough grace to tell you that you didn’t deserve it, and that part he means.

- one day, you come back injured, small burns from a certain flame hero that certainly catch his eye. he crudely drags your arm over to the nearest sink, running your burns under cold water and bandages them. he makes sure to specify for the nonstick, sterile bandges after he’s applied a damp cloth to your injuries. he claims its because he hates the smell of burnt flesh, and knows you probably take shit care of yourself. (much to your chagrin.)

- the answer was simple. dabi gets burned by his own quirk, so he knows how to take care of burns. but something in your gut told you it was a lot deeper than that. the way this asshole cared for your injuries seemed more personal. it takes a lot of contemplation, and you fully expect a jerkass response when you ask him how he knows how to do this.

- he scoffs, and gives you the reaction everyone would have expected before he answers with something simple: “..my mom taught me.”

- in a small way, he’s shown you a side of him you never thought to see. and its the start of something beautiful.

hope you liked this anon! i’ll definitely be expanding on this idea in the future 🤍 thank you for the love

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter thirty-two — do your taxes (💋)

The funniest thing about apple orchards is that there's never just one type of apple orchard.

Why were they all unique? He would never care enough to find out. The main point is that he's got one now; and even with his extensive research on said orchards, he can't even find the proper way to take care of 100 per acre.

That's how he felt as his violet eyes examined the nature, almost with malicious eyes.

The orchard was in its bloom, a quilt of colors as green and gold under the sun had grown duller from the overcast day. It was ironic, really. He was convinced Sumeru never rained except for around the woods, and even then, there’s no thunderstorms. He thought picking a desert would make it so that people wouldn’t feel inclined to figure out where he lives, but at this rate, he was better off just selling the orchard part of the home to some guy who really likes fruit.

Scaramouche— or rather, Kunikuzushi...knew Furina did this on purpose. But jokes on her, really, he has much more discipline than she thinks.

It was taunting him, especially because he knew his lack of expertise and despite that, the trees still stood proud. The rows were endless, each one seemed to rustle softly under the unnatural clouds of the day.

Deciding to leave it, he opted to go back inside and waste away with the nagging feeling of that fucking orchard again. He stepped away as his steps crunched softly on the gravel path back to his front door. It was like the neglect was oddly making them stronger of a threat to him.

It was kind of offensive. How they just live on without him. But it was also what he'd hope would happen with everything anyway. Maybe he didn't know everything about orchards, and maybe he never would. But all he did know was that he wouldn't see himself enjoying the sickly smell of the fruit rotting soon. Was this going to be on his taxes? Doesn't matter, he's evading them this year, just like he does everything else.

'Horrible idea', he thought. Do your taxes.

Once he went back inside, the dim lights and the cool air of his home welcomed him again. But it wasn't a miserable type of welcome, for once. The air was what he wanted it to be, different from the overwhelming perfume of apples outside.

The longer he mulled on it, the worst his thoughts nagged at him. So instead of looking up someone to take care of his orchard, he yet again began to start reading one of the many books about garden and orchard care he bought at some abstract store in the city on his coffee table.

It took up hours of his time at once— taking notes, reading more, reading another book to confirm his suspicions. The words blurred together and he would force himself to consume the material again.

He was only actually taken out of the fixation once he heard a soft knock on his door many hours later. His head snapped up quickly, his bleary-looking eyes blinking multiple times to clear his haze. With a deep sigh, he closed the books, stretching his stiff muscles. He quickly rose from the chair once the knock sounded off yet again.

When he opened the door, his entire brain flatlined in an instant. You were standing there, a suitcase beside you and an unordinary looking cat nuzzling the leather. The sight of your presence, mainly very out of place in his domain. He had no idea what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. His lips parted smally, awkwardly looking everywhere except your eyes. "Hey."

"Hey," You remained straight face, the cat meowing softly, rubbing against your leg now. "I didn't know you knew how to farm." Your voice was as gentle as the knock.

"I don't." He responded, also just as straight face. "Your cat?"

"Housewarming gift."

There was no way that he could take care of a cat with how worried he is with the orchard. No matter how much the cat looked into his eyes and matched his expression, a very sentimental emotion he held for it in the moment. Still, very ironic for fate to do this to him. "Keep it."

A moment of silence came across the both of them, it was like the air that Kuni was talking about was now polluted with the same feelings he did about leaving. Which disappointed him, it was almost like he was never going to stop remembering things again.

Until you approached Kuni with a swift movement that turned into you encompassing him in a hug. The sudden hug caught him off guard, stiffening in initial reaction. It was something he didn't usually get too comfortable with in the first place, but something was different about this one. Something definitely more relieving.

"You could have just been honest from the start." You said, exhaustion finally meeting you halfway.

The more he stood there, enveloped in your warmth, the weight that was always on his shoulders loosened him. And time suspended itself momentarily, allowing him to feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat sound off with his. Except his could have very well been faster than yours in that moment.

He allowed himself to lean into you after a while, to bask in your presence, and to feel the comfort that he wish he had a long time ago. "I know." He whispered, a guilty solace in his voice.

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @littlesliceofcheese @yumejo89

@liuaneee @franaby @tiddieshakeshownu @mimi3lover @kavineyah

@kittywagun (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[geopsych]

I want you to know that I've followed you for what feels like forever at this point, and while my activity on Tumblr has been insanely spotty, with months and I think even years between coming here, stumbling over the photos you post has always been one of my favorite parts. I can know for sure they're real photos, taken by a real person, enjoying the view, and they're always beautiful in such a real way. It feels like a breath of fresh air in my bouts of doom scrolling, where I stop for a moment and just appreciate, and I'm genuinely grateful for you still sharing these photos. They make me want to go outside and find these views for myself, because you remind me that they're out there and I just have to go look. I hope you're doing well.

Thank you for this. It's wonderful to know that the pictures I post can provide something like a breath of fresh air to you sometimes. Everybody needs a breath of fresh air to take a moment away from their jobs, their personal lives and of course the news. Because all of this is news too, and it needs to be broadcast. The sun is rising and setting, stars move across the sky, clouds swell and rain and disappear, the wind blows, plants including trees grow and bloom, birds nest and raise their young, there are creatures on the ground and underground. Every day it's new and different and it's happening all around us all the time, full of sounds and sights and smells. This is it, it's real life!

The things I show are unique to this place but what's great is that other places have other things and creatures to discover and explore. Even in a city there are birds singing and plants growing out of cracks in the sidewalk. Almost anywhere and any time you can go out and notice something that no one else has noticed, something just for you. And that's a tiny personal miracle, a little smidgen of magic, a gift. I'm not magical. I don't do magic. But I feel like the world has gifted me all of these magic moments, amazing sights and experiences, and the only thing I can think of to do with them is to share them. If they come across as a momentary relaxing of your muscles or a breath of fresh air and it makes you want to go outside and find some for yourself that's the closest I can hope to get to passing the magic on to you. So thank you for telling me and best wishes to you. May you have many tiny miracles to heal your heart! <3

[narcjsistx]

Can i request something about Umemiya Hajime?

Was honestly thinking about scenarios of him secretly dating a timid and studious reader who studies in an all girls school and they never expected she'd fall in love with the leader of Bofurin, their personalities are huge opposite but i think that dynamic would be adorable.

