#I lost my mind writing their style and the funny and sad thing is that this character isn't the only one with a non-canon breathing style..

[aritsukemo]

My Paradise Fanfiction has required me to research different religions as it involves an upcoming oc that will be introduced and I must say, I'm having the time of my life lmao-

I will say though, trying to adjust the timeline of kny is turning my headache into a migraine..

Also, how do people make breathing styles for their ocs? Like idk if I'm overcomplicating this, but it literally took me like two days to create a couple of forms..

[moreteethplease]

Devlog: The Museum of Found Things

> Play it here!

Your search for something you've lost leads you to a strange little museum. Stay a while and browse; who knows what you may find?

The Museum of Found Things is a short bitsy game where you explore a rather strange and unusual museum—a place where lost things just might go. It was made for the BITSY FEST jam.

Devlog under the cut.

Choosing A Concept

When I saw the theme of the game jam, "museum", my mind began spinning with ideas almost immediately.

My first idea was to make a game with the concept that everyone carries a museum inside of them, filled with their experiences and memories. If you're lucky, someone might let you visit their museum, and you have to take care of your own museum and curate it if you want to let people in. This was more in line with the stuff I tend to make: prose accompanied by visuals and a heavy-handed metaphor.

But my last few bitsy games have all been like this, and they've been fairly sad or serious, so I wanted to do something just a little different. I toyed with the idea of making the museum a very lighthearted, joke-filled experience. I considered forgoing the whole museum thing and making it more of a cabinet of curiosities linked to one strange and eccentric person. Ultimately, though, I felt that these were too similar to my previous games.

I was lying in bed on vacation with my partner when a song began to play in my head: "The Place Where Lost Things Go" from Mary Poppins Returns. I thought, what if it was a museum of lost things? I mulled it over, but I felt that this concept was somewhat overdone already, and I didn't want to just rip everything from a musical song.

I talked about this with my partner, and he said something about how if they're in a museum, they can't really be that lost anymore. This clicked everything into place for me. It would be a museum filled with things that are found, whether because they're always getting misplaced or because they've were lost long ago and finally rediscovered. And thus, The Museum of Found Things was born.

Making The Game: The Rooms

I made the game by first determining the rooms in the museum and what each one was meant to represent. I really can't help myself with metaphors, you see.

I decided that each museum room should look almost exactly the same except for its star display in the center of the room. This made it much faster to make each room, as I just needed to copy sprites and add dialog to them.

Most of the rooms are adequately explained via both text and subtext, but I wanted to highlight my favourite exhibit. In the fourth room, which is dedicated to things that are found renewed and reclaimed, is a glass display case featuring replicas of people's tattoos. This is meant to signify feeling like your body is yours again, and I tried to illustrate that clearly: one has a Medusa tattoo, one has a semicolon tattoo, and the final is one half of a pair of top surgery scars.

Outside of the museum, I added a small grave dedicated to a former partner who passed away. I thought it would be amusing to write the epitaph on the tombstone in the style of Lemony Snicket's Dismal Dedications. I think she'd find it funny.

Making The Game: Everything Else

Writing-wise, I tried to keep the tone light, even when heavier subjects were discussed. The heaviest and most serious exhibits I allowed to speak for themselves.

I always like using borksy hacks to do all sorts of fun stuff, and this time around, I used it to allow me to edit rooms from textboxes so the curator's sprite only becomes interactable after a player has examined everything in the room. I also used borksy to allow dialog choices. I remember the first time I used the dialog choice hack for my game Making Tea At The End Of The Universe. It wasn't too difficult, but it took a bit of trial and error. I'm so proud of the fact that this time I had no trouble with it at all!

I had trouble with the curator sprite. I wanted them to be memorable and strange without being too detailed and taking away from the relatively simple museum rooms. After a lot of unhappy reworking, I remembered I'd downloaded some 16x16 fantasy sprites by kcaze a while ago, and they're all free to use! I chose a djinn sprite and adapted it, adding animation as well so the curator appeared as lively as their personality.

Sadly, I couldn't find any music that I felt truly fit the vibe of the game better than silence did, so the game is silent for now. I doubt I'll change that, but hey, you never know.

Well, thank you for reading this! If you're interested in playing the game, check it out here!

[redinbluee]

Chainsaw Man, ch 121

(Hi, I’ll start doing Chainsaw man updates/analysis for every chapter now since I rlly want to talk about it (I have no one to talk to about it irl, and I like to express my thoughts on things). I apologise for my poor grammar in advance- my writing style is rant-like and difficult to read, I hope it’ll get better as I do more of these. CSM has been my biggest interest for so long and I just love it soso much so feel free to talk to me about it anytime!)

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Anyways, to today’s chapter- (121, Theory of Happiness) Spoiler warning!!

I’ll start with the title. This is probably my favourite title so far, not only does it summarise the message of the chapter well, it really resonates with me as well. It’s interesting to see how different people attain their happiness, while some people are constantly in a cheery mood, others might find it more difficult to gain happiness. Not only this, people attain happiness from all sorts of things. You can’t just ask someone to “be happy”, happiness is a naturally occurring emotional response that could not be forced. A lot of the recent chapters focus on relationships and how one may gain happiness through these connections. Asa is in a situation right now where is just so lonely, she has lost everyone in her life and is currently at a very low point. She gains happiness in the early chapters and then looses them in the blink of an eye. Her happiness is temporary, short lived. I feel terrible for her. Whereas Denji receives all this attention from groups of thirsty fans, but he seeks for a deep emotional connection- someone who is willing to accept the boy behind the facade and love him for who he really is. Asa has a high quality of life, there’s no evidence of her being broke, and she lives in nice conditions. But she is alone, her parents are gone- there’s no one she can talk to, no one to reassure her and tell her that she matters. Denji on the other hand, has lived a terrible life, and has lived in the worst of conditions. He was starving, broke, uneducated- but he was able to attain minimal happiness through the smallest of things, talking about his dreams with Pochita- finding small things in his life to be grateful of. I love this contrast that Fujimoto made. 

Interestingly, just a few days ago- I was talking with my mom. I was going through a depressive episode and I began talking about how I find it so difficult to attain my happiness. I’m financially stable, I have a great family, and I’m living a rather fortunate life- then why am I so sad all the time. I get all emotional over minor things, I worry too much and it tears me apart. And my mom agreed, she felt the same. I felt like a brat, a terrible child, I knew perfectly that there were people all around me suffering to much greater extents but I was only worrying about myself. This chapter came out at a perfect time. 

Asa lights up to the minimal attention someone gives her- she’s so starved from love it makes me want to cry. She gets so confident the moment Denji gives her the smallest compliment, and she quickly gets so emotionally affected by abandonment. It was also sad and funny to see how much Asa was trying to cope with her situation last chapter- I love her monologues and long-winded infodumps, I do the exact same. It makes me feel less alone. Asa struggles to admit that she desperately needs this love right now- her happiness almost depends on the people around her. She holds a distinct set of values that guide her through life without realising that she contradicts it- she makes up he mind that she prefers isolation then immediately gets all flustered when Yoshida does the bare minimum. I wish she could realise how much she needs a secure friendship right now- Asa being so sad right now makes me want to disintegrate. 

The chainsaw plush on the first page was cute. I wonder who put it there- I bet it was Iseumi. There were several moments in the chapter that reminded me of the reoccurring theme of “fame” in CSM so far and I would like to elaborate on it. Just from the plush, we can see that Chainsaw Man is a famous and impactful figure in the world of CSM right now, there have been several mentions of Chainsaw Man merchandise so far- like the chainsaw man bun and stickers that were talked about in 98. There is also the chainsaw man open call that might occur soon. We have managed to get a glimpse about how the public views and treats Chainsaw man, we see all these false claims about him in 103- while some people almost objectify CSM and worship him like a god (cough cough Iseumi), some despise him. While Chainsaw man is constantly being showered with praise, and at the same time- hate. All of this is directed towards a figure who is entirely a facade. No one knows about the broke, single father boy that lies beneath the mask. A high schooler who is a loser, who is lonely, who is under the control of a demonic gremlin child at home. Yoshida mentioned the importance of “parasocial relationships” on the third page of today’s chapter, I found that interesting- it almost felt like Fujimoto was referring to his own audience. About their obsession with his characters, their obsession with him as a writer without knowing who he really is. The chainsaw man figure lies helpless, defensiveness on the couch, listening to Asa and Yoshida’s conversation- he hears everything, but does not have the power to interfere. That’s the same as Denji’s situation, he is literally Chainsaw Man, a highly recognised and appreciated figure- but he is unable to be recognised for his true self. He is under the control of two people- Yoshida, who prevents him from breaking this facade and revealing his true identity to the public. Denji first-handedly hears all this criticism about chainsaw man in 103, but is then immediately shut off when he tries to prove his point. Denji has no voice in society, no one listens to him, know one appreciates him for who he is. And Nayuta, someone who controls Denji’s relationships with people, shutting them out from his life and harming them. Despite Chainsaw Man getting all this fame, none of them is directed towards Denji. I think the next few chapters will heavily explore with his relationship with playing the role of Chainsaw Man- is it really worth it, pretending to be someone else your whole life just to feed of ungenuine praise? 

It was creepy to see a dead body fall from the sky while Asa was contemplating suicide. It was unexpected and impactful. 

This almost reminds me of Asa’s reoccurring dream. She runs through the corridor, trying to not step on the dead chickens that obstruct her path. She couldn’t help but step on them- getting close to the impending darkness that lies ahead. Asa walks across the path, clouded by her own thoughts. Then boom- dead person falls from the sky. Asa had no control over the situation, she just happened to be there when the dead body fell off. Same as the dream. The chapter ends with people staring down at her from a tall building- The gaze is intrusive, accusational. Almost as if Asa had just fucked up- then the chapter ends on this cliffhanger. (And we have to wait 14 days) 

The panelling was beautiful in this chapter, Fujimoto has done it again. The contrast between Denji and Asa’s expression on page 10 was (chef’s kiss). While Denji is trying to convince himself that Chainsaw Man will bring him happiness (a false sense of happiness), Asa looks awful- she looks so sad. I expect that Denji will get a reality check soon, then fall into Asa’s current position as well. 

Second coolest page was page 5, bravo Fujimoto. Dude built the suspense by zooming into Asa’s face and Yoshida’s lips then boom- (next page) Yoshida steps out of the closet and breaks the tension. Props for coming out

I’m getting tired, that’s it for now

Side note- I love how Nayuta slapped Denji’s ass ahhaaha

[epersonae]

in re: Yet another writing ask 3, 15, 30

3. How would you describe your writing style?

I have the worrrrrrrst time describing things about my own writing, but I think what I aim for is vivid and incisive. I've been told, about some of my favorite writing, that it's introspective.

15. What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?

the first one that actually came to mind is an old one, one of my Adventure Zone fics, and unfortunately it's not a fun or funny one, but the short and achingly sad Don't forget to remember. but it's very important to me as both a piece of writing, something that came out of a very difficult time in my life, and something that was a touchstone for a particular kind of feeling.

(two fun alternatives: A Portrait With Feeling (TAZ) and Oh no he's hot (OFMD))

30. Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

I have a bunch of probably-permanently-abandoned TAZ WIPs/ideas, where I got partway in and lost steam, got sidelined, whatever. It's possible that I'll come back to them someday, especially if/when I relisten, but it feels unlikely at this point. The ones that haunt me most:

Merle Highchurch teaches yoga during the Stolen Century

Taako visits Burnsides Island after Lucretia's death (this one is the most likely for me to come back to imho)

post-canon Lupcretia (and actually there's a whole series that I had outlined in my head that Ryn and I referred to as "the dramaz" that was going to fill in some of the gaps between Story & Song and where our post-canon collab picked up)

Fantasy Fast, Fantasy Furious (Hurley/Sloane backstory; I wrote the first chapter and then never came back to it)

And then for Amnesty: Kepler Teenage Wasteland, which is just fragments of teenage Duck that never quite acquired a plot

[yet another writing ask]

[thatskepticalbitchcara]

Cardigan to Question…? Pipeline: ((((((I’m clowning but also not?? Lmao).

Vintage tee, brand new phone, high heels on cobblestone:

They each wore each others album/ band shirts.

Good girl, sad boy/ Big city, wrong choices (question…?) // A big town, Synthetic apparitions of not being lonely (she’s American by 1975)

The New York and #squadgoals of it all…

Lost in situations, circumstances, Miscommunications and I:

His “dating Taylor Swift would be emasculating” that he later said was misinterpreted…

She was on your mind, With some dickhead guy, That you saw that night, But you were on something:

The BRITs where they hung out but she and Calvin were flirting, and as we know we had his struggles with being on something

The smell of smoke would hang around this long: cause he smokes/d? 🚬

Sensual politics// politics and gender roles:

He’s one of those wankers who talks politics and gay rights and feminism but then does homophobic and sexist shit but is like “but I’m a feminist you just don’t understand me!!!”(for real is he drama and attention seeking shock value for the sake of it or is he an “””artist”””” making statements that I just don’t get?)

❓❓❓❓

Idk I’m too tired to connect things or really look into anything and tbh I don’t actually care in terms of gossip and paternity testing songs, but I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of Taylor writing beautiful love songs apparently about Joe but also wondering about what could have been with other people she dated/ had situationships with and what that says about the human psyche and if there’s an argument to be made for “love/ feelings never fully die” or “the poet keeps all their feelings alive for the sake of the art - or because their ability to feel everything never dies, they can have multiple lives simultaneously and that is WHY they are poets”. You know, like, is her memory palace something she lives in at the same time as she’s in what we call “the present” or does she visit it for inspiration, or just get inspired when she visits it. When she sang “I forget their names now, I’m so very tame now”, was she just besotted like first assumed, or was she hoping this new love that she was enjoying would become “her present” and she wouldn’t have so many torches burning - even if she didn’t want those flames, was she trying to convince herself she could close that part of her away, or did she briefly do it? How sustainable is mental monogamy when you feel everything so deeply and permanently? Soz I’ve probably entered into my own wanker territory now, but it fascinates me…. And from a gossip perspective the idea that Cardigan and question (sampling ootw which further expands the idea of feelings never ending, compared to it just being a gossip nod to harry styles), is all very funny to me

ty for your thots & the write up jsfkdls this is indeed an entertaining era

[cracked-pean]

The Note

Characters: Steve Harrington, Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,503

Warnings: None

A/N: So this was my first Stranger Things piece, but not my first Stranger Things post. There's a piece I just couldn't get right, but it was as good as it was going to get. So I hope you like it and I apologize for any errors. Enjoy!

When [Y/N] walked through the doors of the school that morning, saying she was nervous would be an understatement. The girl was terrified. Walking towards her locker, she paid no mind to anyone getting lost in her thoughts. She had finally built up the courage yesterday to finally tell her lifelong, well it feels like a lifetime, friend that she had feelings for him. Well, [Y/N] didn't actually speak to him. She had written it out in a letter and had given it to him. Writing it out was a lot easier for her than telling him in person. She knew she wouldn't be able to tell him everything she needed to face to face. She'd sike herself out and book it.

