#IM SO NERVOUS ABOUT THIS OMG

[cybergracie]

the white lotus ⋆ ˚｡⋆ chapter one

✧ the art of being invisible ✧

wc: 7.5k

pairing: personal assistant!oc x family reunion attendee!hyunjin

synopsis: Gemma Parker has spent years keeping things under control -- her career, her emotions, her impossible boss. But when a work trip takes her to a luxury resort in Italy, she finds herself slipping into a world of salty air, stolen moments, and lingering glances with a boy who sees right through her carefully built walls. Hyunjin is charming, frustrating, and absolutely not a part of her plan -- but as the trip stretches on and their paths keep crossing, Gemma starts to wonder if she's been chasing the wrong dream all along. Because sometimes, the best stories aren't the ones you plan -- they're the ones you never see coming.

masterlist | dividers by @strangergraphics

There are two kinds of writers in the world. 

The ones whose names are printed in bold on the spines of bestsellers, who get flown to Italy for exclusive literary retreats at five-star beach resorts, who sip Aperol Spritzes at golden hour while talking about ‘the craft’ as if they weren’t just regurgitating half-baked ideas in expensive clothing. 

And then there are the ones like me. The ones who pick up the scraps, who scramble for a piece of the pie by making the reservations, by handling the tantrums, by sending polite decline emails with just the right amount of fake regret. The ones who run on caffeine and damage control, who sit in the back of luxury cars, juggling schedules and power dynamics like some kind of uncredited assistant to the universe itself. 

The ones who are invisible. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was always supposed to be the first kind of writer. The kind people read. The kind whose words mattered.

Instead, I was here. At a flashy beachfront resort in Southern Italy, watching my boss – world-famous novelist and professional narcissist Celeste Laurent – flirt with the valet, even though she had spent the entire flight complaining about how ‘the service industry was dead to her’ after a slight inconvenience involving a missing bottle of imported sparkling water. 

Celeste was the kind of woman who made a scene wherever she went. That was the power of being her. She demanded attention, and even worse, she got it.

I, on the other hand, was twenty-six, exhausted, and still trying to convince myself that working for her was a step toward my dream rather than a slow, calculated erasure of it.

“You should be grateful,” my best friend had told me when I landed this job. “Celeste Laurent is a library legend. Think of the connections! The industry knowledge!”

Yeah. The knowledge that no one takes you seriously when you’re the person fetching dry cleaning and fixing wifi connections.

That’s how I ended up here – at one of the most exclusive resort chains in the world, surrounded by ridiculous wealth, ridiculous egos, and ridiculous men who wore linen suits unironically – with no manuscript, no articles, no actual work of my own to show for the last two years of my life. 

Celeste’s nasally voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. 

“Gemma, stop standing around. We have a suite to get to. And I’m going to need a Negroni before I unpack – why does check-in always take so long? Is it a global conspiracy against successful people?”

I sighed, adjusting the strap of my bag. This was going to be a long trip.

The check-in desk at the Villa Fiorella Resort & Spa was a pristine marble monstrosity, its sleek Italian design almost mocking me for how out of place I felt. The air smelled expensive – some kind of citrus-and-bergamot scent pumped through hidden vents, designed to lull you into thinking life was effortless when, in reality, some underpaid assistant had probably spent three hours this morning ensuring that the ambience of wealth and success remained undisturbed.

“Welcome to Villa Fiorella,” the concierge purred in a silky Italian accent, flashing a smile so polished it belonged in an ad for luxury travel. “Checking in?”

Before I could open my mouth, Celeste swept forward, oversized designer sunglasses still perched on her face despite being indoors. She had perfected the aura of don’t waste my time years ago, and she wielded it now like a weapon. 

“Celeste Laurent. Presidential suite.” She didn’t bother with pleasantries. Celeste didn’t ask for things – she expected them to materialize in front of her.

The concierge’s smile faltered. Here we go…

“Ah, yes, Ms. Laurent. However, there was a slight adjustment to the suite allocation –”

I winced preemptively. 

Celeste’s head tilted slightly, her lips pursing in the way they did when she sensed incompetence. “An adjustment?” she repeated, the temperature in the lobby seeming to drop.

I was already pulling out my phone, opening my email, bracing for impact. 

“There was an unexpected extension of a VIP guest’s stay in the suite you originally booked,” the concierge explained, shifting his weight. “But we have upgraded you to a penthouse villa with a private infinity pool, which I can assure you is –”

“Upgraded?” Celeste scoffed. “I booked the presidential suite six months ago. You expect me to believe it’s no longer available? For who?”

“I’m afraid we can’t disclose –”

“Let me guess. Some man who threw money at you last minute? A footballer? A tech billionaire? Someone who collects yachts instead of books?”

This was Celeste’s favorite game – intellectual elitism mixed with barely disguised disdain for anyone who had more money than her. 

The concierge’s composure wavered. “I can assure you, Ms. Laurent, the penthouse villa is actually more spacious and offers –”

“Gemma.”

Oh no.

“Fix this.”

There it was. My cue.

I swallowed my sigh and stepped forward with my best ‘I apologize for my employer’ smile.

“I do understand the… misunderstanding,” I said smoothly, as if Celeste weren’t radiating do you know who I am energy beside me. “We appreciate your help, and I’m sure we can find a solution that works for everyone.”

The concierge visibly relaxed, as most people did when I stepped in. I was the soft buffer between Celeste’s unfiltered chaos and the real world. The translator for her literary-goddess-turned-tyrant persona. 

“I will personally make sure everything is to her satisfaction,” I added. “And perhaps… some complimentary drinks while we get settled?”

The concierge jumped at the peace offering, glancing between me and Celeste. “Of course, signorina! The bar is at your disposal.”

Celeste sniffed, clearly still irritated, but accepted the free drinks as a temporary truce. 

Crisis averted. For now. 

I took a steadying breath, signaling for the bellhop to grab our luggage. Maybe if I got Celeste drunk enough, she’d forget to make me rewrite and send all her email drafts before dinner. I turned back to the check-in desk – only to catch a dark pair of eyes watching me from across the room. 

A man. No – a boy, no older than me. Tall, lean, with black hair that fell a little too perfectly over his forehead. He was casually elegant, draped in a linen shirt that looked effortlessly wrinkled in a way only rich people could pull off. He was standing beside a group of other guests – family, from the looks of it. They were talking, laughing, radiating the kind of relaxed ease that people like me never had. 

But he wasn’t paying attention to them. He was looking at me.

And I knew this because the moment our eyes met, he smirked. Like he had just witnessed that whole interaction and found it entertaining. 

I felt annoyingly warm. My pulse did a weird thing I refused to acknowledge. I quickly looked away, forcing myself to focus on the check-in process, on getting Celeste upstairs before she started a literary revolution in the lobby. 

But I could still feel his gaze lingering. 

And as I signed off on our room details, I heard his cousin – brother? – loudly say something in broken Italian that I didn’t understand, but I absolutely understood the tone. The universal tone of flirtation. I glanced up, just in time to see the boy roll his eyes before grabbing his leering relative by the collar and physically dragging him away. 

“Apologies for him,” he called over his shoulder, giving me one last look, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

Then he was gone. 

And I absolutely, definitely did not watch him walk away. 