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— You are you

Sitting on a park bench, the sun caresses my skin with its first spring warmth. I removed my school jacket earlier, leaving it folded next to me, and I enjoy the light breeze that passes through my blouse, while the sleeves are rolled up just above the elbows. I observe the people passing by, the familiar faces of those who live in this small town. I see them leading their lives, immersed in the usual monotony: the elderly lady walking her dog, the owner of the bar arranging the tables outside, the children racing with their bicycles on the streets still damp from the morning rain

It amazes me how almost surreal the quiet has become since the Bofurin students started helping this place. Umemiya often brags about his boys, and it always makes me laugh a little that he talks about them as if he were a father

Suddenly, I hear a voice calling me in the distance. I turn around and, in an instant, Umemiya's face is inches from mine. His presence takes me by surprise, but immediately makes me smile. His face is radiant, as always, full of that swagger that makes him unique "Y/n Chan!" in his hand he waves two bags from the local bakery, full of sweets that they distribute for free only to Bofurin students "Look what I brought!" he exclaims, with the enthusiasm of a child who has just won a prize. He's so different from me, so self-centered and extroverted. While I prefer the tranquility of moments like this, he always seems to live to the fullest, as if every day is a new adventure. But that's exactly what I love about him, even though our lives are so different

While I wouldn't even know what pose to throw a punch, he is the commander of the Bofurin, also called the strongest guy in the whole city

"What did you get this time?" I ask seeing the two bags, which give off a sweet smell of bread "I think they are donuts and some desserts with cream. Maybe even some sandwiches" he says opening the first bag, which is full of delicacies. Here it is normal to give anything to Furin students, especially to Ume. Sometimes I even feel guilty about eating what he receives, because I know it's not directed at me "Here, this looks delicious" he says, passing me a sandwich with cream and strawberries, which although I would like to avoid out of courtesy, I accept because I'm hungry. I give the sandwich a bite, which is full of cream. Some of it gets on my nose, but as soon as the guy notices it he removes it with his finger. I smile at him to thank him with my cheeks filled with dessert, while he wipes his finger on a handkerchief "Be slow, otherwise it could hurt your stomach afterwards"

At a certain point, however, something catches my attention. In passing, I notice some female figures in the distance, barely distinguishable among the trees in the park. They seem to be watching us, but they are far enough away that it is difficult to understand who they are. I squint, trying to focus, but the girls remain indistinct, like blurry shadows amid the spring light

"Do you know them?" Ume asks noticing what I'm looking at "I don't know. They're too far away to see clearly..." I say biting another piece from the sandwich. I try not to give it too much thought, but I can't help but wonder who they might be and why they're watching us. Maybe it's just my impression, or maybe they're simply curious, attracted by Umemiya's contagious energy, which always manages to attract attention without even realizing it. Also, he's famous here, so they could probably be looking at him rather than me

I look away and focus on him again. His laughter brings me back to the present, to the moment we are living in. I decide not to worry too much, to let go of that fleeting thought. While we are still sitting on the bench, intent on chatting and enjoying the desserts, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the figures in the distance are getting closer. As they get closer, I can distinguish them better: there are five girls, and my blood immediately runs cold. I recognize them. They are all classmates in the same class as me

My heart starts to beat faster, and that feeling of tranquility I had just experienced vanishes in an instant. I hadn't recognized them from afar because they were wearing normal clothes, different from our usual school uniforms. Seeing them like this, outside of the school environment, caught me off guard. I don't know why they are coming towards us, but I suddenly feel completely exposed. My shy side emerges forcefully. I feel small, vulnerable, as if every single flaw is visible to their eyes. I never spoke to any of them at school, and now the idea of having to interact with them in this context terrifies me. Umemiya is here next to me, but her presence, instead of reassuring me, makes me feel even more embarrassed. I don't want them to see it, I don't want them to think that we are... something, because it would make him look bad being with me, who am his complete opposite. Yet, he doesn't seem the least bit disturbed by their presence, continuing to smile and talk as if nothing had happened

I would like to run away, escape that embarrassing encounter, but I can't move. The girls get closer and closer, and I stiffen, looking down. I feel my cheeks burning with shame. I don't know what to say, I don't know how to behave. I wish I could disappear, become invisible. There is nothing more difficult for me than dealing with social situations like this, where the judgment of others seems to weigh like a boulder

When they are finally in front of us, one of them greets us with a smile "Y/s? Is that really you?" a girl asks, covering her mouth in surprise. Umemiya, on the other hand, welcomes them with his usual confidence, and I can't help but admire him, even if, at this moment, I would just like to be somewhere else, far from here

They're all smiling, and before I can even say anything, they start peppering me with questions "What are you doing here?" "Did you go out together?" "How long have you been seeing each other?" "But is it Umemiya from Bofurin?" "What are you two doing together?" they ask in chorus, with a curiosity that makes me feel even more embarrassed. My heart is pounding, and my cheeks are burning with shame. I don't know how to answer, I don't even know if I should answer. The words catch in my throat as I desperately try to find something to say that doesn't sound stupid or inappropriate. Umemiya, at my side, remains silent, observing the scene with a calm that I cannot understand

He's usually so bold and talkative, but now he seems to have decided to stay on the sidelines. The girls keep talking to me, making assumptions, laughing among themselves, and I feel smaller and smaller. Their every word is a blow to my self-esteem, every laugh a reminder that I am not like them, so confident and comfortable in every situation. I can't look them in the eyes, I keep my gaze down, trying to hide my nervousness. I wish I could dissolve

"Girls, girls, girls!" the boy finally intervenes, shifting attention to him "Are you friends whit my girlfriend?" he asks with a nonchalance that I finally recognize. Time seems to stop for an instant. The girls stare at him in disbelief, their eyes wide and their mouths slightly open. Their buzz stops, replaced by a silence full of amazement. I remain motionless, completely paralyzed. My heart beats even faster, and I feel the heat rising to my cheeks

The girls exchange quick glances, obviously shocked by the revelation. None of them seem to know how to react. For a moment, everything I had feared materializes before my eyes: their judgment, their surprise, their invasive curiosity

Finally, one of the girls breaks the silence with a nervous giggle, trying to mask her shock. "We never expected this!" she exclaims, while the others nod, still surprised "Yes, well, not for something against Y/s, absolutely! It's strange just seeing her with..." says another girl, and she doesn't finish the sentence but it's implied that she means Umemiya. A few other girls in the group nod. I can't say anything, but I feel the warmth of Umemiya's hand touching mine, a reassuring gesture that makes me understand that I'm not alone. The girls, after a few more confused comments, seem to understand that they won't get any more information from us, and slowly begin to say goodbye, still with that incredulous expression on their faces

When they finally leave, breathing a sigh of relief, I turn to Umemiya. He smiles at me, with that smile of his that always manages to reassure me, and I, despite everything, manage to smile back to my lover. Even if, hidden behind that smile of his, he's absolutely understood my discomfort. Ume stands up and holds out his hand to help me do the same "Come on, I'll walk you home" he says in that reassuring tone of voice I know so well

We walk side by side along the park path, and the tension I had tried to hide begins to melt. But as we walk away from the bench, my thoughts return to what just happened. I can't help but feel like I've lived one of my worst nightmares. Since Umemiya and I have been together, for almost a year now, we have always decided to keep our relationship private. Not for lack of feeling or commitment, but simply because neither of us likes gossip. And more importantly, we wanted to prevent his enemies from targeting me to harm him. I have always known that Umemiya's life is not without risk, and his reputation, along with the people around him, are often balanced on a thin thread