She knew the outcomes that could happen from her confessing. He could feel uncomfortable and just ignore her the whole day and the rest of their lives, that would be an answer in itself already. He could reject her and then realize it would be weird to continue their friendship. He could reject her, keep the friendship but she wouldn't be able to handle it and distance herself. All the outcomes just had him gone from her life one way or another and she didn't want that to happen. But she also couldn't keep this bottled up either. She had to try. Her mind would just be full of all the 'what ifs' running around if she didn't. He was such a great guy. He was sweet, caring, funny and awesome to have in your life. And she's risking having such a wonderful friend leave her life forever.

Once [Y/N] opened the locker she quickly exchanged her take home items with the ones she would need for her first couple classes. She had told him not to read the note till he got home and to meet her at her locker the next morning. Her stomach started doing flips and her hands shook as the memory hit her again. She couldn't do this. What was she thinking? It's too late now. The damage was done. All she could do now was to quickly leave her locker and head to her class before he was supposed to meet her.

When she closed her locker she jumped back wide eyed, letting out a yelp in surprise.

It was too late.

There waiting for her was Steve Harrington, with a raised fist ready to knock on her locker door.

"Woah. Does my hair really look that bad? Listen, I tried styling it but it wasn't working with me today. So this is what we got."

She looked at his hair then gave him a puzzled look, "Steve, it's literally the same hairstyle you always wear."

"Of course it is," he ran a hand through his hair. "You actually thought I would stray from this beauty? I'm hurt [Y/N]." He mocked offended.

She smiled and shook her head at his foolishness. Despite the situation, he always seemed to put her nerves at ease. Even if he was the cause of them.

Wait. Why was he talking to her so casually? Did he not read the letter? Maybe he didn't. He probably forgot to and he's going to tell her that and that he'll look at it later today. Maybe he lost it. Maybe his dog ate it.

Wait. He doesn't have a dog.

Maybe this is probably one of the outcomes she had thought could happen. Yeah. He's probably going to let her down and try to move forward from this. God, as much as that would hurt, she hopes that's the result from all of this. He'd still be around and she'd just have to work really hard to get rid of her feelings for him. Damn, that's gonna suck.

Whatever would happen she was about to find out. [Y/N] met his gaze and noticed that his smile had fallen a bit. She couldn't tell why though. He didn't seem upset or sad or any of that. It was just a neutral he had as he stared at her for a few seconds. His eyes widened slightly, realizing why they were there for specifically.

He looked down at his pants, padding around until he found what he needed from his back pocket. It was a small, folded up notebook paper.

Her letter.

"So I read this," he started. "But I don't know what you want me to do with it."

What?

"What?" She was confused. What did he mean he didn't know what to do with it?

"Yeah. You said to read it and meet you here in the morning with an answer. But I don't know what kind of answer you want from me with a list of your groceries."

What the hell? Her groceries list? That's not the note she gave him.

He began to unfold it and read it out loud to her.

"Carton of eggs, gallon of milk, saltine crackers, bread, oil, butter, flour. Did you want me to get these for you or like tell you what you could make with these? Because I think you could make a delicious choco-"

She snatched the piece of paper out of his hands, cutting him off.

"What the hell? That's not what I," her voice trailed off. "Gave you."

But it was in fact what she had given him.

It was her letter. Her handwriting. Her words. Her confession.

Stunned, [Y/N] looked up at him and saw him leaning on his shoulder against the lockers. Smiling back at her laughing softly.

"Steve you jerk. That's not funny."

She turned on her heels and began walking to her class. She blindly opened her textbook on a random page and stuffed the letter in it and slammed it shut. She didn't want to look at it anymore. She wanted it out of her sight and forget it ever existed.

Behind her, Steve caught up to her and attempted to stop her by trying to hold on to her arm.

"No, hey. Wait!"

She nudged her arm away from him and kept walking. She was hurt and had every right to be. She poured her heart out in that letter and for him to just joke about it like that. It made her feel like he didn't care about her feelings. As if she was just another random girl at school trying to get his attention.

"[Y/N] wait," he appeared in front of her and held onto her shoulders. He tried to meet her gaze but she would turn away, avoiding his. He gently held her face and turned it to look at him. But she had her eyes closed, still refusing to look at him.

Steve couldn't help but let out a small laugh at her reaction.

"Would you please look at me? I'm sorry alright. I didn't mean to upset you."

She shook her head and tried to get out of his hold. She would try using her hands but they were currently occupied.

"Just let it go. It doesn't matter anymore. I need to get to class."

"I can't because it does matter. Besides," he looks over at his watch. "We still have 6 minutes till class starts." He sighs, "[Y/N], c'mon please open your eyes," he gently rubbed his thumbs against her cheeks.

She didn't want to. She really didn't want to. His hold on her was so gentle and sweet that if she focused hard enough, it could make her forget that all of this was happening. That he wasn't just about to reject her and lose him. She didn't want to open her eyes because it would mean all of this was real.

And it was. So, she opened them.

Steve was so close to her. It wasn't new. She was used to this type of closeness from him. But she couldn't help but feel scared. This felt different now. It felt intimate.

"Alright, tell me then. I can handle it."

"I'm sorry. I thought I would make this not so awkward so I tried to play it off funny. Honest. The last thing I wanted was to make you upset."

She sighed as she ducked her head down.

"Yeah, I understand."

"Besides," he let his hands slide down her arms. "It's fun making the girl I like mad. She does this cute little nose scrunch that I find adorable on her."

[Y/N] shot her head up. Did she hear that right? She steps out of his grasp and looks at him. No. Is he serious?

"W-what? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, it's like this," he scrunches his nose while looking at his nose making him look cross eyed.

[Y/N] blinks, making a face and shakes her head. "No, before that."

Steve stood there with a shy grin, hands in his pockets and shoulders up to his ears.

"I like you too, [Y/N]."

"You do? Steve if this is another joke I-" she starts.

Steve quickly shuts her down and closes the small gap between them. He removes the books from her grasp and places them on the floor. He holds her hands and looks at her. His focus solely on her.

"I'm not joking this time. I wouldn't do that to you. Never you. You're my best friend [Y/N]. I've liked you since I can remember. Maybe since I first met you back in seventh grade. I just never thought you would feel the same. But then I read your letter," he glanced down at their hands and intertwined their fingers. His gaze moving back to her. "When I saw that you've felt the same way since that day too, I just about freaked. I couldn't believe it. I was waiting to read that this was all a joke or an "April Fool's' on the page. But then realized we were in February," [Y/N] chuckled at this which got a smile out of the boy. "And I knew this was real. I wanted to tell you sooner. But I was too much of a chicken. The more I put it off, the more I fell for you, the harder it was to tell you the truth and make a move. I got to know you even better since then. I got scared that I might lose the best girl I had ever met. I didn't want to risk it. I was willing to suffer in silence with you as my friend. Knowing you'd still be by my side."

[Y/N] couldn't believe what she was hearing. She didn't realize she was crying till a drop fell onto their joined hands. She quickly wiped her eyes and looked up to the ceiling, blinking quickly in trying to stop more tears from spilling.

"God, what does this make me look like then? That I don't care about our friendship? Selfish? I was scared too. I didn't want to lose you either. You have no idea how long I had thought about all the cons from telling you. In the end the 'what ifs' won.

"No, you're not selfish. Well, maybe a little," he teased.

She stepped back and punched his arm, "Steve!"

"I'm kidding!" He said laughing. Steve took a hold of her hands again and brought them close to wrap around his waist. He placed one hand on her waist as the other came up to her face and tucked away a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It just says you have guts. You've always been a lot bolder and braver than me."

[Y/N] shakes her head shyly. She meets his eyes and stands there a moment taking it all in. Steve liked her. Actually liked her. All these years wondering what it would feel like to have him say the words back to her couldn't compare to the real deal. She was over the moon. The thought that she'd be able to hold him when she wanted without fear of making things awkward between them or feeling rejected in some way. The little dates they could have now. And the luxury to feel his kisses now. And her to kiss him.

"What do you say after school I take you out? Do this properly. We can go to that diner near the library. Couple burgers, couple milkshakes," he leans closer to her. "Couple kisses?" He whispers as he leaves a kiss on her cheek.

"Hmm," she one shoulders. "I like the food part. Not sure about the rest though. Kind of getting ahead of yourself aren't you Harrington?" She says leaning away slightly from their hold.

"What? You don't like my kisses?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

[Y/N] giggles, "Well, I've never experienced any of your kisses. Officially."

"Ah, that just won't do. We have to change that immediately," Steve then places his hands on either side of her face. He slowly begins to lean in, closing his eyes as he got nearer.

Just then the bell rings, alerting all students to head to class. [Y/N] ducks down, out of his hold just before Steve gets a chance to seal their lips.

"Oh, there's the bell," She bends down to retrieve her books and turns in the direction of her class, speed walking away. "I'll see you later Steve," She waves, laughing at the boy's stunned reaction.

Steve blinked. It took him a second to comprehend what had just happened. He looked around trying to find the girl. When he caught a glimpse of her he took off after her.

"Hey, wait just a minute," he ran up behind her. A squeal escaped out of her when she felt his fingers make contact on her waist, bringing her close to his chest. He pressed a kiss to her neck then rested his chin on her shoulder and continued to walk like that. "At least let me walk you to class."

"I guess there's no harm in that." Once they had reached her class door, they stood off to the side.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" He asked, smiling.

"Wouldn't miss it. Now go, you're going to be late," She smiled pushing him away.

He grabbed her hand that was placed on his chest, pushing him away, and held on leaving their arms outstretched between them. In a quick motion, he pulled himself back towards her. He brought her face closer to his, peppering kisses all over causing the girl to laugh in the process. Steve finished it off with a final kiss on her nose.

"Alright. I'm going now," he said with a huge grin on his face, walking backwards in a surrendering motion.

[Y/N] shook her head at him and with a final wave towards him walked inside her class. Sitting down, she couldn't hide the grin on her face. She felt all warm and fuzzy. It finally happened. She confessed and it didn't end in a total disaster. Looking over at the clock above the chalkboard, she couldn't help but wish the day to be over before it even started.

She's got a date today.

[gallant-basilisk]

Lol okay so I got this funny idea or at least... it seemed funny to me in my head... welp so anyways imagine this: Reader calls yanderes TodoBakuDeku(poly) and Erasermic(Poly) by their full names and starts to glare at them when they don’t do something reader asked them to like maybe not doing the chore the darling asked them to?

Okay, so, before anything else!

I was planning to post another request first, but it takes a bit longer to write than I had thought, so I'm gonna go in order of easiest to hardest asks. ╮(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)╭

Or at the least, I'mma try to be more active. (Can't promise anything though, since I've been having a real bad headache this past week. 🙂)

I'm also experimenting with different styles, etc, so it may be a bit.. strange, I suppose. The wording, mostly.

But let's not waste any more time on this! Mainly because I don't think you're interested, so let me just get right to writing. (･ω･ )

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·

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(Edit: So, turns out.. I'm not very funny...? (ಠ_ಠ)>⌐■-■)

Yandere!TodoBakuDeku X Reader

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You stood in the doorway with a scowl as you looke– glared at the three males, lazily spread out on the large couch, watching some old videos of you, that they found a couple days prior.

"Midoriya Izuku. Todoroki Shoto. Katsuki Bakugou." Each one turned towards you as they heard their names, a puzzled expression on their faces as they each tried to figure out why you would call them by their full names.

"[Last name] [First name]." Bakugo mimicked you with a smirk on his face. "What, Bakugou?" You scoffed and the male stared at you with a bewildered expression, his eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape.

"Hah!? What the fuck's your problem now?" He shot up from his seat and stalked over to you, trying his best to intimidate you.

Which would've worked before, but you're already used to his explosive personality. So you held your ground against the man, not phased by his form towering over yours. Or what it felt like him towering over you.

"I've asked you all to do something." You hissed at the blond and turned your attention to the other two behind him, standing a bit farther from you.

"Are you serious–" You cut Bakugou off before he could retort. "Yes. I asked you– you three to do one! One simple thing and even that, you can't do!" You spat at them, your finger accusingly poking Bakugou's chest.

You huffed and pushed the blond aside, who stood in shock. Although a small smirk did make its way onto his face, which he immediately covered with his hand.

Cute.

You stomped to the other two, who were quietly waiting for their own scolding.

"Do you want me to repeat the whole thing? Todoroki." You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at Todoroki, who glared at you in return.

"What do you mean, love?"

His tone was cold, but he was clearly distressed, or at least flustered as he glanced at the greenette for help. That was an useless attempt, seeing as Midoriya didn't even try to conceal his hurt expression, pouting and fiddling with his fingers stressfully.

"I took you for a smarter man." You huffed with a sad, almost mocking tone. "Why are you so angry, love?" You snorted and your arms flew open, successfully surprising the otherwise always calm and calculated man. "What do you mean why!?"

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, all four of you lost in thought. Neither of you wanted to go too far. They didn't mind to, though.

"You said it was one simple thing, so why can't we just do it now?" Hesitantly, he placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to ease your anger. "There's no need to get angry about this."

"Oh, really?" You slapped his hand away and stomped in front of him, your face just about not touching his as you repeated yourself once again. "Really!" It was unclear from your tone whether you were actually angry or just mocking, though it didn't really matter to the confused males.

You stepped back, Todoroki's form hunching forward in front of you and his head hung down, no word leaving his mouth to answer. His hair fell down, hiding his hurt and confused puppy-like expression, his shiny eyes warning of the tears threatening to escape.

Midoriya, though, could easily guess– even with his head filled with your angry voice and glare– what the bicolor haired male was thinking of.

"Midoriya!" The man jumped in surprise, whipping his head up and giving you his undivided attention. "Y-yes!" You pressed your lips firmly together, forming a thin line.

Truthfully, when it came to lecturing the three of them, Midoriya was the hardest to deal with. Because he's a cunning man, who can easily manipulate and control you, without you even being aware of it. Because he was always very timid and docile when it came to you or the other two man– but especially you– and you hardly ever found a reason to scold the pouty male.

You sighed and rubbed your head, unable to think of something to say. "Please don't be angry, puppy! I'm sorry!" He squeaked and bowed deeply, a pitiful look resting on his face as he peered up timidly. His plump lips pouted and tears welled on the corners of his eyes.

"Ugh– FINE!" You raised your voice and was about to turn around and leave the trio, when a pair of scarred arms wrapped around you and lifted you up into the air, making you yelp in surprise.

"Put me down! I didn't say I'll forgive you, you assho– Eep!" You winced as you felt a painful sting in your sides, and your eyes widened as you saw Todoroki's ice coated hands resting on your waist, the frozen cold digging into your skin.

Midoriya still held you in the air, an amused chuckle leaving his throat as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his torso, the bicolored male joining behind you, his arms fully wrapping around your stomach and his face buried in your back. "Tch!”

Bakugo clicked his tongue and ripped you away from the two, holding you in a protective hold. "Kacchan!" "Katsuki."

They really don't care what you think of them, unless it's something positive.

They called out with irritation, but it quickly dispersed as Bakugou ushered them to follow him– while dragging you with them– and the four of you returned to your big bedroom.