The penthouse villa was obnoxiously extravagant – floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bluest stretch of ocean I’d ever seen, crisp white linens, marble floors that my salary could never even laugh at, and a private infinity pool shimmering under the late afternoon sun. 

And yet, I knew before even stepping inside that it wouldn’t be good enough for Celeste. 

“Too modern,” she would say. “Too sterile. No character.” As if she weren’t the living embodiment of a New York Times op-ed about modernism’s death.

Still, I did my job. I unpacked her suitcases, lined up her vitamins, laid out her beauty products. I took a lap through the villa, checking every ridiculous detail – pillows fluffed, minibar stocked, god forbid the staff forgot her handwritten welcome note. 

Everything was perfect. Which meant Celeste would find something to complain about within the first five minutes. 

But that was future me’s problem. Present me had one singular goal: station Celeste at the bar and ensure that she was well on her way to being too drunk to micromanage me.

I made my way back to the lobby bar, where Celeste was already holding court on one of the plush velvet stools, sipping a Negroni and pretending to enjoy the company of men who were, I assumed, ‘important’ in some vague publishing-adjacent way.

I sat my bag down and leaned in. “Everything is ready for you in the villa. The staff is on standby for whatever you need.”

Celeste didn’t even glance at me. “Gemma, darling, don’t hover. Have a drink. Relax.”

That was Celeste’s favorite brand of condescension – telling me to relax while making it physically impossible to do so.

“You’re right. You should enjoy yourself. Call me if you need anything,” I replied smoothly, already backing away. The best way to handle Celeste sometimes was to leave her to her own devices. By my estimation, she’d be three drinks deep in twenty minutes, possibly on the verge of drunkenly calling an ex-husband or just fully passing out on her ultra-king size mattress.

Which meant I had exactly one small window of freedom. And I took my chance.

The resort’s outdoor terrace was quiet, the sun dipping lower, casting gold across the rolling waves. I settled into a lounge chair, pulled out my phone, and started going over the itinerary for the next week. Celeste was notoriously unpredictable, but I had planned this trip down to the minute, balancing appearances, workshops, and just enough leisure to keep her from snapping. 

Tomorrow, Celeste would attend the welcome dinner hosted by the resort, a mix of media personalities and publishing execs that she would either love or emotionally eviscerate. That left the majority of the daytime free, which I assumed she would fill with spa treatments or day drinking. Tuesday she would attend a Q&A event at a historic Italian library, Wednesday a boat tour, and Thursday through Sunday would be the literary retreat – the entire reason she was here. An elite event filled with authors, critics, and self-proclaimed visionaries who would spend hours discussing narrative structure while sipping wine that cost more than my rent. 

I scrolled through my notes, mentally adjusting for potential crises, making sure I was ten steps ahead of whatever bullshit Celeste would inevitably throw my way. I had built my entire career around managing chaos. I knew how to stay in control. 

And yet…

Something pulled my focus. Movement just beyond the terrace – a small group of men passing through the courtyard, speaking in low, easy laughter.

And there he was. Linen shirt. Messy dark hair. That same amused, sharp gaze. 

I froze, watching as he strode past with his relatives, all of them radiating the kind of effortless confidence that came with being both rich and stupidly good-looking. 

And he was looking at me, again. He hesitated, just for a second, just long enough for me to notice, like he wanted to stop, like he wanted to say something. But before he could, one of his cousins grabbed his arm, pulling him into the conversation, dragging him forward. He glanced back one last time before disappearing around the corner. 

I felt my lips quirk. It was the smallest reaction – barely there – but undeniable.

A spark. Of what, I wasn’t sure. Excitement? Curiosity? Something else entirely? 

I exhaled, shaking it off, forcing myself back into my itinerary. I had more important things to focus on.

But still… I caught myself tapping my fingers against my phone screen, barely absorbing the words in front of me. Because now, in the back of my mind, there was a boy with dark eyes and a smile that felt like a secret. And I wanted to know what it was. 

By the time I made it back to Celeste’s villa, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, casting the resort in a hazy glow of dimly lit lanterns and distant laughter. I braced myself before stepping inside, mentally preparing for whatever state she’d be in – throwing a tantrum, complaining about the air conditioning, or, worst-case scenario, bored and looking for someone to torment. 

But when I walked in, I found her in a rare form of calm. She was curled up on the sprawling white sofa, robe loosely tied around her waist, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that almost made her look approachable. A half-empty tumbler of something expensive rested on the glass coffee table beside an open leather notebook, where she had been actually writing.

Celeste barely looked up as I walked in, lazily flipping a page. “Oh, there you are. Thought maybe you finally ran away.”

“I wish,” I muttered, setting my bag down. 

She smirked. “If you were going to quit, you would’ve done it ages ago. You love me too much.”

“Love is a strong word.”

“Fine. You tolerate me. But don’t pretend you won’t miss the chaos when you finally leave.”

I scoffed but didn’t argue. Celeste had an annoyingly sharp way of reading people – when she wasn’t busy being insufferable. For a moment, there was just silence. The sounds of the waves outside, the soft flick of a page turning. It was weird. Unsettling, even. Celeste being quiet meant she was either deeply focused or on the brink of passing out.

“You’re actually writing?” I asked, crossing my arms. 

“Obviously,” she drawled, taking another slow sip of her drink. 

“Wow. A whole paragraph? That’s impressive.”

“Watch it, Parker.” She arched a brow but didn’t seem annoyed – which was always a good sign.

I sighed, toeing off my shoes as I sat on the opposite end of the couch. “So, you’re in a good mood. Should I be concerned?”

Celeste smirked. “I’m relaxed. This place isn’t so bad. The villa has a certain… minimalist charm.”

I nearly laughed. Minimalist charm. This was the closest she’d ever come to admitting she liked something. “And let me guess,” I teased. “This mood has nothing to do with the alcohol?”

“Oh, darling, it has everything to do with the alcohol.”

This time I laughed. I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong. Celeste could be an absolute nightmare, but when she was tipsy – just the right level of drunk – she softened. The sharp edges dulled. The version of her that had once been young and idealistic and actually excited about writing peeked through.

“I want to go on the tour tomorrow. The one the resort hosts,” she announced suddenly. “Move anything important to later so I can soak up the history of this place. Oh, and get me another bottle of this before you go.”

I nodded, glad I had reviewed her itinerary to know she didn’t have anything planned until tomorrow evening, which left her day wide open to join whatever tour she was referencing. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

“Maybe a breakfast spread.”

“Of course. Only the best for you.”

She clinked her glass against the air in a mock cheers, already shifting back to her notebook. 

I stood, stretching. “Try not to die in your sleep or anything.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Parker. Besides, you’d miss me.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, heading for the door. It was one of those rare moments where I remembered why I hadn’t quit yet. Because Celeste, for all her flaws, was still one of the most brilliant minds in publishing. She had clawed her way up, built an empire of words, and somehow, someway, I had ended up in her orbit. 

Maybe, if I stuck around long enough, I’d figure out how to do the same. 

By the time I had finished settling everything for Celeste – confirming her addition to the tour hosted by the resort, ensuring her breakfast would be delivered right when she woke up, and bribing the concierge with my most charming smile to keep a running tab on her preferences – I was exhausted. 

I made my way to my own suite, smaller, tucked away, and far less extravagant, but mercifully quiet. It was one of the few perks of my job – Celeste traveled like royalty, and her staff, though severely underpaid, at least got decent accommodations.