Yet, today, all this has been put to the test. As I walk beside him, I wonder if, with that brief encounter, we have ruined everything we have tried to protect for so long. The girls in our class know about us now, and I can't stop thinking about what would happen if word got out. What if some of Umemiya's enemies found out? What if my presence in his life became a weapon against him?. I feel guilty, as if I had betrayed our promise of confidentiality. Maybe if I hadn't been so embarrassed, if I had been more confident, Umemiya wouldn't have felt the need to step in and openly declare our relationship

I turn to him, trying to read his thoughts, but his face is serene, as if none of this bothers him "Are you sure you're okay, honey?" he asks with a reassuring smile, as if he sensed my anxiety. Even though I try to hide it, I know that something has changed, and I can't help but worry "This afternoon I would have expected it to be different" I say keeping my gaze lowered. He thinks about it for a few moments, before putting a hand on my shoulder to squeeze our hips together "Do you seriously care about those girls? I mean, I wouldn't give them as much weight as you are doing" he says rolling his eyes, trying to keep things light. I sigh, playing with the sleeves of the uniform jacket that I put back on in the meantime "It's just that I'm sorry for having forced you to make things public when we had decided to keep it private..." I say a little uncertain

Hearing my words, Umemiya burst out laughing. I'm surprised by his behavior and for a second I have the idea that he's laughing to keep from crying "Are you really worried about such a tiny thing? I thought you were worried because those are your bullies or something..." he says continuing to laugh. I raise an eyebrow, confused "My thing is no small matter! I broke our promise and let you down!" I say, clenching my fists, but the boy stops and lowers himself to my height "You could never disappoint me, or at least not for such a tiny thing. And then, if we've been together for so long, it would have happened sooner or later, right?" he says, running a hand through my hair. I purse my lips to try not to seem sorry since he doesn't want to see me like this, but I can't: inside I really feel like I made a mistake, that the blame for this is exclusively mine

"Y/n, really, don't get paranoid about things like that. Yes, we agreed to keep it private, but what does it matter now? You think I'm so weak that I can't protect you if something happened, do you really underestimate me like that?" he says jokingly for the last few sentences. I giggle at his words, feeling a little less guilty "Y/n, you are you. You could never willingly do something to me to annoy me. It's not a trait of your character to be mean" he says caressing my cheek, placing a kiss on my forehead. I sigh, deciding that maybe today I can let go and completely trust what he says

It's that despite being so different, we are linked by something that I didn't think I would create so well. If anything ever happens, we'll just handle it

[stay-somnia]

SKZ! A/B/O! Omegaverse! Scents

Chan

His scent is the definition of primal: cedar forests so dense you have to claw your way out never knowing what direction you're going. Chan's scent is both comforting and dangerous, still woodlands lulling you in as ancient eyes watch.

Lee Know

Lee Know's scent is as strange as he is. Driftwood floating against foggy coastlines off black sand beaches. Brackish waters were rivers meet oceans his scent is clear with traces of salts. Your vision goes hazy as the gentle waves pull you under.

Changbin

Rose Oxide. Soft, brazen, metallic; Changbin's scent perfectly in embrace him. It's deceiving, subtle and kind at heart, the metallic clang quickly fades away once you're in its enamoring presence.

Hyunjin

Its hypnotizing, free spirited, this aired scent of Lilac's and Larch knows no limits. Faint in the beginning it grows more powerful over time, drawing you into a dream you won't wake up from.

Han

Electric citrus engulfed in rich chocolate, Han's scent is a comforting as it is addicting. It instills a fiery familiarity you can only acquire with over protective loved ones at your side. Once you taste it all else turns to ash.

Felix

Felix's scent of Jade and moss is a preservation of youth and vitality from times long ago. It's a bubble of peace. A place to clear your mind. A friend to call your own. Worry melts away once you pass the gates.

Seungmin

Leather bound notes and Bourbon. It's unnerving, unexpected, it's Seungmin. Archaic wisdom alight with mischief. Pages stained with a kind of love that most people will never get to know.

Jeongin

His scent is cold, alive, unique. Hawthorne fruit, candlestick ice, frozen rain. There's a beauty that you cant possibly comprehend. It invokes a sense of danger and pride but carries more warmth than a thousand suns.

______________________________________________________________

Im in the process of starting a 9th Member! reader Omegaverse fic so I wanted to explain how I perceive the boys scents. I know they are oddly specific but I cant imagine anything else. I don't quiet have synesthesia (at least I think) but some of all of these things have very distinctive smells. My friends call me crazy when I say jade has a VERY unique smell. I hope I was able to get my thoughts out coherently.

The first chapter should be out some time next week.

[simplymarr]

Chapter one.

summary: vincent renzi x fem!reader.

A young law student is navigating her last year in university, where she meets a misteryous french professor that is going to help her getting her thesis done. A strong chemistry and a love for books and hard work it's what gets them to work so well with each other. But how much are they going to resist when temptation arrives?

warnings: age gap (legal ofc) he's 43 and she's 26. Other that that, none (yet).

London. 8 am and a room full of people on a rainy day. Cold fingers on the desk, waiting for something to happen.

I looked over and the clock was still; maybe it was broken or maybe the time was way too slow in the morning. Even for me.

Today it was the last-first day i was going to have on that university. Five long years studying law, yet it felt like i was still a stranger in that big, cold classroom.

I was, finally, going to get my thesis done. No more wasting time, no more fear. I had to be strong.

How difficult could it be?

The world with its unique, hidden irony seemed to have answered my question when, all of a sudden, he walked through that old, wooden door.

Mature, maybe in his early forties. Tall but not too much; quite skinny. Long neck and serious countenance. Silver hair, some strands fell on his forehead as he walked across the room until he reached his desk. His polished clothes didn't look wet even though it was raining, and even for me to be so far away from him i could, somehow, sense that he smelled like cigarrettes and old fashioned, classic cologne.

Professor Vincent Renzi was his name.

He came from France. He said that he had recently won a case in the city, and that a colleague of his needed him to replace him for a few months at the university. A two-hour weekly class and, most importantly,

he was in charge of correcting some of the theses.

I hesitated the rest of the class, unsure of what was going to happen. Would he be easy on me? or would he be an idiot? After all, all male professors in law school seemed to treat women like they were not smart enough to be there. Or worse, like they fucked their way to the top.

Suddenly my feet stepped on earth again when i felt a deep voice making, in a strong french accent, a question that no one dared to answer.

"So, has anyone already started working on their thesis?"

Silence.

Then, for inertia or maybe an obscure, unconscious desire to be seen by his blue eyes i raised my hand.

He smiled at me; perhaps relieved that he hadn't been ignored. Little wrinkles formed on each side of his mouth as he spoke:

"Great, at least someone is doing their job. Now, enlighten me, please".

........................................

I tried to leave as soon as the class ended.

Maybe it was the shame, the blushed cheeks as i explained to him the central themes of the thesis. For the first time, i felt like my tongue wasn't mine as the words kept coming out of my mouth, but i felt grateful for that.