The bed was large enough for the four of you and since neither man wanted to separate from you for a single night, it was the only bed you used. And you'd lie if you said you didn't enjoy sleeping with them, you just didn't like not being given a choice.

It really didn't matter what you did, though.

Whether you were acting as a doting partner or a prisoner trying to escape, they just thought of you as their adorable lover.

You didn't have the choice of not forgiving them.

·

Yandere!EraserMic X Reader

·

Truly, it was a nightmare dealing with two entirely different personalities.

One was full of energy and refused to accept your scolding, only caring about the mere fact that you gave him your undivided attention. The other just outright switched the positions and refused to be questioned.

So, you weren't expecting much from the duo as you trudged your way to the kitchen, where they sat, discussing something hero-related.

"Aizawa Shota!" You slammed your hands on the table separating the three of you and huffed. The man in question arched a brow and hummed, while the blond let out an exaggerated gasp and smirked. "You're in trouble, aren't you?" He mocked and poked the raven haired man's shoulder.

"...Hizashi Yamada." You whipped your head to the male, whose smile froze onto his face in surprise.

"'Suppose I'm not the only one, huh.." Aizawa grumbled with a scratchy voice and his lips pulled into the slightest smile as he kept glancing between you and Hizashi.

"What's wrong, little songbird? Are we not giving you enough attention–?" He paused abruptly and shot up from his seat, wrapping his arms around you. "Don't worry, I'll give you all of my attention!" He grinned sheepishly.

"That's not what I wanted!" You spat angrily and struggled to push him off of you, only succeeding after Aizawa warned him. He stepped back and pouted, turning towards the other man.

"So, what's upsetting you now?" He spoke with a monotone voice, dark eyes searching your face for answers.

You crossed your arms and puffed your chest out, glaring harshly at the two men. "Favourite listener, are you perhaps... Bored? Lonely?"

"No, obviously."

You shook your head, missing the way they looked at each other and nodded their heads, as if they could communicate telepathically.

Aizawa stood up after a few more minutes of you just silently glaring at each other and leaned forward, his head so close to yours, you could already feel his breath against your skin. You got goosebumps as a hoarse chuckle of sorts left his throat, and gulped quite audibly.

Sure, you got used to living with the two males and dealing with their personalities, but you never really did get used to their other side. The ones they only showed to each other and now, to you. Namely, Aizawa's soft and perverted side, or Hizashi's chillingly cold and dominating nature.

Although, no matter how obvious your lack of determination was, you didn't exactly give in. Like you do any other time. They really loved this trait of yours, since it made it fairly easy for them to get you used to being their lover. That and your 'unexplainable' attraction to the two pro-heroes really made it incredibly easy to form a somewhat 'normal' relationship between them and you. [No, I don't mean the polyamory by 'normal'. •́ ‿ ,•̀]

"You still didn't answer my question." Aizawa stated bluntly and leaned back, giving your personal space back. Not for long.

"I see. You actually forgot the only thing I've asked of you."

You stomped your foot, making the two males jump at your sudden attitude. "Ah, so that's what's this is about.. What was it?" Aizawa sighed while looking at you with a serious expression.

"Are you ser–" "Did we not make your bed? Are you mad because we didn't bring breakfast to you in bed?" "Wha– No! Don't be stu–" "If it really was just one small thing you asked, as you had said earlier– which I'm sorry for forgetting–, why are you acting so childish?"

You inhaled deeply, internally cursing the man and narrowed your eyes. "First.. thank you, I guess..?" Aizawa pet your head– to praise you–, but you quickly brushed his hand away. "But!" "No buts." "Hah?!" "Y/N, we're pro heroes. We have much more important and more urgent things to take care of."

Hizashi chimed in suddenly, standing next to the other male.

You scoffed and a mocking laugh left your lips. "You! Pro heroes?! You have the face to say something like that and you expect me to believe it!?"

"It's the truth, why wouldn't you believe it?" The blond said before Aizawa could open his mouth. "He's right, Y/N..." He cocked his head a bit, the action coming across as– unexpectedly– cute.

After several seconds of silence, you realize that he won't say anything else, so you do.

"Well, where should I start? Oh yeah, you kidnapped me– definitely not something a hero would do. Then, let's see...." You put your hands on your hips and pretended to struggle with remembering. "Oh, oh, I know! That happened YEARS ago! And I'm STILL HERE!"

You barked at the two, visibly shocked men and paused only for a second to take a breath, before resuming your reminder.

"DO YOU REALLY WANT ME TO GO OVER EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING?!! HUH!?" You panted heavily, the satisfaction from seeing their flustered faces quickly disappearing as dread washes over you.

". . . . ."

Hizashi looked at you with a disapproving look, his arms crossed, while Aizawa rubbed his temple, cursing under his breath irritatedly.

"So... Y/N." He started, not lowering his hand from his face.

You gulped and straightened yourself out instinctively. "Y–yeah?" You tripped on your own tongue, cold sweat running down your skin as you internally prepared yourself to have the whole situation flipped around you. With them being the victims, instead of you.

Guess, you chose the wrong time to act bratty. . .

ಠ∀ಠ

.

.

.

Me: *tries to write*

Motivation and/or inspiration:

"So, anyways! I'm going to the store to buy milk, do you want something?"

.

.

.

Bye, like— I have 5 reqs left and I'm nowhere near done! So, I need to hurry my lazy fat ass! ʕಠ_ಠʔ

[huntingforsatisfaction]

Pink Promise

Pairing: Dean Winchester X younger sibling reader(not in an incest way)

Summary: Dean is there to help his younger sibling after they have a nightmare 

Words: 2211

Warnings: fairly angsty, but still very very fluffy, a detailed nightmare, mentions of John Winchester’s parenting style, bad writing?, like one cuss word, a tiny tiny bit of gore

Note about characters: in the present scenes the reader is 16 and in the flashbacks they’re 6 and the reader and Dean have like a 13/14 year age gap so he’s like 19/20 in the flashbacks, there isn’t any gendered terms for the reader so it’s neutral(unless you count hair being braided as a gendered term, but boys can have braided hair cause gender isn’t real), and finally this takes place in season 5

Dean woke up, not for any purpose, just one of those weird moments where you randomly wake up in the middle of the night. He shook his head and began fluffing his pillow, stopping when he heard soft crying.

“(Y/N)?” He softly called out.

You were laying with your back facing out and your face squished into the musty cushions of the small motel room couch, a failed attempt at muffling your cries.

“Y-Yeah Dean? Something wrong?” You tried to play it off.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Were you crying?”

When you guys first got your room Dean cursed the streetlight right outside the window, but now he watched how it illuminated you as you dropped your head down.

“Nightmare?”

You looked up and made eye contact before slowly nodding a yes.

“Think you’re gonna be able to go back to sleep?”

You dropped your gaze again as your face screwed up and you could feel new tears form on your lash line.

“No.” You softly croaked out, barely audible over Sam’s snores.

                                                   ~Flashback~

You couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying quiet to risk opening your mouth. Once the sting in your eyes and the back of your throat calmed down you went back to sleep.

“Sammy?”

You screamed out running through an old grey house.

“No no no please no!” You heard him scream somewhere you couldn’t find.

“Sammy!” You huffed before taking off running down the hall you came from.

As you ran around the house you felt small and helpless, like when you got separated from your brothers in the corn maze at the pumpkin patch in Iowa, the one Dean took you to without your dad knowing.

“Dean?” You desperately called for your brother as your feet pounded against the floor. 

Completely unaware of your surroundings you ran, the only thing on your mind was finding your brother. Not paying attention to your surroundings you tripped, your heart raced knowing how your dad always got on you for that. You got up and looked down to see what sent you flying to the cracked floorboards.

“Dean!” You screamed

You woke up again, heart pounding in your head and toes. You stopped gasping for air when you felt your dad roll over next to you, holding it in again to stay quiet. Collecting your moose and your blanket, the one you got in Oregon when you were 3 and have refused to sleep without ever since, you slipped off of the bed as silently as possible. Your dad and Dean were fumigating a house in a fancy neighborhood so the only hotel available was a little nicer than your usual moldy motels. The vinyl floorboards stayed quiet as you snuck over to the door that joined your brothers’ room to you and your dad’s. You glanced at your brothers sleeping in their beds before moving their jackets off of the chair that sat in the corner. Dropping your blanket on the floor you traded it for the two flannels that were under their jackets and curled up into the chair. Once you were comfortable you finally let the tears flow, crying softly at first and burying your face into Mort the moose as your chest heaved more and more with the weight of your cries. 

 “(Y/N)?” You heard Dean call out in confusion as he shut the drawer of his nightstand. 

 “S-sorry for waking you up.” You tossed off the flannels and picked up your blanket, heading back to your proper room.

 “No, no, hey, hey, come here.” Dean moved over in his bed and opened his arms, lightly flicking his wrist to call you over to him. 

You gingerly padded over to his bed and with a little effort jumped up.

 “I’m gonna guess it wasn’t growing pains that woke you up.” Dean chuckled. 

 “Ok, I’m sorry, bad timing. Now come on peanut, stop giving me that face and come in closer.” He said shifting so he could comfortably open up his arms for you. 

You still continued to pout, but scooted into his embrace until your body felt lighter. 

“Sorry.” You quietly mumbled, it came out kind of funny because of how your cheek was squished against your brother’s chest. 

Dean pulled back and nudged your chin up, signaling you to make eye contact  with him before resting his hand on your shoulder. His comforting softness melted away as he turned dead serious. 

“Listen to me, do not ever and I mean ever apologize to someone because you’re upset. Ok?” He searched your eyes waiting for an answer, which you gave him with a nod. 

“Now tell me why someone broke into my room and stole my favorite flannel.” And just like that Dean pulled you back into him and your softy of a brother was back.

“Dad yells at me when I don’t sleep and when I cry and when I ask him questions, so I came in here to cry” Even your big brother’s arms couldn’t shield you from the sadness that entered your body.

“Well I’m not dad, neither is Mort the moose, and neither is Sammy.” Dean started.

“Sammy snores now, he’s old.” You shot Sam a dirty look even though he was dead asleep.

“Yeah Sammy is old now, he drools too.” Dean joined you in giving his younger brother the stink eye. “Now tell me, what has my peanut so upset?”

“Nightmare.” 

“Nightmare? Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean began playing with your hair as he awaited your response.

Staring up at your older brother’s face you thought about it. 

“No.” You wanted to say what happened, to get it out of your mind, but you didn’t want to tell him about how you saw his still body covered in blood with his stomach in shreds. 

“No? That’s okay.” 

You guys sat quietly listening to the traffic outside and Sam’s snores. After a while Dean assumed you had fallen asleep, but just as he shut his own eyes your little voice stirred him.

“D?”

“Mm, yeah (Y/N)?’

“Are monsters real?”

                                                       ~Present~

Dean watched you hang your head again before scooting to the side and opening up his covers.

“Wanna talk about it kid?”

Even in your sad and scared state a genuine smile broke out across your face, it was small, but still genuine. Without responding to your brother you kicked off the soft blanket that you had fought Sam for and walked over to Dean’s bed. Since motel beds are always oddly tall you had to do a little jump to get onto it, shooting a quick glare at Dean for being clearly amused at your struggle. Tentatively Dean opened up his arms to you and you awkwardly shuffled in until your head hit his shoulder and you instantly melted. The both of you sat there without a word, wondering what the other was thinking, unaware that you were both thinking the same thing. You thought about how long it had been since you two laid like this, both of you becoming aware of how long it had really been since you showed each other affection and comfort, and how after all of these years you two felt so natural. Neither of you took into account how the other’s muscles softened, how the past few years of Azazel, the door to Hell, your dad’s death, Sam’s death, Dean’s death, demons, vampires, and vengeful spirits all released from your guys’ bodies. For the first time in months neither of you cared about Lucifer or Michael or any other dick with wings. 

“Hey Dean.” You finally broke the near silence.

“Yeah?” Your ear being pressed to Dean’s chest made his voice sound deeper and you could feel his jaw move against the top of your head. 

“Do you remember when I was super young and we were staying at that nice hotel in Seattle and I had that really bad nightmare?” You slipped the comforter under your brother’s arm so you could fidget with it.

“Yeah I do actually, but how the hell do you remember it? You were like what, six? So that means it was ten whole years ago.” 

“I don’t think I would remember it if it wasn’t the start of the recurring nightmare I always have.” The first part was a lie. That night had been the first time you ever truly felt like you had a family, the first time you had felt comfort in your life. You could never forget that. 

“Oh.” Dean began to play with your hair, taking three small pieces and trying to see if he could still remember how to braid, something he learned because you hated how John would always cut your hair. 

“This dream,” you started, “it’s bad. It’s always the same house, this weird grey one with cracked floors and for some reason the walls are cement. It’s weird. But in the dream I can never find my way, it’s like a labyrinth and every time I get more and more lost the hallways get darker and darker. It always starts with me screaming for Sammy and he doesn’t respond, but I can hear him. I can hear him.”, Your voice begins to break, “I can hear him screaming no over and over again, like he’s getting attacked and then when I call out for him again he’s silent. So I’ll start running to find him, I guess I’ve always had a hunter's instinct. Then when I’m running around I trip and every time I trip I always get this feeling of fear about dad yelling at me for always being clumsy. But then when I. '' You stop, dropping your head and gaze so far down that all you can see is your own chest. Dean drops the chunk of hair he was twisting in his fingers and looks down at you.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, lightly squeezing your arm to ground you, something he always does when you’re upset. 

His encouragement only made things worse as tears began to fall again. Closing your eyes you take a quick deep breath.

“When I look down to see what I tripped over it’s you. You’re dead. Bloody with your stomach all ripped up, I never see the monster, but it must be something with claws. Then it just ends there. Tonight was kind of different though. Our ages are always different in the dream. Sammy’s voice always sounds like it did when he was 16 so I don’t think he changes, but sometimes I’m a kid and you’re a teenager like when I first had it or we’re both teenagers or we’re the ages we are now or sometimes I’m a kid and you’re an adult. But tonight, tonight I was 16 like I am now and you were a little kid.”

                                                      ~Flashback~

Dean didn’t know what to do, he felt like the deer that stopped in the headlights and actually got hit. He’d been through this before with Sam, but he had been older and wasn’t already upset when they had the conversation. He had felt guilty every time he lied to Sam about monsters and didn’t want to give you that same false hope, but he resented his dad for teaching him about monsters when he was this young. 

“I’m not sure of anything, (Y/N).” It technically wasn’t a lie, while Dean was sure that monsters existed he wasn’t sure of what to tell you.

“Well actually no, I am sure of one thing. Nothing and I mean nothing, no man, no woman, no animal, and sure as hell no monsters will ever hurt you because you are strong and I will kick their butt if they even try.” Dean meant that fully, he’s meant that since the day his dad sat him and Sam down to tell them they have a little sibling.

“Pink promise?” You said looking up at Dean.

“Pink promise?” He pulled back and questioned you.

“A pink promise.” You huffed, freeing your arm out from under Dean’s and extending your pinky finger.

“Oohh, a pinky promise.” Dean held up his arm and extended his own pinky.