I kicked off my shoes, rolled my stiff shoulders, and exhaled slowly. Then, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. 

I pulled out my laptop, opened a blank document, and stared at it. 

The cursor blinked. I tried to write. But nothing came. 

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting for the words, for something to hit me, for the feeling I used to get – when stories lived in my head, begging to be let out. But all I could think about was itineraries. Reservations. Celeste’s fucking coffee order. 

I had spent so long managing someone else’s life that I had lost my own voice. 

After an hour of getting exactly nowhere, I sighed, slamming the laptop shut. 

I needed air. 

The resort had its fair share of late-night drinkers and wealthy couples meandering about, but the beach itself was nearly deserted. It stretched wide and empty under the glow of the moon, the sand still warm beneath my feet. The waves rolled lazily onto the shore, a soothing hum against the otherwise quiet night. 

I walked, letting the weight of the day slip off my shoulders. Celeste. My job. The gnawing frustration of feeling stuck, uninspired, unseen. How had I gotten here? This wasn’t the dream.

The dream had been bylines, published articles, stories that mattered. The dream had been words flowing freely, not gathering dust at the back of my mind while I booked spa appointments for a woman who could barely even send an email. 

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I had let myself disappear. I sank onto the sand, pulling my knees to my chest, watching the waves as if they might have answers. 

And then – a flicker of red. 

A tiny, moving speck of light in the distance. 

At first, I thought I was imagining it – some reflection of the moon, a trick of my tired mind. But no, it was real. A little red flashlight, weaving slowly along the shoreline. I frowned, watching it drift closer. 

Then, I saw him. The boy from earlier. Linen shirt, knowing smirk, stolen glances. He was alone, moving at a slow, unhurried pace, the red light swaying lazily with each step. And before I could scramble away, he saw me, too. 

I froze as he approached me, watching as he hesitated for a moment. Then, in a voice lower, softer than I expected, he asked, “Would you like some company?”

I sized him up, letting the moment stretch between us. Up close, he was even more unfairly pretty than I had initially realized. The kind of good looks that felt unintentional – sharp jawline softened by the dim glow of the moon, dark hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it absentmindedly. His linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to make me suspect he had absolutely no concept of the word effort, of trying too hard. He didn’t need to.

But what caught me off guard wasn’t any of that. It was the way he looked at me – like he was curious. Like he wasn’t just offering polite conversation to be nice. Like he actually wanted to be here.

I considered saying no. I didn’t do vacation flings. I didn’t do getting to know beautiful strangers on the beach in the middle of the night. 

But then I thought about how exhausted I was with being practical. About how I had spent the last two years watching Celeste live her life while mine shrank into a series of itineraries and coffee runs.

And then I thought – fuck it.

“Sure,” I said, patting the sand beside me. 

His eyes lit up, and I watched as the corner of his mouth quirked, amused, like he knew I had just fought some internal battle before making my decision. Smug. I should’ve been annoyed, but instead, I found myself biting back a smile. 

He lowered himself onto the sand, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back onto his palms like he belonged anywhere he sat. “So,” he said, tilting his head toward me. “Do I get a name?”

“That depends,” I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “Do I?”

His grin widened. “Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin. That name suited him. I let it settle in my mind before offering mine. “Gemma.”

“Gemma,” he repeated, slow and thoughtful, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. Something about the way he said it made my stomach do a weird, annoying flip.

I cleared my throat, gesturing to the flashlight in his hand. “And what’s with the red light, exactly? You planning some kind of secret heist?”

Hyunjin chuckled, holding it up between us. “Nothing that exciting. I heard red light is best to use during turtle hatching season. It doesn’t confuse them like regular flashlights.”

I blinked, caught off guard again. “Wait. You’re telling me you’re out here… searching for baby turtles?”

“Obviously,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

I studied him for a long moment. The soft glow of the red light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. I could make out a tiny mole right beneath his eye. “Huh,” I murmured. 

“Huh?” he echoed, arching a brow. 

“I just wouldn’t have guessed ‘turtle enthusiast’ when I first saw you.”

He smirked. “And what would you have guessed?”

“I don’t know,” I mused, pretending to think. “Maybe ‘trust fund kid who collects expensive sneakers and doesn’t know how to do laundry.’”

Hyunjin barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “You wound me, Gemma,” he said dramatically, hand over his chest. 

“I’m just saying, you’ve got a bit of a look.”

“A look?”

“Yeah. This whole ‘I-woke-up-like-this-and-have-never-worked-a-day-in-my-life’ aesthetic.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Maybe I just have good genetics.”

“Right,” I muttered, shaking my head.

He grinned, studying me in return, as if he was also trying to figure me out. “And you?” he asked, his voice softer now. “What’s your ‘look?’”

I shrugged. “‘Overworked personal assistant in a constant state of existential crisis.’”

He chuckled. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You have no idea.”

For a while, we just sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before us, waves rolling in and out, the space between us shrinking without either of us moving. 

I should’ve been back in my room. I should’ve been asleep, resting up for another day of playing Celeste’s shadow. But instead, I was on a beach with a boy I didn’t know, watching his red flashlight flicker across the sand. He had this way of looking at me – not quite intense, not quite teasing, but something in between. Something that made me feel like he saw more than I wanted him to.

“So,” I said, tilting my head at him, trying to get my bearings. “What’s a turtle enthusiast like yourself doing here in Italy?”

“Family reunion,” he answered easily, dragging his fingers through the sand. “My grandfather’s Italian. My grandmother’s Korean. They met in Milan, moved to Seoul, had my dad, et cetera et cetera, and now here we are – visiting my dad’s roots.” 

I blinked, surprised. “So you’re like, a quarter Italian?”

“That would be the math, yeah.”

“Huh.” I took a good look at him. The sharp cheekbones, the full lips, the dark features – it all made sense now. “That explains a lot.”

He smirked. “Like what?”

“Like why you look like a Renaissance painting but also like you could headline a K-pop group.”

Hyunjin laughed, loud and unrestrained, and I had the distinct, annoying thought that I might get addicted to the sound.

“Well,” he mused, watching me now with interest, “that would be fitting, considering I’m an artist.”

That made me pause. Artist?

“Oh?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Like… you paint?”

“Sometimes. But mostly dance.”

Of course he dances. Of course he does.

“Seriously?” I tried to picture it, but the image was way too appealing, so I immediately shut it down. “Like, ballet? Ballroom? Hip-hop?”

“A little bit of everything,” he admitted, running his fingers through his hair, making it even messier than before. “I’m still figuring it out.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself. 

“What?” He turned toward me, amused. 

“Nothing,” I said, a little too fast. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, reading me too easily. “No, tell me.”

I exhaled, giving him a pointed look. “It must be nice.”

“What must be nice?”

“Having the luxury of ‘figuring it out.’”

His expression shifted – just a flicker, a small twitch of his lips, before he smirked like he knew exactly where my mind had gone. “Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “So that’s what this is about.”

I stiffened. “What what is about?”

“You think I’m some cushy rich kid who gets to float through life with no consequences.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but… well.

I wasn’t not thinking that.

“Am I wrong?” he teased, tilting his head.

“I just…” I exhaled, fighting the irritation creeping up my spine. “It’s hard not to be jealous of someone who gets to pursue their passions without worrying about, you know… survival.”