However, due to how far away i was from the exit, i was the last one to leave. I slid between each seat until i reached the door where, luckily for me, he was standing, waiting.

"That was good. Very good actually". He said as he reached out for a pack of cigarettes between his pockets.

I stuttered.

"Well, thank you. There's still some issues i need to fix, you know. References and stuff". I tried, without luck, to sound as calm as possible.

"That's why im here". He said, staid but in a soft tone.

As he left the building and got into his car, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and lighting a cigarette, i couldn't help but wonder

what the hell was i getting into.

next chapter soon

[emeritusemeritus]

Could I request a Fred Weasley x reader where they’re at the burrow and it’s just like tooth rotting fluff?? Like domestic and cute and I want to claw out my own eyeballs, ya know?

My love, I can certainly do Fred fluff for you! 🖤

Warnings: None? Tooth rotting fluff and happy families. Banter and teasing with George. A whole lot of love from Fred.

Word count: 943

Give you everything.

The Burrow was the pinnacle of comfort in your mind. The sight, the textures, the smells, everything about it was warm and homely. Everything in the Burrow was a culmination of thrift and creation, table cloths made from old curtains, cushion covers from a gifted bedspread, home knitted clothes and a weird and wonderful collection of odd and non-matching china that only added to the unique and homely feel. Each corner, scuff on the floor, mark on the door frames had a story, a history and was well loved and tended to.

Your favourite piece in the entire Burrow was a soft blanket in the twins room, a complete mismatch of fabric that had been quilted together with the softest lining you'd ever felt. It was cozy, warm and smelt like home. Molly had very kindly gifted you a replica one year for Christmas that you'd fallen in love with and been abundantly thankful for, tears welling in your eyes as you threw your arms around her on pure appreciation. But nothing compared to the original, the scent of Fred imprinted into the blanket. The memory of cuddling under the blanket as you watched the rain fall on the wooden window, completely at peace with Fred arms holding you tight was almost imprinted onto the blanket itself, the reason why the new one just couldn't compare.

"Are you leaving that blanket any time this week?" George says with a smirk, stepping into his room and throwing himself down on the opposite bed whilst you snuggled into Fred's with the blanket.

"Nope," you replied with a grin, "I want to be buried in this blanket."

"Reckon it's had more cuddles that me this entire week," Fred says from the doorway, a smirk on his face as he watches in on you and George.

"Oh shove off," you say with a roll of your eyes; reaching out with your sock covered toes to try and playfully jab him.

"That's a bloody lie, you've both been joined at the hip since you got here," George snarks playfully, "it's actually quite disgusting."

"Aww no need to be jealous Georgie, you'll have him all to yourself again soon," you tease, earning a pillow thrown in your direction that makes you all chuckle. You burst out laughing when Fred suddenly lunges at George trying to hug him as he squirms trying to get away from his slightly older brother.

"If you wanted a cuddle Georgie you just had to ask."

"Shove off," he says, trying to sound out out but the smile on his face says otherwise.

"Or was it her you wanted to cuddle?" Fred adds, gesturing to you with a nod of his head, as he throws himself backwards onto the bed, falling in your lap. "I'm used to sharing mate but even I've got boundaries."

"Gits, both of you," George says, trying to hide him smirk as you both laugh. Fred's hand immediately reaches out for you, holding your leg through the blanket as your hand finds its way into his hair, stroking and messing the soft strands.

"Dinners ready!" You hear Molly call from down the stairs and mere seconds later George is up off the bed and running down the stairs before Fred has even moved a muscle.

"Come on you great oaf I'm starving," you say with a chuckle, trying to push him off you as he resists, dead weighting on top of you.

"So rude princess," he says with a smirk, slowly getting up from your lap, reaching for your hand and pulling you up.

Settling down at the dinner table with six of the Weasleys, each of you served up with a massive portion of home cooked food, you never wanted to leave. Ron and Ginny were arguing about some quidditch non-issue, George and Fred were whispering amongst themselves about an idea they'd had for their growing business, Molly was busy fussing about the kitchen as Arthur tried to sneakily read the daily prophet under the table without his wife seeing. It was chaos in the most wonderful way. You wanted this forever, wanted this for yourself. You looked at Fred, hoping that one day you'd be able to have all of this with him; a Weasley in your own right, your own personal branch of Weasley's all with red hair and big smiles like their dad.

"Y/n dear, you don't have to help," Molly says with a smile as you start clearing away and helping, wanting to pull your weight.

Fred appears behind you, linking his arms around your waist as you stand scrubbing the pots from dinner, the rest of the family having dispersed for the evening. He leans down, kisses your head and rests his chin on your shoulder as he begins pressing little kisses to the side of your neck making you squirm and laugh from the ticklish sensation.

"Caught you staring at me earlier princess, nice thoughts?”

You can almost hear the smirk on his face as his nose ghosts over your ear and hair, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

“I want this, in our future, all of this,” you say with a smile on your face. He slowly turns you around, placing a large hand on your hip as you reach fir the tea towel and dry your hands before slinging your arms around his neck, body pressed between him and the counter.

The smile on his face is your favourite sight, the smile reserved only for you. Both drunk on love and each other, you share a tender kiss.

“I’ll give you everything sweetheart, all of this and more.”

[eternalfarae0]

"Beneath the London skies" | tok rev.

pairings: Rindou H. Ran. x Reader

warnings: none, yet..

You sit by the plane window, the cold glass pressed against your cheek as you gaze out at the sprawling urban landscape of London, feeling the weight of your decision.

The engines' roar dulls to a low hum as the aircraft descends, and the city's lights twinkle like distant stars.

You've left your home country behind, the familiar comfort of your grandparents' warm embrace now a fading memory.

A mix of excitement and trepidation coils in your stomach as you clutch the small art portfolio to your chest, filled with your dreams of becoming a renowned artist.

The aircraft shudders as it kisses the tarmac, and you're jolted back to reality.

You're here to start a new life, a chance to escape the shackles of your past. As the plane taxis to the gate, you watch the bustle of the airport, people rushing to greet their loved ones, luggage carts whizzing by, and the occasional flight attendant with a forced smile.

The air is thick with anticipation and exhaustion, a scent that seems to cling to every traveler.

The intercom crackles to life, announcing your arrival in a crisp British accent, and you feel a flutter of nervousness in your chest.

Welcome to London, your new home.

As the plane doors open, the cool, damp air of London greets you, a stark contrast to the stale recycled air you've been breathing for hours.

You take a deep breath, the scent of rain and diesel fumes mingling with the faint hint of fish and chips wafting from somewhere outside the terminal.

The cacophony of unfamiliar voices and the clack of suitcases fills your ears as you make your way through the airport, the thrill of your new adventure slowly giving way to a pang of homesickness.

You miss the comforting warmth of your grandparents' house, the smell of your grandmother's cooking, and the gentle hum of your grandfather's snore as he dozed off watching old movies with you.

Your heart aches for the simplicity of those moments, for the safety net they provided. Yet, you know you had to leave, to follow the path they always hoped you would, to pursue your dreams and escape the shadow that had been cast over your family's name.

The art scholarship to the prestigious Westbridge University was your ticket to freedom, and now, as you navigate the crowded airport, the reality of your new life begins to set in.

With the luggage claim in sight, you quicken your pace, eager to begin the next chapter of your life. The floor underfoot is slick from the rain outside, and before you know it, your heel catches on an unseen stone, sending you hurtling to the ground.