“No, it’s pink promise.” You pulled your hand back.

“Ok, I pink promise that nothing will ever hurt you.” And to that you guys joined pinkies.

                                                     ~Present~

You begin to quietly sob into your brother’s chest. Dean put his hand at the nape of your neck and put his cheek on the top of your head and let you cry it out, as you calmed down he pulled back and kissed your forehead.

“Hey look, peanut. Sammy and I are not going anywhere, we will always be with you, ok. A lot is going on right now and it will all be okay, we’ve gotten out of so many situations that we shouldn’t have and this one will be no different. I pink promise.” Dean raised up his arm and extended his pinky.

“Oh fuck off.” You lightly hit his hand. 

Unfazed Dean kept his hand up and smugly smiled down at you. You sigh and extend your own pinky. As your fingers wrapped around each other your annoyed façade broke, your smile was joined by a few tears.

“Pink promise.”

A/N: So hey, your local forest wench here. This is definitely different from other stuff I post. I’ve never written a fanfiction before(so basically sorry if it’s not too good and please be patient with me), but I do read a lot of of it and maladaptive daydream a lot so I always have plenty of ideas. I came up with this idea this morning and really liked it, thought that maybe other people would like it and that it would be kind of greedy to keep it to myself. I’m actually really insanely proud of this ngl. If people like this and I feel comfortable, I might even write some more in the future.

[king-paimon]

HnK Chapter 95 Thoughts: The cruelest chapter of all times

AKA: The chapter everyone hated

AKA: No happy ending in sight

AKA: Haruko Ichikawa is a monster

AKA: I called it again (and I wish I was wrong)

AKA: Talk about kicking someone while they’re down

Ms. Haruko Ichikawa. You’ve truly done it. You truly are a cruel, sadistic, trolling monster. You leave us with this chapter? This chapter that truly shows us that despite every hardship they faced, Phos gets nothing. This chapter shows that Phos was destined to be in constant misery, and to rub that in with literally everyone else is free and happy? And to add more salt to the wound, you’re leaving us on an hiatus for who knows how long??

This is without a doubt the cruelest chapter to leave us on and this is probably one of the cruelest things a mangaka can ever do for a series as intense as this. I wish the previous chapter was the last one for the end of this year because at least with that one, it would have given us some sense of something.

Man. I’m both horrified and amazed by you, Ms. Ichikawa. I’m not even being sarcastic, I’m truly in awe.

Ugh.

As you can see, I have several things I have to say about this and... Just wow. This chapter. In these posts, I try my best to try and write my thoughts with the most rational mindset but... I don’t know how well I’ll be able to do that with this chapter. What a way to end this horrible year. 

But with this chapter’s ending and the implication for what is yet to come... this marks as the story’s descend to it’s bitter end, and I now wish I didn’t make that prediction last month.

I know I said in another post that I was going to write this in a few days, but I changed my mind. I’m getting this out now while my thoughts are still fresh in my mind. Please don’t mind the writing errors, I’m very tired, I’m writing this at 3 in the morning and I need to sleep. I promise I will come back to this and tidy it up later.

Anyways, here we go:

Haruko Ichikawa: Manipulator of emotions

Ms. Ichikawa really toyed with us with this chapter. So many things happened in such a short amount of time and I’m trying to process it. Also, doesn’t feel like too much happened in this chapter? Especially in comparison to the previous chapters, where everything was stretched out, to then have this chapter have so many things happen all at once. This chapter, in many ways, feels very rushed... and this style of story telling has me very worried about what’ll happen from here on out. I’ll talk more about what I mean by this later, but for now, let’s focus on the story of this chapter:

So... Antarctictite is back now. Adamant is back, too. So are most of destroyed gems, both the ones we knew and the ones we never got meet. And they are all now Lunarians... Hm.

I don’t like this or anything in this chapter for many reasons. In fact, I’ll go as far to say that I don’t like where the whole story is headed for these same reasons: 

The first reason: The emotional turmoil from the previous chapters

For the past 10 or so chapters, I’d been anticipating the destruction of the gems and Adamant. I was one of the people who didn’t like the idea of it happening, though I knew they kind of deserve it. And I remember how sad I was seeing Adamant turn to nothing but dust and seeing how everything was affecting Phos after the bloodlust ceased.

But it all led up to...this. In the very next chapter, after watching those heart wrenching scenes of the gems being broken down and Adamant’s last moments with Phos...we see him and the other gems being brought back like it was nothing.  And on top of that, they are totally happy Lunarians now. Yeah. Okay.

So it feels like the emotional tole that I felt for these characters I didn’t want to see get destroyed...meant nothing. Not going to lie: I kind of wish you all stayed destroyed.

And you know what? It’s kind of funny. In my Chapter 94 post, I said I was sad that we didn’t get to see Adamant and Aechmea interact and I didn’t think there would be a way now that Adamant is dust. Well. I was wrong. It happened. I got the interaction that wanted. Wasn’t worth it. 

So to sum up this first reason: The emotional turmoil that I personally experienced watching the characters I like get destroyed... meant nothing in the end.

Now I don’t know how to feel about these characters. It sucks. I even had a post that I was starting write about on a certain controversial character that I couldn’t bring myself to hate, despite everything, but I’m now debating whether or not I should still write it. I think I will, but there will be a lot of edits.

The second reason: Negation of personal growth

One of the things that has been brought up many times by fans is about how the gems dealt with problems. Instead of trying to address the problem and talk to try to fix it, they chose to ignore it and sweep it under the rug, no matter how upsetting it is to the characters involved. All of the gems, both Earth and Moon, constantly choose to not confront the issue and stay blissfully ignorant.

And now that they’re accepting to be Lunarians, it feels like they’re just running away again. Instead of confronting the Lunarians or having the gems properly talking with each other about how things got to the point where they had to once fight each other, they are like: Oh, we can be Lunarians so we don’t have to fight with them anymore? Awesome. Let’s do it.

Everyone is once again going with the flow, just sweeping the glaring issues that they all carried for so long, and are just accepting the new reality that they are in with no problems whatsoever. No addressing of anything means no character growth for all of them. No one grew from this experience. No one learned that ignoring the problems doesn’t solve them. They aren’t solving their previous issues, they are masking it under the belief that becoming Lunarian automatically solves all of their problems. 

No talking between Diamond or Bort. No talking with Yellow about their traumas or any of the other gems in the same boat. And no talking about how everything that happened lead to Phos doing what they did. It’s even more disappointing how Antarcticite was the only one who showed any concern about Phos or even thought to bring them up in the first place.

Edit: Also to add, the other problem here is how the are conscious choosing to remove your identity. They are not only choosing to loose their identity as gems, but they are fine loosing their memories as well. Not to mention how Cairngorm is once again being given a new identity to go by, from Aechmea, and is totally fine with it. That scene was small but once again, the fact that they are fine pretty much erasing what made them who they are is...unnerving. 

So pretty much to sum up this: Once again, everything meant nothing in the end. 

Speaking of Phos...

The third reason: Phos’s miserable fate

Phos, once again, got the short end of the stick. After everything that they’ve done, from trying to save everyone but themselves, to doing what was once seen as cruel for the sake of everyone to finally do something for themselves to go back to wanting to save the others after the bloodlust was gone... to get this ending for themselves.

But wow, what a cruel twist: Phos’s old goal was fulfilled. Thanks to them, the gems don’t have to live in fear of being destroyed or taken or anything. Thanks to Phos, everyone is free. Everyone now is going to be happy for the rest of their existance...at the cost of Phos’s expense.  

Phos lost everything. 

Their body. 

Their sanity. 

Their identity. 

Everything.

What do they get in return?

10,000 years of nothing but their own miserable existence and dark, depressing thoughts.

In the end, everything that Phos experienced not only sent them crashing down to rock bottom: it sent him to the chore of the earth, back out the other side, then back into the earth, in an endless cycle of just constant misery. 

That’s a theme in buddhism, if that’s what I’m recalling right from @rinboz​‘s posts: a cycle of continuous misery. That is clearly embodied here through Phos and Phos will continue to suffer the pain of existing while everyone else got what they wanted in the end, especially Aechmea. 

Speaking of which, I also genuinely want to know if there’s still fans out there who view Aechmea as a good guy for ��liberating’ Phos, because as far as I see, thanks to him, Phos is now stuck in an even more miserable form of existence. At least before everything, everyone was miserable together with Phos. Sort of. Still better than what we got with this chapter, in my opinion. (Please do share your thoughts, if you do. I promise, this is not an attack. I’m just interested to hear your thoughts, if you’re willing to share)

But now, there’s no there for Phos. And unlike those other instances where Phos was in a situation and someone somewhat saves them like Adamant and Padparadscha once did before, there’s no one there. So unless there’s some Admirabilis hiding around there or if the Gem/lunarians decide to come to them, which I doubt will happen, there’s no one for Phos. No one is coming to help/save them.

Phos will have to suffer all alone. For 10,000 years. Phos is the last existing gem being now...even though technically, they aren’t really a gem anymore. 

Once again, to sum up why I don’t like this chapter nor how the story has progressed: Phos’s suffering meant nothing to them in the end. That’s the other theme I’m trying to hammer in in this post: Everything meant nothing in the end.

I’ve already seen a few fans react to the chapter and I saw one state that if the Lunarians, including the gems, were to come to Phos to pray for them, the poster hopes Phos tells them to “F* off” And you know what, I hope so too. But this revelation has me fearing for what’s going to happen the series, or more specifically, how and when it’ll officially end.

No true happy ending in sight and not exactly for the reasons you think

As always, it’s hard to predict how Ms. Ichikawa is going to end this series. Us fans made many predictions and a good number of them came true, but it’s the ending that eludes us. Some hope for a happy ending for Phos, while many, including myself, predict that it’ll be anything but happy. And now, with this chapter...I think it’s set in stone now.

Last month, in response to someone asking me how I think the series might end, I made a few small predictions. Some for a good ending, a bittersweet ending, and a bad ending.... 

...and it looks like that first sad ending is where the series is heading after all:

Everyone is gone/moved on and Phos stays behind as a lonely, immortal being.

Even though this small prediction was correct, how it’s all playing out was not exactly how I’d envisioned. It’s worse. And what’s making me even more worried is that based off of where the story is headed, my gut feelings are saying that the series ending is near. And it won’t be to anyone’s satisfaction.

Whenever I get invested in a series, other than worrying about how the creators will handle their characters and story, one of my biggest worries is about how the creators handle their ending. I’m truly afraid about what Ms. Ichikawa is planning for this series because I can’t help but fear it’s not going to end well. It’s not the worry that the series will have a sad/bittersweet ending, even though that concern is still there though I’ve accepted the likelihood, but rather I’m worried that the next chapter or so will be the abrupt end to this series. This concern is because of how rushed this chapter felt and I can’t help but worry that Ms. Ichikawa is now rushing to the end of the story. And to be honest, the addition fact that Ms. Ichikawa is going on hiatus is not helping these uneasy feelings. 

I hate being the pessimistic one but what if this happens? What if Ms. Ichikawa decides to end the series here or in the next chapter? What if the next chapter is literally another time skip, with all of the characters that I once cared about just NOT progressing, and Phos continuously being stuck in this immortal and we’re expected to accept this as the ending. Because other than Phos, everyone’s story, from what it looks like, is at their end now. I really hope that doesn’t happen. I’ve seen great series end so terribly too often and I’ve loved this story for so long that I hope that doesn’t happen with this series too. I love this series a lot and it’s characters, even the ones who I don’t think I like as much as I did after this chapter. I hope the series will end nicely... but I don’t think it will.

Back to predictions on how the story will progress: I made a post a few days ago about how I hope the forgotten plot elements will come into play and the fact that Aechmea isn’t omnipresent. More than ever, part of me hopes those elements will come back and have a positive impact for Phos’s story, especially the omnipresent part. But again, I don’t think I’ll hope too much for it because looking at Ms. Ichikawa’s past works... I don’t think they will, at least not in the way I’m hoping for.

Maybe I’m too used to Western (American/European) stories, where the protagonist somehow beats the odds and wins in the end. This isn’t always the case for Eastern stories, especially stories from Japan. They usually end bittersweet and I don’t think Houseki no Kuni will be the exception. I know I’ve said this saying many times before and with each passing chapter, these words become more and more true:

Phos’s suffering is never going to end. 

And unless someone does something to change the course of the story, which I don’t think will ever happen now, Phos is never going to have a happy ending. 

If I could wish for anything, it’d be that this story ends on a satisfying note. I know, I know. It’s foolish to still hope for that it’ll happen, given everything I’ve seen from Ms. Ichikawa before...But still. I don’t want to lose all of the hope that I have left for this series. Even though that hope is nearly diminished, it’s still there.

So please, Ms. Ichikawa. Please give us a satisfying ending for Phos. Please let them go.  If anyone deserves a dignifying conclusion to their story, it’s them.  Let them rest. End their suffering. Please give them the ending they deserve after everything they went through.

You’ll likely won’t though.  

Because this is Phos.

And to be Phos is to constantly suffer.

Well, regardless, I truly hope you’re hiatus goes well, Ms. Ichikawa. Even though you are a cruel troll, your work is still amazing and I applaud you for your story telling and your love to mess with us. I hope you enjoy your time away and when you return, I hope that you’ll continue to give us amazing content and eventually give Phos the ending they deserve. Please. That’s all I want.

I hope you all a nice holiday season, too, or at least try to.

Happy Holidays. 

Can’t wait for 2020 to end.

[htmlerror]

☕ + wfa

i do not like wfa with ham, i do not like it, sam i am.

I have a lot of problems with Wayne Family Adventures. The idea for it is solid enough, but the execution is. bad. I've put my thoughts below the cut because this got long, so I hope you don't mind me going in depth on my feelings.

Duke Thomas as a POV character - I'm plagerizing heavily from my convo with @phamtai about this. Def check them out for more info and better insights than mine into the character. Duke is extremely well established in canon despite only having been around for a decade or so. Remarkably, it's taken until WFA to butcher his character. Duke in this series is too polite. He's too clueless. He's been presented as the Relatable Kid archetype that he doesn't fit. In canon, Duke has never not been self-assured. He's a relatable character, yes, but not because he doesn't know what's going on. He has experience as a hero long before the batfam became involved. And since then, he's bonded with them. WFA doesn't show his connection with Cass, his dynamic with Bruce or Jason, and completely ignores his conflicts with the family. In a supposedly family-focused product, those are damn near cardinal sins. He may as well be a totally new character. Duke has been watered down so much for the sake of this series. WFA could be a vessel to explore so many things about him that we don't see a lot of on the regular page. We could see a dive into the parallels between him and Bruce, the full psychological impact of losing his parents, epecially in contrast to Jason, how his world view and morals differ from Batman's, the daily consequences of his powers, or the fallout of his mourning independently for the friends he's lost. But those would be interesting angles WFA doesn't seem eager to explore. If you can't imagine a version Duke punching a cop just because they're a fucking cop, you're doing it wrong. Another issue is, unfortunately, Duke's role as the only Black batman member. I shouldn't need to explain why it's problematic to be showing his as constantly less knowledgeable and presumably skilled as the other bats. (No, it doesn't matter that Dick and Damian are drawn with dark skin. Dick has been written as a white man for nearly his entire existence. The person who retconned that is notoriously racist and has spent years defending her inclusion of sexual assault in her writing. I have no issue with Dick being Romani, but just changing the color of his skin is not the way to do it.) DC has recently had a push towards inclusion, on the page an behind the scenes. This is good, of course. Though if they really are committed to representation and inclusion, it needs to be an effort seen across the board. Faux pas like this paint a pretty obvious picture.