Hyunjin hummed, considering this. “So, what’s your passion, then?”

“Writing,” I admitted before I could overthink it. “I want to be a journalist.”

“And instead, you work for…?”

“Celeste Laurent.”

His eyebrows lifted. “The Celeste Laurent?”

“The one and only.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “That’s intense. No wonder you look like you need a vacation.”

I huffed a laugh. “I wish this was a vacation.”

“I take it your boss is a nightmare?”

“On a scale of one to Satan? She’s at least a solid eight and a half.”

Hyunjin chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze now. 

“And you think if you grind hard enough, you’ll get your shot?” he asked. 

“That’s the plan,” I said, even though it didn’t sound as convincing out loud as it used to in my head. 

There was a beat of silence. His gaze flickered over to my face, lingering a little longer than necessary. “You should let yourself breathe a little, you know.”

“And do what? Walk the beach with a stranger at midnight?”

“Exactly.” His smirk was entirely too self-satisfied, and before I could think better of it, I reached over and snatched the red flashlight out of his hand. 

“Hey!” he protested, laughing. 

“If you’re going to lecture me, the least you can do is let me use the fun toy,” I said, clicking it on and waving the little red beam across the sand. 

“Fun toy?” he repeated, offended. “This is top-tier turtle conservation technology!”

“Oh, of course. My mistake. I’m honored to be in the presence of such an elite environmentalist.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, but he was grinning. 

His gaze softened then, something fonder, heavier behind it. “You know,” he said, voice a little lower now. “You’re kind of cute when you’re not scowling at me.”

I stiffened, pulse skipping for just a second. “I do not scowl,” I shot back, choosing to focus on that instead of the heat creeping up my neck.

“Mmm.” He tipped his head to the side, considering. “I don’t know, Gemma. I’ve seen a lot of scowling.”

“Well, maybe that says more about you than me.”

“Maybe,” he said easily. “Or maybe I just like seeing you try to hide that you’re enjoying this.”

I turned toward him fully, meeting his gaze head-on. Big mistake.

Because up close, with the moonlight in his eyes and the lazy tilt of his smirk, he was unbelievably handsome.

And he knew it. 

I huffed, handing back his flashlight before I did something stupid, like let myself actually flirt back. “Go find your turtles, Romeo,” I muttered, shaking my head. 

He just grinned, clicking the flashlight on and off and waving it over the sand. “If I find one, you’re naming it.”

Hyunjin suddenly stood up, brushing sand off his pants, then turned to me and offered his hand. “Come on,” he said, palm open, fingers waiting. “Walk with me.”

I raised a skeptical brow. “Why?”

“Because,” he smirked, tilting his head toward the shore, “I know where the turtle nests are. If we’re lucky, we might see some hatching.”

I glanced at the flashlight now clutched in his other hand, the red glow softly illuminating the sand. “You’re really committed to this, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta care about the great turtle births of the Italian coast,” he quipped. “Maybe you can write an article about it. ‘An Exclusive Look at Nature’s Most Underrated Spectacle.’”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the way my lips twitched upward. “That’s a terrible headline.”

“You’re right. Should probably workshop it.” His grin widened. “Walk with me anyway.”

I hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand. 

It would be easy for me to say no. To tell him I was tired, that I had to work tomorrow. That I didn’t have time to go gallivanting through the sand at midnight with a boy who smiled like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted. 

But then I thought about the blank page of my laptop, the way my chest had felt too tight all day, how much I needed something – anything – to remind me why I even wanted to write in the first place. 

And maybe – just maybe – this was it. 

I exhaled, placing my hand in his. 

His fingers curled around mine, warm, steady. 

“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I trip in the dark and die, I’m haunting you forever.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he said, smirking as he pulled me up. 

We strolled along the beach, the quiet hum of waves filling the spaces between us. Hyunjin kept the red flashlight low, sweeping it gently over the sand, scanning for signs of movement. “So,” he said, glancing at me. “Where’s home for you?”

I hesitated, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan. “New York. Born and raised.”

“That tracks.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, side-eyeing him. 

“Just that you’ve got that whole no-nonsense city girl thing going for you.”

“And you’ve got the rich boy on vacation trying to ‘find himself’ thing.”

He let out a sharp laugh, head tipping back. “Okay, fair. But for the record, I didn’t come here to find myself. I came because my family basically forced me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know how it is – big family, overbearing relatives, everyone wanting you to be something you’re not.”

I huffed. “Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

He cast me a knowing look. “Right. Your whole life is obviously completely put together.”

“Exactly,” I deadpanned.

Hyunjin chuckled, then kicked at the sand, thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I always thought being an artist would be enough for me, but my family… they don’t really get it.”

“You mean they don’t think art is a real job?”

“Bingo.”

I frowned. Somehow, I had expected his family to be fully supportive – cushy rich kid, endless opportunities. But now, I wasn’t so sure. “I think that’s a universal experience,” I muttered, watching the waves. “Parents being… disappointed in your career choices.”

“Yeah?” he nudged me lightly. “What did yours want you to be?”

“Something stable.” I shrugged. “Doctor, lawyer, something that actually makes money.”

“But you chose journalism.”

“I chose writing,” I corrected. “I just figured journalism was the most practical way to do it.”

He hummed in response, like he understood exactly what I meant. And somehow, that made me feel lighter.

“So what kind of stuff do you want to write?” he asked.

I hesitated. When was the last time someone had actually asked me that?

“I used to want to do investigative pieces,” I admitted. “The kind that actually matter. Exposing corruption, bringing stories to light, making a difference.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. Something about his gaze made me feel… seen. “And now?” he asked, voice softer.

I sighed. “Now I write very professional emails all day and manage the emotional instability of a literary icon.”

“Well, that sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s a dream come true.”

His grin returned, teasing, but his eyes stayed thoughtful. “You should write something,” he said, flipping a shell in the sand with his foot. “Not for work. Just for you.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Maybe,” he said, glancing at me again, “but you don’t seem like someone who gives up that easily.”

The words hit deeper than I wanted them to. I swallowed. Looked away. “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, deflecting, “if I’m ever desperate, at least I know I can write about turtle conservation.”

He chuckled. “Hey, don’t knock it. These guys deserve their time in the spotlight.”

“Right. What would the world do without ‘the great turtle births of the Italian coast?’”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

I laughed, genuinely, fully, for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“Wait –” Hyunjin froze, grabbing my arm gently, stopping me in my tracks. I stilled, heart skipping, but not because of him this time. Because just ahead of us, in the sand, something small was moving.

He crouched down, flicking the red flashlight toward it, his smile slow and spreading. “Looks like you might actually get to name one.”

The movement stopped for a second, then scuttled forward again – but instead of tiny turtle flippers, a pair of long, spindly legs stretched toward the moonlight. A crab.

Hyunjin let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “False alarm.”

“What, are you disappointed?” I teased, nudging his side lightly. 

“I mean, a baby turtle hatching would’ve been a moment, you know?” he said, folding his arms. “This guy’s just… vibing.”

I ignored him, already crouching down, watching as the tiny crab hustled sideways across the sand with impressive determination. “I like him,” I said, smiling despite myself. “He’s got places to be.”

Hyunjin chuckled. “Should we name him, then?”

I thought for a second. “Hmm… he kinda looks like a Bernard.”

“Bernard?”