The portfolio flies from your grasp, the contents scattering like a flock of startled birds. You land with a thud, pain shooting through your knees and palms as they absorb the impact. The bustling crowd seems to part around you, as if afraid to touch the girl who'd just fallen from the sky.

A shadow falls over you, blocking the harsh artificial light. You look up, blinking back tears of pain and embarrassment, and find yourself staring into the warmest pair of eyes you've ever seen.

They belong to a young man, tall and lean, with a gentle smile that seems to apologize for the world's cruelty. He's dressed casually, but there's an air of authority about him that you can't quite place.

He reaches out a hand to help you up, and as you grasp it, a jolt of something electric passes between you.

He has purple hair, a unique blend of deep plum with a hint of blue that falls in medium-length waves around his face.

The first thing that truly captures your attention, however, are his eyes—a soft, ethereal lavender that seems to hold a universe of secrets. They're the kind of eyes you could get lost in, and for a moment, you do.

They bore into yours with a gentle intensity that feels both comforting and disarming. He's the first person you've met in London, and yet, somehow, he seems familiar—like a character you've painted a hundred times in your art, but never quite managed to get right.

Shaking off the haze, you realize that your art supplies are scattered across the floor.

Your heart sinks as you see the crumpled pages and broken pencils, a visual representation of your shattered dignity.

You hastily begin to gather your things, feeling the sting of your scraped palms and the ache in your knees with each movement.

The young man with the purple hair kneels beside you, his long fingers deftly picking up your sketches and placing them back into the portfolio with surprising care.

His touch is feather-light, almost reverent, as if he understands the depth of emotion that goes into each stroke.

As you both stand, your eyes lock again, and you feel a strange pull towards him, a magnetic force that you can't explain.

His smile widens slightly, revealing a hint of mischief that sends a shiver down your spine. "I'm Rindou" he says, his voice a smooth blend of kindness and strength. "Welcome to London. I hope your stay here isn't as rough as your arrival." He holds out the portfolio, his eyes never leaving yours. You take it with trembling hands, feeling the weight of his gaze.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

You notice the crumpled paper in your hand—your scholarship to Westbridge University.

The name of the institution is bold and proud, a symbol of the hope you've clung to for so long. As Rindou takes it from you to smooth it out, he pauses for a brief second, his eyes widening just a fraction.

"Ah, Westbridge," he says casually, but there's a tone in his voice that suggests he's anything but indifferent. "good luck on that," he adds chuckling, handing it back to you with a knowing smile.

like he's familiar of it, couldn't it be-

Before you can ask him about his connection to the university, he checks his wristwatch, the silver band glinting under the fluorescent lights.

"I'm afraid I'll be late if I don't hurry," he says with a hint of apology, his eyes still lingering on your artwork.

You want to ask for his number... to thank him properly and perhaps even show him your art in a more intimate setting, but the words get stuck in your throat.

The moment stretches out, thick with unspoken questions and the throb of the pulsing airport around you.

With a final smile, Rindou turns and strides away, leaving you standing there, feeling both relieved and disappointed.

You can't help but crack a smile at the absurdity of it all—blushing over someone you've just met, in the middle of a crowded airport, no less.

But something about his gentle touch and knowing gaze had stirred something deep within you, a feeling you haven't felt in a long time.

You shake your head, chiding yourself for being so easily distracted. You have a scholarship to claim and a new life to start.

Collecting your composure, you head towards the baggage claim, the throb of the airport's heartbeat pulsating around you.

The conveyor belt groans into life, and suitcases of all shapes and sizes begin their lazy dance. You spot your own luggage, a small, battered piece of your past making its way towards you, and you grab it with a sense of determination.

The weight feels heavier now, not just because of the flight's toll but because of the promise it holds—a future filled with potential and the chance to redefine your destiny.

second chapter:|full ver:

[eunseoksimp]

Fractured ; Hong Seunghan

Pairings: Situationship! Hong Seunghan x Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst

Description: in the shadows of a love that was never meant to be, you find yourself entangled with seunghan—a charming enigma who keeps his heart locked away. as desire clashes with emotional distance, the truth emerges: he cannot give you what you crave. torn between longing and acceptance, you grapple with the haunting realization that some loves are destined to remain unfulfilled, leaving you to navigate the painful aftermath of a love that was always out of reach.

Warnings: none

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the air is heavy tonight, thick with unspoken words that hang between you like ghosts, reminders of everything he never says. outside, the city hums, cars passing, the distant sound of laughter creeping through the open window. but in this room, there’s only silence—dense, suffocating, and louder than anything else.

seunghan lies beside you, his body warm against yours, but there’s a coldness that you can’t shake. you wonder how he manages it—how he can be so close and still feel so far away, like a shadow slipping through your fingers.

you turn your head, gaze tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the way the faint light catches on his skin. he’s beautiful. god, he’s beautiful. but there’s something almost cruel in that beauty, like a dream you can’t hold onto.

your hand drifts to the space between you, fingers hesitating before they touch his. he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t reach for you either. that’s the thing with seunghan—he’s never cruel outright. he never says anything that cuts too deep. he just... drifts. floats in and out of your life like a passing storm, and you’re always left behind, waiting for the rain to fall again.

you’ve been here before, in this bed, in this room, with him. and every time, it feels like you’re getting closer to something—something real, something more. but then he pulls away. maybe not physically, not always, but emotionally. he never gives you more than the barest touch, the faintest hint of something that could be called affection. and yet, here you are again, lying next to him, wanting more.

the scent of him—faint cologne mixed with something deeper, something uniquely him—fills your lungs, intoxicating and dizzying. it’s familiar, yet it feels like a warning, a reminder that this, whatever this is, will never be enough. you inhale deeply, trying to hold onto it, as if somehow it’ll anchor you to him. as if the smell of him can make him stay.

but it never does.

you can hear his steady breathing, slow and even, and it should comfort you. but instead, it just makes the emptiness more pronounced. you want to reach into his chest, pull out whatever it is that keeps him so distant, so untouchable. you want to know if there’s anything in there at all, anything that can love you back the way you love him. or if it’s just a hollow space, one you’ve been trying to fill with your longing, your desire.

you close your eyes, frustration coiling tightly inside you, like a vine wrapping around your ribcage, squeezing, suffocating. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that he can make you feel so much when he seems to feel nothing at all. you turn on your side, facing him, watching the rise and fall of his chest. in the low light, he looks peaceful. like he has no idea of the storm raging inside you. like he doesn’t even care.

and maybe he doesn’t.

"seunghan," you whisper, your voice barely audible. his name on your tongue feels fragile, like a secret you shouldn’t speak aloud. he stirs, but doesn’t open his eyes. for a moment, you consider not saying anything more. maybe it’s better this way—to keep pretending, to keep living in the illusion of what you have. but something in you snaps, a quiet desperation that’s been building for too long.

"what are we?" your voice is louder this time, enough to break the silence.

his eyes flutter open, and for a second, you think you see something—something real. but it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by that familiar, unreadable mask he wears so well.

he doesn’t answer right away. he never does. instead, he stretches, his body shifting closer to yours, his arm lazily draping over your waist. it’s automatic, practiced. like he’s done this a thousand times with a thousand different people. and maybe he has.