The Webtoon format is shit - Webtoon is a great platform for indie writers and artists. It's not my style of content, but I get the appeal. IMO, it's ridiculous to accept a professional comic publisher shitting out 12 page fluff pieces. Yes, the weekly comic format has been phased out for a reason. Yes, halving the workload is a possible way around that restriction. But there just isn't a good enough reason to do it. It's a pretty obvious ploy to seem "hip" and "get in with kids these days." It's lazy and frankly kind of embarrassing. For anyone who doesn't know, a standard comic book is usually 24-28 pages. This isn't an arbitrary number, it's part of the format for the art form. That length allows for necessary plot developments in a serial story line while also giving the characters, themes, and artwork time to breathe. Furthermore, it's what most comic readers have come to expect over the decades. Halving that wouldn't necessarily be a problem, there are plenty of examples of well made shorts out there, but coupling that WFA's love affair with single panels and splash pages is a major issue. Say you make a 12 page comic with 4-6 panels per page. You have 48-72 panels to work with. You can sit a compelling story into that, with or without heavy dialogue. But bring that down to 12-24 panels, and you have one of two options: either 1) ultra-compress your narrative or 2) reduce the plot to compensate. Ignoring the formatting choices, WFA is a convenient reason for DC to keep the worst of the status quo in the bat titles. There's no need to acknowledge criticism of Bruce's treatment of his family when they can simply point and say "Jason's throat hasn't been sliced open here! And look, Damian hasn't been left with the crushing guilt of his grandfather's death! We even let Tim exist as his own character!" WFA doesn't change anything, it shows that DC is aware of its problems but would rather outsource them than put in the work to fix it. There's a special kind of rejected feeling that comes with being told "I hear you, I just don't care.

Fandom isn't bad, but - Everyone is familiar with the incorrect quotes format by now. Sometimes they're funny, most of the time they tend to over-saturate. WFA is like if a incorrect batfam quotes blog was a comic. It's a steady supply of one-liners and references, sure, but it lacks any real substance. If that's what you like, I can't fault you for it, but it's not going to be everyone's cup of tea. The way the batfandom has piled onto the "this is the best thing ever" bandwagon is concerning to me. There has been good batfam content in canon, you just need to know where to look for it. The lack of critical analysis of the project and dismissal of critiques is always an alarming pattern, but the way WFA has come to be the odd face of the fandom is just bizarre. It's everywhere, as you know if you've ever tried avoiding it. Thinking about WFA being the default interpretation of these characters makes me nervous. They lack the depth their canon counterparts. I don't care if you enjoy WFA, I do understand the appeal of it, but for the love of the gods, take it down from it's pedestal.

WFA is... fine. It's yet to commit any sins too egregious, but, like all DC properties, it's a ticking timebomb. I won't be surprised when it goes off, and I can't say I'll be sad to see it go. Ao3 has better content, anyway

[jtsfavslut]

Falling [G.D]

Description: Just when Y/N thought she was over Grayson, he pops back into her life, making her wonder if you could fall for the same person twice. Inspired by ‘Falling’ - Harry Styles. 

Warnings: None, Just sad stuff lmao!!!

Word Count: 4K+

Also a special thanks to cole [ @blazedgraysons​] for keeping up with my annoying ass questions while I wrote this, and for helping me and giving me advice I love you <333

   Her small feet carried her body down the familiar street, cars zooming past her as her body softly bumped into the others around her. The loud sounds from the environment being blocked away by the soft, yet loud music that was coming out of an old pair of Airpods she had gotten for Christmas back in High School.

This was Y/N's daily routine. Get up early in the morning, do her business in the bathroom, get dressed, and walk over to her favorite cafe. The Beachwood cafe had become Y/N's second home ever since she moved to L.A, spending most of her time there, before and after class.

A smile lit up her face as the familiar blue door came into her view, a content sigh falling past her lips as she got closer to the door.

The strong smell of coffee hit her nostrils as she walked inside, music being paused as she walked fully inside, giving her attention to the cashier that greeted her every morning, "Hi Y/N, your stuff is on your table," she smiled up at Y/N before pointing towards her usual table.

It was the one by the window in the corner of the shop, the bright yellow and blue floor illuminated her small journey to the table, where her coffee and breakfast sandwich happily waited for her to approach. She sat down, hand reaching into her Yellow Kanken backpack, another Christmas gift from high school that she dearly took care of, she pulled out a brown journal and a pen.

A journal filled with memories and random thoughts that popped in her head. Y/N thought writing things down was good for the mind and body. She believed that writing things down would help you keep your thoughts safely, and lock memories into place without overworking your mind. A pen that has been through many journeys on the same yet different page.

All pages were the same until the pen went over it, recording things until the end of time. They were all the same until she wrote down her thoughts for the day.

Her small hand gripped onto the pen as she wrote down her thoughts from the previous night, coffee cup in the other hand as she slowly sipped the liquid.

Last night I thought of him again, just until I drifted off. I don't know why. It hasn't happened in months. Nothing bad, just a memoir of all of our memories together. Like the time we broke into the school's pool one night. Where he pushed me in with all my clothes on, then he jumped in and we made out by the stairs. Funny how we never got caught since cameras were around us. Or when we had our senior trips to the mountains in Colorado, and how he kept sneaking into the girls' room just to be with me. We were lucky we didn't get caught again. I tried to not keep thinking about him. I know it's time to finally drop it and move on, but how? How do I erase all those memories from my brain? How am I supposed to just drop it and move along? Just how? I don't need or want to know why just how.

She softly slammed the notebook closed, right before she could feel a slight burning in her eyes and a rock starting to form in her throat. The subject of her and a past lover that she was still holding onto, still being a deep wound to her.

She thought about and remembered Grayson every day. After all, he was her everything during her entire High School life, and he still was…...sort of.  Grayson and Y/N started dating in the 9th grade, right about in the middle of the year. He asked her out behind the school's bleachers during lunchtime, a mixture of flowers from his mom's garden that she shyly accepted from him after she said yes. That was followed by their date to the movie theater, where he held her close to him every time she faked being a little scared, not that he could tell, and three dates after he officially asked her out where she said yes again, and that was followed by an accidental kiss, he was leaning towards her cheek when she accidentally moved her head to the side, causing his lips to land on hers. Neither of them complained, just smiled at each other and carried on.

They went on for 6 years, all of high school and two college years, where he decided to break it off because of distance. He went off on how being across the country from one another was hard, and the fact that the time difference from New York to California was 3 and 4. She didn't complain. Didn't give a reason as to why not, even if she had trillions of them. She didn't try to change his mind. She simply said okay, and wished him the best. She still loved him though.

The words that her grandpa had spoken replayed in her brain every time she questioned why she still thought about him; "You never stop loving anyone sugar, you just kinda love someone stronger. If you stop loving them, then you never loved them to begin with" She thought about that, and that made her feel better. Maybe there was someone out there who she would love more than she loved Grayson.

With a quiet sigh, she put her journal away, switching it with a book she picked up at the library a few days prior, yet read a million times.

To Kill A Mockingbird is a book she read many times in school, mostly everyone has. It's the one book from school she actually enjoyed, so she picked it up from the book shop down the street from her apartment before work one day, and didn't get to read it until now.

She opened the book with a small smile, the sensation of the book against her finger bringing nothing but happiness to her, and took her mind off whatever was bothering her. She lost herself in the book, almost done with half of the book before her alarm rang, signaling it was time for work. She left a 20 on the table after putting all her stuff away in her backpack and walking out of the shop and towards her job which was a paid internship at a local hospital downtown, all she did was watch and help out with minor cases like cuts, sprains, X Ray's and the occasional stuff like questioning. She entered the hospital, sanitizing herself and changing into her uniform, walking over to her area, that being the Pediatrics Emergency room where her boss, mentor, whatever you might want to call him, Dr. Reyez, and the rest of the team were waiting for her.

"Morning everyone," she chirped at the tired yet awake health care workers, who all had smiles on their faces. "Morning Y/N, you're going to be practicing by yourself today, can you handle it?" Dr. Reyez asked her, which she just nodded her head with a smile. There wasn't a single ounce of doubt in her brain.

"I'm pretty sure yes! And I can just reach out to you guys if anything, right?"

"Yeah, just page us if anything. Your first patient should be here soon, just go wait by the desk," Reyez instructed her and that's exactly what she did. She sat on the desk for over 20 minutes until someone came in with a toddler covered in rashes.

"Hi baby, I just need to ask you and mommy a few questions, yeah?" She sweetly and patiently asked the 5 year old as his mom was filling out some papers, to which he just nodded his head.

"Okay, Xavion, did you eat something new today? Maybe something you've never eaten?" She asked and both the mom and son nodded their heads.

"Do you think he was allergic to something?" The mom asked, causing Y/N to shrug.

"Well, it depends. We need to get an allergy test for him. It doesn't hurt or anything, we just scratch and pour a drop of the allergen over it and see how they react. Mom, do you happen to remember what he ate today for the first time?" She replied by recording some notes down on her clipboard before telling a nurse to get an Allergy Antibody Test ready.

"He ate everything that he usually does except for some broccoli I gave him," the mom replied and Y/N nodded her head before writing it down on her clipboard and walking them to the testing room.

Once the results came back around half an hour later, Xavion was, in fact, allergic to broccoli, and other things that Y/N had to explain to the mother. She got about 15 minutes of break time before Reyez called her another minor emergency.

"It's an 11 year old, possible breakage or sprain to the leg, you can handle this one right?" He asked and she nodded her head, "Good, they're in room 217, good luck," he added before sending her off to the room.

She quickly made her way over to it, grabbing her clipboard on the way, "Hi, I'm Dr.Y/LN, I'm going to be taking care of you guys today! May I have the child's name and date of birth please?" She nicely asked as she walked inside the room, quickly walking over to the desk area that was in the corner and placing her stuff down.

"Uhhh, Caleb Dolan, August 17, 2008," a deep voice that she could recognize from anywhere spoke as she turned around. Her heart dropped at the sight of Grayson in front of her. She tried to reassemble herself, after all, she couldn't make any mistakes right now, Reyez was trusting her and she couldn't afford to mess the opportunity up.

"Caleb, August 17, 2008," she mumbled as she wrote it down on her piece of paper, "Caleb, do you mind telling me what happened, babe?" She asked with a smile on her face. Her smile turned into a small frown as she looked up at the boy who happened to be in pain.

"Me and uncle Gray were practicing for the soccer game that's next and I fell on the mud and hit my leg really hard," he explained as she walked towards him nodding her head.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, One being okay while 10 being the worst, how would you rate the pain?" She asked, walking over to the walk to grab a pair of gloves, putting them on, and walking back towards him.

"Uhh a seven," he replied and she nodded her head.

"Okay Caleb, just know this might hurt a little okay? It's just protocol to check if it's dislocated, broken, or sprained okay?" She asked and he nodded his head, a few tears falling down his face from fear. Grayson quickly leaned down to wipe off his face whispering a quiet 'you'll be okay' as Caleb grabbed his hand.

"Can you try and move your ankle for me? Just try and move it," she explained and he muttered at quiet yes before moving his foot in a slow circle, she nodded her head before placing both hands over his ankle checking for any bumps, which there were none to find, "Luckily for you Caleb, it's just sprained! There are no bumps meaning it's not dislocated, and you can move it meaning it's not fractured! Just to make sure, we're going to need an X Ray' just to make sure there are no hidden surprises yeah? Dr. Lindsey will do those with you, and I'll be right here when you come back," she smiled up at the boy before Dr. Lindey moved him to a wheelchair and took him to the X Ray room, leaving Y/N and Grayson alone in painful silence.

"So this is what you do? This is where you work?" Grayson was the first to speak after a couple of quiet seconds,

She cleared her throat and nodded her head, placing her hands inside her white jacket, "Yeah. It's a paid internship so it's basically a job, what about you? What are you doing here?" She asked to make direct eye contact with him.

"Moved here after me and E graduated, looking for some roles and an agent," he spoke, his voice not as deep yet shakier than when he first spoke.

"Any luck with that?"

"Yeah. We've landed a few small roles here and there," he answered and she just nodded her head.

"That's good! I'm glad everything's working out for you," She gave him a genuine smile before continuing to fill out Caleb's paperwork.

"Listen, I know it's been 2 years but-," Grayson began to speak before Y/N cut him off. "-Grayson just don't. I'm at work right now, and it's enough seeing you after 2 years, but I don't really need this right now. I'm sorry," She apologized before leaving the room to get some papers before walking back in, thankfully Caleb was already in the room when she walked in.

"I'm going to wrap your ankle up with this and then you're good to go, buddy. Make sure you don't apply pressure on it for two weeks. And carefully when you're playing any sport, I don't want you back here," she said while wrapping his ankle up carefully. She gave Grayson the discharge papers, their hands touching each other for a split second before she pulled away waving them off before walking to where her team was.

"That guy was looking at you intensely," Reyez pointed out, earning a glare from her.

"Don't even start," she rolled her eyes before taking a sip from her water bottle that was on her desk.

"Wait is that the?" Jacob, one of the nurses, asked and she nodded her head.

"Yeah, that's him," she sighed, shaking her head.

"Holly shit Y/N, I knew you said he was hot, but girl? That man is hotter than-,"

"Mackenzie, don't you dare," Y/N joked towards her other co-worker, "God why do you do this to me? I was almost over him and then you put him on my path again? The universe hates me,"

"I'd go for it again if I were you," Mackenzie encouraged earning a glare from her.

"Alright, leave her alone before she starts to crumble, Mackenzie go fill out reports, Y/N go take a breather," Reyez ordered them around and they all nodded their heads, going on their way to do what they were told.

. . .

Soft snores began to quietly run past her lips as she drifted off to sleep, all before a feeling of suddenly falling down an empty whole woke her up. She shook her head letting out a quiet 'fuck' before turning to look towards the clocks on her nightstand, 3:30 AM being brightly displayed on it. Y/N let out a loud sigh, knowing she wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon.

Her mind suddenly clouded with knotted thoughts and notions, too many of them just to focus on a single one. She pushed her body up, just enough for her to reach over and grab the small yellow backpack that she lazily threw on the floor, pulling her journal and pen out before throwing it back on the floor.

She clicked the pen and opened the journal, blank pages waiting to be filled up, her hand delicately moved along the paper as she scribbled letters and words on the empty pages, thoughts clearing out of her head, one by one.