“Yeah, like… sophisticated. Business crab. Family man.”

Hyunjin grinned. “So you think he’s got a whole life out there?”

“Absolutely.” I nodded. “Wife, kids, a nine-to-five in the seaweed industry. This guy is booked and busy.”

“Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “Respect to Bernard.”

We watched as Bernard scurried toward the waves, disappearing into the foam like a tiny little soldier returning home.

For some reason, it made something in my chest ache.

I cleared my throat and stood, brushing the sand from my hands. When I turned, Hyunjin was already looking at me. Not just looking – watching. The kind of quiet admiration that made my stomach do something stupid. “What?” I asked, raising a brow.

He shook his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for a crab enthusiast.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“Clearly.”

We stood there for a beat too long – both of us still, the space between us small enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He was close enough that I could see the moonlight reflecting in the slight sheen of humidity on his collarbone, the way the night breeze shifted his hair just slightly. Close enough that my gaze drifted to his lips, unbidden, unintentional.

I wondered – for less than a second – what it might be like to kiss him. If he’d be slow about it, teasing, letting it build just to see if I’d get impatient. If he’d take his time, deliberate and confident, the same way he moved, like he already knew the outcome.

The thought startled me, caught me off guard for the third time that night. 

And yet… I didn’t step back. 

Instead, Hyunjin did something worse – he stepped closer.

Not enough to touch, but enough that the air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back for a drink or something,” he murmured, voice smooth, easy, almost teasing. “But now I’m worried that Bernard set the bar too high.”

I barely had time to smirk before my phone rang. 

Loud. Abrasive. Reality slamming between us like a wall.

I jolted, startled by the sound, by how instantly the moment shattered. 

Hyunjin leaned back just slightly, exhaling through his nose, shaking his head with a half-smile like he should’ve expected it. 

I barely glanced at the screen before muttering, “It’s Celeste. I have to go.”

Hyunjin watched me for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, with a slow nod, he stepped back. “Duty calls,” he said lightly, but the warmth from before had dimmed just slightly. 

I hesitated, phone still buzzing in my hand. Some part of me wanted to stay. 

But instead, I forced a smile, turned on my heel, and started walking back towards the resort – leaving behind the ocean, the moonlight, and the boy with the red flashlight who had almost convinced me to forget everything else.

I power-walked back to my room, cheeks still burning from Hyunjin and his stupid, stupid smirk. The way he looked at me. The way he stepped closer, like he was about to say something that would’ve unraveled me completely. The way I had actually wondered, even for just a second, what kissing him would be like. 

I exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away as I slipped into my suite, pressing my cool fingers to my too-warm face. “Get it together, Parker,” I muttered under my breath.

I crossed the room in three strides, heading straight for the mini bar. I yanked it open, wincing at the overpriced selection before grabbing the first tiny bottle of vodka I could find. 

One sip. Two. I winced again, swallowing hard. Great. Now my face was burning for an entirely different reason.

I collapsed on the edge of the bed, phone still clutched in my hand. I wasn’t sure why I lied to Hyunjin, why I said Celeste was calling when in fact, it was my mother. The missed call sat on my screen, glaring up at me. 

With a sigh, I redialed. It barely rang once before she picked up. 

“Gemmy!” my mom’s voice greeted me, warm and familiar, like home. “I was just about to light a candle for you!”

I smiled, shaking my head. “Hi, Mom. You don’t have to light a candle every time I go on a trip, you know.”

“Excuse me,” she said, feigning offense. “Cleansing your energy is very important, missy. You’re surrounded by wealthy people and entitled egos – you don’t want that energy leeching onto you.”

“Too late for that,” I muttered, rubbing my temple.

“How’s Italy?” she asked, genuinely excited. “Did you see anything amazing yet? How’s Celeste? Any existential breakdowns yet?”

I huffed a small laugh. “So far, she’s only at one minor tantrum and two unnecessarily dramatic monologues, so we’re pacing ourselves.”

“That’s actually impressive restraint for her.”

“Right? I think the Negronis are helping.”

Mom laughed, and for a moment, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease. 

“Tell me everything,” she said. “What’s the resort like?”

I leaned back against the pillows, closing my eyes. “It’s… surreal. It’s exactly the kind of place people like Celeste thrive in – stupidly luxurious, way too polished, the kind of resort where they manufacture the atmosphere to make you feel like your life is perfect.”

“And is it working?”

I hesitated. Because honestly? I hadn’t let myself enjoy it. Not really.

But then I thought about Hyunjin and the way the moon reflected in his eyes, the sound of his laugh against the ocean, the way he looked at me like he was actually interested in what I had to say. 

And okay, maybe for a second, I had let myself enjoy it.

“It’s… nice,” I admitted, “in a fantasy sort of way.”

“Mmm, I hear something in your voice.” 

Her sing-song tone made me roll my eyes. “Here we go.”

“Gemmy,” Mom said knowingly, “are you getting into trouble?”

“Not yet,” I said, but I didn’t sound convincing.

“You met someone.”

I groaned. “How do you know that?”

“I’m your mother, that’s how. And also, my tarot reading this morning said something about unexpected romantic entanglements, so spill.”

I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “It’s not a thing, okay? I met a guy. He’s… interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Korean-Italian. Stupidly good-looking. Too charming for his own good.”

“Oooooh, Gemma!”

“Don’t ‘ooooh, Gemma’ me.”

“Sweetheart, I have never heard you call a man ‘stupidly good-looking’ before. This is a milestone.”

“Oh my god.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Too late!” She sing-songed again. “So, what’s his deal?”

“Aspiring artist. Dancer. Rich family. They’re here for some big reunion, reconnecting with their Italian roots or whatever.”

“A rich artist? Oh, honey, that’s a dangerous combination.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered. 

“But?”

I hesitated again. 

Because despite every single reason I should keep my distance, I really liked talking to him. 

More than that – I related to him. Sure, he had the luxury of financial freedom, but he still had pressure. Expectations. The fear of not being good enough. And that wasn’t something I could talk to a lot of people about.

“But…” I exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s nothing. Just a conversation on the beach.”

“Mmm. Still, I wouldn’t ignore it.”

“You think this is fate or something?”

“I think this trip is going to be big for you,” Mom said, suddenly serious. “I feel it.”

“You always say that.”

“And I’m never wrong.”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help but smile. Because as much as my mom drove me crazy sometimes, she was always reliably my mom.

She had been through so much – losing Dad when I was thirteen, struggling through her own mental health crisis after that, working jobs she hated just to make sure I never went without. 

And now, she was stronger, softer in a way she never used to be. She had her spirituality, her tarot cards, her sage-burning rituals, and full-moon intentions. 

And she had me.

“Well,” I said, pulling the blankets up around me, “we’ll see what happens.”

“Just don’t get too distracted,” Mom warned, but not unkindly. “Celeste still needs your attention.”

“Trust me, that’s never in danger.”

“Good. Now get some rest. You have a big week ahead of you.”

I nodded, letting my eyes droop. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you more, sweet girl.”

I hung up, exhaling slowly, my mind still racing. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe something was coming. 

I just didn’t know if I was ready for it. 

I stared at the ceiling, begging my mind to quiet down. Because no matter how much I tried to push it away, I kept thinking about him. Hyunjin. His smirk, his smile, the way he watched me like I was something worth paying attention to. The way he had stepped closer, the space between us narrowing like something inevitable.