"does it matter?" he asks, his voice low, thick with sleep but also with something else. indifference. it’s the indifference that stings the most, the casual dismissal of something that means everything to you.

your heart clenches, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest.

"it matters to me," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. but there’s a tremble there, a vulnerability you wish you could hide. he shifts again, finally meeting your gaze, his dark eyes staring into yours like he’s searching for something. you don’t know what he’s looking for, but you’re afraid he won’t find it.

"don’t think so much," he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

it’s such a small, intimate gesture, but coming from him, it feels like a slap. like he’s placating you, giving you just enough to keep you hanging on, but never enough to satisfy the ache inside you.

"just... be here. with me."

you want to scream. you want to push him away, to demand more, to force him to see you. to really see you. but you don’t. because deep down, you know the truth. you know that if you push too hard, if you ask for too much, he’ll disappear. and that thought—that fear of losing even the small piece of him you have—keeps you quiet.

so you stay. you let him pull you closer, let his lips press softly against your forehead. you let him give you just enough to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

but it never is.

you still remember the first time you saw him. it was at a party—one of those overcrowded, dimly lit gatherings where faces blur together and conversations get lost in the thrum of music. you weren’t looking for anyone that night, weren’t even in the mood to be there, but your friends had dragged you out. they said it would be fun. they said you needed to stop hiding, to get back out there.

and then, you saw him.

he stood out from the crowd in that effortless way some people do—like the light caught him differently, like the world shifted slightly to accommodate his presence. he wasn’t doing anything special, just leaning against a wall, drink in hand, talking to someone you didn’t know. but there was something about him. something in the way he held himself, the way his gaze swept over the room, indifferent but all-seeing. like nothing could touch him. like he was above it all.

you couldn’t stop looking at him. your friends noticed, nudged you, teased you about the way your eyes kept drifting in his direction. they pushed you toward him, told you to go say hi, but you hesitated. what would someone like him even want with you?

but then, as if he felt your gaze on him, he looked up. and in that moment, everything else disappeared. the room, the music, the people—it all faded away, and there was only him, staring at you with those dark, unreadable eyes. he didn’t smile, didn’t gesture for you to come over. he just watched you, as if he were deciding something, as if he were weighing whether you were worth his time.

and somehow, you ended up in front of him.

“hey,” you said, your voice more nervous than you’d intended. he looked you up and down, his expression cool, almost bored. but there was something in his gaze that made your heart race, made you feel like he could see right through you.

“hey,” he replied, his voice smooth, low. it sent a shiver down your spine.

you don’t remember much of the conversation that followed. only that his words were like a current pulling you in, drawing you closer, making you feel like you were the only one in the room. and by the end of the night, you were walking home with him, his arm slung casually over your shoulders, your heart pounding with something you couldn’t quite name.

he wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met before. he was charming, yes, but not in the way most people were. he didn’t try too hard. he didn’t need to. there was something magnetic about him, something that made people want to be around him, made them crave his attention. and when he gave it to you, even for a moment, it felt like the world stopped spinning.

but that was the problem, wasn’t it? it was never just you. there were always others. even in those early days, when things between you were new, fresh, and exciting, there was always a part of him that stayed locked away. untouchable. he gave you just enough to keep you coming back, just enough to make you feel special.

but never enough to make you feel secure.

it started with little things. the way he’d disappear for days, only to reappear with a casual text like nothing had happened. the way he’d make plans with you, then cancel at the last minute because something "came up." the way his phone would buzz constantly when you were together, and he’d never tell you who was on the other end.

you tried to ignore it at first. tried to convince yourself that this was just how things were with him—that he was busy, that he had a life outside of you. but deep down, you knew. you always knew that you were never going to be his priority.

still, you stayed. because when he was with you—really with you—it felt like the world could fall apart, and it wouldn’t matter. when he touched you, when he kissed you, when he whispered your name in the quiet of the night, it felt like you were the only thing that mattered to him. and you lived for those moments. you clung to them, even as the distance between you grew wider.

the thing is, you don’t even know when it happened—when you went from being someone he saw casually to someone who cared too much. it crept up on you slowly, like the tide, until one day, you realized you were drowning.

you fell for him in pieces. it wasn’t just the way he looked at you, or the way he touched you, though that was part of it. it was the way he made you feel, like you were special, like you were different from everyone else in his life. the way he could say so little and still make you feel so much. and that was his power, wasn’t it? he didn’t have to do much to make you fall. it was effortless. it was easy.

you told yourself it was just physical at first. that it didn’t matter if he wasn’t emotionally available. that you didn’t need anything more from him. but somewhere along the line, you started to want more. you started to need more.

it was the nights, you think. those nights when he’d come over, his guard down just enough to let you glimpse the man beneath the surface. the man who wasn’t always so cold, so detached. the man who could be gentle, who could make you laugh, who could make you feel like maybe, just maybe, there was something more between you.

but those moments were fleeting. they never lasted. because as soon as the sun came up, as soon as the world crept back in, he was gone again. back to being the playboy, the heartbreaker, the guy who couldn’t be tied down. and you were left picking up the pieces, trying to figure out what, if anything, you meant to him.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the mornings are the worst. when the sun rises and the weight of the night lifts, seunghan always leaves. it’s like clockwork, the way he slips out of bed, his body already cold before you even open your eyes. you can hear him now, the quiet rustle of clothes being gathered, the sound of his phone vibrating against the table. and then, just like that, he’s gone.

you lie there, staring at the ceiling, the empty space beside you a glaring reminder of what you’ve become. a placeholder. something temporary, something that’s there to fill the silence, but never meant to last. the sheets still smell like him, and for a moment, you bury your face in them, inhaling deeply, trying to hold onto the remnants of him. but it’s fading. already, it’s fading.

you drag yourself out of bed, pulling on his t-shirt—another piece of him that doesn’t really belong to you. it’s too big, hangs loosely on your frame, but you wear it anyway. it’s pathetic, you know that. but you can’t help it.

he leaves, but he never takes everything. there’s always something left behind—a shirt, a jacket, a text that you stare at for too long. little breadcrumbs that lead you back to him, no matter how hard you try to walk away.

you make your way to the kitchen, every step feeling heavier than the last. the apartment is quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. you glance at it. 7:45 am. he’s probably already gone to wherever it is he goes when he’s not with you. you never ask, and he never tells.

it’s better that way, you tell yourself. less messy. less real.

but is it? is it really?

you sink into a chair, hands gripping the edge of the table as if holding on to something solid will keep you from unraveling completely. your mind races, going over the same thoughts, the same questions that have haunted you for months. 

what are you to him? does he think of you when he’s gone, or are you just another fleeting moment in his life? a moment that, eventually, he’ll forget.

you hate how much you want him. how much you need him. it’s not just the physical—the way his body feels against yours, the way he makes you forget everything else when he’s touching you. it’s more than that. 

it’s the quiet moments, the ones where you catch a glimpse of something deeper in him, something raw, something real. but those moments are rare, and they’re always followed by the inevitable distance, the emotional wall he builds up between you.

it’s like trying to hold onto smoke, the way he slips through your fingers no matter how tightly you try to grasp him.

you take a deep breath, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you like a heavy fog. it’s exhausting, this constant cycle of wanting and not having, of hoping and being let down. and yet, you can’t bring yourself to walk away. not yet. because what if—what if this time, he stays? what if this time, he gives you more?