I saw him today. He looked different. He's grown. After it all, it has been two years. His voice is deeper too. He wanted to talk, but I said no. Maybe if I did, I would fall for him again, or something. I'm doing just fine, so why did he have to move here. Anyway, Reyez finally allowed me to take care of patients by myself today. It was fun, I liked it, I guess. Luckily I'm free tomorrow because I can't sleep at all now. Maybe it's the repeating thoughts of him running through my mind, or just simply the lack of melatonin in my body right now. I'll probably go to the park tomorrow, stop at the cafe first then make my way there, but anyway, I'm going to try and sleep now.

It was a quick entry, nothing special, just her major thoughts being written down, just enough for her to feel better. She got up from the bed walking over to the kitchen grabbing a water bottle before leaning against the counter and sipping it. She crossed her bare legs over each other, looking out of the big window in her living room. Her favorite part about the apartment? It was the window that looked down on bright LA city. Y/N could sit there for hours and not notice the time pass by, she knows this because it happened before. She left the kitchen and walked towards the window, propping her body down on the small couch she had in front of the window. She laid her head on her hand, watching the few cars that sped down the street, the small yet bright red lights disappearing into the distance as her eyes followed them until they could.

Her eyes softly closed as she laid down on the couch, drifting off into another universe. The next morning she woke up at around 8 AM, doing her daily routine, except she stopped at the Cafe, picked her things up, and made her way to the park. It was an old park, there was an old playground that seemed like it hadn't been used in years. She sat down on an old bench drinking her coffee as she watched the scenery.

She didn't take her notebook out, her mind not having any thoughts, or at least no thoughts relevant enough for her to write down. She just took her time to take her surroundings in. She admired how the wind moved the trees, yet they were so strong they didn't crack. The way the birds lifted off whatever surface they were, and drifted off into the sky. She admired the rare butterflies that randomly appeared just to disappear once again. She simply admired the earth, something that she didn't do quite often; Always being too deep in her thoughts to actually study the things around her.

"They're beautiful aren't they?" Grayson's voice spoke out of nowhere, making Y/N do a slight jump in her seat as her heart raced.

She brought her hand up to her chest, a sigh falling past her lips as she glared at Grayson who was chuckling, "You fucking scared me,"

"Sorry," he sighed, sitting down next to her.

They both let out sighs. Both knowing that there was no escaping the conversation that was about to happen, a conversation that was long due.

"You could, hmm, you could go first," she spoke after a few moments of silence, throat dried making her clear it in the middle of some of her words.

"I'm sorry about yesterday. You were working, and Ummm, it wasn't the right place or time to talk about things. I'm also sorry because I never gave you an explanation as to why we should've broken up. After all, you didn't ask anyway," He softly spoke. He thought every word through, studied each meaning before letting them run past his lips.

"I didn't ask because it's what you wanted. Your decision was clearly made. I mean, I don't think breaking up with someone is a spontaneous thought is it? Your decision was made, and if you felt like I was holding you back, then I had to let you go, if I loved you, then I think I did the right thing." Her words were careful too. And quiet, so quiet feeling that if she spoke too loud the things around her would break.

"I didn't want to break up. I felt like it was the right thing to do, you know? We were always so busy, and we made time for each other, but it was exhausting. And when you were out with friends, I felt like I was annoying you or something," he sighed and she shook her head, the thought of her ever getting annoyed at Grayson's presence being absurd.

"Oh God absolutely not," she chuckled, "I thought I was annoying you. Like I wondered if you talked about me, or not. I wanted to know if I annoyed you because I felt like I did,"

It was true. In her journal, multiple pages were filled out with her question herself on whether Grayson talked about her or not. Even after the breakup, she wondered if he'll ever need her. Most pages were about him, all of her thoughts revolved around him, always.

"I did. All the time, to the point where I said your name subconsciously," he smiled, remembering the conversations he had with his friends about her, and how great she was.

"I did too, well not say but write," she sighed, leaning her back on the bench.

"You wrote about me?"

"Grayson you know I did, that's a dumb question," She shook her head, taking a sip of the coffee that was somehow still warm.

"Do you still write about me?" He asked and she stayed quiet, not knowing whether she should answer truthfully or not.

"Honestly speaking, I do. I write about everything that comes to mind, so sometimes? Yeah," she sighed, knowing that it would be easier if they just told the truth.

Maybe this was the closure that they both needed, yet never got. Maybe this was going to help her fully move on from him, and have thoughts that don't include her.

Or maybe not. Maybe this would help them reconnect. Y/N left it all up to the universe. She was a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and that you can't change your future since it's already written about. When she got home after a couple of hours she took a shower, lit on her favorite candles, and did the expected. She took out her notebook and wrote.

We spoke today. He told me the reason why we broke up. It wasn't an intentional meeting though, I was just admiring nature. I was looking at the butterflies I think. He randomly spoke. And I know it was long due and needed so I just told him to say it. It's better to just get it over with than to just keep pushing it back, I think. He told me why he wanted to break up, which right now, sounds like a valid reason. I just wonder why he didn't just say it back then. It would've saved me a lot of nights, don't you think? He now knows I write about him, and where I go to write about him. Maybe I shouldn't go there anymore. It sounds out of this world I know. But maybe, just maybe, I should just close that chapter in my life.

There are just too many memories of him at Beachwood. That's where he surprised me the first time he came to visit. And it's where I write about him the most. I could find another cafe near here, there's plenty.

I just wonder if we're ever going to see each other again. If I'll ever fall for him again, if that is even possible. Because I don't think you could fall for the same person twice, right?

That was the last page in her journal. All the pages filled with her delicate letters, her writing being eternal. Filled with on-going words until the end, where an unanswered question laid. The weight that was once on her shoulders began to fade, and for once in her life, the thought of her future no longer made her afraid.

 This is the first time I’m proud of a something I wrote, so if this flops, I will deactivate! Just kidding, sort of. Anyways, yeah, I feel like my writing has improved, and as always, if you have any tips, and/or constructive critism, please, please, please drop them in my inbox, and don’t worry, I won’t say your hurting my feelings lmfao!! 

Tag List:   @guiltydols @evergreendolan @ydolanssss @rhyrhy462 @resilientdolan @simplyxdolxstyles @simplyxdolxstyles​ {If you wanna be added to my Tag List, just let me know :) lol}

[pillage-and-lute]

In All that I Have Done

Sad. I recommend listening to Arvo P ärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel while reading. Very, very sad, cannot stress this enough. Non-explicit major character death. (Happens of old age but still)

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More than forty years after the fall of Cintra one Professor Pankratz put down his pen. In the last ten years his hands had lost some of their surety, but his quill didn’t shake when he put it down. 

He ran one hand down his face. His beard had started going silver just after he’d adopted the style, but both it and his hair were now fully steel grey, with not even a hint of their former color. He adjusted his spectacles, tweaked the fashionable, but less than flamboyant hem of his doublet, and began to read what he’d written.

The last will and testament of Professor Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. 

I am writing this, sure and sound of mind, if not of body, in the event of my death. For many years I had a living, de facto will, that is, who ever found me dead by the roadside could loot my body for what they wished. As I got older and my body forced my errant heart to settle down I realized that this could no longer be the case. I fear I have put this off much too long, but happily, it seems I was not too late.

To my remaining family, my baby brother Alfons and his wife Iwona, I leave the rights to my songs and other works, and the royalties to them. Have fun. Alfons, Iwona is a beautiful woman and I would have wooed her, but that you were so in love I couldn’t bring myself to steal her away. I write this with a chuckle, Iwona my dear, because if you’ll remember we met first, and I introduced you to my brother only after you’d hit me in the head with a frying pan for flirting. 

I have also set up a trust, a portion of the royalties will be funneled into it for your son, Mikolaj, although he is a strapping young man who may never need it because he is a fine craftsman, as these spectacles he made me can attest. With luck he may spend it on marriage, should he ever woo that baker lad who made those charming blackberry tarts.

To the grandson of my friend Priscilla, Gaj. You have just been born and are a wonder beyond belief. Your parents are lovely people and you are lucky to have them. They should feel lucky to read this since I fear I shall be long dead before you learn your letters. However; there are times I wish I had fathered children. There are also times I remember what those who do go through and am thankful I did not, but you are a miracle. In the hope that you are given the very best of education, I have put in a word with the university. Should you choose, you will have the best schooling the Continent can offer, free of charge, with the compliments of Oxenfurt. Just, when you are someday a raging young student, sloppy drunk on a night out, think of me, if you can think at all. 

As I have of late stayed in quarters provided for me by the university and their gracious staff, I shall relinquish it all in return, as well as whatever items are held within not listed here. There shall be money in the vase by the fireplace for my funeral, as well as a generous tip for the maids, who have been wonderful and kind to an often forgetful and frail old man who is too much in his feelings.

My wardrobe I leave to whoever wants it, apart from my best blue doublet. (The sky blue one, which brings out my eyes) I should hope to be buried in it.

And finally, to my dearest and truest friend, Geralt of Rivia I leave a note, a song, and a gift.

Jaskier once again scrubbed his hand over his face. His study held a chill, despite the fine summer day, or perhaps it was just him. He got cold so easily these days. His breath rattled a little as he took a deep breath and hauled himself out of his comfortable chair. Melitele’s great gorgeous thighs, but his knees ached today. Jaskier paused at the mirror to tease his hair into place, advancing years never having divested him of his style. He flashed a wink into the mirror and shoveled a little coal into the small fireplace. 

He settled again at his desk, a different paper in hand, separate from the will, and began to look it over. This letter held none of the fine penmanship of the other, instead the letters were blocky and easy to read, better for the eyes that may have gained much in a mutation but skipped lightly over letters and switched them about.

My dear Geralt, it read. In all that I have done, I have had but one masterpiece. Critics may disagree on my greatest work, but I know it exactly, and have since the day of it’s birth. My opus was not Toss a Coin, or even the rehabilitation of yours- and all witchers- reputations. My masterpiece was my relationship with you, a wonderful and awful secret masterpiece of the heart, mind, and soul.

I know you do not dally about with words, but lest you misunderstand this last, most important of missives, we must discuss them. The word awful is now so said as to mean the same as terrible, but this cannot be true at all. Terrible is that which inspires terror or creates fear. Awful, or aweful, if you will, is to inspire awe. To be full of it. Sometimes that awe is fearful, sometimes reverential, perhaps a condemnation and sometimes a blessing. You, my friend, inspire awe. And in me you inspired something much greater than that. In all my years, which are so few compared to yours, nothing has so inspired love in me, as you. It has been my life’s greatest blessing.

When this letter comes to you, regardless of how it comes, it means I am gone from this world. I fear it shall indeed be soon, but I do not fear death. Weep not for me, my friend, instead let me bury in this parchment what there is left for me to say.

More than forty years ago I asked you to come away with me. All these decades later I still dream that you would, yet, I understand why you did not, and why you pushed me away. I offered you my heart that day, but it was the heart of a being you would watch wither away, as I’ll admit I have done. You could not be my forever, knowing that I cannot also be yours. There is no apology, no tears, no explanation needed there. 

Indeed, even for casting me away I need no words, and you have always had few to give, my friend. You didn’t keep me away for long, after all. I am like a magnet, drawn to you. Even now I feel your pull, like the tide to the gentle lady moon, but I cannot follow. 

After the mountain we met up again and again, our lives orbiting eachvother like planets, but we never clung so close as those first twenty years. That is the fault of Dame Time, a tricky mistress, as she collected her dues for twenty years of hard travel and ill care on my body.

I wish I could have given you more of my years. I find I am angry, and yet not so. At once, I could have had more time beside you, had somehow things been otherwise, but I know I had more time with you than might have been, perhaps more than I could reasonably expect. Someone, some goddess, or Life, Time, Destiny, or Fate, gave me enough time to finish the masterpiece that is my love for you, and that is enough.

You read here the ramblings of an old man, but I shall burden you with a few more sentences. 

You may recognize the case to which this letter is attached. Inside is my lute, as given to me by Filavandrel. I wish you to have it. I know you have never been musically inclined, but to me this instrument means so much more than music. This is the physical being of us, and all that may entail. I hope that you keep it, and treasure it how you will. If ever there comes such a person that you wish to play it, for whatever reason, gift it to them, but I beg you, tell them to whom it belonged, and how it came to belong to you. 

And finally, I leave you with a few unsung verses that I feel someone ought to read.

To the edge of the world May this letter be born That it comfort and heals you Although it brings you to mourn

I wrote every song And traveled along For my faith in a witcher and my friend before all

I hope you be blessed and continue your quest To be a friend of humanity As I go to rest

That's our epic tale My champion prevailed Defeated every villain And continues the tale

Toss a coin to my witcher, O valley of plenty...

love, Jaskier.

Professor Pankratz carefully rolled up the parchment and slipped inside a waterproofed tube, tying it with a blue ribbon that would likely only be lost in the parcel’s travels. He did it anyway, then he trailed his fingers over the finest instrument he’d ever played. Hand tremors meant it had sat silent for many months, but he plucked a few, slightly out of tune strings in a familiar tune. Then he put Filavandrel’s lute away, slipping the note in it’s packaging into the outer pocket of the case.

There was a funny feeling, he felt as he sat back in his large desk chair, to completing your greatest work, but he knew at least one being would remember it forever. He took off his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the fire in the grate convincing him to doze. His eyes slid shut, and Jaskier greeted eternity with open arms.

[anchoviesinthenightsky]

Here’s something that came to mind from seeing tangled the series that lives in my head rent free I don’t know what to do with:

Following a year after the movie, Luca comes home for early spring holidays. Alberto’s mood is oddly kinda down in a way him and Massimo hadn’t seen before. Luca and Massimo worry what could be troubling him, as Massimo reveals that he’s been down for a few weeks now since spring really kinda started. Massimo decides to take the boys fishing, thinking it would cheer him up to keep him busy, as Alberto had said he doesn’t know why he’s sad, it just happens every spring and it’ll pass, like seasonal depression. Though while out near the good fishing spot Alberto and Luca had shown early, they couldn’t get Alberto to focus much as he just focused on the island he use to reside from, like a trance.

Is it abandonment issues? Yes. Feel free with whatever ending or style, I know it’s not really Luca x Alberto but I am not good with romance plots I’m so sorry 😞 hope you enjoy it anyway

AN: What a GREAT prompt. I had so much fun writing this. I'm not sure if you meant this, but I took this to imply that Alberto's dad left in the spring. And I was thinking about why that memory would be triggered for a full season, and I landed on the idea that something in the environment (like a particular scent) that Alberto associated with his dad leaving, could make an entire season difficult. So I was playing around with that idea!

______: *✧･ﾟ:*___ >><(((・> ______ >><(((・> ____ _: *✧･ﾟ:*__

Spring was in the air, sweet and verdant, and flower petals floated through the air as Luca stepped off the train and into the Portorosso train station. School was on break for a week for the Easter holidays, and Luca had opted to spend the time back home, while Giulia stayed with her mom.

Luca heaved his travel bag off the train steps and looked around the platform. He saw Alberto and Massimo standing in the corner of the station. Alberto was looking off into the distance, not focused on what or who was in front of him. Massimo was lightly patting him on the shoulder and pointing to Luca.

“Beto!” Luca shouted, trying to get his attention.

Alberto shook his head, like he was clearing his brain of fog, and then locked eyes with Luca. “Luca!”