And, of course, his damn red flashlight. 

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the bed, then stood and shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing my face to cool the warmth still lingering on my cheeks. A quick, half-hearted skincare routine. A long sip of water. Then I brushed my teeth and slipped into the softest, most unremarkable sleep shirt I owned. By the time I climbed into bed, I did what any rational person would do. 

I grabbed my phone and googled: ‘Sea turtles in the Mediterranean.’

Great. Now I was committed to this, too.

I tapped the first article that popped up. Something about nesting habits, hatching seasons, conservation efforts. 

‘Sea turtles have an extraordinary ability to return to the beaches where they were born, guided by the Earth’s magnetic field – a phenomenon known as natal homing.’

I frowned, rereading that line. Returning to where they were born. Following some invisible pull in the sand, like they already knew where they were meant to go. 

Lucky them.

My eyes flicked to the red light of my charging cable, and for some reason, I imagined it flickering across the beach. Imagined Hyunjin, walking alone in the dark, scanning the sand, completely content in his own little world. 

I sighed. Ridiculous.

And yet, as I curled into my pillow, letting the words on my screen blur, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I’d met him for a reason. Maybe Mom was right, maybe something was coming. 

But that was tomorrow’s problem. 

Tonight, I let my phone slip from my fingers, my eyelids heavy, the glow of the screen fading as sleep pulled me under.

[nireey]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: 괴물 | Beyond Evil (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Han Juwon/Lee Dongsik (Beyond Evil) Characters: Lee Dongsik (Beyond Evil), Han Juwon (Beyond Evil) Additional Tags: Valentine's Day, Fluff and Humor, Stargazing, Romance, Car Sex, Loverboy Juwon, First Time, Babygirl Dongsik, Canon Compliant, They are sweet and awkward and in love, What can go wrong Summary:

It's Valentine's Day and Juwon wants to ask Dongsik out on a mystery date - in his Chevrolet Traverse...

[silly-kat-spice]

Here it is, sorry I'm late 😳

[fenharel]

not me obsessively replaying the second inky convo im 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💜💜💜💜💜💜

[starscelly]

Introducing up and coming punk band from Dallas: The Flying Stars !

[atwingeofcringe]

Enough

A/N: hello everyone! this is my first fic on this account! ive written 3 parts to this but ive written them in a way where they could all be standalones and there are time gaps between them but ive left it up for you to decide how much time! ive seen people say different time spans for how long it takes for him to warm up to an S/O and i wanted to keep it vague! even though i have the other 2 written im not sure when i'll post them because i have a lot going on right now but we'll see! i also tried to write these in a way so that you can imagine which ever version of Michael you like most or the version you think best fits! all my writing is done on my phone btw so sorry if there are mistakes i didnt catch! sometimes my phone likes to think it knows more than me lmao! Summary: Michael feels conflicted feelings as you patch up his wounds. Pairing: Michael Myers x Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 1,344

🔪

The sound of your back door opening and then closing broke your attention away from your tv for a split second, then you faced the tv again. Heavy footsteps made their way over to you but you remained watching your show, unconcerned. A dark figure emerged from around the corner and stood there silently, knife in hand, and staring right at you. Anyone else would have been frightened by this but, for you, this is a normal occurrence.

“Hey, Michael!” you greeted, looking up from your show.

Of course, you got no greeting in return, but that’s normal too. He stepped more into view, letting you see him more clearly and you gasped at the sight. He was covered in blood and clearly injured. You knew most of the blood wasn’t his but you were still worried.

You shot up out of your seat on the couch and quickly ushered Michael into your kitchen, where you kept your medical supplies, and sat him down at the table. His bloodied knife was taken to the sink for washing later. He didn’t think his injuries were that bad and why you fussed over him so much, he just wanted to come by to check on you. Still, he let you do what you wanted.

“Can you take this off?” You asked, pointing to his blood soaked coveralls.

He pulled the zipper down pushed the top of the coveralls down until it rested around waist, exposing plain black t-shirt that was also soaked with blood. You thanked him and carefully started tending to any fresh and exposed wounds you could see, all the while trying to keep skin to skin contact to a minimal. He’s not a fan of being touched and you didn’t want to make him angry.

While you did this, you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. You’re used to it, though. His eyes constantly followed your every movement. In the beginning, this used to make you uncomfortable. Now, you paid it no mind and sometimes even forgot about it.

“There.” You sighed, carefully pushing his shirt sleeve back down over his shoulder after taking care of a cut. He stared as you stood over him, looking him over to make sure you got everything. Your eyes scanned him until you got this masked face, seeing more blood on the mask itself and also some parts of his exposed skin from under the mask. You’ve never seen him without it on and you never wanted to ask in case it upset him, but you’re worried.

“Um, do you mind if this comes off too?” Unintentionally, your voice came out small and your throat felt a little dry. You didn’t mean to sound so nervous but you couldn’t help it.

He didn’t make any moves that indicated a yes or a no, only staring up at you. You slightly shuffled uncomfortably before deciding ‘fuck it’ and slowly lift your hand towards the mask. Your finger tips barely made contact with the bottom of before his own hand shot up at light speed and grabbing yours, making you nearly jump out of your skin. His hand gripped yours tightly and it was a little painful but ignored it and swallowed hard before opening your mouth to say something else.

“I-I just want to see if you need stitches or something.” Your voice was shaky and the sound of your heart pounding from the jumpscare was loud in your ears. “I don’t want you to get infected.”

He sat there, staring up at you from his seat and clenching your hand for a few more seconds before letting go. A quiet, relived sigh left your lips as the pain dissipated from your poor hand and you wiggled your fingers a little, trying to get out any lingering pain. Michael looked down as his hands came up and gripped the mask, slowly taking it off.

When the mask was fully off he didn’t look back up at you, letting his gaze linger down at the mask in his hands. For some reason, this made you nervous again but you swallowed your fear and spoke up. “Can I see?”

He was still. Is he afraid of something? Is he nervous too? Most likely, you’ll never know the thoughts swimming through his mind. He’s never been an easy person read, which is how he likes it. Honestly though, he was a little scared. He does’t want to be perceived as just a man and that’s all he felt like without his mask. With it on, he felt powerful and people feared him. Now, here he is risking that reputation and for what? A few cuts and bruises? He knows he doesn’t have to do this but something about your good nature towards him compelled him and it was leaving him feeling conflicted.

“Michael?”

Your voice interrupted his thoughts and he huffed, acknowledging that he heard you.

“Can I see?” You asked one more time. Michael sighed and lifted his head, locking eyes with you once more. You had to stop yourself from gasping at the man in front of you. You’ve thought about what he might look like before but you never expected him to be so… pretty. A smile formed on your face as you tried to fight the blush that threatens to light up your cheeks. “There you are!” You said cheerfully.

He isn’t sure what you meant by that but he sat up straight to let you examine the cuts on his face. You leaned in closer to get a good look but not too close so you didn’t make him uncomfortable.

“Just a couple scratches.” You said, mostly to yourself. “These don’t look bad at all. You’ve got quite the bruise here, though-“ without thinking your hand came up to lightly trace the dark spot that formed near his eye but before you could, his hand came up once again squeezing yours and making squeak in surprise. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking!” You winced.