you hate yourself for thinking that way. you know it’s foolish, know that seunghan is who he is. he’s not going to change. but there’s a part of you—a small, desperate part—that clings to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he will.

you sigh, standing up slowly from the table, the creak of the wooden floor loud in the silence of your apartment. everything feels heavier in the mornings after seunghan leaves, like the day itself is pulling you down, dragging you into that same space where his absence lingers. your hands shake slightly as you grab the cold cup of coffee you’d made earlier. you take a sip, but the bitterness only deepens the hollow ache in your chest. the cup clinks softly as you set it down, forgotten.

it’s always like this, isn’t it? you replay every word, every glance, trying to find meaning in the way he touches you, the way he looks at you—desperately searching for proof that you mean more to him than just another fleeting thing. but each time, the evidence feels thin, like water slipping through your fingers.

still, you stay. you let yourself believe that maybe today will be different. maybe tonight, when he comes back, he’ll look at you with something more than casual affection. something real, something deep. maybe he’ll stay a little longer, hold you a little tighter, and the void inside him will fill.

but it never happens. and every time he leaves, you’re left trying to rebuild yourself from the wreckage, piecing together fragments of your heart that are growing more fragile by the day.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the sun hangs low in the sky, dipping below the horizon, casting the world in soft shades of pink and gold. twilight. the time when things that are normally clear start to blur, and everything feels uncertain, suspended between light and dark.

it’s been hours since seunghan left, and you haven’t heard from him. you wonder where he is—who he’s with. the thought of him with someone else gnaws at you, the sharp edges of jealousy scraping against your skin. you try to push it away, tell yourself that you have no right to feel this way, but the truth is, you do. you want to be the one he chooses. the one who matters. but you know better than to expect that from him.

your phone buzzes on the table, and your heart jumps, fingers trembling as you grab it. it’s him. a simple text, as casual as ever.

'might come over tonight. don’t wait up'

the words feel like a blow. not because they’re unexpected—this is how it always goes with him—but because they’re so indifferent. it’s like you’re a convenience, something he can drop in and out of when it suits him. you hate how much those words sting, how much power he has over you with just a few careless taps on a screen.

you don’t reply. you don’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound pathetic or desperate, so you just sit there, staring at the screen, your mind racing with thoughts you can’t control.

what would happen if you didn’t open the door when he showed up tonight? if you finally stood your ground, told him you couldn’t do this anymore? would he even care? or would he just move on to someone else, someone who doesn’t ask for more?

hours pass, and the apartment grows darker. you sit by the window, watching the city’s lights flicker on one by one, your mind restless, your heart heavy. you think of all the times seunghan has slipped in and out of your life, leaving behind traces of himself but never enough to hold onto. 

the knock on the door comes later than expected. it's past midnight, and you’ve been sitting in the silence, the tension in your body building with every passing hour. your heart races as you approach the door, your hand hovering over the handle for a moment too long. part of you wants to lock it, to let him stay on the other side, shut out from your life, just as emotionally distant as he’s always been.

but you can’t. you never can.

you open the door, and there he is—leaning against the frame, his hair slightly tousled, eyes dark and unreadable as they meet yours. he steps inside without waiting for an invitation, his presence immediately filling the space. there’s something intoxicating about him, the way he moves, the way he looks at you. it’s maddening, how easily he commands your attention, your desire.

he doesn’t say anything as he walks past you, heading toward the living room like it’s his own place. like he belongs here. and maybe he does, in a way that makes you feel sick to your stomach. because as much as you want him to belong to you, you know deep down that you’ll never belong to him.

you follow him, your heart in your throat, trying to find the words that have been tangled in your chest for weeks—months, maybe. but when you see him, sprawled out on your couch, one arm resting casually across the back, you hesitate. he looks so comfortable, so at ease, like nothing in the world could ever touch him. and maybe nothing ever does.

“you didn’t have to come,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. it’s not an accusation, but it’s not welcoming either. it’s somewhere in between, a space that mirrors the one you’ve been living in with him for too long.

he glances at you, one eyebrow raised in mild curiosity, but there’s no real emotion there.

 “you didn’t have to wait up,” he replies easily, his voice smooth, effortless. he’s always like this—cool, detached, as if nothing really matters. and you hate how much that gets under your skin.

“i wasn’t waiting,” you lie, your arms crossing over your chest defensively. he smirks, and it makes something twist inside you, because you know he can see right through you. he always can.

“okay,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he doesn’t really care. and maybe he doesn’t. you wonder if he ever did.

you sit down across from him, the space between you feeling wider than the room itself. you want to say something—anything—that will make him understand how much this is tearing you apart. but the words feel stuck, lodged deep in your throat, suffocating you.

“seunghan,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, you think you see something in his eyes. something soft, something vulnerable. but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by that same indifferent mask he always wears.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his tone casual, as if the answer doesn’t really matter to him. and maybe it doesn’t. but to you, it feels like everything. everything you’ve been holding in, all the pain and frustration and longing, it’s all bubbling up to the surface now, and you don’t know how to keep it inside any longer.

“i can’t keep doing this,” you say, your voice trembling. “i can’t keep pretending that this—whatever this is—is enough for me.”

there’s a long pause, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you like a storm about to break. seunghan’s expression doesn’t change, but you can see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw tightens slightly, the way his fingers twitch.

“what do you want from me?” he asks, and there’s something almost dangerous in his voice now. it’s not loud, not angry, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s warning you not to push too far.

“i want more,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

 “i want to know that i mean something to you. that i’m not just another person you run to when you’re bored or lonely. i want to feel like you care about me, like you actually see me.”

he stares at you for a long moment, his eyes unreadable, his expression cold. and then he laughs—a soft, bitter sound that makes your heart sink.

“you think this is about you?” he asks, his voice sharp now, cutting through the air like a knife. “this was never about you.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of your lungs. you try to speak, try to make sense of what he’s saying, but all you can do is stare at him, your mind reeling.

“you wanted more? i never promised you that,” he continues, his voice cold, detached.

“you knew what this was from the beginning. you knew i wasn’t looking for anything serious. so don’t stand there and act like i owe you something.”

tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. you won’t let him see how much he’s hurt you. not again.

“i never asked for much,” you say, your voice shaking with the effort to stay calm. “i just wanted you to care. even a little.”

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face.

 “i do care,” he says, but the words feel hollow, empty. “but not in the way you want me to. and i’m not going to change that just because you decided you wanted more.”

his words are a death sentence. final, unyielding. you realize, with a sinking feeling, that this is it. this is the moment you’ve been avoiding, the truth you’ve been running from. he will never be what you need him to be. he will never give you the love you so desperately crave.

and yet, even now, you still want him. despite everything, despite the pain and the rejection and the cold, unfeeling way he’s looking at you right now—you still want him.

you can’t breathe. the weight of the realization presses down on you, suffocating, crushing. your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through your chest. you try to speak, to say something that will break this horrible, suffocating silence, but the words are caught in your throat.

seunghan stands up, running a hand through his hair, exasperation clear in his every movement. he paces in front of you, like he can’t quite stand to sit still in this moment, like the very thought of being here, with you, in this conversation, is too much for him.