Alberto’s arms were strong and warm as Luca crashed into them. Luca wrapped his own arms around Alberto and squeezed. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Alberto whispered, hugging Luca tight.

And Luca noticed that something felt off about his friend. Maybe it was in the way he seemed to cling onto Luca for the hug, but barely touched him once they let go.

Maybe it was that there was a hollowness in his voice and a distance in his eyes. Like he was here physically, but not mentally, when he told Luca that he could stay in Massimo’s house, if he wanted. And that he’d already asked Luca’s parents if that was okay, and they said it was.

Luca picked up his bag and followed Alberto and Massimo out of the station. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about his friend.

[continued below the cut]

___

“Aren’t the flowers beautiful?” Luca asked. He and Alberto were walking under a trellis lined with wisteria and roses. The flowers wept through the openings, trailing down to brush the tops of their heads as they passed. Luca picked one of the wisteria buds and tucked it behind Alberto’s ear. “They’re almost the same color as your scales.”

Alberto pressed his lips together and took the flower from behind his ear. He looked at it for a moment before turning to Luca and putting it behind his hear. “Maybe you should wear it then, so we’ll match.”

“Oh, well,” Luca touched the flower. The delicate petals mixing with his curls. “We could both wear flowers.”

Luca reached up to grab another one, and Alberto stopped him from reaching the wisteria blossoms.

“Please don’t,” Alberto’s voice caught in his throat. He cleared it with a cough. “I don’t really like how they smell.”

“Oh.” Luca said, retracting his hand. “I didn’t know.”

“’’Sokay,” Alberto shrugged. “I’d never told you.”

___

The rocks beneath Luca’s feet clicked together as he followed Massimo away from the boat. He watched Alberto check the fishing nets. From a distance, he looked sure of his actions, like they’d become second nature to him.

“Luca,” Massimo said, putting a hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Have you noticed that Alberto hasn’t been himself?”

“Yeah,” Luca responded slowly. “It’s like he’s not totally here.”

“Yes, exactly.” Massimo said. “He’s been like that for weeks.”

“For weeks?”

Massimo nodded. “Do you know anything that might cause him to be like that?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe it’s seasonal? He was never like this in the summer.”

“Could be.” Massimo said.

‘Do you think it’s something else?”

“I do not know what to think, ragazzo.” Massimo took his hand off Luca’s shoulder. “I just want him to feel better.”

____

Water sloshed around the sides of the Giulietta, as the boat came to a stop at a particularly good fishing spot. Massimo lowered the net into the water and waited for Alberto to drop anchor. When he didn’t Massimo said, “Luca would you mind dropping the anchor.”

“Of course.” Luca stood up, his leg brushing against Alberto’s, and dropped the anchor gently over the side. He imagined it sinking down and the plume of sand that’d follow as it hit the ground.

He sat back down next to Alberto, who was looking toward the island they’d meet. The island looked different in the spring. It was more colorful than Luca remembered. Flowers dotted the island, and on the side of the island opposite the tower, there was a wisteria tree. It was close enough to the water, then some of the branches floated on the surface, rolling with the gentle waves that came to shore.

Alberto’s eyes were unfocused, and Luca nudged him with his shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

Alberto blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut, before looking down at the water. “Nothing.”

“It didn’t seem like nothing,” Luca said quietly. He placed a hand on Alberto’s knee. “You know you can share things with me, right?”

“I know,” Alberto’s eyes flicked up to Massimo and then back down to the water. “Everything is fine.”

Massimo shifted in his seat, like he was about to speak, but Luca held up a hand to stop him. “What do you say about going on a swim, Alberto?”

“We’re in the middle of fishing.”

“It’s a good idea,” Massimo said. “I can handle the fish.”

“Come on Beto,” Luca tugged on his hand. “The water’s nice.”

“Luca, it’s May. The water’s cold.”

“For humans maybe,” he teased. “Come on.”

Luca slipped into the water, feeling scales shimmer over his body. He splashed his face to finish the change. “It’s really nice Alberto.”

“I don’t know.” Alberto leaned over the edge of the boat to look at Luca.

Luca flicked some water at his face, purple dots appearing where he hit.

“Hey!” Alberto rubbed the scaled away. “What was that for?”

“I just thought it’d be funny.” Luca said, unsure.

“Well, it wasn’t funny, and I don’t want to swim.”

Luca watched as Massimo looked between Alberto and the island. “Alberto,” he said. “You can go swim. I won’t go anywhere. I promise. I’ll be right here when you’re ready to go back home.”

Alberto’s shoulders dropped. His lips pinched together, and he nodded slowly. “You promise?”

“Of course.” Massimo replied.

“Thank you, papa.” Alberto said. He slipped out of the boat and dipped his head under the water, before popping back up to face Luca. “Where to?”

Luca grabbed his hand and pulled him down.

___

They didn’t go so far down that they lost sight of Massimo’s boat, but they were deep enough that the sky distorted under the water and the currents would carry their bodies if they left them.

Luca flipped on his back and put his hands behind his head, letting the water roll over him. Alberto stayed curled up, his tail curling around a leg.

“So, what’s really going on?” Luca asked.

“Nothing, I told you.” Alberto glanced behind him at the island. Luca could see branches of wisteria floating on the water.

“Beto,” Luca flipped over and put a hand on Alberto’s arm, “you’re a terrible liar.”

“I am not.”

“You are, and that’s okay.” Luca smiled a little. “But you’ve been acting out of it, and it seems like something is wrong. You can talk to me. I’m here for you.”

Alberto pressed his lips together and looked off to the side of Luca’s face, as if he couldn’t look him in the eye. “You know my dad?”

“Massimo?”

“No, the other one.”

“Oh.” Luca squeezed Alberto’s shoulder, hoping the touch was reassuring. “What about him.”

“He left in the spring.”

Luca nodded, afraid saying anything would stop Alberto in his tracks.

“It was,” Alberto turned and pointed to the floating petals on the water. “there.”

“Under the wisteria?” Luca asked. Heart dropping as he recalled trying to give Alberto a flower from that same plant.

“Yeah.” Alberto dropped his head. “We were sitting there, under the flowers. It was a nice day, where the weather was finally starting to get warm again. He told me that he was leaving, and that I could watch after myself.”

Alberto’s eyes watered. “And then he left. And I sat under those flowers until the sun went down. I slept under that tree the first night too, and I thought— I thought if I didn’t leave then maybe he’d come back.”

“I’m so sorry Alberto.”

“Me too.” Luca pulled Alberto in for a hug, “You should tell Massimo. He’s been worried about you.”

Alberto shook his head, hiding it in Luca’s neck. He mumbled, “What if I tell him and he thinks my dad was right and leaves me too.”

“No.”

“What?” Alberto lifted his head a little.

“Massimo isn’t like that. You know that.” Luca put a hand on Alberto’s cheek. “You’ve got a Bruno in your head.”

Alberto gave a wet laugh. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

“I know you do.”

[twistedtummies2]

Can I just ask how you make your ocs interesting? I’m trying to make my own Twst oc and he’s going to be a big eater himself, so what qualities could I give him to make him seem interesting?

Ooooh...okay, this is a HARD one to answer. So...buckle in, this will proooobably be long. 'XD First and foremost...I never SET OUT to make my characters "interesting." If...that makes sense? Here's the thing about writing advice from me: I'm bad at it. LOL It's not like writing is easy for me (it REALLY isn't) and it's not like there aren't certain things I try to keep in mind and ideas and concepts and even rules I follow...it's just that, in the moment of creating a character, I'm usually just...creating a character. And how that happens can work in a variety of different ways. Also, what makes a character "interesting" can be so many different things. It's not like there's some magic wand of interesting-making-power that I have. So...I guess what I can tell you is that there are a few things I keep in mind when I'm making my own TW OCs. The main ones, that is - including my preds and Chief Jehan (since he's the only recurring non-pred OC I have in my gallery CURRENTLY; I have another I'm actually planning to write about after I finish Nakoda's next big work, WHICH WILL BE DONE, I PROMISE YOU). First of all, I don't know if your OC is a TRUE OC or based on a Disney character. There are, of course, original characters in TW: Jack doesn't seem to come from anywhere specific, and it's hard to tell with several other characters. For example, most of the Heartslabyul students are clearly based on the Card Guards from Alice in Wonderland, but those characters in the film (and book) are really one solid unit, so they really do come across as original characters with a Card Guard motif beyond anything else. If your character is purely original, all you have to do is make sure they fit the style of this universe. If your OC is - as all of mine so far, and most in general, tend to be - a reimagining of a popular Disney Villain or other Disney Character, then you first have to look at what makes this villain who they are. All of the Night Raven students who are based on such characters - and that is the vast majority of them - have the sort of creative DNA of those characters in their personalities, motivations, and even appearance. Even with someone like Idia, there's a little something of Hades there; Leona takes a LOT from Scar; Azul goes in a somewhat different direction from Ursula (he's more like Mephistopheles or an old-time-gangster), but the basic idea of his modus operandi and elements of his look are found with her, as well. See what elements you think are most important to keep or throw out. And you WILL have to throw stuff out: the Disney Villains are usually pure evil. That's part of their appeal. Very few of them have much empathy or sympathy, what makes them interesting is usually just how much they ENJOY what they do, and how creatively they're handled, and how delectably they're voiced. No one watches Scar kill his own brother and try to murder a small child and thinks he's in the right; that's about the point where we stop finding him funny and instead think he's a right old git. But OH, how we love watching "Be Prepared," how we love seeing him toy with and tease people, and how we relish how much FUN Jeremy Irons is clearly having with every SYLLABLE of his dialogue. With Twisted Wonderland, the whole point of the "villains" of Night Raven is they really aren't villains at all. They're not always good people, but they aren't always bad, either. They all have sad and sympathetic origin stories, they all have understandable reasons for why they do the terrible things they do, and we like to see how they learn from their mistakes and even become friends and helpers to us. They are rounded, flawed people, not demons or lost causes. Your OC should be the same: someone the audience can understand on a fundamental level and find a way to latch onto. These characters can be dangerous, at times downright evil, but they should also be characters we care about: that's a BIG part of their identity, pretty much universally. Going back to Scar: with Leona, the first big change for his character is that he

legitimately cares for his family. Yes, he's annoyed by his nephew, and yes, he resents his big brother, but he makes it clear (perhaps without trying to, because Chernabog forbid he ADMITS having empathy) he does still love them. That, ultimately, above all else, is what separates him from his inspiration: Scar will kill and backstab anyone and enjoy it. Leona still has the capacity to care about other living creatures. Find what makes your inspiration tick, and then "twist" it up: if they're greedy, WHY are they greedy? If they're gluttons, is there anything you can add to that? If you can't find a way to justify your character, then you should probably consider trying a different one. Also, do try to stick with Disney characters. I guess there's nothing to say you can't do other franchises and such, but it feels like cheating to me to include non-Disney properties in a place like this. Then again, Disney freaking owns HALF THE BLOODY PLANET at this point, so that won't be too hard, I guess. :P Anyway...one last word of note: one very hard part is finding a way to make your character unique. I've come to find people have actually made a few different Kaa OCs, but none are the same as Nakoda. If you're familiar with people doing a lot of different versions of the same character, then make sure you're doing something that is truly your own: don't just riff off of someone else's work. Nako may be based on the same character as some of those others, but he's aaallllll mine. If you're not aware of it...then don't worry about it! Don't look it up, don't be discouraged, don't fret! Trust me, the more you freak out about if other people have had the same idea, the less inclined you'll be to try, and/or the more influenced you'll be. Just do what YOU like best. On top of that, be careful your character isn't too similar to other characters within the TW universe: one of the reasons I haven't and likely may not ever make a Shere Khan OC is because, as of now, I don't really know what I'd do with Shere Khan that other characters don't already have, on several levels. I love Shere Khan - he's one of my favorite Furry Preds - but I don't know what I'd do to make him all my own and make him different from both the canon cast and the OCs I've already planned or created. Again, you want your character to stand out and be all your own, as well as fitting for this universe. After all that...it's all aesthetics. Their powers, their designs, their names...maybe you have those ideas first, maybe you don't know yet. It doesn't really matter where you start - Billy and Nako both started with plot concepts, Eli and Reno both started with a desire to make OCs based on certain characters - but the basic idea is, what makes a TW OC interesting is this blend of elements: they need to be unique, and they need to be understandable, and they need to fit the rules and ideas of this world. I could say SO much more, but this post is lengthy enough, and I'm under medication, so I've probably been rambling for too long as it is. 'XD If you have any other questions I can answer more easily, you're always welcome to send them along.

[let-me-write-shit]

I love your writing! Can you please write a piece where y/n has been a friend of him for years (all one d years too) and she is famous as well (kinda maggie rogers vibe) they write songs together etc. After the heartbreak from Camille she is always there for him and they realise that they have always been in love with each other, a bit of angst ofc 😂 Thank you very much!! 😍😍

A/N: Thanks so much for the request and the kind messages when I was sick, @irelilien. I loved writing this. I know it’s probably not EXACTLY what you were thinking, but I hope you like it!! <3 <3 <3 

Warning:  ANGSTY ANGST ANGST!!!

Word Count: 3,961

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Started Off As Friends

“Will you relax, Harry?” you laugh, scooting to the edge of the office chair where you sat, reaching over and grabbing Harry’s hands away from his face to reveal his scrunched up eyebrows and dramatic frown, something he always did when he was frustrated. You took hold of his forearms as he pouted and tugged on your arms, making the wheels of your chair roll closer to him, your knees touching and his forehead falling towards your stomach.

Honestly, he could be such a baby sometimes. But as your hand instinctively plopped onto his head, running your fingers through his curls and massaging his scalp, you couldn’t help but smile. For years it had been like this; you and Harry were inseparable since the day you met. Back then he was still in One Direction and you just helped them write songs. You were one of the youngest songwriters on the team and they were impressed by it. Eventually, you began to release some of your own work, and when Harry went solo he often called on you to help with some of his songs, most of which always ended up on an album or being released.

You were there when his fame kicked off. He was there for you when you lost a family member. The two of you hardly even had so much of a fight, more like little bickers here and there. You were there through all of the One Direction drama including when you and Niall had a brief but scandalous (and absolutely not true) rumor spread that you were secretly dating and eloped, something Harry would cry laugh over whenever it was brought up. After all, if there would be any rumors of secret relationships between you and a member of One Direction, it would be with Harry. You were the closest out of all of them. You two had been through a lot in your friendship. More than most. And that included heartbreak.

You’d met practically every girlfriend he’d ever had. You knew details of his relationships that you really didn’t need to know about. And you’d been the subject of many jealous fights. But he’d always have your back. Until Camille.

Everything started great. You thought things had been going so well between them and Camille seemed to really like you. Oftentimes you’d get together just the two of you and have a girl’s night. But everything changed the night of one of your concerts. You were playing in London and the couple came to support. Throughout the night they had a lot to drink and each time you looked down things seemed to get increasingly more tense between the pair. Towards the end, it looked like a full-blown argument had ensued and they both stormed out of the arena. You assumed they were just going to talk it out and would meet you backstage afterward. You assumed Harry would fill you in on all the details later. But hours had passed and everyone had already backed up to leave. It wasn’t like Harry to just leave without saying anything. You called and texted but got no response. Not until the next day.