Micheal stared up at you with a dangerous expression. How could you be so absent minded? Have you forgotten who he is? Did taking of his mask actually ruin your image of him? The thought of his dangerous reputation being ruined angered him and he absent mindedly squeezed your hand harder just thinking about it.

“Michael, your hurting me!” You were nearly on the verge of tears from the pain and trying to pull your hand away.

Michael started thinking about how much you’ve done for him over the time he’s known you. Always worrying about him, giving him a place to hide and rest, feeding him. Would letting down his walls be so bad if it was just you? He knows he’d be just fine without you but thinking of you not existing in his life made him disappointed.

His grip on your hand softened but he didn’t let go. He was still holding on firmly, keeping you from pulling away. You gave up and watched him as he watched you. His eyes pierced yours in a way you feel like you hadn’t seen before. You gulped and asked “are you okay?”

Micheal slowly blinked up at you and loosened his grip on you a little more. You could pull away now if you wanted to but made no attempt. What happened next made butterflies erupt your stomach and you know your face was bright red. Micheal slightly turned his head, now facing your hand, keeping his eyes on you, and placed a gentle kiss to the middle of your palm. Your heart was pounding so hard the sound was nearly deafening in your ears. As his lips left your hand, he softly pressed it against his cheek. You weren’t sure what caused his sudden change in mood, but, honestly, you weren’t complaining.

Your eyes flicked to his lips for a split second before looking back into his eyes. He noticed but made no moves and you were fine with it. Just being close like this was enough.

[neonbodyache]

“a metab day should be 2k cal” i hear you and i understand you. However. what the hell are you saying to me

[l0velybugg0]

I hate how I draw something SO damn good, and the said art piece is a selfship art like how the fuck...

[kvroii]

Here is the front cover for MYRIOS -Complete Illustrated Series- as it will appear for its upcoming release!

[blkkizzat]

yoooooo do you know what happened to callm3senpaii ?!?!?!???? i was a huge fan of their banger works and when i try to find them now their account is deactivated I am devastated 😭

chiiileee 😭 long story short they got mad they traded away gojo on mudae, blocked everyone and deleted their blog.

i wish i was lyin'.

[zorphie]

!!!!!! hello im officially starting a wizard101 + pirate101 webcomic series thing. Help. :] extra rambling in the tags

[unriding]

Me sneaking into your asks with this drabble:

Disclaimer: I have yet to get a good grasp of Moze's character so this might be a bit OOC and on your side as well (sorry). I did my best. Also, this was inspired by the post you made abt telling Moze your tasks for the day | 600+ words (not proofread)

.

.

.

In Moze's eyes, you reminded him of a dog catching a case of the zoomies.

You were quite literally everywhere. He'd find you talking to someone one moment before you're rushing off to do something else entirely the next. It seemed like you had quite a lot on your plate as of recently. Tasks, things you wanted to do, and so much more spinning around that mind of yours. You've told him a bit of your plans so he has a general idea. But seeing you juggling all of those tasks at once makes both admiration and concern bloom in his chest.

One time, Moze found you carrying a box filled with items. It would've been amusing to him how comical it was that the items piled so high— he could barely see you behind it. However, he did worry right after given how you almost tripped over something. He managed to catch you and the items before both came crashing all over the floor.

He insisted on helping you carry the items to wherever its destination was. It took a bit of pursuasion on his side. Convincing you that it truly wasn't a bother to him at all, and that he'd be very much glad to be of assistance to you.

"I need to get these delivered first. Then go stop by the shop to buy some things. After that…" You go on to ramble about the things you had to do to help get a better vision on what else you had to do. "Oh, no… I messed up." The smile on your face dropping at the thought that had slipped your mind until that moment. "I forgot to invite Jiaoqiu to dinner with the others—"

"It's tomorrow evening, right? He knows. I mentioned it last time when I spoke to him." Moze says with a calm tone.

You blink at him, slightly caught off-guard by the man beside you. Though it's immediately replaced with relief and gratitude. The smile on your face already back, lighting up your features once more. Infectious as always, it makes the corners of his lips tug upwards as well. A small part of him feels quite proud to have been able to help you ease your worries even by a bit.

And this is when you start noticing it.

Did you mention that you're running out of a certain skincare product, but you can't find the time to stop by the store to buy it? Moze conveniently has to stop by near the store and buys it for you. Did you also mention that you wanted to do a certain task but keep forgetting about it? He gently reminds you about it via message or verbal if he's nearby. Did you also happen to mention that you've been meaning to try out a certain desert from a cafe, but the schedule simply doesn't seem to allow you? No fear, he passes by the store to buy you the treat.

Moze doesn't see you as someone incapable of handling things by yourself. To him, he simply sees it as a way to show his care. If making a quick stop somewhere, sending you a small reminder of something you had to do that day, or even helping you out with the tasks you need to accomplish, makes you smile? Gives you a chance to take a break? Let you worry less about the things you need to do? It's worth it in his eyes.

He does his best to avoid making you feel like you're bothering or troubling him (you really aren't). Most of the time, he does them discrcetly and casually. Partially, since he's also scared that you'll think he's weird or a creep for acting like that.

Please don't think of him badly.

Moze truly means well.

[bowlofmie]

My lychee bunny journal cover case came today :D it is exactly as fuzzy as it looks!!

I miss lychee. I made some lychee and mandarin shaved ice a couple years ago for my sister’s birthday and we’ve been talking about how good it was recently; maybe I’ll make some again soon!

I have my new cover next to my current journal for comparison :) they’re both kinbor a6 journals

[stinkrascal]

its so cruel that references do in fact work very well..... why did we all collectively convince ourselves that references are "cheating" and youre not allowed to use them back in the day bc thats ruined me as an adult. references are the shit!

[cloudcountry]

HI AUBURN!!!!!! dunno if we’re close enough moots for me to req this but could I mayhaps enter in Ashi for your 1.8k event?? 😳 (WHICH LIKE. GRATS BTW!!!! THATS CRAYCRAY POP OFF)

🤔 there’s this certain rewrite w her concerning Ghost Marriage so I was wondering if I could get a rewrite where

1.) when Ace barges in, he stops the marriage between her and Eliza instead of Idia and Eliza (and Ace gets EXTRA pissed)

OR

2.) Ashi and Ace playing around w the ghost ring and a fake one

SOME CONTEXT ABOUT THIS EVENT REWRITE;

—Ashi cross dresses and shoots for Eliza right before the final group enters to try and woo her over (cuz she sees all the guys fail and she’s like “yyyeah. watch me pull this ghost lady better than y’all)

—she succeeds actually!!! she woos Eliza over w her W rizz and allows Idia to escape

—Her and Ace previously fool around w the ghost ring; causing a real and fake to get mixed up

—so guess what. she accidentally uses a fake ring instead of the one actually needed 😔 banishing no more

—NOW ASHI’S TRAPPED AND BOUND TO MARRY ELIZA!!!!!! (and Ace is left to blame)

ALSO JUST TO CLARIFY!!!!!! <333 I’d like it to be like....... besties but mutual pining yk 🙏 cuz they’re just besties so far at this stage (Ace is in denial)

NO SWEAT IF THIS IS TOO MUCH BTW!!!! I APPRECIATE IT NONETHELESS <3 gratsgrats again!!!