"you always do this," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you always want more. i told you from the start, i’m not that guy. i’m not going to be what you want me to be."

his voice cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and cruel, and you flinch, the pain in your chest growing deeper with every word he says.

“you don’t understand,” you say, your voice quiet but firm.

“you don’t know what it’s like to be in love with someone who keeps you at arm’s length. someone who makes you feel like you’re always reaching for something you can never quite have.”

he stops pacing, turning to look at you, his eyes dark and piercing.

“i never asked you to fall in love with me,” he says, and his words are like a slap in the face. they knock the wind out of you, make your heart lurch in your chest.

you swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“i know you didn’t. but it happened anyway. and now i don’t know how to stop.”

there’s a long silence. the kind that feels like it could break you if it stretches on too long. seunghan’s eyes are fixed on you, but there’s no warmth there. no softness. just that same cold detachment that has always kept you at a distance.

“i told you from the beginning,” he says, his voice low, almost tired. “i’m not that guy. i’m not the one you settle down with. you knew that.”

“i did,” you admit, the words bitter on your tongue. 

“but i thought—i thought maybe, if i stayed long enough, if i was patient enough, you’d change. i thought maybe you’d realize that i’m not like the others. that i’m worth it.”

his expression doesn’t change, but you can see the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers clench into fists at his sides.

 “i never asked you to wait for me,” he says, his voice cold. “i never promised you anything.”

“no, you didn’t,” you say, tears stinging your eyes.

“but you let me believe it, didn’t you? you gave me just enough to keep me hanging on, just enough to make me think that maybe, one day, you’d give me more.”

his gaze flickers, just for a moment, and you think you see something—regret, maybe. but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“you’re right,” he says finally, his voice softer now, but no less cutting.

“i gave you just enough. because it was easy. because i didn’t have to try. and maybe that was selfish. but i never meant to hurt you.”

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. only bitterness, only the sharp edge of a broken heart. 

“well, you did.”

the silence that follows is unbearable, thick with everything you’ve never said and everything he’ll never admit. you can feel your chest tightening, your throat closing up, as the weight of the truth finally settles in.

he will never be what you need him to be. he will never give you the love you want, the love you deserve. and staying here, with him, hoping for something more, is only going to tear you apart.

seunghan doesn’t say anything for what feels like an eternity. the silence between you is a living thing, thick and suffocating, curling around your throat, squeezing. he glances at the door, and you feel it—the moment he decides to leave. it’s a subtle shift, a quiet resignation in the way his shoulders drop, the way his gaze flickers past you, like he’s already somewhere else. somewhere far from here. far from you.

seunghan’s gaze falls to the floor when he notices your staring, his fingers flexing and curling as if searching for something to hold on to—some excuse to stay. but then his eyes lift, meeting yours, and they are colder than you’ve ever seen. it’s like watching a storm gather, violent and unyielding, dark clouds rolling in behind the calm.

“i think…” his voice is low, hesitant at first, like he’s wrestling with the words that are about to rip you apart. “…we should stop this.”

you feel your stomach drop, the floor tilting beneath you as if the whole world is crumbling in slow motion. but he isn’t finished.

“we can’t keep pretending,” he continues, his voice growing steadier, harder, as if he’s steeling himself against your reaction, against the break that’s about to come.

“there’s no future where i can give you what you want.”

his words slice through the room like the snap of a noose tightening. the finality of it wraps around your chest, choking off your breath. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t soften, just stands there—stone-cold, unreachable, and as distant as the sky on the darkest night.

you hear it in his tone, feel the sharp, unforgiving truth of it. he’s already gone, already on the other side of this, and you’re left standing in the wreckage of a love that never really existed, staring into the void where your hope used to be.

his footsteps echo through the quiet room, slow and deliberate, as if even the act of leaving costs him nothing. you watch him move toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to escape, like it can’t bear to stay inside you if he walks out. you want to scream, to beg him to turn around, to stay, but the words lodge in your throat, trapped beneath the weight of your pride and your pain.

he pauses with his hand on the doorknob, and for a brief, agonizing second, you think maybe—just maybe—he’ll turn around. maybe he’ll say something that will pull you back from the edge, something that will make this hurt less. but when he speaks, his voice is cold, distant.

“this was always going to end like this,” he says softly, like he’s stating a fact, like this is something you should’ve known all along.

his words hit you like ice water, sharp and numbing, and you feel something inside you splinter, a deep crack running through the foundation of everything you’ve held on to. you’ve known, somewhere deep down, that this was how it would end. you’ve always known. but hearing him say it, hearing him confirm it—it breaks you in a way you didn’t expect.

seunghan opens the door, the cool air from outside rushing in, swirling around you, making you shiver. he doesn’t look back. not once. the door closes behind him with a soft click, and just like that, he’s gone. 

it feels like the world has dropped out from beneath you. like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving you gasping, grasping at nothing. the silence is deafening, pressing in on all sides, filling the empty space where he stood only moments ago.

you collapse onto the couch, the fabric rough against your skin, but you barely notice. all you feel is the hollow ache in your chest, the sharp, relentless throb of a heart that’s been broken in a way that can’t be fixed. it’s as if every piece of you has been unraveled, pulled apart at the seams, leaving you exposed, raw, and bleeding.

the tears come slowly at first, hot and silent, sliding down your cheeks in rivers that you can’t stop, won’t stop. your breath catches in your throat, shallow and uneven, and soon the sobs break free, shaking your entire body. it’s like every ounce of pain you’ve been holding back, every moment of doubt, every stolen glance, every night spent waiting for something that was never going to come—they all crash down on you at once, a tidal wave of grief you can’t escape.

your hands clutch the cushions beneath you, your nails digging into the fabric as if holding on to something—anything—could stop the flood inside you. but there’s no stopping it. it’s everywhere now, filling every corner of the room, every inch of your body, this overwhelming, unbearable sense of loss. 

because he wasn’t yours to lose, was he? he was never yours. you were reaching for something that was never within your grasp, chasing after the ghost of a love that only existed in your mind. and now, you’re left with nothing. nothing but the echoes of his footsteps fading into the night, the empty space where he once stood, the shattered pieces of your heart scattered at your feet.

the room feels colder without him, like the warmth he brought with him has seeped out the door, leaving you to drown in the chill of his absence. the air tastes different, bitter, laced with regret and all the words you should have said, all the ways you should have protected yourself from this. from him.

but you didn’t. you let yourself fall, let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could be the one to make him stay. and now you’re paying the price, your heart a bruised, broken thing, barely beating in the wake of his departure.

time stretches out in front of you, an endless, aching expanse. the night presses in, thick and suffocating, wrapping itself around you like a shroud. you’re alone now. really, truly alone. and it hurts. god, it hurts in ways you didn’t know were possible. in ways that make you wonder how you’ll ever breathe again, how you’ll ever pull yourself out of this dark, suffocating pit of longing and pain.

you bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. the world outside moves on without you, indifferent to the way your heart is breaking, the way you’re shattering into a thousand pieces.

but inside, everything is still. frozen. broken.

and you wonder, as the tears keep falling, as the pain keeps pulsing through you in waves, how you ever thought you could love someone like seunghan. how you ever thought that a love so cold, so distant, could ever be enough. because it wasn’t. it was never enough.

and now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a heart that was never whole to begin with. a heart that loved someone who was never yours to love.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s the worst kind of heartbreak there is.