‘So sorry for leaving like that. We’ll talk later. -H’

But you never did. He practically ghosted you, only getting brief, cryptic texts or calls at random points in the day. The emotional circle-jerk you went through was next-level. Confusion, anger, sadness, indifference, and back to confusion. It was a never-ending cycle. You had later come to find that he only talked to you when Camille wasn’t around. And if she found out you were in communication, another argument would ensue and you’d hear about it whenever Harry called to complain. That’s all it was; a few calls and texts to whine about his relationship until the texts and calls stopped altogether. You hadn’t even seen his face for nearly seven months. For the longest time, you wanted to cry. You felt betrayed.

And finally, a month ago, after seven months of waiting, you had decided you were going to let him go and stop waiting around for him. But, when your phone rang at 11 PM that same night, your toughness crumbled to the ground. You had half a mind to yell and let it all out, or to just hang up, but you couldn’t. Not to him. Not when his heart was breaking. Instead, you invited him over. You must have drunk two whole bottles of wine by yourself, listening as Harry cried about his breakup and catching you up on all the issues they had. And you helped him through it.

For weeks he stayed with you so he didn’t have to be alone. You’d distract him with movies and games, stay up all hours of the night listening and reassuring him. You’d cry with him, laugh with him, and eventually, you’d help him channel his feelings into music. The two of you had written more songs than you can count about Camille and he finally had a sense of what he wanted his new album to sound like, picking a selection of songs on a demo and bringing it over to get your thoughts.

Listening to it brought on its own type of heartache for you. You remembered writing some of those lyrics with him. You remembered how broken you felt having to act like nothing was wrong and you were just happy to have him back. But the truth was, you were still hurt. You never did find out why he left so suddenly in the first place and coming back to you after all that time felt more like a slap in the face than anything. He knew you’d welcome him back with open arms He knew he could take advantage of your friendship because he knew how much he meant to you. Or, at least, he had an idea.

By the end of the demo, Harry looked so unsure that you were almost certain he’d start to freak out and second-guess himself. He rolled his head on your lap so that his cheek was against your thigh and groaned, “It feels like it’s missing something. Maybe I should have added ‘She’s Flames’.”

You shook your head as he sat up, “No. It’s perfect.”

“But what if-”

“No,” you cut him off, looking deeply into his eyes, “I wouldn’t change a thing. Not a single word, not a single piano key, not a single song, not even a single song order. Harry, it’s perfect.”

He relaxed his shoulders, letting his lips twitch upwards into a smile, and when he finally spoke, he took her hands in his again and said, “What would I do without you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, slipping your hands back and spinning in your chair to face your computer again, clicking away at the screen and layering instrumentals on your own music you were working on before he came over. Having a little makeshift studio in your flat helped when you couldn’t get in any time at a proper studio.

“Probably sulk at your own house instead of mine,” you mumbled, trying your best to sound like you’re joking.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” he whined, switching seats to a roller chair next to you.

You ignored him and continued to work while he talked beside you about possible release dates for his album, cover art, and which songs he wanted to have as his singles. You listened, adding your input where needed, as he carried on, grabbing your phone off the desk beside you and entering in your passcode. You didn’t mind, it was something the two of you always did. There was never any malice or reason behind it, it was just out of sheer boredom. You’d often scroll through each other’s social media dashboard or pictures. You had nothing to hide. Or, so you thought.

You became so hyperfocused on what you were doing that you almost didn’t hear it. It blended in with what you were working on so much that the sound of your voice singing from the speaker of the Harry held in his hands almost went unnoticed. But by the time you realized what he was listening to and snapped your attention to him, the damage was already done.

The knife of insight tore its way in me

A brash collision without sympathy

And maybe when the sun goes down I’ll come round, I’ll come out

Maybe we could take some time,

Unwind, figure out

When the knife of insight tore its way in me

Hit me up if you’re feeling down

Give a little, oh we’ll figure this out

Keep me up, keep my mind around

After dark, after light

Let it go if you want get loud

Make a little fuss, oh its all allowed

Beautiful how it all pours out

After dark, after light

Oh the knife of insight brought me to my knees

Broke me down and taught me how to see

And I know and I know and I know

That maybe we should take some time

Get this out, make this right

Maybe when the sun goes down I’ll come round, tell you all about

When the knife of insight brought me to my knees …..

You were at a loss for words, caught off-guard by him finding that voice note of a song you had recorded late one night three months ago. You could hear the wooshing of cars passing by in the background, remembering you recorded it on a drive to meet up with friends for dinner and didn’t want to forget the wave of creativity. Funny thing was, you completely forgot all about it.

You searched his face, hoping he didn’t understand what you were singing about But Harry wasn’t stupid. He’s worked with you long enough now to know your writing style. And with one look at the time stamp of the recording, he could tell this was written in the thick of when he had stopped seeing you.

“What’s this?” he asked softly, looking up at you.

He knew, he just wanted to hear you say it. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of an explanation, though. For weeks you had thought about what to say or how to confront him for what he did. But confrontation was never your strong suit and all the rehearsed speech had suddenly vanished from your memory.

Quickly, you grabbed your phone out of his hand and shut the music off, “Just something I was working on. Forgot it was still on there.”

He watched as your body tensed, hastily shoving your phone in your pocket. He could see right through your nonchalant attitude and he pressed again, “Is it about me?”

“Harry,” you breathed, forcing a laugh. But your refusal to look him in the eyes was your tell.

“It is, isn’t it?” His question sounded more like an answer, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“How you felt,” he turned your chair so that you were forced to face him and you looked nervously up at him through your eyelashes, his expression sincere, “Obviously you were hurt about whatever I did.”

Your mouth fell and he seemed to realize almost instantly that he had a poor choice of words. But, before either of you could say anything, Harry’s phone began to ring on the coffee table, catching both of your attention. And by a cruel coincidence, you saw that it was Camille calling him. His eyes widened and hastily silenced his phone, but the damage was done. You let out an incredulous laugh and stood up.

“It’s getting late. I think it’s time for you to leave,” you said firmly, avoiding his gaze.

You heard him stutter. He wasn’t used to you being stern with him. “What? Why? No, please, let’s talk about this.”

“Talk?” You laughed angrily, “You want to talk? Now? That’s rich coming from you! Alright, Harry, let’s talk, then,” your words were like ice and your heart pounded, finally getting the courage to look at him as you let it all out, “Ten years you’ve been one of my best friends. I’ve done so much for you. I’ve put up with a lot being your friend. All the backlash and drama and spite from your horrible girlfriends. But you always had my back Until her,” you motioned towards his phone.

His eyes fluttered, listening to you get angry. It was a side of you that rarely showed. And when your voice began to crack, he gulped.

You continued, “I was always nice to her. Always. Until one random day, she decided to hate me for no reason. And what did you do? Nothing! You ran after her like a lost puppy and avoided me for almost a year!”

“I didn’t avoid you!” Harry shot back, defensively.

“You didn’t avoid me?” you laughed in a hiss. “Harry, you dodged all of my calls and texts! I never saw you! And when we did talk, the Queen herself couldn’t know about it or you’d have another fight!”

“Don’t call her that. That’s not fair,” he pleaded.

“You want to talk about fair? The way you treated me wasn’t fair! All I was to you in those seven months was someone to complain to, but only if I was kept a secret!”

“That’s not true. Besides, it’s not like you ever complained at the time! You should have said something!”

“I shouldn’t have had to! You’ve always had my back and ended things with other girlfriends for a lot less!”

“I can’t keep ending relationships just because you don’t like them!”

“I never asked you to!” your voices were getting louder now, almost certain that if someone was passing by your open window, they’d be able to hear every word. “Never once did I ask you to break up with anyone or even hint at disliking them. You always did that on your own!”

“Because you’re my friend!” he shot back, his eyebrows furrowing and the crinkles by his eyes more prominent. Your back and forth was quicker now. Both of you speaking even faster.

“Then why did it change with her? Friends don’t treat friends as a last resort!”

“How did I treat you like a last resort? Because of a few missed calls and canceled plans? I was busy!”

“For seven months? No, you weren’t, Harry! You were a coward!”

“And you were jealous!”

“So what?” you snapped back. You could see the shock in Harry’s eyes, but you kept going, “So what if I was? It never made me treat you like dog shit on the bottom of my shoe! You ignore me for weeks at a time and when I finally get a response it’s because you’re crying about another fight you had with her and how neither of you trusts each other. Did I complain once? No. I listened. I never turned my back on you because that’s what a good friend does.”

“That’s what a good friend does? So now I’m not a food friend?” Harry scoffed, “I can’t read fucking minds, Y/N! How am I supposed to know you’re upset if you don’t tell me?”

“How am I supposed to tell you if you never answer my calls?!”

“I came back!” Harry yelled, “I’ve seen you almost every day for a month! You’ve had plenty of time!”

“Did I?” you sneered, “Harry, you were heartbroken about your breakup! What would you suppose I do? Tack on some more reasons for you to feel sorry for yourself? Cry about how you were mean and broke my heart? You didn’t need me getting after you! I recorded an idea for a song on my phone, and now you’re mad because I expressed my feelings in a song that you were never meant to hear?”

“You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, Y/N!”

“You think you could have handled the added guilt?” you should back, bordering the edge of condescension, “I helped you write two albums worth of breakup songs about her, Harry! I sat here for hours a day every single day for weeks helping you write lyric after lyric explaining your love for a woman that hated me!” you were on the verge of tears now. “And here I am, the idiot helping you through it, only to find out you’re still talking to her!”

“I’m not talking to her! I called to ask if I could put something in a song!” Harry shot back, “And she didn’t hate you!”

“How can you not see it?” you breathed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I have to watch a man I care so much about going through shitty relationship after shitty relationship. And I’m here, like always, waiting for you to wake up and see that you deserve better! You can’t even admit what you did because you’re too busy defending a girl that broke your heart!”

“I’m not defending her, Y/N! I’m sorry that I hurt you, but it’s not her fault! She didn’t hate you, she was just jealous and untrusting and she had every reason to feel that way!”

Heat rose to your face and your voice got more fierce, “I always treated her with respect! And I never gave her a reason to feel that way!”

“You didn’t, but I did!”

“What does that even mean?! Why would she hate me for something I didn’t even do? That doesn’t even make any sense, Harry! You avoided me for months and you’d argue if she found out you were talking to me, and you’re saying that it had nothing to do with me?”

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of,” he started to get flustered and began talking faster, “It was my decision, not hers. And I’m not defending her. I wanted to talk to you, Y/N, but I couldn’t!”

You were getting angrier. It felt like you were going around in circles with Harry and you were frustrated that he wouldn’t give a direct answer. “Why? You keep beating around the bush instead of just giving me a reason! What possible reason could you have for dropping a friend of ten years out of nowhere? I didn’t do anything! So, why?”

“Because I accidentally told her that I’m in love with you!” he blurted out.

His voice was loud and perturbed. But as soon as the words left his mouth he knew he might have just made a huge mistake. Harry never meant to tell you. He was perfectly happy with keeping this a secret for as long as it took to get over you.

You froze, sitting backward and raising your eyebrows, mouth ajar, “You what?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he spoke quickly, trying to justify himself, “We were drunk at your concert and, I don’t know, it just kind of came out and we started arguing. I didn’t even realize what I had said until the next morning when she was still angry.”

The memories of the night of your concert came flooding back. Images of their slowly fading happy faces turned to anger and fighting started to make sense. But what he was saying didn’t. He was in love with you? Surely he didn’t mean that. He showed no inclination of romantic feelings towards you. There had to be a misunderstanding. What he meant to say was ‘he loved you like a sister’.

When you didn’t speak, he continued to try and explain himself, hurriedly speaking again; something you hardly ever saw from him. Usually he was calm and cool, even when faced with uncomfortable situations.

“I tried to tell her I didn’t mean it and I had no clue why I said that, but she didn’t believe me. She kept saying ,‘I see the way you look at her’ and ‘Everyone knows it. I’m not stupid!’. So I just kept telling her she was crazy and started talking to you less and less to prove her wrong. But she never trusted me after that. And whenever she found out I was talking to you, it gave her more reason.”

“I-” you tried to speak, but he just kept talking, more unsettled now, “I kept trying to tell myself it was nothing. But when we broke up, the first person I thought of was you. I knew you were probably angry with me, but you helped me anyway. You were there for me like you always are. And I knew that Camille was right. It was always you. And honestly, I hated you for it.”

You recoiled, surprised as he started to get more agitated. He continued, “You were there since the start of it and you made me set this impossibly high standard for my relationships! That’s why they all failed miserably! That’s why they all hated you! Because they knew they couldn’t live up to you!”

“You’re blaming me for this?” you argued back, “I didn’t make you compare anyone to me! I didn’t even know because you were too chicken shit to say anything to me!”

“I couldn’t say anything to you! You were my best friend! I didn’t want to lose you! Those few months we didn’t talk were hell! I thought about you every day! Besides, what difference would it have made if I did tell you? You can’t honestly tell me you felt the same!”

“Stop assuming you know how I feel!”

“Well, am I wrong?!” he shot back, seething.

“Yes! You’re wrong!”

There was silence, the two of you just staring at each other, faces filled with frustration. His eyes flickered across your face, looking for some kind of sign as both of your chests rose and fell. His tongue grazed his lips, wetting them from all the yelling. And like the flash of light, both of you lunged forward at each other.

The mess of hands wildly roaming each other’s bodies and tangling in each other’s hair was dizzying. Hungrily, your tongues circled as if you were starved and the only salvation left was his breath entwined with yours. You both stood, only to be pushed backward on your desk, your keyboard slipping out from under you and crashing to the floor. You could feel your back press against your monitor as you eagerly fidgeted with the buttons on Harry’s shirt and before you could undo the last one, he had already managed to undo yours, pulling it down your arms and tossing it somewhere to the side.

Harry became impatient, finally pulling away from your lips and tanking open his shirt, making the last button pop off and roll underneath the desk. You for your first good look at each other; panting, out of breath. Half-naked, you could see every tattoo on his chest that you had always longed to kiss under the dim light of your flat and the veins in his arms bulged as he gripped onto the desk underneath your thighs. His eyes looked fierce and almost rabid as he looked you up and down. There was a moment of pause and thought. Slowly the two of you cracked a smile. And the smile turned into light laughter.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Harry whispered, pressing his forehead against yours and weaving his fingers through your hair just behind your ears as the warmth of his palms lay flat against your cheek.

You smiled, closing your eyes and placing your hands over top of his, breathing in his scent as you softly spoke, “Probably just as long as I’ve waited for you to do it.” And you gently pressed your lips to his once more.

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

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans

[eutaerpe]

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings—  smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary —  the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

 Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

 You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

 Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

 You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

 Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

 You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

 Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

 You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

 Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

 Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

 You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

 Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

 You

[12.52]

;p

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

 Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

 You

[12.52]

i

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

 Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

 You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

 Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

 You

[12.53]

you didn’t

 Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

 Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

 Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

/

 The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

 Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

 Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

 (“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

 The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

/

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

/

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

/

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)