AAAAA dont worry ashi!!! your oc page is very detailed so i think i can write her right!! at least i hope so ^^" THANK YOU THANK OYU <3333 AAAAA!!!!!!!

thast literally so goofy i love ALL of this LMAO (mutual pining...rubbing my hands together evilly I GOTCHA!!!)

i read that thing about him calling you cherrypie and i think thats the cutest thing :(((( but he calls you goober here since that was on yuor oc page and i thought taht was funny LMAO

AND SINCE WE WERENT MOOTS WHEN YOUR BIRTHDAY WAS AROUND BUT IT WAS RECENT PLEASEE CONSIDER THIS A BIRTHDAY GIFT FROM ME TO YOU <3 i hope you had fun :D !!!

ASHI, ACE, AND THE MARRAIGE VOWS OF DOOM!!! (1.8k details)

Ashi isn’t sure how Ace acquired it (although it most likely came from a visit with Sam) but the grin on his face melts away her concern and leaves a giddy mischief in its place.

“Doesn’t it look just like that ring the Headmage wants to use to send that bride back to her realm?” Ace laughs, twirling it around the tip of his finger, “Can you imagine what would happen if someone were to switch out the rings?”

“Ace, c’mon!” Ashi shakes her head, giggling along with him.

His grin turns wicked, and before Ashi knows it he’s snatched the real ring right out of her pocket. She shrieks for him to give it back, hurling vicious insults such as “meanie” and “stupid,” but Ace doesn’t relent.

“Where is the real ring? I bet you’ll never guess.” he smirks, holding out his closed hands.

His eyebrows are doing that irritating thing he does when he’s feeling a bit too smug.

“You’re a cheater! I bet it’s in your pocket.” Ashi lunges for him, digging her hand into his pocket as Ace jerks away, trying to get her off.

Sure enough, she pulls out the ring with a triumphant “ah ha!” Ace rolls his eyes and makes a big show of huffing about it, but his eyes linger on her radiant smile as she sticks her tongue out at him.

“It’s not like you play fair either, you goober!” he cackles, jerking his arm out to snatch the ring from her hands.

As their hands collide, both rings go soaring through the air and clatter to the floor. Ashi and Ace look over in the direction they landed, only to come to the sinking revelation that neither of them knew which one was which.

“Can you tell which one’s the fake?” Ashi asks, tilting her head.

Ace removes himself from her to confidently saunter over to the rings, scooping them off the ground and flashing them with a smirk.

“Don’t worry goober, I got it. You almost messed things up there, huh? This is totally the fake one.” Ace mocks, flicking Ashi’s nose when he’s made his way back to her and places the real ring in her hand.

“Oh quiet you!” she pinches his cheek, face heating up at the teasing.

Ace rubs his pink cheek and glares, but the glare holds no malice.

Ashi watches in amusement as Idia is thrown to the side, totally blown off by Eliza. Ashi kneels before the bride, arms outstretched as if to accept her. Eliza squeals, rushing towards her “groom” with stars in her eyes. Ashi takes her hand, gently, and gives Eliza the most affectionate look she can.

“It’s an honor to be wed to you, my lady.” Ashi grins, a dazzling smile that makes Eliza swoon in her arms.

The ring slides onto her finger, and...

Nothing happens.

Ashi looks confused but quickly schools her face. Eliza doesn't notice the way her smile falls, and instead swoops Ashi up into her arms and calls for her attendants.

“Please, escort Mr. Tamadai to the dressing rooms! I await our wedding, my darling!” Eliza giggles behind her hand, waving Ashi goodbye.

Footsteps pound on the stone flooring outside the room and Ashi looks at the door with hope. The door flies open with a loud bang, causing all the ghosts to jump out of their nonexistent skin.

Heh.

“Stop the wedding!” Ace yells, pointing an accusatory finger at Eliza, “You! Bride lady! We gotta talk!”

Eliza scoffs, all warmth in her deposition gone as Ace storms up to her with fire in his eyes. Ashi tries to go to him, but the ghosts are keeping such a harsh grip on her arms that it’s starting to hurt.

“Ace!” she yells, and he whips his head around at the sound of her voice.

He turns back to the bride with a clenched jaw and a furrowed brow.

“Listen here, all of you! You can’t just force someone to marry you! Relationships don’t work like that! Ashi doesn’t want to marry you at all! Aren’t the rest of you ashamed? You’re just enabling your princess into feeling even lonelier as the years go on because you’re not letting her let go! You all sound like useless retainers to me!” Ace yells, “Let go of Ashi right now!  I’m gonna get this ring on your finger and send you off once and for all!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! Mr. Tamadai was quite sweet in his courting! He even answered all my questions correctly! He's perfect!” Eliza insists, voice breaking as she speaks.

“Uh, news flash princess!” Ace snaps, “You shouldn’t be picking your prince based on a few questions. How about picking someone you can laugh and cry with? Someone you can share everything with?”

He looks over at Ashi and pauses.

“Someone that makes you feel like you can be something. Even if you know you’re a stupid troublemaker.” he says, voice softer for just a moment before he turns back to the princess, “Have your retainers taught you nothing? It’s embarrassing that I have to spell this out for you, seriously!”

Ashi squirms in the ghost's hold, her cheery smile fading into a frustrated grimace. The rare sight makes Ace’s breath hitch, and his anger only gets more intense.

“Don’t listen to him, princess!” Puffy yells, taking his place next to Eliza, “How dare you say such things! I would fight the world to make sure the princess is happy, you—!”

Ashi gnaws at her lower lip before slipping one of Ace’s stupid cards out of her pocket. Sliding it between her two fingers just like he taught her, she flicks it at Eliza.

The card reaches its mark.

The ghosts restraining her rush to their princess as she yelps out in pain and Ashi beams. It's funny how Ace’s tricks were useful in situations like this, even though all he ever used them for was to target Riddle.

“Princess!” she yells, running towards her, “Wait!”

Eliza shakes off her hovering attendants to gaze upon her groom, a sour pout on her face.

“Listening, I’m not actually a guy. I was dressing the part because my and my homies were trying to save Idia over there.” she points to the boy in question, watching as he shrivels up again at the attention, “But I think you should totally marry Puffy! He seems to really care about ya! And just like Acey said, you’re supposed to find someone you can laugh and cry with right? He was about to fight this whole room for you!”

Eliza stops as if considering what Ashi just said. Ace’s hand circles her wrist, as if ready to run and find cover if the ghosts actually do attack. His subtle concern warms her heart.

“Oh Puffy...I think I’ve finally figured it out.” Eliza turns to her ghostly companion and smiles, eyes full of love, “You’re my prince! My true love!”

“What?!” Ace squawks, but Ashi presses a finger to his lips to shush him.

“Princess...all I’ve ever wanted was to see you smile.” Puffy murmurs, cheeks turning blue, “It’s my dream...my lingering attachment...I just want you to be happy.”

“Oh, Puffy!” Eliza swoons, kissing him without a second thought.

“What just happened?” Ace blinks, absolutely baffled by the display in front of him.

“I dunno, but we should get everyone else out!” Ashi beams as the sound of groans and complaints reach their ears, “It sounds like the curse has been broken!”

As Ashi runs off to help a whining Floyd, Ace puffs up his cheeks and stares.

She looks really pretty in that suit.

[seiwas]

shouto fic 'three-part honesty' will be out in 6 hours! just scheduled it rn hehe